John Eustice is a nice enough fella I suppose. He's helped promote bicycle racing, he's been around a while, and he has some decent concepts and ideas.
But as a bicycle race announce....no let's broaden that considerably...as a sports announcer in general, he's totally unbearable. He's really the worst ever.
Here are a few of the foundations of any Eustice announced event.
The Italian
Regardless of the circumstances, John has to let the audience know that he can speak Italian. At first this was not that obvious as the first few winners of the Philadelphia race happened to be Italian. But over the years, John has had to go further and further down the results in order to find someone to showcase his bi-lingual skils. Hey John, we get it...bueno...or belisimo...or whatever. When you're interviewing the mechanic of the team who's Dutch rider got third in order to slip in a couple of words...maybe it's time to let it go. Save the showboating for ordering Linguini at dinner.
The Misidentification
This was epitomized perfectly in last Sunday's race when John spent 3 minutes butchering an explaination of the sport of cyclo-cross in honor of a rider that he identified as " cyclo-cross star Tim Johnson of the HealthNet team".
When he finally took a breath someone must have clued him in and he politely reidentified the rider as Amber someone or other who was on a solo break in the woman's race.
My first thought was, " what tipped you off John ? Was it the distinctly different colored jersey or the fact that Tim Johnson doesn't have a giant pair of tits ?"
The numbers
The numbers....ohhhhh the numbers. Eustice spews out numbers like a retarded Rainman. If one number is good enough for John then five numbers has to be better.
" T-mobile has 3-4-6, up to 7 riders at the front of the field."
He's like a bingo caller.
" The field is reaching speed of 20-22-24-30.....34 miles per hour and when your going 20 to 24 and up to 30 or 32 miles per hour, that's tiring"
B-13...O-64....BINGO !
The comparrisons
Cycling is like poker....cycling is like baseball...cycling is like cooking...cycling is like boxing.....and it goes on and on and on....
And while that, in and of itself, doesn't seem all that bad, consider the fact that in none of those instances does he ever make the analogy stick. For instance,
" Cycling is like football.....like football on a field that 800 yards....with 8-10-12 teams...all fighting and pushing...and that's why Lance Armstrong struggled as a young cyclist"
A football game with 10 teams ? And 800 yards ? Seriously...WTF are you talking about ? And as for Armstrong, the guy won a tour stage, the tripple crown, and the world championships all when he was barely old enough to drink the champaign. Fuck, according to this anology Armstong should be coaching the Eagles.
And finally the coup de gras
The final call
As a set-up to this point I should mention that an overriding principal to any Eustice announcement is that fact that his volume and inflection does not alway coincide with what's happening. Sometimes he emphasize a WORD in a sentence THAT HAS no significant to what HE'S trying to ephasize...while other times he just gets all excited and draws your attention to something that's really mundane..." LOOK AT THAT RIGHT THERE..HE'S SHIFTING !!!!"
Much of the above comes togeather at the greatest of all Eustice moments...the final call. As the riders charge toward the finish John works himself into a frenzy like an epileptic dog who's been slapped with a bloody steak. Some time around 300 meters to go he just starts screaming semi-coherantly at the top of his lungs. Typically he'll pick a rider or a team, I should add regardless of whether or not their in the race at the time, and just go with it.
" AND HERE THEY COME DOWN THE STRETCH AND IT'S TEUTENBURG LEADING THE SPRINT....TEUTENBURG...TEUTENBURG..TEEEEUUUUTEEEENNNNBBBBUUUUURRTGGGGG......TEUETUENEUTHDSIEGNEITHVATGIANWTGIIBBBBUUURRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGG...............and Sara Uhl wins....with McRae in second and Thompson in third."
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Friday, June 08, 2007
Thursday, May 24, 2007
if my kids..
..want to play games with me, they better be prepared to bring it...cause i don't lay down to anyone.
Ric Flair knows what I mean...
Ric Flair knows what I mean...
Monday, May 21, 2007
Do you think...
....the Jesus ever got turned down ?
The Bible is filled with stories about how he put the band together. How he went around and called on guys and they dropped everything and started following him.
But do you think that the bible left out any parts where it might not have gone so well ?
I mean with all due respect, he was asking quite a bit. I could see him rolling up to some guys and saying, " Hi, I'm Jesus. What are you guys up to ?"
" We're going fishing."
" Well I am the fisher of men "
" You're going to be a fisher of kicks to the head if you don't stop bugging us !"
Then again Jesus was a charasmatic dude, so if anyone would bat 100% I suspect it would be him.
The Bible is filled with stories about how he put the band together. How he went around and called on guys and they dropped everything and started following him.
But do you think that the bible left out any parts where it might not have gone so well ?
I mean with all due respect, he was asking quite a bit. I could see him rolling up to some guys and saying, " Hi, I'm Jesus. What are you guys up to ?"
" We're going fishing."
" Well I am the fisher of men "
" You're going to be a fisher of kicks to the head if you don't stop bugging us !"
Then again Jesus was a charasmatic dude, so if anyone would bat 100% I suspect it would be him.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Dr. Flick
I once dated this girl who was a nursing student. She was mostly a pain in the ass, but she was really good at the sex thing, so of course I was smitten.
On one Thrusday evening I had designs on taking her out, getting her drunk, then doing my best to talk her into coming back to my place. It was really quite the plan. The only catch was that she had a project to do at the computer lab with the other students in her class, but that I could roll over around 9 pm and pick her up there.
At nine I strolled into the computer lab to find a gaggle of frantic nurses-to-be. They had been working on the project for hours and apparently it hadn't gone well. Worse yet, it also became apparent that whatever issues they were having were putting my chances of getting laid in jeopardy.
The project they were working on was a computer simulation that required them to move a sick patient from 11,000 feet in elevation to 3,000 feet without killing the poor guy. To this point, they had been unsuccessful. Desperate to help my own situation I asked if I could give it a try.
