The Return

Well, after being plagued by writer's block for over a month, finally something amazing happened. Before I get your expectations all in a tizzy, let me just say that it was amazing like my fingernails. After having nothing extraordinary happen for some time, there was a chain of events worth sharing.

First, on Monday, I finally called the Northwest in my first proactive move to leaving this smog-infested cluster-f*%& that is the Inland Empire. It felt good to finally do more than daydream about it.

Secondly, tonight on the way home from work I stopped by Albertsons, which has been hanging on by a thread. In an unexpected surprise, I was greeted right inside the doors by a single four-pack of Ciabatta sandwich bread. I almost avoided a Rachel Ray experience, but was ambushed at the olive oil section by her f'ing Rachel Ray EVOO. I didn't have to hear her say it or anything, so everything worked out okay.

Third, and this was a near miss, I was finishing my day at work I was kind of noticing that my shoelaces were loosening. I didn't really want to do anything about it, so let it go. I noticed again in the grocery store, but pressed on in spite of it. I thought the knot might make it until I got home. About 60 feet from the front door the right gave way. The left held on, loosened, but intact. Upon entrance into our ghetto castle a quick shake of my foot freed my foot. The left required a slight bump on the back of the heel.

It was instantly apparent to me what I must do. In spite of the variables involved, I must try to tie my shoes every morning with the intent that they loosen right at the moment I intend to remove them. If I pull it off for real, it will be legendary. I wear slip-on shoes about half the time, and often go days without a proper shoe or laces to tie, so my chances are likely reduced against a more frequently shod competitor (should someone want to try to accomplish this feat before me).

This brings me to another exciting event. After much internet research on Vibram FiveFingers, I tried some on. Their unique fit necessitated trying them on for size, but as recent demand has exceeded supply, they did not have a desired size/style/color combination in stock. They were ordered that night from the website, and I expect them this Friday, which will surely inspire another post.

Jerseys

Football season is pretty much here, and I am excited. In a couple of weeks I will probably come to the realization that my team, the Raiders, will suck hard yet again, but for now the chance at a fresh start brings hope.

I wish that with this fresh start I could also have hope for people. I wish I could trust that people would have better taste than to wear jerseys all throughout the season. Sadly, I doubt much will change. To be fair, there are appropriate times and places for fan jerseys.

You get a pass on Sunday, but only if you're watching a game. If you're making a trip to the store to buy some nacho cheese before the game, that's okay, but only if it's Sunday morning. The Saturday afternoon jersied grocery run is in poor taste.

If you are a child, you get a pass throughout the week. We live vicariously through you. If you are in your 30's wearing a Terrell Owens jersey on a Tuesday, there are few forgivenesses. Come to think of it, if you're anybody wearing a Terrell Owens jersey, even on Sunday, you've probably got a screw loose.

If you're at the game, I strongly support you wear a team jersey, and at the very least, the colors. But listen, if you're going to wear a Broncos jersey to the Black Hole in Oakland you probably deserve what's coming to you. You might end up with an infamous Darwin Award.

This transgression is not limited to football. A worse offender is probably basketball. I can't really think of a time when wearing a team basketball jersey is appropriate. Not even one. Now, I can't explain what I'm doing with a retro Kings Mike Bibby jersey, but I can tell you that I have never once worn it. I like that it is in my closet. I have no intention of getting rid of it, just as I have no intention of wearing it.

Look, I wouldn't say I know all about social identity theory as it pertains to team sports, but I get what's going on there. I, too, am a part of it. I might even buy a jersey someday, to be worn only at the appropriate times. And as I wrap up, consider those with their favorite team's emblem tattooed on themselves. Wild stuff. Fortunately, the ones I have seen the most have been Raiders tattoos. And that's good, because the Raiders have the most bad-ass uniforms in pro-sports. That's pretty much irrefutable. The end.

Two Strikes for Albertsons

Albertsons is really living on the edge with me. For the last fifteen months it has been my go-to grocery store, mostly for it's proximity. At only 1.5 miles from the house it is pretty much too close to avoid.

To be clear, Albertsons is no Whole Foods. It is nothing to get excited about. But, fickle as I am, it has been disappointing me. First strike against, is that they never have Ciabatta bread. They've got some impostor, which calls itself Ciabatta, but is like a loaf. There's a sandwich that I like to make and it really requires a sandwich sized square. If they came through and got me some good bread I would gladly remove the first strike.

The second strike, and one which I will not be so quick to forgive, is what they've got playing on their televisions throughout the store. I am often tortured from above by none other than the one-and-only Rachel Ray (see how I really feel about her here). Kind of makes me want to put the earphones in, preferably with some Rage Against the Machine. Loud.

To be fair, I don't see a third strike on the horizon. As it is, I will probably keep doing the majority of my grocery shopping there. One positive, is that it forced me to learn my roommate Luke's phone number, so I can reap the club savings. But that's about the only plus.

