April 28th, 2012 is a day that will go down in famy. It was the day I went from being only a son and having a father to having a son and being a father... along with still being the son and having the father. It was arguably the most exciting and scary experience of my life. And it wouldn't be a difficult argument to win.
My son was born at 3:55 am on Saturday, April 28th, but the excitement and drama all began a little more than 8 hours earlier.
It started off as a normal Friday. I arrived home from school and was looking forward to a nice relaxing weekend. I had a round of golf on the schedule for Saturday and was really happy to be getting out on the course for the first time of the year. Little did I know, golf was soon going to be knocked off my to do list for quite some time.
Alyssa was feeling very pregnant and was not looking forward to another month of gaining more weight and feeling even more uncomfortable as the weather became hotter. More than once she expressed relief in not being pregnant through the summer months, but April had already approached temperatures that didn't agree with her.
It had been a few weeks now that Alyssa wasn't able to carry anything of any considerable weight up or down stairs and it was my job to move things to wherever she wanted them moved. Fulfilling my job as the caring and considerate hubby, I took it quite personally when Alyssa would not bother asking me to lift something and did it herself. I became stern with her more than once because she continuously tried to do too much.
And it was while in this mood that I took it upon myself, without the slightest provocation from Alyssa, that I decided to do a little laundry. Heading down the basement stairs, I felt like a man on a mission. Throw the wash in, turn a few knobs and dials, head back upstairs and think about all that the rest of the day could hold.
What a plan!
Upon reaching the base of the basement stairs, I noticed water on the floor by a couple pipes. In my mind, I hear, "Crap!"
I wasn't too concerned at this point because our water was flowing fine upstairs and toilets flushed with glee.
I made my way over the the washer and dryer to discover more water, a lot more water.
Again, there was a voice in my mind, however, this time words much more colorful that "Crap" were being shouted.
I informed Alyssa of the predicament in the basement and phoned my father, he would know what to do. He arranged for his plumber to send a guy over. But the damage was done, MY WATER HAD BROKE IN THE BASEMENT.

The plumber arrived and made short work of the mess in the basement while Alyssa made herself comfortable on the couch and we began the pre-discussion about our plan for dinner for the evening. As the plumber came up from the bowels of the house, which I really consider bowels now, since I saw inside a few choice pipes and got up close and personal to the cause of the clog, I turned toward Alyssa to see her make a strange face.
"What's wrong?" I asked her.
"Something weird just happened in me," she replied.
"What'd it feel like?" I asked.
"Kind of like a water balloon popping inside of me."
"That could be your water breaking."
"No, it's too early for that," she said still calmly.
"Have you ever felt something like that before?.
"No."
"I think it might be your water breaking."
 ALYSSA'S WATER BROKE IN THE TV ROOM.

To be continued...

I'm a dad

So I'm a dad now. Pretty awesome. When I get a spare minute or two I will write the whole story out and let you all know about it. Just not today though.

Lines and Crowd Situations

The funny thing about traveling abroad is that you pick up on some of the characteristics of certain people from different countries and notice different aspects about Americans whether you are sitting on an airplane, waiting to de-board in Spain, or sipping a cafe con leche (coffee with milk) at a sidewalk cafe in Barcelona.

So here are a few of the idiosyncrasies that Alyssa and I noticed on our trip to the Spanish land.

Alyssa read a book titled Lost on Planet China by J. Maarten Troost. It's the story of a guy who visits China and tries to understand the culture. Anyway, he ends up buying a train ticket but when the train arrives, turns out people in China don't stand in line, so there is just a mob of people trying to get on the train. He ends up not making it onto the train because of all the people pushing and shoving to get on the train.

So basically, there are no lines in China.

Cut to our flight from Grenada to Barcelona. On any flight there is always a line of people waiting to get off as the passengers in front of them get their luggage from the overhead compartments. It is never fun waiting for everyone to get their bags, but it is necessary. However, we were on the plane with people from China.

And let me remind you, there are no lines in China.

So, while everyone else was waiting for the people in front of them, the passengers from China (we know this because we saw their passports), who were in the back of the plane, gathered up their luggage and sprang into action. Squeezing and pushing, bumping and shoving past everyone, they made their way off the plane. Everyone passenger that they made it past just stared incredulously. Alyssa and I remained in our seats and just watched this mini fiasco. Awesome.

Onto the Americans. Throughout Spain it was obvious who the Americans were. They were a bit louder than most people, slightly heavier, and much less sophisticated in their dress. For example, I wore tee shirts all week.

