What's Good...And Bad...On TV?

As I'm feeling a bit random tonight, I thought I'd throw out a few random television musings I've been pondering lately.

• I saw it again on Sunday morning, and I don't mean to pick on kids. But what the hell is that Jason Krause kid doing on Sunday NFL Countdown on ESPN? If his regular weekly feature was so engaging you couldn't turn away, or if he was an ultra-cute 10-year-old kid...I could almost see the point. But neither of those is even remotely true. He's got a regular gig on ESPN, folks! I wonder what rich uncle of his has a corner office at the network.
  
  
• Speaking of ESPN analysts...how long is Emmitt Smith going to have a job there? Love the guy, he's nothing but class. But he doesn't do well behind a desk with a camera pointed at him.
  
  
• Moving over to CNN, does anyone besides me think Candy Crowley is brilliant? Any time I see her on my TV, I always feel like I'm going to learn something, or a whole big bunch of somethings.
  
  
• Late Night Pick-Em: Leno? Or Letterman?
  
  
• I've heard more than a few people rip on the show, "Two And A Half Men," but that's one of the few shows that I try to make time for every week. Am I alone in this thought? Or am I of such a simple mind that I'm lowering myself to appreciate such an elementary sitcom? I think the cast has great chemistry.
  
  
• Back to late night: I don't watch him very often, except during the opening theme song to see who the guests are...but how annoying is Conan O'Brien's entrance? He does the same thing every night...struts out onto the stage, gets to his mark and does an overemphasized jump into the air, flails his arms in something of a windmill point over to Max Weinberg, and then pulls off a 360 spin on a dime, and turns to the crowd with a few head bobs. Correct me if I'm wrong, but most viewers of shows at that time of the night are adults, right? If he's going to take over Leno's time slot in a couple/few years, the boy's gotta grow up. It's also a little obnoxious to see him try to manipulate half of the air time when his guests are sitting right next to him. He's not only a bad interviewer, he's a camera hog. And I think he's won Emmys, too, hasn't he? I don't see it.
  
  
• OK, from an Emmy winner I don't care for, to an Emmy winner I'll vehemently defend as intelligent, entertaining, and one of the best in the business: John Madden. I just may be in the minority here. He's definitely a love-him-or-hate-him personality, and I fall into the former category. I know he rubs a lot of people the wrong way, but you don't win fourteen Emmys by accident.
  
  
• And lastly...Nancy Grace. (I think that's all I have to say, because just the mention of her name should have knocked most of you off your chairs from laughing so hard.) Seriously, who keeps her on the air? Is it the same people that are excited about the revival of Britney Spears' singing career? (side note: Amy Poehler does a killer Nancy Grace character on Saturday Night Live. check it out if you have the chance.)
  

"The fewer rules a coach has,

the fewer rules there are for

players to break."
—John Madden

There Go My Bananas.

First...the high point of my weekend.

A buddy of mine was the ultimate Johnny On The Spot on Saturday morning, which was the first day tickets went on sale for the Matchbox 20 concert coming to Milwaukee in February. By shortly after 10am I had a text on my phone, telling me exactly where I'd be sitting to see Rob Thomas et al.

In my concert post from a week or so ago, I expressed my wish to add a number in parentheses after my Matchbox 20 entry...and whaddaya know? In a few months I'll be able to put a (2) there. Nice. Very nice.

— • — • —

And now, the low point.

Sometimes football Sundays just don't go as planned. I guess that's part of the drama that makes football season so great, but it can be quite a downer at times, too.

For those of you who haven't read far enough back in my blog yet...I'm a Lions fan. Suffice it to say, I'm used to the downers. This year there's been a lot more to cheer about, but they're on a two-game skid and have to tangle with the Packers before they get to dive into a mountain of mashed potatoes and gravy on Thanksgiving Day. So there's a distinct possibility that an impressive 6-2 start could turn into 6-5 in a real. big. hurry.

While that's not easy to stomach, I expected them to lose to the Giants today, so that doesn't qualify as my low point.

I'm involved in a winner's pool, where participants pick one team to win each week, and if that team wins, they move on to the next week. If not, thus endeth their chance in that season's winner's pool. Each team can be selected only once throughout the season, so there's a bit of strategy that comes into play.

In the interest of avoiding legal ramifications, I'll say that each person contributes ten bananas as an entry fee into the pool. And it's a winner-take-all format. Over the past few years, it's grown to a decent size, and this year there were 97 people in the pool. Therefore...the winner will collect 970 bananas. Not bad.


Over the first few weeks of the pool, I usually don't spend a whole lot of time thinking about the bushels of bananas at the end of the rainbow. If I survive several weeks, and people start to drop out, that's great. One step closer to the bananas for me.

Heading into this week, we were down to the final eight. And I was one of them. Eighty-nine people had lost their chance at the bananas, and there were only a handful of us left who were vying for them. The bananas were at least in view, which is all I could ask for.

In past weeks, I'd gambled a bit when making my selection, choosing the Jets to win one week, the Bengals another, the Bears...and so on. And I'd survived. This week, with so many bananas at stake between so few...I thought I'd pull out one of my big guns. Play it safe, I thought.

So I put my trust, and my chance at bunches and bunches of bananas, in the hands of the Pittsburgh Steelers, with their solid, efficient offense, and the league's top-ranked defense. And as the Jets kicked the field goal in overtime to pull off the upset, I slumped back into my chair and said, "There go my fuckin' bananas."

I could have baked a lot of banana bread with those bananas. Or quite a few banana creme pies. I could have taken some of those bananas to Vegas with me next spring and distributed them among the friendly casinos on The Strip. Or I could have used those bananas to take a road trip to see my buddy who runs the pool, after he gave me an open invitation to visit when he moved several states away this summer.

Instead...I'm left banana-less. Oh, it's not the end of the world by any means. The bananas were never mine to begin with, so I won't miss them so terribly. But to paraphrase a quote that I love to remind people of: "Bananas won are twice as sweet as bananas earned."

It would have been a swell end-of-year bonus to win all those bananas.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get to the grocery store.
I need to buy some apples.

"The adjective is the banana peel

of the parts of speech."
—Cliff Fadiman

Another Tale of New and Improved

I’ve talked about “new and improved” items on this blog before, so if you’ll indulge me, it’s time for another rant along those lines.

I buy squeeze mayonnaise. While I know it’s a bit more expensive, I think the reason that I buy squeeze mayonnaise is that I’m too lazy to take a knife out of the drawer and spread it from the standard wide-mouth container. Sad, but true.

Well, that and also because squeeze anything is just so much more fun and convenient, isn’t it? Squeeze ketchup, squeeze mustard...it’s only fitting that I have squeeze Miracle Whip in my refrigerator.

