Fat Guy In A Little Beard.

Posting these pictures to make you other scruffy-looking nerf herders feel better about your playoff beards. There is no way any of the rest of you have anything worse than this mess. You should not be able to play connect the dots on a beard that is two weeks old. Do they sell Rogaine for faces? Yet, I embrace the challenge and vow to forge on. It's actually been fun to watch people shake their heads as I explain the art of the playoff beard and our particular challenge.

Speaking of the playoffs, who the hell do I root for in the Sabres-Rangers series? Rangers-long time Patrick Division rivals, Jagirl, annoying goal celebration song. Sabres- newer rival,Briere, "concept art" logo, Lindy Ruff. What a dick that Ruff is. Still angry about a late penalty that his team had to kill off, Ruff threw stuff and yelled at the officials after the game was over. Your team just went up 2-0, let it go.

A New Day.

I neither possess, nor desire to possess, a green thumb. My landscaping consists of the bare minimum of mowing and trimming the weeds. I once proposed that we pave the entire backyard. For some reason Amanda didn't think that was a good idea. Even after I told her we could paint it green. In the past, the lawn care gods have frowned upon my obvious lack of enthusiasm by making life difficult. But today they have turned their frowns upside down, easing my memories of clogged filters, unruly chokes and murky oil/fuel mix ratios.

Today, I plucked my lawnmower from winter hibernation for the first mowing of the year. We had a short talk about making this year better than last and to my surprise I think it listened. With but one pull of the cord the engine sparked to life with a bloodthirsty roar, eager to strike down millions of hapless blades of grass. We conquered the unruly lawn in record time with nary a sputter. However, like a ballplayer who hits three homers on Opening Day, I know it's a long season. There will be ups and downs, broken strings and clogged chutes, but for one day I am pleased. For today, my grass is freshly shorn and my lawnmower and I share a tenuous truce.

Razor Held Hostage Day 7:

So I have entered into this deal with Killer and Roberto to not shave our "playoff" beards until someone hoists the Stanley Cup in mid-June. I last shaved on Friday the 13th, appropriate because my fledgling beard is horrific looking. Clearly, I have missed the genetic boat-my dad could grow in seven minutes what I have grown in seven days. At this point I am more Wednesday Addams than Grizzly Adams. I have unwisely started an unnecessary beard with no definitive timetable for shaving. I am the Neocons of facial hair policy. And like my stubborn president I will not be Pelosi'd into shaving too soon.

I think we can stipulate that I am not vain. My crew cut and uniform of a t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops proves that fact. I am, however, worried about this look I'm trying to cultivate. Although, my scruff does complement my double chin and the purple circles under my eyes. I call it "convenience store clerk chic". Please say a little prayer to Chuck Norris, Patron Saint of Facial Hair so that my beard fills in and looks halfway respectable. Stay tuned, Photo to follow soon.

Hello.....Is Anybody Still Out There?

So I haven't posted in a while, laying out for a bit while real life has taken center stage. My grandfather's passing and a large work project have been the more pressing business that has made blogging secondary. I've missed some good topics-baseball's Opening Day, the start of the NHL playoffs, the Imus mess, even Killer's half-hearted attempt to grow a playoff beard. (My beard, while disastrous, is still underway.) I have some stuff on my mind to speak about; I'll get back to speed soon.

You Had Me At Red, White And Blue.

This may be old news, but I first read it in today's Washington Post: The Caps will be returning to red, white and blue uniforms starting next season. Reebok was in town fitting players for unis yesterday. As far as I can tell no logo or scheme has been announced. Although they weren't as ugly as I feared, the Reebok all-star uniforms didn't do it for me. If it gets us some stars and stripes back, however, I can put up with the Jersey of the Future.

