He's Still Ugly and Ten Other Things I Learned in Our Visit With Andrew

1. Brothers don’t shake hands. Brothers gotta hug. And whimper a little. Perhaps sniffle.

2. It’s clear that there were two types of soldiers in Iraq. Those who were prepared for what they would see, and those who were not. Sadly, those who were not prepared far outnumber those who were. Just listen to my brother’s story about the attack in which he got injured and the difference between his reaction and his gunner's.

3. A part of Andrew wants to get back to his guys, but the further he gets from Iraq the harder it is to find the motivation to return.

4. For a family as active in the community as ours, it’s sort of remarkable to see how private and protective we are when it comes to the people we love.

5. The “exploding pound” may have to be retired as the Rockwell brothers’ high-five of choice.

6. From a purely aesthetic perspective, Andrew’s wound is unimpressive. Blasted nerve damage. It just doesn’t even provide you with cool scars.

7. Any conversation, regardless of how seemingly unrelated, can turn back to the Cubs in a heartbeat.

8. Though I’m sure their medical expertise is exceptional, the most impressive thing to me about the way the Army treats its injured soldiers was the hidden room with the magical filing cabinet filled with every candy bar you can imagine. My diet when to hell with a quickness last night thanks to the US Military's Willy Wonka bureau.

9. Everything about Andrew’s physical condition was a relief to us. He still looks like himself -- no severe burns of note. His broken nose was kids' stuff (he still has a Deines nose, and not a Rockwell one. Bastard.) He was surprisingly mobile (though I can’t say how much of that movement was doctor recommended). If it weren’t from the deep hole on the back of his left thigh, you’d be hard pressed to find something out of whack.

10. And finally, my brother and I have now have a very important story to tell, and we intend on telling it together.

Lamenting Winters Past

I’m told some people look back on their high school years with a tragic degree of fondness. They look at their present and they predict their future, but neither shine as their sanitized memories of those proverbial glory days.

I am not one of those people. In fact, I look back at those four years and marvel that I escaped alive. I’m not fond of that younger self who walked the halls of Rocky high from ‘94 to ‘98. He was an aloof blackguard who masked his blazing insecurities by furrowing his brow and affecting a wisdom beyond his years. I hated nearly everything about high school -- the cruel and fickle social ladder, the rigid learning structure, not to mention the drama -- but a handful of moments have endured my brief adulthood with some affection intact. Performing Shakespeare. Storming onto Almquist Field. Mr. Milton’s College English Class.

These memories have returned to me recently as I made an unexpected left hand turn on my career track. A few months back I had decided to return to school by taking a television production practicum at St. Ambrose University. In a deliciously twisted irony the day I enrolled in the class, the gem of the Quad City television stations offered me a job. So I joined KWQC’s floor crew, still intending to use SAU to get hands-on experience in the aspects of production not readily available to me at KWQC. Well, a few months later, the idea of paying to learn things I circle around on a daily basis seems rather ridiculous. Persistence and initiative will get me exactly what I need at KWQC; if I get really lucky I might even get paid for it.

Still, I knew the opportunity to learn what I wanted to learn at KWQC would be somewhat limited by what KWQC needed me to learn. While I’m willing to accept those restraints, I know how restless I can get when things aren’t moving quite as quickly as I might like. So I knew it was essential for me to find something to offset my impatience as I waited for a spot to open at the station. Thanks to Steve Jobs, I didn’t have to look very hard for a solution.

Those who’ve known me since those “glory days” at RIHS know I’ve always been a closeted A/V geek. With two VCRs patched together I would spend entire weekends cutting and re-cutting the infamous “Hero’s Complex” movie trailer when I should have been reading Pride and Prejudice or studying Algebra. I ended up quite the wizard with this painstaking and imprecise method of editing, but it really had no practical application as far as a resume goes. In fact, the best thing this talent ever got me was a weekend with Caroline Walker and Erica Muller, two of my most enduring high school crushes, when I directed and edited a short film for their French class. And while every high school boy lives to spend a weekend in the presence of such beautiful girls, the reward was fleeting and the promise of a future dinner went unfulfilled.

Well, in the nearly ten years since I cut my films on a home-made tape-to-tape contraption, editing has come a long way. With a relatively small investment, people can write, shoot, and edit their own films in the comfort of their own homes. I made just such an investment this week as I took my SAU tuition and put it towards an iMac with Final Cut Pro. Like its name infers, Final Cut is professional software that is used by everyone from the KWQC promotions department to feature director David Fincher. While their computer systems easily put my new iMac to shame, the software is no different. When I get my computer tomorrow, I’ll be cutting home videos the same way Fincher is cutting his next film.

And what better way to learn the ins and outs of this new software than fulfilling a promise I’ve been making for the past decade.

As I mentioned at the top of this post, I’m not one of those people who laments my teen years; the farther that era is from me the better. That being said, if I miss anything from those days it is those weekends in the winter when I accompanied a covey of fearless and daring friends as we braved harsh winds and bitter cold to turn an innocent, Midwestern tradition into a startling cataclysm of fearlessness and foolishness. Those who know what I’m referring to are already smiling. Those who don’t, let me clue you in.

I’m talking about sledding.

I could try and sell this idea to those of you with the WTF looks on your faces, but I’m not going to bother. You’re not my audience here. I’m writing to the dirty dozen who layered up every Saturday and Sunday there was snow on the ground to slide and crash and flip for no other reason than to laugh and cry at the videos we took. I’m writing to let them know that their epic highlight reel is coming.

Immediately after hitting the confirm button for my iMac I raided my closet for the eleven VHS tapes with “Sledding Video” emblazoned on them. That’s right. Eleven. We’re talking nearly a day’s worth of footage of a handful of high school kids crashing into trees, assaulting each other with sleds, and occasionally breaking collar bones. I’ve spent the week between order and delivery of my iMac watching those videos for the first time in seven years, logging timecode for each and every classic wreck and collision. I’ve only got one word: Priceless.

For the past ten years I’ve been talking about finally compiling an ultimate highlight reel of those four years of insanity, but I’ve yet to come through. Well, with my new set-up, not only will I have the ability to finally put together this dream project (That’s right! Dream project!), I’ll be able to do it in a way I could never have imagined when I was punching buttons on my VCR ten years ago. I’m picturing Zach Vroman (still the Sledding Syndicate’s number one fan) geeking out when he finally gets his eyes on the finished project and I can’t wait to get started (less than 24 hours now). This highlight film is going to bring down the house at his next family reunion. In fact, this post is basically to tease the three or four alumni who are on my MySpace page (Laurie, I count you as Zach’s proxy).

I do want to keep the expectations (as far as time goes) realistic, though. I’m learning a new program (actually four when you count the graphics, sound, and DVD programs that came with Final Cut), and those who know me know I won’t put anything out for public consumption that I don’t feel is up to my irrationally rigid standards. So, I’m making Christmas my deadline for the DVD (with bonus features and the like (Power Rangers, anyone?)). That gives me six months to go completely batshit on this thing.

But don’t worry. I’m not going to make the fans wait that long to get an idea of what’s in store.

My hope (and this is a very sincere hope) is that I can have a small preview cut before I descend on Chi-town for my Cubs double-header at the end of June. After years of broken promises, I hope to put something concrete in Zach’s hand to show him this time I’m not bullshitting. I don’t know if this is feasible; if FCP has a brutal learning curve I may be S.O.L. on my deadline. Still, I’m going to try.

But what I’m digging almost as much as the project itself is that MySpace currently offers 100MB for its users to host video. So, whether I make my deadline or not, in the next couple months I’ll have the preview on my MySpace page for alumni as well as the uninitiated to enjoy. Plus, you guys can keep me honest. If the 4th of July comes and goes with no new developments, drop me a note and remind me of my oath.

