Utinni!

This is the sixth year of "The Tree". As always, it's one of my favorite parts of the holiday season, a nice little tradition which I don't see going away ever.

Most people reading this will know of the tree, and may have even been blessed enough to gaze upon its luster. If not, here's a quick recap: My mom bought it for me before my intern year and has also supplied about 95% of the ornaments for it; most importantly she has every year fastidiously bought and shipped the latest iteration of Star Wars ornaments. The Star Wars ornaments started coming out back in the mid 1990's (some good coming of George Lucas's massive commercialization campaign) and mom has been all over them since.

Other than that, there's not much to say. Gwen and I shoot to put the tree up on the Friday after Thanksgiving, which we did again this year. Mom had sent some new light strands this year, which now adorn the tree. Each year there are more and more ornaments which require a plug-in to a light socket, and the in and out of so many sockets puts a strain on the light strand itself, necessitating intermittent replacement.

My pictures of the tree did not come out too well this year, mostly because I'm trying to photograph the tree at the worst possible time, and I have no tripod for macro and "dark" shots, but there's some time pressure here and I need to get this post done.

For other recaps of the tree on OTHER years, the links are just below. The photography has been better in the past, and since all but five of the ornaments have been on the tree before, you can check them out there.



2004

2005


2006


When we set up the tree, Gwen and I use a few guiding principles. First, we try to recreate as many Star Wars scenes as we can. We try to pair up the jedis for their big fights. Darth Vader fights Obi Wan all over the place. Luke and Vader go at it. For the earlier films we have Qui Gon and Darth Maul toe to toe, and younger Obi Wan gets to fight Jango Fett. There are space battles, too, with Darth Vader in his tie fighter annually chasing down Luke in his X-wing, 'staying on target' if you will. We put the Star Destoyer around the Death Star, we put Han and Leia close - we try to make it so that every part of the tree has some part of the movie as its basis, or at least we get as close as we can. There are a few different Yoda figures, but the wise-looking Yoda always goes on top of the tree, and goes on last. This is tradition. Also there is a Jar Jar ornament that stays in its box - it's simply not cool enough to put on the tree.

Many of the ornaments are plugged directly into the light strands, and have quotes and music spew from them every time they are turned on. Several others are battery powered with quotes and such, and have push-buttons to activate. Gwen and I have a routine where we can power on the tree (it requires a transformer here in Europe) and hear EVERYTHING. We do this by dividing the non-automatic ornaments (there are nine this year) and pushing all the buttons as fast as we can after flicking the switch. The end result is an awesome cacophony of Star Wars music and quotes and is really the coolest thing about the tree. (The Emperor, in his Death Star, who brags of its fully "armed and Op-er-ation-al" nature seems to always have the last word...)

This year all the new ornaments are centered on Tatooine. There is a jawa with R2D2, a Millenium Falcon blasting off from Mos Eisley (which plays the main Star Wars theme, inexplicably missing up until now), the scene from Obi Wan's hut where he shows Luke his lightsaber for the first time (this one has a variety of quotes from the movie from that scene, and the a blue light bulb illuminates the saber itself at the point in the quote where it gets turned on - it's sweet), and most importantly an angry Tusken Raider wielding his gaffe stick in a menacing matter (is there any other way?) The Tusken Raider, especially, is a sweet addition and even now it's hard to consider the Tree as ever having been Tusken Raider-free. The only let down with this particular ornament is the lack of the patented belligerent attack noise - the one we all know and love.

So 2007 brings some really strong augments to an already kick-ass tree. This is what Christmas is meant to be. It's always cool to see what new ornaments come down the pipe each year.

The non-Star Wars ornaments include mostly Spider Man in various poses; there is also one Giants ornament and one Steelers ornament, two Lord of the Rings ornaments (Gandalf and Frodo - which begs the question why not more? Well, for some reason, these are the only two they've made! One can only dream how extra-super-cool it would be to see all manner of LOTR co-habitating with Star Wars; Nazgul and Tie Fighters side by side, etc. Maybe some day), and an assortment of "other" ornaments too singular to classify in a group. Overall Star Wars covers about 80% of the tree.


My favorite ornament remains the initial Darth Vader - the one that speaks, has an angry glowing red light saber which gleams menacingly in the dark, and - speaking the best quote from the trilogy - taunts, "The Force is with you Skywalker, but you are not a Jedi - yet..." every time the tree is turned on. This guy, from 1997, remains the anchor of the tree and is my top pick.

Anyway, this is Christmas in our house. Enjoy the pics!




BEHOLD!




All Lit Up






Don't Mess with Darth - He Anchors the Tree






"BRRWUUWUWUAAA!"







One More Pass....






I'll Never Join You!





Wise Yoda brings balance to the Force - AND the Holidays!





He wanted you to have this when you were old enough...






Hi - We're the only good part of episode one!

Germany wasn't always such a nice place...

So I finished The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich (by William Shirer) last week, one of the best, if not THEE best, non-fiction book I've ever read. It took me several months to conquer the more than 1100 pages of dense text (not even a single picture - I must be all grownsed up!).

If you were to pick it up, feel its weight, and leaf through the thick pages, it might seem to be a bit of a slog, but I found that actually far from the truth. It was actually hard to put down and probably cost me an extra half hour to hour of sleep on many nights when I should have turned out the light that much earlier.

My prior knowledge of the third Reich, and of World War II in general, comes from a small bit of academics (high school, college maybe a hair), but mostly derives from pop culture - comic books, movies, snippets on the history channel, and of course the board game Axis and Allies. Also Pete, Eryn and I took a "walking tour of the third Reich" while in Munich last January which was flat awesome. The coolest thing about reading the book, a comprehensive look at the whole thing, was that it gave me a thorough start to finish. No more snippets and pearls mixing together in my head, but rather a sturdy time line of what happened when, how one thing led to the next, how it ended, and so on.

To start, the author (Shirer) was an interesting guy. He was an AP correspondent living in Berlin for most of the 1930s until 1942. He was literally present at hundreds of Nazi functions, and heard many, if not all, of Hitler's "big" speeches, covering them in a media capacity back in the day. He was there when France surrendered and his description of the French and German generals meeting up to discuss terms was quite chilling from the first hand account. As an American correspondent, he more or less had a free pass for most of his time there (until the US joined the war and he was kicked out), able to act as an observer on many levels. Also, the guy did his research, pouring through volumes of captured texts and diaries to get at many of the formerly hidden facts.

He also cracked me up in that he was not one to hold his personal opinion back while reporting the facts, often going to his footnotes with comments like "As seen by THIS observer, the ambassador was a cool man and a coward" - stuff like that. It rocked. He really lets the pre-Churchill English (led by Neville Chamberlain) and the French have it for their ceaseless Nazi appeasement in the late 1930's - to read about the extent of it - the Nazi appeasement that is - in hindsight is just crazy.

