This message is meant for the Bison.

We are losing a Creative first of June.

We are losing the Creative Director on June 11.

That is all.

Labels: pointless shit

bed
away
peach
boil
enormous

These were the 5 words that Collin asked us to all use to make a story in the "comment window" on his blog. 1,000 characters or less, folks! I've always had a hard time keeping things short and to the point, I remember years ago, when I was in elementary school or junior high, Wonka® ran an essay contest of some sort where you had to write about, if I remember correctly, a "candy-related" historical figure...It was supposed to be kept to 250 words or less...I started penning a very poignant story about a hard-candy dictator who set to cleanse his candy factory and was especially harsh toward "chewish" candies...I ran over 250 words WAY early...So early, in fact, that I decided it just wasn't worth it to tell this particular story in so few words, so I quit...

The story that I concocted for Collin's little contest is as follows...I had to edit it down a few times to meet the requisite 1,000 characters or less requirement, but I don't think it lost much impact...Frankly, it didn't have any to begin with...

By the way, voting is going on NOW at Collin's site...
___
It's times like these, waking up in a fog and in a strange bed, that I think I should reevaluate my drinking habits. I'm unable to recall when, where, how much I put away or with whom. I'm know only that my head hurts, my mouth tastes like a pickle, my tongue feels like a peach and whomever I'm sharing this bunk with is completely foreign to me. They also smell quite foul.

I'd leave, but I have no idea where I am. It's dark, I'm unaware as to the layout of the room and, as I mentioned before, I have an enormous headache which isn't helping...If I could...Hey, what the Hell...Is this even a bed!? What is this...I've got a string tied around my toe...Dammit, it's feels like I'm in a drawer! WHAT IN HELL IS GOING ON HERE!? ow, Jesus, what's on my cheek? It feels like a boil, it's, OH MY GOD, IT'S ATTACHED, I THINK IT'S MY EYE! WHY WON'T ANYONE ANSWER ME! Maybe if I rattle this thing...OH GOD, I CAN'T MOVE! WHY CAN'T I MOVE!..

Oh, Jesus...I can't move...
___

Labels: collin crap, Stupid Contests

Collin is doing a wee contest on his blog about writing stories in the comments window with words n' stuff...If you happen upon this blog before, say, Friday morning (May 28) and you don't already know about this, go over there and participate, would ya? thanks...

Labels: collin crap, Stupid Contests

I've mentioned before that I love, and play, hockey...I also love baseball and have mentioned already that I'm currently playing on a co-ed softball team...I am a big fan of football, which I (kind of) played when I was in junior high and high school. I've even competed in Park n' Rec flag football and basketball leagues. Hell, I've even thought about joining a volleyball team. Out of all of the sports I think I've played, basketball is VERY VERY CLOSE to being my least favorite, but I'm definitely awarding the dubious honor of "Derek's least favorite sport" to the tradition-rich sport of soccer.

No, not golf, "soccer."

Now, before I'm quickly attacked and stomped down by a drunk, chanting mob of angry Irishmen or Brazilians, allow me to explain...It's not that I hate EVERYTHING that soccer stands for and wish for it to be abolished from the athletic landscape for all time, I just don't like playing it. At least, I don't like playing it anymore...I was reminded recently of my having participated in this masochistic pastime while reading a blog that I like to check in on from time to time. The writer is a gravedigger in Portugal and Portugal, understandably, is one of those "soccer-mad" countries. In commenting on one of his posts, and responding to a comment about my initial comment, I realized that I had the makin's of a story...So here we go...

First off, there's a whole lot of running in soccer. People that play soccer know this. People that watch soccer know this. Hell, I'm convinced that embryos in the womb know that soccer involves too much running. Zygotal awareness of the INSANE amount of running associated with soccer wouldn't surprise me much. "Soccer, the sport where you run WAY TOO FUCKING MUCH" would be my idea of a marketing campaign for the World Cup...I think that the single best quote about soccer comes from the movie Dogma in a scene where the Matt Damon character tells the Ben Asslick Character that "Any moron with a pack of matches can set a fire. Raining down sulphur is like an endurance trial, man! Mass Genocide is the most exhausting activity one can engage in, next to soccer. "

I've never given mass genocide a whack, but soccer? yeah..it's tiring...

My first exposure to soccer, like with most sports, was on the playground in elementary school. Kicking a little ball around without the hindrance of rules or structure was, and is, a lot of fun. We played actual organized games of soccer from time to time in P.E. class, which weren't overly unenjoyable. When I was in 6th grade, however, things changed for me. I was placed on a Park n' Rec soccer team in a youth soccer league. I actually had to learn the rules. I had to play as part of a team. I actually had to compete...

I actually had to run...

I despise even the basic IDEA of "running." I could skate all day if I were allowed to, but running? Hell no. If I had to "run for my life" from anything, chances are quite good that I simply wouldn't make it. I'm not built for speed, folks...I run like a fat cartoon duck with bad knees and a poorly developed sense of direction. "Running" simply isn't something that I prefer to do. I've heard of "runners" tell of the glorious "runner's high" that one gets after they've run for an extended period of time. Well yeah, goofball! You'd HAVE to be "high" to want to run that damn much!..Anyways, I had to run...Not as much as the other kids, maybe, but I had to run. I was initially a left wing, but the coach nixed that idea when I kept drifting across center into the right half of the field...I was then made into a "halfback," which is a more defensive position on the soccer field...I liked that ok, but really wanted to try being a goalie. I remember doing ok at that, in fact I think that I remained a goalie for the rest of that soccer season...

And that one little soccer season was it...No more soccer for me, at least until I was in my 20s...

I had a friend in elementary school named Sean. Sean and I had gradually lost contact, but he found me on some "classmates" style list and got in contact with me. We chatted about various things, he talked about how much he liked playing indoor soccer and I told him that I was having fun playing hockey. When he found out that I was a hockey goalie, he offered "well you should come play for our indoor soccer team...It's like hockey, so you should do pretty well." I, stupidly, agreed to give it a try.

