The Calm Amidst the Storm

I did a lot of driving this weekend. On Friday night I agreed to be the designated driver for a couple of guys from work. All week long these two guys talked about how they were going to drink so hard, about how they were going to honor the twenty-year olds inside of them with a night of uncontrollable binge drinking. I prepared all week to be the babysitter. It turned out a night of college-esque heroics was not in the cards. The two men I drove around until 1:00am on Friday didn’t binge drink like college students. They did drink. They drank quite a lot, but they didn’t sit at bars and talk about women or take several shots and scream how tough they were. They talked about their kids. They talked about their families. They talked about how children (both of them have two) change the dynamics of life. This wasn’t a, “Man I wish I didn’t have kids, because man I miss being young,” conversation. This was a, “I’m proud of my family. I’m proud of the life I have,” conversation. There was a heavy sense of pride weighing over every word, every story about their children. They told me they couldn’t wait for Kelsey and me to have kids.

In truth, I can’t wait either. Kelsey and I have tried. Had I told you about that blogosphere? I don’t think so. There’s no sense in hiding it now that it’s been said. We’ve had some heartache this year. There have been some pregnancies that haven’t gone as planned. We’ve had the incredible highs of positive pregnancy tests bring on the crushing lows of miscarriages. We’ve had what are supposed to be overwhelming, positive experiences—ultrasounds, follow-up appointments with baby doctors—turned into nervous, dreaded experiences. These experiences, these baby pains, are hard. They take what is supposed to be magic and clutter it with phrases like “chromosomal defects” and “aborted.” They take a nice picnic dinner and wash it away with an unexpected storm.

RETRO BLOG: A Trip Through Reiman Gardens

I love my wife, but sometimes she makes me do things that make absolutely no sense. Today was one of those days. We went to Ames to visit an old college friend of ours--Niki. I don't know why Niki was in town. I don't know when Niki's mom moved to Ames and gave us all a convenient reason to visit Ames when Niki is back. Either way, none of these things matter to this story, on this day. We were supposed to be in Ames for a hamburger cookout at 3:00pm. We like to go to Ames, so we left home early and arrived around 12:00pm. We ate lunch at the wonderful Hickory Park. Then...well...then what?

We had nothing to do. Normally when we are in Ames we'll hit up all the various t-shirt shops and spend more money than necessary on wonderful red and yellow, excuse me, cardinal and gold ensembles. That's how we do, if you know what I'm saying. You probably don't know what I'm saying because the phrase, "that's how we do," actually makes no sense if you break it down word for consecutive word. That said, we couldn't do how we do on this day because all the Iowa State stores were closed—since today is a Sunday in July (or August? I can't remember what month it is) and there weren't a whole lot of reasons for anything to be open seeing as school is not in session and, oh yeah, it was ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN FRIGGIN DEGREES OUTSIDE. I've capitalized that last sentence to let you know it's important and will play into the story later. I’m trying to make reading easier for you novices.

Merry Christmas

Happy non-denominational gathering periods to you and your loved ones.

A Simple Suggestion To Make This World a Better Place

Here's what we need to do: we need to start a professional women's volleyball league and market the hell out of it like we do all the other sports. (NOTE: This is a proverbial "we" that takes all of society into account. Please don't get confused and think I mean that you and I are marketing all the other sports. We're not. I had to clarify as I didn't want you to get confused this early in the blog.)

Tonight, after my beautiful, vivacious wife came home from work she mentioned she'd talked with her friend (who is a high-ranking executive for our local nuclear power plant and married to the most successful lawyer in town--he will someday be mayor) and that her friend and her husband (the lawyer I mentioned in the previous parenthetical statement--you really are easily confused tonight) were going to the UNI Women's Volleyball Game/Match/Meet-up tonight. Kelsey (my wife) and I (me) thought that would be fun. We had nothing else to do, and I'd never seen good volleyball played in person before (I'd say sorry to my sister for that comment--but I'm pretty sure she doesn't read this--also, she probably knows she was bad at volleyball, and soccer, and everything else she's ever done (wow, just kidding Anne--you are really great at everything)).

Qatar is a Country I Just Heard About Today

This past summer I wrote about the World Cup. You probably need to be reminded of what the World Cup is because it's not going on right now, so no one is talking about it or the sport it features. The World Cup is an event that takes place every four years (which is every four years more than it should happen) where all the best soccer players you've never heard of from places you've never even heard of beat up and embarrass our own United States American soccer placers you've never heard of. It usually happens in the middle of the summer when nothing else fun in sports is really going on, so the sports media tries to guilt you, a hot-blooded American, into liking soccer. "The world loves it. Why don't you love it?" says the sports media.

Oh shut up sports media.

Quick Fact: Did you know soccer was invented by impoverished yokels who simply needed a way to keep score when they kicked a rock around their barren neighborhood parks? Look it up somewhere.

Googling Myself: What is Jay Schmitz Up To Today?

I am not a celebrity. Obviously I should be. We all know that. I'm not though. In the past, whenever I'd Google myself I wouldn't even be anywhere on Google...and Google is really big. It was sad really. Why wasn't anyone talking about me?

I'm happy to report I'm now the fourth Jay Schmitz listed on Google. Thank you Twitter! That means I'm the number one Jay Schmitz on Twitter and the fourth Jay Schmitz on Google. That's no small task.

But who are these other Jay Schmitzes? And how do you pluralize my last name? Schmitzs? That looks weird. I'm going with Schmitzes. That is the Official Pluralization of My Last Name for This Blog.

Today, let's look at the first Jay Schmitz Google listed. Naturally, he is an MMA fighter. For those of you with good taste and/or those of you that have never lived in Davenport, IA here is what MMA is: Mixed Martial Arts. It is so boring. Basically two people with tattoos come into an octagon (which is an octagon mat inside of a fence) and dance around for a few minutes. They might throw a few punches. If they ever get around to throwing a punch the crowd will go, "oooh," because something almost happened, but nothing actually happened. Usually the two tattooed people just try to grab each other. The first to grab their opponent wins. Or something like that. That is what always seems to happen. Look--there is no pageantry. There are no scripted storylines. There are no bright colored tights. There is no Vince McMahon. BORING.

LOL: I Have a Blog on the Internet

Yeesh. My blog skilz have been atrocious as of late. I probably have a lot of reasons as to why. Maybe I'll get into them soon. I might not though. I have no idea where this blog will go. I told my wife I'm going to write a blog hell or high water, even if it ends up being about magic elves or something.

AN INTERRUPTING PREVIEW BLOG ABOUT MAGIC ELVES:

"Hello Ralph. How was your weekend?" Mark asked as he placed the coffee pot back on the burner.

"In a word: Frustrating!" Ralph said, gritting his teeth. He grabbed a plastic cup and shoved it under the blue spout on the Culligan machine.

"I hear that. You must not have had your home invaded by magic elves like I did," Mark said.

I Have Been Away for a Very Good Reason

Hi Everyone! I apologize for my absence. I know you have missed me. I fully intended to write one last high school reunion blog. It was going to be about the people I bumped into that weekend who were "totally over high school." I was going to talk about how you couldn't be totally over high school because that doesn't make sense. But then I realized almost all the high school blogs sounded like that, so um, I skipped it! Also, my last few blogs weren't very funny. My humor was lacking and not modern. I needed help.

Luckily I found the help I needed in an antique store this past weekend:

Oh thank the Christ Jesus! I will be a modern humorist. I will tell jokes like this: 

Aunt Marindy had just been told that Ham, the Biblical character, was the founder of the negro race. The old woman snorted disdainfully.

"Tain't so!" she said. "We all ain't 'scended f'um no ham. We's 'scended f'um N*gger Demus. Dat's who!"

Haha! Hot damn! Let me pause for a moment so you can all slap your knees.

