Christmas Tunes

There is this jingle on the radio this holiday season, for a local hair cuttery. It uses a distinct Christmas tune (called Carol of the Bells, I believe) with the words "nine ninety-nine" sung along over the tune.

It is amusing only in that it would make a good Herman Cain campaign jingle.

It annoys me, though, in that I tire of hearing Christmas tunes reduced to business anthems. The holidays have been cheapened enough, without co-opting their music.

In fairness, some holiday tunes were invented as company jingles. Like "Rudolph, The Red-Nosed Reindeer." Then, of course, there are the holiday movies. "Miracle on 34th Street" has always struck me as a Macy's ad masquerading as a Santa film.

I think this is just a curmudgeonly outburst. Still, if this is how my next 37 Decembers are going to go, this could get rough...

Horseradish Overdose

When I was a kid, when Dad was still alive, we had this thing. It was stupid, but it was one of those stupid things that links fathers and sons in a way that belies its stupidity.

It was the Chinese Mustard exercise.

Every now and again, we would go to dinner (or lunch, but more often dinner, since that is the best time for over-eating) at a Chinese restaurant. Back then, it was generally The Szechuan, which at one time had very good food, but which now is distinguished by its proximity to The Boom Boom Room (which I've never visited, but which I have thoroughly judged by its name alone). We would go into the restaurant and order our food, making sure to get (usually) the barbecue pork appetizer. Once said pork, and copious amounts of Chinese mustard, were delivered, we would then begin the exercise.

Pretty simple exercise, actually. Person 1 (generally me) would take a piece of pork and get a generous, but not insane portion, of Chinese mustard on it. Said person would eat it, make every effort not to react to the internal savagery being wrought upon them, and then (once their head no longer felt in danger of popping) would laugh and say something about how tame the mustard was on this fine night.

Person 2, understanding that a gauntlet had been laid down before them, would pick it up, along with a piece of pork doused with an unholy portion of mustard, and then take it upon themself to go into some tantric state by which they could attempt to convey the absolute, non-painful bliss of swallowing that mustard.

It would go like this, back and forth, until the first person hiccupped and/or teared-up. I like to tell myself I won this exercise more often than not. In my old age, I'm wising up to the fact that, as I allow my daughter to beat me at thumb wrestling so that she'll still want to play, so did my father let me win the mustard wars.

The upshot of these wars in my later years has been a fondness for the horse-radishy sorts of heat that are available in various food venues. I'm still a huge glutton for Chinese mustard, and likewise I always make sure to eat at least one piece of sushi with a large glob of unadulterated wasabi on it. And horseradish itself, it is manna.

This same power doesn't translate to all spiciness. Peppers have a power over me, probably the result of some sort of oily properties or whatever, the same thing that makes their fire unquenchable by a glass of water. I like Indian and Thai foods, but can likewise be overwhelmed if I go too spicy on those fronts.

But horseradish and its ilk have always been where I can demonstrate some sort of idiot savant stomach power.

Until tonight.

This night has followed this day, which was comprised of being stuck in my home with my two half-insane girl-children whilst my wife enjoyed herself out shopping and what-not. Certainly it could have been worse, but for some reason today I was generally put-off. After forced nappy-time with my oldest daughter (who won't take the nap unless a parent lays with her), I was even more out-of-sorts, since my body rejects joy like a poorly-matched artificial limb once I've slept more than an hour in the middle of the day.

My wife came home and wanted an idea for food. Three of my four ideas involved spicy fare (including Thai, which we just had last night), so I don't know why the ultimate state of my gut is in any way surprising. It appears I've been angling for gastronomic suicide for at least the last 5 hours.

We opted for none of the options I'd set forth, and instead went to Gustav's Bier Stube, the local Bavarian fondue and beer joint of choice. We joined some friends, one of whom (good ol' JLowe) has assumed the place in my life of stupid-gastronomic-challenge-mate.