The way it worked was that you'd stabilize the patient then click a button that would move him down 1,000 feet. The computer would then indicate if the patient was alive, dead, or somewhere in between.
Seeing as I didn't really know what I was doing, I just started fill the dude up with everything in the medical kit. Vasodialators, vasosuppressors, morphine, whatever...the bastard was getting down the mountain and I was going to be sitting in a bar with a cold beer and then figuring out how to undo a front clasp bra, one way or another.
So I clicked the button...
11,000 feet...no problem.
10,000 feet things started to go screwy....I jacked him up again... clapideral, nitrogylcerine, some more morphine, a shot of wild turkey, whatever..
CLICK for 9,000 feet....alive !!!! Majorly fucked up...but alive.
And so it continued 8,000.....7,000....6,000 each step of the way and with each click the computer would respond that the patient was hanging on by a thread....
At 4,000 feet I had to use the paddles on him.
You could cut the tention with a knife and beads of sweat formed on my forehead....I GOT A HEATBEAT BACK...more drugs...something...anything...I was shaking...so close, yet so far away, but I pressed on powered by the cheers of the small crowd that had formed behind me and by the thought that I was surely due a blowjob if I could just pull this last bit off.
I reached out a nervous finger and clicked enter.
3,000 feet.....ALIVE !!!!!! The room went crazy with cheering nurses-to-be, there were hugs all around, and a got a kiss that, if indicative of things to come, promised a very bountenous evening ahead.
In the middle of the furvor , one mousey looking girl walked over and tore off the print-out of the entire exercise that they were to turn in to the professor. As she riffled through the pages of dot-matrix laden sheets her eyes got big and she started for clamor for everyone's attention.
"Wait, wait, wait, hang on.", she tried to speak over the din.
She looked like a little kid who came down the stairs at Christmas morning and suddenly realized that his family being Jewish meant that there'd be no presents. She turned her gaze directly at me, " When you started at 13,000 feet..what was the first thing you did ?"
" I dunno, I think i gave him some oxygen and a shot or something..you're the one with the shee.."
" NO !", she cut me off abruptly and the room when silent, " I don't mean what's the first treatment you game him. I mean what was the first thing that you did when you sat down at the computer ?"
" Ahhh, I dunno..whatever..I think I hit go."
A collective groan coincided with everyone stealing paniced glances at each other and then they all began dejectedly looking at the floor...on the far side of the room one girl started to cry. After a moment everyone started walking back to their computers.
" Wha ?", I was stunned. I looked to my girl, " Wha ?". It was all I could muster.
She had an expression that I'm not sure that I had every seen before or since. It was equal parts sadness, distain and embarassment, but with just a tad bit of sympathy. I also got the sense that the sympathy was the only thing holding her back from driving staples into my head.
" You see, " she spoke with great effort, " the first thing that you were supposed to do was make the patient sick."
" He wasn't sick to begin with?"
" No, you have to assign him an illness. He was heathy at the top. "
" Well then...how did he almost....but I had to.... the paddles", I was starting to catch up now, " Oh......OH !"
"yeah," at this point she wasn't even making eye contact anymore.
" So I guess this means-"
"-yeah."
" Um, oh ok. I guess I'll...well...you know", and I shuffled out the door. I'd have happily traded places with the sick guy...paddles and all.
On one Thrusday evening I had designs on taking her out, getting her drunk, then doing my best to talk her into coming back to my place. It was really quite the plan. The only catch was that she had a project to do at the computer lab with the other students in her class, but that I could roll over around 9 pm and pick her up there.
At nine I strolled into the computer lab to find a gaggle of frantic nurses-to-be. They had been working on the project for hours and apparently it hadn't gone well. Worse yet, it also became apparent that whatever issues they were having were putting my chances of getting laid in jeopardy.
The project they were working on was a computer simulation that required them to move a sick patient from 11,000 feet in elevation to 3,000 feet without killing the poor guy. To this point, they had been unsuccessful. Desperate to help my own situation I asked if I could give it a try.
The way it worked was that you'd stabilize the patient then click a button that would move him down 1,000 feet. The computer would then indicate if the patient was alive, dead, or somewhere in between.
Seeing as I didn't really know what I was doing, I just started fill the dude up with everything in the medical kit. Vasodialators, vasosuppressors, morphine, whatever...the bastard was getting down the mountain and I was going to be sitting in a bar with a cold beer and then figuring out how to undo a front clasp bra, one way or another.
So I clicked the button...
11,000 feet...no problem.
10,000 feet things started to go screwy....I jacked him up again... clapideral, nitrogylcerine, some more morphine, a shot of wild turkey, whatever..
CLICK for 9,000 feet....alive !!!! Majorly fucked up...but alive.
And so it continued 8,000.....7,000....6,000 each step of the way and with each click the computer would respond that the patient was hanging on by a thread....
At 4,000 feet I had to use the paddles on him.
You could cut the tention with a knife and beads of sweat formed on my forehead....I GOT A HEATBEAT BACK...more drugs...something...anything...I was shaking...so close, yet so far away, but I pressed on powered by the cheers of the small crowd that had formed behind me and by the thought that I was surely due a blowjob if I could just pull this last bit off.
I reached out a nervous finger and clicked enter.
3,000 feet.....ALIVE !!!!!! The room went crazy with cheering nurses-to-be, there were hugs all around, and a got a kiss that, if indicative of things to come, promised a very bountenous evening ahead.
In the middle of the furvor , one mousey looking girl walked over and tore off the print-out of the entire exercise that they were to turn in to the professor. As she riffled through the pages of dot-matrix laden sheets her eyes got big and she started for clamor for everyone's attention.
"Wait, wait, wait, hang on.", she tried to speak over the din.
