Seattle FanFair?

Loyalty, at least in football terms, is not a moral choice like bravery or kindness; it is more like a wart or a hump, something you are stuck with for the rest of your life. I discovered this in January of 2003 when Hasselbeck wanted the ball and was going to score. He is remembered for dropping this line as Seattle won the overtime coin toss during the first Seahawk postseason game I had ever witnessed. (I missed the 2000 Miami game because I was stuck in an airport in San Fransisco. I don't even remember where I was going, but I remember sitting miserably at my gate listening to the cheers and groans from the guys crowded around the bar TV. The bar TV that had its back to me and would tease me with hauntingly blocked views from every surrounding angle I attempted. That TV was to Austin Powers' genitalia as I was to the immensely embarrassed and slightly amused twelve year old watching with his grandma. Every houseplant, table light, and glazed ham sat directly between me and that TV.)
Hasselbeck is also remembered for following his famous line by throwing an interception that Al Harris would return for 52 yards and a game winning touchdown. Read it: A GAME WINNING touchdown. A game winning touchdown that left me clutching a couch cushion on the living room floor. This is the first time I have actually hurt physically after a loss. This is the first time I have to catch my breath and physically recover before I can begin to filter through seventeen games worth of emotion. This is the first time I want to hurt an opposing team's fan and the first time I have to calmly ask said fan to change the subject or leave me alone for a bit. This is the first time he will comply mercifully. And, as they say, this isn't the only time.
When you are a Seattle Sports fan you know your loyalty as well as your tall vanilla chai, your organic whole food farmers market, your polar fleece, and your ninety minute commute through the rain. Marriages are nowhere near as rigid. You won't catch any real fan slipping off to St. Louis for a bit of extra-marital foreplay, and though divorce is a possibility (you can just stop watching if things get too bad), getting hitched again is out of the question. There have been many times over the last year where I have pored over the small print of my contract looking for a way out, but there isn't one. Each humiliating defeat (Buffallo, San Fran, New York, Green Bay, Tampa, Philly, Miami, Arizona, Dallas, Washington, New England) must be borne with patience. Each hair-pulling headline with fortitude and forbearance. (Lets review: The Mariners are the first team with $100mil+ payroll to lose 100 games, The Huskies lose to BYU, WSU, EVERYGAME!!!, The Mariners use a third string catcher in extra innings AS A PITCHER!!!, Holmgren coaches his last game in Seattle, The Tuba Man is murdered, and the Sonics get hijacked by an oil tycoon from Oklahoma City.) There is simply nothing that can be done about the tragic loyalty tattooed on our sleeves, and that is the realization that makes the Seattle fan squirm with frustration.
Of course I hate the fact that Seattle is losing franchises almost as fast as games. Of course I want them to score a gazillion touchdowns, hit a gazillion home runs, and play with the ferver of eleven Paytons, Largents, Edgars, and Juniors. But I know the score and it isn't going to happen, certainly not in the foreseeable future. We are still down by too much with not enough time left in the fourth quarter.
I was unable to defend my team's inadequacies all year. I could see them for myself, and I hated them. Sure we had eleven injuries at wide reciever alone. Sure we had a GM that practically begged for a losing team (signed Scott Spezio and Rich Aurillia? traded Freddy Garcia for Miguel Olivo? Carl Everett? Matt Lawton? traded Moyer?) After each feeble attempt at a pass and every misplaced pitch I would join the crowd's collective groan and brace myself for the silence that follows. It is during this silence that we add another game to our mental rolodex and throw another loss on the back end of our teams record. Our L column is now heavier than a high schoolers backpack. The sportsfan is chained to our L column and our L column is chained to Seattle, and there is no way out for any of us.

