One thing I pride myself in is that my kids enjoy writing as much as we do. I finally had my 8 year old complete his Summer Challenge - write about something that he cared about and put it on my report. What follows is his story, in his words...
One day I went to Florida. I saw lots of cool rides and foods. I went on Space Mountain. Do you know that my friends dad lost his glasses and it almost hit the person behind him. I went on the Pirates of the Carrabian ride it was pretty scary, dark, wet and fun. I also went on the Star Wars ride. It was bumpy and felt like we were in space. My friends across the street just went to Florida yesterday.
I also went on a Indiana Jones ride. The actress almost got hit by a real boulderr. We were also at Splash Mauntain. I was sitting next to my screaming Mom. She always thought the little hills were the real big one. Her face on the picture looked like a real mean, horrible, scary looking cat.
We also went on a kid roller coaster and we screamed. It felt like we were going to fall off. We also went on a Magic Flying Carpet ride. I got to control it and my Mom would scream. She actuilly said don't go too high, Cam. I said it desn't matter. When the ride was over, My Mom said "Tyoot!" I also went on a kid oppstakel course. My Sister got stuck so somewone but not me had to carry her out. I also did a basketball game. I won a prize. I also did a car racing ride. My Brother did better than me, just barely. I kept bumping and he didn't. But at first I was doing great.
I also did Soarin'. It felt like we were flying. We shouldn't have gotten 3D glasses. I also did It's a Small World. I did not like it at all. It is for babies. So is Handy Manny. I tasted a lot of good popcorn and lemonade. I brought back a Pirates of the Carrabien fake gun.
I also went to a Celtic basketball game. The score was 62-74. THe Celtics won. It was the Boston Celtics vs. the Orlando Magic. The only people wh went were me, Dad and Gray. After we went to our Neena's house in Florida. We wrapped presents for our Mom and Dad.
The next day was Christmas. I was so exiceded. First I woke up at 5am in the morning. I saw that I got an Ipod Nano. I listened to music in my bed when I got it. It had 14 songs on it. And now it has 35. Then I went to my Neena's. I got benderoos and a video camra. At the SpongeBob hotel I got a bunch of cool things like an invisible ink. First when you squirt it in your hand it's black but when you rub it in it's gone. It doesn't smell very good either. When we went home we still had presents at home. I had a scooter and a helmet. It took three hours to get to Florida and back. It hurt my ears when we were coming up and done.
There you have it. In his own words.
Showing posts with label pop culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pop culture. Show all posts
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Welcome to the Wipeout Zone - JMR's List of 6 Favorite Game Shows
Listening for some music in my car one Saturday afternoon, I came across a fascinating piece on WBUR about Michael Larson, who "cheated" his way into winning more than $110,000 on Press Your Luck back in 1984. Not a lot of money these days, but back 25 years ago, $110,000 could go a long way. In fact, when asked about his plans for the money, Larson's brother commented that he was going to invest it in some real estate projects. Although real estate isn't what it once was, $110,000 is not going to get you that much these days.
How did Larson do it? By watching, taping and rewatching show after show until he figured out that the Press your Luck board was lit in patterns. Once you learned the patterns, I'm sure he thought, you could land on the squares that didn't have a Whammy. Ingenious, really. Watching the special on the Game Show Network on Youtube the other day, it was funny watching his precision by landing on the same two squares dozens of times in a row; finally passing his remaining spins when it appeared he was about to keel over in his seat. I was talking to the computer (as I usually do) when the boys came up to me, asking me what I was watching. They didn't seem that impressed as I was explaining the show and his strategy to them, but as they continued to watch Larson land on the same square time after time with the host Peter Tomarken incredulously asking Larson if he wanted to continue, the questions began. What's a whammy? Why is he passing his spins? Why are their clothes so weird? Then it occurred to me that these kids love game shows.
Which ones you ask? Based on a review of my TV's DVR listings, the following are the six most popular game shows with six and eight year olds.
6. Wheel of Fortune. I'm not sure when the last time this show was watched, but there are 30 of these shows taped. Pat Sajak and (I guess) Vanna White still host this show. Ridiculous gimmicks make this show virtually unrecognizable to someone who hasn't watched in 15 years. I can't put this game show any higher.
5. Family Feud. J. Peterman now hosts this game show. Which is an improvement over Louie Anderson and the unfunny sidekick from Home Improvement, I suppose. I still like this show if only to test my clicker reaction time if a double entendre or suggestive question requires me to mistakenly - yet quickly - fast forward the show past the offending question/answer.
4. Brainsurge. I don't know what this is. But it's on Nickelodeon. That's all I need to know.
3. America's Got Talent. The boys both HATE Piers Morgan. "Why does he always buzz everyone? He's so mean!" I tried to explain that he's there to create tension - and that's he's English. They didn't really understand what I was talking about except to know that I was saying "Dad" things again.
2. Minute to Win It. We watched breathlessly this evening as the bartender from California was playing extreme quarters for $1 million - trying to bounce a quarter off a table and get it in a 5 gallon water bottle 15 feet away. This isn't even the game show part; this is audience participation. I know a couple of guys who could give that game a go, though.
We watched the actual game show portion tonight and I can confirm (after watching, taping and rewatching) that the last guy, when the Diners and Dives guy asked him "Blueprint or Greenbacks?" He said "Greenbacks." (They went to the next blueprint anyway.) All-in-all, this is a great show because it gives us game ideas for our son's next birthday party.
1. Wipeout. The Mother of all gameshows. Ripped off from a foreign gameshow? Yes, absolutely. But still the sight of out of shape non-athletes flying off of obstacles into the water at all angles entertains us. We watch the same show over and over until the following week, when a new show appears on our DVR.
The show is simple. 24 contestants are put through an obstacle course in the Qualifying round. This round usually includes contestants who clearly don't care about winning (who are quickly whittled down) and contestants who are serious about winning the $50,000 grand prize. The highlight is the obstacle known as the "Big Balls," which requires contestants to bounce across four red large rubber balls to the other side of the platform. If anyone hesitates, he or she is moved onto the obstacle by the "Motivator." Why these people don't know it's coming is beyond me. The 12 fastest then move on to the next round, whittled down further, and then sent on to the final qualifying round. Usually three people make it though the final qualifying round into this final round - known as the Wipeout Zone.
Needless to say, we are all enthralled with this show. Between me laughing at all the poor saps who twist awkwardly into the water and mud, and the true athletic competition that begins in Qualifying Eliminator Round 2, we are all sitting on the edge of our seats waiting to see what happens next. The Wipeout zone usually includes the contestants literally being launched into the pool. From there, they must manage their way through a number of difficult contraptions, usually trying to avoid the shaving cream and suds that cover each obstacle. They don't listen to our pleas to figure out the Gauntlet, which includes a puzzling Crank Shift and the Blade of Fury. Why? Why don't they listen to us? Ultimately, we end each show cheering everyone on, asking each other who we think is going to win. It certainly beats sibling fights.
I'm sure the Top 6 will increase as we go along this Summer, but I wonder who's going to win the Blind Date Wipeout episode that we're going to watch tomorrow morning, again?
photographs courtesy of gsnetwork.com and tv.com (via ABC)
Which ones you ask? Based on a review of my TV's DVR listings, the following are the six most popular game shows with six and eight year olds.
6. Wheel of Fortune. I'm not sure when the last time this show was watched, but there are 30 of these shows taped. Pat Sajak and (I guess) Vanna White still host this show. Ridiculous gimmicks make this show virtually unrecognizable to someone who hasn't watched in 15 years. I can't put this game show any higher.
5. Family Feud. J. Peterman now hosts this game show. Which is an improvement over Louie Anderson and the unfunny sidekick from Home Improvement, I suppose. I still like this show if only to test my clicker reaction time if a double entendre or suggestive question requires me to mistakenly - yet quickly - fast forward the show past the offending question/answer.
4. Brainsurge. I don't know what this is. But it's on Nickelodeon. That's all I need to know.
3. America's Got Talent. The boys both HATE Piers Morgan. "Why does he always buzz everyone? He's so mean!" I tried to explain that he's there to create tension - and that's he's English. They didn't really understand what I was talking about except to know that I was saying "Dad" things again.
2. Minute to Win It. We watched breathlessly this evening as the bartender from California was playing extreme quarters for $1 million - trying to bounce a quarter off a table and get it in a 5 gallon water bottle 15 feet away. This isn't even the game show part; this is audience participation. I know a couple of guys who could give that game a go, though.
We watched the actual game show portion tonight and I can confirm (after watching, taping and rewatching) that the last guy, when the Diners and Dives guy asked him "Blueprint or Greenbacks?" He said "Greenbacks." (They went to the next blueprint anyway.) All-in-all, this is a great show because it gives us game ideas for our son's next birthday party.
1. Wipeout. The Mother of all gameshows. Ripped off from a foreign gameshow? Yes, absolutely. But still the sight of out of shape non-athletes flying off of obstacles into the water at all angles entertains us. We watch the same show over and over until the following week, when a new show appears on our DVR.
The show is simple. 24 contestants are put through an obstacle course in the Qualifying round. This round usually includes contestants who clearly don't care about winning (who are quickly whittled down) and contestants who are serious about winning the $50,000 grand prize. The highlight is the obstacle known as the "Big Balls," which requires contestants to bounce across four red large rubber balls to the other side of the platform. If anyone hesitates, he or she is moved onto the obstacle by the "Motivator." Why these people don't know it's coming is beyond me. The 12 fastest then move on to the next round, whittled down further, and then sent on to the final qualifying round. Usually three people make it though the final qualifying round into this final round - known as the Wipeout Zone.
I'm sure the Top 6 will increase as we go along this Summer, but I wonder who's going to win the Blind Date Wipeout episode that we're going to watch tomorrow morning, again?
photographs courtesy of gsnetwork.com and tv.com (via ABC)
Friday, June 11, 2010
The Night We Went to the Derby
If you know me and this space, when you read about the "Night We Went to the Derby," you're probably thinking we went to the Kentucky Derby or some other type of horse race, or perhaps we strolled the local shopping mall. Not this time. This time we went to the Derby where, in the immortal words of my three year old "the girls go to kill each other!!" I admit that that was a sentence that was uttered out of my mouth to engender some excitement - but who cares? JMR and crew was going to see the Boston Derby Dames.