I ordered a special, the Bangers and Mash plate. It was delivered along with a set of bottles, two with various mustards, and one with creamed horseradish. And, thus, the challenge was presented.

I put a lake of horseradish next to my mash, and let everyone take note. By everyone, I mean JLowe, because my wife is oblivious to my idiocy after ten years, and JLowe's wife assumes that if my wife isn't paying attention to me, then she probably shouldn't pay attention to JLowe, as she'll just end up being embarrassed and/or disappointed in his subsequent behavior.

JLowe pretended not to notice the horseradish, though I know he knew what was coming. I suspect him of not being up to the challenge, and therefore hoping it would disappear through his apparent lack of interest. I think, though, instead, his lack of interest pushed me to bid against myself.

I took a slice of banger and made sure each bit of surface area was painted in a light coat of horseradish sauce. I held it up, pretending not to care if anyone saw it while, at the same time, making sure everyone saw it, and I put it in my mouth.

It was hot. Brutally so. I should have realized at that point that I just wasn't up to this.

Noone, however, was taking the bait. I'd stifled the tears, but I was afraid that in doing so, I'd fooled everyone into thinking that what had just occurred wasn't nearly as awesome as it was.

"That was hot," I said, (ironically) coolly to anyone around who might hear it. No response.

So, the ante was upped. I spurted a pile of the horseradish onto my table, and cut another slice of banger. This time, I slid it under the horseradish, and lifted it straight up so it looked like a rock lifted up from the snow. I slid it into my mouth.

This was stupid.

My eyes watered intensely. My mouth burned. The roots of what little hair I have left started to tingle. I felt a vague death rattle in my tongue, which, until this point, didn't seem possible.

"Oh," I said.

JLowe's wife looked at me and laughed. Noone else even acknowledged me.

I decided to not heap anymore torture on myself. However, I failed to realize the horseradish had mingled with my potatoes, so as I tried to coat my tongue in the creamy blanket of their soothing spudness, I instead caught a third wave of terror.

And, hence, I've learned of the possibility of the horseradish overdose.

Yes, it's true. I'd never thought of such a thing until now. I'm sitting here, typing on my laptop in bed, feeling queasy but knowing that to engage in, uh, a reversal would just mean to experience the horseradish again. So I fight against relief out of the knowledge that the cure is worse than the poison.

I looked up "horseradish overdose" on Google, expecting not-much. And found this:


Among the results, a listing that describes beneficial, and not-so-beneficial, effects of horseradish. Among the not-so-hot stuff:

• Gastrointestinal upset
• Bloody vomiting
• Diarrhea
• Irritation of mucous membranes
• Irritation of the urinary tract
• Not for use in people with hypothyroidism or taking thyroid medication
• Do not use during pregnancy or lactation without consulting a physician
• Do not use in children without consulting a physician
• May blister the skin when used externally
• Possible allergic reaction in some people
• Possible interactions with other supplements and medications
• Consult with your physician and all your healthcare providers before using any supplements, herbal remedies, and alternative therapies

The first three are bad enough. I've already experienced number one, in fact. I'm not interested in numbers two and 3. I'm frightened of number 5. I'm shocked by number 6, since I have hypothyroidism and am taking medication (I'm pretty sure there's no horseradish warning on that label...).

At least death isn't on there. In fact, I Googled "Can you die from horseradish" and "Can you die from horseradish poisoining" and, as far as I can tell, I should live to suffer the fullness of those other symptoms above in complete and abject health.

Anyway, I've learned a lesson. Don't eat bangers and mash.

Time to Re-surface? Maybe Re-boot?

Was reading a friend's excellent blog and I'm getting an itch. I miss the writing.

Of course, the writing requires both the time to write, and something to write about.

I was just reviewing my last few posts. Lotta Bible stuff (which is fine), some sports stuff (which is poorly-written schlock), some news-y stuff (meh) and then a couple of funny opinion pieces.

I've been using my Facebook recently to post articles I've read and the occasional thought of the micro-blog variety. It scratches the itch of sharing, but it doesn't allow for actual substantial thought processes to be communicated.

