Friday, December 18, 2009

Speedy Rodriguez

Another intro: Say Hello! to Ryan, my arch nemisis. The Kryptonite to my Superman, the Tom to my Jerry, the mold to my three week old bread. The Bruce Bowen/Robert Horry to my Steve Nash. Yes... Ryan is from San Antonio and a huge Spurs fan. I'm amazed we get along as well as we do. He's tiny. He says he's 5'8"... but we all know better.


Bart- Dude, I got zero sleep last night.

Ryan- Dude, I haven’t slept in weeks.

Bart- Zero means 'none' in German or something.

Ryan- Hm. I learn something new everyday. ... Does that mean you don’t want to play ball today?

Bart-  No… I want to... I'm just warning you I'm going to be terrible. And by ‘terrible’ I mean I won’t be throwing down my usual 360 windmill dunks.

Ryan- Yeah, me either… but not because I’m 5’8” and have the jumping ability of a four year old… I’ve been in my bed for the last 3 days reading a 600 page econ book. That’s what I get for not going to class since September.

Bart-  Haha. Ouch. Talk about information overload.

Ryan-  Yea… and I don’t even understand anything I’m reading… that’s why I need a b-ball break.

Bart- My thoughts exactly. Except for the whole not understanding what you’re reading. I understand everything.

Ryan-  My head like seriously started hurting.
I thought I was having a brain aneurism.
I thought I was going to die.
I saw Jesus.

Bart- ... ...

Ryan- He said to never pass you the ball.

Bart - Wow... I'm pretty sure that wasn't Jesus. That had to have been Jesus' brother.

Ryan- Jesus’ brother?

Bart- Yeah, you know, His brother…

Ryan- Well, it looked like Jesus. He had a beard.

Bart- Yeah... that’s definitely His brother… Larry.

Ryan- Larry?

Bart- Yeah, Jesus’ twin. I think he's mentioned in the Bible once... or maybe that was Lucifer...?

Ryan- One of them… I can never remember these things.

Bart- Or understand them.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Twenty Six.

For some people, birthdays are a big deal. Another year usually means another milestone. At age thirteen you're an official teen... sixteen: driving... eighteen: an official adult... fifty: officially an old timer. Nintey. 100. You get the picture.

But for me and my mom, none of my birthdays are as big a deal as my very first one.

This year, to commemorate that special day so long ago, I asked my mom to write my story... my birthday story. (Thanks mom, love you, you're the best!) It's a personal story (obviously since it involves me) but it's a pretty cool story. Uncut, uncensored, and unrated. (And seeing as how my mom wrote it, that means it's probably rated PG.)


Bart Nathan Gadbury - born November 28, 1983
This is one of those stories that is full of joy, sadness, anxiousness, worry and fear. But most of all, it’s a story of love.

Our second child, wasn’t due until March 7, 1984. We were so excited to be expecting our second child. We wanted another child, and he was on the way! However, unknown to us, this child was one of those kids who wanted to be first, be great, and make an entrance!

In November of 1983, things with my pregnancy were progressing well. I was getting sufficiently plump and sassy. But, for some unknown reason, my water broke and I was only at 27 weeks. Normal delivery is at 40-42 weeks. Once your water breaks, you are pretty much committed to having the baby, but being young, I really did not comprehend the seriousness of it all. I just figured, “oh well, we’ll go to the hospital, and they’ll just stop the contractions and I’ll go home and everything will progress as usual.” I was so wrong.

Arriving at the hospital in Moore, I was told I would be staying. I was to remain bedfast. They thought I had a condition called, “Placenta Previa”.

Since my water had broken, they were afraid of an infection that would affect me and the baby. So, I was to be in bed. Period. End of discussion.
The whole point of me staying in bed was to try to keep the baby inside of me for as long as possible, so that his lungs could develop more. (I say ‘he’. We did not know if we were having a boy or girl at this point.)
It was very difficult to be away from Lyle and Bret. Bret himself was still just a baby. I also had fear that they would forget about me and not need me anymore. I cried a lot.
I made it for 8 days. Long days. Soap opera days. (There was absolutely nothing else on TV!) Bret was being taken care of by my Mom and also by Kelly Bittle. I knew he was in good hands. But I just wanted to be home!
I missed Thanksgiving that year. Everyone was at my Mom’s. Dave and his little family, Mom, Dad, Aunt Mary, Grandma Hogg, Grandma Stroud, Lyle and Bret. I felt a little lonely, but grateful that our baby was still staying put. I still had no idea what really lie ahead for the both of us.
The morning of the 8th day, Monday November 28th, things began to change and to change fast. I went into labor. I was scared. I had a fever, and the chance for infection was not good for me or the baby. But no one was really telling me anything. At about noon, my contractions were about 4 minutes apart. The next thing I knew, I was in an ambulance headed for Mercy Medical Center in Oklahoma City. This baby was coming! Ready or not. I heard the phrase, “They have a great NIC Unit. That will be the best place for this baby to be born.” My thought was, “What does that mean? Surely I’m not going to have this baby?!”
The ambulance ride was extremely bumpy. I remember distinctly that I was very uncomfortable, and I wanted it to stop! I’m pretty sure I conveyed that to them once or twice! I was in total misery and somewhat delirious because of the fever and infection.
Arriving at the hospital, I was taken and monitored very quickly. “Get her to X-Ray and Ultrasound, let’s verify placenta privea.”
In the meantime, they are trying to find Lyle. He’s at work on some remote site many many miles away! There were no cell phones back then. He would have to be physically found!
I became more and more alarmed, and as they started giving choices and options, I can really only remember that I just wanted it to be over.

And where was Lyle???? Because of the infection, I was becoming more and more ‘out of it.’ My temperature was 105 degrees!
They finally found Lyle. Thank Heavens. I was really really scared now and I needed him to be there! I prayed he would make it to the hospital in time.

The ultrasound showed no placenta privea, but the baby was breech, (feet first). This is not a good thing. This would mean I could not have him normal delivery and would have to have a C-section. Major surgery. This is not something I had planned! And I was tired and so exhausted and so frightened for my baby. Would he live? I had never considered that we were both in jeopardy. I was only worried about my baby.
Lyle made it to the hospital in time. He had to come from a long way away, but I really don’t remember much more from this point on.

My baby boy was born 4:53 p.m. that day. 2 lbs 2 oz. And 14 inches long.

I did not get to hold him, cuddle him, whisper, “I love you”. I remember nothing.

Meanwhile, while they are trying to get my infection under control, and to get our baby boy to the Neonatal unit, family were waiting in the waiting room.

My Mother told me she was so upset when they wheeled our baby boy past them in the waiting room, announcing, “Mr. Gadbury, you have a baby boy!”. Mom’s thinking was that here we have a premature baby, and you’re announcing the birth like it’s Christmas! Is he going to make it? What are his chances? He only weighs 2 lbs!

All were amazed.
I was very ill. I had to have a blood transfusion and be on powerful anti-biotics plus pain shots, I was in a fog for the next few days. I really didn’t even know I had had my baby!
Meanwhile, our son was doing well. The Doctor later explained to me that my “infection had actually been beneficial to the baby. It had helped him to be more strong. He was breathing on his own…he’d be in the hospital at least 10 weeks. He has a good chance to make it”.
Really! How grateful I was. I still did not really realize what lie ahead for us both.
I actually didn’t see Bart the day he was born. I don’t even know if it was the next day! But, When I saw him, I went into shock. I felt a loss, I cannot explain it. Is this really my son? Is he going to make it? He is so small, so helpless. And all these nurses and doctors are taking care of him! Not me! The weight of it all hit like a ton of bricks.
The Doctors came to see me. They asked, “are you going to nurse your baby?” I had no idea how to reply to this question. He could not nurse. He was too weak and too small, but I could supply the milk and they would feed him through a tube that would go straight to his tummy. (Gavauge)
Was I strong enough? Mentally, physically, emotionally to supply milk? I didn’t think so, and so I told them ‘no.’

