Not the "Next blog" crap again.

I've talked about the "Next Blog" button, so lets not re-hash that. While doing this, I've told you that I've found some good blogs and some bad blogs. I wanted to share one of the good ones. If you have ever read anything on this blog, that you found slightly amusing, then you will probably find this blog just as slightly amusing. But if you have ever read anything that you thought was hilarious on this blog, like I have, then you will love this new one. The author appears to be from Vermont, according to her profile, but little other info is given, probably to avoid stalkers. I find her witty, funny and very entertaining. I'm no reviewer, so you will have to check it out for yourself. I'm not suggesting that you have so much free time that you can follow a blog of someone you don't even know, but if you want a laugh, I suggest you give it a try.

Closed captioned for the hearing impaired.

Question. When the closed caption thing is happening, how is that happening? I mean, is someone watching the show I am, perhaps a few seconds ahead of me, and typing it in? Or do they have a script? If that is true, how do they do it for live events? The reason this came up, was because I had my TV on mute and the words were showing up from the closed caption. The funny thing was, it wasn't just the words, it had the person who said them listed. Not that that is huge, but it was a soap opera, so does that mean that the person doing the closed caption thing, has to watch the show and know the characters? If this was for Survivor or Amazing race, I'm in, but if I had to do it for a soap? I think I'd rather be unemployed. Perhaps I should look into this and, oh wait, nope, I just turned the mute off, curiosity gone.

MMA, testosterone for all.

I had the pleasure to attend a local MMA event here in Des Moines the other night. I've mentioned before at how I love MMA. I was a huge boxing fan, but grew weary of paying $50 to watch a fight, that regardless of what happened in the ring, the winner would be whoever Don King thought it should be. That was years ago, so I can't say what it is like now. I'm the kind of fan that wants to see the competition settled on the field, in the ring, or in MMA's case, in the octagon. I don't want to hear about groups of millionaires, or billionaires, fight over the scraps of money, that is more than I will make in a lifetime. I can't tell you how pissed I will be if the NFL season doesn't happen. I use to be a baseball fan, until they went on strike. They lost me and I haven't been able to make the come back. I got off track there, lets see if I can get back on topic. So back in my boxing's heyday, I watched Mike Tyson fight, and that was some exciting nights. If you blinked, you might miss the whole thing. I can't tell you how many fight parties I hosted that ended early because Mike knocked the guy out as he stepped into the ring. The replay time was longer than the actual fight. Of course, in those days, I drank my sorrow away, so I rarely remembered the fight the next day anyway. That was 20 years and 2 livers ago, now, if I'm not home by midnight, I turn into a pumpkin. Sad. So at the fights the other night, I came as close to being in a fight as I have for a lot of years. Was I running off at the mouth? No. Was I disrespecting someones momma? No. Then what was my offense, you might ask. Luck of the draw seating assignment. Let me be clear, the chances of me actually throwing a punch were slim to none. I wrote in a post a few days ago, running to me is only acceptable if there is food at the end, or if the chaser has ill-intentions. The latter case would have applied here and I would have flipped the table in front of me and ran like a little girl, and yes, cried. To be even further clear, the actual potential fight was between a man in his 50's and a drunk 20 something year old kid. You see, these MMA fights bring out the testosterone in people, and that includes women. These two people were rooting for opposing combatants, and none to friendly about it. Let me show you how the cheering escalated. This is a sampling of the yelling, mainly directed in the direction of the ring, but most suredly pointed at the dude on either side of me. Let me also mention that dude 1 was sitting with dudette 1, so they teamed up for most of this.

dudette 1- "Get him Nate." (seems innocent enough)

dude 2- "Kicks his ass Tony" (whoa, we are escalating a bit, but still civil for a guy who has had 13 beers)

dude 1-"Kick his F'ing ass Nate." (you'll noticed I have withheld from typing the full F word, just in case I have any young readers. Well, if I do, they might want to stop reading now)

Now the action in the ring has started, and Nate has taken Tony to the ground. If you don't follow MMA, you may be nervous about this sport with a comment like that, but it's ok, this is normal. So at this time, Nate is on top of Tony, which I know, sounds bad, but again, it's ok.

dudette 1- "Cut him the F open!" (OK, this is getting rough)

Now dude 1 and dudette 1 are yelling right in my ear, standing a foot or two behind me. Dude 2 is yelling in Chad's ear, a foot or two behind him. The words are flying, but mainly thrown at the ring. Now Tony is having trouble getting Nate off of him, so dude 2 is getting pissed.

dude 2- "All he can do is wrestle, get the P-word off of him." (OK, I'm not typing that word or I'll get all of the porn searchers coming to my blog and that's not what I want to read in the comments section of this blog, "Where are all of the P's?")

