Why Yes, I Am Alive

I've been off the map for going on three weeks now. There's no doubt that you've all been chomping at the bit for more of my patented mind nuggets and I've failed you. This post will do little to quell that hunger aside from assuring you that there is a light on the horizon.

Surprisingly, buying a house and moving into it is a time consuming process. There's the pre-move prep (which I've already touched upon) and an endless list of things you want to do and the things you have to do (hello, home inspection report). The effort to prioritize the fun with the practical is taxing to say the least and that's before trying to decide if we can afford it (I'll give you a hint: no). And we can't forget the projects that crop up all last minute like and jump to the front-burner. It almost feels like in Tetris when you're trying to fill the screen with those blocks but they keep disappearing when you make a completely row*. Our progress keeps disappearing.

Andrea and I still aren't completely moved in even though it's been about a month since we closed. In addition to the odd jobs mentioned above, we've also been unpacking slowly to assess our Stuff. Do we need this much Stuff? Why do we have several of that Stuff? When was the last time we use this Stuff? There's some Stuff I've never even seen before. Toss that into the yard sale/Goodwill/trash pile. Intelligent people would take care of this before they move so they don't pack a bunch of Stuff they don't need. But doing that would take an organizational level that doesn't exist in our lives right now (possibly even before).

Finally, any time I'm at work, Andrea can write her night off. It's her and the baby and the baby hates productivity. It might be his least favorite thing in the world, next to the car seat and getting changed. So one of these days the house will be set up and we'll invite you over and I'll start writing more specifically about the move, the baby, movies, and general rants against humanity. It will all be worth it, I promise.

*That is the point of Tetris, right?

Stupid Headlines

I know that headlines are supposed to grab one's attention so people will want to read an article and if I see one that's particularly outrageous, I kind of appreciate it. But when headlines strive to simply be informative yet they are still ridiculous, that's when I take umbrage. Case in point:

Halfway down, there's a link that I clicked (it is on CNN.com). It says "Paralyzed boy stuns class, walks." Obviously, it's about a paralyzed boy who stunned his class BY walking. However, the headline suggests that the boy somehow hit his glass with some kind of stun gun and walks out. 

You know what? I don't know why I'm complaining. I'm just going to ignore the link and pretend that's exactly what happened.

PARALYZED BOY: Hey jerks! I'm tired of all your sympathetic looks.

ZAP! He fires stun gun.

He gets up from his wheelchair, takes a few steps and turns to the unconscious class.

PB: That's right fuckers. I can walk now.

Puts on sunglasses.

PB: Shocked? 

Turns and leaves.

My Work Is Famous (and so is my coworker)

A few of you have visited me here in Portland and a few more will be visiting this summer. Those who have visited have received the tour of my place of work: the Hollywood Theatre. Those who will be coming, I will push, prod, poke, and pressure to visit the grand old building. It's a  great place to work and is one of the oldest theaters in the city, built in 1926. The entire Hollywood District is named after it. Oh, and it's starring in a motherfucking commercial*!


It should be noted that, due to the prices of corn steadily rising, we've had to adjust the price of the popcorn mentioned in the commercial. There's no word as to whether Progressive has done the same.

Also, that stellar paint job was donated by the Tradesperson of the Year, Joel Hamburg.

*Sorry for cursing, but it's pretty damn rad**.


**There I go again.

My Sister, My Nephew

Most of you who would read this post are probably already aware of the uncanny likeness between my older sister and her son, but I want to share it with everyone. It's remarkable that it was only noticed in the past month. Remarkable and hilarious.

Sam

Mandy, or Sam in drag?

The Super-Moon and Me

As I was leaving work after midnight with my coworker and all-around nice guy, Matt, we came to the alley that signifies our separation. He walks just a few blocks home to the east, and I ride my bike five miles south. Tonight, May 5th, offered us a glimpse of the super-moon, notable because it was clear skies so we could see it and that it wasn't some giant Occupy protest in which thousands of people dropped their pants in unison as I suspected the "super-moon" might be. It was nice to see, it didn't look substantially different (sadly, we didn't experience anything like this... stupid telephoto lenses that I don't have...).

We parted ways and I began a very peaceful and beautiful ride home. The super-moon guided my way south and even though there were street lights, I have little doubt it would have supplied enough light for me without them. The temperature was a brisk 49 degrees and the combination of the clear sky and crisp air drew my memories back to my years in the mid-Atlantic and New England. More specifically, the fall, my favorite time of year. I miss a lot about Boston and Harrisburg, but fall is in the top ten.