I started on a medication that stops milk production. But after I became aware of ALL the details regarding Bart, I knew I NEEDED to do this for him. It was truly the only thing I COULD do for him. I couldn’t hold him, love him, or protect him. He was ill. His lungs had not developed enough, he had apnea ( he would suddenly stop breathing) and his heart duct had not closed at birth, which meant he would have to have surgery. (PDAL, Dec 7, 1983. note from journal: “Bart, your father and I have just come home from the hospital. You had heart surgery this morning at 7:00 a.m. and you’ve done well. It’s been hard for us to see you so little, to go through all of this. You are quite the fella. We love you.” ) I was absolutely helpless! I could not even hold him. That is a cruel and hard thing to bear when you’ve just had a baby. He needed ME, his MOM and they wouldn’t let me even hold him.
I had already started on the medication to stop milk production, but I decided I wanted to try to provide milk for him anyway. And this story is truly a miracle. I was not only able to provide milk for Bart, but I had AMPLE milk. Tons of it, and it was Good quality milk. Very rich. It was the only thing I could do for Bart and I was truly blessed to be able to do this ONE SOLITARY thing.
Every ounce of my being willed him to make it, to be strong. I loved him so. He needed me, and I wanted him to feel my love and my concern. How I wished I could care for him instead of the nurses and doctors! He needed them. He needed me. He could not have both.

Providing the milk was not fun, but I found it to be easy. This will embarrass Bart, but oh well. I had to rent an electric breast pump. I felt like Bessy the cow! I never had ANY trouble. It was truly a miracle. In fact, I had frozen so much of the milk, that when Bart finally did come home, I had milk for him for a very long time. I know in my heart that this is what made him strong, and able to grow and overcome his obstacles.
Bart dropped in weight to 1 lb 15 oz for a brief time. That was scary. He had to stay in the hospital for 3 months, the rest of his gestation period.
The nursery smelled funny. I hated that smell. There were lots of sick babies there. I remember a baby in an incubator next to Bart and that his mother could not provide milk for him. I asked if I could since I had so much, but for unclear reasons, they told me no. The baby died. I was very sad and it has affected me to this very day.
We were actually able to hold Bart when he was 3 weeks old. It seemed so unkind of them to not let us hold him previous to this, but I know that it had to be that way. I cannot explain in human terms how I felt that evening when we got to hold Bart for the first time. I was scared. I felt joy! I felt pure love. I felt peace. I felt deep gratitude. I didn’t want to give him back to the nurse. He made little gurgle noises. I loved holding him.
I have a picture of that moment. Not only in my scrapbook, but in my heart. He was so small. He had to have oxygen held up to his face. But he was finally mine!

He was so small, and had tubes and wires around him. But it was wonderful to finally hold my son! How young and naïve I was. How unprepared.

Bart was so small that Lyle’s wedding band fit over Bart’s hand. Diapers were too large so he laid under the lights in his bassinet/incubator naked. This was not how it was supposed to be!

Journal entry - 12/10/1983 “Your grandma and grandpa Harnish came up to see you tonight. I think it upset them to see all the wires and tubes you’ve got hooked up to you. You looked tired tonight.

I’m sure it is your way of recuperating from surgery. You’re a special boy, I know that for sure. Your father and I want you to come home with us soon.”
This was a difficult time. Not just because our baby was in a hospital 50 miles away from us. That was trial enough….

However:

• Bret was 2 years old and needed his mom.

• My grandma Hogg and Great Grandma Stroud were living with my parents and were of ill health, and would die while Bart was in the hospital

Journal entry: “Your grandma Hogg died this week. She was very ill. She never got to see you or hold you, but she loved you very much. She lit a candle for you almost every single day. It was her way of praying for you.” …”Grandma Stroud passed away just 10 days after grandma Hogg. It’s been very hard for me because I loved them very much. They were both great ladies. You’ve had quite a spell yourself. You were doing so well, and then decided to pull some breathing problems on us. Your father and grandpa Harnish gave you a blessing today. We leave it in the Lord’s hands. Please get better. We want you home with us. You’re too far away. I love you.”

• Lyle’s business was not doing well because of the economy crunch in Oklahoma.

• My brother David’s wife, left him alone with 2 children to take care of.

• My brother Jay had had some severe trials on his mission

• We were in the middle of building a house we would never live in

• My parents were having severe marital and financial problems

• And Bart was 50 miles away in Oklahoma City. Traveling daily was difficult.

I often wonder how in the world I did it. But I know how I did it. I relied on the Lord. He indeed carried me, and blessed our little son.
Early on, when I knew that this baby boy of ours was very ill, and had so much to overcome, I experienced a great peace. I knew that Bart would make it. I knew he would be whole. (So many preemies suffer their whole lives with blindness, deafness, learning disabilities, etc.)

But I knew he would come home to us. I thank God for that peace. It carried me through a most difficult time.
Journal entry: 10 weeks old: “ you were transferred to Norman Hospital so you could be closer to us. I can now come see you 2 or 3 times a day. It’s wonderful! Your apnea problem has not gone away, but I know of a surety that when your father gave you a blessing today, that it would be the end of this problem. The Holy Ghost witnessed it to me, as I knew it when I requested the blessing. You need to be home with us. And you will be soon!”
And he did make it! Bart came home to us February 27th. No more apnea. He did not even need a monitor when he came home. What a relief, what a blessing. We both had to adjust. Being away from each other had taken a toll, but he was home. It was where he belonged. He had won the fight, and what a fight it was. It was indeed the fight of his life.
Journal entry: “You are home! What a blessing it is! And I know it’s through your fathers righteous living and bearing of his Priesthood, not to mention our faith, and the faith of many many others!”
A few notes about Bart’s first few months at home:
He slept a lot. I guess not much has changed . :)
When he was blessed as an infant at church, by his father, these are a few things that were said:

• That Bart would have the strength and will power to pull through this delicate situation that he was in

• That he has 2 parents who love him and will raise you in the church

• That he will be a binding force for his family
His first words were da-da (traitor!)
His favorite toy – measuring spoons

His favorite playmate was Bret. He would just giggle and belly laugh when he was with Bret.

Journal entry at 7 months: You are getting cuter and more alert everyday. You suck your thumb or index finger whenever you sleep or need some extra comfort. You eat well. You love fruits and vegetables, cereal and fruit juice. You reach for objects, you roll over and hold your head up really well. You love to be talked to. You have a smile that lights up your whole face. You are so cute!”
You loved peek a boo and to dance with mom.
Journal entry at 10 months: “ Bart, you’re such a cutie! You entertain yourself quite a bit, and you love it when Bret plays with you. You just belly laugh!”
You loved any kind of hat!
At one year old you had more than doubled your height to 29.75 inches and you weighed 17 lb 4 oz.
Journal entry at 1 year: “If you can survive Bret, you’ll survive anything. He sits on you, pokes, pushes, lays and any other torture he can think of. You don’t fuss too much about it, but occasionally you get fed up with him, and then you do let us know about it. You show no mercy to the dog or cat, you get a hand full of hair and pull! When you smile, your wrinkle your nose and squint your eyes and snort! You’re a total mess when you eat, but you sure have fun.”
Journal entry at 18 months: “You’re a mad-man on legs. You are anywhere and everywhere. You’re a flirt and you love hats! If you go outside we really have to watch you cos’ you move fast!”


