There were a lot of things that I could write about over the past couple days. Rock of Love II updates, details on the new season of the Gauntlet, American Gladiators, Brady v Jeter. One thing stands above the rest on my thoughts.
Around 7pm, this past Sunday, Gordon finally reunited with Marjorie after a little more than three and half years being apart. Maybe I'm wrong for this, but that was all I could think about when I heard of his passing, and I actually smiled hearing the news report. By all means, I and millions around the world will miss having him with us, but all I could think of was seeing his smile when he was able to see Marjorie waiting for him, draped in white, and looking as beautiful as she did in his memories.
In all seriousness, I was more affected when she passed than when he passed. I can still remember looking at him during that first conference after her passing, and seeing the emptiness in his eyes. And mind you, that was almost six months to the day after her passing. You could tell he was just putting one foot in front of the other, and hoping it would actually bear his weight.
Majestically, he handled the trauma of losing his beloved of over 70 years, I'm including courtship time, while leading millions into a new era. Now, he can get back to laughing with his best friend. I don't doubt he will be hard at work soon, but I pray that he'll be granted at least a little time to catch up on the happenings of the past three and a half years.
Forgive the sacrilege, but please realize that there will be many people waiting to greet him, but he better make time straightway for his woman. Go get her Gordon. You've both waited long enough.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
In the time of chimpanzees I was a monkey
So I watched the new episode of Rock of Love. I even tried to do a running diary. But it sucked. I’m a funny guy. More so than most. Sitting there watching it, you see everything coming ahead of time. It’s hilarious, if you realize that they’re scandalous at best, white (or whatever color each one was) trash at worst. It’s highly entertaining as long as you understand that between the dozen or so of them, maybe there is enough brain power to change the channel. Also, you can count on two things every episode: 1) someone getting drunk beyond belief and 2) someone rocking the stripper pole. If you didn’t get both of those, return the episode for a full refund.
Because of this, I’m scrapping the running diary column. But for those wondering what happened in the most recent episode, I’ve got a couple thoughts on it. Most notably, the fact that one of them, Sarah, is there on a dare. No joke. Who shows up to this on a dare? I say that, but really, if someone offered me one hundred dollars to go on I Love New York, I would do it without hesitation. Really, it would all be fine until I had to make out with her. Then I would be regretting taking the hundred dollars. And having lips and taste buds. But I would also be very thankful for one heck of an immune system.
I also would be remiss if I did not spend at least a couple lines on Angelique, the French chick with zero inhibitions and a comparable IQ. She barely, speaks English. No really, I tried to understand what she was saying without reading the subtitles. I’m pretty good at this, but I’ll tell you, I had to strain to put together what she was saying. It’s not as bad as trying to understand conversation underwater, but it’s slightly worse than handling a phone call while watching a movie and talking with the person next to you. Yep, right in the middle of those two is where you’ll find understanding her. Worst of all, you know she’s making at worst the top seven, at best the top four. That’s a guarantee.
That’s really all you needed to get out of the last episode. I spent about two pages keeping a diary, only to give a once over and realize that anyone who saw it would laugh remembering it, and anyone who hadn’t would be lost and think the show sucked. I couldn’t handle having viewership drop because of me. Bret would never accept that from me. Instead I’ve replaced it with an entry on the Sunday spent at Mike’s house.
This was Conference Championship Sunday, or what it will likely come to be known as, Brett Favre’s last game. He put up a valiant performance for sure, but I can’t help but leave the game feeling scammed. His first scoring drive is a 90-yard bomb to Driver for the go ahead TD, and everyone was thinking, this is it; Favre is going to light up this secondary. I spent the rest of the game under the delusion that he was the Favre of the late 90’s. He’s not. He’s still better than the majority of quarterbacks, but he’s done. I hate to say it, but it’s time to hang up the spikes. Simply put, when the game went into crunch time, he didn’t get it done. He threw a pick in OT, on his own side of the field, on an underthrown ball. I’m not the first, and I certainly won’t be the last, but I’m adding my name to “He’s done” list.
We’ll get back to football in a second, but first off, you know who needs to take the spikes off the wall and get back to work? Lauryn Hill. I don’t know how long I’ve been saying this, but how do you go from pulling down five Grammy’s for her debut album only to fade out of the spotlight? I would personally put up five hundred dollars to see her put together a new album.
Ok, so two thought came to mind as soon as I set that number. First, five hundred dollars could probably only afford 3-4 minutes of quality studio time, so she would have to nail it on the first take. Second, it means I value a Lauryn Hill comeback only five times as much as the dignity I would inevitably lose by being associated with I Love New York. Both are true, and I stand by my comments.