Disappointed, we return home. But the JMR clan will not be denied our fun, so the next month we purchase our tickets online well before. The kids are warily looking at me as we get in the car for the one hour drive to Wilmington. When my 8 year old asks to hold the tickets, I tell him that we have to get them when we get there. He looks sort of pissed when he chimes "That's what you said last month, Dad!" I ask him if he wants to see the credit card statement proving that I actually bought them this time, with only a slight hint of sarcasm.
The rules are little too complex to explain in this space. If you're interested, check out the full rules here. There are a lot of referees, a lot of skating around in circles and a lot of points scored. But suffice it to say that each team has a skater that needs to get by all of the other skaters in order to earn points within a 2 minute timeframe. That and you can't really hit each other to block people, you can just get in their way. Incidentally, that rule will later come back to haunt us. I try to explain some of the rules to the kids. My 6 year old doesn't really give much consideration to the rules when he blurts out "When are the girls going to kill each other??" Some people look around with me to try to find the perpetrator of such an ignorant statement. My 8 year old is horrified.
Unfortunately, while I am enjoying myself watching the bout and figuring out the nuances of scoring, the kids start getting restless. The girls aren't killing each other enough, I learn. We decide to leave just as the bout turns really exciting (the Wicked Pissahs eek out a five point victory, I find out later). I try to talk them into staying, but once one of them utters "McDonalds" it's all downhill from there. So we end up leaving, but not before the kids try some Kickass Cupcakes and we take a couple of photos. Despite them claiming to be bored, the Roller Derby is all we talk about as we drive home. Maybe they had a better time than I thought?
It all started on a fateful afternoon in April. Desperate to look for some weekend entertainment for C, G and DLG, I came across a flyer for the Boston Derby Dames. I remember Roller Derby from when I was growing up (and frankly Roller Derby brings all of us back to a more innocent time, when the Fonz was cool and Pinky Tuscadero was the bomb), and remembered fondly a couple of times that I watched Roller Derby when I was younger. So we decided to check out the "bout."
With names like the Nutcrackers, the Cosmonaughties and the Wicked Pissahs, I asked around to see if perhaps this was not the kind of show I should be taking three impressionable children to. When convinced that the show was at worst a "rated PG" type event, I decided to roll with it. I just hope that Anna WrecksYa and Ivanna Shankabitch are not in the first bout. Those names might be kind of hard to explain since they will understand some of the other play on words that these ladies travel with.
4pm. April 2010. We arrive at Shriners Auditorium early so we can get good seats. As we're walking slowly toward the front entrance, I notice dozens of people milling around the parking lot, cooking food on grills, drinking beer out of the standard red plastic cups and playing muscle music as loudly as possible. Is this where Pats fans go during the offseason? I then notice a line out the door comprising fans waiting to get in. Strange, I think to myself. We park ourselves in line under the door where we see the letter in our last name is. I suppose this is organized almost like the Pinewood Derby - sitting in alphabetical order. Soon I realize that we're in a will call line.
"Where do I buy tickets?" I ask the two biker chicks standing in front of me. They look at each other and smile. One of them spits some sort liquid out of her mouth and laughs at us.
"This bout was sold out weeks ago!" She gruffly answers.
"You're kidding?!" I say incredulously. "Really?"
"Really." She snorts. "If you wait around, you can probably scalp some tickets toward the start of the bout." That, I find utterly ridiculous. I'm not going to teach my kids that you can get what you want by paying more than face value to purchase tickets illegally - well at least for Roller Derby. The Sox or the Pats are a different story.
Disappointed, we return home. But the JMR clan will not be denied our fun, so the next month we purchase our tickets online well before. The kids are warily looking at me as we get in the car for the one hour drive to Wilmington. When my 8 year old asks to hold the tickets, I tell him that we have to get them when we get there. He looks sort of pissed when he chimes "That's what you said last month, Dad!" I ask him if he wants to see the credit card statement proving that I actually bought them this time, with only a slight hint of sarcasm.4pm. May 2010. Wilmington, MA. This time we confidentally stand in line where the first letter of our first name is to get our tickets. After a couple of minutes, we're inside. Just in time to see the first bout, the Wicked Pissahs versus the Cosmonaughties. I'm not sure if these teams are both based in Boston; I assume that they are. This is the "warm up" bout before the Boston Massacre take on the best team - Olympia - for the main bout.
The rules are little too complex to explain in this space. If you're interested, check out the full rules here. There are a lot of referees, a lot of skating around in circles and a lot of points scored. But suffice it to say that each team has a skater that needs to get by all of the other skaters in order to earn points within a 2 minute timeframe. That and you can't really hit each other to block people, you can just get in their way. Incidentally, that rule will later come back to haunt us. I try to explain some of the rules to the kids. My 6 year old doesn't really give much consideration to the rules when he blurts out "When are the girls going to kill each other??" Some people look around with me to try to find the perpetrator of such an ignorant statement. My 8 year old is horrified.Luckily, the lights go down and a buzz starts growing from the crowd. We're all getting excited, not knowing what's going to happen. Finally, after a ten minute introduction about the rules, the teams are introduced and play begins. Led by co-captains Hayley Contagious and Splitter Noggin (my 8 year old's favorite name), we decide to root for team blue (I call them that instead of the "Cosmonaughties" to avoid the inevitable questions.)
Unfortunately, while I am enjoying myself watching the bout and figuring out the nuances of scoring, the kids start getting restless. The girls aren't killing each other enough, I learn. We decide to leave just as the bout turns really exciting (the Wicked Pissahs eek out a five point victory, I find out later). I try to talk them into staying, but once one of them utters "McDonalds" it's all downhill from there. So we end up leaving, but not before the kids try some Kickass Cupcakes and we take a couple of photos. Despite them claiming to be bored, the Roller Derby is all we talk about as we drive home. Maybe they had a better time than I thought?You know, whether they had a good time (which I think they did) or they were bored, they will always be able to say to their friends that they went to see Roller Derby when they were kids. Just like learning the piano, you don't appreciate experiences like that until you're older. Maybe they will go with me next Saturday?
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
We Don't Care that the Harlem Globetrotters are More of a Show Than a Team
We want to be entertained! That's what the kids always tell me and the missus every Saturday and Sunday morning. Maybe not in so many words, but that's certainly the jist of their looks last Sunday morning when they roused us from sleep at 6:30am.
"Can a friend come over?" No, not at 6:30 in the morning.
"Will you play basketball with us outside?" No, it's 6:30 in the morning.
I can, however, accommodate my daughter's request. "Will you put a show on for me downstairs, Daddy?" Sure. Wow Wow Wubbsy or Tom and Jerry?
"Are the Celtics playing?" No, it's 6:30 in the morning.
Luckily, I had the foresight to see what was happening this bleak, cloudy Sunday. The Boston Sports Blogapalooza was cancelled, so we were free, not having planned anything that involved the five of us driving somewhere far. I checked that morning and yes, Harlem Globetrootters tickets were available. Maybe they weren't as popular as when I was a kid, or maybe basketball fans were waiting for the Celtics game later that evening. Either way, our Sunday afternoon itinerary was set.
1pm. Boston, MA. Oh no! We're walking around the Garden and notice that no one was holding beer cups. I know that this is predominantly family entertainment, but isn't that all the more reason to sell beer? Before I started becoming really concerned, my wife notices a couple of similar-minded parents who indicate that the beer lines are long, but they are just around the corner. Of course. I also notice a solitary kiosk selling Globetrotter trinkets, jerseys and balls. Little did I know that it was a harbinger of the chaos that I fondly remember as "Halftime."
We sit down to watch warmups. One thing I notice is that the Washington Generals have a couple of good outsde shooters. They actually look a little frisky this afternoon. (Hey, I know, you don't have to tell me that the Globetrotters are going to win.) The Globetrotters on the other hand can't hit a shot over 12 feet. One of the guys, I don't remember his name, kept the tradition alive of trying to hit a half court shot - to no avail. Another player, Cobra Coley, was trying to hit a three pointer while sitting on the visitors' bench. The one he made garnered quite a cheer - myself included.
A staple of Globetrotters basketball is then featured, the Magic Circle to the tune of "Sweet Georgia Brown." Admit it, you're probably whistling as you read this. Brings back great memories of Curly Neal, Meadowlark Lemon and Sweet Lou Dunbar, I tell you.
Although it lasted about 10 minutes too long, Sweet Georgia Brown then made way for player introductions. Nothing unexpected except that we discover that the Generals' coach is a Yankees' fan. What a startling coincidence! Booing ensues on cue. At this point, even my seven year old asks me when the game is going to start.
First Half. The friskiness is evident as the game starts. The Generals come out hitting virtually every shot that they take. Meanwhile, the Globetrotters' signature weave, interspersed with some outside shooting keep the Globetrotters in the game. A couple of fan favorites are also showcased - hitting a player/referee with a bucket of water, hypnotizing some players and an appearance by Globie the Mascot. The kids are going crazy. I have to admit that this is really entertaining. The Generals, though, lead at halftime, 32-31. I can imagine the anti-pep talk being given to the Generals as we speak. Miss more shots. Smile more. Play NO DEFENSE!
Halftime. I thought we were in a Moscow bread line during halftime. I was genuinely concerned about the boys during the crush for Globetrotter basketball and wristbands. Thre were at least three hundred angry kids and their parent holding out cash loking for stuff. The two 70 year old guys at the one kiosk selling Globetrotters paraphernalia looked like they were selling these things with their hands tied behind their backs. Like girls after a Justin Bieber concert we get out of line a little bruised, but otherwise fine.
Second Half. Surprisingly, the Weave really starts to confuse the Generals defense. They can't stop the onslaught of alley-oops, dunks and uncontested lay ups. Their three point shots seem to be missing their mark on the offensive side of the ball too, the Trotters start dominating the game.