Journal entry at age 2: “You get frustrated very easily, mostly because of your older brother. You argue a lot over toys. I try not to intercede too often. You need to learn love, compassion and sharing for each other. You love to wrestle with Bret, dad or whoever will get down on the floor with you. You’re pretty tough! You sure give good hugs.”



Journal entry at age 2 ½ “ You aren’t real sure what to think of baby Blake. You don’t like it when he cries, and don’t like it when Mom feeds him. I suppose its because you’re not the ‘baby’ anymore.

But you really aren’t. You’ve gotten to be such a big boy now. You’re getting more and more independent. You have the nicest smile.”
Journal entry at age 3: “You haven’t quite figured out how to outsmart Bret yet. He gets the best of you, but I have a feeling that he better watch out in a few years, cos’ you’re going to ‘repay’ him in full! You still have a great smile and fun laugh!”




Journal entry at age 4: “You absolutely love “JOY SCHOOL”. 8 of your friends from church all go too! It’s been good for you to have your ‘own’ school. You’re getting so big. Hard to believe you were ever so tiny. You ride your 2 wheeler with training wheels – you keep up with the bigger kids pretty well. You an Alisa have become inseparable. You like to play at each others’ house. You’ve fallen off the top bunk several times now, so we had to put you back on the bottom. You would hit with such a ‘thud’ that it would sound like the house was falling in! It’s a good thing you have a hard head!”


Journal entry at age 5: ‘You are excited about kindergarten. I think it helps you feel ‘older’ like Bret. Your best friend is Tommy Davidson and if you had it your way you’d live at his house. He has a trampoline and you like to jump on it. You both learned to ride 2 wheelers on the same day. You have a great smile with twinkly eyes. You are a good helper.”



Journal entry at age 6: “ What a boy you’ve grown to be. You’re go go go. No time for mom and dad. You love to ride your bike. And you have a great imagination. You’ve done well in school and you sleep well at night. You’re exhausted! You love jigsaw puzzles. You are good at them.”
Journal entry at age 8: “You are a great student. Not only that, you are a sweet guy. You care about others, and their feelings. That is a wonderful quality. You are terrific at the piano and you enjoy cub scouts. You and your 2 brothers have your share of arguments but you like to be with them. Someday you’ll really wamp on Bret, so he better watch out~”
_______________________________________________


Thursday, November 19, 2009

Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.

Bart: We’re going into business together, right?

Jason: Sure. What type of business?

Bart: Oh… I don’t know. I thought you had that part figured out. You’re the brawn and the brain and the billfold… I’m just the pretty face you’re gonna slap on billboards.

Jason: I was thinking about beet farming. Do you want to be the spokesperson for a beet farm?

Bart: Everyone loves beets, right?

Jason: I think so… that’s why it’s a great idea!

Bart: You may be on to something…

J: Now we just need to learn how to farm…

B: I grew up on a ranch… but that really doesn’t help us, does it?

J: That depends. Have you ever planted anything that didn’t die within a week?

B: No. … Wait… I once planted a seed that never grew… so, technically, it never died.

J: That’s a great point and that’s enough for me to make you Chief Operations Officer!

B: Awesome! And as my first official act as Chief Operations Officer, I hereby appoint you as Lead Implementation Specialist.

J: Thank you! As my first official act as Lead Implementation Specialist, I implement a three day work week.

B: I second it. Motion for a three day work week stands. HooRah.

J:
MEMO
Date: 11-18-2009
To: COO Bart
From: LIS Jason
Re: Hot Secretary
Can we hire Megan Fox as my secretary?

B:
RETURNMEMO
All that other stuff.
Re: Hot Secretary
I’m sorry to inform you that, Miss Fox has already been hired on as the COO’s secretary (The COO... yeah, that’s me.)… And Kate Beckinsale as the COO’s personal assistant. (That’s also me.)


J: Oh. … That seems unfair.

B: You might think that at first, until you find out that I appointed Tina Fey and Ellen as your secretaries! Surprise!

J: Wait… what? No. Why?!

B: Can you say ‘funnest office in the building’?! I think you can!

J: I want hottest office in the building! Not an ugly chick and an uglier lesbo!

B: Sorry. You automatically ruled your office out of the running when you hired me as COO. I’m hot. … But don’t worry. The hot secretaries and I will come and visit often.

J: I’m resigning and starting a brussel sprouts farm.



And now... one of my favorite clips from The Office.
Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Birthdays are Holidays

Holidays are the worst time to be single. No presents, no gifts, no parties… no meaningful snuggling by a warm fire while drinking hot cocoa and stirring things up with a spoon (and no, I’m not talking about hot cocoa anymore). Instead, you come home to an empty, undecorated room, turn on Sportscenter and drift slowly to sleep with a glass of milk. (Yeah, definitely no spoon… not even with hot cocoa….) Aaaaaand, I just realized that I celebrate a ‘holiday’ almost every, single night of my life. Yay, me.

(Did you see what I did there? A little thing called The Double Entendre.)

The other night we went to dinner with the basketball girls to celebrate a birthday. (From here on out if I ever mention the term ‘basketball girls’ or the ‘bball girls’… just know I’m referring to the BYU Women’s Basketball team. Yeah, we hang out.) Have you ever been sitting around the dinner table with your family and had someone ask, “What was the best part of your day?” Well I haven’t. Thank goodness most of my family dinners were spent in absolute silence. Occasionally there was lobbying over who gets the last scoop of potatoes, and loud, spasmodic ventilation of you-know-what… but what are you going to do with three boys?

Anyways, back to the bball girls… so we did the ‘best part of your day’ thing, with everyone taking a turn. I said, “Talking to mom about Christmas.” It got a few ooos and awes… but as the group continued listening to other ‘best day’ stories, I couldn’t help but think… That was also the worst part of my day. You see, my birthday is one month before Christmas: November 28. It’s hard for me to believe that my sweet mother could get swept up in society’s greed-filled plague of the ‘me first, give thanks second’ mode of thinking that has our whole nation going from Halloween to Christmas in a matter of 24 hours…. But she skipped right over my birthday… and went straight to Christmas.

So, I gave my mom my Christmas list… which just so happens to be my birthday list…

Do you think Jesus will mind if I open my collection of Calvin and Hobbes comic books on His birthday? Yeah, I don’t think he will either.

Oh, and one more thought… if you forget your birthday… does it still count? Or can I go on being 25 for another year?... I wonder if that’s what Greg Oden, LeBron James, and Baron Davis thought…



___G-Pa Oden_____________LeBruuun

______21___________________24



___Boom Dizzle_______________This Guy

______ 30____________________25

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Speed is Relative

I had a converstion with a childhood friend the other day. Some of you reading this blog may remember him as my 'fake friend', as you so ruthlessly labeled him many years ago.... (Tia). So I'd like to introduce the rest of you to my best friend growing up... the coauthor and cohort of many late night shenanigans, the Stoudemire to my Nash, the Montana to my Rice, the beef to my slow cooker... well, you get the point.

Jason: Bartholomew Jay Merriweather Witherspoon III! How doth thou doeth?

Bart: Jason Winifred Ulysses Hammock Jr! The sire be-eth well. And thou?

Jason: Good morrow, sire! Venus hath lifted her skirt. Apollo hath blessed us with the removal of his blouse!