The one bad thing about buying squeeze mayo, though, is that it always seems like 20 percent of it stays in the bottle, stuck to the sides, impossible to get out no matter how hard you shake it or how long it sits in those fancy new upside-down plastic bottles. Mayo hasn’t learned the law of gravity, apparently.

So basically you pay for 18 ounces of mayo, and are able to use maybe 14. Waste, waste, waste.

Until just recently, when on the grocery store shelf, right next to my upside-down 18-ounce plastic squeeze bottle of Miracle Whip Light, I found another bottle marked, “New,” and toward the bottom it read, “All-Out Squeeze! Same Great Taste. Less Waste.”

So let me get this straight. The people at Kraft knew all along that their squeeze bottles were inferior, and it took them this long to fix the problem? That’s a lot of wasted salad dressing over the years.

I picked up the new bottle, which for some reason had its label facing right side up, but had instructions on the back that said, “Store Upside Down For Best Results.” If they wanted me to store it upside down, why didn’t they slap the label on it that way, like all the other upside-down bottles that are currently on the shelves?

For some reason, the All-Out Squeeze bottles are 24 ounces, as opposed to 18. Maybe that much of a Miracle Whip mass is needed inside the bottle to facilitate it not sticking to the sides as it’s used. I haven’t figured that part out yet.

One thing I have seen, though, is that if you do, in fact, store it upside down, there’s very little mayo, if any, sticking to the bottom and the sides as it’s being used. Maybe this stuff really is improved, and I’ll be left with a virtually empty container as I squeeze it onto my sandwiches over the next couple weeks.

Perhaps the people in R&D at Kraft came up with some kind of mayo Teflon coating, or something.

I would promise to give you an update, but I think one blog entry on Miracle Whip is probably enough...don’t you agree? (or is it one too many, perhaps?)

As happy as I am that I won’t be wasting as much mayo as I used to, I’m equally as confused as to why the older, wasteful bottle are still on the shelves. Are they still there to give consumers a choice?

“Here, use this variety if you want to shake yourself silly trying to get the last little dollop out of the bottle. Or use this new and improved version to get all the condiment you paid for, thanks to a top-secret, probably-not-harmful-to-humans inner coating. At least...we don’t think it’s harmful. We’re not sure yet. It’s new.”

As I sit here, playing with my newest bottle of Miracle Whip, watching the big glop of stuff shift from side to side and top to bottom with nary a trace of residue along the bottle, I can’t wait to see how it performs when I get to the bottom.

And I hope when it’s time for me to buy another bottle, the “old and unimproved” variety is no longer an option. Waste, waste, waste.

“The human race has improved everything,

but the human race.”
—Adlai Stevenson

'Tis The Season

I saw my first Salvation Army red kettle and bell ringer of the season tonight, and I had to stop and think if maybe they're out a little bit earlier this year than in past years.

Do they usually start ringing their bells a week before Thanksgiving? I can't remember.

I have a hard time walking past those without putting anything in, because I always feel like the bell ringers are aiming their bells right at me and ringing just a little more forcefully as I get closer and closer to (or farther away from) the kettle and they see that I'm not reaching for my wallet or my pocket.

I know that's not true, of course...but it feels that way, OK? Holiday guilt. What'cha gonna do?

I think what I might try to do this year is vow to put at least something in each kettle I pass when I'm out shopping. I doubt I'll be able to play the role of the anonymous donor you seem to hear about every year who stuffs a big gangster's roll of bills into a random kettle somewhere, and the next day is the subject of a one-minute blurb on the evening news.

But a dollar here and a dollar there certainly helps, too.

How do you react to the red kettles and the ringing bells? Do you ignore them and walk a bit faster past them? Do you drop some change in the majority of them you see throughout the season? Or do you volunteer as a bell ringer yourself?

"If you haven't got any charity in your heart,
you have the worst kind of heart trouble."
—Bob Hope

Brr(rrr).

I broke down tonight and had to put on a jacket when I went out.

(yes, I'm going to write about the weather. what's it to ya? if you don't like it, there are about 60 million other blogs out there from which to choose. the door's up there in the right hand corner. it's the little red square with the white "x". unless you're using a different browser...then I can't be sure what it is.)

I don't remember if it was last year or the year before, but I didn't have to reach for a jacket until the calendar read December, and I was hoping to hold out until then this year as well. But I walked across the street for a soda this afternoon, and the biting wind hit me so hard that I knew I'd have to add an extra layer when I ran some errands after work.

I drove past the bank, and the sign flashed "27º" and I said to myself, "f-f-fff-ff-fffuuuuck!"

I remember when we used to have feet of snow by now, and winter brought snowdrifts so high they reached the top of the clothesline pole in my parents' backyard. These days, winters are so mild that if you pick the right days, you can hang laundry on those clotheslines in mid-February.

Not that I'm complaining. I'd much rather build a sand castle at the beach than a snowman. (not that I've done either for many many years.)

When winter arrives in our great state, I spend much of my time just waiting for it to go away. And it seems to go a lot more quickly than in the past. I think I can recall only twice last winter where we got dumped with enough snow that I found myself cursing my shitty tires for not being better in the white stuff. (not treadless tires, mind you...just, not Goodyears, either. can't wait to replace those.)

I pushed my luck when I wrote a column in mid-February '06 about the lack of snow, wondering aloud if we were going to get any at all that season. My column deadline is Monday morning, and we print and mail our paper on Wednesdays, which means most readers have that week's issue by Thursday. Guess how many feet of snow fell on Wednesday night and into Thursday? Guess. (I may be exaggerating a bit, but I'll go with about fourteen.)

Here's my name plastered all over this column, fearing the karmic boomerang for broaching the "where's the snow?" question, and half of the readers probably can't get out of their driveways because of the snowdrifts!

I found out that day that Mother Nature has a subscription to my newspaper. And a sick, cruel sense of humor. So I wrote a follow-up column the next week. Yep, two columns about the weather in two weeks.

I think I lost half my readers after that. Which cut me down to, like, three. (my mom, and two guys who promised to read if I paid for their subscriptions.)

My point is......winter's coming. And it's cold, OK?

When you venture outside, don't forget to put on a jacket. And a scarf. And earmuffs. And mittens. And bring some hand warmers. And wear wool socks.

Until next week, when it'll probably hit 62 degrees.

"A lot of people like snow.
I find it to be an unnecessary

freezing of water."

—Carl Reiner

No Corks Popping In Miami.

Unfortunately, I don't see anything standing in their way.

The Patriots, I mean.

They made it past the Colts in the dome, had their week of R&R, and now they're back to work again this week. This could get ugly...unless you're a Pats fan, in which case it's turning into one big 17-week long party, that'll just get amped up a few more notches come playoff time.

