Happy 4th

Justin and I enjoyed a great 4th of July weekend. It was full of family, friends, food, and fun! Here are a couple of pics from our weekend.

The 2nd Half Begins....

Tuesday marked our 1/2 way point to meeting little Pierce. We are officially in the 2nd half of our 'pregnancy game.' We are looking forward to all that this second half is to bring:

• feeling little Pierce move
• painting and decorating the nursery
• trying to get ahead on sleep
• and the continued growth of my belly

We did buy furniture this past weekend and Justin and I have decided on the bedding. Once we get the bedding, I will post some pictures.

Here is the face picture of Pierce that I promised in the last post. You can see his eyes and nose and his little body.

Here is a picture of my "little bump."


And here is a picture of me and Duncan. Duncan already loves little Pierce!! He can't wait to have a new friend to play with!

The McNugget is...

a BOY!! Yep, that is right! We are having a little boy. Pierce Jacob made himself known to us yesterday afternoon. We are so excited to be able to give our little one a name.

The first thing we saw when they began the sonogram was:

his little hand. Pierce was giving us a high five! Isn't his little hand is just so cute!!


Here is a picture of the proof that he is a boy. It is a little hard to see it all, but believe me-all his parts are there!! (It looks like he is sitting on the camera. You can see his bottom, his legs, and his 'stuff'.)



Although Pierce wouldn't turn to give us a good profile shot, we did get a picture of his little face. The picture of the picture is a little blurry, so I am going to have to post it later. But I can already tell that he is very handsome!!

So, now the fun begins! We can start planning the nursery, buying clothes, and getting everything ready! I can't believe it is only 20 more weeks til we meet our little one!

Only 2 More Days....

(the way I count, at least-I don't count today or the day of)

Until we find out if the little McNugget is a girl or a boy!! I can't wait. I plan on staying really busy until 1:15 on Thursday.

"Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee!" POW

That was Paul Pierce's quote last night after he led his team to their first Eastern Conference Championship in more than 20 years. Now, many of you know that our family is a Celtic Family-we (including Duncan) did all "jersey up" last night for Game 6 against the Pistons. And I was so glad that they won, because me and the McNugget can't handle any more of these close game 7's. I get way too stressed out!

About our little McNugget...we had our 16 week appointment last week and the McNugget is doing well. We did get to schedule the appointment for our next sonogram. It is the big one - the one when we find out if the McNugget is a boy or girl! I can't wait. I have begun a mental countdown for June 19th.

So, 2o more days until we find out if our little one is more likely to "fly like a butterfly" (girl) or "sting like a bee" (boy).

"Welcome to the Sisterhood"

So, when I first announced at school that I was expecting, one of the teachers said, "Welcome to the Sisterhood." I wasn't for sure exactly what she meant at first, and I really don't think I still fully understand. But I do know that I have joined a few new "sisterhoods."

The Sisterhood of the Ever-Shrinking Pants...

According to some of my closest friends, there is no pooch. However, my pants tell a different story. I only have a couple pairs that still button and feel comfortable. The rest must be accompanied by a "belly band" to cover up the fact that my pants are buttoned. I must admit, I was ready for this part of the pregnancy. I am excited about the fact that the little McNugget is getting bigger and therefore my belly is growing.

The Sisterhood of the Tired Pants...

So, I like my sleep. I have always liked my sleep. But since I've been pregnant I feel like I am ALWAYS tired. I hate to admit this, but I like to be in bed at 8:30 pm. The majority of my 4th graders stay up later than me, but I really don't care. It seems that no matter what "pants" I have on, they are always "tired pants."

The Sisterhood of "You Should Do This...It Will Help" Pants...

Let's be honest...I am pregnant and therefore I have some issues. It seems that everyone ( or almost everyone) around me seems to think they are a doctor or pharmacist. I love that everyone has been concerned for me and my health, but it seems that everyone has a different remedy for each "issue" and I feel like I have tried them all. I am all "remedied" out.

Although there have been a few "not so fun parts" of being pregnant, I absolutely love it! I love that our little McNugget is nice and warm in my "oven".

And now I wait....wait until the day that I can join "The Sisterhood of the Newborn at Home Pants..."

The Dancing Machine

Yesterday Justin and I went in for my 12 week appointment. We didn't think that we were going to get to see our little McNugget, but my doctor couldn't find the heart beat with just her little Doppler thing.

So, we went into the sonogram room and the "sonogramologist" put the jelly stuff on my tummy and started looking around. Very quickly, she was able to find the baby and a very healthy heart beat. As we were staring in amazement at our little one (which looks just like a little person) she was trying to get a still picture of the baby. After a couple of minutes of watching our little McNugget move around, she finally said, "I can't get a good still picture because the baby hasn't stopped moving."

We take this 2 ways:
1. The baby just goes goes goes like its' mother. Not even able to sit still for a moment to get a good picture.
2. The baby has rhythm just like its' dad. Always with a song in its' head and already practicing dance moves.

In hopes that the baby is already practicing its' moves and getting ready for Baylor's All-University SING 2027...
"Dancin' Dancin' Dancin' Dancing Machine...."

Fishing Buddy or a Husband?

Well....here I go at my first attempt to blog! I know I won't be near as entertaining as Justin, but I will try not to disappoint!

So, it appears that our little McNugget is already set. He already has a fishing buddy or She already has a husband. Let me explain...

