my, that's savage

Happy (Somewhat Sad) Valley

2008-05-18T16:32:00.004-04:00

STATE COLLEGE, Pa. — Yes, that's a dateline.

I'm in Marisa's apartment, introducing her to Radiohead's "In Rainbows" and relaxing after graduation day and night at The Pennsylvania State University.

State College is Corvallis or Boone on HGH. Looking out my sister's third-floor window, one could almost mistake the view for that of a bigger, more bustling city. And in many ways it is. An island metropolis in a sea of farm land.

I like it here. I'm glad I finally was able to make the trip up, just in time to see Missy pull out of here with three degrees — a double-major and a minor — after four years of work. Show-off.

I only regret not visiting here earlier. One of my bigger regrets going actually. It's taken me far too long to meet her comrades (a very hip crew) and actually see the place that's been such of a big part of her young life. No reason to dwell though — but it's something I certainly plan to change in the coming years, wherever either of us end up.

Jack and Mike left this afternoon. I'll see Jack in another couple weeks, when she visits some friends in Florida. So that goodbye wasn't too tough. Not as tough as Tristan and Matt's.

Missy and I walked over to her friends' house, and I was front-row center for a pair of farewells. Tristan and Matt have lived together for four years, and it was like watching an end of an era unfold before my eyes. An artsy gal dropped by and handed off some ceramic bowls to Tristan. Then, on the verge of tears, she left the room with "have a great life, guys."

Tough. But hey, Happy Valley will be happy soon again. I'm looking forward to hanging with Marisa the next two days and nights, climbing Mount Nittany tomorrow, eating the world's best ice cream (so I'm told) and finding a shirt with Joe Paterno's face on it.

Nealon made it so.

2008-05-13T23:41:00.002-04:00

I was called out on a certain blog to rip this survey a new one. So let it be written, so let it be done.

Four jobs I've had:
1. Baseball field maintenance monkey
2. Red Robin douche
3. Car wash attendant
4. Sports editor

Four movies I've watched more than once:
1. The Big Lebowski
2. Rocky I-VI
3. Final Shot: The Hank Gathers Story
4. Uncle Buck

Four places I've lived:
1. California
2. North Carolina
3. Oregon
4. Florida

Four places I've been:
1. Jerusalem
2. Auschwitz
3. Joplin, Mo.
4. EPCOT

Four TV shows I watch:
1. Playing Lessons From the Pros
2. Scrubs
3. The Newshour with Jim Lehrer
4. Meet the Press

Four people who email me regularly (doesn’t include blogging comments):
1. Kappa
2. Travelocity
3. Facebook
4. MySpace

Four of my favorite foods:
1. Grilled Cheese Sandwiches
2. In-N-Out Burgers
3. Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream
4. Other healthy things

Four places I would like to visit:
1. Belgrade
2. Augusta
3. Cooperstown
4. Morocco

Four things I'm looking forward to in the coming year:
1. My sister's graduation
2. Oregon and the Simpson, Kinney and Johnson weddings
3. Breaking 80 on a consistent basis
4. A Democrat in office

Four people I've tagged (to do this, too):
1. Noe
2. Kappa
3. Someone in Sanford (Hi!)
4. AndySnacks

There you have it. The chain lives on!

Find me, Ben Bailey

2008-05-12T18:26:00.002-04:00

If I'm ever in Manhattan, I won't hail a cab unless it's a minivan cab.

This should exponentially increase my chances of being on "Cash Cab."

And yes, I'll take the video bonus question, Ben.

Phew. For a minute there, I lost myself.

2008-05-07T23:47:00.003-04:00

Sarah and I visited with Radiohead last night in Tampa.

Surrounded by young people (!) and the faint odor of times past, the greatest band on the planet came through two-plus hours of ROCK.

It was as if Thom and the boys emailed me the night before asking for a setlist. All day leading up to the show, "The National Anthem" was blaring in my head, and after dabbling in some new stuff, they played the shit out of it. They immediately followed with "Idioteque," and after I woke up out of my joy-coma, they proceeded to play two encores. Overall, a fantastic show. One of the best big-arena shows I've ever been to, if not the best.

Riding the high of Brit-love, I hit the links today for the first round of Highlands Ridge's summer golf league. Along with co-worker Mandy, team journalism rocked the shit out of the front nine and easily defeated the duo of Adam and London. I even eagled the ninth to roll in with a 38.

Needless to say, the last 24 hours have been pretty damn solid.

