MY BIRTHDAY BOOTY

Well, I didn't get everything I wanted.....sniff, sniff....the new car, the new truck, and the other new car will have to wait until another day.....but here is what my booty was:

Not that kind of booty, you perverts.

I got Stephen King's new novel, "Cell", which is his version of a zombie tale.

I got DVDs of War of the Worlds, The Aviator, and The Polar Express.

I got some sweet Pitt State Gorillas Sandals.

My mom, who knows I absolutely HATE KU Basketball, got me a KU Basketball Bobblehead as a gag gift. If it were from anyone else I think I'd burn it in effigy before Sunday's OU-KU basketball game. HAHAHAHAHAHA.

I got Season one of "LOST." More on that later this week.

This weekend I get to go buy some golf shoes.

I also got (and this is the coolest) some special dresses for Audrey, including one that says "Daddy's Special Sweetie." As soon as I saw that my face splintered from the grin and all my whiny gloominess of the past week vanished in a heartbeat. How can I feel grumpy when I get to see my baby girl in that?

Ahhhhh......(grin).

Here's my birthday present list of stuff I want. Any of you who want to, please feel free to fight amongst yourselves for who gets to get me what present:

1. Custom made OU golf bag.
2. A golf cart.
3. A swimming pool.
4. A new car.
5. A new truck.
6. Another new car.
7. Lifetime subscriptions to the following magazines: Smithsonian, ESPN, Sporting News, Sports Illustrated, Premiere, Wizard, InQuest, National Geographic, Creative Screenwriting, Writers Illustrated, Time, Newsweek, Money, Forbes, Kiplingers, CarWeek, GolfWeek, Golf Digest, Golf Illustrated, Mad, Cracked, US News and World Report, Civil War Illustrated. Just to start.
8. A new XGA 1028 x 720 Benq 6210 Digital Projector.
9. A new E-120 Center Channel Speaker
10. 2 more wireless controllers for my XBox 360, with attached Plug-n-Plays.
11. A new Trek 1000 roadbike
12. PSU biking jersey.
13. Less gray hair.
14. And a partridge in a pear tree.

PEACE!

Is it a sin to be in a crappy mood on a Friday?

I can't put my finger on it.

Is it because I turn 32 on Monday?

Is it because this "winter" has been yet another colossal disappointment for me?

Is it because the Chiefs aren't in the Super Bowl, when I fully believe that they could beat both the Seahawks AND the Steelers?

Is it because I seem to get angrier over little meaningless things now more than ever? (Halo)


Am I feeling underappreciated? Underloved? Everyone needs their ego stroked every now and then. How selfish is that?

Is this all just a case of the Winter Blues (I almost typed Whiner instead. Maybe that is more appropo.)

Is this my annual self-questioning of "Why am I a teacher?"

My mother said the best way to get over feeling blue or sorry for yourself is to do something nice for someone.

So that is my goal.

Why I love my cat:

He is my morning buddy. I eat my bowl of cereal and he sits on the edge of the computer desk and patiently waits for me to finish my cereal. Then I give him the bowl and let him lick the milk out of the bottom. Every day.

He ALWAYS greets me when I come home. He stands on the edge of the bar by the door that comes in from the garage. He never misses. Ever.

He also runs to the window and watches us leave every morning, (probably because he can't wait for us to leave so he can turn on the TV, watch some soaps, and sleep all day in his kitty underwear. Oh wait, that's me.)

When I watch a movie on my mega-theater, he is always there, sitting on the leg rest between my feet, curled up in a ball or attentively watching the big screen. He is partial to Xbox and That 70s Show.

He is a beautiful cat. All cat owners say that, but this cat honestly is one of the prettier ones I've seen.

He always jumps up on our bed and does this strange little "Scratch and Roll" routine. It is truly bizarre. But I love it.

We have a game we play in the morning. He crouches on the end of the sofa in the dark waiting on me to come by. As I pass, he springs into action, leaping up the sofa onto the back and takes a playful bat at my arm as I pass. He never uses his claws, at least here. THe rest of the time, watch out.


