When does a blister become a boil? This has become an essential question for me over the past month as I've returned to an exercise regimen in order to restart my stalled Weight Watchers momentum. Previous to my current streak of physical activity, I have yet to go longer than a week before inconvenience and a lack of motivation left me with a gym membership that saw less action than a Star Trek conventioneer. Once in a while I'd venture into a weight room and confirm that the bench press operates just as it did in my glory days (although, judging by the diminishing number of plates I could handle in my post-college years, I'd say that gravity has increased substantially since high school).
But today, I'm thrilled to say I've crossed that essential one-month exercise plateau and I'm currently in the best shape I've been in since an Alleman lineman turned my kidney into pudding. Still, it hasn't been easy, maintaining my enthusiasm for the blood, sweat, and tears that come with the FDA recommended physical activity. I'm being tested. Even as I've found a routine I can stick to, my body has introduced me to a number of new degenerative tics that have added a new, aggravating dimension to my workouts.
The first, and most peculiar malady involves an abundance of blood accumulating in my hands. Apparently, when I spend an extended period of time on a treadmill without concerning myself with those extra calories I could burn with the mall-walk shadow-boxing, my hands swell up like the Incredible Hulk. It's not anything I'm concerned about, but it's an unusual sensation to make a fist and wonder whether your palm fat is going to spring a leak.
On the other hand, I am a little concerned with the epic battle of wills I'm currently fighting with my feet. Now, I expected blisters might become an issue when I started spending an hour on the treadmill five days a week -- its only natural -- but their precise nature and veracity I could never have predicted.
When one thinks of blisters, where does one usually envision them appearing? Back of the heel? Sure. The sides of the feet? Absolutely. Even the bottom of the heel I can understand. But how does a blister arise on the inside of my big toe? I never expected to develop blisters in such a remote area of my foot, shielded, as it is, from the main pediatric irritants of the shoe. But apparently there's some animosity between Big Toe and Pointer Toe, and Pointer spends the majority of my sixty minute workout bitch-slapping Mr. Big all around my New Balances. So, I'm now dealing with two dime size blisters in an area I've discovered is highly prone to toe-on-toe violence. The blisters have also exposed a new wrinkle in my biology; apparently blisters can double-up. I have blisters bubbling up through previous blisters; the inside of my big toe is beginning to look like bubble wrap.
I think it's a testament to my determination that I can look at the deterioration of my primary Piggies and still get myself to the gym every afternoon. Of course, there is a line where Band-Aid isn't going to provide sufficient reinforcement against the constant bombardment from Pointer Toe, and I'm close to crossing it. I suspect I'm three or four days away from complete mummification. But until that time comes when I'm weighing the pros and cons of amputation, I will not be deterred in my renewed quest for physical fitness.
Vanity is such a splendid motivator.
Sunday, April 30, 2006
Friday, April 28, 2006
My Brother Just Murdered My Ego
So, thanks to an enormous MySpace cult at KWQC, I decided I would jump on the bandwagon. As of this afternoon, I had three friends: Jules from work, the MySpace Guy, and Pam from The Office. So, the co-worker, the friend-whore on everybody's list, and a fictional character from a TV sitcom. That's just sad. I looked to alleviate my measely inner circle by leeching off a young man whose social adventures are that of legend: my brother. So, I punched in his e-mail address and hunted him down.
At first I was quite delighted to find that Andrew's profile picture was the now legendary "Pelican Picture" shot by yours truly. But then I scrolled down to his friend window.
You see... it's not just the number. I mean it is. The number's ridiculous. 134. Not counting my pending friendship (approve me ass). But it's also the... well... it should come as now surprise...
Beautiful
Women
Everywhere
Quantity AND quality.
Now, I knew my brother was friends with a lot of attractive girls. We had quite the harem about the homestead on Thanksgiving weekend before he left. Much as I can appreciate the charms of the "old-schoolers" who've been regulars at the Rockwell home since high school -- the Briannes and the Mels and the Lindsays -- never could I have imagined the magnitude of my brother's magnetism. It's truly a national phenomenon, reaching far beyond the tiny burg of the QC.