A poem Sarah wrote about Portland

2008-05-01T18:59:00.001-04:00

slim like scallions, the newly minted natives are smoking the center, gauging

the thrust and mellow hum of the small pond pandering for big and bigger fish

having not so many minutes for suburbany hills and the tall tree patches that clash like

a pattern of marked-down carpet samples, they instead prefer to storm unnecessarily and

plot their hazy visions, peddling each parlor trick across damp sidewalks and soggy

weeklies, dragging their gigs efficiently over stretchy bridges basted with rain

pillaging a city is exhausting work and if they slept they'd be asleep by now

we just flew in from (some state here) and man are our arms tired

yet on they go! swimming with an equal mashing of stutter and champ they enunciate

every wet minute, pausing only to breathe, to stall and mix and shake out their calves

in time, a collection stands haltingly in a heap of several Stark and Grand seasons

kicking them aside, they could be ready to go west go east go

anywhere else and they might

on an accidental whim, they tuck inside one wild night's decision to scram –

goddamn let's do this - and soon their Focus is caulked and they're floating the

Columbia, sailing to Los Feliz or Minneapolis as a way to save their party

it's been too long, too small, too intimate

and yet a lovable place, they'll say, sheepishly admitting to dry and absent

friends yes we enjoyed our pale sickly shoulders, the moody gutters

cramped with leaves and a handful of chances for odd-flavored beer

Now that's talent, people!

Planting Trees

2008-04-26T18:32:00.002-04:00

I had the opportunity to attend a lecture by Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist Leonard Pitts today. He spoke at a church in Sebring after being invited by "Peace of Highlands County," a local group dedicated to world peace, racial harmony, etc.

It was a refreshing, inspiring and thought-provoking hour.

Pitts' talent as a columnist is indisputable. His level-headed commentary is such a rarity these days, in an era of endless "gotcha," demonizing, counterproductive banter. His lecture was no different.

Pitts touched on many topics, from race to poverty to politics and everything in between, but his main focus was changing the world for the better, one "tree" at a time. He shared a quote about an old man planting a tree whose shade he'd never enjoy, a metaphor for acts and deeds done in life that leave a legacy for the future. He said he rested in the shade of those who labored in the civil rights moment, for instance. He'd talk about an issue, talk about a solution and come back to "And so I'll plant a tree."

His main point was to do something, anything, to help improve someone else's situation. It's the best and only thing a single person can do.

I've been immersing myself in politics lately, listening to the relentless back-and-forth between Hillary, Obama and McCain. It was so nice to hear someone discuss major issues without being a pandering politician. For the first time in months, I listened to ideas that were expressed for their merit, not their electability.

Ask me to name the starting lineup from that team. Seriously.

2008-04-12T17:31:00.008-04:00

It took more than two weeks to arrive, but my Los Angeles Dodgers 1988 World Series Collector's Edition DVD set is here.

Seven discs (!) including all five Series games, games 4 and 7 of the NLCS and bonus features, including the trophy, MVP and rings presentations, a short film on Gibson's home run, another on Orel Hershiser's record 59-inning scoreless streak, locker room interviews and more.

In total, it's 17 hours and 50 minutes devoted to perhaps the most unlikely World Series champion ever, the 1988 Los Angeles Dodgers. (Fuck you, 1969 Mets)

I was six, but I still remember it vividly. Watching the NLCS late into night, my elbows sore from laying on our wood floor, head-in-hand, four feet from the TV. Gibson's home run is the stuff of legend, and although I don't specifically remember it, I do remember running around the house, screaming.

Greatest moment in Dodger history. Maybe LA sports history. Hell, LA history. No, make that all of history.

I wasn't a hard sell, but having my home team win the World Series when I was six forever endeared me to baseball. Over the next 20 years, I've been to opening day and I've been to Vero. I've been lucky enough to have dinner with Tommy Lasorda, and hear, face-to-barbecue-sauce-covered face, the legendary tales from the man himself. I've seen the Dodgers at home (don't get me started on Dodger Stadium) and on the road in Anaheim, Las Vegas, Atlanta and, later this month, Miami.

Twenty years after they won their last world championship (and playoff series, for that matter), I still have faith, and I'll probably have a bit more after I break in my new DVDs.

Hey! It's a sports blog now!

2008-04-07T16:11:00.003-04:00

The void had existed since I moved from California some 12 years ago.

Sure, a handful of times a year, I could fill it. But like so many addictions, no amount of binging on the intoxicating essence of Dodger baseball could quench my ever-deepening thirst.

Since moving outside the broadcasting scope of KCAL-Los Angeles, I was lucky to catch three, maybe four Dodger games per season, tops, on ESPN, WGN or TBS. The Dodgers haven't done much in the playoffs this century, so opportunities to watch my bums were, to me, on par with national holidays.

But then, this year, I finally did it.

