"I'm just a little bit caught in the middle..."

I don't watch a lot of movies.  At home we have HBO and Skintothemax, so I might catch a movie once in a while, but I'm not taking out a loan to go to the theater.  However, a few weeks ago DirecTV was offering Starz or Encore for the weekend so I managed to Tivo a few things that I hadn't seen yet.  One was Moneyball and I finally watched it last night. 

It was a good movie, not exactly factually correct, but still a good movie.  In the movie there's a song played a couple times that I didn't find on the credits at the end of the movie.  But, after a 1 AM Google search, I found my new favorite song.

It's first heard while Brad Pitt's character is shopping at some guitar place with his daughter.  She finds a guitar she likes, then starts singing this song.  Somewhere along the way, the daughter burns the song of her playing to DVD and at the end of the movie, Brad Pitt's character plays the DVD while driving in his truck.

Google tells me it's some chick named Lenka that sings the song, and here it a YouTube video of Lenka playing my new favorite song on some TV show I don't watch.

It reminds me a lot of a song that used to be my favorite that was played on some commercial over and over.  I think it was an Apple commercial or something like that, but I dont really remember.  The singer of that song was Faust and I'm sure you all remember it.  Watch both videos and see if both songs aren't similar.

Happy Birthday

In July 2000, my second daughter, Macey, was born near Rockport, Indiana.  She was great.  She helped keep my first daughter, Murray, young by fighting with her and chasing her all over the place.  In December 2000, Macey had been feeling lethargic.  A couple days later, she seemed to be fine, back to her old self.  While playing with her one day at lunch, I noticed she had what appeared to be a small hole in her stomach.  I called the vet and they figured she'd been bitten by something, an abscess had formed making her lethargic, and when the abscess popped open, relieving the pressure, she felt good again.  However, since there was a small hole in her stomach, they wanted me to bring her in.

They gave her antibiotics.  She had an allergic reaction, died on December 16 and I buried her a couple days later.  I still think of her daily and miss her a lot.  I never understood why it happened, only concluding that she was such a good girl that God was ready to play with her.  

I think God soon realized he took her too soon, because on December 20, 2000 Morgan was born.  

Today is Morgan's birthday.  She would have been 12.  

Morgan had more style than any dog I've had, as evidenced by the picture above.  Not that I played favorites, but Morgan was special in her own way.  She completely ran our house and if you didn't fall into line, you were forced to deal with her.  

I went to look at her in February 2001.  Her litter was the third I'd seen and I think she more or less picked me.  I wanted a female and a smallish sized dog.  Of her litter, she was one of two ladies and by far the smallest.  Each time I put her down to play with her sister, Morgan would come over and untie my shoes.  This happened three times before I decided she was the one.  Murray wasn't too excited about a new sister, but Morgan grew on her (or forced her will onto Murray, I'm not sure which).

A year or so later, Jennifer and I bought a new house and we combined my two dogs with her one dog that had been living with her parents.  Early on there was a feeling-out process and Morgan was the smallest by far of the three.  However, it didn't take long to see who the alpha dog was at our house.

One of the first instances took place when we'd let the dogs out in the backyard.  Murray and Morgan would immediately take a leak, only to have Jennifer's dog walk over and piss right on top of where one of the dogs had just pissed.  Over the next few days this behavior continued.  It ended one day with me laughing hysterically as Morgan showed the two larger dog whose house they were living in.  Murray was the first to take a piss in the yard (Murray was so sweet, never wanted to hurt a flea, never considered herself a dog and usually didn't play in these stupid dog games).  Morgan went right over to where Murray peed and took a whiz right on top.  Jennifer's dog followed suit, and that seemed to be the end of it.  Wrong.  Morgan went right over to where the three dogs had just pissed, made sure the two other dogs were watching, and dropped a huge deuce on top, effectively setting the chain off command.  In looking at her as she pranced off, her glare to the two other dogs said, "Top that, bitches."

We were treated to this kind of behavior for another 9 or so years.  She only lived slightly more than 10 years as congestive heart failure eventually took her down.  But, those years were such a joy, and Morgan was such an amazing girl that I still haven't fully accepted that she's gone.  Not a day goes by that I don't think of her or talk to her.  I've got a fourth daughter at home now, Memphis, and half the time when I'm yelling at her for being bad, I call her Morgan.  I never call her Murray or Macey, always Morgan.  

Several times a week, Jennifer, Hayden or I will talk about Morgan.  I pity poor God for having to deal with her for the last couple years.  I wonder how many times each day He utters the phrase, "MORGAN!!!  Really?"