Nordstrom Part 2

A couple of days ago, Sunday to be exact, I went out to grab some lunch with the roommate (the one with a girlfriend) and his girlfriend. This turned into a lunch/shopping/movie day, which turned out pretty well. We ate at Carino's, which was alright, but had the worst Caprese salad ever. The tomatoes were cut too thick, and were pretty much like apples, so that was a bust.

After lunch we headed to Nordstrom Rack, which was really my first time. While there I realized a new level of the trickery of Nordstrom. I have grown somewhat fond of Faconnable shirts, although they are on the upper end of my price range. Well, here at the Nordstrom Rack is a whole display (I don't know what they're really called) of Faconnable shirts, some marked down over $100. This can still leave a $70 shirt, but questionable logic says that this is a remarkable deal that you cannot pass up.

This is when it occurs to me how brilliant the arrangement is. You keep your A-team (the hot girls) at the full-price store with the B-deals, and put the B-team (less-hot girls. Okay, plain...) at the store with the A-deals. Either way, as the male consumer, you are nearly defenseless. You will buy. I'm really at a (hopefully temporary) loss at how to combat this, short of avoiding the store completely.

Please share some wisdom with me if you have any suggestions.

The Birthday Girl Eats Her Wings

This was amazing.  A month or so ago, while out to eat at a usual pizza joint, I laid down a challenge for our friend Daisy.  If she could eat her buffalo wings with her hands behind her back she stood to make $150.  She declined.  Then she regretted it.  A date was set.  She was to make her attempt on 6/28.  Her birthday.  And while we tried to get the pot up to $200, she had to settle for $183.  

The restaurant staff had been expecting this, and actually made it a little easier by serving the wings on a plate instead of the usual bowl.  They also rolled the wings in dressing.  Earlier, various dudes had offered to do it, but since we are generally foul, dirty bastards this could not stand.

Sunday comes, and Daisy arrives with her hair pulled back, obviously not wanting to get wings in her hair.  What I thought was funny was that she was wearing a nice white shirt!  Mario bailed her out with an over-sized polo shirt, so don't knock her for her style.

The following video has slightly edited/shortened for the purposes of fitting on Youtube, so the nervous anticipation is lost, but their are almost ten minutes of highlights.  Pretty much everyone had left the restaurant at this point, so it wasn't too publicly embarrassing.  We started off with my camera on a tripod, and things were going well for the first eight minutes or so, then the media card was full.  Fortunately, the new iPhone came to the rescue and finished the documentation of this momentous occasion.  That, in turn, forced me to play with iMovie, which was new, so don't expect a polished job...

In the end, Daisy was a champion, finishing her wings.  A feat made more impressive in that she never finishes them.  I am not making anymore birthday food challenges for awhile, but now that it is documented on this blog (and here at Youtube for a larger viewing experience), it was money well spent.  

During the meal, somebody asks what made me think of this.  It got me thinking about the weekend I graduated from PT school.  We were down in Pasadena walking around Old Town, and a pan handler asks my dad for some change.  Before I know it, my dad is making up some B.S. story about how another guy down the street was doing tricks for money, and was demanding that this guy sings or dances or something.  The next thing I know, the guy is putting on a little show, and earns himself ten bucks.  Brilliant.  I couldn't have pulled that off, but I guess it stuck in the noggin somewhere.

So, happy birthday to Daisy, you're a champion, and you totally earned it.  

Ants

Well, it's June, which means that here in Riverside the temperatures have jumped into the high 90's. It also means that the ants are back. They've started in the bathrooms, largely avoiding the kitchen so far. Last year they pretty much had the run of the place. I once asked my roommate/landlord if I should write the rent check to the ants, since they obviously owned the place. It was a losing battle all summer long.

As far as their location, they will eventually invade both the kitchen and the bathrooms. In the kitchen they get in the food. In the bathroom, you're naked. Nobody is naked in our kitchen. At least I hope not. It really is a no-win situation.

Those little poison boxes that we kept using didn't impress me in the slightest. They would take the poison back to their nests, but the queen would not die. I'm pretty sure they've got little ant hospitals down there. Maybe they've developed a vaccine.

This year I will be stocking up on vinegar, borax and sugar, cinnamon, black pepper and a blowtorch. Hopefully they can be defeated. If we cannot defeat them this year, we will have to break down and get some professional help. The ants have become public enemy number one.

Polo Mullet

It's starting to get hot again, and for those of us who can get a sunburn when we just go out to check the weather, special considerations must be made. For the planned outdoor activities a little sunscreen goes a long way. Respecting the sun has been covered in a previous blog, but what happens when you are caught unexpected?