On Monday, we were at Plano Presby for sweet little Brady Leach's birth. (Which I want to pause and thank God for such a sweet little boy. I am blessed to be his "JoJo.") As Justin and I were in the waiting room with the Cooks and the Leaches, we began talking with Dixie and Darlene. We were talking about our little McNugget and how everything was going for us so far. The next thing I knew, we were planning an arranged marriage for Brady and little girl McNugget. It was said that it would definitely be the "Wedding of the Century!" So, if we are having a little girl, she is already "spoken for."

Now about the fishing buddy. Justin and I have a 3 1/2 year old nephew, Will. As Justin's sister was explaining to him about his new cousin, he voiced his opinion about wanting a boy cousin. When Justin's sister asked why Will's response was, "So, me and dad, UJ (Justin) and the baby, and PawPaw can all go fishing." Now, to our knowledge Will hasn't been fishing yet, but we love that he is already planning fishing trips with his boy cousin.

So whether the little McNugget is a boy or girl, he/she already has plans!

Breaking News

Let there be life.

McNugget McCord due Nov 11, 2008.

Yes, this changes everything, and we couldn't be more excited. One of the first changes is that this area (blog-i-verse) will now be commandeered by Joanna, as she looks to express her infinite and oh-so-preggerrific wisdom.

As for me, a pioneer of blogging (since circa April 2005), I'm moving... I've got a new hideout in a place over the rainbow. http://emeraldcitylife.blogspot.com. Come visit.

So, in keeping the main thing the main thing, let me close our time together by just simply saying this:

Lookout playground, you just got a lot more awesome.

Message from the Phantom Blogger

Big news coming to this web-world tomorrow.

Big news.

Get ready blogging nation--the fun has just begun.

--With the love of a raised leg,
The Phantom Blogger

Happy Easter... err, plus one week

The McCord family celebrated a fantastic Easter last week with the ceremonial eating of roast beast (ham), Irish dollars (potatoes) and some grass (salad).

Oh, and we practiced the time-old tradition of egg-dying.

Happy Easter.

And Happy-Sunday-after-Easter.

A Tale of Two Fans, and a Tale of Two Fans

Wife and I have had a NBA heavy week. Monday we were in San Antonio, to celebrate (among other things) Spring Break, St Patty's Day, and the Celtics being in town. We proudly donned our green, remembered the Alamo, had a second helping of chips & salsa, and rooted the C's to a come-from-behind victory.

Tuesday was historic as the Celtics then traveled to Houston and took on the Rockets (who were--stress WERE--on a 22-game winning streak). We shared in traveling back to Plano (through wind, rain, outlet malls and more) and watched the Emmy-worthy coverage on TNT as the C's unleashed a stifling defense to beat Houston.

Then came Thursday, when the Celtics traveled here, to Dallas, to take on the sliding Mavericks. It was a very good game, but in the end good prevailed over evil as the Celtics won.

This marks a season sweep of all three Texas teams for Boston. 2-0 versus San Antonio. 2-0 versus Dallas. 2-0 versus Houston.

The last team to successfully sweep all three in the same season was the Sacramento Kings in 2001. Boston has not done such since the 86-87 season, and its only the 4th time in 13 tries for them to do so.

So things are well in the land of the Leprechauns. It's been magically delicioso for certain.

Amongst all of the winning and NBA dominance that we saw, there was a revelation. The revelation first came to Wife, and then to yours truly.

What's the deal with the 'Fan'?

Fan #1. Let's call him Miguel. He sat behind us in San Antonio. He was late 50's, and donned his Spurs jersey sans undershirt. It was very smartly tucked into his Wranglers that left nothing of Little Miguel to imagine. Miguel had the Spurs logo tattooed on his arm. Yes, I'm serious. Miguel was what I'll call the "near-sighted fan." He knew the names of his players, but not the names of the opposing team. So, when he would call out the other team--he would yell Ray Joe Rondo (add a thick accent) to Rajon (pronounced Rah John) Rondo; he would say Sam Cassell's name as Sam Castle; and if he didn't know ANY of the player's name--well, he defaulted to calling them Kevin Garnett. That left us with the weird moments where there might be three or four Kevin Garnett's on the floor.

Now I can't completely fault Miguel for not knowing the complete rosters of both teams--not everyone is as endeared towards NBA nerdom as I am. However, Miguel's near-sightedness was not only displayed in his lack of cross-team knowledge, but also in being unable to accurately place blame or admit blame.

When the Spurs had a foul called against them--Miguel flipped his South Texas lid. How dare the refs call something. When the Celtics had a foul called against them--Miguel would stand, beat his chest, and air-hump the back of my noggin.

Miguel was passionate to the point of being unable to see past the ink-covered flesh on his arm.

Fan #2 (and her boyfriend). Let's call Fan #2 Shelly. Shelly lives in Dallas. She was a waitress in college and thinks she was the first person to like Sara Bareilles. She dates this guy, Gavin, who's got a full beard and wears Van slip ons. They're indie. But Gavin loves the Mavs. So Shelly loves the Mavs.

Therein lies the problem.

Gavin & Shelly sat behind us at the American Airlines Center on Thursday. Gavin may have a little sports quid-pro quo in his arsenal. He listens to local sports talk and then repeats the opinions he hears to Shelly. So Shelly then tries to express her limited sports knowledge through blood-curdling screaming, using very generic basketball lingo ("set it up", "cross-court", "top of the key") in a repetitive fashion, and assigning overall good qualities to professional basketball players ("Jason Kidd is an amazing person. He's so selfless and humble.").

Shelly's problem is that she's not a fan. She's a fan-by-association-------which is fine until you try to exert fan-like knowledge.