Derek's Soccer Rule #1: "Don't believe the hype"...

Soccer is like soccer, folks...I don't care if it's indoors, outdoors, underwater or on ice, IT'S NOTHING LIKE HOCKEY! NOTHING! THE TWO HAVE VERY LITTLE IN COMMON. Of course, I figured THIS little fact out right after the first goal of my first indoor season was scored on me...I was also a wee bit rusty where the rules of "indoor" were concerned, having not participated in any manifestation of soccer since I was, oh say, 12 years old...I asked the other players on the team for some helpful hints and I got such nuggets of weesdom as "use both hands," "don't grab the ball outside of that circle-thing" and, my personal favorite, "just be aggressive."

"Just be aggressive"...I can do that...I'm good at that...Apparently TOO good...

I found out that "soccer aggressive" and "hockey aggressive" are two very different animals. Indoor soccer players apparently don't appreciate being bumped around, elbowed or otherwise reduced to a pile of human rubble on the astroturf...I made more contact with "aliens" during my first 2 games at the indoor facility than Jodie Foster at an observatory...It was during my 3rd game, I think, that I received my first little red-colored card. The events surrounding this...event...went something like this...

We were playing a team that consisted entirely of Spanish-speaking players...I'm of the opinion that they were speaking the Spanish, less because it was their first language, and more because it SOUNDS like a "soccer language..." What I'm getting at here, is that they figured they could make us BELIEVE that they were better players than they really were by trying to make us believe that they were all "fresh off of the soccer boat" or something. I mean, c'mon...I went to high school with 2 or 3 of these guys...I KNEW they could speak English...But, instead, they insisted upon jibber-jabbering in Spanish, insulting everyone on our team, as if we couldn't understand them. (we couldn't). They also played the game with quite the "tortilla chip" on their collective shoulders, putting the body into our smallest players at every turn. I personally was getting more than a bit fed up with their dirty play by about midway through the first period...

It was about that time that one of their larger players shoved one of our smaller players face-first into the wall at my end and kicked him in the ribs...I instantly sprung into action, tearing across to where he was gloating over my fallen teammate and giving him a beautiful Tito Santana-style "flying forearm"...This knocked HIM backward into the wall and, understandably, a fight ensued. As I began gleefully pummeling this particular opposing player about the head and shoulders, 4 or 5 of his smallish teammates leapt onto my back and did their level best to pull me away. Once my pummelee was able to get enough space between himself and my "windmill of destruction," he did, apparently, the only thing that soccer players know how to do in this situation...

He kicked me...

I was dumbfounded...I couldn't remember having actually been kicked outside of some playground somewhere when I was, like, 6. I instantly snapped into a kind of "hulk been kicked and must smash" rage and went after him as best I could, what with 6 or 7 little mejicanos hanging on to me for dear life. I imagine that it must've been quite the sight, me churning after him, carrying half his teammates with me, while he ran like hell for the bench area, spouting insults at me in Spanglish.

After things calmed down a bit and I had shed my "second skin" of soccer players, the official charged at me and presented me with a little red card. I took it from him and looked it over. He glared, wide-eyed at me as I asked the very pointed question "so what's this?" Completely taken aback, he stammered "it means you're out of the game. You have to leave." "Ok, ok" I replied. "Can I keep the card? Is it like 'the Scarlet Letter?' Do I get to wear it like the 'Red Badge of Courage?'" I asked. "NO" he shouted, as he snatched his little card back, "NOW GET OUT OF HERE!"

I certainly couldn't ignore such a pointed directive as that, so, cardless and still kinda hepped up on adrenaline, I left. On my way out, I stopped at the door to let a couple of the opposing teams "fans" know that, not only could I understand most of what they were saying to me, but that it would be a very bad idea to follow me that night...With that, I turned my back on the game of soccer forever. Frankly, it's for the best. Soccer is better left to...well...Soccer people, I guess. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all...And, anyway, my Mother isn't ready to become a "Soccer Mom" at this stage of her life...

Postyscripty: There's a guy that works at the agency named Frank who plays the soccer at the same facility as the one I got kicked out of...He tells me that, not only is the same team that I "rumbled" with still there, but that they still play quite dirty. I don't know, I guess I kind of feel vindicated by this. I doubt that they'd play "cheap" if more people reacted to their shenanigans the way I did...

Of course, if that were the case, the poor official would run completely out of his colorful little cards...

Labels: hockey stuff, indignities, lame stories, me roots, sports

I was driving home the other day and happened to notice a sign on the highway here in town that said, rather polietely I should add, "Please buckle up." It followed this gentle request with the phrase "Click it or ticket." I'm sure that this catchy little phrase is in effect all over these great United States, so this should be nothing new to most of you...I personally have no problem with the concept of buckling up and driving safe, so I wasn't swayed by this sign. After all, I was already fulfilling it's request. I started thinking, though, that the use of the word "please" was especially gentle and I was not sure that it sent a firm enough message across to those drivers who WOULD drive unbuckled, which should certainly lead to their dying a horrible, scrapy, asphalty, burning type of death...Being the proactive problem solver that I am, To reach these previously unreachable, I unveil my idea for a better, and firmer, seatbelt sign campaign:

What a clear message! Urgency combined with scathing insult! I'm sure the DOT from all 50 states will be clamoring to print these signs at a most rapid pace! I shall simply sit back and wait for their calls...

I'll also think of more ways to improperly implement exclamation points into my writings(!)

Labels: misguided rantings, Phun With Photoshop

I just opened my web browser to perform a Google image search for "Magnifying Glass" and was greeted with a skull and crossbones image accompanied by text that read "Calculate your lifeline with our fun quiz" or some such crap...I'll admit, I approve of the use of the "image of death" in conjunction with such a quiz. It's like saying "You're HOW old already? ooh...hmm..."

Well, so anyway, I clicked through to this stupid quiz and, after I answered all of it's little queries, it said that I would live to the ripe old age of 81. 81!? Oh, I think not, little quiz machine...