Simon Says: Try To Behead Opponent

I waited to post about Chris Simon's classless slash until the NHL handed down its punishment. A twenty-five game suspension may be the biggest ever delivered, but I think it is still too small. This is Simon's sixth career suspension so there is certainly a pattern here. The blow he delivered to Hollweg's mush would have been prosecution-worthy had it happened on a street corner. (This does not mean, however, that I think Simon should be charged criminally for his on-ice action as has been suggested by some.) I find it laughable that the NHL weighed the extent of Hollweg's injuries during its decision making. Hollweg (and Simon) was lucky that the blow caught mostly chin, not throat or eyes and nose. Intent, not the severity of resulting injury, should be the determining factor. Sit Simon down for an entire season if you really want to send the correct message, which is that there is no place in the game for using your stick in such a manner. It shows a total lack of respect for your opponent and the game of hockey. Then I heard this tidbit on Sportscenter this morning (though I have not seen the actual quote so maybe what Simon actually said isn't this bad)- Simon said he was concussed (by Hollweg's hit) in the moments preceding his stick swinging and didn't really know what he was doing when he cracked Hollweg in the face. Whatever.

BUT...
My feelings on this issue make me feel like a hypocrite for two reasons. First, like almost everyone who has played hockey on any level, I have lashed out in anger or frustration at an opponent. I have never whacked anybody severely with my stick, but I do understand that moment when you fly hot about a hit or dirty play.

Secondly, I have always felt that fighting has a positive role in NHL hockey. I don't condone fighting for the sake of fighting, but I have long believed that is better to have players police themselves with fists so that dangerous stick infractions don't occur. Then a lunkhead like Simon goes and crosses that threshold of respect for an opponent. The original hit on Simon may have been dirty, but he cannot respond in the way he did. If Simon wanted to fight Hollweg, fine. Anything more than dropping the gloves is unacceptable.

Misc.

Things I was thinking about while printing up my "Free Scooter" T-shirts...

Marvel Comics, in a not-so-subtle metaphor for today's USA, killed off Captain America. The hero who battled the Nazi's and even Watergate era corruption was killed as he headed to court to testify against diminshed civil liberties. Let's hope that, like many popular comic characters that have preceded him into death, Captain America and our civil liberties will soon be reborn.

I'm okay with the right to bear arms, but do NJ residents really have to fight the proposed ban on .50 caliber rifles? Oh, wait, I guess there are times when I just have to nail an elk from 1.5 miles away. My mistake.

The big boys of the credit card industry were grilled on Capitol Hill today for charging excessive fees and penalties. Whatever happened to people taking personal responsibilty for mistakes such as too much debt? Just because lenders will give you that money doesn't mean you have to use it. How about not spending beyond your means.

Even though I think it's a stretch, I'm rooting for the proposed sitcom based on the Geico Cavemen. Bravo to the writers that can make that funny week after week.

And as far Scooter Libby-I don't really think he should go free, but I think he's a bigger fall guy than Lee Majors. Darth Cheney escapes another one.

Context-free Quote of the Week.

"Whenever you've got a story that includes pretty women, cocaine and recreational bisexuality, people want to know more. Don't you?"- Tucker Carlson

Is this man a terrorist?

I discovered a new (to me at least) magazine yesterday. Good is sort of a social commentary mag that had a few interesting articles and profiles. One that particularly grabbed my attention was a profile of Hasan Elahi, an art professor who started tracking and documenting his whereabouts after he was questioned in a 9/11 investigation.

"Since the winter of 2002, Hasan Elahi has documented every urinal he’s used. He’s photographed every plate of noodles he’s eaten. His every movement, in fact, has been tracked through a GPS device in his cell phone and posted online. This is not blog-fuelled solipsism, nor a symptom of obsessive-compulsive disorder. His careful documentation of the mundane details of his life is all part of an ongoing art project called “Tracking Transience: The Orwell Project,” which Elahi developed when he discovered that after 9/11 the FBI had taken a keen interest in his life. "

It is a short, but interesting read. Whether Elahi is truly worried that he must continuously prove his innocence or if he is simply giving the middle finger to the forever haunting Big Brother, his story speaks volumes.

Not Losing ZZZs Over Losing ZZs.