WHY I HATE MY CAT:

He tears up my loaves of bread and sandwiches. Each time I make a sandwich, if I don't immediately hide it or eat it, Sydney quickly pounces on it and destroys it. He doesn't eat it- that doesn't interest in him. He's just a little food nihilist who greatly enjoys seeing me suffer in hunger.

He eats ALL THE FRIGGING TIME. He is a hog, not a cat. And I spend TONS on food. Way too freaking much.

His poop is toxic. I mean, awful. We keep his litter box in the laundry room, and when he goes, the entire house reeks of cat-poop. Nauseating, pungent, and so rank that I cry when I have to change it. That is my job- I am the cat poop changer. Natalie, since she is pregnant, cannot mess with the litter, so that leaves me to do it all the time. The funny part is that when we got Sydney, she swore that SHE would do the litter. She PROMISED. So who does it? Me. Me. Me. Me. Me.

Sydney has broken a fundamental law of physics: Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only altered. This cat produces more poop than the food he eats.

Normal cat:
1 food=1 poop
2 food= 2 poop

My cat
1 food=2 poops
2 food=4 poops
And so on, exponentially increasing each time. I'm afraid if I ever left the food bag open he'd get into it and the entire city of Carl Junction would be covered in poop. Sometimes his litter box looks like the Himalayas, massive green mountains protruding up from the desert below.

Finally, the massive wads of puke. He loves to eat rubber bands. Then he loves even more to throw them up.

ALL OVER THE FLOOR.

And even worse, ALL OVER MY CUHS BASKETBALL PULLOVER this morning.

It was awful. Simply.....awful.

People laugh and tell me it is training for having a baby.

If my baby girl leaps onto the counter, pukes all over my jacket, poops enough to choke a blue whale, and sheds her hair all over my sandwich, I'm gonna scream.

But I wouldn't trade him for anything.

Except a TIVO.

The "Infant"-try.

I have just figured out the best way to hunt down Osama bin Laden in Afghanistan and end the War on Terror.

And the answer came to my house in a big cardboard box Thursday night.

My father-in-law, Brian, who lives in New York about an hour outside the BIG city, bought for us our coming baby's stroller.

Immediately upon my return from a Scholar's Bowl trip to Iola (go team!), I was greeted with a massive box and an excited hug from my wife Natalie, who had managed to lug the crate into the entryway. She smiled and ordered me: "Put it together!"

So I tried.

After LOTS of swearing and a pulled muscle, I was able to pry the beast from its box and assemble it in a relatively short time.

Now back to my plan:

In order to win the war on terror, we need to load up about 400 of these Graco baby strollers, hire midgets to act as babies, and air-drop the SOB's directly into the Khyber Pass.

I FREAKING DARE Al Qaeda to attack these baby (midget) strollers.

They are heavy, tough, and as far as I know, bullet-proof. They are overkill in the baby safety market- I think they could stand getting plowed by a fully-loaded semi, much less an angry mall-walking blue-hair at Northpark Mall.

If you are a midget and are interested in testing my theory, please contact me in the comments section of this blog. We'll get together and do some field tests, which include:

1. Pushing you in the stroller off the neighboring Carl Junction High School building to simulate LZ conditions.

2. Backing into repeatedly with my own tank, the 1989 Buick Park Avenue.

3. Shooting you with my 12 gauge shotgun.

4. Drag you behind my car over rocky terrain to simulate the minefield.

5. Do a field-dress test on how quickly you can change a busted tire.

U.S.A!!! U.S.A.!!!!

And Graco Baby Strollers!

Our prayers were answered today when my father was suddenly released from the hospital much to everyone's surprise. They were really happy with the progress he had made battling the infection in his colon, and God be Praised, he is at home now. He's probably still really hungry after not eating for 3 days, but boy oh boy, I'm glad he's at home. He'll be off work through the middle of next week, PLUS he'll be resting and lounging around the house for the next few days, but that sure beats staying in the hospital. Yuck!

So those of you who prayed for him, awesome. Thanks.

Now, back to me, because after all, this is my blog, and it's all about me, right?

