Last night I attended a party for the National Championship game.  One of the attendees was discussing a weight loss challenge he was planning on participating in over the course of the next year.  Dave was an offensive lineman on the Wolverine’s National Championship team and played professionally for the Washington Redskins.  As is the case with most offensive lineman his weight has a tendency to fluctuate more than the average person.  His target for January 1 of 2017 is to have lost 17% of his weight.  While Craig’s List is my go to for meeting new people, I met Dave while playing hoops at MVP, actually my first recollection of Dave goes way way back to when the Pistons were actually a title contender.

A philanthropic fellow by the name of Bob had given a bunch of guys who played lunch ball tickets to the game that night at the Palace between the Pistons and the Magic.  There were 16 guys who signed on for the trip and I was the one who was shackled with the responsibility of finding transportation for all of us.  Bob, who had amazing hair at the time, and still has amazing hair as far as I know, didn’t offer use of his private jet so I lined up the next best thing, a short bus with a wooden dance floor and a stripper pole.  We all met at MVP and loaded up into the bus.  While there were some slender guys accompanying us on the trip, there were also some big beefy guys, including Dave, who were making the journey to Auburn Hills.

We had to stop and pick up beer so we headed down to a liquor store prior to jumping on the highway.  Almost immediately after getting on the road, tragedy struck, our “limo” driver ended up rear ending a late model Caprice Classic.  The driver had made a fatal mistake in thinking that the bus would stop in the typical distance required at the speed he was traveling and did not account for the fact that he was probably a good 3,000 lbs over the recommended weight.  Fortunately, the guy in front of us either didn’t have insurance, a driver’s license, or both, so he sped off.  We proceeded to the liquor store and stocked up on beer and other various refreshments.  I didn’t really know Dave at that point, so my first impression was of him slumped down in his seat at the Palace “taking a nap” while the game played out in front of him.  It’s a miracle we all made it back in one piece and that I got my deposit back.

“Ok everyone, we are going into the game now, everyone needs to find a buddy and when we get back from the game, make sure your buddy is with you and let Tom Liminowksi (our limo driver) know that you and your buddy made it back.”    There actually may still be a few guys hanging out in the parking lot of the Palace waiting for the short bus to depart.  What really surprised me about the trip (other than the fact that the short bus had a dance floor because you couldn’t even fully stand up in the thing, I’m a terrible dancer but I’m even worse when I’m trying to do the hustle scrunched over like an 80 year old women over her walker) was that Bill Sutter wanted to stop at a liquor store at midnight somewhere outside of Flint to purchase more beer.  Congratulations Bill, in a short bus full of people with drinking problems, you have the biggest!

While Dave was slumped in his seat, I vaguely remember taking advantage of four seats behind the Pistons bench that our Philanthropic friend Bob with great hair and a voice made for radio had said we could utilize.  We were suppose to rotate in and out of the seats at the half way point of each quarter.  Plans don’t usually work all that well when everyone involved in implementing the plan has had way too much to drink, they work even worse when there is one guy who feels entitled to the best seats available because he put  his ass on the line to get everyone to the game (me).  Yep, I stayed  in MY seat behind the bench way past the allotted amount of time, pissing everyone off that was with me (did I mention that there were a lot of big guys in the group?)

As you probably already know, my companions didn’t beat the stuffing out of me, which would have been their right, the limo driver didn’t stop for more beer, and we all made it home in one piece, even though the door to the short bus didn’t shut all the way and there was a distinct possibility one of us was going to be sucked out of the bus in a similar fashion to when an airplane cabin gets a hole in it and all it’s passengers are displaced into the sky.

As previously stated, Dave played at Michigan and was a teammate of Tom  Brady.  I spent last night an arm’s length away from Dave and it didn’t even occur to me to bring up my favorite UGGS wearing NFL quaterback. “What does he smell like it?  Did everyone know he was super human all the way back when he was the back up signal caller to Brian Griese?  Did you ever hear him fart?  I mean, I can’t imagine the guy has ever had to fart, super humans don’t fart.”   Even though I didn’t broach the subject of Tom Brady, Dave is always an interesting guy to talk to, and as hard as it may be to believe we do have some things in common.  He has two boys, I have two boys, he’s an avid outdoors men, all of Shirley’s family thinks they are the second coming of Ted Nugent, his wife works and he’s a stay at home dad, my wife works and I’m a quasi stay at home dad minus the taking care of the kids part.   The other thing that we have in common is that we are both battling our weight and trying to make a dietary change for the better.  We have that in common along with billions of other people on this planet.

What is it about food that is so alluring and entirely irresistible for most people?  You eat whatever you had your heart set on eating and when it’s gone you wonder to yourself, at least I do, why did I dump all of that unhealthy shit into my body, it’s over now and I am not in a better position than when I first started consuming my meal, snack, or meal and snack?    I told myself today was the day, this very day was my target day to begin the healthy new me, armed with the Beach Body Hammer and Chisel exercise and diet plan I was going stick to a path of healthy eating and daily exercising.  Guess what, they were unable to successfully deliver it and it is now sitting at the post office for me to pick up, unfortunately the post office has really inconvenient hours and I probably won’t be able to pick it up for weeks if not months.

Often times I think of plots for television shows or short stories that involve science fiction.  One such plot line involves a drug company being able to replicate the chemical reaction that occurs in a man’s brain when he has an orgasm.  A group of women get their hands on this experimental drug that can be ingested through the water or via an airborne mist, and manage to bring about a world wide introduction of the drug through air and water.  Men, now having absolutely no sex drive, have become completely useless lacking the motivation to do even the simplest tasks and women seeing an opportunity, take over the entire world.  (women are steadily progressing and could conceivably become equal at some point, but this is still years off and who wants to be equal anyways, world domination is the proper play, right ladies?) Sports are done away with, a network channel devoted entirely to different variations of the Bachelor is created, urinals are no longer manufactured, and sports are outlawed.