He also has no love lost for Mussolini, a man he considers a puppet of Hitler's (even though Hitler would have gotten nowhere without appeasing Mussolini in his early days of "claiming terroritory" - like Austria). He paints Mussolini like a total chump; the guy apparently made a pact with Germany, then backed out, then wanted in when he saw how good Germany was doing in the early war. But every time he committed troops somewhere (i.e. Greece), they got worked and had to be saved by Germany. The whole interplay between Hitler and Mussolini was fascinating. First Hitler had to appease the then greater "Duce". Later they were on equal terms and then finally Hitler dominated the guy. All this I had no idea about before.

Reading a book so transfixed on Hitler is fascinating. Clearly he was a shrewd man, a political genius and also completely insane, getting worse year by year, to the point where he was literally twitching and jerking in his final years, especially when angry. Reading the first hand accounts of this by everyone from his generals to his secretaries was an odd combination of comical and scary.

When he was in prison in the 1920's he wrote "Mein Kampf", which according to this book pretty much puts down everything he intended to do right from the start. Take over Europe, expand the German lands, put down the Jews (and Czechs) - all of it. The author even stops to say "Say what you want about Hitler, no one can deny he made a plan early on and stuck to it - no one can argue that they had no idea what he wanted to do".

Similarly, it was odd to read a book about Hitler, knowing what we know about the guy now. It was hard to remember that in the 1920's and 1930's, before his rise to power, he was just another "whacky" politician with his own (albeit insane) agenda. He wasn't thee infamous Adolf Hitler yet. Still, I kept wanting to shout, "Dude, what are you doing? Don't you realize you're talking to f*cking Hitler?!?" whenever reading a passage about leader X or ambassador Y "holding meetings" with the guy in the days before the war.

Other facts, thoughts, and comments:

-Hitler took over Austria and Czechoslovakia without firing a shot. He merely bullied and threatened war, and basically just snaked those two, while England and France stepped all over each other to be the first to let him. (Apparently nobody wanted another world war so close to the first one, so they (England and France) would do anything to avoid starting another - eventually this policy led to, obviously, disaster.)

-Poland wouldn't let the same thing happen, so Hitler invaded. Only before he did, he dressed up German prisoners in German military uniforms, had some of his SS dress up as Polish soldiers, and had all the "Germans" shot. Even though he had been building up to the assault on 1 September, 1939 for months, by the time the tanks tore into Poland he had, through his insane propaganda machine - which really was nuts, run by Goebbels - convinced all the German people that Poland had invaded Germany and started the war!

-Something I didn't know was that Russia started the war out on the same side as Germany with a non-aggression pact. Hitler secured this as the last step before invading Poland. Russia actually helped secure the eastern part of Poland for herself, using force and claiming it for her own. Mistrust grew between Stalin and Hitler over the next year (that's a great pairing of warm and fuzzy types, isn't it?), until finally Stalin's territorial grabs in eastern Europe angered Hitler to the point where he went on a full (and ill-fated) offensive against Russia, despite the urging of his generals not to....

-Time and time again it seems like if Hitler had only listened to his generals about this or that, things probably would have gone much differently and Germany may very well have succeeded in conquering and defending all of Europe.


-There were at least a dozen different attempts to kill Hitler, by conspiratorial Germans, during World War II. The set of unlikely coincidences which saved his ass from death at least six times are mind-boggling, from the time bomb that didn't go off (malfunctioned) in one of his planes to the three or four times he changed plans at the last second to avoid death by poison, bomb, or shooting. It was crazy and I had no idea so many such attempts were made.

-The Third Reich technically only lasted about 8 years, but it's odd that even though it's such a small part of overall German history, they are undeniably stamped with its effects for all time. I wonder how many generations it will take before the whole German and Nazi concepts are culturally unmarried...

-On a similar note, it's probably not a good idea to read this book, with a giant swastika adorning its cover, in any public or even semi-private location IN Germany. I may or may not know from experience...

Anyway, that's it - read the book.

The Competitive Fires

This Christmas I want a time machine. I would like to physically become somewhere between the age of 19 and 22 again. Why? Let me explain.

I've been realizing for some time that there has been something missing from my life for the past five or so years and that "thing" is two words: Competitive Sports. I was raised on Competitive Sports (Tm) and ever since I can remember (teeball, which I can barely remember) until about the end of medical school I always played SOMETHING. Something organized, something refereed, something with a scoreboard or scorebook or game clock - something.

When I left medical school and residency began to dominate my existence the secure and gratifying world of Competitive Sports left me for a time (five long years) and I've missed it ever since, particularly football and basketball.

I played nine years of full-contact football as a youth and from college on through the end of medical school I played flag football every year, accounting for nine more years and totaling a whopping 18 years of refereed football. Basketball I played even more of and over less time, and since leagues weren't limited to once yearly I probably averaged about two leagues a year from the end of high school until just about the end of medical school. (Also, pick-up hoops, though technically not "Competitive Sports", I played endlessly in college.)

And then residency started and it all just stopped. For a while I didn't realized what I was missing. During the three long, dark, Siberian years of residency, a group of us made an effort to play a weekly game of pick up hoops which, accounting for call and other things probably worked out about 50% of the time. In this time, we played exactly two games which I would say were "competitive", the two sessions, (previously discussed right here on this blog actually), where Internal Medicine squared off against the ER and there was more at stake than just a basketball game. Every made shot from our side was a victory for "rational medicine", every stuffed jumper an awe-inspiring "block" of a crappy chest pain admission instigated by the hated ER. There was no ref, but there was fire. I liked it.

Then residency ended and I came to Landstuhl, and lo and behold there was a weekly basketball game here, too, amongst some of the docs and pharmacists. This game, which again was good for exercise, suited my purposes to some extent and probably happened about 40% of the time.

Then I was off to Iraq. There too, albeit surprisingly, there were actually pick-up basketball games on outdoor courts for several weeks in the March and April time frame. Pete and I played in about two of these before Pete left. By then the temperature was already over 100, even at dusk and furthermore and perhaps more importantly we started getting mortared regularly. Not only were our outdoor activities canceled but one of our two courts suffered a direct hit and had a small crater right over the half court line, which was difficult to game plan for, much less run over or dribble through.

So for the remainder of my time in Iraq I hit the weights to an obsessive degree, more for psychological reasons and stress management than anything else, gaining 10 to 15 pounds of muscle in my upper body over my time there. (Then upon my return I worked hard and succeeded at getting rid of all that muscle and replacing it with a brief period of impressive truncal obesity thanks to a good regimen of excessive food and alcohol.) When I returned our Landstuhl game was still happening on an infrequent basis, and I have been going ever since when able.