I want some ice cream.

Been a rough couple of days. My dad is in the hospital with Diverticulitis, an infection in the colon that, if left untreated, could perforate the colon and spread toxins into the rest of the body. He is on intense anti-biotics to stop the infection. His fever has gone down, but we have no word as of yet as to the status of the infection. If the infection is not gotten rid of, we may have to operate, which means my dad could lose some of his colon, which is never a pleasant thing and is scary as all get out.

I love my dad very much, and if you're a praying person, throw him a heavenly shout out, will ya?

Getting into Shape: The Fletcher Way

It involves pain, pulled muscles, and not much else.

Actually, my horrific performance in the basketball game last Monday made me realize that I am WOEFULLY out shape. I've put on fifteen pounds since last year when I played. I am relatively inert. And I eat like a hog, and for that I place the blame on my coming baby. That's right, when little Audrey comes out and says Hello, I'm going to have a long talk with her about her making me fat.

Because she made her mommy hungry all the time. And daddy was the one who had to get mommy all the food. And daddy would ALWAYS eat mommy's leftovers or eat right along with her, because let's face it, eating alone is no fun. So I did it to keep mommy company. It was nice, and eating is quite fun. But eating ALL THE TIME can be quite the scale buster.

So here is my goal: To get back into my 34 waist slacks and jeans. Right now I'm teetering on the brink of permanently being a 36/38. I'm 6'4", which allows me to hide some weight pretty well. But I don't WANT to hide my weight.

If I am not in a 34 waist by the time my daughter arrives, a random senior student who is passing my class will receive $60 in cash from me.

Seriously. And I don't mean I fit into the 34 waist so snugly that I lose the ability to ever have children again. They have to be comfortable. Because my mom bought me some 34 waist camoflauge pants, sweetly thinking that they were still my size. By MOM, I will fit into those again!

Call this the $50 Challenge.

This is going to be a short, short summary of our season opening blowout loss in the Church League last Monday night, because I don't have the heart to write anything longer. My pride and ego were shattered Monday.

The game was close with 1:30 to go in the first half, after I hit a running jumper (by jumper I in no way mean to imply that I was actually jumping. I was moving at a slow speed to the basket when I released the shot.) That made the score 24-20. I was fouled on the play, and I had a chance for a three point play.

It didn't happen, and the wheels fell off shortly thereafter.

Before I tell you the final score and the way it happened, let me remind you to read my pre-season summary in the prior post.

Well, we did receive 3 more players on our team, including a bruising former K-State football walk-on who is capable of pummeling mountains.

But we don't need any more of those. We need guards.

Our guards for the most part of the game were Adam, who had never played ball in his life, and a high school kid named Marcus who doesn't play actual high school basketball, and my friend Terry, who is NOT a guard by any stretch of the imagination, he just got stuck playign guard because the rest of us were getting down the floor.

None of these guys have the dribbling ability of a rock.

And the team we were playing was absolutely STOCKED with good , quick guards, former high school superstars who are reliving their glory days. They're the guys with the mouthpieces, the knee wraps, fifteen sweatbands on each arm, and they had given each other "cool" nicknames like "Cruiser," "Deadeye," and "Godzilla." These guys are not that good, it's just that we're that bad at that position.

Keep in mind that it is a church league, the purpose of which is an outreach to those we're trying to bring into the church. Sportsmanship is coveted above all else, though the team we played Monday night has ZERO of (my biggest pet peeve: the ball goes out of bounds. They race to the ball and just chuck it down the floor to their cherry picking guard. That is not allowed in real basketball. After the second time they did it, I complained to the worthless referee. After the third time, I grabbed the ball first and held it until my guys were in place. Keep in mind we're slow as crap, so that took a while. Then they tried it again, at which point I grabbed the ball and rolled the opposite way. They whined and said I should get a technical foul. The ref just stood there. Cretins.)

Anyway, we're technically not there to win, we're there to have fun. So if a player who is not very good should not be chastised, or embarassed, or really benched at all. Everybody plays. And we don't have the heart to say, "Please sit down. Never pick up a ball again. In fact, never WATCH people play again."
But when the people are not very good are simply wretched, it kinda makes your stomach ache.