Nope, we’re not getting back to football. That was just a dirty trick. Peace.
Because of this, I’m scrapping the running diary column. But for those wondering what happened in the most recent episode, I’ve got a couple thoughts on it. Most notably, the fact that one of them, Sarah, is there on a dare. No joke. Who shows up to this on a dare? I say that, but really, if someone offered me one hundred dollars to go on I Love New York, I would do it without hesitation. Really, it would all be fine until I had to make out with her. Then I would be regretting taking the hundred dollars. And having lips and taste buds. But I would also be very thankful for one heck of an immune system.
I also would be remiss if I did not spend at least a couple lines on Angelique, the French chick with zero inhibitions and a comparable IQ. She barely, speaks English. No really, I tried to understand what she was saying without reading the subtitles. I’m pretty good at this, but I’ll tell you, I had to strain to put together what she was saying. It’s not as bad as trying to understand conversation underwater, but it’s slightly worse than handling a phone call while watching a movie and talking with the person next to you. Yep, right in the middle of those two is where you’ll find understanding her. Worst of all, you know she’s making at worst the top seven, at best the top four. That’s a guarantee.
That’s really all you needed to get out of the last episode. I spent about two pages keeping a diary, only to give a once over and realize that anyone who saw it would laugh remembering it, and anyone who hadn’t would be lost and think the show sucked. I couldn’t handle having viewership drop because of me. Bret would never accept that from me. Instead I’ve replaced it with an entry on the Sunday spent at Mike’s house.
This was Conference Championship Sunday, or what it will likely come to be known as, Brett Favre’s last game. He put up a valiant performance for sure, but I can’t help but leave the game feeling scammed. His first scoring drive is a 90-yard bomb to Driver for the go ahead TD, and everyone was thinking, this is it; Favre is going to light up this secondary. I spent the rest of the game under the delusion that he was the Favre of the late 90’s. He’s not. He’s still better than the majority of quarterbacks, but he’s done. I hate to say it, but it’s time to hang up the spikes. Simply put, when the game went into crunch time, he didn’t get it done. He threw a pick in OT, on his own side of the field, on an underthrown ball. I’m not the first, and I certainly won’t be the last, but I’m adding my name to “He’s done” list.
We’ll get back to football in a second, but first off, you know who needs to take the spikes off the wall and get back to work? Lauryn Hill. I don’t know how long I’ve been saying this, but how do you go from pulling down five Grammy’s for her debut album only to fade out of the spotlight? I would personally put up five hundred dollars to see her put together a new album.
Ok, so two thought came to mind as soon as I set that number. First, five hundred dollars could probably only afford 3-4 minutes of quality studio time, so she would have to nail it on the first take. Second, it means I value a Lauryn Hill comeback only five times as much as the dignity I would inevitably lose by being associated with I Love New York. Both are true, and I stand by my comments.
Nope, we’re not getting back to football. That was just a dirty trick. Peace.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Down the basement, Lock the cellar door
If everyone is allowed one reality show guilty pleasure, mine has to be any of the Road Rules/Real World competition series. However, since Mike doesn't seem to have one, I'm taking his as well and ascribing it to Rock of Love. Really, if you aren't watching this, you're missing out.
Maybe you're avoiding because you saw both Flavor of Love shows and you're saying to yourself, with the exception of hoops on season one, none of the girls were worth flirting with, much less making out with. And you're dead right. Hoops was the anomaly in that system. Seriously, what was she thinking about when she signed up to do that show? I guarantee it was not, "Flavor Flave, now that is a handsome man." The only thing that really scares me is how she hasn't parlayed that fifteen minutes into something else. I mean, far away she was the most attractive, most genuinely believable character that series ever saw. Surely some Lifetime/oxygen made for tv movie needed a young attractive black woman. How could she not make the short list of those who would work for minimal pay?
Or maybe you're reminded of the I Love New York series. Again, plagued from the outset by a lead that is of questionable, at best, affinity. By no means is she in the same class as Flavor Flave, but again, she was one of the thirty or so other girls on his show which made you think to yourself, "well I guess money and fame can't always ensure hot girls liking you." If you did follow that vehicle, you were constantly in suspense though. Not over who was going to get cut, but how big her boobs were going to be in the next episode. Could someone chart this on a line graph? There must be a way to make and episode by episode record of her measurements. What gets me is how she managed to film so many consecutive episodes with the swelling incumbent on such a procedure. Now that's amazing.
