Random Thoughts From Wednesday

--You ever have something produce an unintended result? Let me explain a bit. A few years back, TME and some other roommates and I went to watch Miracle, the story of the 1980 US Olympic hockey team that overcame "Amy Winehouse will never use drugs again" odds to beat a powerhouse Russian team. When the film was over and we were walking out of the theater, everyone was feeling positive, inspired, proud to be American, etc. TME? "Where're some Russians?? I want to hit one!" Probably not the intent of the movie.

Now that I think about it, this episode may have been the reason I subconsciously avoided watching Pearl Harbor with TME. That, and it's just not that good of a movie.

--Horribly bad timing of the week: For the birthday, my buddy Banker got me tickets to a Monster Truck show. And not just any tickets. Backstage passes to get up-close and personal with the trucks AND the drivers. Problem: I had to WORK that Saturday. I haven't been this mad at myself since I watched Battlefield Earth. Banker did keep me updated with periodic texts ("ps: This is ridiculous") and pictures/videos:

Oh, the "what ifs"...

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Happy Birthday to Me -- Photo of the Week 26 January 2009

I call this "The Best Birthday Present, ever."

Compliments of my man DJA, who I owed an organ of some sort before, but to whom I am now even further indebted. (I somehow managed to escape college without student loans, yet have relinquished the ownership of my kidneys and liver for a ping pong blade and some bottles of root beer. Stunning.)

Anyway, you should have seen my face when DJA handed me a Spiced Wafers box.

JD: Oh-- Dave, spiced wafers? Really, you shouldn't hav--

And then as I took the box in my hands, it was obvious from the heft that I was not handling a box of pre-opened spiced wafers packaged in the 70s. I opened it, and Henry was staring me right in the face. I may have quoted Saul verbatim from Ocean's 11, when he's watching the money from the casino vault being loaded into bags:

That is the sexiest thing I have ever seen.

To a NW kid living on the east coast with no easy access to Henry Weinhard's Root Beer, that statement is not far from the truth.

Non-west coasters at the party were unaware of the significance of what I was cradling, but my trembling hands, bulging eyes, and Turret's-like outbursts of incoherent English were indicators that I had just received something of importance.

I suddenly became the Frodo in a room full of Boromirs and Gollums. Some (the Boromirs) hadn't actually had a Henry's before, but that did not lessen its strange appeal to them -- they knew it was special; others (the Gollums) knew what Henry's was, and wanted to take it from me more than anything. Someone (AM -- I know it was you) actually had the audacity to hide two bottles in the couch cushions. On my birthday! Unforgivable.

Well, my paranoia aside, I wanted to recommend Henry Weinhard's to you by describing it as "delicious" or "addictive," but that's like calling Tracy Morgan "crazy" or Kurt Cobain "depressing." Technically and definitionally, I'd be correct, but a one-word description doesn't convey all of the little subtle nuances that make it so special.

You just need to try it for yourself.

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The Japanese Office

"You see, it's funny, because it's racist."

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Random Thoughts From the Running World

--Injured my knee a couple of weeks ago, and when I listed the symptoms to Ben M.D. to get a diagnosis, all he could give me was "Hmm...I have no idea. Sounds like 'asian knee.' " Which was initially unhelpful -- both for its racism and its Michael Scott-esque "I just made this up on the spot because I have no real answer"-type feel -- but then actually served as an amusing way to confuse people when they asked about the injury.

"Oh, the doctor told me I have some slight asian knee. I just need to take it easy for a few weeks."

Try it sometime. Tell someone you have "caucasian ear" or "african heel." The confused "I need to look that up on Wikipedia on my iPhone as soon as this conversation is over" eyes/feigned understanding of what you just said (either one) is absolutely priceless.

--A playlist for the iPod is essential to my completion of any run. I discovered early on that the best running songs involve some sort of hand-clapping because they help me keep rhythm and bring a smile to my face for some reason. If you happen to notice a man clapping his gloved hands, bobbing his head, and grinning like an idiot while running the trails/streets of northern VA, chances are it's me.

