Heading East into Suburbia.

The time has finally arrived.

In seven days, my lovely wife and I are moving to the burgh of Woodbury. Ignoring the fact that I one time said I would rather get shot in the head than move to Woodbury, the whole process is very exciting from the outside looking in. Yes, despite the fact that my eventual children will have to grow up as “Royals.”

Here’s a short list of reasons why a house, specifically MY house, is going to kick ass, if only for myself.

NOISE CONCERN – How exciting is it to not have a common wall? All of my life, I’ve had someone upstairs to stomp on the floor when my music was too loud: My parents…girls on the floor above in the dorms…no-fun Nick…that fat bitch that lived upstairs in Minneapolis…that fat bitch that lives next door…Now? I can hook the subwoofer back up to my stereo. Now? It’s my wife upstairs, and I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt that she appreciates listening to hard rock at thunderous volume. Now? If my neighbors complain that I’m being too loud, I’m probably (nay, definitely) being too loud.

Just off the top of my head, here are the top ten songs that I will RAWK OUT at ample volumes within the first 100 hours of home-ownership:

10. March of the Pigs – Nine Inch Nails
9. Stranglehold – The Nuge
8. Sabotage – Beasties
7. Lady Gaga – Telephone
6. Natural Born Killer – AX7
5. Bow Down – Westside Connection
4. I Want Your Sex – George Michael
3. All of Master of Puppets
2. Welcome to the Jungle – GNR
1. Home Sweet Home – The Crue

Solid, right? I know.

FIXING SHIT – I’m also unnecessarily excited for the prospects of home improvements. The house needs to be painted, we know that. But I already have tentative plans to expand the deck (hot tubs take up room, you know), re-paver around the fire pit (even though I haven’t seen it without a foot of snow on it), install drain tile (even though I’m pretty sure I don’t need it), put up drywall in the garage, and find a way to make my basement rad enough to implement a cover charge.

A CUL-DE-SAC – I will enjoy living on a cul-de-sac because of the safety aspects associated with a lack of passing traffic. I also will enjoy it because “cul” is French for “ass.”

YARDWORK – This excitement should last what, like, two weeks? I haven’t mowed a lawn or shoveled a driveway since 1997. And there’s a shitload of trees in the backyard, so I’m sure I’ll get my fill of raking very quickly.

But with all of the driving I’ve done for work in the last ten years, I have seen so many yards around the Twin Cities where I just thought, “Wow, you really do a shitty, shitty job of upkeep. I would hate to know of your personal grooming habits. When I get one, my yard is going to embarrass your yard in so many ways.” Now I have that opportunity.

And I’m sure I won’t care about my yard by mid-July, either.

CASHING IN FAVORS – I’ve helped people move. I’ve carried heavy-ass fish tanks. I’ve sodded. I’ve installed garage door openers on 100-degree days. And that’s just shit that Brandon has made me do. Suffice it to say, on any given weekend, if there’s a project being done by Max, you can bet your ass somebody’s gonna be there helping me with it.

GRILL – At our soon-to-be formerly resided condo, and at my condo before that, there are communal grills (apparently, it’s against the bylaws to have an open fire on your patio). Well, this has always secretly grossed me out. I have no problem eating off of a grill that I know has been primarily used by me. But hundreds of people using it over the course of a summer? Yuck. That “free-for-all” grill is like a Kardashian – too much meat has bounced off of its racks to not be worried.

“MAN SPACE” (or “a garage and basement”) – As nice as it is to have every piece of sports equipment in the trunk of my car, I will like the option to put things like jumper cables and an emergency kit in there instead. It’s hard to jump a car with a pitching wedge. And I need somewhere to contain my ultra-manly new shop vac.

Furthermore, my shelf of all things Twins-related has been relegated to a hallway closet for the better portion of three years. And if there’s anything I know in this world, it’s that people NEED to know that I have an autographed Lew Ford baseball. That shit NEEDS to be on display.

Other things I’m looking forward to, in no particular order:
- Not getting locked out because of a self-locking security door.
- Not having to associate with that skinny c*nt of a woman who lives down the hall from us.
- Not having a communal garden hose outside of my bedroom window.
- Not having a parking lot outside of my bedroom window.
- A fire pit. And beer. And the marriage of the two on many a night.
- Building shit for the sake of building shit, and not worrying about where to store it.
- Not having to scrounge up quarters for two weeks in order to do laundry.

So, as you can tell, I’m stoked, top to bottom. I’m sure it won’t be all roses. I’m sure that by this time next year, we will have encountered multitudes of frustrations surrounding the house, most of which will occur in deck construction. Or I’ll hate one of my neighbor’s. Or shoveling will give me a Larry Johnson back.