I don't want to give people the wrong impression. My brother is truly tired of the lothario label that was stamped on his forehead in his younger days, and he will probably try to kill me (with his bare hands (because he can)) for publicizing my reaction. So let me be clear; I'm not impressed by his friend list in some sort of frat brother, bedpost-notching, drunk high-five sort of way. I'm impressed because I've dated five people in my life and none of them speak to me anymore (ok one would like to, but she's crazy). My brother's dated... many more than that... and I wouldn't be surprised if every one of them is on that list! And all of them still have a genuine love for him.
Hmm. When I look at it that way, it's hard to be jealous. The more love sent his way, the better.
Let me see what I can do to boost that number.
At first I was quite delighted to find that Andrew's profile picture was the now legendary "Pelican Picture" shot by yours truly. But then I scrolled down to his friend window.
You see... it's not just the number. I mean it is. The number's ridiculous. 134. Not counting my pending friendship (approve me ass). But it's also the... well... it should come as now surprise...
Beautiful
Women
Everywhere
Quantity AND quality.
Now, I knew my brother was friends with a lot of attractive girls. We had quite the harem about the homestead on Thanksgiving weekend before he left. Much as I can appreciate the charms of the "old-schoolers" who've been regulars at the Rockwell home since high school -- the Briannes and the Mels and the Lindsays -- never could I have imagined the magnitude of my brother's magnetism. It's truly a national phenomenon, reaching far beyond the tiny burg of the QC.
I don't want to give people the wrong impression. My brother is truly tired of the lothario label that was stamped on his forehead in his younger days, and he will probably try to kill me (with his bare hands (because he can)) for publicizing my reaction. So let me be clear; I'm not impressed by his friend list in some sort of frat brother, bedpost-notching, drunk high-five sort of way. I'm impressed because I've dated five people in my life and none of them speak to me anymore (ok one would like to, but she's crazy). My brother's dated... many more than that... and I wouldn't be surprised if every one of them is on that list! And all of them still have a genuine love for him.
Hmm. When I look at it that way, it's hard to be jealous. The more love sent his way, the better.
Let me see what I can do to boost that number.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Baseball With Nobody To Call
I cannot properly convey the tremendous uplift I get each spring with the return of the baseball season. Since I retired from sleds and snowball fights, the winter months have been particularly difficult to manage. I get by with new episodes of my favorite television shows and football on Sundays, but there are some days when there’s just nothing interesting going on. All of that changes on opening day, when I no longer have to scour my schedule with a microscope to find a reason to get up in the morning. If it’s spring or summer, there’s a good chance the Cubs are playing. If they happen to be on an off-day, I just turn my attention to the Cordova Confederacy Fantasy League and the odds are good I’ll have somebody to root for or against. But with each euphoria I relish during these next six months, an unfortunate anti-climax will follow close on its heels.
This Monday’s Cubs game against the Florida Marlins is a perfect example. Carlos Zambrano was his usual mercurial self on the hill, alternating between unpredictable flamethrower and off-speed magician. Though the performance was far from the majesty of a Greg Maddux, Big Z proved unhitable save two home runs. It was the type of performance my brother and I love to talk about. We easily could have spent a half hour on Zambrano’s first at-bat alone, a strike-out he punctuated by snapping his bat in half across his knee. This guy is batshit crazy and a watercooler GOD!
Sadly, for the majority of the 2006 season, the Rockwell watercooler diatribes will be tragically infrequent. The full weight of this missing link in my baseball zeitgeist struck me during the Cubs eighth inning rally against the Marlins. Down 3-0, the Marlins opened the door with a number of walks and base hits. Then, with the bases loaded, rising star Matt Murton stroked a liner into center that tied the game.
Any other year, I would have reached for my cell phone and hit speed-dial four: Andrew. We leave dozens, if not hundreds of messages for each other over the course of a baseball season. Brevity is the rule:
“Maddux, baby!”
“Big Z!”
“Murton’s a PIMP!”
Hours or days later, we’d break the voice message cycle and more fully digest the many tagline observations we’d accumulated since our last conversation.
Monday was a night filled with potential euphoric voice messages, but then the blunt reality hit me. I can’t even call my brother. That seems like a realization that would have hit me sooner, but it didn’t. My brother and I only spoke sporadically during the winter months even when he was home. But when baseball starts, we’re locked in a relentless back-and-forth. Only after Jacque Jones followed Matt Murton’s game-tying hit with a three-run blast did it finally strike me that our give-and-take, which is so essential to the baseball experience for me, will be sidelined longer than Prior or Wood.