One new invention that I had never seen before was the Football play. Special K Daley donned a Tom Brady jersey and called a play that included a touchdown pass/hoop to Cobra Coley. The best part was that they then completed the whole play backwards. Very entertaining as they nailed the reverse look exceptionally well. I can only imagine how this plays in Oakland. (Do they boo as Special K puts on a JaMarcus Russell Raiders jersey?)
Finally, the Globetrotters put the game away 77-73. The Harlem Globetrotters record of no losses to the Generals since 1971 remains in tact. The kids leave the back staircase of the Garden literally skipping while dribbling their new Harlem Globetrotter basketballs. Another successful Sunday, I can safely say.
"Can a friend come over?" My five year old asks me as get into the car - an hour later after getting lunch. Maybe tomorrow.
"Can a friend come over?" No, not at 6:30 in the morning.
"Will you play basketball with us outside?" No, it's 6:30 in the morning.
I can, however, accommodate my daughter's request. "Will you put a show on for me downstairs, Daddy?" Sure. Wow Wow Wubbsy or Tom and Jerry?
"Are the Celtics playing?" No, it's 6:30 in the morning.
Luckily, I had the foresight to see what was happening this bleak, cloudy Sunday. The Boston Sports Blogapalooza was cancelled, so we were free, not having planned anything that involved the five of us driving somewhere far. I checked that morning and yes, Harlem Globetrootters tickets were available. Maybe they weren't as popular as when I was a kid, or maybe basketball fans were waiting for the Celtics game later that evening. Either way, our Sunday afternoon itinerary was set.
1pm. Boston, MA. Oh no! We're walking around the Garden and notice that no one was holding beer cups. I know that this is predominantly family entertainment, but isn't that all the more reason to sell beer? Before I started becoming really concerned, my wife notices a couple of similar-minded parents who indicate that the beer lines are long, but they are just around the corner. Of course. I also notice a solitary kiosk selling Globetrotter trinkets, jerseys and balls. Little did I know that it was a harbinger of the chaos that I fondly remember as "Halftime."
A staple of Globetrotters basketball is then featured, the Magic Circle to the tune of "Sweet Georgia Brown." Admit it, you're probably whistling as you read this. Brings back great memories of Curly Neal, Meadowlark Lemon and Sweet Lou Dunbar, I tell you.
Although it lasted about 10 minutes too long, Sweet Georgia Brown then made way for player introductions. Nothing unexpected except that we discover that the Generals' coach is a Yankees' fan. What a startling coincidence! Booing ensues on cue. At this point, even my seven year old asks me when the game is going to start.
Halftime. I thought we were in a Moscow bread line during halftime. I was genuinely concerned about the boys during the crush for Globetrotter basketball and wristbands. Thre were at least three hundred angry kids and their parent holding out cash loking for stuff. The two 70 year old guys at the one kiosk selling Globetrotters paraphernalia looked like they were selling these things with their hands tied behind their backs. Like girls after a Justin Bieber concert we get out of line a little bruised, but otherwise fine.
Second Half. Surprisingly, the Weave really starts to confuse the Generals defense. They can't stop the onslaught of alley-oops, dunks and uncontested lay ups. Their three point shots seem to be missing their mark on the offensive side of the ball too, the Trotters start dominating the game.
One new invention that I had never seen before was the Football play. Special K Daley donned a Tom Brady jersey and called a play that included a touchdown pass/hoop to Cobra Coley. The best part was that they then completed the whole play backwards. Very entertaining as they nailed the reverse look exceptionally well. I can only imagine how this plays in Oakland. (Do they boo as Special K puts on a JaMarcus Russell Raiders jersey?)
Finally, the Globetrotters put the game away 77-73. The Harlem Globetrotters record of no losses to the Generals since 1971 remains in tact. The kids leave the back staircase of the Garden literally skipping while dribbling their new Harlem Globetrotter basketballs. Another successful Sunday, I can safely say.
"Can a friend come over?" My five year old asks me as get into the car - an hour later after getting lunch. Maybe tomorrow.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Kicking and Screaming - The Culture Experiment, Part 2
The weekend between the AFC and NFC Championship Games and the Super Bowl creates a sports wasteland for me. Still not ready to settle for some uninspired NBA and NHL games and six weeks before March Madness, this particular weekend fills my soul with an unimaginable void. All right, it's not that bad, but my Sunday afternoon had to be filled with something, anything to get over the loneliness. My thought was to treat this weekend as an anti-sports weekend, Sunday included. Boston has a vibrant arts scene; we used to partake in all of activities years ago when we lived in Town. A little bit of culture wouldn't hurt the kids...probably.
It didn't start out as I had planned. Saturday afternoon consisted of watching Dangerous Dan and Oh Cosmo lead the Boston Blazers in Major League Indoor Lacrosse. Originally, I was thinking about taking my seven year old to the ICA in South Boston, but when he asked me if we were going into Town to see the Celtics or the Bruins, I decided on the fly that we had to see sports, not modern art. I couldn't bring a disappointed child to see Modern Art, that could lead to catastrophe. I guess the full weekend of the Culture Experiment would have to wait until the beginning of August, when the next sports wasteland emerges. But Sunday was a different day. After carefully considering our options, we decided to drag, er voluntarily escort, the children to the Museum of Fine Art. Would we take a wrong turn or two? (Yes.) Would it take 20 minutes of driving around the Fenway to find parking? (Yes.) Would there be screaming, crying and general crankiness from the long night the night before? (Yes.)
12pm. Boston, MA. After pissing off the valet attendant by driving up the valet parking lot not once or twice, but three times, we hopped out of the car to make our way inside. I have to admit, the giant creepy baby heads adorning the back entrance of the MFA scares children and adults alike. What the hell is going on here?
A couple of jokes later, all 5 of head finally inside. Wait, it costs $20 bucks to get inside? I remember when it used to be free admission with a (not-so-subtle) request to make a donation - similar to the request for a donation I receved when we moved into our North End apartment 15 years earlier. We look at each other and telepathically decide that the children will enjoy themselves for at least two hours - whether they like it or not.
The MFA is currently undergoing renovations, so the back entrance was a makeshift labyrinth of white walls and hopeful photographs of what the MFA will look like when the renovations are complete. Just like law school, my money is going to the enjoyment of others in a new building. That's okay though because the children immediately go nuts when they are told of the game where they look for and match up the ancient Greek coins from the fake plastic coins they are given.
"Can we keep the coins when we find them?" my 5 year old asks me as he examines the fake plastic replicas. How charming that he knows the value of money at such a young age - perhaps I should alert his grandparents. Well at least that permits us to go to the ancient world exhibits, which includes a room with Egyptian artifacts. Perhaps I will gain some insight into the Lost mythology if I can spend some time studying the mummies, hieroglyphics and ankhs.
Well that ended up taking all of 5 minutes. The coins were all in the same display case before we even walked into the ancient Greek art exhibit. We looked at the coins, answered a few questions and moved on to the Early American Period.
Noting that we had three young children accompanying us, guess where we spent the most time in this Exhibit? Right - at the painting illustrating a naked man getting eaten by a shark. After answering a multitude of questions - "Where is that guy's clothes? Why aren't they pulling him out of the water? Will sharks eat us when we go the beach? I ask why none of the boats in the immediate background of this painting are lending any assistance. "If they are so smart, let those stupid Yankees figure this out for themselves." I decide the men in these other boats are thinking.
A little bit more walking around after the American Exhibit and here we are to the highlight of the trip. The escalator ride up to the second floor! The kids start running and screaming. The children are delighted (I would be more descriptive, but we ARE in a museum). As we walk down the Second Floor corridor, we stop to watch an ingenius exhibit - 50 TV screens stacked in an array with different people all singing the same Madonna songs. We hear Borderline, Lucky Star and Crazy For You. The adults were thoroughly entertained, that's for sure. In fact, I would have stayed until they sang "Into the Groove," but with kids growing up to Beyonce and Black Eyed Peas, this is absolutely trite. We had to move on to the last exhibits.
Impressionism really isn't my thing, but that's where we can find Monet, Cassatt and the other famous European artists. The MFA has an impressive collection. The kids are interested as well, they have to learn about Van Gogh and Cassatt in school, and it reinforces their learning if they actually see some of the works that they are studying; at least that is what I think.
After 20 minutes in there, we finally have to leave for the obligatory meal. And we only had to be spoken to once by a security guard? Fantastic!
In the car on the way out, we ask what their favorite parts were. We hear the search for the coins, Madonna and of course the naked man getting eaten by the shark. We still talk about the ginat baby heads. The Culture Experiment, while cut in half, was a success. Pass me a beer.
It didn't start out as I had planned. Saturday afternoon consisted of watching Dangerous Dan and Oh Cosmo lead the Boston Blazers in Major League Indoor Lacrosse. Originally, I was thinking about taking my seven year old to the ICA in South Boston, but when he asked me if we were going into Town to see the Celtics or the Bruins, I decided on the fly that we had to see sports, not modern art. I couldn't bring a disappointed child to see Modern Art, that could lead to catastrophe. I guess the full weekend of the Culture Experiment would have to wait until the beginning of August, when the next sports wasteland emerges. But Sunday was a different day. After carefully considering our options, we decided to drag, er voluntarily escort, the children to the Museum of Fine Art. Would we take a wrong turn or two? (Yes.) Would it take 20 minutes of driving around the Fenway to find parking? (Yes.) Would there be screaming, crying and general crankiness from the long night the night before? (Yes.)
12pm. Boston, MA. After pissing off the valet attendant by driving up the valet parking lot not once or twice, but three times, we hopped out of the car to make our way inside. I have to admit, the giant creepy baby heads adorning the back entrance of the MFA scares children and adults alike. What the hell is going on here?
A couple of jokes later, all 5 of head finally inside. Wait, it costs $20 bucks to get inside? I remember when it used to be free admission with a (not-so-subtle) request to make a donation - similar to the request for a donation I receved when we moved into our North End apartment 15 years earlier. We look at each other and telepathically decide that the children will enjoy themselves for at least two hours - whether they like it or not.
