Red Wing boy takes away first place in Minn. mullet contest

Another story you just can't make up. Thanks to Liz and the Star Tribune for reporting this one.
-------------------------------------------------
RED WING, Minn. - A 3-year-old Red Wing boy has won first prize in this year's Minnesota Mullet Contest, and yes, there is such a thing.

Hockey Moms magazine, a Minnesota publication that's distributed at hockey arenas, named Brady Arneson's blond hairdo the best.

Mullets are a family tradition for the Arnesons — Brady's older brother Blake won the same award in 2005. Their father Scott Arneson also had a mullet as a child.

Mullets, which are sometimes called hockey hair, remain popular for some players. Scott Arneson explains that hockey kids want their hair to hang out the back of their helmets.

Brady's parents say they'll soon cut his mullet to keep their son comfortable in the warm weather.

My Left Foot

Tuesday night I had my first game of our Spring Soccer team.  I had not played soccer since rec leagues in college, till this past winter when I joined an indoor league.  I am not good.  I am a bit of a thug on the pitch, but I play with heart and I had fun.  After the winter league, most of the team decided to do a spring league.  We had a few weeks off, enough time to get out of game shape, but we figured about everyone would be in the same boat.  About 30 seconds after I get into the game, I go down with a twisted left ankle.

All the signs were there that this would happen.  I wasn't playing with cleats, first off.  Looking at the turf like surface, I made the comment before the game that I needed to get a pair.  I was speaking with someone about all the injuries that one member of our team had last season (for some strange reason she decided not to rejoin us this Spring).  

It all happened very fast, but when I felt the twinge, I fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes.  Fortunately, I was able to get off the field quickly, there was ice available, plus helpful teammates and league folks to help me elevate my foot.  After I got past the initial shock, I had a feeling this was only a sprain and nothing more serious.  After the game, I limped back to my car and drove home.  Fortunately, this was the left ankle, so I could drive without any real difficulties.

Now, all of this is very ironic in that for the past few years I have had problems with my right ankle.  I have had bone spurs removed and tendon surgery on the right foot.  Twice.  My right foot is doing fairly well now, though I still wear the brace and occasionally have pain after exercise.   Now I have a problem with the left ankle.

Because of this history, I think I have been favoring my left foot.  It has been the trooper for several years now. When the right has gone down, it has been the left foot who carried the load.  I think while righty was out of commission, lefty used this time to get stronger. I mastered the one foot hop for going up and down stairs.  If standing for an extended period, lefty takes on the load and gives righty a break (he's not heavy, he's my brother).  

Now lefty is down; it is time for righty to shine.  He has been coasting for too long and letting others carry the burden for him.  Now it is time for righty to step it up.

(Speaking of Step it Up, has anyone seen the new reality dance show on Bravo "Step it Up and Dance" with host Elisabeth Berkley?  I haven't.  After "Showgirls", it is really hard for me to take Elisabeth Berkley seriously about anything.  I don't think anyone else can either.  Speaking for the male half of the population, I don't think of us can look at her and not think of her nekid on stage dancing.  I am sure it happens with every guy she ever runs into anywhere.  I am sure the bag boys at the grocery store smirk when they see her in the checkout line; she just can't escape it.) 

Alas, I digress.

I got my left foot x-rayed at work.  Apparently we have some amazing medical facilities for employees, including digital x-ray equipment.  No plates - all digital.  My left ankle was not broken, but it was a class 2 sprain.   I am not sure what that means.  All I know is the basics of what to do - the RICE method:  Rest, Ice, Compression and Elevation.  I have crutches, canes, bandages and other items I have accumulated in righty's recovery, so I was well prepared.

After a few days, the recovery is coming along well with lefty.  More importantly, righty seems to be pulling its weight for the team.  This was the challenge it needed to reassert itself.  I will probably be out of commission for another week or so, but hopefully I will be able to play a few games of soccer this season.   By then, righty and lefty will hopefully be working together as a team - a rainbow coalition of the feet.  