Until then, boys and girls, I bid you adieu. It’s time to start cutting.

RESCUE ME from Summer TV

Rescue Me is one of those shows that goes away after its yearly batch of 13 episodes, and even the most ardent television fans forget how good it is in the midst of the slew of network shows. Denis Leary’s brutally honest tale of NYC firefighters returned last night, and I hadn't realized just how much I have missed it. There’s nothing more invigorating to me than watching an artist work on the project they were born to make; Denis Leary is that artist and Rescue Me is his masterpiece.

The evening started early with my discovery of a "Comedy Short" on FX's Rescue Me website that reintroduced the amazing chemistry of Rescue Me’s remarkable ensemble. Essentially a fifteen minute slapstick routine, I laughed form start to finish as the crew tried to escape from a bear/bobcat/wolf that finds its way into the firehouse. For a show that deals in tragedy so often, what makes Rescue Me so great is its ability to weave hilarious comedic subplots into otherwise grim material.

The season three premiere featured that volatile mix we’ve grown to love with Tommy’s marriage falling apart after the death of his son (his wife is now sleeping with his brother, can’t wait for that to get ugly), the firehouse trying to stop smoking, and Tommy’s godson getting a hands-on education in sex from his science teacher. Tommy’s exasperation throughout the teacher drama was priceless hilarity, but the interaction between Tommy and his wife was heartbreaking, with Janet essentially blaming Tommy for not doing enough to save their son. While that reaction doesn’t exactly endear me to her, it’s an understandable, and natural reaction. Tommy saves people everyday (see the little girl at the end of the episode), but he couldn’t save his own son; it makes sense that Janet would resent him for that, even if it's unreasonable of her to believe he has power over unfortunate accidents.

Leary and Tolan set up a slew of narrative landmines in this first episode, and I can’t wait to see them start to explode. As we’ve seen from Rescue Me before, there’ll be a fair amount of laughs and tears along the way. It’s good to have you back, boys.

X-Men: The Last Stand

X-Men 3: The Last Stand is not a travesty, but it is a disappointment. After the rich, textured storytelling of X2, The Last Stand plays like a rushed, shallow, money-hungry installment that doesn’t bode well for the future of the franchise. If you love the X-Men -- the history, the characters, the themes -- X-Men 3 will likely break your heart. If your interest in the X-Men is anything less, you’ll likely be moderately entertained by the spectacle. Like I said, the film is not a travesty, but it is a disappointment.

For X-Men fans, X3 feels a little like an out-of-body experience. We recognize the faces on the screen, yet there’s a feeling of surreal weightlessness, as if what we’re seeing doesn't quite feel real. This displacement can be attributed largely to the much ballyhooed change in director from visionary Bryan Singer to the soulless Brett Ratner. Singer brought a human touch of character and pathos to the first two installments of the franchise. Ratner goes a different route, taking the characters we’ve grown to love and setting them up like G.I. Joes in a prepubescent sandbox war and then turning on the garden hose.

Ratner takes an ethically and morally charged plotline -- a “cure” has been found for mutants -- and uses it as a flimsy framework to hang a handful of overblown (and forgettable) action scenes. The issues of such a cure -- Should mutants want it? How should mutants treat those who choose to take it? Should mutants be given a choice? -- are all glossed over quickly and unsatisfactorily. Who needs moral dilemmas and character development when we can pull the Golden Gate Bridge off its moorings? Those small character scenes that made X2 more than just your typical summer action fare -- Storm and Nightcrawler discussing their feelings towards homo-sapiens, Magneto charming Pyro -- are nowhere to be found in X3. It’s just your typical summer movie -- flashy, shallow, and empty of the human spirit. And after Bryan Singer showed that these films can be so much more than that, it really hurts to see this franchise treated with such casual indifference on the part of Ratner and 20th Century Fox.

I could go on and on about the plotting and abysmal treatment of the X-Men canon -- the fact that Dark Phoenix and Sentinels are basically afterthoughts in the film -- but it all gets too depressing. And people who loved the first two are going to see the third for the same reasons I did; it couldn’t possibly be as bad as people are saying. Well, it is. For a franchise that was such a thrill in X2 to descend into mediocrity is just inexcusable. For an X-Men movie to be so disposable is unfathomable. And yet, here it is, X3: The Last Stand. Part of me hopes it really isn’t “The Last Stand” for the X-Men, but if this is the sort of effort we’re going to get from Fox from here on out (and with $100 million opening weekend, why should they make any greater effort?) I’d rather they just let the franchise die.

The Hot 111

1) Which person do you feel most deserves a most righteous bitch-slap? Britney Spears, if only to complete the white trash Xanadu she's built for herself.

2) What would be your Theme Song? "We Used to Be Friends" by The Dandy Warhols

3) What is the weirdest name, bad or good, you have ever been called? It wasn't exactly a name but I once made a friend so mad all she could do was spit and grunt.

4) Pick your celebrity mom. Joan Allen

5) Pick your celebrity dad. Kevin Costner

6) Should white folk who dance be tackled? Tackled? No. Clotheslined? Absolutely.

7) Ever seen anyone besides yourself doing the deed? Seen? No. My upstairs neighbors at my old apartment were less than discreet on the aural side, but that only ever lasted 3 to 5 minutes.

8) What is the sickest thing you have ever put in your mouth? A snail. Apparently the French totally dig em.

9) Do you have any fruits or vegetables with you? No, that's not a banana in my pocket. I'm just happy to see you.

10) What qualifies you for this position? I'm very athletic and willing to try just about anything.

11) Do you talk about Fight Club? .....

12) Ever Googled yourself? Indeed. My name turns up 430 hits. Only about a half-dozen of them are actually me?

13) Ever been caught Googling yourself? What? Preposterous! I don't google myself.

14) Where is Jimmy Hoffa? I hear Arizona is nice this time of year.

15) Do you feel lucky? Until I go to Rhythm City.

16) What movie could be your life story? American Psycho.

17) How do you contribute to the war on terror? I refuse to buy diamonds. Terrorists use the diamond trade to hide their money because they know most women can't live without them.

18) Do you support the NRA? Only when they shoot each other.

19) If Dick Cheney shot you, what would you do? I'm certain there would be cursing involved, followed by return fire.

20) If you had to have an STD, which would you choose? Something that doesn't itch.

21) Was O.J. innocent? If he was guilty of anything, it was putting together a kick-ass defense team.

22) What is the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the phrase warm front? Swamp ass.

23) Do you Yahoo? Only gay cowboys yahoo. Gay cowboys and that kid who played Darth Vader.

24) What do you put on your hot dog? Ketchup. That's all.

25) Ever been to Canada? I hit a jackpot at a Niagra Falls Casino.

26) Did you bring me back anything? What? I just get back in the country and you're asking me for money?

27) Do you support the minutemen? Anybody who makes me seem like a better lover is ok by me.

28) Who is the ugliest person you know? My station recently did a story about a 70 year old woman who jumped out of a second story window to escape a house fire. God broke the mold when he made her, and unfortunately he didn't put the mold back together right.

29) If your vocabulary consisted of only three words, what would they be? Fire, Bad, and Efflorescence. In a world of three word vocabularies, I would be considered quite the smarty.

30) If George Bush had your phone tapped, what would you want him to hear? Let's just say I'd be taking the phone into the bathroom a lot more often.

31) What does this world need more of? Education.

32) What does this world need less of? Placation.

33) What celebrity needs to fall off the face of the earth? Barry Bonds.

34) Who is the anti-christ? Jerry Falwell.

35) Finish this statement: I like __? Underscores.

36) Do you enjoy Spam? I have never partaken of that particular substance.

37) What am I eating? See food.