On the morale roller coaster that has been my brother‘s deployment, I’ve reached a new nadir. Since I’ve started work I’ve shared maybe three or four conversations with my Andrew. I definitely got spoiled by unemployment and our near-daily Instant Message conversations. The big fantasy showdown I was so psyched for ended up on the anti-climactic note. Sure, it ended up being a route -- I beat Andrew 13-5 and threw him into a three-way tie in the cellar -- but my brother still would have had some angle from which to talk shit. He’d call it luck. He’d remind me he still knows more about baseball than I do. Something, anything to add some flavor to our contest. But alas, the week passed with not a word between us. Where’s the fun in that?
So, yes, baseball season is here, and I’m loving every minute of it. But like so many other things in The Longest Year, a very important piece will be missing.
This Monday’s Cubs game against the Florida Marlins is a perfect example. Carlos Zambrano was his usual mercurial self on the hill, alternating between unpredictable flamethrower and off-speed magician. Though the performance was far from the majesty of a Greg Maddux, Big Z proved unhitable save two home runs. It was the type of performance my brother and I love to talk about. We easily could have spent a half hour on Zambrano’s first at-bat alone, a strike-out he punctuated by snapping his bat in half across his knee. This guy is batshit crazy and a watercooler GOD!
Sadly, for the majority of the 2006 season, the Rockwell watercooler diatribes will be tragically infrequent. The full weight of this missing link in my baseball zeitgeist struck me during the Cubs eighth inning rally against the Marlins. Down 3-0, the Marlins opened the door with a number of walks and base hits. Then, with the bases loaded, rising star Matt Murton stroked a liner into center that tied the game.
Any other year, I would have reached for my cell phone and hit speed-dial four: Andrew. We leave dozens, if not hundreds of messages for each other over the course of a baseball season. Brevity is the rule:
“Maddux, baby!”
“Big Z!”
“Murton’s a PIMP!”
Hours or days later, we’d break the voice message cycle and more fully digest the many tagline observations we’d accumulated since our last conversation.
Monday was a night filled with potential euphoric voice messages, but then the blunt reality hit me. I can’t even call my brother. That seems like a realization that would have hit me sooner, but it didn’t. My brother and I only spoke sporadically during the winter months even when he was home. But when baseball starts, we’re locked in a relentless back-and-forth. Only after Jacque Jones followed Matt Murton’s game-tying hit with a three-run blast did it finally strike me that our give-and-take, which is so essential to the baseball experience for me, will be sidelined longer than Prior or Wood.
On the morale roller coaster that has been my brother‘s deployment, I’ve reached a new nadir. Since I’ve started work I’ve shared maybe three or four conversations with my Andrew. I definitely got spoiled by unemployment and our near-daily Instant Message conversations. The big fantasy showdown I was so psyched for ended up on the anti-climactic note. Sure, it ended up being a route -- I beat Andrew 13-5 and threw him into a three-way tie in the cellar -- but my brother still would have had some angle from which to talk shit. He’d call it luck. He’d remind me he still knows more about baseball than I do. Something, anything to add some flavor to our contest. But alas, the week passed with not a word between us. Where’s the fun in that?
So, yes, baseball season is here, and I’m loving every minute of it. But like so many other things in The Longest Year, a very important piece will be missing.
Monday, April 24, 2006
When Death Is Your Reward
This afternoon the jury in the Zacharias Moussaoui trail began deliberation. They will now decide whether the lone man to be charged as a result of 9/11 will either be executed or spend the rest of his life in prison. Now, I understand the natural compulsion to kill a man who played a part in such a tragic day in our country's history, and who shows absolutely no remorse. But seeking eye-for-an-eye retribution in this case will be less punishment for Moussaoui than it will be a reward.
Moussaoui comes from a section of Islam that values martyrdom so highly that scores of young men sacrifice their lives on a weekly basis in a quest for this holy status and its celestial rewards. By executing him, not only are we giving him what he wants, the Americans who continue to suffer because of 9/11 will not find themselves liberated from their grief or anger. Moussaoui has already shown his predilection towards defiant outbursts; expect nothing different on the day of his execution.
Death and martyrdom is the only thing Moussaoui can hope from his life now. He hopes to be remembered, by Al Qaeda and their brethren, as a hero who defied the Great Satan of the United States all the way to the grave. And the great irony is that only the United States, specifically the 12 men and women now considering Moussaui's fate, can grant him his last wish.