It was at one outdoor cafe, one night, that we were absolutely sure that the loud, boisterous table next to ours was surely a group of Americans. But, as it turns out Canadians can be just as noisy and gregarious as we, Americans, can be.

Americans also stare much more at nude sunbathers than people from any other country. And people from every country outside of the US have a much more open minded policy to public nudity. It was pretty awesome. Aviator glasses are pretty much essential for anyone going to a European beach who do not want to appear to be American.

Relationship Guru

I don't know how it has come to pass, but it seems I have become an expert in the dating department. Turns out that since I've been in a relationship that has spawned an engagement, which in turn spawned impending nuptials, those in my social circles consider me a relationship savant.

Lately, friends and acquaintances have sought out my "expertise" on the merit and life expectancy of other relationships shorter in duration than my own. At some point in time within the last month I crossed a threshold. I have entered into the club of guys who "know what it takes" to make a relationship last. Who would have thought? If only such a club kept a leash on its membership fees, right? You know what I'm saying? (Honey, I'm totally kidding)

Obviously the qualifications for such a club have to do with longevity and appearance to others. Which is funny when you think about it. Length and looks. Real subtle girls. The mantra that "he must be doing something right" comes to mind. The fact that they have lasted this long signifies success.

Though this type of thinking isn't completely off base. Relationship longevity is one good indicator, but there are plenty of couples in which their friends haven't a clue as to why they remain a couple. The outward appearance is usually the hint for those steadies who make everyone aware of their problems.

On the other hand how often do two people break up and neighbors, friends, relatives, and mistresses say, "they seemed so happy." So there is definitely more to it than that. So, in turn there must be more to it for being in this couples' club. People must see something else in a couple than just length and looks when checking out the success of a relationship.
And that can be only one thing. They must have me under surveillance.

I knew I wasn't paranoid.

Progression of Beer

The first sip may or may not taste that great.

You have to give it time, you have to wait.

After a dozen you know your own fate;

In another round or two, it's too late.

I'm baaaack!

That's right! I'm back! But not in the creepy Arnold Schwarzenegger (I almost spelled that right the first time) way when he's just letting the maid know he's home after a long day of killing terminators, Colombians, the devil and state budgets, and is ready to have his pipes cleaned. No. Not in that way at all.

It's been a busy year. Sorry. Life took precedent over Blog. But no more! (probably a lie)

The wedding is approaching and the most recent headache came in the shape of a shiny, navy blue suit. Don't worry it is not anything like Jeff Daniel's ensemble in Dumb and Dumber... it's better.

A little back story for you. There are 6 groomsmen in the bridal party, 1 bridegroom (that's the old fashioned way of saying groom-- read a book), 2 fathers, and 2 grandfathers of the bride-- and everyone is getting a suit!

Think Oprah. Imagine her shouting, "You get a suit! And you get a suit! And you get a suit!" You get the idea.

Only Oprah wasn't the one at the suit store, with everyone's suit size, picking out the colors everyone wanted or was being forced to wear, and dealing with the master salesman Claude.

Long story short, it took a number of weeks to get everyone to visit their local neighborhood tailor guy to get sized. Then, the order was placed. Every suit would come with flat front pants (not pleated) and the bride and groom would pick up the suits, a rainbow would appear in the sky, and they would skip to a Disney song, written by the Sherman brothers, sung by Julie Andrews, and peace would break out in the Middle East. Everyone would smile and be happy.

But no, it was not meant to be.

Every suit came back as requested except for one. The only suit to come back pleated was the groom's. There were some options. The tailor could take the pleats out, which meant he/she would need to take the pants apart, thread by thread, seam by seam, for $65. Or get a different suit.

I did not like the idea of wearing pants that were going to be completely disassembled. I worried about this as much as Johnny 5. How could the pants ever possibly be what they once were, nice looking pants? So, after much deliberation, and multiple trips to the dressing room, which anyone who knows me knows how I feel about dressing rooms.

I'd rather be in a port-o-potty deciding if I should risk getting some sort of bacterial/viral infection by taking a seat than go into a stupid dressing

room to try on clothes.

I finally decided on a different suit of a similar color, but with a stripe. Oh well.

Movie Etiquette

After years of being irked, in the words of Howard Beale embodied by Peter Finch, "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore."

