Love Actually is a White Christmas

So last night in order to start ramping up our Christmas spirit, the wife and I sat down to watch some Christmas movies (which we will probably do every night this week). As she scrolled through Netflix looking for something, because we were both too lazy to get up and put a DVD in, she asked what Christmas movie I wanted to watch. I immediately said Die Hard just to annoy her a little. The ongoing debate of whether Die Hard is a Christmas movie has been raging more during this holiday season for us. I knew full well she wouldn’t want to watch Die Hard, not to mention the fact that it isn’t on Netflix nor do we have it on DVD. But I digress…she was leaning toward Love Actually and I agreed not remember just how emotionally vulnerable that movie makes me.

Yes, I can admit that Love Actually gets me every time. I get choked up, I get teary eyed, it is just a good movie. For the guys out there reading this wondering if they need to check my “man card”, you are fooling yourself if you can’t find something to enjoy about that movie. It has comedy, it has a solid plot, it has a stellar cast (including the guy who plays Rick from The Walking Dead), and there’s a little bit of topless-ness thrown in for good measure. What more do you need? I like all the story lines and how they mesh without being forced. I like how it shows the different aspects of love in everyday situations. It doesn’t deliberately paint a rosy picture of love, it tells it like it is and yet love comes out looking pretty damn good. I’ve liked that movie ever since it came out. My closest friend and I went to see it twice in the theater that year and watched it several times again and again once we got it on DVD. It makes me want to surprise my wife with a hidden band (a scene from the movie). It makes me want to get caught in a passionate kiss with her during my niece and nephew’s Christmas pageant (also a scene in the movie). It makes me want to blow off a wild, fun night to meet my best friend for drinks (yes, also in the movie). It just makes you want to embrace love and the people you love. The perfect primer for the holidays where you are potentially surrounded by the people most important to you.

When that was over my wife slyly put on what is probably one of my favorite Christmas movies that I don’t give enough love to…WhiteChristmas. Some of you have probably never seen it, it came out before all of my potential audience was born and probably before some of your parents were born too. It is just a feel good, fun movie that showcases what talent was before the segregation of stars into the realms of movies, music, and television. These people had it all, in spades. I challenge you not to be impressed with the smooth, almost effortless singing of Bing Crosby. He looks almost half asleep as it croons and you have to wonder where the naturally talented singers are these days as everyone auto-tunes themselves into robotic-ness. Opposite the sweetly melodic Rosemary Clooney (the aunt of George Clooney), they make counting your blessings before bed seem like the most sensible thing in the world. Throw in the comedic timing of Danny Kaye and the superb dancing of Vera Ellen and you have an ensemble that matches the power of Love Actually 50 years earlier. White Christmas has all the heart, laughs, and love that you could want in a Christmas classic. Don’t forget the spectacle of elaborate dance numbers or of Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye with feather fans and butterflies in their hair. I highly recommend it if you’ve never watched before.

We still have so many Christmas movies to get through before the big day. Rudolph, Frosty, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, A Miser Brother’s Christmas, Frosty Returns (meh, not great), A Charlie Brown Christmas…we’ve got a lot to cover. We traditionally spread them out a bit more through the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas, but it seems the time has gotten away from us (and we’re watching the whole series of Big Bang Theory right now). But there is one special one that I’m looking forward to. A tradition my wife and I have had throughout our relationship is to watch one special movie on Christmas Eve. I won’t tell everyone what it is, but it is on my top five list of Christmas movies and it’s pretty obscure. You’ll never guess. Maybe I’ll talk about it in my next post. Until then, Merry Christmas everybody!

Don't Look a Hobby Horse in the Mouth

So, recently, my wife and I were talking about hobbies and how we are both in desperate need of something to occupy our time other than work, eating, television, and sleep (not that all of those aren’t enjoyable or necessary). The topic of a hobby for me went back to my old stand-by…this…writing. Yes, I used to write a lot back in the day. Some of it was thought provoking and informative and some of it was just pure indulgence, but it was a good outlet for my thoughts and a fun way to take up some of my time. At the time I was writing so vigorously I was employed as a youth minister and time was something I had an overabundance of. Once I started working on my MBA and then got a real job, time seemed like a luxury that I couldn’t afford to take up with mindless meandering through my thought world. But, as I have recently gotten a real REAL job with a company that is so focused on its employees and their work-life balance, I have come to find myself with a little more free time than I had been used to. Up until this point I had been occupying my newfound time with an increase in television consumption. However, now that is proving to be tedious as it seems like I watch the same things over and over again. So, I am going to try to do the writing thing more. I know I have proclaimed my return to regularly writing with trumpets and fanfare in the past and those have fizzled out quickly, so I am approaching this a little differently. No hullaballoo this time. Just this intro and now on to my topic this time around which happens to be, my writing.