I hope the jurists have the ability to put aside thoughts of vengeance and justice, and choose instead to truly punish Moussaoui. Put him in jail for the rest of his life. Don't give him or his cohorts anything to celebrate. Don't let him turn death row into a platform for more of his tired rhetoric. Moussaoui's still a young man. It'll be decades before news of his death will come at the tail end of a nightly news cast, long after he's been forgotten by even the most ardent supporters of Al Qaeda. He'll die quietly, without extravagance or fanfare, and we'll take away the attention that he's used to such great effect during his trial.
We love quick fixes in this country, and I'm sure many are hoping their grief and anguish will die with Moussaoui. Unfortunately, there's no quick fix for the wounds of 9/11. Those who suffer today will suffer, to some degree, for the rest of their lives. I say we should let Moussaoui suffer with us.
Moussaoui comes from a section of Islam that values martyrdom so highly that scores of young men sacrifice their lives on a weekly basis in a quest for this holy status and its celestial rewards. By executing him, not only are we giving him what he wants, the Americans who continue to suffer because of 9/11 will not find themselves liberated from their grief or anger. Moussaoui has already shown his predilection towards defiant outbursts; expect nothing different on the day of his execution.
Death and martyrdom is the only thing Moussaoui can hope from his life now. He hopes to be remembered, by Al Qaeda and their brethren, as a hero who defied the Great Satan of the United States all the way to the grave. And the great irony is that only the United States, specifically the 12 men and women now considering Moussaui's fate, can grant him his last wish.
I hope the jurists have the ability to put aside thoughts of vengeance and justice, and choose instead to truly punish Moussaoui. Put him in jail for the rest of his life. Don't give him or his cohorts anything to celebrate. Don't let him turn death row into a platform for more of his tired rhetoric. Moussaoui's still a young man. It'll be decades before news of his death will come at the tail end of a nightly news cast, long after he's been forgotten by even the most ardent supporters of Al Qaeda. He'll die quietly, without extravagance or fanfare, and we'll take away the attention that he's used to such great effect during his trial.
We love quick fixes in this country, and I'm sure many are hoping their grief and anguish will die with Moussaoui. Unfortunately, there's no quick fix for the wounds of 9/11. Those who suffer today will suffer, to some degree, for the rest of their lives. I say we should let Moussaoui suffer with us.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Wild Night
I first saw the lightning when I walked out of Target. At the time, around eight o'clock, it was far in the distance -- just a handful of flashes every minute or so. I returned home to an empty house; mom was getting her hair done and dad was tending to his booster club. Uninterested in Thursday night's TV offerings, I decided I'd spend some time on the porch -- storm-watching.
Back in my adolescent years I spent a great deal of time watching storms from my front porch. In fact, I commonly took our camcorder with me for those afternoon firecrackers. We probably still have 10-12 video tapes around the house with thunderstorm footage. Well, our video camera has long been retired, but I still had access to my Nikon D70 digital still camera. So, I plucked it out of its case and took a seat on my front steps.
For the next hour, I sat perfectly still against the porch railing, my camera set to rapid-fire, snapping as fast as I could when the clouds flickered. After about an hour of fiddling with shutter speeds and apertures I had gotten fairly good at catching the occasional bright cloud (occasionally good last night meant probably one out of every fifteen shots wasn't completely black). I had been outside for nearly an hour when I heard something I've never heard before.
The town sirens went off. For real. Not a test.
Now, I had spent the afternoon at KWQC and it didn't seem like anything too serious was coming our way in terms of weather. Let alone something so serious that, for the first time in my 26 years in Rock Island, the town sirens would need to be used. This was fairly alarming. I quickly ran inside and turned on the television to see Rock Island county coded in red: Tornado Warning.
I hung out at the kitchen table as the veteran TV6 news team used phrases like "this is classic" and "I've never seen..." Then I saw something on the radar I've never seen before: the color black. Black. What the hell is black? In addition to this rather unpleasant hole in the radar, there was literally a wall of spirals that doppler uses to indicate rotation. And it was all headed our way. I got through three (two and a half) hurricanes in Florida without the slightest hint of a bowel mishap, but I definitely had to clench last night.