I'm not a New England Patriots hater by any means, but I don't qualify as a fan, either. I don't have as much respect for Bill Belichick as I used to, simply because he's gotten more and more gruff, basically to the point of being a real asshole...shoving camera guys aside, giving two-word answers to the media (if they're lucky), Spygate.

But take away Belichick, and the Pats aren't so bad. They just happen to be a dynasty, and not too many outsiders cheer for dynasties. I think Tom Brady's a class guy. And while Randy Moss might not fit in the "class" category, he took a lot less money in New England than he could have made elsewhere, and has done nothing but work hard and catch touchdowns since he's been there. So maybe he's classy in his own sort of way.

Not that it was going out on too big of a branch, but I predicted that Moss and Brady would be a deadly combination, and that Randy would be a little less, "straight cash, homey!" and a bit more of a team player. Brady's even called him a...a...role model.

There's no question that I wanted Indy to beat them a couple weeks ago, but that didn't happen. So what are we left with? Seven more chances during the regular season for the Patriots to trip over their own cleat laces and get a mark in the "L" column.

Two of those chances are against the Jets and Miami near the end of the season, both games in New England. Those don't qualify as "chances." They're more like an extra two weeks vacation for doing such a bang-up job up to that point.

This week they're in Buffalo, followed by games against Philly, at Baltimore and against Pittsburgh. They close the season in New York against the Giants.

The 1972 Miami Dolphins are the only team in NFL history to ever record an undefeated season, and every year when the last undefeated team loses, they pop the corks on some bottles of champagne to celebrate their record still being untouched.

The members of that team have to be reeaal nervous, and are putting all their eggs in Pittsburgh's basket, as it were...as the Steelers present the only real challenge left on the Pats' six-game schedule. Maybe the Giants can give 'em a run, but I don't think Eli can stand up to the Pats as well as Peyton can.

I foresee a perfect regular season for New England. If the Colts can get their act together in the playoffs, maybe they can pull off a win. But I don't feel comfortable saying that after they just lost pass-rusher extraordinaire and gazillionaire Dwight Freeney for the season.

I know you're never supposed to look past any one team in the NFL these days. Anyone can beat anyone, yadda yadda yadda.

But it wouldn't surprise me come early February if you looked on eBay and found the following item and description:

"For Sale: Several bottles of champagne. Never opened. Great for yacht christenings or your next New Year's Eve party. For pricing information, call Don Shula at 1-888-WE-SHARE-THE-RECORD."

"Sure, luck means a lot in football.

Not having a good quarterback is bad luck."

—Don Shula

They're Handy Dandy. And Cheap.

(you didn't really think I was going to leave a Tuesday post so bare, did you? after all the preaching I did...no way. at least, not until much later in the month. *ahem* truth be told, a big part of me really didn't want to come back and sit here tonight, but a bigger part of me was pretty sure that I was going to, anyway. I put up those words before I left for darts, just in case I caved...so that I'd still be officially in the race, but open to non-stop abuse for treating one of the thirty days with such a cavalier attitude. also...I don't think I've ever put up two posts in one day on my blog. so here's to making history 'n shit.)

On my drive back from dart league tonight, I was trying to come up with a clever way to start this topic, and not only did I not keep running into a brick wall, I never even took a step. Therefore, I'm just going to blurt it out:

I've got wayyy too many notebooks.
(Does that really make you want to keep reading? Didn't think so.)

I've got this rather unhealthy obsession with school supplies, and I'm not exactly sure why. I haven't been in school in...eeesh, a long time. I don't have any kids in school. But every year when the back-to-school sales come out, I find myself drooling over pens and pencils and rulers and Sharpies and...it's terrible.

For instance: if you're not regularly using a roller ball or gel pen, I might look at you with a puzzled expression and wonder aloud how you've managed to exist for the past decade or more, plodding along with your snail-slow ball point pen.

I've heard writers talk before about how easy it is to start writing. "All you need is a notebook and a fast-writing pen," they say. I know what they mean when they speak of fast-writing pens. I'm obsessed with finding the perfect fast-writing pen. And yet...pens don't even factor too heavily into the equation, because I do 98 percent of my writing with a keyboard. (which I'm also obsessed with, by the way...when you really get rolling on something good, the clacking sound of the keys is like a drug.)

Back to the notebooks. Every back-to-school season for the past several years, ShopKo (uh...that's like a Target, for those of you who just said, "WhatKo??") has spiral notebooks on sale for ten cents each. One..thin..dime.

A dime is something you accidentally drop and don't bother to pick up if it's going to take an inordinate amount of bending or twisting or reaching to retrieve it. A dime is not something you trade for 70 glorious sheets of lined paper, conveniently held together by a spiral binding!

Is it?
Ohhh, yes it is.

To say that I'm well-stocked with notebooks is a rather gross understatement. I could probably start writing a dozen "War and Peace"s longhand and still have enough notebook paper left over to write four Bibles, all the study materials for the Bar exam and three unabridged dictionaries.

And yet...when I see the big ten-cent sale on the front page of ShopKo's ad, I inevitably find myself trolling around those big stacks of cheap notebooks. In years past some of them even had the neat-and-tidy micro-perfed pages. Score!!

This year, believe it or not, I didn't buy any at all. No...they had an off brand this year, and as I flipped through them, I thought to myself, "These aren't Mead, and look...the lines on many of the pages are kinda faded and some of the spirals are a little bent, and..."

Seriously. These were the thoughts running through my head. Not the fact that I have about sixty or seventy of them at home that aren't being used, but instead that the ones they were offering this year weren't worth a dime!

I've got issues. I've also got a lot of notebooks. And I know it's still several months away, but I'll probably be back scanning the selection next year, too.

Meanwhile, if anybody needs a notebook, you can have one of mine.

For fourteen cents.

"Organized crime in America takes in

over $40 billion a year and spends

very little on office supplies."

—Woody Allen

The Easy Way Out

These words officially fulfill my daily blogging requirement
for Tuesday, November 13, 2007.


*drives away*

*shoots a hat trick*

hooray! (there was much rejoicing)

*bellies up to the bar*


See you guys tomorrow.

Or...
...
...

A Sherpa To Guide Me...

Thirty days isn't so tough, right? Nahhh. Nothing to it.

Then why am I sitting here staring at this blank screen, flicking my finger up and down against my upper lip, asking myself, "I wonder if I should tell them that I'm sitting here flicking my finger against my upper lip?"

And after much deep thought, I've decided that, no, I'm not going to reveal that I am, in fact, flicking my finger up and down against my upper lip. You don't need to know that anyway.

I got an e-mail last night from a friend who's been following this blog from the start. She's been the bearer of more than a few compliments along the way, and has also made it known when I've gone into hibernation a few times that there's something missing from her morning reading at work, and when the hell am I going to start posting again?

It's nice to be missed.