I used to blog alot. The thing that slowed me down, in all honesty, was a semi-anonymous blogger's ultimate existential crisis: someone I blogged about showed up at my office.

This sucked.

It was a long time ago, about 5 years now, when I was contributing on a more-or-less defunct local blog, by local bloggers, blogging local thoughts. My thought for the day harkened back to prior work and a particular experience at that job, and mentioned part of the experience by name. The person mentioned was, at one time, a bit of a celebrity who had, it appeared to me, essentially disappeared.

I was disabused of that notion when the person showed up at my office, where I was just getting settled into a new job, to demand pennance and such.

To be clear, and to be fair, I didn't do anything malicious, nor did I do anything unlawful. In retrospect, I can see how, given this person's situation at that time in their life, they could take umbrage about what I'd discussed related to their past.

I took immediate steps to rectify things, but the whole thing chilled me. I soon-after quit the local blog, and my personal blogging slowed way, way down.

Probably the main issue is my ongoing desire to maintain some measure of anonymity. I write freely because I don't have to worry about the chickens coming home to roost. I try to engage in responsible discourse, but I'm more concerned about the silly stuff coming back to bite me.

Plus, I have tons of work now (back then, my load was a bit more forgiving), and a new(er) kid, and so on, which all tends to put a kink in my style.

I'm feeling a giant shoulder-shrug coming on. No, wait. I was mistaken. I feel a Doogie Howser moment coming on, with some dime-store philosophising about the journey I just went through. Ah, yes, here it comes:

Ultimately, blogging is self-indulgent in so many ways, unless (like my friend) you are publicly sharing an experience with others and writing in such a way as to provide a common place for people sharing your experience. Since I don't plan on being a public person, and this place is about me and not about you, I guess ultimately whether I write relies upon my urges.

I feel the urge. So, I guess I shall (perhaps) write.

Trade Brandon Roy?

Too soon?

He's sucking it up lately, as is widely reported in the local press. And it seems he just can't seem to put together a decent streak with our present line-up. Whether it's slowness, bad knees, some sort of mental disorder, or whatever, it is seeming like B-Roy is perhaps becoming a liability.

Clearly, he can still have good games. But he seems to be of the opinion that our current line-up is a hindrance and not a help. What to do?

Some feel B-Roy is still untouchable. I'm coming to be less and less of that opinion all the time. We have Matthews, Batum, and Fernandez, all of whom can platoon his position as we shed his weight with Pryzbilla or Miller's expiring contract (which are probably the only thing that would add sizzle to a B-Roy trade-steak at this point). Roy probably has substantial value somewhere; it's seeming less-and-less likely that that value is here, this year or for the next couple.

I'm coming to be of the opinion that it's time to start cutting bait and moving toward tomorrow. Today, clearly, sucks...

The 24 Lives of Jack Bauer

I'm currently watching Day 6 of 24, and it's finally getting to me. This series relies so heavily upon the willing suspension of disbelief, that at one point or another even the most willing fan has to fight through the insanity.

So many issues; where do we start?

The Inadequacy of CTU: Every episode involves CTU locking down a sector or cordoning off a grid or whatever. Every CTU lockdown is utterly ineffective. Noone has ever been caught in a CTU-secured zone.

The Interminable Legion of Dead Agents: Seriously, whenever a CTU agent's face is shown for more than a second, or (worse) whenever a CTU agent is dressed in battle gear, odds are highly in favor of them dying. It's like the Ensign who beams down with Kirk, Spock, and Bones. If you're on that away team, give up, because you're dead. If you are in CTU and you're not Jack Bauer, you might as well just give up, because you're tits up before the next commercial.

CTU Moles: CTU is one of the most techno-savvy and advanced agencies there is. So it shocks me that, in every single season, they fall prey to a mole using a cell phone in the bathroom, or else some low-browed hacker is able to completely paralyze the system.

