Dude....

I now know that I've done nothing with my life...


wingsuit base jumping from Ali on Vimeo.

City Iron

One of my favorite human beings on the earthplanet has started a weblog. I would like it if all y'all consistently frequented said blog, linked to said blog and told all your friends who could purchase ornamental iron masterpieces to go to said blog. This blacksmith artisan promises to share tales of a world many of us will never enter due to our lack of manliness.


Steve, I just sent you like 3 million readers. Don't be surprised if you become insanely rich and the most powerful iron man in the world.

Golden Oldies

I'm doing research. I'm writing scenes with old people in a retirement home. You can help me. I'd love to hear about your favorite quirky tidbits of your favorite old people. Leah's grandma kept jewelry in the freezer. That's pretty interesting. My grandpa eats things like cow tongue and squirrel brains. He's also colorblind so before he was remarried he ended up in some pretty good outfits. Whatchu got? Anything and everything would interest me. Favorite catchphrases, good stories, strange things they always did after a few drinks, etc. etc. No joke, it could seriously end up in a movie someday. Worst that could happen is you reminisce a little.

Frustrating Logic

I just read an article in ESPN the magazine about Jameer Nelson (pro basketballer). He noticed that all the big stars never get frustrated on the court. So he started boxing because "nothing is more frustrating than getting punched in the face." As I showered (sorry ladies and Fuller for causing your imaginations to drift) I tried to decide if I agreed with Jameer. I've been punched in the face a few times. It was definitely frustrating. "But the most frustrating?" I asked myself as I washed my 2,000 parts. And just then I hit my head on the on the ceramic towel holder mistakenly installed inside our shower. Equally frustrating as past face-punchings.

This got me thinking. Jameer's logic is interesting. He's purposefully experiencing one frustrating thing so he can better handle another. Barring a freak facial collapse he'll be able to say,

I can handle missing tonight's game-winning free throw because I handled IronFist pummeling my face last week.

Not sure if it's good logic but it's certainly worth thinking about. What frustrating experiences have I been able to handle because I've handled something even more frustrating?

I can handle Miss Jackson crapping in my Jeep's cup holder because I handled taking her outside, in the snow, in a sling and watching her not crap last year.

I can handle the fact that toddthefrog hasn't sent me the camera I just bought from him on eBay because I handled the missed deadlines of restoring my fire-damaged house last year.

I could handle doing this for much longer, but I'd like to read yours' first. And I want to watch House. What frustrating thing can you handle because you've handled something even more frustrating?

Werther's Original

I have this whole bit about Werther's Original in this new screenplay that I'm writing. I thought I'd go back and watch the commercial because it's been years since they coated the airwaves with carmel grandpa love. Holy crap. It's more ridiculous than I remembered. Maybe this one only played in the UK? I don't remember the song at all.

FEED ME!

Every morning I wake up to the same thing. I take that back. I just got a new alarm clock with an intolerable siren-squelch so I now wake up the radio. The only station that comes in plays a crazy variety of music. I bet Nickelback and their intolerable squelch have angered me awake a dozen times. How is Nickelback getting paid to make music? That'd be like paying my pancreas for its quality insulin production. Anyways...

Every morning, Miss Jackson runs around our bed putting on her one-dog show of tap-dancing and whining. She is panicked that we are never going to wake up and feed her. Every. Single. Morning. She paces back and forth making just the right amount of noise to drive you crazy. I'm sure she's internally screaming FEED ME FEED ME FEED ME! So, every morning, we externally say/yell, "Lie down." Then we discuss amongst ourselves whether it should be "lie" or "lay" and eventually fall asleep unsure and forgetting to wikipedia it later on. That last part is a lie. See what I did there? (I am digressing a lot in this post)


We have never not fed our dog. She must forget this. She must forget that she has never gone a morning without food. Even when we are out of dog food she gets Honey Bunches of Oats or deli meats or something. We provide for this freaking dog 100% of the time.

I wonder if God looks at us the same way I look at Miss Jackson. As I run around making noise, begging him to HELP ME, FEED ME, PROVIDE FOR ME, I wonder if he rubs his huge eyeballs and wants to say, "Have I ever not "fed" you? Did you forget about last week? Do you not remember that one time...? Why are you so panicked right now? Lie down. Trust me. I will provide."

Drunk History volume 4

This is hilarious. Of all the Drunk History volumes this is the least vulgar. But the subject matter is relevant for this week. So I hope you excuse the language. Watch the others (especially the first one) if you don't mind a little cussin'. When I say a little I mean a lots.