Gonna Let It Shine

A Night Shifter's Day

I tend to wake with some sort of loud chatter or laughter shared between two or three my roommates. Their voices usually escalate to bothersome proportions at some point between noon and three in the afternoon. They are as welcome as an alarm clock's buzz and something must be done about them. But in my slumbering state I can only respond as any other logical man would. I roll over and bury my head under the pillow. This only muffles the noise but it buys me time. It is my metaphorical snooze button.
Eventually I give up the warmth of my bed, allow my feet to hit the floor, rub the crap out of my eyes and give my hair some sort of heavy inspection with my palms. As I stand and allow my knees to find their proper balance I must decide my next venture. I can don athletic shorts and scour the laundry pile for the most comfortable/least rancid t-shirt, or I can grab a towel and head straight for the shower. I usually decide based on what time I have to work or if Around The Horn is on. Essentially everything comes down to whether I shower before or after an hour or two of ESPN and its Sportscentered glory. Life is rough when you've just woken.
Ultimately that fateful hour strikes and I must transform into the working man. I hygene up, pile on the black attire, grab the ol' apron and name tag, force my feet into their potholed cavern of a shoe, and head out the door. I invest six to ten hours of my day crafting an immaculate dinning environment and attending to the needs of the work crew around me; or, three to four hours pleasing the guest with speedy, spruce, and proper plate management. Sometimes I do both in one day. This all depends on a schedule I never write and rarely like. I enjoy my job, but the highlight of my day comes when I am told I can finally leave that stress infested hell hole.
It is then that I can truly be alive. I drive on through that drive-through and arrive home with a paper sack and a plastic cup shaking with Dr. Pepper. I'm just in time to discover the score of whatever it is that happened that night. And when I have finished my breakfast lunch and dinner I can wind down with a book, movie, internet, replay of the game I missed, or sitcom streaming through the Xbox. I better be quick though, I have a strict dawn-o'clock bedtime to make.

Updating the Alphabet

Books Added:
D: Downtown Owl by Chuck Klosterman
H: The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien
J: Jesus for President: Politics for Ordinary Radicals by Shane Claiborne
K: King Solomon's Mines by H. Rider Haggard
P: Post Office by Charles Bukowski
U: The Untouchable by John Bannville

Books Finished:
As I Lay Dying
Cats Cradle
1984
The Road
The Yiddish Policeman's Union

Still Searching For:
L
Q
X
V

Considering A Revision:
Replace Man and Superman with My Name is Russel Fink by Micheal Snider
Replace Bridge to Teribithia with Babbit by Lewis Sinclair

Life Post ABC's:
The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible As Literally As Possible

Moneyball: The Art of Winning an Unfair Game

Bigger Deal: A Year Inside the Poker Boom

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest

Gossling IS the Man

The debate has been waging for quite some time now. This should settle the score.

Gossling's best movie.

In other news, I own this shirt.

If I Were A Band

I came across this random band creator on another blog. Your band's name is a random wiki link. The album title comes from the last few words from the first quote on the random quote generator. And your album art is your choice from flickr's interesting photo page.

My Band

The Candidate
Album
Doesn't Seem To Be Working

My band is hip, indie, politically charged and fond of irony. Only your cool friends have heard of us. This album can also be purchased on twelve inch and I have a good voice. If I were to photoshop our artwork for a more marketable product the band name would be in all caps above our president elect and the title would start under Progress' P and trail off towards the lower right corner. I mentioned I can sing right?

I am no Joe

Over the last few years I've received quite a few phone calls intended for a "Mr. Joe Langston." I am not sure how I came to be mistaken for this Joe but from what I have gathered the two of us have very little in common. Joe is a business man and receives voicemails about upcoming strategies and agendas. Joe also returns phone calls. If Joe fails to return a call Joe will receive numerous messages imploring Joe to respond with an update of accomplishments/needs/data/tools/various business apparatus demanding acknowledgment. Joe is also acquainted with a Hispanic lady who speaks little English. At one point Joe owed someone some money. Joe was not threatened, but collection agencies can be very intimidating and have heard the "wrong number" excuse before. Joe is also a handsome young fellow, or at least considered so by the elderly gent who kept inquiring of Joe's whereabouts while avoiding referencing him by name.

Unspoken Broken

Way back in January I made it a goal to try to take one picture a day. This lasted about a week. The idea was that I would generate blog ideas and post some good shots. But once I lost my daily internet access and the charge on my camera I gave up. But hey, these are the daily photos from six days of persistency.

The "New" Apartment

Best Milkshakes Between Tacoma and Portland

A Good Plan(ner)


Pete's Sweet Ride


Red Express O


White Guys Can Only Jump When Out of Focus

Alphabet soup?

Seeing as that I'm slightly behind pace to reach the thirty book goal, (Darn you Brothers Karamazov!) I need a new challenge to boost enthusiasm. Thus the alphabet list. My new goal is to read a book for every letter of the alphabet. The rules are simple. A-Z, no author repeats, titles beginning with A or The will count for the second word. (The Kalevala = K) Numbers will count as they are spelled. (1984 = N) I may decide to throw X a curve ball and just choose a title that has the letter in it. So here's my list so far:

A: As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
B: Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Patherson
C: Cats Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
D:
E: Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven, but Nobody Wants to Die: Or The Eschatology of Bluegrass by David Crowder
F: Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby
G: Guliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift
H: I Am Legend by Matheson Richardson
I:
J:
K:
L:
M: Man and Superman by George Bernard Shaw
N: 1984 by George Orwell
O: Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton
P:
Q:
R: The Road by Cormac McCarthy
S: The Shack by William Young
T: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
U:
V:
W: The Watchmen by Alan Moore
X:
Y: The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michal Chabon
Z: Zombie Haiku: Good Poetry for Your...brains by Ryan Mecham

Thought for Food

• What am I going to do without Bella Carollie?
• First Tomatoes, then Jalapenos, and now Hot Pockets?
• Can Jimmy Buffett write a song that doesn't involve food or drink?
• How much must I pay for invisibility?