I think the overriding problem I have with both of these fans, and both of these scenarios, is that I just don't get it. Call me crazy--but I believe that perfect fannery exists in your realistic knowledge of your team, not painting your face. Perfect fannery exists in understanding that your players may not be the best--may not be the most athletic--may not get all of the calls. For me, perfect fannery does not include external displays of passion--such as cheers, jeers, yelling, screaming, whining, or celebrating. Hi-fives are perfectly normal, as are fist bumps if you are of the urban persuasion.

Perfect fannery can include wearing 1 item promoting your team... be it jersey, t-shirt, warm-up, hoodie, hat or other. However, I believe you should never wear more than 1 item--no hat + jersey with color-coordinated shoes. Perfect fannery means realism, in all situations. Perfect fannery means Wife will wear a Celtics jersey, go to the game and root for my favorite team--however, if the Mavs happen to use the clapping soundbite from the Cha Cha slide, she may clap along--that's fine, because its not her fannery at risk, its mine.

Perfect fannery means making an attempt to learn the names of the opposing team, understanding the penalties of the games you are watching, and having an intelligent opinion in all situations.

Perfect fannery means your week isn't ruined when your team loses. You can be upset--that's natural--but let's not let our work or relationships suffer over it.

Finally, perfect fannery means that you can only be truly passionate about 1 sports organization. Your blood can only bleed one sports color. You can root for me--but you can only die for one.

a rambling man on presciption drugs

STORY #1
Up until now the similarities between your author and Paul Pierce have been slim. I love the Celtics. He is a Celtic. I know that in the song "California Love" Tupac recognizes Inglewood as being "up to no good." He grew up in Inglewood, CA. Pierce played his college ball at Kansas. I lived with a guy from Kansas for two years. Yes, he is one of my idols in life, but, no, no, we're not that much alike.

Until now.

On September 25, 2000, Pierce was at a Boston nightclub where an incident took place. That incident led to him being stabbed 11 times, suffering injuries to his face, neck, back and lungs. Pierce underwent major lung surgery to recover.

On Friday, March 7, 2008, I was stabbed. I was stabbed by a Doctor (who meant to be stabbing me) while undergoing surgery.

And thus, Paul and I are closer now than ever.

STORY #2
Up until now the similarities between your author and Allen Iverson have been even slimmer. Iverson won the 2001 All-Star Game MVP. I watched the 2001 All-Star Game. Iverson married a woman named Tiwanna. I have often wanted to see Tijuana. Iverson has an infamous quote where he uses the term "practice" 21 times in a matter of moments. I have heard the clip of his press conference at least 21 times. Iverson is one of my favorite NBA players, but we don't have really anything in common, until now.

In 1997 Iverson had a warrant out for his arrest for possession of marijuana. He plead no contest.

Recently I received a voicemail from the Haltom City Courthouse letting me know that I had a warrant out for my arrest for a speeding ticket that was unpaid. I plead no contest.

And thus, AI and I are 'boys.' He runs in my crew.

STORY #3
Robert Redford is one of my favorite actors. He and I have, well, some things alike. He was born in California and went to Colorado University to play baseball. I was born in Texas and stayed in Texas for school. He was a member of the Kappa Sigma Fraternity. I was a member of the Kappa Sigma Fraternity. He received fame and notoriety for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, where he starred opposite of Paul Newman. My notoriety is really limited to you reading this and, well, I enjoy Paul Newman's spaghetti sauce.

Nonetheless, Redford and I took another step in becoming closer this weekend.

Redford started a little film festival called Sundance, which has grown to be one of the most notable film festivals in the world.

This weekend, post-op and while medicated, I've had a little film festival of my own. Here is a list of what I've watched: LA Cofidential, Spinal Tap, the Indiana Jones Trilogy, Entourage Season 3 Pt 2, Pirates of the Carribean 3: At World's End, The Untouchables, two episodes of Saturday Night Live, parts of The Office Season 3 and parts of How I Met Your Mother Season 2. And the days not over. I've nothing but time on my hands and fuzziness in my vision.

Party on, post-ops. Good stories a plenty shall be had.

Make Like a Tree (600 Gallons Worth)

First, by request the font has been changed. Apparently others do not have the same apprecaition for Courier that I do. Screw them. But alas, the public asked and the public received.

In other nudes, the fam had a ball this weekend with our "1st Annual Rakefest Roundup."

We raked enough leaves to fill 20 bags that held 30 gallons worth of refuse. That's 600 gallons of leaves, which brings me to the following photos and the following puns/play on words:

"Just leaf us alone."
"With the second pick in the 1998 NFL Draft, the San Diego Chargers select Ryan Leaf."
"Make like a tree and get the heck outta here."
"Who's your favorite Viking? Mine is Leaf Erickson."
"I'm leafing on a jet plane."

Happy Ne'erday

We're feeling rather Gaelic around the McCord castle on this first of January, 2008. That doesn't meant we're celebrating Ne'erday in traditional Gaelic fashion (a midnight knocking on the door of a neighbor and presenting them with a gift, such as salt... we tried last night, but our neighbors pulled a shotgun on us and sent us running across the street in our one-piece pajamas).

Call it hope of a new year--pride in the year that's gone--or just indifference to the fact that some of our neighbors are moving, we think, and, well, that kind of newness about a fine January day is nothing short of happy.

We don't traditionally make resolutions in this homehold. It's typically not our scene.

But for you, we will. Let us now present to you a gift of resolute fashion.

First, however, it should be important for us to establish the tradition of the resolution. The origin is debated, but most would attribute the new year's resolution to traditions set in Yom Kippur, where those of Jewish faith would reflect upon their wrong-doings over the past year and both seek and offer forgiveness.

That being said, let us, in this castle, be most resolute in 2008.