38) Are the Laffy Taffy jokes funny? HA HA HA! THE KITTENS WENT TO THE MEOW-SEUM! GET IT? OH DEAR LORD MY RIBS! HA HA HA!

39) Who is your daddy, and what does he do? My daddy is Dave and he rules all existence from the top of Mount Olympus.

40) What is the ideal handshake? The Exploding Pound.

41) Ever put dirty wallpaper on someone else's desktop? No, but somebody put a stinky red eye on my desktop in college.

42) What is on your desktop? My secretary. But it's not what you think. I strangled her when she exposed my money laundering scheme. Whoa. Sorry. Slipped into a Raymond Chandler novel for a second there.

43) Will you explain this to me? Was that too obscure for you? You really should read more.

44) If you moved onto Wisteria Lane, what would your dirty little secret be? That I was really supposed to be a character on Lost.

45) Did you let The One get away? The One and more than my share of The Twos as well.

46) Which game show host is the biggest tool? Alex Trebek. He thinks he's so smart because he has the answers on his cards. Every time he speaks with a foreign accent I want to smash his head into Potpourri for $800.

47) Do you want to explain yourself? What can I say? I have a little bit of a violent streak.

48) A kick in the groin -- Fair game or dirty pool? Anything's fair when the guy is bigger than you.

49) Were you spanked as a child? I earned my share of red bottoms.

50) Were you spanked as an adult? An occasional attakid butt pat from my teammates.

51) How would you explain a "tossed salad" to your grandma? With visual aids.

52) Ever found Viagra in somebody's medicine cabinet? I have in fact.

53) Did you look at them differently the next day? Only because I ended up stealing it.

54) Do you judge fat people? When I see them with a cart full of Ben & Jerrys, Tombstones, and Lays in the check-out line, hell yea I do.

55) Which cartoon character did you have the hots for as a child? Lady Jaye (G.I. Joe) got me hooked on brunettes, but it's hard to choose anybody over Belle from Beauty and the Beast.

56) Ever watch porn from your dad's collection? Please. My father's a good Christian man who has no need for such rubbish.

57) Do you believe in faeries? They're actually pretty hard to avoid these days.

58) *SPOILER* How old were you when you found out Santa wasnt real? I was told when I was nine. I knew much earlier.

59) Have you ever died? Not that I recall. But after seeing The Sixth Sense, I'm not taking anything for granted.

60) Ever considered hooking up with an ex? We all have our dark, lonely nights.

61) Ever watched Spice World? It came out on my 18th birthday. HELL YEAH I SAW IT!

62) Are you lying? Sadly no. My girlfriend and I went to see it in the theater. At least I can say I got in free since I worked at the theater.

63) What is the worst movie that you secretly love? Hudson Hawk or Saving Silverman.

64) Are you wearing pants right now? Actually no. I'm typing this in bed.

65) Did you wash your hands? Before I took my contacts out. Little side note: If you have cool mint floss, make sure you take your contacts out before you use it. Otherwise, it burns your eyeballs.

66) What caused your last break up? She was bi-polar and threw dishes.

67) Did you wash your hands? Incessantly.

68) Does Dateline's To Catch a Predator touch too close to home for you? Well, I do have a MySpace page, but that's about as close as it gets.

69) What controversial topic are you most uptight about? There's not a single topic I've encountered that I'm uptight about, and that tends to get me into trouble.

70) When you see an ugly couple, does it make you laugh or does it make you sad? Momentarily sad because I'm lonely (awww), then relieved that I'm still not that lonely.

71) How many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop? Nobody has actually licked a lollypop since 1923. And even then it was in a cartoon. We've all turned into a bunch of suckers.

72) If I told you I saw Jesus in my grilled-cheese sandwich, what would you tell me? I'd probably steal it and put it on E-bay. People will buy anything that resembles Jesus these days. And a bunch of shit that doesn't.

73) Have you no shame? Maybe a little, after the fact.

74) Name your favorite prescription drug side effect. Fainting due to rapid blood loss.

75) Do you know what a magic bullet is? Of course. It kills werewolves.

76) If you fart in public to do you try to blame someone else? Can't. Everybody else around me passes out.

77) Are you having the BEST WEEK EVER? As far as weeks go, this one is right in the middle.

78) Should food touch? Who am I to judge?

79) Is it possible that you may have children and not know about it? I'm still waiting for the Maury show to call.

80) Do you have a face only a mother could love? You'd have to ask somebody besides my mom.

81) Do you eat food off the floor? What food? And whose floor?

82) What would you do for a Klondike Bar? Since I've never actually tried a Klondike Bar, I think the better question would be "What can a Klondike Bar do for me?"

83) For what amount of money would you drink a bottle of Ketchup? Twenty bucks plus expenses.

84) If you were competing for Miss America, what would your platform be? To hell with the children.

85) Should Britney Spears have her children taken away? She'll just keep popping 'em out like a gumball machine anyway.

86) Do you have a trendy ring tone? Ring tones are for 13 year old girls.

87) Does your mom still do your laundry? My mom does not do my laundry. Dad does.

88) Which celebrity are you most likely to go to jail for stalking? Professionally -- Joss Whedon. Romantically -- Alexis Bledel.

89) Have you ever used Nair? People do crazy things in college. And for one week my legs were siky smooth.

90) What does red mean to you? Blood. Blood means life. Life means OH MY GOD! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE?

91) Deal or No Deal? With you? No deal my friend. No deal.

92) Are you a tight end or a wide receiver? Linebacker.

93) Why can't I quit you? Because I gave you the attention you weren't getting at home, and now you think there's more to us than there actually is. I'm sorry, but it's over.

94) Levitra, is it really about the quality? I said it's over.

95) Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry? Not necessarily, but you've pushed me to this with all your damn questions.

96) Have you ever in your life had a mullet? Right now I'm actually as close to a mullet as I have ever been.

97) Is it your fault your parents are divorced? They're actually still together, and I take full responsibility for that.

98) What can Brown do for you? It can clash with my black outfit.

99) What's in the special sauce? Ground-up Unicorns.

100) Are you a MySpace stalker? I've sent some messages that went without reply. Are you trying to say I'm a stalker now?

101) When you look in a mirror do you laugh or cry? It's more of a whine than an outright cry.

102) Do you use your powers for good or evil? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeevil.

103) Do feminine hygiene commercials make you uncomfortable? Absolutely not. In fact, I think they should put out a compilation DVD.

104) Ever been in a porn shop? I've been in THE porn shop. The Hustler Store on Hollywood Boulevard. Jenna Jameson's breasts are cast in cement in front of the entrance.

105) Would you date a person missing three toes and one tooth? As long as the tooth was a molar and she never took off her socks.

106) Do you have street cred? Fa shizzle.

107) What magazine would you be a centerfold in? Psychology Today.

108) Do you ever get that not so fresh feeling? Every morning.

109) Do you feel stupid now? Stupid is as stupid does. So, yes, of course I feel stupid now.

110) Have you ever taken your ball and gone home? No, but I've kicked the ball onto the neighbor's roof.

111) Good lord. Is there a question you won't answer? Just don't ask me what happened in Vegas.

Ok kids. I'm officially retiring from the survey business. It's cheap and easy, and I have too much good stuff that I should be writing instead. But this was a good survey to go out on.

The Hum

It’s not outside the realm of possibilities that my brother and I will one day collaborate on a book. We discussed it before he left for Iraq. Part of that discussion may have been our need to find some locus of control in a situation completely out of our hands. Perhaps it was our need to have something concrete to look forward to when his tour ended. Whatever the reason, it gave me something positive to concentrate on while he was away.