Remember, we're playing against a team that has ZERO sportsmanship. They know the kids we have playing guard are awful. So what do they do?

FULL court man to man press.

It is 24-20. I miss my free throw, They score two quick three pointers at the end of the half thanks to two consecutive bad passes directly to their best player in the last fifteen seconds of the half. We're losing 30-20.

We decide at the half that we're going to go big, with Kyle, Dustin, Jacob, Myself, and T-ho on the floor. Still not a good lineup, but it's the best we have.

But Kyle isn't back from the restroom by the time the half starts, and my shoes have come untied and stuck in a horrible triple knot that I can't get undone.

So we start Dustin, T-Ho, Adam, Marcus, and Jacob.

What ensues is a slaughter of immense proportions. They immediately go on a 14 point run in less than 2 minutes as they turn up the pressure on our crappy guards. I sub in for Dustin, who needs a break, and Kyle still isn't back from the restroom. He msut have died in there. We call time out.

Jacob and I do what every big man is supposed to do- get to halfcourt to give our guards an option. It doesn't matter. Our "guards" can't get it to us. Jacob finally snags a desperation heave down the floor by T-Ho and puts in a lay up to make the score 44-22. They go down and score after a desperate fight for a rebound with six of us, in which we scrapped and fought for the ball, 46-22.

We then turn it over six consecutive times against this press, during which Jacob and I essentially gave up and just stood there and watched as T-Ho, so slow that he never got past the free throw line, was subjected to playing on the losing end of 3 on 1 and 2 on 1 fast breaks over and over. I was laughing so hard I nearly quit breathing, because it was obscene to watch.

59-22.

Oh wow! Kyle returns from the restroom, suffering from the poopies. He's out.

I have to take a breather because I'm so tired of running to half court to receive a pass which is invariably picked off.

65-22. We call timeout again.

They KEEP PRESSING until the end against our crappy guards, because at this point we don't care.

Final score: 75-24.

They finished the game on a 51-4 run.

One of our players had over 20 turnovers BY HIMSELF. But he was young, and it's a church game, and it doesn't mean anything.....

Oh well. WE'll play again Saturday.

And we'll lose.

Peace out.

A NURSERY RHYME ABOUT MY CAR:
Lovingly written by Chad Fletcher

"Hoopty Doopty"

Hoopty Doopty was NOT a great car.
She didn't go fast; She wouldn't go far.
All the grease monkeys and the mechanical men
Couldn't make Hoopty Doopty worth a crap again.

Ahem. That will bring a tear to your eye, yes?

Anyone who spends any appreciable amount of time with me knows that I loathe cars. No...perhaps loathe is too weak of a term.

I DESPISE THEM WITH THE FIERY HATRED OF A MILLION BURNING SUNS.

I've never liked them. They've always been a necessary evil in life. Nothing, not even the most high-maintenance girlfiend I ever had, ever sucked up as much money as my cars. Fuel, tires, oil changes, spare parts, new parts, Parts unknown.....$$$$$$$$ gone. Wasted.

I get zero enjoyment out of cars. Some of my friends are car maniacs- guys who have intense, passionate relationships with their cars (far more passionate than the relationships they have with their WIVES in fact!) They paw them, clean them incessantly, talk about them, keep pictures of them in their wallet ON TOP OF THEIR WIVES and CHILDREN, for crying out loud!

But me? I hate them. It doesn't matter to me if I'm riding a battle wagon or a station wagon. The only thing I care about is not spending a lot of money on them.

My students make fun of my ride all the time. Oh how they live for the day when they can go buy their first truck- they're all stoked about getting a loan and making payments....well, let me tell you something. PAYMENTS SUCK! That $400+ a months you're doling out right now is fine, but in three years you'll get sick of it. I haven't had a car payment of my own in three years, and by golly, it feels nice. My wife Natalie and I made $800 a month payments on her car since last May, and we paid it off two days before Christmas.

Ahhh.... freedom.