Happy Birthday, Girl.

Thanks and wow

I have to take a minute to thank my wife for not being a bitch last week when I went on my epic beer run.  While I don't have a beer drinking problem (though I'm working on it), I have a beer buying problem.  And it's not a little problem, I have big issues.  Some people collect baseball cards, others collect stamps, I collect  bottles full of yummy beer, then when I'm done, I collect the empty bottles (but only one bottle for each kind).

Last year she got on my case a little bit in February.  In the previous December, I'd gone to the same Louisville (yes, I sometimes have to travel to satisfy my addiction) beer place as I went this past week.  I again filled up the trunk and came home with a haul.  I still had plenty of new stuff left in February, but two new seasonals came out and I had to buy those.  Jennifer at the time struggled to understand my constant need to have copious amounts of beer available, but I explained that I have issues and she never mentioned it again.

Things are different this year.  I'm no longer rich, but still buying beer like I am.  My beer haul this year will likely go into the record books.  I spent more than the gross national product of some third world countries and now have both empty bottles filling up two rooms, as well as cases of full bottles.  It's a beer paradise for me...for her, not so much.  But the only time she chimes in is when I need to move my stash from one room to another.  So, thank you.

And now for the wow.  Yesterday, I went to Shoe Carnivore to take advantage of their last cheap weekend of the year.  I'd asked Jennifer a while back to ask her shoe people to let me know the best running shoes out there.  Not the best-selling, but the best.  They said something Asics sells that has gel in the sole, so yesterday I went to find the suggested shoes.

When I finally found a color of shoe I could stomach (Asics has without question, the ugliest shoes on the market), I checked the price on the box.  After throwing up a little in my mouth when I saw that the box price of $119.99 (WTF...for a pair of shoes?), I noticed it had been knocked down to a still staggering $99.98.  Even with the huge discount Jennifer gets, it was still more than I was willing to pay for a pair of shoes, but I thought I'd try them on just to see what all the hype was about.  OMG.

I can't put into words what it felt like to wear the shoes.  I have several pairs of adidas that feel like you're walking on a cloud.  But these shoes went beyond that.  I figured if the government can spend more than it brings in, so can I and I bought the over-priced shoes.

This morning, I put them through their first test on the dreadmill, and again, I'm struggling with putting into words how good these shoes felt on my feet.  It felt like I was in a pool treading water.  There was no constant pounding, I could barely feel a thing.  It was amazing.  Wow.

Epic beer run

Yesterday was my beer run to Louisville.  A beer that's never been released outside Belgium made it's way to the States because the monks that brew the stuff wanted to expand their monastery.  Previously, the only place to get the beer was the visit the monastery in Belgium.  Or, you you begged someone who had visited the monastery to sell you the beer.  The monks who brew it brew just enough for them to drink and enough to cover the expenses of the monastery.  They don't distribute it anywhere, you can't find it in beer stores, in order to get it, you literally visit the monastery, call on the 'beer phone' and make a reservation to pick up the beer.  They make three kinds, you never know when they're making what, and you're only allowed one case per car...they take your phone number and license plate number.

I was lucky enough to get a hold of two bottles of all three beers last year when a guy from Belgium sold me the package through eBay.  You might remember I posted some pictures of it when the box arrived.

Anyway, for the first and likely only time ever, gift packs have been sent out to raise funds for an additional wing at the monastery.  They were supposed to show up in April and when I heard about it, I contacted a lady that owned a beer place in Louisville.  I'd made some substantial purchases with her in the past and at the time, I asked if she'd hold a couple gift packs for me.  She said 'no problem.'  That was then but things changed.  When I talked with her last week, she said there was no way she could hold any as it was to be sold on a first come, first served basis.  So, I planned a beer run.

In addition to the monk beer, I ordered a whole bunch of seasonal Christmas/Winter beers that I can't get around home.  The beer lady told me she'd have Ricky pull whatever they had and put it in boxes for me behind the bar.  My beer run was set.

The store was to open yesterday at noon...appropriate, 12/12/12 and it opened at 12.  That was Eastern time, an hour ahead of me.  I left my house just after 8 AM so I could be there at 11 local time in case there was a line.

To leave at 8, I had to be up a bit earlier and I'm not used to that, so I was tired on the drive over.  At some point, I had to take a leak and was trying to stay awake, so I pulled into a Shell station to drain the dragon and pick up some bubble gum.