She looked like a little kid who came down the stairs at Christmas morning and suddenly realized that his family being Jewish meant that there'd be no presents. She turned her gaze directly at me, " When you started at 13,000 feet..what was the first thing you did ?"
" I dunno, I think i gave him some oxygen and a shot or something..you're the one with the shee.."
" NO !", she cut me off abruptly and the room when silent, " I don't mean what's the first treatment you game him. I mean what was the first thing that you did when you sat down at the computer ?"
" Ahhh, I dunno..whatever..I think I hit go."
A collective groan coincided with everyone stealing paniced glances at each other and then they all began dejectedly looking at the floor...on the far side of the room one girl started to cry. After a moment everyone started walking back to their computers.
" Wha ?", I was stunned. I looked to my girl, " Wha ?". It was all I could muster.
She had an expression that I'm not sure that I had every seen before or since. It was equal parts sadness, distain and embarassment, but with just a tad bit of sympathy. I also got the sense that the sympathy was the only thing holding her back from driving staples into my head.
" You see, " she spoke with great effort, " the first thing that you were supposed to do was make the patient sick."
" He wasn't sick to begin with?"
" No, you have to assign him an illness. He was heathy at the top. "
" Well then...how did he almost....but I had to.... the paddles", I was starting to catch up now, " Oh......OH !"
"yeah," at this point she wasn't even making eye contact anymore.
" So I guess this means-"
"-yeah."
" Um, oh ok. I guess I'll...well...you know", and I shuffled out the door. I'd have happily traded places with the sick guy...paddles and all.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
I might actually pee my pants
Which reminds me of this post last July
Heart attack man
Long ago, before the Flick children, before my current job, before I knew better, I may have sampled the weed now and again.
Typically what would happen is that I would be meeting up with my younger brother, who was in college at the time, and he would go about helping me "take the edge off”. As this was a prohibited activity as far as Mrs. Flick and my parents were concerned, this would often involve very complex and contrived scenarios to get us out of the house long enough to take care of business, get some gum, get some Visine, and then nervously reintegrate ourselves back into the family function. We were like the James Bonds of stoners.
In retrospect it was really far too much work, but at the same time I think that was half the fun.
After one particular escapade that was cut short, my brother said to me, "Here take the rest of this and put it to good use," and handed me the ragged remnants of a hand rolled “cigarette.”
About a week later on a Friday evening after a particularly stressful week, I thought that it was time to put the plan into action. The main problem was that Mrs. Flick was at home and does NOT in any way approve of said activities. So I immediately went into 007 mode. While she sat in the living room watching TV, I offered to cook us up some dinner. I pulled out a big kettle and started boiling up the spag. As she watched TV and I stirred the spag, the plan was put into motion....
Me: So how was your day, dear?
Mrs: Oh it was ... (while she talked I ran out to the garage, busted out the J, lit it, sucked as hard as humanly possible, held...held...exhaled...ran back into the house)......
Me: OH WOW, that's great (stirring the spag). Where did you go for lunch?
Mrs: Oh we went over to the Olive Garden, the wait wasn't....(out the door again...lighting and sucking like I was trying to get a milkshake through a cocktail straw...huge breath....hold it....hold it...getting light-headed...blow...run back inside...stir)..........and the desert was terrific.
And this continued for like 10 minutes. Her talking, me running out to the garage, power smoking, and then rushing back in to pick up the conversation.
Finally, after a few minutes I realized that I was ripping high. I don't mean normal high, I mean that I was having a hard time figuring out how to use the ladle to stir the spaghetti. Remember I was a very infrequent user, a rank amateur if you will. In my frantic haste to get the job done, I may have...no make that I definitely overdid it.
So as I'm standing there, trying to speak, trying to stir, and trying to keep my head together, it started happening. The "IT" was my heart. It started going nuts....BOOM.............BOOM.....bababababababababababababab......long pause.....BOOM BOOM BOOM.....bababababab…
In retrospect, it's no wonder. In a 5 minute period I had taken about 10 HUGE breaths and held it as long as I could AND I had run back and forth as fast as I could from the kitchen to the garage 10 times both way. Drugs or no drugs my body had to be wondering what the hell was going on.
And so it continued...babababababab....BOOM......BOOM BOOM....
I started to panic..."OK, dude.... you're having a heart attack.....what did they tell you in boy scouts....hmmmmm....oh, I'm supposed to lay down and elevate my feet.....oh wait that's for shock....fuck....what do you do for a heart attack....OK check your left arms...that shit's cool.....OK....maybe if I lay down and put my feet in the air I can get all the blood to my heart. YEAH! That shit will work, I'll get all the blood to my heart and that will chill it out."
So I lay on the kitchen floor and put my feet up on the counter...taking long and slow breaths.
The whole time this is going on Mrs. Flick has no idea. From her perspective we're having a nice conversation. And seeing as I don't want to draw attention to my stone-assed heart attack situation, I tried to carry on the conversation as normal as usual.
The problem was that since I was laying on my back (having palpitations and trying to remember if I had made out a will) the tenor of my voice must have changed, bouncing off the ceiling and into the living room. This caused Mrs. Flick, who was relaxing on the couch, enjoying the beginning of her weekend, to look up curiously.
"Why are you laying on floor?"
"Ummmm, because.....ahhhh....now don't over react...but I think I might be having a heart attack."
"WHAT!?!?!??!?!?!??!" Mrs. Flick leapt from the couch and rushed to my side. “YOU’RE HAVING A HEART ATTACK? ARE YOU SERIOUS?"
"Yes,” I answered. The tears were starting to well up in my eyes...I was too young to die... “Honey, I love you."
"I'm calling the ambulance.” Now we were both panicked...she grabbed the phone and held my hand.
"Honey...just in case I should black out..."
"Yes?"
"Well...one of the first things that they'll want to know..."
"Yes?" She was dialing and trying to listen to me at the same time.
"Well they'll want to know if I've been on any medications."