Obviously, there's been a mistake somewhere...Why, just yesterday I decided that I had another 70 years in me. Do the math, carry the 1 and you'll find that I plan, much like George Burns, to live to be 100 years of age AT THE VERY LEAST! This means that I now have to pull 19 good years out of SOMEWHERE just to stick it to whomever came up with the formula for this stupid quiz...Wish me luck.

I fixed a couple links in the sidebar (to the left) and added a couple more...I'm finding blogs that I like to read just about every week now...Of course, the Lost Blogs' Home helps with that, what with his penchant for reviewing blogs and such. I never did thank the Ranger publicly for reviewing NOT ONLY my little blog (this one), but for the kind words he had for my Sister's blog and Collin's blog...Hey, thanks!

I have a couple audio entries in the works, so I'm hoping that this whole "not being funny" thing will end relatively soon...For now, though, I've got a magnifying glass to create and also I must draw a cartoon of someone riding a Michelin down a water slide...

I love my job...(picture me hugging my job.)

Labels: lame stories, pointless shit

Phoo...This weekend was another busy one for me...Another softball game on Friday night, but we lost this time...After the softball, my wife and I went and bought booze and Taco Bell and headed over to my parents' place to have an impromptu "game night" with my Mom and my sister...

My Mom is kind of new to drinking booze...So much so, In fact, that she has a really REALLY low tolerance for alcohol. As funny as she is on a regular basis, intentional or otherwise, booze tends to enhance the "funny" tenfold. Suffice to say, there was a lot of laughter at my Mom's expense...At one point, she apparently got tired of me pouring all the drinks and decided that she should play the role of "bartender." After staring intently at the wonderful array of bottles I had brought over, she began shouting out "is it the green or the yellow? Is it the brown stuff? WHICH IS THE REAL ALCOHOL!? YOU'RE LYING TO ME!" She was attempting to mix a Midori sour. She claimed it was "perfect," but I watched her mix it. I know better.

I wouldn't have tasted it, that's for sure...

So on Saturday, after sleeping in, I spent a good portion of the early afternoon pulling my audio equipment out of the closet and making sure it still worked. This was because I had agreed to take on the arduous task of DJing a wedding reception, a chore that I'm not even the slightest bit fond of...I've been doing the mobile DJ crap on and off for about 10 years now, doing the radio kind of got me into it. My least favorite tasks, in order, are DJing wedding receptions, DJing wedding receptions and DJing wedding receptions...This particular wedding reception, though, had "potential for disaster" written all over it...More so than normal, even...

I should take this opportunity to say that I AM quite fond of money. This really is the only reason I ever agree to these kinds of things...That having been said...

One of the guys that I've worked with at the radio station for years also does the mobile DJ stuff. In the last year and a half, he's become a minor local celebrity of sorts due to the fact that he's now a traffic reporter and part-time weatherman on local TV. This makes him recognizable which, in turn, makes his mobile DJ service more marketable. It's kind of a mixed blessing, though, because, due to his TV commitments, he can't always take on all of the jobs he's offered. If he gets overbooked, or he ends up having to work TV on the night of an event, he usually turns over the "gig" to one of two other DJs. I happen to be one of those two. I personally specialize in oldies shows, rock and roll shows, things like that...I only agreed to take on this particular reception because Mr. TV Star initially told me that the Father of the Bride wanted everything from Oldies to 90s music played..."Right up my alley," I thought...

I soon found out how very very wrong that statement was...

Well, I should perhaps admit that his statement WAS accurate in the sense that the Father WOULD'VE been fine with 50s R&B, 60s soul, 70s funk...Things like that...Unfortunately, even though he WAS financing the whole shindig, the reception itself belonged to the bride and groom They knew EXACTLY what they wanted played and it wasn't no damn oldies...

I should stop here and let those who have read this far how very last-minute this whole event was...Well, maybe not the whole event, but my being involved in it was very last-minute...The Father had initially wanted my TV friend to do the show. By the time he got around to calling him, however, he was booked. I first talked to the Father on WEDNESDAY. The wedding and reception was set for SATURDAY. I didn't talk to the Bride and Groom until THURSDAY. I wasn't given an idea about music until FRIDAY. I didn't even know the groom's full name until Saturday evening, just as I was about to introduce him and his blushing bride to the guests at the reception. Poor planning when it comes to receptions makes me nervous. Chatting with the groom on Friday about music made me COMPLETELY TERRIFIED...

When we finally got in contact, I asked a few planning-related questions, special dance music and the like...I didn't get straight answers, it was more like "we got a CD fo' 'dat" over and over. That's fine for THEM in the sense that I didn't have to find their special songs. It's very BAD, though, in the sense that, if they happen to forget a small detail like a CD because, oh, I don't know, THEY'RE GETTING MARRIED, I then have no backup plan. I then told him what the Bride's Father had said about music at the reception and he just dismissed it..."Nah," he said. "We want some R&B and hip hop...You got 'dat?" "Sure, I've got some and I have access to just about anything" I said, COMPLETELY LYING..."Do you want more contemporary stuff or do you want older stuff?" I inquired. "Yeah, yeah, older stuff man, like Gah(sp?), Tony Kelley, and I gots to hear some R. Kelly, just try and keep it in that era" he tells me.

"Gah?" I asked, as I was making my notes. "Yeah, man" he replies. "y'know, hit it old school 'den come back wit' some new shit, y'know to keep it krunk like 'dat."

Now, at this point, I KNOW I'm dead...I have little to no idea as to how to MAKE anything "krunk," let alone keep it in that state. Bravely, though, I say "No problem, I can get the music, things'll go great." Apparently sensing my caucasian trepidation, the groom offers "well, I can have one of my groomsmen hang out witcha' and make sure you keepin' 'de party goin'...He'll bring his CDs too, jus' in case." OH THANK GOD, I think. "That'd be fine," I tell him...I thank him and we end the call. I then IMMEDIATELY call up the Weatherman and request, no, I DEMAND that he let me use his music for this event. He agrees to bring the CDs by my house. At this point, instead of feeling relieved, I'm feeling sick...I'm not sure if I'm gonna make it through this particular show.