Peace and brotherhood to all.

End of Earth Day movies

In "celebration" of Earth Day, I had to post this link. Top 10 causes of the Earth ending, as brought to us by the movies. Thanks to the good folks at Yahoo! movies for this bit of comedy!

Enjoy!

End-of-Earth day movies

Tax Day good deed

As a single renter, there is one truth I have come to expect - Tax Day sucks.  I miss out on the big deductions - kids and mortgage - through no ones fault but my own.  So no matter how much I try to withhold, it always seems that tax day does not mean a refund, but writing checks to the government.

"Taxes are the price of a free society" says the logo etched into the facade of the Treasury Department in DC.  I suppose.  I would feel better about the payment however, if I could see some tangible evidence of my donation.  Sadly, the only news I learn about usually is the result of misuse.  Rarely do homeless people come up to me on the street and thank me for my tax contribution to help them get off crack (though I would like to believe my funds did help at least one person).

This year I did a particularly bad year getting my returns together, and I gave my accountant painfully little time to do his job, either.  On Monday, the day before taxes are due, I got my returns back.  I packed them in with my stuff to take care of Tuesday (again, it is not like I have a lot going on during the day at work).  I grabbed my checkbook and stamps, too.  Problem one - I only have one stamp left.  I will probably need more so now I will have to go to the Post Office, but the one by work is fairly quick and efficient.  

I find time in my "busy" schedule to look through my returns for 2007.  It takes a while to swallow the bile.  As great a job as the accountant did last year, this year was the complete opposite.  I would be writing checks, for a lot more than I want.  I started going through them, but I realized even if I found the mistake today, I couldn't get it changed in time, so I might as well pay, and deal with any corrections later.  It was at this point I realized problem number 2 - I only had one check left in my checkbook.  

Sh!t.  Now I am going to have to go to the place I dread - the main branch of the PO.  It is the closest one to my home, it is open late, which is good for me, but it will be packed with every other last minute filer, too.  After work, I go to the gym to pick up heavy objects for a while - you know - get the tension out - before I head home.  Fortunately, I still had one book of checks at home (otherwise I am REALLY screwed).  I write out the checks and head down to the PO.  

This being Minnesota, the Post Office was prepared for crowds and had parking attendants ready and organized to manage the traffic flow (God bless them!).  So after I parked I went inside to the very long line.  All my returns looked to be normal sized both for weight and size.  If they had one automated stamp machine, I would be gold, but unfortunately not.  No stamp machine exists, so Jimbo waits in line.  

It was long, but it moved fast.  It took me about 40 minutes to get through it, but again, since this is Minnesota, everyone knows how to properly queue and there is respect for everyones personal space.   It is the little things like this that really like this about my state.  I have no Scandinavian roots, but I think I have earned the equivalent of a Green Card for Sweden.

I get to the counter, and yes, all it took was a first class stamp.  By the way, that is $0.41 nowadays.  I buy a sheet of stamps too. The total transaction time at the window took less than 30 seconds.  As I am heading out the door, a man starts calling "sir, excuse me sir" behind me.  It took me a minute to realize he was talking to me.  I am still in workout clothes, smell bad, look worse, and I don't like being called sir.  

It was a guy in his 30's who, like me, only needed a simple first class stamp to mail his return.  He saw me walking out with a sheet of stamps and offered to buy one from me for $1.

I gave him one.  He tried to pay me, but I refused.  He offered again - he was very nice - but I told him it was not necessary.  I'm just paying it forward.  He thanked me again and ran off to mail his return.

As I was driving home, I realized something.  Today, I spent hundreds and thousands of dollars that will be used to support my fellow Americans through social programs, medical coverage, war efforts and other government programs.  Of all the money I gave, I think that $0.41 I gave to help another person was the best spent money of the day.  

