Multimedia III

This is the maiden blog from my new computer that Santa, (aka Mrs. R) left under the tree. Thanks Mrs R. - I love it!

Anyway, from the “Buyer Beware” category comes this cautionary tale:

The Doghouse

After watching that video, I decided to return the combination chafing-dish/toaster-oven/car-vac for something more appropriate…

Here are some entertaining Christmas songs form a guy named Larry:

Larry the Cable Guy

Git ‘er done big fella!

This next one is from a band out of Georgia and it’s guaranteed to get your toes-a-tappin’ and put a big smile on your face (wait for the !#@$$&*!! commercial to play):

Zac Brown - Chicken Fried

Merry Christmas!

The Family That Blogs Together…

On the Wednesday before Thanksgiving Mrs. R was busily vacuuming when the vacuum cleaner began to make a horrible noise. Since I was (cough, cough) home from work that day, I undertook a CSI-level investigation and quickly determined that the drive belt had broken. As anyone with a vacuum cleaner knows this is a common occurrence and can be easily diagnosed by a 4th-grader. Nonetheless, I heroically patted myself on the back for making such an insightful discovery.

Unfortunately we didn’t have a replacement belt in stock. And since we were expecting a few people over for the holiday, this was becoming a minor emergency. I called the store where we purchased the vacuum cleaner, explained that the machine was 3 or 4 years old, and asked if they carried the replacement belt for our model. I was switched around the store before I spoke with a polite young woman, Sally, who worked in the vacuum department. Boy, that job must suck. (Sorry, I couldn’t help myself there…)

I explained my situation to her and she said that they no longer carried those belts.

“Hmmm” I thoughtfully replied.

“Have you tried the manufacturer?” she asked.

“No” I said. “We were hoping to get this taken care of this afternoon.”

“I see” she replied. “If you’ll bring your vacuum in, along with all of the attachments, we’ll replace it at no cost.”

“But we no longer have the receipt” I said.

“It’s okay, we’ll do that, just for you” Sally replied.

So we did, and they did. Pretty amazing huh?

There was one catch though. It turns out that I have to take Sally’s cousin to dinner in a couple of weeks. Sally tells me she’s a sweet girl with a great personality…

Anyway...

I’ve noticed recently that simple math is a difficult concept for some folks. The other day, while at work, I was reading a report prepared by an engineering firm that described a new, innovative product. The report stated that this product was “exclusively one-of-a-kind.” Yikes…

While watching a college football game this weekend, the announcers were breathlessly singing the praises of the offensive coordinator for one of the teams, pointing out that since he had come to the school their offense had been scoring considerably more points than in the past. Right on cue a graphic popped up showing that since this person had become the offensive coordinator, the team had had scored 30 or more points 19 times. The graphic also said that their record in those games was 16-2. Hmmm…

It’s time to present some more Designating Underachievement in Marketing By Advertisers Selling Stuff awards.

This month’s DUMBASS award goes to Verizon Wireless for their inane ad which features two women who both want the last phone at the Verizon store. The commercial begins with one asking the other, “One phone left in the Verizon store, who gets it?” When the other gal replies “I do” she is either shot in the neck with a tranquillizer dart or handcuffed to the chair.

Nice work Verizon. Who is your ad agency, Mrs. Jones 8th grade class?

The coveted DUMBASS Lifetime Award goes to Dodge Trucks. You may remember that we’ve been critical of Dodge Trucks in the past when they used Rockem-Sockem robots to demonstrate the toughness of their trucks.

Suburban Rogue February 17, 2007

The new Dodge Trucks ad features the trucks being driven through walls of fire, between swinging rusting truck bodies, that sort of thing. I know commuting is rough these days, but sheesh…

Imagine a well-written transition paragraph right here….

Daughter Rogue is a less than tidy housekeeper. Recently she decided to clean-up her apartment and in the process found the cables for her computer printer. She was very excited because these cables had been lost for about 15 months. DR hooked up her printer, sent a file to print, and was very disappointed when a blank paper came out. She repeated the process and achieved the same result. DR then opened the printer cover and discovered that there were no ink cartridges in the printer…

It is this same young lady that recently took a big step, traveling to Dallas for the 45th anniversary of the assassination of JFK. DR is a history major and is intrigued by the story of the Kennedy family. She did all of this on her own, and I think it’s pretty cool. You can read her blog at:

Daughter Rogue's Blog

Keep 'em in Stitches

You may have noticed the frequency of these blogs decreasing recently. All I have to say about that is, you’re welcome…

So, some weeks are worse than others, but this past week will definitely make my all-time top five. Among a number of annoyances, I found out I get to be on cholesterol-lowering medicine for the foreseeable future; had a pre-screening for and scheduled a “you’re gonna put the camera where?” medical procedure; and then watched as some f**kwad backed into Big Mo in a parking lot, left a big dent, and then drove off.

I did finally make it to the weekend, and had some seemingly harmless activities planned. On Saturday I went to my parent’s house to help them rake up some leaves, clean gutters, that sort of thing. Raking leaves at their house is not just a simple two-hour chore, their backyard is about ¼ acre and they have several large trees. The usual take is about 20-25 garden bags full of leaves.

Things were progressing nicely, and we were in the final stages of putting stuff away. My Dad has a tool shed with a very low roof. But he’s only had it for about 35 years, so I’ve gotten used to it. Or so I thought.

Anyway I was in the shed trying to move the snow-blower and as I stood up to pull it back I banged my head on one of the roof rafters. That is a fairly common occurrence in that shed. I reflexively snapped my head forward and smacked my chin on the top bar of a pipe-metal two-wheeled dolly. In the milliseconds after my chin came into contact with the two-wheeler I managed to bite deeply into my lower lip. I also managed to spout a few words that I didn’t know I knew...

After about 20 minutes of self-inflicted first aid I had managed to slow the bleeding down and decided it was now time for the professionals to take over. Mrs. R met me at the Walk-in clinic. If you are ever at one of these clinics and need to move things along, just start bleeding. Apparently bleeding gets you moved to the front of the line…

After I got back to examining room, I nominated myself for the “Idiot of the Day Award” but the doctor said I didn’t stand a chance. Earlier that day she had helped a father-son duo in which dad had accidentally shot a nail through junior’s finger using a nail gun. To be honest, I just can’t compete with that.

Anyway…

Dr. Susan and Nurse Kelly took very good care of me. There was a brief moment of panic for Nurse Kelly when Dr. Susan threatened to suture Kelly’s fingers to my lips. Other than the Novocain injection into my very sore lip, which was somewhat uncomfortable in that if there weren’t 12 people holding me down I would’ve hurt somebody way that things can be uncomfortable, the stitches went in without any problem.

I have three stitches in my lower lip, it’s a little swollen but not bad, and the skin below my lip is turning black and blue. I get to eat a soft food diet for a week or so, and since Dr. Susan is worried about infections, I get to take a fairly strong antibiotic which is in the process of eliminating all of the bacteria that live in my body, including those in my digestive tract…

Dr. Susan told me that I will likely have a scar on my lip when everything heals, and at first I was devastated by this news, since it likely means my chances of becoming a male super-model have evaporated. On the other hand, the scar will definitely enhance my roguish appearance.