There is so much modern and not wrong with that joke. It's satire bitches! That was a real, modern joke in 1938. People were so funny back then.

Also, you should all probably start inviting me to host events at your parties, events, and galas. This book features 300 pages of "toast suggestions." I can weave in some pretty poignant stories about troops and graduating children.

So yeah, my absence has been worth it because while I've been away I've been busy BECOMING AWESOME. You understand.

HIGH SCHOOL REUNION: I Graduated With a Black Person

I think one of the reasons people think high school reunions are going to be awkward is because deep down a lot of people fear that their ex-classmates will remember all of the embarrassing moments from the past. While reunions are not awkward (THEY ARE NOT), that's not to say they don't have a few weird moments. It was weird to see Scott B's small children who looked exactly like miniature Scott Bs. If it was my nightmare instead of my reunion, I would have assumed the apocalypse started amidst an invasion of miniature Scott B people. Also, some people are bald now (me) and some people are fat now (not me!) and some people think jeans with big rips in the kneecaps are fashionable (Ian?). Ian, those jeans aren't fashionable. Lots of people have kids now too, but that's not really weird. People have been having kids since high school.

But the weirdest of all, the STRANGEST OF ALL, is that I graduated with a black guy I didn't know about. Let me be clear: my high school has a history of white-ocity (white-icity?). When I was in seventh, eighth, or ninth grade a black man who attended my future-at-the-time and past-in-the-now high school committed suicide. The incident briefly shone light upon the fact that Cedar Falls, IA (at least at the time) was almost entirely white. The mother of the student claimed the community was racist. I don't know about that, but high school can be difficult enough when you are "normal" and have a slight difference--you're an athlete who likes to read, you're a cheerleader who likes to read, you're a high school student who likes to read. I can't imagine how difficult high school would be if you had an obvious, visual difference...even if that difference really doesn't matter. Racism or not, being "different" is never easy.

Out of my class of 400+ people, I could have named four black people I graduated with before the reunion: Owannatu, Robert, Deondre (who is a great example of someone who tried to fit in by hiding his blackness: he refused to go by the name Deondre and instead requested to be called Jimmy because it sounded whiter), and Wendy.

HIGH SCHOOL REUNION: It's Not That Awkward

Leading up to my ten-year high school reunion, I heard a lot of people mention, "it will be awkward." No specific reasons were given for the potential awkardicity. I would even ask, "Why will it be akward?"  I wouldn't be given a clear answer. I would be told random musings about how it's always strange to run into people from high school.

Here's the thing though: it's not. It's not awkward if you're a well-adjusted, socially adept person (of which--SPOILER ALERT--I am). Why do people feel running into people from their past is such a bad thing? Is it because the people from their past knew them when they were an immature, irresponsible goon? Or maybe because we spent so much time with our high school classmates growing up that they've seen us at our worst and most of them departed our lives before seeing us at our best? Or maybe because you spent your childhood talking to your former classmates about your dreams and your hopes for the future and are secretly worried they'll judge you if your life turned out differently?

Look, I'm not a professional wrestler. I'll admit it. It turns out I'm not 300 pounds of solid muscle, nor do I like taking steel chair shots to the head. Sometimes it's okay when life turns out a little differently than how you thought it would when your biggest concerns were listening to Blink-182's latest CD and mastering your Knights of the Round materia in Final Fantasy VII (that was officially the nerdiest reference this blog has made).

It doesn't have to be awkward though. If you take all the thoughts, all the regrets you had from high school, guess what...the person from high school you are talking to probably has similar regrets and similar thoughts. It's called growing up. You do dumb things (like get pulled over by the cops for barking at police dogs--which is a crime). You do mean things (like having your kid sister tell Brad Johnson that no one is at your house even though there are thirty cars outside and a pile of shoes at the front door). But you do those dumb and mean things and learn from them. That way, when you see the people you grew up with in ten years, you aren't arrested and haven't become an asshole. People understand this.

It's not awkward. It's just sort of life.

HIGH SCHOOL REUNION: What I Learned About Lesbians

My ten-year high school reunion was this past weekend. I graduated with a class of four hundred plus people. I knew more than half of them and remember much less than half of the half plus I knew. I was excited for the reunion. I liked high school. Yes, it was shallow, it was vain, sometimes we all acted completely ridiculous, but it was fun. It wasn't the most fun in the world. No, the most fun in the world is having a good spouse, a good job, and some stability in your life. Duh. I'm the most fun in the world. But high school isn't bad.

I think this week I'm going to try to write a few short blogs reflecting on the reunion or parts of the reunion. I don't see much need to write one long blog that no one will read about the reunion or parts of the reunion.

But, before I do any reflecting or talking about real memories, I'd like to address lesbians. Last fall, while out for dinner my wife and another couple, I saw a bachelorette party being thrown for a lesbian. It was a unique bachelorette party to say the least: There was no penis stuff anywhere. Lesbians--not a fan of penises. I tried to determine while people-watching the party if both of the soon-to-be-married lesbians were there. I could not determine that. I wondered: When gay and/or lesbian couples get married do they have separate bachelor and bachelorette parties?

I'm not saying that both members of the relationship share all the same friends, but surely most of them feature some people who would be invited to both parties. This would lead to an interesting scenario where people could actually attend and compare both of the "pre-marriage" parties--generally people only attend one, aligned by gender.

Anyways, I have good news: On Saturday night, after my reunion, I ran into a very nice lesbian woman I know (she played softball with my wife). She was being pretty open with me about how girls are crazy (they are) and how we (people who like girls) put up with a lot (so much). She was basically an awesome and accurate lesbian, so I asked her my bachelorette party question. Here was her answer: "Obviously we'd have two separate parties. If we go somewhere and some woman wants to rub her shit all over my shit, I don't want my fiance there."

I've wanted this question answered for nine months, and that was easily the best answer I could have received. So, file that under mysteries solved.

I Certainly Like Rap More Than I Like Blind People

I’ve been listening to a lot of rap lately. I haven’t the faintest idea as to why. Usually I listen to what my wife calls, “suicide music.” My music generally consists of sad chords, depressing lyrics, and quality storytelling. Sure, Eli the Barrow Boy was killed while trying to earn enough money to buy his woman a coat, his woman who was also killed, but the song sure sounds pretty! Sometimes I think, “Hey I like this happy song,” only to find out later it’s ACTUALLY about suicide—like the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, “I Wrote It.” Here I thought a guy was writing a little love ditty to his lady cat whilst drinking in a Boston bar…nope, he’s writing a suicide note to no one particular because he alienated everyone he ever met. Those stories are so similar. I bet you easily see how I mixed up those two.

So yeah…I don’t know when I started listening to rap. I think part of it has to do with the 5:00am exercise class I take. Because we are exercising, we obviously need beats. Right? After six months straight of Lady Gaga every morning (confession: it took me two weeks to go gaga for Gaga—SUCH A GOOD JOKE), I’ve learned to really love me the beats and the synthesizers and the constant singing about doing it. It in this case being sex. Sex in this case being a non-marital encounter with anyone at a bar who will buy you a drink. A non-marital encounter with anyone at a bar who will buy you a drink in this case being Beyonce I guess? Are Gaga and Beyonce in love? Hip hop and rap are so confusing.

The beats got to me, that’s it. But being so hardcore, I couldn’t just listen to the “lovey dovey, hey let’s dance type” of beats. No. Of course not. I needed beats accompanied with mean-spirited lyrics and the constant rapping about doing it. It in this case being very naughty and disgusting and a little too detailed for my liking.

Also, rap is good to run to. It sure beats running to Beulah. Beulah is good to cry to in between rare bursts of happiness.