The Continuum of Palmer Presidents: David Palmer was, by far, the best President ever to exist in all of time. That much is for sure. But, somehow, the Palmer's are like Camelot revisited. David Palmer, Wayne Palmer, and Cheri Palmer as well? At some point, you just have to call BS on this. Although one must applaud the progressive nature of the 24 Universe. Three black presidents in seven days is pretty impressive.

Jack Bauer, the Center of It All: How can one man be at the center of every disaster this country will ever face? Jack Bauer, whether leading a counter-terrorist group in LA, or serving as assistant to a cabinet secretary, or whether being confined on a container ship having his nails extracted by the Chinese, always ends up being the one person in the middle of all the action, and actually ends up being a teleological causal agent for at least half of it. When you consider the number of conspiracies aimed at Bauer or his family, it is safe to say the best move to preserve America's interests is the chemical sterilizations of all Bauers and the lynching of Jack. And how many times does Jack Bauer have to "promise" or "swear" to an expected outcome before people realize that no matter heartfelt it sounds, the mere act of being spoken to by Jack Bauer is worse than swallowing a suicide pill.

Does this all mean I'll stop watching? Negatory, good buddy. But a good cleansing breath here and there isn't a bad thing...

SOAP Notes

Tonight's reading: Joshua 15-17; 1 Cor 8

S:1 Cor 8:13 - Therefore, if what I eat causes my brother to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause him to fall.

O: Jesus is discussing how we ought not let our knowledge of right and wrong harm those who don't share it, by doing something we know to be alright though it might create strife.

A: I used to love one of Tom Baker's occasional sayings. "Jesus was a wine-bibber," He was fond of noting, to point out (I think) that Jesus was thoroughly in this world, though not of it, and didn't hold himself separate from the people that he loved. Jesus would seek out the lost, go after the tax collector, save the prostitute and the leper.

Of course, I seized on the part of that phrase that pointed out that Jesus drank wine. Of course He did; it was a cultural norm at the time, and not a matter of taboo as it is in our modern, occasionally puritanical society.

I, of course, like beer. It appealed to me that Jesus wouldn't be offended by my beer drinking.

It appeals to me, occasionally, to hear pastoral staff talking about creating a space in a brewpub setting. It appeals to me that there are groups that already do this. It appeals to me that, every once in a blue moon, I get to have a beer in this setting here.

All of this appeals to me because I like beer (mostly) and, also, because I know that Jesus doesn't mind me drinking beer (if done in moderation and so-on). And, sometimes, I assume that my knowledge is common knowledge.

This, of course, is where I'm fatally wrong. My knowledge isn't common knowledge, and my exercise of discretion based upon that knowledge is offensive to some, hurtful to some, wicked to some, and in that sense is a disservice to all.

I think of people at church, whether highly-placed or otherwise, who I am certain are opposed to drink, for whatever reason (personal, spiritual, historical, etc.) To those people, the service of wine at communion is a tremendous sin. To them, a service at a brewpub is taking us to hell in handbasket. I know they're wrong, but I have to fight the urge to judge it. In the end, apart from this difference in our knowledge, these people have great things to bring to the table. In stepping forward with the thought that they need to be challenged to grow up, and in turn offending them, I may find I'm cutting off my nose to spite my face. By driving a wedge in, by pushing them away when it is my responsibility to be sensitive, I invite discord and disfunction and I end up harming the whole by sectioning off a part.

It's a tricky balance. You certainly mustn't let cliques and factions rule; you certainly have to govern toward the health of the collective and, as such, have to be knowledgeable that some will feel left behind. You can't please everyone all the time. But with that in mind, we need to be judicious in where and how we push forward, and conscious of the challenges we present to some; where appropriate, we need to be ready to hold back until everyone is able to take certain steps together, even if that sometimes means never taking certain steps at all...

