Champ Champion

As I defied all the odds and neared the finish line, a little girl came out of nowhere with a rebel force of victory on her mind. She gave it everything she had to try and overtake me. But because I'm a winner I gave even more of everything I had which is more because I'm a grown man. It's simple physics. And despite all the obstacles, I held her off. I won. Maybe not the big victory (that monopoly is the Kenyans'), but the tiny victory against this sneaky little firecracker. I beat her and got the medal to prove it. I am a champion.

I also conquered a heinous opponent called Toilet-Install. I'd rather run a marathon in acid sleet than install another. I would like to announce my retirement from plumbing. Don't expect to ever see me come back wearing #45. It's over. Forever.

Plumbing

Last night I failed badly at installing a toilet. One problem led to another. Frustration kept snowballing. So, I am forced to deliver a carte blanche condemnation of plumbing. Nothing makes me feel more worthless than home improvement projects. I can't wait for round two tonight. Some expensive good news I guess is that I keep amassing more and more tools. And you should be proud of me, I keep walking past the aisle of pocket knives. Those silver beauties keep calling my name like beautiful sirens beckoning lonely sailors. I've resisted so far. But this journey-weary sailor is only so strong...

All this plumbing nonsense/stress forced me to remember my trip to Nigeria where these dudes spent days digging a latrene. So, by the end of the night, as I watched Lost with a glass of Funky Llama shiraz, I stopped pouting. Half because of the wine and half because I remembered helping those guys dig. And that sucked. Like real bad. My plight is a urinal cake walk compared to latrene digging. (In case you don't know what a latrene is, it's a giant hole you crap in. aka Toledo.)


They dig these things 12 feet deep.
(ps, that Tailspin the musical stuff was april fools nonsense. sorry to anyone who bought tickets to boston or nyc yesterday)

Talespin

Do you remember Talespin? I'm pretty sure it used to play back to back with Ducktales. That was a power-packed hour. Turns out John Goodman, of Roseanne fame, was also a fan. (I knew I liked that guy.) He's going to play Baloo in the new musical version. It opens in Boston and if things go well...the bright lights of Broadway. Road trip to NYC anyone? If Johnathan Taylor Thomas plays Kit Cloudkicker I could die and go to heaven.

Weekend of Firsts

This weekend was a weekend of firsts...

I took my first toilet out. I was a little weirded out by the wax ring. Didn't know how much was wax and how much was 50+ years of pee grime.

I took my first vanity out. I pulled the sink up and hit/broke the ceramic toothbrush holder off the wall. That ended up being kind of a huge debacle. It was attached to the wall by kind of rare earth stone that nothing could break off. We wacked it with hammers, chisels, insults and nothing could break it. It might be stronger than God's hip bone. I borrowed Steve's grinder (a tool that cuts steel) and that couldn't even cut it. Crazy. Our tile wall will forever have a little nub to remind me of my inefficiencies.

Those two jobs were in preparation of Leah and Chris re-tiling our bathroom. Leah was the tile-cutting wizard. She grabbed this project by the balls and led the entire thing. She's beautiful and rugged all at once. I don't take for granted my luck in life.

I ran in my first 5k race. I was blessed with oppressive wind, rain and 40 degree weather. Luckily, Tyler a veteran racer/marathoner jogged alongside me. That helped keep my mind off the hills and pneumonia-incubating, pioneer-killing conditions.

I got my first medal. I'm no hero, folks. I just finished a race against all odds. Which by the way, the fans lining the streets at 9am couldn't have cared less about. Not a single cheer. I expected more encouragement quite frankly.

I ate at the Westside's crown jewel, Price Hill Chili for the first time. Look for the full review from the Cirque du Savory crew tomorrow. The highlight was when a member of our burger team received a cheeseburger after ordering a hamburger. She got her burger with the unwanted cheese 15+ minutes after everyone got their food. The waitress said, "They put cheese on it, sorry." Then she left and didn't return until it was bill delivery time. Only in the Westside could that happen. A mind-blowing display of customer service. The fact that the server just said, "Sorry," and didn't fix it is so insane that I think it makes me like the place. Not sure why.

I built my first saw horses with my big bro-in-law Justin. We were going to add onto my deck today. We had plans in place for weeks. I had a few things to do in preparation. One of them was to call the people who make sure you don't kill yourself by digging into various lines. I kind of forgot. It's technically illegal to dig without calling those people. So now, I have two fresh steeds out back, grazing away, waiting to go to work (as long as Justin agrees to help again after my slight misstep today).

Tonight, after it gets dark, I will drag a toilet out to the curb for the first time. For whatever reason I was embarrassed to do it in broad daylight. I think it felt hillbilly.

Tomorrow, I may return home and have to do my first hillbilly walk of shame. I have no clue if trashmen take toilets. So I may have to drag it back up the house as my neighbors quietly mock me from their kitchen windows.

