Seriously, Not That Big a Deal

There's a trend that's been going on for years now, but I've been noticing it more as of late. This was really brought to my attention while watching the Olympics. We, as a society, tend to celebrate way too much.

I'm not talking about a birthday or anniversary. I'm referring to the smallest bits of tripe one can imagine. All of a sudden, it's a big deal. Last night, I was watching some gymnastics. (Yes, gymnastics.) Although all of the ladies did things I couldn't dream of, a few of them seemed to perform flawlessly. If you do really well, or do something that's never been done before, then celebrate, by all means. However, if you bobble, stumble, fall, or just plain suck, there's no need to be all excited and get all huggy and crap.

It wasn't so much the gymnasts that aggravate me with this. The bulk of my anger stems from two words: women's volleyball. Seriously, I think they have a friggin' group hug after every point. The hugs last longer than the point in a lot of cases. I realize there are some times they may discuss strategy. Typically, though, it's a bunch of "Good Job!" and "Great work!" and whatnot. No, you didn't do a good job. The other team served the ball into the net. If you want to walk around the net, hug them, and tell them "You suck", I'm totally cool with that. But you did not do a good job. To add to my frustration, immediately after a big group hug, they'll serve it out of bounds or choke somehow. Where's the hug for that?

I could go off on a big rant here about how our kids should get F's, be graded in red ink, and not always get a soccer trophy. However, I'm getting my heart rate up again thinking about these hugging volleyball players, so I might just save that for another post. Maybe I should just think happy thoughts, like that the sweaty-girl hug is not really about celebrating. Hmmmm....

No Substitute?

Evidence shows that it's pretty easy to take something from the past, distant or not so, and do a horrific job of trying to recreate it. There are remakes of songs, movies, and television shows out there that absolutely suck, for lack of a better word. After so many failed attempts at remaking something, whether it was a classic or just less than average, I'm amazed people still attempt to make them. BOC, as Andy would say, TAOE.

I think I could count on one hand, two hands at most, the number of attempts at a remake that I would classify as being as good as the original. A couple of those even seem better than the original. (And no, I don't think Whitney's version is anywhere near as good as Dolly's. So, if that one's on your list, go ahead and cross it off.) What really got me thinking about this was hearing the song "Sunrise" by Simply Red today, while driving to BFE, KY. Great tune. I know, I know. It's not really a remake of Hall and Oates' "I Can't Go for That", it just samples it. But still, that's what got my twisted little pea brain thinking about this.

I decided to make a short list of remakes that compete with or beat the originals from whence they came. You may have others, or you may think I'm wrong. However, for the purpose of this blog, I am right. And I don't care about your others.

1. Miami Vice (the 2006 movie) - Whether you stack it up against the original made for television movie or the entire series, the 2006 Michael Mann update mops the floor with either of them. It's funny, because I don't particularly care for Colin Farrell. I also like the television Tubbs and Castillo better. But there's just something about the newer movie that really makes me believe it. It could be because it's so much darker, or it could be the simple fact that neither of the protagonists live with an alligator named Elvis.

2. Radar Love, by White Lion - Not much to say about this one. Their version is just cleaner than Golden Earring's. Also, the guitar sounds a lot better; and it has a better drum solo. I can listen to both versions, but the update is just more pleasing on the ears.

3. Halloween, directed by Rob Zombie - This one is the one where I differ from probably everybody in the world. I don't think Zombie's version is better than Carpenter's absolute classic, but I think it's as good. I know, there are way too many female body parts on display in the new one. I also know there is too much violence actually shown, instead of just being implied. I just really like the way Rob takes more time to show you the background as to why Michael Myers is the way he is. The asylum scenes as he's making his masks throughout the years seem to make up for all the things this movie does wrong.

So, those are my top 3. I probably have a few more in me if I sit and think about it, but I'm tired of typing right now. I was just kidding about not caring about your others. Feel free to throw in your 2 cents, or to tell me how wrong I am on #3. However, don't try to tell me that Whitney's version is better than Dolly's. It's just not.

Two (2) Bug Posts in One (1) Week?

So I have a dog in the back yard. He has a food dish. The food dish tends to draw critters. Typically, flies are the pests of note, although I have seen an occasional slug. This year, while cruising the aisle of our beloved Wal Mart (without any drinks hanging on the side of the cart,) I came across and impulse-bought one of these little beauties:

If you have any issues with flies, or just like to see crazy stuff, I recommend dropping the $3.97. Insert asterisk here. I believe they also make versions for other creepy-crawlies, such as Japanese Beetles. I brought mine home and installed it on the dog's zip line, at the side of the yard. The internet recommended not setting the trap anywhere you don't want flies eating and/or hanging out. You just snip a hole in the top of the plastic bag, fill it about halfway with water to activate the bait, then hang it up. The bag does the rest.

Within a day, I had numerous ugly little black flies trapped in the bag. After a few days, it was still working, and the idiots were still going in. (They weren't coming out, however.) I did notice that over time, a bag full of dead and decaying flies tends to develop a certain aroma. It was pretty bad, oh, around Friday. My trash comes on Monday mornings, so I just figured I'd tough it out.

I go out last night to retrieve the bag of rotting flies, armed with 2 plastic grocery bags (to double-bag for protection) and a set of wire cutters to snip the small wire holding the bag. I line up my bags, and cut the wire. Second asterisk should be somewhere around here. The next thing I know, the bag (the bag - the important bag - the nasty one) falls to the ground. I'm standing there, holding a pair of wire cutters and 2 empty grocery bags. I guess technically one was empty; and the other had the empty one in it, but you get the point. I then use the snips to pick up the trap, and realize it's a heck of a lot lighter than it had been. Of course it was a lot lighter, since the (up to 20,000, mind you) dead, wet, rotting flies were scattered around my yard.