From the looks of the radar, I had some time before I had to consider diving into the crawl space. So, I returned to the porch with my camera, assured that things were going to pick up quite a bit. Both of my parents arrived without even noticing their son on the porch with a camera (probably shouldn't make that public knowledge). Not long after my cousin, Amy, came over to brave the storm with us. All in all I spent upwards of two hours shooting. Now 1 for 154 isn't the greatest batting average, but when this is your one hit... no complaints.
Interesting side note: I sent this photo in to my chaps at KWQC and they've made liberal use of it on its broadcasts last night and this morning. However, I didn't get credit for it, despite putting my name in the e-mail. That hurts my feelings a little. So, just remember good people, when you see the above picture on television over the next couple days, you know who shot it.
Back in my adolescent years I spent a great deal of time watching storms from my front porch. In fact, I commonly took our camcorder with me for those afternoon firecrackers. We probably still have 10-12 video tapes around the house with thunderstorm footage. Well, our video camera has long been retired, but I still had access to my Nikon D70 digital still camera. So, I plucked it out of its case and took a seat on my front steps.
For the next hour, I sat perfectly still against the porch railing, my camera set to rapid-fire, snapping as fast as I could when the clouds flickered. After about an hour of fiddling with shutter speeds and apertures I had gotten fairly good at catching the occasional bright cloud (occasionally good last night meant probably one out of every fifteen shots wasn't completely black). I had been outside for nearly an hour when I heard something I've never heard before.
The town sirens went off. For real. Not a test.
Now, I had spent the afternoon at KWQC and it didn't seem like anything too serious was coming our way in terms of weather. Let alone something so serious that, for the first time in my 26 years in Rock Island, the town sirens would need to be used. This was fairly alarming. I quickly ran inside and turned on the television to see Rock Island county coded in red: Tornado Warning.
I hung out at the kitchen table as the veteran TV6 news team used phrases like "this is classic" and "I've never seen..." Then I saw something on the radar I've never seen before: the color black. Black. What the hell is black? In addition to this rather unpleasant hole in the radar, there was literally a wall of spirals that doppler uses to indicate rotation. And it was all headed our way. I got through three (two and a half) hurricanes in Florida without the slightest hint of a bowel mishap, but I definitely had to clench last night.
From the looks of the radar, I had some time before I had to consider diving into the crawl space. So, I returned to the porch with my camera, assured that things were going to pick up quite a bit. Both of my parents arrived without even noticing their son on the porch with a camera (probably shouldn't make that public knowledge). Not long after my cousin, Amy, came over to brave the storm with us. All in all I spent upwards of two hours shooting. Now 1 for 154 isn't the greatest batting average, but when this is your one hit... no complaints.
Interesting side note: I sent this photo in to my chaps at KWQC and they've made liberal use of it on its broadcasts last night and this morning. However, I didn't get credit for it, despite putting my name in the e-mail. That hurts my feelings a little. So, just remember good people, when you see the above picture on television over the next couple days, you know who shot it.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Ten Reasons Life is Really Good Right Now
I struggle to recall a time when my destiny dealt me so many great cards at once. The full magnitude of my recent good fortune struck me as I drove into work with the windows down, sun in my face and wind in my hair, after watching Aramis Ramirez take Bronson Arroyo into the bleachers with the most violent home run hack I think I’ve ever seen.
So this needs documentation. For those days down the line when I feel like nothing can go right – shoe-drop mode, I like to call it – I thought I’d run down the ten reasons my life is really good right now:
1. Paula Sands Live
Just getting the job at KWQC was a godsend, but Paula Sands Live is the best part of my workday. Unlike the newscasts that are rigid and monotonous, this half-hour talk show allows the camera operators to improvise. I’ve found myself competing with the other camera operators to get the most shots on air, and there is no greater motivator for me than competition. Speaking of which…
2. The Cordova Confederacy
In my first week of fantasy baseball I had one pitcher on the DL (Kerry Wood) who I missed the chance to replace in my lineup. On the first day of real baseball I lost another starting pitcher C.C. Sabathia to injury. Now, another pitcher, Eric Gagne, is having a possible season ending surgery on Friday. Needless to say, my first match-up with Brian has been a rout. And I honestly could care less. I was apparently a closeted stat geek all this time, and I have spent the better part of the past two nights scouring the waiver list looking for a solution to my pitching quandary. All of this is in preparation for my Week 3 match-up with Baby Brother. He talks oh-so-much shit.