In MMA, wrestling is part of the game. Sometimes it is the boring part, but if you are an MMA fan and not a drunk want to be, then you understand that. As I write this, I see that the seriousness of the situation is not coming through. This is a HEATED exchange, and now the comments have started to be pointed at dudes and dudette and not the fighters in the ring. Can you say uncomfortable? Now dude 2, who is in his 20's, asks dude 1 if he wants to get "knocked the F out?" That would be an easy answer for me, it would be no, but I have a feeling that a smartass response would be ill advised at this juncture. Dude 1 doesn't appear to want to get knocked the F out, so he mumbles something and moves a little farther away. During all of this, Nate "Teddy Bear" Williams has commenced to submit Tony "friend wants to knock you the F out" Crowder, and the match is over. Dude 1 finally walks away and the testosterone level drops by alot. It's amazing what a combat sport and a half a keg of beer will do to a persons ability to be an ass. Chad said he witnessed a fight in the stands at the last show he attended and the first show I ever went to, I witnessed the closest thing to a near riot as I ever had. I guy got hurt in the ring and when fans starting yelling that he was a faker, the dudes mom took offense and was threatening to kick all their asses. Well the crowd, fueled by the ever present beer, egged her on until she went after a group and all of her family decided to join in. We finally got tired of waiting for the ambulance to pick the faker up, so we left and passed 10 more cops on their way in. There were very few blows thrown, but you could smell the stupidity in the air.

One thing that we noticed last night, which we have noticed in the past, is that women like to wear their slutty best when they attend the machismo fest. There are a lot of guys with puffed out chests, big biceps and liquid nerves, walking around. These aren't the guys in the ring, but mainly guys who want you to THINK they are fighters, which they are not. Just because you go to the Y and shoot hoops, doesn't mean you go to a gym and "train." Chad and I had the discussion, just because you have muscle, doesn't mean you can fight. If you don't have cardio, you better hope you get in a quick shot or the guy you are fighting that does have cardio, will kick your ass and choke you out, period. Back to the girls. There are more breasts showing than any Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue ever thought of including. Not a big deal, since I'm not 12, I've seen them before, but I'm amazed the amount of breasts that you can see. And the skirts. Good Lord, how can you even sit down without giving Hugh Hefner a cut of the show. The funny thing is, this is March in Iowa. It wasn't freezing last night, but on bare legs and breasts, seems to me that it would be a bit chilly. We heard a girl exclaim to her equally slutty dressed friend as they stepped into the cold Iowa night, "I hate Iowa." Well if I was naked outside at midnight, in March, I'd hate Iowa as well. But lets be realistic, you should be more angry at yourself for squeezing on your Barbie clothes and heading out into public. Obviously the short skirt and push up bra didn't work, since you are leaving the fights without a guy, but with your friend, who is limping because her hooker boots are hurting her feet after 4 hours of standing, since I'm guessing she couldn't sit down with that, well, lets call it a skirt, but that is being generous. I know I sound like and old man, but I guess when you get to a point in your life when that kind of display seems ridiculous, I just have a low tolerance for complaining. If you don't like Iowa, move. I'll help you pack. I'm guessing all of your clothes will fit in a shoe box.

Chuck a what?

I found this on Amazon when I was trying to figure out how to spell squirrel. What is our fascination in housing the animal kingdom? Do we feel they wouldn't be able to find their own residence unless we slapped a few boards together and ran it up a flagpole for them? Or are we such "lovers" of nature that we want them RIGHT outside our windows? I, for one, don't want any bird living anywhere near me. Why you might ask? Lets just say that I probably should have been in therapy for the past 20 years to get over my bird fears.