So, long story short, my friend eventually brings me the music...Not so much to my house, but to the event...Nothing like making me sweat it out. Luckily for me, the one thing I was hoping for became reality...The universal truth is that, if you have planned a wedding reception, things will eventually get off track and off schedule...Guests that were supposed to arrive at 6:30pm, began trickling in at 7:00pm. Dinner was served buffet style, which means that it takes an hour and a half MINIMUM for everyone to get through the line, sit down and eat...At receptions, there're so many little stupid ceremonial things, like slide shows, cake cutting, toasts, garter and bouquet tossing and the like that, when it's finally time for the actual dancing, the damn thing is nearly over...I only had to "keep things krunk" for an hour at most. I made it through...I got paid...I got the Hell out of there...

Doing this reception, though, got me thinking about the fact that, even though I've had my Peavey speakers for 10 years now, this was the FIRST TIME that I've really had an opportunity to let loose, turn the bass way up and allow them to shake a building...My pant legs were literally flapping in the bass breeze...It was kind of cool, just not cool enough to make me want to do it again...My next "gig" is a 50th wedding anniversary party in Black Forest...They want Big Band music...Wish me luck, Hopefully I can keep things quite "krunk" for them as well...

I went shopping on Sunday with my bounty of cash from the event...I purchased my wife a new hockey helmet and myself some clothing. I'm wearing one of my new shirts today, as a matter of fact. I think I'll buy booze with the rest of the money...It may help me get through if I have to DJ another reception like this one...

Labels: indignities, lame stories, misguided rantings, radio stories, sports

Perhaps you know someone (or you are this someone) that, when it's laundry day, it's painfully obvious because the only thing left in the closet to wear is, say, sweats n' stuff...Well, not only am I wearing my "sweats" today, it's also kind of a creative "laundry day" for me, in the sense that, postwise, I'm pretty much down to nothing. Luckily for me, my sister Heather came across a whole stack of drawings that I produced when I was younger. I've shared some of these already and, dammit, I'm ready to share some more...The following drawings are, as before, part of a larger "doodle page" that I did in 1988 (I can pinpoint the year because this particular page was signed and dated. Yay me!) So, without further ado, let's take a peek into my brain circa 14 years of age...

This person appears to be "thrashing" on a very rare 3-string guitar. It's possible that my pencil simply wasn't sharp enough to give this guitar its requisite amount of strings. It's also possible that I was a lazy bastard, even at age 14...

Man, this kid's head is big...He's also got a hunchback, it appears...He seems so happy to have made it to the base uncontested. Of course, once that ball hits him in his "soft spot," he won't remember much about it at all...

How did this guy EVER jump high enough to dunk the ball? LOOK AT HIS LEGS, for God's sake, they're as stubby as a welsh corgie! Still, though, I like this one...

So, it seems as if I saw fit to number both scenes, even though there are only two. I guess the moral here is don't mess with Harry Potter and his magic fucking dust. The fact that this drawing is over 15 years old would preclude the whole Harry Potter thing, so screw it. Why did I include this at all? Damn...

Simple, elegant, well-labeled. Man, that's one deformed child...

Apparently, the Toddler from Hell has a pet monkey-thing...And lots of hair on his wee head...Wow, this one's odd...

If my memory serves, it was around '88 that the speed limit across Colorado was reduced to 55 MPH on all Interstate Highways. We were all told that this was not only to conserve fuel, but to make highways safer by increasing the reaction time afforded drivers who would obey the speed limit. This illustration CLEARLY DEPICTS the DIRE CONSEQUENCES of exceeding the speed limit, even only by one measly mile per hour. NOTE THE PHRASE "BAP" and the horribly deformed animal that has fallen victim to this speeding motorcar. LET THIS BE A LESSON TO YOU, LEADFOOT!

This, friends, is the Egg Roll. The Egg Roll inquires as to what your "trip" is! This implies that YOU ARE "TRIPPING," my friend, and that you should surely calm the Hell down at your earliest convenience...Do not eat this particular egg roll...That would just be bad. THAT would be "tripping."

OK, more with the extensive labeling. I have, indeed, issued a "fat lady alert" in this drawing. I must add that, even though I have neglected to illustrate a floor in this piece, I HAVE seen fit to write the word "creak" under her feet, implying that this particular trailer park dweller is putting more than the limit of stress on whatever floor may, or may not, be there...

OK, there was no way for me to know that the Friday the 13th series WOULD go on well past where it should have AND ACTUALLY become more ridiculous every time out. I now realize that this doodle COULD BECOME REALITY if I can get in contact with the right people...

So there's that, folks. Have a fine weekend!

Labels: cartoons n' stuff, me roots, Phrickin' Photoblogs, random drawings

So, the movie Miracle is out on DVD...If you haven't seen it, you should. It's a wonderful retelling of truly the greatest sports moment EVER...But this entry isn't a movie review, it's about me playing a little trick on Collin and, by default, Collin's brother Trevor. I can't help doing these kinds of things, it's just...Well, anyway, here's how things went down...

So there's this little second-hand "buy sell trade" type video store near where we work that has all kinds of DVDs and videos real cheap, even some new releases...Collin visits this establishment damn near every other day to see what they have in stock and to buy, or trade for, DVDs...He often allows me to borrow his DVDs, so his propensity to purchase at this store is a good thing...Yesterday, Collin came back from the video store with, among other things, a WIDESCREEN copy of Miracle...Now, Collin is like, MR. WIDESCREEN...he once chastised me for my lack of knowledge as to why EVERY DVD I own Should be the widescreen format...Suffice to say, Collin buys Widescreen and widescreen only...He's also convinced me to do the same...