Prior to the NHL trade deadline, the Caps unloaded Richard Zednik and first line center Dainus Zubrus. I think some of the regular Caps bloggers have carried their laptops to the ledges of very tall buildings before posting on these trades. I say, why? I am fine with both of these moves.

Zednik was (again) an injury plagued bust that contributed little this season. Zubrus, while a strong player who helped Ovechkin adjust to America, wanted way too many years on a new contract. He was solid, if unspectacular, in his six years in DC, but probably was out of position as a first line center. He'll likely be a second or third line winger in Buffalo. GMGM apparently tried to sign Zubie to a new deal, saying both player and agent were classy during the talks, yet they just couldn't agree. I'm happy they were able to salvage something instead of letting Zubrus walk away for free in the summer. The something they get back is a first round pick this year and center Jiri Novotny who is five years younger than Zubrus. Novotny likely isn't a huge solution at center, but Nicklas Backstrom should be next year. The Swedish center hopefully arrives next season to give the Caps a young three-headed monster (Ovie, Semin, Backstrom) to rival Pittsburgh's (Crosby, Malkin, Staal). Until then Caps fans may have to endure a last place team. Then again that's nothing new. As Cubs fans remind us annually-There's always next year.

Going, Going, Gone.

I have abandoned Facewash, my "sports blog", because I have done absolutely nothing with it. I was ambitious, starting it when I was unemployed, but now barely seem to have time to write anything on this page. To those that kindly checked in, thanks. Now I am one stop shopping.

Silly Things You Think About While Sitting In Traffic.

Is it possible that vehicles which stop at all railroad crossings (tankers, buses, hazmat transports) are rear-ended more often than they would be struck by trains if they didn't stop at the tracks?

My Love/Hate Relationship With The Female Jesus or The Dueling Dichotomy of Oprah.

Before being labeled a blasphemer, let me point out that I do believe in Jesus; I don't, however, think he is a billionaire TV hostess. Yet, at the top of every show Oprah gets a reaction that might also greet the second coming.

"We've got a special treat for the audience too-daaay. Look under your seats. Everybody gets a bottle of wine that used to be a bottle of WAAATTTER!"

When Oprah walked onto the Ellen show today(yes, I was that bored) the audience wigged out- women with mouths agape, weak kneed, hands over mouths, looking at each other. I'm pretty sure some were weeping. This show, in addition to feeling the Oprah Effect at work, made me think about Oprah's influence and my divided feelings about her. She is sort of a polarizing figure; I suspect there is a firm balance between those that love her and those who are Oprah-weary. My co-workers disparage Queen Oprah and the lemmings that rush in for whichever book she is pushing this month. This brings me to my first point on the Oprah plus/minus scale:

Plus: Most of her book club books are actually good books worthy of praise. But even the bad ones turn to gold when she lays hands on them. What some of my co-workers fail to realize is that this means our numbers grow as her recommendations fly off the shelf. I wish she'd plug a book every week.
Minus: The trancelike state customers in search of her books seem to be in is a little creepy.

Plus:She is a starmaker whose influence and exposure brought us Dr. Phil, Dr. Oz and Bob Greene.
Minus: She brought us Dr. Phil.

Plus: She is an example that proves a poor, black woman can rise from tough circumstances to become incredibly successful (and wealthy).
Minus: She continually bashes us over the head with this info. Her humility is often fleeting; today she referred to herself as "the mother of all talk shows".

Plus: Humble or not, Oprah uses her incredible reach and resources in an attempt to, pardon the cliche, make the world a better place. Her philanthropy extends beyond simply writing checks. Her leadership academy for South African girls seems like the real deal. She also uses her show to illuminate the important work that others (including "regular" people) are doing.
Minus: There really isn't a minus here, her generosity is beyond commendable.

So, I guess I'm no longer on the fence. I figured I'd have a few more minuses. Despite the fact that she's often smug, completely overexposed and kinda annoying, I'm siding with Oprah's screaming, weak kneed, weepy admirers. Just without all the screaming, and weeping. Oh, and it'd be great if we could keep this our little secret.