A small component of this future world also involves the evolution of food.  A food company has created a computer chip that can be inserted into the brain that allows you to program the taste of whatever food you like when you eat.  Now there is no need for variations of different kinds of food.  The same food manufacturer has created a food that contains all the essential vitamins and nutrients for daily sustenance and that is the only thing that is manufactured for consumption.  This in turn eradicates obesity and the corresponding health problems that accompany obesity.  The governments of the world save Trillions of dollars and the citizens of the world get to eat whatever food they desire without the traditional negatives attached to consuming chocolate sundaes, pizza, chicken wings, Mike Miller’s wife’s chocolate chip cookies (Miller brought his wife Kristen’s  cookies to the shin dig last night and they were amazing, so good that they may have been actually laced with crack cocaine, honestly, I can’t stop thinking about them, had I been Miller I would have claimed to have made them so I could have been praised for them. From all the guys at the party a big thanks Kristen, they were truly amazing, I had four of them by myself).  There I go again with my preoccupation about food.

In all actuality, it’s hard to imagine a world where people are able to break free from the bondage food has over them.  While I am quite preoccupied with food, my wife’s family will typically ask what we are doing for lunch after just having completed breakfast and then ask what are we doing for dinner right after lunch.  Imagine how much more productive we can be as a society if consuming food is like taking a dump? (a dump without your smart phone) It would be  just another daily routine similar to brushing your teeth, taking a shower (unless you are pilsbury Jesus), or yelling at your kids. People won’t need to take an hour for lunch or spend another hour or two making and cleaning up dinner.  There will be no need to sit around a table and communicate with people in the course of eating a meal, sign me up!   Of course the downside is that women will be the only productive beings, because in my scenario men have had the one thing that drives them taken away, their desire for sex.  I think I just found another way to spend my Power Ball winnings.

 

Not sure who I have out there routinely  reading this blog, but there is a way to receive email alerts every time I post something new on my blog.  Use the following link to sign up for e-mail notifications:

https://en.support.wordpress.com/following/

In addition, one of my readers brought another blog to my attention.  According to the author he has 2 million followers, which seems like quite a few.  I have read some of his blogs briefly and they are decent, what he does have is the ability to make his blog appear ascetically pleasing which in turn gives his blog the appearance that it is better than what it is, at least in my opinion.  After reading the blog I jokingly said to the person who sent it to me, if he has 2 million followers I should have 20 million.  Regardless, I am including a link to his blog to get some feedback on how his blog rates in comparison to mine, if people are willing to put that much effort into this.

http://postmasculine.ontraport.net/c/s/sjQ/6N04j/6/zS/6RXa/6qtRwW/UeGXAds9Fc

http://markmanson.net/passion  (this one is pretty good, nice and succinct and lots of paragraphs)  Hopefully turning my few readers on to him doesn’t cut into my readership.

Some time ago I found out my buddy was coaching a youth basketball team as part of Upward Youth Sports (sounds like a pyramid scheme to me).  Some may think this is unremarkable, I on the other hand lost my mind.  Granted, my buddy was an integral part of a Division 3 college national championship team and it is understandable that he would look for something to pad his resume as he climbs his way up the coaching ladder.  However, his son was only in kindergarten and I felt that they were putting the cart in front of the horse, if you can’t spell basketball should you really be playing it competitively?  (I realize there are some players in the NBA this applies to, but they are grown men)

I have a five and soon to be three year old, am I negligent for not having them enrolled in some type of  competitive sport at this age?  Something tells me no, their favorite thing to do currently is attach the word poop in some shape or form to everything they say, which makes me think competitive sports are years off for my two poopmeisters.  However, one of my friends has a daughter who is a month younger than my oldest and she had her daughter geared up in Nike’s, head band, and wrist bands, and enrolled in a YMCA youth basketball program a year ago.

When I was growing up I began to participate in youth sports when I was in fourth grade.  This was a big deal for a number of reasons, but primarily because I had no exposure to public school kids.  I lived directly across the street from the Christian school I attended so I didn’t have any exposure or knowledge of public school kids because I didn’t ride the bus.  However, many of my friends did, and they had horror stories.  Byron township youth sports was a melting pot of the pagans (public school kids) and those predestined to partake in God’s glory in heaven (christian school kids) AKA Angels (due to our exemplary behavior).

The Byron Center Township youth basketball league had me paired with a number of solid pagans (I verified the fact that their eternal salvation was in jeopardy due to their excessive swearing and that pagan was their appropriate moniker) and a couple of fellow Angels.  Having had no real experience in organized sports, my mom had me wearing weenie benders that were about 18 inches too short, dress socks, and a pair of canvas basketball shoes, along with the team t-shirt.  Apparently my mom felt the same way about whites that I do today now that I share laundry responsibilities with Shirley, they are a bitch to keep white.  So, she would only purchase dress socks for me,  alleviating the fading that whites typically undergo.  Needless to say, not only was I a marked man due to my christian school attendance, but I was further ostracized for wearing dress socks to play basketball.

My recollection of my early days of basketball involved referees who actually called traveling, double dribble, and fouls.  It further involved lots of time on the bench.  There was no equal amount of playing time for everyone.  The best players played the majority of the game and due to my lack of playing time if I wanted to score a bucket I needed to throw the ball up anytime I got my grubby little hands on the thing.  Looking back, I’m pretty sure it was the dress socks and weenie benders (sweat pants) that limited my time on the court, and it had nothing to do with my fear of the ball, other players, and my own shadow.  (I’m still working through my dress sock complex and have compensated by hoarding athletic socks to the point that I am running out of drawer space for all my many pairs of socks, my precious socks!)