We don't get many days that feel like fall on the East Coast and my mind recalled many great moments as I rode my bike. Night baseball in September in Boston. Geology field trips to New England and New York. Cool evenings by the fire in my parents' backyard. The super-moon brought piece and reflection to me this night. Unfortunately, the spell was broken as I entered back into civilization. I approached Hawthorne and the sounds of shout-flirting echoed through the air. Cinqo de Mayo revelers were out in droves and traffic picked up substantially (many of the drivers I'm sure were tipsy, at the least). My guard went up and I couldn't recapture the serenity of my super-moon ride. I only wish I'd taken more time to enjoy it (though I'm sure Andrea is happy that I didn't as it was getting awfully late and my phone had died).

So thank you, super-moon. I had a lovely time with you while it lasted.

Super-moon. Not pictured: cape

The Baldening

It's been nearly two years since I cut my hair. That was never the plan. I don't particularly like having long hair. It gets in my face, clogs the drain, and since it's curly, is always horribly knotted. For a while, my plan was to simply make it to a year of growth, but my hair was just long enough that I thought, "if I can hold out until it's ten inches long, I can donate it!" A brilliant idea! But having never had a substantial length of hair, I didn't really know what was needed of me.

At Christmas this past year, my little sister, Emily, straightened my hair (because there's nothing a little sister likes to do more than play with her brother's hair). She noted that my hair was in terrible condition. The ends were dead and split and someone needed to cut them so healthy hair can grow out. I scoffed at her to myself believing that I'd just let my hair grow beyond ten inches so the dead parts wouldn't matter. I was at nearly nine inches in length at Christmas anyway. There was still plenty of time for me to grow my hair long enough and still get it cut before my wedding in July (the end of July, no less!).

But here we were, four months later, and my hair had barely grown at all. Certainly not at the half inch a month I was led to expect. It dawned on my that perhaps having poorly maintained hair meant that when I brushed it, the dead parts actually broke off, leaving my hair situation in stasis, no matter how much I yelled at it. My hopes of donation dashed, I plotted a new strategy. One of shock and awe.

Two thoughts informed my decision. The first was that my hair was longer than it'd ever been and that it would be fun to go from one extreme to the other. The second dates back to residual guilt from my college baseball days (freshman year, I believe). The team decided it would be fun to either bleach their hair, or shave it to the scalp. Those were the choices*. Knowing that if I bleached my hair, I would disappear (I am very pail, already), I shaved my head but just on the lowest setting on the trimmers. I couldn't bring myself to go all the way (though I did leave my sideburns, to interesting effect, and the team seemed to appreciate that). So it was settled. I was going to shave my head without telling anyone.

My mom was in Portland for a visit with my dad flying in on Thursday, so I thought Thursday morning would be the ideal time to do it. Sadly, circumstances greater than my hair plans got in the way, but the scheme was solid. I told Andrea that I was going to shave my beard and shower after climbing and that was that. I came out of the bathroom and Andrea was shocked. Later, I we Skyped with my mom and she was in awe. Mission accomplished!

I've always felt that girls have a luxury of being able to drastically change their looks with relative ease (acknowledging that doing your hair in different styles can be very time consuming). If I want to shake things up, I have to wait for my hair or beard to grow out before I can do anything which is why I enjoy the suddenness of chopping it all off or showing up some place with muttonchops (I refuse to have any form of goatee, van dyke, or soul patch. Normally, mustache would be on this list, but I kind of wanted to leave a mustache with my shaved head to go for the Bronson look).

Anyway, enough people have asked why that I felt it a valid excuse to indulge myself in this tale.

So much hair to grab.

I was a little nervous my head dents would look weird.

*I've always found these efforts at team unity to be kind of pointless. You already where the same clothes (called a uniform, of all things...). You're already united in a common cause. Why do teams feel compelled to go even further? 