It is time that I deliver the 9 Movie Theater Commandments. I have seen hundreds, most likely closing in on a thousand films in theaters all over the country. From Reno, Nevada to Hilton Head, South Carolina. From New York, New York to Boise, Idaho. I have seen films in the large chain multiplexes to small art house cinemas. I like to think that besides seeing the films and learning something or other about the human condition I have also learned and mastered what it takes to enjoy and allow others to enjoy a film on the big screen. So without further ado, I present the 9 Movie Theater Commandments.

9. Please save the make out sessions for the car or a hotel. I do not need to hear two people sucking face while I'm trying to focus on the complicated plot of Inception. Yeah, it was funny on Seinfeld during Schindler's List, but that was a sitcom. In real life, stay in the parking lot and save twenty bucks.

8. I was in a sold out showing for Dinner for Schmucks and there was actually someone complaining to theater staff that her and her friend's seats were stolen. Saving seats is not illegal at the movies. It is a fact of life. But to avoid an incident like the one involving the schmucks, clarity is the best quality. Leave at least one friend to stand guard over the seats. Items of clothing are best used when distributed equally and visibly over the seats in question. And never respond to "Are these seats taken?" with something like, "Haha, uh huh. They are. Next time try working on your punctuality, movie geek." They might have really big friends who steal your friends' seats.

7. No throwing food. In the dark, and while sitting down, that big headed dork in front of you could be a Jersey Shore castaway tweaking on PCP. And those pieces of popcorn you threw at him could resemble napkins thrown up into the fan at D'Jais and then he starts fist pumping and hits you and ten other people and ends up ruining the movie for everyone.

6. If you have an annoying laugh please try to control yourself. If you don't know that you have an annoying laugh, chances are none of your friends want to sit next to you during a comedy, and the one who gets stuck next to you never ends up enjoying the movie. So please, do all of the movie watching public a service and save the comedies for movie nights at home.

5. I don't care what ethnicity a person is because this is not directed at any one race. I have seen people of all races and creeds who are guilty of this. With that said, stop asking questions or making suggestions to the characters on the screen. They cannot hear you and will never answer you. The only thing your questioning and suggesting does is annoy the hell out of the people in the theater and make you look and sound like an ignoramus. And if you are one of these people, an ignoramus is an idiot.

4. Pee before the film starts. If you need to go, I'm only letting you by twice; once to go and once to come back. Any more than that and I just might push you over the row in front of me.

3. Don't put your bad parenting skills on display by bringing your seven and eight year olds to see Predators. You're a horrible parent, and possibly a horrible person, and you are keeping the door to your kid growing up and becoming a mass murderer that much more ajar than it probably already is. Save yourself and society by checking out Toy Story 3 instead.

2. Nothing rips me out of a movie trance more than a damn text message or ringtone. How can you not realize that everyone within earshot and eyeshot wants to tear that phone out of your dead, rigor mortis-ed hand (they've all killed you) and shove it "where the sun don't shine." Silence is golden and darkness is preferred.

1. Babies. Everywhere else, cute as can be. In a darkened movie theater, a crying baby makes baby punchers out of nuns. Get a babysitter. Call your mom. Leave a bottle in the crib. Roll down the car windows. Give the bum on the corner a fifth of Jack and tell him you'll be back a little later. I don't care. Just don't bring the infant into the movie theater. It shows a complete lack of class, respect, upbringing, couth, caring, parenting, money, responsibility, sense; you name it.

Incoming Nuptials

Check out our Wedding Website. It's taken up my blogging time, but it has been well worth it. Below there are two pages from our site cut and pasted to the blog.