In that same conversation where we talked about hobbies and me getting back to writing my beautiful wife reiterated her love of my writing. She has particular posts from my blog that she enjoys incredibly. One that she says she could read over and over is my ode to mashed potatoes. She talks about that blog post every time the topic of my writing comes up. Over the time that we’ve been together and she’s known of my past blogging exploits, every time she has brought up “the mashed potato one” I have smiled and nodded and laughed at her enthusiasm. The thing is, I could not remember for the life of me what I had written in that post or practically any of the posts I’d done back then. So, the smile and nod was the only reaction I had at my disposal. However, this time, as she prodded me with questions about how I came up with it, I broke down and told her I couldn’t even remember what I had written. So, she quickly grabbed her phone to pull it up and read to me (I was driving at the time). This situation immediately made me want to write something because I found it so odd and entertaining.

Let’s just think about this for a second. I had no idea what I had written. I was experiencing this for the first time just like any other reader who might stumble across it when searching for the mythical land of Lake Gravy. And from what I heard as my prose slipped wildly from my wife’s excited mouth was incredible. I’m not bragging about my writing, as most of you know, but it was pretty amazing. I don’t know how I came up with all those metaphors. I don’t know some of the words I used, I’d have to reference a dictionary, but I was apparently fluent and comfortable with them then. It almost doesn’t even sound like something I’d write. It has a little Ted Mosby pretentiousness to it as well as a Half Baked munchies craving vibe. It is literally an ode to mashed potatoes and gravy. As if written by someone who had spent their entire life studying it and was boiling it down into simple (if not overly wordy) terms. There is a touch of poetry there. A touch of lyricism. And a heaping healing of what might only be described as creative liberties (i.e. craziness). I never thought I would enjoy hearing what I had written so much. Perhaps if someone other than my biggest fan was reading it to me, I might not have. Regardless of that, I was impressed with myself and a little shocked also. I wonder if other writers feel this way when they are confronted with their work.

I can’t promise more gems like the mashed potato post will be coming in the future. It depends on if my passion for something gets sparked to a high enough level to write like that. I was in rare form on that one. I had a couple other ones that matched that excitement and level of silliness. Not a lot though. Truthfully, I miss having that kind of passion for something. That kind of furor. It seems like the older I get the more I feel sort of “meh” about a lot of things. Sure, mashed potatoes still do it for me. Whataburger still elicits that kind of reaction. But, my passions have calmed somewhat. Right now, my biggest passion is my wife. My smart, silly, beautiful wife, who brightens my days and warms my nights. I could write a blog about her that matches the intensity of the mashed potato one, but I’m sure she wouldn’t want that. Haha! I guess that might be what this is all about. Trying to find my passion again. Writing brought out all of those passions, all of that excitement, when I was younger. Maybe it will again. Hopefully it will. Join me and we will see!

 

Test...test...test of my convictions

“Go to college and you can be successful like I am.” My father may not have used those exact words, but that was the gist of most of his life lessons growing up. Though I watched my father get up five days a week and go to a job that I knew he didn’t have any passion for, I still believed in the notion that he was successful. I, like many Americans of my generation, measured success by dollars in the bank and my father was doing well in that regard. So, how could I not believe him? Why would I not believe him?

My father grew up on a farm in rural South Dakota. He attended college for both his Bachelors and Masters degrees with a brief stint in the Army during the Vietnam War. He volunteered. He has convinced me all my life that hard work, loyalty, and education will get you places. After getting his Masters he was recruited to a fledgling software company started by an eccentric man with dreams of grandeur. The company asked him to move, he moved. And when he fell in love and started a family, he told them he wouldn’t anymore. He sacrificed some of his upward mobility in the company for his ideals about family. Another lesson he taught, family comes first. Though, his loyalty and dedication to the job still made him successful. I don’t know how much he made, but I know my brother and I never wanted for anything essential. He provided and it set an example that has always stuck with me. I knew that my father got an education, got a job, and through his strength of character and talent, was a success at that job. So when he instilled in us the important of going to college, we didn’t question it.