Sex and Crossword Puzzles

There are two free weeklies in Portland, the Willamette Week and the Portland Mercury. They both cover local and national news items, but they're really a vessel for what's going on in the city, activity-wise, just like every other city's weekly. I only occasionally pick them up because I'm not really a culture vulture or scenester (and I get enough information from the Portland Mercury blog on that front). However, if I do have time to glance through one of these papers, I'll grab the Willamette Week because it has an edge: a crossword puzzle. Often, this crossword puzzle is on or across the sex-line page:

Perhaps it's naive of me in this age of naked men and women being but a brief internet search away, but I like to think that there's some nerdy kid out there, wholly uninterested in sex but massively into crossword puzzles, who grabs the Willamette Week because, hey, free crossword, and slowly begins to notice the barely clothed women encouraging him to spend his parents' money on sex calls or go to a strip club. Eventually, he no longer grabs the weekly for the crossword, but the sex ads. He is a new man with new priorities. That's the sort of romantic coming of age story I can get behind.

Great Fan Catches*

One of my favorite things about baseball is the way the game extends into the stands. Fans get to keep various souvenirs that fly out of play (generally baseballs) or, if they have to give a bat back, they typically will get some signed swag in return. Because things are constantly flying into the stands, it gives fans lots to anticipate and lots to do. Most dream of catching a foul ball**. Some cower in fear (like my old roomie did) while others rise to the challenge whether they're holding a beer, pizza, or their child. Even when the action only gets close to the stands, it gives the fans a chance to steal attention away from the game. These are a few of my favorite moments***:







If you've got any favorites, please share them!


* This was one of the most annoying posts I've ever written. I couldn't find half the videos I wanted and when I did find them, they weren't embeddable because MLB has stupid rules about sharing game action.


** I didn't catch one, but I did get one that landed near me and tossed it to a kid even though I really needed a baseball. Moral of the story: I'm a saint.


*** h/t to Deadspin for introducing me to most of them.

Surprise Records

As part of my alphabetical journey through my record collection, I've been expecting this day to come. Several years ago, I fancied "wallpapering" a room in album covers. It didn't matter if the record was any good as long as the cover or I felt it would make an interesting addition to a larger whole. It just so happens that two of these albums (bought at a thrift store) came up back-to-back. Here are the covers:

This will always amuse me.

Little about the album artwork leads me to raise my expectations about the music, so perhaps that feeds my reaction a bit, but both albums were very listenable. I doubt they'll make my regular rotation, but I wasn't unhappy with the experience. Rock Killough, who looks more like an biology teacher than a musician in his picture on the back cover, reminds me of the Jim Croce/Joe Cocker ilk. A singer/songwriter with a touch of the blues. There are moments where the album goes from serviceable to engaging and the musicianship is quite impressive at times. Unfortunately, I can't find any samples from the above album, but here he is much older (and sounding a little like Ray Stevens*):

The Ramsey Lewis Trio are a pretty good jazz group. I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but I think it was more along the lines of crappy smooth jazz or some awful funk, but I might listen to this again** (having said that, I did let a two year old run around with the actual record to play with).

Given the YouTube presence, clearly The Ramsey Lewis Trio are the more popular of these artists. 

*That could be a mistaken first impression of this song, since I haven't heard it before as he has little presence on YouTube (unless he's also a rock climber) and YouTube was being a pain and wouldn't load any videos after my first sample.

** May not be the best example due to the above asterisk.

First Memories*

Anyone claiming to be able to pinpoint their first memory is full of shit.

OK. Maybe that's a bit harsh, but I'm highly skeptical of their assertion. It appears to me that people are crafting a narrative around their first memory just to be able claim one. It's like when I default to Dr. Strangelove as my favorite movie. I don't necessarily believe it's my favorite, and it's certainly up there, but it's convenient to default to that. My experience with memory is very fluid, with bits and pieces fluttering about my brain. The only way I really differentiate my early memories is by zeroing in on a time period. In this case, it would be the time in the first house I lived in (I can't even remember the address... 215 N 25th Street?). Here's how my memories of that house breakdown:

Things My Parents Have Told Me That Feel Like Memories
These are stories that I've heard so often from my parents that they feel familiar and intimate like memories. Or things that feel familiar from looking at pictures.
-- Wandering out into the snow on in a diaper and climbing to the top of a slide in the backyard.
-- Throwing wet rags at a mirror to help clean it.
-- Sitting on a tree branch only to have it snap and me fall straight to the ground.

Things That I've Temporarily Forgotten That Will Come to Me in the Future Randomly or Being Triggered by Something Related
It's kind of like when you blank on a word or a person's name. It's in there, but it's not ready to reveal itself. Obviously, I have no examples for this category.