So, I started up The Longest Year; I scribble away on my whiteboard nightly; and I gut newspapers and magazines for their most poignant articles. I’ve spent the past many months jotting down every miniscule ripple that Andrew’s absence makes in the placid waters of my family. I want to be certain I have something to contribute when my brother returns home with his volumes of gritty and graphic tales that will doubtless hold oppressive reign over family conversations for many holidays to come.

In the beginning of this odyssey, writing topics fell from the sky. There was no shortage of conflict in the early months of Andrew‘s deployment. Of course, it didn’t help that he left just before the holidays, exacerbating the usual winter strife to epic proportions. I certainly didn’t enjoy the drama in our household, but the head-butting certainly filled up the journal pages. But while it was easy to write about the new experiences and new perspectives one gains at the beginning of such an enterprise, once complacency set in -- and it did set in -- it became much more difficult to find a hook or an angle for the domestic side of this tale.

My daily activities have mostly remained the same; the usual cycle of work, TV, writing, TV, Cubs, destitution, work, TV, etc. My parents remain busy as ever; my father with school board, booster club, and laundry; my mother with quilting and whatever evil machinations keep her at school until the wee hours of the evening. The only real change to the standard grind is my mother’s once-a-day e-mails and the occasional package of bric-a-brac that she demands my father and I contribute to (I supply episodes of Lost and 24 while dad handles the overseas postage).

On the surface things appear much as they always have, but life these days is certainly not the status quo. Everybody who loves my brother knows what I’m talking about. It’s that sense of unease beneath the surface of every day. Andrew doesn’t hold total dominion over my every waking thought, yet his absence and the danger he now faces lingers in my subconscious like a virulent infection. I don’t always think of Andrew, but I always feel him.

How can I articulate this sensation -- this fusion of loss, worry, and anticipation -- and the side-effects that manifest themselves in the most peculiar circumstances? I’ve been pondering this question for a while now, as my insights into the domestic side of deployment become less and less compelling. This feeling, this idea, is the key to my side of the story, of my family’s side of the story, but for the longest time I could not articulate it properly.

Then my I-Pod nearly killed me. As I mentioned in a previous blog, I’ve been weeding through my music library looking for the ideal playlist for my workouts. On this particular day I took a walk to the nearest mailbox to send back some Netflix DVDs, and I took along some music to test. Somewhere near St. Pius Catholic Church Kanye West’s “Jesus Walks” began to play. This tune is significant in two ways. First, the song itself has a distinct militaristic bent; it begins with a drill sergeant barking orders before a thumping cadence chant begins. Second, the song was used in the trailers for Jarhead -- the closest the cinema has come to depicting America’s military involvement in the Middle East (even if the film deals with Desert Storm). As the song began there was a jolt in my stomach, and suddenly my heart was beating out of my chest. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, so I took a knee in the grass and closed my eyes. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced -- a dangerous amalgam of adrenaline, fear, and panic. It felt as if every fiber in my being were vibrating furiously, pulling me apart in a million different directions. I wasn’t completely confident I’d have the wherewithal to pull myself together.

But I did, and by the time I got back home I had landed on a phrase that perfectly encapsulated both the breakdown on my way to the mailbox and the general malaise that has hung on me since Thanksgiving.

I call it The Hum.

Imagine the sound of a ceiling fan swirling overhead as you go to sleep. It‘s not typical for most of us to sleep through noise, but the fan is steady enough and quiet enough that after a few minutes we forget it’s there; we develop a synchronicity that allows us to slip into dreamland without issue. The fan is The Hum -- a constant presence that, for the most part, can be ignored.

But it’s a fragile relationship between you and the fan. Suddenly there’s an arrhythmic click amidst the steady whirr. The beat you’ve gotten used to is quickly, efficiently disrupted. Your heart starts to race as the anxiety of insomnia builds. You start looking at the clock as your window for a good night’s sleep closes. You can’t fix the click, because you can’t place the problem. Turning off the fan is not an option. All you can do is hope that the clicking will stop long enough for you to escape into sleep. So it is with The Hum.

Like with the bothersome click, it’s impossible to anticipate the next issue that will disrupt the agreement between you and The Hum or how the next interruption will manifest itself. Sometimes it’s through tears. Sometimes it’s through misdirected anger. Occasionally, it’s a nervous breakdown on the way to the mailbox. Still, most remarkably, the majority of the time the catalysts for these shake-ups have only tangential relationships to Andrew.

I’ve had issues with anxiety for a while now, but things have only gotten worse in recent months. For me, it’s a lot like waiting to go onstage on opening night of a play. My whole being is buzzing with the usual stage fright, but I know that once I get out there and into the moment the nerves will subside and I’ll be able to breathe again. Well, The Hum is like that, except I never get on stage. I just have to deal with the nerves. I just have to accept the anxiety. It would be nice to be able to point to this thing or that and say “This is why I feel this way.” That would allow me the chance to remove the disruptive stimulus and get back to normal. Unfortunately, I can’t remove my brother’s deployment from my life. Instead, I have to deal with the possibility that a swarm of electrified butterflies could go racing through my heart at any time -- while sitting at a stop sign, or taking a shower, or enjoying my morning Eggo. That’s just the way life is for the immediate future.

Of course, The Hum doesn’t always manifest itself in such an alarming fashion. Sometimes The Hum can be rather cathartic, as in this experience my father shared with me just the other day:

“I was watching Ladder 49 last night,” he told me. “And it’s not even that great of a movie -- but that scene at the end where they know he’s not getting out and he’s saying good-bye to everyone -- I just started bawling. Your mother came into the room and I had tears rolling down my face and she thought I was crazy.”

I don’t cry very often in the context of my own life. I cried when my brother left for Iraq. I cried after finishing my tribute to my grandmother. But usually I go years without a genuine breakdown. That being said, I’m easily manipulated by my favorite movies and TV shows. I leave the room whenever my dad watches Friday Night Lights, because I turn into a blubbering fool when Tim McGraw gives his son his championship ring. The debut of “Laura” on Battlestar Galactica totally messed me up. And Field of Dreams… we’ll just say it’s shameful.

All of those cases I can admit with a certain modicum of self-respect. Unfortunately, because of The Hum, my judgment of what shows are worthy of my tears has gone out the window. Damn near everything on television can choke me up these days. A few weeks back when they brought out a soldier’s daughters on Deal or No Deal I had to stop my workout and go hide in the locker room for five minutes so I could pull myself together. Movies that I know completely suck can squeeze a drop or two out of me thanks to my sensitivity to The Hum. My dad and I sat in the living room during Leo McGarry’s funeral on The West Wing refusing to look at each other‘s glossy cheeks.

Grown men. It’s really quite sad.

It’s hard to imagine living without The Hum. I’ve gotten so use to it. But this week marks the halfway point in Andrew’s tour, and soon enough that anxiety and urgency that has plagued us since November will be relieved. But even though it occasionally appears at inopportune times and in demoralizing ways, The Hum has a way of energizing me to do things I might not have done otherwise. Even as The Hum initially caused me to balloon to my heaviest weight ever, its constant pestering also drove me to my lowest weight and best physical condition in nearly ten years. Even though The Hum occasionally knocks the wind out of me, it pushes me to keep moving and keep the strength of its tone at bay. And even though it will push me to tears once in a while, there’s something refreshing about engaging emotions that too often stay in check.

It’s ridiculous to compare the trials my brother faces with something as abstract and personal as The Hum, however my brother has one advantage over those of us here at home. He can be proactive in silencing his own Hum. Those of us battling it here must accept it and patiently endure. We can’t stop The Hum ourselves. We can only wait for Andrew to come home and stop it for us.

TV Finale Speed Round

West Wing ended with quiet grace, though the short-changing of the original cast members is slightly inexcusable. Toby doesn't even appear in the finale? Are you kidding?