Things are markedly different today, and I know this because I decided to go to my buddies game where he coached and his kid played.  His kid is now a year older and playing in the first and second grade league where he is the youngest of the two grades.   It was the first game of the season and expectations were high for both squads as they squared off at Heritage Christian Reformed Church (it’s hard to take any athletic endeavor seriously when it is played on carpet).  The Raiders (my friend’s squad) were number three on the ESPN Upward youth basketball power rankings and they had managed to get a couple of players who had sand bagged at pre-season tryouts and were much better than their metrics would lead anyone who hadn’t done their advanced scouting to believe.  (they could actually score a basket by only double dribbling three times and traveling twice)  Fortunately the Raiders scouting department consists of two people with prior NBA front office experience so they were able to pluck up the two players without anyone even realizing their true value and the inequity it would create in the Upward basketball league, which is a Christ centered youth sports league, that probably makes a shit ton of money.  (evidently winning is the 11th commandment and takes precedence over everything else that has been written in the Bible)

What transpired on the court could be loosely defined as basketball, there was a basketball, there was a hoop, and there were referees (who looked like they were plucked directly off the set of duck dynasty, given a whistle and a striped shirt and told to give it their best shot) However, each kid was more likely to poop their pants than they were to score a basket.  There was no traveling, double dribbling, or stealing the ball from someone, making me wonder what the fucking whistles were for.  My buddy informed me after the game that they wait until the third or fourth game to start enforcing actual rules.

I bet that goes terrifically, sounds similar to how I parent, we wait until they turn six or seven to actually start disciplining our kids.  The nice thing about the entire experience is that the kids are so  absolutely clueless about what is going on that no one gives a shit,  not the parents, not the kids, wait a minute, somebody does  give a shit, my buddy gives a shit, if he was wearing a red sweater and throwing a chair I would have thought he was Bobby Knight as animated as he got out there.  But other than him trying to employ a 1-3-1 full court trap and making all the kids on his team run suicides after the game while the other team ate cupcakes because they didn’t employ it right, it was refreshing to see a lack of competitive drive.

What really surprised me was that there wasn’t any particular kid who stood out as a dominating force.  No kid was head and shoulders above the rest, sure there were kids who could kind of  dribble and kind of shoot, but for the most part they were all awful.  I expected there to be a few standouts, but the reality is at that young of an age, kids aren’t good at anything that requires athleticism, coordination, and the ability to follow instructions, some of you  may say hey my  kid is, and if you honestly believe that I feel sorry for your kids.  My recollection of when I started playing basketball in fourth grade was that there were kids who stood out from the rest for something other than wearing dress socks and way too short a pair of weenie benders.  What that tells me, is that maybe youth sports should wait until kids are ready to actually participate in a meaningful way instead of just haphazardly running up and down the court for no real reason other than  to learn all the kids on your teams names.

That’s actually what happened at half time, the minister of Heritage gave a mini sermon and then he asked one of the kids to name the kids on  his team and he couldn’t do it.  (way to put the kid on the spot)  The pastor proceeded to tell the children that it would be good to learn their fellow teammates names instead of just calling them “hey you”  I have to disagree with that line of reasoning,  I play pick up basketball and rarely do I know all my teammates names.  I just make up nick names for them which can be quite a bit of fun.  There’s one guy who plays at MVP, smells like his balls haven’t been washed in weeks,is greasy, chubby and has a pony tail.  I refer to him as Pilsbury Jesus, and he once challenged me to a fight int he parking lot, come on Jesus turn the other cheek!

So, while the kids aren’t absorbing much in the way of basketball knowledge they are realizing people have names and it is probably a good idea  to use them.  However, having a mandatory minimum age where kids are allowed to participate in sports will be beneficial on a number of levels.  First of all, parents won’t be forced to go to watch their kids run around aimlessly under the guise that they are participating in an athletic event.  Secondly, kids will be allowed to do the stuff kids like to do, I’m not really sure what that is,  but my kids seem to enjoy watching cartoons and tormenting one another, which can all be accomplished from the confines of my home, bingo!    I wonder if I can package my non-for profit birth control concept with a non-profit that advocates the abolition of youth sports?   There was a nice puff piece in the GR Sunday paper yesterday about all the money the Devos family gives away, wonder if I should email Rich directly, nah he probably has a guy who vets all that stuff, looks like I’m going to have to play the Power Ball this week.

(My apologies if there are any typos or grammatical errors but I have to get home to relieve our child care)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

• Since 2007 cases of hemorrhoids have gone up 23%
• Since 1998 workplace productivity has dropped 37%
• Magazine Subscriptions have declined 45% over the past decade
• 73% of all newspaper related jobs have been terminated since 1998

These may or may not be actual figures that I found on the internet, but the rise of technology has brought about a dramatic change in how our society functions.

Some of you may not be able to remember this, but there was a time when you would go to someone’s house and when you had to take care of your business you would find a number of magazines conveniently located near the toilet.  Popular Mechanics, Field and Stream, and Reader’s Digest seemed to be the most popular of poop time passing magazines. (I hope all of those publications are now out of business)  When someone says the Reader’s Digest version of the story, instead of the short version of the story they should actually mean the boring version that sucks ass. Regardless, when you had to take a dump at someone else’s home you were handcuffed by their interest in reading material if you wanted to read on the crapper (John C. Crapper invented the flush toilet).  Now we have the completely amazing smart phone at our fingertips and as long as you have internet access you are no longer hamstrung by another person’s reading taste when going big ock (that’s what my grandma Jansma referred to it as)  I can’t tell you how many times I have taken care of business  in more ways than one when I am sitting on the John.  Also, what’s the protocol here?  Is it socially acceptable to talk on the phone while you are dropping a deuce?  I can’t tell you how many times I have been held captive in the bathroom stall because I don’t want the person I am speaking with to hear the toilet flush.