Bart: Oh blessed Apollo… thou art a magnificent beast indeed.

Jason: I have decided that you must submit a proposal to BYU to convince them to recruit more black kids. Slow white kids and fat islanders don’t win football games.

Bart: I’ve written three. And BYU does have one black kid. He’s just really slow. And I don’t think it’s the players. I think it’s the coaching. We need black coaches.

J: Do black coaches make the players faster?

B: By osmosis. (Now to myself) Or is by muscle replacement?

J: Wow! This is groundbreaking research! If I hang out with black kids, will I get faster?

B: Well... you won’t. Osmosis only works on people who haven't been labeled as ‘the slowest person alive’. Plus, you don’t know any black people.

J: I will have you know that I am Turnberry Heights Retirement Home’s reigning 100 and 200 meter champion. I won and I’m the Champ! And I live with the blackest kid alive. (Kid painted in black paint)

B: Yeah but I heard you won last year because you kicked Ms. Hill’s walker out from under her, and Mr. Johnson was disqualified for using a motorized scooter.

J: That is a matter of conjecture! I won and I’m the Champ! And even if it were true, why should she get to use a walker? She might as well be on steroids!

B: Conjecture? You’re just lucky Fat Harold sat in front of the camera right as it happened. Otherwise your medals would have been stripped.

J: Don’t you mean striped?

B: No, the medals are already striped… your striped medals would have been stripped.

J: If it can’t be proven, it didn’t happen! I won and I’m the Champ!

B: And still slow.

Friday, November 6, 2009

Just Watch

Dearest Andre',

Earlier this week, you said the Celtics weren't going to lose one game all season. You said the Celtics were going to beat the Suns. You said the Celtics were going to be 6-0. You said I remind you of Derek Fisher. You also said that Haley Hall could beat me in a three point competition. (Hmmm, maybe that was Ryan...) I had to draw the line somewhere.

So to you I say: just watch.


Where was Paul Pierce when Boston needed him? Where was 'the most clutch player in the NBA' as you call him? Where was the 'Truth'? No where to be found.... Is he hurt? Did he leave? Is he dead? Oh, no. He's playing. And missing another shot.... But where, oh where, may I ask is Steve Nash?... DAGGER! Yeah, he's just stabbing you with another CLUTCH shot, winning another game, enjoying another MVP-like season.

So the next time you decide to flaunt your Boston pride, or to strut your Celtic green, maybe you should double check to make sure number thirteen isn't coming to town.

Sincerely,
Bart

ps-


Oh, and for the rest of you... OH EM GEE! Watch this:

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Hate it or Love it... The Underdog's on Top...

More basketball! But this time I actually went to a game!


The Utah Jazz played the Houston Rockets in SLC on Monday, so a few friends and I (Andre, Mike, and Sheldon) made the trek up north and enjoyed a fairly good game (until the forth quarter!). My favorite play: Budinger's sweet reverse layup! (As a side note: the Jazz hardly EVER lose at home... well, used to not.)



The Jazz gave up 34 points in the forth and all the fans filed out of the arena with 4 minutes to go because the Jazz were down 20. (Poor Willie!) Afterwards we treated ourselves to 2-for-1 burgers at Iggy's.

Good news for today (Tuesday): the Suns are 4-0! They beat the Miami Heat in Miami! Here are some more delicious highlights of Steve Nash and Co.! (As a side note: Steve Nash passed Dan Majerle as the Suns all-time leading 3 point shooter with 801.)


That's just one thing I'll never get sick of! If the season ended today... the Suns would be the #1 seed in the playoffs and Steve Nash would be MVP. But unfortunately, it doesn't.

I also have to give props* to Dirk Nowitski, Nash's BFF. He scored 29 points against Utah in the 4th quarter. The forth quarter! And Utah had another 4th quarter melt down. (Poor Willie... again!)


*Props is a slang term for "accolades", "proper respect", or "just dues". It was popularized in the 1980s by rappers who shortened the term "propers", which was in turn being used as an abbreviated version of "proper respect", at least by the 1960s. The increase in this term's usage during the late 1980s and early 1990s coincided with an increasing fascination with the mafia within rap circles. Both communities have traditionally placed great emphasis on the importance of earning and giving respect.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Love Me Some Frye Sauce!

The Suns start the season out 3-0 with this win against Minnesota! Thanks to Channing Frye's 25 points and 5 rebounds... it looks like Frye will be the Most Improved Player of the year this year.



And my favorite play of the day... D-wade! He should have won MVP last year... but if he keeps doing this... he just might get it this year.


ps- let it be known that Dwyane Wade is ridicilus!! (Yes, say it like I wrote it!... Here let me help: ri-dic-i-lus!)

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Two Dollars Worth!

Now, I don't know if I'm going to do this every night, but maybe I will if the Suns keep winning. These videos are fun anyways. Here are the highlights from the game tonight against Golden State. Starting out the season 2-0!



Yes, you heard right. Steve Nash dropped two dollars worth of dimes* all over court! So, just in case you missed it...



I also have to include a favorite play of the night. Shannon Brown throwin' down! (I love this because he's a point guard who can SKY! Plus, the Lakers lost... double happiness for me!)



*Dropping Dimes is a slang term meaning: to make an assist in basketball i.e. to pass the ball to a teamate who then successfully scores a basket. Usually this term is used in streetball competitions. (I also believe the term is used when referring to a quick drug deal of ten dollars worth of drugs aka a quick hit... but what do I know?)

ps- Two dollars worth of dimes equals 20 dimes aka 20 assists

Friday, October 30, 2009

As a Man Thinketh...

Things I’ve been thinking about:

1) A billboard reads: “Call 911 when it’s life or death. Don’t when it isn’t.” So… call 911… always?

2) $120 jeans vs $20 jeans. I will never, EVER spend more than $20 on jeans. Why?

  • $20 jeans look exactly the same as $120 jeans
  • No one ever notices what brand of jeans you’re wearing, except if you’re wearing Jnco jeans… then everyone notices
  • Simple mathematics: $120 jeans cost 100 dollars more than $20 jeans
  • More simple mathematics: I can buy 6 pairs of $20 jeans for the price of one pair of $120 jeans. Six pairs!! That will last me ten years!
  • The other day I walked in my apartment and Thalia, my know-it-all roommate-Dan’s fiancé, said, “Hey Barticus, I like your jeans.” “Thanks, they were $20.” I replied. I said this jokingly on purpose, in an effort to razz her a little bit, because I know she’s the type of girl who loves $120 jeans.
  • If anyone ever asks me, “Do these jeans make me look fat?” I always respond with, “If they were 120 dollars they sure do.”
  • I don’t have $120. But if I did, there are a LOT of other things I’d rather spend it on. (Like Wendy's, or Calvin and Hobbes)

3) Whistlers… I’ll never understand them. Are you bored? Trying to get my attention? Do you really love the Mario Bros. theme song SO much that you HAVE to whistle it? The sad thing is that the ones that are actually good at it never do it… and the one’s that aren’t… well you just keep on tryin’, buddy. (And that’s not a statement of encouragement, that’s a statement of fact.)

4) My dear friend Tia asked, “Do you wish Steve Nash was your boyfriend? I think you do…” Now, to clarify, Steve Nash is not gay, nor am I. But hey, if he asked me out, I wouldn't say no. I like to be pampered with free dinner and a good time just like the next girl. Besides, man-dates can be just as fun as regular dates. Except for when they get canceled. Then they're just as bad as regular dates.