The MFA is currently undergoing renovations, so the back entrance was a makeshift labyrinth of white walls and hopeful photographs of what the MFA will look like when the renovations are complete. Just like law school, my money is going to the enjoyment of others in a new building. That's okay though because the children immediately go nuts when they are told of the game where they look for and match up the ancient Greek coins from the fake plastic coins they are given.
"Can we keep the coins when we find them?" my 5 year old asks me as he examines the fake plastic replicas. How charming that he knows the value of money at such a young age - perhaps I should alert his grandparents. Well at least that permits us to go to the ancient world exhibits, which includes a room with Egyptian artifacts. Perhaps I will gain some insight into the Lost mythology if I can spend some time studying the mummies, hieroglyphics and ankhs.
Well that ended up taking all of 5 minutes. The coins were all in the same display case before we even walked into the ancient Greek art exhibit. We looked at the coins, answered a few questions and moved on to the Early American Period.
Noting that we had three young children accompanying us, guess where we spent the most time in this Exhibit? Right - at the painting illustrating a naked man getting eaten by a shark. After answering a multitude of questions - "Where is that guy's clothes? Why aren't they pulling him out of the water? Will sharks eat us when we go the beach? I ask why none of the boats in the immediate background of this painting are lending any assistance. "If they are so smart, let those stupid Yankees figure this out for themselves." I decide the men in these other boats are thinking.
A little bit more walking around after the American Exhibit and here we are to the highlight of the trip. The escalator ride up to the second floor! The kids start running and screaming. The children are delighted (I would be more descriptive, but we ARE in a museum). As we walk down the Second Floor corridor, we stop to watch an ingenius exhibit - 50 TV screens stacked in an array with different people all singing the same Madonna songs. We hear Borderline, Lucky Star and Crazy For You. The adults were thoroughly entertained, that's for sure. In fact, I would have stayed until they sang "Into the Groove," but with kids growing up to Beyonce and Black Eyed Peas, this is absolutely trite. We had to move on to the last exhibits.
Impressionism really isn't my thing, but that's where we can find Monet, Cassatt and the other famous European artists. The MFA has an impressive collection. The kids are interested as well, they have to learn about Van Gogh and Cassatt in school, and it reinforces their learning if they actually see some of the works that they are studying; at least that is what I think.
After 20 minutes in there, we finally have to leave for the obligatory meal. And we only had to be spoken to once by a security guard? Fantastic!
In the car on the way out, we ask what their favorite parts were. We hear the search for the coins, Madonna and of course the naked man getting eaten by the shark. We still talk about the ginat baby heads. The Culture Experiment, while cut in half, was a success. Pass me a beer.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
JMR's List of 5 Ridiculous Professional Athlete Arrests
I'm reading the police blotter and the Washington Post on a daily basis these days. The reason: my list of the most ridiculous arrests of professional athletes may finally have to be expanded beyond 5. In a ridiculous showing of machismo, Gilbert Arena's gun charges - resulting from a gambling debt to a teammate gone awry - may unfortunately end in a plea deal that will not include jail time, according to the Washington Post, but there is always a chance that those negotiations may break down and serious charges brought against the Wizards star.
This all begs the question: what are JMann Review's list of the 5 most ridiculous athlete arrests?
5. Randy Moss (2002). Apparently late for practice, the mercurial Moss was trying to take an illegal turn on a Minneapolis side street one late afternoon. When the "traffic control agent" (read: meter maid) attempted to stop him, Moss merely continued down the street at a slow rate of speed until the officer fell to the street. Moss was charged with assault with a dangerous weapon. When everything was all said and done, he was cited for reckless driving. Way to stick up for the law, Minnesota!
4. Olden Polynice (2000). Not once, but twice, the 7 foot center for the Utah Jazz was charged with impersonating a police officer after flashing an honorary police badge he received from the Los Angeles police department. These unlucky motorists presumably rubbed the big fella the wrong way. He contended at the time that he was intending to identify himself as "Olden Polynice - member of the Utah Jazz" rather than "Olden Polynice - Raving Lunatic." Obviously as a response to this peculiar crime spree, the general public was subjected to this.
3. Ed Belfour (2000). An athlete getting arrested for assault, resisting arrest and disorderly conduct is serious business. The interesting aspect of this story, however, is Belfour's reaction as the arrest was taking place. After dismissing out of hand a $100,000 bribe, the loaded hockey goalie then offered the Dallas police officers arresting him a whopping ONE BILLION DOLLARS to forget this all happened. When they refused, he proceeded to kick in the police car windows trying to escape, I can only imagine. While outlandish at the time, I quickly think about this scenario playing itself out if Tiger Woods or Alex Rodriguez were ever arrested today.
2. Plaxico Burress (2008). While going clubbing in his sweatpants, the 32 year old Burress, with friend Antonio Pierce in tow, accidently shot himself in the thigh when the gun slipped down the side of his pants and narrowly missed a security guard working the front door. Strangely, despite almost being shot, both Pierce and the security guard attempted to assist Burress to cover up the self inflicted wound by helping Burress to a waiting automobile and delivering the firearm back to Burress. If I were either one of them, I probably would have run once I saw what went down, but I guess that's why I'm not a professional athlete. In any event, the Super Bowl hero agreed to plea his charges down to illegal possession of a firearm and is currently serving a two year sentence in State Prison.
1. Delonte West (2009). The piece de resistance of all ridiculously arrested athletes, and in what can only be described as a what the f**k moment, the former Celtics' guard was arrested in Maryland during the offseason after cutting off a canine officer in his three wheel motorcycle - West's three wheel motorcycle. Apparantly, West was having some issues as he was discovered with not one, not two, but three concealed weapons - most notably, a shot gun inside a guitar case strapped to his shoulder. According to his Father, West was "looking behind his back and protecting himself." Quite honestly, if you were concerned about your safety on a highway, wouldn't you drive around in an armored hummer or other SUV, instead of this?
The list, I suppose could go on and on. Some amusing, some quite serious. Whether it be Gilbert Arenas or other athletes performing badly, I can't help but think of Charles Barkley ad campaign with Nike 15 years ago.
"I am not a role model. I am not paid to be a role model. I am paid to wreak havoc on the basketball court. Parents should be role models. Just because I dunk a basketball, it doesn't mean I should raise your kids."
Well said, Charles.
This all begs the question: what are JMann Review's list of the 5 most ridiculous athlete arrests?
5. Randy Moss (2002). Apparently late for practice, the mercurial Moss was trying to take an illegal turn on a Minneapolis side street one late afternoon. When the "traffic control agent" (read: meter maid) attempted to stop him, Moss merely continued down the street at a slow rate of speed until the officer fell to the street. Moss was charged with assault with a dangerous weapon. When everything was all said and done, he was cited for reckless driving. Way to stick up for the law, Minnesota!
4. Olden Polynice (2000). Not once, but twice, the 7 foot center for the Utah Jazz was charged with impersonating a police officer after flashing an honorary police badge he received from the Los Angeles police department. These unlucky motorists presumably rubbed the big fella the wrong way. He contended at the time that he was intending to identify himself as "Olden Polynice - member of the Utah Jazz" rather than "Olden Polynice - Raving Lunatic." Obviously as a response to this peculiar crime spree, the general public was subjected to this.
3. Ed Belfour (2000). An athlete getting arrested for assault, resisting arrest and disorderly conduct is serious business. The interesting aspect of this story, however, is Belfour's reaction as the arrest was taking place. After dismissing out of hand a $100,000 bribe, the loaded hockey goalie then offered the Dallas police officers arresting him a whopping ONE BILLION DOLLARS to forget this all happened. When they refused, he proceeded to kick in the police car windows trying to escape, I can only imagine. While outlandish at the time, I quickly think about this scenario playing itself out if Tiger Woods or Alex Rodriguez were ever arrested today.
2. Plaxico Burress (2008). While going clubbing in his sweatpants, the 32 year old Burress, with friend Antonio Pierce in tow, accidently shot himself in the thigh when the gun slipped down the side of his pants and narrowly missed a security guard working the front door. Strangely, despite almost being shot, both Pierce and the security guard attempted to assist Burress to cover up the self inflicted wound by helping Burress to a waiting automobile and delivering the firearm back to Burress. If I were either one of them, I probably would have run once I saw what went down, but I guess that's why I'm not a professional athlete. In any event, the Super Bowl hero agreed to plea his charges down to illegal possession of a firearm and is currently serving a two year sentence in State Prison.
1. Delonte West (2009). The piece de resistance of all ridiculously arrested athletes, and in what can only be described as a what the f**k moment, the former Celtics' guard was arrested in Maryland during the offseason after cutting off a canine officer in his three wheel motorcycle - West's three wheel motorcycle. Apparantly, West was having some issues as he was discovered with not one, not two, but three concealed weapons - most notably, a shot gun inside a guitar case strapped to his shoulder. According to his Father, West was "looking behind his back and protecting himself." Quite honestly, if you were concerned about your safety on a highway, wouldn't you drive around in an armored hummer or other SUV, instead of this?
The list, I suppose could go on and on. Some amusing, some quite serious. Whether it be Gilbert Arenas or other athletes performing badly, I can't help but think of Charles Barkley ad campaign with Nike 15 years ago.
"I am not a role model. I am not paid to be a role model. I am paid to wreak havoc on the basketball court. Parents should be role models. Just because I dunk a basketball, it doesn't mean I should raise your kids."
Well said, Charles.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Three Sheets to Epcot Center - A Picture Essay
In this photo essay, we go Three Sheets to Epcot Center. We drink grape wine, rice wine, glauwein, Morrocan slushies, tequila and of course, beer.
Da da dum. Da da dum. Da da dum bum bum bum. Every night in every city around the world it happens. People poor into local watering holes to well...drink. It's our mission to traverse the globe getting to know these different people and their drinking customs, bellying up to the bar, and with any luck, making some new friends. [For copyright protection purposes, I thank Zane Lamprey, et al for this introduction. Thanks, Zane.]