Beyond the advent of the Smart Phone, spell check is another concept that has revolutionized how we function on a daily basis. I am  a terrible speller but it doesn’t really matter all that much because I now have spell check as a crutch to help me get by and compensate for the fact that I still struggle with the word restaurant after having typed it over one hundred times.  What tells me I am a truly awful speller is the fact that I routinely run into situations where spell check can’t even give me a plausible suggestion for the word I want to type because I am completely butchering it.  “Effing spell check you suck why can’t you figure out what word I am trying to type you pile of shit!”  These are the moments when I am most ashamed of myself and feel like a complete ignoramus (spell check came up with that one).  My hope is that as we continue to lean on spell check and  people will be such horrible spellers that they will do away with the National Spelling Bee.  Is there a kid who makes the finals of that competition that doesn’t eat their own boogers and get beat up on at least a weekly basis?  The kids in that competition really shouldn’t be receiving praise and awards, they should be constantly ridiculed and hidden from plain sight.  The sad thing is, we may reach a point where the only people who are proficient at spelling are the amish.

While I have pointed out a couple of ways technology can be of a benefit, at least I think that is the point I’m making with spell check, I think we are at a point where technology could reduce the occurrence of terrorist acts if not completely eradicate terrorism.  My suggestion is that we gather up all the high def ginormous tv’s we can and couple them with PS4 or XBOX.  Send them to all the countries where the terrorists hang out and it will help them to overcome their constant desire to destroy the United States.  Pretty much every place where there are terrorist cells is some god forsaken area where there isn’t shit to do.  You get them a satellite dish, high def tv, and video game console and you have just improved their life 1000%.  Now instead of stewing over how awful Americans are and how they all should be wiped off the face of the earth, they are happily playing HALO on line with Chuck from Des Moines and finding out these Americans aren’t really that bad after all.

This concept could also be extended to solve the need to build a fence around our entire country.  Just send all of our non 4k tv’s to Mexico.  It’s pretty obvious  4k television is on it’s way in and that there will be enough content available in the next couple of years that actually owning one will make complete sense.  At that point, non 4k televisions will be obsolete, well not obsolete, but who is going to want to watch traditional high def tv?  Nobody I know of will.  It will be similar to when you happen across someone who doesn’t have a high def television. (These people do actually exist they are typically either Dutch or over the age 0f 90 or both)  I ask myself how in the hell did I ever watch television back then, this is worse than no tv at all!  So, when the content for 4k reaches a reasonable level there will be millions of unwanted high def televisions that can be donated to Mexico.  Once the citizens of Mexico have high def tv their life will be so much better that they will realize when you couple it with their amazing weather there is really no reason to migrate to the U.S.  Not sure how we keep people in Canada, I don’t think Canadian bacon and Tim Horton’s is enough  (I am hoping they realize they want nothing to do with Obama Care).  I’m quite certain if one of our presidential candidates for 2016 gets ahold of this it will provide the momentum they need to put them over the top.  If you hear any of the presidential candidates chatting about this they likely heard it here first.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Roughly a year ago Shirley and I decided it was time to enroll our children in swimming lessons.  There is a legendary swim instructor in the West Michigan area who goes by the monicker the “Swim Nazi”,  not sure if her swimming suit has swastikas on it, but the word on the street is she just tosses kids into the pool and hopes that their survival instinct is strong enough to get them to the ladder.  Shirley and I’s parenting style is not suited to intentionally inflicting trauma upon our  children even if it is for the noble cause of teaching them to swim.  Besides, we have friends who went to the swim nazi and indicated that it wasn’t for them.  Our children are quite a bit more soft than our friend’s children both figuratively  and literally (Rudolph and Winston have beer bellies, but instead of beer causing their unusually large stomach it’s actually candy)  our  friend’s children resemble the ethiopian kids you see with flies swarming around their incredibly large heads from the Sally Struthers commercials when placed next to our chubsters.

So with the Simming Nazi out as a possible instructor we had very few options.  Ultimately we decided to enroll our children in Goldfish swim school so that we had an excuse to get them out of the house on weekly basis interacting with their peers in what seemed to be a semi athletic endeavor.  Little did I know what torture taking my kids to swimming lessons would inflict upon me every week, both physically and mentally.  First of all, swimming lessons are at 6:30.  6:30 would seem like a perfectly reasonable time to have swimming lessons, and every Wednesday I always feel like I have more then enough time to get home from work, feed my kids, and get out the door to swimming lessons.  However,  6:20 seems to sneak up on me like the alcohol in a shot of fireball does, how did I get this intoxicated this fast?  Damn you Fireball!  I find my self scrambling and yelling at my kids to get a move on because we are going to be late.  The swimming lessons are only a half hour so you really don’t get much bang for the buck if your kids stroll in at 6:40.  Furthermore, what we pay for these swimming lessons, and will be paying for these swimming lessons, could get them through a semester of community college or even a two year degree from a reputable trade school, so we really need them in the water for every possible second to justify the expense.

Fortunately we procrastinated long enough that we didn’t enroll our kids at too young of an age, and what I mean by too young of an age is when they make you as a parent get in the water with your kids.  Not sure what the benefit of having a kid who can’t even walk try to learn how to swim (float) is, but more power to those parents who want to be on top of things.  Getting in the water with your kids would only be minimally more awful than what goldfish parents go through bringing their kids to their instructor and picking their kids up from their instructor.  Goldfish is set up so that the pool area is cordoned off from the “viewing” area by a glass wall.  The pool area is kept at a temperature that would make hell seem frigid and typically I immediately get swamp ass when I enter the pool area to drop my kids off.  The whole set up is similar to where they do the dolphin shows at Shedd’s Aquarium.

Winston at one point had a kid in his class who by the way he reacted to the pool water must have thought it was sulfuric acid.  The kid would not get into the water, and the instructor basically had to pull him into the pool to get him to participate (freak out).  So, the instructor would be in the water holding her hands out encouraging the child to get in, and the child would resist the entire time until finally the instructor just pulled the child in to the water.  This is similar to what happens in public schools on a daily basis.  The children who are dumb and or disruptive get the most attention, keeping the teachers from focusing on the other kids who actually have a chance at succeeding.  Likewise, Winston had been progressing well in his swimming lessons but now was taking a back seat in his instruction to a kid who was about as likely to jump into the pool as a cat would into a bathtub full of water.