Example 1: When I was a kid, my brother and I were feeding some ducks and geese, and when I say some, I'd guess there were about 7,000 in the area we were in. Don't scoff at me, you don't know. My brother and I were attempting to feed these creatures with, perhaps, 4 slices of bread. Kind of like Jesus feeding 5000 with the bread and fishes. One problem, neither my brother nor I, are Jesus. In fact, remembering some of the words that came out of my mouth that day, I might just have some splaining to do to Jesus when I finally see him. "Uh, well, there were a lot of them and they appeared to have fangs." Not sure that will fly, but back to the story. As we fed these birds, they kept getting closer and closer to us. As we were just about out of bread, my ASSumption was, that the birds would see that we no longer had the material they desired and would turn and waddle their feathery butts back to the water and be on their duck way. Oh no, these vicious animals closed in on us two defenseless children and proceeded to back us up. We backed up until until we ran into a picnic table, at which point I clearly stated to them, that we were out of bread, but would be happy to bring more next Tuesday. (Warning, obscure reference that if you got, just dated yourself gramps) They continued their screams from hell, or honked them, if you prefer, until they burned that sound into my brain. I still have nightmares of that sound, AND what happened next. One bit me. That son of a bitch stretched out his beak, for what I thought was going to be a kiss, and it bit me. I've been scared ever since.

Example 2: In high school, my friend had a bird. I'm not sure what kind it was, I think it was some sort of bird from hell. Whenever I went to his house, the first thing I did was check the cage. If Cujo wasn't in the cage, my head was on a swivel looking for him. I know Cujo was a dog, but if you saw this thing, you would have seen the sheer madness in its eyes and thought to yourself, "This is an animal that only the devil himself could love. And my friend." I think birds are like cats. They know if you don't like them and they make a b-line right for you. Perhaps Cujo just liked the high perch, because he constantly tried to land on my head, which made me bob and weave like a prize fighter. The worst part was, if you were trying to compete in say, a ping pong match, I was at distinct disadvantage. The bird stayed off my opponent, while dive bombing me so I nearly had to hit the deck every time I took a swing. I hit the deck, my friend smashes the ball in an otherwise futile attempt to beat me. I would have been undefeated in my high school basement ping pong career, had I had the guts to smash that bird with my paddle. I did not, so I was not. Hard to win when you are cowering under the table with pee pants and a snot bubble. Plus, hard to return to high school with a reputation like that.

Example 3: My first "real" job, excluding my paper route, was working for a moving company loading trucks. On slow days in the summer, my other job was to mow the "grass" around our warehouse. I say "grass" because, I feel "hay field" would be closer to the truth, but that might be too generous a description as well. While mowing, I noticed a couple of what I called barn swallows, diving down to eat bugs that were being stirred up as I mowed. As I mowed, they seemed to be getting braver and braver, as they were diving right in front of my mower, and I could see them out of the corner of my eye, diving behind me. I was starting to get a little un-nerved, when PECK! Son of a, one of those birds just pecked me on the head. Did I have bugs in my hair? Was I getting close to their nest? If you are a dumb enough bird that builds your nest on the ground, WHEN YOU CAN FLY, then you deserve to get your home mowed. I see birds in the road as I approach and they run out of the way. Really? You have wings and you are going to run across the road? Stupid animals. This dive bombing incident reminded me of example 4.

Example 4: In the third grade, my friend Ronnie and I were walking home from summer school. Shut up, I'm smarter now. We saw a little baby bird in the driveway of a house, and it was kind of flopping around, so we walked up to get a better look. It appeared to be hurt, but before we could fully asses the situation, we were both attacked from the air by a larger bird. I'm not sure if this was a set up attack, you know, while our attention was on the bird on the ground, another bird would swoop in and steal our wallets, but something smelled fishy to me. Ronnie and I beat a hasty retreat and stood at the end of the drive rubbing our newly pecked heads. As we stood there, the lady of the house, threw open her door and started yelling at us to leave that poor bird alone. We weren't trying to hurt the bird, quite the contrary, but she steam rolled out with her hands flying and yelling all kinds of hurtful accusations at us. As she approached the downed bird, she too was pecked on her noggin, which sent Ronnie and I into a roar of laughter. She ran back to her front porch, turned and looked our way, and without saying a word, went inside and closed her door. Ronnie and I felt lucky to get out of there with just our pride hurt, so we made our way home and hoped that we had just given that bird some sort of human disease that would avenge our pain.