Major League Baseball's been offering its MLB.tv service for a few seasons now, broadcasting every "out-of-market" MLB game live, on the internet. I dipped my toe in the water last year, going with the radio package — and listening to the games was a step forward in my fanboy progression — but this year I decided to go big and pony up for the video service.

And, as predictably as a late-season slide by the Dodgers, I love my decision. I can now watch every Dodger game in relative clarity (other than the ones against the Marlins, due to weaksauce territorial blackout restrictions) and every few games, get to hear the greatest announcer in the history of sport, Vin Scully.

And watch, I have.

I've caught every game this young season, giving me a front seat to what could be a historic year for the boys in blue. Young, farmed talent, players fans can get behind, and a stand-up manager (Joe Torre) have created the first sniff of expectations for the Dodgers since 1981, and I consider my subscription an investment in future bragging rights. In fact, I'll go ahead and timestamp a deep playoff run by 2010.

In other news for sports fans, Oregon State finally convinced someone to be its men's basketball coach today.

Craig Robinson, whose biggest claims to fame are 1) Former Ivy League player of the year 2) Two-year head coach at basketball power Brown and 3)Barack Obama's brother-in-law, barely has a winning record record and just two years of experience.

He's a no-name when most were expecting OSU AD Bob DeCarolis to hire a big one, and he's never coached (or recruited) the west coast.

Still, I understand the hire.

Robinson is an intellectual, with a Princeton diploma and an MBA. He's a stand-up cat who will do it right, and he'll graduate guys. Of course, the biggest worry outside of the athletic director/school president circle, however, has nothing to do with all that bullshit: Fans want to win, and that's something the once-feared Beavs haven't done in a while.

If coaching is a matter of outsmarting an opponent, I'll give Robinson the benefit of the doubt. If it's based on recruiting, well, Robinson instantly opens up our efforts on the east coast and his native Chicago, perhaps giving us opportunities at guys we'd never heard of. And having a newbie recruiting the left side won't exactly be detrimental to a team that has no credibility in any state that touches the Pacific to begin with.

This is what one his former players, all-Ivy League guard Damon Huffman, said about him (courtesy Brooks Hatch of G-T):

“There are definitely better days ahead” for the Beavers, he said. “We were in a similar situation. In my first three years we didn’t have a winning season. Last year we broke the school record for wins (19, in Robinson’s second year there), against the toughest schedule in school history.

“Obviously he expects you to work hard. But you have to put the work in on your own time, he’s not going to babysit you and hold your hand. He expects a lot out of his players, has the highest expectations for them.

I feel good about it, but not enough to timestamp anything about the Beavers.

Sometimes, I'd just rather be Woody Allen's neighbor

2008-04-05T01:15:00.003-04:00

I watched about six minutes of "Annie Hall" today, until I had to remove myself from the room.

Watching films based in big cities — NYC in particular — makes me lose focus of the plot and yearn for the big city. For culture. For hustle-bustle. For ... something. And with more than a year left in my commitment to my current employer, I can't do that to myself.

I'm not knocking Sebring. I knew what I was getting into by moving here, and, to be honest, I really like it here. It's a nice place with nice people, a nice job and a nice career move.

But sometimes, especially on Friday nights where going to the local redneck bar is the only option, I get bored with nice.

It's nights like this that I'd rather have a nice helping of grit.

Visitors, brah.

2008-03-31T22:04:00.006-04:00

Our house is quiet now.

Clarence occasionally screams, and the hum of the constantly running air conditioner blends with whatever's on VH1.

But last week, oh, last week was quite different. We had visitors: My parents, both sisters, Sarah's parents, Kurt and Jessica and two chihuahuas, to be exact. Ten folks, two dogs, a cat and a uromastyx = one big, happy family.

First a disclaimer: This post will in no way do justice to the fantastic time I had with everyone. I waited too long to post anything about it, and now I'm simply too removed from the pleasant feelings of familiar faces to give them their due.

But I'll try.

The first night, my mom kept asking me if I realized I lived in Florida.

My parents were well-equipped for the trip: They rented a Lincoln Towncar, the biggest boat-of-a-sedan perhaps ever created. Nobody would suspect they were from out of town in such a land yacht.

The Don spent his 50th here. He brought me an autographed Steve Sax baseball ('82 ROTY of the year, bitches!) and I gave him another bat (Garvey, Lopes, Cey, Russell) to add to his collection. We enjoyed a spring training game at the Indians facility, and welcomed Jack and Missy the following day with a another game at the Braves' home field.

Drinking beers in the bleachers with my sisters at a baseball game = tough to beat.