While my two kids have progressed through the Goldfish Hierarchy and seem to be doing well and enjoy going to their swimming lessons, the time spent getting the kids out of their lessons and into the group shower and cleaned off are the worst five minutes of my week.  They call the parents in when there are five minutes left in the lesson so that they can tell each parent how their child is doing and where the child is still deficient.  “Winston did good this week, he really is doing a good job of kicking and pulling, but we really need to work on that back roll.”  Meanwhile, I am sweating through my clothing and can barely hear a word because I’m old and there are a bunch of kids screaming in the background.  The instructors always seem to be real upbeat and positive regardless of a child’s proficiency in the pool.  I really would have liked to hear what the instructor said about the kid in Aiden’s class who had the buoyancy of a stone.  “He was a little hesitant at first, but towards the end there he was only clinging to me hard enough to draw a little bit of blood, I think he is making terrific progress.”  What I would have told the kids mom is “He is the biggest pansy I have ever seen, if it was my kid I would bring him immediately to the swim Nazi to get him where he needs to be, he’s so bad I’m surprised he hasn’t already drown trying to drink a glass of water.”

Even more painful than leaning down and trying to hear the instructor is putting your kid in the group showers to rinse the pool water off them.  My youngest will typically try to take his suit off, “No! No! you have to keep your suit on your weiner is way too small to let everyone here see it!”  The showers are set up in a row along one  wall and the showers only go for 15 seconds and then they automatically shut off so you have to continually hit the button to keep the water going, and every time you hit the button you risk getting sprayed by the shower.  On top of that there are a cluster of kids and parents trying to get their kids in and out of there causing everyone to feel a bit more anxious and tense than they should have to feel.

This past Wednesday I managed to get in and out of the pool area without having to take any anxiety medication but upon making it into the changing room I discovered a bit of a problem.  I was in such a hurry when I arrived that I didn’t investigate the smell I encountered when changing my kids into their swimsuits.  However, when putting their clothes back on I found a skid mark in my youngest child’s undies that was so bad I though a monster truck had done a burnout in his drawers.  He insisted on putting his underwear back on but I made him go commando for our weekly post swimming lesson trip to get frostys and head home.

What troubles me the most about this whole goldfish experience is the fact that my kids swim like dolphins when they are at goldfish, ok maybe not dolphins but they are doing much better than I had ever expected, but you drop them into any other body of water and they swim about as efficiently as someone with no arms or legs.  I have no idea why they are only able to swim at a high level when they are at goldfish, but it greatly depreciates the usefulness of swimming lessons when they are only able to swim in one particular place and would drown to death any other place they are attempting to swim.  Furthermore, my kids and Shirley have grown so accustom to the weekly lessons that it is hard to see a scenario where they are no longer taking swimming lessons at Goldfish.  I guess that would be the upside to using the swim nazi’s services, I”m sure there is an end in sight when you take swim lessons with her, as opposed to an indefinite program where you are being drained of money and your very sanity watching your children graduate from one class to another never quite reaching a proficient enough level of swimming to be free of the bonds of gold fish swim school.  Maybe having my kids haplessly tossed in the deep end of the pool wasn’t such a bad idea.

 

 

 

 

Typically this time of year everyone is trying to turn over a new leaf and be the best dog gone person they can be to start the new year.  I have never been one for New Year’s resolutions, every Sunday after church I tell myself “I really need to be less of a dick” and then by Monday I have blown it, so why would I need to fail on a New Year’s resolution when I’m pretty much doing it on a weekly basis?  However, I do have a friend who has body image issues (even though his BMI is probably better than 95% of the population) and has embarked on a nutrition and work out program entitled Hammer and Chisel.  If that title doesn’t inspire you to want to go do a bunch of chin ups and eat a 1600 calorie a day diet, I don’t know what will.  Needless to say my buddy would be much better served investing his time and money into a therapist to work on his body image issues as opposed to pumping himself into happiness.

That being said, I can’t let him get in better shape than me.  Amazon Prime here I come, I need the deluxe version of Hammer and Chisel that comes with an 8lb medicine ball (something tells me the shipping costs may make this purchase economically nonsensical).  Regardless, I am all in for this program and I’m staring Tuesday, why Tuesday you ask?  There are a couple good reasons for starting on Tuesday.  I plan on eating at least 1800 calories Monday night while I watch the National Championship game at my buddy Gordy’s house.

Secondly, it gives me an opportunity to stuff my face and eat everything I am going to be depriving myself of for the next sixty days, Pizza Check, Chipotle Check, every kind of Ice Cream I can get my hands on Check!  I actually went to Slows BBQ in the downtown Market today after court at 3pm and ordered 3/4’s of a lb of pulled pork, sweet potatoes, and cornbread.  I went up to the cash register to pay and the attendee and  asked me if I wanted honey butter.  Interesting, how do you make butter even more amazing?  Apparently you add honey to it.  Obviously I was going all in so why not throw on some  honey butter for my cornbread?   To me honey butter would be the food equivalent of being able to combine golf and sex.

While Slows is amazing in and of itself, what really accentuated the entire experience was the fact that I was eating Slows all by myself.  Typically, when you go to eat at your favorite place you have company and it distracts from the ability to truly enjoy your meal.  I always feel like I have to be on my A game when I’m out to eat with other people.  Instead of focusing on eating, which to truly enjoy the tastes of your meal, is essential, I’m focused on keeping the conversation going and being my charming and witty self.  Eating at Slows by my self turned a terrific experience into an other worldly experience.  Also, I’m guessing that is why food critics typically eat by themselves when they are doing restaurant reviews.