I guess you could call me a millennial, though I’m not sure I am. I was born in 1982, which means I was conscious enough to see how some folks struggled through the 80s. It also means I was in my most impressionable and formative years during the 90s. The Go-Go 90s. It was an economic boom that no one realized was one. In school we heard stories of people graduating college and being offered mid-six figure salaries just for having a degree. Companies were so desperate for employees that it didn’t even matter if you studied the field they operated in. I remember as a sophomore in high school hearing that someone’s brother, who had studied Medieval Literature, was getting a job with a tech firm starting out at $50,000 a year. Medieval Literature?! This furthered my belief and understanding that college would get me where I wanted to be…making money aka being successful.

So, knowing that I was going to go to college, I picked the most prestigious one within a limited driving distance of my home (family first). This private institution was nestled snugly in one of the most affluent suburbs of my home town. It was everything you’d expect of a private college. Small classes, affluent students, beautifully manicured campus and a steep sticker price were all on the list of amenities. My father, believing in the power of a college education was on board. He had started college funds for us and took out extra loans in his name to cover the expense. He made it happen partly because of his conviction that this would be good for me and partly because of my brother’s failed attempt at college. More on that at another time. So, I became a college student, one of only three out of my graduating class to attend that college. I was in a strange new place and I don’t deal with strange new places well.

My college experience was uneventful...

It's Time!

I’m sitting here, still wiping the tears from my eyes. We did it! My team, the Texas Rangers, have beat the Yankees to be crowned American League Champions! That means we’re going to the World Series! There’s no other way to describe how I feel than this…WWWWOOOOOOOHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOO!!! This is the singular defining moment of my year to this point. Last year the singular defining moment was the birth of my goddaughter/niece. I was there in the beginning. I, my brother, and my two best friends, Fern and Jon, went to Opening Day this year as we have for several years now. We witnessed the beginning of what will ultimately be defined as the greatest year in Rangers history. My brother and I bought a mini-plan of tickets this year. I must have made it to almost twenty games this year and watched the vast majority of the rest on television. I bought a new jersey at the beginning of the season to add to the ten I already own. I bought five more t-shirts as well. A couple of stickers, several beers, two big bags of sunflower seeds, three new caps, and a sweatshirt round out all the Rangers gear I purchased throughout the season. This is about the norm for me. I am a die-hard, no holds barred, never say die, never leave early, never quit, always stand and sing during “Deep in the Heart of Texas”, eleven bobble head having Rangers fan. And when things are good, life is good. And when things are bad, life is still good, because it’s the Rangers. I love ‘em!

How much of a fan am I? Well, besides hardly missing a game and buying enough merchandise for an entire family, I am versed in Rangers history. I know about the great players in our history. I know about the good times in our history. I know that the franchise was originally the Washington Senators who moved to Texas at the urging of the Mayor of Arlington and local businessman Tom Vandergriff, founder of the Vandergriff auto sales empire. I know that Arlington Stadium was originally called Turnpike Stadium and was home to the minor league Fort Worth Cats and Dallas-Fort Worth Spurs. That’s right, the Rangers played in a converted minor league stadium for the first 22 years. Did you know that Ted Williams managed the Rangers back in those days? Do you know how many numbers the franchise has retired? I do…only three: 26, Johnny Oates; 34, Nolan Ryan; 42, Jackie Robinson (by MLB). This is a point of contention for me and my brother because we can name so many former Rangers who deserve their numbers to be retired. That is a whole other blog in itself. Do you know how many players are in the Texas Rangers Baseball Hall of Fame? I do…13, including recognizable names like Jim Sundberg, Fergie Jenkins, and Rusty Greer. Speaking of Rusty Greer, who was a hero of mine as a kid, he is currently working at Texas Wesleyan University as an assistant baseball coach under former Ranger Mike Jeffcoat. I could go on and on, but I think you get the point.