So you can see, I'm not going to bring these animals, whether it be birds, squirrels or any other of Gods creatures, closer to my home by providing housing. Although, as a kid, my parents had a martin house, attached to a pole cemented into the ground. One evening, just as the sun was starting to set, I watched a neighbor kid about knock himself out when he ran into that pole during a near deadly game of hide and go seek. The near death wasn't his, it was mine when I couldn't breath because I was laughing so hard. Gee, I wonder why I don't have very many friends?


Last thing, are we serious about the name of this one? Nutsie? Give me a break, how about squirrely? Or Kevin, the tree rat?

Is this Heaven? No, its friggin Iowa!

Before I start, I'll apologize for the news anchor person switch from bad news to "funny." I started writing this before I learned of Frankie's death, but life goes on, right? I mean, I wasn't even close to Frankie, not sure I could call him a friend, I'm sure he didn't know my name. I, after all, spent one week a year for four years there, but he saw hundreds of people come and go and I didn't do anything to make myself memorable, like letting his mule out. (Chad will get a good memory out of that one) This was a man that made a huge impression on me. He taught me what sacrifice is, even though he didn't feel like he sacrificed anything. Maybe someday I will follow in his footsteps, in a different way. Now, on with the nonsense.

Iowans are a strange bunch. Not in a Charlie Sheen/Gary Busey kind of way, although we have those kind of people as well, but more of a "what the hell?" kind of way. Come to think of it, that is what I say every time I hear one of the above mentioned guys speak, but at least they have an excuse, head trauma and drug use, probably both for both of them. The things that I see that jump out to me are usually weather related. I'm not suggesting that some of the things I attribute to Iowans, aren't found in other areas of the the country, or world, but if you see any of these, ask the people where the come from originally. I bet they say Iowa.

First up, jogging. People jog every where at all times. The issue with Iowa, which I have mentioned before, is it gets fricking cold in Iowa. Not just cold, I understate the oppressive nature of that word. When I say cold, I mean that if you aren't careful, you can loose a limb on the way to get the mail at the end of the drive. And that's with your Carhardtt jacket, Under Armour hood and Sorel boots. That being said, there is nary a day that I don't see some crazy person jogging in January (Is nary an actual word? I mean very rarely, but nary seemed smarter, until I mentioned that I don't know if it's an actual word. Kind of kills the "smart" part, forget I questioned it.) I guess my theory is, running is something you do when someone is chasing you with ill intentions or if there is food at the end of the sprint. And in my case, it better be a person with a knife or a truck with some sort of sugar treat. I would have said gun, but lets get real, if they have a gun, is my fat ass going to be able to get away with my pathetic 10 yard sprint before I fall to the ground, begging them to put me out of my oxygen deprived life? But the people I see running seem to have neither of these motivations. I mean, I don't see anyone chasing them, but perhaps they are so fast, they have blown away the would be attacker and now are just showing off. I say, stop right there and break out a Hostess pie. I bought a few of these recently, and by a few I mean 10, and was shocked when Marcy read me the fat content. I'm not a calorie counter, but wholly crap, according to Marcy, when I finish my 10th pie, I should be ready to contact the Biggest Loser people and get signed up. Without that bit of info, my guess is they would have been gone in 6 or 7 days. With that info, I still have 3 left and it has been 3 weeks. I'm still going to eat them, but I'll ration them so I don't explode. Frigging Marcy ruins everything. Next thing she will tell me is that my Coca-Cola habit isn't healthy. Please, that will never happen. Notice I said Coca-Cola instead of Coke. That could be taken as the wrong Coke and I get Googled right into jail. What the hell was I talking about? Oh yeah, joggers. So when the temperature heats up, to say 5 degrees, Iowans hit the trails and you see them running everywhere. You can see their breath as you pass by in your warm car, or as warm as it can be with the windchill at -25 degrees, and it appears to be turning to ice as it leaves their mouth and drops to the ground. Haven't these people heard of a treadmill? Or perhaps a life. Just saying.