To really accentuate the experience and reward myself for the workout/nutrition plan I was about to embark on I bought a couple cookies at the dessert shop at the market.  A conservative estimate of the caloric and nutritional value of the cookies would be at least 800 calories and probably half a cup of sugar per cookie.  Yahtzee!  (I also had a sweetwater doughnut on my way back from Allegan this morning at a gas station, I’d never had one before and needed to compare it to Marge’s prior to giving up all that is unhealthy, Marge’s still holds the doughnut throne in my eyes) Eating gas station doughnuts and slows bbq in the same day makes me think I have bottomed out.  Furthermore, my suit pants have already been a bit snug lately and I may be on the verge of needing alterations prior to Tuesday if this keeps up.  Oh well, no stopping now I’m definitely getting the cheese balls tonight at my bowling league and stopping by the tailor tomorrow for a quick alteration.

Yesterday I stopped by Speedway to get a water and a protein bar.  I had the misfortune of being behind an elderly women purchasing lottery tickets.  I was late for a meeting and needed to get going.  There was an individual in front of the elderly women giving her time to prepare for her lottery ticket purchase.  Once it was her turn she proceeded to attempt to order $6 worth of Power Ball tickets.  The clerk told her that Powerball tickets were $2 a pop so she could get 4 tickets.  This threw me for a loop but didn’t seem too problematic for the purchaser who similarly to the clerk was unable to do basic math.  Finally the clerk realized that if you have six dollars and lottery tickets are two dollars a piece you can only afford three tickets, not four.  When it came time to to pull the trigger on the transaction the lady began searching in her purse for the money.  She could have had her money ready for the purchase since there was someone ahead of her in line, but like most old people she was in no particular hurry to get anywhere and too busy thinking about her cats to plan ahead.  This makes absolutely no sense to me.  The clock is ticking, wouldn’t you want to squeeze as much in as  you possibly can instead of wasting 20 minutes processing a lottery ticket purchase.  On top of that you are near death, what are you going to do with 400 million dollars?  (I am fully aware of the fact that I will be old some day, at least hopefully, and likely engage in similarly maddening behavior, but it will be intentional and not unknowing so that I can screw with people younger than me and use the excuse that it’s because I’m old)

Shirley dated a guy once upon a time  who based his gas station preference on the companies position on apartheid.  I on the other hand based my gas station preference on their variety of fountain drinks.  I was a speedway guy because you can get pretty much any fountain drink ever conceived at their gas stations.  Now, having given up carbonated beverages, I go there for their wide selection of protein bars.  However, if there was a gas station that didn’t sell lottery tickets I would be loyal to that particular gas station.  I don’t want to paint lottery participants with a broad brush, but they usually have no where to go and take their sweet time redeeming their scratch offs and deciding which new scratch offs to purchase with their winnings (if they happen to have winnings).  They also take a shit ton of time figuring out what to do when it comes to powerball or mega millions.  You couple that with old age and it is a truly aggravating situation that rivals being behind someone at the grocery store who is writing a check.

While I am on the topic of old people, I had another elderly incident this morning.  Driving on 131 back from Allegan there was a peckerhead in the far left lane going under the speed limit.  Ultimately I ended up passing him on the right, and when I made it past him the old fart flipped me the bird.  He was the one driving improperly and in violation of the law (I have had clients stopped for not passing on the left, but typically only if they have out of state plates because cops like to look for bullshit reasons to pull out of staters over ant then proceed to fuck with them, I had to use that word because that’s what cops do, if cops weren’t merely profiling out of staters my mother in law would have received at least 40 citations for driving in the left lane and not passing, she actually thinks it’s called the Rita lane not the left lane)   The guy probably thought he was driving on 28th street and traveling well over the speed limit but this seems to be a trend on todays highways.  How often do you see people in the left lane talking on their cell phones as cars go whizzing by them?  Do they no longer teach that the left lane is for passing in driver’s training?  Furthermore, when someone gets mad at me on the road and I know it’s not my fault but actually their fault I have this impulse to catch up with them, not to get into an altercation with them, but merely to explain to them that I was in the right and they were in the wrong and that they owe me an apology for baselessly getting angry with me.  Excuse me sir, I just want an apology, why do I have this crowbar in  my hand?  Well, that’s in case you don’t want to apologize.

Now I don’t want the elderly to think I am singling them out, but the U scan is also another area of life where the elderly often times seem to falter.  I can’t tell you how many times I have switched to a longer self checkout line because I knew the senior citizen in front of me was going to have a complete break down trying to purchase their three items and would need assistance from the person in charge of the U scan area at least twice prior to completing their purchase.  Honestly, I’m not even singling out the elderly, I have witnessed plenty of people varying in age poop down their leg when attempting to purchase their own groceries.  Similar to having to take a driving test to operate a motor vehicle, supermarkets should require some type of proficiency test before you can do the self checkout.  Not everyone has the capability of efficiently maneuvering through the U scan.  In all honesty, I pride myself in my U scan abilities and on the rare occasions where I don’t perform well in the U scan lane it’s as if I missed a game winning shot for the world championship of the world, I’m quite hard on myself.  It sticks with me for hours and can have a negative impact on my self confidence for the rest of the day.  If I can’t get the U scan right I’m clearly not capable of doing anything else today, I’m such a loser.  I let everyone down who was in line behind me!

Finally, one other thing, well I’m sure there are more things, but one thing in particular that drives me nuts is when someone is late and they lie to you about their ETA.  I will start out by saying I am guilty of this as well, but for some reason it is in our nature that when we are late for something we want to make it seem like we are right around the corner or just minutes away, when often times we haven’t even left the house.  If you were to sit back and think about what is worse, being late once or  being late multiple times, being late once is probably the better of the two?  Because if you are honest with the person inquiring as to when you are going to arrive you will only be late one time.  However, if you continually text or tell them I ‘m five minutes away when you are a half hour away you are late multiple times.   So lets keep it real and just be honest about ETA’s, it’s best for everyone.