I do hope this doesn’t last though. Every time I pull up to a stop light I turn my music down and avoid eye contact with drivers from the other cars. I know they heard my mad beats approaching. I know they know I’m white. At least I hope they do. What I’m saying is I hope the drivers in the car next to me are not blind. If they are blind, and I knew that, I would keep my music turned up. BLIND DRIVERS: Please put stickers on your car alerting white people who listen to rap that they need not be embarrassed, you can’t see them.

When You're Here, You Have a Very Weird Family

It was a rough week. A bad thing happened. Luckily for me, I can always go to the nearby Olive Garden to cheer me up. Because when I’m there, I’m family. This is good, because when I’m with family I become an Olive Garden? Or are there more than two variables at work here? It’s only confusing if you think about it. So, America, DON’T THINK.

Olive Garden commercials are the best. They share similar themes: everyone smiles too much. Everyone laughs too much. Everyone says stuff that real humans don’t say. Everyone says stuff with giggly hiccups in their throat. Everything is generally interracial. Kids like their parents. Parents like their kids. The staff likes their customers. If you could pull Utopia out of my imagination, censor the nudity, add in my family, and place it in an Olive Garden, wah-la! Good advertising.

Dear The President, Mashed Potatoes

Dear The President,

I am an unemployed man who cannot afford education. I've been unemployed for a looooong time. So long. I really need money. It's too bad there aren't jobs for everybody, am I right? Yeah. Okay, but please could you make sure they don't put a mosque in the middle of where an accident once happened? That seems like something important we should talk about while the rest of the country falls apart.

I remember in eighth grade when my teacher Mr. Clark taught me about how statistics are funny. And they are so funny. He asked me if I knew that 100% of big-time serial killers have eaten mashed potatoes. Did you know that? Since that day I haven't had any mashed potatoes because ANYONE WHO EATS THEM WILL KILL SOMEONE SOMEDAY. I think that's what Mr. Clark meant. If Mr. Clark wanted to open a mashed potato store next to the house of someone who knew someone who onetime died, I bet they would say, "No way Mr. Clark, be respectful to the dead."

But here's the thing: I sort of like mashed potatoes. And just because some people who ate mashed potatoes went crazy and made some bad decisions, doesn't mean all the people who eat mashed potatoes will go that crazy and make the same bad decisions. I understand this. Fourth graders understand this. I also understand there are real issues in our country like joblessness, wars (both real and fake), declining work ethics, lack of passion for education, divisive and/or unproductive debates, glorification of teen pregnancy, parents who just want to be buddies instead of disciplinarians, child porn, and ETC ETC ETC. Really, we're worried about peaceful mashed potato eaters wanting to build mashed potato stores? LEAVE MR. CLARK ALONE YOU JERKS!

Love,

ME!

My Trip To Texas Pt 2: The Mexican Perkins

San Antonio is very different than Houston. For one, San Antonio is better than Houston. I say this not out of disrespect for Houston. I say this because it is a fact. Sometimes facts can be disrespectful, but it's not the fact's fault. It literally is what it is.

Fact: Messing with Texas would be such a waste of time.

So, San Antonio: My best friend from my childhood, Ian, moved to San Antonio sometime after college. I think he moved for a girl. Or he moved there with a girl. I can't remember the timing. I think this is because sometimes I'm not a very good friend. Either way, he moved there with or around the time a girl, who he has since broken up with but still hangs out with quite regularly, moved to San Antonio. They don't hang out as much lately. I think she moved to Guam now or something. I don't know. Maybe Ian will move to Guam? Ian, don't move to Guam.

Noah's Rebuttal

Below is Noah's (the before mentioned ten year old) response to my disco alien.  This is the wild rainbow swirl edward guy. Well done.

I think I have the mind of a ten year old.

Disco Dancing Aliens

I am outside at my brother in law's outdoor celebration of his trip through the birth canal. I am having an art contest with a ten year old. I drew a disco dancing alien named fred. It is awesome. He has bad fashion sense though because he is green and he is wearing green. Oh fred.

Tall People Need to Respect Other People's Property

The other day I was at Barnes and Noble. That's a bookstore that sells books. You should go there sometime. I think you'd really like some of the books they sell at that store.

While I was at Barnes and Noble I had to pee. Luckily Barnes and Noble has a bathroom in the back. It's next to some books. I went inside the bathroom and urinated into a very low to the ground urinal. Here is a picture:

You should notice how high up the linoleum tile gives way to wallpaper way above the toilet.

But What About the Laughter and the Future?

Did you all hear the horrible news about life today? Cathy, the eponymous comic strip starring a Cathy and written by a Cathy will have its last comic strip ever on October 3rd. This is news most fowl! (That’s a play on a word. Fowl is a bird. Chicken is a bird. Cathy loooves food! Chicken is a food AND a bird! Cathy loves chicken probably.)

Whoever will the women of the world laugh with when their diets aren’t working? Whoever will tend to their hearts when love goes bad? Who will understand their unending devotion to chocolate? Who will understand how frustrating mother’s can be and how frustrating it can be when you realize you are becoming your frustrating mother? NO ONE! Women will only have friends and family to talk to and learn from now. They will not have a sexually androgynous, frizzy-haired dynamo of humor.

For those who don’t know, Cathy is (soon to be was) a HILARIOUS comic about a woman named Cathy doing all sorts of woman things like saying, “Ack!” when confronted with the urge to eat cake and saying, “Ack!” when exercising, and saying, “Ack” so much. Giggle giggle. Remember the time she said, “Ack!” when her mom visited?

WITH APOLOGIES TO MY FATHER: Calm Down, Please

So there's a lot of unnecessary hate in this world. It's too bad really, because I think everyone would probably be good if given the chance, but I don't think people are given that chance much anymore.

I've been reading a lot about California and the gay marriage law this week, and I'm shocked. I'm shocked at how awful people have become. I'm shocked at how awful people can be when they think they are being good or even righteous. I'm shocked at how these awful people think history will smile upon them kindly when every single activist on the side of pro-discrimination retroactively looks like a monster twenty years later. I'm sure some misguided zealot back in the day made a whole lot of sense when he said, "Them Darkies shant ever marry our proper white ladies. If they do, all our children will be born with big hands and big feet and small brains, and we'll eventually die out." And I'm sure some very rich man made sense when he told Susan B. Anthony and company, "If women started to work and started to vote, we men would not be taken care of. We'd starve. You'd be too busy to rear children. We'd eventually die out."

FUTURE BLOG: Thanks California, Now I'm Married to a Duck

The other day, I rode my mind-controlled jet pack to the movie theater to watch a remake of the Sandlot (now in 6D!), and boy did I get angry. I overheard someone in the line talking about an old law California passed. It was such a bad law! Okay, get this everyone: California let all the homosexuals get married. That of course ruined our heterosexual marriages, right? I mean, obviously. We all know it did that. I woke up one day in love with my wife. The next day, after California decided gays could earn tax breaks and share benefits with the people they loved, I woke up and realized, "Marriage. This institution is over. Please pass the sodomy and applesauce." We all did that. I guess those super smart and incredibly logical people at the National Organization for Marriage were right about everything they said.

What I liked about that group was how they always said, "Marriage will die when the gays marry." I'm glad they conveniently ignored the rising divorce rates and farcical nature marriage took in the late 90's amongst heterosexual couples. That wouldn't have helped their argument at all! Also, I always thought gay people were just normal dudes and dudettes who were into a little bit different love parts than me. But they weren't! They were really people who wanted to turn our kids gay and use inner most cavities for crazy experiments for the Dark Lord! I didn't know that, but the National Organization for Marriage showed up at all these events they weren't invited to and showed all these incredibly convincing and not at all tacky signs that had swear words and death threats on them. I'm glad they cared about everyone's happiness so much. I mean, they obviously cared for the right reasons and not because they misconstrued a few passages from a book whose sole purpose is to spread goodwill, love, peace, happiness, solidarity, etc etc into meaning that God hates those who love the same gender. Nope. They were totally justified in their hateful and bigoted thought processes. I just wished I'd listened to them all. I bet you do too.