Slingshot Man

This is spectacular. Robin Hood eat your muttonheart out. Annie get your gun then put it down and watch Rufus. Dead Eye Dick, quit being such a jerk. Seriously, we get it, you're a good shot. But wouldn't it be nice if we could just call you Dead Eye Dale. Once you settle down get a load of ole Rufus. Doc Hollywood, Rufus is YOUR huckleberry. Ralphie, you'll shoot your eye out unless Rufus beats you to it. John Paxton, watch Rufus take the literal rock and get nothing but net every time. And by net I mean exploding rabbit. Watch and learn, markspeople.

Reflecting on 1,000 Beautiful Things

I've been trying to reflect on this past week's experiment in chronicling beautiful things. What started off as a spontaneous idea ended up being a deeply moving experience. I spend a significant time criticizing things. It's part of my job. It's part of my learned background from school. It's one of my key strengths but also a frustrating weakness. So to be glued to my computer reading your lists of beautiful things was simply amazing. It was uplifting, eye-opening, heart-warming, nostalgic, hopeful, sentimental and meaningful to be a part of something that took on a life that none of us could've anticipated. So many times while reading the list I made this strange "hmm" noise to myself or said out loud, "yeah." I'm sure you did the same. Here's a few of my favorites.

88. A lazy game of H-O-R-S-E
131. the sound of rain on a tin roof
168. an unexpected letter
303. walking around bare foot, especially in summer with the grass between your toes
331. Hearing stories about when your grandparents were young lovers.
402. the good kind of tired - after working hard & being satisfied by it.
442. Cutting the perfect turn on perfectly flat water.
550. realizing my first reaction after scoring was to look up at the sky, at Heaven
5501/2. Bradley telling me I changed him into a soccer fan, or at least a soccer acceptor
790. "Hey dad, you wanna play Candyland?

I've been trying to figure out how this whole thing happened. I honestly didn't think we'd get past a couple hundred. Was it the challenge? Do we like to be a part of ridiculous goals? Why was it contagious? Was it the topic of beauty? I don't think the same thing would happen if I asked you to list 1,000 salty things. Although, that would be fun too. (#1. Ohio streets in January.)

So let's say for sake of argument that it's the topic of beauty that was so contagious. Why? What about this experiment caused you to stay involved until we reached our goal? I would love to hear from you but perhaps even more meaningful would be for you to reflect on why you participated like you did. There was something magical to the whole thing. It's good to reflect on such things. So I know I've asked quite a bit of you as of late. But I would love to hear your reflections if you're willing to share.

Gillyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

MLK Jr.

1,000 Beautiful Things

Wanna help me list 1,000 beautiful things? This will require those of you who never comment to comment. You know who you are. You can do it anonymously. I would encourage that actually if you plan on listing something like: #457: handful of toenails. For you consistent commenters out there, I'm guessing you're gonna have to list like 200 things to hit this "goal." The only rule: use numbers in your list. I'll start. And I'll help you finish. Yes? Go....

1. Big, fat snowflakes that don't cause traffic jams.
2. Miss Jackson rolling around in the accumulation of said flakes.
3. Morning coffee.
4. Those guys and their insane faith in the book of Acts.
5. Nearly every frame in Slumdog Millionaire.
6. Free lunch today.
7. Dreams, hopes starting to materialize.

T.B. dropping knowledge

A friend gave me a book for Christmas. This morning I read an intriguing thought from Tim Burton. One that I plan on wrestling with today.

"...I tend to subscribe to the idea that, in a sense, you're always making the same film over and over again. You are who you are; your personality is usually the consequence of what you went through during your childhood, and you spend your life, consciously or not, rehashing the same ideas over and over again. It's true of all human beings, and it's even more true of artists. Whatever subject you tackle, you always end up taking a different approach with the same obsessions. In a way, it's annoying, because you'd like to think you're evolving. But at the same time, it's exciting, because it's like a never-ending challenge. It's like a curse you're desperately trying to break."

Agree? Disagree? Have a sudden craving to google Johnny Depp?

Slumdog

Slumdog Millionaire is an absolute must see. If I had a gun and it were legal, I would hold it in front of you and make you go see this film. It is perfect. Run, don't walk to a theater near you. If you have eyeballs they deserve to see this. Your ears deserve to take in this intense and clever story. It's bloody brilliant. Take a look...