We resolve to eat more popcorn. For Christmas we were given one of those caramel-butter-cheese popcorn tins... yum. We don't eat nearly enough popcorn. In fact, there's a popcorn store with all sorts of flavored popcorn within 2 blocks of our stead. More popcorn in 2008.

We resolve to make less small talk. This is the year that we no longer straddle the fence. Either we like you well enough to get deep and talk real talk with you, or we don't. But no small talk in 2008.

We resolve to take more photos. You never know when you might be in the right spot to capture the right moment. It's those priceless moments that can later be used in blackmail to take asunder large sums of money. More camera-time in 2008.

We resolve to watch more foreign films. They say that reading expands your mind. Well, why not combine reading and watching a great movie? En avant et en hausse say the French, and in 2008, we'll read it and watch it at the same time.

We resolve to withhold our judgments of others until they are not around. Nothing makes a relationship more messy than to snicker and say "Man you have terrible taste in tex-mex restaurants" or "Geez, you should really look into having better taste in movies/music/books/tv/jeans/friends." In 2008, we'll wait until people turn their backs to offer these oh-so-relevant opinions.

We resolve to not hold it against you if you do something after us. Sure, we've been blogging since April 24, 2005. And yeah, we picked up that CD before it was released to the radio. And yes, we know, we heard that so-and-so is now dating someone. But just because we have our ear to the ground on these things and you have yours somewhere else doesn't make us better than you--in 2008, we won't remind you.

We resolve to utilize the greatness of foodnetwork.com more. We just checked--there are 116 recipes for goat meat on this uber-site. 116. In 2008, we won't cook a single goat recipe, but we'll reference this wonderful world of culinary concoctions more consistently.

And finally, we resolve to celebrate whatever, whenever. According to chinese astrology, 2008 is the year of the rat. Awesome--let's party. Let's have a rat-party. January 25 is Opposite Day--let's not do something fun, or let's? We're confused. Either way, 2008 is the year of the party for us. Party on.

Whatever your resolutions--fun, fictitious, fatty or filled with fudge, we wish you and yours the best (or worst on January 25).

Top or Bottom 5 Humbugs

It's the most wonderful time of year. Christmastime.

Between being brought figgy pudding and waiting for someone to give me nine ladies dancing, I have come up with a handful of Holiday Horrors. These things give me a royally rashed rear round this time of year. Enjoy.

5. Leading with ailments. This may very well be the only time of year I see certain members of my or my wife's family. That's okay--that's natural--a part of life. But then again, aging is a part of life also. I don't get why at a certain age you lead with ailments when talking to someone you haven't seen in a year. For example, allow me to recall a conversation with a family member from a year ago:

"So, how's everything going?"
"Well, I've got a goiter in my crotch and the gout's flaring up in my neck again. I don't know when the last time was I watched Wheel of Fortune without having to hack up something. And now its starting to burn when I urinate."

Holy Moses. Can't you just fake a "fine" and be done with it!?
4. Doing things for the sake of tradition. I love traditions--trimming the tree, filling the stockings, having a big breakfast on Christmas morn, etc. But there are certain traditions we do because they are traditions. Often these are justified with "well that's the way we've always done it." You might as well sneak a firecracker into my brain--because I just don't get it. Do what you do--but know why you do it.

3. White Elephants. Growing up we always had a white elephant exchange with extended family. I always assumed it was because the cousins of mine that we married (to each other) couldn't bring anything to the table other than the spare toilet parts. Every year. Every stinking year. But as a child I was enamored by the white elephant exchange. It's quite fun--drawing numbers, stealing gifts, etc. Not anymore. I promise you it seems like you could play a full game of Monopoly before all of the nonsense stops. Now if I am invited to the white elephant exchange I go with one purpose--to take home what I brought.
2. Christmas Wish on the radio. There are two stations in the DFW area that grant a Christmas Wish to many needy folks throughout the holiday season. Here's the deal--someone nominates someone less fortunate and the station, along with its advertisers, do something very nice for the less fortunate family. For example, perhaps a man has just lost his arms and legs in a terrible accident. Some car dealer would come in and pay to have moving sidewalks for the man's limbless body to move throughout his house. Okay--that was an unnecessary shot. Here's the deal, I think that the Christmas Wish is such a good thing. We should always look for ways to help those that are needy or less fortunate. My problem is that we have found another way to make our generosity into a bigger spectacle than the generosity itself. It's all about marketing and aligning yourself as a company that cares whether you care or not.

1. Christmas Cards. This is very controversial at my house. I can't stand the Christmas card. Even moreso the Christmas letter. I just don't see the point. I think its very nice to reach out to those that you love and wish them a special season. I'm all for well-wishing. But again, we have made the Christmas card more important than the thought behind it. It's truly a measure of self-importance: "Look at where we went this year." "Look at us--we are smiling and nothing's wrong in our lives." "WooHoo--we escaped the IRS again!"

This flaunting of self-worth would be tolerable for me if it weren't for the costs as well. That's a racket in and of itself. Stamps are $.41. You better consider yourself DANG lucky if you received a card in the mail from the McCord family--because I skim that dat gum Christmas card list and if I believe I can email to you without offending you--I'm not going to waste $.41 on you. Then again, if you did receive a card from us in the mail--well, you are probably so fragile that we didn't want to break your spirit.

This year's card is posted above. Please note that 1) the snow IS real... photo taken in Sweetwater over Thanksgiving and 2) the card was designed by your's truly.

Happy Holidays.