Here's one of my favorites, from an amazing Nike commercial:



--I picked the wrong damn time of the year to start running.

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The Creepy Pillow -- Photo of the Week 19 Jan 2009

Rightfully titled "The Creepiest Throw-Pillow."

And people wonder why they have a problem with old business men groping women on the trains in Japan.

Passed to me from a colleague, who found it here.

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Average Homeboy

Brother-in-law Ben sent this to me a while back. Only a I've-been-standing-in-line-for-hours-screaming-giddily-for-the-Twilight-movie-opening caliber lapse of judgement stopped me from posting it earlier. I don't know what I was thinking.

One word. Three syllables. A-MA-ZING:



Some comments from friends/family so far:

I can't believe I just spent 4 and a half minutes watching that. Unbelievable mullet...I really don't know what to say...

i just got blazed, and I loved it.

I couldn't finish it. it makes me feel bad for being alive

I like to go out and shoot some hoops
but not before I eat my fruit loops

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Random Thoughts From Thursday

--I watched The Forbidden Kingdom yesterday, with an admittedly unrealistic hope: That it would be the martial arts equivalent to Heat. See, Heat brought together, for the first time, two powerhouse acting legends: Pacino and De Niro. It is one of the best movies I've seen. Kingdom features Jet Li and Jackie Chan, two powerhouse martial artists, and so I hoped--

Aside from being visually gripping at times, I was underwhelmed by Kingdom.

--Re: The 12 Jan PotW and D&D/Medieval/Anime-Manga people, WJ Gchatted this to me:

WJ: We need to find some of those people and dissect their brains

Knowing him, WJ meant this in the the most non-violent way possible. Being a future MD, he simply wants to understand which part of the brain serves as the motivational center for completely withdrawing from/severing ties with reality. It's simple scientific curiosity. Checking the Manga aisle in the nearest Barnes & Noble will surely yield some potential candidates.

--There's a sign in my work bathroom that lists five things users should do. #2 reads: "Flush the toilet after use." Is it more disturbing that this needs to be stated explicitly on a list of instructions in an adult bathroom, or that it is not #1?

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Name That Plate 3

I've only got one guess for this one, but I don't want to say it.

Your guess is as good as mine.

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Lightning Bolt! -- Photo of the Week 12 Jan 2009

"Lightning Bolt! Lightning Bolt!"

Okay, I've strayed and posted a video instead of a photo, but if a picture is worth a thousand words, a video of something like this is worth an unabridged version of War & Peace. I have no idea where, but WJ found this a few years ago and I watch it when I feel like I'm not doing anything productive or worthwhile with my life. It always helps. Nothing quite like watching others reenact D&D to boost my own self-confidence.

Confession: Until a few years ago, I was ignorant. I thought D&D reenactors occupied the backwoods of some hillbilly state. Unfortunately, this naive assumption was dead wrong. I was driving home one night in Provo around 3AM, came to a stop at a red light, and glanced at the park to my right.

It was one of those strange realization moments. Remember in The Matrix when Neo takes the blue pill, wakes up in the real world, goes on that slippery slide, gets picked up by Morpheus's ship, pukes all over because he's completely disoriented, and then Morpheus states matter-of-factly: "Welcome to the real world." I felt like all of those things had just happened to me -- the urge to puke was especially strong -- in that split second when I realized that a D&D reenactment was taking place in the city I currently lived. I guess I had to come to grips that this was part of the real world.


Can someone make a documentary of this? Please??



End note: You know, as I was typing this I saw a commercial for the Snuggie, and I wondered how they are still in business. Suddenly, I not only know the answer to that question, but also who their biggest customers are.

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The Complete Idiot's Guide to Identifying Butt Rock

Readers and friends often ask me: "What exactly is 'butt rock?' And if it is the musical equivalent of the Black Plague, as you claim, why do you keep bringing it up? That's just stupid."