RETRO BLOG: Now I Have Too Many Shelves

A long long time ago, in a blogaxy far far away, I mentioned that I intended to sell a very large movie collection I owned. This movie collection had a lot of movies. It had 548 DVDs, 19 blu-rays, and 135 seasons of various low-to-high quality television programs. It was disgusting. They were all over the place. I had movies crawling out of the sink and pouring out of my gutters. Golly!

Clearly I had a disease. What disease? Being too awesome to realize I owned too many movies. Then I got married, and my wife said, “Jay, you need to sell all of your movies right away. No man of mine will have such a large collection of unnecessary films on hand. You will be too busy doing everything I say to watch movies anyhow. Now go mow the lawn you wanker.” I bet you thought I was making that up until she said her trademark insult. Also, I realized I didn’t really need any movies, and I tired of buying all the movies, and I never watched the movies, and blah blah blah, I’ve explained this before. I’m here for a different reason right now. This blog has a different thesis statement then some other blog. I’m here to let you know that last weekend I had a garage sale. I put the last remaining movies out for the public (yech…the public, they are so much worse than us) to peruse and buy.

My Wife and I Are More Attractive Than You By a Million

I know I know, you’ve seen me before. I look totally familiar to you. Where have you seen me? Oh it’s just killing you I can tell. Was I in that one movie with what’s his name? No that’s not it. Oh oh oh! You know! I was in that advertising all over the Quad Cities because I’m beautiful and better than you. That’s right. I’m proud of you for coming up with it so fast, but disappointed you didn’t remember sooner. I am a celebrity now you know. You know.

Apparently the photographer of my wedding created new business cards. Apparently those business cards feature my beautiful bride and her beautiful husband. Apparently is the wrong word to be using at the beginning of those sentences because it implies doubt, and there is no doubt:

A blurry photo of a miniature photo. Art.

So please people, know that I’m officially better than you, I would like my title changed from interim captain of awesome to the more succinct captain of awesome. Please keep my title in all lower cap letters as to appear trendier. Also please don’t talk to me again. I only converse with other models and celebrities and waiters at restaurants that bring me food and beer.

A Triumphant Return to the QC Via Running

I ran a race this past weekend. I'd never run a race before. Prior to last September, I'd never really even run at all. The race was seven miles. I finished in seventy-one minutes.

This race was called the Bix 7. The Bix is a jazz festival slash giant seven mile race that Davenport, Iowa uses as their big town festival all towns of all sizes are required to have. The jazz festival portion of the day brings in a lot of strange beatniks and mellow hepcats. The race portion of the day brings in a lot of anorexic looking fast people. The race also brings in a lot of people in strange costumes. I don't know why these people run in strange costumes, but because they do, I can officially say I've run seven miles with Mario, Luigi, Marilyn Monroe (actually three Marilyn Monroes), a person dressed like a carton of cigarettes (?), and a gorilla. Luckily for the gorilla, it was raining all day, so he did not die of heat exhaustion. I have a hard time believing the deity of his choosing would have allowed the person in the gorilla costume into his version of the afterlife had he overheated running a race in an ill-advised, poorly ventilated costume.

I'm enjoying my pre-race breakfast of dry toast, chocolate milk w/ protein powder, and water. Delicious AND satisfying.

College Degrees Are Important

If this blog will teach you anything, it will teach you that I enjoy submarine sandwiches on Thursday nights. Last week, I had the ill-fated Jimmy Johns delivery. This week, having learned from my lesson (go growth and development!), I drove to Sub City to buy Kelsey and me a sub. I walked into the sub shop and immediately saw Mr. Hartman, my old something teacher in high school during my junior year.  I nodded, but he clearly didn't recognize me. He should have recognized me. He called me a Communist once because I hadn't seen Top Gun. Top Gun is a terrible movie. People shouldn't like Top Gun. However I do believe in free enterprise. Thus I have proved that people who don't like or haven't seen Top Gun aren't necessarily Communists. These two things have nothing in common.

Since Mr. Hartman has the memory of a man who has had several students over several years and did not remember me, I turned my attention to the sandwich making man whose name I don't know but will call Matt because Matt is a good, simple name to repeat several times. Matt liked the Minnesota Twins shirt I was wearing. I know this because he said, "Great shirt man." I said, "Thanks Matt." He said, "How did you know my fictional name?" I said, "Because I gave it to you Matt." 

RETRO BLOG: Dalai Lama

Today the Dalai Lama gave two presentations at the University of Northern Iowa.  I went to the first one.  I didn't understand a lot of what he said, but the presentation was a very enjoyable experience.

In a nice bit of obliviousness, I had no idea that the Dalai Lama was coming to town.  I learned about it only three days before the speech.  I should probably get a subscription to a local newspaper or something.  I'd never read it though.  There's just too much on the TV and the Internet.  I didn't feel as bad that I didn't know he was coming when several people at work didn't even know who he was. Now, I won't pretend that I have any idea as to what DL's function was, but I'd heard of him and figured he was supposed to be important because of his monkness and heck, he's sold some books, and I like books.  So the guy in the office next to me got some tickets, and we decided to go see DL speak to the masses.

It Is Way Too Sunday To Be Drunk

I wrote this blog on Sunday, but I passed out on the couch while writing it. Maturity abounds:

Corrupting friends from college visited Kelsey and I today. The female is pregnant. The male is not pregnant. The male and I got real drunk. We should not have done this. It is Sunday. Sunday is not for drinking. Normally, Sunday is for going to church and maybe going to Arby's afterward. Today, Sunday was for deep cleaning the house after waking up in the basement (oh yeah! Kelsey and I slept in the basement because last night it was supposed to storm (it didn't), and we thought we might end up there anyway.) and then chilling.  Chilling is modern day slang for "not doing anything." Our grandfathers never partook in chilling because their generation worked harder than ours.

FUTURE BLOG: I Sure Do Not Miss the Meteorologists

I remember back during the week of July 18th-24th in the year (remember years? hahaha) of 2010 when the weathermen and the weatherwomen and the sexually androgynous meteorologists said it was going to rain all week and then it didn't rain at all. That was funny. No one watered their lawns because of all the rain they were supposed to get, but then all their lawns died because there was no rain. There was never any rain. Weathermen sure were stupid.

That's why I'm so glad that our president decided to get rid of all the people who predicted stuff. He gave everyone three chances. "Once you make your third wrong prediction, you will no longer be able to be called an expert, and you will have to get a new job, not experting things." At first people were so mad because who was the president to try to hold others accountable and interfere in our lives? He was a nobody I guess. But then all the predicting started. And all the predictions from the experts were way too wrong for anyone to stay employed. That was bad for them but it was good for everyone else, obviously. No one had ever actually followed up to make sure their guesses were correct.

The last weather reporter made it to his ninth consecutive broadcast before predicting a snow that spat out more as an icy rain.  He was a legend at weather bars everywhere.

Now when I leave the house in September I make sure to bring a light jacket in case it gets cold, no matter what. I don't base this behavior on the actions of a guy on my hologram-projectile-entertainment-dimensional-cubing-machine who got his education from a nothing. 

I Made Two Terrible Mistakes Tonight Involving Jimmy Johns

I ordered Jimmy Johns tonight because it is so good. I ordered the Bootlegger Club with no mayo because mayo adds unnecessary calories and is GROSS. I then waited for the sandwich to be delivered freaky fast. And how! It took about six minutes for the sandwich to arrive. This probably meant I should have just went and picked up Jimmy Johns myself, but that would have required me to leave my house and there are strangers everywhere outside.