5) And of course, something sports related. Greg Popovich, the coach of the San Antonio Spurs, sat all of his starters during the last four minutes of their game against the Chicago Bulls. They were only down eight points. That’s nothing. That’s a basket and a defensive stop (which is what the Spurs are supposedly ‘good’ at: defense) away from a two possession game! They ended up losing the game 92-85, but why in the world would you sit all of your starters and forfeit any chance of winning a game that is clearly within reach? I’ve never understood why Popovich does this, and he does it often. He even does it in the playoffs. I remember one game, his team was down by 20 points early in the third quarter, he sat all of his starters and didn’t play them the rest of the game, and they lost. The NBA game is a game of runs, and any team can come back and win on any given night, as shown us by the Celtics in the ‘07-’08 finals. (Although I disagree with Popovich’s approach, I’m elated when he does this. I hate the Spurs and I love when they lose.)

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Wanna be a Balla, Shot Calla...

I've been waiting six months for this night. And Steve and Co. did not disappoint. Steve Nash is as CLUTCH as anyone in the league.

"they say i couldnt play football i was too small, they say i couldnt play basketball i wasnt tall, they say i couldnt play baseball at all, now everyday of my life i ball"

Now, for further enjoyment, here is Carmelo Anthony dunking on Paul Milsap. Oh, so sexy!

I love this game!

I love this game!

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Mr. Fantasy Basketball Manager Guy

Real Men of Genius. Today we salute you, Mr. Fantasy Basketball Manager Guy. (Mr. Fantasy Basketball Manager Guy!) Every year you assemble your closest friends to prepare for another season in the flop-down, box-out world of make believe b-ball. (It's called a Crab-step!) You were born with the one skill every manager needs to play fantasy basketball... absolutely no skill playing REAL basketball. (Not so good at dribbling!) Imaginary passes, imaginary rebounds. Next up, an imaginary score, with an imaginary woman. (Good imagination!) So crack open an ice cold Bud Light, oh Larry Bird of the bleachers. 'Cause you may always come in dead last, but you'll always be 'first' with us.

Speaking of firsts... lets get to the first round of this years draft. The teams included in the draft are Steven Q. Nash (yours truly), Hannah Montanas (Willie Harnish), Oh bubba noo... (Sean Packard), Nug Nuts (Josh Thein), DA SPURS (Ryan Rodriguez), Cheyenne Harnattacks, (Curtis Harnish), Team Holmes, (Mike Holmes), Team Jacob and Tom (Jacob Weinstock and Tom), Team Little (Jared Little), Brewin and Boozin (Scotty McKell), Psychobilly (Garlan McCoy), and Team Hutchens (Andre Hutchens).

I decided to do what they've done on ESPN: analyze my picks, and your picks, and give insights to how the draft shook-out. You may or may not agree... I really don't care. Just know that you are going to lose, and at the end of this season, you will be a part of the mediocre rubble on which I will stand.

Round 1

What I was thinking: “Did I just wet myself?” You could imagine how elated I was to find Kevin Durant fell to 9th. I was looking for top value in Round One, and I got it. The only thing that Kevin Durant lacks to become one of the best: assists (and a little muscle).

What I liked: Dwade at 3. I know he’s been all over in the first round… so I was glad to see Nug Nuts pick up the MVP! Amare Stoudemire at 12.

What I didn’t like: Brandon Roy at 7 was really surprising. Not a terrible pick, but I’m not so sure he’s a first rounder.

Round 2
What I was thinking: “I hate you Andre.” He picked Steve Nash out of spite (He wanted KD, but there was no way he would fall to 12, so after I took Durant, Andre looked right at me and said, "I'm taking Nash."). So I had to take the next best PG in Calderon. He gives me everything Nash does… but isn't quite the scoring threat. I’m still a little upset.

What I liked: Steve Nash at 13. I would have done the exact same thing. Joe Johnson is like Kobe in fantasy.

What I didn’t like: Paul Pierce at 20. Overrated in all leagues... and life. I hate him.

Round 3
What I was thinking: “Rondo would be great trade bait for Nash.” Unfortunately Rondo was taken right before me. So Brook Lopez was a no brainer. He does everything and was THE center I wanted. I just hope he improves on last years numbers: 13pts, 8r, 2bl, and stellar %.

What I liked: PF’s! Boozer, Murphy, West, Lee.

What I didn’t like: Derrick Rose over a plethora of PG’s. Rose can’t shoot and can’t pass. What else to PG’s do? And Elton Who? (Exactly.)

Round 4
What I was thinking: “Westbrook in round 4!” I was actually thinking this starting in round 1. This kid will make or break my fantasy year. Consider him a less polished, but better shooting, Rajon Rondo. Averaging almost a triple double in the preseason, Westbrook will be on the giving end of many of Durant’s baskets. Plus he’ll give me 5+ rebounds a game, from the pg slot!

What I liked: Monta Ellis. I’m curious to know if Jacob and Tom had their sights on him? Nene. He’s going to do a lot more for Denver… Boom Dizzle at 39. I just want him to dunk on Kirlenko again… sigh.

What I didn’t like: The rest of this round. I don’t know if anyone noticed… but FT % and Missed FT are categories in our league. … Josh Smith, Camby, Okafor, Biedrins. They miss FT's. Arenas was hurt, Jamison is hurt, and Arenas (again) will get hurt. I don’t like Vince Carter in Orl or Gordon sharing time with Rip Hamilton. Is this round over yet?

Round 5
What I was thinking: “Aldridge or Thomas.” Thomas should have every chance to shine in Chicago this year, and I expect him to do just that. 2 blocks a game is real nice!

What I liked: Blake Griffin at 54. Maybe not in round 5, but who’s to say when you draft the ROY? Rudy Gay at 59.

What I didn’t like: Tony Parker over Jameer Nelson. I think Andre is kicking himself over that one.

Round 6
What I was thinking: “Nelson, Nelson, Nelson… oh, Marion.” I really wanted to put Nelson with my already dangerous PG duo of Calderon and Westbrook. But he was drafted right before my pick. The Matrix can do everything. I’m hoping that running along side J. Kidd will resurrect his career, and my fantasy numbers.

What I liked: I didn’t notice this until now, but Hannah Montanas paired Rip Hamilton with his Round 4 pick, Ben Gordon. I tip my hat to Willie for making, what will probably be, the smartest move of the draft.

What I didn’t like: Turkoglu picked before me. Mostly because I don’t like him, but also because he should do well in Toronto. Who else is going to shoot the rock?

Round 7
What I was thinking: “Cherry’s favorite… and grape’s also favorite!” This is where a lot of my favorite fantasy players are drafted. And I knew who I wanted: JR Smith, Ariza, Scola, I just had to wait and see who fell to me. Scola: with Yao out, Scola will own the inside for Houston. And he hits his FT’s.

What I liked: Trevor Ariza. I really wanted to pair Ariza with the Matrix. But once again he was picked right before me. Millsap is consistent behind Boozer.

What I didn’t like: Ramon Sessions over Mario Chalmers or TJ Ford. Ronnie Brewer. Can’t shoot, can’t pass, hustles but not enough to be of value in fantasy, and over JR Smith??? (And after such a stellar Round 6, Willie! You let your Jazz love get the best of you. And my hat is now untipped.)

Round 8
What I was thinking: “I really want Barbosa… buuuut…” I have to admit. I almost didn’t get a pick off. I needed a SG/SF but was so indecisive! So I dropped way down the list and picked Michael Beasley at the last second. He should be good this year and will add versatility to my roster as he will play SF/PF/and even C.