Sarah's parents arrived, and we all had a great day at the beach and at Disney World with the Cutsforths, traveling the world within the friendly confines of EPCOT. Where else can you find a British pub, a French pastry shop and a Mexican pyramid amid 1,000 souvenir shops?

Some random Disney observations: Space Mountain is faster than I remembered. There are not enough frozen banana stands. "It's a Small World" still sucks, as does "Peter Pan's Flying Adventure." Monorails are not utilized enough outside of theme parks. German food is delicious.

I love my family. You don't realize how much you miss them until they're around. I can't wait for May and Marisa's graduation.

This ...

2008-03-29T21:40:00.001-04:00

Is Awesome. Well done, boys.

I'm sure glad a few snowbirds are still in town

2008-03-28T00:49:00.005-04:00

So I'm driving into town to cover a baseball game today when I see a low-flying helicopter making a quick descent.

I live nowhere near an airport, so this was a rather curious sight.

As I moved up the road, the chopper appeared to be landing less than 500 feet ahead, right on the road. Cars are backed up in traffic, police lights are flashing, a crowd is gathered — and I have a camera in my passenger seat.

I'm on my way to shoot a baseball game, but I figured I'd try to play news guy and get a few shots of the action unfolding in our quiet town. I pulled around the traffic, behind a church that runs parallel to the road and parked my truck, scrambling to get the camera ready to shoot whatever's happening. I called our photographer, telling her I'd get what I can, but that she might want to rush down and get some usable shots.

Long story short, a bicyclist was hit by a car on a county road and was being life-flighted out, and though I was a few hundred feet away (the fireman watching the scene said to me: "You don't want to be any closer once that thing takes off") I got a few pics and felt pretty good about myself.

Then I got back into my car.

I stepped on the gas ... Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

In my haste, I'd pulled around the back of the church, and parked where the ground is basically loose sand. I'm stuck, and now, instead of getting a great news shot and exiting the scene to do my job, I look like an asshole who tried to get around traffic, and is now shooting a rooster-tail of sand into the air.

My tires are only digging deeper. The game's in the second inning. My breaking news moment is suddenly looking like it's going to be old news by the time I'm free.

Luckily, a random group of strangers came upon me in my time of need.

There was a young guy on a walk with his mom and an old man on an evening stroll with his wife. Without batting an eye, the guys are on the ground with me, digging in the sand, while grandma's in my truck, punching the gas. Another guy pulls up in a car and yells, "Hey guys, I'll go get my truck and pull you out!" Southern hospitality, indeed.

There happens to be a few planks of wood resting against the church, and, risking life and limb, grandpa's jamming the planks under my tires with me, telling his wife to punch it to get some traction.

A few hearty pushes later, and my truck is free.

I thank them again and again, offering them money, a drink, a ride into town — anything. They want nothing, accepting only my business card, which, on the back, has a coupon for two free weeks of newspaper delivery.

Luckily, during the struggle, our photographer arrived. Because the chopper had left, she snapped away in our direction, documenting the epic struggle between sand and machine.

I stopped my truck thinking I'd be the hero of the newsroom for being Johnny-on-the-spot on a breaking news story. I left the scene realizing I'd instead be known as the stupid Yankee who learned the hard way not to park in the sand. But I can't complain — I wasn't the poor guy on the stretcher.

I can't stop ...

2008-03-20T23:52:00.001-04:00

... playing this game.

Apple Shooter

A More Perfect Union

2008-03-19T02:42:00.003-04:00

It's been an exciting day.

My parents are here, all the way from the great Northwest, to visit for a week. They pulled up to Grass Avenue in a Lincoln Town Car, bearing gifts of framed poster and an autographed Steve Sax baseball. Sisters arrive Friday, in-laws on Saturday ... It's going to be great to have everyone in the house, especially when a few bottles of wine are emptied.

Speaking of, I decided something today: I'd like to drink more wine. Red wine. The good stuff. Just having a glass tonight was relaxing and almost euphoric, and though I'm still up at 3 a.m. typing this post, I can see the benefits of a nightly glass to usher myself into slumber.

But the real reason I'm up at 3 is because I just finished watching/reading Barack Obama's speech on race and the flap surrounding his pastor's anti-American comments, which have circled Youtube and the news networks. I'm tired, but I feel ... inspired ... to write something ... anything ...

The speech was spot on. Obama responded to what's essentially a soundbite controversy with 40 minutes of elegant and thought-provoking words. He didn't shy away or try to separate himself from the pastor, instead he explained what was at the root of the pastor's comments, not to justify them, but to explain why such comments, such feelings, still exist in society today.

What Obama did today was extraordinary. He didn't pander. He didn't squirm. He didn't attempt to pull out a few one-liners or demonize anyone.

He challenged us to think.