No Skateboards, Bicycles or Roller Skates. Yeah, right.

I visited an old friend this morning. Wanting to soak up the 50-degree heat wave I went to Fairfeld park to shoot some hoops and test my knee. While it doesn't possess the "glamour" of Parkside's or WiHi's tennis courts, Fairfield hosted plenty of fun roller hockey action. Parkside had better attendance and probably co-owns, along with Gladiator's basement, the title of birthplace of KNK Vending. WiHi scores points for some of the priceless moments enjoyed playing there. I mean a certain shirtless roommate never burnt his nipples off sliding bare chested across Fairfield's court. Rob never drunkenly feared he was having a heart attack at Fairfield. And I can still hear the buzz of St4rbux's Protege as he accelerated through the dark WiHi parking lot.

Fairfield hasn't changed much. There is a new fence for our sticks to get caught in, but the same death-trap posts are there still eager for a high speed collision as we race for the milk crate. (Pleased to be noting in the photo's background the Fairfield softball diamond forever immortalized in a Broken Leg Production tp commercial.) Though I haven't been on in-line skates since my surgery, as I stood in the sunshine I felt the urge to slip on a hockey sock hat and scuff the hell out of that court with stick marks.

Creativity Is Being Smothered, Which Is Okay As Long As It Doesn't Commit Suicide.

The damaging effects of political correctness have been well documented by folks much smarter than me, but I'll throw in my two cents anyway. It is likely that anything said in a public forum will offend someone. Of course, care should be taken to not say or do something awful. Unfortunately, the line of what's acceptable is being blurred by groups who are offended by anything and everything.

The latest examples involve two car commercials that have been pulled because the automakers have been attacked by groups claiming that the commercials are offensive to those dealing with the trauma of suicide. (I suppose they mean the suffering of those around people who have committed suicide since, obviously, those who have committed the act no longer have earthbound concerns. Was that insensitive? Please don't boycott my blog now. )

One of the commercials (for GM, I think) shows an obsolete car-manufacturing robot jumping off a bridge. Volkswagen also aired one where a man contemplating suicide backs off the ledge upon learning that Volkswagen offers three cars under $17,000. Neither commercial is particularly funny or clever, or even that memorable. Nor is either one offensive in my mind. I hardly think GM or Volkswagen is encouraging suicide or minimizing the tragic impact it can have. They are just throwaway commercials and it pains me to see companies bullied by small advocacy groups. Being funny (or in the case of these commercials, attempting to be funny) is being squeezed into an increasingly smaller box by those who are afraid to laugh.

A Rude Awakening.

Tonight I accompanied my cub reporter wife (she's now writing for SU's student paper) to an on-campus function celebrating the Chinese New Year. The food was tasty enough considering it was prepared cafeteria-style in the dining hall and the Chinese musicians and dancers were entertaining; certainly enough info for Amanda's feature story. The real scoop, however, is that apparently SU now admits 15-year-olds. The dining hall was filled with tons of youngsters, surely these kids aren't college age.

What? Oh, those kids are all 18-22? No way, I didn't look that young when I was there. So, the university doesn't teach seventh graders? Well, if those little tykes are all college kids, then that makes me...OLD.

Seriously, I felt a hundred years old walking around campus. I'm now ten to fifteen years older than college students. When the hell did this happen? Sure, my knees are creaky and I'm going a little gray, but I don't feel ten to fifteen years older than those kids. While I know that I physically look that much older I guess in a lot of ways I don't see myself that way. Now, that's not to say I desire to hit a frat party and pull a few keg stands, but I would like to glance at a pretty co-ed without feeling like a dirty old man.

I also work with a bunch of young people; I'm amazed sometimes at the different perspectives and frames of reference that they possess. Leading up to the Super Bowl, our cafe sold cookies in the shape of "little, tiny footballs". I cracked wise about the cookies Ray Finkle's mom made in Ace Ventura and was met with blank stares. One girl said she had never seen the movie, but asked me to explain the reference so she wouldn't be out of the loop. I told her not to worry- that loop was a dozen years old and she wasn't missing much. I then adjusted my bifocals, hobbled over to my Rascal and motored off to the music department to tell the kid over there that he was playing that dang rock-n-roll music too loud.