Friendly Polka

Break thru that web of indifference

Dan C. sent me an email of old advertisements. I've seen a lot of them. This one stood out as simply unbelievable. Click the image to read the copy.

It's Tricky

This clip from Fail Blog is funny by itself.



But play it with this song and you double the funny.

Family Portaits

Leah's on a work call right now so I'm going to write her a letter for when she gets off.

Dear Leah,

Someday when our family is slightly bigger than us and Miss Jackson we are probably going to take family portraits. I wanted you to know that those portraits are going to look something like the ones below taken by Akihiro Furuta. I know you're gonna say something like,

"Shouldn't this be a joint decision?" or, "That's stupid. I'm not doing that."

Valid comments. I hear them. And my response is: we have years for you to change your mind. We have plenty of time to find silly outfits and tiny accordions. But I'm super flexible. We don't have to play instruments. We could hold antique garden tools or marionettes, I don't really care. There's where we can joint decide. Bottom line, my love, I just wanted to give you a heads up. I'm communicating. Because I care.

Lunch Revolution

Remember Lunchables? Are they still around? I'm pretty sure their rookie year was when I was in grade school. Lunchables and Ken Griffey Jr. were newly formed stars on the brink of a meaty career. Gone were the days where kids packed handmade sandwiches cut into perfect triangles by their loving parents. Good riddance to lil' baggies of carrots, marcelled potato chips, lumpy cookies and pudding packs. Hello tiny discs of processed "meats" and "cheeses" created to pair perfectly with crackers. Mature third graders everywhere declared, "Sandwiches are so 1986, Mom. Crackers are the future." Moms would try and explain the food pyramid and the difference between lunch and a snack. Kids saw a plastic container of independence where they could create their own lunch however they wanted as long as they wanted cheese and crackers. Processed freedom, baby.

I don't know how Lunchables did it but they sold oscar mayer crazy to the world. Maybe they caused the explosion of obesity. Kids grew up into older kids who hated how hungry they were in grade school. Maybe they're still angry that their lazy parents pawned off snacks as lunches. So in a fit of new rebellion they wolfed down double cheeseburgers. They point towards their mouths and stomachs and shout, "Here's the beef, mom....here's the beef."

Who could've known back in the 90s that Ken Griffey Jr. would fizzle into mediocrity and Lunchables would cause an outbreak of bitter type 2 diabetics? Not me, my friends. I too was caught up in the processed revolution.

Freaking USC

While I'm on the topic of College Football.....

I hate/love USC. I hate how laid back they are. How they dance around on the sidelines, hugging each other with their long, Herbal Essence hair flopping around like they just got back from surfing. I hate/love how Pete Carroll looks like he smokes weed with his players on Sundays while they recollect their shining moments both on and off the field. I hate how their band plays the same song for three hours straight and their fans obsessively throw their modified peace sign in the air. I hate that more than I used to hate the Seminole chop. I hate how they have ten running backs that would start for the Browns right now. I hate that after the game they probably have drum circles, sing love songs to each other and make plans to meet up for yoga later. I hate that they have a monopoly on recruiting Hawaiians and Samoans. Midwestern teams deserve to have players with wild hair and tribal tattoos. I hate that super cool celebrities are second class citizen compared to the back up punters. I hate that Pete Carroll probably ends each recruiting trip slow dancing with the recruit's mom to Marvin Gaye songs. I hate that the recruit's dad probably takes pictures and sends them to his friends. I hate that they warm up to Shel Silverstein poems on audio book before moving on to original hip hop produced by the defensive line. I hate that after practice the wide receivers teach the coaching staff how to pick up super models.

And what really pisses me off, I mean reeeeeeeeeeally makes me angry, is that if I had a son or daughter who was about to go to college, I'd buy them all kinds of Herbal Essences and Marvin Gaye albums and all but force them to go to freaking USC with the hope that maybe one day I could end up in a drum circle with Pete talking about where the sidewalk ends.

Morons Anonymous

I quit. I'm done caring about sports. I'm done screaming at a television and hitting my ottoman. There has to be something better to do with my time. I could've spent three hours doing push-ups tonight instead of watching my Bearcats make stupid mistakes and give the game away. I probably could've read an entire paperback novel. I could've thumb wrestled Leah 2,340 times. Anything would be better than how I feel right now. I absolutely, totally quit. No more caring. No more stress. Until Monday rolls around and I'll abuse my furniture again, apologize to them again, and yell at Toshiba while the Buckeyes blow it. Are there support groups for this sort of thing?