So, you know, at least I got that goin’ for me…

Multimedia II

After attending a seminar yesterday with 80 other socially inept structural engineers, I thought the next multimedia edition of Suburban Rogue might be in order. If you think that spending a beautiful fall day trapped in a windowless meeting room with a bunch of structural engineers is a violation of the 8th Amendment you would be correct.

If you think spending any time, regardless of weather or location, with any structural engineer(s) is cruel and unusual punishment you would also be correct…

Speaking of the Constitution, one of the benefits of being an old fart who is a card-carrying member of AARP is that they make personalized videos for you, whether you request one or not. I recently received this unsolicited e-mail:

A Strange Video

In an interesting coincidence, I have a physical scheduled for next Tuesday. For me, being asked to turn my head and cough on Election Day seems rather symbolic of the current state of affairs…

The holiday catalogs have started to show up and I received an LL Bean catalog in the mail today. One of the items listed in the catalog is a “Snowball Maker Set.” Lest you think I’m making this up:

Snowball Maker

Yikes… We sure don’t want junior to get his hands cold, or wet, or to have any fun or to grow up with hair on his chest now do we?

A few days ago I was watching an interview with a country music singer/songwriter whose name escapes me at the moment. Anyway she was plugging her new album and told the interviewer that she “co-wrote that song by myself.” This must be the new definition for ghost-writer…

Alright, enough of this nonsense. Here’s some good music to help us all relax…

The Wilson sisters cover Elton John:

Mona Lisa and Mad Hatters

Kenny gets back to his roots:

In A Small Town

JT re-works a Drifters classic:

Up On the Roof

Very Interesting

So I’ve been away from blogging for awhile, I’ve had some other stuff going on. Plus my cousin, who is a very brave person, is putting together a family history and asked me to write my autobiography, and I spent a lot of time working on that. I might’ve finished sooner, but I kept nodding off while I was working on it…

Anyway, now that my autobiography is finished, it’s back to blogging. Here’s the latest snooze…

I recently helped Son Rogue and his buddy move some furniture. They lured me into helping by offering me free food. (Note to reader: I can easily be tricked into lifting heavy things and other unpleasant tasks by being offered free food). Anyway, after the heavy work was done, the guys took me to a barbecue joint in the northwestern suburbs. We ordered our food, and soon some piping hot plates of delicious barbecue were brought to our table.

Within about 10 seconds of receiving our food an elderly couple was being seated in the booth next to ours. The gentleman stopped at our table, looked at our food, and began rubbing his sizable tummy (and I know from sizable tummies). He then muttered something along the lines of “Fellers, ‘at looks like some kinda eatin’ rye-chare.”

I consulted the same linguistics experts I have used in the past (re: Suburban Rogue September 30 2007 ) for a translation. As best as can be determined, what our hungry friend was saying was: “Gentlemen, you have been served a delicious variety of barbecue dishes. Bon Appétit’!”

Staying with the food theme for a moment, Mrs. R and I were recently enjoying lunch al fresco at one of our favorite Mexican restaurants. The couple seated next to us was served their food and began to eat. A few moments later, the Mrs. asked the Mr. “Would you like to try one of these tortillas? They’re very interesting.”

I started to laugh and almost spit my drink out of my nose. Fortunately Mrs. R, who was also laughing, kicked me in the shins a couple five or six times until I regained my composure…

Speaking of Mrs. R, she has decided to make some Christmas gifts for a few people and needed some yarn from the local “Yarnery.” I brazenly threw caution to the wind and decided to enter the “No Unaccompanied Males Zone” with her.

We browsed through about 8 million different skeins of yarn. Surprisingly, I became a little impatient. Anyway, as she was deciding what kind/how much yarn to purchase, she wasn’t exactly sure on the how much part. She said “Wait a second; I need to check the pattern.”

I naively thought she would pull a paper out of her purse. Instead she pulled a book out of her purse. And this wasn’t your normal paperback sized book; this was a giant, hard-bound, limited edition, coffee-table size, 18.5 pound book of knitting patterns. I again started to laugh, and was again kicked in the shins…

Imagine a well-written transition paragraph right here…

A few days ago I drove past a lovely suburban home where the owners were proudly displaying an American flag, right next to their Denver Broncos flag. That’s when it hit me – nothing says America like showing your allegiance to your favorite sports team…

And finally, I thought you might be interested in this story. One of the six bureaucracies in charge of the bureaucracy I work for decided we needed new “smart-card” ID badges, you know, “for improved security.”

These new, high-tech, badges have a computer chip in them. Embedded in this chip is some personal information, including my SSN and fingerprints. I have to keep the new badge in a spiffy plastic case with some kind of special shielding “to keep people with wireless devices from stealing your personal information.”

I think it’s important to point out that the badge I surrendered for “improved security” had only my photograph and name on it. It did not have my SSN or my fingerprints or a computer chip. It was a “dumb-card,” and it would’ve been impossible to steal my identity from it. But now, I have a smart card and “improved security.”

And to think I was feeling insecure…

The Unfortunate Underwear Ordeal

So it turns out that I haven’t bought new underwear since Ronald Reagan was president.

Mrs. R reminded me of this recently when she said it was time to “throw away those things and get some new ones, or go commando!”

Men my age should never go commando, I think it is Man Law # 461.

For a whitey-tighties guy like me, purchasing new undies is more art than science. Get ‘em too small and you’re a soprano; get ‘em too big and you’re support network is non-existent…

Anyway...

A few days later we headed off to the local suburban mall, my mission was to purchase new underwear. Mrs. R’s mission was to contain her hysterics until we were no longer in public. It would prove to be a challenge for both of us.

As we entered the store, two small children ran in front of us. They were being chased by their mom, whom we’ll call “Bouncing Betty.” It seems that Betty was wearing a tube-top type dress and was well, not as slender as she once was. Betty was frantically bouncing across the store, desperately trying to catch her children. I took this as a bad omen.

We reached the men’s underwear department where I was confronted by a bewildering choice of styles, cuts, colors and sizes. Now the pressure was on. I made my choice and grabbed several packages of new underwear.

Men’s underwear are not packaged discretely. In my case the package said in big bold letters, “Caution – Contains Men’s Underwear for Old Guys.” On top of that, the nearest open checkout stand was across the store, about 6 miles away and right next to the “Misses” Department.

Misses is where all the cute young women shop, and this day was no exception. Mrs. R and I patiently waited in line as several attractive young women walked past me, whispering and pointing and laughing.

Mrs. R and I finally made to the checkout stand where the young lady behind the register asked “Did we find everything okay?”

This was too much for Mrs. R who broke into hysterics, knocked over a couple of racks of dresses and had to leave the store.

I got checked out and we headed for the bookstore, with me carrying a bag full of 15 pairs of whitey-tighties. I am not making this part up – as we entered the bookstore the shoplifting alarm went off. As if I wasn’t self-conscious enough…

So now I had to have my bag searched by some 16 year-old girl who may never have seen old guy undies before. It would have been embarrassing if it weren’t so humiliating.

We made it home, I threw my purchase in the washing machine, ran ‘em through the dryer, and smugly thought that I would be all set to go the next morning.