So anyway, he said that there were more copies at the store, so I went on down...I picked up a copy of Disorganized Crime (I was pretty sure I didn't have it on DVD) and the only copy of Miracle left. Unfortunately, it was fullscreen, but shit...For 8 bucks? I'll deal with whatever earth-shattering consequences there could be...I paid for my purchases and headed back to work. Later in the day, Collin was showing one of our co-workers HIS video store purchases, particularly his copy of Miracle. I, sensing an opportunity for evil, quickly grabbed my copy and headed over to his area. Collin looked at me suspiciously, but soon turned his attention back to his computer...I quickly made the switch, my fullscreen for his widescreen and headed back to my desk, holy grail of DVDdom in my evil little hand...I envision the whole switchy process happening something like this:

of course, I didn't get chased by a giant boulder, nor did I have to turn over the widescreen copy of Miracle to Belloq and the Hovitos...I was free and clear!

After the big switch, the rest of our work day went as normal. Collin hadn't noticed, in fact I counted on him not noticing the switch until he got home...After Collin left for the day, I admitted what I had done to Ray and Scott. Ray was adamant that it was an evil thing to do, Scott was indifferent. Ray exclaimed that Collin would certainly be completely frustrated and return it to the little video store. I assured Ray that the video store wasn't open early enough for him to return it and that I'd admit the joke in the morning and, at that time, give the widescreen copy back to Collin. Ray was still convinced that I had done something wrong.

Unconvinced of any wrongdoing, I left to play some tennis...

When I got in to work this morning, Collin said "Have I got a funny story for you!" He rattled off some nonsense about how he must have screwed up and bought the wrong copy 'cause when he got home, he realized he had the fullscreen version of Miracle. I just smiled...I produced the widescreen copy and he said "Yeah, I know! you bought it, 'cause I ended up with...full...screen...WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING AT ME!?" It was at this time that I filled him in on what I had done...He wasn't terribly amused, but, of course, I was. Collin also said that Trevor was dying to watch Miracle last night, but couldn't since Collin wouldn't open the package...

He figured he'd be returning it, you see...

So anyway, to sum up, We each now have the copies of Miracle that we paid for, he has his precious widescreen and I've got the "ultra-lame" fullscreen...Luckily, it's still the same movie and it was WAY cheap, so if I ever HAVE to have a widescreen copy, I think I can afford to get one. So anyway, if you haven't seen it, see Miracle. If, after you've seen it, you're not touched, moved or in any other way excited and proud to be an American, you're probably not an American...If that's the case, I'll certainly have to play some sort of prank on you...

Labels: collin crap, hockey stuff, office supply aggression, tales of triumph

I played a practical joke on Collin and he's all mad at me...I did get him to admit that it was funny, but he still says I'm "evil." I'll fill in the details soon enough...

Labels: collin crap, tales of triumph

I play hockey...I've admitted this before...I'm of the opinion that, since hockey IS the single best sport in the world, everybody should try it, regardless of their age or ability. I KNOW that Once anyone plays it, they'll be "hooked." There'd be a wave of hockey that would SWEEP THE NATION, if not THE WORLD...This phenomenon would bode well for everybody. It would bode ESPECIALLY well for emergency rooms, hospitals and those select entities which engage in the manufacture of "cups," and I don't mean drink cups, either, sparky...

Now, brace yourself, 'cause I'm about set to "sell the sizzle" as to why EVERYONE in the free, or oppressed, world should be playin' themselves some hockey...

Sooner or later, you'll have the distinct pleasure of freaking someone out with some sort of bizzare injury and/or the opportunity regale said "people" with tales of your bravery (how you diligently fought through the pain). For starters, there's the random bruising that'll show up on your person after every hockey session, most of which you won't be able to explain or remember exactly how or when they would have appeared...Moving on, you'll have the fun of chatting about muscle strains (or rips and tears)...Personally, I usually get to explain THOSE after someone asks me the very pointed question "are you limping?" "why yes," I reply..."I play hockey." Frankly, it's simply a matter of time, no matter how many precautions you take or how quick you feel your reaction time is, it's inevitable that you're gonna get hit in the face. Whether it's via fist, stick or puck, you'll get popped in the "grill"...I've been hit in the face...lots...I'm a goalie...It happens...

One time, though, a puck got me good...

Let's rewind, say, 8 years into the past...When I first started playing hockey, I had procured myself a very basic helmet...The cage was a cross hatch kind of design that was great for not allowing things like pucks or sticks in, and, consequently, not terribly good for allowing vision out...I had long coveted the "cat's eye" pro style cages for some time and, eventually, I was able to "upgrade" to a Simmons 991 "pro" helmet with a "cat's eye" cage...I had heard all of the 'horror stories' about what could fit through the larger 'eye holes,' but I was unfazed. I wanted the damn thing and I got it...About a week after I purchased it, I attended an organized practice at the mall where we play our games...At one point during this practice, a player fired a slap shot in my direction...It came in high and I was already down in the 'butterfly' position. The shot struck me in the head and ricocheted away...Now, I've been hit in the head during hockey countless times. Generally, I'll experience a ringing in my ears and, maybe, a brief flash of pain...A quick shake of the noggin and it all goes blissfully away...This particular time, unfortunately, I felt a unique "shockwave of pain" that traveled through my whole head, front to back...I shook my head and this pain was still there...I shook again and realized very quickly why I was in so much pain...

When I shook my head that second time, I sent a spray of blood all over the ice in front of me...

I was cut, I knew that much...I tore my helmet off and tossed it to the corner of the rink...It was brand new, dammit, I didn't want to bleed inside of it! I then stood upright, my arms extended and my head pointed down, watching a fountain of my own blood pouring onto the ice in front of me...As it pooled, I heard someone yell that I needed a towel...Ultimately, one was produced. I held it against my head in an attempt to stop the torrent of crimson, still unsure as to how badly I was injured...All activity on the ice had ceased and I was now the center of attention. Frankly, I didn't like the looks I was getting, they're the kinds of looks that say "I'm damn glad I'm not him..." I shouted "ok, someone get me a bandaid and let's keep going..."