Rock, Paper, Scissors eXtreem Deathmatch

The title pretty much says it all. Good for those who need an outlet for agression or who just have too much free time on their hands!

Brought to us by our good friends at Adult Swim:

Rock Paper Scissors eXtreem Deathmatch

Enjoy - go ROCK!

Losing Touch

About a month ago I reported that my sense of smell had gone for the day. Everything smelled like old fried chicken. After a good nights sleep, that problem went away and I had all of the senses working for me.

This morning I had a relapse. I lost the sense of touch on one of my fingers. On the end of my left middle finger, there is a dead spot where I can not feel anything. It is not numb; it is just not functioning. It is like I have a piece of tape stuck on there. Granted, I do play with tape a lot (good thing I work for the company I do), so I have been checking repeatedly to see if there is a piece stuck on there, but that is not the case.

Again - no real story to the post. It is just very odd to have one of the senses off for the day, and for only part of the body. Ahhh, the joys of getting older!

Canadian Coinage

Living in the state which is the last line of defence against rampaging Canadians carries responsibility. We are responsible for killing of their trees and natural resources with acid rain; they are responsible for slipping their worthless change into our cash registers. That is until now.

For years, I have remained ever vigilant of being slipped Canadian Coins in my change. Their 25 cent piece is almost indistinguishable in size from the US quarter. For the first few years I was here in Minnesota, I seemed to be a target for their worthless coinage. It would get slipped into my change, usually here at the work cafeteria. It would not have bothered me so much except I could not do the reverse and slip it into my payments. The ladies working the registers were much more attuned to our attempts to slip back the worthless change; I was a one-way magnet for Canadian Coins. I started making a collection here at work; in the event I made a trip across the border, I would be amply covered for newspapers, parking meters and donations to the homeless.

The best way to prevent this was vigilance. I had to be on guard at all times for their worthless bits of change. I took it as a personal challenge that they would try to slip in some crappy coins, and I considered it a major personal failure if I let one slip through. My persistence paid off. My desk remains Canadian Coin free.

Today, while getting lunch at the cafeteria, I caught one of the less sociable cashiers try to pull a fast one on me. I promptly pointed out the foreign 25 cent piece and asked for the domestic variety. She looked at me over her wire rim glasses, with a health dose of contempt, replacing the quarter with a genuine, made in the USA quarter. She dropped the foreign interloper back in the USA quarter slot and muttered under her breath, "you just gave away money."

And she was right.

The US dollar has gotten so weak, that it has been surpassed by the Loon. Right now, they are at about parity, but on any given day, this could fluctuate and my vigilance could put me on the loosing end of a currency deal. This leaves me in a bit of a quandary - do I stick with my pro-USA financial patriotism, or do I let my vigilance drop in order to cash in as currency trader.

Or currency traitor!

It is a silly question, really. Of course I will remain loyal to the US Greenback. I would rather see the Statue of Liberty wearing a Mounties uniform before I begin preferring cross-border change over our beloved quarter.

Ever vigilant.

Venezuela Beaches Homer for the Hoff

You just can't make stuff like this up (b@stards!). Full story here:

By Natalie Finn
Mon, 7 Apr 2008 09:04:24 PM PDT

Venezuela has replaced Homer Simpson with a different type of boob.

After officials deemed The Simpsons to be in danger of violating the country's Law of Social Responsibility in Radio and Television, TV station Televen replaced daily broadcasts of the sitcom with episodes of Baywatch Hawaii.

The animated comedy had been airing at 11 a.m. on weekdays, an all-age-groups time slot that risked the dissemination of "messages that go against the whole education of boys, girls and adolescents."

No one pinpointed what exactly about the melodrama revolving around scantily clad lifeguards was more acceptable for impressionable children than the iconic sitcom, but the National Telecommunications Commission reported receiving viewer complaints.

"It had to be taken off," Televen spokeswoman Elba Guillen said, adding that it would be up to station management to find a new time slot for The Simpsons. "They consider it to be a series that isn't appropriate for that time because it isn't appropriate for children."