P: Lord, help me to be more sensitive to those around me. Let me understand where my behaviors, whether right or wrong in themselves, create unnecessary discord in others. Help me to put the good of the many ahead of my own selfish desires. Amen

What Teachers Make (Taylor Mali)

Team Coco 4 Life!

Fart facts

Hat tip to Utterlyboring.com


Source: Online Education

The Merits of "School of Rock"

I've ended up being engaged in an interesting Facebook discussion today, born of this tweet / status update I posted this morning:

"I've officially decided that School of Rock is one of the finer films ever made."

Never expected it to turn into an actual discussion of modern American cinema. I expected to get some guff on it, sure, but my friend Ted dropped an immediate challenge of a funny but more intense nature:

"Um, yeah just to inform you. Your judgment has been put under review by the FCAA (Film Critics Association of America). Please submit form 437b along with two essays on (1) the state of American cinema post 1977 and (2) the future of movie making. The board will be in contact with you to schedule a formal hearing after an oversight comittee has had an opportunity to review your submission."

After calling him a dick, I decided to put some thought into the questions posed. After all, I'd just had my allergy shots and was sitting around a waiting room otherwise bored, so I might as well do this, right?

Below, my responses, organized and slightly cleaned up grammatically but otherwise not adulterated:

I understand your concern, though. It took me awhile to gather the courage to come out of that shame spiral and decide that I wasn't a bad person for having such aberrant sensibilities.

Essay #1: Movies after 1977 are better than movies before. Fewer dances and musical props, more guts and blood and other visceral pleasures. The darkness and moral ambiguity of modern cinema suffers in many ways from a lack of the cup-half-full, pie-eyed optimism of the old days, but we identify more strongly with films that reflect our reality. The only down-side is the remake- and sequel-happiness of modern days, which insults us in the obvious cash-grabby greed that is demonstrated.

Essay #2: the future of movie making is bleak. The last 30 years have shown a mautration of movies and their audiences, coupled with advances in movie-making technology that added to and enhanced the story being told. Now, more often than not, stories are flimsy excuses for sensory overload by effects that are ultimately moving backwards because ... See Morethey are too-rendered and thus unbelievable. The afore-mentioned reliance on rehashing or re-tooling old stories is a crutch for the incredible shrinking aptitude of modern writers.

I realize that in essay #1 I attacked pie-eyed optimism and musical crutches, both of which are on display in School of Rock. An essential element of humanity is the ability to be (relatively) unapologetically hypocritical. Deal with it.

I believe these points to all be legitimate, honest, and true.

I was then accused of being a fan of Year One, starring Jack Black and Michael Cera. This is untrue; I've never seen it and never will, but it led me to a brief discussion of the merits of Mr. Black:

"Really haven't cared for him in anything else. Nacho Libre has a couple of good points but generally tedious. That one w/ him and Gwyneth Paltrow as a fatty is schlock. Year One just looks like a bad idea; generally the only stone age comedy I'll admit to enjoying was Caveman with Ringo Starr."

Ted noted that he was good in The Holiday. I don't disagree, but I think that movie is enjoyable more for Kate Winslet and Cameron Diaz than for Black, who is essentially a prop throughout it.

There is no real reason that anyone should really care about all of this, of course. But it was a fun enough exercise for me that I thought it merited breaking my long silence on this blog, no matter how briefly.

Happy New Year, by the way!

Mark Sanchez, "The Dirty One"

About a month ago I was listening to a naional sports personality on the radio discussing Mark Sanchez, QB for the NY Jets. He referred to Sanchez as "The Dirty One," in sort of a slip-in fashion. Almost missed it. Couldn't believe it.

Today on the radio, same guy, same nomiker. "The Dirty One," Mark Sanchez.

I was curious. Is this the only guy dropping "Dirty" Sanchez gloss, or is this a bigger issue? Googled "Mark Sanchez" "Dirty One," and, well, it's a common thing.

Is this offensive? I think it's funnÝ but, at the same time, I think it's wrong. Calling Sanchez dirty is clearly not racist. It is clearly using his name and a moniker to discuss a disgusting sexual practice. It's certainly juvenile, and in my mind it's regrettable.

