The minute that the Olympics allowed professional players to participate in sports like hockey and basketball, everyone in this country was thrilled. It was especially spured on by the "Dream Team" in 1992 at the summer games in Barcelona. The United States basketball team ripped through the competition on their way to a gold medal. However, in the years since, the rest of the world has caught up while the United States has not progressed at all, or at least that is what it seems like. The United States basketball team got beat down in Greece in 2004, the United States (and Canadian) hockey team just got beat like a little bitch, and everyone is standing around pointing fingers. The US hockey team had 23 men on their team, 23 NHL players (three of whom, Doug Weight, Brian Rolston, and John Graham I watched when they played college hockey at Lake Superior State University), and a record of 1-4-1. 'They make this storm, and stand outside and when it rains, they yell shit it's raining!' (That is from Cold Mountain, its not a direct quote, but pretty damn close).
The point is, everyone was happy when the thought of having pros in the Olympics, but now that the rest of the world has caught up with the US, we bitch and moan about it. Mike Madino was quoted as saying 'it's time for new blood.' after the US men's hockey team got ousted by the Finnish team 4-3 in the first round of the medal round. He is right, we need to get rid of all the egos and the pros and get back to having college kids playing for the country, not for their names. The egos were more present within the men's basketball team in Greece when they were a disappointment to the jerseys that they were wearing. Didn't any of these guys see 'Miracle'? You play for the name on the front, not the name on the back.
Listen up you whiny rich bitches, in four years, when the Olympics roll around again, and you are asked to play, don't. You don't deserve it.
22 February 2006
21 February 2006
Just another day
So the other day at work I was out getting carts. And the wind was blowing and it was fucking cold because there are no damn trees in this state. This state sucks just because there are barely any trees to stop the wind, or even to slow down the wind....so if you weigh less than one hundred pounds and aren't paying any attention, you could get blown away by some random gust. So it is best to keep weights around your ankles just in case.
So, back to my story, pushing carts. As I was getting some strays for some reason, my mind went back to my childhood and ice fishing. I don't know why, it just happened. So it just started coming to me in this great vivid image. And now for a special treat, a quick little short story (the first one I've written since last summer, kind of depressing if you think about it.) It is more of a narrative essay, but whatever.
The wind blew something fierce against the black canvas. The constant hum of the portable propane heater slows the time. As I sit on a white plastic five gallon bucket my mind is blank as I stare down the hole carved through three feet of ice. The contents of my bucket, with a green top with a hole cut in it, the glory of the day; a seven inch yellow perch. Still flopping around as it tries in vain to breath while the air, ironically, is suffocating it. Amongst his fellow species in the hellacious environment of the white death trap, the perch slows his flopping around and eventually stops. The silence returns and it's only companion is the heaters hum.
Outside, the wind stops howling for only a short period of time before it picks up again. The short amount of silence is eerie, like a calm before a storm. You know that something is coming, but the silence gives you a false sense of comfort. Needing a break, I reel in my line and stand up to recirculate the blood back to my legs. The shanty which I have claimed as my own for the day has a floor made of pine and the walls and ceiling are made of black canvas. Held together by nothing more than a metal pipe skeleton and nails, it is hardly comfortable, but it is a nice escape from the world outside. A world where mother nature has made any man willing to stand outside her bitch by blowing an air cold enough to make a penguin shiver.
The floor has two holes drilled into the bottom. One hole is to fish aggressively in. Using a wiggler meant to attract smaller fish like perch. The second hole that is drilled is used for the bigger fish. The bait on the end of the line is a minnow, used in the hopes that a walleye or whitefish comes by. The constant movement of the minnow on the hook attracts the perch as well, until they see the wiggler. The water is only twelve feet and with the enclosed environment, the bottom is visible. Then they gather around as a committee, appearing to discuss what to do with it. One swims forward, a smaller one; no, Goddammit, not you, let the bigger one go for it. He takes the bait and starts to swim. motherfucker. The line is reeled in and the fish, just about three inches and isn't worth the trouble. Now the process starts all over, waiting for the fish to gather around again in their committee. With the hope that the big fish takes the bait this time.