Well it turns out I had let me ego override my better judgment and got ‘em too big. So I spent a few days without support and being crankier than normal, if that’s possible.

I went back to the store to purchase the correct, i.e. smaller, size. This time the checkout counter in the Men’s Department was open and was staffed by a young man.

As I approached the counter he asked “So how is your Saturday going so far?”

Being as articulate as I am, I cleverly replied “fine.”

After I checked out he told me to “enjoy.”

And I thought to myself “Oh I will, Sparky. I will enjoy these brand-spanking new whitey-tighties for the next 20 years or so. By the time they’re worn out, I’ll probably be wearing diapers…”

At least I got the right size this time…

Mid-Olympics

The Suburban Rogue mid-Olympics report:

1. The opening ceremonies were incredible, in spite of the digital dubbing of some of the fireworks and the lip-synching children.

2. Michael Phelps is a stud. It is possible that I have a man-crush on him.

3. Dara Torres is amazing. Kinda makes you feel like a loser when you decide not to exercise because you’re forty and there was something good on TV…

4. Fencing is a cooler than you might think. Congrats to the USA Women for sweeping the medal stand.

5. I’ve yet to see any horses in the pool with the water polo teams…

6. Jennie Finch can strike me out anytime…

7. Arby’s gets the first week DUMBASS (Designating Underachievement in Marketing By Advertisers Selling Stuff) Gold Medal for their lame commercial “You mean I can get any 5 for $5.95.?” We get it Arby’s, we freakin’ get it…

8. Olympic Badminton bears little resemblance to the backyard barbecue game we’ve all played.

9. I refuse to watch Women’s Gymnastics. Because I’m an equal opportunity curmudgeon, I also refuse to watch Men’s Gymnastics.

10. As soon as they invent an Olympic Sport for out of shape pear-shaped men in their fifties, I’m going to get a job at Home Depot since they seem to have a lot of Olympians on their payroll...

Go USA!

Miscellaneous Observations I

Some miscellaneous, unrelated observations…

Have you seen the commercial on television in which a pretty young woman, wearing a red tank top, wanders through a busy city with her arms in the air? This is apparently to demonstrate that she is very confident with her deodorant. Have you also noticed that she is wandering alone? This is because most men are not attracted to women who repeatedly stick their underarms in other people’s faces…

Father Rogue reports to me that Oscar Mayer, who for a number of years has advertised “100% All-Beef Franks, is selling franks that are now “Beefier than Ever.” Hmmm…, they might need some remedial math training over there at OM….

Daughter Rogue and I have decided too begin guitar lessons together. Given our combined musical abilities, this will certainly test the patience of our instructor. Mrs. R says that between my beloved pick-up truck Big Mo, my beloved Golden Retriever Marci, and the guitar thing, I am the walking embodiment of a country music song. Plus I have a spiffy new pair of cowboy boots (re: Suburban Rogue April 7, 2008).

Here is link to some country music song titles that you may find entertaining:

Country Song Titles

My office has decided to hire some new folks. It’s a good idea; new people can often bring a new energy and fresh ideas to an organization. Apparently the person who put the announcement for the new employees together took this fresh ideas concept to heart. Instead of announcing that Janet would work for Jim, the memo stated “Janet will be under Jim.”

Wow. They must have a lot more fun up on the third floor…

Commercials

With the Summer Olympics just a few weeks away, I am very concerned about what Madison Avenue has in store for us. You likely don’t recall, but I have been openly critical about some television advertising in the past, and have bestowed the dreaded DUMBASS (Designating Underachievement in Marketing By Advertisers Selling Stuff) Award upon deserving companies all across the land.

Some previous winners include:

Ford Motor Company, for showing that the brakes on their trucks were so strong that they could actually stop an airplane. That’s important because you just never know when you’ll be driving down the road and need to stop an airplane...

Chevrolet, for their inane commercial showing a jogger repeatedly running into a parked car. No “snarky” comment is required here…

Dodge, for showing us that their trucks are so tough that they can withstand a pummeling from a Rockem-Sockem robot. for those of you who aren't old enough to remember, Rockem-Sockem robots are plastic toys from the 1970’s…

This weeks DUMBASS Award medal winners are:

Bronze: Kentucky Fried Chicken has returned their “Whoa, didn’t see that coming” ad to the airwaves. I have to say that I too am often surprised when I bite into a hot wing and it tastes exactly like a hot wing...

Silver: Walmart for their “You can cash your economic stimulus check here, for free!” ad. Hmmmmm, I wonder if my bank knows about this? Wouldn’t that be great if banks started cashing checks for free, just like Walmart? Oh, wait, never mind…

Gold: Subway for using the term “Yum-rocket” to describe their sandwiches. Sounds like a line from a 70's porn movie. Not that that I ever actually saw one of those movies...

Stay tuned dear readers. I'm sure the Olympics will bring us even more ads to lampoon...

Real Life Part I

It has come to my attention that there is, on occasion, some exaggeration of actual events as they are reported in this blog. While I can neither confirm nor deny that allegation, I can assure you that the following events are presented as they actually occurred, without exaggeration or other distortion of the facts...

This conversation recently happened at my house:

“Honey, have you seen my green pants?”

“You mean your sage pants?”

“No, I mean my green ones.”

“They’re sage, not green.”

“Sage sounds gay.”

“I’m a woman, and I can be gay if I want to!”

I was driving down a main thoroughfare the other day in light but steady rain, following a convertible whose male driver had the top down. I was chuckling to myself when a thirty-something blonde woman pulled up beside me, also driving a convertible, also with the top down. I adjusted my speed so that she remained next to me for several miles because I believe I was witnessing the worlds first 45 mph wet t-shirt contest…

Earlier this spring, Mrs. R was fighting a nagging sinus infection that just wouldn’t go away. Her doctor had prescribed an inhaler to help keep her airways open. Something about oxygen being important.

Anyway, on our way to a Rockies game, Mrs. R became concerned that she couldn’t make the walk from the parking lot to the stadium if she didn’t use her inhaler. She put the inhaler in her mouth and pressed down once, then twice. At this point she broke into a hysterical, wheezing kind of laughter. I was thinking, “Damn, there’s some good drugs in those inhaler thingies.”

Turns out Mrs. R forgot to remove the cover from the mouthpiece of the inhaler…

I recently finished reading a book about a writer’s account of his real-life adventures through the rugged Sierra Madre Mountains of Mexico. The book begins with the author being chased through the woods by some drug-crazed bad guys who are trying to kill him. The next chapter begins the long story of how he got into that predicament. It is a thrilling adventure and I became completely engrossed in the story, and began to wonder if the author, who, you know, wrote the story, would make it out alive…

Yikes, it’s going to be a long summer…

Clubs, 'Vettes and Turbulence

When Son Rogue was younger, he and I started a tradition of going to a Rockies game each year near his birthday and Father’s Day, since those two occasions are often only a few days apart. In recent years, as our lives had become busier, we had gotten away from that tradition. This year, SR surprised me with a birthday gift of club level seats to a Rockies game the day after Father’s Day.

Let me just say this about that. The club level at Coors Field is really nice. I mean really nice. The club area, behind the seats, is indoors, air-conditioned, carpeted, tiled and staffed with very polite people. Oh, and there is lots of good food to choose from, much better than the options that the poor unwashed masses sitting in the “regular” seats have.

