The Embarrassment Olympics

This post is brought to you in honor of the Olympics, which I haven't watched a minute of except for a few minutes during the opening ceremonies wondering why k.d. lang was performing "Hallelujah" and wondering why k.d. lang was the biggest star they could get to perform.  Then I saw Steve Nash, and I was like, "Oh yeah!  They have to use their people!"  I mean, after ice hockey and Alex Trebek, what has Canada given the world?  Anyway, I haven't done a survey in almost six months, and I think this one is gonna be a humdinger.  I am even offering a prize.  I want to know your most embarrassing moment.  The winner gets their very own Tony Montana talking keychain.  The contest lasts through the end of the month (which is Sunday), so tell your friends.  I want at least twenty entries.  They don't have to be regular visitors to the blog, or even know me.

I have to say, I'm kinda hard to embarrass.  If I do something outrageous that wasn't on purpose, I do a pretty good job of laughing about it.  But that wasn't always the case.  I was pretty self-conscious growing up.  The story that comes to mind happened when I was 14 and our church took a waterboating trip to nearby Willard Bay with all the young men and women.  I took my turn, and I felt the wake ripping my trunks off, but was unable to let go because another kid was using the same tube and had his arm across mine.  Eventually we wiped out, and we switched off.  The leader who had been driving asked, "Do you want to get in?"  I remained silent and sat there just kinda drifting and hoping they would forget about me and let me drown with dignity.  Making things worse was that my number one junior high crush was in the boat, and the water was cold, so if she got the full monty, I wouldn't be at my, ahem, best.  Then a lady drove her boat up holding the offending trunks up and asked the passengers if they belonged to someone there.  I became a punchline even for those who hadn't witnessed it.  As years have passed, I've developed the ability to laugh at my own expense, even more so than I do at others.  But I still want to laugh at you, too.  This is a celebration of pain and humiliation.  Ladies and gentlemen, the floor is yours...

A Movie Worth Checking Out

I really dig Jeff Bridges. And I love authentic country music (not to be confused with most of the crap that comes out of Nashville), and Western movies and Old West lore. It just so happens that Bridges has two roles within a year of each other with a Western theme (the next one being a remake of True Grit). Crazy Heart has been the only movie on my radar for quite some time. I did eventually cave to the Avatar hype, and found the hullabaloo maddeningly but predictably overdone. And today, for the second President's Day in a row, I took off a few hours early for a matinee. It's not exactly flying under the radar, since Bridges is the favorite to win the Oscar for Best Actor next month, so I won't try to pretend I discovered it like Oprah, and I won't be too long-winded, but I will recommend it, and provide you with some music from Ryan Bingham, who wrote most of the film's music (which was sadly unavailable on Playlist; Google The Weary Kind or watch the Crazy Heart trailer to hear the theme song), and who I've been familiar thanks to my cowboy friend Kyle. At any rate, I wasn't sure how to feel about the film's ending at first, since it's not the standard predictable neat finish, but after marinating a little, I think it was perfect. At any rate, I hope everyone got plenty of nookie over the Valentine's weekend. Have a great short workweek, and see you soon with a survey I have been putting together. Invite your friends! Ciao.

P.S. Just one interesting side note. Colin Farrell plays a country singer in Crazy Heart. And amazingly, he pulls off not only the accent, but the singing. So, major props to our favorite drunken Irish lout.

Ever Feel Like This?

This is a pretty good depiction of me in January.  The whole month pretty much sucked.  And most of it was due to sickness.  Not my own, but Amy's morning sickness.  Yes, yes, we are with child.  Anyway, we've been through this twice before, but I swear it wasn't this bad.  Amy has just been lying in a puddle of her own drool for most of the year.  And I've had to do a lot more around the house.  And there's no throwing the boys (who are the people responsible for most of the Ground Zero our house has become) into the backyard to play, because it's winter and we just have to be, like, responsible parents.  It's such a crock.  I feel bad because I haven't risen to the occasion willingly.  I have made some strides with my business, but my mood has been foul, and I'm past ready to get this behind us, but fear that February will be more of the same.  So here and now, I'm vowing to at least make myself better.  Crossfitting regularly to get into shape (which I am finally motivated for now that I've fallen in love with basketball again), waking up at 6:30 on weekdays, and I might even start blogging on a regular basis.  Today is actually one year since I started this thing, and this is my 54th post, which isn't awful, but I had only done nine in the past six months.  I am amazed I even have 4-5 followers anymore.

On the bright side...

We dumped our dog.  I know, it sounds cruel to take such delight in it, but anyone who ever met Ike knows that he's super-needy, to the point that he had become like an unwanted child. He was basically dumped in our laps when we bought our house, and the thought of having a dog was really fun for a while.  He was great at playing and lap-sitting.  But the last month we had him, I could barely restrain myself from getting medieval on him.  Not a good thing.  I really tortured myself over it, feeling like a failure because I've always been such a dog-lover, yet had such strong impulses to punt the wiener dog, and thought dumping him would be a failure, like a divorce from a valued family member.  I felt guilty about never falling in love or bonding strongly with him.  The only conclusion I can come to is that getting a pet, for me, has to be a conscious decision, unless we're talking about one charming mothereffing pig. (Those of you who have seen Pulp Fiction may appreciate this).  In almost a year and a half, Ike never calmed down or shut up, was constantly pestering and begging, and couldn't handle being by himself.  I assume the breed has a lot to do with it, something we didn't research until after we had him.  The original owners dumped him for the same reason, but I always figured we could accommodate his needs and that he'd be a welcome addition.  He is now four years old and has bounced around to at least three different homes.  I wish him well, but also say good riddance. I'm taking the next three years off to concentrate solely on my other demanding creatures, and then we'll see what happens.  At any rate, see you again soon with another survey or amusing anecdote.