My love for the Rangers spawned from hot summer afternoons and evenings sitting in the metal bleachers at Arlington Stadium. This was back in the day when they gave out full size bats to the first 5,000 kids under 13 in attendance. And we would take those bats and bang them on the metal seats to make as much noise as possible. The Bobby Valentine days…when it was literally a 50-50 bet whether we would win or not because we were just an average team. I remember my Dad explaining things to us as they happened. I remember the clunk of batting practice homeruns on the seats around us. Those were the days when baseball in the Dallas-Fort Worth area was just a secondary attraction. Back when if you lived in Dallas, you had to pass by the monument of Dallas’ true love, Texas Stadium, on your way to Arlington to watch baseball. My more vivid memories come from the Ballpark. The Rangers moved into their new stadium in 1994 and we went to one of the first games there. It was like a castle, a cathedral, compared to Arlington Stadium. Everything had the look and feel of a stadium from the 40s and 50s, except it was brand new. We used to sit out under the homerun porch in right field and yell at Rusty Greer to try to get his autograph. This team, these stadiums, the memories…all of them feed my continuing love and respect for Rangers baseball.

Sure, the relationship soured during the Tom Hicks era. I was old enough to understand that we were good enough to make it to the post season, but not good enough to make it to the World Series. I was young enough that not making it to the World Series killed me. I was old enough to realize we overpaid for A-Rod. I was young enough to let stupid management decisions like that jade my love of the team as a whole. I started climbing back on board after I graduated college. A-Rod was gone, Michael Young was emerging as a leader on the team and things seemed great. Except that they couldn’t make it back to the postseason. But my love for them grew back more and more. When I met my best friends along the line of my life, their love for Rangers baseball just boosted mine. Pretty soon we were making trips to Opening Day every year, buying jerseys for each other, and going to games together. We talk baseball all the time now. In fact, the one person that called me to celebrate the Rangers win tonight was my buddy Fernando, who is my Rangers accountability partner. He lives in Atlanta, but still loves the Rangers so much that he came back the past few years for Opening Day.

So, all of you out there who read my blog and like to know what’s going on in the world of me, here it is…I am completely stoked about the World Series! I am sitting here in my Claw and Antler shirt and Rangers shorts looking at $400 standing room only tickets on StubHub and seriously considering buying some! I just order two more Rangers t-shirts (an AL Champions one like they were wearing on the field and in the locker room after the game and a “Hambino” Josh Hamilton shirt). I am drinking an ice cold, Texas brewed, Shiner Bock, listening to the post game roundtable radio show, and thinking about how to clear my schedule and skip classes next week so that I can see the World Series games (which start Wednesday). The Rangers, they are my heart. And you know what else I realized as I was looking online for AL Champs shirts? I need to find a woman who already has the Texas Rangers “T” logo thong or panty, because the woman who is Rangers fan enough to have that underwear is Rangers fan enough for me.

Since I've been gone...

Alright, I’ve been slacking off a little on this whole blog thing lately and for that I apologize. Apparently there is a good deal of you out there (more than five, less than ten) that enjoy reading these things. I didn’t know I meant so much to you. I honestly have some relatively good excuses…sort of. My Monday blog that should have been done earlier this week didn’t make it to press due to me staying at my folk’s house all weekend taking care of their dogs. I didn’t have my laptop with me. Well, wait, yes I did, but my folks don’t have wifi at their place and my non-wireless network card doesn’t work in my computer, so I didn’t have access to my notes etc. So there you go, that is why I miss my early week blog entry. Sure, I could have done it later on, but I try not to waste time on my blog on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday due to the fact that I have classes and should be working on those. I didn’t get it done on Friday this week because I had a relatively busy day compared to how my usual Friday goes. I had a lunch meeting with a friend, a client meeting for my class project, to help my mother put up Halloween decorations outside their house, and then the Rangers first ALCS game (don’t get me started on how elated and heartbroken I was in a span of four hours due to that one). Today we celebrated my folk’s anniversary which is actually Monday, so I have just gotten around to doing this (since I can’t sleep and there is nothing on TV).