Above is the gum money I took with me into the Shell station.  I took this picture at home after I got back in town.  The reason...the fucking place didn't have any bubble gum.  What the hell kind of gas station/food mart doesn't have bubble gum?  They had chewing gum, but no bubble gum.  WTF?  I was pissed so I left without making a purchase, though I was very tempted to grab three quarters and go back into the pisser so I could buy a glow in the dark condom.

Back on my way to Louisville. I arrived at the beer store to be met with a line.  I was fearful of such a thing, but was happy I'd arrived early...and pleased that I brought a hat, gloves and a long coat because it was 29 degrees out.

I was roughly 20th or so in line.  Here are the lucky souls in front of me.

This was at roughly 11 AM local time, meaning we still had an hour to kill in the freezing weather.  Though I'm not a people person, I struck up some conversation with some of the other fools in line in hopes to stay warm and not think about the cold.  Several people passed the long line and asked what we were waiting for, dumbfounded to hear it was for beer.

With about 30 minutes to go, the news crew showed up.  Some dude and some chick were doing a story on the release of the beer.  As soon as the camera went on, several people ducked out of the way because they were 'sick' and couldn't make it to work.

The dude in the red jacket is the camera guy and the chick in the black staring at the street is the chick who does the talking.  They too were amazed we were dumb enough to stand in line to get beer.

Just a few minutes before the store opened, one of the owners walked up front with a roll of tickets.  He said we could get one or two tickets and once they were gone, they were gone, and anyone without a ticket was shit out of luck.

Rumor has it they had 80 tickets, one for each gift pack available and since I was about 20th in line, I was golden.  You can see my two tickets below.

Just a couple minutes later, they opened the doors to the front of the store, but had the people with tickets to move to the side of the building, eventually working our way to the back where the gift packs were being sold.

This was an amazing relief because for the last hour or so, we'd been stuck in the shadows of the buildings and now, on the side, as you can see above, we had sunlight.  It felt...so...good.  The picture above shows the people behind me and you can see, we're in the sun now.

At the back of the store, there was a line for cash and another for credit.  I'd bought both and went into the cash line.  I started handing the guy twenties til I was almost out before he said, "Tyler, this guy just paid for two."  Tyler, one of the co-owners, handed me my gift packs.  I made my way inside the store and walked from the back to the front and toward my car so I could keep my prize safe while I did more shopping.

Here (above) is a picture of my trunk, with two gift packs of Westvleteren 12, generally rated as the best beer in the world by most beer forums and books.  I've had it before and it's not the best beer in the world, but it's right up there.

After double checking the trunk was shut and the car was locked, I walked back into the beer store and asked the guy at the bar if he had any boxes of beer up front for some idiot from Indiana.  He said, "Are you Rick?"  I smiled and he started pulling the bottles from the boxes and putting them on the bar.

Below is Ricky ringing up my order.  Not everything on the bar was for me, just most of it.

The poor bastard spent a good 20 minutes trying to match up the bottles on the bar to what the computer said.  It didn't help that I kept finding stuff to add to my order.  Eventually, everything matched, I mortgaged my first born, and was on my way.

Before heading home, I had to make a couple more stops.  The first was to some place called Sergio's that the people in line told me was a shithole of a beer store, but it had good stuff.  I told the phone wench that lives inside my phone to 'give me directions to Sergio's in Louisville, Kentucky.'  She gave me step by step directions til she announced I'd arrived at my destination.  I saw some shithole of a place, but it wasn't in a part of town where I felt comfortable A) parking my car and/or B) getting out of my car so I got the hell out of there.

Still, though, I wasn't done.  I wanted to visit Liquor Barn and see what kind of trouble I could get into there.  The map lady who lives inside my car helped me with directions there and I arrived in no time to a place I wasn't scared of.  I spent another hour looking for beer and when I'd finished, this is what my trunk looked like.

Another box wouldn't fit and I had to call it a day, so I started to head home.  I told the map lady who lives in my car to take me home and she set a path.  However, as luck would have it, on the way home I received an e-mail that said three of the Liquor Lockers in Evansville had just received a supply of Stone 12.12.12 Vertical Epic Ale.  (Each year, Stone--a brewery-- releases a Belgian-inspired ale on the day when the month, day and year are the same...first one came out on 2/2/2002, second was 3/3/2003 and so on...so this is the last one in the series.).  What a great way to end an epic beer run than by buying a beer with Epic in its name.

When all was said and done, and I'd emptied the boxes from my trunk and taken out the bottles I'd picked up for a friend of mine who wasn't able to make the trip, this is what I could call mine (below).