Which brings me up to date and to the point of this story. All through the past five years I've wanted to play more sports. Not only do I get a better work-out when playing sports (as opposed to mind-numbing running, which is always painful at EVERY step, no matter how many times I've tried to convince myself I could really "get into" running...) , but I'm just happier out there when competing for something, manning an opponent, or chasing a ball. Every year there is a Landstuhl flag football team and I always see the flyer or email and always want to go out and try out, but always wuss out in the end. I don't know anyone on the team, and it's mostly enlisted guys anyway.

Similarly, last year I noticed there was "unit level" basketball in the Winter, meaning that Landstuhl puts together a basketball team and competes against other military teams in the surrounding area. A mass email went out for a "practice" and I showed up at one or two of them. At the time though, I knew I'd be on call a lot and traveling when Gwen returned, and the fact that 20 people showed up made it less enticing, so I decided not to pursue it. But I kept thinking about it, and when this year rolled around, I started talking to a guy in my clinic and we thought it would be fun to make a second team, composed of people we know (and play with) and enter the league this year.

Logistics of recruiting aside (a story in itself), we put together a team and voila, I'm on a basketball team again.

The league is actually fairly intense, mostly in that we play at least one but as many as three games a week! The season runs through early March, and there are two weeks off for the holidays coming up. The games are short (two 15 minute halves with "running clock") but numerous. All told there are nearly 30 games! The first week of league play was last week and we had three games back to back, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. Yikes.

Before the first game I was fairly nervous. Good enough to "start" on our team, but certainly not the player I was ten years ago, I went to the gym several times the week before, rented out a ball and just started shooting, dribbling and doing basketball stuff. I even ran a suicide or two, Cable Guy style, a mistake which only served to tighten my hammies (ironic in the setting of the movie) and prove that I was not in any sort of "game shape".

Now one of the (many) problems of getting older is that the mind does so in different ways than the body. In my head I can still do all things I used to be able to do, I can play the same game I did when I was 21 years old. Truth is, my body can't keep up.

Before I explain that, allow me to fawn over my former self for a moment here. (Feel free skip to the next paragraph if you're not interested in hearing me gush about my former athleticism.) My "game" as a hoops player, when I was at my best, was predicated on driving to the hoop effectively and playing good defense. In my best years, when I had a good shot as well, I was actually pretty good at basketball. My favorite and best asset over all that time, was my shot-blocking ability. With a good combination of height, lanky arms, timing, and a surprising vertical leap (for a white geeky guy) I must say that I could always block shots with the best of them. (On the flip side, my willingness to leave my feet always made me the butt of many a successful play-fake, but when I was young I could often recover.) Some of my best memories from sports - period - are blocked shots. I loved doing it, and I loved guarding guys taller and slower than me, who thought they would just pull their half-ass turn around, or other signature shot, on me with relatively little effort. I was often underestimated in games, at least initially, and I would always get a charge out of rejecting that first shot so fiercely when they never saw it coming. How my eyes would light up when I saw them start to shoot, and then their whole demeanor would change thereafter, as they watched the ball they had dared to try and shoot rocketing backward somewhere in the vicinity of their own back court; some would become almost frightened to think about shooting again - ah the good old days. Also when I was young (and in shape) I could dunk the ball with reasonable ease. I dunked in games only seldom, on the break almost exclusively, but in warm-ups or just messing around there was a period of five or so years where simply dunking a basketball came easy. (My best "dunking" game ever was a pick up game my sophmore year of college; I dunked three times in one game, once on the break and twice while driving to the hoop in a half court set with relative traffic! That was a great day. OK, fawning part over. Back to the present - dark reality that it is....)


Cut away to last week. Recently I turned 32 years old. (In those practice sessions I mentioned above, before our first games, just to see if I could, I worked up to and actually did dunk a basketball. Mission accomplished. We'll see how it goes again at age 33 - for some reason I want to see what age it is that I can't dunk anymore. Also, it's comical now. What used to come easy now requires some serious warming up, coupled with practice runs at the basket, and usually costs me a sore left arch for a day or so - but I can still do it dammit!) When we took the court at the first game I was actually fairly nervous, but in a good way. The game started and things actually went pretty well. We played a crappy team, but it took our "old man" team an overtime to get the win. I was the leading scorer on this team, (and also sealed the game with a pair of free throws - go me!) but mostly because of sneaky offensive rebound type of points. Also, I'm the tallest guy on our team, so despite spending most of my "career" as a 3, or small forward, I'm basically having to play a small center now, which I'm not sure I like. I've never been a back-to-the-basket type of player, so it's taking some adjusting.

So the first game went relatively well. Now cut to the second game. One night later. On taking the court that second night, we played a much younger, much faster team, and I was sore from the first night. My hammies were balling up a little (I've had hamstring problems since near the end of college and the track team. They never bothered me in hoops - only in football and other cleated "full sprint" sports before - until just recently. Also in March last year I slipped two discs in my lower back which have been slow to heal. This injury actually happened while I was bending down for a loose ball during a game - how old does THAT sound? I bent down, my hammies were too tight, and a sharp pain was my reward as my back paid the price and the discs were yanked out. At the time, right after it happened, every step I took was accompanied by shooting pain down my left leg. This symptom subsided with time, rest, a few meds, and physical therapy, but I still have back pain and soreness any day after running or playing any sport. It sucks, but for now it's livable.) I noticed also that I was exhausted early and often during that second game. My speed and spring were about 75% of the night before (and are already permanently diminished as discussed). We got run up and down the floor, losing by 20 points. Yuck.

Wednesday was the third game. I didn't sleep well the night before, which apparently matters when you're old. I felt terrible going into this game - I had a latte at 4 pm a few hours before to help me survive at work, which took me up and then brought me way down about an hour before the game. I went to the game feeling exhausted before we even started, and I was slow and terrible again. My hammies felt like they were ready to pop and I had absolutely NO spring. Nobody played well, and we got beat again by another large margin. It was actually a little depressing.

Whereas in a younger day, at age 20, I would play pick up hoops for two to three hours a day almost every day of the week without a problem, I now have trouble playing for 30 minutes or so (less when factoring subs) on successive nights. Also, in the third game, I was guarding a guy slightly taller than me. He was big too, probably outweighing me by about 30 pounds or so. This is the type of player I would have relished guarding years ago. Now, on fatigued legs and an aching back - not as much. The classic scenario happened. He got the ball in the low post. He made a move and then spun to shoot. My eyes lit up as I began to leap - I knew I would get the swat. Only, I didn't. He turned, I jumped, he released the ball which sailed over my outstretched fingertips, went off the glass, and into the hoop. He ran back down the floor, high-fiving his teammates while his point guard said something to the effect of "that's there all day." What an awful feeling. I had jumped my best. I couldn't get the ball. If it had been the first game, maybe. If it had been 10 years ago, that ball would have been sent to the other side of the gym. Getting old sucks. And this is only age 32. Perish the thought of age 37, 42, or worse...