Not having a car payment allows me to spend money on things that I really like, like Chiefs season tickets, my incredible home theater, games and gadgets, books, etc.

I don't really hold a grudge to people who buy big fancy cars, because that is what they love. I just don't like being made fun of because I DO NOT like to buy big fancy cars. That is quite the double standard.

But back to the original point of this post: My car. It died again this morning on the way to school at the four way stop on Maple and High School, right catty-corner from the High School. Oh, the embarassment as I pushed it by myself through the intersection. Luckily no one was there to watch as I strained and nearly gave myself a stroke moving the darn thing. It had stopped right in that little groove that made it nearly impossible to push. But after a lot of swearing, sweating, and shoving, I finally got the thing over to the side of the street.

Square in a no parking zone.

I had no choice but to leave it. To make matters much, much worse, two Columbus officers come strolling into my classroom during our 30 minute Homeroom period that starts each day. I hadn't felt that nervous since the first time I got pulled over on my Joplin when I was 16 for having a headlight out, a tail light out, and failing to stop at a stop sign. Ooops.

I reassured the officers that the car would be move post-haste, which it subsequently was.

I hate cars. I hate my car now. It is a valiant car with 256,000 miles on it, and honestly, it has earned the right to be put out to pasture, or better yet, put out to stud, which is kinda gross if you think about it. She's slow, she's leakier than Karl Rove, but you know what?

She's paid for, and she's mine.

IT HAPPENED AGAIN! THE WEATHERMEN ARE RETARDED! ALL OF THEM!

For two years I've speculated on the invisible wall that exists as the Cherokee county line where snow stops and turns to rain....guess what happened last night? THE SAME THING AGAIN!

ARRRGGGHHHHHHHH.

The only blessing is that we got a little moisture on the ground for the farmers and fire difficulties.

See you at school in 2 hours!

Alright, snow gods! The gauntlet has been thrown down! The early forecast for SE Kansas is 5 to 8 inches of snow! WE NEED IT! WE WANT IT! GOTTA HAVE IT! You can't take a poop on us again!!!

In all seriousness, we need precipitation of any kind at all, and we'd be grateful for it. That it might come in the form of snow is icing on the cake. We haven't had snow since January of 2004.

So if you're at home, or still at school, or still at work, do your snow dance!

See you soon!

Well, it's that time of year again.

And boy, am I not ready for it a single bit.

It's church basketball season, 2006 style, baby!

I attend the newly re-christened Crossroads Christian Church in Baxter Springs. We were formally known as Southside CC until an unfortunate problem with the building forced us to relocate north of town off hiway 400, where the name SOUTHside would make little sense. Ergo, the name change.

So we have a new name, new uniforms....but unfortunately, we still have one problem:

We suck.

Bad.

We are a church completely devoid of younger athletic talent. If we were to get together with the other churches and have a church spelling bee, musical/singing contest, and/or video game contest (I'd smite them in Halo in the name of the Lord), we'd rule them down.

But when it comes to sports, we gladly and happily take our beatings from the various churches in the area. Last season, we finished in 3rd place out of 5 teams because of our 2-2 performance in the double elimination tournament, during which the final game consisted of myself, my buddy T-Ho, my friend Dustin, a girl who plays for Baxter Springs High School, and 9th grader who I STILL don't know where he came from exactly.

This year we have gotten a year older, a year slower, and a year creakier. Matching up with the churches brimming with collegiate athletic talent will be very difficult, especially in a league where the officiating is impartial, incompetent, and strictly volunteer. I hope the ref is merciful on us, because let me go over our line-up with you:

Kyle: 6'4". Plays the point guard position because he NEVER goes inside despite being biggest guy on team. Has congenital back problems. Will shoot from either end of the court many, many times. Doesn't care if we win or lose.
Me: 6'4". Plays center. Has given up any pretense of being a ball handler. Slow. Can't shoot outside 10 feet. Can't jump. Not too big on rebounding. Defense? Nah. Likes to criticize. Asthmatic. Good for a few trips up and down the floor before faking injury just to stop the clock.
Matt: 5'10" Plays the 2. Former lineman with lineman hands. Gets lost in the trees. Has exceptional receding hairline, which doesn't benefit us but makes him more aerodynamic. Best move is 3 point hook shot that only goes in when he hums the ending song from the Robert Redford movie, "The Natural."
Terry: 5'10": Plays Power Forward. Round Mound of Rebound. Impossible to move out of the lane. 2 inch vertical leap. Makes 1 three pointer a game. Only cares about fouling me, and I'm on his team. Dreams of being a point guard despite the fact that he can't dribble.
Dustin: 5'10": Best position is the 3. Doesn't know what that means. Plays basketball once a year. Never speaks. We think he is a deaf/mute. Youngest player on the team at 25. Best athlete on team. That is sad.
Adam: 5'9": Has not, to this point in his life, ever played basketball.

If I were to grade our team, this what I would give us:

Speed: F. We're so slow, we were watching our game film last year when someone came in and thought we had hit PAUSE.
Rebounding: C- We always beat the opposing team to the blocks because we never LEAVE them. As far as we know, Terry has been on the blocks since last March blocking out.
Shooting: F+. More bricks than the Great Wall of China.
Defense: D-. Softer than a down pillow on Dolly Parton's chest.
Passing: N/A. We don't believe in it. Our philosophy is, if you get it, launch it. Even if it is at the other team's basket. Let 'er fly.
Stamina:F-. We are the only team in history to burn all our timeouts during pre-game.
Tempo of Play: Inert.

Season outlook: Injuries. Lots of them. Good thing Matt is an athletic trainer. Was first team all league last season in injury wrapping. He will be busy. (Hope he knows to the wrap a stroke.) We will have to keep ourselves in foul trouble. We like fouling because it stops the action and, in our league, the clock keeps running until the final 2 minutes of play.

This season we will be experimenting with a new offense that I call "Static." Each player that has successfully made it past half-court goes to the penetration line and tries to avoid passing out. Whoever has the ball, if they have not already had it stolen or thrown it out of bounds, will then heave it to the basket, even if he is covered by a trio of seven foot tall Nigerians. The other players will, upon the shot, turn around and begin the long process of running down to our side of the court, despite the fact that the other team will have passed us LONG before we get there. The player who took the shot will then complain that he was fouled as loudly as possible in an attempt to sway the referee's future decisions.

Right now we don't even know who we play tomorrow night at 8 p.m., but we do know that for us to win will take an act of Congress. I predict

THEM: 80
US: 17

I also predict that I will not be able to walk on Tuesday.

A full game report plus stats will be posted tomorrow night for the 3 of you who care.

Something that really ticks me off:

SUVS.

I hate them. They are huge, monstrous, overwhelming, space-consuming fuel sucking bohemoths. If you get behind one, you cannot see anything in front of them, which makes you miss exits, which makes you late, which makes you angry, which makes you speed, which makes you get pulled over, which makes you get a ticket, which gets you dragged out of the car by the policeman because you mouthed off, who then beats you when you resist arrest, which causes you to get thrown in jail, which causes strange men with few teeth to look at you in a very uncomfortable manner, which causes you to scream like a little girl as he lumbers after you in the jail yard as you try to defend your.....stuff.

But, I have to admit, SUVS ride very nice. It's kinda like your own jetliner on wheels.


PS None of the above ever happened to me. But I've read the newspapers, and that kind of thing can happen if you are not careful.



PPS Okay, I have no idea if that could actually happen. I just made it up. But at least I spelled everything correctly.

How about a nice little completely irrelevant post?

My favorite snack food is breakfast cereal. I could eat it all the time, no matter what I've been doing. Just woke up? Gimme some cereal. Been to the track? Gimme some cereal. Just lost my house betting on the Chiefs to cover the spread on the road against a banged up Giants team with no line to speak of? Gimme LOTS of cereal.

Just kidding. I don't bet.