Grit and Grime

In an effort of grand exploration I went for a float down yonder river. It was grand. It was exploratory. It was hot. It was muddy. I was barefoot. I made it home and tried to convince my roommates that the most Christlike response would be to wash my feet.
"What Would Jesus do?" I asked.
"Jesus would wash your feet. But society would deem that....weird," Dale responded, "I'll pass."
John was my only remaining hope and I continued to press the argument. John, get in here and wash my feet!" I yelled this time hoping my pastor like enthusiasm would elicit a response.
"No."
"What Would Jesus Do?"
"Jesus is in here sitting on the couch watching TV."
You just can't beat that argument. These days even Jesus can't resist the Simpsons.

On Summer and Roosters

1. I read much faster when it isn't for class.
2. I've underestimated mustard for quite some time now. We have some catching up to do.
3. Contrary to popular belief Christian Slater isn't a smuck.
4. Tillamook Ice Cream is really really good.
5. Doctors should recommend ten hours of sleep. Society would benefit.
6. The Corn Flakes commercial is deceiving, Roosters don't crow once, they crow until the sun has reached the highest point in the sky.
7. My neighbor has a Rooster.
8. The city doesn't discourage Rooster enthusiasts.
9. The city probably should.
10. Rooster enthusiasm is rather selfish.
11. The alarm clock has rendered city Roosters obsolete for some time now.
12. Roosters should probably go back to their roots: egg making.
13. If doctors recommended ten hours of sleep Rooster enthusiasm would decline.
14. Society would benefit and I wouldn't hate my neighbors.
    

Prostrate Fate

The problem with class extensions is that there is still the deadline to meet and procrastination to defeat. To stare seven papers in the face with only three days left to prepare ponder and process only proves that I am a foolish foolish man.

Why I Am Not An Active Blogger

• I do not own the internet.
• I value spare time.
• Facebook
• Cooking for yourself is difficult.
• The Multnomah Bloggershere hates fallacy driven posts.
• Creativity + Academics = Maybe Next Time
• I cannot spell.
• I am often on the fence.
  
• I am literally "between" my job.
• I once ran for president
• took dating nominations
  
• and tire of tooting my own horn.
• I went to Germany again, which has become an annual post stopper.
• I buy books faster then I read them.

Bucket List

Click to Enlarge

That Thing Going Around

I've been a little under the weather lately. I'm suffering from a classic case of privileged amnesia. Basically, I forget just how spoiled I am. Usually chicken soup is a good solution, but in extreme cases like mine the broth is cold and unsatisfying. Bed rest isn't much help either. The privileged amnesiac is sensitive to bed sores and prone to late night pillow fluffing and sleeping on an arm. Drinking plenty of liquids can help; however, alcohol is not recommended. The best prescription is a strong dose of humble reflection, but I like to throw in a little sarcasm and public self ridicule. My petty complaints could all be worse. That pain in my stomach (literal, not figural) could have been appendicitis, but it's probably just gas. My two hour drive to Portland could have been a two hour walk for water. My bad hair cut could have been a freak chainsaw accident. My speeding ticket could have been a loss in the Iowa Caucus. A little perspective confirms that my snivels are slim in comparison to real complaints. After all, I still have my head. And, despite the haircut, I'm not Hillary Clinton.

My Demographic

Usually I loath all things church marketing (see toungue speaking t-shirts), but I managed to drive past a pretty creative church sign. It read:

JANUARY SERMON SERIES:
NEW YEARS RESOLU-
BLAH BLAH BLAH!

It pretty much restored my hope in church creativity. All while making me wish I had put a bit more effort into my resolution avoidance. I'm sad to say all it took was a little competition and I was salivating at the mouth with ambition and goals. Anyway, here is my BLAH BLAH BLAH...

1. Read thirty books. (15 classics, 15 others)
2. Go on at least three dates.
3. Keep track of money earned and money spent.
4. Get at least a 3.5 GPA.
5. Follow up on Post Graduation Plans.
6. Make bike riding a habit.
7. Lose 20 pounds.
8. Start a mourning routine.
9. Check two items off my things to do before I die list.
10. Don't move back home. (Dad's house)