But with any luck, it will have shed its label as “some house in a town that I never thought I’d be in” and become “The Date Home…”

“…with a $5 cover after 10 pm.”

XLV: The Aftermath.

Well, the Packers won. It had something to do with them playing better than the Steelers, but probably had more to do with God hating me. Anyway, what’s done is done, and it’s time for some post-mortem breakdown:

 

1. Christina Aguilera started to look like Snooki Polozzi about two months ago. Unfortunately, she’s also starting to sing like her, too. Christina, it was a nice run – I guess we’ll have to move on to your Beta version:

 

 

2. I’m VERY disappointed in the showing put in by some of you Vikings fans – let me get this straight…you’re ROOTING for the Packers?!? Do you think Green Bay fans would EVER do this?? Do you think, had the roles been reversed, there would be a bevy of “Well, I know I’m a Packer fan, but I gotta support the NFC North. Go Vikes!”? Hell no! IN FACT, some of their favorite football moments are at your expense. What gives?

 

That’s why I dumped you, Vikings: no self-esteem. No flair for over-the-top, venomous spite. At least muster up a little piss and vinegar when it’s needed. I would’ve taken an allegorical Louisville Slugger to both of their headlights, Underwood-style. You gave them a backrub. For shame, Vikings fans. For shame.

 

And maybe this happened back in 1996 too, but my only form of communication (Facebook status updates) hadn’t been invented yet, so I’m not sure…

 

3. I don’t know why I didn’t do a comparative analysis of my groomsmen and urshers BEFORE I got married, but looking at it now…my four ushers were (and are) all HARDCORE Vikings fans. Four of my five groomsmen are Packer fans.* What does this mean? It means that I secretly hate myself, because I surround myself with the purveyors of entities I despise. And that all of my very good friends are asshole rednecks.

 

(* For the most part. Two of the four also like the Vikings (depending on who is better) and a third is first and foremost an Eagles fan.)

 

 

 

4. There are four Packers that I can tolerate: Greg Jennings (don’t know why), Don Driver (it’s hard not to appreciate a guy that used to live in a U-Haul), Chaz Woodson (go Big Blue), and Adrian Battles (former Mankato State Maverick turned NFL practice squad luminary). The rest, in the words of Andre Young and Calvin Broadus, can eat a big fat…dick.

 

5. Did Troy Polamolu play? If he did, he should’ve stayed home and played with himself.

 

 

 

6. Dear Stacy Ferguson-Duhamel: do not try to be Axl Rose. Yes, Slash may be standing next to you, and he may think you’re awesome for some reason (titties), but the rest of us do not.

 

We watched the game with a five- and a three-year-old who LOVE the Black Peas, and even they were even standing there like, “What the fuck?” during your performance. In conclusion, Fergie, when you sing like you think you’re Axl Rose, you actually sound like Adam Sandler doing an impression of Axl Rose, circa “Use Your Illusion II.”

 

And it makes us want to vomit in rage.

 

7. Special kudos to Groupon for offending every uppity, Pelosi-hugging American liberal in a mere 30 seconds.

 

8. If I had a choice between having an NFL lockout or an NBA lockout next year, I would take an NFL lockout 10 times out of 10. Look on the bright side though, Packer fans. You should be defending Super Bowl champions for a few years on the strength of a single victory.

 

9. And in typical Green Bay fashion, the first thing most fans do after the victory…is rip Brett Favre. Huh? You guys DO remember he won Super Bowl 32 for you, right? Way to take the high road. That’s like getting married and spending the whole reception talking about how much you hate your ex (while your new spouse sits there wearing their wedding WWE-style championship belt). Of course, I haven’t been to a Wisconsin wedding in a while – maybe that’s what they do. Way to take a big dump of class on this party, Packer fans.

 

Incidentally, I’d like to thank the Packers for sitting Rogers for three years. Because you’d prolly have more than one Super Bowl title right now if you hadn’t.

 

 

 

10. Speaking of “a big dump of class”, did I mention the WWE-style championship belt? Kinda douchy, don’t you think? That doesn’t really do anything to dispel the conspiracy theory that the NFL is as rigged as professional wrestling.

 

At the end of the day, I have to admit that the Packers winning didn’t really bother me, which I think speaks more to my general malaise regarding non-Eagles football when there aren’t fantasy implications. Or maybe to the notion that I’ve matured since 1996. Or to the amount of created stress I’m willing to commit to a non-life-threatening situation.

 

But from the looks of it, we don’t need to worry about another Super Bowl (or douche-belt) for a few more years.

 

Lesser of Two Super-Bowl-Sized Evils.

