The Schum Bag

30 Hours with Captain Colorado

2010-10-14T17:59:00.000-07:00

If I was a male model, that expression I have on my face would be "The Ponderer, by Noah." I've seen this look on my face in numerous pictures and usually I'm just posing. In this case though, the pose is real; I am honestly thinking, "What the f*** just happened?

It's hard to pinpoint when or why exactly Erik and I started to hang out. It's also hard to figure out why things always seem to get ratcheted up to awesome when are together. A constant stream of "Oh yeah? Well get ready for this!" action that, reflecting back, makes me think that someday we will end up on the Darwin website for guys who didn't make the "evolved" cut. Last weekend was no exception. If you searched for a list of keywords from our weekend, the results would return: guns, rattlesnakes, cops, blood, hospital, cowboy camping and Dukes of Hazard.

Those words should now have you nice and stretched out for the rest of the blog. (I wouldn't want you to pull anything)

Welcome to Antelope Hunting 2010: A 30 Hour Recap, Featuring A Few Extra Hours of Bonus Time

Hour 1: Erik rolls in at 4:00am and bursts through the door, "Ready to shoot some speed goats?" Over the last few years Erik has taught me everything I know about big game hunting. And although my role role in the hunting party is pretty well defined as Comedic Relief and Guy Who Carries Other Guys Dead Animals Out Of The Woods (G.W.C.O.G.D.A.O.O.T.W), I would like to see it evolve in to "Actual Hunter". So I ask a lot of questions. "Speed goats? That sucks, I thought we were going antelope hunting. I don't think I bought the right tags to shoot speed goats. And embarrassingly enough, I don't even know what a speed goat looks like." This is where having a good hunting mentor comes in to play. He explains that on weekends when I change out my Boulder sandals for Redneck boots, we do things like rename the animals we are hunting. We do this to both degrade them and show them how tough we are (i.e. goats) but also give ourselves an out, just in case the are the superior species and we don't shoot one (i.e. speed.) Got it.

Hour 3: Just as we are getting close to the hunting grounds and things have grown quiet in the car, Erik asks if I am ready get hyped up with the new hunting mix. That's right, a hunting mix tape. He explained that any hunting mix tape is kicked off with one song and one song only:

Track One: Ted Nugent: Fred Bear.

I embedded it for your listening pleasure. What I would recommend is that you hit play and listen to it while you read the rest of the blog. No, I can't stop that uncontrollable urge to tap your right leg or limit you from wanting to pump your fist in the air while listening. But I can tell you to TURN IT UP TO ELEVENENENENNENENNENE!!!!!!!!! Well, unless you aren't good at listening to music and reading, like me, then you should turn it down to 3 or pause until you are finished.

Hour 3 plus a few minutes: We stop at McDonalds for some breakfast. As I mentioned, I'm not hunting genius, but don't we wash our clothes in special soap so animals can't smell us? Then we stop for fast food, something that I rarely eat? Just saying, a little counter intuitive...

Hour 4: The hunt is on. And it's like no hunt I have ever experienced. Normally we're knee deep in snow or hiking some giant peak. On this one though, we get out of the car, rifles in hand and are standing in the middle of a field. I make the comment that this is the first time I have actually used Eastern Colorado. The more I think about it Eastern Colorado is kind of like having Rain Man for a brother. Not real great for the important stuff like picking up chicks or wrestling. But good for those one-off situations like counting cards in Vegas. Or in this case, antelope hunting.

Hour 6: Back to the car after walking around flat fields for a couple hours. The highlight of the stroll? Me: "Is that antelope crap?" Erik: "I think so". Not exactly Lewis and Clark.

Hour 7: Driving down the road to the next farm, I'm trying to read the boundary map of where we can hunt and where we can't hunt. I glance up to take a look in the field. "I think that is a heard of antelope". Brilliant I know. Erik asks, "Are we in the right hunting unit?" 30 seconds go by as I try to read the map and all the antelope stare at us growing restless. "Ah, yeah, it appears that we can hunt this farm." Another 30 seconds goes by as we are adding everything up in our head.

We are hunters + we are hunting antelope + they are standing where we can hunt them = ???

They start to wander off as Erik tells me to jump out and get ready. "OK! Wait! Hold my Snickers. Ok! Wait! Have you seen the top to my Gatorade? Ah, I have to put on my orange vest and orange hat so some guy hiding in this flat field doesn't confuse me for an antelope. Ok! I also have to get my gun ready." Clearly my 4 months as a Boy Scout with the motto "always be prepared" is not paying off.

I jump out of the car and take off into the field. The antelope start moving and Erik drives up to try to cut them off before they cross the road. They double back and start picking up speed. My heart is pounding and this might be the moment where I prove my worth to the tribe! One slows and turns, and for the first time hunting with Erik, I pull the trigger.

Booooooooooooom!

A puff of dirt kicks up right in front of her and then 20 seconds later the herd is 2 counties over as I see first hand that they can get up to about Mach 10.

I walk back to the car and Erik is standing next to it, "what happened?" I look at him, "Well lets just say that I don't really qualify for the whole Marines mantra of 1-shot 1-kill."

Hour 8-14: The next few hours are slow. We get a lay of the land driving around to each farm. Plenty of antelope but they must have gotten the memo that today is opening day. We can spot them faintly on the horizon and they can spot us. It is like an old school standoff. I secretly tell them that I will meet them behind Roberts Shorts Stop later (when I was in high school all the after school fights happened behind the gas station Roberts Short-Stop. I never went there of course, because I don't like to get beat up. Anyhow, that's where the good stuff went down.)

Hour 15: While driving to the next farm, we kick up a couple antelope and once again they start making a B-line straight to our unit. Erik guns it to get to the public lands and as we crest over the hill we run right into two separate groups of hunters set up watching the field opposite of where the antelope are. We slow the car and the hunter turns around staring at us. Now, I can tap into my redneck roots a little bit, but when you have camo trim on your truck you have just taken it to a whole other level. We stop, not wanting to spook the antelope as they are slowly moving into the field where everyone is set up.

Now it is getting awkward. The hunter who is giving me the "lets meet behind Roberts Short Stop" look is missing the fact that two antelope are about to run right in front of him. I calmly roll down my window as he stares at me. "Ah, there are two antelope right in front of you." He turns slowly trying to comprehend my full sentence and correct verb tense. "Well hot damn, Billy-Ray-Ricky Curtis get your gun!" Some kid comes flying out of the car in what looks like his pajamas. He is trying to throw on his orange safety vest and get set-up, obviously didn't attend the Boy Scouts either. No shot as the antelope have disappeared over the ridge.

Hour 16: After running into a few more hunters on the outskirts of the unit we decide to head in for one last attempt before dark. We enter the cow pasture and start to walk through the herd when I start to realize they are all bulls, big bulls, who are following us. Erik turns to me, "Did I ever tell you my grandpa was killed by a bull?" I laugh. "No really. Got him on the ground and gored him to death." Well ok then.

We must have been paying too much attention to the bulls because out of nowhere 6 antelope appear 50 yards away staring at us.

Both of us drop to one knee as they start to run for it. Apparently antelope don't like to hop fences and for a brief moment we have them cornered. "LAY THE HAMMER DOWN!" (Ok I didn't yell that but it would have been cooler if I did)

BOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!!

BOOOOMMMMM !!!!!!! BOOOOOMMMMM!!!!!

BOOOOM! BOOOM! BOOM!

Lead flys and the odds have to be in our favor...although nothing hits the deck.

I turn to Erik, "I think I missed both of my shots. I don't know how. They practically filled up my scope."

"What?"

"I missed" I repeat.

Erik stares at me, "I think I'm deaf. I can't hear you. Your gun was firing three feet from my head. But I think we missed all five shots." We stare into the distance for a second. "On the upside it seems like you have discovered where your trigger is."

"Yeah I guess." I say, still confused.

"What?"

Hour 17: After getting back to the car and making our way to town in silence, partly because we were both trying to figure out what happened and partly because Erik could not hear my half of the conversation, the blue and red lights flash behind us. The cop walks up to the window, "Howdy boys. You hunters? 'Cause if not you're probably terrorists." I wonder what the qualifications to be a cop are in Eastern Colorado?

Hour 19: We return to the fields after dinner for a little cowboy camping. This is where we roll out the sleeping bags and sleep under the stars. As I am laying down, I'm feeling a little exposed. "Do you think there are rattlesnakes out here?" Erik, "Nah. If there were they probably wouldn't be out at night." I always differ to Erik when we are hunting, but secretly I start to brainstorm ways to get a snake out of your sleeping bag if one slithered in.

Hour 25: We roll out of dirt with moral a little low. By all accounts of what was supposed to happen, we should be sleeping in our own beds with a stocked freezer by now. As we load up in the car and start the granola bar beef jerky breakfast buffet I ask Erik if he has seen the show Friday Night Lights. "No." I explain the premise of the show but then also the line that coach Taylor always pumps that gives me goose bumps. "Clear eyes, full heart, can't loose." (Normally I don't buy into that network television crap but I love this) I get the "why are you telling me this" look.

Not 10 minutes later we come over the crest and notice a lone antelope running right at us. I look at Erik as he is getting loading his gun. "Clear eyes, full heart, can't lose!" (I think I just broke the record for most exclamation marks in a blog. I will have to go back and check)

The antelope slows and stops right in front of him. As I mentioned, Erik is my hunting mentor. He is alone in the field with the antelope. It's like watching the awesome fight scene at the end of a good movie where you expect your hero to win. He has to win right? Right? I have pretty high expectations that he actually know what he is doing. This is why every winter I get up early, freeze my ass off and sleep in the dirt. I have to have the faith that he can lead me to the promise land of holding a dead animals head up on my facebook page.

Boooooooooooom!

The Karate Kid delivers the Crane Kick.

He walks back to the car as I yell, "I told you motha f****** all you needed was a little pep talk!". He smiles, "Can you help me pull all these sand burrs out of my ass?"

Hour 26: Erik is cleaning his bounty and I spot a couple more antelope in the distance. He encourages me to leave the nest and spread my wings on my own.

I run off, staying low to the ground and creep behind the bushes. (Wait. Wait. Wait. Go back up and restart the song for more effect) I sneak to the edge of the field and then get on all fours and start the belly crawl through the grass. Its slow going. I can see them turn and look in my direction. I follow the rules. I stop. I hold. I am patient. I am a hunter.

The minutes tick by and I make my way to the edge of the grass. I watch and I wait. I decide this is as close as I can get. Slowly I pull off my backpack and lay it on the ground. I place my gun on top of it and pear through the scope. The sun is at a bad angle and I have to adjust, moving quietly. I find her in my scope, small but manageable. The gun is steady and I start to talk myself into this moment.

"Come on. You did everything right. You stayed low. You were quiet. You have a steady shot. You EARNED this. This is your moment."

Booooooommmmmm!!!!!!

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

It is official: there is blood on my hands. No literally. My face is now bleeding all over my hands, all over my gun, down on to my coat and a little bit sprayed onto my backpack. It appears that when adjusting the shot I got the scope a little too close. Combine that with the fact that I am shooting an arm cannon and the recoil was enough to split my forehead and spray some blood all over.

You know that moment when you realize it is your blood? I hate that moment. I get up quick trying not to panic. I have no idea how bad it is I just know that it feels like a lot. I make it back to the car where Erik is staring at me trying to figure out what happened. I gauge how bad it is by his expression. "That's not quite the blood I was looking for." As he laughs. "You also missed." Good. He is laughing as I bend down to look in the mirror. I am still seeing stars and can't say anything. The head bleeds a lot right?

Hour 27: After another effort at tracking some more animals down we load up in the car. Two minutes in Erik slows the car. "I think I just ran over a big snake." Sure enough we back up and get out of the car. He isn't huge, but a large rattle snake is standing up ready to strike. We didn't exactly run over him, just his tail. So now he can't rattle before he strikes. I can't think of anything more terrifying then that exact scenario. I vote to shoot him before he kills some sorry hunter in the bush. Erik says that me shooting at anything else for the rest of the day is probably not a good idea and probably wouldn't have much effect on the snake anyway.

Hour 30: We pull up to the house and I wait for Heidi's reaction. Unlike Erik, I know her reaction is going to be more proportional to the actual severity. "Oh MY GODDDDD. What happened to your face?"

Hour 31: I shower the crusty blood off and every time I move my eyebrow, blood starts to run down my nose. After a lot of complaining and a lack of medical supplies I agree to go to the hospital.

Hour 32: The P.A. comes in before stitching me up. "So tell me how this happened."I look at her slyly and flash her The Ponderer, "Let me tell you about the adventures of Captain Colorado and his hunting sidekick...." Heidi interrupts me, "His gun hit him in the face."

I guess not everyone likes the pose.

How did I get here?

2010-09-24T07:44:00.000-07:00

That question actually isn’t as deep as it initially reads. I actually mean how did I get to this point where I am right now: in a van, with a large stripper decal on the front, driving to the City of Sin... for work.

Ok, let me back up. I now work for an outdoor company. It’s bike racks, so its not like I’m marketing for Patagonia on the peak of El Capitan, but it is something that I can relate to a little more than data storage or environmental science.

To say it has been a whirlwind of a job might be an understatement. During my first interview, the owner made fun of my suit and questioned whether I would fit in with the culture. My second interview, which I dressed down for, I was told that he hired someone else but wanted to chat with me again, even though he didn’t have the budget for a second new position. I am sure I had the “what the f***” face working for the rest of the interview.

Another week went by, then I got a call out of the blue. “Do you want to try it for 2 weeks? See how we like each other?” Two weeks? Like each other? Why don’t you tell me where you live and I will show you how much I like you with a burning bag of dog s***. He followed that up with, “If that works out, maybe I will keep you until September.” Nothing like job security...

But I figured I didn’t have much to lose. The only job option on the back burner was putting proposals together for a science firm after an hour and twenty minute commute through traffic. That job could have only ended one way. Me laughing crazily in the parking lot, tie rapped around my head Rambo style, swinging a fake plant at my co-workers while the building is engulfed in flame.

So I took the job and showed up, early, like I always do (my mom gave me a complex by always being late). Everyone else? Showed up later (I am not sure there is a “late” at our office. It’s just later). My boss rode up on his cruiser. I looked down at the sticker on his bike. It read, “My other bike is your mom.”

Here is the information you now have: Outdoor company with guys who will bust your balls, don’t take themselves too seriously, and don’t put much effort into being politically correct. Oh, and our van has a stripper decal on the company car. Could this be my job?

The first couple of days were interesting. If I said I had little direction that would be generous. I showed up every day, tried to figure out what I should do, and then also tried to stay out the way. Lots of questions, lots of mistakes.

The two weeks went by, then three, and I wondered if I had mistakenly agreed to the wrong job. A tie didn’t sound so bad. An hour of traffic, heck I love traffic. At least I would have some idea of how things worked. Sit at a desk and pound away at a keyboard. At this gig I didn’t even have a desk!

Right around the time when I thought I was getting the hang of things the bossman came to find me. “Let’s go grab a coffee.” I tried to read him, but he was expressionless. I figured it could be the demise of my outdoor career and back to the couch (which I recently named Schum Island. Heidi tried to take my nachos off the island before I was finished and I had to explain to her that you can’t waste resources when you are on Schum Island. The longer you can stay on the island, the better. Even if it means eating cold nachos 2 hours later). Ah, where was I? Oh yeah, the demise of my career.

He looked expressionless, as I mentioned, and asks, “What do you think? Do we have something here or are we totally f****ed up?” It was almost like all the confusion I was feeling for the last few weeks made total sense. Bike Rack Enlightenment.

I told him what I thought about the company and the products. What I felt we did well and what could be improved. Most of the things I thought were an easy fix, but there were a few things that would need more effort. “Cool.” He said. “Do you think you can do those things?”

Three months later, and I'm here: driving to Vegas to represent a company I'm still not sure officially hired me, in a van with a stripper decal on the front.

What goes in…

2010-05-21T12:29:00.000-07:00

I’m not a diet guy. Duh. If you asked me the difference between a simple carb and a complex carb, I'd probably tell you the complex carb is the female version. But I got lucky. The secret behind my good eating habit is really no secret: the hot chick I'm engaged to eats well. If she was plowing through a bag of Taco Bell, I would be fighting her for the last crispitio. But since healthy eating is important to her, it's important to me. Lately though, I've been more aware of the stuff that is about to go down the hatch.

For example, the new garden and the food I hope it produces. Heidi and I got involved in a “community garden” this spring. Started out good, then I wanted to bury the “community” under the garden, and now it’s good again. I haven’t really had a garden since I was a kid. At the time it just seemed like work and you couldn’t grow anything like Snickers in a garden. Now I am pretty pumped. We're only a few weeks in, so I haven't harvested anything yet, but it the thought of growing my own food is pretty sweet.

The highlight of the gardening season so far might have been when we were making the initial plant purchase. Heidi and I were there with our friends Jim and Sam. When we were checking out of the garden center, the lady asked. “Do you know how to harden plants?” I started giggling, because that's where my mind goes. Jim looked at her though and said, “Yeah you talk tough to them like they do in the military. You better grow two more inches or this whole garden will be doing pushups! And I don’t want to hear about a frost. A greenhouse is for the enemy!” The lady just stared at him for a second. Keep in mind that we live in Boulder and this lady was just strumming her little mandolin before she rang us up.

The next thing I took note of is the water we drink. Heidi and I had a interesting email exchange that led to me being more conscious:

Heidi: We should get a water filter.

Me: We don’t need one, we live in the Rockies where pure glacier melt hits our lips.

Heidi: I just dug up the water pipe outside our house. I got your “pure glacier melt” right here. (Attached Picture)

Good god! Is that really where our water comes from? Can you get ebola from water? Needless to say we now have a Britta.

And last my latest kick has been Chia seeds. I first read about Chia seeds in Born to Run. They are described:

“In terms of nutritional content, a tablespoon of chia is like a smoothie made from salmon, spinach, and human growth hormone. As tiny as those seeds are, they’re superpacked with omega-3s, omega-6s, protein, calcium, iron, zinc, fiber and antioxidants"

Heidi and I wanted to try them and included some chia in our pre-run routine before our usual weekend loop. About 10 minutes into the run I pulled out the headphones and had to ask, “Do you feel anything?” It probably sounded like something a person taking drugs for the first time would ask. “I don’t know” she replied, “do you?”

I think I did. And I think I still do. I love them and swear by them.

These were all easy choices. I know as well as anyone how hard it is to put on your shoes when you don’t want to run, or when the couch seems like a better idea than the gym. But you always have to eat. Why not make it easy on yourself and throw down something healthy? Or, if you're weak like me, find someone who won’t let you in the house with Cheetos.

What if I am a fox?

2010-05-07T08:45:00.000-07:00

When I was in college I read the book Good to Great by Jim Collins. A good read that I highly recommend. Collins later presented on campus which is probably the first time I sat in the Chemistry building without falling asleep. At 18 years old I didn’t have any questions during the Q&A because I already thought I knew everything there was to know. I made it into college right? That has to count for something. Now ten years later I do have a question. What if I am a fox?

See, Collins lays out what it takes for a company or in this case a person to go from Good to Great. “An ancient Greek parable distinguishes between foxes, which know many small things, and hedgehogs, which know one big thing. All good-to-great leaders, it turns out, are hedgehogs.” Further, hedgehogs are hedgehogs because they know the answer to THE question:

What can I be the best in the world at?

A little while back a coworker described me as a “jack of all, master of none”. I think it was meant as a compliment at the time but I wonder what that means long term. I have always liked that I know a little about a lot and assumed that it made me a well rounded person. But really, what can I be the best in the world at? And how do I find this out?

I feel like I need to jump back in the hot tub time machine and slap 18-year-old self. “Focus young Schum Bag! In order to help yourself become filthy rich, ah, and save the planet, you need to ask Collins the secret to finding what you can be the best in the world at… oh and ask your roommates what time the kegger starts.”

Really Busy

2010-04-17T09:16:00.000-07:00

Since I've been home from mancation, I've taken special note of time. Both the value and perception. It's probably because much of my time is spent alone and I feel like I have an endless supply of “free time” to try to entertain myself. Don’t get me wrong, I try to add structure to my life, like “wake up” or “workout” or “get job,” but let’s be honest, those are mostly guidelines rather than rules, and I'm not very good at following rules. Not that I want to break them or don’t respect them, I just get distracted or lose track of what the rules were when I started following them.

Now that I'm home I have been reminded of the number one rule in America.

The Rule: Everyone, at all times, must be really busy.

While scampering around the wilds of South America I almost forgot this rule. When I was re-released back into my natural habitat, the rule started coming back to me in small installments. For example, I would call a friend to get back in touch. I wanted to meet up for lunch or a beer but would usually hear, "Love to, but I am really busy. " The first couple of times I just shrugged it off. But after a few more times I stared to wonder if everyone except me is really that busy, and just what the heck is everyone doing?

I decided to set up social experiments by venturing out into the world at different times each day. It appears that there are always people like me out and about. For example, no matter what time I went to the gym I would see the same guys. Are they really busy looking at all their muscles in the mirror? Or are they just steroid dealers and therefore actually working? (If the latter, ah hello, I am the skinniest guy there…I go every day… I'm probably in your target market.) Or how about the grocery store: I make special note not to go during lunch hours. Still, I see people in my demographic shopping around. Are they really busy? Or are they like me and not so busy? Now I'm confused.

The easier thing to do, though, is to try to appear busy to fit in. A friend of mine wanted to get together during the day. My strategy was to pause when asked if we can get together mid-morning. I didn’t want to jump on the opportunity with a mix of desperation and excitement and scare him off. “Yeah hmmmm. I think we can swing that. How about 10?” I squeezed him in between coffee and a run in my made-up busy schedule.

This charade worked for a while, up until a few days ago. I was talking to a friend about a possible job opportunity. I always go to this friend for advice in all parts of life so I thought I would bounce some job ideas off him.

Me: "I sent my resume to ABC Company for XYZ position."
Friend: "Did you ask [mutual friend] who works there for a recommendation?"
Me: "More or less. I told him that I sent in my resume and wanted to catch up for a beer."
Friend: "Noah. Nobody has time for a beer. Nobody has time for anything. If you want a favor you need to be straight forward with them. Tell them to give you a recommendation and leave it at that."

That sucks. Why don’t you just tell me there is no Santa Clause?

I wanted to scream, “ It's a BEER! It'll probably take an HOUR! The strange irony is we might enjoy it. And if he didn't enjoy it then I probably miscalculated our relationship and his recommendation probably won’t help anyway!” But I didn’t. I just told him I had to run. I was late for being busy.