(Which reminds me of a story. When I was a senior at UCSD, on the track team, I was out on a Saturday at the track doing hurdle hops one afternoon at practice. There was an old guy there, like 60 years old or so, and he was doing the actual long jump - running, jumping into the sand, tucking into a chair position - the whole bit. It was a little awkward appearing, but impressive nonetheless given his age. I started talking to him and he said he was still competing in age-group events, including the long jump. He said he really missed being young and that "the leap" is the first thing to go. At the time, I empathized with him, and remember thinking that it was damn cool that he was still out there giving it his best, but I also couldn't relate. Back then, in the prime of my athleticism, which was then bolstered by rigorous daily track work-outs, I had a 30+ inch vertical leap, a 52 flat time in the 400 meters, and I had absolutely NO IDEA what he could mean. This was about 11 years ago now. And sadly, I now know exactly what he means.)


But all age-related atrophy of body aside, it is good - damn good in fact - to be playing Competitive Sports (Tm) again. Despite the attenuation of speed and spring, I can already feel the increase in "game shape" and on weeks where we only have 1 or 2 games I should probably be OK. As long as my back holds up. (Wow, did I just type that? Excuse me I might go cry.) It sure as hell beats running or doing generic weights or something like that. I've made a mental note now that I need to be playing in leagues (or at least playing pick-up sports), even if I'm older and slower, as long as I can. Basketball, football, ultimate disc, soccer even, I don't care. It's just a much better way to stay in shape and have fun in the process. Plus it still feels good to get that nervous game energy as things are about to start. That competitive fire is still thrilling. My dream is to return to San Diego and fire up the old boys on a couple of leagues of the above. If we can't out-athleticize them like we used to, maybe we can out-think or out-strategize them instead. At the very least, we can always tell them what we USED TO be able to do. And that's better than nothing, right?

Either way, and despite the yearning for younger days, it'll be worth the effort.

This and That

Anyone who just read Gwen's recent post knows we spent out Saturday over in Luxembourg visiting the closest thing we've seen to a mall in Europe, with the exception of the shopping district in Paris and maybe this one other place in Prague. (And for the record, when I reread that last sentence, I realize how snobby I sound because I'm casually mentioning things like: a)I just jaunted up to Luxembourg for the day and b)*I* go to places like Paris and Prague.) Regardless, this Auchan (sounding disquietingly similar to "Auschwitz" - possibly a poor PR move) place was fairly unique for a European setting, a huge superstore which was part grocery store, part K-mart (but nicer), surrounded by autonomous smaller stores and eateries, and a self proclaimed "Hypermarkt". (Note: I didn't miss an "E" there, that's how it's spelled on its own directory. After reading that word, I kind of wish the word "Mall" would go away in the States and be replaced by 'Hypermarkt'. There would be constant techno and you could say things like: "Did you see that chick's Hypermarkt hair?" Stuff like that would be fun.)

As Gwen mentioned, we went for the wine and cheese, two commodities that for whatever reason are far superior outside of Germany. I wish I knew more about wine, but I swear looking at long aisles of Bordeaux and Alsace regional wines selling for three to five Euros per bottle I kept thinking about how some of these bottles would probably cost 50 or 60 bucks minimum at some restaurants in the States. Might as well stock up while we're here (even though 'three to five Euros' *IS* roughly fifty to sixty bucks now given the current weakness of the dollar). Similarly, I don't know a lot about cheese, only that France has some of the most liberal cheese laws allowing more exotic stuff to be produced and sold (kind of unsettling to think about actually - basically anything, from any orifice or pit of a goat or cow or other barnyard mammal, of any age, can me be made into a cheese....) and that there are very few cheeses I don't like, so we just picked up "half kilos" of several different kinds to try out or at the very least stink up our house with.

Last night upon our return from Luxembourg (did I mention we just jaunted up there for the day?), we met up with Pete and Kane (a PA from Baumholder) and went over to the Christkindlemarkt here in downtown Kaiserslautern. 'Tis the season for these things, and basically most cities in Germany take a large portion of their walk-platz, or downtown, and set up various booths which serve specialty foods and/or sell knick-knacks. There is music and merry-making to boot. The most notable thing is the famous "Gluhwein", which is a sweetened, spiced, and heated red wine which is very good and both promotes cheer (alcohol!) and helps one battle the bone-chilling cold which permeates Germany at this time of year.

One thing we forgot to do at both places - a gross oversight in fact - is bring the camera. We've learned that any time we experience anything "local" here, we really to have to bring the camera. Not only for the multitude of Funboys (when's the last time I had one of those pictured here? What's happened to this place?) that appear at these places and events, but just for local oddities in general. (For example, at the Hypermarkt, one of the clothing stores had a fashion display which featured mannequins dressed in something akin to a J. Crew get-up, only the heads on each mannequin were adorned with animal masks - life-size ones - the overall effect of which was downright creepy, especially for anyone who's read Stephen King.) So the camera is a must.

In other news, thanks to my parents, "Rock Band" has arrived and we had our first band session the other night with Pete, Gwen and myself. The overall impression is that it's quite fun though we have some work to do in terms of figuring out all the nuances, especially regarding the user interface. Guitar work is a little different than in Guitar Hero, and though the Guitar that comes with Rock Band is a sweet wireless version, its also got mushy keys and none of us seemed to be able to play at even 75% of our best on it. Drums are just a blast, and quite fatiguing. Singing is pure comedy, especially since for every line there is a little arrow which tells you whether or not you need to sing at a higher or lower pitch - this arrow constantly shifts up and down and the singer must respond to compensate. The overall effect is that everyone sounds not unlike a male teen going through puberty at many points in the song. We'll try to get some "concert videos" or at least pictures up soon.







(Pulled this one from the archives. This one's from a train ride to the airport in Stuttgart on our way to Croatia. They start the Funboys young here. This kids glasses never came off, not even in the dark stretches of the train ride. Somthing tells me he sleeps in them. Also not pictured are the sweet all-white shoes. This kid has probably made out with every chick in the sixth grade...)

Football is a Harsh Mistress

Today I have a legitimate football hangover.