Things I Actually Remember But Have No Idea as to the Chronology
Truth be told, I have some idea. Like the time my older sister and I were begging to stay up to watch Roseanne. That happened towards the end of our days at that house. Not a candidate for my first memory, but...
-- Sneaking downstairs in the wee hours of Christmas morn with my older sister and seeing the knock hockey game.
-- My older sister falling down the stairs and hitting her head on the TV.
-- My younger sister falling down the basement stairs only to be saved by me because I was going down in front of her.
-- Trying to make it to a safe place to puke and throwing up while running up the basement stairs.
-- Chasing my older sister up the stairs playing "Land Shark" and her thumb getting caught in the railing and breaking.
-- Racing my sister to the bathroom, losing, being a poor loser and peeing on her.
-- Hiding my medicine under the couch cushions.
-- Climbing up my dresser to get something from on top of it only to have it fall back on me.
-- Jumping off of my top bunk with a friend and knocking the ceiling light out of its fixture and onto the dining room table.
-- My dad getting mad at me for not cleaning my stuff up and throwing my toy jeep against the wall, shattering it.
-- Being terrified of the back room in the basement but knowing dad had clay back there that I wanted to play with.

Yes, for some of these memories, I must have been older than others, but many are interchangeable (also, there's a distinct presence of "bad" things happening in these memories). So as I said, anyone claiming to pinpoint a first memory is full of shit.

*This post is only slightly an excuse to purge some childhood memories. We'll blame my son for making me think of this stuff.

Jethro Tull: Grizzly, British, Heavy Metal Award Winning...

...Family Men?

This amazing picture is from the Living in the Past album. The range of expressions is almost as fun as the presence of the baby.

In Which I Profess to Being Glad I'm Not a Woman

Throughout my life, I have frequently thought about how happy I am that I'm not a woman. The crux of this thinking has basically always centered around three main points: no period, no pregnancy, no menopause. No aspect of any of these seems remotely appealing of beneficial. As I've grown older and more mature, I included the treatment of women to these reasons, be they lower wages (ironic, as Andrea is the breadwinner in our family) or the incessant cat-calling of creepy guys. Basically, being male, middle-class, and white is a pretty sweet deal.

Sure, there have been aspects of female living I've been intrigued by. I was always jealous that they had lower standards in the Presidential Fitness Club. When springtime rolls around, I feel a tinge of jealousy that women get to wear sundresses, which look like the most comfortable looking of clothing ever designed. I think it would be interesting to feel what a female orgasm is like (of course, I would hardly need to be female for long to do that). There may be a few more things, but those are the big ones.

Now that I have a baby, my list of reasons I'm glad to be a guy can grow in a way I never imagined before: breastfeeding. The demands on Andrea are completely ridiculous and annoying (for her. It's all pretty easy on me). Basically, she has to stop everything to make sure the boy feeds and at whatever time he desires. There's very little I can do to help at this point (around week three, we'll start bottle training him), so the minute he starts making faces like he's searching for a teat to suck, I have to take him to mom. That alone would drive me crazy. Then there's the other stuff that goes along with it, like leaking through clothes or on the bed and having sore boobs and pumping. It all looks fairly miserable.

So, yes, I'm glad I'm not a woman.

A Brief History of Jokes I Wrote*

First Grade (maybe third): The first joke I ever wrote (probably recalled with better construction than it actually had)

A man sitting on the ground having a picnic farts. Nearby a snake sings, "Feel those good vibrations!"

That's right, my first joke ever was a fart joke. You can't say I haven't always aimed high.

Junior High: Written while I was in the shower (which will become evident)

What do you call a whale with a bowel problem? Shampoo! 

High School: No jokes. Too busy banging chicks! (talking to friends on AIM)

Undergrad: No jokes. Too busy banging chicks (talking to friends on AIM) and gettin' DRUNK! (watching movies) 


The Geologist Years: No jokes. Soul crushed by job.

Graduate School: The birth of the non-joke

Two men walk into a bar. One orders a gin and tonic and the other says, "I'll have what he's having."

Your mama's so fat... I'm really concerned about her health. 

A priest, a rabbi, and an atheist are stranded at sea. The priest and rabbi set aside their differences and pray together for rescue. The atheist says, "I, too, hope for our rescue, though I'll refrain from joining you in prayer."

The Portland Years: The culmination of years of practice.

I'm so good at Pin the Tail on the Donkey, I could do it blindfolded!

If I was lying, you'd know it!

Verily, I'm the voice of a generation. It's a wonder I'm not touring the county (not a misprint) packing them in by the dozens .