What I liked: Anthony Randolph at 89. If there’s anywhere to bust out it’s in Oakland. TJ Ford is a great pick in these middle to late rounds.

What I didn’t like: Samuel Dalembert. He rebounds and will block a shot occasionally. But that’s it. I wouldn’t have picked him, especially with Oden, Bogut, and Noah still on the board.

Round 9
What I was thinking: “Gotta go with a Sleeper!” And Jason Thompson it was. He scored 20 pts and pulled down 20 rebounds with 2 blocks the other day! He’ll get plenty of playing time in his second season with the Kings.

What I liked: Chalmers is as good a point guard as any, just not as consistent. He can fill up the stat sheet though and he gets a lot of steals! Mike Conley. I would have drafted him before AI got into the Memphis water trough.

What I didn’t like: AI. Period.

Round 10
What I was thinking: “I love Steph Curry!” I love Steph Curry. He’s going to start for Nellie at Golden State, so I feel that there really is no risk taking him here. If there is, it’s the same risk as when drafting any other GS player. PS- I love Steph Curry.

What I liked: the BIRDMAN at 120!! I thought I might have a chance to grab him in round 11. But Willie had other ideas. Mike Bibby is a steal this late!! Great pick, Nug Nuts!

What I didn’t like: Brad Miller. That’s just gross DA SPURS.

Round 11
What I was thinking: “Curse me for loving point guards!” I really need another swingman, a SG/SF. To find Lou Williams this late was just unbelievable. He’s a PG/SG combo who has free reign to do whatever in Philly. His 17 ppg will be a nice addition!

What I liked: To tell you the truth I REALLY wanted Tyreke Evans. He has the build to play PG-PF, and on an injury prone Kings team, he very well might. Battier is a great pickup as well as Grant Hill. Nice work Jared and Andre!

What I didn’t like: Kevin Love. Not because he was drafted, but because I wanted him to fall to me in the next round, just six more spots! He’s a double double machine!

Round 12
What I was thinking: “I NEED a SG!” Brandon Rush was my best option. He’ll play 30 plus minutes coming off the bench. Plus, it's Indiana... all they do is shoot threes.

What I liked: James Harden. I was hoping for Harden but this is a great pick by Andre. TMac. LaShawnda has an all-star caliber player as soon as he’s healthy… and if he gets healthy. Turiaf... blocks, anyone? Blocks are huge this late in the draft. Nice one, Nug Nuts

What I didn’t like: Shaq. Once again: FT %, Missed FT’s, and Turnovers. Congratulations Hannah Montanas, you just punted 3 categories. And you once again baffle me with your inconsistent draftplay!

Round 13
What I was thinking: “Scorer.” Once Channing Frye was taken I had to go to my other favorite run-and-gun team, GS. Azubuike has all the tools to be an amazing player. Hopefully Nellie will give him the opportunity to use them.

What I liked: Channing Frye. He does everything! Especially 3's and scoring. And Hutchens with Carl Landry. Remember, Yao’s out.

What I didn’t like: Stojakovic. Oooo gross.
I must congratulate Nug Nuts for having the best draft, besides mine, of course. Congrats Josh! (Willie, you disappoint me.)

Friday, October 23, 2009

Bits of Hay... Mmmm

Have you read the book “7 Habits of Highly Effective People” by Stephen R Covey? If you have… congratulations. You have done something I have not. It’s not that I haven’t had the desire, or the time, or that I haven’t tried… I just never get past habit number 2: Begin with the End in Mind…. So I’ve never finished the book. You see, Covey has created a strategic, multi-layered tool to analyze a person’s effectiveness.

Layer A: Action. Did you get past habit 2 and finish the book? If yes, continue to Layer B. If no, consider yourself highly ineffective.

Layer B: Embodiment. Did you incorporate the habits into you life? If yes, continue to Layer C. If no, consider yourself ineffective.

Layer C: Chocolate. Who can have layered anything without chocolate??? Consider yourself highly effective.

(I guess you could quiz your family and friends, "Hey Johnny! Are you H.E.P. A, B, or C?" )

But what’s with all the guesswork? Covey should have written a prequel, entitled: “2 Habits of Highly INeffective People”. It would include the first two habits of “7 habits…”, and then end. On the last page would be one solitary sentence: “You’ve got nothin’… you’re S.O.L.”

Imagine all the people who have tried to read “7 habits…”, think of how they have felt… like a failure for not even finishing a book… and ineffective for not even being a real person. And now! Imagine them reading “2 habits…”… imagine them turning that last page, closing the cover, and holding it close to their hearts. The feeling of accomplishment! The feeling of a glossy, thick spine! The feeling of… uh… accomplishment!

Sure, they’ve just been told they’re a loser, that they’ll never amount to anything, that their only contribution to society will be dying so the city can hire someone to bury them so unemployment rates will decrease… sure, they’re highly ineffective people, but at least they’re highly ineffective people who can finish a book!

ps- I'm H.E.P. A! (gives thumbs up!)

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

The Almost Algorithm

Basketball season is upon us. (Almost.) How can I tell, you ask? It could be the amazing autumn colors dotting the trees. It could be the cool, brisk air that welcomes my face in the morning. It could be that football season if half over (almost) and that baseball is in the middle of the playoffs. … Or it could be that I’m injured again. I broke my ankle. (Almost.)

I’ve always considered myself as resilient. I’m the kind of guy that bounces back. (I would have to say that’s a very literal statement. And I should also say that it hurts a lot more to bounce on concrete then on grass. Just an FYI for anyone now thinking about trying to calculate your body’s impact-to-bounce ratio.) Sometimes it just takes a little bit longer to bounce back, to recoup, to return to form. (I really think it’s a 1:1 ratio, unless you’re a little portlier… then it might be one impact to two bounces, or 1:2. Hey, my interest is peaked.)

So as I’ve been sitting here icing my overly swollen, extremely discolored, and nearly unrecognizable stump of a leg, (seriously, it’s HUGE) I’ve been trying to figure out the last time I was injured. Surprisingly… it’s been a long time.

Let’s go back to December, 2006. I was playing a little pick-up ball in Rexburg, Idaho. I was dominating in every aspect of the game (of course) and was really shooting the lights out. The kid who was guarding me decided he should try and keep me from shooting by playing really tight D. Mistake. He didn’t know how quick I was…. Yet. He stepped towards me and I immediately knew what he was doing. I faked left, and drove right. I now had space between me and him, but I saw his teammate coming over from the weakside. I stopped and pivoted, looking for the open man. Mistake. I didn’t know how slow (to stop) my defender was…. Yet.

The following happened in about .000001 seconds (aka a flash): To my horror he was still lumbering towards me. I don’t think he had his eyes open. If he did, I don’t think he had his glasses on. If he did, I don’t think they were the right prescription. If they were, I don’t think he had a brain. He was running full speed with his head down, eyes to the floor. Like a bull after a torero, or Zidane after the Italians. Crunch, blur, collapse, blood.

It was kinda like this: (this is why Steve Nash is FANTASTIC!)





When I finally wiped the tears from my eyes (c’mon! everyone knows if you get hit in the nose your eyes fill with liquid… and when you get dumped by your girlfriend… and when you put your contacts in… and when you watch Brother Bear… right?) all I could see was a pool of blood. If blood banks could take all the blood that’s ever come from my nose, they would save an entire nation (like France… hmmm).

It was broken. I had surgery. It got better. I did snot.