Money vs Awesome

2010-04-07T20:10:00.000-07:00

I need a dollar dollar, a dollar is what I need

-Aloe Blacc

That is from the theme song for How to Make it in America. I watched the first few episodes hoping that the blueprint of success would magically appear before me. After all, the title does sound self-helpish, right? Nothing enlightening to report so far, but maybe the secret comes in Episode 3...

I'm now officially back. The van rolled back into Boulder and closed the door on my South American chapter. I no longer have any excuses not to get down to business, well, except that I'm not sure what that business should be.

I had my first interview yesterday. I dressed up, even shaved, showed up early, and faced the standard barrage of questions.

Interviewer: "What is you say is your biggest weakness?"
Me "Ah my biggest weakness might be that I am a perfectionist"
Interviewer: "Ok, good...."
Me: "Wait I take that back. It might be high heals. No wait Oreos. Ok, ok, I am dyslexic and can't spell. You happy now?" as I start to sob.

I never understood this question. I get it, I just don't "get it."

The interview felt like past interviews for past jobs. Some good: stable company, money, and security. Some bad: commute, sitting at a desk, and settling for something less than a dream job.

A little side secret that I have not blogged about, in fact I haven't even really talked about, is that last week I landed what could be considered my dream job (more or less). I was hired as an adventure/gear writer for a start up company. They love my writing style and told me to write anything I want and they will promote me like crazy. Just one catch: I am working for futures. As in, if the company takes off I go with them; if the company fails I never get paid.

Great.

That still leaves me with the money void. Futures don't pay the rent and this other job won't leave me with a lot of free time. So now comes the money vs awesome dilemma. I've blogged about how I'd be good having a lot of little jobs. The problem is, how long could I sustain it? Would that even work? Where is my life going?

Hopefully Episode 3 has some more answers.

South America: Video blog

2010-03-31T09:58:00.000-07:00

I figured the best way to combat writers block would be to avoid writing. I now present my first video blog.

The Better Deal

2010-02-16T03:20:00.000-08:00

Shortly after Heidi and I first started dating, we took a flight out to California for a little mini-vacation/meet-the-parents expedition. Our plane was delayed, and while waiting around in the airport I taught her the game called Who Got the Better Deal. The game is easy: essentially you look at a couple and debate who got the better deal. Superficial? Yes. But it always kills time and is good for a laugh. Plus, you really start to get a feel for the person you're playing with.

Me: OK. He got the better deal

Heidi: She's wearing an eye patch.

Me: Hmmmm. How about that...

Important note of caution: If you teach other friends the better deal game and one of them casually asks, “which one of us got the better deal?” referring to their relationship, DO NOT ANSWER. This is a loaded question, right up there with “Do I look fat in this?” or "Did you have fun at the strip club?” Really. Do not answer this.

Well after six years of giving Heidi every opportunity to come to her senses and run, I proposed. Yeah, it surprised me too. I was thinking back to our early dating time line and was trying to figure out when I knew she was really into me. I always liked to think it was one of our first dates. We were at a Rockies game and passed by a “how fast can you throw“ machine. In order to win within my age range, I had to throw a baseball faster than 80 mph. Luckily, throwing a baseball is one of the few things that I do well, and was right in my wheelhouse of “ways to get to second base with a chick." My first throw came me in at 78. My second one hit 79. Then I summoned all my inner baseball power and somehow my third throw hit 82 on the radar gun. A blessing from the Baseball Gods, and it took a lot of restraint to not do a little dance. The guy gave me a pin with the Rockies logo and I gave it to Heidi. I was probably more impressed than she was and paid the price for my heroics. Throwing a ball 82 mph without warming up made my entire arm go numb. In fact, I couldn’t lift it over my head for 2 days and it also made it nearly impossible to try to steal second base.

Later on in our relationship, I asked Heidi if the amazing “throw the ball fast" was the moment she knew I was awesome. She just laughed like “you aren't very bright,” and then told me that she knew she really liked me when we took a little side trip to Crested Butte. I racked my brain for a while thinking “what the F happened in Crested Butte?” The truth was, nothing happened. Things just fell into place and she looked at me as a long term prospect. Although “project” may be a better word.

The next few years were filled with all of life’s variety in long term dating: jobs all over the place, lots of moves (including moving in together…then breaking up 2 weeks later and moving out), trips all over the world, firm decisions followed by indecision. And everything else that comes with trying to put a puzzle together.

Then I proposed. As I said before, it surprised even me. I spent the last six years waiting for light to go on. I always thought you would just know when you wanted to be married. I waited around for that light, and would often pose the question to myself .

Inner Me:. “Hey are you ready to get married yet?”
Outer Me: “Hmmmm, no not yet inner you... we still don’t like to do dishes.”

Then, like that, it was on. I don’t know the exact moment, but it was somewhere in Peru. Machu Picchu was something Heidi had always talked about seeing, and there I was staring at the lost city without her. It felt like something was missing and thought to myself “From now on, I don’t want to see these kind of places without Heidi." And that was that. I bought the ring a few days later and had it shipped from New York to Boulder. My sister in Boulder gave it to Shelly, Erik’s wife, and she brought it down to Buenos Aires.

Another quick side note: while sitting at dinner in Peru, I had just told Erik my plan and that I was going to propose. I was worried about all the logistics of getting the ring to Buenos Aires and said something like, “I sure hope it all works out.” Erik looked up from his dinner and replied “Well, you have a 50% chance like everyone else.” I had to inform him I was talking about the ring logistics and not about the actual marriage, and we both had a good laugh.

I popped the question on a bridge in downtown Buenos Aires. It wasn’t a big production. After six years I knew that I could have proposed anywhere and there would be a lot of screaming, and some water works. The only problem was Heidi was shaking the ring box with such excitement that I had to stop her before it went over the railing. It was pretty awesome… and then I tried to put it on... shit. That was the one gamble I took in the element of surprise: I had no idea what ring size she was. It was a ½ size too small and she had to wear it on her pinkie for the rest of the trip. But she rolled with it like she knows how, and now it's on the right finger.

Before I left on this trip I was looking for a few more things I needed to pack for my journey. I came upon a random box in the closet and found the Rockies pin that I gave her six years ago. It brought a smile to my face and my arm started to twitch in pain. Then after we got engaged I asked her if I could fish for another month in Argentina, she replied “I think you have to keep fishing.” And now when I get home I'll have a beautiful, smart, charismatic woman who loves me unconditionally picking me up from the airport. Sorry kid, I got the better deal.

U-Turn

2010-01-22T07:35:00.000-08:00

Today, Erik and I drove to the end of the world. I say that with some seriousness and some sarcasm. In Ushuaia, Argentina which is the southernmost city in the world, everything is “at the end of the world.” We drank at the “Irish bar… at the end of the world.” We read the paper titled “Journal of the end of the world.” The sandwiches we eat are called “The Hamburger… at the end of world,” and every tourist t-shirt shop makes sure to include that ending on every shirt they sell. We have already added it into our standard conversation as well. “Want to grab a beer…at the end of world?” or “I have to hit the head… you know… at the end of the world.” It pretty much enhances everything we say, and as Erik says, it makes us sound “certified.” I’m still not sure what we are certified for, but I go along with it and will add “certified” to my résumé when I get home and start looking for a job.

In reality, arriving at the end of the world was the same feeling you get on New Years Eve when the clock strikes midnight. A lot of hype followed by the feeling “Wait, did I miss it?” It was probably the most overrated part of our trip and we hung out just long enough to snap a few pictures that we can over-glorify when we return as the conquering heroes.

The goal of driving until the road stopped felt self-explanatory. It was like when they asked Sir Edmund Hillary why he wanted to climb Everest: "Because it's there". Seems logical, but I still had a lingering annoyance that bothered me for much of this trip. Essentially it is the “reason we did this” question that we get asked over and over again. Anyone who sees the van always has that same question. It doesn’t matter if it's the guy at a gas station, national park, another tourist or whoever; it’s always the same question:

What made you decide to do this?

For Erik, the answer is easy. You can see him stoke his beard a couple times and ramp up an Obama-esque speech, building momentum as it progresses. “My wife is ready to have kids and I decided that I needed one more adventure before that next stage in my life. I quit my job on my 10 year anniversary and decided to get busy living. So we packed the car and headed south for some fly fishing and adventure.”

When I worked in sales, we would basically call that “The 30 Second Speech.” It is something that makes an impression in 30 seconds and leaves people wanting more. The info he rattles off with kids, early retirement and adventure leads to wide eyes and amazement followed by more questions. Trust me, it is a good sell.

Me? It’s a little bit harder. The person will usually look at me after Erik’s story and ask for my half. “Wow that is amazing. Why did you decide to do this?” I will squirm a little. “Hmmmm, well. Jeeze. How much time do you have to listen to the theories of my psychological makeup complete with Peter Pan Neverland hypothesis and a general restlessness of men under the age of 30?”

Actually that is not what I say. It usually comes out as, “I like fishing and driving” in my Forrest Gump voice. Exciting, I know. The follow-up question for my story usually is, “So Erik, do you know how many kids you are going to have?”

I’m not ashamed that I don't have the explanation for my decision. Honestly, I just don’t know. I think about it all the time, and as you can imagine, 17,000 miles has given me plenty of time to think; why did I decide to take this trip?

The other day I was tying flies in the lodge of a campground when I noticed an old guy watching me. When he saw that I noticed him, he got up and walked over. He was an old Argentinean guy with a voice that sounded like he ate sandpaper for breakfast and washed it down with a pack of Marlboros. He watched closely for a minute, then in deep deep voice he started to speak:

"I know a fisherman, he's son-of-a-bitch. But he does what you do. He makes these bugs. One time he told me that there is a bug. This bug only lives one day. Alive in the morning, dead by dusk. This bug he knows no night. Knows no stars. Knows nothing more than one day. I can not imagine such a life. Can you?"

I looked at him speechless while the hair rose on the back of my neck and chills ran down my spine. No. I can not imagine not knowing.

Now that we are at the end of the world, with many other travelers on their own quest, my response comes easy.

"I wanted to know" and I leave it at that.

That may be the certification I was looking for.

Fool Me Twice

2009-12-07T04:05:00.000-08:00

“Don’t bring anything that you can’t live without.” Those words still haunt me. I must have told Erik that 20 or 30 times when he would ask me, “Are you bringing…." If it was something he was worried about losing, breaking or being stolen, I would always repeat that as a travel mantra. “Don’t bring anything you can’t live without."

Stuff is funny to me. I like to have stuff but am not sure where it falls on the “value” pyramid. I am also really good at making other people question the value of their stuff. For example, my girlfriend Heidi has a white rug in the house that she bought at Pottery Barn. (I accidentally went into Pottery Barn once before realizing where I was and scampered off) Anyway, there have been a few times where I have forgotten the rug is white or that it was expensive. Heidi might come home from work to find me working on my bike on the rug, usually with my shoes on. The conversation will go something like this. “What are you doing?”

I look at her with my “question face.” “What do you mean what am I doing? I am working on my bike. See all the tools… and the bike.”

That is followed with a, “Do you have to do it on the white rug?”

To which I reply, “Well the rug is in the TV room…where the TV is...and I thought I would watch TV while working on my bike.”

I already know where this conversation is going and so does she. She will remind me that the rug was expensive and she had her eye on it for a long time before buying it AND she bought it at Pottery Barn (which like I said, does not carry a lot of weight with me. It just confuses me more. Like why would a store with Barn and Pottery in the name sell expensive rugs? ). This is the point in the conversation where I bust out the “guilty stuff talk.”

Heidi, it’s just a rug. It is just stuff. Why do we have rugs that we can’t walk on? Doesn’t that seem insane or what rich snobby people do? What is the point of having a white rug if you can’t take your bike apart on it?

It’s as easy as that, and works with anything you can imagine. Suddenly the person who worked hard to save up and buy something nice is debating the value of stuff. She will wander away pondering her value pyramid and I will get to continue working on my bike. It’s basically my version of Jedi Mind Tricks.

This trip has brought the value of stuff to a whole new level. Suddenly, I'm faced with the same ponderment (which I don’t think is a word) that I often bestow on Heidi. In Colombia, while eating lunch, the van was broken into. The culprits pretty much cleaned us out of everything that was not bolted down. Every article of clothing I had was gone. All my fishing equipment, gone. My secret stash of money, gone. Cell phone, gone. iPod gone. Erik’s clothes, fishing equipment, guitar and tools were all taken as well.

They broke a window, popped a lock, and cleaned us out in an hour. We were parked in front of a church on a busy street in the middle of the day. I would have to estimate 50 people must have seen this happen in front of them.

When we strolled back to the car a lady was yelling at me in Spanish. She was talking so fast that I had no idea what she was saying and her two little kids were swirling around me like yapping dogs at my feet. I figured we either should not have been parked in front of the church or she wanted me to pay her kids for watching the car. Then she pointed to the broken window and I'm sure I looked like I was going to puke. In those types of situations I would have liked to think I would remain calm but I didn’t. I just kept swearing and asking someone to call the police. Right….the Colombian police are going to help us find our clothes. Not like they have to worry about FARC rebels or anything more important.

After a couple hours it set in that our stuff was gone and not coming back. We set out on the road, neither one of us saying anything but both wondering where to go from there. The thought of putting the car on a boat and flying home crossed my mind many times. It seemed like a valid excuse right? Sometimes you lose.

A day of driving, and not much talking, later Erik broke the silence and said, “It’s just stuff right?”

I nodded but I wanted to tell him that I might have well invented this Jedi Mind Trick and to shut up because I wanted to pout more. But I didn’t. I just said, “Yeah, it is just stuff." It was all my favorite stuff and at that point, the hurt still burned. Actually it froze, because I was now in Quito at 9,000 feet in shorts and a t-shirt. A day before I was set to break out my cold weather gear, it all disappeared.

Over the next few days, going home started to become less of an option until it was just a joke like, “Man when that first happened I just wanted to go home” and we would both laugh. The owner of our hotel in Quito took us shopping and I got laughed at by all the Ecuadorian shop owners when everything I tried on was 4 inches short. I finally found a sweatshirt that fit. Complete with fluorescent pink and blue skulls and turntables. Rad. Welcome back to 1987. Luckily, growing up in rural Colorado prepared me for this fashion style.

Slowly I built back up my collection of the basics. Socks, underwear, shirts, anything I could purchase I made sure was cheap and plain. If it happened again the person stealing my crap would get just that. Crap. I even bought a alpaca sweater complete with alpacas on it. Who in their right mind would steal that?

The next few weeks we traveled through Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia and into Chile. We had hit our stride again and on our last night in Chile we stopped in a ski town up in the Andes. It looked like it could have been a ski town in Colorado complete with expensive stores and Chilean elite. When we came out from dinner the van door was slightly open. We searched through the van and Erik said “one clothes bag is missing” Yep, my new clothes and my llama sweater was the only bag they took. Nothing else. I think my reaction was a different. Less shock, more of a “Really God? What lesson did I not learn the first time?” kind of feel.

That night we drove around looking at all the groups of teenagers that were out and about. Apparently my courage was a little stronger in a ritzy ski town then it was in an industrial town in Columbia. Either way, we didn’t see anything and I went to bed in the same shorts and t-shirt that I was wearing the first time I got robbed. I’m not sure if I should consider it my lucky shirt or my unlucky shirt.

I knew we had to return to town the next day for gas. For the first hour or two before I fell asleep, I envisioned seeing the person who stole my bag wearing my alpaca sweater, and I was willing to fight him for it. I'm not sure which part of that vision is crazier. That anyone would wear a sweater that they just stole or that I would be willing to dance for it.

So today I am without “stuff” again. Heidi will be down in a couple weeks and I am going to try to hold out with a few basics until the resupply team arrives. This should give me plenty of time to ponder my value of stuff. If the first couple of days become a trend I might be willing to back off my Jedi mind tricks when I get home. Stuff has its role just like everything else. The important part is the balance: having stuff that makes life better, but not living a better life through stuff. When I get home I will appreciate stuff a little more. Count on me removing my shoes before taking my bike apart on the white carpet.

Protesting this Blog

2009-11-21T04:57:00.000-08:00

“Just so you know ...Friday will mark 1 month since your last blog post. Just sayin'.”

A friend sent me that email last month. I'm embarrassed I really am. I will try to get back on the wagon and get caught up. As I mentioned before, my travel amigo Erik posts updated pictures and stories a couple times a week here. You can stay updated and also ensure that we have not been captured by guerillas (or gorillas).

There's no excuse for not blogging. I have tried. I started with a blog about my friends Steve-Os bachelor party. Then I thought he got married by the time that it was ready to post and that might be poor form this early on in a marriage. I tried to blog about my first soccer game in person, but soccer sucks. I also tried to blog about how all of my stuff was stolen out of my car in Colombia. But Colombia was so awesome that I didn’t want to have another “I got robbed in Colombia” story without shedding light on how cool 99.9% of the people actually were.

Nothing read well, and I could tell that I was in a rut. But you know what gets you out of blogging slumps? Peruvian professor protests.

Yesterday Erik and I thought we would start early and try to get up near Machu Picchu at by a reasonable hour. We were on the road cruising by 6am and even decided to pick up some random dude who needed a ride to the next town over. Right around 7:30 some people on the side of the road waved us down to let us know that there was a protest of the local professors up ahead. From what I could gather the teachers were upset that their schools in the rural areas were not getting any funding from the Peruvian government. No problem. A picket line and a few chants can’t stop The Man Van. Besides, these are only teachers. It wasn’t like they were Rebels right?

Coming around the corner we noticed some boulders on the road and traffic stopped. Then we looked up on the ridge above and saw a handful of guys pushing boulders off the ledge from several hundred feet above the road. I quickly came to the conclusion that this was a protest of different proportions. People would try to run from one side of the boulder field to the other and the dudes above us would try to crush them.

At this point we only had two options. One, drive back the way we came and take a 20 hour detour. Or two, wait it out with the locals to see what happens. How long can guys really push giant boulders onto the road? Seems like it would get old or you would pull a hamstring or something eventually, right?

About an hour in we decided to mix it up with the locals. I busted out the binoculars which were a big hit. I basically had a line of 4 or 5 guys at all times wanting to use them to check out the ridge. Later we popped the top and gave everyone a complete tour of the van, which went over really well.

About 6 hours in and answering the same questions in Spanish 400 times for 400 different people, a guy came up to the van to give us an update. He said that an hour ago 15 guys who were stuck down on the road polished off a couple bottles of adult beverage and decided to go get the boulder tossers. Naturally this aroused my suspicion and I felt I had to ask as many follow up questions as I could muster in Spanish. After the barrage I found out that they were going up with sticks, machetes and rocks. I knew the answer but had to ask. “Then what?” He looked at me and probably thought, “What the f--- do you think is going to happen gringo?” before settling on showing me a throat slash.

Erik looked at me and said, “Do you think we should move the car further down the road?” My only reply though was, “I got to figure out who has my binoculars.” I don’t condone violence, but as long as I was stuck there I figured I should get the whole cultural experience.

After another hour of watching the ridge with no machete madness I went back to chatting with our van full of new friends.

At 4 o’clock we found out that they would let us pass without rolling rocks down on us. I have never seen people work so fast. Buses full of Peruvians started clearing rocks and the caravan started rolling. Instead of waiting for someone else to do it they had one lane clear in minutes after the protest ended. Great, by dinner time we will be in Cuzco and this will all be a memory.

Actually this was not an isolated incident. That info must have gotten lost in translation because there were boulders around every curve. A new Peruvian guy that we picked up told us it would be like this…..FOR THE NEXT 100 MILES! Nothing we could do other than follow the convoy around the boulders, trees, fires, glass and whatever else they decided to put on the road.

Then right before the next town, traffic stopped. We were in the front section of the convoy and could see a sea of people standing in the street. The leaders of the group were harnessing cans of spray paint and tagging every car and bus that went by with words of protest. I must have looked a little pale because Erik first said, “Remember the paint job you were talking about before we left?” That is when the old dude in the back seat came up. He told me not to say anything, that if they were going to paint the car it was better not to fight it and just let it happen. Otherwise they might drag us out of the car and beat us. I didn’t understand every word but got the general meaning. When it was our turn for the paint job there were teenagers frothing at the mouth to cover our car. Then one of the older professors spoke up and told them “not touch the white guy’s car.” He waved us along and we joined the convoy again as the lone car without new markings.

Things calmed at around 7 and we were cruising, just stopping every now and then to wait for more rocks and crap to be cleared off the road. This is about the time that the backseat passenger decided to test my Spanish skills. He grabbed one of the camp chairs and moved it right in between Erik and I for a more in-depth conversation. Erik had to focus on the road so it was up to me to answer the barrage of questions. They started out harmless like "what do I like to eat" or "where I got the car". Then he went in for the kill:

Do I like Obama? Did I care if he was black?
How much money do Americans have?
How much money do I make?
Am I Catholic? Why not?
Don’t I feel guilty for living with my girlfriend if we are not married?

Not only did I feel like he studied the game plan of the questions my girlfriends parents grill me with regularly, but he also tapped me before every question. I thought that after the 73rd tap he might stop and realize we were in a ongoing conversation and I was paying attention to him. Further, didn’t he pick up that I only know like 200 Spanish words? Is a religion debate really covered in Spanish one?

After 3 hours of driving and arguing over where the Pisco Sour was invented, Peru or Chile (It could have started in Peru but it was just funny to get the old guy worked up saying that I thought the Chileans invented that drink) we arrived at the crossroads for some major roads in Peru. As we rolled into town we noticed it looked like a war zone. Old cars were pulled out in the street. Every side road was blocked up with burning tires or more boulders. The caravan stopped in the middle of town and we waited some more. My new friends / verbal enemy was home so he jumped out and wished us luck. Ah, thanks?

The town was desolate. Apparently these protests had been going on for 8 days and nothing was open. People stared out their windows of their houses at us with a “I hope you survive” vibe that made us feel a little uneasy. It started to get really dark and the chanting up the street increased. The leader of the protest started going to each car telling us to park on either side of the street. He then told us that we had to turn off our lights and were not allowed to make any noise or there would be hell to pay. I would have to say I was a little nervous but Erik might have topped me on the nerves scale. He had to go to the bathroom really bad but didn’t want to get out of the car. He jumped in the back and after some rustling around, I asked what he was doing. “Going to the bathroom.” He replied. “In the CAR!” I shot back. “No in an old water bottle”. We both burst into laughter and I told him that I doubt they would cut his pecker off if he went outside. It took some convincing but he left the sanctuary and saved himself of hours of ridicule from me later.

