Take That, Hillary

I'm sure some musicians and actors will do the same for Hillary soon...

Buzzkill

Deb informed me that one needs to run nearly 1.5 miles to work off the calories consumed in one 12 oz. Budweiser. Not good news. I've attended one going-out-of-business bash, one standard (for lack of a better word) birthday party, one surprise birthday party, and one leaving-the-country party over the past three days/nights. I might need to run a marathon today.

Hail to the Future Chief

My chances of meeting a President (past, present, future, U.S., French, or otherwise) has increased from 0.00 to 0.00001 percent. I don't know if the Democratic or Republican candidates make a point to visit their caucus headquarters, but if so, I'm going to be spending a lot of time in the bathroom. I found out this morning that Barack Obama's HQ is about 30 feet from my office. All the second-hand information I could ever want about the man is just around the corner, so let me know if you have any questions. If he actually visits, I figure it would be a crowded affair, and my best chance to cross paths would be in the communal lavatory.

Foot Feeding

"If I didn't have arms, I don't think I'd eat as much."

Bless my friend, Juliette, who uttered this gem on Saturday night. Maybe you had to be there.

Taking the Stairs

Late last week, a colleague and I were leaving the our building. As with most multi-level structures, there are two main methods for reaching the street level - the stairs and the elevator. He opted for the elevator; I took the stairs. When we met again two floors lower, he grumbled something about my good knees allowing me to tackle 50 stairs.

His self-deprecating mumble triggered an interesting revelation. Over the last five years, I've worked with a main core of about 10 guys. Of those, four men would be considered by many to be...umm...husky. One gentleman lost probably 40-50 pounds in the last two years, spurred by a diabetes diagnosis. A second man has had serious back issues and multiple back surgeries. A third co-worker currently has some back problems, walks gingerly, and struggles with stairs. A fourth, the man noted in the opening paragraph, apparently has some knee and wrist problems.

I'm neither a paragon of health nor without my ailments, but my less bulky colleagues and I can generally handle physical tasks that are tough for at least three of our co-workers. This is a very general, black-and-white overview of a small group, but I find it interesting to note the clear weight/ailment delineation in this one office.

Blah

Blah. Contrary to the previous post, that's how I'm feeling at the moment. Maybe it's just Monday. Maybe I haven't been sleeping well. Maybe it's the New Year. Maybe it's simply one of those days when malaise seeps in for a few hours.

I blame it on all the pizza I ate this weekend.

This morning, we wrapped up what will likely be my final major project at my current job. Typically, such a feat would be met with a smattering of applause, but the final sign-off trickled by with only a "We're done" sent via IM. My guess is that we're all too mired in the reality of looking for work to celebrate much. I believe it's best that I don't send my colleagues these links:

Paul Krugman: "From Hype to Fear"
Paul Krugman: Charts to back up the article

He addresses the most recent unemployment report and compares the job data during the Clinton and Bush presidencies. It's a reminder that my two periods of unemployment (late 2001 into 2002 and now) occurred at the same time as two poor swings in the U.S. economy. These times also (sadly) came shortly after my two real forays into the market, only to watch my money dwindle.

Never fear. I'll cheer up soon enough.

A good reason...

Yes, I'm being lazy and posting a video, but there's a good reason. The guy who sits next to me at work shaved his head over the weekend and is wearing glasses today. He doesn't really look like this guy...but a corner-of-my-eye view generated the memory of the dancing man. Enjoy.

Done!

The NFL regular season is over. Thank goodness. I know this is a time of mourning for many football fans, but yesterday was a time of celebration for me. No more long Sundays in the office, eating crappy food, festering under the heat of 10 televisions, complaining with co-workers, etc. Oh, it wasn't all bad, but I'd rather watch football with friends or solo on my couch.

I'm not much of a dancer, so I'm letting Mr. Edwards celebrate for me. At least I think he's dancing. He seems happy anyway.

For those interested, here's how my various fantasy football seasons fared (listed in terms of importance/money invested):

League 1) Made it to the playoffs, lost, won, lost...which equals sixth place. Probably won't play in this league next year. Braylon Edwards did his best to carry my team. Larry Johnson did not.

League 2) Didn't make the playoffs, won, won, won in the toilet bowl...which means I get the number one pick in 2008. Sweet. Hello, Mr. Tomlinson. Thank you to Mr. Westbrook and Mr. Owens for their contributions.

League 3) Made it to the playoffs, won, lost in semifinals. It was a free league, and I was not eligible for a prize...so who cares? Won't be in that league next year.

There you have it. Not a terribly successful campaign, but I don't really care right now. It's time to soak in the NFL playoffs, find a new job, and then get ready for fantasy baseball. Care to know about my keeper list?

Dammit

My lame-duck job offers very few perks these days. Let me see if I can count all of them. One, they still pay me. Two, free coffee. Three, heated garage. Four, I can play Guitar Hero during works hours because nobody cares.

Well, you can cross one thing off the list. Although we have more than a month left in this office, the powers that be called down and had our coffee maker and water cooler taken away today. No more liquids for this crew. I can only imagine how difficult it would have been for someone to flip that switch 30-some days from now.

Damn them. If it wasn't for my stuffy head and sore throat, I might be able to generate some more vicious bile over this move.

Sorry...

...but my niece is just so cute.

Humbug

Merry X-Mas Eve, Everyone.

I'm sitting at my desk, drinking a beer, and slowly realizing that my sister and mother have no intention of calling me when they are done shopping. So much for meeting up with family today.Oh well.