With no watch, it is hard to know what time has passed. Until a tapping comes from outside, must be lunch time. Both lines are reeled up and slowly the zipper holding back the invasive world is brought up. My eyes need to adjust to the light outside, light not allowed inside my black sanctuary. The back of the Dodge Dakota is lowered and we sit on the back eating our sandwiches, ham and cheese. Quickly, the rations are devoured and we return to our dark, warm worlds to act as gods amongst the fish. Killing the unfortunate ones curious enough to not only ask, 'What is that?' but to also swallow it. Death by food.
So, back to my story, pushing carts. As I was getting some strays for some reason, my mind went back to my childhood and ice fishing. I don't know why, it just happened. So it just started coming to me in this great vivid image. And now for a special treat, a quick little short story (the first one I've written since last summer, kind of depressing if you think about it.) It is more of a narrative essay, but whatever.
Ice Fishing
The wind blew something fierce against the black canvas. The constant hum of the portable propane heater slows the time. As I sit on a white plastic five gallon bucket my mind is blank as I stare down the hole carved through three feet of ice. The contents of my bucket, with a green top with a hole cut in it, the glory of the day; a seven inch yellow perch. Still flopping around as it tries in vain to breath while the air, ironically, is suffocating it. Amongst his fellow species in the hellacious environment of the white death trap, the perch slows his flopping around and eventually stops. The silence returns and it's only companion is the heaters hum.
Outside, the wind stops howling for only a short period of time before it picks up again. The short amount of silence is eerie, like a calm before a storm. You know that something is coming, but the silence gives you a false sense of comfort. Needing a break, I reel in my line and stand up to recirculate the blood back to my legs. The shanty which I have claimed as my own for the day has a floor made of pine and the walls and ceiling are made of black canvas. Held together by nothing more than a metal pipe skeleton and nails, it is hardly comfortable, but it is a nice escape from the world outside. A world where mother nature has made any man willing to stand outside her bitch by blowing an air cold enough to make a penguin shiver.
The floor has two holes drilled into the bottom. One hole is to fish aggressively in. Using a wiggler meant to attract smaller fish like perch. The second hole that is drilled is used for the bigger fish. The bait on the end of the line is a minnow, used in the hopes that a walleye or whitefish comes by. The constant movement of the minnow on the hook attracts the perch as well, until they see the wiggler. The water is only twelve feet and with the enclosed environment, the bottom is visible. Then they gather around as a committee, appearing to discuss what to do with it. One swims forward, a smaller one; no, Goddammit, not you, let the bigger one go for it. He takes the bait and starts to swim. motherfucker. The line is reeled in and the fish, just about three inches and isn't worth the trouble. Now the process starts all over, waiting for the fish to gather around again in their committee. With the hope that the big fish takes the bait this time.
With no watch, it is hard to know what time has passed. Until a tapping comes from outside, must be lunch time. Both lines are reeled up and slowly the zipper holding back the invasive world is brought up. My eyes need to adjust to the light outside, light not allowed inside my black sanctuary. The back of the Dodge Dakota is lowered and we sit on the back eating our sandwiches, ham and cheese. Quickly, the rations are devoured and we return to our dark, warm worlds to act as gods amongst the fish. Killing the unfortunate ones curious enough to not only ask, 'What is that?' but to also swallow it. Death by food.
20 February 2006
St. Patrick's Day SEASON? and my bodhran
Just saw a great Guiness commercial. You know the two olde school drawn guys with the huge mustaches? The two that are running around yelling 'Brilliant!' yeah, you know the guys. So, I just saw the latest commerical and they were talking about St. Patrick's Day season...SEASON! It's not just a day of drunken debauchery, it is now season...sweet.
And here is a picture of my bodhran. What the fucks a bodhran? It's an Irish hand drum that I learned to play at Fort Mackinac the past two summers. My friend Katie took a trip to Ireland for a couple of weeks and she brought this back for me as a Christmas present. I love it! The design on it is just plain brilliant (get it, that word connects the two paragraphs together).