Weddingwire.com/warrenandalyssa

Wedding website 2 - weddingwire.com/warrenandalyssa

1. How do I pronounce the groom's last name? I'm glad you asked this question. I have been dealing with this problem my entire life and I continue to fight the good fight. My last name is Heede. You pronounce the last E. So phonetically speaking, it is Heedy or Heedee or He Dee. 2. What is the bride's first name? a) Alice b) Alyssa c) Alicia d) Beth If you answered b) Alyssa, you are right. Any other answer gets you dis-invited. 3. Why Pennsylvania? Because Skytop is a castle and I consider myself a prince and Alyssa is my little princess and that is what princes and princesses do. They get married in castles. 4. What is the groom's shoe size? Normally, I wear size 13 shoes. Nike runs a little large, so I wear 12 in Nike. Flip flops, boat shoes, and penny loafers all vary so I like to try them on. 5. Why is the groom so much taller than the bride? If I were closer to her height we would have to have a step stool in every room to reach the hard to reach places. Personally, I find step stools to be a waste of money. That's why I grew so tall. 6. What makes Alyssa so darn beautiful? Well, just like the old saying goes little girls are made of "sugar and spice and everything nice." Alyssa is made up of all of that plus a few secret ingredients that I'm not exactly at liberty to discuss. Alyssa would kill me. Plus, I don't know her little secret. She doesn't tell me everything. My theory is that she found the fountain of youth because she still gets IDed everywhere we go and complete strangers think she's fresh out of high school. But that's just a theory. 7. Why isn't Peanut in the wedding party? Peanut is an attention junky. She craves the spotlight and needs everyone's eyes on her. Since Alyssa and I want most of the attention at our wedding on us, with an 80/20 split favoring Alyssa, that leaves no attention for Peanut. She would never be okay with that. Peanut would undoubtedly make some sort of scene and have to be escorted from the premises by Skytop police. Since we plan on avoiding all of this drama, Peanut is not even invited. Sorry Nut. 8. Why do I go to the movies so often? Alyssa is a cinephile. I need to go to the movies in order to keep the relationship going. There is nothing I can do to curb Alyssa's love of film. I find her love and knowledge of movies to be quite alluring. 9. What is Rambo's first name? a) Ken b) Frank c) John d) Herbert The answer is c) John. If you answered this question wrong, you are not a true patriot. You need to stand up and say the Pledge of Allegiance and hum The Star Spangled Banner. Afterwards, you will be allowed to rejoin the wedding guests. 10. How was I able to land such a catch as Alyssa? Luck and timing and the stars aligned, I told a great joke and my hair looked really good that day, my clothes were freshly pressed and the odor eaters were working overtime. Besides all of that, Peanut didn't growl at me, I remembered the Axe, I brushed my teeth three times that day, there was plenty of change in my pockets, my political views were quite moderate at the time, and the sun was shining too. I'm sure some or all or none of the above had something to do with it; haven't really figured it out yet.

Wedding Website - weddingwire.com/warrenandalyssa

Our story begins one stormy lightning-filled night when Alyssa tried to set me up on a blind date with one of her friends. I didn't actually believe this to be the case and really thought she just wanted to see me. Turns out, I was absolutely wrong. She was trying to set me up with a friend. I showed up to Maxwell's where Alyssa was chilling and gallivanting with her friends. She tried to get me to talk to her friend and I was caught completely off guard because I thought her text to me about wanting me to meet her "friend" was code. I humored Alyssa with this "blindsiding" date for a while, but sadly, I was more interested in Alyssa. Sadly for her friend that is :-)

So I walked Alyssa home that night and we laughed and smiled and got drenched in the rain. Until we got into a taxi that is; unfortunately, that sped up the walk home significantly. Alyssa still regrets getting into that taxi because she was enthralled with my life story.

That was the start of something beautiful and fuzzy. Next up on the holiday party list was Halloween. I was in a bit of a jam because I didn't have a costume picked out. Alyssa had been preparing for this holiday for weeks. She was dead set on winning the costume contest at Onieal's. She was stunningly dressed as Kat Von D. I didn't have the slightest clue as to who that was. Some tattooed girl on the TLC channel. Why would I know that? Anyway, back to my tale.

Thankfully my mother, the sweetest lady ever, (tied with Alyssa's mom) decided she would help me out with my costume. With only a mere two hours until I needed a costume I was in dire straits. Finally, I had a brainstorm. Justin Timberlake from his infamous SNL music video, "____ in a Box". Now, being tied for sweetest lady in the world, my mom would never willingly participate in creating such a distasteful get up. She needed to be tricked. So I tricked her. I had her wrap the box and I did the rest myself.

To make a long story short, my mom was disgusted by what the costume turned out to be. Alyssa found it to be hilarious. And to top it all off, I won first prize at Onieal's and took home a gift certificate that served to pay for one of our first official dates. Thanks mom.

It was an unforgettable Halloween. The first of many.

Timber : More than a Dog

Losing a pet is never easy. Especially when that pet has been a member of the family for a decade. Timber started out as a dog Leanne and Mom impulsively bought when Dad was away on a fishing trip with Connor and Ryan and I was off at college. Dad was not pleased, to say the least, when he arrived home to see a white German shepherd standing on the couch filling up the living room picture window. He always joked that on seeing Timber when he drove into the driveway, he made the comment, "there's my boat." He went on to get a boat, but with mom and Leanne's purchase, he gained a friend. Leanne's ongoing complaint of Timber was that he was her dog but he liked Dad better than her. With Leanne being away at college for 4 years and Mom never very appreciative about the hair Timber left all over everything he came in contact with, Timber, perhaps instinctively, gravitated toward Dad. They kept the same hours, with Dad waking up before the ass crack of dawn and Timber there with him when he went out to get the paper. Dad also had the tendency to give Timber his leftovers. So of course the dog made the right choice.