But let's get to the Rose Bowl of all reality dating shows that is Rock of Love. Bless you Bret Michaels. Because you spent your prime years hooking up with every girl in sight, you never settled down, and now, a good ten to fifteen years past your heyday, the world can share in your quest for passion. If you missed the first season, know that you missed out on some sweet television. For starters, the girls were more, how do I put this delicately... I can't so I'll say sluttier. I would post it as a 5-2 favorite that at least one girl propositioned someone in the camera crew so that they could get some alone time with Bret. 7-3 Favorite that the crew member obliged.
Looking back though, what gets me is how eerily similar the final went down when compared to Flavor of Love 1. Essentially you had the rebel girl who was loud and flamboyant against the quiet girl who was obviously more attractive, but wasn't as ostentatious, and thus, because they're dealing with celebrities (I'm using that generously), risked losing. In the world void of celebrities, neither of the decisions would have been difficult, but amazingly, both leads chose the the latter of the two, as would any objective bystander. To continue down the scary parallel rabbit hole, both came on the reunion show simply to state that it hadn't worked out, and maybe that the lead chose the wrong person.
Soak that in for a second, the three of you who can remember both shows this specifically.
Now we're at season two of Rock of Love.
Sidebar- Jes, from season one, if you're out there, and roaming through my area, call me. No, seriously. I would take you out for dinner, and if you played your cards right, maybe we could head back to my place and square off on duck hunt. Maybe, but I'd give you a shot.
The new cast is fairly expected. It's like they get 10 people from central casting, five people who are "truly looking for love" who the directors are pretty sure are going to cause something dramatic on a weekly, if not biweekly basis, and five people who are remarkably attractive and on the show because they saw an announcement for a tv show and applied (most notable is the Beauty and the Geek re-tread Megan). With the season opener rolling every other day or so, I'm going to catch one of these and go with the running dialogue. However, on sheer memory alone, Megan and Kristina are the favorites. I'll guarantee that both make the final five, and at least one of them is in the finale. Write that down. It'll happen.
Again, we're just trying to see if I don't get bored with this thing over the next two weeks, so we're sampling all sorts of products.
Maybe you're avoiding because you saw both Flavor of Love shows and you're saying to yourself, with the exception of hoops on season one, none of the girls were worth flirting with, much less making out with. And you're dead right. Hoops was the anomaly in that system. Seriously, what was she thinking about when she signed up to do that show? I guarantee it was not, "Flavor Flave, now that is a handsome man." The only thing that really scares me is how she hasn't parlayed that fifteen minutes into something else. I mean, far away she was the most attractive, most genuinely believable character that series ever saw. Surely some Lifetime/oxygen made for tv movie needed a young attractive black woman. How could she not make the short list of those who would work for minimal pay?
Or maybe you're reminded of the I Love New York series. Again, plagued from the outset by a lead that is of questionable, at best, affinity. By no means is she in the same class as Flavor Flave, but again, she was one of the thirty or so other girls on his show which made you think to yourself, "well I guess money and fame can't always ensure hot girls liking you." If you did follow that vehicle, you were constantly in suspense though. Not over who was going to get cut, but how big her boobs were going to be in the next episode. Could someone chart this on a line graph? There must be a way to make and episode by episode record of her measurements. What gets me is how she managed to film so many consecutive episodes with the swelling incumbent on such a procedure. Now that's amazing.
But let's get to the Rose Bowl of all reality dating shows that is Rock of Love. Bless you Bret Michaels. Because you spent your prime years hooking up with every girl in sight, you never settled down, and now, a good ten to fifteen years past your heyday, the world can share in your quest for passion. If you missed the first season, know that you missed out on some sweet television. For starters, the girls were more, how do I put this delicately... I can't so I'll say sluttier. I would post it as a 5-2 favorite that at least one girl propositioned someone in the camera crew so that they could get some alone time with Bret. 7-3 Favorite that the crew member obliged.
Looking back though, what gets me is how eerily similar the final went down when compared to Flavor of Love 1. Essentially you had the rebel girl who was loud and flamboyant against the quiet girl who was obviously more attractive, but wasn't as ostentatious, and thus, because they're dealing with celebrities (I'm using that generously), risked losing. In the world void of celebrities, neither of the decisions would have been difficult, but amazingly, both leads chose the the latter of the two, as would any objective bystander. To continue down the scary parallel rabbit hole, both came on the reunion show simply to state that it hadn't worked out, and maybe that the lead chose the wrong person.