In addition to the nice surroundings, the people sitting in the club seats seem to be better behaved than elsewhere in the stadium. It was quite refreshing to not sit near some guy that thinks he knows everything about baseball because he "almost made his high school junior varsity team…"

The view of the field is terrific from up there, and it’s a great location for foul balls. The gentlemen sitting in the row in front of us brought his glove along, just in case. He also took out a second mortgage to buy a beer. Somewhere around the third inning he set his glove down to take a sip of beer. Unfortunately the batter didn’t see him do that and sent a foul ball towards our section. Our mortgagee instinctively reached for the ball, spilling his beer in the process. Our section heaped a lot of good natured abuse on the guy, and he laughed it off.

During in the middle of the game, some ominous looking helicopters started flying near the stadium. SR and I guessed that it was some sort of practice for the upcoming convention here, and SR verified it on his blackberry. About 2500 police officers were involved in the exercise, except for the three sitting behind us, who were in plain clothes and enjoying the game. Since they carry guns for a living we decided not to ask them why they weren’t training with their fellow officers…

One of the risks of the club level is that it attracts frat-boy types of all ages, including the father-son duo sitting a few rows in front of us. Dad, let’s call him “Dick” (the reason will become obvious), was well-dressed, wearing tasseled loafers, nice slacks, suspenders, and an expensive shirt and tie. He was well coiffed and thought that he “had it goin’ on.” It almost worked too, except that instead of removing his tie, he just loosened it and spun it around on his neck so the tie was pointing toward his ass. Not to be outdone, Dick’s son wore his glasses backwards on his head for most of the game. They were not sunglasses, but regular glasses, you know, for seeing. Ahh, frat-boys…

Oh yeah, the game. The Rockies didn’t play well, and were shut out until the bottom of the 9th inning. The only highlights were when Willie Taveras nailed a runner at the plate with a terrific throw from center field, and pinch-hitter Aaron Cook, who is a pitcher, hitting a first pitch single to left field. Other than that, it was a tough night for the Rocks…

Thirteen hours after the game ended I was on a plane heading to Nashville. I to had help solve some construction problems at a place north of Bowling Green, Kentucky. You may know this pace as Mammoth Cave National Park.

I had never heard of Bowling Green, Kentucky. I always thought that Bowling Green was in Ohio. Apparently, there are at least two Bowling Greens.

Bowling Green, Kentucky is the home of

Western Kentucky University

and, interestingly enough, the

Corvette Assembly Plant

and the

National Corvette Museum

Some of the people I met with suggested that I take a tour of the assembly plant, but I was afraid that I would’ve been compelled to purchase a new Corvette after the tour ended. And since I don’t have “65-large” sitting around that I don’t know what to do with, I thought it best to stay away. Besides, I probably couldn’t afford the gas to drive it home.

The highlight of the trip for me was on Thursday when my colleagues and I ate lunch at the Pig Diner in Pig, Kentucky. I would provide a link to their website, but Pig and the diner are located in

Edmonson County, Kentucky

which is in a very impoverished part of the United States. Nonetheless, the food at the Pig diner was outstanding, and I highly recommend it. Oh, and while some of the folks that eat there wear suspenders, don’t show up at the diner wearing your tie ass-backwards…

The trip back home was uneventful, except for the severe turbulence our plane experienced over southeastern Colorado. We hit a pocket of rough air that must’ve caused the plane to drop several hundred feet. When it happened, everyone let out an involuntary “Ooooooooo” and the plane shook and rattled.

At least that’s what I’m told.

You don’t hear too well when you’re curled up in the fetal position, screaming like a little baby…

Huh?

Spanning the globe, bringing hard-hitting news directly to your screen. Here are the stories you could probably do without….


This is a bad day…

Nude Man Rescued from Portable Toilet

A frat party gone terribly wrong…

Thong-Masked Robbers

But Daddy, I’m the princess!

Horseplay

We all get cravings from time to time…

The Wild Asparagus is Ready

It might be time to drop a few lbs….

Moonshot

Roots

In 1937, a young man left his farm near Bethany, Missouri and came to a small town in northeastern Colorado. Shortly after arriving in Windsor, my grandfather purchased a service station on the edge of town and began to build a new life. In March of the following year, his wife and 7 children joined him in Colorado.

Grandpa R was an interesting guy. In his forties, he enlisted in the Army during WWII, and served with the Persian Gulf Command in what is present day Iran. As I mentioned previously, in the February 8, 2007 edition of Suburban Rogue , I remember him telling me about seeing the Queen Mary while in that part of the world. Upon his discharge from the Army, Grandpa R returned to Windsor and opened Roy’s Market, a grocery store near the east end of Main Street.

In April of 1958, a few weeks before I was born, Grandpa R was elected Mayor of Windsor. Highway 392, which leads from I-25 down the hill into Windsor, exists largely because of his efforts while Mayor. Grandpa R also was the Fire Chief for awhile, and later in life he drove a school bus. He was also very active in his Army alumni group, frequently traveling to conventions throughout the U.S.

My brother, who has built a very successful electrical contacting business, and his family live in Windsor. Last Sunday, my niece graduated from Windsor High School, the latest in a long string of “R’s” to do so. My relatives have been graduating from that school for about seven decades.

I’m glad to report that my brother and his family are safe and uninjured after today’s terrible events. Their home, which is located about 1 mile from the worst of the devastation, suffered some minor damage, as did their cars.

The beautiful, tranquil cemetery where my grandparents are buried is located in the heart of the most affected area. Many of the large trees in the cemetery were uprooted by the tornado.

I’m sure many you have seen pictures or video of the devastation caused by the tornado today. The people of Windsor are in for some difficult times in the coming weeks.

They’re gonna to be ok though, there’s a legacy of strength to draw upon…

Daiquiri de Naranja

At the completion of my 50th trip around the sun, having traveled over 29 billion miles,* give or take a few million, I found myself on a beach, looking at the turquoise blue waters of the Caribbean Sea. A beach seemed like a good place to rest after such a long journey…

Our trip started with a 2:00 am wake-up. I don’t recommend heading out on vacation with just three hours of sleep. Mrs. R and I arrived at a deserted airport at about 4:30 am, easily found parking, checked-in to our flight, and were assigned seats 1A and 1B. They give that kind of treatment to rock stars and old farts celebrating their birthday. If you’re an old fart - rock star celebrating your birthday, you receive, in addition to preferential seating, a full can of soda on your flight…

We arrived at the Cancun airport early Wednesday afternoon. It was overcast, and there was a very light rain falling. By the time we had made it through customs and negotiated the gauntlet of timeshare salesmen and taxi drivers, the rain had stopped. We found our pre-arranged transportation to the resort,

Iberostar Paraiso Maya

and were standing in sunny paradise about 45 minutes later.

The Iberostar Paraiso is located about 30 or 40 minutes south of Cancun, on the Yucatan Peninsula. The Yucatan Peninsula was home to the Mayan empire, and there are several spectacular ruins in this part of the world, including the UNESCO World Heritage site

Chichen Itza

Many of the people that live and work on the Yucatan Peninsula are direct descendants of the Mayans. These are beautiful people, friendly, warm, and with smiles that could light up the darkest of rooms.