Shirley and I were discussing one of the editorial moves she made on the one blog she has revised so far.  My blog topic was about health clubs and the lack of modesty men display in the locker room.  My two kids enjoy going into the hot tub and I put a blurb about the kids going into a hot tub filled with naked men but that it wasn’t so bad because I didn’t let my kids sit on any of their laps.  For the record, I have my suit on and so do my kids.

Shirley told me I couldn’t take the kids in the hot tub anymore because it is disturbing to think the kids are in there with a bunch of naked guys.  I’m not sure what the problem is since I’m not going to let my kids go utilize one of the hot tub patrons as if they were a set of monkey bars and everything that goes on in the hot tub is in plain site.  It’s not like there are walls and partitions in the hot tub that would allow my kids to get perped on while I was in the hot tub.  Also, I think Shirley has this idea of a hot tub where there are harry, fat, pasty naked men spilling out of the water due to a lack of room.  Typically there are only three or four other dudes in the hot tub, and one or two of them may actually be wearing a swim suit at any given time.  So, if you could give me some feedback on this whole issue that would be great.  Is it unreasonable for me to bring my kids into the hot tub?  (the sign by the whirlpool says no one under the age of 12, but who pays attention to that?)

My most recent post entitled “You’re Going the Wrong Way” was my first collaboration with my wife (other than our two kids).  I unknowingly provided her with the first blog post for her to edit.  While I was already asleep in bed she was busy editing my post and deleting anything she felt unsavory or that her family would find objectionable.  I can’t bring myself to reread the post after she put her final touches on it,  but it does frighten me that I am losing creative control over my own blog.  I routinely ask  myself if I am running into a Bill Simmons/ESPN situation?   She actually told me “I took that stuff out about our kids being in the hot tub with a bunch of naked guys because I knew my family wouldn’t find that funny.”  What she doesn’t realize is that I have three people who receive email alerts every time I post a new blog and none of them are her family members, by blood at least.  I’m catering to their tastes, or what I think are their tastes and they are the people keeping the lights on, not her family.  (I would encourage everyone who enjoys my blog to sign up for the email alerts so that you don’t have to continually check back to see if I have posted something new)  I realize it is somewhat presumptive of me to think people actually check this blog site for new material but if anyone other than the three individuals who are receiving email alerts are keeping an eye on this, sign up for the notifications it will be painless and also convenient.

Secondly, my brother said I have a lot of typos on my blog.  Hopefully it is not to the point where I am writing indiscernible thoughts on this blog.  While I would like to have a flawless blog, I have hobbies like basketball and watching sports that distract me from writing my blog and I also have a job and family that require my occasional attention.  On top of that, I’m battling genetics, I inherited my mom’s “I’m in a hurry to get things done gene” which causes me to type furiously and wind up putting there where it’s suppose to be they’re or other similar grammatical errors.  Those of you who haven’t been plagued by this gene be thankful,  everything I do is a race to get done as fast as I possibly can.  I am fairly cognizant of  proper grammar I just don’t have the patience or time to makes sure it is fully utilized in my blog posts.   Hopefully with Shirley taking over as editor and chief of this thing that problem will be solved or at least reduced.  Granted, I realize there will be a trade off, it won’t be nearly as humorous and cleverly written if it is edited to cater to her family, but it will be much less confusing.  That being said, on to my blog post.

Yesterday, I was heading into work after a long weekend of relaxing with the family and watching copious amounts of football.  Mondays are typically brutal, but when you are coming off a four day weekend they are almost as dreadful as going for  a vasectomy and knowing there isn’t going to be any anesthesia.  My mood was a -1 on a scale of 1-10 and as I was driving I spotted a Ford Focus ahead of me on the highway with a vanity plate that read ADVOC8.  The guy looked like a total dweeb and although I couldn’t tell from my vantage point, I’m guessing he was wearing a bow tie.  On top of that I’m quite sure he had every single episode of LA Law on VHS stored in his current residence, his mom’s basement.  I was unable to get in front of him to see if he had a front plate that read DBAG, but I’m pretty sure the State of Michigan wouldn’t hand out ADVOC8 without a matching front plate to go with it, besides making the person purchase a front plate would be added revenue.  Part of me was hoping an 18 wheeler would come up on the guy and flatten his Ford Focus.  Does that make me a terrible human being for wishing that upon him or is that what everyone else on the highway thought as well?  I fully realize I am a dick,  but that can not be the reason.

This is the reason, or one of the reasons, I am a dick.  I thought to myself you can’t have that license plate and drive a Ford Focus.  Ford Focuses are perfectly fine cars but they are not meant for ass kicking lawyers.  A big ass Cadillac with a wet bar in the back is meant for lawyers that kick ass.  A gigantic Mercedes Benz that drives itself is meant for a kick ass lawyer, even a Ford F-350 Platinum would be suitable for an attorney with ADVOC8 as their personalized license plate, as long as they also trailer dozens of head of cattle as a hobby.

Passing that tool bag on the highway I felt like there should be some type of lawyering threshold in order for this dick weed to be able so procure the ADVOC8 vanity plate.  Maybe winning a 5 million dollar verdict, arguing successfully in front of the US Supreme Court, or having your own dog bite sign on the side of the highway would all be things that warranted granting a request for such a vanity plate. Enjoying your job as an attorney and wanting to let everyone occupying the road with you that you are an attorney is not a basis to receive ADVOC8 as your license plate.  If anything, the guy should have his bar card shredded and his law license revoked.  Who likes practicing law enough that they get a vanity license plate commemorating it?  If people ask me what I do and they don’t know me, I go out of my way to pretend I am anything but an attorney.  One time we were visiting Shirley’s grandma at the rest home.  Her grandma had Alzheimer’s and repeatedly asked me what I did. Finally, I told her I was an astronaut, it felt awesome to be able to say that and it stopped her from continuing to ask me what my vocation was.  I guess the moral of that story is, if you want someone to remember what you do for a living tell them you are an astronaut.