6PM. Orlando, FL. We're on a limited budget. Our staff was playing ISpy with their Grandmother and couldn't help us produce our essay. What easier way to experience, in a technologically disadvantaged way, the local drinking customs of several countries within feet of each other than at the cultural melting pot of Disney World? Armed only with our trusted camera (I forgot to bring the video camera), we scurried past the lines at the GM Test Track and Soarin' and made our way to the Countries of the World Pavilion to sample the delights from 11 countries around the world. The theme park's late hours, however, were not tonight and we only had three hours to get in and get out. Man and woman versus drink, so to speak. Join us, as we go THREE SHEETS TO EPCOT CENTER!
MEXICO. Our first stop on our suddenly quick journey through the pavillion was La Cava De Tequila. You don't need to know Spanish to know that that loosely translates to "Tequila Cave." MM started quickly with a margarita from Jose, our bartender. And I had a cheap generic beer called Sola that was served in the same type of clear bottle as Corona. Hmm. Is Corona just the Mexican equivalent of Milwaukee's Best?
To be honest with you, I'm not sure that was his name. All I know is that he was from Miami, Florida.
To our surprise, we also met the foursome below who were experiencing the Countries of the World Pavilion along with us. After looking at the Tequila shot plate in front of the guys, we asked whether they did all those shots. "Really?" my wife questioned when they said they hadn't. Then, uh, who did? Whereas this was our first stop, obviously this was their last. The woman on the left was doing a tequila shooter. Luckily for us, we backed up after we took this photo, since she was a little "shaky" with the whole salt, lime and tequila shot sequence.
NORWAY. The girls at the Akershus Royal Buffet at the Norway Pavillion were not amused by my question of whether there was a bar inside. Even charming Norwegian accents didn't make the angry words "No sir, we don't." sound any less harsh. Why couldn't the Tequila Foursome tell us to skip Norway?
CHINA. No luck with a bar here either, but we could order a couple of Tsing Tao with our eggrolls and dumplings from the Nine Dragons cafeteria. This guy was pretty psyched to have his picture taken. He also was insistent on taking our picture. When I looked at it the next morning, I just shook my head.
GERMANY: Our first stop was to taste the Gerstacker Gluhwein outside of the pavillion. It's spicy wine made somewhere in Germany. More than one person told us to try this wine, so we were excited to taste it. Knowing that we still hadn't hit the "Biergarten," we tried just one between the two of us. What our bartender didn't tell us though, was that it was spiced wine served HOT. I suppose if you are living in a cave in the black forest this might be an appealing alternative to freezing, but when its 66 degrees in Florida? No thanks. Needless to say, I will have a discussion with those who fooled me into trying this concoction. The bartender's smirk says it all...another American tourist fooled.
So we moved on to what I truly thought would be the highlight of the experience. A liter stein at the "Biergarten." Wait, what, they don't have a bar and worse yet, they don't serve beer? But its called the "Biergarten!" Was I wrong to think that "biergarten" means garden of beer? I'm told that they serve beer during Octoberfest, but that I need to go over to the kiosk over here
to get Paulaner Octoberfest. Shouldn't Octoberfest happen everyday in Disney World? Doesn't New Years Eve happen every night at Pleasure Island? "They don't do that anymore." I'm told. Oh. So I begrudgingly order two beers. The girls wouldn't let me pour my own, so I didn't (as far as they know), but my wife was still choking down her glue wine, so I had two beers for myself. The guy behind me, who we started talking to while waiting in line, looked thirsty so I gave him my extra beer, so long as I could take his picture and make fun of him in my blog if I so chose. Prost!
ITALY. My bewilderment over the lack of beer in a place balled the beer garten was quickly replaced by excitement.
"Can you take my picture with that Disney cast member in the funny clothes hanging out by the fountain? The kids would love that picture." I request as we make our way to try some Italian wines and Peroni in the Italy Pavillion.
"I'm from Wisconsin, I don't work here." The guy answers as I put my arm around him.
"Can we take a picture with you anyway?" my wife inquires. Just imagine if this happened in Faneuil Hall?
We end up missing any beer but try some white and red wines from a very nice lady named Maria. She was very subdued when her boss was around, but very outgoing when the boss went out to the back room.
UNITED STATES. Just a beer at the Fife and Drum take out stand. We enjoyed the choral concert at America Gardens, but how can you have much to say about a Budweiser?
JAPAN: Another situation where neither of the restaurants had a bar or served any beer or sake. Everyone pointed us back to the same kiosk that we had left minutes before. "You see, I told you you'd be back." the nice lady admonished. May I just pour my own sake and drink peacefully? Thank you.
MOROCCO. We missed Mo'rockin' but did have a Casa Beer and a "Sultan's coloda," which was a Pina Colada with orange juice in it. The best part was that my wife could make her own drink. Well she got behind the bar for the picture below, and I assume she made her own drink, but I was too busy reading the receipt that said we just bought a "refreshment" and a "slushie." If your spouse comes back from a work-related trip and you find a bunch of receipts that say "refreshment" and "slushie," well you know what was going on on that trip. Mmm. That's one good slushie!
FRANCE. As we moved on, to the last part of our journey, we discovered that were running out of time. Luckily we were going to France next, so I knew that this would be a quick trip. Either I wouldn't be able to take them or they wouldn't be able to take us for very long. Surprisingly, we all had a great time. We must have been their last customers of the day, since everyone was helping us. Either that or they wanted to be a part of our Photo Essay.
My tasting notes from the wine tasting were predictably scant, but I did note that the Beaujolais Nouveau was "a little sour with some cherry and rasberry." It must have been sitting in that box for too long.
ENGLAND. Finally, a bar to sit and have a beer. I wish we could enjoy this more, but the bartender was getting tired (of us) and didn't want to make any more suds shamrocks on our beers. He dispatched us to the restaurant to eat dinner.
Instead, we made our way over to the Canada Pavillion. Thanks for the beers, my man.
CANADA. Similar to Norway, there was no beer to be had, although we just assumed that since it was getting to be closing time, and nothing appeared to be open.
So back to England for that potato leek soup which was a truly forgettable dining experience.
THE NEXT MORNING. I had forgotten that the family was going to be up early the next morning to head over to the Magic Kingdom. Because the sun was shining a little bright this morning, we needed to find a hangover cure. And fast. Luckily the line at Splash Mountain wasn't too bad because of the cool weather and we thought that the 50 foot plunge into ice cold water would be a great way to get rid of our headaches.
Mission Accomplished. A great time was had by all. Perhaps some of the folks we encountered will remember us and our adventure around Epcot. I can assure you that we will never forget (most of) it.
Check back with us on Saturday as we go "In Search of Tiger Woods."
JMR
Monday, November 2, 2009
Will you Sign My Daddy's Book? Simmons Signing, Part II - Redemption
To reread our first attempt to get Daddy's book signed, go here for Part I.
Luckily, Hurricane O'Reilly's is just up the street from a restaurant that I knew wouldn't be that busy - even on a game night - Boston Beer Works. Still worried, however, as I look over my shoulder at 40 more people join the line that we had just departed, I implore my little princess as gently as I could to "make it quick."
I forgot though that she was still dressed up like a ghost, and she was now trying to scare passersby with not only her jarring "woohooooohooo," but also a frightening hand wave. The bouncer at the front door seemed refreshingly amused.
"We're not too young for this place?" I ask as I gesture at my two boys wrestling over a balloon and my daughter now dancing to some Britney Spears tune that we can hear outside of the bar. (But wait, never mind, when she has the mask on, I can't see her. I forgot that she explained that to me earlier).
"No, no, no." He must have kids because he can't be this genuinely entertained right now as patrons sidle up behind us, because I love my kids more than anything and I'm the opposite of entertained - antitained. "Do you guys want handstamps?" "Yeahhh!!"
As we walk into the restaurant with new stamps smeared on our hands, my daughter now tries to scare the four girls tending to the hostess station by jumping toward them while simultaneously whispering "wooohooooohoooo" and continuing with the menacing hand wave - then she turns to me. "Daddy, I don't have to go to the bathroom, anymore."
WHAT?!?!? "Are you sure, sweetheart, it might be a long, long time before we can go again?" Little white lies, I determine, are fully biting me in the ass so I try to be as honest as one can be with children. And really, all I want to do is take you into the men's room at 6pm on a game night while making sure that no one spills beer on her pink "blankie." "I have to go!" my boys chirp almost simultaneously. Way to come through boys. Maybe you guys wrestle and talk back more than normal kids probably should, but if I need a well -timed bathroom break, you fellas always deliver. Long story short, my new plan of action was to try to wait out the lines and get the book signed toward the end. I doubt THAT many people want to get this book signed.
As we walk out of the restaurant, I see that Plan B might actually be working. The line is short; it'll probably only take a couple of minutes before we're inside the next bar. I proceed to point out the Sports Guy through the window to my kids. Unfortunately, they are not as impressed as I am. Although, I'm more impressed by the number of security personnel and people in suits surrounding the table. A long way from the bartending days in Charlestown, I suppose.
I can't help but notice the ten Celtics fans screaming at each other, as we walk into our second bar in 45 minutes. Pub crawls start earlier and earlier I jokingly explain to this bar's bouncer. I continue to tell myself that this experience will only toughen the kids up as they draw closer to each of my legs with every scream. Now who's scared little ghosty-ghost? I'm just kidding, my little girl was just soaking it all in, realizing she didn't have to work very hard to elicit laughs from this crowd. No more "boos" or handwaves for her, and the mask officially came off for good.
The line moves very quickly now. I'm told that he will only sign names and no special messages. "I love your blog, it's the first thing I read in the morning!" I guess is out. Just so I don't feel like a complete dork, though, I write down the kids names instead of my own. Real gutsy, I know. I use the tecnologically advanced post it note to write everyone's names and as we inch closer with book and kids in tow, I crack a joke to one of the Sports Guy's handlers about seeing Isiah Thomas in line behind us with a couple of books. I thought it was funny, but not this woman. "Keep moving, sir." she says to me sternly, giving my children the once over. Don't worry, despite the hand stamps, I promise they won't buy any beer.