Here are my top ten breakfast cereals:

10. Fruity Pebbles - I like the cereal. However, this is the only cereal that I won't drink the leftover milk out of bottom of the bowl. I'm such a kid.
9. Cinnamon Toast Crunch- But not as a cereal, more as a dry snack.
8. Fruit Loops- same as Cinnamon Toast crunch- I hate the stuff in milk, it turns it a wierd blueish pinkish color. But then again, I AM color blind! What do I know?
7. Frosted Wheat Bites- Or whatever they'll called, different cereal companies call them different things. For some reason I adore them.
6. New Strawberry Blast Honeycomb. I am a fruit-milk hypocrite, because normally I hate the fruity stuff in milk. This is a rare exception for me.
5. Super Sugar Golden Crisp- It's got the crunch with the punch!
4. Frosted Flakes- Man, I ate the TAR out of those things when I was little. I don't like them as much now, but this is a sentimental pick.
3. Frosted Cheerios- Never really liked them until I ate them at my father-in-law's in New York. Now I dig them.
2. Captain Crunch! Aye aye, matey, because the Cap'n is all aboard!
1. Colossal Crunch- It's Cap'n Crunch made by Malt-O-Meal instead! IT's cheaper, tastes just as good, and comes in 1000 pound bags!

Cereals that suck:

1. Mueslix. Never eat. Unless you like sitting on the toilet for hours.
2. Trix. "Trix are for Kids" My butt.
3. Regular Cheerios. BOOORRRINNNGGG.
4. Lucky Charms. Those are not marshmallows. They are rocks with food coloring sprayed on them.
5. FrankenBerry, Count Chocula, and BooBerry. Find the Cereal Exorcist and banish these cereal demons to hell, because their cereal sucks.

Have a great day!

Happy New Year Everybody!

Well.....today was a nice Spring Day. Or at least it felt like it, at any rate. Good grief! 74 degrees? That is insane, and by FAR the warmest New Year's Day I've ever witnessed. I went walking at 6:20 tonight in shorts and a T-shirt (replete with Black socks and crappy tennis shoes- more on that later.) This winter so far is shaping up to be a dud as usual. I know there are many of my friends, family, and students, who hate the snow. I love it. I've said as much countless times on this site. But we've received nothing so far, and most of the forecasts I've read for the coming months do nothing to assuage my concern. Oh well. Who needs Snow Days any way?

Me.

Okay, back to the weekend.

Natalie and I went to Kansas City for an Anniversary/New Year's Celebration. We left on Friday and came back on Saturday. It was a nice little trip. Friday night we met my parents (who were in KC as well for the Chiefs game- more on that later) at Harrah's Casino. We ate at Toby Keith's 'I Love This Bar and Grill' restaurant. I was completely underwhelmed by the food. The atmosphere was cool, so long as you like Toby Keith videos played over and over (and, for some strange reason, lots of Tim McGraw songs as well. Could there be a joint financial stake here that we don't know about?) The prices weren't TOO bad, and we didn't have to pay a dime because my mom had a $60 food voucher coupon. I'm glad we got there when we did, because the Friday night crowd was monstrous....the line for the buffet was literally fifty yards long, and as of this evening, the family of Koreans in the back STILL haven't been seated. We didn't do any gambling because if you've ever been to a casino, you know that

A. they are no fun if you have no money to gamble with and
B. Everyone who enters seemingly is required to smoke 40 cigarettes before they leave. My mother met us outside to use her Harrah's perks to get us some free valet parking (pretty sweet), and when she greeted us she smelled like Santa Claus after he'd been stuck in a 1930's era coalfactor smokestack. She hadn't even been IN to the casino yet! Natalie is pregnant, so we opted to avoid the smoke and instead head back to our hotel for some swimming.

Saturday I spent most of the day driving around KC looking for a Barnes and Noble. Boy do I feel stupid knowing now, after having consulted an atlas and actually deciding to LOOK IN A PHONE BOOK, that I had driven RIGHT by one at least three times already. Duh. And by the time we found one, it was 5:30, and they closed at 6:00 because of the holiday. Great timing!