As we were checking in, we were served a delicious tropical drink, with pineapple and orange juice and I don’t what else. The young lady at the check-in desk then offered to upgrade our room, from the “Lindo” to the “Maya” at no additional cost. The Maya rooms are suites, and the building we were assigned to had its own private pool. Heck, even I could do that math…

After we got the luggage up to our room, we went to the lunch buffet, were enjoyed a 6000 calorie lunch, and then wandered around the resort, trying to figure out where everything was. We strolled along the beach were I enjoyed the, ahem, “scenery,” while Mrs. R enjoyed the water and the sand and the sun.

On Thursday morning we headed out to the beach. Mrs. R worked on her tan while enjoying a tropical beverage and I went snorkeling. The swim beach was roped off, to keep motorized craft such as jet skis away from the swimmers. I snorkeled out to the rope, and then along the boundary for awhile, and then turned and headed back toward the beach. Mrs. R apparently lost track of me while I was in the water, but soon located me when hundreds of people ran screaming from the beach as a large, pear-shaped, alabaster-white creature carrying snorkeling gear emerged from the sea…

By the time Mrs. R reached me, I was watching the chef’s prepare a large pot of paella over an open fire on the beach, while simultaneously observing (in the name of science) the gals preparing for the bikini contest. I told her I was just trying to take in the whole beach experience, but Mrs. R is not one to be fooled easily, and this day was no exception…

We spent Thursday afternoon at the pool,

and discovered the swim-up bar and the delicious Daiquiri De Naranja. Mrs. R also took this photo where my right arm appears to have become detached from the rest of me. Musta been those Daiquiris….

Friday we spent the entire day at the pool where Mrs. R sipped Margarita’s and I took an impromptu Spanish lesson. I had some trouble at first pronouncing “Naranja.” Fortunately our poolside waitress, who was a very sweet young lady, took some time to teach me the correct pronunciation. She also made sure that our drinks were kept fresh throughout the day.

When our waitress went on her lunch break, the swim-up bar took on an added importance. Here is Mrs. R leaving the swim-up bar, heroically rescuing a couple of drinks from drowning…

Saturday we once again headed to breakfast buffet. As we entered the restaurant, we were handed mimosas, as was every other adult. It was very thoughtful of the resort to give everybody a mimosa on my 50th birthday… I ate a celebratory breakfast which included, among other things, a large bowl of Kellogg’s Froot Loops. Hey, just because I’m 50 and a card carrying member of AARP doesn’t mean I have to give in to the whole “Senior Citizen Thing.” Besides, I took all of my medicine before breakfast and was wearing my orthopedic shoes, so I thought it would be ok…

We decided to head back to the beach after breakfast; I really wanted to try snorkeling again. Unfortunately, I forgot to check with Mother Nature about my plans. The red flags were flying at the beach, which means no swimming. It was very windy and 3 and 4 foot high waves were rolling in. A couple of the lifeguards tried swimming in the roiling water, but even they turned back after a short distance. To a novice snorkeler, the water looked very intimidating. We hung out at the beach for awhile, were I continued my “monokini” observations and Mrs. R worked on her tan.

We left the beach, and then did a couple of laps on the lazy river. Let’s just say the lazy river is appropriately named…

There is some interesting wildlife at the resort. The

Coati

hung out along the boardwalk from the pool to the beach. They seemed like friendly little guys, as long as you had some food to give them.

The

Yucatan Jay

spent their time in the tropical forest between the beach and the pool.

Speaking of wildlife, Mrs. R experienced an unfortunate Speedo incident at the pool bar one afternoon. It seems a rather large gentleman, who was clearly old enough to know better, thought he looked good in a tiny black Speedo. I’m guessing he was the only person who thought this. Anyway, while Mrs. R was at the pool bar one sunny afternoon, this guy came up next to her and ordered a drink. However, instead of sitting on the stool, he put one leg up on the stool, apparently to show off his, ahem, “asset.” Mrs. R broke into hysterical laughter, spilling her and several other people’s drinks, and causing a minor commotion at the pool bar.

Sunday came all too quickly, and we headed to the airport. It was an entertaining ride, since we had the pleasure of riding with Stanley and Sally Sanctimonious who passed judgment on most everything.

As we passed the resort conference center, I remarked that it looked like a great place to hold some meetings. Sally informed me that they “had been in the conference center last night and it was very modern. Very modern.” Golly-wollickers Sally, you mean they got E-leck-tricity, and runnin’ water, and all them newfangled thangs?

As we got closer to the airport, we had to make a couple of stops at some other resorts to pick up more travelers. To get to one of them we had to drive on a dirt road, past dozens of acres of dead forest. Sally wondered why all the trees were dead. I suggested that it was caused by

Hurrican Wilma

which struck the Yucatan in 2005. Sally wasn’t buying it, because she had never seen anything like it before, so therefore it couldn’t possibly be…

We reached the resort, and Stanley hopped out to have a look around. He came back to the van and pronounced “our hotel is much nicer than this one.” To which Sally responded in hushed tones “I think it’s because this place is for Spanish people…”

Yikes. Apparently you don’t have to look too far to find ugly Americans...

We had a great time in Mexico. The beach and the pool and the people and the Daiquir de Naranja's were all very therapeutic and I left feeling a lot younger than my 50 years.

Can't wait to get back down there...

* For those of you interested in checking my math, first of all, get a life; here’s my logic:

The circumference of the earth at 40 degrees north latitude is approximately 19,000 miles, so living near Denver you travel a 19,000 mile circle in one day. One trip around the sun is an additional approximately 584,000,000 miles. To account for leap year, use 365.25 days per year. Combining both the rotational and translational distances:

[584,000,000 + (365.25 x 19,000)] x 50 ≈ 29.5 billion

Ralphie

As was mentioned in the April 20th edition of

Suburban Rogue

the most exciting moment of the 2008 CU spring game was Ralphie’s run after halftime. After an exhaustive search, a not-so-exclusive video of that moment has been located…

Enjoy!

Ralphie's Run

Spring is Here!

Some weekends are busier than others…

On Friday I talked to a group of very energetic 5th graders about structural engineering, amazingly, none of them nodded off. Then they built structures using gumdrops and spaghetti. The object was to build the most efficient tower, which is the ratio of height to cost. Gumdrops cost $1.00, and spaghetti $0.50, because as most structural engineers (and even some architects) know, connections are always more important than beams and columns. The winning team scored a 0.84 which is very, very good.

Saturday afternoon I was part of a record setting crowd of almost 18,000 Buff fans who turned out for the annual spring football game, pitting the Black Team from the University of Colorado vs. the Gold Team from the University of Colorado. This is a very clever trick that all college football coaches use because it ensures that no matter what, your team always wins the spring game…

CU Spring Game

The Buffs unveiled their new no-huddle offense, which is all the rage these days in college football. They moved the ball okay, but they still struggled with the running game. The defense gave up some passing yards and I think that might be a real problem during the upcoming season. Special teams had two blocked punts and one blocked field goal attempt, that’s a good news – bad news sort of thing. You like to see your team make those kinds of plays, but you hate to see your team give up those kinds of plays.