Anyway, last night she commented on this whole big hoopla that is NaBlahBlahBlah, and likened it to one of her favorite shows on the Discovery Channel, "Climbing Mount Everest."

"Sometimes I bet you feel like you could use a Sherpa," she wrote.

That line killed me. And I decided I had to thank my Sherpa for the evening, for giving me some words to build on tonight.

I think maybe this endeavor is just a tiny bit easier than scaling Everest, but I thought it was a super analogy, and it gave me a little bit of extra motivation.

As I click around the NaBloPoMo community, I've gotten to read dozens of new blogs. Some are spectacular and worthy of an instant bookmark. Others are somewhat engaging. And still others are...um...not. But it's a great lesson in seeing what's out there. I see some posts getting shorter, and some bloggers voicing their concern over how much quality they can continue to offer as November rolls on. Day. By Day.

My buddy Jeff even threatened to start writing Ronco infomercials if he didn't get some inspiration soon. I feel a little guilty about that, because I'm the one that roped him into this in the first place. And by "roped in," I really mean "sent an e-mail and gently suggested," so I guess...hmm...nope, maybe I don't feel guilty after all! He'll do fine. He's a writer, after all.

Thing is...if I don't find some extra motivation a couple hours from now and write a post shortly after midnight for my Tuesday requirement, then I'll be faced with the same dilemma that brought me home early from darts last week. Blogging responsibilities.

Pretty soon I'm going to start inventorying (whatever. it's a verb to me.) my sock drawer, and sharing its contents with the blogiverse:

5 pairs black socks
3 pairs brown socks
5 pairs blue socks
6 pairs tube socks, crew length (2 with substandard elastic)

By the end of the month, I guarantee you...it's going to be riveting stuff.

Last night's e-mail ended with: "When you get to the summit without using any oxygen at all, and only three of your fingers have turned black due to keying frostbite...it will be worth it!"

Thanks, Gerbs. As small of a moral victory as it may be, you're right. It'll be worth it. Although...minus three digits, I'll become pretty much of a hunt-and-peck typist, and will have to shorten my blog entries to the Cliff's Notes versions. Gotta take the good with the bad, right?

"Winners take time to relish their work,
knowing that scaling the mountain is what

makes the view from the top so exhilarating."
—Denis Waitley

...In The Rooms Of Her Ice-Water Mansion

(well look what made it back to my blog. it's time for a squib!)

I know I missed this anniversary by a day, but it seemed to fit pretty well under this heading. That, and I wanted to be super cool and have a link to a Gordon Lightfoot song/video on my blog.

Yesterday was the anniversary of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald, the 729-foot ore carrier that went down on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975. For many of us, the only reason we recognize the name "Edmund Fitzgerald" is because of Gordon Lightfoot, who made the ship and its fate almost as famous as the Titanic. Almost. (I don't think James Cameron is rushing to make a movie about the Edmund Fitzgerald, though.)

There have been recent programs and exhibits in this area, at the Wisconsin Maritime Museum and the Capitol Civic Centre, but I didn't make it to them. The program at the Capitol was described as a narrative with several musical numbers. Perhaps I read too much into it, but the one and only "musical number" I want to hear when learning about the shipwreck is by Gordon himself.

The video clip I found features not only the song, but a lot of cool underwater footage of the wreck, along with bio information of the 29 crew members who went down with the ship. It's very eerie, but very powerful, too. (no, not Erie. eerie! big difference.)

Listen to Gord tell an incredible story:

"At seven p.m. a main hatchway caved in,
he said, 'Fellas, it's been good t' know ya.' "
—Gordon Lightfoot

Notes From Nights In A Crowd

I've kinda always wanted to do this, and seeing as how I'm required to do an overabundance of writing this month, I figured now is as good a time as any. It's time for a concert list. And I realize now that as I sit here and try to remember them off the top of my head, I'm going to forget like 30 percent of them, so this might be an entry that I come back to update. Often.

Concerts to me are as close to spiritual events as anything. Well...some of them are, anyway. Somewhere on the list I'm about to start making you'll find Billy Idol...and honestly, while it was a fun show, I didn't exactly carry the mood of the evening with me for weeks and weeks after. I pretty much said, "Damn, that's some spiky hair!" did the obligatory sing-a-long parts to "Mony, Mony," chuckled at the stage-sized blow-up doll that was inflated near the end of his show, and went home.

I've seen my share of concerts. Not nearly as many as some, but enough to be very familiar with the surge of adrenaline that pours through a crowd when a pretty cool band walks out on stage to start its show, or graces the screams and applause with a second or third encore.

I've run the gamut from 40,000-seat outdoor theaters to converted bars that held 200-ish people and were still half empty because people didn't have the good sense to realize that there was affordable, high-quality musical entertainment happening that night.

In no particular order, here are all (or most, because I have a really bad memory, so those of you with whom I've been to concerts, speak up if you don't see the one we attended on the list!) of the concerts I've gone to in my life, with the number of shows seen, and any relevant comments added to make your concert-reading experience just that much more exciting!

Obviously, I know where to start:

Counting Crows (10)
(I've seen them in an amphitheater, a coliseum, a ballroom, a center, a theatre, a fieldhouse, and who knows what else. From 10 feet away, and from an awkard right side angle way too far up and back. Duritz...is a god.)

Matt Nathanson (3)
(As soon as I got a hold of some of his music, he vaulted up near the top of my charts faster than Britney's career went down. (and no, you won't find Britney on this list.) Nathanson is a god, too, and a lot funnier than Duritz, because let's face it...Duritz likes to brood. These two have now become interchangeable at the top of my list, and I'm currently giving the slightest edge to Nathanson. I never thought anyone would topple Duritz.)

Roger Clyne and The Peacemakers (3)
(Formerly The Refreshments, who put out only two discs before disbanding. I've come as close to wearing out those two discs as is possible. I never thought I'd get to hear Refreshments stuff live, and then the lead singer and drummer started this group, and have made several more discs since. Roger Clyne is applying for god status. The first two shows were seen in that converted bar I mentioned earlier. The third was in another small venue that used to be an auto garage. Kick. Ass.)

Carbon Leaf (3)
(A buddy of mine introduced me to these guys one night while we were drinking beer on his deck. I think halfway into the first song I was hooked. Big-time hooked. They're musically perfect live.)

Matchbox 20
(The first group to appear on the list without a number after it. I wish I could add an (8) there, because it was a phenomenal show. Rob Thomas poured everything into his songs. And they also covered, "Don't You (Forget About Me)" by Simple Minds. Sweeeet. A story about that night, and a meme sorta thingie, can be found here. I'd love to hear your answers to those questions.)

Blue Man Group
(Go! Go! Runnnn to see Blue Man Group! I saw them in Chicago, and I've heard that their Vegas show is even better. I'm sure it's bigger, cuz the Chicago show was pretty cozy. I'll see them in Vegas within the next few years.)