I have struggled with what to talk about in this blog since my life lately has been a little less than exciting. Sure, I’ve been busy and done some fun things, but none of them seemed terribly blog-worthy. So, I’m going to my playbook and coming out with a canned topic I thought up when I first decided to refocus my blogging efforts toward talking about my life. There is a neat little list I made up that is saved as a Word file on my desktop (if you know me, you know how seriously OCD I can be at times and how forgetful I can be at other times, so making lists gets me through my everyday life). It started with things that I noticed I do on a regular basis. Then it started to include things that seem uniquely bachelor-esque. Then it mutated into things that bothered me or were on my mind at that specific moment. No, the topic this week is not my blog topic list or how I make lists in general (though that topic has now made it onto my blog topic list). My blog topic this week has come about due to some things I’ve experienced over the past week and a half.

This topic may not seem important to some of you, but to a man such as me, in my situation, this is a very important part of daily life. I’m talking about chick radar. The reason this topic came to me started on Thursday when I was at the State Fair with my brother, sister (in-law), and niece. We were walking into the fair past the crowd control barriers and ticket booths when out of the corner of my eye I spotted her. The first thing I noticed was blond hair. Now, I’m not necessarily a guy who digs blonds (all the girls I’ve dated were natural brunettes except one who was dirty blond at her lightest). It’s hard not to notice a blond. They stick out in a crowd, especially when that crowd is filled with rambling geriatrics (apparently Thursday was senior citizen day at the fair). She was cute, shorter than I would usually go for, but hey, you don’t have to be picky when you’re just looking (sounds terrible, I know). She disappeared into the crowd and I thought nothing of it after that. Then, it happened again. Standing in front of the Fletcher’s corn dog stand waiting on my sister to get something to eat, a pretty brunette slipped through the crowd toward the auto show building. I locked on right away. Once is just a coincidence, but two times of finding the prettiest girl in the crowd, that’s almost uncanny.

My brother had noticed how much my head had been on a swivel and mentioned something about the second girl who seemed to be working at the car show. Now, this was a full minute or more after she had caught my eye, which struck me a little. The situation became more apparent as we were leaving the butterfly enclosure (not my idea to see the butterflies, but don’t get me started on that) about an hour or so later in the day. We were walking across the lobby of the building where the butterfly deal is and there was this six-foot, gorgeous brunette and her shorter but equally cute friend paying to get into the exhibit. They were right there, plain sight, so I figured you’d have to be blind to miss them. My brother and sister disappeared to change my niece’s diaper and when they came back and asked what we should do next, I said, “I’d like to go back and see the butterflies again.” My brother was stunned by that and asked, “Why?!” I of course said, “Didn’t you see that six-foot brunette and her friend in line to get in?” He said he hadn’t. I realized then and there, my chick radar had kicked back on.

Every man has some form of chick radar. I even knew a homosexual gentleman who could spot the hottest girl in the room before the straight guys could. It’s nature or something like that. Beautiful women just get your attention right away. They draw your gaze. To quote the film Beautiful Girls: “A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you've been drinking Jack and Coke all morning. She can make you feel high…full of the single greatest commodity known to man - promise.” Sometimes this chick radar can just click off or stop working. As in the case of my brother, who is happily married to a woman he thinks he doesn’t deserve and the father of the prettiest baby girl I’ve ever seen. When life works for you like that, chick radar just isn’t needed. But, when you’re single, you know you’re single, and have somehow come to the conclusion that being single is best thing for you right now, then chick radar is your best friend. It shows you all the wonderful prospects out there. It shows you how beautiful women don’t just exist in your dreams or on TV. They’re right there, in front of you every day. This is the greatness of chick radar. I had noticed it starting up late last month when having dinner with a group of old friends in a trendy restaurant in Frisco (an upscale suburb of Dallas). I was the only single person at the table (a topic I’ll touch on at a later date)…and the only one who noticed the bachelorette party that was seated two tables away. That, my friends, is chick radar.

Now for the sensitive side of me to make a statement: in no way do I measure a woman’s worth by her appearance. Nor do I base my relationships, whether friendship or something more, solely on looks. I doubt there are many who will argue whether it takes an initial physical attraction to spark a relationship. Of course it does. But what makes relationships work, what makes relationships last, is personalities. I haven’t been in a relationship that didn’t involve attraction not just physically, but also mentally and emotionally (because I wouldn’t invest myself in a relationship that didn’t have those things). To quote Prince Akeem from Coming to America: “I want a woman that will arouse my intellect as well as my loins!”