That was the last time I was injured… okay that’s a lie. Summer of 2007. I was playing some pick-up ball in Cheyenne, Wyoming. I was dominating in every aspect… (did you notice a pattern here? Also, did you notice my snot joke? Just making sure…) Anyways, I’ll just show you exactly what I did (Almost). Watch the big white guy. (In my story, the roles were reversed: I had the ball going for the layup, which I made, and the little guy in black was on defense.)





I, of course, walked out of the gym by myself, on my own two legs. Apparently my knees aren’t worth $19.7 million dollars a year like Dirk Nowitzki’s. But after two weeks of being immobilized and a brief stint at rehab, I was back to my regular, old self.

And I’ve been injury free since. (Well, almost.)

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Barttimesnow Topic-Contest Winner!

The official results are in! We, here at Barttimesnow, would like to thank the millions of participants from all over the world! We have spent countless hours opening fan mail and reading through your entries. Because of your tireless enthusiasm and innumerable entries, we have spent far too many hours deciding on a winner. (AKA I lost my job and have been banned from any and all Foot Locker retail stores. I guess that’s a different story… a story that may or may not be told.)

We put all the entries in a hat –but because there were millions and millions of entries. and only so many can fit in my Florida Marlins baseball cap, we put as many as could fit in the cap and picked one. We then repeated this process over and over and over again, until we picked enough ‘winners’ to fill the cap one last time. We then pulled the final winning entry from the cap…. And we then drew one more time because we didn’t like the idea of writing about how ‘Obama deserves the Nobel Peace Prize’. (Really people? I said ‘interesting’ and ‘fun’ ideas… not to mention ideas that can be legitimately argued...) But we are proud to announce that after many reshuffles and a few scratched entries, we have chosen a winner.

And the winner is…ahem, drumroll please. … The winner is… now, where did that piece of paper go… I know it’s around here somewhere. … hang on, I’ll be right back… Hey, Dan! Have you seen that paper… that paper I was writing on… yes, I know how to write… yes, that also means I know how to read… I don’t know, probably like two days ago… it looked like a piece of paper, with writing on it… what do you mean ‘was it well written’?!... I’d say my penmanship nearly matches my grammatical schematics… yeah, I don’t know where that drumming is coming from… do you know where that paper is or not?... no, I do NOT need a Kleenex, thank you very much!… …

Sorry about that. Found it. The winner is:... Oh that's terrible. I demand a recount.

Ball Jury In Basket

Hey Garlan... are you still using those crutches? If you're not, I'd love to borrow them... I mean... ahem... I have a friend of a friend who needs them. He... um... hurt his leg in the first ever X-games extreme bareback horse riding competition. I guess that's what happens when you try to be the Travis Pastrana of bareback and land the first back flip... on horseback. (What's amazing is he actually got the horse all the way around... he just kinda slipped through the stirrup on the landing...)

At least he was trying something cool... unlike you. Please read about Garlan here. I just have a few points to make. 1) You can't take anyone off the dribble. You're too slow and don't have any handles (besides the kind that begin with 'love'). 2) You can't jump. Especially off one foot. You're white... and trash. You're white trash. Please read more about Garlan here.

Naw, I'm just kidding about the white part...

Anyways... about those crutches. I think... I mean, my friend of a friend thinks he may need them soon. He's in a lot of pain and really shouldn't be putting any weight on it. Especially because he didn't do the exact same thing that you did to your ankle. That would be ridiculous of him. And definitley not smart... and mostly, extremely ironic. Especially because I texted you about it an hour before I hurt... I mean, my friend of a friend hurt himself.

So it's been about ten hours since I... he did it... should he still be nauseated? In extreme pain?... ...Crying?... Just wonderin'. ... Yeah so let me/us/him know... Thanks.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Heeeeeeelp!

Okay people. I'm trying to win a contest. It's a writing contest, if you must know. I've never won anything in my life, but with your help, I just might. For all of you who are Facebook users...

1) add this app http://apps.facebook.com/flavorcreator/
2) click 'vote for bottle'
3) type 'bart' in the search finder
4) then vote for my bottle!!

Just vote once a day until the 20th of October. (You KNOW you get on facebook once a day!) Thanks you're all great!

ps-We're still accepting entries for the Barttimesnow contest that could win you something 'awesome'. For details, see the previous post.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

The Contest You DON'T Want to Win

I'm starting a friendly competition, and currently, I'm winning. Whoever can give me the best topic to write about wins an awesome prize. (Remember: my definition of 'awesome' and your definition of 'awesome' might be completely different.) No but really... let me know if you have anything that you'd like to see me tackle. (Figuratively, of course. I really don't want to pop another rib out of place.) Just comment with your idea on this post and you've entered the contest! There I go... just winning myself to the top.

Remember winning is everything, unless losing gets you ice cream.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

It's a Doggone World

The other day I was driving on the interstate. My vocal replications of Band of Horses were oddly interrupted by a Bichon Frise… with goggles… on the back of a Harley. It might have looked something, but not necessarily, like this:


I chuckled to myself as I passed this casual canine, but have since more seriously pondered what I saw. Goggles… on a dog…?

Where did this fad come from? Do you remember any of these famous K-9s wearing goggles?


Anyone who is a dog owner, or friend of a dog owner, (or, quite honestly, anyone who has petted, has chased, has been chased by, has been barked at by, or has even seen a dog) knows that dogs love the wind in their faces. It’s common knowledge. Just like the fact that pigs have wings and shaving makes your beard grow in thicker.

And what dogs love, even more than wind, is even more wind. I’m sure you’ve noticed drivers with their windows cracked. At first glance you might think ‘smoker’. (That's very stereotypical of you.) But I ask you to glance again… to re-glance, if you will. And I will.

First, you’ll notice that it’s the back windows that are cracked, not the front. Red flag. Second, you’ll notice the partial face of a dog sticking out. Really red flag. Third, if you drive directly behind them, you will be able to wash your windshield without using any of your windshield wiper fluid. White flag. (If you actually do this, you should probably throw in the towel of life.)

But have you noticed, the more they roll down the window, the more dog-head you see? And don’t get me started on dogs in the back of trucks! They go as fast as they can from one side to the other: “What does it smell like over here? Oh, almost the same as… over here! Except this one’s a little different. Smells like orange color. ...And this side smells like burnt orange!” (Yes, dogs smell colors.) I don’t know if it’s the smells, the sights, or just the feeling that they’re flying, but dogs love high powered wind.

I didn’t see Toto running from any tornadoes. No sir/ma’am. Toto was barking like a lunatic, facing that twister head-on, ready for the ride of his life… and what did Dorothy do? Took him to a automobile-less land of midgets and flying monkeys. Typical girl move. (Yes, monkeys have wings too.) I’m sure Toto’s flying monkey ride was the thrill of the trip, but I’m also sure that a tornado ride would have blown that monkey ride… away. (Wow, that works on so many levels.)
_
I'm also going to take this time to blame Dorothy for the ridiculous notion that 'high-culture' girls need to carry little dogs in their purses/bags. (Yes, this is Dorothy's fault.)



I hope Toto ruined the picnic, (if you know what I mean), and if you put your dog in your purse, I hope your dog ruins your 'picnic' too.

So I guess what I’m trying to say is: Don’t put goggles on your Bichon Frise. (Unless you want to protect their eyes from harmful UV rays. If you want to do that… buy doggles!)

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Your Wildest (Story) Can Come True!

The other day I saw this video on Sportscenter: Shaq vs Phelps! This got me really excited because I wrote about a potential Shaq/Phelps matchup last year. After I saw this...