For me the highlight of the day was during halftime, when former players from the 1940’s through the 2000’s were introduced and brought on to the field. Colorado is one of the top 25 “winningest” programs in college football history,

I-A Winning Percentage 1869-2007

and to see these legends back on Folsom Field was a thrill. When these men all gathered together at midfield and sang the school fight song, well, it raised goose bumps on the outside of me, and stirred something very deep inside of me. They left the field to a standing ovation. Phew, what a moment!

The most exciting play of the day was made by newcomer Ralphie V, the Buffs latest mascot. Ralphie V is an 18 month old American Bison who is very quick. When she led the Buffs onto the field after halftime, she took off in a hurry, causing one of her handlers to fall. She ran right over the top of him, I couldn’t tell from my vantage point if she stepped on the handler or not, but after she passed he rose to his knees and threw his fists into the air. Sometimes the toughest guys on the field aren’t necessarily the ones wearing helmets and shoulder pads.

By the time Ralphie had made it to the far sideline, she had broken free from all but one of her handlers, and this poor guy was hanging on for dear life. The handlers finally got her cornered on about the 40 yard line on the west side of the stadium, and she made the rest of her trip around the field without incident. (Note to Reader: I scoured the Internet looking for a video of this exciting run, but was unsuccessful...)

Ralphie V may slow down a bit by the start of next season, since she is expected to gain 500 or so more pounds by then. If I was CSU, or Eastern Washington or West Virginia or Texas or Kansas State or Iowa State or Oklahoma State, I would be very concerned...

Sunday I took a snorkeling lesson. It was the class of Larry’s – a retired couple and their grandson, and me. Grandpa’s name is Lawrence, and his grandson’s name is Larry. Larry, his parents and grandparents are heading to Cozumel in June to celebrate Larry’s graduation from high school. Lawrence is a retired fire-fighter and is in excellent condition, he is also a heckuva nice guy.

The four of us, along with our instructor Dennis, watched a short video and then headed to the pool at

Underwater Phantaseas

our local suburban dive shop.

The first thing we learned was how to adjust and put on our gear. As you can see from the photo at the top of this blog, I had already been working on that. It was important to me not to look like some kind of goofball…

Grandson Larry was clearly the star of the class, quickly mastering the pike dive and efficiently cleaning the bottom of the pool of all of the rubber fish. I did manage to snag one fake manta ray off the bottom, but it took a couple of attempts.

I earned the snorkeling equivalent of a gold star for my version of the “giant stride” step off move, which is what you’re supposed to use when leaving a diving platform from a boat.

Once I got used to breathing through the snorkel I found I could easily move through the water, and my only concern was crashing into the pool wall, which fortunately never happened.

Not bad for a slightly uncoordinated dork with two left feet…

Gone Country

Mrs. R and I are about 7 miles above the heartland as I write this, returning home after 5 days in Nashville. I went to Nashville to attend the North American Steel Construction Conference, and tricked Mrs. R into coming along, even though she wasn’t real keen on being around several hundred engineers for 5 days. Come to think of it, neither was I…

A little history…

Fort Nashborough was founded on Christmas day in 1779, and named after Revolutionary War general Francis Nash. Due to its location near the Cumberland River, Nashville was a vital transportation and trade hub. Nashville’s strategic location made it a key city, and during the Civil War, the city fell to the Union in 1862.

Today Nashville is home to more than 800 churches as well as the headquarters of the Southern Baptist Convention. Oh yeah, they play a little music there too. There are well over 100 recording studios in Nashville, and about 300 or so in the greater Nashville area.

We arrived in the Music City on a cool but sunny Tuesday afternoon. We checked into our hotel, the Renaissance, and then headed out to orient ourselves to the city. An interesting tidbit about the hotel, there is a chocolate sculpture of a guitar in the lobby, near the elevators. It was apparently inspired by an Aerosmith song, “Love in the Elevator,” which is about exactly what the title suggests…

Since I am much older than Mrs. R, and tire easily when traveling, we decided to head back to our room early and call it a night. Our peaceful slumber was interrupted by our redneck neighbors; it had to be Delbert and Nadine, at about 4:00am when they arrived in their room after a long night of Honky-Tonkin’. We were kept awake for awhile, as they were apparently inspired by the chocolate guitar, and engaged in some very noisy love-making. Delbert and Nadine would awaken us nightly with their goings-on, and well, it was pretty irritating, in a voyeuristic (look that one up, Delbert!) sort of a way. Very classy, those two. I’m sure they’re the most fabulous couple in their trailer park…

My first seminar wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon, so we spent that morning at the

Country Music Hall of Fame

What a cool place. Everything you could possibly want to know about country music is there, from the earliest days to the present. In addition, they have an extensive collection of recordings, photographs, and motion pictures. Next time you’re in Nashville, spend a few hours there, you won’t be disappointed.

That afternoon I attended some seminars while Mrs. R scoped out the local food and music scene. She discovered a place called Rippy’s, which is on Broadway, right across from all of the famous (infamous?) Honky-Tonks. Rippy’s is a barbecue place with the added benefit of nightly live music. We had an incredible dinner, (chicken for Mrs. R, pulled pork for me) and listened to

Tommy Townsend

perform for a couple of hours

Tommy and his guitarist friend, whose name escapes me (although it wasn’t his normal sidekick, Daryl, who was, as Tommy described, “laid out drunk.”), played mostly classic country; a lot of Merle and Waylon and Johnny, and George; my favorite was a cover of Garth Brooks’ “I’m Much Too Young to Feel this Damn Old,” and George Straits’ “Amarillo by Morning.” What struck both of us was how down to earth Tommy was, it was as if your neighbor had invited you over for a beer and pulled out his guitar. What a terrific evening!

Thursday followed with a day full of seminars, including one by a gentleman named Socrates.

Socrates Ioannides

is a structural engineer in Nashville who has designed several buildings of note all over the world, including the Renaissance Hotel. He is a character - with his headful of bushy white hair, a drooping moustache, and sharp a sense of humor, he reminded me of Mark Twain. Socrates is also one of the top structural engineers on the planet, and his seminar was the best one I attended.

Thursday night was the “Conference Dinner” which consisted of exclusive use of the 7 adjacent Honky-Tonks along Honky-Tonk row. Folks by the name of Cash and Nelson and Cline and Kristofferson are some of the people to have frequented these places over the years.

We went through the buffet line, and loaded up on some delicious food from

Jacks Bar-b-que

and headed into

The Stage

where Chad Street was performing. He and his band were having a great time, and soon so was everyone else. Chad and his band easily moved from country songs to countrified versions of Eagles and Bob Seger songs, to Lynyrd Skynyrd. Hearing “Sweet Home Alabama” played live, south of the Mason-Dixon Line, was a memorable experience!

So was hearing Wild Cherry’s “Play That Funky Music White Boy” performed by a country band in a Nashville Honky-Tonk. As Chad and his band moved from one type of music to another, and it made you realize that whether the music is country or the blues or rock-and-roll, it all has the same DNA…

The people watching was also very entertaining that evening. At the start of the evening, as we entered the tent which was set up behind the Honky-Tonks, and where the buffet lines were located, we were greeted by a Wynona Judd look-alike. I naively figured it was just one of those kitschy Nashville things, kinda like Elvis impersonators in Vegas. Mrs. R, however, had a different take. Later on, at The Stage, she noticed Wynona working the room, and not just as an ambassador for the city, but rather as a, ahem, “Professional Woman.” Nuthin’ like some good ol’ southern hospitality, I reckon.

