Questions

These questions have arisen in my life lately, and I'm curious as to other people's answers...

1) If forced to choose, would you opt to give up beer or meat?

2) If forced to choose, would you opt to give up alcohol or sex?

3a) Would you give up your pinky finger (painlessly) for $1 million?
3b) If not, would you have a price?

4a) Would you give up your pinky toe for $10?
4b) Seriously? Who needs those things? All they do is go "wee wee wee" all the way home.
4c) No, really, how about about $300,000?

Radio

"He didn't respond to 'Radio' when I asked him to climb up the tree and get the ball."
--Dave

At our pre-season party, our softball team realized that we have a lack of nicknames. Most people have taken to calling me "Uncle Ted" and our manager sometimes is referred to as "Captain," but that's about it. We started to brainstorm at the party when Captain Miranda declared that Tim should be known as Radio. Let me explain.

Tim played on the team the last couple years, but he bowed out in 2007 due to bad ankles. He plays a lot of soccer and his joints can only take so much wear-and-tear. But he is still coming to the softball games in his uniform and hanging out because he loves us. That is the only reason why Miranda called him "Radio." He's like the super-fan hanging out on the bench. Only he doesn't get very excited. The nickname has nothing to do with any of Tim's physical or mental attributes. [Insert older brother Ben joke here.]

Tim doesn't particularly like the nickname, it's not ideal, and it's not sticking very well. But we keep discussing it, and Dave produced the above quote on Wednesday night. I was the only one to start laughing uncontrollably...which now makes me think it's not a bloggable quote. Oh well. Too late.

Come one, come all!

A message from the manager of my softball team (Realty Executives, aka "Team America"):

"Realty Executives Fans,

Coming off a tough loss to Neil Diamond (16-18) last week, we're
pleased to announce plans for Fan Appreciation Night this Wednesday,
April 25 at 6:30 p.m. We promise the first 10 fans in the "stands" -
blankets and lawn chairs encouraged - will receive a fabulous 2007 Fan
Appreciation Night gift of some kind.

The game is at Brackett Park, Diamond #5 (E 28th St & 38th Ave S,
Minneapolis 55406) vs. the Rowdies. Be there as right-hander Stacy
Maher takes on the Rowdies' Anna Kerr at 6:55 p.m.

Friends and family are welcome, and it should be a beautiful evening
outdoors. We hope to see you!"

If you're in the Twin Cities area, be sure to come on over to the ol' ballyard. You don't want to miss this, folks. I'll be wearing my red socks...and I'm not quite as dedicated as this guy.

Recycling

My mom has recently been taking on the task of cleaning out my dad's old office. This is not your traditional, movie-set office built out of rich mahogany and lined with leather-bound books. My father's basement dwelling featured an array of old desks, random tables, very old radios, rolled up rugs, kids' beds, boxes, shelves...you name it. And he is an "organized chaos" type, meaning that he has stacks of papers here, there, and everywhere, and what's in the stacks doesn't necessarily make sense. For instance, we've found old birthday cards, co-worker resumes, and brochures for Florida vacations mixed amongst financial statements from companies in California. It made sense to him, I guess.

My mom would prefer to have a bulldozer come into the room and plow everything away. She has taken the more prudent approach of at least looking through the papers and shredding documents with account numbers or other important info. But otherwise she's basically shoving everything into garbage bags and saying goodbye.

I'm not one to cause a fuss or impede important progress, but it makes me a little mad that she's not necessarily recycling all this paper. Last week, I came up with the plan to quietly start taking papers with me and recycling them at my apartment building. My mom caught me yesterday afternoon, and I'm not sure she appreciated my efforts. I received a series of guilt-laden lines like:

"Okay, Ted, if it will make you feel better, I'll dig through those bags in the garage and make sure all the paper gets recycled."

"Well, if it will help you sleep at night..."

Sigh. My relationship with my mom has changed quite a bit since my dad's death, and I don't take it very well when she's upset. Or mockingly upset. I know she's just giving me crap because all she wants to do is get the house clean so she can sell it, and she doesn't want to deal with things like recycling paper.

But I do, dammit. At least a little bit.

Boring, boring, boring, boring!

So, I'm a little bored waiting for the Friday workday to end and a string of birthday parties to begin. After cycling through my bookmarks, reading all the sties that I care to read, and playing all the games I care to play, I hopped to Google and simply wrote "Nothing to do on Mars." Yes, I mis-quoted the song from "Waiting For Guffman," but I'm pretty sure I came across a fan of the film. Illustrator and author Chris Gall will release this book in September:



If you're not a fan of "Waiting For Guffman," this post will mean nothing to you. The film, which parodies small-town folk producing a musical, includes a song titled "Nothing Ever Happens on Mars." It's quite brilliant and humorous, I assure you.