As the NFL season wears on, I feel emotionally not unlike an actual player might physically. The weekly grind of my obsession with football slowly wears on my psyche like successive 30-carry games might on the knees of some aging running back. All the preseason research, all the monitoring of my Giants, all the study of the spreads and the weekly picks, all the management toil of my multiple fantasy teams - it adds up. And by season's end, though I'm undoubtedly sad to see football go, I, like the players, also need the rest. Being in Germany, with its "off" times for viewing, only compounds the problem.

Yesterday was a good reminder of that. Not only are my Giants falling into their pattern of recent late season collapses, but I'm embroiled in FOUR fantasy leagues in which playoff races are starting to form, and stress is starting to mount over whom to play and whom to sit. Pouring over weekly injury reports trying to glean who might play, start, and shine can be exhausting work. Coaching one team effectively is difficult enough. Coaching four with at least modest intensity? Very taxing.

Watching the games should be the easy part, but even during those there's the constant fretting about the down-to-down and general condition of my Giants (currently: not good) and the constant monitoring of the Stat-Tracker to make sure that my fantasy teams are putting up adequate numbers or that my opponents' teams are not. Rare is the game that I can simply sit back, relax, and enjoy as an "uninvolved" football fan.

I was on call over the weekend, so I felt mildly vindicated in staying up all night (in bed at 6 am) to watch the Patriots play the Eagles. Just "in case" the ER called I was all ready to go. They did NOT call, but I stayed up nevertheless, mostly because I wanted Tom Brady to do poorly. The reasons for this wish are numerous, but chief among them is that I am/was playing against him in one of my key fantasy games.

On a similar note I had a unique-if-not-pleasant football experience last night - that of rooting FOR the Eagles, the team that, along with the Cowboys, I most loathe and despise in this world. It was an odd, unsettling, and even nauseating sort of feeling, probably not unlike the one stranded mountain plane crash survivors experience when realizing they must turn to cannibalism to survive. True, it is no joy to eat fetid human flesh, but it DOES beat starvation.

And the equivalent of starvation here is the Patriots going undefeated and winning the Super Bowl. Like most people, I'm sick of them. I'm sick of their smug Boston scene, their cock-sure attitude, their Emperor Palpatine coach - the whole thing. They need to lose, even if it takes the Eagles to beat them.

The Eagles did NOT beat them, however, and thus the anxiety of this potential undefeated season goes on. The Giants play the Pats in week 17, and the thought of meek and possibly free-falling Eli Manning being the only thing standing between the Pats and an undefeated season is a bitter pill to swallow. The Steelers have the best shot at them I think, and we shall see what comes of that game in two weeks. In the end it might be better for them to go undefeated in the regular season and then NOT win the Super Bowl. This is perhaps the most soul-crushing and spite-filled way to go on the rooting scale but it's also too risky and probably asking too much - I'd rather have them be beaten now and then again in the post-season and be done with it.

That said, the ultimate goal must be them losing at some point in the post-season, preferably in their first playoff game. Then we might finally wipe the dark smirk off of Belichick's face and end chatter of this "best team ever" nonsense. (Besides, everyone knows the 1986 and 1990 Giants were both far superior, but I digress...)

In other news, the tree is up and as always is a giant success. Full photo-doc coming nearer to Christmas time itself - we'll call it my Christmas present to this blog.

Right now I have to go wash the taste of human flesh out of my mouth, ice my psyche, and prepare for another week of football.

Birthday and Beowulf: Exposed

It's the day after Thanksgiving, which means that the Christmas Season is officially upon us. Rather than join some consumer fracas at a nearby shopping outlet, having our courage and stamina tested by the flying elbows of other shoppers and our will to live sapped by ceaseless, repetitive, maddening holiday ballads, Gwen I have decided instead to stay at home, relax, and begin the season with our own holiday ritual: heavy drinking.

Kidding. The ritual of which I speak, of course, is The Tree. First erected in 2002, and now a seasonal tradition, it's one of my favorite things about the holidays. Gwen's too.

Rest assured that there will be more to follow (with photos) once the Tree is standing tall and set to illuminate the holidays. In the meantime, to keep appetites whetted, here is a flashback, to the 2006 version.

And now to other matters.

According to official documents, I turned 32 years old last Monday. Birthday festivities were minimal this year, mostly by my choice, but also by the fact that sheer numbers of people, with whom I could celebrate the day, were missing. We're in Europe for Pete's sake. (And speaking of Pete, even HE was away, being recently tasked with a two-week stint elsewhere in Germany to help with the medical reintegration of a unit returning from the desert.)

Despite the minimalism, my birthday was quite pleasant. I spent the early portion (midnight to roughly 2 am) watching the late football games. After a relatively uneventful work day, I fired up, on a lark, the Transformers Soundtrack during my drive home from work. It was cold and rainy outside of the car, to be sure, but inside the vehicle my heart was warm and aglow with the sweet musical stylings of the immortal Stan Bush. In my (now 32) years I've learned that if you want to feel good about yourself out of nowhere and on short notice, you'd be wise to fire up "You got the Touch" and "Dare" in quick succession on any nearby musical device. Not only will the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you learn that "when all hell's breakin' loose, you'll be right in the eye of the storm" and that "you never bend, you never break - you're a winner", but additionally you will find that your spirit soars while you reaffirm the ultimate truism, again supplied by Stan, that: "You can win - if you dare."

And I dare. Even at age 32.

Gwen and I went to dinner at our favorite Himalayan haunt that evening, and then retired to Man Room for some Planet Earth viewing - in Blu-Ray. The series, a gift from Gwendolyn for this particular occasion, is impressive. I don't know anyone sane who doesn't enjoy a good nature show, and from what I've seen so far this particular nature show takes the cake. Narrated by the cast-iron voiced Richard Attenborough, of "Trials of Life" fame, I can honestly pronounce that a man hasn't lived until he's seen a Great White shark breach, at 1/40th speed, its entire body out of the water, a hapless and doomed seal clutched in its gargantuan jaws, its soulless black eyes staring menacingly at nothing, a million water droplets - testament to the surface eruption - spraying, moving so slowly that they seem to crawl across the screen, in full BLU-RAY 1080i, colors and contrasts all brilliantly displayed, the trials of life indeed on full display... Now this is a ****ing nature show! Viagra for the male brain.

I would be remiss in not mentioning that Gwendolyn (who was responsible for all the successes of the day - even the Transformers Soundtrack reaffirmations; she had bought me the CD on a prior birthday) also cooked me a scrumptious chocolate on chocolate on ice cream dessert for the occasion. Absolutely delicious. Aside from Planet Earth, there were other gifts, including a gaming headset (for my growing obsession with TF2) and a pet puppy! To clarify, this is my new pet, named Tekno, and though at times electronically demonic (especially the colored eyes) also quite hilarious. So again very nice work by Gwendolyn. I'll go ahead and place this particular birthday in the "success" column.