Sing us a Song, Piano Man

I had the chance to take in one of the all-time greats the other night as William Joseph Martin Joel (Billy Joel, that is) played at AAC. I have to be honest-despite his liking the drink to the point of ruining a marriage to Christie Brinkley... the guy's got something.

Highlights of the night included a performance of "An Innocent Man," which you can take in below. Be sure to notice that William Joel is the best snapper ever. Ever.

Is your house on fire, Clark?

"No, Aunt Bethany, it's the Christmas lights."

And with those words wife and I celebrate the dawning of a new day in our lives. Today we hung Christmas lights.

And, because I long to become more and more like Chevy Chase with age, I used my shopping time on black Friday to purchase a puffy vest, like the one that Clark wears while putting up his infamous lights.

We did happen to see one of our neighbors while outside. I was in position to deliver the line about where I was going to put a tree that size... but we didn't have a tree and we seldom, if ever, exchange anything more than a glossed-hidey-ho look with one another.

Anyhow, enjoy the pics. And Happy Holidays... may your yule glow like Soul Glo. Peace.

O Happy Day (and a new Top Five Bottom Five)

I care to present to you a new Top Five, Bottom Five. Our topic: Larry's.

Bottom Five:

5. Larry King. I'm not exactly sure what it is about Larry King that bothers me. I support his use of support (suspenders). He's got sustainability and some (some) pizazz. I think its that I think he should be dead and gone now. I'm just kind of over the whole Larry King thing... and the fact that he's still blowing and going just kind of gets to me. Not to mention, he's kind of a donkey. I mean he knows he's lived thrice as long as most of his guests... so he holds that over their heads.

4. Senator Larry Craig. This guy was almost placed in the Top Five for his tomfoolery... namely his quote, when referring to then President Bill Clinton as a "nasty, bad and naughty boy." Senator Craig did something suspect, admitted to it and has since indian-gave his admission. Weird. Funny. His indecisiveness and bizarre anti-admission rant place him firmly in the Bottom Five.


3. Larry Flynt. Born in 1942, this man has lived a hard 65 years. Through his personal struggles and addictions he managed to weave pornography into the fabric of our subculture. Way to go, Larry! Larry Flynt has even at one point appeared in a court of law wearing a diaper... made from an American flag. He wins the "Not such a good American, buddy" lifetime un-achievement award for his failed effort at positively contributing.

2. Larry Appleton. Perhaps you know him better as Cousin Larry from the 80s sitcom Perfect Strangers. Cousin Larry constantly oppressed Balky. I would even argue that he slowed Balky's acclimation to America and thus prevented Balky from being truly happy... except when they combined to do the happy dance. Furthermore, Cousin Larry is charged with blatant crimes against fashion... including neon colors, turtlenecks and possibly something designed by Ocean Pacific.

1. Larry the Cable Guy. Can I tell you that I would rather loan my crotch to ESPN's "The Contender" to use as a punching bag than have to hear this spare spare ever again. Some things you can call a 'flash in the pan.' Larry the Cable Guy is more like someone burning their waste in a pan. Gross. Git Er' Done.




Now, for something a little more Topish.

Top Five:

5. Larry Johnson. Three syllables: Gran-Ma-Ma.










4. Larry Fine. Larry. Probably the original Larry. And comic genius to boot. As one of "The Three Stooges," Fine has impacted the lives of millions. Not bad, Larry. Not bad at all.





3. Larry Page. This Larry has an estimated net worth of more than $18 billion. Why? Because he helped invent google.






2. Larry David. When I grow up I want to be just like this Larry. He's nonchalant and neurotic, and double-awkward. And easily the 2nd most genius comedic mind named Larry (behind Larry Fine, above). Besides starring in HBO's Curb Your Enthusiasm, Larry David co-created/produced/wrote Seinfeld... which means I have spent many, many hours studying his handiwork.


1. Larry Joe Bird. The pride of French Lick, Indiana, is the all-time best Larry. He won three NBA Titles (81, 84, 86), two NBA Finals MVPs and three regular season MVPs. Because of the quaff-like hairstyle that I share with Bird, my first basketball coach made a comment of commonality between us two... forever linking our fates and intertwining me into a world of rooting for the Boston Celtics. That was around 1988.

Which brings me to the reason that today is just a joyous day. Tonight the Celtics opened their 2007-08 NBA season. I can't begin to describe how much I have looked forward to this day. It has been 5 years since there was this much anticipation for a Boston team (the 2002 team went to the Eastern Conference Finals), and longer, much longer since the team has had a significant chance at raising a 17th Championship Banner. But this year there is hope.

And hope lives in a two bedroom apartment next to the TD Banknorth Garden. We're pen pals.

Happy Halloween

Wife and I went to Quick's Haunted event tonight in costume. In due part to my recent obsession, Wife was Miss Piggy and yours truly was Kermit.


And, as you can see from the costume choice, it ain't easy being green. (Sorry. Had to).

Top Five, Bottom Five Jim Henson Style

Something has been weighing heavily on my mind as of late... The Muppets.

I have always been enamored by Jim Henson's creation. As I have grown older, The Muppets have taken on an even more special meaning in my puppet heart.

So, without further adieu, allow me to provide a biased and opinionated ranking on the Top-Five, Bottom-Five Muppets.


Bottom Five:

5. Beauregard. It's appropriate for Beau to be a janitor on the Muppet Show because he's just plain poo poo. Beauregard's best asset was his amazing janitor strength, but that doesn't help me get past his slow-wittedness and the fact that he kind of looks like a turd. Gross.