I did come up with something genius on the way home, though, in an effort to minimize the ridiculous cost of this trip.  In thinking about my monk beer, it occurred to me that the monastery is a non-profit organization. Therefore, I'm writing off the cost of the beer as a contribution, as well as the gas to get to Louisville and back.

All in all, it was a helluva day.  Wish you could have been there to enjoy it with me.

Operation: Fat Bastard

I came.  I saw.  I made it my bitch.  The poor scale never stood a chance against my jogging twice a day routine.  It was just a matter of time before I hopped on and the scale started waving the white flag.  That day was this morning.

After a brief jog on the dreadmill and a chance to cool off, I showered and hopped on the scale.  Damn thing couldn't go any higher than 179.0.  And with that, Operation: Fat Bastard has come to a close.

However, I've been getting reports of other threats and Black Ops may continue.  The 175.0 pound mark may need to be breached.  I've got a lot of beer that needs to be enjoyed, but I might be able to semi-contain myself til Christmas.  Another five pounds in two weeks sounds possible. 

We'll see.

I don't ask for much.

Really.  I don't.  My wife will chime in with a boatload of disagreement, but I really don't ask for much.  As long as everyone sees things my way, I'm really laid back.  It's just one simple thing.

Each morning, I ask for something relatively trivial.  It doesn't cost anything and it doesn't require anyone to do anything for me.  Ultimately, it affects and puts out no one.  NO ONE.  In the grand scheme of things, it's just a minor detail.

As you know, I've been running some Black Ops under the codename Operation: Fat Bastard.  My recent attempt went ok, but wasn't the most efficient way to kick the scale's ass.  Running several miles a day was a great way to get exercise and get me started on a future Op of running some sort of mini marathon.  However, I was constantly out of energy because I wasn't eating enough and ultimately had to start eating more so I had gas to run again.  I was eating almost as much as I was burning and over 4 weeks I lost 8 pounds. Sounds great, but I've lost 8 pounds in a week before without changing my eating habits so this was a minor set-back.

So, I went back to what's worked a half dozen times before (running in the morning and then again at night, just enough to build up a sweat).  I started that a couple weeks ago and made good progress.  Last Friday I was down to 180 or 181.  As you know, Operation: Fat Bastard doesn't end til the scale starts with the numbers 1 and then 7.

I didn't do a very good job of watching what I ate this past weekend.  I knew I was being bad, but didn't really care.  I had a third beer for the first time in I can't remember when and that bag of chips never stood a chance.  However, I ate reasonable meals and mostly kept my running schedule (my doctor told me even with my limited running distance--only a mile or so at a time--I needed to take a day off once in a while...and what better day to do that than on a Sunday loaded with football).  I was shocked to see the scale at 181.4 yesterday morning.

Last night, I had a small sandwich for dinner, a single beer during the Monday Night Football beatdown that took place, the crumbs left over from the BBQ potato chip bag (seriously, there wasn't a full, unbroken chip in the bag), and a handful of cooked spaghetti noodles left over in the fridge (by midnight last night, I was starving and it was either the spaghetti or one of the cats). 

When I got up this morning, I did my business and then hopped on the dreadmill for my morning jog.  I played around on Facebook while I cooled off, then got in the shower.  I was thinking today would be the day I captured the other team's flag and put and end to Operation: Fat Bastard.  I didn't think it was asking too much.  Again, no one's day is affected by what MY scale says.  I just wanted a bone thrown to me for once.

I was all prepared to title this blog entry as "I came.  I saw.  I kicked its ass."  But, the scale read 180.2 instead.  One eighty point freaking two!!!  Really?  Four tenths (my scale reads in tenths of a pound, but only even numbers after the decimal point--WTF?) of a pound less is all I asked for.  In hindsight, I should have cut my hair last night, I'm sure that would have done it.  Had I know I'd have been so close, I'd have spent longer this morning relaxing with my thoughts on the can. 

179.9 or better...is that asking too much?

My physical

I went to see the doctor for my annual physical.  Well, it used to be annual, but I think my doctor is a bit fond of me because for the last couple years he's been seeing me every six months.  He's either sweet on me or simply milking me as a revenue stream. 

Anyway, I went in last Friday to have blood drawn because my blood is better on Friday than on Monday because I drink on the weekends and the good stuff I drink is bad news for my blood.  Initially, they couldn't find any of the results, and then after realizing my name defies English grammar with an 'e' before 'i' even though it doesn't follow a 'c,' the doctor came back with the numbers.