In March, during an unseasonable hot spell, I found myself in this very situation at the Redlands Classic. I was wearing shorts and a polo, walking around the venue, people watching, hanging out, more interested in the scene than the race. I begin to notice that the skin on my neck, which is not quite albino, but the punch-line to many of my darker friends' jokes, is starting to feel like sizzling bacon. If you've ever seen me, you know that I'm not really a collar up kind of guy, but I've got to do something. Going down to the drugstore would be crazy, and let's be honest, show weakness. I realize that I am surrounded by cyclists, who if you didn't know, have chosen to throw conventional style sense to the dogs. This gives me the motivation to break out the polo mullet. Collar down in the front, up in the back. The softness of the polo knit makes this possible without looking like a disheveled mistake.

So there I was--business in the front, party in the back. I gave brief consideration to my scalp, less protected by my thinning hair than it was a couple of years ago, but just rolled the dice on that one and came out a winner. I am pleased to report that my polo mullet saved the day, resulting in no discomfort after the event. A t-shirt might have screwed me, but so far this warm season, it's Zak one, sun zero.

Happy Father's Day

Happy Father's Day!

My dad is better than your dad.  Unless you are my dad, then you're the best.  Love you lots.

The more proximally located son is probably making an appearance today.  I will have to wait until next month.  

Rambling on, here is a poem I accidentally found by an unknown author:

What Makes A Dad

God took the strength of a mountain,

The majesty of a tree,

The warmth of a summer sun, 

The calm of a quiet sea,

The generous soul of nature, 

The comforting arm of night,

The wisdom of the ages,

The power of the eagle's flight,

The joy of a morning in spring,

The faith of a mustard seed,

The patience of eternity,

The depth of a family need,

Then God combined these qualities, 

When there was nothing more to add,

He knew His masterpiece was complete,

And so, He called it.. Dad

That's pretty nice, huh?  I've got a couple of issues with it, though.  First, I don't know what the hell the comforting arm of night is.  Second, an eagle's flight may be graceful or majestic, but a grizzly bear is more powerful, don't you think?  Probably a rhyming limitation.

Anyways, happy Father's Day!

What Just Climbed Up the Tree?

What the hell just climbed up the tree outside the front door?  It was about 11:30 p.m., and I'm coming home from the gym.  As I start to go in the door I hear rustling in the bushes.  Curious, I step back out to see what it is.  I look in time to see the back-half of something going up the skinny little tree.  Pretty much all I can see is a white rump and a pink tail.  I figure it has to be either a small possum, or a huge rat (not that there is much difference to me).  Yesterday the roommate says he chased a possum out of the garage, so this seems likely.  

I'm not even sure what I want it to be.  I'm leaning towards possum, so that way I don't have to believe it will come in the house, settling only for a garage visit.  Either way I lose, since I'm not a big fan of night critters in general.

To be fair, the ants have not thoroughly infested the kitchen and bathrooms yet.  They sent millions of scouts for a long weekend or so, but have since disappeared.  They might be back when we get to real summer, but for now we have others.

When I was getting ready to go to the gym tonight I went out to the garage to grab some shoes.  Amongst the pile of shoes there was a cockroach.  It made its way under some shelter before I could smash it with one of his shelter shoes.  Out of the corner of my eye I see a spider rushing down to the shoes as well.  If you know my at all, you know that I hate/fear spiders.  I prefer to kill them so I don't have to worry about them laying eggs in my ear while I sleep, as I'm sure that this is always their secret plan.  I was also unable to kill the spider.  I spent about two minutes, one per shoe, making sure there was neither a spider nor its egg sac present.  Those shoes are not going back in the garage.  There are Black Widows out there.  

By the way, those little electronic bug repellers that plug into the wall don't work.  I should know.

Trade Sanchez

The San Francisco Giants need to trade Jonathan Sanchez, before it's too late.  What success the Giants have had this year has been largely due to the strength of their pitching staff.  Their anemic line-up will at some point necessitate a trade for a bigger bat, inevitably requiring them to give up a pitcher.  I think Sanchez has filthy stuff, when he can find the strike zone (no "Dirty Sanchez" jokes, please), but I believe he is ticking time-bomb, with the potential to follow the career path of Mark Prior.  

Examine the following pictures.

Both pitchers come through a similar impingement motion during their deliveries.  Mark Prior is a knuckle-head who refuses to do anything about his motion, which was at one time hailed as the most biomechanically perfect motion in the game.  His motion is/was obviously not the best in the game, but was his demise.  

There are, of course, anatomical variances from pitcher to pitcher, but from a biomechanical perspective, Sanchez worries me.  Matt Cain, for instance, avoids this impingement motion, and will probably have a much longer career, with fewer injuries.  Randy Johnson has a safer motion, and is currently pitching in his 60's (not actually true).  

So, I think Sanchez has a much smaller number of pitches left in his big-league arm than his age would indicate, and since baseball teams are often ignorant of such things (Prior is the perfect example), the Giants should be dangling him as trade-bait at every opportunity.

The End.

p.s.

Dodgers suck.