He crafted his speech not as a sermon, or in a newspaper terms, an editorial or column. Instead, he wrote a straight-news story: He laid out the facts, presented the choices, and said, "Go ahead, folks. Figure it out for yourself."

He didn't insult our intelligence, instead he asked us to (gasp!) use it.

Example:
"We have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle – as we did in the OJ trial – or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright’s sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she’s playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies. We can do that. But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we’ll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change."Obama's a great speaker, certainly. But this was less about a speech and more about an idea. The worst orator in the world could've said these words, and they'd still be powerful. I am deeply, deeply impressed by him today, more than I've been by any other politician I've ever listened to. I resisted the "Obamania" thus far, but he just might have earned my vote today (if I get the chance). Is there any doubt, after this speech, that Obama is tough enough to take on any political attack the right will throw at him? If he can speak with such candor and show such vision about as taboo an issue as race in America, is there any doubt he can rise above the usual politics when talking about other hot-button issues, as well?

Our dinner conversation tonight, before I watched this speech, touched on many issues surrounding Obama and Rev. Wright. My folks, Sarah and I talked about race, affirmative action, white guilt, black entitlement, class issues, etc. over burgers at Ruby Tuesday.

I look forward to watching this speech again. Only this time, with my parents sitting next to me.

Picture your Grandmother In Hell. Baking pies without an oven.

2008-03-03T21:34:00.005-05:00

OK, so I've not Snoop-Bloggy-Blogg-Featuring-Nate-Blogged for a while now.

Where to start?

I played golf today, shot 86 from the blues, despite some horrendous shots. I'm the proud owner of Radiohead tickets. I watched the entire Academy Awards show for the first time ever. I've grown fond of Canada Dry ginger ale. I've grown a beard.

I spent an hour yesterday watching George Carlin's new HBO comedy special on YouTube. Absolutely hilarious. Here's part one of seven:

Well worth your time, my friends (McCain!), believe me. (Click on the responses to watch parts 2-7)

Work is going well, despite the fact that the parent company is, like most newspaper outlets, going through some tough times. No more overtime and no extraneous expenses, which means I'll be sending myself to Poynter's upcoming sports journalism summit, which should be a great learning experience (I'll say hello to Plaschke for you) despite the fact that it'll cost me a small fortune. The big race is coming up in less than two weeks, and I'll be putting the final edits on our 56-page race tab tomorrow. It will be nice to get that albatross off the deck.

March signals the month of visitors, starting next week with Brandon (and perhaps a Hemson/Lyndsay tandem?) and continuing throughout the month with four Gjurg's and two Cutsforths. I can't wait to show my family around town and spend my dad's 50th (!) with him. We'll hit up Disney World, catch a ballgame or two, hike around Highlands Hammock, visit a caged 14-foot gator and revel in the Florida sun.

And I swear, I will document it all.

Right. Here.

Seven Florandom Observations

2008-02-13T17:35:00.003-05:00

1. Dirt is scarce. Soil, around here at least, seems more sand-based. I like it because it can give you an off-guard "I'm at the beach" feeling even if you're two hours from the coast. Also, for some strange reason, I like seeing sand on my tires.

2. Phantom cloud mountains. They'll sneak up on you when you least expect it. Probably easier to chop down with the edge of your hand, though.

3. The agriculture commissioner's name, which name appears on all gas-station pumps and most checkout counters, is Charles Bronson.

4. Irrigation in our neighborhood comes from odd-smelling well-water. If our (or our neighbor's) grass is being watered, there's a faint smell of rotten eggs. A which point, I scream "stinklers!"

5. People have absolutely no concept of fast lanes, or slow lanes, for that matter. On a three-lane highway, it's not uncommon to see three cars — one in each lane — all going the same speed. This is frustrating, especially when you're rushing to get to a high-school sporting event.

6. No dark beer.

7. The license plate game is nearly impossible to play. Florida has at least 50 different official state license plates. My favorite is "Save the Manatee."

Timestamp it, part deux

2008-02-05T23:46:00.000-05:00

Watching the Super Tuesday returns.

John McCain is speaking in Arizona, and who's standing behind him?

None other than Charlie Crist, governor of Florida.

Mark him down as McCain's running mate.

Losing coach looks at me and says, "Damn. Looks like a football score."

2008-02-05T21:29:00.000-05:00

Covered my first softball game of the season tonight: Avon Park 26, Sarasota-Booker 0.

You read right: A 26-0 SOFTBALL game. If it was a football game, it'd be a blowout.

Kind of tough to write a story about a game like this, but I'll try.

Timestamp it.

2008-01-30T18:01:00.001-05:00

I want to get this on the record.