Anyway, it is with a heavy heart, but one filled with fond memories, that I make a top ten list of moments shared with Timber, our family dog. (Family members were consulted for their thoughts)

10. The first time I met Timber. I came home from college for a long weekend and in the family room I waited for Timber to come in. When he did, he was a wild man on crack in the body of a dog. He ran so many laps around the room that not only was I dizzy from watching him, I was also exhausted. I have never, til this day, seen a dog with more energy.

9. If Timber was a human, he would have made a fantastic landscaper. In the second half of his life, Timber was so attached to Dad that he had to be outside if Dad was outside. And when Dad mowed the lawn, Timber followed him. Right behind him. When Dad reached the end of the yard and turned around, Timber did the same. He kept pace with Dad for the entire mowing session.

8. Timber kissing a coyote. Amazing things happen on good old Amaryllis Ave. One being that a coyote was roaming the street for a day. The coyote was in our backyard and Timber wanted to get outside to say hi. When he was mistakenly let out, the coyote jumped the fence, only to turn and attempt to stare Timber down. Timber, never one to be bashful, ran up to the fence and got nose to nose with the coyote. It was like he was meeting a long lost relative.

7. Timber, as scary and intimidating as he appeared when he was barking like a rabid mutt on the other side of the living room picture window, was a sweet heart and anxiety stricken. Much like babies have security blankets, Timber had his security bowl. Whenever he was nervous about a visitor, his bowl would be in his mouth. And nothing was funnier than Timber trying to be all intimidating by barking while holding the bowl in his mouth.

6. Timber had a nervous bladder. When he was young, he would lose control and pee whenever I would come home. He did this for a number of people. Mostly men. However, throughout his life, Timber held on to this tradition with Aunt Nancy. Even though this habit stopped for me and mostly everyone else, Aunt Nancy still tickled his sphincter muscle because he peed to years each time she came over. So much so that when she came in she would have to run straight to the back door and let him out.

5. Timber destroyed two of his cages. He loved his freedom. More than (insert racial joke). He loved his freedom so much that he figured out a way to break out of his second cage. When we tried to outsmart him with bungee cords, he outsmarted us and broke out with his revenge being pouring Liquid Tide all over the family room. Finally, we resorted to pad locking his cage. This only resulted in him pushing the bottom tray out of the cage which allowed him to walk around the house with the cage on his back. Eventually we gave up on locking him up.

4. Timber and I used to play ball in the backyard when he was younger. He would not stop running after the ball until I gave up or until I felt sorry for him because he was on the verge of throwing up. Anyway, on one such occasion of playing ball, Timber, somehow, stumbled upon a rabbit hole. Only because he couldn't catch the stupid ball and was pouncing all around the entrance of the rabbit hole while struggling to get it in his mouth. One baby bolted out of the nest. It got Timber's attention. The second little bunny wasn't as lucky. Timber just happened to be in the right place at the right time. He caught the little guy in his mouth. And it started screaming in bunny-speak. I freaked out. I tried to pry his mouth open to no avail. I yelled at him with no result. He ran up onto the deck and wanted to go inside while he had this creature in his mouth. I said, "No! Not until you get that out of your mouth!" He understood exactly what I said. So, he swallowed the little bunny whole. I was scarred for life (more like a week) and he was allowed in the house.

3. As a puppy, Timber got into a lot of trouble. He once stole a bottle of Wesson Oil from the kitchen and spilled it in the family room. Then, he thought it tasted so good that he ate the portion of the carpet that was soaked in Wesson. We covered that spot with a chair until we got new carpeting.

2. Leanne scared the poop out of him. Arriving home from a Bar Mitzvah with a crazy sombrero, Leanne ran into the family room. Timber was so frightened that he retreated backwards until he backed into Connor where he proceeded to poop. On Connor. I think he just used to sombrero as an excuse to poop on Connor. He always loved to mess with Connor.