BoDeans (4)
(Very few songs are more powerful in concert than "Naked" and "Good Things" by these guys.)

Barenaked Ladies (2)
(I wanna see them again and again and again. The energy level at their shows is incredibly high.)

Alanis Morissette
(I add her next because she co-headlined with the Naked Ladies the second time I saw them. (coupla Canadians, eh?) She's a great songwriter. But she looked a bit odd on stage because all she did almost ALL night was walk from the center of the stage, about mid-way back, out to the sides and up to the front edge of the stage. It looked as though she was tethered to a bungee cord or something that she slowly stretched to its limit...she'd start in the center, take 20 angled steps out to the front left corner, and then take those same steps backward to the center...then 20 angled steps out to the front right corner, then backward to the center. Lather, rinse, repeat. It got a little annoying. Would I go see her again? You betcha.)

Sister Hazel (3)
(I simply can't NOT have a good time at their shows.)

Def Leppard (2)
(First time was during the height of their "Hysteria" tour, and the show started with a low bass drum beat that got louder and faster, and when the huuuge curtain covering the outdoor stage dropped to the stage floor in front of 40,000 screaming fans.......unforgettable. Europe opened for them. I can't bring myself to give Europe its own line on this list.)

Will Hoge
(Up-and-coming artist who'll probably never hit it really big, and I don't know why. Outrageously talented. Great live show.)

Billy Joel/Elton John
(The only show I ever saw at Milwaukee's County Stadium. Wow, how good were they!!)

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
John Mellencamp
Journey
Goo Goo Dolls
John Mayer
Dave Matthews Band
(I felt so out of place because I wasn't wearing an A&F shirt.)
Live
Jimmy Buffett (2)
(and I've also partied in the parking lot before, during and after a couple of his shows without actually going in to see him.)
The Wallflowers
Boston
Hootie & The Blowfish (2)
Edwin McCain
Toad The Wet Sprocket
Uncle Kracker
Howie Day
Fountains of Wayne
(Opened for Matchbox 20. Cool stuff.)
Billy Idol
The Smithereens
Violent Femmes
Three Dog Night
(Couldn't wait to hear "Joy To The World." And they were so old that it sucked.)
Poi Dog Pondering
Steve Miller Band
(They played guitar solos so long that if you were sober at the beginning of the song, you could be drunk by the end. I like Steve Miller, but not that much Steve Miller.)
Bottle Rockets
Susan Tedeschi
Bob Schneider
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Indigo Girls
Allman Brothers
(They were the headliners of a Blues Fest we were at. Totally psychedelic backdrop images; longer guitar solo/blues jams than Steve Miller; I was bored and wasn't at all unhappy when it was time to go.)
John Eddie
(Opened for Roger Clyne. Great storyteller.)

I'm sure I'm missing a huge handful of them...maybe even some big names. But my brain has decided to stop functioning for now, so I think I'll post this, and add to it later.

I've left the local-ish acts off of the list, like Pat McCurdy (more of a show than a concert), Framing Amy, Road Trip (covers and original stuff mixed together).

If you're both a reader of my blog and one who regularly attends concerts with me, help me out a little.

And if you've read all the way down to the bottom of this...tell me about some groups you've seen, some you'd like to see, some you hated after seeing them.

"You are the music

while the music lasts."

—T.S. Eliot

...And A Side Order Of Indigestion

I hate drive-thrus.
(no, that's not me. —>)

Not because if there are more than three cars in line, you'll usually crawl at a snail's pace up to the squawk box to place your order; not because about 74 percent of the time, they get your order wrong!!; not even because of the cutesy way they spell "thru."

I hate drive-thrus because my car tends to drive through them more often than I'd like it to.

I think maybe I need to get a more health-conscious, cooperative car. I'll be driving home from somewhere, and I'll pat him on the dashboard and say, "OK, Jarvis (my car's name is Jarvis, by the way)...let's go home and have a nice salad with alfalfa sprouts, or maybe three ounces of baked fish and a piece of fresh fruit."

And Jarvis revs his engine, takes over the controls and blurts out through the stereo speakers, "Me want french fries! Me want cheeeeseburger!!" (Jarvis is also, apparently, from the Neanderthal Era.) (what, did you expect a British accent or something? He's a freakin' Pontiac!)

A couple years ago I saw the documentary, "Super Size Me," which I highly recommend if you want to be informed and grossed out about the fast food industry. It's about a New Yorker named Morgan Spurlock who decided to eat nothing but McDonald's food for an entire month and document his health throughout.

Let's just say it didn't go too well. He began the first day as a pretty fit physical specimen, and by the end of the month, he'd packed on 25 pounds and seen his cholesterol rise 65 points. All in the name of filmmaking, I guess, huh?

After I saw the movie, I was challenged by the friend who recommended it to me to go without fast food for 30 days. (I wonder which is more difficult...no fast food for 30 days or blogging every day for 30 days. hmmm.)

For the record, it was an easy month. I didn't cheat, I didn't cave, I didn't go crazy for want of a Big Mac. But the idea was to eventually quit, and not go back to it. And I didn't exactly rush to a Burger King on Day 31, but...I did find myself driving through a drive-thru again within a couple weeks.

And the first time I had McDonald's food, it was kinda disgusting.

I think I need one of those challenges again. It's not like I order my meals over an intercom seven days a week. But I am...familiar, shall we say...with the phrases, "Please drive forward," or "Please pull around."

If we can agree that chicken wings are, in fact, not fast food, then I think I might give it a go, and see if I can avoid McDonald's, Burger King, Taco Bell, etc., etc., until at least January 1.

So, NO! I would not like fries with that.

(Jarvis is gonna hate me.)

"At the end of this month, I'll have eaten
as much McDonald's as most nutritionists say
you're supposed to eat...in eight years."
—Morgan Spurlock

Hello. Or is it..."Hi"?

I'm not sure exactly where this post is headed tonight, or how it's going to sound to those of you who aren't crawling around inside my head, but I'm gonna ramble for a bit, and give it a shot. Stay with me, if you dare.

Question: When you greet people you run into in your everyday lives, be they co-workers or clients or associates or customers or random strangers on the street, what is your preferred form of salutation? I'm not talking about close friends or family, but people with whom you're less familiar.

Are you a "hello" person, or a "hi" person?

I've been conducting an informal study over the past few years, probably...with myself as the main subject, but many other unknowing participants involved as well. And one thing I've deduced from this study is that, even if I make a conscious effort to change my habit, I'm overwhelmingly more of "hello" person.

"So??" you ask.

Well...I've also been a bit curious as to the connection between hello/hi and introvertism/extrovertism.

For those of you who know me in person, here comes the most shocking, unbelievable statement you'll ever read about me on this blog or anywhere else:

I am an introvert.