Yesterday was Thanksgiving, which we spent at Gwen's boss's house. It was a nice event, marred only slightly by the anxiety of being on call, which we both were, and are. The whole call fiasco necessitated taking separate cars.


On Wednesday night, before Thanksgiving, and more importantly before call, we went to the local cinema and caught a show of "Beowulf", which I'm told is the latest in the new wave of hyper-stylized digital film making. Supposedly the movie is visually spectacular in a 3D viewing arena, but we settled merely for a normal old-fashioned theater. And visually the movie is pretty good in every respect but the human face, which still comes off as mostly creepy and animatronic.

The movie itself is middling, in my opinion. It had its moments I guess, but overall it fell kind of a flat. If feels like a "300" cousin in style ("I...AM...BEOWULF!" sounds remarkably like "THIS...IS...SPARTA!"), but not as good as that (also just OK, in my opinion) film. What I'll mostly take away, other than some over the top stylized Angelina Jolie near soft-porn, is the scene in which Beowulf fights Grendel - naked. It's kind of a head-scratcher. He (Beowulf) no sooner arrives at the Great Hall (briefly attending a feast so he can proclaim himself the greatest hero ever), only to disrobe completely a few moments later while everyone attempts to lure the creature, and explains this odd action by declaring boldly that Grendel "fights with neither sword nor armor, and thus neither will I". And when Grendel (portrayed as some sort of giant, strong, uglier gollum, and troubled constantly by the mother of all earaches) does arrive, he too is in the buff. What ensues - in a ridiculous spectacle - is a sculpted and naked Beowulf acrobatically flipping around the Great Hall, alternating attacks with dodges, (his package always covered by some shadow, candlestick, sword of one of his men also engaged with the creature, Grendel's shoulder, something), his long golden hair whipping around, like some sort of homoerotic, nordic ninja. The only reason I wasn't laughing outright was because I was still caught, for most of the fight, in the shock of the sheer disbelief of what I was seeing. It was most odd. But also quite fabulous!

Apparently, Beowulf too, knows that, he can win if he dares.

Untitled

Winter is in the air here in Germany, a fact augmented by the abrupt temperature difference noted upon returning last week from Jacksonville, Florida. And since we've been back, the mercury has continued to slowly but steadily drop, a sign winter is creeping in and preparing to lay its dark, bleak shroud of icy cold over greater Europe. The time change hasn't helped things, with darkness settling in successively faster each night; soon it will be rare to leave work in daylight. Grilling, one of our recent preferred modes of cooking, appears to be done for the season for obvious reasons.

Technically it's supposed to be fall, but why even kid ourselves? The leaves turned color a few weeks back, and it was pretty indeed, with classic oranges, yellows, and reds covering the hills and our streets. That time was short lived, however, and just as we noted the leaves changing we nearly as quickly noticed a few windy, rainy days which washed the leaves away and seemingly the whole of autumn with them. Now, mostly bare branches remain.


The older I get the less I deal well with "seasons", especially non-temperate ones. Perhaps spending my tender teen years in Southern California spoiled me, but I now find the cold and dark more than just cold and dark, I find them almost depressing. (Last year I had no such qualms. Having just returned from the desert, I found the cold one hell of a nice change. What a difference a year makes.)

The trip to Florida was my fifth trip to the States since March, which is a pretty insane number for a non-business traveler when I think about it. Those flights are long, dammit! The East Coast trip is generally a much easier physiologic and psychologic experience than the West Coast trip - those extra three hours make a big difference in jet lag for some reason. Out of all five trips, something went logistically wrong with at least one leg in every single journey, a sure sign that the airline industry is in a mild to moderate state of shambles. Twice bags were lost, including upon our arrival to Jacksonville this last time. Multiple planes were delayed and twice flights were canceled outright. Because of flight delays, I've spent more time running through airports to make connections in the last year than ever before, with memorable sprints through Heathrow, Amsterdam, and most recently Charlotte to name a few. Twice these sprints were successful, but both resulted in delayed luggage.

The trip to Jacksonville was quite pleasant and restful. Occasionally its nice to have a trip designed primarily for mingling and vegetation, which it seemed this one was. I was able to meet much of Gwen's family (mother's side), and found them all very gracious and accepting - for lack of a better term. Gwen's mom has a knack for interior design and is quite the gifted seamstress. The flowery and richly-materialed home she shares with Gwen's step-dad was a stark reminder of our own spartan-by-comparison living, but it certainly made for a congenial place to relax. I quite enjoyed it and the trip overall.

As always, the icing on the cake of any trip back stateside is the ability to step back into American culture, albeit briefly. For this trip, and at the risk of being branded an American consumer zealot, I'm speaking mostly of Best Buy and Starbucks here. I don't know why the Germans can't figure out that a large sippable coffee that can actually be taken to go isn't a good idea, because it IS a good idea - a very good idea in fact. And I was reminded of this notion each time I took a sip of one of my repeatedly purchased venti hazelnut lattes, thank you very much.

The Germans do better in the Best Buy arena, but the electronics stores here in Europe are useless to me because of regional differences in electronics compatibility. Because of this, I'm relegated to the base offerings and and have few other options. There's always internet shopping, but its not quite the same as wandering through aisles upon aisles of an electronic candy store. So its always with a high degree of glee that I return to Best Buy on each successive trip home. There's always some new piece of technology on the market (like the iPhone, for example) to marvel at, and the multiple racks of up to date video games are a sight to behold. My normal electronics shopping here in Germany consists of what the base PX can provide, and though I shouldn't complain by any means, to compare the local AAFES "Power Zone" to a Best Buy is to compare a Soviet era bread line to a large Parisian bakery.


Since our return from the States, Gwen and I have slowly settled back into routine. Excluding short day trips, we probably won't be traveling significantly again until the holidays. Work is work, and I'm at the point in my Army career where I'm starting to look PAST my Army career. The coming of the new year will mark the 18-month point of time I have left. I'm told that the last 12 months happen quickly, and a lot of that time will be spent doing inordinate amounts of separation paperwork (shocker) and looking for a job, housing, etc. I'm actually looking quite forward to it. Odds are I'll probably take a few months off in general after getting out before settling into any sort of steady job or routine, but we'll see.

Either way, it will be nice to at last be done "protecting" freedom and instead be able to experience it. I might even grow my goatee back.

Generic Ramblings

Gwen and I had another lazy weekend, and in the process of enduring successive lazy weekends I'm realizing that we're officially becoming old.