Another couple hours passed and finally the protesters started their march complete with more paint. I had resigned to the fact that our car was about to be damaged as we watched them shake and paint every bus and truck ahead of us. When they got to us they skipped over us again. 5 minutes later the leader showed up and informed us that we had no involvement in this political situation and that they should leave us alone. All the protesters listened and mostly just gave us the “your white van would look really good with red racing stripes” look.

They marched down the street and then back up to set more fires and continue the protest. This was right around midnight and I had been in an out of sleep for an hour (much to Erik’s amazement) when we heard two loud explosions. People scattered everywhere and we had no idea what was going on. Erik, now comfortable with Peruvian riots after 15 hours said, “Oh look, here come the riot police. Where is the video camera?” We didn’t have any time to film because the convoy started up to get the hell out of town. It was insane. It felt like this scene that I remember from Black Hawk Down where the convoy is rolling out of the city while the rebels try to blow them up. Rocks rained down on the van and we saw the smashed cars of people who tried to escape on a side road. Military ran on all sides of the convoy and we escaped town with minimal damage. Well, except for psychological damage.

We had to drive 3 more hours around piles of everything until we were out of the protest zone. We popped the top at 3 AM and laid down for the night. The last thing I remember before passing out was Erik saying “Probably not going to forget that part of the drive.” Agreed buddy, agreed.

I do have a couple follow up thoughts:

1. These are teachers who wanted more money for their schools. It seems like the rural schools in Peru are getting screwed and need more money for supplies and education. Kind of a good cause to protest I guess.

2. What are the parent/teacher conferences going to be like in a few weeks? “ Hey your son is doing a really good job in school. Oh, and sorry I threw that brick through your window.”

Get Busy Living

2009-09-23T19:18:00.000-07:00

ANDY: Think you'll ever get out of here?

RED: Sure. When I got a long white beard and about three marbles left rolling around upstairs.

ANDY: Tell you where I'd go. Zihuatanejo.

RED: Zihuatanejo?

ANDY: Mexico. Little place right on the Pacific. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific? They say it has no memory. That's where I'd like to finish out my life, Red. A warm place with no memory. Open a little hotel right on the beach. Buy some worthless old boat and fix it up like new. Take my guests out charter fishing.

ANDY: You know, a place like that, I'd need a man who can get things.

RED: Jesus, Andy. I couldn't hack it on the outside. Been in here too long. I'm an institutional man now. Like old Brooks Hatlen was.

ANDY: You underestimate yourself.

RED: Bullshit. In here I'm the guy who can get it for you. Out there, all you need are Yellow Pages. I wouldn't know where to begin. Pacific Ocean? Hell. Like to scare me to death, somethin' that big.

ANDY: Not me. I didn't shoot my wife and I didn't shoot her lover, and whatever mistakes I made I've paid for and then some. That hotel and that boat... I don't think it's too much to want. To look at the stars just after sunset. Touch the sand. Wade in the water. Feel free.

RED: Goddamn it, Andy, stop! Don't do that to yourself! Talking shitty pipedreams! Mexico's down there, and you're in here, and that's the way it is!

ANDY: You're right. It's down there, and I'm in here. I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living or get busy dying.

***

Shawshank Redemption is one of my favorite movies. I own it on VHS and I still don’t have the heart to get rid of it even though I don’t actually own a VHS player. I have seen it a thousand times but still leave it on when I come across it on TV.

Ironically it is one of Erik’s favorite movies as well. On top of saying, “This doesn’t suck” when we are enjoying some facet of our day, he also breaks out the “Get busy living” quote to signify our adventure. It was then only appropriate that while cruising down the Mexican highway we had to stop in Zihuatanejo.

Although I wasn't incarcerated and did't have to deal with the sisters to earn Zihuatanejo; I did earn it.

The Mexican adventure came at us fast and furious the first few days.

The first night we encountered a rattle snake while camping out in the Mexican desert. Not significant to some, but snakes are one of the things I am terrified of and it was an eerie welcoming to the trip.

There was no coffee required the following morning when a Mexican military helicopter thought we looked suspicious and decided to hover over us for a little bit then tail us down the highway. At one point I looked over and could see a bunch of guys with automatic weapons looking at me. My thinking was at any moment we would have the ground patrol join the air patrol and start questioning us on what we were doing in the desert.

That event was followed by a blown tire at 65 mph in an 8,000 lb vehicle. As I was passing a car the van started to shake and the right rear tire blew out. The back end swung around like I hit a patch of ice and I thought that we were about to take a premature exit into the median. You know in the movies when something dramatic is happening and all you can hear is wind? It was exactly like that in slow motion. I have no idea how it happened (because my eyes were closed) but I managed to hold on and ride it out to the shoulder. When the van came to a stop I looked over at Erik and said, “That was intense.” To which he replied, “I’m buying you a margarita tonight.”

After surviving the tire I assumed my heart rate couldn’t get any higher. I was wrong. A couple nights later we were camped out on the side of a field when a spotlight with flashing blue and red lights woke me up. The first thing out of my mouth in English was, “OH F---“, followed by the sound of a couple AK-47s cocking. The first words out of my mouth in Spanish were, “No tengo nada!” or “I don’t have anything.” No idea why I said that, but I figured they wouldn’t mow me down and leave me in the sugar cane field without anything in my hand.

Now I find myself in Zihuatanejo, drinking beer and blogging in a cabana on the beach. Andy Dufresne was right. Zihuatanejo is a warm place on the Pacific. But that is where I veer. For me, it does have a memory. I remember all the events that got me here. Each one of them was significant enough to turn the car around and say this is too much; I want to go home. That feeling is only there for a couple minutes before something else kicks in. The living

Missing The US of A

2009-09-04T11:21:00.000-07:00

The trip has been delayed by a few days because the mechanic said, “You are driving what? How far?” followed by, “I am going to need another day with it.” Typical mechanic. The delay has given me some time to blog. I started writing a couple last week and they sucked, so I didn’t post them. Obviously not sitting at a desk 8 hours a day has killed some of my creativity. Combine that with preparing for my trip and you get a blog gap. I’m overdue. I saw the notes, got the emails, and even had 4 phone calls from my mom asking “where’s the blog”. So here we go…

Mentally I have been in adjustment mode. I am about to go from a nice little apartment with a hot lady friend and great food to living in a van with another dude. 1,000 sf to 25 sq ft. It’s been a couple years since I have lived with another guy and six years since I shared bunk beds. There will definitely be some ups and downs. On the ups, it is not longer a given that the bad smell came from me. On the downs, it is no longer a given that the bad smell came from me.

Although I am excited for the journey I am definitely going to miss the sports. Soccer just doesn’t get my heart rate going. Well, unless we are entangled in one of the famous Latin American riots that often commence at the end of soccer games. That or just calling the sport soccer to get everyone south of the border fired up. “Football? Oh you mean soccer”

I don’t want to jinx anything so I will try to be discrete as possible. How come every time I leave the country a team who I will not name is in the MLB playoff hunt? Are you kidding me? There is only one explanation for this. I am being cursed by the baseball Gods for making fun of Cubs fans. This is the Gods sick way of saying, “your team will make the World Series but you will never be around for the game. And as a second offense you will have to watch them in Spanish so you only can understand ½ of what is going on”. Unbelievable. I feel sad even typing that. I also feel like sad that I just jinxed my team.

I’m also going to miss football season, although, not as much. Usually I love football season but the Broncos will be lucky to win 5 games this year. Seriously. The Vegas over/under is 7. If you feel ballsy and want to double the money in your bank account bet the under. In fact, I should do this. Be right back…

Fantasy football won’t be the same either. Trash talking about a fake team with other dorks does not have the same effect when I am writing it from the beach.

I’m not going to lie, it’s going to be hard to repeat as league champion.

Here is one of my starting running backs focusing on the upcoming season….uh-oh

Starting Wide Receivers… I don’t know what to say.

As a lifelong Broncos fan I am both embarrassed and ashamed of my Marshall pick.

The lone bright spot is my tight end.

Chris Cooley has now become my favorite non-Bronco. Check out his blog. This dude is awesome, well minus the fact that he accidental posted a picture of his man region online.

It is going to be an adjustment. The sites, the smells and the lack of sports. It will be worth it, as long as I keep Myhre away from the chorizo.

M.I.A.

2009-08-12T20:43:00.000-07:00

It seems counter intuitive that being unemployed would actually mean less “free” time. But with two separate trips to California in the last 3 weeks, marathon in SF and bachelor party in SD (more to come on this), I feel like I can’t get caught up.

In between the California love I have been nesting, as pregnant women call it. I am fixing up the place where I be for the next four months.

Erik decided that it was important to have things like a transmission and brakes. I wasn’t as worried about that as I was about the bamboo floors and getting the fridge to work so we can keep the beer cold.

I thought I would share a couple of pictures until the formal update.

You know that redneck joke that goes, "What are the last words of a redneck?... Hold my beer and watch this" I thought that many times as you can see by this picture. I never felt 100% safe under the car...that is why Erik is under there. Well that, and he actually knew where the transmission we were taking out was located.

This may be my greatest contribution yet. Bamboo floors. Check out the video of us installing them.

.The latest addition was a world map decoupaged to the roof of the van. It should help anytime we are lost.

Skinnier, Slightly Faster, Unsatisfied

2009-08-03T12:09:00.000-07:00

Last week I ran the San Francisco Marathon. My hope was that running it would exorcise some demons of Marathon Past. It’s sort of like finding a new hot girlfriend that helps you forget an old girlfriend; one that has been on your mind for years that you just can’t shake. For me, that old flame was the Honolulu Marathon. I trained my ass off for that run. In relationship terms, it was the equivalent of paying for dinners, bringing flowers, opening doors and even going into the women's section of the supermarket to pick up tampons. I was dedicated. I felt like

this could be my soul mate. A good run in Hawaii and I would never have to run again…ever.

But Hawaii didn’t go well. I finished, but never felt good about it. And for the last couple of years I couldn’t get it off my mind. I wanted the closure of a clean break-up; the feeling that you can move on. Or at least, that's what I thought I wanted.

A strange thing happened in San Francisco though. As my legs cramped and my body tired my mindset changed. I went from feeling sorry for myself to a sick enjoyment. I knew the secret:

It's supposed to feel like this.

Right before a 17 mile training run, Heidi stepped in front of me while I was tying my shoes, “Before you walk out that door I want to read you something”. It was 85 degrees. I was just about to go on a 3 hour run that I didn’t want to do. Right now normal people are drinking beer by the pool or mowing their lawn. I was looking for any excuse not to go. Not to mention, I despise motivational quotes. Then she delivered:

“IF YOU RAN WITHOUT SACRIFICE, CONGRATULATIONS. YOU JUST JOGGED. Running hurts. It always has. Woolly mammoths didn’t just roll over onto a plate and serve themselves up to prehistoric man with fries and a shake. They had to be caught – and running down woolly mammoths was a bitch. Guess what? Running is still a bitch. But one with a purpose. It teaches us that good things do not come easy. It teaches us that hard work will be rewarded and laziness will be punished. Don’t expect to learn those life lessons from running’s shiftless stepchild; jogging. Next time you suffer on the roads or trails, suffer proudly. It means you run like an animal.”

Marathons hurt. 26.2 miles is a long F&%^$ way loaded with hurt. In fact, the marathon commemorates the run of the soldier Pheidippides from a battlefield at the site of the town of Marathon, Greece, to Athens in 490 B.C. Legend has it that Pheidippides delivered the momentous message "Niki!" ("victory"), then collapsed and died. The dude freakin died. It is supposed to hurt.

The last week has given me some time to reflect back on the run. I met the main goals that I had for myself, but I still feel unsatisfied. San Francisco was supposed to be my moving on point. The new beginning, the closure to the past. But the realization I'm coming to is that I may not be a one marathon man. I may be a running polygamist. It's possible that I've been living in denial, but the signs are all around me. What I eat, what I read, where I live. (For gods sakes, look at my shoe rack by the front door!) It has also sparked competition with myself that I have never really had in a sport. Most of the time my focus has been spent on beating someone else. Now I am analyzing how to beat myself.

Funny what a relationship will teach you.

Missing: Man Badge

2009-07-20T18:53:00.000-07:00

This past weekend I spent a few hours working on the car that I hope takes me on a 25,000 mile road trip. At one point during the grease filled afternoon, I heard a little voice in my head as I stared down at the engine: “You have no idea what you're doing.” The voice was right. It's been a dirty secret that I've managed to sweep under the rug for far too long: I know nothing about cars.I feel like I've done a pretty good job fulfilling certain other expectations that society has on men. So I pulled my Man Scout Vest out of the closest and did a quick inventory of my badges:

Drink Beer Badge: Check
Woo Women Badge: Check
Start Fire Badge: Check
Take and Give Punch Badge: Check
Fix Random Things Badge: Check
Grow Mustache Badge: Check
Clog and then Unclog Toilet Badge: Check
Fire Gun Badge: Check
Work on Cars Badge: Sh!t

It's hard to truly feel like a Man Scout when “horsepower” and “hemi” mean nothing to me. I don’t know how this happened. There has been ample opportunity for me to learn something about cars. When I was in high school the "check engine" light came on my Toyota Camry. I ended up jumping off the train tracks at 75mph the next day, and the check engine light magically went off. Problem solved.

I didn’t have a car in college, and then by the time I did get one, I suddenly had money. No need to learn something when you have the money to pay other people to do it, right?

Now at 27, I'm sad that the thought of having black fingernails was one of the main deterrents to learning about cars. Part of this is because I will be driving to the Southern Hemisphere in a car that is only 2 years younger than me, and the other part is that there will always be value in knowing how an engine works. Admitting your fault is the first step, or at least that is what I am hoping.

Mini-Retirement Version 2.0

2009-07-13T20:23:00.000-07:00

Mini-Retirement Version 2.0 has once again reminded me why every now-and-then I like to take a swim in the "funemployment" pool. The first week was hectic moving, traveling and tying up various other loose ends. But the last few days feel like I have found the slow-mo button. While people are rushing off to work, I'm deciding which cereal and fruit to mix in the morning. I could explain my entire morning routine in glorious detail, but I think the best example of how life slows down comes from my girlfriend. Last winter she went a few months without a job. When some friends asked her what she did with her time every day, she started her story with, “Well I get up…” They started laughing as if she was joking. The irony is that in the daily grind you forget that every day you do get up… and then your day starts from there.

The slow-mo button has also made me more observant. I guess you can say I stopped to smell the roses here and there. Our world is an interesting place and the more you're out and about, the more you get to see of it. Here are some Funemployment Week 1 Observations:

Taco Bell: The minds at Taco Bell have added bacon to items on their menu. I figure one of two things will happen here:

(1) Taco Bell will out gross Wal-Mart in 2010 based on America's love of Bacon AND Tacos. Taco Bell will then trade Canada for Mexico (we own Canada right?) and create a super country. With sour cream on the side.

(2) The bacon craze will be too much for Taco Bell to handle and our planet will be sucked into a black hole all because Taco Bell threw off the chi of the fast food universe.

Ok, I should probably explain #2 a little further. For as long as I can remember, Taco Bell has built an empire on something like 9 ingredients. Meat, Cheese, Lettuce, Tomato, Beans, Rice, Sour Cream, Salsa and some sort or flour/corn container (Meat? Come on do you want me to guess that's beef?). The marketing genius behind Taco Bell is they can take these 9 ingredients and produce 300 menu items. Maybe it is not 300, but check out the taco menu:

Crunchy Taco, Taco Supreme, Soft Taco, Soft Taco Supreme, Grilled Soft Taco, Double Decker Taco, Big Taste Taco.

That is just f-ing tacos. We haven’t even gotten into the stuff they make up out of nowhere like “cruchwrap” and “meximelt” (which is what I am going to name my strip club in Latin America). For years this has been working and life has been good. But now they've added bacon. They've gotten greedy, and I feel like God is about to punish us for it.

Jesus Version 2.0: Speaking of God, I came across an interesting man the other day. On my way back to Steamboat I saw a man dragging a GIANT cross up Rabbit Ears Pass (Elevation 9400 ft). Of course I had to slow down to check this dude out. Sure enough, GIANT wooden cross… with wheels at the bottom. Hmmm. I wanted to pull out my What Would Jesus Do (WWJD) bracelet and consult it for advice, but I must have packed it in another bag. Here's what I imagine Jesus would have done though: Pulled the car over walked up and said, “I died for your sins and the best way you can show you love me is to put wheels on this GIANT cross? Are you kidding me?” Then Jesus would have kicked the wheels off and made him start over at the bottom of the hill, this time dragging it like a real Christian.

Jesus’ love may have no boundaries, but when guys in His posse make Him look like a wuss by adding wheels to their paraphernalia, I bet He makes an exception. (I feel a little embarrassed, not only that I just thought up that whole crazy scenario based off of a 30 second drive by, but also that I typed it out. I might be going to hell.)

Old People: Which reminds me that getting old will be very, very strange. Normally I don’t hang out with too many older people, but now that I am out and about during the day, I tend to have a lot more interaction with them. Some are great and I like to help them with random tasks like opening the door or getting something off the top shelf. I feel like a hero and they don’t break any hips. It’s win-win. There is, however, another kind of old person. The irritated ones. It seems like everything you do could set off a cane or walker attack at any moment. I just figure that these are the people who spent 55 years working for The Man, and they're still bitter. They're the ones that count my items to make sure I have 15 or less. They also have no problems picking their nose in public. For some reason they're always in a rush. I feel like saying, “Excuse me, I noticed you are also wearing your pajamas a 3 in the afternoon. Well I guess nobody told you, but part of being retired and wearing your pajamas this late is the rule that you don’t count other people groceries or give the sour old person look. You’re retired remember? Enjoy it.”

Entourage: Unfortunately my retirement does not come with an Entourage. It’s just pretty much me flying solo most days. On the no-unemployed-friends upside though, Entourage Season 5 was released on Netflix. Sadly, it coincides with the day I just read this, but such is life.

An additional season of Ari Gold quotes like awaits. But let's revisit some of my favorites,

Ari Gold: That was a good speech, Lloyd. If I was 25 and liked cock, we could be something

Ari Gold: You fire a guy, you create a rival. You fire a woman, you create a housewife.

Ari Gold: You will come back stronger than ever. Like Lance Armstrong. But with two balls.

Ari Gold: Call me Helen Keller because I’m a fucking miracle worker!

Ari Gold: I’m ready to go here, all right? It’s like R. Kelly at recess. Honey, honey, what are you doing? Are you kidding me? Baby!

Version 2.0 is well under way. Every package release has its ups and down early on, but it looks like smooth sailing from here on out.

Welcome BACK to the good life.

Cyber Therapy

2009-07-06T21:32:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I wrote down a few of the reasons that I felt fortunate to be part of Generation-Y. I covered the basics including cell phones, computers and Google. It was like my own little Thanksgiving prayer, in July, in blog form.

Well I found another reason to be thankful to be a part of Generation-Y. Cyber Therapy. (I thought I just made this up but after a quick search there are a bunch of cyber therapy sites. Who knew?) I think my definition is a little different. Everyone, even The Schum Bag, has days where you get a random stomach punch from life. Another option to pouting in the bathtub listening Daniel Powters Bad Day over and over while you stuff your face with Oreo’s is Cyber Therapy.

The Schum Bag Cyber Therapy:
No matter how bleak things look; you can always go on the internet and find something to cheer you up.

Let me get you started with a couple of my favorite sites.

Texts From Last Night:
(843): the red head has a bf(1-843): just because there's a goalie doesn't mean u can't score
(410): so the guy behind me in court for my DUI hearing got a DUI on a lawnmower at 1AM...he is my new hero

(971): I have two black x marks on my hands.
(503): Yep you got cut off last night after a stripper bent over in front of you and you screamed very loudly 'I can see your soul from here'
(971): damnit I wish I could remember that.

(347): I knew you were gonna be a good wingman when the words "dibs on the chunky one" came out of your mouth.

The Chive: Picture Blog

This could be you

Or this could be the caption on your family portrait.

FMLife.com:

Today, my boyfriend brought me breakfast in bed, told me all the things he loved about me, got down on one knee and pulled out the little blue box I had been hoping for, for so long. He opened the box and there was a note inside that said, "April Fools!" FML

Today, I heard my sister masturbating in her room. I took the dog around the block to get out of the house, and I came back to see her leaving her room... my electric toothbrush in her hand. FML

And if all else fails to cheer you up. You could always Google pictures of your new quarterback.

Diversifying Your Career

2009-06-29T14:16:00.000-07:00

This is the last week of employment at my second “grown-up” job. Naturally, I've been putting a lot of thought into the “what’s next” phase of my career. For the first time since I decided to leave my job, I browsed a few job postings, mostly just to torture myself thinking about the interview process. Fortunately, I will be in mini-retirement for the next 6 months with plenty of time to ponder my next venture.

[Side Note: My buddy Porno Steve has always compared my mini-retirements to Michael Jordan which I thought was pretty sweet. Today however, I got a note from my other friend (Oakley) Steve that mentioned my mini-retirements might be turning more Brett Favre-like. Uh-oh.]

I’m pretty sure that I will never have one job for the rest of my life (I've already had at least 2). When I resigned my current position, the president of the company said, “I was hoping you would be here for 20 years.” I'm sure I looked terrified and gave her the “I just ate a lemon” face. The burn-out potential of one job is just too great. The theory goes that the longer you are in a job the better you will get at it. I see that argument, but feel that there is a saturation point of a job. While it certainly takes time to build proficiency in a given area, it's possible that in fact you could be too good at your job. Think about a person who does the same job the same way every day. Don't you think they max out their will and efficiency to do that job well? Much like 90lb college freshmen, I can reach my saturation point pretty quickly.

My last two jobs can be broken down into a formula.

Job = Money

I know, the Nobel Prize for mathematics and literature is right around the corner. But for me, it really is that simple. I need money for things and a job provides me money. But a funny thing happened last week. A friend, who I met during a trade show, sent me an email asking if I would blog for her company. In addition they need some podcasts and youtube videos created. Here is the ironic part. They will pay me for it. I have also been working with another company that has been paying me for my ideas. Good God what is the world coming to. You know why I like these jobs? They are new and exciting. Every project gives you the new feel. The same feeling you get when you get a new car or go on a first date. I am engaged in the situation.