So Saturday we went to Babies R Us, which is approximately 400 acres of baby stuff spread out all over the place like a World War One battlefield. Admittedly, there were a lot of cute things in there, so I can't say it was ALL bad. I did have fun imagining what little Audrey would look like in some of those outfits. However, I eventually got overwhelmed by the enormity of it all. I simply was astounded that there could be so many variations of diapers, baby furniture, room decorations, and cloths. Did you know that according to the Babies R Us guide for registering for baby gifts, a newborn child requires roughly two thousand different cloths PER WEEK? What would a BABY use that many cloths for? To create an escape rope from their nursery if they live in a particularly tall tower? There are receiving cloths, burp cloths, changing cloths, washcloths, hoodiecloths, snugglecloths, terry cloth, dishcloths, cheesecloth, Three toed Cloths, wipecloths, sanitary cloths, Santa Cloths, wipeecloths, and my favorite, "Cloth the Door! I'm Peeing!"

We spend a moderate amount of money on decorations for the baby's room, which actually I'm very excited about. We've chosen an animal jungle/savannah/African theme. I hope I'm not subliminally encouraging Audrey to move to Africa to work with Lions or anything like that, because I'll be darned if I'm going to fly to Kenya to celebrate Arbor Day.

Anyway, we saw two flicks- "Munich" and "the Producers."

I liked Munich.

I think.

Actually, I'm not sure, because it was so depressing. It was very long.....and depressing. Yeah, I think I liked it......maybe. Yeah. I'm sure of it.

That's all you're going to get out of me because I haven't the energy or inclination to waste anymore time with a wittier, more verbose description of the movie's flaws and strengths. I will say this: when Eric Bana's Character Avener comes under fire from PLO terrorists, I half expected him to turn green and start whooping butt. If you don't catch that reference, you are not very sharp.

As for the Producers, I really found it hilarious because I'd never seen the 1968 original and despite my desperate pleas during our last trip to New York City this past summer, the Broadway show had eluded my grasp as well.

I thought it was great. However, it would be a better musical on the stage than on the screen.

Nuff said.

The best part of the trip was seeing Dick Vermeil's final game as an NFL head coach as the Chiefs obliterated the Cincinatti Bengals 37-3 in a game that really wasn't even THAT close. Larry Johnson cemented his claim to the starting running back position in 2006 by rushing for 201 yards and 3 scores, including an amazing cut-back run from 20 yards out late in the second quarter to give the Chiefs a commanding 20-3 halftime lead. It was a good season. Too bad the inept Detroit Lions couldn't beat the Steelers. Oh well. There's always next year. (Here's to better seats!)

Now the worst part.

I drive, in a word, a piece of crap. It isn't so bad on the outside, and actually it runs quite well. Honestly, I shouldn't be badmouthing it because I've never had engine problems or anything else with it except for the battery. There is an electrical drain SOMEWHERE in the car's system that makes the car impossible to start if I haven't driven it at least once every single day. We've never found it- I've had it in several mechanics and they all say they've fixed it when I know they haven't....... but anyway, My car hadn't been driven for 8 days. It was dead as a doornail. No dome lights, nothing. So I jumped it with Natalie's car (which we paid off December 20!!!) I drove it to Subway about 1 mile away, and turned it off. Big mistake. After ordering our subs to go, we came out and I turned the ignition. Nothing. Natalie just gave a big sigh and I tried it again. Zilch.

Luckily a guy next standing out smoking with his girlfriend was parked nearby and gave us a jump. This part I don't have a problem with, because we have had to jump my car all the time. My car's been jumped more than a country club boy walking down Prospect in Kansas City. The problem was that we looked like the ultimate trailer trash couple EVER. My wife, pregnant and showing, resplendent in her pajama pants, heavy coat and T-shirt that was WAY too big.....me, in the crappy tennis shoes with the hole in the front left toe, the black socks (one of which was hiked up to my calf), running shorts that are too small, and a stained red T-shirt and Hat-head. Plus I hadn't shaved in a few days, so let's just say that I was REALLY attractive at the moment.

Somewhere, in the distance, a banjo was plucked and a toothless man looked at his sister in an impure manner.

Thus saieth the Chad.