First off, calm down. Insults are hurtful.

Second, you know the reason I bring it up is because back in high school I found some old butt rock concert t-shirts at Goodwill and started collecting them. Why the butt rock fixation when I know it sucks? Not quite sure on that one. I guess my counter to that question is: "What the hell is wrong with Mike Tyson?" See, both are good questions, but ones that we may never know the answers to.

Regardless, as a result of the strange draw that Butt Rock (BR) has on me, I have acquired some knowledge about the genre over the years and wish to impart it. Let's get down to the nitty gritty.

BR (aka "glam rock" "hair metal") was a musical product of the 80's -- and if the 80's were the modern Dark Age of movies, fashion, and music, then BR was indeed the accompanying Black Plague. Much like the Black Plague that scourged Europe in the 1300s, BR was the omnipresent scourge of its time; both nearly toppled western civilization; both thrived in unsanitary conditions; both had lasting, detrimental effects years after their peak -- and lastly, the prospect of either returning in a newly mutated form is terrifying enough to be a Stephen King novel.

Let me first list what is not needed in BR:

1. Musical talent
2. Good looks
3. Intelligence
4. Shame
5. Dignity

Still with me? Good.

Now, to the must haves.

Everything that is BR can be illustrated with a good BR concert t-shirt. I have one of the best:

This shirt tells us a lot about BR. First, you need a stupid band name, like Judas Priest, Def Leppard, Cinderella, Quiet Riot, Whitesnake, etc. Big hair and leather are absolute musts. I cannot emphasize this enough: BR without big hair and lots of leather is like Tony Stark without his Ironman suit. And when I say lots of leather, I'm talking the band should be wearing the equivalent of at least 50-60 entire cows' hides worth of leather. Songs about women and struggles with drug/alcohol addiction are essential -- as is the occasional "power ballad" to show the groupies that the band has a sensitive side.

What else? Let's flip that concert t-shirt over for more clues:

Need I say more?

I should teach a Music History class.

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Bustin' the Butt Rock -- Photo of the Week 5 Jan 2009

(click image to enlarge: l. to r. Ozzy Osbourne, Anthrax,
Def Leppard, Pantera, Judas Priest)

When: May 1999
Where: Some hotel lobby in Chicago, IL

Had to pull this one out of the vault. It's just me and some high school buddies displaying a sampling of the butt rock t-shirts we amassed over the course of a few years. No need to fear, though. This was the only time I wore the shirt in public.

Unless, of course, the following are considered "wearing in public": Wearing it to all school basketball games that I was a fan at; underneath my soccer jersey my senior year (good luck...duh); to various school dances; to all major Science Olympiad competitions* I competed in, etc etc.

In all seriousness, I want you to appreciate the composition of this photograph -- the symmetry, the raw emotion in our expressions. This should be hanging in a museum somewhere.

This photo is also serving as a primer for tomorrow's blog post. Make sure to come back and check it out.

*I know, I know.

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My New Caddy

One of the gifts my parents bought me for Christmas was a very nice Sanyo rice-cooker. It has the buttons and display screens of a nuclear launch control room and the cooking capacity to feed a large clan of sumo wrestlers. Opening that box was like when Elrond hands Aragorn the sword of the King in the last Lord of the Rings movie. It just felt like it was meant to be.


I described it to my good friend White Josh (WJ) who wistfully replied:

WJ: yeah i looked online...sanyo looks like the cadillac of rice cookers...or i guess the "samurai" class of rice cookers

WJ was going in a good direction with his metaphor. After much thought, I would present, for your consideration, a third way to label it: The "Palanquin of Rice-Cookers." You know, those small boxes Asian elite used to get hauled around in? They represented eliteness and luxury. They're pretty Asian. I think this analogy conveys all of these ideas.

On a barely-related sidenote (since I brought up the auto industry) my brother-in-law sent me this. Thought it was pretty funny (click for larger image).

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