Two jobs ago my boss described me as a ”jack of all trades, master of none.” It was a compliment, even if it was a backhanded one. The thing is, I think being a "Jack of All…" is my strong point. There are a million ways to make money; why do I have to choose one? When investors talk about growing your personal wealth they always tell you to diversify your portfolio. Why not diversify your career? I can market, pitch business ideas, launch small companies, wait tables and walk dogs. The idea is that you can get paid to do everything. So why settle on one thing?

I took a look back at my equation: Job = Money. The "money" has been bothering me lately for obvious reasons. (Like the fear of not having it) But many lessons say that Money ≠ Happiness. Since "Job" and "Money" are equal you could conclude Job ≠ Happiness...

...but maybe "Jobs" is.

Generation Why?

2009-06-22T15:03:00.000-07:00

Today I spent the first couple hours of work watching steaming video of the US Open. That statement in itself doesn’t carry much weight, besides the fact that I was watching TV at work. But the more I thought about it, the more I kept doing the “this is awesome” head-nod at my desk.

My freshman year of high school I took a tech class to teach me about “The Internet”. I didn’t care, I was actually in there because the teacher didn’t take attendance and I heard that we could play computer games all hour. I remember our first task was to sign up for an email account and send a classmate an e-mail. I watched the teacher go through the steps where each page load actually did need an hourglass to display. I took a couple notes an figured it would be easy enough to manage… then I got to the computer.

Instead of grasping the concept that each website had a unique address and that I only had to type in http://www.hotmail.com/ I hand-wrote the entire URL to the homepage which looked something like this:

http://mail.live.com/default.aspx=wsignin1.0 /2009/06/23/world/east/23iran.htmlr

=1&hp /445868//overview/default.aspx?wa=wsignin1.0ajkad8a65a5a873%^^&%.com

It only took me about 19 minutes to type it in the address bar; then of course, it didn’t work. All I could think was, “This internet thing is sh!t. Time for some number-munchers."

What changed? I think it was the first time one of my buddies told me to come look at his computer screen to check out a dirty picture. I thought, “Wait this internet thing can make dirty pictures appear? I better figure this out.” It was pretty much like growing up in the Wild West of Techville. Not a lot of rules, just endless potential.

Same goes for cell phones. I didn’t get my first one until 2002. Now I feel anxious if I don’t have it in my pocket at all times. There have been nights when I go to bed knowing I left it downstairs. I try to tell myself it's ok not to have it for a night, trying to reassure myself. It never works. I need the fix.

The crazy part is knowing that I was right on the border of the technology influx. Born a generation or two earlier, and I would be telling stories about working in the B.C. era (Before Computers). In fact, some of my coworkers tell me stories about back in B.V. times (Before Voicemail). Watching them function with basic computer tasks would almost be entertaining if it wasn’t so painful. I start making monkey sounds in my head and have to concentrate to make sure none of them leak out. It’s harder then you think.

A person who may or may not be my boss has a “challenging” time with Google. He asks me for some general information over email. It usually goes like this, “Can you find 'xyz?' Thanks, Your Bo….errr…person in your office."

I Google it and have the answer ready for him in about 30 seconds. However, the key here is the delay. I typically sit on this info for a good 15-20 minutes and make him wait. Almost like building up to the climax in a movie. Just when I think he is getting restless and might send me another email to see where we stand I send him over the info.

He usually replies, “Thanks, I couldn’t find that anywhere. Where did you get it?”

I reply, “I really had to dig. By the way, do you have any beer in your fridge? It looks like the game is going to drag through lunch.”

Why Is It Cold in Here?

2009-06-15T14:10:00.000-07:00

It had been over 7 years since I watched a hockey game from start to finish. But on Friday night that's exactly what I did. 3 periods… in a row. (It has always mystified me why hockey has 3 periods) [Editor's Note: Because 2 periods wouldn't be enough.] See, in college, I tried to get into hockey because most of my roommates liked it. I figured it would give us something else in common that we all enjoyed, like orange juice, and grinding on girls at The Foundry. But soon after I started to appreciate hockey, the NHL went into the lockout. When it returned I decided that there could only be so many sports I could follow; Most Extreme Challenge (MXC) knocked hockey off the list.

Over the past couple of years I've had a few buddies who've been urging me to give it another chance. So I figured why not Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals? What do you know? Oddly enough, I kind of enjoyed it.

Some general observations, suggestions and thoughts to reflect back on my reacquaintance with the NHL.

Game Speed: You know that one friend who might be European, or maybe their parents just didn’t love them enough, so they were drawn to the more atypical sports like soccer and hockey? And you know how they're always trying to tell you how slow baseball, basketball and football are, and all you can do is stare at them wondering why you're friends? Well, they may have found a glitch in the Matrix.

I won't throw any of the Big 3 under the bus, because I understand the strategy that “slows” the game down i.e. pitching changes, running the ball, or fouling to the stop the clock. But, where the other sports slow down for strategical reasons, hockey gets all coked out. How cool is it when the team that's down pulls the goalie to put an extra skater on the offensive? The Red Wings did this at that end of the game. I love the “pull the goalie” move, well unless your girlfriend does it to try to lock you into a long term relationship. Not quite as entertaining.

Max Talbot: I'd never heard of the guy before he scored the two goals for the Penguins to win Game 7. In fact, I started thinking about it and I can probably name more NASCAR drivers and more PGA golfers than I can NHL players. [Editor's Note: Try it, I dare you.] I’m not proud, I’m just saying. Anyway, I wanted to Google this Maxime Talbot to see what I could dig up on this bearded hero. (Ahhhh… Jackpot… I love Google). Based on the picture to the right, it looks like when Talbot scores he always scores in twos! Thank you thank you, I’m here every Tuesday.

Playoff Beards: One of the best traditions in sports. Anything that involves mustaches is cool enough, but when you get 20 guys to buy into not shaving for a few weeks, I'm a fan. I think the playoff beard should be extended to other parts of life. 4th quarter of a sales cycle, Thanksgiving to Christmas or the third trimester.

Penalty Box Attendant: I've noticed it before, but there is always a guy in a suit in the penalty box. What the hell does this guy do in there? And why would you want his job?

“Ok Frank, we're going to send in 220lb men with razors on their feet and sticks in their hands. It is most likely that they are going into this box because they were fighting, slashing, or tripping. They will probably be in a bad mood. Your job is to sit in the box with them.”

[Editor's Note: The great thing is, the main job for these guys is to open and close the penalty box door. That's really about it. certainly these guys get paid something for their trouble. Plus, they get front row seats to every home game. How sweet is that? Sign me up.]

They always look like the person on the bus who is crammed up against the wall and never wants to make eye contact with anyone.

“In the Glass”: Speaking of weird boxes, what's this "In the Glass” montage?

If you haven't seen hockey in a while, like me, they now have a little box in between benches where they have a “sideline reporter.” There are two problems with this:

(1) The dude is in a little box, how much more insight is he going to give the viewers.

And

(2) It is a dude. Come on NHL, you should have picked this up earlier. Sideline reporters always need to be hot women (See Andrews, Erin). Why do you think the airlines have gone into Chapter 11? I blame male flight attendants. Take notes.

Stanley Cup: The last thing that I appreciate about the NHL is the Stanley Cup. If you win it, not only will your name be forever engraved, but you also get to spend one day with it doing whatever you want. I remember an old commercial a few years back where it showed one of the players bathing his baby in it. It got me to thinking what would I do with the cup if I had it for just one day? I would like to think I would do something creative but let’s be honest I would probably be like every other hockey player and my night would end up like this...

What a game. Too bad the season is over.

The Mixed Bag: June

2009-06-08T13:55:00.000-07:00

This is everything that is blog-worthy, but either not by it's own merits alone, or I'm just not creative enough to stretch it into its own blog. This edition will cover topics including the SATs, TV desensitizing humanity, and my blog.

SATs:
There is a recent sports story regarding Derrick Rose, now a professional NBA player, who didn’t take his own SATs to get into college. I only have one word for this: Genius. Why didn’t I think of that? In fact, why doesn’t this happen more often? Isn’t this what we teach our athletes anyway? Teamwork. Clearing obstacles. Hiding your weaknesses.

The comical part of this story is the fact that universities make athletes take the test in the first place. We all know they aren’t doing their homework once they get there. We should just call a spade a spade and call college athletes what they really are: inhibitors of the Millionaire-Waiting-Room that college sports have become.

The Voodoo Blog:
Speaking of Basketball I received this email from my buddy last week:

Dear Noah...
... Thanks for jinxing us by blogging about how you're not gona jinx us by blogging about us. Sincerely,The 2009 Denver Nuggets

I'm sorry I couldn't help it. I take sole responsibility and know it had nothing to do with poor shot selection, lazy defense and shady refereeing.

Plane Crash:
Although the Air France plane crash off the coast of Brazil was a very real, tragic event, LOST has definitely tainted my view on plane crashes in general. One, for the pure fact that I believe people can survive plane crashes into the ocean. And two, when the report came that the plane was “missing,” I had skepticism that it was “actually” missing and that it didn’t just end up on a magical island with a cast of characters with their own checkered pasts. This is why I should only be allowed to watch sports. This is also the distant cousin of "why American should not be allowed to watch FOX News."

Stocks:
When I rolled my 401K over into an account that I could manage myself a year and half ago, I thought, “I should do a stock picking section on my blog.” The plan was for me to show you how easy it was to pick a few stocks here and there and become independently wealthy and arrogant. [Editor's Note: as opposed to collectively arrogant?] Well that backfired, and my future retirement may have a stronger need for a sugar momma.

But last week everything turned around! Well, not really, but I did pick my first “winner” and came out on top. It's tempting to cash out and put it all on red.

Blog Comments:
I have come to realize that one of my faults in blogging is not responding to the readers who post in my comment section. The main reason I don’t do this is that, as I have mentioned before, my blog is blocked at work. I’m positive that any contract that I sign in the future will have The Schum Bag Clause built in. As ridiculous as this is, l have to admit that being “blocked for pornography” is kind of a medal of honor though. Either way, I will try harder to continue the discussions in the comments section.

Quick Hits:
*I hate the new Kobe Bryant face. Can you win intensely without looking like a Liger?

* I need some new songs for my iPod

* What happened to all the promising young pitching of the Rockies?

* I never knew who you were, Spencer of The Hills. But after 2 minutes of I Am A Celebrity Get me Out of Here, I know why so many people hate you.

* RIP: American car manufactures. Maybe if you didn’t suck, I would have purchased one.

* 19 days of actual employment left

Go South, Young Man

2009-06-01T12:29:00.000-07:00

Although the title of this blog sounds like it was taken from a scene of a dirty movie, it’s actually just a modified version of the famous "Go West..." quote from John Soule to recognize the plans for my next adventure. (Side Note: I broke out the thesaurus to see if I could find a cooler word then “adventure” since it sounds so cliché. But upon reading the definition, “An exciting, often hazardous undertaking”, adventure will do.)

The details and introductions as well as my first Schum Bag Voting Poll.

The Date:
The departure date has tentatively been set for September 1st, the Year of Our Lord 2009.

The Posse:
This is also a good opportunity to introduce the co-conspirator to the trip. You may know him through my blogs as "the guy who invited me to man night" as well as "the guy who uses me as a deer/elk decoy during hunting season" and the same guy who photographed the Elk vs. Schum Bag throw down: Mr. Myhre.

Wait, you ask, isn’t he married with adult responsibility? Yes, but he has a supportive wife. How supportive? When I was discussing the trip with the Missus, she had a couple comments that represented her stance. The first was, “I can’t believe my husband is leaving me for another man.” And the second was, “This whole trip sounds a little too Brokeback for me.” All I can say is that I get the top… bunk.

The Means of Transportation:
Now it's time to meet the third member of our team: the 1983 Volkswagen Westphalia. This display of fine German engineering will take us approximately 25,000 miles round trip. Or at least that's the idea (hope). I've had a couple experiences with VW vans. My mom had an older VW when I was in high school, which I tried not to be seen in. She sold it a few years later and bought the current version (keep in mind that “current” is a relative statement). This baby's a little different though. 2 beds, a fridge, and a stove complete this moving Man Cave.

Because cars built 26 years ago are volatile and moody, I decided to purchase the van in case something happened. Luckily, I got a mommas boy discount, which was predicated on two conditions. The first is that I have to give the peace sign every time I pass another VW van (Note the “will work for peace” bumper sticker in the pictures). The second is that I have to “build a relationship” with the van before I go. This is to start working on van Karma or something that I missed while avoiding hippie vans in previous experiences. Both of those seem easy enough, although, we did get off on the wrong foot when the van overheated on Eisenhower Pass. Must be that I'm lacking hippie Karma... or coolant.

Now comes the exciting part. What to name the four wheeled wonder? I have a poll to the left with names that I came up with but I am open to all options.

The General
El Iglu
Da Vo
The Millennium Falcon
El Pescador
The Man Van

The Route:
South, then north. 12+ Countries. 25,000 miles.

The Bandwagon

2009-05-25T15:18:00.000-07:00

I was born in Colorado and have yet to live outside the Centennial State for more than a couple months. You know what's the best part about being a sports fan and only living in one state your entire life? You never have to get on the bandwagon when it’s too late, and you never have to worry about getting hurt jumping off. For me, Colorado sports teams are like marriage. For better or for worse. Yet some people get all Mormon, moving around, picking and choosing sports teams as they go. “Well, I lived in Boston for a while so I like the Red Sox, but then I lived in LA so I'm really a Lakers fan. And I know someone who had a cousin in Dallas, so I love the Cowboys.” Your sports viewing card should be revoked.
When I was 18, I had a summer internship in Boston. I was subject to influences and situations I had never experienced before, like bars, cable TV, and a winning baseball team. The first Red Sox game that I went to I caught a foul ball… Well, actually, I stole the foul ball out of a little girls hands who couldn’t hold onto it with her weak little arms. Her mom then proceeded to heckle me calling me names like “chicken legs.” Nothing like someone’s mom talking trash to you over a foul ball. Anyway, becoming a Sox fan was never an option. I knew it was a summer fling and my return trip to my inept Rockies was booked. I left “Red Sox Nation” without purchasing a piece of Sox memorabilia or cheering for Nomaaaa... I even eventually gave the ball to the little girl, but that was mostly to get her mom off my back.

It was tough, leaving a smoking hot fling for the ol’ reliable Rockies. But it was the right decision. There's something about sports-fan-frontrunners that feels artificial. It’s like choosing never to suffer through a tough loss. Or taking that same loss out on your family or girlfriend. Never yelling at your TV. Or never wanting to throw up after a game winner, walk off, hail marry that sends your team to the losers locker room.

That's why this week with the Nuggets has been so rewarding. It reminds me of “Rocktober” and “This one’s for John.” A city celebrating a team I can’t stop watching, in a state that I love. I know we haven’t won anything yet, but the potential is there. Tonight I'm going to Game 4, which is a make or break game for the Nuggets. But win or lose, I’m on the wagon.

The Rich Creamy Nuggets

2009-05-18T13:39:00.000-07:00

The other day a friend asked why I hadn't written about the Denver Nuggets playoff run. I think part of the reason is that Colorado sports are some much a part of my DNA that I just assume everyone else is watching. But also, to be honest, this playoff run took me by surprise. For the last 6 years I've been watching the wheels fall off of, as Charles Barkley called them, “a bunch of knuckle heads.”

(As a side note, Charles Barkley recently said that the only thing a woman could beat him at was cooking and cleaning; and he also was arrested for running a stop sign while intoxicated. The reason? He had to hurry and get to a woman who gave the best BJs)

Another reason I haven't written about it is that I believe in the power of cursing your own team. It is kind of like saying, “I've never…,” only to have that random incident occur just days later. This happened with my first speeding ticket: Two days after I admitted to some friends that I had never had a speeding ticket, I get one for going 23 mph over the speed limit. Ouch. I don’t want to jinx my Nuggets by acting all excited. (Sorry Rockies, in your case, I just couldn't help myself.)

The last reason is that when you get down to 4 teams in any sport, you've already heard their stories 1,000 times. Wait, you mean Chauncy Billups grew up in Denver? Hold on, Chris Anderson is a fan favorite in Denver because of his energy? Melo has come out of Lebron and D-Wades shadow? It would be too easy to write about this stuff.

However, there is one vital Nuggets topic that I would like to address: Tattoos. This might be the most tatted team in the league. My favorite sports writer always talks about how there should be a coffee table book of NBA tattoos. I agree, but a website would be more relevant, since you could keep up with it on a day-to-day basis. I'm sure you could create an NBA Fantasy Tattoo League where you keep track of percentage of body tattooed, colors, inspirational quotes etc. The Nugs would definitely have an All-Star Team. In fact, I"m pretty sure this exchange comes up in their locker room all the time.

K-Mart: Kleiza, get over here you mutha f*&%$.

Kleiza: Yes Mr. Martin?

K-Mart: You know why you're not hitting no f*^% shots this year? Because you don’t got no ink.

Kleiza: What do you mean?

K-Mart: Well look at Melo, he’s got ink. Look at JR…dude is inked up. Chauncy, got some ink. And then look at me. I got a pair of lips on my f*^% neck! You know what I’m sayin’?

Kleiza: What about Nene? He doesn’t have any tattoos.

K-Mart: Dude's Brazilian, they don’t believe in tattoos.

Kleiza: Well actually, I am from Lithuania…

K-Mart: Don’t make excuses fool. Bird come here!

The Bird Man: Cahhh cahhwww cahhhh Cawww. What’s up homies? Who wants to go to Hooters?

K-Mart: Tell LK how he needs some tats… Just look at The Bird, he’s got mutha f&%^%$ wings on his arms! You can get some of those.

Melo: Or you can get some scary clowns like I got.

JR Smith: How about a “Get Rich or Die Tryn’” Tat.

The Bird Man: So are you in or out for Hooters?

Kleiza: Well, um, actually there was one tattoo I was thinking about getting?

K-Mart: You’re my mutha f*&*^%. What is it? Your kid's face on your arm?

Kleiza: No, I was thinking barb wire wrapped around my bicep would be pretty sweet.

(awkward silence)

K-Mart: You like ridin’ the bench don’t cha.

I’m pretty sure that is exactly how it goes down in the locker room.

I pulled up a couple pictures just so everyone could see some of the creativity our boys have.

It also got me thinking that maybe I’m out of the loop a little bit. When the Broncos went on a playoff run a few years back I grew a mustache in honor of Jake Plummer. Maybe I should get a tat if the Nugs win it all? I figured that it would have to be a tat that one of the Nuggets already had to symbolize my loyalty. After Googling it for 20 minutes that choice was clear.

If the Nuggets win the NBA championship I will get Chris Anderson’s “Honky Tonk” tattoo on my stomach.... Don’t try to talk me out of this.

Mini- Retirement 2.0

2009-05-11T15:49:00.000-07:00

Many a false step was made by standing still.

-Fortune Cookie

A couple years ago I wrote a blog about a mini-retirement. It is time for the release of version 2.0.

Last Monday I handed in a letter or resignation for my current position. My last day will be July 17th. It is a strange feeling to quit something secure and stable for the unknown. I would describe the feeling of resigning as excitement immediately followed by the “I just f*cked up” sensation. The emotions battle each other for a while until you adjust to the change as well as the idea of being labeled "unemployed".

Some quick answers to questions I have been asked:

You gave up a job in this economy? Yes
Do you have another job? No
What are you going to do next? I am going to keep rockin’ the free world.

I like change. I looked at my job and thought that I could not pretend to enjoy it for another 45 minutes, let alone 45 YEARS. In fact, the whole retire when you are old sounds counter intuitive to life. I understand that people want to be comfortable in their retirement. But do you want to tell stories about sitting at a desk or do you want to tell stories about adventure? There are some people who really love their job or really need their job to provide for a family; Just not me. I can understand that this is not a decision everyone can appreciate. Luckily, I have very supportive group of people in my life who can look at my non-conformist ideas and encourage me to take the risk without judgment. (And if they are judging, they are good at keeping it to themselves.)

So it is on to the next adventure...

I plan to blog about this a few more times in the upcoming weeks with a lot more details. But as a teaser, I am driving my mom’s VW hippie van to the tip of South America. Right now the line for everything going as planned is 1:1,000,000,000. I know it is a crazy idea, but at the very least it should produce a good blog.

As a side note: The last time I left the country for an extended period of time the Rockies won the National League pennant. It is worth a second try right?

Wild America

2009-05-04T13:33:00.000-07:00

I hate reflecting on situations where you act like a total wuss when there was the potential to act totally bad ass. It is a dreaded feeling knowing you shrunk in the moment. A moment where a person could define their personal legend. I had one of these moments last weekend. Nature tested my courage, chewed me up and spit me out, leaving me feeling inadequate as I stood in the river that washed my manhood away.

The Schum Bag vs. The Elk

Ok this is an important aspect to be understood immediately. I was NOT attacked by an elk. I have told this story 4-5 times already, and every time it comes back around to me, it goes something like this: “So I heard you got attacked by an elk.” That is false, and a glorification of the story. The Schum Bag must remain, if nothing else, a relator of things substantive and integral. We simply had a misunderstanding; no punches were thrown.

Last Saturday I was fishing with my buddy Myhre (his wife is starting to call us life partners) near Estes Park. There were elk everywhere, as you can see in the picture to the right. There just happened to be a herd of cow elk right along the river we were fishing. At one point during the expedition, we watched a black lab get a little frisky and harass the herd. The elk weren’t having it and chased the dog away. As wikepdia explains,

“After the rut, females form large herds of up to 50 individuals. Newborn calves are kept close by a series of vocalizations; larger nurseries have an ongoing and constant chatter during the daytime hours. When approached by predators, the largest and most robust females may make a stand, using their front legs to kick at their attackers. Guttural grunts and posturing effectively deter all but the most determined predators”

As a side note: I am going to start using “robust females” when talking about women. Example, “I tried to buy a group of girls a drink but the largest and most robust female shot me down. I guess it will really take a determined predator to break through that group.”

Back to the story. So what did I learn from the dog? Well, clearly not much. We decided to walk up the river to try another fishing hole. The only problem is the same robust female that chased the dog away wasn’t really interested in letting us get by either. I was going first and I noticed that she started moving pretty quickly towards me. I stopped with one of those “is this really going to happen” thoughts starting to form in my mind. Myhre stopped behind me and I asked, “What should we do?” See, Erik has been around more big game than I have, and I figured he would have some insight to impart to me. His response: “You go first. You have a taller stature.” Everyone needs friends, right?

So there I was, toe to hoof with an angry cow elk. I decided another step might not hurt anything. Maybe she would see that I was just trying to get by her. Wrong. One step for me; two quick steps for her right at me. F* this. I figured I should ask for some input again, “What should we do now?” Myhre’s response, “Well, if she takes another step towards us, I'm going to jump in the river.” Ok.