I call for -PB to run and grab a shovel out of the garage, which he promptly does. Upon my instructions, he starts scooping; and I'm, um, holding the bag. (By "holding the bag", I mean I'm a good 15' away from it.) Short story long, the bulk of them made it out with the trash, -PB used all the antibacterial soap in the house, and the back yard smells friggin' nasty now. I don't know if I want it to rain, or if that would just make it worse.

Things I Don't Like: #837

I hate when people put their little 6-, 8-, or however many-packs of water, Gatorade, or whatever around the top of the basket of their shopping cart. Frankly, I think people do it because they think it looks cool. Let me tell you, there is nothing cool or smart about doing that. If your cart is too full for the beverages to fit inside it, you need to shop more frequently. If you think it saves you from bending over, you need to exercise more. Buy a friggin' Wii Fit. But please, put it inside your cart - next to your bottles of water, Gatorade, or whatever.

The View from My Office

It's a pretty well known fact among my coworkers that my office (which I acquired a few months ago) has the best view in the building. I pretty much lucked into it, as a new person was being brought in. I (as opposed to others in the building with seniority) got to choose between my old office and this one.

We're situated on the second floor of our building, next to the hands-down most jumpin' hair salon in our tiny town. Due to the proximity of my fenestration, (appraiserspeak for windows and their placement,) I get to see the majority of patrons of the aforementioned salon who park in their parking lot, as well all of them who disregard our "....Violators...Towed....Owner's Expense" signs, and park in our lot anyway. Regardless of my marital status, creatures of the opposite sex can and do occasionally catch my eye.

Well, this afternoon I just happen to glance out the window, and see this:

When I said creatures catch my eye, this is not at all what I meant. I hate all bugs, but this one is pretty close to the top of the list. This sucker's gotta be a good 6 inches long. Ugh! So, I'm off to see if we have any Off! or Raid.

Dented: An AYM-Style Story

Some of you may be aware of your humble author's dimple. That is correct, it is singular. (Am I the only one who has trouble spelling that word because of a stupid cell phone company?) In case you aren't aware of the story, I'll share it. It has become somewhat of a legend within my family.

When I was about 5, I was running through the house, acting like the heathen child I was. When I was younger, I was prone to the occasional accident. (I say was prone. Who am I kidding? At least this one didn't involve flames, though. Right?) Well, I pulled a -B, and wiped out. I landed smack dab on the corner of the coffee table, cheek first. I'll be the first to tell you that back in those days, the good ole days, they didn't round off the corners of furniture. So, several screams and tears later, there it was. My dimple was born. You can see why I refer to it as my dent.

Just in case there's someone out there who doubts the story, all I have to offer is the proof that I've shown other doubters for years. It's made believers out of them. In my kindergarten picture, I'm showing off this huge cheese of a smile. No dimple. Not even an iota of one. The following year, for my first grade photo, my smile is toned down quite a bit. There it is, bigger than life. Now, no matter the size of the smile, when the lips curl, the dent graces us with its presence.

The reason I'm telling you about the dent is because it came up tonight. (This is the part of the story that really sounds like the AYM talking.) I was floating around the pool with -PB and -XV this evening. I don't even know what happened, but apparently something caused me to smile a bit. -PB then asks me, almost in a stunned voice, to smile again. I ask "Why?" He replies, "You only have one dimple." I proceeded to tell him the story of the dent. That really got me thinking.

You see, I think the moral of this story doesn't lie in the fact that I have a very observant son. Nor does it lie in the fact that I had never told him this story. The crux of it all, the really relevant part, is that I hadn't had a reason to share this legendary story with my very observant son. As observant as he may be, the dent had not been around enough for him to ask about it.

Pretty much anybody who knows me knows that I'm a pretty carefree guy, who is almost always in a good mood. I guess in a world of mortgages, car payments, yards that need mowing, and people who tend to disagree with me as to the value of their real property, I forget to relax from time to time. I should just smile more often, and recognize that more than a real estate appraiser, a homeowner, a taxpayer, and a neighbor, I'm a father. That fact alone should be enough to bring out the dent.

Never Trust a Big Butt and a Smile

Catchy title, huh? As much as I hate to disappoint, this post doesn't really have anything to do with butts. Well, it doesn't right now, anyway. With any luck, it'll stay that way. As some of my faithful readers may know, that's a little line from a song by Bell Biv Devoe. The song is entitled Poison. It appears that as I type, I'm battling a little poison of my own. One that I don't care for at all. Her name is Ivy.

I was weed eating the back yard last week; and, being the genius I am, I decided to do it in Crocs. I knew we had some of the old Toxicodendron radicans around the fence last year. However, I was under the impression we had removed all of it. Even if we hadn't, I've developed a pretty good eye for it. I figured I could spot it and avoid it. I figured wrong.

Luckily, it hasn't spread too far. I've got the usual ankles, backs of knees, elbows. Nothing (yet) in places I don't want to mention. (Not that I've ever had it there before. Okay, once.) The itching isn't too awful bad, but I tend to wear pants and shoes for work that do the scratching/spreading for me.

So, I'm going to Wally World tonight to buy some of the $40 a tube crap to end my misery. I've experimented with every calamine, caladryl, benadryl, ivy dry, ivarest , ivyblock, tecnu product on the market. I've even had a little success with some of them. But let me tell you, don't waste your money on any of that. If you have a run-in with my nemesis, break down and buy the Zanfel (or even a generic equivalent.) I broke down last year and bought some for the first time, and it is truly a miracle drug.