4. Annie Sue. In all of my days watching the tele and the tele program--I can't tell you one time that I liked it when an actor appears as a character that is stark opposite of their main character... like Urkel vs Stephan, or Bugs Bunny in drag. That's my principle reason for not liking Annie Sue. It's very unimaginative. And unimaginative is not a word I use with my Muppets.



3. Link Hogthrob. I don't mean to pick on the piggies... but come on, everything about Link screams cocky. This swine reeks of Chris-Chris... like you'd expect him to have a blue-tooth and be attempting to pick up some hot porkers at Martini Ranch on the weekends. Even his name annoys me.





2. Sam the Eagle. Sam's scowl has always bothered me. And he lectures to no end. There's nothing wrong with sharing one's opinion (Sam, a patriot, should be well aware of any rights from the First Amendment), but nobody likes to be lectured.




And the number 1 in my Bottom Five Muppets... and the most over-rated Muppet of all time..............................................................................

1. Fozzie Bear. There is literally nothing funny about a bad comedian. And Fozzie makes his living by telling terrible jokes and following them with a not-so-witty catch phrase, "Wocka Wocka Wocka." It is because of this that I support bear rugs, bear hunting and bare-back riding.



Now for the Top Five.

5. Dr Teeth and Electric Mayhem. You can't separate this crew. Dr. Teeth, Janice, Sgt. Floyd Pepper, Zoot and Animal rock the house for the Muppets. The greatness of this crew can be summed up by Dr. Teeth's very confusing line from The Muppet Movie, "Golden teeth and golden tones, welcome to my presence."



4. and 3. Statler and Waldorf. If they weren't ancillary characters, these two might find their way higher. Smart-alecky and very easily amused by themselves, these two brilliant old men heckle everything in sight from their balcony seats. And, to make matters better, one of their favorite targets for heckling was Fozzie Bear.


2. Gonzo. Also known as The Great Gonzo or Gonzo the Great, Gonzo was often portrayed as a stunt man or daredevil. He's also the only main character muppet that was not an anthropomorphic animal... so he's got that going for him. In addition, Gonzo isn't afraid to break barriers by dating someone outside of his species (Weirdo). That's right, his hot little chic is Camila, a Chicken.




And..................... drumroll................. the number one muppet.... the tops... the best... the greatest................................................

1. Kermit the Frog. Pure genius. Kermit had it all. He had the lady (Miss Piggy), he had the voice (sang "It ain't easy being green", "Rainbow Connection" and others) and the job (leading man). Kermit even co-hosted The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson in 1979 and hosted Larry King Live as an April Fools' Day joke in 1994.

A Conversation with Chewbacca

Approximately three hours ago, in a galaxy located far far away (Plano, that is), the rebel alliance came to life in a new form.

Ahem... yours truly went to Star Wars Fan Days. That's a-uh, Star Wars Convention.

(please reserve pre-conceived judgments until I truly set up the joke, because there is a joke, or multiple jokes about to be had)

How do I begin to tell you how this went down...

Well, let me just say that I have never in my life actually seen so many people try so hard to replicate fictional characters. And all of these fictional fictional characters (the patrons, mind you) flock together as birds of Star Wars feathers from convention to convention.

I saw many an elaborate outfit. Some are in the photos you see in my slide show. Others I will regretfully take with me to the grave.

The highlight of the experience was getting to meet Kenny Baker & Peter Mayhew.

Kenny Baker is a midget (as is his wife, which you can see in the photo). So he already gets a point. Baker was the person that operated R2D2. Point-Baker. And finally, because Baker (and his wife are British), they had unbelievable accents (not to mention really small hands). Point. Point. Point. Oh, and I kind of hugged them in the picture--which may explain why R2 has a midget-deer-in-the-headlights look on his face.

Peter Mayhew stands 7'3". Prior to being cast as the most infamous Wookie (and only Wookie) in the history of film, Mayhew was a hospital orderly in his native England. (Side note--you think that would freak you out to have such a large and beastly man ask you to take your blood pressure?) Mayhew was featured in a local paper because of the size of his feet (insert joke "you know what they say about a wookie/orderly with large feet?" now), which fell on the desk of George Lucas, who cast him to bring Chewbacca to life.

It costs $20 to ttake your photo with Mayhew--so I opted for just taking a picture OF him. Then I approached and tried to captivate the attention of the man in a way only my inner Larry David could:

ME: Long Day?
(hand extended, his freak wookie hand envelops it and we shake)

MAYHEW: You have no f****** idea.

ME: Huh. So, umm, how many weekends a year do you do this?

MAYHEW: At last count, 35-40. But it feeds the f****** animals and pays the electric bill.

ME: Yes, I assume it does. There must be tons of people that get their photos made with you.

MAYHEW: Ah, yes.

ME: So what's your least and most favorite part?

MAYHEW: Least favorite? The f****** airports.

ME: I assume a man of your stature wouldn't enjoy plane rides.

MAYHEW: No, man, it's the f****** airport security. Those blokes don't know what the f*** they're doing. I mean, they tell you to get there 2 hours early and for what? To spend a f****** hour in one f****** line?

ME: Well, sir, it was a pleasure to meet you.

MAYHEW: You too.

ME: Fly safe.

I turn and leave. And as I leave, my head full of expletive laced gravy, I think to myself, "Self--I always wondered what it would be like to have a conversation with Chewbacca. Who knew it would be about airport security and include so many f-bombs."

The Crescent City

The wife and I took a trip to New Orleans over the past weekend. We were there in efforts to help with hurricane cleanup from Katrina, which hit the area more than two years ago.

I can't fully describe what I saw or the feelings it brought to mind. There is destruction. There is hope. There is fear. There is comfort. There is spirituality. There is alienation. It's a city that survives on the dichotomy of life.