"Right?" She looked at me sort of puzzled.
"Well you see....you have to tell them....for my own safety...you'll have to tell them that I may have just ...you know....smoked a bunch of marijuana in the garage."
She stopped dialing.
"YOU'RE NOT HAVING A HEART ATTACK, YOU ASSHOLE. YOU'RE HIGH." With that she stood up, threw the phone at me, and walked back into the living room leaving me lying on the floor like the idiot I am.
A dozen years on and I'm still not allowed out of sight with my brother, and we rarely have spaghetti without me getting at least one disgusted, disapproving look.
this guy has my vote
Brief Overview of Congressman Paul’s Record
He voted against the Patriot Act.
He voted against regulating the Internet.
He voted against the Iraq war.
He has never voted to raise taxes.
He has never voted for an unbalanced budget.
He has never voted for a federal restriction on gun ownership.
He has never voted to raise congressional pay.
He has never taken a government-paid junket.
He has never voted to increase the power of the executive branch.
He does not participate in the lucrative congressional pension program.
He returns a portion of his annual congressional office budget to the U.S. treasury every year.
Congressman Paul introduces numerous pieces of substantive legislation each year, probably more than any single member of Congress.
He voted against the Patriot Act.
He voted against regulating the Internet.
He voted against the Iraq war.
He has never voted to raise taxes.
He has never voted for an unbalanced budget.
He has never voted for a federal restriction on gun ownership.
He has never voted to raise congressional pay.
He has never taken a government-paid junket.
He has never voted to increase the power of the executive branch.
He does not participate in the lucrative congressional pension program.
He returns a portion of his annual congressional office budget to the U.S. treasury every year.
Congressman Paul introduces numerous pieces of substantive legislation each year, probably more than any single member of Congress.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Oh rickey you're so fine....
For all his accomplishments, you'd think snagging a foul ball in the stands would be small stuff for Rickey Henderson. Hardly the case.
Henderson, who caught a foul ball Monday at AT&T Park, where he was watching the Mets play the Giants, kept the ball instead of handing it to a young fan.
“Everybody was asking me for the ball,” Henderson said Tuesday, according to the Star-Ledger of Newark, N.J. “I said, 'You're not getting this ball. I always wanted to get a foul ball. This one's going on a shelf at home.' ”
The young fan didn't go home empty-handed, though, as Henderson signed another ball the kid already had.
Henderson, 48, joked that his catch in the stands shows he's still got the skills to play the game.
“Showing 'em I've still got good hands. The ball found me I was so quick.”
Henderson, who caught a foul ball Monday at AT&T Park, where he was watching the Mets play the Giants, kept the ball instead of handing it to a young fan.
“Everybody was asking me for the ball,” Henderson said Tuesday, according to the Star-Ledger of Newark, N.J. “I said, 'You're not getting this ball. I always wanted to get a foul ball. This one's going on a shelf at home.' ”
The young fan didn't go home empty-handed, though, as Henderson signed another ball the kid already had.
Henderson, 48, joked that his catch in the stands shows he's still got the skills to play the game.
“Showing 'em I've still got good hands. The ball found me I was so quick.”
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
splain this
In the grocery store snack aisle why are the bags for the pretzels transparent, and the bags for the totilla chips tranparent, but you never see potato chip bag that you can actually see the contents ?
Do you think that made a traparent bag and what they ended up with was so hideous that they said, " We can never let the public see something so terrible " ? How bad can it be ?
I ask because I just opened a bag of Tostitos nacho chips and they came in a non-see-thru bag, which seemed odd.
It it possible that Totitos, after offering up nachos as a healthy alternative to the chip, has now switched gears and trying to make the nacho see more 'unhealthy'. Is this a portent that being a slob is coming back into style ? If so, does this make me a trendsetter ?
Do you think that made a traparent bag and what they ended up with was so hideous that they said, " We can never let the public see something so terrible " ? How bad can it be ?
I ask because I just opened a bag of Tostitos nacho chips and they came in a non-see-thru bag, which seemed odd.
It it possible that Totitos, after offering up nachos as a healthy alternative to the chip, has now switched gears and trying to make the nacho see more 'unhealthy'. Is this a portent that being a slob is coming back into style ? If so, does this make me a trendsetter ?
Friday, May 04, 2007
Thursday, May 03, 2007
hodgepodge....
....can't I can't spell potpourri.
In the last week or so I've...
- had a fat old man charge me like he was going to tackle me then pull up short and make threatening gestures. That conversation ended with me saying, " You can either leave or go to jail."
- Slept in my van for a couple of hours because I forgot my house key and didn't want to wake up my wife. For those keeping score at home, hypothermia beats out 'angry wife' 100% of the time.
- Mildred ( remember her ?) called up asking me, " what's up with the flying spheres that are zooming around in the sky at night. Is the government up to something ? " She also let me know she was concerned about some guy who was following her to the newspaper stand who, " walks like a gunfighter and has round hair where his forehead should be." Mildred son is out of town so she's a little lonely.
Here's a list of words that the guy across the hall from me uses instead of the regular English words that the rest of us use:
* AK LEAST for at least
* GEN-U-ER-LY for either generally or genuinely...we're not sure
* PICKS-T-CHURES for pictures
* I (pause) DRATHER for I'd rather
He's also fond of the words "caddyywhapus" and " rectallinear" the later which sends me into fits of laughter like a 5th grader.
You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around...
In the last week or so I've...
- had a fat old man charge me like he was going to tackle me then pull up short and make threatening gestures. That conversation ended with me saying, " You can either leave or go to jail."
- Slept in my van for a couple of hours because I forgot my house key and didn't want to wake up my wife. For those keeping score at home, hypothermia beats out 'angry wife' 100% of the time.