Some of the engineers and steel fabricators attending the conference had brought their significant others to the conference, and some of the couples at The Stage decided to dance. It’s really quite humorous to watch engineers dance, and Mrs. R repeatedly thanked me for “not being the worst dancer in the world.” You’re welcome honey. Bet I’m in the bottom 100, though…

Anyway, a 40-ish couple took the floor and they were clearly the best dancers in the building. Their skill so inspired a drunken conference attendee that he cut in, twirled his new partner a couple of times, tripped and fell, bringing her down on the back of her head. A few minutes later the police and paramedics came and our dancer left with a big ice pack on the back of her head. Chad Street and his band never stopped playing while all of this was going on. Man, this Honky-Tonkin’ stuff is pretty exciting.

For me, Friday was a long day of seminars on Seismic Engineering. While it was all interesting stuff, I won’t bore you with the details, well, except for F=ma. Mrs. R, however, seemed to have had a much more exciting day.

She had to barricade herself in our room when two hotel employees got into a fight, complete with punches thrown, right outside of our room. Mrs. R called the hotel emergency line, and the “Brawl in the Hall” ended shortly thereafter. The Renaissance is a beautiful hotel, but they may need to review their personnel and hiring practices.

We awoke to a chilly Saturday morning and had some time to kill before heading to the airport. We thought about taking a tour of the legendary

Ryman Auditorium

and possibly recording a song in their recording studio. But Mrs. R was rightfully concerned that our duet would likely damage the recording equipment beyond repair, and that this would suddenly become a very expensive trip.

Instead, we strolled along Broadway, past the Honky-Tonks and street musicians. On a whim, we decided to go into Boot Country, which was advertising “Buy 1 Pair, Get 2 Pair Free.” We were helped by a gentleman who claimed to be a guitarist/singer and was clearly hung-over (what are the chances, a hung-over musician selling boots to make ends meet in Nashville?). He shared a parable with us about the last time he was in Denver, and how he was humbled by his encounter with a person down who was down their luck. He was also very charming and was sporting some mighty fine custom-made red and white cowboy boots. “Kinda like what ol’ Hank used to wear” is what he told us.

We were clearly charmed by our itinerant musician/salesman, and before we knew it, Mrs. R and left Boot Country with three brand new pairs of cowboy boots, including some shiny yellow ones that Mrs. R is dyin’ to show the girls at work.

Wow, what a week!

I’ve been to several cities in the south and, without exception, left them feeling less than inspired. Nashville is different though. This place has soul. Whether it’s the music, the barbecue, or the friendly people, I’m not really sure. But I am sure that the combination is hard to beat.

So long for now, Nashville…

Indulgence

For those of you that don’t have to spend time with engineers, consider yourself very, very fortunate. For those of you that do spend time with engineers, you have my deepest and most sincere apologies…

As many of you know, I'm a Structural Engineer. Structural Engineering is a specialty within Civil Engineering and I describe it as "figuring out how to keep buildings from falling down, and figuring out what happened when they do fall down." Others have more eloquently described Structural Engineering thusly:

“Structural Engineering is the art of modeling materials we do not wholly understand, into shapes we cannot precisely analyze so as to withstand forces we cannot properly assess, in such a way that the public has no reason to suspect the extent of our ignorance."

That definition is a little tongue-in-cheek, but there is also some truth in it.

My personal definition of Structural Engineering centers on two basic fundamentals:

Newton’s First Law:

A body at rest remains at rest, unless acted upon by an external force (kinda sounds like me during football season).

Newton’s Third Law:

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction (push forward against your desk and your chair rolls backwards)

These simple definitions have worked well for me in 27 years of structural engineering practice. I have been fortunate enough to perform design work on structures all over the United States (some of which you may have visited at one time or another), to conduct condition assessments of buildings after some horrible disasters (Hurricane Andrew and the Oklahoma City bombing), and to preserve some nationally significant historic buildings. I also have been fortunate enough to work with several very talented and outstanding people, some of whom are readers of this blog.

So far, during the course of my career, I have cumulatively spent over one year away from home on business, assessing buildings or visiting construction sites. My family has always been patient and understanding, and I am so grateful for that. Thank-you S and C and K.

Today I found out that, after a semi-rigorous evaluation process, I have become a Board Certified Structural Engineer. I am only the 12th Structural Engineer in my home state to attain this certification, and one of about 1000 Structural Engineers nation-wide.

I’m a lucky man, indeed!

Mutlimedia Humor

Welcome to the first multi-media edition of Suburban Rogue …

One of my favorite characters on television is MADtv’s Coach Hines, played by Keegan-Michael Key. Here is one of the better sketches, notice the blue “coaching shorts” ca. 1972…

Coach Hines

It’s that spring break time of year and this video reminds us to always pay attention to the lifeguard….

Lifeguard

I was recently accused of being a nerd. I always thought I fell more in the dork category, but maybe not. Anyway, I found this video that might help explain a few things…

The Knack

Be kind with your comments, or I will be forced to post my copyrighted engineers’ lecture. Not only is it informative, it is also a guaranteed cure for insomnia…

Permission

To celebrate the upcoming 50th anniversary of my birth, Mrs. R and I have decided to spend a long weekend on the Yucatan Peninsula, about 30 minutes south of Cancun.

I mean, let’s face it; they don’t call me "Mr. Spontaneity” for nothing.

Oh wait, actually they don’t call me that for anything. "Mr. Somebody Check His Pulse Is He Still Breathing?” is more like it.

After talking with a co-worker one day I came home singing the praises of Cancun, a place that I had never been to before. A couple of days later we made the arrangements and were set to go. Well almost anyway.

There was the small matter of getting permission to leave from, and then return to, the good ol’ US of A. We needed to get passports, which is a much easier sentence to type than to actually accomplish.

Mrs. R is a naturalized citizen, having been born in Stuttgart. We were unable to find her birth certificate, but we did locate her citizenship papers and her expired passport from when she was a teenager.

Me? I’m 'merican. Born right here in Colorado. Even got the birth certificate, complete with a footprint, as proof. (On a side note, it is difficult to imagine that my feet were ever that small.) What could possibly go wrong?

We had our passport photo’s taken, (apparently senior pictures from high school are not acceptable), filled out the paperwork and headed to the post office. We were both a little apprehensive because we were anticipating having difficulties with Mrs. R’s application. Boy, were we wrong.

We patiently waited our turn in line, and then went into the little room at the post office. We were friendly, polite, ingratiating, and reverential to the clerk. As a bureaucrat myself, I know how effective this can be…

It worked! Mrs. R’s application sailed though without any trouble. Phew, that was a close one…

Then the clerk looked at my paperwork, sniffed, and gave me that “stern, over the top of her reading glasses look,” and said “Is that your birth certificate?”

“Yes” I meekly replied.