I think the New York Giants will win Super Bowl XLII.

I don't know why, but I do.

Shutter

2008-01-18T17:33:00.000-05:00

I've been taking photos for the section.

If your wedding is sports-themed, I might be your guy.

All photos ©ABigCompanyThatWillSueYou

His favorite songwriter? You guessed it: Randy Newman.

2008-01-17T23:57:00.000-05:00

I marked "see Art Garfunkel" off my bucket list tonight.

He sang the hits, talked down to the crowd a bit, did two encores, read some poetry and mentioned the venue's name ... wait for it ... twice. A solid outing by a half-legend.

Not sure if he understood the demographic of Highlands County, however.

If we were making a list, Art was probably the 13th youngest person in the venue. Out of 2000.

This crowd was older than the line at the voting booth. And Arty got a little peeved when the sea of retirees before him produced a few emphysema coughs. He tried to be nice while kindly asking for the sound of silence (zing!) ... but he also mentioned the lobby. Nicely done.

Sarah, the sixth youngest person in the crowd, was immediately offended by the comment, though nobody else seemed to mind. They were all still wondering where Paul Simon was.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT: "This next song is an anti-war song. Nobody plays anti-war songs any more. War is really big right now."

HI, ME 5¢

2008-01-14T18:58:00.000-05:00

Returned today from a getaway to Gainesville ... Hemson country.

I combed the local cemeteries for Tom Petty's grave, wrestled Tim Tebow, enjoyed some delicious cold pizza, and otherwise kicked back Gator-style with Ben and Lyndsay.

Attention: Mustachioed. I've found your messiah. He wore a powder blue polo shirt and favored clear dixie cups of light beer.

Attention: Self. Whiskey sours? Really?

Ben made sure I saw the sights; The Swamp and the O-Dome — two places where national championships, I'm reminded repeatedly, are cultivated. When Ben and Lydsay make their way south, I'll be sure to show them the raceway and Firemen's Field ... and then pretend not to notice the inevitable pity in their eyes.

On the recruiting trail

2008-01-08T16:39:00.000-05:00

I was interviewing our offensive player of the year today (our paper has a thing called 'The All-Heartland Team,' which profiles a POY and runs down other standouts in each sport, each season), who happened to be a stud running back for one of our local schools.

I was talking to him about his college plans, asking him where he was planning to go.

"Anywhere they like to run the ball," he said. "Florida, Auburn, Oregon ..."

I stopped him dead in his tracks. "Dude, you need to go to Oregon State, man. Don't go to Oregon."

Not sure if it will change his mind, or even if the kid is D-I material (I can see him catching on somewhere), but I'll be damned if he goes to Oregon without hearing my opinion on the matter.

Mike Riley, you're welcome.

Indy Rocks!

2008-01-08T00:02:00.000-05:00

So I registered to vote in late November, when I got my official Florida drivers license.

Since my first exercise in democracy in 2000, I've never registered with a party, mainly because I think the two-party system is a joke. Also, as a journalist, I tend to live by the notion that aligning oneself with a party could allow people to question your neutrality — even if you are just covering sports.

Who knows, I thought, maybe I'll work in news some day (or run for office), so I better play it safe and keep bumper stickers off my truck, my signature off partisan petitions and my vote out of the primaries.

Then I moved to Florida. When I got my license, the DMV lady asked me what party I'd like to register with. "I'm an Indpendent," I replied.

I got my registration card a few weeks later, and, low and behold, I'm registered with the Independence Party of Florida.

Long story short, I called the election office today and asked them to change my status to "unaffiliated with a party," though because the elections books are officially closed as of Dec. 31, for the rest of time, when my future enemies look back at my voting record, I will officially have been a member of the Independent Party for a month.

Please vote for me anyway in 2036.

Huckabama

2008-01-06T02:19:00.000-05:00

Like everyone else who's been mentally ready to move on from the Bush regime since the first Wednesday of Nov. 2004, I've been giddy with anticipation for the political season and impending presidential election.

It fascinates me, the future of our country.

The recent Iowa caucuses have only fed this feeling, especially with the relative-upset victories of Barry Obama and Big Mike Huckabee (maybe it's the sports writer in me that appreciates the game actually having a level of unpredictability).

I read the following on a message board I frequent, posted by one of the more respected members of said board. It was a view I hadn't heard — or thought of, for that matter — which, to me is WHAT THIS SHIT IS ALL ABOUT.