This Sunday, I am going to root for the Pittsburgh Steelers to win Super Bowl XLV.

I don’t feel good about doing so, as my abject loathing of front-runners will not allow me to…it feels like writing a dissertation supporting a tax cut for the wealthiest one percent. But after carefully examining the characters involved, I have pinpointed several players on the Steelers roster that I feel comfortable rooting for in a limited capacity* (* = in an effort to prevent the Packers from winning a Super Bowl).

Most of the choices are obvious. Actually, they all are. I mean, is anyone in Minnesota rooting for the Steelers because former Gopher Matt Spaeth is involved? And they DO have some humorously double-entendre-laden last names (Dixon / Gay / Colon), but I digress…

Here’s my “I’ll root for them THIS ONE TIME” essay:

Ben Rothliesberger – Yes, he has had a history of being a douche bag (unlike all of those professional athletes…especially starting quarterbacks…that aren’t??). But how can you fault a twenty-something-year-old guy for trying to use his stature as a big-time athlete to get college poon? I sure as hell tried to do that back in the day. Look me in the eyes and tell me you haven’t tried to do it. And I will call you a liar.

Big Ben did the exact thing that every 27-year-old unmarried (and some married) male wished he could’ve done – he just had the millions of dollars to make the plan work. Before Packer fans start to pooh-pooh Big Ben with their moral superiority, I offer these two words: Mark Chmura.

From a pure football sense, how can you NOT like what the guy has done? 10-2 postseason record, 2 Super Bowls, he doesn’t get  the pussy “roughing the QB” calls like Brady or Manning, he had his nose broken in a game and continued to play. I don’t know – strikes me as a guy that most teams would love to see lining up behind center.

James Harrison – in Roger Goodell’s “talking out of both sides of our mouth” 21^st-century NFL, Harrison is an outcast. The irony, of course, is that he embodies everything a football player should be – tough nosed, hard-working, and not a whiny little bitch. Harrison has been fined more this season than the average Joe makes in two years. He’s was Defensive POY a few years ago, is a top-ten defensive talent – oh yeah, and he wasn’t drafted coming out of college. But hey, Mr. Goodell, make sure to get him on an NFL “hard hits” DVD, so your hypocritical organization can at least make some more money promoting the same actions it half-heartedly discourages.

Hines Ward – does this dude ever NOT smile? He plays hard all the time, he doesn’t whine when he doesn’t get his stat line filled…so basically, he’s the anti-Terrell Owens, which in and of itself is worth something. Oh, and I bet you didn’t know that he hasn’t had an ACL in his left knee since childhood. In case you didn’t know, ACLs are very helpful in being a successful professional athlete.

Mike Tomlin – Back in my days as a Vikings fan, I felt as though Omar Epps’ doppelganger should have been the successor to the bald pedophile that is Brad Childress. Alas, the franchise let him go, presumably because Childress was a once-in-a-lifetime coach. I’m SURE Tomlin was crestfallen, as he reluctantly accepted the head coaching position with one of the NFL’s most storied franchises. He has gone on to a Super Bowl title with the chance for a second. And the dude isn’t even 40.

Has he benefitted from the defensive scheming of Dick LeBeau and a plethora of talent around him? Absolutely. But as any number of teams can attest to, you can have a Pro Bowl-caliber team and a great ASSISTANT coaching staff, and still not win a Super Bowl (see: Vikings, 2009). And what did Tomlin’s Steelers do when they DIDN’T have Big Ben for the first four games? He promoted Dennis Dixon from assistant to the training staff, dug up the corpse of Charlie Batch, and went 3-1 against four teams that combined for a 41-23 record in 2010.

 It may be a Perfect Storm of “the right coach for the right group of players”, but you certainly can’t argue with the results that Tomlin has delivered to this point. And did I mention he looks like Omar Epps?

Hopefully, my desperate attempt at rationalizing support for a football dynasty is sufficient for you. But if none of those Steelers knowledge bombs turn your metaphorical football crank, always fall back on this foolproof logic: “when rooting for two insufferable fan bases, root for the one that lives farther away.”

TV and Sports. And pain.

One. I had always said that if I could go back in time and kill one person, it would be Mary-Ellis Bunim. Why, you ask? She, along with some Murray guy, created The Real World, a reality television forerunner and great-great-granddaddy to a slew of shitwad reality programming, not the least of which includes: Road Rules, Simple Life, The Hills, The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Temptation Island, Real Housewives of Wherever, Joe Millionaire, Wife Swap, Jersey Shore, Dance Your Ass Off, and The CBS Evening News. Let’s put it this way: no reality TV, no rise of Ryan Seacrest.