(stunned, aren't you?)

I've taken those Myers-Briggs personality tests in the past, but can't remember what all of my letters were. You know the ones...they classify you as an ISFJ or an ESTP, or one of fourteen other combinations. The one letter that I'm 100 percent positive about is the "I". I'd have to lie like a rug on the test to ever see an "E" pop up.

Perhaps as another entry this month, seeing as how I'm this once-a-day kick, I'll take one of those tests again and post the results here.

But I think I may have invented a new category to include: the INAKTCE. (I Need A Keyboard To Communicate Effectively.)

What I've seen quite often in my research is that people who appear to be bubbling over with personality to spare are much more likely to shoot you a "Hi!" as you pass on the street or interact for a few minutes. Whereas people who are more reserved tend to choose "hellooo" or, if they're particularly quiet, even for introverts, a barely audible " 'lo."

There are exceptions, of course, and I don't have any concrete data to back up my theory. If I made up a couple spreadsheets and pie charts and bar graphs, I might be able to get some grant money for my study.

I can't stand the word "shy," but I suppose that's what I am. I much prefer "reserved," and can accept "quiet." And I despise the fact that being this way makes some people automatically consider a person to be aloof. (although...isn't "aloof" one of the coolest words in the whole entire dictionary? I think so.) Just because I'm not pushing and shoving to be the center of attention doesn't mean I'm disinterested or aloof. It just means that, um...I don't always have a lot of words coming out of my mouth.

Even among my closest friends, I'm usually most comfortable hanging a couple rows back. If I've got something to say, I certainly don't hesitate to speak up. But I don't have to be the loudest cymbal in the band. I'm more like...an oboe.

Kind of a lot to chew on all because of two tiny words, isn't it?

So tell me...
Do you say "hello"?
Or do you say "hi"?

"Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we

really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work.

Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would

have to say goodbye. I hate goodbyes. I know what I need.

I need more hellos."

—Snoopy

Decisions, Decisions...

I feel sorry for Andy Pettitte.

The Yankees pitcher has got so much weighing on his mind right now:

"Should I retire, so I can spend more time with my family, or should I come back to the most powerful franchise in baseball, play catch every five days with my buddy 60 feet away and watch grown men with wooden sticks whhhiff as the ball screams past them? Oh, and there's also that little matter of the sixteen million dollars that I'll put in my pocket for less than a calendar year's work!"

Officially, Pettitte has already declined the option. But Yankees management, known for being so patient, generous and accommodating, *ahem* has left the offer sitting on the table, in effect telling him, "Take all the time you need, Andy. And if you decide you'd like to play a little ball next year, we'll have this wheelbarrow of money waiting right here for you."

I know a story like this is nothing new. Professional athletes have so much money they pay people they don't even know simply because they have hands with which it can be carried away. ("Here, take these wads and wads of hundred dollar bills just so I don't have to find more places to put the stuff.")

But how does anyone walk away from sixteeeeen milllllion dollars? That's enough to buy three houses that are guaranteed to be featured on MTV's "Cribs"! Talk about celebrity status.

Hell, hire me! I'll work for One-point-Six Million. Or even point-One-Six Million! Granted, I might make the pinstripes look a little, um...wavy. And while I'm assuming Pettitte throws in the mid-90s, I might be able to hit only the mid......twenties? OK, maybe I'll give myself the forties. I've got (had) a pretty good arm.

Wait, wait...hold everything. Pettitte's a lefty. Yep, he's got me there. Baseball teams look for those, don't they? Now I understand why he's worth the sixteen and I'm not even worth considering for the backup assistant bat boy position. Gotcha.

Take the money, Andy.
Give it a go for one more year, and see how you guys fare without Torre and A-Rod and whomever else bolts before the mass exodus has ended in the Bronx.

You'll have plenty of time to spend with your family soon enough.
And three new houses in which to spend it.

"Good pitching will beat

good hitting any time,

and vice versa."

—Bob Veale

For The Long Haul.

So apparently, I'm in it to win it, as they say.

I realize that we're only on like, the sixth day of this thing, and have thirty or thirty-one more of them to go before we reach the finish line.

But tonight was dart night. And you know what usually goes great with darts? That's right...beeeer. And you know what goes amazingly well after darts and beer? Uh-huh...wings!

That's how last Tuesday night went, anyway. Darts. Beer. Wings. But that was a dart night in October. And this one...well this one just happens to fall in November. And not only is it a Tuesday in November, it's a Tuesday on which I hadn't yet posted a blog entry.


So my thoughts tonight were centered nowhere around beer and wings. Instead, I kept thinking, "What if I have a flat tire on my way home, or hit a bison or some other road-blocking ungulate, and am unable to get home and sit down in front of my computer until 12:07 a.m.? Tuesday, November Sixth will have passed me by! I'll be a NaBloPoMo failure."

As I hope you can see, I made it home unscathed, and with all four tires intact. And post No. 6 is only a click of the mouse away from being official.

I wasn't sure how I'd respond to this post-a-day regimen, and as I said...I know we're still miles away from the end. But I like it so far. I'm having fun with it, and I'm anxious to see where the next few weeks take me.

At the forefront of my mind tonight wasn't darts (and it showed in my stats! eesh.) or beverages or wing sauce so hot it makes my tongue numb. Nope. It was words on a screen. And the "Publish" button.

I'm not the sort that can sit and get half schnockered up when I write, claiming that altering my mind in that way provides inspiration. I might be wrong, but I think Hemingway did that...drank a lot when he wrote. I'll do the research some other time, I'm kind of under the gun here to get these words down.

And that might be a cool, hip way to be a writer, too...with a snifter of brandy beside the keyboard. The problems with that scenario, however, are twofold: 1) I don't own a snifter; and 2) I don't care much for brandy.

My thoughts as we get rolling along into this blog-posting month are that if I'm unable to complete the challenge, it won't be for some lazy-ass reason such as lying on my couch, watching the clock tick past midnight, with no care or desire to even attempt to write a post.

It will be the work of a natural disaster, or a sudden overwhelming loss of blood, or I'll drop my car's transmission on the highway, seventeen miles from home, at 11:12 p.m.

Or perhaps as soon as I publish this post, my computer will start to smoke and gurgle and my monitor will melt. (in which case, I'll become a library rat every damn day until Dec. 1.)

November is upon us, people. Let's do some bloggin'.

All that being said...you can probably expect my post next Tuesday to be written and published shortly after midnight, so that my evening is free of blogger's guilt.

(did I mention I like beer? and wings?)

"To the right, books; to the left, a teacup.

In front of me, the fireplace; behind me, the post.

There is no greater happiness than this."

—Teiga

Just How Many Levels of "Deep" Do I Possess?

"It's nice to do nice things."