Jump on the Bandwagon? No, I'm on the Fan-wagon

Let me start off by saying that someone paid me the nice compliment the other day of asking if I had been working out. I have been working out, but that isn’t the point. The point is that they noticed a change in my appearance due to this workout routine. I trust this person because they are not a close friend or anyone who would stand to gain from paying me a compliment. They are an acquaintance from class who knew me in the spring, didn’t see me over the summer, and is now in my consulting group this fall. So, I thanked them for noticing and then gave a conceited comment to reinforce my high feeling. Something along the lines of, “I look damn sexy; of course I’ve been working out.” I can’t help it. Sometimes that side of me, the overzealous, self-righteous, self-absorbed Aaron comes out for a bit to play. Mostly I am modest, self-controlled, and humble, which has worked for me so far, but doesn’t bring quick results. I guess what I’m getting at is that I’m not all “nice guy” Aaron who doesn’t ruffle feathers and isn’t conceited. Sometimes I’m “that guy” Aaron who knows from years of family reunions and boisterous family members that “it is hard to be humble when you’re a Hansen.”

I forgot exactly what I was going to talk about today. I have a list of topics I want to cover at one point or another, but I’m too lazy to pull that up right now. I had something lined up to talk about earlier this morning, but by the time I’ve gotten around to writing this…it is gone. Oh, I know what I can talk about. Something that is near and dear to my heart. If you know me, you know that my love for this runs as deep as my love for my family or a good beer. The Texas Rangers are my heart. If you have watched any sports related news or picked up a paper then you would know by now that the Rangers have made it to the postseason for the first time in over ten years. This has created a little bit of a Rangers fever in the DFW metroplex that has been compounded by them winning their first two playoff games. I was listening to sports talk radio on the way in to campus today and the “experts” on there are talking World Series berth. They’re debating who would be the best team to face in ALCS. They’re touting Rangers manager Ron Washington as manager of the year. It is all a little overwhelming for a true fan like me. The die-hards like me always talk like this at this time of year, when the rest of the sporting news is talking Cowboys, Stars, and Mavs. It is the first time I have seen a true bandwagon following for the Rangers.

I don’t believe in bandwagons. Ask my brother and he will tell you that he admires my commitment to my teams, rain or shine, without fail. With the Rangers, it goes deeper than that. The Rangers have been a part of my life since I could remember. Our folks would take us to Rangers games as kids. I had a poster of Nolan Ryan, dressed as an Old West sheriff, on my wall in my room. There’s never been a point in my life that I didn’t own a Rangers cap of some kind. Never a point in my life that I wouldn’t watch a Rangers game over another show. Never a point in my life that I didn’t dream of running out on the field at old Arlington Stadium or Rangers Ballpark to take the mound and throw an opening pitch. Needless to say, I love the Rangers.

So, it does bother me a little when the whole Rangers playoff bandwagon gets rolling. Nothing against extra fans, because the Rangers will need all the fan support they can get if they are going to face a national powerhouse team like the Yankees, but it does bother me that in six months these people won’t give two squirts about the Rangers. Sure, Opening Day is always packed, but that’s either because we’re playing some national following team like the Red Sox or people want a reason to skip work. Let me give you an anecdotal example of this bandwagon ridiculousness. I went to a game last week with a friend and my brother and sister-in-law. We are all Rangers fans. My brother and I had a mini-plan of tickets this year (can’t afford season tickets yet). My friend follows the Rangers and went to practically every game with me that my brother didn’t go to. We are real Rangers fans…they are our team. Sitting behind us was what appeared to be a couple from the area and some friends of theirs who were visiting from out of town. The man from here was stumbling and bumbling over facts about the team the whole game. He misidentified the order of first basemen we have had this year. He didn’t know who was traded in the Cliff Lee deal. He didn’t know the names of the base coaches. He was a hot mess of misinformation about the Rangers. Then he said something that got my ire. He said he was a fan and had been following the team all season. If he had, he would know that we started the season with Chris Davis at first base, then Justin Smoak, then Mitch Moreland, then Jorge Cantu, then to platooning Moreland and Cantu. If he had read any newspaper in DFW near the trade deadline he would know that we traded infielder Justin Smoak, pitchers Blake Beavan and Josh Lueke, and infielder Matt Lawson to the Mariners for Cliff Lee and Mark Lowe and more than $2 million in cash. And if the dude had spent just one night in front of the TV watching a Rangers game, he would have learned that our first base coach is Gary Pettis (5-time Gold Glove winner) and our third base coach is Dave Anderson (member of Dodgers' 1988 World Championship). Fans, true fans know this stuff by heart. Bandwagoners have to guess or squint to see the names on jerseys. Sad.