Station general manager Perez Nahim told the Venezuelan newspaper Ultimas Noticias on Friday, when the change went into effect, that the station itself never received Simpsons-related complaints, so he hoped it would continue to have a strong following once it's rescheduled.

"We are hoping it will continue to have a good rating, because The Simpsons worked very well—so much so that it had the highest levels of viewership for that morning timetable in the history of the channel," Nahim said.

Baywatch Hawaii, which is what the 10th and 11th (and final) seasons of Baywatch were called, aired from 1999 to 2001, with David Hasselhoff's Mitch Buchannon hanging around for half of it.

Impressive, but The Simpsons is in all probability heading into its 20th season on Fox this fall, when it will matchGunsmoke's record as the longest-running scripted show in prime time.

Why I hate Billy Packer

I hate Billy Packer.

Billy Packer is an annoying loudmouth color commentator for men's college basketball, and I hate him.

He hates Carolina and he loves Duke. He can not miss an opportunity to put UNC down, no matter if they are in the game he is calling or not. During the championship game (congrats Kansas!), I have a new reason to hate him. He is an idiot.

Three comments from just the OT period I can not get out of my head:

1. With Kansas up 69 - 62, Billy, needing something to say, enlightens the audience with "Memphis is only down two possessions." Okay, technically, they are down only seven points, which can be reached in two possessions, but on this planet, coaches and players usually don't consider the 4-point play a "gimmie"

2. Billy's pontificating on this games importance in the grand historical scheme"These Kansas kids are use to seeing OT losses in national championship games. They lost to North Carolina in triple overtime."

One big problems with this statement: Kansas did in fact lose in 3OT to UNC in the Championship game; however, that game was played in 1957, over 50 years ago. I don't think much of the current student body is in their mid-50s and remembers this event. Plus, that game was not televised.

3. With time winding down, Kansas' Chalmers is milking time off the clock and gets fouled. "I don't like Kansas' strategy at all. They are putting a 70% free throw shooter (actually 75%) on the line and he hasn't missed all night."

WTF?

I thought not missing a free throw counted as a "good thing".

And if that wasn't stupid enough, after Chalmers makes the first free throw "I don't like Kansas' plan at all - now it is a two possession game (for Memphis)."

Double - WTF?

Then after Chalmers hits the second free throw, Billy, still sticking to his guns but realizing he may - may - have said something stupid says "I still don't like what Kansas is doing."

How he still has a job is beyond me. For the love of college hoops, please retire. Go away to some cave and never come back. And while you are at it take Bill Walton and Stephen A. Smith with you. But leave Brent Musburger behind - he is GOLD!

For more reasons to hate Billy Packer:

http://www.dickipedia.org/dick.php?title=Billy_Packer

Ugly American

The brain is an amazing thing.  

Somehow, I was able to remember that I needed to get my passport renewed last month.  I don't know how I remembered 10 years after my last renewal that in March 2008 I would need to do this again.  But somehow, something in my brain went on alert last month and said "remember to check your passport.  it is going to expire soon" and sure enough, it was up that very month.  Now for the part I hate most - the photo.

I don't consider myself very photogenic.  I don't think I am particularly ugly, nor particularly good looking.  I am fairly average I think.  The problem is when a photo is being taken.   Something happens when I have to pose for a picture that makes my face go awry.  As good as my brain is at random reminders from 10 years ago, it falls short when it comes to controlling facial muscles to produce a pleasant smile when a camera is aimed at it.  It is a difficult trade off.  

So on a reasonably warm Saturday, I went to Kinko's to get my photo taken.  Problem #1 - what do I wear for the photo?  I will be stuck with this one for 10 years, so pick something good.  I grabbed one of the many blue shirts I have in my closet.  I wanted the photo to reflect vacations and good times, so I chose a short sleeve variety.  It was only about 30 degrees outside, so I figured it was time to break out a blue polo.