Grey's Anatomy showed it has easily the most potent and well-rounded ensemble on television today. Denny's inevitable demise and Izzie's response were heartbreaking. The Burke-Christina dynamic was a little frustrating, but ended on the right note. My immediate reaction to the Meredith-Derek hook-up is "not again." Actually it was more like "This is on a network?" Talk about too hot for TV. While I'm skeptical of going back to the Grey/McDreamy merry-go-round, this show's been smart enough to avoid the pitfalls of standard TV fare, so I'll withhold judgment for now.

Prison Break is done. For a show that built up tension so well, it was amazing how little I cared once the fugitives got over the wall. When Michael's plan is so intricately detailed inside the wall, you'd think he'd have a better plan for once they got over it. The run-for-your-life stuff was out of character for Michael and out of character for the show. I have no interest in the conspiracy side of this show, so there's a high likelihood Prison Break will be the Desperate Housewives of next fall; solid first season followed by a meandering, weaker sophomore effort.

If 24 has a flaw (in my mind) it's that it's finales often falter trying to wrap up so many lose threads and cliff-hangers. While they've been fairly entertaining, they still come off as mildly anti-climactic. Well, not this season. The battle on the submarine was one of the more intense sequences in 24 history (anybody notice they went 20 minutes without a commercial break). We got some cold-blooded retribution for Palmer, Tony, and Michelle. Then we not only got our dream face-off of Jack Bauer and President Logan, but one of the best character-driven scenes in the show's run. Following that up with the nasty argument between Logan and Martha was like icing on the icing of the cake. Even the fact that the show ended on such a grim note played fantastically. I'm gonna have to watch 4 and 5 back-to-back to eventually decide which was the better season, but one thing's for certain -- 24 continues to defy the odds and get better with age.

What could be better than House vs. House? Well, that's essentially what we got with House battling his subconscious after being shot by a former patient. Or wait. He wasn't a former patient. We don't really know who he is. This was a terrifically twisted episode that ended on a rather morose note -- with House resolved to death while his team tries to save him.

One of the remarkable things about this season of Scrubs is its ability to mold lovable characters from supporting players who would have been after-thoughts on any other show. Intern and love interest Keith has proved a versatile comic talent. The janitor continues to steal every scene that he's in. And the finale featured a tremendously endearing turn by Elizabeth Banks as J.D.s new love interest. Like Arrested Development before it, the show features too many jokes, too many clever jokes that I would only spoil trying to recap. We'll just say this is the best, sweetest comedy on TV, and the finale showed us all why.

Once again Veronica Mars tied up a season's worth of mystery in both a sensible and dramatically engaging fashion. For the most part, the loose ends were tied up, and Rob Thomas and Co. even reached back to season one for closure (Veronicas rape, Aaron Echolls). As much as I enjoyed this season, I have to say that at the end I felt the show's writers were almost too smart for their own good. I could barely keep up with all the twists and turns in this show's season. That probably would have been fine had I watched the show on DVD, but with all the breaks and preemptions this season VM required so much effort to follow that there's no wonder its ratings were dismal. Hopefully, indications of three separate mysteries for next season will open the show up to a wider audience. Actually, I'm really fond of this idea. I think VMs narrative talents will only be more evident when we can actually follow all the twists and turns. Sidenote: All this love is showered on Kristen Bells performance, but I want to give some credit to Jason Dohring for his remarkably rich characterization of Logan Echolls. So much attention is paid to Dohring because of his looks and the will-they-or-wont-they Logan/Veronica relationship that his skillful performance is often overlooked. The way Dohring is able to dance from sarcastic rich boy to damaged kid to knight in shining armor is so fascinating he is easily one of my favorite characters on television.

Alias ended in a satisfying, if not ground-breaking two-hour finale. We got the moments we wanted. I loved Jack taking down Sloane (after Sloane gained immortality from Rhimbaldi), trapping him inside a cave for eternity. "You couldn't beat me." A great final line for my favorite character on the show. The Vaughn/Sark pairing worked on a different note, with Sark showing his mercenary leanings after one bullet to the leg (Marshall made Sark look like a girl with his ability to withstand torture). Though it lacked the dramatic weight of Jack/Sloane, the scene worked for general amusement. The Syd/Irina showdown was particularly brutal, and Lena Olin wrapped up the most enigmatic Alias character appropriately enough -- reaching for Rhimbaldi rather than her daughter. We now know where her allegiance lies, even as she claimed "I really did love you" to Sydney before kicking her in the face. Ah, Alias. You will be missed. I'll admit I teared up a little watching the Alias family walking towards the ocean at the show's end. Though they jerked me around quite a bit towards the end, and the passion I had for the show in its first two seasons has long since dissipated, I am still sad seeing the show go.

I'm a big fan of Web Gems on Baseball Tonight, and once in a while there's a play that defies the laws of logic and science and there's no other word to describe it but "ridiculous." That's what I thought about the season finale of Lost. Ridiculous. And I don't think there's a higher compliment I could pay it. I don't want to say too much, because my brother, who is currently stationed in Iraq, hasn't seen it and I already spoiled Edgar's death on 24 for him this season. He's coming home for midtour in June and we're going to watch it together then. Still, how could I even begin to describe everything that happened in those two hours last night. The tube to nowhere. The fail-safe. The station in the snow. One thing I can say, Lost has maintained a very real sense of dread since killing those two characters several weeks ago (my brother hasn't seen that episode yet, either). Watching those three characters tied up at the hands of The Others, especially THOSE three characters, was horrifying. I'm actually scared for them. That's a very different feeling compared to the curiosity of the contents in the hatch from last season. I was wavering on Lost in midseason, but after the last five or six episodes I'm back to my unabashed adoration for the show. Ridiculous. That's all I can say. Ridiculous.

The saddest hour of my TV season was watching the unfortunate final episode of my favorite new show, Invasion. While every other show had its ups and downs this season, Invasion started slow but maintained a consistent acceleration through out the season so that by the time the finale came it was flying faster than any other show on television. Unfortunately it was too late to pick up the viewers it lost early on. I have two things to say about this show. 1) I'll be pushing everybody I know to watch the DVD. 2) There was not a single character on television this year more fascinating than Sheriff Tom Underlay. The look on his face as Russell grilled him, "What did you do?" was stunning considering how Underlay essentially started the season as The Villian. Losing this show hurts more than either Alias or West Wing. I'm very sorry to see it go.

All you can really say about The OC is they killed Marissa. I honestly don't remember a single thing about the episode other than that. Oh, except Mini-Cooper saying she's going to rule Harbor. Still the staging or Marissa's death was well-done, what with the flashbacks to the series' tremendous first season. Plus the use of minimal dialogue kept it from going head-first into groaner melodrama. Like Prison Break, everything in this episode depends on how next season is handled. They're both on the borderline between evolution and jumping the shark. Stay tuned.

Smallville is a master of season finales. From the Godfather-esque closing of Season 3 with Chloe's apparent death, Lex's apparent death, and Clark's disappearance, to Season 4's meteor shower and debut of the Fortress of Solitude, this show always closed with a bang. This year was no different, yet I couldn't help but feel that the writers had dug themselves too big a hole this year. Metropolis is breaking down. Zod has arrived. Clark is stuck in the Phantom Zone. Martha and Lois are God knows where. That's a lot of balls in the air. I liked that things got a shade darker for the Boy of Steel this season, but next year will clearly be an important year in Smallville's mythology. I hope they can pull it off. They certainly set the bar high with this finale.

More Delays Mean More Surveys

Hey kids, the two new blogs I'm working on have gotten kind of epic, so I'm making do with a new survey that I could finish in a half-hour. This one's fun. Just check out the first question....