Have you ever seen the start of a bar fight where the two dudes are just kind of staring at each other for a minute sizing up the situation? Then one dude finally decides in his head “I can take that bitch,” and starts the ruckus? Well lets just say this robust female decided she could take me. But let’s stop here for a second. You may be thinking, "Aren’t elk supposed to be nice?" You're an idiot. When an animal this size decides to mess you up, this is what can happen, well if you were a snowman.

She moved in to dance, and the first thought that came to my head was, “poke her in the face with your rod.” (I have always wanted to write that in a blog). The poke surprised her and she took a step back before trying to trample me again. My heart was pumping now and I just kept saying, “Myhre, Myhre” clearly looking for some back-up in a moment of panic.

*

SPLASH SPLASH SPLASH

Well, Myhre was half way across the river in about 2 seconds, and after one more poke to the nose, I decided to follow suit. She came to the edge of the river and I had a sick feeling that my obituary would soon read: "The Schum Bag: Drowned by angry female for poking her in the face with his rod." Luckily, Erik realized this was a Kodak moment and captured the exchange. It must have been a sight to see. Two guys standing in the middle of the river with an elk towering over them.

That was it. She decided that I had got the point and there was no need to humiliate me anymore.

A few minutes later we were fishing and out of the blue Myhre said, “You know, if something would have happened, I would've had your back.” I responded with, “I should have jumped on her back and rode her to glory.” Apparently both of us have some work to do on our personal legend.

Celebrity Endorsement

2009-04-27T13:49:00.000-07:00

Last week my uncle sent me an advertisement that’s making the rounds on sports radio and blogs. It is Jim McMahon pushing MVP or Male Vitality Performance (below). (Are you paying attention Jay Cutler? This is your future as a Bear’s QB.)

It got me thinking that there are some celebrities that should be pitching a specific product. I decided to put together a few advertisement nuptials that I would like to see.

How about David Beckham for New Coke...

Chris Brown for Everlast boxing gloves, L'Oreal makeup and 1-800-Flowers

How about Phil Mickelson for EasyCurves a "Guide to a sexy bustline"

Sarah Palin for Mapquest...

Bernie Madoff for Jenga. "No Bernie not the bottom piece again!"

Or my personal favorite, Miley Cyrus for the Betty Ford Center...

I don’t hate your dog

2009-04-20T13:36:00.000-07:00

As I write this blog, a dog outside my office window is howling. At what? I have no idea, but it's another reminder of why I don’t have a dog. Let’s get something straight right off the bat: I like dogs. I just despise a dog and it's owners when they're together. Separately they're fine; together, an unnatural force of goofy baby voices and poop on the floor.

A few years ago I got tagged as a dog hater. Not because I ran over a box of puppies, but because dogs were banished from my office building. This came shortly after I made a comment, “dogs should not be allowed in the office.” I swear it was just a coincidence, but felt the wrath of all the dog lovers as a burning pile of crap was left outside of my office door. You might wonder what sparked that comment? One day, while working and minding my own business, an excited bulldog came running in (we’ll call this dog "Sunshine" for the sake of this story). Apparently, Sunshine was so “excited” to be running around the office that she just happened to poop on my floor. For the dog-and-pony show that were Fridays at our office, this was comical display of Karma. For me, it was just a steamer left on my carpet.

That was Phase One of being tagged as a dog hater. Phase Two really took shape a couple weeks ago. I was hanging out with a few of guys drinking and playing poker. The guy’s house that we were at had two little white dogs that barked at everything. You get up to get a beer; two white dogs follow you yapping to the fridge. Someone walks in the door; two little dogs go yapping to the door. This was one of those situations where all the other guys were trying to be polite as their ears bled from the consistent sirens.

Well, I bet you can guess who the first person to say something was. “So, I bet you didn’t have a lot of say when picking out a dog huh?” Kicking the dog probably would have gone over better than that statement. Not only did I just insult the two large rats that were now trying to chew my toes off. I also insulted his manhood in front of all the other guys by pointing out his powerlessness with his woman. Luckily, we're all guys and nobody ran away crying. An awkward laugh was all I needed to get the hint that I should shut up.

I thought I'd dodged a bullet and everyone could put that random statement behind then. Nope. It got back to his woman. Two days later I'm riding in the back of her car with him in the front seat.

Her: “So I hear you hate my dogs?”
Me: “Ah, no… I love dogs”

Do you ever have that sick feeling in your stomach when you know where a conversation is going immediately, and there's no hope for going back? I looked at my buddy for help and he gave me the “I can’t help that my girlfriend is about to tear you into pieces because, remember, I'm powerless” eyes.

Her: “Then why don’t you have a dog?”
Me: “I think dogs hold you back in a lot of situations.”

Good thinking. Instead of saying, “I haven’t found the right one,” or “I'm waiting for the right opportunity,” I just gave her another box of shells to reload and continue firing into my lifeless body.

Her: “So you don’t want kids then?”

F-in A. Let’s follow this pattern. Noah hates my dogs > Noah hates all dogs > Noah hates kids > Noah is worthless as a future provider and should not be dating my friend.

Now that you know the back story, this seems like a perfect opportunity for a little explanation.
The three reasons I don’t have a dog:

(1) Remember the movie Good Will Hunting? Will had a complex where he couldn’t get close to people because his dad beat him and he was put in a foster home. It is the same kind of parallel with me and dogs. I don’t get close to dogs because I grew up on a farm. It was just another animal that might not last long. Between them running away, the neighbors shooting them for chasing their________ (insert farm animal) or a predator higher on the food chain deciding Todo looks like a good snack, it was a dog-eat-dog world. Basically the Southy of the dog world. Not to mention that on our farm our dogs were independent. They slept outside. I never cleaned up after them. They did their own thing and I did mine. Now I need somebody to hug me and tell me “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”

Not buying it? You would like to remind me that Will goes to "see about a girl" at the end? Ok fine. Here are two other reasons.

(2) I hate dog hair. People with dogs don’t seem to mind having hair all over everything they own, or the fact that they probably inadvertently consume 3-4 pieces throughout the day. I know there are those rolley things to take it off, but I REALLY hate it.

(3) Dogs are anchors. How many times have you had someone bail on you because they have to let their dog out? Or they can’t go on a weekend trip because they would have to have someone watch their dogs? Who is on the leash in this relationship? (As a side note: you dog owners think you are clever using them as an excuse when you don’t want to do something. EVERYONE knows you are using them as an excuse you're not fooling anyone. Fess up.)

It would be unfair for me to own a dog with my lifestyle.

HOWEVER, I do have a soft spot for dogs and will expose this vulnerability to you as an olive branch towards doggy world peace.

I love puppies. I like it when dogs visit and clean my kitchen floor of all the things I dropped, but was too lazy to pick up from the last time they visited. I think it's funny when dogs hump things they're not supposed to. (Until the red rocket comes out. Then it stops being funny) I love the short term memory they have. I’m not sure who “fetch” is more fun for, me or the dog. And loyalty is a quality I value, and nothing is more loyal then a dog.
Now if I could just get this one outside my window to shut the f*ck up...

The Blogless Blog

2009-04-13T20:52:00.000-07:00

I am embarrassed. I really am. Just when I felt like my blog was picking up speed and ideas were flowing like wine, and beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano, I crashed. I think the technical term is “writers block” but I feel like it has been more detrimental then that. I really did try this week I swear.

First I started working on “The top reasons I should not be allowed to take photoshop classes” complete with me staging my friends faces on all different awkward situations. It was lame.

Then I started working on a blog, “Wanted: Sidekick” where I listed all the reasons I needed a sidekick and how that would take me to the next level in life. It was lame.

At the last minute I started throwing together a Denver Nuggets Playoff preview with a breakdown of all the Nuggets tattoos and my interpretation of their meaning. Yep, that was lame too.

You are better than that. I am better than that. I am sorry.

In honor of my writers block I am giving you a few options to waste the time that you would have normally spent reading my blog.

Sports fan? Nuggets fan? Or a feel good story fan? Read this article about Chris Andersen. My new favorite player on the Nuggets.

Or

Stoicism 101: Self improvement or business improvement. "For those of us who live our lives in the real world, there is one branch of philosophy created just for us: Stoicism.

It doesn’t concern itself with complicated theories about the world, but with helping us overcome destructive emotions and act on what can be acted upon. Just like an entrepreneur, it’s built for action, not endless debate. "

Or

A video about some interesting trends.

After watching this it might be wise to farm out my blogging to India anyways...

I am breaking up with you on Facebook

2009-04-06T17:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Facebook friend,

I appreciate reconnecting with you even though we have nothing in common and never really did in our past. Somehow it just felt right when I saw a friend request from an old acquaintance and decided it would be fun to see what you were up to. Since accepting your “friendship,” I now know everything about you including: where you work, live, your marriage/divorce rate, what you eat, what you like to do, what the weather is doing at this exact moment where you are, your favorite quotes, how good/bad your pets/children/spouse is, your favorite songs/movies, your current mood, and what you are excited to do this weekend. You've also shared what type of dog you'd be, what type of movie star you'd be, and 25 random things I really, really, don't care about.

In fact I probably know more about you than I do about most of the friends I've actually had human contact with. When we do run into each other, there is no longer the small talk that filled the awkwardness gap of not actually wanting to talk to you in person. Conversations go something like this,

Facebook Friend, “I'm now blanking with blank blank.”

Me, “Oh yeah, I saw that on your facebook.”

(Awkward silence)

I think this was a sign that we're supposed to lose touch, don’t you? I’m sorry, it's not you, it's me. I just have to move on. I hope we can still be friends on the next social networking phenomena.

See you around (or not)

The Schum Bag
***

Ok it’s not that bad but for some reason this week I feel like I need to go into social networking detox. The full disclosure is I actually love the information age. You won’t find anyone who checks their email or phone more often. If you send me an email or a text there is a good chance you will hear back from me in a matter of minutes.
This week has brought out the Hulk side of me when it comes to social networking (minus the muscles and the green thing). But it's getting me angry!!!! I don’t know why, but the constant updates and Twitter references have me annoyed this week like a rash that you pick up in Tijuana. This cartoon pretty much explains how I feel about Twitter.

Is it possible to hate something so much that you have so little interaction with? I don’t even have a Twitter account, but the fact that there are people out their updating every little thing they do throughout the day just seems pointless.

My anger has spilled over to facebook, where I exiled some “friends” who were spamming it with useless information about a clearly boring life. I like to know what is going on as much as the next person, but informing me that you burnt your grilled cheese sandwich is going too far. I also don’t appreciate the “Buy you a drink” things that you send me. I would actually prefer to have a drink with you instead of a two dimensional cyber drink that holds no effect on my life.

The problem is that I think it's only going to get worse. It's not the fault of the people who spam as much as it is their little minions who continue to comment on every little thing they do because: 1) they are also trying to avoid working at all costs and 2) they are not creative enough to post their own comments so just tag along on other peoples. You end up getting something like this.

Mike burnt his grilled cheese

Sarah "likes this (gives thumbs up)”

Bill “OMG. you are so funny Mike. LOL”

Dan “What kind of cheese was it Mike”

The SchumBag “I hope you choke on that F*&^% sandwich Mike”

Enough I say! For some of you I am forced to hide your profile from the homepage. Others will be detached from my Facebook life completely (you know who you are, spammers). For all the rest, I will continue stalking you as routinely as before.

...

Special Note: Normally I post on Monday nights but was forced into an emergency post last Friday. Read it here

Who is Excited for the Kyle Orton Era in Denver? This guy…

2009-04-03T08:58:00.000-07:00

After I sobered up and decided to stop crying and man-up (take notes Cutler) I started talking myself into the Kyle Orton Era. After a quick Google search I will have to admit that I am even more excited (and drunk) for our newly acquired signal caller. I feel like he has all the tangibles AND intangibles that you would want in a franchise QB. Let’s take a look...

Stoic Poise? Check.
I feel like they should carve this pose in marble and put it next to Thunder at Mile High.

Work Ethic? Check.
Even in the club Orton will practice his drop back motion. Complete with defenders around his….ah….man region.

Game Face? Check.

Tell me that doesn’t say winner. Kyle Orton you are a bad man...

Works well under center? Check.
Although McDaniels runs a lot of shotgun formations it is always nice to know Orton can get behind his center for the exchange.

Physique? Check.
Is it hot in here or is it just Kyle Orton? Yep it’s Kyle Orton

Concentration and focus? Check and check.
Even in his younger years it looks like he was dedicated to the task at hand.

Ability to play above his physical limitations? Check.
Who knew a neck beard was the way into the pants of hot blond chicks?

Welcome to Denver Kyle Orton. We are happy to have you.
Now please pass the Jack Daniels.

From the Penthouse to the Poorhouse

2009-03-30T19:20:00.000-07:00

My friend Abbie sent me an idea for a blog topic the other day. She said, “Maybe you should talk about how your life is going into slum and chaos now that you don't live with a woman.” Ok, I will.

Through the past 27 years, I have yet to live alone, and I have no idea how this never happened. One because I don’t mind being alone, and two, because I assume that living with me poses some great challenges. Either way, I've always had a roommate of some form.

Since I left the nest 9 years ago, I've lived with 13 different roommates in 11 different houses. (Yes, I have moved 11 times in 9 years.) What are some of the signs that you move too often? One is that you don't purchase things that look heavy. In fact you don’t really purchase anything that can’t fit in an SUV. Another is you can load and unload a U-haul or a truck like nobody's business. It's turned into my own little three dimensional Tetris: “Ok, ok, slide that box to the right. Now swivel the couch. Yep yep. Perfect. Now all I need is a line….. Come on give me a line. COME ON, LINE!!!!”

I also have little moving quirks or routines. Last weekend when Heidi would ask “Do you need some help with that giant heavy thing that I bought even though you said that I shouldn’t buy it because you don’t like moving heavy things over and over,” I usually declined. What I did ask her to do is sing Salt ‘n Peppas What a Man every time it looked like I was struggling. Always nice to hear a couple versus of “Whatta man whtata man what a mighty good man” while your back is going out.

Ok, so back to my current living situation. My house is empty. Through some amazing act from J.C. In The Sky, I don’t really own anything.

Here is a picture of my living room.

Here is a picture of my bedroom. (As an FYI I pulled that dresser from the dumpster and refinished it. ..And you thought my only skill was blogging.)

And that's basically my house.

What else has changed? Well, I also found out that life always teaches you important lessons. For example, "You don’t realize what you had until it’s gone." No, I'm not talking about a hot woman. I'm talking about that plastic thing in the silverware drawer that keeps everything organized. Look at this. This silverware is symbolic of the adjustment of my last couple of weeks. Spoons spooning with forks! Oh the insanity!

Another unforeseen change is that every meal I eat at home is pretty much eaten on my bed or around my bed. I moved the TV upstairs, due to the lack of furniture, so now I eat breakfast and often times dinner sitting on my bed watching sports. I also decided that heating the other ¾ of the house is kind of pointless. It makes getting from the shower to my bedroom exciting every morning knowing that hypothermia is a possibility.

But do you want to know what the true value of bachelor-hood is? How about leaving the toilet seat up. FREEEEEDOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!

Traded

2009-03-23T20:15:00.000-07:00

I think everyone gets caught up in some version of a Soap Opera in life. Would you like to know what my favorite Soaps are? Well I'm going to tell you anyway: it's reading “Rumor Central” on ESPN.com or “Truth and Rumors” on SI.com. It's like the smut of pro sports and typically I can not get enough, especially around trade deadlines or drafts. Lately though, the episodes have me depressed, as large portion of the filth has been dedicated to the Jay Cutler debacle. I can’t remember the last significant player to demand a trade from Denver, and now the franchise quarterback of my favorite team wants out. I feel like I have gone through every stage of grief this month:

· Denial (The Broncos wouldn’t try to trade Cutler. Those silly reporters.)
· Anger (What do you mean they tried to trade Cutler for Cassel!!!!! Who is running this ship!!!!)
· Bargaining (Ok, if we can all just calm down and agree that the Broncos wining is them most important thing in the world, we should be fine.)
· Depression (I hate you Jay Cutler, with your long shaggy hair and that dumb look on your face. I hate you too Josh McDaniels, you, you… young coach… baby face.)
· Acceptance (We're going to suck this year.)

It seems like these things happen in other sports towns, but not in Denver (the sunshine state, gorgeous). But within the last 6 months, the Denver trade market has been a fire sale. First it was Matt Holliday to Oakland, then it was Allen Iverson to Detroit, and now Cutler. [Editor's Note: sorry Avs fans, but Jordan Leopold to Calgary doesn't count as a fire sale, no matter how uncomfortable it has been to be a Colorado hockey fan this season.]

At the time I was disappointed with the AI trade, but it actually turned out to be a good move. I am really disappointed that we traded Matt Holliday to the A’s. I know he was going to demand a huge contract after this year, but it seems like we could have gotten a little more for a guy with his production. The only upside of the Holliday trade is that I won’t have to hear a certain someone make lustful noises every time he comes to the plate.

Announcer: “Now batting... Number 5...Matt Holliday”

Heidi: “Oh yeah! Mmmmm. Wow. Is it hot in here? I’d like to go on a Holliday.”

The Schum Bag: “Ok that’s enough…”

The more I think about it, the harder it is to blame Cutler for being so upset. Can you imagine starting your life in a city and then hearing out of nowhere that you've been traded to Detroit? Sure NFL players make millions, but come on you live in freakin’ Detroit. Have you ever even been to Detroit? It's so bad, it makes Windsor, Ontario look nice, and that's in Canada! I also want to remind you how many games the Lions won last year… 0.

The other question I have is: what is Cutler worth? Obviously I hold him in higher regard because I am a complete homer ,but I just don’t feel like there are any realistic options out there for a better quarterback.

That train of thought got me wondering what my trade value is. Am I worth two secretaries and a copier? How about a business developer, and the rights to raid the company fridge? I think your trade value should be included with your resume when you apply for a job. Breaking news:The COO for AIG was recently traded for Jerry the maintenance man at Bear Stearns. Many believe Bear Stearns got the short end of the deal as Jerry actually had some vaule, and is very handy with a mop. Hey everyone needs a Soap, right?

Situational Hotness

2009-03-16T20:03:00.000-07:00

Normally I'm a person who doesn’t mind hot women around me in all facets of my life. How could you not enjoy a meal more when your waitress is good looking? Attractive women seem to cut hair better. A smoking hot flight attendant makes me want to barf a little less during turbulence. It just seems like beautiful women make life better in all situations… Well…. almost. There are some rare situations where this is not the case. I know it's hard to believe, but I lived one of them last week. It got me to thinking that there are sometimes you just want a very unattractive person in your presence.

Last week I went to the dermatologist for the first time. I’m sitting in the exam room waiting to have my entire body combed over for any strange freckles, moles, bumps or lesions. In walks a hot nurse who starts asking a few standard dermatological questions. My immediate thought was “Oh $h!t, this hot young nurse is going to do my exam?” I decided to play it cool because who wants to start out a conversation with “Well I have this mole on my body…” So I play it cool, and am extremely vague when answering questions. (On a side note: For your long term health, please always answer doctor's questions in as much detail as you can.) It turns out that she was just in there for the prescreen and asked me to get undressed down to my underwear and wait for the doctor. I'm sure I let out a sigh of relief, feeling I had just dodged a bullet. Bring on the old wrinkly doctor!

Nope. In walks a young attractive Doctor with second attractive Nurse. Are you f*ing kidding me?! I'm sitting there in my boxer briefs while they are chatting like they are at some social event. THEN in walks first hot Nurse to join the other two in their conversation. I've seen movies that start like this. Dirty movies which at this exact moment I wish I had not seen. The doctor informs me that she is going to scan my entire body for any “outliers” and then asks if I have any spots that are bothering me.

The moment of truth. I did have a spot that was bothering me. Right…in…my…armpit…. Oh, the insanity of this moment. What are the odds of this exact situation? Three hot women, two of which are about to check out an “outlier” in my armpit. 1,000,000 to 1? Greater? I live in a small town and am sure I will see these two women again. I bet they see all sorts of crazy crap, but the thought of them only recognizing me as The Guy With The Bump In His Armpit is stressing me out. What did I do to deserve this?

I lift my arm and point to the spot in shame. The doctor decides that she will just “take it off."

You know what humility is is? Humility is being 90% naked while two good looking women perform mini surgery on your armpit. That ‘s humility. You know what the cherry on top of humility is? That would be after the mini surgery, the doctor asking the nurse to take pictures of your entire body. Close up pictures so we can compare any spots down the road.

After it was over I couldn’t even make eye contact with them. It was like after your first make out party, seeing that person at school the next Monday and feeling terribly awkward. Yep, just like that.

I never thought I would appreciate a wrinkly old man touching my armpit. Now I know. This experience has been a good lesson that there is a place for everyone in the hierarchy of situational hotness.

As a side note I have told this story to a few friends. All of them thought it was amusing but never had a story to compliment this. Really? Am I all alone on this one? Can anyone help me out?

Why March Madness will save the US economy, cure cancer and make you a better person

2009-03-09T16:26:00.000-07:00

Many of you may not be familiar with the wonder that is March Madness. Others might know what it is, but say something stupid like, “I don’t like basketball." March is a magical month that can show us extraordinary things through basketball. Think of it this way: You're John Locke on the TV show Lost. The island's going to show you something amazing. You just have to be open minded enough to see what it is. March Madness is That Island.

Every year I host a March Madness pool at my office. I doubt there is another event, including drunk awkward Christmas parties, where co-workers are genuinely excited to see each other. People who get in on the pool love it. People who don’t, will never understand. This is the Fight Club of the office. The underground society that makes life worth living. You give each other secret glances, nodding, like “Yes Judy from accounting, you know what living is. Living is March Madness.”

Sadly though, there are people who don’t believe in magic or tiny elves that will brush your teeth at night when you are too tired or drunk to do it yourself. This is my call to action. My Barack Obama moment. Can we get everyone universal healthcar…..errrr…..in an NCAA pool? YES WE CAN! And I am going to lead this movement by, 1. Convincing you why it is necessary for our survival and 2. Start a pool for everyone who is not in one already.

First : our survival. Do you know what this is a picture of to the right? This is a dreaded cancer cell. What does it remind you of? Maybe the picture right below it, a 64 team NCAA bracket? I know it seems blatantly obvious, why we haven't cured cancer yet. My theory is that scientists studying cancer cells always pick “chalk.” That means that they are always taking the higher seeds in the bracket. No way they will ever win the battle that way. It is time to start looking for a Cinderella to show us the way. They don’t have to go crazy, but picking characteristic of the cancer’s 6 seed would be a good start. As soon as I am finished with this blog I hope to get this research published in a medical journal. Do you smell that? Nobel prize baby. Nobel prize….