Because...

1) I'm lazy.
B) I have soccer tonight.
Thirdly) This is sweet.

MESSIDONA
Uploaded by ManoloDoBombo

Mozaic

You've undoubtedly heard of mosaics, right? The first thing that comes to mind for me are designs or images made out of colored tiles. Or glass. Or photographs.

What I want to introduce (or re-introduce) to you today is Mozaic. Totally different. Totally sweet. You see...there's a "z" instead of an "s" and a blue "o". Sweet! And it sometimes is a capital "Z" instead of lower case. How zany and cool is that?!?

Tell me more, Ted! What is Mozaic?

"Mozaic is a place where people, ideas, and energy mix, mingle and coalesce - creating a community that is more than the sum of its parts. This is Mozaic."

Shoot...that pretty much says it all, yeah? What do you mean you threw up amidst all that punctuation (mis)usage? That's okay. Throwing up is allowed at Mozaic. Everything is allowed, including nudity. The web site tells us so.

My other favorite part of this future Uptown eyesore Shangri-La is the names of the condo floors. Earth, Water, Fire, Air, Life, Time, Space, Aura! How chic! What panache! Somehow my current life feels incomplete because I live on "floor one" of my apartment building. Maybe I can petition to get it changed to "Sky" or "Cosmos" or "Love" or "Crotch"

Oh, and I'm super happy that The Drink will survive the renovation.

Edit: The author erroneously referred to "Drink." as "The Drink" in the above piece. He realizes that Drink. is a super hip name and regrets his own inadequacies and lack of coolness.

Pearl wants her money

Thanks Tim!

Dammit, the embedding video doesn't seem to be working. So you'll have to click here to watch Will Ferrell and "Pearl" in "The Landlord."

The Neither-Here-Nor-There News

I went swimming yesterday. In a pool. At a gym. There was a point in my life when propelling my body through water was fairly easy, but that was about 30 pounds and 11 years ago. Marni, Amy and I took my mom's boat out onto Pleasant Lake, the mighty ship was tossed, and we all swam ashore. Well, at least I did. I think my parents' scotch-slugging neighbor picked Marni and Amy up in his foot-pedal watercraft.

Anyway, I swam pretty well back in high school. Now? Not so much. I lasted about 15 minutes and something like 20 laps. Maybe 18. I don't recall. The lack of air made me lose count. Why did I go swimming in the first place? Good question. Over the past few weeks, I've had several conversations that basically go like this:

Workout Ted: "You should go swimming. It's a good workout for your entire body."
Sensible Ted: "I tried that three years ago. It didn't go very well, remember?"
Workout Ted: "Yeah, but maybe you were just being a baby. You can go longer this time."
Sensible Ted: "Why would I be able to go longer? I'm older and not in swimming shape."
Workout Ted: "Come on! You just need to push yourself!"
Sensible Ted: "No."
Workout Ted: "Yes."

...and so on. I finally caved in, and sensible Ted was basically correct. Sensible Ted's other argument is that my total workout time (walk to gym, change in locker room, shower, swim, shower, change in locker room, walk home) is over an hour, but I only actually workout for about one-fourth of that time. Seems like a waste, right?

Workout Ted: "Let's go again on Tuesday! We'll get better at this and be able to swim longer."
Sensible Ted: Sigh.

The positive news...

Although Amber advised otherwise, I am still dating my ladyfriend - who will henceforth be referred to as "Deb," since that is her name. Over the past two weeks, many of my friends have met the face behind the brief stories. Karah and Kevin, my softball team, and my high school crowd were all introduced to Deb, and, not surprisingly, she received very good reviews. That sentence probably sounds a little more demeaning than intended, but first encounters often carry the feeling/worry of "go ahead and judge me." You always want your friends to like your girlfriends or other friends, right? It doesn't always work out in one's favor and sometimes you just need to say "so be it" and move on.

But, ideally, people will come up to me and say, "I really like Deb!" And then I smile and nod. That's happened quite a bit lately, so I'm pretty pleased on that front.

That being said, Deb has yet to encounter a number of influential people in my life (such as my mom, Chelsea, and some of the voices in my head), and I have yet to really meet anyone outside of her sister. Who knows, maybe they'll dislike me, right? I mean, I know that sounds implausible, but some people have not enjoyed my company in the past...so it's possible. I'm much like the Desert Grassland whiptail lizard in that way.