Here are a few images of the trip:

Kicking Some Grass

We have officially been homeowners for almost 5 months. That's enough time to have assimilated into the culture of high utility bills and any discussions, ergo arguments, that can happen as a result thereof.

Homeownership is a grand, grand thing. There is this satisfaction each time one of us pulls into our garage that this place is ours, or will be ours in 350 some-odd more payments.

Within the confines of homeownership, we have found one area in which I, as the principle, or CEO of this franchise (family, that is), can express my competitive juices.

Yardwork.

Men and competition have a rich history. Heck, some say the first pissing contest between two men goes all th way back to Cain & Abel in Biblical times. Spoiler alert--Cain won.

As I mull through the downside of my 20's and closer towards 30sdom, its increasingly apparent to me that I must find ways to compete.

While others my age are competing in their various forums:

- Eli Manning, Quarterback of NY Giants
- Jason Richardson, Charlotte Bobcats
- Elijah Wood, Actor, Musician & Notable Hobbit
- Paris Hilton, Heiress & Socialite

I have found my forum for this chapter of my life, and it's the yard.

Just look at those beautiful blades of St. Augustine that line that sweet gray sidewalk. It's a thing of Turffy Love.

Mowing isn't a chore--it's an event.

I dawn my uniform (usually a Live Free or Die Hard 'beater', pair of athletic shorts, fake crocs, trucker hat turned back), apply eye-black, set the Ipod to something that get's the adrenaline pumping (like Journey's Don't Stop Believing on repeat) and slowly apply OFF to prevent the onslaught of mosquitos.

As I roll my machine out to the starting point, I imagine a PA Announcer with a booming voice: "At 5'8", 165, hailing from the hallows of sweet- sweet-Sweetwater, TX... out of Baylor University... your mower, edger, blower, sweeper, and currently ranked 3rd in the Associated Press Under-30 World Yardwork Power Rankings..."

Then I fire it up. And with a gleam in my eye and a snarl on my lips, I mow. With the care of an artist creating a masterpiece, I weave back and forth.

Then, with passion and calm determination, I edge. Then the blower comes out. And I clean my work area. It's a matter of pride.

And when its done and my tools are in their rightful place, I sigh, wipe my brow (typically rip one since its my yard and I do what I want in it) and nod.

"It is good," I proclaim with arms stretched, normally evoking some sort of jibberish from my older Asian neighbor.

I understand a few things about this. I understand that while I am currently ranked 3rd in the AP U30WYPR, there are only 5 competitors registered. But I'm still 3rd, and closing on #2. Soon--with the help of some HGH (Hallowed Grass Helper), also known as fertilizer, I will reach the top spot.

I also know that this adds a cool 15 years to my social life. Others in their mid-20s are hitting the local night scene... attending concerts and getting 'inked.' To that I say, I'm married, I like jazz music, I have a Letterman sense of humor and I enjoy tweed coats--I have no 'real' social life.

And finally, I know the pressure this early success adds to my very young professional Landscapial career. Anytime a player or coach comes onto the scene with the mastery of a grizzled champion there is pressure. I take it one mow at a time--never looking ahead to next spring or summer (vaguely spoken like a true professional, no?).

today's MAMOMY

Most Awkward Moment Of My daY
MAMOMY.

It happens every day. Each and every single one. Some days its more awkward than others. And please, please remember that I feed on MAMOMYs. I love them. I nurture them. I like to create them because I know I can cartoonishly backward tip-toe out of them while others are left to savage what this social hurricane just brought.

MAMOMY.

And today, well, today was no different.

You see, I work in corporate America. The land of the stapler, the ergonomic chair, the out-of-office message, and the ever popular coffee that tastes like poopoo. It's the amber waves of grain across a sea of cubicles. I love it.

MAMOMYs sprout like dandilions in this realm. There are so many people from different backgrounds, all coming together, working on eggshells trying to get through the day while not divulging too much of themselves personally... it's the ingredients of a masterpiece.

Without further adieu, I give you Episode CMXI, "You got a prescription for that?"

Our main character in this play isn't someone I have day-to-day interaction with... no, in fact, I try to keep to myself. I have my scene. It's a scene that I operate very well in, and I enjoy the others who exist in my scene. However, there are those around us that are in Ven Diagram Scenes... and we have to acknowledge them in the least.

Clyde, our main character, is quite a number. Clothes are just a little too tight for my comfort. No, Clyde's wardrobe is not my business. But if his wardobe leaves little to imagine what and where his business is... he makes his business the business of those around us, no?

Clyde is normally a little off the wall. You can hear him. He's like an attention-starved tigger... most of the time I am processes his bouncing off of the walls by imaging what a stun-gun might do to our tightly-clothed, orange and black striped wonderful-ting-about-Clyde-is-that-Clyde-is-a-wonderful thing.

Clyde was a little off today. No bouncing. No singing. No gallivanting. No imitating Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. Clyde seemed more of a Eeyore than Tigger.

Someone happened to approach Clyde about this very thing.

That's the thing about this wild world of workdom... you are forced to show compassion for these people. You care--because that's the hand you are dealt.

So imagine this... bustling office... faxes, clicking, phones ringing, mumbled conversation about fall tv lineups, etc. There's Clyde--standing--dazed.

"Clyde--is everything alright? You seem kind of down today?"

Then it was like slow motion... I could see Clyde's mouth moving, but everything was registering lowly as he sprang-forth his response:

"I'm sorry you guys. Things have been rough lately and I've been taking a lot of Xanax today. Maybe I could get a break?"