But in this economy, you might say, this is no time to be throwing money at something as petty as gambling on sports. Well you'd be wrong, and frankly I'm hurt you would interrupt me like that. This is EXACTLY what we need to be doing to jumpstart the economy. When I gamble on sports and win, it always feels like free money. What do people do with free money? They spend it. On lavish things like hot tubs and good cheese. And if you lose, you don’t lose much. $10 bucks for a months worth of excitement? You can’t even go to a crappy movie for $10 bucks (sorry, Marley & Me). The economy is bad, but not that bad.

Some other excuses:

* “I don’t know anything about basketball.”

Ok here's a crash course: Two teams. Two baskets. The team that puts the ball in the basket the most wins. You're all caught up. If you want more, here's a link to the history of basketball.

* “If you know more about basketball then I do, you are just going to take my money.”

I wish this was true, but it's not. I have never won an NCAA tournament pool. I've entered every year since high school.

* “What if Davidson doesn’t make the tournament or ever loses early and we don’t get to see a lot of camera shots of Stephen Curry’s hot mom.”

A little part in all of us will die.

* “I can’t watch basketball. It's boring.”

Watch your mouth! It might be less boring if you can win a pile of money. Isn’t that something that interest you?

* “I don’t know how to fill out a bracket.”

Please return to 1st grade. Kidding. I will explain it to you once we get to that point.

Now it is up to you, John Locke. The magical island awaits you. Do you want to see the true meaning of life? Do you want to find out all the questions that you've been asking the universe? Good. Soon you will be sent a magical form to fill out. I will track the results and provide mini blogs for every round. If you catch yourself cheering for something that you never thought you would cheer for (like Xavier), that's ok. That is what magic feels like… I think…

What If?

2009-03-02T17:18:00.000-08:00

I've been dabbling in some blogs recently on how to write a screenplay, and I’m finding some fairly useful information. A lot of the focus is on format and layout, but I came across an interesting piece that describes what makes a good story. Here is the excerpt: “You need a hook. That's a songwriting term that describes that thing that catches the public's attention. A popular Hollywood term is a “high concept." A better idea might be a simple "What if?""

“What if” huh? For example in Slumdog Millionaire, the concept is “What if a poor Indian kid knew all the answers to Who Wants To Be A Millionaire because he lived them?” In Gladiator, the concept is “What if a Roman army general was betrayed by an emporer, captured, and forced to fight for his life and revenge as a gladiator?” And for Glitter, it would be, “What if we put Maria Carrey in the worst possible movie ever?” I like the “what if” concept and find myself watching all the movie previews and putting them to the “what if?” test. I like the Slumdog’s “what if,” but then there are ones like Marley & Me. “What if we had a really hyper active golden lab that taught us life lessons?” Really? This made it through the cutthroat movie business?!

The problem I am running into is the “what if” writers block. I may not exactly have the “what if” nailed down yet. Ok I don’t have it even close to nailed down yet. Further, I'm not sure if my writing style is conducive to an entire movie. I was having this conversation with a friend of mine at breakfast. I write pretty much how I think. Dirty, and all over the place. She described it as, I write like a frat guy who knows that my underwear goes on first. Not sure how I feel about that, but either way I may be in trouble. Is there any possible way I can take all my thoughts and put them into a logical form that will stretch for a 160 pages (standard length for 1:30 movie)? I can barely do this for a 5 paragraph blog. What about writing to the high point that every good movie has? The one moment where the audience is like, “oh $h*t, what's going to happen next?!"

I don’t have my “oh $h*t” moment, which is proving to be a much bigger issue than first anticipated. What I have is a bunch random thoughts and scenes that I need to fit it into a Hollywood mold. A mold that will please the masses or more likely a handful of people. See, I am not counting on this to make me rich or even be read by more then a few people. But what I do want is those few people to read it and think, “not bad, I can see this as a movie”.

Why does Marley & Me get made? Because it stars adorable yellow labs. Is it high art? No. Would I be caught dead pitching it? Of course not (until the check clears anyway). But that’s the struggle. This is an idea that is so lame I would be embarrassed to have it myself. Yet there have been millions spent do create and market the movie.

Other ideas like Slumdog or Memento are so original and well thought out that I question whether I am capable of that level of thought.

The ultimate questions is “what if” I am destined to write Marley & Me movies and not Pulp Fictions? Quite the artistic conundrum. Maybe I am at my “oh $h*t” moment.

Back To The Drawing Board

2009-02-23T20:54:00.000-08:00

It seems like I'm always one step behind on a “great” idea. I spend a lot of my free time thinking about new products, features or ideas that I could create and market as my own business or idea. Have you seen any infomercials lately?

This first one is just ridiculous. Someone really invented this product AND got someone to invest in their idea AND could afford commercials on TV.

Or how about this product? Watch this infomercial and tell me I couldn’t have invented this. In fact, this might be the one product that I was born to invent but instead someone else did.

I see this infomercial all the time. Every time I see it I feel like another man just stole my life out from under me. And now he has money and women...with all that perkyness.

What were a few of my genious ideas? The first one came to me when I was on the beach in Honduras. Every day I would spread out my towel and eventually it would blow around here and there in a gust of wind. I would have to put a sandal, book or water bottle at each corner to keep it in place. Then, like the apple falling of the tree for Isaac Newton, I though ”Why not have a towel with weighted corners?” Like sand bags or something to keep it in place. Easy to make. Benefits are seen immediately and come on, its got to be up there with the genius of the Snuggie.

For the next two months, I traveled around thinking about all the enhancements you could have on a beach towel. A little zipper pocket. Blow up pillow attached. Tiny speaker in the corners that you can hook to your iPod. I know right? Just call me Schum Bag Millionaire. Wrong. I got home from my trip and found out there are already a crap load of patents on weighted towels. Seriously people, where are all these freakin’ weighted towels? After having my dream crushed, it was back to the drawing board.

A few months later I was shopping for groceries. I've gotten really good at remembering my cloth bags and have noticed that a lot of other people are on board with this a well. However, in the produce section I still use a bazillion little plastic bags for all my produce. Just like that, the apple fell off the produce shelf and hit the ground. “I should make little reusable net bags for produce. They can be washed in the dishwasher for all those times that you forget about your tomatoes in the bottom shelf of the refrigerator for six months... Voilà, instant fame! Wrong. 15 minutes on Google showed me several different types all with features that were much cooler then I could have come up with. Back to the drawing board.

One of my goals this year is to get a rough draft of a book or screenplay completed. I think it’s a good challenge that will push my creative limits. (So far I am on page 2 of the book, but I haven’t added pictures yet) I also just finished reading a book, by myself, called The Alchemist. I thought it was a pretty sweet book, and the more I thought of it, the more I thought that it would make a great screenplay. Rah rah rah, all this crap about the apple… wrong. It turns out that “Harvey Weinstein announced this morning that he'll produce a $60 million adaptation of Paulo Coelho's The Alchemist, the worldwide best-seller (over 30 million copies) which was fi rst published in 1988. Laurence Fishburne will direct, star and also produce." Laurence Fishburne? Are you f-ing kidding me? WHY GOOOOOOOD WHYYYYYYYYYY? Not only does this kill what I thought would be my own personal legend, this clown is certain to mess up a good book. I'm calling it right now! Name one good movie besides that Matrix that Fishburne was in. He was Cowboy Curtis on Pee-Wees playhouse for F&^% sakes. (As a side note I thought Harvey Weinstein was actually Harvey Fierstein. After I went to Wikepedia, I feel a little better. Weinstein actually has a lot of good movies under his belt. Fierstein…not so much)

Anyway there it is. My failures in thought. Back to the drawing board. Apples? How do you like them apples?

The Voice of The Schum Bag

2009-02-16T16:53:00.000-08:00

Last week, my buddy Myhre sent me a link to a program that “transforms news sites and blog posts into high fidelity, near human quality audio files ready to download and play anywhere, anytime, on any device.” Here is the email from Myhre,

“You should add this to your blog so I can listen to it….”

Touching email, I know. But he did have a good point. Taking The Schum Bag to the next level of world domination is long over due. Why stop at one form of media control when I can add a second? With that reasoning, I decided to see what this magical transformation device was all about . Actually that’s a lie. I waited for Myhre to see what it was all about and report back to me. World domination takes a back seat to reading sports blogs. But I do have the result from Myhre.

http://podcasts.odiogo.com/get_mp3.mp3?f=/the-schum-bag/The_Schum_Bag-Super_Bowl_Aftermath.mp3

If you just clicked on that link and listened you might be thinking, “that’s really cool, minus the lame voice”. You’re correct in your assessment and it got me thinking: who should be the voice of The Schum Bag?

My knee-jerk reaction was Samuel L. Jackson, but upon further review, that's just too easy. Besides, he's already the voice in my head when I eat chili. “OH NO YOU DIDN'T JUST EAT ANOTHER BITE OF CHILLI. YOU ARE A BAD…. MOTHA… F(*^&%^. THROW SOME FRITOS AND ONIONS IN THAT CHILI…YOU BAD MOTHA F*&^%$... OH YEAH.”

What would be the criteria to be the voice of my blog? Well I'm guessing it would have to be someone famous, someone able to handle the pressure and intense scrutiny of The Schum Bag readership. Probably a man, although I would never turn down a hot chick. And there would have to be a possibility that they could play me in a movie.

Drum roll please….

10. Elmo (he would play me in the puppeteered Schum bio-pic)
9. Bruce Willis
8. Katie Couric (she would play me on the Lifetime original mini-series)
7. Mr. Rogers (God rest his be-sweatered soul)
6. Tara Reid
5. Mike Tyson

And the runners up…..

4. Collin Ferrel: Uncontrollable foul mouth? Check. Womanizer? Check. B-list actor? Check. 'Ole Collin might have ranked higher if it wasn’t for his sissy boy accent. The voice of The Schum Bag can’t be anchored down by such things. Even though I look like I should have a high Irish accent.
3. James Earl Jones: Any voice that was the voice of Darth Vader has potential to be my voice. (Side note: Isn’t it weird when you hear your own voice on a recording? Always makes me feel terribly awkward like when your married friends start fighting in front of you as if you're not there) The problem with JEJ is that he could also be the voice of God. I mean really, is there another option for when you get to the pearly gates or when giant asteroids are raining down?

2. Conan O’Brian: If I were to judge the strange sound of my voice I would say that Conan would be the guy who sounds most like me. Oddly enough he is also pale, insanely tall, red hair, and has an uncommon name.

And the winner is…..

1. Dane Cook

Is there a better match then Dane Cook? He is funny. I try to be funny. He starred in a movie with Jessica Simpson. I like to look at Jessica Simpson. He makes tons of money telling dirty jokes. I sit at a desk blogging dirty jokes (wondering why I don’t make money off of them). It’s a match made in heaven. I am really feeling this.

Here is my favorite Dane Cook skit. Now tell me that doesn’t sound like Schum Bag material. Get his agent on the line.

T-Shirt

2009-02-09T20:08:00.000-08:00

The other day I pulled out an old T-shirt from my drawer that I bought in a Nicaraguan surf shop. As I went to put it on, I struggled to get it over my body and around my arms. I turned around to look in the mirror and decided since I was not headed to a gay bar this shirt was probably a poor choice. What happened to you shirt? One of my first blogs a couple years ago was how I treat my shirts like a starting rotation of a pitching staff. Complete with starters, middle relief and closers. Lately it seems that there are a bunch of shirts on injured reserve at the bottom of the drawer.

A quick sanity check:

Am I juicing and is that why my shirts are getting tight? No.

Am I putting them in the dryer or washing them in warm water? No, in fact my dryer doesn't even work!

Am I getting fat? No. I am probably only 10 lbs heavier then when I bought the shirt but I am 77" tall! That is less then .5 oz per inch!

What the F is going on? I feel like Oprah.

This is not really a major deal since I am pretty much a fashion disaster. Typically I am a good 2-3 years behind every trend. "Hey everyone did you see I am sporting a faux hawk? " Room goes silent. "Oh and check out this sweet FUBU jersey I picked up" People disperse from around me.

I should be able to blame my fashion problems on the fact that I grew up in a small town where the nearest mall was over an hour away. There was literally not a place to purchase a T-Shirt in the "shopping district" unless you wanted one that said, "You have not been kissed until you have been Hotch-KISSED". I know. Clever.

I also could blame my physic for my poor fashion. "Do you have this in gigantic skinny guy size? Oh, you don't? Hmmmm. Ok well I will take the pants that are 4" to short in the legs and 4" too big in the waist. Yeah thanks. Oh and can I get a belt and some gators too?"

I wish that this only effected me but it also effects people around me. The other day we were in Craig otherwise known as Craig America (which is a lot like Hotchkiss only with a Wal-Mart and a giant "Before Crystal Meth…After Crystal Meth" billboard in the middle of town) I noticed the check out girl had on a shiny whitish/silver lipstick. I mistakenly mentioned how I though it looked kind of hot only to be laughed and educated on how trashy white lipstick is. Later it got mentioned to my family which proceeded to interrogate me further like I was in Abu-Dhabi.

What am I going to do about this is the real question? For a couple weeks I have had a pile of "snug" shirts stacked up on the floor. Each shirt is like an old loyal dog. A blind one, with bad hips that limps around the house. I know what I have to do. I need to take these dogs out behind the barn for one last walk, Old Yeller style, minus the rabies.

February is going to The Schum Bags's month to acquire a new rotation of shirts; kind of like the Yankees did this off season.

Tight Hotch-kissed T-shirts and white lipstick! Who wants to party?

Super Bowl Aftermath…

2009-02-02T20:01:00.000-08:00

…and I am not just talking about the results of all the chicken wings I ate.

I had a different blog ready to post but decided to wait until next week. It will probably be March before I get inspired to write another sports blog, so all of you sports haters should be safe for the next month or two after you make it through this one.

God and Puppies vs. The Barack Star

I was having trouble deciding which way to bet the Super Bowl. As may have been over-reported to you already, Kurt and Brenda Warner told their kids that they could get a puppy if the Cardinals won the Super Bowl. In case you forgot, Kurt and his wife are also extremely religious. Therefore the Cardinals had God and puppies on their side. Originally I thought this was a no brainer. Nobody can bet against God and puppies and I pushed my money towards the Cardinals.

A little while later I found out that Obama was betting on the Steelers. Crap. Now I had to decide between God and puppies and the man that is so hot right now, he doesn’t even know it. What a predicament. After returning from my Super Bowl-addicted-gambler-vision-quest, I decided that God and puppies was the clear choice. There was only one problem….

After placing my bet I remembered that Obama promised to get his kids a puppy if he was elected president. The Barack Star ALREADY had puppies on his side! Now it was just God vs. Barack and guess what? The Steelers won.

***

You know how I know we are in an economic crunch? The worst set of Super Bowl commercials that I can remember.

The big loser was Budweiser. InBev, a Belgian company, bought Budweiser a while back and clearly the Belgians must not know what America stands for. One thing we don’t stand for is crappy commercials. Who are the marketing guys who thought that a Clydesdale fetching a stick like a dog or a Clydesdale running through America looking for some circus horse was a good idea. An Irish Clydesdale? There is nothing, nothing, Irish about Budweiser. Step into my office, you’re f*^% fired. Enjoy your waffles.

The big winner? Doritos. Two quality attempts and humor. Both creative and entertaining.

I told you there would be a commercial with monkeys didn’t I?
(Honorable Mention to ProFlowers and CareerBuilder. Punching koalas and flowers harassing unassuming women is never not funny.)

**
The game was actually pretty good. My one complaint was that last play not reviewed? Really?! Clearly I don’t understand this so called “tuck rule” or “arm going forward” rule or "the open hand rule". It looked to me like it was going forward and the ball was in his hand. I just felt like one more play to see if Larry Fitzgerald could come through with another amazing play should have happened.

*
Bruce Springsteen sucks.

The Super Bowl Party Paradox

2009-01-26T20:12:00.000-08:00

Now that we know who's going to the Super Bowl, we should probably go over a few tips for throwing or attending a Super Bowl party. This is derived from past experiences that should help make your Super Sunday live up to some of the Super Hype you will be hearing for the next few days. I also included some universal hand signals that can be used to describe certain events (click on picture).

* Tip #1: That Guy - Where I live there aren't a lot of Steelers fans in the vicinity and I doubt think there are many Cardinal fans in general, but the one thing you don't want to do is be the serious fan at a Super Bowl party. If you've had a vested interest in the team all season and don’t have any other friends who have had a vested interest in the same team, stay home and watch it by yourself. Seems antisocial right? Wrong.

Think of this way: there is always some dude who doesn’t know anything about football who's at the Super Bowl party just for the food. 100% of the time this dude is a tool who will cheer for the other team just because he knows you're heavily invested in this game. He doesn’t cheer when something good happens to the opposite team but rather when something bad happens to your team. He gives you the little fist pump and the "I-just-clogged-the-toilet" grin. Being that the Super Bowl is the Holy Grail of your football watching season, and your team is in it, you will be tempted to punch him in the face and try to stab him in the larynx with the sharp part of the Dorito. Keep everyone's safety in mind, just stay home.

* Tip #2: Girl Party - If you are going to a Super Bowl party hosted by a bunch of girls and actually want to watch the game, you're playing with a bag full of angry snakes my friend; rattlers to be exact. I've been to a couple of these parties and understand why you would go: 1. there is always food 2. there are girls 3. their place doesn’t smell like feet. BUT, most of them are excited to have a party with all of their friends, not excited to watch the game. That's fair, just know this going in. You won’t hear any sideline analysis or game breakdown. This is fair warning; don’t let it get to you. (Side Note: If a girl hosting the party yells at everyone to shut-up during and injury update or something, you should immediately drop down on one knee and propose.)

* Tip#3: Channel Changer – Due to the heavy investment and long hours marketing people put into the Super Bowl, the only appropriate time to change the channel is during the halftime show, which always blows (Springsteen really? Does the music coordinator know that not everyone was born in New Jersey in the 70's). This is true for all halftime shows unless one of the Jackson’s is in it. In which case set your Tivo and get excited.

If the game sucks, the best conversation the next day is going to revolve around the commercials. Study them and be able to repeat them the next day. You might get a promotion for being the funny guy who can remember things like monkeys who play with cell phones.

Quick Tips:
* No green veggies at all-man parties. In fact the only veggies allowed on the veggie plates are carrots and must be covered in ranch dressing. This is a scenario when the term "sausage fest" is uniquely appropriate.

* Gambling is good and encouraged. Nothing like a good Super Bowl grudge between friends because Frank had to watch the game outside for the first quarter when the coin toss landed heads.

* Seriously, if a girl says “shut up” during the Super Bowl game marry her.

* TVs less than 32” are considered ineligible TVs and host will be penalized 2 beers. This is 2009, time to grow up.

* Appropriate seating must be available to everyone invited. Strange guy who randomly showed up will be asked to stand or sit on the floor.

* Plan ahead. "Hey, you wanna order a pizza?" No, I want to eat the pizza that should already be here by now.

The Interview

2009-01-19T16:34:00.000-08:00

The Schum Bag is an equal opportunity employer

I have a few friends who are seeking employment and are going through the same process over and over. It may be familiar to you:

Step1: Find job that you think you might like or might be good at, but know that in one year you will be thinking “What the F*&^ was I thinking.”

Step2: Submit Resume and Cover Letter.

Step3: Don’t hear anything back, go to bar to make yourself feel better (return to step 1)… Or, hear back and set up phone interview.

Step4: Fail to impress on phone interview, go to bar to make yourself feel better (return to step 1)… Or, do well on phone, get face-to-face.

Step5: Fail to impress at face-to-face, sip on adult beverage of choice in the parking lot because you don’t want your new friends at the bar see you sobbing (return to step 1)… Or, get offer.

Step6: Reject offer (return to step 1)... Or, accept offer and join the race (congratulations… I think).

There are only a few other endeavors that I've been involved with where more pride swallowing is involved. I prefer not to elaborate on them, but the areas where I really hate rejection are: the front of the rim, women, and interviewing.

Is there anything more archaic then the resume and interview? In a world where everyone is connected 24x7, where multi-tasking is a way of life, and efficiency is 100 times what it was when the resume was invented, we still return to this piece of paper that is supposed to represent who we are. When I look at my resume, I can’t help to think, “who is this guy, because he sounds like he needs to be beat up in gym class." Words like “planned”, “responsible” and “execute” jump out at me like a bad advertisement. These are supposed to be the keywords that show I am a go-getter and I have sticktoitivness. But it really sounds like I'm someone who's trying too hard to impress on a date.

The sad part is, this is just the beginning; you then have the interview. A “Let’s put this person in front of us, make them uncomfortable and nervous, and then judge them on every word they say” process. Can you think of an event with less representation of who you are as a person then the interview process? I can only think that the companies who hired me are thinking, “man we hired you because we were desperate, but you turned out not to suck”. Or returning to the dating example, a friend of a friend said that there is nothing that resembles a blind date more then an interview. You both feel awkward. You might not be into her but you want her to be into you. You would like to think you could close the deal to confirm that you still have game, but you're not sure if you really want to. If you get rejected you feel like crap, but honestly you had no intention of returning her call.

Guess what? It’s not over. There's a seventh step. Kind of like the seven deadly sins. The seventh step probably most resembles Sloth, “the sin of sadness or despair. It had been in the early years of Christianity characterized by what modern writers would now describe as melancholy: apathy, depression, and joylessness.” Yep, that pretty much sums up your new job! Don’t open the box Brad Pitt! You know what is in the box! DON’T OPEN IT!

Step7: Try Live Up To Your Resume

Unfortunately, by writing your skill set out well and being able to describe said skill set, you now have to prove that you are that person. This is the part that sucks because in fact you are not that person. Your life and everything about it can not fit on 8.5 x 11, nor should it. The reasons that you're going to be good at that job are not on your resume.

A couple weeks ago I had a friend ask if I would take their comments off my blog because they were interviewing for a job and didn’t want their name to show up on my blog when the company googled them. Of course I took them down but it brought up a couple points. If I ever interview for another job will I be blackballed for my blog? Should I take it down and fall in line?

For me it was a fairly easy decision. F&%%em. I probably wouldn’t like working for them anyway.