What perplexed me the most about my fellow barrister who wasn’t afraid to let the world know about it, was the type of plate he had.  In Michigan we have a number of options for our license plates.  The bottom of the barrel run of the mill plate is the blue and white plate, it’s the cheerios version of license plates.  This guy had that exact plate to tell the world he was an attorney.  I’m guessing he didn’t have one of the university or college plates because he probably didn’t want the world to know he went to some pedestrian school and he’s probably so bad at being an attorney he couldn’t afford to part with the ten dollars it would have costed him to upgrade to a deluxe plate.  So, he was rocking the standard plate, which is the plate I had utilized almost my entire driving career.

Being Dutch was the main obstacle keeping me from purchasing an upgraded license  plate, not my proficiency as an attorney.  However, one of my buddies wanted to put that final exclamation point on his new Jeep Overlander so he went with the Mackinaw Bridge plate.  Immediately when I saw the plate on his Grand Cherokee I knew I had to have one.  Ultimately I ended up going directly to the SOS to trade in my vanilla plate for the Mackinaw Bridge plate instead of ordering it online.  I couldn’t wait to affix that thing to my F-150, that Mackinaw Bridge with the sun setting behind it was going to be just what the doctor ordered to accentuate the back of my truck, I also thought about getting that thing you hang from your trailer hitch that looks like balls but that seemed a little over the top.  I forked over the money for the new plate as well as my old plate and took my plate out of the plastic, AMY 536.  What were the chances of that happening?  I was even less deserving of my plate than ADVOC8 was of his.  To this very day I regret not going back and asking for a different plate.  I am routinely referred to as AMY 536 by my buddy who drives the Uplander and when I was meeting a fellow barrister for drinks a couple weeks ago he said “I was going to park next to a truck that looked like yours but it had a license plate that read AMY 536, so I knew it wasn’t yours and I parked somewhere else.”  Looks like I may have to move to the Spectacular Peninsulas plate.

My wife decided to drive on the way to church this morning, it’s a trip that we have made countless times.  She failed to turn at the proper street and when I began to yell at her, I learned it was my fault because I failed to tell her where to turn.  I explained that typically, I don’t tell people where to turn if they have been to a particular destination more than ten times.  (Once again we were running behind – for an 11:00 a.m. service.  No matter how much time you give yourself, your kids will keep you from being punctual.)

I could have been blindfolded and thrown in the bed of my pickup truck every time we went to church and still would have known the shortest route.  “Well, I just don’t pay attention when you are driving, and this is the street I take.”  This is a fundamental difference between my wife and I.  When I’m the passenger I still pay attention to where we are going just in case I need to get their on my own someday.  When my wife is not at the wheel, she pays just about as much attention to what is going on around her as I do when I am watching a football game.

While my wife is a good driver, when she is lost she becomes the only person on the road and the safety and wellbeing of others (including mine and my children’s) becomes secondary to her way finding.  I’ve seen this happen to others.  They drive erratically, slow down, speed up, and turn wherever they feel like it without signaling because they are so singularly focused on getting back on track that they disregard everything else that is occurring around them.  If I am driving and I am not sure where we are going I will ask where I should turn.  My wife on the other hand expects me to know when she may or may need my assistance in arriving at our regularly frequented location.

Perhaps my superior directional prowess and ability to navigate a motor vehicle is just one example of a common difference between men and women.   (Although Shirley and my two very young children will maintain that she is the far superior driver.)  Another marked difference between my wife and I, and I will submit all men and women, is the locker room.  Men are void of any modesty in the locker room.  Men will soak in the hot tub, stretch and do sit ups in the steam room, and shave their face in the middle of the locker room, completely in the nude.  One time, a guy was walking around the locker room in nothing but socks and dress shoes.  Never in my life, have I put on shoes and socks before I was completely dressed.  I was tempted to tell him if he was concerned about athletes foot they have invented a new type of footwear called flip-flops.

The locker rooms I have encountered typically have a hair dryer.  I have no use for these as it’s been over a decade since I have combed my hair, but one particular gentleman (who was as follicle challenged as me) apparently didn’t want to be left out of the hair dryer experience.  As I walked past him, he had his leg up on a bench and was using the hair dryer on his balls.  What do you say to that?  What do you say to a guy who is wearing nothing but wing tips and dress socks pulled half way up to his knees?

Women on the other hand, so I’ve been told, operate under an entirely different protocol.  I’ve always envisioned the women’s locker room as teeming with extremely attractive, fit women walking around as free and proud as men do in the locker room.  The only difference in my mind is that men wear flip flops while women wear high heels.  My wife tells me that this is not the case. The hot tub is often empty because women don’t go in there naked (men do).  Furthermore, women keep to themselves and for the most part always have a towel covering up their naughty parts.

A final difference between my wife and I (and I imagine many other husbands and wives) is that she is fully aware of the ludicrous and meaningless nature of sports.  My brother, dad, and I were watching the Valero Alamo Bowl between Oregon and TCU.  Shirley asked if the bowl games were the last of the college football games, I explained that there was still the national championship game.  She responded “so this game really doesn’t mean anything?”  I responded by saying “no, but…”  however, there was really no point in trying to justify why we were watching the game because it was entirely meaningless but for the fact that someone a long time ago invented sports gambling which can make any game meaningful from a preseason NFL game all the way to the Super Bowl.  I’m pretty sure most sports fan’s couldn’t tell me who won Super Bowl 21, 25, or 37 and if you break it down and really think about it, as depressing as it may seem, sports really have no impact on anyone’s every day life.

The harsh reality is that overall, being a sports fan is as excruciating and often times terrible an experience as having to change in a men’s locker room.  So, directional challenges aside –and not being able to pee standing up, wouldn’t it be great to be a woman?  GIRL POWER!