Instead, I'm praying (is that a joke?) that The Bulldog is open so that I can get a beer, wolf down some tater tots, read a book, and wallow in own thoughts. I can be an awfully dangerous thinker when bored. I think it's an inherited trait. Tonight seems like a good time to cook up an unfounded conspiracy. Wish me luck.


Update: Just got the call. Darn. So much for the alone time.

Hoops night

"You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting."

-A so-so bad guy quote from a terrible movie I've seen too many times on USA/TBS/TNT. Look it up if you really want to know.

It was a rough night on the court for Ziggy's Zappers, which is the name of my men's rec league club. We ran into the second-best squad (The Dirty 13th) and left the court with a little less dignity than we had prior to tip-off. I won't go into details about that, though.

I'm more interested in the drive home, when I was thinking about the contest. The Dirty 13th are a fast, physical club. They run, they play defense, they frustrate their opponents. As I was driving home, I began making vows. To join the gym. To run. To lift weights. To work on my jump shot. To be better at basketball for future clashes with The Dirty 13th. My competitive fire flared.

Then, I remembered that I'm 30. It's not very important to be good at basketball at this point in my life. Rather than dedicate extra hours to working on such a skill, I should work towards being a better friend, uncle, boyfriend, writer, bad movie buff, Scrabble player, etc.

I know that I sound like a stereotypical, whiny "guy," but sometimes it's tough to turn off the deep-seeded drive tied to athletics. The one that causes me to swear at soccer refs and still dream of being a major league pitcher or an NFL wide receiver.

Anyway, I won't be headed to the Y at 6:30 tomorrow morning.

**Photo found on myspaceantics.com

Hey Ya!

If you're in a bad mood, maybe this will help. The beginning and the section from about 2:20-3:00 are the best.

Oh, and watch the dark-haired girl in green and the spiky-haired guy in gold dance. Brilliant.

All hail!

I love it when two headlines like this pop up next to each other:

"Bush says economy is safe and sound."
"Stocks dip on economic worries."

Ah, the influence of the president.

Old men

On Saturday, five buddies and I played some hoops at our old high school. We felt a little old for the obvious reasons - young kids roaming the halls, letter jackets with "11" on them, tiring out early, etc. But that's not the amusing part of this tale. Following our three-on-three session, five of us went out for lunch.

We're only 30 years old (one of us is 31 or "nearly 35," as the waitress said), but our lunch chat included (1) shake-your-head discussion of kids these days and (2) a comparison of physical ailments and talk about cancer. It felt like we suddenly jumped from 25 to 70 years old. Depressing.

W00t!

Tonight is our annual first holiday office party since 2002. It will also be our last office party, since we're packing our grocery bags and losing our gigs on January 31. Thus, I expect it to be quite the shindig, despite the fact that my boss is foregoing the event. That's probably for the better because many of us are very bitter towards him for various reasons.

Meat will be consumed.
Drinks will be drunk.
Guitar Hero will be strummed.
Poker will be played.
Alliances will be forged.

All in all, it will likely be a disappointment.

Horton Hears...

Merriam-Webster unveiled their Word of the Year, and it is "w00t." Yep. W00t. A word with two numbers in it. I'd call it a quixotic choice. I know of and have likely used the "word" because I used to play Everquest, but my online adventuring days are four or five years in the past. Thus, this choice doesn't exactly seem timely to me, but...whatever. Who am I to question the integrity (2005 WOY) of such a paragon of language?

Moon River

Since my job (and therefore insurance) will cease on January 31, I've been taking advantage of the medical coverage. This morning's adventure was the Full Physical Examination. I added the "Full" because they specifically asked me when I made the appointment.

"Would you like the full physical?" (her emphasis)

"Yes. Yes, I would."

Along with the 12-hour fast (drink plenty of water!), I spent the last day or two mentally preparing myself to receive the full extent of the "full" physical. It's all in the name of science and my own health, right? If the doc needs to stick a finger or three up my ass...well, I guess it's for my own benefit.

Let's get straight to the point: no prostate exam. Also no peeing in a cup, no reflex test (although the little hammer was on the desk), no describing my drinking habits...

"Do you use alcohol?"

"Yes."

That was it. No follow-up questions. Apparently it doesn't matter if I imbibe a bottle of tequila per day or just have two wine coolers on the weekend.

Go ahead and read that last sentence again. That's how long it took the doctor to check both my ears, my eyes, and my moles. Excuse me, sir, did I get the express physical? I'm pretty sure I asked for the "full" business. We even covered my family history: grandpa (prostate cancer), grandma (breast cancer, diabetes), grandpa (prostate), grandma (lung), father (lung)...

"Well, I don't see anything in the family history to worry about."

Really? I'm obviously not a doctor or even qualified to use WebMD, but...really?

I'm pleased to be a healthy, strapping 30-year-old man and happy to not have a hand stuck up my butt, but I can't help but feel like my physical revealed very little about me besides my height and weight.

question

If gloves (such as mine) can fit on either hand, can they be called ambidextrous?

Local pride

Macalester grad Omar Ansari started the local business Surly Brewing Company. I've only tasted their concoctions a time or two, but I may need to sample the swill again soon. This Wall Street-Journal article is about a legendary Belgium brew, but it includes this line:

Two American Web sites, Rate Beer and Beer Advocate, rank the strongest of Westvleteren's three products, a dark creamy beer known as "the 12," best in the world, ahead of beers including Sweden's Närke Kaggen Stormaktsporter and Minnesota's Surly Darkness.

Way to go, Surly. Too bad I generally don't enjoy dark beers.

On a side note, the story of the Trappist monks reminds me a lot of "The Drawing of the Dark," a book by Tim Powers. It's an entertaining read. Not wonderful. Not for everyone. But perfect for, say, an airplane ride.