Finally to the end of the line, my boys are satisfied to stand behind me but my daughter takes matters into her own hands, jumping behind the table. I ask Simmons if I can take a picture of my daughter and him. I can see the look of slight frustration with me and my entourage. But just as I'm thinking that my request was not a good idea, my little girl belts out a quiet "wooohooooohooo" to him and asks him "Will you sign my Daddy's book?" Sensing that he was warming up a little bit, I get my camera ready as he nods to one of his handlers and proceeds to lean over.
Luckily, Hurricane O'Reilly's is just up the street from a restaurant that I knew wouldn't be that busy - even on a game night - Boston Beer Works. Still worried, however, as I look over my shoulder at 40 more people join the line that we had just departed, I implore my little princess as gently as I could to "make it quick."
I forgot though that she was still dressed up like a ghost, and she was now trying to scare passersby with not only her jarring "woohooooohooo," but also a frightening hand wave. The bouncer at the front door seemed refreshingly amused.
"We're not too young for this place?" I ask as I gesture at my two boys wrestling over a balloon and my daughter now dancing to some Britney Spears tune that we can hear outside of the bar. (But wait, never mind, when she has the mask on, I can't see her. I forgot that she explained that to me earlier).
"No, no, no." He must have kids because he can't be this genuinely entertained right now as patrons sidle up behind us, because I love my kids more than anything and I'm the opposite of entertained - antitained. "Do you guys want handstamps?" "Yeahhh!!"
As we walk into the restaurant with new stamps smeared on our hands, my daughter now tries to scare the four girls tending to the hostess station by jumping toward them while simultaneously whispering "wooohooooohoooo" and continuing with the menacing hand wave - then she turns to me. "Daddy, I don't have to go to the bathroom, anymore."
WHAT?!?!? "Are you sure, sweetheart, it might be a long, long time before we can go again?" Little white lies, I determine, are fully biting me in the ass so I try to be as honest as one can be with children. And really, all I want to do is take you into the men's room at 6pm on a game night while making sure that no one spills beer on her pink "blankie." "I have to go!" my boys chirp almost simultaneously. Way to come through boys. Maybe you guys wrestle and talk back more than normal kids probably should, but if I need a well -timed bathroom break, you fellas always deliver. Long story short, my new plan of action was to try to wait out the lines and get the book signed toward the end. I doubt THAT many people want to get this book signed.
As we walk out of the restaurant, I see that Plan B might actually be working. The line is short; it'll probably only take a couple of minutes before we're inside the next bar. I proceed to point out the Sports Guy through the window to my kids. Unfortunately, they are not as impressed as I am. Although, I'm more impressed by the number of security personnel and people in suits surrounding the table. A long way from the bartending days in Charlestown, I suppose.
I can't help but notice the ten Celtics fans screaming at each other, as we walk into our second bar in 45 minutes. Pub crawls start earlier and earlier I jokingly explain to this bar's bouncer. I continue to tell myself that this experience will only toughen the kids up as they draw closer to each of my legs with every scream. Now who's scared little ghosty-ghost? I'm just kidding, my little girl was just soaking it all in, realizing she didn't have to work very hard to elicit laughs from this crowd. No more "boos" or handwaves for her, and the mask officially came off for good.
The line moves very quickly now. I'm told that he will only sign names and no special messages. "I love your blog, it's the first thing I read in the morning!" I guess is out. Just so I don't feel like a complete dork, though, I write down the kids names instead of my own. Real gutsy, I know. I use the tecnologically advanced post it note to write everyone's names and as we inch closer with book and kids in tow, I crack a joke to one of the Sports Guy's handlers about seeing Isiah Thomas in line behind us with a couple of books. I thought it was funny, but not this woman. "Keep moving, sir." she says to me sternly, giving my children the once over. Don't worry, despite the hand stamps, I promise they won't buy any beer.
Finally to the end of the line, my boys are satisfied to stand behind me but my daughter takes matters into her own hands, jumping behind the table. I ask Simmons if I can take a picture of my daughter and him. I can see the look of slight frustration with me and my entourage. But just as I'm thinking that my request was not a good idea, my little girl belts out a quiet "wooohooooohooo" to him and asks him "Will you sign my Daddy's book?" Sensing that he was warming up a little bit, I get my camera ready as he nods to one of his handlers and proceeds to lean over.
Success! It only took three and a half hours, three bathroom breaks, a crappy dinner and countless scary images and hand waves, but we just survived our first book signing. Now let me find a scalper and get four tickets to the Celtic-Bulls game. Yeah right, we're going to stay for another three hours. We were home about 10 minutes later. And it's a 35 minute drive home.
*****
About half way through The Book of Basketball, I must say that it is thoroughly researched. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Read it and find out for yourself. The chapter with Isiah Thomas was a classic story, so there's that. I think ultimately though, I will forget all about his book, but I'll always remember the night the four of us got that book signed.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Will you Sign My Daddy's Book? Simmons Signing, Part I - The Prelude
It was 1998. I had just graduated from finishing school and I was working 18 hour days on the 26th floor of a Boston highrise. One day, while I was toiling away in a windowless office, a friend sent me a link by email. Maybe it wasn't even a link at that point, since it was 1998. So maybe he called to tell me to go to Digital City to read a column called "Grading the Wimbledon Babes" by some guy who called himself the Boston Sports Guy. Looking back on it now, it's still the funniest thing I had ever read, and I wish that that column survived his move to ESPN. Alas, after an hour of searching, this column still does not exist.
Now 11 years later, and despite 11 years of enjoying his columns, I was skeptical when I heard he was working on a basketball book. I mean, his baseball book was merely a reprinting of his old baseball columns with very little original content. In fact, I think my daughter now uses that book plus the Sum of All Fears to reach the toilet when she goes to the bathroom and the sink when she brushes her teeth. Despite this apprehension, I decided to spend the $25 to purchase his new book The Book of Basketball. As the nearest bookstore was half an hour away (seriously - a half an hour away, my kids will end up being semi-literate), I had to justify the drive by also getting my wife the latest Dan Brown novel too.
While beginning to plow through his 600+ page opus, I discovered he was going to be in Boston signing his book before the Celtics game at a bar called Hurricane O'Reilly's. Strangely excited about the possibility of a Leona Lewis incident involving Isiah Thomas, Gus Johnson and Bill Simmons (You can read more in the book, but Thomas threatened "trouble" if he ever met Simmons on the street because of a couple of scathing columns over the years), I decided to bring the kids into Boston and get the new book signed.
Note to Readers. A couple of issues to address right away. First, yes I could have gotten the book signed at a book store in the Back Bay a couple of hours earlier instead of at a bar 100 feet from the Garden right before a game, but the chances of "trouble" happening at 12pm in a book store were infinitesimal compared to a bar where people were partying right before a game. Second, yes, my kids were with me, but I thought the experience might toughen them up a little bit. Especially, my three year old daughter.
4pm. Boston, MA. I should have known that this was not going to be easy when I started haggling with the garage attendant.
"I'm not going to the game, I'm just going to be 15 minutes." I say glancing at my 7 year old to make sure he keeps his mouth shut.
"Don't you know that there's a game tonight - 20 dollars?" the attendant asks me in some sort of unidentifiable accent.
"What did he say?" my daughter asks me.
"I have no idea." I direct to her. "I know that there's a game, but I'm not going to the game. I just have to drop off some paperwork with my accountants; I'll be right back." I direct to the attendant, believing that if I just make no sense, speak really quickly and throw in a little white lie, he'll just let me go.
"It's 20 dollars." All right, fine.
As we walk down Causeway Street from the garage, teaching my children how to jaywalk when one has somewhere to go in a hurry, I notice a line queueing at the intersection of Causeway Street and Canal Street (where we have to go). Oh shit, I think to myself, since I know this bar is halfway down the street. Yes, this line 300 people deep was waiting to get this book signed. "Well this line is longer than I thought it would be." I say aloud to no one in particular as we get to the end of the line. I only mutter this sentence since stating the obvious was not going to endear us to anyone. Additionally, as we get in line, thinking that there might be a sense of camaraderie similar to any lines you have to wait in with numerous others, I ask the guy in front of me "Is this the line for the Simmons book signing?" Without a word and obviously not understanding my use of irony (or maybe it's me who doesn't understand it), he gives me a smirk, like I'm some sort of shmuck, and shows me his copy of the book we're both getting signed. Thanks, man.
Despite my seven year old's statement that that man was not very nice, and my five year old now SINGING about how hungry he was, I decided that we would wait in line until the bitter end. It can't be that bad, I decide. Further, I've driven an hour in traffic, probably risked getting my car keyed by the garage attendant and fended off numerous "I'm hungry" cries (and melodies as it's turning out) from the troops. I'm not going anywhere.
Not so fast. After thirty minutes in line and while watching dozens of smiling people walking out of the bar with their signed copy of the book, sometimes multiple copies, my daughter (Did I explain that she was dressed up as a ghost?) taps me on the leg. "Daddy," she says beginning a little recognizable dance "I have to go to the bathroom..." I let the words trail off pretending not to hear them, while hoping that she was just bored. By this time, she was entertaining everyone around her dancing in her ghost outfit and scaring them with her teeth-chattering "woowoowooooo." "Dad, I think she really has to go to the bathroom" my seven year old volunteers, trying to be helpful for the first time all afternoon. "I know."
"Seriously, sweetheart, are you sure you can't hold it for 15 more minutes?" I acknowledge after a couple of minutes. I've been shooting white lies all over the place, so what the hell.
"No, Daddy. I have to go to the bathroom right now." She says to me sweetly. "Damnit damnit DAMNIT", I scream to myself as we walk out of line in search of a bathroom. At least we kept a dozen people entertained when they otherwise would have been pissed waiting in such a long line. As we walk by the line and I count the hundreds of people behind us, I now begin to worry that we spent all of this time and energy trying to get this freaking book signed, and it's not going to happen.
Tomorrow: Part II - Redemption.