3. Juan Pierre
As a Cubs fan, I’ve trained myself to look for silver linings. While I could be dwelling on the fact that I have no idea who is in the Cubs rotation besides Z and Maddux, I choose to look for those new elements of this year’s team that could push us the way of success this season. One such element is Juan Pierre. After the three years of praying Corey Patterson’s raw talent would materialize into a real ballplayer, the Cubs sent him packing and went and got themselves a serious lead-off man in Pierre. Mashers like Derek Lee and Aramis Ramirez were reliable last year, but with nobody on base all the long balls added up to a fourth place finish in the Central. But with his couldn’t-have-written-it-better triple to lead off the season, Pierre arrived in wonderfully dramatic fashion. If he can keep delivering, Lee and Ram-Ram should have ample opportunities for the RBIs that were so embarrassingly elusive last season.
4. Fox Mondays
If I hadn’t had the miracle of DVR, I don’t know if I could have accepted the job at KWQC. HA! I kid. I kid. A little. I could stand to miss a few shows, but Fox Mondays have become the most harrowing night of television I’ve ever seen. And I’m a TV geek. After several months hiatus, Prison Break returned with newfound character. Always reliable for harrowing cliff-hangers and sick twists, the first two episodes back took a more character-oriented tack. The downtime did little to diminish this show’s energy. Meanwhile, 24 continues to fire on all cylinders, ending this week’s episode with one of the more intriguing twists in its run (which I won’t spoil for my brother). Its most brutal season thus far (at least four major characters have bought it so far… nope five), season five is neck and neck with last season as the show’s best. And with this week’s shocking turn, it has the potential to get even better.
5. Fridays with Dad
One of the blessings of my job (thanks to DVR) is that I don’t go into work until three in the afternoon. That means my mornings are free. And that means for the first time ever, my dad and I will have a regular date on Friday mornings for golf. I love golf, almost as much as baseball. I would have been playing golf by myself, but I’d much rather be out there with my dad. Classic bonding time. Plus there’s always room to add some challengers to the mix every once in a while. Uncle Mike. Uncle Mac. Norm. I'm talking to you guys.
6. Windows Down
Simple. Classic.
7. Kingdom Hearts II
I’m not a video game guy. When I worked at the boat, there were fleets of my co-workers who spent hours upon hours in front their X-Boxes duking it out in Halo or …. That’s the only one I really know. Still, there are those times when I go through a month or two flurry of gaming. This past binge was a little longer, being that I was unemployed, but over the course of that time I discovered an absolute gem for PS2 called Kingdom Hearts. This remarkably entertaining title mixed characters from the long-running Final Fantasy video game franchise with an abundance of characters from Walt Disney’s vaults. How can you go wrong when your sidekicks are Donald and Goofy? Honestly. One of the breakthrough launch titles for the PS2 when it was released in 2001, the much-anticipated sequel dropped last week. While I can only play about a stage at a time with the job running interference, I can’t wait to get back to this quirky adventure as soon as I get home. Fun for the whole family.
8. Sexy Beast in Training
It’s been a long while since I was pleased with my physical appearance. Nearly a decade, I think. But thanks to Weight Watchers and my two hour lunch break, I’m just about as close as I can be to aesthetic contentment. Since starting Weight Watchers eleven weeks ago, I’ve gone from 235 to 208 (as of this morning), and since KWQC has a company gym in the basement I spend my time between the 6 and 10 newscast rotating between the treadmill and my brother’s West Point try-not-to-puke workout. By my own estimation that puts me approximately twenty pounds away from Sexy Beast status.
9. Mix CDs
I don’t listen to the radio anymore. The Top 40 station around here is so saturated with generic thug rap that I’d rather bang my head against a Casio than endure another gold-tooth bitches and hos remix. But thankfully, I still find a handful of gems, mostly from The OC and IPod commercials, to bolster my music library and keep my driving time easy.
10. St. Ambrose University
Ironically, I applied to SAU to bolster my resume for the channel 6 job. Then I got said job. Fortunately, that allowed me more freedom for my class schedule. I no longer needed to learn how to operate studio cameras. Instead, I can turn my focus to my calling (according to mom) – video editing. So come fall, I will be permanently latched to SAU’s Final Cut Pro Stations.
Now, in the sake of full disclosure, here are five things that remain a concern to me. I hope my luck these can eventually turn my way as well.