12 February 2006
Bode Miller
*Steps onto soapbox*
Okay, people in the media and all over the United States have been complaining about Bode Miller. Just real quick, he is an American skiier who is participating in the olymic games which are going on right now. Close to a month ago, he was doing an interview in which he was saying that he liked to ski 'wasted' and the media jumped on him like lions on an injured gazelle. And just as soon as that calmed down, he was quoted in Rolling Stone saying that athletes know how to get around drug testing and he threw in the names Barry Bonds and Lance Armstrong. Once again, people wanted his head on a spike. Come on now people, look at Barry Bonds...the man has used 'performance enhancing substances'. Lance Armstrong...now that is iffy. People don't want to believe that because he is this great pillar of strength, what with the having one testicle and all (which is his secret to winning all those Tour de France races...he only had one testicle...it cut down on the weight and the dicomfort level. He clearly had an advantage against the other racers who were crushing TWO not one testicle on that long bike ride.).
Now the last time I checked, we lived in the united states, in which we were free to say whatever we damn well pleased (within reason...you know, no talking about killing the president and all that jazz.). Who cares if Bode Miller spoke his mind and said that he has skiied drunk before or that he ripped Bonds and Armstrong (he isn't the first)? Just because he is outspoken does not give the media to call for his head. The best part is that Miller isn't sorry for what he said, well he did apologize for the drunk skiiing thing, but it wasn't whole hearted. Kudos to him for sticking to his guns. I stand beside Bode Miller and enjoy the fact that he doesn't care what people think about him. He knows who he is and he doesn't give two shits what other sports people think about him.
Okay, I'm done...you can have your soapbox back born again Christians, didn't mean to take it from you for so long...don't hate me.
Okay, people in the media and all over the United States have been complaining about Bode Miller. Just real quick, he is an American skiier who is participating in the olymic games which are going on right now. Close to a month ago, he was doing an interview in which he was saying that he liked to ski 'wasted' and the media jumped on him like lions on an injured gazelle. And just as soon as that calmed down, he was quoted in Rolling Stone saying that athletes know how to get around drug testing and he threw in the names Barry Bonds and Lance Armstrong. Once again, people wanted his head on a spike. Come on now people, look at Barry Bonds...the man has used 'performance enhancing substances'. Lance Armstrong...now that is iffy. People don't want to believe that because he is this great pillar of strength, what with the having one testicle and all (which is his secret to winning all those Tour de France races...he only had one testicle...it cut down on the weight and the dicomfort level. He clearly had an advantage against the other racers who were crushing TWO not one testicle on that long bike ride.).
Now the last time I checked, we lived in the united states, in which we were free to say whatever we damn well pleased (within reason...you know, no talking about killing the president and all that jazz.). Who cares if Bode Miller spoke his mind and said that he has skiied drunk before or that he ripped Bonds and Armstrong (he isn't the first)? Just because he is outspoken does not give the media to call for his head. The best part is that Miller isn't sorry for what he said, well he did apologize for the drunk skiiing thing, but it wasn't whole hearted. Kudos to him for sticking to his guns. I stand beside Bode Miller and enjoy the fact that he doesn't care what people think about him. He knows who he is and he doesn't give two shits what other sports people think about him.
Okay, I'm done...you can have your soapbox back born again Christians, didn't mean to take it from you for so long...don't hate me.
10 February 2006
DAY OFF!
A day off means watching a movie (Gladiator, Russell Crowe was my inspiration for a beard), sitting around in my pyjamas, ordering some books off of Amazon, and maybe cleaning out the dishwasher (maybe)...and that is about it. Hell yeah.
09 February 2006
One week down...
So I have basically finished my first full week of working at Target. And so far, its great (granted its not like working at the Fort like the past two summers [NOTHING could ever beat that job]). I am working in the meat department and occasionally in the dairy department. It doesn't even feel like I'm at Target, it feels more like a grocery store. I am handling more meat than your mom did in the back seat of her high school boyfriend's car. The guys I work with are really great and have an awesome sense of humor, so it makes the day go by real quick. I usually start at 7:00 in the morning, which might sound bad to some, but if you think about it, its great because that means I am done with work at 3:30 in the afternoon. The other shift I would work is from 2:00 to 10:00 at night. I don't know if I'll be able to handle that one....all the real work of getting the meat out on the floor is done in the morning, so I don't know exactly what I would do at night at work. I do, however, get to find out next week, so we'll see.