Soak that in for a second, the three of you who can remember both shows this specifically.
Now we're at season two of Rock of Love.
Sidebar- Jes, from season one, if you're out there, and roaming through my area, call me. No, seriously. I would take you out for dinner, and if you played your cards right, maybe we could head back to my place and square off on duck hunt. Maybe, but I'd give you a shot.
The new cast is fairly expected. It's like they get 10 people from central casting, five people who are "truly looking for love" who the directors are pretty sure are going to cause something dramatic on a weekly, if not biweekly basis, and five people who are remarkably attractive and on the show because they saw an announcement for a tv show and applied (most notable is the Beauty and the Geek re-tread Megan). With the season opener rolling every other day or so, I'm going to catch one of these and go with the running dialogue. However, on sheer memory alone, Megan and Kristina are the favorites. I'll guarantee that both make the final five, and at least one of them is in the finale. Write that down. It'll happen.
Again, we're just trying to see if I don't get bored with this thing over the next two weeks, so we're sampling all sorts of products.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
It's like having to ride a bicycle, but with only one leg
Over the past week, it came to me that school can actually be tough. I've coasted my way from junior high through college without ever spending more time in a library than in front of a tv/at a sporting events/reading/traveling. The ratio isn't even close to one. Seriously, I would estimate that during the scholastic periods of 2007, it was probably up around 35 to 1, play to study hours. That doesn't include the following: eating, sleeping, being on campus for any reason other than sporting events, or anything church related. Not kidding. Ask Mike if you doubt me.
This semester, I'm actually going to see how just how well I could have done if I had actually put in the study time. By no means did I completely excise the play activities, but I have dramatically increased the amount of time I spend focusing on the books. In the past week, I've taken more notes than I did in the past two semesters combined. I'm actually planning weeks in advance, and scheduling time to take care of book reports that I know I could hammer out in one day if I was so inclined, a good month in advance.
It's the first time that I ever thought, man this is kind of rough. Constantly paying attention, trying to grasp every concept instead of the broad strokes, physically writing notes, and meeting with people to review notes. No wonder everyone seemed to be so busy during the semester. They were packed dawn to dusk with activities that revolved around improving their grades.
Getting to the title, I've also realized that being at BYU adds a degree of difficulty to all of this. They expect you to not only do well in class, but they expect you to be socially active.
I like to think that I'm a pretty quick thinker and am moderately smarter than the average person, but my goodness, there is only so much computing capability upstairs. Do they really expect someone to understand antibody gene rearrangement, embryonic cell migration, and pathological effects of gangrene on top of trying to meet/read/make a move on a girl? Really? You're kidding right? I can handle the first three. Or I could get by doing the last one. Doing all four, simultaneously is like hitting a homerun with a nerf bat. Sure, it's possible, but everything has to work out perfectly. (And you need to have the blue nerf bat. The orange ones, I've found, are systemically flimsier.)
If it was still socially acceptable/ potentially successful to ask a girl out after the first meeting, then things would be easier. (By the way, if it is, please dear goodness, someone let me know. Life was much easier when you could just tell a girl, after light conversation, "hey, we should go out for dinner sometime" and mean it.) But it's not. So now, when I meet a girl I'm quasi-interested in, I have to make casual conversation at least twice, invite her to a non-pressure situation, more casual conversation at original point of meeting, invite to her to something moderate pressured and slowly shift the conversation to personal. Oh, all while trying to let on that I'm interested without A) coming off desperate B) coming off egotistical C) saying that I'm interested in her.
So yeah, if I had to handle this class load while making serious efforts to advance my social life, I would see if there was an opening on the cycling team and apply a tourniquet to my right leg.
This semester, I'm actually going to see how just how well I could have done if I had actually put in the study time. By no means did I completely excise the play activities, but I have dramatically increased the amount of time I spend focusing on the books. In the past week, I've taken more notes than I did in the past two semesters combined. I'm actually planning weeks in advance, and scheduling time to take care of book reports that I know I could hammer out in one day if I was so inclined, a good month in advance.
It's the first time that I ever thought, man this is kind of rough. Constantly paying attention, trying to grasp every concept instead of the broad strokes, physically writing notes, and meeting with people to review notes. No wonder everyone seemed to be so busy during the semester. They were packed dawn to dusk with activities that revolved around improving their grades.
Getting to the title, I've also realized that being at BYU adds a degree of difficulty to all of this. They expect you to not only do well in class, but they expect you to be socially active.