Now 11 years later, and despite 11 years of enjoying his columns, I was skeptical when I heard he was working on a basketball book. I mean, his baseball book was merely a reprinting of his old baseball columns with very little original content. In fact, I think my daughter now uses that book plus the Sum of All Fears to reach the toilet when she goes to the bathroom and the sink when she brushes her teeth. Despite this apprehension, I decided to spend the $25 to purchase his new book The Book of Basketball. As the nearest bookstore was half an hour away (seriously - a half an hour away, my kids will end up being semi-literate), I had to justify the drive by also getting my wife the latest Dan Brown novel too.
While beginning to plow through his 600+ page opus, I discovered he was going to be in Boston signing his book before the Celtics game at a bar called Hurricane O'Reilly's. Strangely excited about the possibility of a Leona Lewis incident involving Isiah Thomas, Gus Johnson and Bill Simmons (You can read more in the book, but Thomas threatened "trouble" if he ever met Simmons on the street because of a couple of scathing columns over the years), I decided to bring the kids into Boston and get the new book signed.
Note to Readers. A couple of issues to address right away. First, yes I could have gotten the book signed at a book store in the Back Bay a couple of hours earlier instead of at a bar 100 feet from the Garden right before a game, but the chances of "trouble" happening at 12pm in a book store were infinitesimal compared to a bar where people were partying right before a game. Second, yes, my kids were with me, but I thought the experience might toughen them up a little bit. Especially, my three year old daughter.
4pm. Boston, MA. I should have known that this was not going to be easy when I started haggling with the garage attendant.
"I'm not going to the game, I'm just going to be 15 minutes." I say glancing at my 7 year old to make sure he keeps his mouth shut.
"Don't you know that there's a game tonight - 20 dollars?" the attendant asks me in some sort of unidentifiable accent.
"What did he say?" my daughter asks me.
"I have no idea." I direct to her. "I know that there's a game, but I'm not going to the game. I just have to drop off some paperwork with my accountants; I'll be right back." I direct to the attendant, believing that if I just make no sense, speak really quickly and throw in a little white lie, he'll just let me go.
"It's 20 dollars." All right, fine.
As we walk down Causeway Street from the garage, teaching my children how to jaywalk when one has somewhere to go in a hurry, I notice a line queueing at the intersection of Causeway Street and Canal Street (where we have to go). Oh shit, I think to myself, since I know this bar is halfway down the street. Yes, this line 300 people deep was waiting to get this book signed. "Well this line is longer than I thought it would be." I say aloud to no one in particular as we get to the end of the line. I only mutter this sentence since stating the obvious was not going to endear us to anyone. Additionally, as we get in line, thinking that there might be a sense of camaraderie similar to any lines you have to wait in with numerous others, I ask the guy in front of me "Is this the line for the Simmons book signing?" Without a word and obviously not understanding my use of irony (or maybe it's me who doesn't understand it), he gives me a smirk, like I'm some sort of shmuck, and shows me his copy of the book we're both getting signed. Thanks, man.
Despite my seven year old's statement that that man was not very nice, and my five year old now SINGING about how hungry he was, I decided that we would wait in line until the bitter end. It can't be that bad, I decide. Further, I've driven an hour in traffic, probably risked getting my car keyed by the garage attendant and fended off numerous "I'm hungry" cries (and melodies as it's turning out) from the troops. I'm not going anywhere.
Not so fast. After thirty minutes in line and while watching dozens of smiling people walking out of the bar with their signed copy of the book, sometimes multiple copies, my daughter (Did I explain that she was dressed up as a ghost?) taps me on the leg. "Daddy," she says beginning a little recognizable dance "I have to go to the bathroom..." I let the words trail off pretending not to hear them, while hoping that she was just bored. By this time, she was entertaining everyone around her dancing in her ghost outfit and scaring them with her teeth-chattering "woowoowooooo." "Dad, I think she really has to go to the bathroom" my seven year old volunteers, trying to be helpful for the first time all afternoon. "I know."
"Seriously, sweetheart, are you sure you can't hold it for 15 more minutes?" I acknowledge after a couple of minutes. I've been shooting white lies all over the place, so what the hell.
"No, Daddy. I have to go to the bathroom right now." She says to me sweetly. "Damnit damnit DAMNIT", I scream to myself as we walk out of line in search of a bathroom. At least we kept a dozen people entertained when they otherwise would have been pissed waiting in such a long line. As we walk by the line and I count the hundreds of people behind us, I now begin to worry that we spent all of this time and energy trying to get this freaking book signed, and it's not going to happen.
Tomorrow: Part II - Redemption.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Maine Beer Snobs Exist If You Know Where to Find Them
Columbus Day Weekend usually signals the end of many things, the end of Summer, the end of the Red Sox season and the end of half days at the golf course. It signals many beginnings though - children's whines about when Halloween and Christmas were coming, fairs and festivals so boring that they would depress even the most optimistic person, geriatric leaf peepers enthralled by the colors orange and red, and of course, the hallmark of all child rearing experiences in New England - apple picking.
Weekends for me are usually reserved for pizza and kids parties as my significant other works on the weekends. But the Sunday of Columbus Day weekend meant that neither one of us had to work the next day. Coupling that with an overnight babysitter, meant that we were FREE. What to do? We had to drive to Maine to drop the kids off, so our immediate thoughts were to go leaf peeping and apple picking for the day. No, just kidding. After some deliberation, since Octoberfest was occurring in Newport the same weekend, we ultimately decided to go to Portland to drink beer, watch the Red Sox and Patriots and bar hop.
The last time I was in Portland, we had encountered the Maine Beer Festival. Although we were out of place with all of the crunchy, dirty do-gooders, we had a great time drinking beers with friends, making new friends and pretending that beer snobs actually exist. Although I remember having a good time there, I didn't necessarily remember liking or disliking specific beers. I decided that this would be my chance to review these quality beers and truly become the beer snob I pretended to be all those years ago.
We did exhaustive research on Maine brews. We were generally familiar with the larger brands, having both lived in Maine for a period, so knowing that we only had one afternoon/night to taste test, we stuck with these larger brands: Shipyard, Geary's, Allagash, Casco Bay and Gritty McDuffs. The lesser known brands would have to wait until next year. Trying 4 beers each was our goal. Well that and not having too bad of a hangover the next day.
1pm. We venture from our hotel room to Gritty McDuffs. Ah, the same smells I remember from 15 years ago, the frying oil probably hasn't been changed since then either. Undeterred, I order the homemade potato chips and the black fly stout. MM orders the Halloween spooky beer. The stout has good coffee and caramel overtones, but seems a little bitter for a stout. The spooky beer as always goes down nice and easy as a nice ale should with nutmeg and cinnamon flavors dominating. I try to decide between the Best Bitter (another beer I remember from 15 years ago) and the 21 ale. I figure that I would order the 21 Ale and have MM order the Best Bitter. I guess I should have done more than discuss the fact that we should order different beers, because she proceeds to order another Spooky Beer. "I liked this one more than the Best Bitter." But she didn't order the Best Bitter! Anyway, the 21 Ale was rough on the lips and the throat. The flavors were overcome by a very cereal hoppy and malty aftertaste which just didn't do it for me. I guess I have to give them 66 snobbies out of 100. Sorry guys; I was pulling for you.
3pm. We look around for a couple of the breweries to tour. Not a good sign when no one we ask knows where our next destination, Shipyard Brewery, is. Worse still, we find out that Geary's doesn't have a tour, and Casco and Allagash are both closed on weekends. As you'll see later, I'm not even sure Casco Bay still exists. So much for our crack research. But the Shipyard is open for tours, so we walk in. Now these breweries always crack me up. Noone really cares that much how the beer is made. Yeah we get it, barley, yeast, water and hops - blah, blah, blah. Bring on the free tasting. Our guide must have sensed our growing dissatisfaction with the one hour tour when the 8 year old in our group asks his Mother when they are going to the bar so he can have some more homemade soda. But, finally, we get to the back room to taste. The Blue Fin stout was dissappointing - it seemed like the CO2 cartridge was dislodged and had no taste. The Pumpkinhead was tasty, I guess I'm very feminine with my affinity for nutmeg, cinnamon and pumpkin flavors. The Chamberlain Ale was also very good, with a nice refreshing hoppy finish with believe it or not a banana bread flavor. The Light and the Export Ale were boring lagers that had "Shipweiser" stamped on the label. The IPA was also refreshingly hopped. 52 Snobbies out of 100. I have to admit though that they get points for pouring a lot of free beer.
3:55pm. We're walking to our next bar when we hear a number of groans coming from open windows on the street. I turn on my phone and find that Paps just gave up (what would ultimately be) the winning runs in Game 3 of the ALDS. But they were winning 5-1 when we left the first place, no? We head over to another corner bar to forget that the Red Sox suck. This is where we will have to get our Geary's fill, since they are so SECRETIVE about their brewing process (or maybe they actually don't brew beer in Maine?) that they don't provide tours. The bartender loves it when I order a sampler. "F-ing tourist leaf peeping crap eating wharthog" I'm sure she's thinking to herself as she throws the Autumn Ale, Hampshire Special Ale, London Porter, and regular Geary's Ale at me. I liked the Autumn, London Porter and the HSA. The Regular IPA was just ho-hum - almost a true banquet beer. 75 Snobbies out of 100.
5pm. After a brief sojourn to Bryan Boru's so MM could have a car bomb in an Irish Pub (interesting irony) we could watch the Patriots game, and I could talk to a Cincinnati Reds fan about the 1975 World Series, even though I was only a toddler at the time, we head back to Bar X to try the Allagash. We have had several beers at this point so I'm thankful to hear that the only Allagash that they had was the White Ale. Two sentences sum up my tasting notes for the White Ale:
"Allagash White is as bad as the popcorn. Bitter and not in a good way."
I don't remember my exact beef with the popcorn at this bar, but I do remember that I didn't want to finish the beer, it was that bad. 0 Snobbies out of 100. That score was at least better than Casco Bay Brewing Company, who could only muster an "Incomplete." Did they close?
Congratulations Geary's. The 2009 Snobby Beer Award goes to you. Ultimately, MM and I had a good time tasting beer and acting like we were from the Beer Advocate. Now back to reality. Maybe we can do this again during the next long weekend. When's Veterans Day this year?