I was on the phone with a friend earlier tonight, and somehow we got to talking about charitable acts, and how they affect who we are. And before I could stop myself...those words came out of my mouth.

While I wasn't trying too hard to be terribly profound, I realized that what I just said made me sound like a poorly written Hallmark card, one that was run through the shredder before it even made it to the shelves.

I cringed and tried to explain my way out of it, suggesting that perhaps that one simple sentence was really a Zen koan of sorts, holding within its six syllables all the great mysteries of life and the secret of eternal happiness.

But let's face it: when you use the word "nice" twice in four words, you've pretty much hit rock bottom.

"Nice" always reminds me of my high school English teacher, who looked upon that word with such great disdain that he'd wrinkle up his entire face, and barely squeeze it through gritted teeth when he was forced to say it. There were plenty of more descriptive words to choose from, he said. Leave that one at the back of the line where it belongs.

I'm a total quote junkie, and often times, searching for the quotes at the end of these blog entries is more fun than writing the entries themselves. You never know when you're going to stumble across a great profundity uttered by Bob Dylan or John F. Kennedy, or Kermit the Frog.

And I'm not the only addict...because the Internets contain pages upon pages of quotes gathered from many eclectic sources.

I think it's beyond safe to say, though, that the six words that begin this entry will never...ever...be featured on a page of award-winning quotes.

(and, yes...I'm aware that the photo up there is really a place in France that rhymes with "geese," but I wanted to add something here besides words. And when I googled images, that's what came up. And I thought it looked, umm...

...nice.)

"It's nice..to be nice, to the nice."

—Frank Burns

How Pedestrian.

I should really post a squib tonight, because it is Sunday, and I haven't used my little graphic thingie for much longer than I care to admit...but what I have for you tonight doesn't exactly qualify as a squib.

Instead it's more like...a link to go visit, because I'm kinda lazy and don't feel like searching for really fun squib material and I wanna watch some more football, even though that's what I've basically been doing for most of the day, anyway.

There's a blog listed in my sidebar (uhh...excuse me. my blogroll. gotta talk the talk, I guess) that's right up my alley. Very little text to the blog, but the images are priceless.

An art director named Carolyn from Washington D.C. takes photos of street signs, business signs, handwritten posters and the like. Some of them have typographical errors, others use great-looking or unique fonts and type styles, and still others are examples of graffiti that she thinks is worth putting on display.

I can just picture this woman, camera in tow everywhere she goes, on the lookout for misplaced apostrophes, misspelled words and general abuse of the English language. Or irresistible fonts that she feels compelled to share.

I don't remember where I stumbled upon the site, but I felt a quiet contentedness when I saw the subject matter that there were others out there "like me." I think we might be soulmates.

Her blog header is a fun piece of creative work in itself, but I think, even with the header and all the great photos she posts, she should win an award for the title alone. If any blog anywhere was ever perfectly named, this would be it. I give you...

Pedestrian Typography

"A pedestrian is a man in danger of his life.

A walker is a man in possession of his soul."

—David McCord

Yo, Money...It Must Be The Shoes!

(I haven't seen the Spike Lee commercial in years, but I think that's how the line went.)

While Jordan and his Nikes turned out to be a pretty successful pair, I wonder if Spike would consider bringing back his tag line for, maybe...Garrison Keillor and his Sauconys.

Not the same allure, probably. But knowing what I know now, if I had to choose between going to see Michael Jordan or Garrison Keillor, I think I'd opt for the Sauconys.

Garrison Keillor: syndicated columnist, novelist, host of the Prairie Home Companion radio show on National Public Radio, proud Democrat, storyteller extraordinaire. And all-around odd duck.

I don't know what the significance of the red shoes and socks is, but in many of his photos online, and in this one taken by yours truly, there they are. They seem to be part of his trademark, along with a tie that he likes to tie a good four or five inches too long.

Several months ago, I barely knew who he was. I'd heard the name before, but that's about as much knowledge I had of him. A buddy of mine mentioned him several times in e-mails or in conversation: "I just read in Garrison Keillor's column this week that..."; or "Keillor told a great story about..."; or "You remind me so much of Garrison Keillor, except that you're a much better writer and should be way more famous than he is." (I may have stretched that last one a bit too far.)

My point is, I was bombarded with enough Keillor references that I started reading his columns, and when I found out that he was coming to Milwaukee as part of his promotional book tour, I found myself on the interstate, driving to see an author about whom I knew very little.

And I can't wait to go back.

Mr. Keillor has instantly vaulted up my list of favorites to somewhere near the top, and I now own two of his books, one called "Pontoon," a fourth book in his series of tales of Lake Wobegon, a fictitious town in his native Minnesota "where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average."

I was forced to buy that book as part of admission to see him that night, a bad rule in principle...but in hindsight, so well worth it. It cost me $37 for the book and admission to spend an hour and a half in his presence, and I think I'd pay that next time, even without the book!

The other book on his table of goodies that I couldn't resist purchasing was "Homegrown Democrat." Suffice it to say he's not the biggest George W. Bush supporter in the nation, often referring to him as the Current Occupant in his columns and books.

The evening with Keillor was engaging, entertaining, and filled with more than the occasional burst of laughter from the 900-ish people in the theater. His dry wit and command of the English language have made me an instant fan, and regular reader.


He often stood in front of the crowd with his hands stuffed into his suitcoat pockets, or his eyes closed as he reflected on a story, or possibly invented it as he went along. He was unassuming, perhaps a bit frumpy, but addicting at the same time.

As he walked out onto the stage and got close enough to the mic, he said, "It's good to be in Milwaukee, home of...the full serving." As he peered down at his belly: "The stains down the front of my...shirt, are...frozen custard from Leon's."

His timing was part of what made him so engaging, I think. He inserted pauses in his conversation that made you hang on his last word, anxious to hear what he was going to follow it up with.

Much of his monologue included his thoughts on turning 65 earlier this year. He has a residence in New York as well as Minnesota, and he spent some time out east for a while, saying, "New York is a great place to walk around when you're brooding." So much activity and life whirring around you, but people leave you alone for the most part.

Another observation of getting older: "We used to talk about ideas, and now we talk about medications."

He focused on the different generations and how they viewed life as they went through it, because he's got a son who's 38, and a daughter who's 9, and he's trying to make sense of how their lives, and his own, too, are different.

Back when he was a child, he said, they could stand up on the seat of a car while it was in motion; they ate ground beef and ground pork; and my favorite...they always made it to school, no matter what the weather. "School never closed when I was a boy. That is why we know how to spell!"

Also reflecting on days gone by: "We typed on an Underwood, and hit the keys hard. You had to mean it when you wrote something."

He's been on the radio with his Prairie Home Companion show for 37 years, and he said, "That's why there has to be someone on the radio, someone who knows this stuff. So that you remember there was a time before your time."

