• I’m sorry, Fed. It’s all my fault.

    I can’t discuss the results of the US Open. The tennis US Open, golf fans. There’s one for tennis, too. Yes, I’m totally serious. Could we maybe start inserting the sport category into the sporting event from this point forward? I’d hate to be discussing my deep distress over the results of this year’s US Open and get into some sort of argument about Spieth. Because I like Spieth, and I rooted for Spieth. And, wait, how did this become about golf?!?

    Even now with plenty of time for Fed’s soul-crushing loss to sink in, I’m still not ok. I walked around the office today like a giant, pulsing, red, raw nerve. And gross. I don’t know what’s up with all those adjectives. I’m just trying to help you envision my inner turmoil. And guilt. Because you see, it’s my fault. My FAVORITE MALE TENNIS PLAYER EVER lost due almost entirely to the fact that my new toothpaste is the wrong flavor. OK, I should probably explain. I have a very unique, but entirely rational, jinx philosophy. It’s very involved, and I won’t go into it all here. I’ll save that for another blog post. Just know that I brushed my teeth halfway through the match and discovered that I had purchased the wrong flavor of toothpaste. If I’m being completely honest, I’d say that another member of my household, who shall remain nameless, purchased the wrong flavor of toothpaste, but why kick a man when he’s down. And, if I’m going to continue with the honesty, he didn’t exactly know it was the wrong flavor, but, again, let’s not get into finger-pointing. It’s such a nasty business. Regardless, the minute I tasted that detestable flavor, I knew Federer was sunk. Sorry, Roger. The inability to capture your 18th major title rests entirely on my shoulders.

    As an aside, why is it that every single blog post I compose comes to me in the shower? Why is that the time when my muse chooses to visit me? Could it possibly be any more inconvenient? I have to rush through my shower and all post-shower tasks, so I can dash to the computer to complete the transfer from my brain to my blog. It’s just a real pain in the ass is what it is. No, Dragon, that doesn’t mean I only take as many showers as I have blog posts. What? Yes, I could indeed have a blog reader named Dragon. In fact, I’m sure I do. ‘Sup, Dragon? How you been, man?

    September 14, 2015 • Tennis • Views: 66

  • My Favorite Bands: The Police

    It’s only fair that I start with this band. It’s been my longest love affair, after all. I discovered The Police on my own, and they received my adoration for a full four years before I transferred some of my devotion to The Smiths and demoted The Police to second place, so I could give Morrissey the attention he deserved. I cursed MTV for not airing their videos more often. You did NOT want to be the person who interrupted me during any viewing of “Don’t Stand So Close to Me” because Sting delivering that devilish grin of his at 3:12 was just pure hotness. I considered any interruptions to be punishable by days of sullen teenage acting out. I’m not exaggerating as much as you’d think. It’s not like we had DVR shit back then, people. I had to wait for the video to run again. It was the DARK AGES!!
    Favorite Album: Regatta de Blanc
    Favorite Album: Zenyatta Mondatta [Ed. Note: I had to override the choice. I’ll probably be back to override again with Ghost in the Machine. So gloriously atmospheric. But those are the ones in a basic 3-way tie.]

    August 30, 2015 • Music • Views: 50

  • Want a story created on the fly? I’ve got you covered. Please note, it’s going to get weird.

    I used to tell the kids stories before bed. Anna, in particular, used to love them. I’d start at point A and move to point B using a rambling plot that never made much sense until the story ended. But I never started the story with a plot in mind. I’d start with one character. Then I’d just build from there on the fly, speaking the words as my brain supplied them. My only restriction for a story would be that it couldn’t start with some starry-eyed damsel trying to get with some dude as her sole purpose in life because, nuh uh. Life’s got more to offer than that.

    JT started losing patience with my absurd stories years ago. He’s pretty grounded, and I’m quite the opposite. He’s still able to summon an appreciation for the ridiculous, especially when he is the ringleader, and, though his humor doesn’t trend anywhere near as dark as Anna’s and mine, he shows potential. I’m always glad to see that he’s kept some of his appreciation for the ridiculous, because I know embracing absurdity and allowing my imagination to run wild has served me well over the years. It’s helped me get over some internal struggles, and it’s a key component of my ability to troubleshoot obstacles that block my path personally and professionally. It sounds like I’m making excuses for being flighty, right? But retaining the ability to consider that anything is possible, regardless of how absurd it might sound on the surface, is helpful in more situations than you might think. Relax. I’m not suggesting that unicorns are really a thing that exist in this world. Although they did show up in Anna’s story last night. And I said that the people who don’t believe in them were drinkers of lemonade-flavored Kool-Aid as children. It made sense within the context of the story. Ask Anna.

    As I alluded to above, the stories have started again. Anna asked me for a story night before last. Greenie, the caterpillar, was the protagonist. It was such a rousing success, that I told her another one at her behest last night. It was about unicorns. Did you know that they pee on humans? And that they eat brussels sprout leaves? No. Not brussels sprouts. Brussels sprout leaves. It’s a very important distinction. If you give them a whole brussels sprout, they will shoot you the evil eye, and they will load up the brussels sprout in their butt and shoot it out at you. It will hurt. Plus, it’s no fun to be hit with a brussels sprout that’s covered in unicorn poo which is red with sparkly, shiny [Ed. Note: Redundant. Dumbass. Love, You] flecks in it. Trust me on this.

    And now that you’re kind of horrified that poo was a feature of the unicorn story, I’ll get to my point. There is this thing called Rory’s Story Cubes that you really need to get if you want to compose some kick-ass stories. Check it out.

    The alien, the scary shadow (or is it a MONSTER?), and the sheep walk into a bar.....

    The alien, the scary shadow (or is it a MONSTER?), and the sheep walk into a bar…..

    So, here’s the thing. I could tell you the story that I’d compose from this, but I’ll let you in on a secret. When the alien, the shadow (or is it a MONSTER?), and the sheep show up, the story invariably goes very, very dark. Why is the sheep involved in the darkness? I have no idea. Somehow the sheep always ends up in a river because the alien is chasing it with a giant probe. And if I’m telling the story to Anna, I’m trying to avoid telling her what aliens do with the probe. It’s all very stressful. Look. My brain’s in charge. I just voice her content. So, make up your own story. Have fun with it. This game rocks, and I haven’t even tried it with alcohol. Please report back if you do.

    August 22, 2015 • Family matters, Featured, This makes me happy • Views: 59