Well, as it turns out, Bunim died of breast cancer in 2004. Sooo…I guess I’ll stick with Bin Laden. Thanks, Wikipedia, for making me feel like a dick. But if you MUST find a silver lining in a terminal disease, just keep Mary-Ellis Bunim in mind.

Two. After having 10 plastic surgeries in one day (at least according to the most recent cover of People magazine), where does Heidi Montag rank amongst the following people on the “less human than the rest of us” scale: Meg Ryan, Lisa Rinna, Sam Cassell, Joan Rivers, Bret Michaels, or Keith Richards? Am I missing anyone obvious? And while we’re at it, where does Montag rank on the list of complete and utter wastes of time and humanity? HA! I bet you didn’t think I could hate someone with such huge (albeit egregiously fake) boobs, did you?

Three. I have complete and utter confidence that the Vikings are going to lose this weekend. Now, OBVIOUSLY, I don’t want this to happen. But as a Minnesota sports fan, impending doom is a birthright.

Reason Number One: Favre gets the SI cover this week.

Reason Number Two: everyone is tonguing the Vikings’ collective balls this week, just the way everyone was tonguing the Cowboys’ collective vaginas last week. You know, right before they got pounded and Keith Brooking cried.

Reason Number Three: parallels to 1998 are too eerie (aging QB, breakout WR, incompetent coach, paranoia-inducingly steady regular-season FG kicker). I can’t re-live that pain. And by that, I mean, if I throw a chair through a wall this time, I’ll probably get in a lot of trouble from my wife.

Three, side note. If the Vikings make it to the Super Bowl, I will probably lapse into some sort of coma. I don’t dare wonder what happens should they actually win. But fortunately, I don’t need to worry about that happening. Because I am a Vikings fan.

The boring introduction.

Welcome to Blog Comeback Tour Attempt, Take Three. I’d like think that my writing  typing hasn’t been as successful or frequent because life is so awesome that I’ve diluted all of my metaphorical piss and vinegar…but I’m pretty sure it’s just because I’m lazy. Writing is like exercising in that you have five minutes where it absolutely sucks, then you get in a rhythm, and it spews forth like…so many spewing things. Reading is like that, too. So is waking up. Hmm, note to self: work on motivation.  

Let me get you up to speed. I am now one of the untrustworthy “Over-30” posse, I have a tungsten ring on my left hand and a wife to show for it and my hair isn’t nearly as flowing and reckless as it once was (but I look much less stoned on a day-to-day basis). I also refer to anything from the last six years as “new music”, so that should show you how uncool I have become.

 By day, I work at a swimming pool store: I sit at a desk and deal with customers’ issues they deem to be right up there in importance with world hunger and genocide in Darfur. I recently celebrated my 10-year employment anniversary by…going to work. Lest you think I’m bitter, the benefit of being a pool guy in the winter is that you can put a postage stamp on most days and go through the motions (I have this down to an art form).

By night (once or twice a week, anyway), I refill the wine glasses of middle-aged women that don’t know what time we close. I guess I could do without having two jobs, but youthful indiscretion doesn’t repay its own debts (in this economy and whatnot). Whatever. I haven’t been doing that nearly as long, and the people are pretty rad. So I guess it’s hard to get mad about making money (albeit minimum wage) for eight hours one would typically occupy watching non-cable-based television. And we all know that sucks.

I own a condominium in Minneapolis, and have a step-condominium via marriage in Roseville. If anyone would like to buy either one, you should come see me. Seriously, just start paying the mortgage and it’s yours. We don’t even need to do a complicated legal transaction. Do real estate places do 2-for-1’s? Can I trade two condos for a house? It’s amazing how much multiple properties impedes your ability to get on with your life. That, and I’m halfway to retirement, yet I still lack a garage in which to enjoy beer, car repair, and sports. Boo-urns to that, indeed.

My wife rules, and if you try to hit on her, I will kill you. Just throwing it out there.

For those of you that have read my writings in the past, you know my primary fallbacks are complaining about women, swearing and having an above-average time in life…sort of like a Poison song. Well, Poison sucks, so I’ll try to expand my literary metaphors to mainly resemble someone a little less shitty, like maybe Billy Squier or something. Wait, that’s worse.

I will try to avoid 3,000-word epics (nobody likes reading THAT much), as well as painfully-over-thought-out sports statistical analysis (I’ve been informed that not everyone likes stat breakdown – assholes). I will NOT, however, avoid excessive use of parentheses, “—“s, and “…”s. Deal with tangentiality (if that were a word).

SOO…thanks for stopping by, San Diego. I might do something else with words before the weekend. If not, well…I guess we’ll schedule the wake for another blog. Peace!