- Mildred ( remember her ?) called up asking me, " what's up with the flying spheres that are zooming around in the sky at night. Is the government up to something ? " She also let me know she was concerned about some guy who was following her to the newspaper stand who, " walks like a gunfighter and has round hair where his forehead should be." Mildred son is out of town so she's a little lonely.
Here's a list of words that the guy across the hall from me uses instead of the regular English words that the rest of us use:
* AK LEAST for at least
* GEN-U-ER-LY for either generally or genuinely...we're not sure
* PICKS-T-CHURES for pictures
* I (pause) DRATHER for I'd rather
He's also fond of the words "caddyywhapus" and " rectallinear" the later which sends me into fits of laughter like a 5th grader.
You do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around...
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Groucho Marx said it best
Out of the blue I got a call last night, " Some of the teaching staff and parents were talking and we're wondering if you'd be interested in being Vice President of the PTA ?"
Given what you've read on the blog, you may find yourself sitting there with a bit of a surprised look on your face. IMAGINE HOW I FEEL !
I wrote PTA up above, but it might be PTO. If there is a difference I wouldn't know. Harper Valley had a PTA, I remember that from TV. I've also heard PTO thrown around from time to time. But the point is that it's not like I'm an active member of the organization. Why they selected me I have no idea...hell, I don't even know how they know who I am. Random draw perhaps ?
In any event, I immediately have to call into question the integrity of any organization that would choose me to be a member. What's wrong with those people ?
I was stunned enough to ask the guy for a day or two for me to think about it. On one hand, I always enjoy doing anything that's going the help out my kids. On the other hand, I'm really not sure that I'm capable of getting though a term without... shall we say...an incident. On the ....errrr...third hand, if I had a third hand, having me flip out on someone at an elementary school function would offer up some interesting stuff to write about.
This one I'm going to have to ponder for a while.
Given what you've read on the blog, you may find yourself sitting there with a bit of a surprised look on your face. IMAGINE HOW I FEEL !
I wrote PTA up above, but it might be PTO. If there is a difference I wouldn't know. Harper Valley had a PTA, I remember that from TV. I've also heard PTO thrown around from time to time. But the point is that it's not like I'm an active member of the organization. Why they selected me I have no idea...hell, I don't even know how they know who I am. Random draw perhaps ?
In any event, I immediately have to call into question the integrity of any organization that would choose me to be a member. What's wrong with those people ?
I was stunned enough to ask the guy for a day or two for me to think about it. On one hand, I always enjoy doing anything that's going the help out my kids. On the other hand, I'm really not sure that I'm capable of getting though a term without... shall we say...an incident. On the ....errrr...third hand, if I had a third hand, having me flip out on someone at an elementary school function would offer up some interesting stuff to write about.
This one I'm going to have to ponder for a while.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
This morning's conversation
Mrs. Flick: What we need around here is a Libby Lu's.
Me: What's that ?
Mrs. Flick: It one of those places where you have a birthday party for little girls where they have makeovers and put on a fashion show.
Me: That's horrible. I can't imagine anything worse.
Mrs. Flick: You're ridiculous...name one little girls who doesn't like playing dress up ?
Me: JonBenet Ramsey ?
Me: What's that ?
Mrs. Flick: It one of those places where you have a birthday party for little girls where they have makeovers and put on a fashion show.
Me: That's horrible. I can't imagine anything worse.
Mrs. Flick: You're ridiculous...name one little girls who doesn't like playing dress up ?
Me: JonBenet Ramsey ?
Friday, April 27, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
how NOT to play - for poker fans only
The following video propted this exchange.
AA: Did you see the video.
B: HAHAHA...Phil Iveys stare is the funniest part.
B: Did you notice Jennifer Tilly panting like a dog in heat.
AA: You mean they way her tits kept heaving up and down over and over ? No I didn't notice that at all.
AA: Did you see the video.
B: HAHAHA...Phil Iveys stare is the funniest part.
B: Did you notice Jennifer Tilly panting like a dog in heat.
AA: You mean they way her tits kept heaving up and down over and over ? No I didn't notice that at all.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
hot commodities
Footage the other night included piranhas scavenging an injured fish in a flurry of activity that saw the victim go from fish to bones in a matter of minutes.
A similar event occurs at my house on a daily basis. Instead of piranhas I have my wife and kids. Instead of injured fish we have toilet paper, bottled water, and chips.
The toilet paper thing I think I've mentioned before. I initially thought that perhaps they were all mistaken and thought that you were to stick your finger in the roll hole and wipe with the entire roll. They've assured me, however, that they actually unwind the paper from the roll and use it as prescribed. Somehow though, I come home every week with a gigantic package of 50 rolls every Monday night...but every Sunday morning I find myself on the can paperless.
Don't tell anyone, but I've started hording the stuff and hiding it around the house.
The bottled water is a new phenomena. I drink water from the spigot. I'm no elitist. But my wife doesn't like the taste and insists that the kids also don't like the tap water ( but I've conducted my own secret experiments and have concluded that they wouldn't know the difference if i served them sewer water). So they have a Brita filter. The bite in my ass is that EVERY DAY I find the Brita either empty or with less than a glassful in the tank. I don't even drink from the friggin thing and I have to fill it every day.....its sort of like my daughters fish who's tank I change, but that's a different story. So aaaaaaanyway, whenever I have a poker game I buy bottled water for my guests. Without exception the piranha show the next morning. As early as the next afternoon I find half drank bottles of water all over the house. THEY DON'T EVEN FINISH THEM. I haven't had a case of water last until Wednesday...ever. The irony is that the Brita stays full.
And the chips should be pretty self explanatory. And it doesn't matter what chips they are...tortilla, potato, sun chips, whatever. If it's flattened and it chunches, it's gone. No bag of chips has made it more than 24 hours. WAIT that's not true. Often the chips get shredded down to a half inch of crumbs and then the bag is rolled up and tossed into the cabinet in favor of opening a second bag and shredding that down. Two weeks ago i purposely bought the most rancid flavor of chips that I could find...salt and vinegar or spinach and shrimp or something like that. I figured that way I could come home from work and have something...ANYTHING...to much on. I came home, opened the closet...nothing. All gone.