Back again

The necessary evil of blogging is voicing your opinion.

That may seem weird. But the only time blogs ever come up in non-blogger conversation is when they come across something interesting, or when there's a story about a blogger's opinion landing them in some deep poo.

I've been essentially underground for about a year. Why? I didn't want my opinion biting me in the ass. But, today, with a couple of beers in me, I don't care.

So we're back. Today's opinions are in comments over at Jack Bogdanski's website, here and here.
Nothing super-fantastic or blow-your-dress-up-awesome, but it is what it is.

That's all for today.

WTF is going on at UO?

So University of Oregon President Dave Frohnmayer announced yesterday that Mike Bellotti is Oregon's new AD, and Chip Kelly (the current offensive coordinator for the football team) is the new head coach for the Ducks.

Except for one thing.

The moves will take place in an indisclosed time. John Canzano showed up on today's MSP to discuss, and said that Bellotti's identified the timeframe for the transition as being within the next 10 years.

Canzano expressed exasperation at the move, saying that it doesn't make sense for Oregon to enter into this sort of agreement if the move is not goin gto happen soon. The only rationale he could identify would be to ease the minds of recruits, since Chip's been identified as a head coach candidate by other schools and appeared ready to move. MSP host Gavin Dawson pointed out that a solid timeline raised the danger of a lame-duck scenario.

So what is going on? I think this move automatically raises a lame-duck scenario, with or without a set timeline. Much like the situation in Dallas with the Cowboys coaching situation, people will start looking at Bellotti as a caretaker and a head coach in name only. Sure, as the next AD he'll always be Chip's boss and Chip needs to toe the line, but when the players know that Bellotti's heading out (whenever that happens) and that Chip's the guy they have to suck up to, it creates issues in leading the team.

Besides, I don't think the team does this to keep recruits interested. The teams been through several offensive coordinators in the last 5 years, and has been consistently great. That indicates a solid program and solid leadership at the top, and so as long as Bellotti is there running the program, changing coordinators isn't the issue.

I don't think Chip Kelly signs this contract (and I'm sure there's a contract here) without some pretty specific assurances. I don't think he rides backseat to Mike for an indetermined amount of time when he could be a head coach now. And I don't think he signs a deal for a short term, either. The upside of this deal is that UO is a BCS power-program and has developed into a juggernaut; it's not likely he'd get a better shot anywhere else for a while. The downside is that (as Canzano said today) his offense will lose its luster and his stock will drop -- he must know football well enough to know that he needs to make his power play now.

I think we'll find out in the next few weeks (translation: after the impending bowl game) that Bellotti will coach one more season. Pat Kilkenny, who gets the credit for getting the new basketball arena built, will stick long enough to see the project through and, perhaps, bring on a new basketball coach (like Mark Few from Gonzaga), and then the transition takes place to a new sports regime with a new AD, football, and hoops coach rising (or falling) together. Meanwhile, I'm sure Chip is getting a nice Christmas bonus and, I'd guess, will play a pretty huge role in recruiting once the situation has gelled in the press.

Time will tell. I think it's a good move as long as it plays out in the near-term. If this transition takes more than a year, I think a lot of people will regret yesterday's announcement.

Happy Thanksgiving (2008 Edition)

So much to be thankful for...

Already had a beautiful wife, a fantastic daughter, a nice house and a great job. And this was all on top of a great group of family and friends. But I have to admit I've been blessed despite all of that.

This year, a new daughter (Ruby Jane, born Oct. 1), a bigger house to match, and positive developments professionally as well. Yes, there's much to give thanks for.

The only down-side is far less blogging. It's just getting too hard to find the time. But, in truth, that's not really that bad a thing, all things considered.

Anyway, for the many blessings I give my thanks to my God, my family, and my friends. And to you, I wish many thank-worthy moments whereever you are and whereever you go.

Happy Thanksgiving.