It's about the possibility of Iowa's choices taking it past the conventions and onto the national ticket. I figured I'd post it here:

I think what would be most intriguing about a Huck-Obama match-up is that both represent parts of the party that the establishment expects votes from, but doesn't really want as a candidate. The Bush family represents the perfect GOP candidate: a faux-redneck who is really a wealthy elite with an Ivy League education and blue-blood connections. Huck is the opposite. He really is a redneck. For years, the Repubs have wanted the salt-of-the-earth vote for their blue blood candidates, and now a salt-of-the-earth guy has suddenly hijacked their party. I suspect it's making a lot of people nervous.

But the same is true of Obama, in a way. The Dems have come to simply expect the African American vote -- (I know for a fact that Kathleen Kennedy Towsend once told a black leader, "Who else are you going to vote for?" which shows how stupid she truly was) -- but they didn't exactly run to get in line to support someone like Jesse Jackson. His campaign, from most Democratic establishment types, got a nice pat on the head. Thanks for playing. Now run along and drum up support for us. But with Obama the Dems are actually looking at the possibility that an African American could be the top guy on the ticket. I suspect it's making a lot of people nervous on the Blue Team as well, regardless of what they say in public.
—— posted by 'Double Down'

Interesting take. More to come.

Beijing 2008!

2008-01-01T17:41:00.000-05:00

Can't wait!

Vegas

2007-12-24T14:10:00.000-05:00

I might be mistaken, but I believe the last time I was at McCarran International Airport was following the Insight Bowl (an OSU victory over Notre Dame, no less).

The memories came flooding back as I walked past the bar where Raju and I decided to drink a few cold ones pre-flight. Raju, in all his glory, joined me in a yard-long Budweiser, afterwhich his already pronounced limp, slurred speech and crazy eyes were in full effect. How he got on the flight home, I'll never know.

Ah, the glory days.

You know what? I am mistaken. I think I've been here a few times since then. But I like the way this story goes.

Also:

T-Minus

2007-12-23T01:25:00.001-05:00

I have a shit-ton of work to do tomorrow.

I should re-phrase: I need to do a shit-ton of work tomorrow in order to alleviate any stress from my four-day PacNW romp.

No problem.

My impending flight should make said work bearable, since I know that the light at the end of the tunnel is the dark, gloomy pseudo-sunlight of Oregon. Yes!

I'll be home the 24th-28th; ample opportunity to be with family, see some old chums, drink some good beer and explain 67 times why I moved to Florida, of all places. I'm really looking forward to all of it, and my mustache is ready for just about anything.

Find me.

Buy me a drink. Sing me a song. Take me as I come, 'cause I can't stay long.

Cold skull

2007-12-18T22:51:00.000-05:00

I shaved my head yesterday.

No reason, really, but it felt good to shed a few ounces up top.

Anyway, I walk into the office today, and a couple folks drop the obligatory "nice haircut" or "hey, soldier" on me.

Then, my boss walks by, looks at up me and quips, "You don't have a thing for a young Jodie Foster, do you?"

Solid.

I was going to title this post "Beaver withdrawls," but on second thought, I'll go with "East Coast Bias."

2007-10-06T18:11:00.001-04:00

College football is big here.

On my humble cable package alone, there are eight stations showing six games right now, including a fine, spirited contest between Hampton and Princeton.

Needless to say, I've got my eye on the MLB playoffs, though I'll admit, if I could watch the Oregon State-Arizona game right now (or listen to Mike Parker's sweet tenor inflection describe the ensuing action), I'd certainly be getting my fair share of Beaver.

Football.

Nation Trekker

2007-10-03T20:44:00.001-04:00

Wilsonville, Ore.

Centerville, Utah.

North Platte, Neb.

Webb City, Mo.

Macon, Georgia

... and finally, sunny Sebring, Fla.

Clocking in at 3,400 miles of asphalt and true grit, my harrowing journey across these United States ended Wednesday evening with touchdown in Sebring. I literally crossed city limits as a Queen double-play of "We Will Rock You/We are the Champions" blared from the stock moving-truck radio, while my weary, road-worn eyes scanned my new digs.

Say, I didn't notice that Circuit City when I came out for the interview. Oh, look — a Books-A-Million. Sarah will like that. Man, I'm definitely hitting that Red Lobster tomorrow night.

But back to the trip.

Podcasts helped. Tremendously. The "This American Life" and "Radio Lab" episodes I've purposefully not listened to over the past few months melted the miles away, and the occasional full-album listening (and passionate singing/drumming along with) between shows have made the gradual change in scenery somewhat bearable.

After 14 hours and 831 miles on the first day, I landed in Centerville, Utah (Salt Lake suburb) and met up with my long-lost buddy Jared, who graciously welcomed me into his home for the night, despite the fact that I haven't seen him for seven years. Chinese food and beers with he and his wife, some catching up, then on the road again.