1. Timber loved us. As rough as we played with him he knew his limitations. He would play extremely rough with us. No matter who was playing. But, each time he would go to bite our arms or legs, he would make like he was all ferocious and rabid, but it would be the most gentle bite ever. His teeth would be primed for the biting except he wouldn't bite. It felt more like he was gumming us. And then he would lick our arm or leg and then our faces. We could terrorize him and he would take it. He would lick us, kiss us, jump up on us, and that was it. He knew he was the stronger one in the fight, but he never tried to win the fight. He cared for all of us too much. He loved us so much. He knew when we were sick, or sad. He would be sad whenever any of us was leaving for an extended period of time. But he was never happier when we came home. If I could have one wish right now, it would be that when we get home from vacation, I'd get to see my doggy happy one more time.

MacGruber

If you are in the mood for the best male buttocks and hairy man belly button love scenes ever, go see MacGruber. Is it stupid? Yes. Is it inane? Yes. Childish, moronic, and stupid? Yes to all three. And I intentionally have put stupid twice.

But, it is funny. On SNL, "MacGruber" is a one and a half note joke with the exact same punchline every time. The latest installments have built on each previous minute sketch to add to the funny, but there really aren't any surprises.

MacGruber the movie is chock full of surprises, cameos, and "that just went a little too far" moments. But they all miraculously work. It funny just to hear a character previously forbidden to utter any four letter words, let all the curse words available fly out in unexpected ways.

I mean, Val Kilmer's evil mastermind is named Cunth for Pete's sake. (Hey, Pete, how is San Fran treating you?)

If you are in the mood for a stupid R-rated comedy there's only one man to call. MacGruber!


Heed the Dub

Day ???

It's me again. I do not know how long it has been since my last post on this running thing. I am too exhausted to check the date of the "Day 2" post. Obviously, it has been a while. Sorry.

Here is the update. I was only one half mile behind the leader last week, I think. That was after I had only run about four miles for this dang competition. But the tide has run red with nipple burn. Unbeknownst to me, I was dealing with legit, real deal, "I run at 5am", pro-am 5k competitors.

It was not like I was bragging and boasting, and shouting from the flagpole or over the P.A. system during the morning announcements about my four miles. I wasn't. Seriously. If anything I was downplaying my early boost in the ratings, slightly suspicious of what my opponents were capable of. I was correct to be wary.

As of this morning I was at a meager 11 miles and in third place. There was absolutely no sign of the women in front of me because they have exponentially increased their paces. Over one weekend, one runner, let's call her Sleeprunner, ran like nine miles to take the lead. Myself and Runner 2, let's call her Trackstar, whose idea it was to start this God forsaken, "all for the fun of it", six month marathon, were stunned. But then the next day, Trackstar chalks up four miles for herself and I am left holding the plastic, bronze medal that everyone receives even if they don't finish the race.

I was demoralized and downtrodden to say the least. What was I to do? But a small spark went off in my belly after watching Jack Bauer disembowel a Russian assassin Monday night. That spark grew to a flickering little flame when Jack agreed to accept the responsibility of guarding The Island and drank Jacob's Kool-Aid. And Wednesday when I saw that Sleeprunner was almost at twice my total and Trackstar was only a few behind her, I decided enough was enough.

Then Alys took the wrong train Wednesday and wound up in Glen Rock. She needed a ride back to Nutley. She had crossed the county line over to the Bergen side and was out of her parents' jurisdiction. I was needed and unable to turn my little flickering flame in a fire.

Thursday. Enough was enough. Got on the road and my feet carried me all the way to good ol' River Dell High School. Two miles each way! I was not done. Got back and ran another mile around the neighborhood. Then to vary things a bit, I did a half mile shuffle stepping. The bonfire was a' burning!
Talk about in the zone! I did another half mile and called it a day.

Saving up a little some'in some'in for tomorrow.

Heed the Dub

Iron Man 2

Go see it. It is quite a ride.

Only one complaint: The final showdown at the end with Mickey Rourke's Whiplash ended a little abruptly. I would've liked to see more.


Heed the Dub

House Hunting with a Crazy Critter

Alys and I were house hunting because for some reason we had yet to find a place to call home. We entered a large three bedroom colonial somewhere that afforded a large yard near a wooded area. The tour of the house was going fine. We seemed to be liking it and each room we entered was better than the last. It wasn't until we walked out the backdoor onto a patio that overlooked the verdant lawn and the adjacent wilderness that this house hunt took a turn for the worse.

The small varmint gave no hint of malice at first. He was milling around on the edge of the trees, scrounging the grass for any bits of grub. No ill will at all. Alys and I were far enough away to just point and casually comment on the odor this little beastie would leave behind him, but then the innocuous creature turned and stared. For the briefest of moments I could feel his eyes upon me and I swear I saw him lick his lips. All conversation ceased and then silence. There was a faint sense of a breeze but the leaves remained still and birds no longer chirped.

