Moving Day (second time in 6 months)

The move in process started today. Our empty house is filling up. Oh what a feeling...

Rated PG-13

If I were to find an item like this.....>
here would be the probable phone conversation I'd have with Leah...

brad: hi.

leah: hi.

brad: how are you?

leah: pretty good. tired.

brad: oh really?

leah: yeah.

brad: too tired to come see my harry popsicle?

leah: yes. (long pause) you're stupid.



(standard disclaimers and apologies apply)

Landlubber

I went sailing once. Two weeks in the carribean with my mom's side of the family. It was beyond words cool. Except for the throwing up. The entire trip burnt countless memories into my brain. My cousins, brother and I probably saw 10-15 shooting stars a night. We threw coconuts at trees on black sand beaches. We almost got lost in sea when we broke the motor on our dingy. I threw up a lot.

So now whenever I encounter large waves on a boat the puke memories take over. This happened a couple years ago. Leah and I were in Cancun. A city in Mexico. We went on a catamaran snorkeling trip. Hot sun, clear water, the promise of colorful fish. And waves. Large rolling suckers that stalked me from the past. My brain convinced my stomach it was happening. We stopped at the snorkeling spot and I got in hoping the cool water would work as some kind of salty suppository. I put the mask on so I could stare at fish. It smelled like rotten coffee. I instantly threw up. A herd of fish attacked my cloud of puke. Hundreds of them. This made me throw up more. Which multiplied the hundreds into thousands. All attacking my puke. Hitting my face, swarmed around my body, they were everywhere. I tried backstroking to get away from them. With every stroke I puked more. They tried getting into my mouth. They covered my chest and arms like a slimy sweater. I backstroked. The herd followed. I puked, creating another riot. Greedy fish looting my bile. It was a horrible circle of life. I was abused.

Eventually, I got back into the catamaran. Everyone was drinking magaritas. I did not. Leah was confused. I wasn't ready to tell her about the ravenous fish. I tried to focus on the good memories. Shooting stars, coconuts and a broken dingy.

Freedom

Next week, at this moment, I'll be doing what I'm doing right now. Reading the newspaper and the internets, drinking the coffee and telling miss jackson she can't go on walks yet. Only I'll be doing those things in our restored house, sitting on our new furniture (if it all gets delivered). I'll probably write some boring weblog about how "I can't believe we're back." Leah and I will say similar things to each for awhile I bet. Mid-November was when I last dorked around the house in sweatpants and bad breath. Exactly what I'm doing now in this apartment. Only now, it doesn't feel triumphant. I'm anxious to return to my tiny kingdom. Excited to hear the brass bands trumpet my arrival as I stroll the grounds greeting my freshly painted walls. (iTunes has brass right?). I'm pumped to sit on a couch that doesn't give me scoliosis. I'm thrilled to throw open my door and let our beast limp outside to use the facilities on her own instead of following her out to a pathetic courtyard and pressuring her to go. Imagine the liberating privacy she'll be experiencing in a week. To poop without a taunting crowd. That's freedom. Eat your heart out, Wallace.

Sherlock

There's something romantic about smoking a pipe. A habit that should seem nasty but instead seems intelligent, distinguished. Then add solving mysteries to this under utilized, manly habit..... hoo boy. Sign me up. Seriously, if you're making a list or registering or taking applicants for people who want to smoke pipes and fight clever crimes... sign me up.

Some wednesday knowledge

Lay low on the mutton and russian checkers till they get out of diapers. Then it's go time.

Youngins

Monday I scanned a bunch of old photos of my and Leah's grandparents. I'm amazed at how cool they look. I don't know if it's the clothes or the b&w factor or just seeing them young. But they seem much much cooler than us. I'm afraid that in the future our grandkids will look at photos of us in our sweatshirts sitting on couches and say, "wow grandpa, you were Xbox." Future slang for boring/lame. Then I'll box their ears. The God-given right of any grandpa, right?

SUPERMAN JAM

I went to the monster truck jam at bank one arena friday. It was surprisingly and frustratingly boring. Our friends won box seats in a silent raffle. Monster Jams aren't our scene. But we were curious and the tickets were free. It's the same curiosity I had with the opera. Turns out both are painful. I did stay for the whole Monster Jam though. I left the opera at intermission to go to a nearby bar.

At the jam you spend 90% of the time watching the trucks parallel park into the corners. That takes roughly ten minutes. Then two other trucks move into position. That takes another five. They "race" for five SECONDS. Then they repeat with the parking and the positioning. Then grown men in pit crew gear come blast tshirts out of cannons and people go monstercrazy. After intermission (opera/theater influenced) you come back for the grand finale. Which is what this video is. This Superman character is the crowd favorite. The Hulk Hogan and Sean Michael Murphy of car smashing.

What's your Handle?

I like nicknames. I've started lots in my day. Been around for the conception of even more. Wentworth, Crazylegs, Spacehog, Taint, Douglas, 'Doneyez, Monsterface are a handful that stuck for years. Most don't. I am strangely intrigued by self-titled nicknames. A la GOAT (LL Cool J) a sweet acroymn for greatest of all time. In college I got a real bang out of trying to get my roommates to call me Hurricane. Would've responded to H-cane even. It didn't stick. Sea-salt in that failure-wound was that around that same time another roommate started calling himself Dodger and it did stick. I still suspect a conspiracy. A good nickname is like a delicious side dish. The onion straws that make the rib eye really sing. The bacon that improves everything.

So the next time you see me please (I can't make you) say, "wuddup, Ice Cold." The reasons for this new nickname are obvious. I won't waste your time listing them. And if you're not into Ice Cold for some insane reason....Hurricane is still on the table. I'm flexible.

Vday

This may be useful if you happen to forget how significant today is.