In my vast experience working at Target, I have clumped the shoppers into three categories...
Category One:
The early shoppers
Middle of the day shoppers
Late afternoon shoppers
That about wraps up the kinds of people that I have seen and met so far at work...its fun so far, and hopefully it'll continue. Now, I need to get out of these damn work clothes...they smell of meat.
In my vast experience working at Target, I have clumped the shoppers into three categories...
Category One:
The early shoppers
- Usually mothers in their thirties or forties (always have a cup of coffee from the Starbucks with them)
- Usually have their kids (or grandkids) with them
- Usually in a sweatsuit with matching pants and jackets (Lots of mother penguins [for anyone who knows what that is about.])
- Some soccer moms (Never have 'just out of bed hair', Make-up is always done)
- Old people (think your grandparents)
Middle of the day shoppers
- Moms who have just picked up their kids from school
- College kids who have just woken up from the party last night
- College kids who just got out of class
- High schoolers who are running errands for their parents
- Old people (think your grandparents)
Late afternoon shoppers
- People just getting out of work (great for skirt watching patrol)
- People needing a quick idea for dinner
- People who didn't plan ahead for dinner and need to buy one
- Husbands and wives who need to get out of the house and away from the kids
- Husbands being drug to the store by their wives
- Wives who couldn't drag their husbands away from the game on TV (and get sexily dressed up to go to grocery shopping just to spite their husbands)
- Submissive husbands who were told to go shopping
- Old people (think your grandparents)
That about wraps up the kinds of people that I have seen and met so far at work...its fun so far, and hopefully it'll continue. Now, I need to get out of these damn work clothes...they smell of meat.
01 February 2006
its better than a kick to the head...cause that might hurt
So I didn't get that job with the museum..a dream job if you will. Well, I decided to bite the bullet and went and applied for a job at Target. Not thinking anything of it, I went up there in a pair of jeans, a tee shirt, and had a bandana on my head. So I finish filling out the application and then they tell me, hang on a second...We'll get someone up here to interview you. 'What the hell!' is my thought...I look like some college bum the way I'm dressed but whatever. So I talk to one person, Julie, and she asks the usual questions, and then says 'Why don't you go have a seat back out by guest services and we'll get someone to do a second interview'....great, another person to look at me and think I'm a bum. Anyway, so I go through with this second interview, and then the guy, Ben (he seemed like a weasly kind of guy that you don't like), says the exact same thing and so I go back and sit and wait for another 'interview' and eventually I end up with a job. So take that dream job...HA...oh wait, shit.... lets check the score: Dream Job: 1, Mike: zero. Dammit. Oh well, I got a job, so that is all that really matters, well, that and money, money matters. Which is good, because that is what I'm going to be making, finally...
So the plan that I formulated in my head, while I was in one of three interviews mind you, was that I'll just work at Target for a year or a year and a half, and then go back to school and get my MA and then try to find a real world job, you know, one where I'll use my tens of thousands of dollars worth of college tuition money for. Maybe I'll teach...scary thought. I don't think I could go through a PhD program...that would be killer. I don't think I could write a thesis of about 400 pages.
I called home and my mom and dad were all excited about it so they can finally stop bitching at me to get a job. And on a happier note about the family, my mom and dad and Chuck are planning on coming down here at the end of February, which is cool. I'll show them around the exciting metropolis of Wichita (right....) But it'll be good to see them.
So the plan that I formulated in my head, while I was in one of three interviews mind you, was that I'll just work at Target for a year or a year and a half, and then go back to school and get my MA and then try to find a real world job, you know, one where I'll use my tens of thousands of dollars worth of college tuition money for. Maybe I'll teach...scary thought. I don't think I could go through a PhD program...that would be killer. I don't think I could write a thesis of about 400 pages.
I called home and my mom and dad were all excited about it so they can finally stop bitching at me to get a job. And on a happier note about the family, my mom and dad and Chuck are planning on coming down here at the end of February, which is cool. I'll show them around the exciting metropolis of Wichita (right....) But it'll be good to see them.
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