I try to psych myself on the drive there, telling myself "you can do this!  you can have a normal smile!" as I vainly looked for confirmation in the rear view mirror.   Even thought it would be a digital image, I doubt they would let me have do-overs, and if they did, it certainly would not be as many as my friends give me when they attempt to get me with a normal smile.  I was told where to stand - right in front of the envelope and book section.  A fake background was pulled down - I was scarred to see what it looked like; I was having flashbacks of my high-school grad picture with the fake library.  I get lined up behind the background, try to do a normal smile - hold it, hold it - and click.

I took it as a bad sign when he would not let me look at the picture.  I asked how did it look and he said "fine" as he ran to the back, suppressing either a laugh or his horror.  I took it as a really bad sign, when he gave the final prints to someone else to deliver to me.  I was scared to look at them until I got into the privacy of my own home.  

It was bad.  

Really bad.

For anyone who lives in Minnesota who doubts how cold the winter is and how pale you really are by March, all you need to do is have a passport photo taken against a drab backdrop and under florescent lights.  I looked like death reheated - barely any skin color at all, and I have a genetic advantage in this department.  My hair was seriously f-ed up - even for me.  My hair looked like a cross between Alfalfa and Buckwheat from the Little Rascals - a curly sprout sticking up straight from my head.  My "smile" had its characteristic warped twist, allowing visibility of my chipped front tooth.  About the only thing good were my eyes, which strangely looked blue, not their real green.

No way I could live with this for 10 years on my passport.  It does not say happy vacation time, it said doped up looser who can't control his bodily functions nor does he own a mirror.  So what to do?  

A few days later I remembered that my employer does free passport photos for employees (I can't figure out why, either.  It is one of those strange benefits that occasionally becomes useful).  I went in one day, when I was dressed up in better than usual clothing.  I had a meeting that day, so I had on a sports coat.  I figured the fun loving tourist motif did not work, so how about the ambitious go-getter theme?  

I walked in and it was set up like a real photo studio.  There was real lighting, a tri-pod, a decent looking neutral colored background.  I was feeling good about this one.  He directed me to the full length mirror to get myself ready, he said.  Yes, wishful thinking.  I looked at myself, and surprisingly everything seemed to be okay.  Hair is good enough, good shave, I didn't look to pale.  Lets do this thing!

I got myself seated, tucked the tail of my sport coat under my rear, to get that crisp look in the shoulders (I saw that in "Broadcast News".  It really works!).  I went for the more serious business look - I wasn't going to risk a smile again.  Hold it - and click.

I waited anxiously, knowing that if this didn't work, I was going to have to go to Glamor Shots or some place like that as my next option.  He patiently developed, cut and carefully handed me the folder like it was a sacred tome.  Now granted, I was praying the photo did come out looking human, but I think he took this exchange a bit too seriously.  But then again, it was this type of professional I needed.  I waited till I was outside to look at them and ....

Not bad.  Not great, but not bad.  Just one problem - I had psycho eyes.

My hair looked good, my mouth was at least even, with a slight hint of a smile.  My clothes looked good as did my color.  It was just my eyes that were messed up.  Badly.

The best way to describe them is a wide-eyed, darting, psycho criminal looking.  If you were to see someone on the news with eyes like these, you would immediately suspect that person had just committed a very serious crime against another human being.  You wouldn't even need to hear the story.  You would just assume it by looking at them.  So would passport control, I feared.

So - which set to use?  Ugly @ss smile, f-ed up hair, pale skin, with good looking blue eyes, or the well dressed, somewhat contained hair, decent-smiling, good color, psycho-eye photo?  How did I choose to define myself for the next 10 years to Immigration Officers around the world?

It was remarkably easy, actually.  In times of crisis, go with the good hair shot.  Criminal concerns be damned.  Psycho eye Jim will be traveling to far away lands for the next decade.

Bon voyage!