(DEAD silence)
(Soooo silent)
(Like silent enough to hear a worm fart three blocks down)
(Seconds... minutes... I dunno it could have been days that passed by... no one said a word)

{Side note--for anyone unfamiliar with Xanax... drugs.com says that Xanax is in a group of drugs called benzodiazepines (ben-zoe-dye-AZE-eh-peens). Xanax affects chemicals in the brain that may become unbalanced and cause anxiety. Xanax is used to treat anxiety disorders, panic disorders, and anxiety caused by depression. }

Slowly, everyone turned, went to the closest pile of papers. Rustle. Straighten. Apply paper clips. Just do something. No sudden movements. No facial expressions. Just act... like... every... thing... is... normal...

Zoom the camera to me. Business me. Office me. I throw my hands in the air and I mouth MAMOMY.

Unwrap it.

Umm, hi.

It's me.

Yeah, I know... it's... well it's been a while. Are you mad at me?

It wasn't that I wasn't thinking about you... I was... I swear.



It's just, well, I've had a lot going. No no no no no... It's not that you don't mean as much to me as that other stuff.



I promise, things are going to change. I'll change.



(silence)



Are you there?

Good. I thought maybe you had given up on me.



I have something for you. Yes, a gift. Actually, a couple. Here's the first... and I'll give you the others soon. I promise.



Unwrap it.



It's a time of nude beginnings for the wife and I. Oops, I meant new beginnings. New beginnings. New house. New job. New joys in life (who knew the power that a weedeater brings). So let's start there.



New house. First house. And you'll learn about the house soon... but first, the process.



Let's flash back to February of 2007... Beyonce's "Irreplaceable" was number 1 on the Billboard Top 100 chart. The national average for a gallon of gas was $3.06. Peyton Manning led the Colts to a SuperBowl victory. Times were different then.



That's when we began our search.



We had no idea what would happen. Over the course of two months, we saw approximately 37 houses... including the greatness of the infamous "Chinaman House."



As our Realtor, Ronaldo (name changed to protect the innocent), stopped in front of the house near Coit & Park in Plano, I thought, Huh, this looks nice. An encouraging note considering some of the lemons Joanna and I had driven by before.



Sidenote-if you are selling your house, please make it look nice. If you put a tuxedo on a turd some people might not realize it's a turd and want to waltz with it... so if you want to get rid of your turd, clean it up.



Sidenote Sidenote - this does NOT mean you should use photoshop to paint your turd of a house in a good light for a picture online. There was nothing more frustrating to me than having to look online at photos of what I thought was a great house, only to drive by it and think I just drove in to a converted RV Park.



Back to our Chinaman House. We approached the door. All seemed to be in good order. Ronaldo, however, couldn't find the magic realtor box where all realtors can use their electronic spell to provide access to the house... it was no where in sight. So we knock. We wait. Ronaldo calls and finds the owner. He explains he had an appt.



Suddenly, the door opens (insert Gong noise) and a frail Chinamen stands before us.



"Relcome roo my Reautiful home." He grandly bows, presents the living room.

My eyes get HUGE. I look at Ronaldo, thinking surely there's a mistake and we can't possibly be going in.

But by this point Ronaldo is already inside, beginning to take notes in his magic realtor file. And believe-you-me, I can't tell you how many notes there were to take.

Before we proceed, let me provide a disclaimer. I am merely a professional observer, here to observe observations. Any potential stereotypes or likenesses involved are purely coincedental.

Let's start with the smell. It smelled like garlic basted dirty underwear. My eyes began watering the second I crossed the threshold. Not only that, but this poor-man's Miyagi was offering us a guided tour.

"Dis is de rormal rining roo." Yes, I know it reads like Scooby Doo was saying it, but I assure you, this could not have been less clear.

"Dis is rain riving rarea. You like? You like?"

"It's amazing. It's pretty much the most amazing riving rarea I've ever seen."

"Oh res, res. Dis ray, dis ray."

I look at Ronaldo. He's gone to another room to laugh. I look at the wife. She's chip-munking on me, trying to hold laughing in, like a certain Asian Hot Dog Competitor at the end of today's contest... unsuccessfully.

So I am on my own. It's just me, my sanity, my irreverent sense of humor and the fake Kim Jong Il walking me through his reautiful rome.

"Dis is masta redroom."

I see a room covered in tapestries and jars filled with things like looks like pearl onions or eye balls... dealer's choice.

"Dis is my daughter's room. She at unirersity."

"Education is very important" is what I said.

"Lord, if you have to take me in my youth, do it now" is what I was thinking.

The tour concluded with a walk-through what he called a "wok area"... which I am pretty sure was a work area.

We didn't end up buying that house. And I'm okay with that. But you see, that's not the point. There may not be a point... but there is a proclaimation. I have a gift. I can walk in to an empty room and take it for more than it's face value. I can see what something can be... it's potential. I don't see what it is.

But believe me, when I entered mini Hong Kong for a guided tour, much like riding "It's a Small World" at Disneyland, my gift was no where in sight. Things were coming at me from all angles, and I was so disoriented, disgusted and disenchanted by why my trip on "It's a Small World" stalled in Asia, that I couldn't see, hear, taste or feel anything.

I could smell. Remember? Garlic basted dirty underwear. With a hint of old pot-stickers. And I can't imagine living with that smell all around me, all the time.

So, as we celebrate this Independence Day, let us thank America for her beauty, Her grace, and Her ability to let freedom rind, even if it means gross-smelling Asia houses for sell.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Baron Davis schools more than the Mavs

Big Bad Radio Me

The revolution will not be televised, but you can hear snippits of it on the radio.