"Uh, no...You need to go to the hospital" I was told.

"Hospital!? I don't want to go to the stinking hospital...I haven't even had dinner yet! How the hell bad could this be?" I thought...Ultimately, I acquiesced to the demands that I leave the ice...I went to the locker room and proceeded to get dressed, all the while being told by teammates how awful bad I was cut...The magic phrase "you're gonna need stitches" kept being tossed my way...Bear in mind, to this point, I still hadn't checked a mirror to see what exactly had happened to me...It was kind of numb, in fact, It didn't feel bad at all...Either way, I needed to head to the emergency room...I called my wife and let her know that I was going to drive home so she could transport me to the hospital...As I ended the call and started my truck, the cut on my forehead suddenly seemed to take on a life of it's own, defiantly spitting a glob of blood onto my face..."Great," I thought..."This should be an awesome drive home..."

By the time I got home, I had been "spit" on three or four more times...I was also starting to feel a bit tired, seeing as I HAD experienced blood loss. I looked at my wife, she looked at my head and cringed. "I HAVE TO SEE WHAT EVERYONE IS LOOKING AT" I thought...I went to the bathroom, flipped on the light and looked at my reflection in the mirror for the first time since impact...Staring back at me was a 2-inch gash, just above my right eyebrow...The puck had, indeed, snuck through one of the enlarged eyeholes in my mask's cage and made contact with my forehead, splitting it open all the way to the skull...I raised my eyebrows in shock at the sight in front of me. When I did, the wound opened up and "spit" again.

"Ooh, that's a cool trick" I thought...

I immediately went back upstairs and showed the "spit-trick" to my wife...She was unamused and unappreciative, to say the least...I was summarily directed to get in the car. I obeyed and we were on our way to the emergency room, I checked in at the reception desk, took a seat in the waiting room and, well...waited...Every now and then, I'd make my gash perform it's little trick, to the utter dismay and horror of my wife...In Triage, I was asked a battery of questions, including my personal favorite "did you lose consciousness" about seven times. I was given a Tetanus shot and sent in to be sewn back together by a personable doctor who liked to chat about golf, a subject I know a little about, but not much...After the suturing, I was told that someone would stop by in a couple minutes to clean my bloody noggin right up...15 minutes passed with nobody visiting to mop up, so I thought "screw this, I'm leavin'.

It was nearly midnight...I was hungry...I hadn't eaten dinner yet...

On the way home, I convinced my wife to stop at Safeway so I could purchase myself something to eat...woozy, stitched up and with what felt like a half-gallon of my own blood matted in my hair, I bravely entered the store, mentally deflecting the employee's horrific gazes. I offered no explanation to the unfortunate checker who rang me out. By that time, I wasn't interested in anything more than eating my food and going to bed. Of course, the hospital instructed my wife to wake me up every three hours that night and "quiz me" to make sure I didn't have a concussion, despite the fact that I had assured them that I was "fine"...By the morning, I had a very unpleasant demeanor, mostly from being woken up and from the blinding, blinding pain that I felt after the numbing agent wore off...

So, to sum up, I was actually wearing the helmet TOO HIGH on my head, which allowed the puck to make contact with my face. I remedied that problem, simply, by wearing the helmet lower. After that, I haven't experienced any similar trauma since, despite countless hockey-related cranial impacts...I ended up with a nice scar for show-and-tell and, so far, I've resisted all of my wife's efforts to treat it with vitamin "A," a compound that, reportedly, reduces scarring...After it was all said and done, the lingering pain from the tetanus shot the emergency room staff administered was actually worse than the puck impact...The fact that I didn't have to have my eyebrow shaved off was a bonus. When I went in to have my stitches removed, unfortunately, the attending nurse seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, almost as if she were attempting to set a world speed record for suture removal...clip, yank, clip, yank, clip, yank, missed clip YANK! My whole head lurched forward, being that it was still attached to the unclipped suture...THAT hurt a bit..."Sorry 'bout that" she said calmly...clip, yank, clip, yank...

So, there you go...I can imagine that, if you're not playing already, you're simply clamoring to play yourself some hockey! Believe me, you'll thank me later...Like when you're answering all the repetitive questions in triage...

Labels: hockey stuff, indignities, me roots, sports

Kathy, who freelances here at the ad agency, just returned today from her wedding/honeymoon...She was married in Amish country and honeymooned in Key West...She was nice enough to bring us all back gifts that corresponded to these location(s)...Luckily, I got first crack at the grab bag o' gifts and was able to snatch up what, obviously, is the "pearl of the oyster," so to speak...I present it to you now:

Those wacky Amish! I wonder what the Intercourse High School mascot is...Trojans? Sheiks? RoughRiders? WHAT A GREAT PLACE IT MUST BE!

Labels: Phrickin' Photoblogs, tales of triumph

Welcome to Monday! I don't have anything worthwhile to publish today, so I'm going to do an actual Journalesque entry...My weekend was pretty good, also pretty productive...On Friday, My Wife and I played softball with our team (the B-52s)...We beat the Arlun Flooring team 23 to 8...Saturday was devoted to yardwork, trying very hard to revive the lawn that came with our house...We accomplished a lot in the front yard and some in the back yard. After the yardwork, we ate lunch at a wonderful German restaurant just around the corner from our house called The Kreutzer Inn. (I had Jagerschnitzel!) From there, we went up to my parents house to see Nancy and Galen, my Aunt and Uncle who're visiting from Alaska. It was nice to see them, it's not often that they make it down here...From there, we went to a "video game night" at Justin's house, who is a friend of Collin's...That was a load of fun, we all ate like pigs and played games until 1:00 am...Sunday, I was pretty well spent, but got some stuff done around the house and did grocery shopping...Had a hockey game last night...We lost, but that happens sometimes...

I added some other blog links to my sidebar (to the left there)...Check them out if you haven't already...Some people I know, some I don't, but they're all wonderful in their own special way...