Another thing Iowans do that you might not see in your area, is when we see the slightest glimpse of "warm" weather, the shorts go on, the jacket gets left at home and car windows are rolled down. Sounds like the thing to do, but it will only be 38 to 42 degrees. For us, that is usually a heat wave in winter and we take full advantage. There is usually a run on hamburger and steak, since that means grilling dinner. I'm guilty of this. As soon as I can dig my grill out of the snow, that sucker is going on and we are living the life. This years winter has actually been mild, so I have grilled out quite a bit and as the days creep further into March, I see my outdoor life coming back quickly.

When you have a lot of snow, that means you have a lot of salt and sand on the road. That means, your car, regardless of the color you purchased, is now brown. When the temps get anywhere near the freezing mark, the line at the car wash is 10 deep. We have a car wash right by our house with 6 bays, and on a warm day, you better pack a lunch if you are going to wait in line. I go either really early, like on my way to work, or really late, like when I'm coming home from clubbing. There is a weired thing that happens when you wash your car in the winter in Iowa. Your vehicle gets an inch thinner. If we could figure out a way to capture that dirt, perhaps we could sell it back to the city and they could then re-apply it to the streets. Circle of life.

One thing that Iowa is famous for, is potatoes. Crap wait, that's Idaho, we are famous for meth labs. Wait, that isn't what you want on your tourist brochure, lets go with corn. I know what you are thinking, "Corn? Who gives a flip about corn, my state of (input state that doesn't know crap about corn here) has corn." Yeah, if you like ass corn. I've been fortunate to travel this great country of ours, and a few others, and the one thing I can say is, Iowans do something to their corn that makes it better than any other corn on the planet. If you say different, I will sock you in the nose and jam a Iowa corn cob down your throat, then you will see. Wow, sorry about that venom, not sure what happened there, but it's good corn. I've made the mistake of buying corn in other parts of the country, with the anticipation of having a great experience, but sadly, there is a huge difference. I still remember my first trip to Iowa. As we drove along Interstate 80 which splits this state in half, I looked out the window and asked, "What the hell is wrong with their dirt?" Kids, such quizzical minds. My parents told me it wasn't dirt, it's what you call soil. Never heard of it. We were moving to Iowa from the great state of Virginia, where we had brown dirt. This stuff out my window looked like they were growing corn in coffee grounds, black as night. If you've never seen actual soil, go to your local Home Depot, unless you have been previously banned, and break open a bag of potting soil. That my friends, is what we grow our Iowa Sweet Corn in. Yeah, I capitalized it, what about it. You have never put a sweeter thing in your pie hole, unless you were eating a Hostess pie. (I think I need a snack, second reference to the pies) If you think I'm exaggerating, come visit during the Adel Cornfest (you heard me, a festival of corn) and you can pay your $5, or whatever they charge, and then you eat corn until you spew corn out your nose. It's like a beerfest, only chunkier. They give you corn, you get it dunked in a coffee can of butter, or whatever they choose to melt the truckload of butter into, and then slip into a world of cornadise. Yup, that's paradise with corn, look it up, its a real word. Comes after nary in the dictionary. Just writing this has me jonesing for some ISC (Iowa Sweet Corn), I can't wait for summer. This is the one food that if we don't watch Makiah, he will eat all 2 dozen we just bought. Smart kid, he is a true Iowan.