He said my weight was down, my blood pressure was good, and my wit was as sharp as ever.  He asked how I'd been doing and I explained that I was in the process of wanting to run a minimarathon, as well as in the middle of Operation: Fat Bastard.  His next question, "Still drinking the fancy beer?"

I replied, "You've got the results of the blood work, you tell me." 

My cholesterol was fine and my triglycerides sucked (par for the course for me).  He shook his head and said, "Damned, you've been exercising, your bad cholesterol is down, but so is your good cholesterol."  He smiled, looked at me, and said, "I never can understand your results."

He said to just keep doing what I was doing.  Then I got the best news ever.  Instead of saying, "Drop your britches so I can mess with your plums," he said, "Ok, I'll see you in six months."  And with that, I was out of there.

I'm still old, I'm still mostly fat, but I'm reasonably healthy, as long as my triglycerides don't go any higher. 

All that said, the scale did get a bit of revenge.  The damned thing went all the way up to 181.0 this morning.  I'm not sure how, as I didn't eat much last night and ran both before Hayden's Advent program, and again this morning.  Oh well, I'm still going to kick its ass shortly. 

I'm totally kicking the scale's ass

As you know, I'm a fat bastard.  I enjoy drinking and I enjoy eating and I really enjoy drinking and eating.  I'm pretty sure it's my purpose in life, to test drive every beer I can and have some potato chips while I'm doing it.  Unfortunately, there is a side effect to drinking and eating when you combine it with sitting in a recliner for 10 hours on a Sunday watching football.  You get fat (at least I do).

A while back, I decided I wanted to run a mini marathon.  Part of that desire was to simply do it and another part was to lose some pounds in the process.  Running 4+ miles a day did little for my weight.  I lost a little bit, but I knew there was a better way to lose pounds quicker (and you know me, I have no patience).

Last Monday I changed my running habits.  Instead of running 3 or 4 or 6 miles once a day, I went back to what's worked for me in the past--running once in the morning and running again at night.  5 or 6 or 7 years ago I went from 198 pounds down to 166 pounds by running a couple times a day.  Also, I started drinking more water, something I hadn't been doing a very good job of.  On that day I changed my plan, I weighed a little over 187.8. 

This past Friday, I was down to 182.8.  Then came the weekend.  I'm always bad on the weekends.  Too much football takes place, too much TV watching, and too much eating/drinking.  However, I continued to run twice a day.  Yesterday, Monday, which is always a bad day because I learn how much I gained over the weekend, I tipped the scales at a not so whooping 183.4.  I was delighted, but didn't want to talk about it because I feared that the meal I had Sunday would just show up a day late. 

So, today was the day to pay the piper for the roasted pork loin, mashed potatotes and pumpkin pie I had on Sunday.  I would have been happy for the scale to show something in the 183.X.  It didn't happen. 

Excuse me for a second so I can do my happy dance.

Ok, I'm back.  The scale only went up to 181.6 today.  I'm dressed up like I'm getting married today so Hayden and I can go to Tuesday night mass tonight and my jeans (yeah, jeans; Tuesday service is VERY laid back) fit so well I'm going to actually have to button them.  Not only that, I'm going to have to wear belt.  If I can find one, it's been a while since I've needed to wear one. 

My doctor is going to be very pleased to see me on Thursday for my physical.  Not only does he get to play with my balls, a treat all by itself, but he's going to get to tell me I'm not a fast bastard anymore, I'm just simply overweight now.

Hide and seek

One of Hayden's favorite games is hide and seek.  I'm not sure what about the game he enjoys, but he giggles and cackles the whole time we play.  For me the game gets old quickly as there are only so many places to hide, and the dog never really helps in the hiding part of the game but is an ace in the seeking. 

Recently, Hayden took the game to a new level.  The other night, as I was taking the dog out for the final time, I noticed a sign on Hayden's door:

I think it was Sunday night he put the sign up.  I had no idea what it meant.  When I picked him up from school yesterday, I asked him what the sign was all about.  He just started laughing as we drove home.

After catching his breath from the guffawing, he explained that he was tricking his Mommy and me into thinking he'd left.  While generally a good speller, he missed the boat badly on Tennessee and I'm not sure of the significance of that state; Bozeman, Montana is a place he'd just read about in Social Studies; my annual May golf trip takes place in Florida; and two of his grandparents live in Owensboro.  So, he was trying to let us know he was 'hiding' in one of those places.

As for the reminder part of the note (yes, we love his mastery of the English language), that was to let us know not to look in his room, for fear of catching onto to his true whereabouts.

I do love how the mind of a third grader works.