“Well it’s not going to work.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

You need an official one from the state,” she said. “Too many forgeries these days.”

Although I was confused as to why someone would want, or need, to forge my footprint, I gamely fought back.

“It’s from the hospital were I was born, just up the road a bit. It’s got my foot print and everything.”

In attempt to provide proof that my birth certificate was not a forgery, I took off my shoe and sock, and placed my foot on the counter. Snapped a hamstring when I did it, too.

Well, for some reason the clerk took offense to this, and I was escorted from the building, sans one shoe and one sock, and asked not to return until I had “cooled off for 24 hours, or the restraining order expires, whichever comes first.”

So Mrs. R and I headed to a soulless, antiseptic “Office of Vital Records” building, where, for just $17, I got an “official” copy of the document I already had in my hand.

The next day I went back to the passport office, waited in line, got back in front of the same clerk, who declared that my paperwork was now in order. It was when she asked to see my drivers license that I realized I had left my billfold back at my desk at work.

Anyway, to make a long story longer, after three trips to the passport office, my application was duly stamped, notarized, and fed to the system.

Noithin’ to it….

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Time for some more ranting.

As was originally reported in the August 5, 2007 edition of Suburban Rogue , “I have noticed that a lot of my mishaps seem to involve food.”

OK, I have to say that I’m tired of being graded on my food choices by wait-staff. I have enough trouble in my life just trying to get my socks to match and make sure my shirt is tucked in. I don’t need my menu selections critiqued.

Recently I went to lunch with a friend who ordered some kind of chicken thingy. The waitress applauded the selection and said “That is an excellent choice; it is one of the best things on the menu. You obviously know a great deal about food, are wise beyond your years, and are a likely candidate for sainthood.”

The waitress then looked at me and asked to take my order. Beads of sweat began to form on my brow, and my stomach began to churn. It was that same feeling I remember from the third grade when I got called on to present my book report that I hadn’t done…

I thought about, in order to show my sophistication, ordering Steak Tartar medium-well, but decided not to because of the whole cholesterol thing. So, in a quivering voice, I said “I’d like the turkey sandwich on whole wheat, with a side of coleslaw.”

Well, I got a “Hmmm, interesting choice” and watched the waitress turn and walk away, shaking her head, pointing at our table and saying something to make the other restaurant employees and patrons laugh.

Humiliated, I ate my lunch in silence as my friend was celebrated for making such a wonderful lunch choice. I have to admit the fighter jet flyover and parade were a bit much for just ordering a chicken thingy…

There is an epidemic sweeping my office.

Do I like it? No.

Do I hope it will end soon? Yes.

In case you haven’t figured it out, the epidemic it is known as Interviewyourselfitis.

Most of the big shots at my office are afflicted with this malady, and it is most apparent during large meetings where they have to speak. It’s an effective technique, and can give the illusion of allowing audience participation as in:

“Do I think our budget is adequate? No.”

“Will the budget pressures ease by the end of the quarter? Yes.”

Couple this kind of self-involvement with referring to yourself in the third person and it won’t be long before you have a spot as a talking head on cable TV.

For example, Jim may say:

“Does Jim think our production level was acceptable last month? No.”

“Does Jim believe it will be higher this month? Yes.”

There is no known cure…

And finally, this story from South Florida.

It seems the Florida Marlins are looking for a few good round men to form a cheerleading squad.

Marlins Cheerleaders

It’s good to know that there is now a place for guys built like me in professional sports…

Super Sunday

Thoughts and observations about Super Bowl Ex-Ell-Eye-Eye…

1. Tom Brady is handsome, athletic, articulate, humble, wealthy, and has a super model for a girlfriend. Other than that, he really doesn’t have much going for him.

2. This was the first Super Bowl played on a tray. That’s right folks, the field at the

University of Phoenix Stadium is a giant steel tray that can be moved out of one end of the stadium. There’s a lot of very interesting structural engineering that went into the design of the tray, but who wants to hear about that right now?

3. The architecture of the stadium is supposed evoke a barrel cactus. I have been to the Sonoran Desert many times and have never seen a stainless steel barrel cactus.

4. Is the University of Phoenix a real university?

5. In preparation for the game I purchased two 52 oz.

Bubba Kegs .

6. The best commercial that I saw was the Cavmen/Wheel ad. Very funny stuff.

7. Eli Manning looks like he is 19 years old. The kid can play though…

8. Tom Petty, who does not look like he is 19, can also play…

9. To all football announcers, everywhere: It will always depend on the spot. 100% of the time. No matter what...

Suburban Rogue XXXIV

With the Super Bowl coming up I thought I’d name this issue of Suburban Rogue using Roman Numerals. It’s the XVIIth best idea I ever had.

I’ve observed a lot of unusual things in the past couple of months and I’ve been delaying writing about them because I couldn’t seem to organize them into a coherent, well written narrative. Then, I thought, “Why worry about that now…”

So here goes…

I was at the grocery store recently when I passed a petite 30-ish woman doing overhead presses with two six-packs of V8 juice and talking to herself while briskly walking down the aisle. I also noticed she had very well defined biceps and triceps. So I now drink V8 juice, but it’s V8 light, since I’m not strong enough to do the overhead presses with the regular version.

The other day Mrs. R and I were at the local mall when we observed a man standing beside his pick-up truck while swinging a baseball bat. In January. In Colorado. His wife had their laptop out on the hood of their SUV, which was parked facing their pickup, and she was busily searching for directions. I offer no explanation for this, other than to say this couple had to be related to Delbert and Nadine, whom we met in the November 5, 2007 edition of Suburban Rogue .

Speaking of Delbert and Nadine, it’s time for another coveted Designating Underachievement in Marketing By Advertisers Selling Stuff (DUMBASS) Award. This weeks’ category is fast food, and the winner is Kentucky Fried Chicken for their new Hot Wings commercial:

We see a young lady bite into a hot wing and exclaim “Whoa. Didn’t see that coming.” I guess that’s a natural reaction when you bite into a hot wing and it, you know, tastes like a hot wing…

Earlier this year there was some tough weather up in the mountains, and heavy snows resulted in some avalanches that closed I-70 for a day or so, and stranded several dozen travelers. A local news anchor, in his gravest news anchor voice, intoned, “The avalanches were due to bad weather.” No kidding? Thanks for the insight there, Captain Obvious.

I saw a commercial on TV the other day for a product called Kinoki Foot Pads . Apparently you stick these things to the bottom of your feet right before bed, and toxins are magically drawn from your body, and collected on the pads. Hmmmmm, seems a little suspicious to me. What was it that P.T. Barnum said?

It’s also that time of year when nominations for Mother, Father, and Family of the Year start rolling in. Here are the early contenders:
Mother: To the mom who sent both of her kids to a local elementary school with ear infections and strep throat because, well, she had to go to work. Way to step up there mom!

Father: To the dad we saw at a local restaurant reading the newspaper while his two young daughters ate lunch. Hard to believe a guy with communication skills like that only gets to see the kids every other weekend…

Family: To the family at the local mega-warehouse store for looking to the future. When Junior asked if he could have a book, Mom said “You never read those damn books!” And Dad chimed in “You can use your own money to buy books. We’re only going to buy you the essentials.”

The future is bright, indeed…