For some reason I tipped the delivery driver three dollars. Three dollars is too many dollars to tip a delivery driver for a sandwich. That was my first mistake. Then, I opened my sandwich and there was mayo everywhere. It was dripping off the big red tomatoes and making the meat all sticky. I tried to scrape the mayo off, but then I realized: I ordered a sandwich with no mayo--I should have received a sandwich with no mayo.

I then called Jimmy Johns back to let them know about their mistake. They seemed mad at me for wanting another sandwich, so I lied and told them I was allergic to mayo and couldn't merely wipe the mayo off the sandwich. I implied that eating a sandwich that used to have a lot of mayo on it but now doesn't have much mayo on it could kill me. They promised to bring another sandwich to me freaky fast.

They delivered on their promise. They had the sandwich here so quickly I almost think they knew I was going to call. I've solved how Jimmy Johns delivers sandwiches so fast: precognitive ordering. When the new delivery driver handed me my new, hopefully correct sandwich, I thanked him, and I handed him another dollar. Why did I do this? I already tipped too many dollars the last time, now I've tipped a few too many dollars. I could have bought another sandwich for the price of my tips.

Will someone please give me four dollars? Or at least three? I feel someone should reimburse me for my financial mistakes I made on my own with my own human brain. That only seems to make sense.

Hispanic Doorbell Repairmen Keep Weird Hours

I wanted to be in bed about one point five hours ago, but I accidentally turned on the ESPYs, and the ESPYs started being awesome, so I couldn't turn them off.  The UNI Panthers (from the town I live in) won an award for being better than everyone else and Ed Thomas' family won an award for basically being the coolest family ever.  For those who don't know, Ed Thomas was a high school coach from Parkersburg, IA who was shot dead last summer by one of his former players.  It's too early to find any sort of Youtube video of the ESPY presentation, but do yourself a favor and try to find it. ESPN aired an incredible tribute video which was followed by an even more incredible speech by Ed Thomas' son. Good, powerful stuff.

So, after crying my eyes out and getting adrenalized, I started doing chores. The dishes are now done. That's good. The laundry is almost done, but it's not put away. That's half good. I even put some stuff in the fridge. Good job me. At about 10:05, I decided to lay on the floor. I don't know why I didn't decide to lay on the couch. The couch is much more comfortable. In fact, I'm still on the floor. I could rectify this situation before I finish typing this sentence.

Devil Looks Real Bad

Did you see the new movie trailer for the new movie, "Devil" that came out today? You should watch it. It says it's from the mind of M. Night Shymalan which is really too bad. It looks bad, but it looks bad in a way that it might be good if it came from the right mind. Unfortunately M. Night is a really bad mind and should stop making movies. What marketing guy in Hollywood still thinks M. Night's name is marketable? Someone in LA needs to find this marketing man and pass on the following note from the Midwest:

Dear Marketing Guy,

No one likes M. Night Shymalan. Have you seen The Happening? He has his characters run from the WIND for chrissakes. The wind! And some of them successfully do this! Do you know how fast wind is? It's really fast. I think it's the fastest. I know it's faster than my car, and my car is really really fast too. His other movies are bad too. He's been going straight downhill ever since he cast Mel Gibson to shout obscenities and racial slurs at thirsty aliens to scare them off the Earth. Can you imagine what's going to happen at the "Celebrating 10 Years After Signs" party on the Larry King's Replacement show? In one corner you'll have the mentally ill Joaquin Phoenix still doing his performance art rap crap routine because he's a celebrity, and he's so funny that he can do that, and in one corner you'll have Macauley Culkin's brother trying hard to not be Macauley to no avail because by then they'll have become one, and in one corner you'll have the girl in that movie doing normal girl things like riding a pony or brushing her hair, and in one corner you'll have Larry King's Replacement being British, and in one corner you'll have Mel Gibson telling his ex model girlfriends that they can't use any of his money to pay for the nanny for their child born out of wedlock and bloodily slashing Christ and shouting Freedom! and threatening to burn the place down right after receiving a blowjob. It will be really confusing is what I'm saying, and I'd rather it not happen. But in order for this not to happen you absolutely have to make M. Night go away. You are the last hope marketing guy. There is no one left, but we'll always have the memories.

Thanks.

The Entire Midwest and Everyone Else Too

My Trip to Texas: Part 1: I’m a Stupid No Good Yankee Liberal

A couple (a few?—time no longer goes in a straight line for me) weeks ago my wife and I went to Texas to visit some friends. Hopefully you’re lucky and don’t have friends that live in Texas, so that you’ll never have to visit them. Just kidding Texas friends! I love that you choose to live somewhere unbearably hot. It’s great! (It’s not great. It’s too hot. Why do they do that to themselves? )

(Also: People from and who live in Texas can’t read words located inside of parenthesis. They be dumb muchachos.)

Okay: Kelsey and I arrived in Texas at some time. At that particular time, it was hot. I was hungry. I could not eat the heat because that’s impossible, so we went to a restaurant. I ate food. I was no longer hungry. BUT I WAS STILL TOO DAMN HOT! Sheesh. Then I went and sat in a pool. God got angry at this. He said, “No one shall avoid the hellish heats of Texas!” and he shook his fist triumphantly, and Jesus was all, “Dad, cool it man. Let the people relax,” and God said, “No son of mine will tell me what to do!” and Jesus was like, “Quit shaking your fist man. I’m totally out of here,” and then Jesus stormed out of the room, slammed the cloud door behind him, and left to get a Frosty at Wendy’s while God continued to punish Texans for pretending they are closer to him than any other state (but are really so much farther away). What that story means is the pool was awesome, but then it started to rain a hot hot rain, and it’s not decent to swim in the rain, so we went inside, and the air conditioner only half worked, and there were cats in the apartment we went inside, and cats are not dogs, and I like dogs more than cats!

The Bell Tolls for Thee

I FINALLY finished For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway yesterday. It is exactly 130 pages too long. It would have made a great 341 page book. Instead, it made a too long 471 page book. Also, he kept using, “thee” and “thou” when people spoke. This came across as “stupid” and “fake.” I may be no cultural expert, but I do know that in 1901 the hill people of Spain did not use “thee” and “thou” to describe people whilst drinking their moonshine.

Also, the lady character in the book was pretty much a submissive sex fiend. According to Hemingway, sex cures rape. I don’t think that’s true, but then I’m not a boorish ass of a man either, so what do I know? Lots. Lots more than Hemingway is what I know.

On the Wikipedia page dedicated to this book, I learned that this book is one of the three books that inspired President Obama the most. If I had known that before the election, I don’t think I would have voted for him. I’ve not voted for people for stupider reasons (see: Edwards, John and the promise of meatballs).

Either way, the book, as a whole, was much better than the movie I also finished this weekend: Universal Soldier 2: The Return. Now that’s a real bad movie. It was about an hour and twenty three minutes too long. It would have made for an okay one minute movie, as long as I had something else to multitask and do during that one minute. If I didn’t, it wouldn’t even be a good one minute movie. It would be a bad one minute movie. What a terrible minute.

Have there ever been two more different pieces of entertainment completed by the same person in such a short time period? No. There hasn’t been. Ever.

Calm Down Everyone, LeBron Will Still Dunk Real Cool

Everyone should probably stop talking about LeBron being a jerk now. He is not a jerk. Okay, he might be a jerk, but what he is doing is not that jerky. Besides, you wouldn't know if he was a jerk anyway. He'll never talk to you ever.

Let's create a perfectly hypothetical situation because hypotheticals are fun fun fun: you are from Idaho. You are an exceptionally great fan salesman. People say you could be the greatest fan salesman of all time. When you started with your rinky dink company in the s***hole state that is Idaho everyone assumed you'd eventually leave for New York. After all, all the biggest and best fan salesmen have to live in and work in New York for some reason. That's what all the fan trade magazine writers say anyway. People always say New York is the best. People also keep shows like Jersey Shore on TV and celebrities like Lindsay Lohan in the news. Those are pretty much my thoughts on people.