1. Ouch My Bank Account
Despite the prestige one might infer from the words "television job" unless you run the station or appear in front of the camera, TV doesn’t pay squat. So while it might be sexy to say you work for a TV station, it remains the worst paying job I’ve had since high school. Positive Spin: Doing something you love is its own reward.
2. Duck and Cover
Obviously, I wish people would stop shooting at my brother.
3. Single
This one really doesn’t bother me a whole lot. Still, it would be nice to find a lady I could spar with (intellectually). At the moment I'm looking forward to a potential hot Wrigley Field date with an old friend lined up for later this summer.
4. Thank God My Parent's Don't Have a Basement
Technically I have four years before I become the full cliche – the 30 year old man still living with his parents. But with my lowly income, I have some concerns.
5. Hamstring
I tend to get a little overzealous on the new workouts, and I think I tweaked my hammy. Oh well. I'll have to take her easy tomorrow.
So this needs documentation. For those days down the line when I feel like nothing can go right – shoe-drop mode, I like to call it – I thought I’d run down the ten reasons my life is really good right now:
1. Paula Sands Live
Just getting the job at KWQC was a godsend, but Paula Sands Live is the best part of my workday. Unlike the newscasts that are rigid and monotonous, this half-hour talk show allows the camera operators to improvise. I’ve found myself competing with the other camera operators to get the most shots on air, and there is no greater motivator for me than competition. Speaking of which…
2. The Cordova Confederacy
In my first week of fantasy baseball I had one pitcher on the DL (Kerry Wood) who I missed the chance to replace in my lineup. On the first day of real baseball I lost another starting pitcher C.C. Sabathia to injury. Now, another pitcher, Eric Gagne, is having a possible season ending surgery on Friday. Needless to say, my first match-up with Brian has been a rout. And I honestly could care less. I was apparently a closeted stat geek all this time, and I have spent the better part of the past two nights scouring the waiver list looking for a solution to my pitching quandary. All of this is in preparation for my Week 3 match-up with Baby Brother. He talks oh-so-much shit.
3. Juan Pierre
As a Cubs fan, I’ve trained myself to look for silver linings. While I could be dwelling on the fact that I have no idea who is in the Cubs rotation besides Z and Maddux, I choose to look for those new elements of this year’s team that could push us the way of success this season. One such element is Juan Pierre. After the three years of praying Corey Patterson’s raw talent would materialize into a real ballplayer, the Cubs sent him packing and went and got themselves a serious lead-off man in Pierre. Mashers like Derek Lee and Aramis Ramirez were reliable last year, but with nobody on base all the long balls added up to a fourth place finish in the Central. But with his couldn’t-have-written-it-better triple to lead off the season, Pierre arrived in wonderfully dramatic fashion. If he can keep delivering, Lee and Ram-Ram should have ample opportunities for the RBIs that were so embarrassingly elusive last season.
4. Fox Mondays
If I hadn’t had the miracle of DVR, I don’t know if I could have accepted the job at KWQC. HA! I kid. I kid. A little. I could stand to miss a few shows, but Fox Mondays have become the most harrowing night of television I’ve ever seen. And I’m a TV geek. After several months hiatus, Prison Break returned with newfound character. Always reliable for harrowing cliff-hangers and sick twists, the first two episodes back took a more character-oriented tack. The downtime did little to diminish this show’s energy. Meanwhile, 24 continues to fire on all cylinders, ending this week’s episode with one of the more intriguing twists in its run (which I won’t spoil for my brother). Its most brutal season thus far (at least four major characters have bought it so far… nope five), season five is neck and neck with last season as the show’s best. And with this week’s shocking turn, it has the potential to get even better.
5. Fridays with Dad
One of the blessings of my job (thanks to DVR) is that I don’t go into work until three in the afternoon. That means my mornings are free. And that means for the first time ever, my dad and I will have a regular date on Friday mornings for golf. I love golf, almost as much as baseball. I would have been playing golf by myself, but I’d much rather be out there with my dad. Classic bonding time. Plus there’s always room to add some challengers to the mix every once in a while. Uncle Mike. Uncle Mac. Norm. I'm talking to you guys.
6. Windows Down
Simple. Classic.