College Football

2009-01-12T20:01:00.000-08:00

“Hi, I am The Schum Bag, and I didn’t really bother watching the National Championship Game.”

I will give you a few seconds to let that sink in… Ok you're probably trying to help me rationalize my decision by suggesting that perhaps I had something more important going on, or that my car broke down, or that the Brazilian swimsuit team kidnapped me. Nope. I was actually sitting on the couch, right where I watch every game (the same spot where I melted the cheese under my hot buns). I was watching Lost from Netflix instead. (My friend B just disowned me with those last few sentences. I might even get the strange break up phone call, “I don’t even know you anymore”)

Ok, that's not all true. I watched most of the first quarter and then the 4th quarter, but skipped everything between. And B probably won't call me because her Sooners looked flat and I would just rub it in.

But here's the truth: College Football has been falling in The Schum Bag power poll. It's now between chocolate chip cookies and that hot-beauty-mark lip-piercing that some chicks get. A few years ago I compared the Rockies to a strip club, but the same analogy now stands for College Football. I feel unsatisfied and a little dirty.

The unsatisfied part comes for the obvious reasons. Utah, Texas and USC all have an argument that they belonged in that game, but didn’t get the chance. Thanks for playing guys. You know how every money grabbing university president says that the system makes the regular season more important? Really? How come we had a 2 loss LSU national champion a few years back. Or this year the fact that Texas beat Oklahoma, but couldn’t get the nod. There's nothing more insane then this argument. It’s similar to the people who thought the Hale Bopp comet was God sending us a UFO to jump on. Everyone knows this is a bad idea. COME ON PEOPLE, DON’T DRINK THE KOOL-AID.

The dirty part comes from the fact that I can’t move it out of my life. I think that College Football might be directly responsible for some of my short comings in life. My inferiority complex might come from going to a college where it was more important for the football team to fondle party goers then it was to win games. My bi-polar disorder comes from the fact that there are 3 polls to follow in college (the coaches poll, BCS and AP). And my shyness around hot chicks comes from never getting to meet a USC song girl. [Editor's Note: Noah did get to 2nd base with Ralphie once though.]

Sadly for me, right now it's hard to find something positive in college football besides the name “football”. Maybe B is right, maybe I don’t know myself anymore.

The Comfort Zone

2009-01-05T16:37:00.000-08:00

I had one of those coaches in high school that you see in movies. It seemed like everything I did was wrong. From my freshmen year on he was in my ear jawing at me, grinding on me, critiquing each move, each thought, each action. It would be fine if he only coached one of the sports that I played, but he coached two, and voiced his opinion on the third. (he was also my P.E. and Personal Finance teacher) Hard to like, but it seemed harder to get away from. Slowly, after 4 years of coaching, I started to understand why he pushed me. He believed.

He died a few years ago while out on a jog. I never saw him after I left high school but wish I had. I think what makes a good teacher or a good coach is the legacy they leave behind in their students or players. The lessons he taught me were invaluable and I have tried to practice a couple of them; not just in sports but in life.

The first lesson is pretty easy to understand and I usually heard this right around the time our team was choking away a lead. The team would stand around him and he would say, “Right now, you are not playing to win. You are playing not to lose.” At 15 years old I thought he was crazy. Of course I am playing to win. But he was right. I was playing not to lose. When you are playing not to lose, you are afraid to make a mistake because the fear of losing is so great. Anyone who has been around me knows I might be the worlds worst loser. I HATE it. The fear of failure, or losing, is hard to overcome. It’s a hard lesson to learn and I still need to work on this.

I want learn to play to win, and part of this is the conscious decision to not be afraid of the outcome. Lately I have been posting blogs about starting my own business. Why hasn’t this happened? It is simple, the fear of failure. (like I said I need to work on this) Letting down people who believed. Losing investors money. Ending up with nothing. These scenarios seem drastic when I phrase them like that. What is the alternative? The alternative ties into the second lesson he taught me “the comfort zone”.

This is the lesson that I talk about more often. If you have worked, traveled or even been involved in a sporting endeavor with me, you have probably heard me talk about “the comfort zone”. I learned about this from my coach. This is the place that you feel comfortable in no matter what. It is safe, it is familiar, and there is no unknown around the corner. Most people spend their entire lives in the comfort zone. For many, this is an ideal life and I respect that. For me, it means it's time for change.

Before I left for my trip to Central America, I had that same conversation over and over again with people. “Aren’t you worried?” they'd ask, and I would always reply the same way, “Worried about what?” Then they would think about it for a second and say, “That something will happen.” Depending on the person I would lead the conversation in one of two directions. If I could tell that this is a person who liked to be in their comfort zone I would just reply, “something can happen anywhere” and move on from the conversation. Now, if I knew this was a person who might step outside of their comfort zone the conversation would go in a different direction. I would reply, “That is why I made this choice, I hope that something will happen.”

It's important not to perceive this as, "I want to make poor decisions or put myself in sketchy situations." I would be pretty disappointed to be captured by guerrillas and held hostage in the jungle while traveling. But the fact is, I would regret not seeing what I wanted to see or being who I wanted to be because of the “something”.

The other example I can tell you about is the running a Marathon. You want to talk about being uncomfortable both mentally and physically, try running 26.2 miles. The conversations I had previous to that accomplishment were very similar to those of my travels. “But Noah, you don’t run. How are you going to run a marathon?” They were right, I didn’t run. In fact I despised running but I liked the feeling of being totally out of my element and the ability to handle it.

I wrote about both of these lessons for a couple reasons. First, I think they are great lessons and I wanted to pass them along. The second is because this is my first posting for 2009. Every year brings changes in ones life and the decisions to that lead to those changes. We are only a few days in and I already have a some big decisions that are stretching my comfort zone. Am I going to move again? Am I going to move out of Colorado for the first time in my life? Am I going to apply for that job overseas? Am I going to start my own business? Am I going to continue to live by my own rules? Am I going to drop everything to travel? Is this who I want to be? It would be easy to keep doing exactly what I am doing now. It would safe because I know what will happen. But, I would not be playing to win.

The Loose Ends of 2008

2008-12-29T18:24:00.000-08:00

I was working on my blog for the week but then I thought I should tie up some loose ends from 2008. Every now and then I get a question related to a previous blog that goes unanswered. So here are some answers to the questions that I get most often.

The Business: As some of you know Dave and I went down to Panama to explore a possible business venture. Here is our beta website http://www.rebuildco.com/. This trip was a good news/ bad news sort of trip. The good news is I still think this is a great idea and the Central American market could benefit from our product. The bad news is that the Panamanian economy is in worse shape then the US economy. Shipping is down 90% through the canal and developers are in a holding pattern to see where the chips fall.

This also leaves us in a holding pattern for a little while. Without the developers, our market segment would be pretty small. If you would like a copy of the business plan I would be more then happy to share it with you noahschum@hotmail.com

The 6-Pack Challenge: I will probably be a little more sensitive to people on a diet from now on. This has been my first experience monitoring what I eat and it is a lot more difficult then I anticipated. The problem wasn’t so much will power as much as breaking a routine. Here is a email from my old roommate Ben in response to my blog:

Dear Schumbag,
After extensive observation of your eating habits, I believe that only minor modifications are needed to get your male modeling career back. First, limit Oreo cookie intake to four cookies per setting while switching to normal instead of double stuff, which brings me to my next point. 2, I know you think that skim milk is just colored water. Therefore, a compromise of 1% seems reasonable. Point 3: reduce bacon and/or sausage intake to 3 strips/links per day. If changes in food choice are too challenging, then give that sweet woman of yours the power to remove 25% of the food on your plate before every meal. The final point, you must return to rocking in the free world. When you stopped, I believe a part inside all of us died.
Swarthy yours,
Ben

A little background on where this email came from. In college, I was sitting on the couch pounding Oreos and whole milk like it was my job (I didn’t have an actual job so this could qualify). Ben’s woman friend at the time looked at me and said “Do you know you just consumed more calories in 7 minutes then I eat in an entire day” to which Ben replied “He is just getting started”. And all I could think of was “Bummer for you”

Oreos were a routine Coffee was a routine. Sugar was a routine.

I lost 5 pounds by cutting sugar and some carbs. My six pack isn’t "defined" but I noticed a difference on the muffin top. I wasn’t trying to lose weight but cutting sugar did it. I ate 3 cookies in the last 30 days (one on accident , one on purpose, and somehow another one got into my mouth although I have no recollection of the incident). I switched from Coffee to Green Tea and I cut back on some carbs. I focused more on my core during workouts and what do you know 30 days and a noticeable difference.

Fantasy Football: You may remember my blog about naming your FF team. A little excerpt, “The “I am here to win” team names.These names can imply that you are here to win money and not here to show off your Star-Wars figurines collection...” As a reminder I named my team Sack Dance With You Mom, although it says "wife" in my blog.

I only know one of the guys in the league and I just took them for $750. I doubt I will be invited to play again next year but cashing it out in ones and rolling around in it should cure the non-invite blues.

Some Awards and Statements:

Favorite Comment:

"Hi I read your blog so count me as number 5! Also, kindergartners are 5 years old, you shouldn't kick dogs, and yes it is illegal to pay people to vote - but great post!

P.s.- I am your cousin Brian's girlfriend's sister :)"

Melissa S. I love you. I know that was a bold statement. I appreciate you reading my blog AND commenting and I don’t even know who you are. Take me now or leave me forever.

Random Reader Of The Year Who I Am Glad Found My Blog:
Sean McNabb. Thanks for taking me out when I turned 21. It meant a lot that you got me to rally after puking out of my nose. We should get a beer sometime.

Most Loyal Reader:

Not my sister Louise who I have to beg to read my blog. You are demoted in favorite sibling status.

Thanks to everyone who reads the blog. It is something that I have enjoyed the last couple of years and will continue to do until the FCC shuts me down; just like the IT guys did at work.

Happy New Year

Still Rockin' the Free World

The Schum Bag

2009: The Year of The….

2008-12-22T16:39:00.000-08:00

I am good at achieving goals but am not really good at setting them, which sounds odd. Sometimes they just end up setting themselves and then I achieve them because they are there.

Lately I am beginning to think that goals are more important than I previously realized. The other day I said out loud, “I wonder if I'm ever going to reach my potential?" I'm not sure where it came from, or even who I said it to, but it was like my subconscious mind kicking my conscious mind in the nuts. That statement has echoed in my head for a while now and could be developing into a motivational tool to get some goals set for 2009. On the flip side it could be the beginnings of a quarter life crisis. Either way 2009 is going to be exciting!

I just finished reading a blog about creating a roadmap for 2009. I think it's a good idea and I wanted to define a few goals or objectives for 2009 Schum Bag style. I figured the best way to lay this out would be like the game Trivial Pursuit. Remember the game with the little pieces of pie? Geography (blue), Entertainment (pink), History (yellow), Arts & Literature (brown), Science & Nature (green), and Sports & Leisure (orange). I figured all my goals can fall into one of those categories and will give you something a little different to read about then “Family”, “Work”, “Religion” blah blah blah. It's also rather fitting, as my Schum Bag Pursuits are basically the definition of Trivial.

Geography
Goal: 30/30 Club- I have a goal to see 30 different countries by the time I turn 30. Needless to say I have my work cut out for me. So far I am up to 15. That gives me 3ish years to get 15 more. (Doing the math, carry the one, subtract two fingers) That's 7 countries this year. No, wait, 5. I have been meaning to get to Asia, and figure this will be the year!

Entertainment:
Goal: I have always wanted to write a screenplay. I've no idea how, but I figure it can’t be too tough. It would also be fun to act out. That way the worst screen play and worst actor of 2009 could be combined and instantly become a cult classic (Yes, that's a direct challenge, Ben Affleck). My goal is to eventually make a B-list VH1 show and further embarrass my family. The possibilities are endless here.

History:
Goal: Get back in touch with old friends who I've been neglecting for no good reason. This is a goal that should be easy to attain, even though stalking the girls who got hot after high school on Facebook doesn't count. (Originally when I was thinking about history goals, I figured making out with old girlfriends would be a good “history” goal. Then I thought better of that plan.)

Arts & Literature:
Goal: I am pretty sure that my blog does not fall into “literature” but it has got to be close [Editor's Note: No, it's not even close]. As you know, my blog is all over the place with random thoughts; that won’t change. What will change is postings. My goal is to post a blog every Monday. I realize some of you probably get disinterested because I don’t post anything new for a couple of weeks. You will now be guaranteed that every Tuesday morning you can lose 15 minutes of your life reading my blog. It is the same theory behind cigarettes, every minute you spend reading my blog is a minute that you will never get back (you just can't sue me for damanges resulting from the eye-cancer the blog may induce). This goal will also keep me writing, something that I really enjoy.

Science and Nature:
Goal: This is the year that I shoot a dear or elk, or if necessary, run one over. For the past few years my typical hunting adventure usually consists of me freezing, walking a lot, and possibly carrying out a dead animal that I didn’t shoot. Each year my freezer gets stocked with another man’s meat (which sounds wrong) I can’t even provide for my family. If this was Oregon Trail I would have died somewhere in Oklahoma. No more, I say! I am making a commitment to killing in 2009!

Sports and Leisure:
Goal: It has already been documented that I will run the San Francisco Marathon. Other sports goals are: dominate in the old men’s basketball league and yell “Get that weak s%$# out of my house!” when I stuff a 5’7” 60-year old man. I would set softball goals but we all know any “goal” for me in softball is futile [Editor's Note: How about the "goal" of not rupturing some poor guy's kidney with an errant throw to first? Seems a logical place to start...]

I feel pretty good about the above exercise, but am open to all other goals. 2009: The Year of The Schum Bag.

The Mixed Bag December Edition

2008-12-15T16:30:00.000-08:00

This is everything that is blog worthy but may not be its “own” blog worthy, or I am not creative enough to stretch it into its own blog. This edition will cover topics including music videos, sloppy seconds and Einstein.

Music Videos:
My sister and I were hanging out the other day watching TV and stopped on some obscure channel playing music videos. I can’t remember the last music video that I saw previous to that moment but I can remember liking them. Kinda like the way my grandfather remembers street cars or evening newspapers. The first was The Killers song "Change Your Mind." Good song, great video. The second was Britney’s new song "Womanizer." Terrible song, amazing video. Let me be the 2 millionth person to say it: She is back! Though there was that awkward family moment watching it with my little sister. Kind of like the first time that a “grown up” scene came on while you are watching TV with your parents. The “should I change the channel” question pops into your head. Verdict: Come on she is 24ish, there is no way I was changing the channel.

Fortune Cookies
Much like music videos, a fortune cookie reentered my life. The fortune read, “What is temporary has to be temporary. Don’t let it last longer than a year.” Great start, poor finish. I felt the first sentence could have carried a lot more meaning without the second sentence. This got me thinking that I should write fortune cookie fortunes. Here are some off the top of my head:
“Did you really need the cookie, Fatty? You just ate a whole plate of Chinese food.”
“There's no such thing as lucky numbers.”
"To say 'you have street smarts' is a nice way of saying 'you're dumb.' "
“If you ate the kung-pow chicken, "hot-hole" will be the most significant part of your day tomorrow.”
"Learn Chinese... we'll own you soon enough."

Sloppy Seconds:
Sean Avery of the Dallas Stars may have just had the quote of the year (below).

“I love Canada," he said. "I just want to comment on how it's become like a common thing in the NHL for guys to fall in love with my sloppy seconds. I don't know what that's about, but enjoy the game tonight." He then walked out."

Congratulations Sean, you're my new favorite hockey player (sorry Hakan Loob)! I am disappointed that he probably won't play in the NHL again this year, but it was probably worth it. I still don't get why he got suspended? This was a draw for hockey, a sport that is a few years away from following the Arena Football League into bankruptcy. Just further proof that Gary Bettman is the lupus of sports commissioners, slowly turning the sport against itself. Maybe he's secretly clearing room for the WNBA... (that's right, back-to-back weeks with WNBA references! I Got Next!)

This quote is great because it 1) Started out with “I love Canada and 2) Single handily brought back sloppy-seconds into my vocab.

Einstein:
The History Channel had a special on Einstein a few days ago. It was awesome right up to the point when I found out he was in love with his cousin and ended up leaving his wife to marry her. This may be as devastating as finding out your favorite dog didn’t run away to a better home, but that your dad ran over him with the station wagon and buried him the in backyard. In the future what am I going to think of when I think of Einstein? The theory of relativity or the fact that he was banging his cousin? No verdict necessary.

Illinois Governors:
It might be just me but does anyone else think that the Illinois Governor scandal is not really a big deal? Did you even bat an eye when you heard about it? After the Bush Administration, does just offering to sell a Senate seat really even count as a scandal? Did he shoot a guy in the face about it? Was he water-boarding potential candidates? Was he trying to pick up a male prostitute in a men’s room? Was he sending underage boys dirty text messages? I think this is blown out of proportion.

D*&^ In a Box:
This is the time of year that makes me thankful for a couple things. My friends, family and Justin Timberlake and D**^ in a Box.

Dedicated to the Dedicated

2008-12-08T17:31:00.000-08:00

I have never been good at basking in my accomplishments. As much I was would like to be Kevin Garnet and scream out "ANYTHING IS POSSSIIBBLLEELEELELELELE!!!!!!!!" after winning the NBA Championship, I kinda have a different mentality (plus, I could probably only play in the WNBA. Far less drama. I Got Next).

For example, when I graduated college I thought “Thank F*&^%ing God that I don’t have to take another final for the rest of my life.” Not “Oh golly gee, I am so happy to have a degree.”

When I finished my marathon I thought “Good, I don’t have to run another step in my life…oh, and I didn’t poop my pants.” Not “Wow what an accomplishment 26.2 was" or "I'm so glad my nipples aren't bleeding."

The latter has come into my mind recently though. At the finish line I basically promised myself that I would never run another marathon. I had a hard time seeing the benefits of spending 18 weeks training in all types of weather. Or when it was too snowy one morning, running 15 miles on the treadmill before work. Was it worth the 17lbs that I lost; 17lbs of weight lifting and protein shakes to get me on the brink of the 200lb mark before I started training? Was it worth turning down an extra beer with some buddies because I knew I would pay for it later? When 300+ miles of training was over all I could think about was “Well I am glad that is over with.”

I'm bringing this up because... I'm going to run another marathon. Why? Good question.

My uncle Bill (U-B) deployed for Iraq in December 7th and he'll be over there for 6 months. I can go into all the reasons I am disappointed with this but feel it has been dissected to the point that everyone is numb to the all the problems in Iraq. In fact, I was numb to it until my dad and I had a conversation about him going and what it means. It’s also a helpless feeling of “what can I do to be supportive." In addition to voting and voicing my opinion, I decided that I can start running again; really running. See U-B runs, a lot, and he actually enjoys it. He also “encourages” me to run.

My plan is to pick a marathon that we can do together when he gets back. At Thanksgiving we talked about two. Either the San Francisco Marathon or the Leadville Marathon. The first one is running up and down the hills of San Francisco, the second is a marathon at 10,000 ft. I just puked a little thinking about either one of them. But this is important.

This time when I finish the marathon (a couple hours behind him) and see him at the finish line I can think. “Well I am glad that is over with….for both of us... Just sorry my nipples are bleeding...”

The Six Pack Challenge

2008-11-26T17:00:00.000-08:00

If you found yourself suddenly excited by the title of this blog thinking that you could purchase a 6-pack of PBR and relate to what I am about to write, I'm sorry to inform you that this is a different 6 pack challenge. For 27 years I feel I've maintained a pretty good level of fitness. True, I still can’t bench my body weight or run a 5 minute mile but I'm never a weak link in any athletic endeavor, besides bowling, damn you bowling (and hockey, Mr. I Don't Play For The Lightning). I understand that this has a lot to do with good genetics, some people just get screwed in life out of the shute, figuratively speaking.

My mom was looking at pictures from Panama and suddenly started laughing. “You have a little gut going on in this picture.” The last month or so I have noticed my shirts are fitting a little tighter. I lied to myself and attributed this more to the weight training and less to the cookie training that I've been involved with. For the first time in my life I do have a little gut. If you knew me when I was in high school you would probably think I'd been fasting for oh, say, 16 years. And for the first 26 ½ years of my life, it didn't matter how much I exercised or what I ate, genetics took care of it. It seemed like the moment I turned 27 and entered “my late 20’s” my metabolism stopped and said “I am sorry, it’s not working out for us anymore, I need a break.” Like a suddenly desperate bachelor, I'm not going down without a fight. You know how when a guy breaks up with a girl and the girl decides she is going to make him pay by working out and dressing really hot again to show him how he dumped the wrong girl? I am going to do that to my metabolism. “Oh no you didn’t just leave me. I will show you what you are missing out on.” Don’t worry, I'll leave the mini skirts in the closet.

On to the challenge. Starting December 1^st I'm making a commitment to getting my six-pack back. This is going to be a one month crash course on the abs. It is like Britney Spears rehab on my core. We all know there is a ton of potential, now if can she just pull herself together.

Part 1: Exercise Related

More cardio: You are not going to catch me on the sorority girl machines like the elliptical. Well, unless there are some sorority girls on the machine next to me. (Hey Ladies.) But I will be running, biking and swimming more often.

Core focus: I don’t have a personal trainer any more, or the old grandma in Boulder who teaches an abs class that almost killed me. (She is like 65 and a grandma. No joke.) but I do have a bosu ball and some Billy Blanks videos to target the core. 7 days a week for 31 days. …BAM! Billy Blanks style.

Part 2: Diet Related

I haven’t dieted one minute of one day in my life and believe me it is not going to happen now. What I'm going to do though is be more conscience of what I am eating for 31 days. Almost like an anti-Super Size me campaign. The focus will be less carbs and sugar. Seems simple. Notice I didn’t say eliminate it. This is just an inventory of what goes in.

Here is where you come in. You can do this too. For one month focus on one thing you would like to improve (whoa whoa whoa, when did this blog get all inspirational and self-helpish? Don’t worry, we'll resume to regular trashy blogging later) Shoot me an email on what you plan to do for December at noahschum@hotmail.com. It can be anything, read more, watch less TV, do 100 push-ups every day etc. Yes, I know this is the hardest month to do something like this, that's why I picked it. I will check in with you regularly and then you can lie to me and feel really guilty about what you're not doing and hopefully start doing it. Isn’t guilt amazing?

I plan to post a before and after version of my tum-tum , complete with air brush and tanning special effects. I would like to post your results too.

God speed and good luck

On The Road Again

2008-11-24T17:04:00.000-08:00

This was the first weekend that I have been home in over a month. I also noticed that it is the end of November and I have not posted a blog. Sorry.