Because everyone loves to speculate about fan salesmen, people start to talk about what you will do someday when your contractual agreement with Idaho ends (did you know all people born in Idaho are contractually obligated to stay there until they are 25? True story). Oh these people make such a big deal out of this. It is all these people talk about. It starts to overshadow your sales. Your company starts to freak out because they know you are keeping them alive. They are selling a crappy product, but you make it look great. They don't want you to leave because they'll probably never come close to selling a fan again.

And They Think I'm an Idiot...

You think blogging on your phone is so quick and easy - don't you, Jay?  Well I just hacked your account, blogged this, and am off pooping in the yard in the time you wasted "blogging" from your phone. Idiot.

Love,

Dottie

P.S. And I don't even have opposable thumbs.

I Do So Much Building and Constructing

Last December, on the day after Christmas, my father-in-law and I started to finish Kelsey's and my basement. We finished the job this past Saturday. Actually, it was Sunday morning at 2:00am. Kelsey told us we needed to finish the basement before the Big American Party we had on Sunday night. I could have been finished around 9:00pm, but I procrastinated the hell out of my last task: sealing the grout in both the bathroom and the bar areas. I would not have procrastinated had I known this job only took FIVE F'IN MINUTES! Everyone told me that's how long it took to seal grout, but I thought that was crazy talk. Oh well.  In the five hours I "wasted" in the basement I got some substantial cleaning done which I suppose needed to be done? I don't know? I think I swept the same floor about six times. To anal cleaning! What a cheer.

Also causing delay that night: I went over to my parent's house, where my cousin Jenny, her husband Val, and their son Sebastian (who is ten? close to ten? somewhere thereabouts?) were visiting. Technically my brother was visiting too, but he doesn't factor into this blog at all because of his total lack of building skills. He is really bad at building. He actually asked me if he had to go to a screw store to get a screw. When I told him yes, he acted like I was the idiot. Where else would you buy a screw?

My Big American Party!

We shall now commence celebrating this country like it once deserved to be celebrated.

If you are reading this and alone and sad, come to our house for party in the USA.

Phone Blogging is Real Time Blogging

I am writing this blog from my phone. How fancy. In the past I used to never be able to give you all real time updates of my life. Now I can, and you should be so thrilled because life with me is like so fun dudes.

Anyways, you all probably want me to tell you everything I am doing RIGHT NOW. I am on break at work. I am alone in my office. I have attached a very artsy looking picture of part of my desk. I have no idea where the picture will end up because phone blogging is mysterious.

As you can tell, I was recently talking on my work phone and drinking water. I also received some intercompany mail in a manilla envelope. My water is now empty. I am thirsty. That is such good art in that picture.

Science Proves Me Wrong as Sleep Awaits

Jeff wins. Sort of. You can kind of make a 500 ended candle if it were a giant flame ball:

Obviously, the candle I envisioned looked more professional and had several crossing paths, like this:

So Science wins again by proving the impossible. Good job Jeff. I expect a five-hundred page thesis with annotated foot notes explaining your project by next Friday. 

Really though, I'm just happy to be going to bed before 10:00pm for the first time in eleven years. This is great news for us all!

A Puzzling Lack of Sleep

Yesterday my wife and I had a discussion, and it was agreed upon that I need to get more sleep and eat less suckers. I’m happy to report that today I did not eat any suckers. I’m unhappy to report that it is currently 11:30 at night, and I’m not in bed. We have a party to get ready for. This means I had to start putting up shelves in the garage at 8:00 last night. I then had to run with my sister at 10:00. Yes, I had to do all those things. I’m me: when I want to do something I have to do it or some strange part of the universe is unfulfilled. Would you want to live in an unfulfilled universe? I didn’t think so. Anyways, I succeeded at both.

Listen Kids: Always Be Nice to Strangers in Bathrooms

Two weeks ago, while in a Minneapolis bar and restaurant, I had to pee. Don't worry, I didn't hold it long enough to permanently damage my manhood. I'm glad I cleared that up. Anyways, I thought it would be rude to pee at the table, so I went to the bathroom. The bathroom had two urinals. The man at the urinal next to me would not shut up. He started to ask me questions. I didn't hear the questions originally because I tend to ignore people while I pee and also those who are peeing. This guy next to me didn't really stand a chance to be listened to.

So the guy wanted to talk about the advertisement in front of his urinal. It was for a Minneapolis suburban golf course except the pictures in the ad were from Scotland, Spain, and Sweden (just like Dolph). How do I know this? Because two minutes into the drunk guy's rant (we had since washed hands but continued talking about the picture) a man walked in and asked us, "Do you like that?" I'm glad he meant the picture. We said we didn't understand it. I didn't really care to understand it. I wanted to leave the bathroom please. The man said, "I manage that club. We like to f*** with people in our ads." I said he was a genius, even though I really had no idea what his IQ and mental capacity was. It was a figure of speech.

The manager of the club then said, "Since you guys are talking to me in the bathroom, why don't I give you both a round of golf for free." The other guy started to wig out because he was drunk and never before had a drunken mystery turned into a day of free golf. Normally the mysteries led to weird itching sensations. I was non-plussed because really, when the hell was I going to golf in a Minneapolis suburb? The bathroom stranger could have at least tailored his gift to suit my interests. He told us to email him. He asked for our names. I told him my name was Brent because Brent was who was getting receptioned the next day, and he likes to golf.  Basically, I got Brent free golf for his wedding.  You're welcome Brent. Your gratitude better be included on the thank you card.

As always, there's a lesson: Whenever a stranger in the bathroom starts to ask you questions, strike up a conversation...you might just get yourself a present.

Aspen Exteriors, I Do Not Apologize for My Rudeness

Last April, after Kelsey's and my house was decimated by hail,  I chose a company called Aspen Exteriors to fix the siding and roof because they would give me $1000 to put a sign in my yard, and my deductible is $1000.  I didn't bid anyone against each other.  I clearly should have, but I didn't. Aspen hasn't been a horrible company to work with. They certainly aren't a good company, but they at least do good work when they finally get around to doing work. The main problem with Aspen is that the employees themselves are unreliable morons.

Every single one of them is a moron.  Especially all of them.  They are the biggest of the morons.

The Death of Penelope Phone

For those of you that have spent any amount of time with me in the real life human world over the last fifteen months, you've probably noticed the incredible cellular telephone I carried.  I called it my penny phone.  I called it this because it cost one penny.  I am a good nicknamer of stuff.

Fifteen months ago I got promoted at work.  Prior to my promotion I had a work Blackberry.  I did not need a Blackberry because I had the least important job a human being has ever had.  I had a Blackberry though because why not?  The problem with having a work Blackberry is that one's work boss can get in touch with one whenever he/she/it wants to.  I did not like this.  I did not like that my boss knew I checked my email before bed, so he had no problem sending out a meeting announcement for a 6:00am meeting at 10:00pm the night before.  Because of situations like this, I developed a hatred for the Blackberry which, in typical me fashion, caused me to hate all "smart" phones.

When I got the new job, I no longer needed a Blackberry, even though I actually had a job that mattered a bit more.  Logic, thy name be Corporate.  Anywho, I went to the local cell phonearia to purchase a brand new phone.  They showed me phones with cameras and Facebooks and GPSes that sure looked neat, but they looked too smart, and I hated smart phones. 

Thank God Soccer is Finally Over for Everyone!

After surviving the overly convoluted first round of the World Cup, the United States lost (seriously: how does that first round work? I don't get it. You don't have to win any games. You can tie all the time. I think you play forty games or something like that. Refs take away goals. Random time is added to the end of every game. It's like the sport actively tries to be inaccessible to people who enjoy any of the following: sports, common sense, enjoyment, entertainment, life, people, horn-free events, everything).