The best thing about Iowans, is their hearts. There are great people all over this country, but I'd put us up, percentage wise, against all other states. The willingness to help your neighbor is amazing. They are always willing to help, whether it be as simple as making you a dinner when you can't make it on your own, to shoveling your driveway when you can't. I do my darndest to live up to the name Iowan, which I claim to be, but I'm just an east coast transplant, so sometimes, I revert to my east coast ways. Please don't write me and tell me you are from NY and you are very nice, including only flipping off middle aged people and not teens and the elderly. You got me Gandhi, your the best, I'm just saying that in MY experience, I have found a much higher percentage of "nice" people here, than I have anywhere else. Now, the level of crazy is a lot less here, which takes away from the daily entertainment factor, if your scoring at home, so you pay for all the normal niceness. I remember once when I was in downtown Washington, DC, I watched a man argue with a squirrel, and it appeared the man was loosing the argument. I can't say for sure, since I don't speak squirrel, but the tone the man had, seemed to indicate a loss was on his horizon, if you don't include the argument itself, which to me reeked of loss. I also watched a guy pull up to a stop light and 4 guys ran up to his car and popped all four hubcaps and took off, in 4 different directions. I can't say for sure, but this seemed to be a planned out maneuver. The man jumped out and yelled, but quickly realize he could only run one direction and IF he was to catch the guy, would now have one hubcap of a 4 cap set. That is IF his car was still there when he got back. Instead, he put his tail between his legs and got back into his car, and ran the red light. Now, that was not nice. At the time, I didn't see the brilliance of it, but lets call it what it was, genius on the robbers part. Same city, different year, I was eating at a Roy Rogers Chicken and Roast Beef Restaurant, when I noticed several people removing their car top carrier just outside the window. It wasn't until I heard some dude just coming out of the food line yell, "HEY, THEY'RE STEALING IT!" did I realize, not their car top carrier to be removing. The guy dropped his tray and ran outside, just in time to watch his carrier go down the street and around the corner. That was not nice at all and makes for a horrible tourist testimonial, but not something I will forget about my life on the east coast. I got to watch it, through the glass window, like I was watching it on TV. Do these few instances make the entire east coast, less friendly? Yes, case closed.

Obviously, this isn't the whole list, I'll have more someday, but that ought to hold you. Like you were asking yourself, "I wonder what Iowans are all about?" We're all crazy.

Glory to God and thank you Jesus!

Today is a sad day. As you may know, I did mission work in Juarez, Mexico for several years. The mission I served at was run by Frank Alarcon, or Frankie to everyone. This was a man who gave up everything he had, to serve the poor people of Juarez. I'm sad because, Frankie is no longer serving the mission from here on earth. He is now seated at the feet of Jesus, the one he had dedicated his life to serve. Although I haven't seen Frankie in several years, I will never forget his stories, his heart or his dedication to the people he loved, even when the violence around him increased by 1000%. He never packed up and crossed back over to the US, which he could have done at any time. No, instead, he hunkered down and expanded his mission. He is a true hero to me, sacrificing his health and retirement portion of his life, to improve the lives of those that couldn't find help anywhere else, and couldn't catch a break in life. I will never forget him, and neither should you. Here is a link to an article about him and I will always have a link to his mission on the right of this blog. Here is an article that was written by a reporter for the Des Moines Register that I had the pleasure to serve with.

God bless Frankie and God bless the people of Juarez.

East siiiiiiide!

Back in Jan. of 2008, I wrote this post. As a refresher, if you don't have time to read it, it's about the intersection outside of my window at work. In the winter, it can be an exciting way to spend your lunch, just watching people approach the 4-way stop intersection doing 40 mph and then try to stop, on a dime, on solid ice. My office is located on the east side of Des Moines, which isn't a bad part of town, but if you had to name a part of town that you might say had the most crime, chances are, you would say, the east side. Today, we were treated to a police foot chase that ended not far from my window. I looked out just in time to see the two cops tackle the guy and then wrestle with him for a few minutes trying to get him handcuffed. I have no idea what he did, or what the other 3 guys that were being arrested did, but it was like a real live version of Cops, one of my favorite shows. Side note, my favorite show was when some "tough" dude was in his ex-girlfriends house, refusing to leave. The cops went in, asked him to leave, and when he refused, tazed him. His reaction was to scream like a girl, piss himself, and then hit the floor. That's must see TV. Today's show was a bit less exciting, but fun all the same. I brought up the story from 2008, then told this one, to show why I love where our office is. It would be great if it was on the west side of town, so I didn't have to drive very far to get to work, but I'm sure it would be less eventful.