1) Do you have a penis?
Wow. You waste no time Mr. Survey Man. Yes. I do. It's the balls that I sometimes question.

2) Do you pray?
I do not. I can't think of a less pro-active activity in all of human history. Hmm. Maybe American Idol

3) Are you in love?
I am in love with love, which is probably why I am not in love. Dig?

4) Ever wish on stars?
That sounds like a very hot place to be doing much of anything.

5) Do you believe in karma?
That would imply that I believe in some inherent sense of justice in the universe. HA! Silly rabbit.

6) What's your zodiac sign?
Aquarius. I actually read a horoscope yesterday that said I was very fertile and had the spirit of a pregnant woman. I wish I had kept a copy of that. I'll see if I can dig it up for you fine people.

7) Have you ever almost died?
Indeed. Twice in a six month span. But you know what they say, when you get thisclose to dying you live every day fearing you're going to finally close the gap.

8) Ever broken any bones?
Both bones in my right leg, hence my natural pimp walk.

9) Do you cry during sad movies?
I'll address this in my upcoming blog "The Hum" (That's what they call a teaser in the biz).

10) Do you like to dance?
Absolutely not.

11) Ever laid under the stars?
A bunch of floormates went out to a field to check out the Leonid Meteor Shower my freshman year and were crept up on by deer. Did you hear that deer are now attacking people at SIUC? After all the times my ex tried to feed them....

12) Ever sat on a rooftop?
I had to retrieve many a wiffle ball from my roof back in the day.

13) Is there such a thing as a soul mate?
No. Just people tough enough to stick it out forever.

14) Could you live without the television?
Not happily.

15) Could you live without music?
Workouts would be a bitch. I'd sooner make it without music than television, though. But what about television without music? Egad! Blast you Survey Man and your philosophical conundrums!!!

16) Do you have any self inflicted scars?
Only emotional ones (awwwww!)

17) What do you dislike the most about life?
Irrationality.

18) Have you ever been to jail?
Once in high school on a field trip.

19) Ever had a job for less than a day?
No. I usually stick it out.

20) Ever been fired on your first day?
No. Although there are some jobs I wish I had been.

21) Ever been fired because of your attitude?
Remarkably no, even though I make no secret of my displeasure. I still don't understand why I wasn't fired from the boat.

22) Do you get jealous of other people?
Who doesn't? I still wish I had my neighbor's Knight Rider Big Wheel.

23) Would you rather love someone or be loved?
I've had enough infatuations to realize that unrequited love is basically emotional self-flagellation. Be loved -- without a doubt.

24) What's under your bed right now?
Inserts for the dining room table.

25) Ever done anything illegal?
Nothing that can be proved in a court of law.

26) Have you ever been dumped?
Emily Olson in the 2nd Grade and Stephanie Kettering in the 10th. Stephanie Kettering hurt. That girl was HOT!

27) Ever dumped somebody?
Yea. I was a bastard in my younger days.

28) How cool are you?
As cool as the other side of the pillow.

29) Do you support abortion?
I support a woman's right to choose, but I also believe we should do everything in our power to limit the number of abortions performed. (Jeez what a buzzkill).

31) Did you graduate high school?
Yes, though it wrecked me emotionally.

32) Do you wear the same clothes two days in a row?
Only underpants. Wait... what?

33) Have you ever driven someone crazy?
How does one type a smirk?

34) Ever bullied someone?
Not intentionally, but apparently I have the kind of personality that can come off as bullying some times.

35) Ever done the Macarena?
Never. Not even at a wedding.

36) Do you act your age?
Give or take 10 years.

37) Is it okay to disrespect your parents?
If your parents are evil, absolutely. Mine aren't though.

38) Do you flush the toilet when you're done?
Yes, but sometimes those water-saving toilets don't quite take.

39) How long do you stay in the shower?
Five minutes max. In and out.

40) What kind of soap do you use?
Whatever is handy.

41) Are mullets cool?
I learned at a recent Steamwheeler game that I am, in fact, allergic to mullets.

42) Spiderman, Batman, or Superman?
Batman. Not even a contest.

43) Do you like your middle name?
Well enough.

44) Has anyone ever cheated on you?
I won't say cheated. I'll say I've dated somebody who wasn't fully committed to me. Yay for semantics!

46) What's your favorite animal?
Alligators. I miss them.

47) Favorite flower?
Venus Fly Trap.

48) Have you ever shaved your head?
For a year and a half or so. It was the most economically responsible hairstyle.

49) Do you think marijuana should be legal for medicinal use?
I think it should be legal for recreational use.

50) Do you think it is okay to drink and drive?
Now that's just stupid.

51) If you won $1 million dollars, what would you buy first?
A house for my mom in Cordova.

52) Do you fear terrorism?
Only the people who hijacked our country based on the public's irrational fear of terrorism.

54) What's your favorite candle scent?
Burnt Wax.

55) Do you use profanity?
As a fan of the English language there is no word I refuse to utter.

56) Who's the last person you talked to on IM?
Legs a.k.a. Nikki.

57) What's something you're ashamed of?
I once got hick and spick mixed up in front of my Mexican friend. It was in junior high, but it still grates on me.

58) What woke you up last night?
Nightmares. I seem to be having them a lot lately.

59) What did you dream about last night?
I dreamed I was back working at the Cinemas in high school. And I actually got some PG-13 action with a former co-worker. Then I woke up, and by the time I got back to dreamland I had returned to nightmare territory.

60) Ever been to the zoo?
The last time I went was with my ex-girlfriend. CRAP! I'm missing zoo animal day on PSL today.

61) How many beers did you have today?
Zero. I have had one beer in my life. It tasted like piss. So I quit.

62) What's the last movie watched?
Brokeback Mountain. Can you say "overrated?" It's The Passion of the Christ for the rainbow set.

63) Are you usually late or on time?
Usually way early. I have a thing about punctuality.

64) What's a cartoon you watch often?
Aqua Teen Hunger Force

65) Do you have any imaginary friends?
Even worse. I have an imaginary stalker.

66) Are you waiting on something right now?
Waiting for dad to come home for lunch.

67) Who's pretty?
The girls in my MySpace Top 8. EVERY GIRL on my brother's friend list. Hmm. What happened to that jealousy question?

68) Who's ugly?
I dont feel like being mean at the moment.

69) Are you worried about something?
My brother. Always my brother.

70) Ever swam in the ocean?
Yes. Boy, what a weak finish. Ever heard of "Save the best for last" survey man?

If You're Going to Be a Bitch, You Better F**kin' Win

Three or four years ago, as my casual interest in the Chicago Cubs was solidifying into today’s rabid obsession, a fight completely reenergized their season. In a game against the Cinncinati Reds reliever Kyle Farnsworth went high and tight on pitcher Paul Wilson. Wilson took exception to the pitch and charged the mound. Farnsworth, without the slightest hesitation, became a Chicago Cub legend when he speared Wilson to the ground before the poor guy knew what hit him. Benches cleared, punches were thrown, etc., etc.

It’s the last altercation I recall up until today’s incident between Michael Barrett and White Sox catcher A.J. Pierzynski, but whereas Farnsworth’s ferocious tackle of Wilson ignited an average team into a driven one, Barrett’s blunt right cross only compounded a disappointing and frustrating season for Cubs fans.

I’m as ardent a Blue Blood as there is, but I can’t even begin to justify Barrett’s actions. Sure he took quite a hit from Pierzynski on that sac-fly play at the plate, but it was a clean hit. There was a fair amount of conjecture regarding why Barrett swung on A.J. Maybe AJ slapping the plate set Barrett off. Maybe it was AJ bumping into him after the play. Maybe words were exchanged. Whatever. When you’re the best hitter on the worst hitting team in the Majors, you have to have a better sense of your team’s situation before starting a barroom brawl in the heart of the lion’s den.