Labels: geekery, I eat food, sports, stagnation, tales of triumph

I love Chinese food. I love Vietnamese Food, Japanese food, Thai food...Granted, I love food in general, but "oriental" or Asian cuisine may well be my favorite, at the very least it'd be tied for my favorite. I also love fortune cookies...Always have, always will. They taste good and, as a little bonus, you get a little slip of paper that conceivably could change your future. In recent years, however, fortune cookies seem to be less fortune and more "daily affirmation." I haven't gotten a useful bit of info inside my cookies for some time now...

I've always thought that it would be a "shitload" of fun, in my estimation, to sneak into a fortune cookie factory and sabotage the little slips. Here're a few examples of what I'm thinking about...


and it WILL happen again...Watch your ass, roundeye...


is it the cookie, or my seemingly friendly waiter that's out to get me? Just to be sure, I shall crush and eat them both...


But she was here the whole time! Except for the 4 or 5 "bathroom breaks..." hmm....


Damn you, cookie! Damn you to Hell!


Aww, man...


Hopefully not shellfish or peanuts 'cause...well...

Hopefully we'll see some of these popping up at our local Chinese buffet very soon...

Labels: I eat food, Phrickin' Photoblogs, Phun With Photoshop

A while back, my sister found a stack of drawings that I had done previous to my being an "adult." Looking through things that you've drawn or written when you were younger can make you feel a little funny (the kind of funny like "Why was this important enough to me to draw it" or "wow, this is lame") but it's also nice to see how far you've (hopefully) progressed. I offer for your amusement, select drawings that were part of a larger "doodle page" from when I was perhaps 12 or 13. Oddly enough, the overriding theme of this particular series of drawings has to do with babies. I know, I don't get it either...Anyway, without further ado...

when I was younger, I was actually a basketball fan. I played basketball, I watched basketball...I liked basketball. Thank God I'm a hockey fan now.

Don't get all giddy, this has NOTHING to do with Bruce Springsteen. I know this because I've never been a fan of his, especially not when I was in junior high. What DOES it have to do with? ha! NOTHING, that's what!

I like oatmeal, always have. Still though, I'm not sure why I had to specifically identify the foodstuff that our uncoordinated protagonist has all over his mealy little face, but whatever...

OBSERVE! The wee hat and Irish-Style pipe that the dog has! GENIUS, PEOPLE!

perspective...depth...insults...Man, I haven't changed much. Of course, now I get to use "curse words..."

Damn, that's one effed-up Cookie Monster...I'm thinking that the big-eared kid is handing him the cookie to either shut him up OR to distract the monster so as to make his escape. Either way, I really AM Alistair Cookie...Seriously...

Leaving NOTHING to chance, I have decided to LABEL everything in this drawing. I'm quite fond of the "overhead perspective" of this piece, as well as the exclamation from the orphan...It seems that he's fully aware that his life is turning to "shit" right before his infantile little eyes...

Well, folks, that's all for now...I'm thinking about introducing you to "Jamaica man" and "The Little Known Spirits" here soon...We'll see...

Labels: cartoons n' stuff, me roots, Phrickin' Photoblogs, random drawings

So, I purchased this yesterday...Collin did too..In fact, I owe him a debt of gratitude as he kept me continuously updated as to it's release date...EVERYONE SHOULD OWN ZIM! Hurry now! Run SCREAMING to your local media reseller AND BUY INVADER ZIM TODAY!

I'm not kidding.

Labels: I'm A Consumer Whore

OK, so I finally remembered to bring in the pictures that our Insurance Company took for their underwriting process (they sent us the pictures along with a nice little "thank you" card)...I scanned them today, but realized that the picture of the front part of the house is...well...bad...Anyway, here it is:

It was taken into the sun and is out of focus. I had to really crank the levels and now, you can't really tell the actual color of the house by looking at it. Luckily, you CAN see our house's "true colors" by looking at the picture of the BACK of the house:

Look at that deck! Hell yeah! That's one of the reasons we decided to buy this particular house. The lawn isn't in great shape, but we're working on that. Overall, it's a great place to live...

Oh, and the swingset? I'm dismantling that as soon as I can...

Labels: Phrickin' Photoblogs, poor usage of foreign language, tales of triumph

so, my mask made it's debut last night during the first game of our new hockey season at the chapel hills mall...WE WON! We beat the Agilent Green team 5-2...Frankly, I'm relieved...I didn't want to completely blow it the first time out with my new helmet...Just like any piece of equipment, there'll be a break-in period...It's heavier than my old helmet and the padding needs a few games to become more comfortable. Luckily, it wasn't too much of an obstacle for me. The whole team played well, in fact it was one of the best games I've seen us put together.

On the Shark Skull "tip," as the kids say...There are email communication problems between myself and Dave (I cannot receive his emails at all)...Because of this, every communication has to go through Dave's North American Rep. He forwarded me an email about the Shark design...David was extremely complimentary...his original email is as follows...

Subject: Re: Shark design

Derek,

You are a truly artist!

I love it! Just as I wanted it, the body looks perfect! Could you just do a minor change, remove the "nose"-area of the shark, it look a bit like a human face, do it more like a fish/shark. I don´t really know how I mean, but I guess you know what I mean. And can you also copy the version and do the shark without the flag behind, and also one version with the crossed bones behind? And also a version that is "mirror turned".

Looking forward to see it!

Thanks man!


Best Regards/Bästa Hälsningar
DAVEART AB EuropeStudio

so, I made the change...Below is a couple examples of what I sent back...Hopefully, they're satisfactory...




that's all for now. I'll get some pictures of the house up as soon as I can...Also, yes...It feels good to be a "truly artist." Now I just need to work on being a "truly goalie..."