But don't you worry!  Today the United States lost one game in the "next" round (I don't know if it's appropriate to call it the second round because I don't know if soccer considers this a second round because the first round might be several rounds rolled into one long confusing round and also there are too many countries in the World Cup so there are too many Groups).

Now soccer is hopefully over because America doesn't care about anything it is not directly involved in (also we don't care about soccer because we have the means to afford to play sports with "purposes" and "logic."  Any sport that announcers have to explain, in vivid, excrutiating, accented detail about why a zero to zero game with only six shots on goal combined between two teams is good is not really good.  It's in fact bad.  It's really bad.  So yeah, because we can afford bats and gloves or pads and pigskins in this country, we don't have to find a fallen coconut on the ground and kick it around a dusty, dirty field. That's why we never grow to appreciate "futbol." Meanwhile all the people who used to be poor don't want the current poor people to feel bad about themselves, so they say, "This is the greatest!" when it's definitely not the greatest).

RETRO BLOG: The Frank of Dan's Wedding

I was an usher in my college roommate Dan's wedding.  It was in Houston.  There are two notable stories from this wedding I want to talk about.  This is the second.

My friend Dan had a fun wedding.  I'm sure you can read all about it at his blog or his Facebook or his Twitter.  Either way, if you would have told me in college that Dan would get married someday, boy would I have laughed and laughed.  Then I'd forget why I was laughing, and we'd move onto another topic of conversation.  We'd probably talk about baseball or videogames or movies.  All in all, we would have had a great conversation.  I'm really glad you hypothetically stopped by and had that conversation with me on that day.

Dan, marriage, continued.  Since Dan was getting married, we obviously had to have a bachelor party.  The bachelor party was in Houston I think.  The wedding was in Galveston I know.  Texas all looks the same.  It's all just flat cornfields. 

RETRO BLOG: The Journey to Dan's Wedding

I was an usher in my college roommate Dan's wedding.  It was in Houston.  There are two notable stories from this wedding I want to talk about.  This is the first.

Airport employees are actually quite nice when you are nice to them.  When I arrived at the Waterloo airport (where I was flying to Minneapolis, where I would then fly to Houston) it had been raining for four hundred consecutive hours.  It was some sort of October record I think.  Half the city was flooded.  It had also been raining in Minneapolis for three weeks straight.  Minneapolis was entirely underwater because it's surrounded by 10,000 lakes.  That seems like an awfully round number to be an actual count of actual lakes.  I demand a recount!

My original itinerary had a two hour layover in Minneapolis.  This would have been plenty of time to traverse the Minneapolis airport, grab a Big Mac, smoke some Camels, etc.  Unfortunately the desk attendant at the Waterloo airport let me know the Waterloo flight had been delayed for two hours due to the Midwest being completely underwater everywhere.  They asked if I wanted to fly out in the morning.  I did not want to fly out in the morning.  My friend Ian was going to be in Houston that night, and it was the only night I was going to be able to see him.  I told them I'd risk the flight.  They asked if I knew anyone in Minneapolis I could stay with if I get stranded.  I said of course I do.  I travel to big cities all the time and know tons of people in all of them.  They were very impressed by this.

Good News to You All: I Am Not Dead!

I am in an airport.  (Kelsey just looked over at the computer, read that sentence, and said, "You are.  Good job, babe!"  Just one example of how encouraging she can be.)

My shirt is dirty.  At some point, the rubber on the bottom of my backpack decided to melt a little.  Now the rubber on the bottom of my backpack is a strange rubber/glue hybrid that attracts only black, tarry grease.  I didn't notice this until after my backpack had rubbed all the black, tarry grease onto the back of the blue polo I wear ALL THE TIME (luckily I have three identical polos at home).  Now the polo is probably ruined.  Today was shaping up to be a sad day for everyone.

But then I had a delicious lemon poppy-seed muffin!  Sure, it was overpriced.  Once they trap you in the airport they do their damnedest to make sure you leave broke and terror free, but it was delicious.  The muffin made me realize it's okay to have a dirty shirt on when traveling to Texas because Texas is dirty and awful and we should have let Mexico keep it.  Right ya'll (get it? that's how they speak there.)?  Boo Texas for some reason!

After the muffin, on the way to the concourse, my elevated mood must have encouraged the Gods of Your Choosing.  The following played over the intercom:

"We have a wheelchair request at Gate C5."
"We have a wheelchair request at Gate C5."
"Third request for a wheelchair request at Gate C5."
"Please cancel that request for a wheelchair request at Gate C5."

It was an airport miracle!  The patron at Gate C5 can walk again!  Hopefully this is a real miracle and not a, "I'm now trapped on a mysterious island airport with people whose lives have intersected with mine because we're in the midst of a long standing battle between good and evil," miracle. 

Also, my wife has made two Chris Craig references today.  Whatever happened to that guy?  Does he still live two minutes away from JC Penny?  Is he still a jokester?  Is he still wakeboarding?  I feel as though there are too many unanswered questions surrounding Chris Craig.

I Certainly Do See a Lot of the City

Tomorrow my wife and I are flying out to Houston.  Houston, Texas.  Since this blog is new, thus making you all new to it, you're probably thinking I travel to big cities every weekend.  You would be correct.  Every weekend I do this.  The weekend after Houston I'm traveling to Washington DC to celebrate the 4th of July with Mr. Obama.  The weekend after that I'm going to Boise, just cause.  Note: I'm probably not doing those things.

Anywho, I hope my plane doesn't crash tomorrow.  Though it if it did, and I died, that would certainly make this couplet ominous.

I was going to write a bit more tonight, but I ended up packing as to not get divorce papers served tomorrow morning.  I'm going to bed now.  Unlike last night when I had to wake up at 4:00am, I've decided not to stay up until 1:00am.  That was really really stupid...though my presentation to the management team went beyond splendid thank you very much. 

Everything You are Doing Right Now is Wrong

Why are you reading this blog?  You shouldn't be reading this blog.  You should be watching Toy Story 3 at your local cinema.  It is that good that you should stop Internetting and go the movie.  Seriously, the Internet will be here when you get back.

Sidebar for those of us who have seen the movie and are waiting for others to come back:  I went to this movie with three of my neighbors and their children.  Children can be convinced of anything.  I convinced our neighbor's daughter that all her favorite foods (corn dogs, mac and cheese, and fruit roll-ups) had onions in them because she hates onions.  This made her want to throw up.  I did this because I'm a jerk. 

Welcome back!

Wasn't the entire end sequence amazing?  Was it not one of the best end sequences in any movie since Rocky 4?  Yes.  Yes it was.  Communism wasn't ended, but someone's childhood was.  It was literally the perfect ending to the movie.  I obviously won't go into details because I don't think for a minute you actually left your computer and immediately watched the movie (shame on you for reading a sidebar that was not intended for you), but I can't help but gush.

Now you should probably tell me to get off the computer and go to bed.  Jay, you have to wake up in four hours!  Go to bed!  You are presenting to your management team tomorrow, and you'll have bags under your eyes!  Why are you awake?  Also, your dog is sitting down in front of you and clearly wants outside.  Let her out already.  You're making a lot of selfish decisions right now.  

Good point Me.

Read This Blog Before It Gets Too Far Ahead of You

Did you see me just there? No? It’s probably because I am so fast now. How fast? I ran the third fastest mile anyone has ever run last Friday: Seven minutes and forty seconds. The only people who have run faster miles were on steroids and cocaine and running from mobs and also were named the Flash. They had too much adrenaline, so it’s not fair to make their times comparable to mine. They are almost in a different category all together. I’ve gotten off topic.