Confessions of a Wannabe Truck Driver

Alright…so I spent a splendid weekend in Missouri. All of you out there are now thinking, “how do you have a splendid weekend in Missouri?” Well, first of all, you have to realize how long you’ve been in your home town without leaving it. This should depress you enough to make you want to leave town and go anywhere…it won’t matter where, just anywhere. Then you have to weigh your options of where to go. Financially, the places you absolutely want to go will probably be out of your reach. Let’s say I wanted to go to Hawaii…I can’t afford to go to Hawaii and pay my bills for the month. So you whittle it down to where you can go. Finally, you wait for a friend to ask you to go with them to said place. Once you have the backup of someone going with you, you are set. You are away from your home town, not spending yourself poor, and with a friend(s)…splendid.

Seriously, I went with my best friend Jon and his wife to Missouri to see his little brother play some college football. Let me see if I can some it up in a few sentences. It was an eight and a half hour drive and we took my increasingly unreliable truck (smart). We stayed in the Quality Inn which is not as bad as it sounds, but not much better than you think. My room was relatively nice…apparently Jon and Bekah’s was not. We went to dinner at a not terribly good, but terribly bad Mexican restaurant (you don’t realize how good you have it living in the melting pot of Texas until you dine out in other states). Got to see Jon’s little brother’s place, which was awfully nice. Got up the next day and had the free continental breakfast. Went to the college bookstore to get some game day gear, which was interesting but not terribly noteworthy. The game was not great (they lost), but it was fun to see unpretentious college football. The weather was weird, but nothing that couldn’t be handled. We had a little tailgate after the game. Then we went over to Michael’s for game night and a night cap. Other points of interest: we went to Wal-Mart twice while we were there; I had a mini-fridge in my room that served to keep the beer cold for a day; Missouri is actually a really pretty state; my truck made it all the way there and back without incident.

Ok, now what you really come to my blog for…pointless interesting thoughts from me. I realized something while making the entire drive there and back myself. I didn’t have to; it was more of a choice than a requirement. I didn’t want Jon to drive my truck (I really don’t like anyone driving my truck but me). And, when Jon and I made the trip to ATL earlier this summer, he drove the whole way there and back, so I was repaying him for his diligence with my own. All of that is not what I realized, though. I realized that if I would have had less ambition in life (or more, depending on how you look at it) I could have been a truck driver. Being behind the wheel for hours at end doesn’t bother me at all. I don’t have a regular sleep schedule (or a sleep schedule at all). I kept thinking the whole time driving there that I would have loved to have a CB radio. I mean, truck driving would be the way to go, if I hadn’t spent so much money on a college education. Jon even pointed out a couple of truck driving schools and companies with “drivers wanted” signs out front. I just don’t know if the trucker lifestyle would work for me in the long haul (pun).

Another thing that struck me during this epic drive was the obtuse amount of adult video stores along the interstate in Missouri. Interstate 44, which runs the length of Missouri across the southern portion, has a section running from Springfield to St. Louis called “Main Street U.S.A.” This sounds quaint and fun doesn’t it? It gained this claim to fame because it is the part of I-44 that runs almost parallel to Route 66. It is an amazing drive through the foothills of Missouri passing nice little towns with lots of tourist traps. Well, apparently “Main Street U.S.A.” has porn stores every 50 miles. These range from broken down shack type places to the more swanky joints with 24-7 video arcades (if I have to explain what an arcade in an adult video store is, then you don’t need to know). This wasn’t as astonishing as the fact that once “Main Street U.S.A.” ends going west on I-44 past Springfield there are adult video stores every ten miles. Really, how many adult video stores do you need on one piece of interstate? I guess if I was a truck driver, I would know.