I like to think that I'm a pretty quick thinker and am moderately smarter than the average person, but my goodness, there is only so much computing capability upstairs. Do they really expect someone to understand antibody gene rearrangement, embryonic cell migration, and pathological effects of gangrene on top of trying to meet/read/make a move on a girl? Really? You're kidding right? I can handle the first three. Or I could get by doing the last one. Doing all four, simultaneously is like hitting a homerun with a nerf bat. Sure, it's possible, but everything has to work out perfectly. (And you need to have the blue nerf bat. The orange ones, I've found, are systemically flimsier.)
If it was still socially acceptable/ potentially successful to ask a girl out after the first meeting, then things would be easier. (By the way, if it is, please dear goodness, someone let me know. Life was much easier when you could just tell a girl, after light conversation, "hey, we should go out for dinner sometime" and mean it.) But it's not. So now, when I meet a girl I'm quasi-interested in, I have to make casual conversation at least twice, invite her to a non-pressure situation, more casual conversation at original point of meeting, invite to her to something moderate pressured and slowly shift the conversation to personal. Oh, all while trying to let on that I'm interested without A) coming off desperate B) coming off egotistical C) saying that I'm interested in her.
So yeah, if I had to handle this class load while making serious efforts to advance my social life, I would see if there was an opening on the cycling team and apply a tourniquet to my right leg.
Some Other Beginnings End
Yep, I've got a blog. I know what you're thinking. And yes, it's true. I follow trends like dolphins follow trout. (Closely, for those of you wondering). We're going to see how this goes. I'm giving it two weeks. If I get bored of it, I'm done with the blogging. It seems like fun, but who knows.
My biggest concern is what to write about. I'm unsure if anyone has coined this phrase, but if they haven't, I'm claiming copyrights on it. I'm dubbing it the blog paradox.
The ideal purpose of the blog is to write what you think/feel/etc. Something uniquely personal and insightful. This is what makes other people want to read it. However, the other people reading it are often people with whom you want to make a good impression. Hence, you begin to write with this in mind. Soon your posts become less pure, more socially slanted. And now what was originally meant to be a vent for inner ideas/personal viewpoints, becomes an social advertisement for who you are. Especially considering everyone is getting a blog now and publicizing it openly, each blogger is forced to choose between maintaining original blog sanctity, or embracing new blog sociality.
Think about it. Let that wash over you. Blog Paradox. That just happened.
Me, I'm rolling the dice. Well, let me rephrase that, I'm going to try to roll the dice. If you're reading this, than you likely know me. If you know me, you're aware that I tend to over think things. So for me to say that I'm going write as though I'm oblivious to the social impact of each post, that would be akin to saying I pick out my clothes without thinking about what it is currently considered fashionable.
The way I see it, if someone gets here, they're either lost, or they know me. If they know me, they have a good idea about the neural activity occurring upstairs. They know I love the baseball, the movies, the shiny things, and the bright colors. There you have it.
You gotta be handy with the steel if you know what I mean, earn your keep. REGULATORS! (Now go ahead, lie to me and tell me you didn't immediately at least think, if not say out loud, "Mount up.")
My biggest concern is what to write about. I'm unsure if anyone has coined this phrase, but if they haven't, I'm claiming copyrights on it. I'm dubbing it the blog paradox.
The ideal purpose of the blog is to write what you think/feel/etc. Something uniquely personal and insightful. This is what makes other people want to read it. However, the other people reading it are often people with whom you want to make a good impression. Hence, you begin to write with this in mind. Soon your posts become less pure, more socially slanted. And now what was originally meant to be a vent for inner ideas/personal viewpoints, becomes an social advertisement for who you are. Especially considering everyone is getting a blog now and publicizing it openly, each blogger is forced to choose between maintaining original blog sanctity, or embracing new blog sociality.
Think about it. Let that wash over you. Blog Paradox. That just happened.
Me, I'm rolling the dice. Well, let me rephrase that, I'm going to try to roll the dice. If you're reading this, than you likely know me. If you know me, you're aware that I tend to over think things. So for me to say that I'm going write as though I'm oblivious to the social impact of each post, that would be akin to saying I pick out my clothes without thinking about what it is currently considered fashionable.
The way I see it, if someone gets here, they're either lost, or they know me. If they know me, they have a good idea about the neural activity occurring upstairs. They know I love the baseball, the movies, the shiny things, and the bright colors. There you have it.
You gotta be handy with the steel if you know what I mean, earn your keep. REGULATORS! (Now go ahead, lie to me and tell me you didn't immediately at least think, if not say out loud, "Mount up.")
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