Let’s get back to the main point of this blog, and that is how fast I am. I am really fast. Did you want me to type the time out numerically instead of letterically? Okay: 7:40. Outside. In mild heat. In the pouring rain! With tornadoes everywhere! And the streets were littered with mooses!

Really though, running isn’t nearly as bad as I’ve made it out to be over the last all of the years of my life. I actually somewhat sort of enjoy it. It’s nowhere near as awesome as drinking or playing a videogame for fifteen straight hours, but it’s slightly more satisfying and helps me inch ever closer to being a super hero. One day, I will finally have the speed to vanquish all evil (six minute thirty second miles vanquish evil).

80's Music is the Leading Cause of Hangovers

Last night, Kelsey and I attended a wedding reception in Minneapolis for her best gal pal Allison and her husband Brent.  I haven't counted, but I think this was the 67th wedding and/or wedding reception Kelsey and I have attended in the last five years.  It's legitimately the third wedding in the last month.  Please friends and family, STOP GETTING MARRIED.  I understand you are in love, but you are not at all respecting our schedules.  How am I supposed to do nothing on Saturday when I need to shower and wear dress slacks by 3:00pm?

Anywho, I like weddings.  I think this is the first time in recent memory that we don't have a wedding to go to anytime soon.

The reception we went to last night was quite awesome.  It definitely ranks in the top five receptions I've ever been to.  Jeff told me one of two things makes for a great wedding: a live band or an open bar.  This wedding had both.

The band were these people: bratpackradio.



It's official, weddings have peaked.  After the now legendary wedding I attended in Ankeny a month ago (that's officially foreshadowing for a RETRO blog, which as mentioned, is the opposite of a FUTURE blog) and now attending a wedding with an open bar and an 80's cover band, there is nothing left anyone can do to entertain me.  You can all just stop trying thank you very much.

On the subject of the open bar:

I'm pretty sure I drank too many beers and combined them with too many glasses of wine and too many shots (which weren't even supposed to be allowed).  I stopped counting after my second beer, but I'm pretty sure I drank a lot more than that.  I know this because when I got back to the hotel I decided to sleep on the bathroom floor instead of order pizza and pizza is delicious.  Then I woke up this morning and my head felt like it had way too many vice grips pressing down on it (wouldn't one vice grip pressing down on a head be way too many vice grips? what a terrible sentence).

Now I'm tired.  I've been tired all day.  I'm glad Brent and Allison love each other and all, but their love really hurt my head last night.  Congrats to those two.  Good luck to anyone who thinks they are going to top that wedding.  You have a lot of work to do.

FUTURE BLOG: Go Away Aliens

Last Friday I sat at the Moon Cafe, with my good friends Luis, Tyrone, Zheng, and Drazen.  We talked about all those problems we're having with illegal aliens lately.  We didn't mind the illegals at first, when they minded their damn business and did all of the work we didn't want to do.  I mean, they've been on our Earth and our Moon for years now, and they still want to try and communicate with mind melds and glowing hand motions?  Why haven't they bothered learning the Official Language of Earth: Spagermenglabosnobonics?

We're also pretty fed up with the fact they are always playing laser tags with their lasers (set to stun mode) and nodding their large green foreheads back and forth.  What type of color is it to be green anyhow?  They look different and weird, and I don't understand it one bit.  And why can't they get in their spaceship cars like the rest of us?  We get it, they can beam into their spaceship cars from wherever they are.  That's not cool.  We have hands for a reason and that reason is to open doors to things we want to get inside.  If my great grand-daddy simply beamed into the Waldorf Hotel, he would have never met my great grand-mammy by holding the door open for her.  They would have never procreated.  I wouldn't have been born!  This could happen to all of us! 

Luis and Zheng told me that they heard that where they're from, the aliens have eight wives each and haven't even heard of the Mohommachrist.  That's probably why every one of them is a murderer and a rapist and kills cute puppies for fun and no other reason.  I don't know about you all, but I'd feel much safer if we just told all those aliens to go home.  This is our Earth, you weirdos. 

A Smorgasbord of Excellent Ideas

To try and improve this blog's current ranking as only the 806th best blog in the world, I thought of some ideas.  I'm going to try my hand at a few different styles of blogs:

1)  RETRO BLOGS: Since I haven't blogged in well over a year, and since before that I didn't really blog at all anyway, and since every now and then I remember something that happened a long time ago that I want to blog about, but I can't blog about because it happened too long ago, and the Internet is so current and up-to-date on everything, I thought I'd label the occasional blog: retro.  That way, if I wanted to write about a hilarious and relevant story that occurred in Ms. Teig's fifth grade science class one day, I can.  Instead of doing this, using a chintzy label or "tag," I could use past tense and dates and context to let you know the blog is taking place in the past, but that would be a lot of work and make my blogs TOO LONG.

2)  FUTURE BLOGS: These blogs will be like the retro blogs, only they will take place from the future.  I don't really feel like I need to explain that any further. 

3)  WITH APOLOGIES TO MY FATHER AND HIS GENERATION BLOGS: I don't know about you all, but ever since I grew up into an adult I've learned that almost everything the generations before us did was wrong.  So wrong.  Oh man, they were and are wrong about almost everything.  What's funny, is they don't know they are wrong.  They think we, the young people, are wrong about everything.  That obviously cannot be.  When I feel like writing a blog about why I think maybe it's okay to vote for a liberal every now and then or why I think maybe Sarah Palin should just shut up, I'll use the above tag.  These will be my most factual blogs.

4)  SO MANY MORE TYPES OF BLOGS:  I'm sure there will be many more types of blogs, but a list over four would be too long and no one would read it. 

I Have a New Blog that Tastes like an Old Blog

I decided to create a new blog this morning because I never use my old blog.  Also, all the blogs on my old blog are just too long, and whenever I think about updating that blog I think I have to write a really long blog, which I don't, but I think I do, so I created a new blog.  I put a picture of me as a baby on this blog.  I could have cropped the picture, but then it would have removed Baby Me's crotch and wowza, what a crotch!  I've been stacked since youth.

I wanted a new blog because I didn't really like the name of my old blog.  It was called businessjive but it never talked about business.  That was really confusing.  I went to that website expecting updates on stocks, the economy, and the latest macros analysis of the effects of Zhudanese currency on Privian import taxes.  Instead all I got was my own opinions, and they were TOO LONG.  Ugh.  Now I have this site.  I won't come here expecting Shiny Foreheads, but if I do, I will not be disappointed.  I will be so happy all the time.

Here's some other fun notes about this blog.  It's URL is www.theshinyforehead.blogspot.com.  I wanted to use www.theforehead.blogspot.com but that blog was used by some radical hippie in 2007.  2007!  That was so long ago.  His blog should have expired by now, and I should be able to use it.  Then I tried www.goamerica.blogspot.com.  That blog is in Korean or Chinese or something.  Can you believe that?  A foreign language on our American Internet!  It should be in English.  If I went to their country and used their Internet I'd use their language.  After that, I tried www.gousa.blogspot.com, which I didn't want to use but would have settled on since I would have had no other choice.  Luckily someone started that blog in 2004 about his trip to America.  He was in New York, he posted one blog about visiting his friend in LA, and then he was never heard from again.  This America can be a bitch.  I bet he's either dead or got caught up in all the glim glam of Hollywood.  ANYWAYS, I've settled on this URL.  That was my journey though.  If you would like to buy the movie rights to that story, please leave your contact information in the comments section.

If you must know, I'm in a hotel room right now.  Don't worry though, I'm not planning a trip to the dessert with my friend Dirk, so I'll probably post again soon. Also, I don't have a friend named Dirk.

My friends and my brother and some strangers and I started another blog this week about action movies.  It's probably the best blog on the Internet.  The blog you are reading is the 809th best blog on the Internet.