Now, I’m sure there are some simple-minded Cubs fans out there who cheered Barrett’s moxie. I found it embarrassing. It’s likely I’m a fool, but I have yet to give up on this season. I still want the Cubs to win. Those Cubs fans who cheer one punch as a victory have so diminished their expectations for their team that I can’t even look them in the eye. I don’t want the high point of my baseball season to be something that has absolutely nothing to do with baseball.

I’ve never been zealous about rivalries, mostly because such zealotry would spoil my ability to watch really great baseball. I guess I could hate the Cardinals, but I no rational baseball fan could ever utter the words “Pujols sucks.” I could hate the White Sox, I suppose, but they’re one of the most exciting teams to watch in Major Leagues. And the fact that today’s incident happened in the heat of the Cubs first series with the White Sox makes it so much more shameful in my eyes.

The White Sox are the best team in baseball, and the Cubs have been playing like a glorified farm team. If the White Sox are an exquisite Rembrant or Van Gogh, the Chicago Cubs are a notebook doodle. Watching these two teams, it’s like they’re playing a different game. Though it would have seemed three years ago that the Cubs would have the pitching staff of legend, Wood and Prior can’t stay healthy and Zambrano needs therapy. Meanwhile the White Sox have assembled a startlingly efficient starting pitching staff to compliment its aggressive offensive style. The Cubs are last in nearly every offensive category that matters. They’ve got a Triple-A pitching staff. Fielding? Nevermind. I think I’ll just stop. As a fan of baseball -- good baseball -- the Cubs are nauseating. When Michael Barrett took his shot at Pierzynski, he was essentially telling the Sox “We can’t beat you at baseball, so we’re going to get our shots in where we can.”

Fuck that. If you’re gonna be a bitch, you better fuckin’ win. The Cubs could not have looked more ridiculous as a ball club today. Leading up to the Pierzynski play, Cubs starter Rich Hill walked the bases loaded. Then Michael Barrett looks like a punk slugging AJ on a clean play (the punch, by the way, did nothing but fire up the Sox as Pierzynski went into the dugout beating his chest and shrugging off the hit). Then, two batters later Tadahito Iguchi took Hill into left center for a grand slam. Barrett’s punch made the Cubs look small; the Sox dominance of the game made them look smaller. The Sox won the day from every possible angle. They took the game 7-0, and the South Siders looked like the bigger (and better) team by letting their play, rather than their punches, speak for them.

I remember learning about the enmity between Sox fans and Cubs fans when I gave my cousin Brian (a Sox fan) Cubs Monopoly for Christmas 2003 (the year the Cubs made the playoffs and the White Sox collapsed late in the season). He didn’t speak to me for three months. At the time, I had no understanding of the intense dislike the teams, and the fans, had for each other. Always looking for the higher ground, I attributed the Sox’ animosity to petty jealousy. How quickly the tables have turned.

While the Cubs flounder with their unearned (and largely undeserved) national popularity, the Sox are actually earning a following (of which I now include myself) by doing the job, by playing fantastic baseball. There has been a sense of entitlement on the North Side ever since our oh-so-close playoff appearance in 2003. While the Cubs coasted on the goodwill afforded them by that miraculous year, the South Siders were busting their asses, working towards a championship.

A what? That’s right. A championship. And they earned it. Up until their absolute dominance in the post-season, despite having the best record in baseball, it seemed that nobody actually thought they would win the whole thing. But they didn’t bitch and moan and cry that they weren’t getting the attention they deserved. They went out and earned the love by playing great baseball, some of the best post-season baseball in the history of the game.

Meanwhile, our Cubs sat in their homes through October, their hands out, wondering why it wasn’t them. Weren’t the Cubs the loveable ones in Chi-town? Weren’t they the team everybody wanted in the post-season? Perhaps, but the Sox went out and earned our adoration, our respect. The Cubs, on the other hand, take our love for granted.

I was frustrated with the Cubs long before this afternoon, but after today I can barely stand to look at them. Today’s melee was sad and pathetic. It was a desperate act of frustration that illustrated the unfortunate mindset the Cubs are in this season. Instead of buckling down and focusing on the game, they’re lashing out like teenagers, and for this Cubs fan, it’s embarrassing.

I’m going Cub free for the next week. I’m not watching a game. I’m not visiting a website. I just don’t want to bother with them right now. I want to watch some real baseball for a change. So I’m gonna scour ESPN and see if I can’t find a good game or two away from those lovable losers (who get less lovable by the day).

Of course, I’ll come back. I still love the franchise. I love the field. I love the city. I love the tradition. But I need a break. I need to see other teams, teams that have their shit together. Maybe when I come back, The Cubs will be ready to play some real baseball. If not, I know there’s a team just across the way that already is.

Today's Reason I'm Doing the Snoopy Dance

Finally. Finally, I'm mobile again. Yesterday, I got my laptop back from the magical land of Best Buy a full 10 days sooner than expected. I had just started to feel the effects of my sedentary computing on my creativity, and thankfully that sad time is behind me. I haven't really been able to enjoy it until this morning. I went to bed at 4 AM last night because I had to completely reboot my hard drive and then reinstall all of my programs. But today, I'm able to sit in front of the television, write this new message to my fans with Season 2 of The Shield playing in my sight line.

So, hopefully, with my laptop back in hand, I'll be able to churn out some of the blogs I've been planning since my laptop went on vacation including "How Do You Like Your Jesus?", "The Hum", and a disclaimer on a newly discovered hazzard on the roadways.

Stay Tuned.

The Tao of Hauling Ass

I’m not old, but I’m behind. That’s my analysis of my life at the present time. Having seen many of my closest peers settling into something resembling adulthood, away from that self-centered universe I currently inhabit, I can’t help but feel like I’m dragging ass towards the rest of my life. My friend Steve and his doting wife are expecting their second child this summer. My cousin Brian married about six months ago. My cousin Robert, who is a year my junior, is married with a kid. Even my good friend Jasmyne, who's the closest to me in terms of a bohemian lifestyle, is currently living in sin with a guy she adores.

Then there’s me, four years out of college and just now settling into what may be considered a “career path.” I’m single and largely unavailable (don’t want to compound my own hang-ups with somebody else’s), and thankfully I don’t play Dungeons and Dragons or I’d be that guy who’s still living in his mother’s basement, etc, etc.

It’s odd that the weight of passing time is hitting me now, just when things are finally starting to go my way. I’ve gotten my foot in the door of the medium I’ve been trying to crack since college. I’m thirty pounds lighter since the beginning of the year. I’m in the best shape I've been in since hitting my 20’s. And in general, I’ve had a reasonably good disposition (for me anyway). Still, even as I’ve reached a point of contentment I couldn’t have foreseen even a year ago, I'm frustrated that I didn’t reach this point one year, two years, even four years ago.

Still, part of me still feels young and virile for one reason and one reason only: I can still sprint. There’s a scene in the new Mission Impossible where Tom Cruise hauls ass through Hong Kong. It’s a long take that goes ten seconds longer that it should have, but Tom Cruise is booking down the streets like a track star. Acts like that have become my gold standard for youth. It’s something nobody seems to do when they get older. Ask yourself when was the last time you ran as fast as you possibly could. Up until a few weeks ago, it had been years for me. There’s just no need to sprint as we get older. Some of us jog. A lot of us walk. But virtually nobody feels the need to sprint.

I do, though. There are songs that make me want to race through the hallways of KWQC during my workout. Movie trailers make me want to go action-star and leap over chairs (or, if they’re for romantic comedies, to race after a girl through the airport). It’s about vitality. It’s about intensity. It’s about urgency. It’s a little ridiculous, but I have a need – a need for speed.