So I'm in the market for a foot locker or some sort of safe. It needs to be big enough for a case of water, two rolls of TP, and a bag of chips. Anyone selling, please contact me via the email address on the right. Thanks.
A similar event occurs at my house on a daily basis. Instead of piranhas I have my wife and kids. Instead of injured fish we have toilet paper, bottled water, and chips.
The toilet paper thing I think I've mentioned before. I initially thought that perhaps they were all mistaken and thought that you were to stick your finger in the roll hole and wipe with the entire roll. They've assured me, however, that they actually unwind the paper from the roll and use it as prescribed. Somehow though, I come home every week with a gigantic package of 50 rolls every Monday night...but every Sunday morning I find myself on the can paperless.
Don't tell anyone, but I've started hording the stuff and hiding it around the house.
The bottled water is a new phenomena. I drink water from the spigot. I'm no elitist. But my wife doesn't like the taste and insists that the kids also don't like the tap water ( but I've conducted my own secret experiments and have concluded that they wouldn't know the difference if i served them sewer water). So they have a Brita filter. The bite in my ass is that EVERY DAY I find the Brita either empty or with less than a glassful in the tank. I don't even drink from the friggin thing and I have to fill it every day.....its sort of like my daughters fish who's tank I change, but that's a different story. So aaaaaaanyway, whenever I have a poker game I buy bottled water for my guests. Without exception the piranha show the next morning. As early as the next afternoon I find half drank bottles of water all over the house. THEY DON'T EVEN FINISH THEM. I haven't had a case of water last until Wednesday...ever. The irony is that the Brita stays full.
And the chips should be pretty self explanatory. And it doesn't matter what chips they are...tortilla, potato, sun chips, whatever. If it's flattened and it chunches, it's gone. No bag of chips has made it more than 24 hours. WAIT that's not true. Often the chips get shredded down to a half inch of crumbs and then the bag is rolled up and tossed into the cabinet in favor of opening a second bag and shredding that down. Two weeks ago i purposely bought the most rancid flavor of chips that I could find...salt and vinegar or spinach and shrimp or something like that. I figured that way I could come home from work and have something...ANYTHING...to much on. I came home, opened the closet...nothing. All gone.
So I'm in the market for a foot locker or some sort of safe. It needs to be big enough for a case of water, two rolls of TP, and a bag of chips. Anyone selling, please contact me via the email address on the right. Thanks.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Sunday Night Line-up
In the absence of football, Sunday night television has been a waste land. That is until I came across the Discovery Channel Sunday night line-up.
First up PLANET EARTH
This show definitely lives up to the hype. Much of it in HD, much of it in high speed, and all if with the most amazing nature footage since Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. If you have kids, its really something that you'll enjoy and learn from together.
This is followed by MAN VS WILD
Here's the gig. The take this British Special Services dude and drop his ass somewhere remote and he has to get his ass out safely. Last night they put him at the top a Sierra Nevada mountain with nothing except a canteen, a knife and a flint.
In one episode the dude started a fire with a stick, ate a live snake, killed a rabbit with a stick, and came within inches of jumping on the back of a wild horse. Oh yeah, he also built a raft out of sticks and grape vines. He's like the real life McGuyver.
Add to that MythBusters, Dirty Jobs, and Deadliest catch and you have an awesome combination of reality/educations/entertaining television that might be unmatched. I'm baffled by the fact that major network television with all its resources is putting on stuff like The Bachelor and Super Nanny instead of quality programing like the stuff liked above.
It can't be rating numbers..because like George Castanza says when asked why people will watch something..." Because it's on television".
First up PLANET EARTH
This show definitely lives up to the hype. Much of it in HD, much of it in high speed, and all if with the most amazing nature footage since Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. If you have kids, its really something that you'll enjoy and learn from together.
This is followed by MAN VS WILD
Here's the gig. The take this British Special Services dude and drop his ass somewhere remote and he has to get his ass out safely. Last night they put him at the top a Sierra Nevada mountain with nothing except a canteen, a knife and a flint.
In one episode the dude started a fire with a stick, ate a live snake, killed a rabbit with a stick, and came within inches of jumping on the back of a wild horse. Oh yeah, he also built a raft out of sticks and grape vines. He's like the real life McGuyver.
Add to that MythBusters, Dirty Jobs, and Deadliest catch and you have an awesome combination of reality/educations/entertaining television that might be unmatched. I'm baffled by the fact that major network television with all its resources is putting on stuff like The Bachelor and Super Nanny instead of quality programing like the stuff liked above.
It can't be rating numbers..because like George Castanza says when asked why people will watch something..." Because it's on television".
Friday, April 13, 2007
Hot Gril Challenged
I'm coaching my 8 year old daughters soccer team this season.
The team has been the same group of girls for 3 years, with the same head coach. Every season they have a different assistant coach. I hadn't considered how the team was alway able to find a parent to volunteer to help out at the last minute. If I had considered it, I might have seen what was coming.
At the first practice a gaggle of mothers conspired to blindside me..." you're athletic"..."the girls would appreciate it"...and " if you coach you don't have to bring a snack for the games "...and the next think I knew I had a whistle and clipboard.
It's all worked out for the best as I'm having a great time. The team is good, the head coach is a good guy, and it's given me some extra time with my daughter.
Hot Gril's role with the team is as their best scorer. She's not their best player, maybe not even in the top two, but by far she's always been the biggest kid and fastest one on the field. I've always felt that fact has hindered her skill development. Rather than have to learn how to control the ball or watch the rest of the field, she just kicks the ball as far away from all the other players as possible, then outruns everyone, goes the full length of the field and kicks the ball into the goal.
All that is about to change.