For example, on Friday night we went out to dinner with Pete and some of the Navy Reservist docs who had spent a year here "deployed" at Landstuhl and who were preparing to head home. (Yes, when you're in the Navy, apparently you are "deployed" to four hours west of Paris. But no, Gwen, Pete and I aren't bitter.) It was a farewell shindig of sorts. We ate some food, had a few drinks, and then went next door to a bar. Dinner was nice, and so was the catching up, telling stories, and hearing how people "really felt" about certain things, etc. Then we got to the bar, which was loud and smoky and within ten minutes I remember thinking, "This is weak - I want to go home." It was crowded, smoky and loud and the fact that I'm complaining about those things here and now officially makes me old. I feel like this more and more often.

Saturday morning I had one of my patented and coveted 'lazy mornings' where I sleep in, roll downstairs with vintage bed head, collapse onto the couch, drink coffee, surf the internet and either read a book or play a video game. Typically this herculean feat of laziness lasts all morning and is interrupted only when Gwendolyn slyly implies that we should consider doing something productive with the day. Often I tend to disagree but she usually wins. This particular weekend I delved further into "The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich," a heartwarming tale of a boy and his dream. At times laborious but absolutely fascinating, I've been really enjoying this book. People seem genuinely astonished when I tell them I have trouble putting it down - but I honestly do. It's mesmerizing. I'm about half-way through currently and more to follow in a future post.

When the afternoon rolled around and my lazy morning came to a tearful end, Gwen and I went curtain shopping for my apartment (Curtain shopping: another sign of the apocalypse, or of being old - I can't tell) at the massive and imposing "Mobel Martin", which is the undisputed Death Star of furniture stores. Whenever I walk in, I have visions of a Gran Moff Tarkin-like figure presiding grimly over a control room in its upper levels. (Tarkin - played by Peter Cushing - was English, but he certainly had a German Field Marshall look about him, didn't he?) Put Mobel Martin in orbit near an IKEA, and I swear you'd hear "Stand By" twice, sense a dramatic pause, and then see a pristine green laser obliterate the Scandinavian flagship.

We also picked up a sharp-looking rug for the in-progress Man Room, which continues to come together slowly but surely. We'll be headed to Jacksonville later this week before I can really hunker down and address the aforementioned internet issues, but upon my return, and if I'm successful in getting things running smoothly, Man Room will be a formidable power indeed. Not quite Mobel Martin, but not unlike a young Annakin Skywalker. Somehow I must steer it to the light.

There has been a carnival here in Kaiserslautern, an event which occurs twice-yearly and which Gwen and I have been to before. Small in scale, but proportionately large for K-town, Gwen and I managed to cruise through a small portion of it on Saturday. Unfortunately we hit it a little early, before the thing really came alive. There was, however, a strong preteen funboy element beginning to form and grow in strength, as one would expect at any large German event, and it was amusing to watch various youths stake out their claim near various booths (one which featured horse meat) and on various walls. Once in place, they would assume some derivation of the same pose - a foot up on the wall, a cigarette in hand, and a colored faux hawk displayed prominently like some sort of techno-era peacock showing off its wares. We didn't stick around to watch the shit go down, but one can assume that the poor preteen German women were mercilessly and indiscriminately slain by the limitless charms of those described above.

We DID get to see this, however.




That's right - it says ICE MAN on the back.



Saturday night we stayed in, largely because I had an online fantasy basketball draft. As I type that and italicize the basketball portion (I mean come on - this is clearly football season), I realize that I have a problem. I shall elaborate in a future post (or promise to elaborate in a future post), but let it be known that my obsession with fantasy sports (football primarily, but also baseball, hoops, even hockey) is becoming scary, maybe even dangerous.

On Sunday I enjoyed another lazy morning, and the rest of the day was spent preparing for football and then, of course, watching football. I had the rare privilege to witness my Giants and all four of my fantasy teams win for the second time this season.

Sometimes life is good.

The Uber-Net

Gwen and I were relegated to call this past weekend; I stuck on nights and she on all the time, so we just took it easy. We made into town on Saturday, cruising around the walkplatz to do a little shopping, beg T-Mobile for insight into the German internet, and get some lunch.

The internet (as well as the actual phone line itself itself) at my house works poorly, at best. I finally got the internet to connect at all (meaning I deciphered the German paper with my account number and password - this, as well as applying said knowledge specifically to be able to connect on my laptop, was a nightmare) a few weeks back. And it - the internet - chugs along OK for a spell and then will suddenly disconnect. No amount of tinkering with routers, cable modems, or my computer and PlayStation 3 seem to be able to fix this. It will hum along at decent if not spectacular speeds for a time, and then abruptly cut out, disconnecting because of an "error communicating with DNS server". Its been driving me nuts, and I now have nightmares of some hulking DNS server in my dreams that I run and run towards, only to never get closer.

So we went down to the T-Mobile (called "T-Punkt") store to see what we could find out. The local employee - a typical humorless German - was actually fairly helpful if not full of witty repartee. He asked for my phone number, which allowed him to access my account, and then grunted at the computer for a few moments while typing and clicking things. I'm not sure if he explained the problem with the disconnecting, but by the time I walked out of there I had purchased a new cable modem and upgraded my speed to the highest available for the low price of just 54 Euros a month! And with the current strength of the dollar, that can't be more than 172 dollars a month, right? Point - me.

Of course in two weeks (October 29th - some sort of internet "Judgement Day" at my apartment) when this new connection takes place and my phone line still sucks and the internet still periodically disconnects, it will be all worth it, right? Right. Did I mention I got the highest speed available?

More to follow.

This Could Be a Cool Pad...

We didn't travel anywhere far last weekend but we did manage to spend a night at an exotic, off-the-beaten path type of place that hadn't been used in any significant capacity in years. My house.

Yes, some two years and two months after signing a lease on my apartment when I first arrived here in Germany, I (with Gwen) have finally spent a night in the place. Odd, huh?

Many know the story - when we got here we found Gwen's place first, Gwen signed her lease first, and her stuff arrived first, and after all that we had a full home set up and by the time my furniture showed up from overseas there was a distinct why-even-bother feeling settling in regarding my place. When my worldly possessions finally did arrive, we arranged the basic elements, unpacked a little, moved a few necessities over to Gwen's and bam - we had a place for the both of us to live. My house was left in second place and after that went neglected. Then work started and Iraq loomed resulting in even less motivation to jump-start my house. Even when I got back, my aspirations to get the entire place up and running went astray as I focused exclusively on building up Man Room. For months afterward, and despite several Man Room operations trips, I had never spent a night at the house proper. Until last Saturday.

I had been meaning to do it for a while now - intending late spring/early summer - but laziness and a lack of reliable internet have kept me (and us) away from spending a night there. But with a few things hovering on the horizon, and especially with Christmas coming up and us planning for several guests to be in town at that time, I figured it was finally time to bite the bullet and make the place somewhat livable rather than just keep it as an over-sized storage place for all my stuff.