What They Left Out of the Brochure.

COME TO SPACE CAMP 2007 AND TRAIN LIKE YOUR ASTRONAUT HEROES!

Learn incredibly important life skills such as:

Driving fast enough to beat a commercial flight from Houston to Orlando.

Knowing what items (pepper spray!, a mallet!, rubber tubing?) you'll need to subdue and kidnap a romantic rival!

Constructing disguises so you won't be recognized by co-workers.

Gotta go? No problem, put on an adult diaper and soil yourself all the way to Florida.

Disclaimer: One thing you won't learn-How crazy is too crazy.

Call 1-800-NASA-NUT to sign up today.

Casualties of War

Last night I caught part of CNN's special about doctors and nurses working in military hospitals in Iraq. They may not be on the front lines(though I'm not even sure what that means in this war), but they are damn close. This was no MASH episode with docs making martinis in a homemade still. These were real life doctors and nurses doing their best to heal devastating physical and psychological wounds. You could sense their excitement at saving a fellow soldier and see their crushing anguish when they failed to do the same for an innocent Iraqi girl. They worked with the same fervor whether the patient was American or Iraqi, child or insurgent. One surgeon remarked -and I'm paraphrasing- how great it was that they were present to heal a young Iraqi girl, but that maybe them being there in the first place put this girl in danger. I have many conflicted feelings about this war and I understand war, even when justified, is a brutal, awful series of events. However, I don't see how anyone who saw these victims-one commanding officer was commended for picking up all the pieces of his wounded soldier-could be eager to send anyone off to battle.

Flashback to Discovery Zone

So who else spent their Friday workday cleaning up three separate puddles of vomit? Oh, am I the only one who had such good fortune? Being the manager on duty has certain perks; this wasn't one of them. Once the rest of the staff informed me that if they had to clean it up there would be even more puddles, I grabbed the plastic gloves and dove in. The real bitch of it was that the first puddle was ten paces inside the front door. The puking perpertrator then apparently (I say apparently because we never figured out who did it) decided that instead of turning around and running outside they would cross the entire store in an attempt to reach the bathroom. Hence puddles two and three.

After sopping up the wet stuff there remained some, not to be gross(Oh, who am I kidding of course I'm trying to be gross.) chunks that required further attention. We all had a good laugh as I strapped on the jetpack-looking backpack vac and finished the job. One guy remarked that I looked like a Ghostbuster. I then brought the house down by quoting the incomparable Ray Parker Jr and telling everyone that indeed "Bustin' makes me feel good." Digital pictures were taken of me in my Ghostbuster garb; if they still exist I'll try to get them posted here. Now I'm off to wash my hands for the hundredth time in the last two days.

Smokin'

One of the few benefits of my less than ideal new retail work schedule is that I can watch weekday movie matinees in peace. Today, Amanda and I watched Smokin' Aces. Okay, I'll wait for you to stop your chuckling. Are you done? Seriously, this was a pretty good flick. That is, if you like your escapist entertainment full of fun, gratuitous violence. The only thing bigger than this movie's cast was the body count. In the same vein as Pulp Fiction (but not nearly as strong as that classic), Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch, this story shows the calamitous results that occur when twisting storylines and offbeat characters intersect.

Ryan Reynolds buries Van Wilder and Two Guys, A Girl and A Pizza Place with a strong performance as a federal agent. I enjoyed Ray Liotta and Ben Affleck because they came in small doses which is about all I can stand of those two. Throw in the beautiful Alicia Keys as a fishnet stocking-clad contract killer and a host of other sorta stars and familiar faces and you've got quite an eclectic cast. While there will assuredly be no Oscar nominations for this pic, it is worth two hours on a rainy day. Enjoy.