A stick cracked somewhere off in the woods.

As if it was a starter's pistol, the skunk made a bee line skampering dash in our direction. We snapped out of our momentary freeze frame and turned towards the backdoor. The sound of this ferocious little gargoyle was a mix of a child suffering an asthma attack and a grizzly bear. Quite jarring. I slammed the sliding door as the mad skunk crashed into the glass. Thankfully it held. We shared another eye to eye, man to monster, stare. Then it looked to its left and I swear it smiled.

It took off running and suddenly, it occurred to me that this emmin-effer was going for the garage. The realtor had disappeared conveniently enough, and Alys and I bolted to the door that led to the garage. She hit the button for the door to close as I stood watch. When it finally shut we stood there in silence, questioning each other if this was really happening. A false sense of safety overcame us and we let ourselves relax for about three seconds. Then, there was a scratching noise in the far side of the two car garage immediately followed by a mammalian hiss. I was close to the four door sedan so I jumped in. Alys swung around to the other side of the door leading inside and closed it just enough so that she could still peek out.

The car was hot and leather. I peered out the window, looking out onto the area from which the sound came. I saw nothing. The car had been backed into the spot so through the windshield I could see Alys. She began to shout in a whisper something that I couldn't quite make out. But it wasn't long before I knew what she was trying to tell me. The skunk (don't ask me how) had opened the trunk to the car. I realized this when I heard the little bugger clawing its way through the backseat. As its head popped through the center of the leather backseat, I let out a shriek and stomped on it, sending it flying back into the trunk. I exited the car and met Alys at the door, but the skunk was right behind. It had its best opportunity to land its rabid claws into my legs and its bloodthirsty teeth into my buttocks, but it went for the spray attack.

One of my dream's parameters for skunk attacks was that a spray assault could only be carried out by being immobile. The skunk had to stop to shoot its stench. And his aim wasn't all that accurate. We narrowly escaped by turning the corner into the kitchen, though now, we were in an unfamiliar house that we had only once toured with a rabid skunk deadset on our extinction.

TO BE CONTINUED...


Heed the Dub

Day 2

Ouch. Succeeded in running another mile and a half but at what cost. So to lift my spirits, here is an oldie but a goody.



How do you fit a 500 lbs. man into a size three dress?

Here is a hint.

Take the F out of fat.
And take the F out of weigh.

You are absolutely right. There is no F in weigh.

Get it?


Giggle a little while I ice myself.


Heed the Dub

Day 1

The challenge: Accumulate as many miles as possible running on whatever surface is available. Three teachers have accepted this challenge, all of whom will remain nameless, but I'll give you three guesses to figure out one participant.

A chart has been posted that records miles accumulated in total by all those involved. I joined the competition on Friday and I am already losing. Big time. I did nothing over the weekend, exercise-wise, but it was not my fault. I will accept the blame, however. Walking in today I saw that I, of course, was still at zero, but, more importantly, that my competitors racked up four and two miles respectively. And they are both women. Not that this makes any difference. Except for the fact that I am losing to girls. They mean business. Big time.

I prepared myself for such an arduous challenge the best way I knew how. I exercised a total of zero times over the past six months. For all intents and purposes, I planned on making this challenge every thing it could be and more. Of course I didn't find out about this running accumulation thunderdome game of death until this past Friday, but I knew my lack of physical preparation would come in handy eventually. I have always believed that a man could run a marathon on sheer will and gritty determination, which still could be true, but that man is not me.

Not even close.

I chalked up one and a half miles today on feet that have not seen or heard from my sneakers in months. They haven't called or emailed my feet in the longest time. And my feet are so dang stubborn that they aren't willing to be the ones to make the first move. But through some back channels and some mutual acquaintances, they reconnected. It wasn't easy going until about a quarter mile in but once The Black Eyed Peas Now Generation came one the good ole Zune, they were friends again.

Afterwards, it felt like my calves exploded in my legs. Stairs were now daunting. My hamstrings taunted me with cramps and my lower back spasmed out. And I'm sure my back just wanted some attention because it did very little of anything during the run.

But, tomorrow I get to shade in one and a half boxes. I'm sure my two fellow runners will have more boxes to shade in as well. Putting even more space between us, but I have joined the class of runners once again.

It feels good to be back.