*Those worth remembering, at least.

Making Pretzels

Now that I have a video camera, friends keep telling me to shoot anything and everything just for the practice, so I did. I decided to bring the camera along on my attempt to make hard pretzel sticks. I failed, but I mostly blame my unreliable oven. There are certain shots I missed, but the experience was just for fun and not perfection.

Anyway, here it is. There's no soundtrack since it would have been massively discontinuous and distracting, so throw on whatever you like to listen to. Maybe it'll turn out like a Dark Side of the Moon and the Wizard of Oz.

IMDB Recommendations

I guess IMDB picked these recommendations from stuff that I've searched, but I still can't figure out how it arrived at this distribution of films. Once of these things is not like the others:

It's almost as bad as the Netfix suggestions.

Obligatory Cat Post

I have a complex relationship with cats (complex meaning I don't like them). While I was out taking pictures for Backboard Jungle, I walked by a yard with a cat sitting in it. We made eye contact (I like to stare down cats as I pass them) and since I am all things to all animals, it approached me and started rolling around on its back in the driveway near my feet. However, since there were no basketball hoops around, I had no reason to stop and left it behind. Two or three houses down, though, there was a hoop which I proceeded to photography (as you'll recall, this was the point of my excursion). My concentration focused through the viewfinder, I felt something around my ankle. The cat had left the security of its front yard to be with me. I took a picture of it being "cute:"

I put cute in quotes because I know that if I had motioned to pet the cat, it very easily could have decided that petting is its least favorite thing and mauled my hand beyond usage. Cats are devious like that.

A Very Specific Monsters, Inc Appreciation

A few months ago, I was studying up for Pixar Trivia night presented by Shanrock's Trivia and, for the first time, I noticed the brilliance of the Monsters, Inc logo.

It's got the "M" and "I" for the name of the company, they eye evokes being watched by a monster in your room, and it actually forms the face of a monster with the pointed, white cut-outs in the "M" forming teeth! It's simple and incredible. And all for a fictional company. With how many bad logos are out there, it's a wonder that Pixar hasn't opened a side business to design logos for everyone. When I finally noticed the many facets of the logo, it blew my mind nearly as much as the time I realized that The Beatles are named such because the word "beat" is contained within (a realization that occurred embarrassingly late in life).

More Nostalgia

I've already featured a few posts dealing with nostalgia after I returned from Pennsylvania earlier this month. I'd imagine this has something to do with having a child and getting married in the next two and six months, respectively. Age and responsibility lead one to look back the path leading to the present, I guess.

Anyway, I just want to share something that I threw away while I was sorting through all of my junk over the holidays, but rescued when I remembered I needed a calculator with a big screen at work.

Yes, I was willing to throw out this amazing and still functional calculator (albeit, with two pieces missing) while I was at home. It has since stopped working (that dot on the screen is all it displays now) and I'm having trouble letting go. Maybe it's because the calculator is one of my oldest possessions or maybe I'm just too excited for baseball to start up again, but I just can't throw it out. It's too awesome!

From the Nate Capp Archives

I'll let Mrs. Mayle's letter of reminder explain what this post is about, but I'm kind of curious as to how many people still have this or had to do something similar. Also, I clearly didn't take this project seriously. My letter to my future self couldn't come off as lazier. I'm such a slacker (though Monty Python and the Red Sox both rule!).

Top Ten Presidential Names

A while ago, I tweeted that I don't think that people appreciate how awesome the name "Barack Obama" is, regardless of politics. It has a great flow, and miss of hard and soft sounds, and just sounds like a powerful name. This made me think about the names of other presidents. The most common are:

George (3)

John (4)

James (5... though 6 if we include Jimmy Carter)

Those may be the most frequently occurring names, but most of the names of our presidents have been horribly conventional. This is my list of the best presidential monikers. I tried my best to divorce politics from the equation, but I'm blessed with a lack of intimate knowledge of some of these people. 

1. Barack Obama

2. Rutherford B. Hayes

3. Ulysses S. Grant

4. Millard Fillmore

(the only president to have consecutive consonants, maybe even letters, in his first and last name)

5. Grover Cleveland

6. Theodore Roosevelt

(may rank so high because I can't divorce his awesomeness from his name)

7. Martin van Buren

8. Abraham Lincoln

9. Chester A. Arthur

10. Dwight D. Eisenhower

Lesson taken from this list: Including your middle initial goes along to making your name sound badass.