At the first practice this year, the coach introduced the team to their newest player. This girl who we'll refer to as New Gril is a little bit taller, a little bit faster, and just maybe a little, dare I say it, a little bit prettier than Hot Gril. All of this has not gone unnoticed and none of this is going down well in the Flick household.
On the drive home from the second practice Hot Gril asked, " Do you think New Gril is faster than me ?"
Now this gets a little touchy for a father so I went diplomatic, " Hmmm, I think it's pretty close."
" Well I think she's faster than me.", apparently 8 year old girls already know that 'diplomatic' is code for 'full of shit'.
I felt like this was one of those moments that you see in a bad Disney movie or a McDonald's commercial and that I needed to step it up into Daddy overdrive. " If she is a faster, it's only by a little little bit, but that's no big deal. All it's going to take is a little extra practice. I'll take you out and practice some more if you'd like.
" Really ?", she sounded a bit more hopeful. Maybe I'm getting better at this parenting stuff.
" Yeah," I continued, " That and you have to start playing with confidence."
" Con-fi-dence ? What's that", she asked puzzled.
" Confidence....hmmm....ok, this of it this way. Lets say you and someone who is just as fast as you...you're both totally equal....and you're both going for the ball. Who is going to be the first one to get there ? The first one to get there is going to be the one who really wants it the most and tries the hardest. The person who is going to get that ball is the person who believes the most that they're going to get that ball and nothing is going to stop them....that's confidence."
" Hmmmmmm", she mulled that over for a while, " confidence."
And that pretty much was the end of that conversation.
Next Monday brought a cold overcast evening and we put the girls through their drills and exercises for the first 15 minutes of practice. Finally the head coach said, " It's too cold, lets just have them scrimmage so they can stay warm."
He got out the pinnies and started handing them out as 10 hands shot into the air. Hot Gril being the tallest ( well now second tallest) grabbed the first pinnie. New Gril also started to grab a pinnie, saw that my daughter had one, and let go. She looked a Hot Gril, looked at the head coach and said, " I don't want a pinnie, I want to be on the other team." She then walked over the the left wing and set up directly across from Hot Gril.
Game on.
Now as a father, the whole thing had me nervous. It breaks my heart to see any of my children sad. But in the case of Hot Gril, seeing her distraught about anything doesn't break my heart, it smashes it, grinds it up into little pieces, and tosses it into the wind. The last thing I think I could take would be to see her spirit broken.
That being said, as a sports fan, this was shaping up to be really cool !
The game began and it quickly became apparent that New Gril was a cut above. It appeared that she probably hadn't ever played organized soccer before because she lacked some of the fundamentals, but she was a natural athlete and beautiful to watch.
For those of you who have never seen little kids play, you'd be shocked at what age that natural physical ability begins to show itself. I'm constantly amazed at what I see 7 and 8 year old kids do on a field. There is a kinestetic awareness that comes natural to some people and this girl has it. She knows where she is in relationship to the other players on the field at all times and she has the physical skills and size to force herself to where she needs to be. The only limiting factor, and this is inherant to soccer, is that most of the other kids are spazzing and flailing at the ball so much that regardless of what skills you possess, that most of the time, the ball is just bouncing around in a giant herd of kids.
Finally after a good ten minutes of playing, the inevitable happened. Out of the sea of legs and ponytails, the ball popped loose and shot to vacant side of the field. Immediately two figures shot out of the pack.
Hot Gril and New Gril popped out of the scrum like two thoroughbreds coming out of the gate at Churchhill Downs. Side by side they sprinted, knees kicking, arms pumping, neither one giving up an inch. The rest of the game sort of paused in time as we all became spectators to something that had very little to do with soccer.
As they got close to the ball New Gril's instincts started to kick in. My heart starting to sink as I anticipated what was coming next. Sure enough, New Gril's arm came out and she stuck he forearm into my daughter and started to lean into her for position. They continued at full speed, but steadily, and as surely the lump that started to form in my throat, she started steering my daughter away from the ball.
Just as I started to give up hope, something unexpected happened. Hot Gril suddenly stood up a little taller. Hot Gril lifted her right arm up under New Gril's elbow and into her ribs. And Hot Gril...no, not Hot Gril...MY DAUGHTER started leaning back !
They hit the ball at the same time in a furious collision of cleats and flesh. Call it what you will....fate...devine intervention...a forearm to the ribs....whatever ...but New Gril lost her balance and went ass-over-tea kettle, smashing to the ground. To her credit as a warrior, the girl never gave up the ghost. As she went rolling and skidding across the ground she never stopped kicking and trying to steal the ball away...I mean this girl is a killer. But on this day, on this time, it wasn't going to be enough. Hot Gril was gone. She took the ball the rest of the way down the field and as if to put an exclaimation point on the end of a beautiful sentence, blasted a shot past the goaltender and into the back of the net.
The rest of us trotted up to that end of the field and by the time we got there both girls were heading back toward us and both had huge smiles on their faces. Their paths met on the way back to midfield and as the coach dismissed everyone to go get a drink the girls gave each other a hug. The other teams in the league have no idea what they're in for.
I tried to stay cool and stuck out my hand for a high five as my daughter trotted past on her way to get her water bottle. " Good job out there" was about the best I could muster without embarassing both of us.
She reached up and gave me a little slap. With a broad smile and twinkle to her eyes said one word as she jogged by,
" Confidence"
The team has been the same group of girls for 3 years, with the same head coach. Every season they have a different assistant coach. I hadn't considered how the team was alway able to find a parent to volunteer to help out at the last minute. If I had considered it, I might have seen what was coming.
At the first practice a gaggle of mothers conspired to blindside me..." you're athletic"..."the girls would appreciate it"...and " if you coach you don't have to bring a snack for the games "...and the next think I knew I had a whistle and clipboard.