Labels: cartoons n' stuff, hockey stuff, Illustrations, poor usage of foreign language, sports, tales of triumph

I've often discussed the possibility of life after death with people. It's a great topic, everyone has an opinion, regardless of their belief structure. What actually happens to us after we die is still a mystery to me, seeing as I haven't actually died yet. I can say, however, that avenues of communication remain open between whatever netherworld exists and our own world. I believe this because I've actually had interactions with the dead. At the very least, I've been directly and indirectly involved with strange and wonderful incidents that simply cannot be coincidence. Allow me to elaborate...

My Father's side of my family seems to have a "psychic link" to the "spirit world." It's possible that this comes from the small bit of Choctaw blood that runs in our family. Regardless of its origin, however, it IS there. My grandmother "rode with Jesus" through a terrible snowstorm on a highway that had been closed...When my great uncle was on his deathbed, his wife saw him in their backyard, building his own coffin. The sounds of his ghostly hammer driving his own coffin nails were audible to all who were in the house at the time...My grandfather, who was a coal and uranium miner most of his life, visited my dad in a dream before the mining accident in Pennsylvania in 2002. Charles said that he and his brother were "getting ready to go help some guys out..." My dad said that he seemed excited...He was grinning from ear to ear. I don't recall ever seeing my grandfather grin from ear to ear. He must've felt very special...

I should've outlined this earlier, but now's a good time for it, too. Charles is my grandfather, he passed on right after I graduated from high school. James is my uncle, he passed on about a year after that. They have both visited us, and other family members, many times since their death. I've seen Jim doing his laundry, oddly enough, as cleaning and chores were never his strong suit. My sister has seen Jim in the dining room of her home. A friend of mine saw Jim sitting in his favorite spot, at the end of our old couch. Many people have seen him on and around the staircase at my parents' current home. (That one puzzles me most, Jim always hated stairs) My grandmother and my aunt swear that they've seen Jim and Charlie many times, and not just in their dreams...

One of the things that occurs regularly is that, no matter how many times we move or how many different places we're at, on special occasions we'll get mail addressed to Charles Knight or James Knight. We've all just accepted this as their way of saying "hi" from wherever it is they are. It's almost "old hat" now, when "their" mail arrives, I say "hi", and let them hang around for a few weeks before I discard them with the rest of the junk mail. My wife and I had moved so much in the first 3 years we were married, however, that the mail from Jim and Charlie dwindled down to almost nothing...

I mentioned already that my wife and I recently purchased a house. If you've been through the home buying process, you know about all of the different documents that you have to produce in order to qualify for a home loan. My wife and I had gone to the mortgage broker rather early in the process, providing all of the requisite information, and pre-qualifying for a loan. When it came time for the final qualification after we had found a home to buy, we had to provide the SAME documentation, only more current. "Not a problem," I thought. I'd just round up all the check stubs, tax information and bank statements and we'd be home free. I had everything I needed and was ready to deliver it to the broker, until I realized I was short one measly little bank statement.

One stupid bank statement! If I didn't find it, We'd be screwed...

The biggest problem I was facing in finding it was that my wife had already begun the process of packing our belongings in preparation for the move. Don't get me wrong, it's a great thing to be prepared, but if you need something that could've POSSIBLY been packed away, a small task can become monumental real quick. I tore apart the living room, looking through every box and bag that I thought could possibly contain the rogue statement. As I was on my hands and knees, picking through a mountain of old statements and receipts, I came across a golf magazine that had arrived in the mail a week or so prior...I hadn't paid it any mind, after all, I don't golf...As I picked up the magazine, however, I felt strangely compelled to turn it over and look at the address label...It had my address on it, alright, but it damn sure wasn't addressed to me.

It was addressed to "James Knight."

I stopped cold. I suddenly realized that I wasn't alone. I sat back, papers and things and stuff all around me and said aloud "OK, Jim. If you're here, where the Hell is my bank statement?" Just as soon as I had finished asking my question, I felt compelled to stand up. A voice resonated in my head that said "It's somewhere you've already looked."

Somewhere I had already looked....Good start...

I went to the kitchen and rifled through the things on the table. I then swiveled around and went to the metal cabinet that sat by the front door. I opened it and began sifting through it's contents. Stuck in the top corner of the top shelf of this cabinet was a bank statement. I opened it, checked the date and found that it was, indeed, the statement that I needed so badly. It HAD been somewhere that I had already looked. In addition, it was somewhere that it shouldn't have been. The fact is, though, it was there...Just like Jim said it would be, it was there.

I suddenly felt very calm. I knew that there were more than earthly forces working on the behalf of my wife and I to secure the house that we wanted. I immediately realized that there was no reason to worry about ANYTHING regarding the purchase from here on out...We had all the help we could need...We had, at the very least, my uncle Jim watching over us, ready to lend a spectral hand when necessary. I figure that, more than anything, he wanted a new address to visit from time to time. Either way, I was profusely grateful. I thanked Jim for his help and asked him if he could help me clean up the mess I had made initially looking for the document. I received no reply to THAT question...

After all, housecleaning was never Jim's strong suit.

postscript...Everyone including our mortgage broker, both realtors, the homeowner and even the title company representative expressed their surprise that this particular transaction process went so smooth. "possibly the best real estate transaction ever," was one of the phrases said during our closing. I was happy to be a part of such a transaction, all the while secure in the knowledge that such success was pre-ordained. We did, indeed, have a little "help from the beyond."

Labels: 'de paranormal, me roots, spooky shit

I don't have any pictures of the house to post because I packed away the digital camera and it has yet to be unearthed in the unpacking process. But soon! Soon, I swear.

On the "Swedish Sieve" front, Dave said he'd send me the cut letters so I can apply them myself. He thought that the space was too small for the words, but...He never asked me if it would be OK to leave them off. At least he's offering a remedy.

The house is wonderful, by the way...The moving in was not as bad as it could be as we had a lot of help (thanks to all who helped, by the way, it was much appreciated.) I'm very tired and sore, and there's still a lot of unpacking to do. I still also have to buy some things, like a lawnmower. Still, though, it's nice to be a homeowner.

I'll try and post something worthwhile as soon as I can.

Labels: lame stories