As long as I have the virility to run the way Ethan Hunt races through the streets of Hong Kong, as long as I feel well enough to bolt through a crowd screaming “Get down! Get down!” (the ability, not the justification) all this prattling on about wasted years will just be the occasional pangs of vanity that we’ve all been subject to at one time or another. It’ll just be me talking about getting older. Not feeling like I'm getting older.

So, if you ever see me randomly take flight down a hallway or across a street or through your backyard, don’t be afraid. Sometimes I just need to remind myself of my own energy, my own vitality. In the sage words of Forrest Gump, sometimes I just feel like running.

Sort of a Cool Moment For Me

Ever since I became a TV fanatic, I've been going to TVGuide.com for news and reviews and the like. During my time there I became a fan of a certain columnist there by the name of Michael Ausiello. It's kind of interesting the stuff you can become a fan of. Like my recent admiration for Roger Ebert, I'm now finding special enjoyment in how people write about things more than what they're writing about. Anyway, Ausiello is the "inside guy" at TV Guide. He's the one who gets the dirt on what's coming up on shows like Lost and 24, and then teases some of what he's learned in his weekly column Ask Ausiello. But like I said, it's how he writes about it. You can check out his column to see what I'm talking about, but mainly I'm drawn to the site because Ausiello is 100% wiseass (sound like anyone you know?). He's a lot of fun to read.

So, recently TV Guide began hosting blogs, and I decided I'd create one... being the TV junkie that I am. And I was stuck on a name. Finally I came up with this... Ausiellics Anonymous. Now the entire first post is dedicated to why I chose this name, so I'm not going to repeat that here. However, I got quite a nice surprise when I found out that my favorite TV Guide columnist had, if not read, at least heard of and seen my new blog. He posted a brief blurb about it on his own personal website this morning. While this probably isn't all that big a deal to you lot, I have to say this is probably the biggest geek-out moment I've had since I met John C. McGinley (Dr. Cox) during my internship at NBC.

Mission: Impossible 3

For those with more than a casual interest in film and television, two questions matter most about Mission Impossible 3. The first question is "Can Tom Cruise shed enough of his increasingly bizarre public persona to deliver the grand escapist entertainment we've come to expect from this franchise." The other question, the more important question for me, is "Can J.J. Abrams, the mastermind behind Alias and Lost leave as strong an imprint on the big screen as he has on the small screen?"

The answer to the first question is well enough. The film moves so fast, starting en media res with one of the better opening teasers I've seen on film (Abrams used it repeatedly on Alias) that establishes much higher stakes for Cruise's Ethan Hunt than he's had before. He's fallen in love with a sweet girl named Julia (Michelle Monaghan), an adorable nurse with brown hair and big doe eyes (remind you of anyone) who thinks Ethan studies traffic patterns for a living. As long as either Ethan or Julia are in peril, Cruise is terrific. One thing you can't criticize Cruise for is laziness; he jumps and falls and shoots his way through the action scenes with a physical gusto lightened of the vanity that many action stars bring with them. "If I'm cut make sure its a sexy cut. If I fall make sure its a sexy fall." None of that for Cruise. He gets tossed around by jets, parachutes, and even Philip Seymour Hoffman, with more concern for realism than posturing.

Ethan Hunt only starts to dissolve into gossip-magnet Tom Cruise during Hunt's engagement party, when he has to mingle with his fiancee's friends. We start to see glimmers of that slightly psychotic grin and maniacal laughter, but in all honesty this scene is brief enough that it's actually kind of amusing, especially with Mini-Kat Monaghan as Cruise's love interest. But we don't linger in the domesticated world long enough for the illusion to crumble completely. A phone call from IMF spoils the party and we're off to the races.

Apparently Hunt is no longer a field agent, but serves IMF by training new agents. As Ethan celebrates his engagement to Julia, he gets a call telling him that his first trainee Lindsey Ferris (Keri Russell) went off the grid. Suddenly, Hunt is back in action and knee deep in a conspiracy involving nasty gun runner, Owen Davian (Philip Seymour Hoffman), and something called The Rabbit's Foot.

So, with the story set up, we must now confront question number two: How does Abrams do?

The answer is poor.

Awful.

Mediocre at best.

Oh, who am I kidding? J.J. Abrams has made a slick, confident feature debut that will likely steal another of my favorite writers away from serial television. First Joss. Now J.J. Well, at least Aaron Sorkin is coming back; TV has managed to keep its hooks in him.

But back to Abrams and Mission Impossible. It's everything you could want from a summer blockbuster. Its not quite on the level of last years Batman Begins, but I enjoyed it a great deal more than any other offering from last year's peak season. I can only hope the rest of the summer continues in this vein.

Abrams and Co. keep the film moving through its labyrinthine (but decipherable) plot at a fantastic clip. Not including the great pacing, two things really stuck out for me about Abrams handling of the film.

First, the tired quick-cut, mish-mash, ultra close-up style that action hacks like Michael Bay have dumped on movie-goers since the 90s is largely absent here. There's not a single sequence where we have to stop and ask wtf is going on. Not only does Abrams keep his cuts reasonable, but he also makes liberal use of wideshots and medium-shots -- two compositions all but lost on today's action filmmakers. The scene on the bridge (the one from all the ads) is one of my favorite action scenes in a long while and it's all because Abrams pulls back and lets us see everything. It was probably expensive to work that way, but I much prefer it to the visual mush we usually get.

I was also relieved to see the action scenes pulled off with a bare minimum of coyness. Too often action films like to wink at us in the gravest of situations; Bad Boys II comes to mind. The entire world is crumbling, but there's always time for a snappy one-liner. M:I:3 doesn't go for that. It keeps things serious, keeps things real, and it adds a certain layer of suspense and danger that we lose when characters don't take their predicaments seriously.

And nobody takes things more seriously than the franchise's best villain so far, Owen Davian. Holy s--t was he fun to watch. Hoffman plays the role with such a grave nastiness you might think he's in the wrong movie. Everybody has seen his threats to Hunt at the beginning of the films trailer:

"You got a wife? Girlfriend? I'm gonna hurt her. I'm gonna make her bleed. And then I'm going to kill you in front of her."

Well, what you wont get from the trailers is that Davian is actually in IMF custody when this conversation takes place. This is supposed to be Hunt interrogating Davian. But Davian works such a swift and savvy mindf--k on our hero that Hunt absolutely loses control. This was a perfect chance for some moustache-twirling, but instead Hoffman gives this sadistic soliloquy with a mix of irritation and ennui that would be laughable if it wasn't so disturbing. He plays it like he's pissed that he's held up in traffic, even as he's talking about torturing Hunt's lover. Hoffman's choices here are totally unconventional for a summer movie villain, and the movie is all the better for it.

All in all, M:I:3 is exactly what you'd expect from summer entertainment -- thrilling action, breakneck pace -- but both Abrams and Hoffman spiced up what could have been a standard meal of fast cars and big explosions with enough style and wit to send me home a little more satisfied than I might have expected. Great start to the summer.

Final Grade for Mission: Impossible 3 -- B +

How Does One Translate Apoplectic Rage to the Page

Yesterday my laptop screen just went black. After trying the all-American Reboot Remedy, nothing happened. So I was forced to take my computer in to Best Buy for the ole check up. And as it has been every other time I've taken my laptop in to get serviced (five times now), they can't actually FIX anything in the store. They have to send it away. So, I'll be landlocked with my online exploits until May 30th. I have a fair amount of potential blog topics (good ones, at that), but I find it hard to write on this desktop. So, I don't know how often I'll be subjecting you to my special brand of commentary over the next month. I hope I can get something out, but me without my laptop is a little like Mozart without his Piano.

Fat Hands and Open Sores

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.