Mush

I just read an article about how scientists are trying to figure out why sled dogs are so sensitive to insulin. They know it's due to the fact that these dogs are pulling sleds thousands of miles. Sleds that are full of gear that feeds, clothes and protects the maniac yelling, "Mush." The scientists want to know what chemical reaction is happening that makes them so lean and muscular. Figure that out, create a pill and/or smoothie and boom- millions of exercise-phobes get skinny without all the annoying hard work. Sled dogs are lean, mean pulling machines because they're putting in the time working their asses off in Antarctica. They deserve their leanness.

Americans (myself included here) piss me off. All we want is the short cut, the easy way out, the secret back door. I see it with this financial mess. I don't like hearing our president tell me it's going to be a long hard row to hoe. Give me the quick fire fix, Barry. Put this thing in the microwave and cook it. Fix it. Now.

I find this microwave mentality affecting my spiritual life as well. This week, I've spending time each morning in prayer. One part of this new routine is a 20 minute block of time where you listen to God. For the past two days I've gotten antsy after five minutes. I'm like, c'mon God....I'm here, let's do it, I'm ready. It's sad but I even want the secret door, chemical smoothie approach to connecting with God.

Half the stuff we want we don't deserve because we don't put the work in. We need to fix that. Right?

God Gave Mat (Rock N' Roll) To You

I have this mate named Mat. I was thinking about how many hats he's worn over the years I've known him so I stared jotting them down. The guy is a true renaissance man. Meatloaf and Bette Midler's love child.

Mat has/is

Coached baseball. Directed a high school musical with his wife. Started a weekly music video show with roughly zero dollars and all volunteers. Produced countless video productions. Starred in a rap video. Sang in choirs. MC'd concerts. Starred and produced a feature-length documentary. An author for Abingdon Press. Snuck into the visitor's locker room at Citizen's Bank Park in Philly. Produced numerous youth conferences. A public speaker. A true grillmaster. Threw together an impromptu block party after our recent power outage from the hurricane. A published web-designer. A plumber of sorts. A carpenter of sorts. A seamstress of sorts. A car mechanic of sorts. A pretty decent photographer. A club rugby player. A pastor. A father/husband. A lover/fighter. A blogger. A strategist. A futurist. An entrepreneur. A number of things I'm forgetting. And now...

He's the frontman for Cincinnati's newest glam rock band TALON. Here's their debut performance. Skip ahead to the end rendition of God Gave Rock N' Roll To You.

Photoshop Progressions

Life is pretty much perfect for Hoff...


...he has celebrity friends and lets them drive Kit...


...Arnold doesn't know how to drive stick and kills Kit...


...Hoff goes into deep depression combined with self-medication, resulting in midnight snacking.


Tab cools off hot situations...





Batman is a crowd-pleasing Grand Marshall for circus parade...

...then he goes off script...


...and Terry the Birthday Tiger (Grand Marshall understudy) gets a major break.


A family outing that seems cute...

...turns into a nightmare for Greenpeace.

Uncle Brad Needs You

2000+ bricks are being delivered to VCC's doorstep today. They're headed under each seat of the auditorium. Bricks are lazy buggers. They need carried everywhere. Help me carry them. Meet me in the auditorium all day today and starting at 10am on Saturday. They're for a prayer experience this weekend at VCC. I really believe it'll be worth the work. I need your help.

One Minute Gump

Sometimes I really love the internet.

Mates

I continue to ponder this community thing. This morning I'm pondering mates. I've come to believe over my short life that we all need mates. You're thinking, "Quit saying mates, what do you mean by mates?"

Mate [meyt]
–noun
1. husband or wife; spouse.
2. one member of a pair of mated animals.
3. one of a pair: I can't find the mate to this glove.
4. a counterpart.
5. an associate; fellow worker; comrade; partner (often used in combination): classmate; roommate.
6. friend; buddy; pal (often used as an informal term of address): Let me give you a hand with that, mate.
7. Nautical.

I'm referring to 4/5/6 on this list but my definition is slightly different. In my dictionary there's a difference between friend and mate.

Mate [meyt]
–noun
1. a comrade; counterpart; brother whose face you can throw a shoe at and still be alright. A buddy you can angrily disagree with one minute and hug it out the next.

Getting to this level of mate takes time. One of my best good mates was a roommate in college. We had some doozie fights. We were both born with large amounts of stubborn brain cells. We could go toe to toe one minute and then be laughing about something the next. We weren't bi-polar. We were mates. I'm no relationship scientist but I honestly think that physical violence unleashed on another's face, whether that be a shoe or a milk-jug boxing glove (both stories for another day) somehow takes friendships to the next level. You either become enemies or mates. Various physical and verbal bouts are what took Tyler and I to the next level I think. (is this getting too gay?)

I'm not saying go around punching your friends in attempt to mine new mates. But I will say that we all need one or two people who are on the next level of friendship. And I think it's important that they be in our lives now. We need counterparts who can call us out, verbally punch us and we'll still be OK. It's that whole iron sharpening iron thing. Sure the sharpening hurts, but the transformation into super-pointy, iron-swords is pretty rad. That's when you upgrade to #7. Nautical.