I left Centerville via some of the nicest scenery on the trip, for about an hour at least. Then came the rolllllllling hills of Wyoming, which, for my moving truck's sake at least, gave way to the flatlands of Nebraska. 75 mph and loving it, I rolled into North Platte for an evening, stopping specifically at the hotel nearest food and drink ... and promptly passed out as soon as I got in my room.

After 11 more hours on the road, I stopped in Webb City, Mo. for two days for a visit with the Ogden family. Two hours after my 11 p.m. arrival, the big man rolls in, and we're off for poker, booze and mingling with his co-wokers. We finish second and third in the tournament, roll in, and, seeing as it takes a full day to cook a brisket, decide to wait out the grocery store's opening to buy the meat.

Marination ensued. Followed by sleep. All day.

I woke up to the smell of the smoked meat and more smoked meat. There were garlic cheese potatoes. Bread. A new two-liter of Coca-Cola.

Followed by more sleep.

The next day or so was spent mainly drinking the namesake drink, playing softball with the girls, and shooting cans with a Daisy rifle. It was the intermission of my journey, and really, the best part.

I headed out the next morning with a belly full of home-cooked goodness and a mind full of sports journalism knowledge and rolled through Kansas, Mississippi, Alabama Tennessee and to Georgia, where I rolled through Atlanta and called it a night at the Ramada Inn in Macon Georgia. I resisted the siren's call of the Waffle House next door and promptly passed out, waking the next day with just one more political border to cross: the Florida state line.

I hit the FLA a few hours into the day, and, mind you, having driven through the deep south already, was somewhat surprised to see the largest Confederate flag I'd ever laid my eyes on waving just off the highway, in all its ... err... glory?

Hours later, I reached Highway 27, Highlands County, Avon Park (home of Hal McRae) and finally, Sebring. I was home.

But not quite.

Final dispatch from the 219

2007-09-12T15:15:00.000-04:00

This will be the last post from my apartment, which is now an empty shell of its former self. Sitting on the floor, back uncomfortably rested against the baseboard heater, I'm reminded of my first day in this place, when it was empty expect for me and my computer ... and, like today, it was hot as fuck.

A 16-foot truck turned out to be the exact size Sarah and I needed. Pretty much filled to the brim, but with enough free space for everything to breathe comfortably ... or shift during transit and shatter.

I still have a few errands to run, namely chatting with Comcast, the power company and the post office, but then I'll be on the road, stopping in Wilsonville for an afternoon/early evening of sleep, then hitting road in the wee hours of the night. I'm actually getting excited for the trip, though I know that feeling will undoubtedly wear off before I cross the Oregon border (I'm looking at you, Baker City).

Anyway, there's no way we'd have gotten to this point without a lot of help, especially from Mr. Hammett and both sets of parents (Dan and Justine, Tom and Betsy, Ryan — take a bow), and I can't wait for reward them with free room, board and meals when they come visit.

And yes, I said "when."

So yeah, that's it from 97128. Nice town, nice people — a nice step.

I'll miss it, sure, but as of now, the road is my only home.

Man, I have a lot of shit

2007-09-09T23:05:00.000-04:00

Loading your possessions into french-fry boxes bound for the back of a UHaul has a funny way of making you question this whole capitalism thing. I love my things, of course, but I'll be a lot happier with they're all neatly stacked in my new Florida apartment. Or condo. Or house.

Speaking of Florida, that's where Sarah and Adam are going on their honeymoon. It was a lovely wedding with two lovely folks set in an Independence barn with stringy lights. A beautiful bride, a dancing toddler, a sort-of drunk Cutty and unadvertised open bar made for a great evening.

My take-home moment: It's just after the ceremony, when guests were filing into the adjacent barn for drinks, and the fire alarm goes off. Chef comes out with a dumb look on his face, staff are scrambling and Sunday-best-clad children have their fingers firmly pressed against their eardrums. A minute or two into the madness, I look over to the crowd and notice the groom, Mr. Adam (it's not hard, he's tall) calmly sipping a beer, having a chat and looking like the piercing wailing of the siren was music to his ears.

Great guy. And he's got a great lady. They're going to have average-sized children.

Take-home moments, honorable mention: Sarah dancing to "Footloose," meeting a truly savage Christian rock star and watching James Brown WORK HIS MAGIC.

OK. Enough blogging. Back to heavy lifting.

F L O R I D A

2007-09-06T16:19:00.001-04:00

The buzz on the Internets is true: I'm moving to Florida.

And, figuring a life-altering surroundings shift will spur some worthwhile reflection, I've decided to document my move, arrival and experiences in and around The Sunshine State here, on my once sort-of-thriving, but now completely-defunct blog.

This should last for all of about four posts.