It's all worked out for the best as I'm having a great time. The team is good, the head coach is a good guy, and it's given me some extra time with my daughter.
Hot Gril's role with the team is as their best scorer. She's not their best player, maybe not even in the top two, but by far she's always been the biggest kid and fastest one on the field. I've always felt that fact has hindered her skill development. Rather than have to learn how to control the ball or watch the rest of the field, she just kicks the ball as far away from all the other players as possible, then outruns everyone, goes the full length of the field and kicks the ball into the goal.
All that is about to change.
At the first practice this year, the coach introduced the team to their newest player. This girl who we'll refer to as New Gril is a little bit taller, a little bit faster, and just maybe a little, dare I say it, a little bit prettier than Hot Gril. All of this has not gone unnoticed and none of this is going down well in the Flick household.
On the drive home from the second practice Hot Gril asked, " Do you think New Gril is faster than me ?"
Now this gets a little touchy for a father so I went diplomatic, " Hmmm, I think it's pretty close."
" Well I think she's faster than me.", apparently 8 year old girls already know that 'diplomatic' is code for 'full of shit'.
I felt like this was one of those moments that you see in a bad Disney movie or a McDonald's commercial and that I needed to step it up into Daddy overdrive. " If she is a faster, it's only by a little little bit, but that's no big deal. All it's going to take is a little extra practice. I'll take you out and practice some more if you'd like.
" Really ?", she sounded a bit more hopeful. Maybe I'm getting better at this parenting stuff.
" Yeah," I continued, " That and you have to start playing with confidence."
" Con-fi-dence ? What's that", she asked puzzled.
" Confidence....hmmm....ok, this of it this way. Lets say you and someone who is just as fast as you...you're both totally equal....and you're both going for the ball. Who is going to be the first one to get there ? The first one to get there is going to be the one who really wants it the most and tries the hardest. The person who is going to get that ball is the person who believes the most that they're going to get that ball and nothing is going to stop them....that's confidence."
" Hmmmmmm", she mulled that over for a while, " confidence."
And that pretty much was the end of that conversation.
Next Monday brought a cold overcast evening and we put the girls through their drills and exercises for the first 15 minutes of practice. Finally the head coach said, " It's too cold, lets just have them scrimmage so they can stay warm."
He got out the pinnies and started handing them out as 10 hands shot into the air. Hot Gril being the tallest ( well now second tallest) grabbed the first pinnie. New Gril also started to grab a pinnie, saw that my daughter had one, and let go. She looked a Hot Gril, looked at the head coach and said, " I don't want a pinnie, I want to be on the other team." She then walked over the the left wing and set up directly across from Hot Gril.
Game on.
Now as a father, the whole thing had me nervous. It breaks my heart to see any of my children sad. But in the case of Hot Gril, seeing her distraught about anything doesn't break my heart, it smashes it, grinds it up into little pieces, and tosses it into the wind. The last thing I think I could take would be to see her spirit broken.
That being said, as a sports fan, this was shaping up to be really cool !
The game began and it quickly became apparent that New Gril was a cut above. It appeared that she probably hadn't ever played organized soccer before because she lacked some of the fundamentals, but she was a natural athlete and beautiful to watch.
For those of you who have never seen little kids play, you'd be shocked at what age that natural physical ability begins to show itself. I'm constantly amazed at what I see 7 and 8 year old kids do on a field. There is a kinestetic awareness that comes natural to some people and this girl has it. She knows where she is in relationship to the other players on the field at all times and she has the physical skills and size to force herself to where she needs to be. The only limiting factor, and this is inherant to soccer, is that most of the other kids are spazzing and flailing at the ball so much that regardless of what skills you possess, that most of the time, the ball is just bouncing around in a giant herd of kids.
Finally after a good ten minutes of playing, the inevitable happened. Out of the sea of legs and ponytails, the ball popped loose and shot to vacant side of the field. Immediately two figures shot out of the pack.
Hot Gril and New Gril popped out of the scrum like two thoroughbreds coming out of the gate at Churchhill Downs. Side by side they sprinted, knees kicking, arms pumping, neither one giving up an inch. The rest of the game sort of paused in time as we all became spectators to something that had very little to do with soccer.
As they got close to the ball New Gril's instincts started to kick in. My heart starting to sink as I anticipated what was coming next. Sure enough, New Gril's arm came out and she stuck he forearm into my daughter and started to lean into her for position. They continued at full speed, but steadily, and as surely the lump that started to form in my throat, she started steering my daughter away from the ball.
Just as I started to give up hope, something unexpected happened. Hot Gril suddenly stood up a little taller. Hot Gril lifted her right arm up under New Gril's elbow and into her ribs. And Hot Gril...no, not Hot Gril...MY DAUGHTER started leaning back !
They hit the ball at the same time in a furious collision of cleats and flesh. Call it what you will....fate...devine intervention...a forearm to the ribs....whatever ...but New Gril lost her balance and went ass-over-tea kettle, smashing to the ground. To her credit as a warrior, the girl never gave up the ghost. As she went rolling and skidding across the ground she never stopped kicking and trying to steal the ball away...I mean this girl is a killer. But on this day, on this time, it wasn't going to be enough. Hot Gril was gone. She took the ball the rest of the way down the field and as if to put an exclaimation point on the end of a beautiful sentence, blasted a shot past the goaltender and into the back of the net.
The rest of us trotted up to that end of the field and by the time we got there both girls were heading back toward us and both had huge smiles on their faces. Their paths met on the way back to midfield and as the coach dismissed everyone to go get a drink the girls gave each other a hug. The other teams in the league have no idea what they're in for.
I tried to stay cool and stuck out my hand for a high five as my daughter trotted past on her way to get her water bottle. " Good job out there" was about the best I could muster without embarassing both of us.
She reached up and gave me a little slap. With a broad smile and twinkle to her eyes said one word as she jogged by,
" Confidence"
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