7. Kingdom Hearts II
I’m not a video game guy. When I worked at the boat, there were fleets of my co-workers who spent hours upon hours in front their X-Boxes duking it out in Halo or …. That’s the only one I really know. Still, there are those times when I go through a month or two flurry of gaming. This past binge was a little longer, being that I was unemployed, but over the course of that time I discovered an absolute gem for PS2 called Kingdom Hearts. This remarkably entertaining title mixed characters from the long-running Final Fantasy video game franchise with an abundance of characters from Walt Disney’s vaults. How can you go wrong when your sidekicks are Donald and Goofy? Honestly. One of the breakthrough launch titles for the PS2 when it was released in 2001, the much-anticipated sequel dropped last week. While I can only play about a stage at a time with the job running interference, I can’t wait to get back to this quirky adventure as soon as I get home. Fun for the whole family.
8. Sexy Beast in Training
It’s been a long while since I was pleased with my physical appearance. Nearly a decade, I think. But thanks to Weight Watchers and my two hour lunch break, I’m just about as close as I can be to aesthetic contentment. Since starting Weight Watchers eleven weeks ago, I’ve gone from 235 to 208 (as of this morning), and since KWQC has a company gym in the basement I spend my time between the 6 and 10 newscast rotating between the treadmill and my brother’s West Point try-not-to-puke workout. By my own estimation that puts me approximately twenty pounds away from Sexy Beast status.
9. Mix CDs
I don’t listen to the radio anymore. The Top 40 station around here is so saturated with generic thug rap that I’d rather bang my head against a Casio than endure another gold-tooth bitches and hos remix. But thankfully, I still find a handful of gems, mostly from The OC and IPod commercials, to bolster my music library and keep my driving time easy.
10. St. Ambrose University
Ironically, I applied to SAU to bolster my resume for the channel 6 job. Then I got said job. Fortunately, that allowed me more freedom for my class schedule. I no longer needed to learn how to operate studio cameras. Instead, I can turn my focus to my calling (according to mom) – video editing. So come fall, I will be permanently latched to SAU’s Final Cut Pro Stations.
Now, in the sake of full disclosure, here are five things that remain a concern to me. I hope my luck these can eventually turn my way as well.
1. Ouch My Bank Account
Despite the prestige one might infer from the words "television job" unless you run the station or appear in front of the camera, TV doesn’t pay squat. So while it might be sexy to say you work for a TV station, it remains the worst paying job I’ve had since high school. Positive Spin: Doing something you love is its own reward.
2. Duck and Cover
Obviously, I wish people would stop shooting at my brother.
3. Single
This one really doesn’t bother me a whole lot. Still, it would be nice to find a lady I could spar with (intellectually). At the moment I'm looking forward to a potential hot Wrigley Field date with an old friend lined up for later this summer.
4. Thank God My Parent's Don't Have a Basement
Technically I have four years before I become the full cliche – the 30 year old man still living with his parents. But with my lowly income, I have some concerns.
5. Hamstring
I tend to get a little overzealous on the new workouts, and I think I tweaked my hammy. Oh well. I'll have to take her easy tomorrow.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Wavering Loyalties in America's Pasttime
Though the ChiSox kicked the season off last night, for most of us baseball begins today. Talking to my brother on the phone last night (yes he called), he told me he had butterflies in his stomach awaiting the Cubs opener. I know how he feels. And I'm sure he's having a good day so far after the Cubs put up a five-run first inning which included wonderful contributions from off-season acquisitions Juan Pierre and Jacque Jones, not to mention the Cubs big prospect Matt Murton.
But there's also the spectre of the Cordova Confederacy, my cousin Brian's fantasy league. Already this adventure is playing mind games with me. Acquring Cub killer Albert Pujols with my first pick started it off. Now the Cubs have put up a five run first inning against my bottom pitcher Aaron Harang. I'm a competitive guy. And I really want to do well in my first year in fantasy baseball.
Well, if I must lose in the fantasy league, the least the Cubs could do is give me a World Series. Is it too much to ask?
But there's also the spectre of the Cordova Confederacy, my cousin Brian's fantasy league. Already this adventure is playing mind games with me. Acquring Cub killer Albert Pujols with my first pick started it off. Now the Cubs have put up a five run first inning against my bottom pitcher Aaron Harang. I'm a competitive guy. And I really want to do well in my first year in fantasy baseball.
Well, if I must lose in the fantasy league, the least the Cubs could do is give me a World Series. Is it too much to ask?
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