Weekends for me are usually reserved for pizza and kids parties as my significant other works on the weekends. But the Sunday of Columbus Day weekend meant that neither one of us had to work the next day. Coupling that with an overnight babysitter, meant that we were FREE. What to do? We had to drive to Maine to drop the kids off, so our immediate thoughts were to go leaf peeping and apple picking for the day. No, just kidding. After some deliberation, since Octoberfest was occurring in Newport the same weekend, we ultimately decided to go to Portland to drink beer, watch the Red Sox and Patriots and bar hop.
The last time I was in Portland, we had encountered the Maine Beer Festival. Although we were out of place with all of the crunchy, dirty do-gooders, we had a great time drinking beers with friends, making new friends and pretending that beer snobs actually exist. Although I remember having a good time there, I didn't necessarily remember liking or disliking specific beers. I decided that this would be my chance to review these quality beers and truly become the beer snob I pretended to be all those years ago.
We did exhaustive research on Maine brews. We were generally familiar with the larger brands, having both lived in Maine for a period, so knowing that we only had one afternoon/night to taste test, we stuck with these larger brands: Shipyard, Geary's, Allagash, Casco Bay and Gritty McDuffs. The lesser known brands would have to wait until next year. Trying 4 beers each was our goal. Well that and not having too bad of a hangover the next day.
1pm. We venture from our hotel room to Gritty McDuffs. Ah, the same smells I remember from 15 years ago, the frying oil probably hasn't been changed since then either. Undeterred, I order the homemade potato chips and the black fly stout. MM orders the Halloween spooky beer. The stout has good coffee and caramel overtones, but seems a little bitter for a stout. The spooky beer as always goes down nice and easy as a nice ale should with nutmeg and cinnamon flavors dominating. I try to decide between the Best Bitter (another beer I remember from 15 years ago) and the 21 ale. I figure that I would order the 21 Ale and have MM order the Best Bitter. I guess I should have done more than discuss the fact that we should order different beers, because she proceeds to order another Spooky Beer. "I liked this one more than the Best Bitter." But she didn't order the Best Bitter! Anyway, the 21 Ale was rough on the lips and the throat. The flavors were overcome by a very cereal hoppy and malty aftertaste which just didn't do it for me. I guess I have to give them 66 snobbies out of 100. Sorry guys; I was pulling for you.
3pm. We look around for a couple of the breweries to tour. Not a good sign when no one we ask knows where our next destination, Shipyard Brewery, is. Worse still, we find out that Geary's doesn't have a tour, and Casco and Allagash are both closed on weekends. As you'll see later, I'm not even sure Casco Bay still exists. So much for our crack research. But the Shipyard is open for tours, so we walk in. Now these breweries always crack me up. Noone really cares that much how the beer is made. Yeah we get it, barley, yeast, water and hops - blah, blah, blah. Bring on the free tasting. Our guide must have sensed our growing dissatisfaction with the one hour tour when the 8 year old in our group asks his Mother when they are going to the bar so he can have some more homemade soda. But, finally, we get to the back room to taste. The Blue Fin stout was dissappointing - it seemed like the CO2 cartridge was dislodged and had no taste. The Pumpkinhead was tasty, I guess I'm very feminine with my affinity for nutmeg, cinnamon and pumpkin flavors. The Chamberlain Ale was also very good, with a nice refreshing hoppy finish with believe it or not a banana bread flavor. The Light and the Export Ale were boring lagers that had "Shipweiser" stamped on the label. The IPA was also refreshingly hopped. 52 Snobbies out of 100. I have to admit though that they get points for pouring a lot of free beer.
3:55pm. We're walking to our next bar when we hear a number of groans coming from open windows on the street. I turn on my phone and find that Paps just gave up (what would ultimately be) the winning runs in Game 3 of the ALDS. But they were winning 5-1 when we left the first place, no? We head over to another corner bar to forget that the Red Sox suck. This is where we will have to get our Geary's fill, since they are so SECRETIVE about their brewing process (or maybe they actually don't brew beer in Maine?) that they don't provide tours. The bartender loves it when I order a sampler. "F-ing tourist leaf peeping crap eating wharthog" I'm sure she's thinking to herself as she throws the Autumn Ale, Hampshire Special Ale, London Porter, and regular Geary's Ale at me. I liked the Autumn, London Porter and the HSA. The Regular IPA was just ho-hum - almost a true banquet beer. 75 Snobbies out of 100.
5pm. After a brief sojourn to Bryan Boru's so MM could have a car bomb in an Irish Pub (interesting irony) we could watch the Patriots game, and I could talk to a Cincinnati Reds fan about the 1975 World Series, even though I was only a toddler at the time, we head back to Bar X to try the Allagash. We have had several beers at this point so I'm thankful to hear that the only Allagash that they had was the White Ale. Two sentences sum up my tasting notes for the White Ale:
"Allagash White is as bad as the popcorn. Bitter and not in a good way."
I don't remember my exact beef with the popcorn at this bar, but I do remember that I didn't want to finish the beer, it was that bad. 0 Snobbies out of 100. That score was at least better than Casco Bay Brewing Company, who could only muster an "Incomplete." Did they close?
Congratulations Geary's. The 2009 Snobby Beer Award goes to you. Ultimately, MM and I had a good time tasting beer and acting like we were from the Beer Advocate. Now back to reality. Maybe we can do this again during the next long weekend. When's Veterans Day this year?
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
P90X is Ridiculously Dificult Review
P90X is supposed to give you the beach body that you always wanted. In fact the firm's website is http://www.beachbody.com/. Why don't they use P90X.com? Anyway, the testimonials are striking. No finger in the loose waistline demonstrating that you lost maybe 5 five pounds max using the "Diet Clear" or "Oxyclean" diets that you read about in Parade magazine. These people were ripped!
I finally decided to give it a try myself when friends got it the program from friends of theirs. The program is so damned expensive that these DVDs are shared; I'm convinced that no one actually buys it. I was also skeptical that I could find a place to support my weight doing pull ups, forget about about finding a pull up bar some where in the house. (That's the one item that does not get shared, the pull up bar.) So my journey to P67X has begun. I did the first dvd - chest and back, and am pretty sore even in my legs. Now I'm on to plyometrics. Plyo-x. "Jumping" for an hour is more like it.
7:30am. 10 minutes in. We're introduced to Tony's crew. The first guy is Erik. He has a prosthetic leg and is being required to perform a routine where you are supposed to jump up and around for an hour? You've gotta be kidding me. But, maybe this won't be so tough if a guy with one leg who really doesn't look that buff can do it. Probably not the reaction P90X was hoping for. The final member of the crew is a woman named Pam the Blam. I later find out that she's a PI. Uhh, I hope that she got paid handsomely for this appearance because a million people knowing that you are a PI is NOT good for business.
45 minutes left. After some stretching (the stretching routine is administered and timed by Beachbody's lawyers. "Hey don't blame me for that blown hamstring, you should have stretched!"), we start doing swing kicks, which requires you to swing your legs over some tall object for a minute. I choose to swing my legs over the seat of the chair. Snickering abounds, but hey, my quads are tightly strung and prone to exhaustion.
37 minutes left. I'm starting to tire as I hear the instructor say "Do your best to forget the rest" Is that really what he said? I ask my 3 year old daughter if that's what he said, and she agrees with me. Good girl.
25 minutes left. I'm getting extremely tired now, just in time for guitar hero jumps and Russian squat dancing. I have to admit, these sucked.
9 minutes left. Start shadow pitching right handed and left handed and shadow basketball shooting left and right handed. I never expected that practicing sports left handed and right handed would come in handy like this.
4 minutes left. Finally, I'm done. A couple of minutes of "cool down" that was lawyer-approved followed. Overall, I'm sweating profusely and I feel accomplished very early in morning. I have a favorable review of this program overall. I will not post my before and after pictures when I'm done, though. I think I'm gaining weight.
I finally decided to give it a try myself when friends got it the program from friends of theirs. The program is so damned expensive that these DVDs are shared; I'm convinced that no one actually buys it. I was also skeptical that I could find a place to support my weight doing pull ups, forget about about finding a pull up bar some where in the house. (That's the one item that does not get shared, the pull up bar.) So my journey to P67X has begun. I did the first dvd - chest and back, and am pretty sore even in my legs. Now I'm on to plyometrics. Plyo-x. "Jumping" for an hour is more like it.
7:30am. 10 minutes in. We're introduced to Tony's crew. The first guy is Erik. He has a prosthetic leg and is being required to perform a routine where you are supposed to jump up and around for an hour? You've gotta be kidding me. But, maybe this won't be so tough if a guy with one leg who really doesn't look that buff can do it. Probably not the reaction P90X was hoping for. The final member of the crew is a woman named Pam the Blam. I later find out that she's a PI. Uhh, I hope that she got paid handsomely for this appearance because a million people knowing that you are a PI is NOT good for business.
45 minutes left. After some stretching (the stretching routine is administered and timed by Beachbody's lawyers. "Hey don't blame me for that blown hamstring, you should have stretched!"), we start doing swing kicks, which requires you to swing your legs over some tall object for a minute. I choose to swing my legs over the seat of the chair. Snickering abounds, but hey, my quads are tightly strung and prone to exhaustion.
37 minutes left. I'm starting to tire as I hear the instructor say "Do your best to forget the rest" Is that really what he said? I ask my 3 year old daughter if that's what he said, and she agrees with me. Good girl.
25 minutes left. I'm getting extremely tired now, just in time for guitar hero jumps and Russian squat dancing. I have to admit, these sucked.
9 minutes left. Start shadow pitching right handed and left handed and shadow basketball shooting left and right handed. I never expected that practicing sports left handed and right handed would come in handy like this.
4 minutes left. Finally, I'm done. A couple of minutes of "cool down" that was lawyer-approved followed. Overall, I'm sweating profusely and I feel accomplished very early in morning. I have a favorable review of this program overall. I will not post my before and after pictures when I'm done, though. I think I'm gaining weight.
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