Over the last few weeks I have slept in 8 beds, 4 states, 3 time zones, and 2 countries. Next week I'm off to Reno, then back to Denver for 2 hours before flying out to San Francisco for 24 hours, then back to Denver. I love to travel though. While I despise flying in an airplane for the “space” factor, it's always fun to be going somewhere. Here is a quick rewind of my travels. Each one of these deserves it's own blog... but that's not going to happen.

Las Vegas

Thought 1:
Here is how I know I am getting old (well besides the fact that I may have spotted a slight muffin top on myself): When I got back from Vegas, my sister asked me how the trip was and I started out by saying “our room was so sweet”. WTF? Our room? There was a spring break that 4 college buddies and I went to Vegas and DID NOT have a hotel room for the 3 days we were there. Now I am talking about the corner suite at the Mirage. What’s next, the deal I got on early bird buffet?

Thought 2:
Wedding dresses give me panic attacks and chest pain. Illustrated in the picture to the right

Thought 3:
My friend Connie was a beautiful and clever bride. Her gift to me was a journal and a pen with my initials engraved on it. Her card said “To my friend the writer, in case you ever want to keep any thoughts to yourself.” Touche. We both know that will never happen.

Thought 4:
I still know how to go big in Vegas evident by this photo. (Gotta love the marketing technique: Slap the wallet-sized porn pic twice, then stick it right in your face. It's basically a thinly veiled threat to call their hookers, or else...)

Panama
Panama deserves 4 blogs on all the different facets of why I was down there and what happened. Hopefully I will get some time to put some thoughts down in the future but…

Thought 1:
The Panamanian police force is far cooler than I anticipated. We had 3 run-ins with the cops and are only out 30 bucks of bribe money. That's not too bad if you ask me. We did have to be escorted out of the barrio (ghetto) and they did set up a road block to stop us fleeing in the rental car. But come on. What is Central America with out a little policia excitement?

You may be asking yourself, “What does a Panamanian road block entail? A tank? A pile of chicken crates?” It is actually just a standard road cone in the middle of the road and the policia stop every car until you show up pretending that you have no idea what is going on. I know, anti-climactic, right?

Thought 2:
The Panama Canal is amazing. The fact that someone said “Let's dig a huge ditch through a country” is insane. I also couldn’t help saying “That’s a HUGE ditch” over and over again ala Deuce Biggalo Male Jiggalo (yes, I'm that one guy who still quotes that movie. You're welcome, Rob Schneider.)

Thought 3:
Dave and I will never EVER agree on music choice. Not much has changed since our college road trips. Although, I think the gap is getting a little closer together. It is no longer Dr. Dre vs Atticus Finch. It is now Kanye West vs. M.I.A. The olive branch has been offered. There might be hope for world peace.

Tampa:

Thought 1:
Never judge a city when all you know about it is the names of it’s sports teams. I have spent a lot of time in Florida for work and don’t have a very positive opinion about it. Just a strange place. This is the first time I was in Tampa and it surprised me in a pleasant way. Kind of like a happy ending after a massage. Good on you, people of Tampa. Good on you.

Thought 2:
I went from the tech industry to the science industry. This is like trading Star Trek Conventions for a different Star Trek Convention. I need to find a new line of work. (Editor's Note: I know a guy on a vegas street corner that may have a job for you...)

Thought 3:
I stayed right across the street from the St Pete Times building where the Tampa Bay Lightning play hockey. I always wear sweats on the plane and this time I was carrying a big blue Nike travel bag The taxi driver picked me up and here was our exchange:

Taxi: "You play for the Lightning don't you?"

Me: "Ha ha, no."

Taxi: "Yes you do, its ok to tell me."

Me: "No, I really don't."

A few minutes go by.

Me:" Do I look like a hockey player?"

Taxi: "Yeah I thought for sure you played for the Lightning."

Me: "That sucks, you couldn’t have said the Bucs?"

Kinda made my day in one of those back-handed-compliment kind of ways. I was discussing with a friend how many times I have been mistaken for an athlete when I travel because I always wear sweats and my big headphones, not to mention I am bigger then 98% of the people in the airport. I think I am going to start bringing random pieces of sporting equipment with me and pretending I am some kind of athlete. Good for the morale.

I am open to other suggestions for making my time at the airport more enjoyable. Hit me up with ideas and I will put them into action over the next few months.

Welcome To The Good Life

2008-10-27T17:49:00.000-07:00

As my man Kanye says “Welcome to the good life”

Saturday I depart for Panama which is the only country I didn’t get to see on my tour of Central America. I am heading down to Panama for a couple reasons. On top of the usual vacation and seduction of Latin women, I am entering Phase 3 of my business plan.

Phase 1 Switch Underwear From Inside Out To Right Side In

Phase 2 Write Business Plan

Phase 3 Evaluate Market in Panama

Phase 4 The World

I always like to try to get in the mind of my readers so here is my best guess at your first thoughts "There is no way on earth you are qualified to start and run a business," to which I will reply, "You are correct." However, I have never let my under qualified brain stop me from making outlandish decisions (see: building a ski jump off of the roof of my college house or walking away from a job, putting all my stuff in a storage unit, and riding chicken buses through Central America). Just add this to the list.

The second question you may be thinking is, "Wait doesn't Panama border Colombia?" Yes it does my geographically savvy reader; however, my business plan will not end like the movie Blow in which you see all my friends turn on me and I get carted off to prison with a huge pile of coke in front of me. On a side note it could end like Scareface where I am shooting a grenade launcher through the walls of my mansion…with huge piles of coke in front of me. "Say ello to my lital friend!"

Ok Schum Bag Serious Time. The business I am looking to start has the potential to be profitable and socially responsible. Here is excerpt from the Executive Summary of our business plan.

Imagine the opportunity to…
… change the world for the better.
… contribute to sustainable growth in developing nations around the world.
… introduce a product that has been developed and achieved market success.
…earn a return of XX% over five years on your investment.

You may have noticed the “our” business plan sentence. My friend, confidant, and Halloween costume counterpart is the other co-founder. Before pictures of the Hindenburg flash through your head based on the management team, know this: there are not too many other people I know that would be willing to listen to an idea, quickly weigh all the potential risks against the benefits, and say “I’m in”. (see building ski jump off the roof)

I feel like there are always a few critical moments in life where you have to drop your pants and remind yourself that you have a pair. For me this is one of those times. If the research in Panama confirms the value of the initial business plan then we will be ready to start Phase 4.

Now I am hoping you are thinking. “Interesting. What exactly is your idea?” Good. I hope to not only share the idea with you but continue to mix in blogs about starting a business in the near future. I also hope to get a lot of feedback.

The Mixed Bag October Edition

2008-10-20T18:01:00.000-07:00

The crash course guide to the inside workings of The Schum Bag….gross

Anonymous Commenter:
By Order of the District Court of Colorado
"Anonymous" is to maintain a distance of no less than fifty (50) yards from The Schum Bag at all times. Anonymous may not engage in interaction of any with said Bag, including, but not limited to: drunk posting, racial slander insinuation, or back massage. Violation of this Court Order will result in a fine, imprisonment, or demotion on The Schum Bag’s crazy hot stalker list.

First off, it took me 5 minutes to figure out how to spell anonymous. When spell check doesn’t give you any options you know you are in big trouble. Now to the “Anonymous Commenter” who left an interesting message a few weeks back. I was torn on whether to leave this comment up or pull it down. I like all reactions that my writing invokes and I feel everyone has a right to their opinion, but that one crossed the line. Sorry, I just couldn’t leave it up. However, I was really excited that, 1. The person knew so much about my past and 2. Someone else reads my blog (I think I am now up to 3 readers).

I would like to quote Luke Walton of the Lakers who had is own crazy stalker experience for reflection. "When she pulled up to my house and started yelling at me after she fired a fake gun at me, I couldn't help but to start yelling back at her," Walton said. "She was in my driveway. But when we were interacting, I could tell by the stuff she was saying that she's not all there in the head -- which makes me feel bad for her. At the same time, most people who go on killing sprees are people who aren't all there in the head."

The Youth Vote:
Today I cast my vote for this years presidential election (I will be in Panama on November 4th) I am interested to see the turnout from the younger generations in this years election. Remember when MTV had a big campaign and Diddy wore his “Vote or Die” T-shirt? Well to me, the effort of the younger generation seems a little less hoaky this year but I am still concerned about the turnout. Since most of my readers fall into this demographic (2/3 if you count Anonymous Commenter) this is a call to arms to put down your blackberry, Nintendo controller, iPod or bong and get to the polling station. Make your friends vote as well, after all there is no more effective motivator of our generation then peer pressure. “Come on man everyone is doing it.”

Jobs I would be good at:
I was brainstorming my next career move and here are some of the ideas of professions that I could take to a whole new level.

Kindergarten Teacher- What if I told you there was a job where your only objective was to keep someone’s kid(s) alive for 6 hours a day? Welcome to life as a kindergarten teacher. “Sarah, you ate an entire box of crayons and your tummy hurts? Holy crap. Well, do you think you can make it through the rest of the day without dying until your parents pick you up?” This would be the coolest job ever. I doubt there is anything a 3 year old can say or do that would throw me off of my game. “What Billy? You pooped your pants. No problem buddy as long as it is not a case of Ebola we can get back to finger painting.” Who cares what they learn, they're 3. There is still plenty of time to correct whatever I mess up. Nobody ever blames their kindergarten teacher for their failures in life. [Editor's Note: The Schum Bag has just accidentally uncovered the base reason why the United States has slipped so low in international education rankings. Thanks Schum Bag, somehow I feel I must hold you responsible.]

Professional Gambler – You think I am passionate when I watch sports now? Just imagine if the rent was due. Of course, I would have to retire The Schum Bag name and make everyone call me “Ace. I’d have to get a dog so I could kick it when the team I was betting on lost. I could fly to Vegas every weekend, wear dark sunglasses inside (have you seen me in dark sunglasses?!) Now, I know there are professional poker players, but I want to be the complete package. I'd hit up everything: blackjack, craps, roulette, slots... Just not the The Big Wheel. That’s just silly.

Stay at Home Boyfriend – For 4 months I excelled at this (well, I guess it depends on who you ask). The positives were many: I went to the gym everyday to keep the body of a god in form. Hit up the grocery store for fresh produce and food (I know a good set of melons when I see them). Read and watched a lot of TV as not to embarrass my counterpart at any of her company functions. Shaved and showered occasionally. Took lots of naps so I was well rested and vibrant when she got home from work. I was basically a mix between a trophy wife and a well behaved dog.

There were some downsides though. Like the time I was eating a burrito on the couch and a little cheese fell of the side of my plate. I figured that I would “pick it up after I was finished eating”. By the time I remembered, the cheese had tunneled its way under me, melted due to the hotness of my rear, and stained the new leather couch. (I would like to note that this still could have happened if I had a job, however, the probability percentage of this event would have gone down.) I spent the next two hours trying to figure out how to get cheese stains off leather. All efforts failed and the stain morphed in size due to all my cleaning efforts. Fortunately my quick thinking rescued me and I sat in that same spot every time we were both in the house for the next few days. Genius. I know.

The Name Game:
My buddy Erik who is a semi-loyal reader asked me to help him name his dogeball team. I am thinking about charging a fee for my naming service. This could also be added to the “Jobs I would be good at” where I can name your fantasy football team, dodgeball team or kid’s little league team. Anyway, below were his choices in no particular order.

Small Balls big results
Spheres of Splendor
Balls Deep

Co-Eds with Balls

Hurl Your World
Black AND Blue Balls
If you can dodge your wife you can dodge a ball

Halloween

2008-10-13T16:41:00.001-07:00

Oh Halloween. Where men dress like boys and women dress in as little as possible. I love this upcoming “holiday." For some reason I never went through the “I am too suave to dress up” phase. I’m always excited to embarrass myself at least once a year. Okay, maybe everyday I embarrass myself, but on this one day I do it on purpose. Last year for Halloween I was in a small town in El Salvador with my little sister. We were warned not to go out at night so we had to have Halloween in our jail cell of a hotel room. This is me dressed up as an El Salvadorian rebel who cuts the heads off traveling Americans. Not bad considering what I had to work with.

I'm a little nervous though, as this will be the first time in a number of years that I'll be missing my Embarrassment Wing Man Dave. We always dress up as a team (on Halloween, not on random nights where we are hanging out together…) We have had some sweet costumes over the years.

This is us as the Beastie Boys via the Sabotage video:

The highlights of the night/costume were:

Dave’s authentic mustache, which he can miraculously grow just by thinking about it. The guy is amazing.
The Foundry, always a good bar on Halloween, played Sabotage for us and we made fools out of ourselves acting out the video on stage
We went out with scantily clad women

The Lows

Some other scantily clad women said that we looked like their dads and creeped them out. No making out with hot nurse or hot devil.

This is us as Napoleon Dynamite and Kip:

The Highs

Everyone wanted to take pictures with us. It was my one “I feel famous moment” and it came while wearing a purple shirt with a pony on it.
Hours of practice and booze paid off and I got to do the entire “dance scene” in the movie for everyone’s enjoyment. I believe there is a video out there if I am not mistaken.
We went out with scantily clad women

The Lows

A boyfriend (who was too suave to dress up) wanted to “step outside” after his girlfriend wanted to take pictures with us.
There was also the strange elk riding incident.

This is us as the Mario Brothers

The Highs

Could have been our greatest costume ever put together under $20. We were having a hard time finding overalls until my quick thinking scantily clad beer maid found some in the maternity section of the thrift store.
All you can drink jungle juice for $20
We went out with scantily clad women

The Lows

All you can drink jungle juice for $20
We were also put in a small holding area by the police because our costumes had too much awesomeness

Unfortunately I have to fly solo this year. I figured I would give the readers a vote, so without further ado, the ballot on The Schumbag’s Halloween Costume 2008:

Lil Jon- No matter how crazy things get during the night I can always remember to say YEEEEEEAHHHHHHH!

Vanilla Ice- Strange resemblance, plus I can answer every question by saying “Word to ya mutha”

Juno- This is my editor/only reader's suggestion and vote.

Ricky Bobby- Oh sweet baby Jesus. You are my favorite Jesus

Other__________________________

Where you at K-Fed?

2008-10-07T17:38:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure where you went Kevin Federline, but I miss you. Althoughyou remind me of binge drinking where I had WAY too much in a small amount of time and puked my brains out, I'm ready for a little taste again. I know you're probably as amazed as I am that you were deemed the “more suitable parent,” but come on. Did you really have to go into lock down? I was actually hoping that you would come out to Steamboat and do some skiing. Maybe we could meet up and you could deem me cool enough to be in your B list entourage? I’d like that. I would be the guy who drove you around and went to pick up Chinese food and stuff. Just a thought. The last time I saw you was on the Super Bowl commercial…..man….life does come at you fast.

As long as I am here and feeling a little down I would like any information on the following people:

Lil Jon: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHHHHHH! I must have fallen out of the “crunk” tree for sure. I was hoping to be Lil Jon for Halloween but am not sure if people will know who I am. It could turn ugly where I am just the tall skinny dude with a wig in the bar drinking out of a shinny cup screaming WhHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAT??? OKKKKKKKKKKKAYY! YEAHHHHHHHH! All night.

John Mayer: Come on John, you can’t be done making every man with a girlfriend cringe every time your songs come on.
A little outtake from my life:
Scene: Me and Heidi sitting in the car and “Your Body’s a Wonderland” comes on.
Heidi: “I wish you could sing”
Noah: “Hmmmm”
Heidi: “It would also be cool if you played the guitar”
Noah: “Yep”
Heidi: “Have you ever thought about growing your hair out? Maybe dying it brown and curling it? How about getting some work done on your face, maybe some pouty lips?”
Noah: “Okay we're there..."

Michael Phelps: Ok so maybe your milk date hasn’t expired yet Michael Phelps, but it will. Don’t believe me? Let me introduce you to a guy named Apollo Anton Ohno. Time to update the resume big guy (although I am sure you can include “large paddle feet” and “extended torso” on all job applications)

The Schumbag Liver Elimination Tour

2008-09-30T18:18:00.000-07:00

I’m sorry Liver. You are one of my favorite organs but in 3 weeks you are going to feel the effects of one of life’s perfect storms. The perfect storm is a “storm like no other, a group of cells that has combined to form a hugely brutal force of nature that overtakes anything in its path.” Including you, Liver. In fact I would like the third week in October this year to be deemed “The Schum Bag Liver Elimination Tour” (this might qualify for you too Brain, so pay attention). The menage trois of the perfect storm consist of 3 of my favorite things all coming together at the same time: my birthday, a wedding and Las Vegas. I feel drunk just typing that.

Las Vegas: Where men are men and women are not going to let you grind on them like they do in Tijuana. I love Las Vegas, everything about it. If I had an alter ego it would be a degenerate gambler and he would live in Vegas. I would date a stripper and have buried a bookie in the dessert.

My Birthday: If past birthdays are any indication of the anarchy that happens, then this is will be the “I am entering my late 20’s” welcoming party. Many a things have gone right and many a things have gone oh so wrong on my birthday. The latter includes puking out of my nose.

Weddings: I think it should be a rule that all my friends get married in Las Vegas. It only makes sense. This wedding would be a 10 anyway because it is one of my best friends but I am standing in it…. on the brides side. You want to talk about instant brides maid access, there is no better access then being one of them! I am not going to lie, this is sweet. I don’t even have to wear the dress. But I will anyway. Why not? It's Vegas.

So to you, Liver, I say so long. Let's just remember the good times, knowing that your road has ended. You've put in some great work.

The Mixed Bag

2008-09-03T19:59:00.000-07:00

Typically this is around the time where I slack off and write a mailbag to answer the questions that have been keeping you tossing and turning each night looking for answers from a wise prophet like myself. However, it appears that most of you are sleeping fine and have no need for my sagaciousness. Well, all of you except my man formally known as the “L-Dawg” who is now dubbed “The Doctor”. (If you just clicked on his blog and felt a sudden rush of narcolepsy, I’m sorry. He does deserve a shout out though because his business card does say “Bad Motha F*#%^” on it. .. or "Senior Marketing Manager" or something.)

I digress.

The Doctor had the only question which later became moot.

Soooooo.....

How 'bout them Broncos? The pro season starts tomorrow and I recently developed a gambling formula in excel that looks to be pretty much full proof. A couple years ago my company paid for some crazy in depth excel training. Learning about nested if statements is paying off now.

I am going to watch to see how my formula does for the first few weeks and then let loose on my offshore online gambling site. My second retirement is just around the corner!

A couple other notes for The Mixed Bag:

Blog
My own blog is blocked at work. This is the message that pops up.

Really? Are you kidding me?

It's All In the Family
My Uncle Bill has started blogging. Welcome to the club U-B, it’s good to have you.

Naming
One of my favorite ex-coworkers, Betsy, sent me an email this week titled "Help!" I figured she needed help with some big marketing project or reseller program. She actually just needed me to help her name her fantasy football team. After some negotiation we settled for "I'm Here for the Tight Pants" although I was pushing hard for "Illegal Procedure...In My Pants"

The VP of the GOP (which should be a rap song)
I have been having battles with someone I won’t mention by name, Heidi, on how hot Sarah Palin is. There is no hanging chad on my ballot. I see a lot of resemblance between her and the health teacher in Varsity Blues. Remember where that scene took us? (Maybe this is why my blog is blocked at work)

Vocab
I want to start adding some new words to my vocab. They don't have to be anything that make me sound smarter; they just have to make me sound cooler. Words for September: "Cat" and "Sans". Some examples how I want to use these are:

"Yeah he is a cool cat" or "You would look better sans pants"

(I just nodded my with head with approval while typing those two sentences; it's working already)

Netflix
I am not sure what I would do without Netflix. I am so satisfied with this service. I think the guy who invented it needs a Kevin Garnet “anything is possible” shout out. Watch the first 30 seconds of the video below and you will know how I feel about Netflix.

Fantasy Football

2008-08-25T19:17:00.000-07:00

I recently joined a Fantasy Football League and feel like I can’t wash the nerdiness off of me with my loofa… ah, manly bar of soap. I have dabbled in Fantasy Football twice before this. The first time I had no idea what I was doing and had players on my roster that were on a bye week. The second year I quit my job before the season started and bestowed my team to another guy in the office so I could travel. This year is different. I prepared for the draft. I read the rules. I put some thought into a team name and logo. Why? Money. This year we have money on each game and Papa needs a new pair of shoes. The royalty checks from the blog take a while to process...

I will get into the naming and logo of my team a little later, but I need to address a quandary that I'm having: the name “Fantasy Football." When I joined a group with “Fantasy” in the name, this is not exactly what I had in mind. I was thinking something more along the lines of Tom Cruise Eye’s Wide Shut club. Can we start a movement to change the name? Here are a couple of suggestions:

“Waste time at the office football”
“Girlfriendless time filler football”
“I live in my mom’s basement football”
“Ignoring my family because a guy on TV might give me bragging rights football”

Now that that's taken care of, let’s venture into the process of naming your team. A good name sets the mojo for the rest of the season and keeps any bad voodoo away from your team. This is basically the same brainstorming process that I use for marketing campaigns at work.

General football references with a twist
Safe, easy, funny and lets everyone know you're excited to join their socially inept league. Its basically an outlet to show the other teams "just how clever you are."

· Little Boys of Summer
· Division Double-D
· West Slope Probowlers Unite
· League Of My Own
· Kickers Galore

The player related team names with a twist.
Shows you know football AND you know pop culture. What happened in the off season? Any domestic violence disputes? Any strip club shoot outs? Celeb/player relationships? Options could be

· The Return of Jake Plummer Mustache
· Chris Henry's Agent
· Make it Rain ft. Pac Man Jones
· Jessica Simpson Wears the Pants

The “I am here to win” team names.
These names can imply that you are here to win money and not here to show off your Star-Wars figurines collection

· With My First Pick: Your Mom
· Wait this isn't Dungeons and Dragons?
· Who Would Jesus Play?
· End zone or bust..y chick

So what did I go with? I will let you take a guess. Here are 4 teams in my division. Guess which one is mine.

· Dream League
· Hawaiian Warriors
· Clueless Wonders
· Sack Dance With Your Wife

If you guessed the “Sack Dance With Your Wife,” you are correct. Like a pimp slap to the rest of the league it says, “Rules? ha, I make my own rules. Now trade me your best player.” Still gauging the effectiveness of this approach.

Now for the logo. I figured there was only one option...The original J.T.

Apples? How do you like them apples?