Heed the Dub

Obstacle Course

For students, the passing time between classes is a time to get in some quality time with friends, catching up on old times because it has been 3 periods since they've seen each other. Or it's squeezing in a quick make-out session with a boyfriend or girlfriend because Lord knows this is the only place (the crowded second floor hallway) where the two of them can get any privacy and be alone. Or, if it's the Napoleon Dynamite of the school, it's a mad dash to the cafeteria to be the first to get some tots, scarf them down, and then continue to stare at the wall while his hand unconsciously doodles drawings of Castle Grayskull (update to Pokimon).

It is different for teachers.

When that bell rings and a teacher is actually afforded another class in the same classroom, all is right with the world.

When that bell rings and said teacher needs to vacate the classroom in order to go to another classroom, or even worse, go to the cafeteria for duty (high school students still laugh at this word, duty) it's like the American Gladiator Gauntlet Challenge. And there is a time limit.

Students do not move out of the way for teachers anymore. It is unheard of to get out of a teacher's way. Crowds of students congregate in hordes as if their sole purpose in their adolescent lives is to serve as an obstacle in the gauntlet. Students have the innate ability to sense a teacher on their tail and make a point to hit the brakes abruptly to suck some face in the middle of the hallway. And, if a teacher points out to a few star crossed students that the middle of the senior staircase isn't really the appropriate place to become intimate, how dare that teacher invade their privacy and get all up in their bid-niss.

The backpack gangs are always looking to pull off teacher hit and runs. These are the good students moving faster than they ever do in phys ed, whose backpacks are twice their sizes, and who, I swear, load them with bricks. They are professional hallway Froggers, flying by teachers at breakneck paces, dodging, weaving, and ducking in the smallest gaps possible, but somehow manage to whack at least two educators with each pass. They blindside adults without missing a step. It is an amazing feat to witness.

That's it. Just some observational awareness.

Heed the Dub

A Behanding in Spokane

Christopher Walken is hilarious. He started his career out knee deep in dramatic rolls, but now seems to have made a complete cross over to strictly comedic performances. At first his choices seemed to rely heavily on his unique voice tone and his delivery of lines, but seeing him live on Broadway has convinced me that his weird inflection choices are all conscious decisions. Whether he has just decided to embrace the laughs he receives from how he sounds, or if he has consciously known all these years how funny he can make the most mundane lines sound does not even matter. He is eff-in deliriously funny.

A Behanding in Spokane is a dark dark comedy of the absurd. A man who lost his hand in a horrible accident 47 years ago has been looking for his stolen appendage his whole life. A young couple has an aboriginal hand that they are dying to pawn off. And a hotel receptionist has unresolved issues with his job title and a gibbon from his past. Absolutely absurd.

Joining Walken onstage for this merry-go-round of absurdity is Sam Rockwell, Anthony Mackie and Zoe Kazan. Rockwell and Walken both seem to relish in how outlandish the plot is and bounce off each other, seemingly riffing back and forth, trying to steer the audience around the next unseen curve.

No part has ever fit Walken so well besides, maybe, his character in Pulp Fiction.

This play is rife with foul language, racial slurs, homophobia, grotesque props (amputated hands), and more Walken-isms than you can count. If none of this is too offensive for you, you will have a laugh-a-second good time.


Heed the Dub

Wedding Dream

This was a pretty weird dream. Let me set the scene. For some reason, unbeknown-st to me, the date of the blessed nuptials was moved up to this summer.

It was the day of the union, the morning more specifically. I was being told to get ready and I was all confused. I didn't understand first and foremost why the date had been moved up. I was most concerned about whether or not the bride-to-be was aware of the date change as well. I didn't want to be getting into my monkey suit if the bride wasn't getting all dolled up too.

I remember saying, "Does she even know about this??? She better be getting dressed too because I don't want to be doing this all for nothing!"

I couldn't comprehend why it was nine in the morning and I was getting suited up for a wedding that started at five. It was boggling my dream mind. It seemed so stupid. I was asking about the wedding coordinator and if this date change was her doing or some other shadowy conspirator. There was no explanation to be had even though I was demanding answers.

But there was one concern that I had that trumped all others in the dream. Nothing, not Eydie, the wedding coordinator, who was nowhere to be found, not the bride's awareness of the change in date, and not even me getting my suit on at nine in the morning for a five o'clock ceremony, bothered me more than the fact that I had forgotten something...

my golf clubs!

I was dead set on playing golf that morning, but because of the sudden change with the wedding date, the clubs were forgotten. AHHH!!!


Heed the Dub