Read what I wrote about it here: The Black Michael Phelps

And they did it! Produced by the one and only... Steve Nash!! (do you think he read my blog??? What if he's reading... right NOW!? Hey, Steve. Uh... I have your shoes...? )

Watch the full episode of Shaq vs Phelps here! http://abc.go.com/watch/shaq-vs/230338/234595/season-finale

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

10 Things to Remember When Flying

1. Never fall asleep before you get your complimentary beverage. It’s free. And it’s cranberry apple juice. ‘Nuff said.

2. Always ask for 'no ice' in your complimentary beverage. Someone once said that 'less is more', (before today I would say that they were completely ridiculous and a raving lunatic, because less is definitely less, not more… but in this case they are absolutely right.) Less ice means more delectable cranberry apple juice. They store the drinks in a cooler anyways, so you don't even need ice.

3. Always ask for a second complimentary beverage. Especially if your flying buddy declines the opportunity to taste the nectar of the gods (cranberry apple). Cranapple squared equals heaven. Plus it’s free. So I believe the correct equation is: cranapple squared plus free equals heaven times infinity cubed. (Not ice cubed, just numerically cubed.)

4. Always take headphones. I mean, you could use the ones you just found wedged between the two seats in front of you. (I'm sure the prewaxed earbuds would slide quite comfortably into your ear canals. PS- Do you think mixing ear wax is a bad thing? What if it's like mixing blood? I guess they don't call them hearing AIDS for nothing.) But having your own pair is a much needed commodity when there are two screaming infants in the seat directly behind you.

5. Don't take screaming infants. Especially if they're teething. The only thing worse than an extremely frightened baby is an extremely frightened, teething baby on an airplane. Combine that with loud engines, turbulence, and a dark, drafty cabin and you're gonna get a baby that screams at the top of its lungs for 3 straight hours. I didn't think it was possible. I now know it is.

6. Don't sit in front of screaming infants. Especially if you don't have headphones. (Please refer to items 4 and 5.) It also helps to note that the child will continue to scream no matter how many times you look back in concern/annoyance/disgust.

(I'm still audibly laughing at my hearing AIDS comment, I hope you are too.)

7. Be the first to use the lavatory. There are a lot of reasons why… I’ll just say this: a cool seat is much nicer than a warm one.

8. Don’t talk to acquaintances. A college buddy, a former work associate, a new acquaintance… I hate to tell you this but they just might not remember you. Even though you met them yesterday… at a family gathering.

9. Don't talk to strangers. Now this could be a little harder for some of you who are little Chatty Cathys and can't go 5 minutes without saying something. But flying is the perfect time to practice being quiet. Read, pretend you can read, sleep, pretend to sleep, jam out to tunes. Just don't talk to anyone. Hopefully this example will illustrate what I mean. Upon arrival at your assigned gate, you glance around at the other passengers and try to guess which one will be your traveling partner. The nicely dressed, older man (with glasses) a few feet away does the same thing. You make eye contact, and you nod with a closed smile as a sign of acknowledgement. After responding to a few text messages and checking the scores on ESPN MVP, you once again glance up and notice him looking at you. You notice this happens a few more times and shrug it off as a sign that he thinks he recognizes you from somewhere.

You courteously say 'Hello.' as you pass him to board the plane. But once again, you feel a little odd when he ends up sitting in one of the seats across the aisle. Although you make no attempt to mimic his actions, you feel him looking at you throughout the duration of the flight. 'I'm not the one with the screaming baby,' you seem to think.

You've finally made it off the plane, through the baggage claim, and onto the shuttle which will take you to the Economy Parking Lot. The bus is packed and letting this family of three off at their stop will require careful manuvering. You shuffle a few suitcases and rearrange a few bodies. You set your bag down again and look up. Once again, you make eye contact with the man with glasses, and you smile a closed smile while you nod in acknowledgement.... and you get off the shuttle even though your car is at the other end of the lot.

10. Always, always, ALWAYS take headphones. You don’t even need an ipod or an mp3 player… just take the headphones and pretend. Trust me.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

The Clubhouse

In the early days of man, relationships were easy. There were no complicated dialogues of dreams/goals/ambitions, there were no matching of personalities/interests/indifferences. There were no mind games, there were no arguments, and there was no drama. Take this couple for example:

A long, long time ago, there was a man named Trog. He was a well respected and admired man. He was a caveman by blood, but his hut-making skills rapidly placed him among the more advanced of his kind. You could say he was a member of the Elite… he lived in a hut. Trog always minded his ‘Slag’s and ‘Norg’s, and always gnawed all the meat off his bone.

Also among his people lived a ‘beautiful’ young woman named Goldenhare. She always dressed in the finest, gold rabbits fur (before they became extinct, of course) and always accessorized with the latest small, rodent-bone fashions. Many say she got the name Goldenhare because of her long, flowing blonde hair. But that wasn’t the case at all. Not only did she not have blonde hair, but it didn’t flow either. In fact, she had tangled, ratty, brown hair and she was just about as average a girl as there was in the village. I’m sure someone once new why she was named Goldenhare… but I’m also sure that that person died long, long ago.

One day, Trog approached Goldenhare.

“My name Trog.”

“My name Goldenhare.”

Then Trog, because he was one of the more gentlemanly cavemen, said,

“Me want you.”

And with a swift swing of his club (because he was still a caveman, whether gentlemanly or not) he hit Goldenhare on the head, knocking her unconscious. She ‘gracefully’ fell to the ground with a ‘Thud!’. And Trog grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to his hut.

And I’m pretty sure they lived happily ever after. (I definitely didn’t hear any Trog-Goldenhare drama from the tablet-bloids or the local watering hole.)

Now, thousands of years later, getting hitched isn’t that easy. I think clubbing a girl would get me battery, assault with a deadly weapon, kidnapping, and various other charges that would result in a hefty jail sentence. Not to mention a hefty jail roommate with ‘hefty’ jail experience.

That being said, lets take a look at how it works today.

A strapling young man named Robret meets a beautiful, aspiring artist named Nicolette (both names have been changed to protect their identity). They seem to hit it off and Robret decides he likes this girl.

“Would you like to go out with me?” he asks.

“You can buy me dinner,” she replies.

After the exchanging of phone numbers, IT has officially begun.

Robret texts her just to chip off a little more of the ice. He calls… no answer. He leaves her a voicemail and sends her an e-mail, but not before posting on her Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter accounts. He texts her again…

“Lets hike- Sat @ 8.”

“Is dinner included?” she responds.

“Uh… brkfst?”

For the next several months this pattern continues: text, call, dinner, call, canoeing, dinner and a movie, call, text, text, picnic lunch, call, dancing, dinner, dinner, dinner, text, dinner, text.

The next thing he knows, he’s sitting across the table from her parents in a fancy, 6-star restaurant blabbing about his 5 stroke handicap (golf) and his 4 hour tug-o-war with 3 marlins off the Florida Keys.

Two minutes later, Robret passes the test and gains the approval of 1 typically un-approving father.

On the way home Robret decides it’s time.

"Will you marry me?" he asks.

"No," she responds without hesitation.

"What if I give you this huge, sparkling rock?" as he pulls a red felted box from his pocket.

"Maybe..."

"It's expensive."

"Ok.” Nicolette finally concedes. “But you have to take me to a fancy restaurant and buy me a shiny accessory every year until I die.”

It's amazing what jewelry will do to a girl... it’s amazing what dinner will do to a girl.

And so, as a congratulatory gesture to the recent engagement of Bret and Niki, (I mean, Robret and Nicollette) I say: Atta boy, Bret. Way to club a good one.