I could have listened to him all night, skipped work the next morning, and not cared one bit.

In describing his newest book, he said he was anxious to get back to writing a comic novel again, talking about how much he enjoyed writing this one. "It's not too long of a book, because you can't be funny for very long. Or, you shouldn't try."

To close the night, he took more than a handful of questions from the audience (next time I'll ask him about the shoes and socks!), and then regaled us with an a cappella Gospel tune called, "Lord, Won't You Come Down Here?" to which several members of the crowd joined in singing.

For the record...with Keillor, it's so much more than the shoes.
It's the words.

(although I think with Jordan, it was probably more than the shoes, too.)

"Some luck lies in not getting what you
thought you wanted but getting what you have,
which once you have got it you may be
smart enough to see is what you would

have wanted had you known."
—Garrison Keillor

"The funniest line in English is, 'Get it?'
When you say that, everyone chortles."
—Garrison Keillor

This Would Make Two. In A Row.

So remember last night, when I said I was a Last-Minute Larry for signing up like a day before this madness started, and was happy to see a few hundred people sneaking through the gates after me?

Apparently there's been a mad rush all damn day, of people pushing and shoving, trying to get their NaBloPoMo spot, and there are currently 4598 participants...more than 1700 of those signed up after me. (I would admit here to spending much of my day and night hitting the refresh button, and watching the number of members steadily increase, but that would be an unfair and inaccurate portrayal of my idea of "fun," so I won't admit it.)

I realize that eventually that number is going to hit a ceiling, because it'll stop being Nov. 1 pretty much everywhere, and start being Nov. 2, ya know? And then what's the point of BloPo'ing, if you've already failed before you've begun?

— • — • —

In the interest of not rambling on and on about things that contain Blo or Po or Na in every single entry during this month, today I'd like to share a Web site that I read about recently and spent part of the evening exploring.

MyElectionDecision.org is a site created by a professor of education at Lawrence University in Appleton, designed to give clear, concise views on several of the important issues being discussed by the presidential candidates vying for their party's nominations and to help people decide which candidate best matches their viewpoints.

Readers take a series of surveys, voting for their positions on these issues. They also read through several anonymous statements made by the four front-running candidates in each party, and are asked to vote whether or not they agree with these statements.

After all the votes are tallied, your ideal candidate is spit out of the machine and displayed on the screen before your very eyes. (at least...that's how I think it's supposed to work. it's somewhat of an involved process, and I haven't gotten all the way through it yet.)

The one unfortunate part about the site is that you're required to go through an annoying registration process before you can take the surveys. I usually don't bother with those, but I was curious enough to see how the site works that I'm a full-blown "member," if you will, of the site.

The article I read that led me to the site stated that after the primaries are over, the site will be retooled so that it's able to be used for the general election as well. Not that many people need a Web site to help them decipher which candidates suit them best, but I thought the idea was one worth exploring. And sharing.

Maybe the site will be smarter than I'm giving it credit for. Say, for instance, I reveal a penchant for Wrangler jeans, gunslingers and martial artists...I'm assuming that the site would delve deep into its computer memory banks and tell me that my ideal presidential candidate would be Walker, Texas Ranger. Or Brett Favre.

Perhaps I'll stick to Iraq, immigration, energy, and health care.

"We have a presidential election coming up.

And I think the big problem, of course,

is that someone will win."

—Barry Crimmins

Oh-Oh! It's NaBloPoMo!

As I glance at my atomic clock, the time reads 12:05am, and I can now state that I am officially in over my head.

For those of you who aren't aware, or haven't seen my badge proudly displayed in the sidebar, it's NaBloPoMo!

("huh?" you ask.)

National. Blog. Posting. Month.

The rules, as they say, are simple. Post every day during the month of November. For those of you who know the frequency with which I've been posting lately, it's easy to agree that while I'm 6'4", the hole I've dug myself by attempting to participate in this "contest" is perhaps nine or ten feet deep. Way...waaayyy...over my head.

I've talked a little bit in the past about NaNoWriMo, which is the thing that started all this nonsense. National Novel Writing Month was founded by a freelance writer from San Francisco, who, along with a few friends, decided to write a 50,000-word novel in a month. No editing, no cares about plot or structure. Just write, just write, just write...and when it's over, mine the prose for the nuggets of ideas worth keeping and building upon. Or...if you're really good, give it a quick edit, send it off to a publisher, and sit back and wait for your advance.

NaNoWriMo grew by leaps and bounds each year with the power of The Internets, and while I attempted it a couple years in a row, I usually bombed out by about 10K words. I think the idea is amazing, and Chris Baty (The Man) got a lot of people writing. And for that, he should win a prize. I hope to someday give that a more legitimate shot, and come closer to the 50K finish line.

Enter NaBloPoMo, born last year as far as I'm aware, as an alternative to NaNoWriMo. Same concept, though. A bit of a push to get you writing and keep you writing...an organized event in which your blog comes knockin' on your noggin every day, saying, "hey. remember me? let's get some words down today, buddy." and you're supposed to listen.

After clicking around on the blogroll of last year's participants, I found many who finished, some who were stopped short, and others who posted the occasional entry that said, "I don't know what to post today, but I wanted to sign in and write something. See you tomorrow."

(if I include entries like that during my NaBloPoMo attempt, please take the most venomous verbs you can find, and hurl them at me in the comments section. and call me a cheater.)

Truth be told, with the level of inspiration I've had in the last few months in regard to the writing process, I might be finished by...oh, Monday, perhaps. But I always kept it in my head that this little activity was approaching, and pondered whether or not to make it official by signing up. This year the NaBlo founder has a cool Web site with registrations and forums and other goodies, and I was compelled to join. I signed up late Tuesday night, and was member No. 2870, and as I write these words now, there are 3381 members. So apparently I wasn't the only Last-Minute Larry to add my name and blog to the party.

Being a bit of night owl (ok, fine...I'm an insomniac), I will probably be able to use that to my advantage on this NaBlo quest. You might find me posting at 11pm one night, and then at 12:30am the next "morning." Still within the rules of posting every day, but perhaps a bit of creative clock management coming into play there. (hey, maybe I'll get an NFL coaching job if I do well enough, seeing as how some don't know how to run an efficient two-minute drill.)

I really don't know what to expect over the next month, so I can't give you much of a preview. Maybe I'll post some photo entries, maybe I'll post a couple dozen links some days, I just don't know.

All I know is that my life better get a lot more exciting, and quickly. And if that's not possible, then it's my job to make the mundane seem exciting.

Oh boy. Are we in for a rocky road ahead or what??

One down. Twenty-nine to go.

"Once we discover how to appreciate

the timeless values in our daily experiences,

we can enjoy the best things in life."

—Harry Hepner