And again, its not that we hadn't been to the place, because we had. Since my return from Iraq Man Room (Tm) has seen much improvement, with a full-fledged home theater system installed, a PS3 and new laptop purchased, a giant couch purchased, and even more. Gwen and I have been watching movies over there for several months now. When we did go there, though it was like actually going to the theater. We'd drive there, get some food, sit and watch the movie, occasionally use the bathroom, and then leave, returning to Gwen's to actually sleep.

So while I dove into Man Room full-fledged, the rest of my estate (i.e the main building - Man Room is located in the guest house) was left to rot, unloved, not unlike Ron Dayne on a fantasy football waiver wire. Cob webs accumulated, old furniture sat with piles of old paper on them, and in a way it all resembled some sort of bizarre museum to my former life in Seattle. It always even depressed me a little when I walked through the place, thinking of all that stuff - such a part of my Seattle life - which wasn't even being used, touched, or even looked at. (Again the Ron Dayne analogy seems appropriate here. I will say this, however - at least my house didn't run into the back of it's own offensive line and fall down.)

But all that changed on Saturday when Gwen and I drove to the base and bought a few necessities (soaps, toiletries, air fresheners, groceries, etc) and went and made the place livable. We got there at about 3 pm or so on Saturday afternoon, spent a few hours sprucing it up and cleaning, running the dishwasher and the washing machine, and then we walked off to dinner in K-town and finally came back and spent the night in Man Room trying out the PS3 and futilely trying to master the vexing German internet (a story worthy of another post). After that we toyed with the idea of running around the house reenacting the scene from Teen Witch where Brad takes Lousie to that old house for a little romantic hide and go seek - but it didn't materialize. (The whole clip is gold, but the 2:00 to 5:00 mark is what's pertinent...)

Instead, we simply retired upstairs and actually spent a night in the place.

Will wonders never cease?

The Day the Madden Ended...

Well its happened. My Madden Season - the all-offense, play-every-single-game one I started in Iraq as a way to kill time while dodging incoming mortar fire - is over.

Hard to believe.

It took almost a year to complete. More than a year if you count that fact that I was seven weeks in initially when the original memory card crapped out. That happened right when I got back from the desert. But, with a resolute sigh of dedication, I started anew sometime in November 2006 and did it all again. Seventeen regular season weeks, plus playoffs, and the Super Bowl. All offense, all the time. Time to punt? Just switch to the other team before the return. Throw a pick? Immediately hit start and switch to the other team (changes take effect on the next play; if you're not fast enough, you might have to suffer a play on defense). Score a TD? Kick the extra point and then switch for the return.

It started out as an experiment. After years of going 16-0 on All-Madden with the Giants and building unbeatable dynasties in the franchise mode, the game became too easy. I needed a challenge, or at least a way to change it up a little. So I thought of this idea and went with it. Turned out to be a pretty fun way to go.

I did it on 6-minute quarters in the All-Madden setting. Passing Cones ON. There was definitely an adjustment period in the early going as I realized it was going to be hard to throw into the super-hero All-Madden secondaries (every defensive back is like Spider-Man in an All Madden zone defense) with the likes of Charlie Frye and a young Alex Smith, or God forbid Chad Pennington and his noodle arm. And remember, this was the 2007 Madden, which features the 2006 rosters - and the early season rosters at that. Donte Stallworth? Still a Saint. Deion Branch? Still a Patriot. And so on. So the rosters were slightly askew but I got re-used to them as I went.

On the flip side, I got to play with everybody, which means the good as well as the bad. It was definitely fun to play with the running quarterbacks, Vick and Young, who totally change an offensive approach. I think both had over 1200 yards rushing. And then there are the all encompassing mega-vision-cones of Manning (Peyton, mostly) and Tom Brady. They see all. Tomlinson? A blast. It was even fun to see the difference in the kickers.

One of the best things was that all the stats were generated in game, so it was neat to see how all that shook out, who led the league in what, as well as the race for the Pro Bowl spots (normally dominated by my franchise Giants), the league MVP (turned out to be Peyton Manning), rookie of the year, etc.

I averaged about a game a day, and only infrequently played more than one game a day. But I was consistent and barring travel I played about a game a day just about every day. One game with six minute quarters lasts about an hour to an hour and fifteen minutes. So over the course of many months the season progressed and eventually there was a playoff race. Injuries happened and changed things. Some people over-performed, and some under-performed. I learned to love some of the team playbooks and hate others (Seattle especially), and was somewhat surprised by the variety between them. My main goal in each game was to do whatever it took to win with whatever offense I had at that time. Sometimes this meant going no-huddle all the time. Often this meant running the ball out to protect a lead, which was boring as hell but I did it.

In the end, the AFC playoff teams were Jacksonville, Indy, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, New England, and Kansas City. The NFC playoff teams were Philly, Dallas, Chicago, Carolina, Arizona (!), and St. Louis. (Sadly, the Giants porous defense prevented them from getting in, though they were close). Wildcard Pittsburgh knocked off Baltimore, Jacksonville, and then Indy to get to the Super Bowl. In the NFC, Chicago (the number 2 seed - bad division) outlasted Dallas and then Carolina to be the NFC representative. (Which means I was actually VERY close to having the actual Indy vs. Chicago super bowl occur).

In the end, Pittsburgh staged a late fourth quarter drive and a go ahead touchdown to secure a "repeat" championship.

I realized this is all way too much information for anyone reading this, but there it is. (I write this mostly so I can look back on it a few years hence and laugh at myself in remembrance.) At the end of the season, it felt kind of weird to be done. After so many days of routinely playing a game of Madden, I had nothing to do for that hour. I even played the Pro Bowl out for one last game (AFC won). Some sort of weight had been lifted.

For the time being, and with my current real football obsession (obsessive football watching into the wee hours of the night on Sundays, four fantasy teams, multiple betting pools, pick 'em pools, salary cap pools, and survivor pools), I've decided to step away from the game of Madden for a while. Clearly there is enough football in my life right now. (Or is there? Can there ever be enough? Sweet, sweet football....)

Not sure how long I'll hold out. This would be a great time to start spending an extra hour a day catching up on reading, or improving my German. Likely though, it will just mean a different video game. (I've already started God of War - good game).


At the very least, my blogging should improve. My normal post-work day routine was come home, eat, play Madden, and then be too tired to do much of anything else except check email (and rarely reply) and surf the net a little.

Now, who knows?

Barcelona

Just got back from a long weekend in sunny Spain, spending four days in the ultra-cool city of Barcelona, which for some reason is lisp-ily pronounced "Bar-tha-lona" by the locals. (Something to do with them embracing their Catalonian heritage, I think.)

Barcelona is another great town in Europe which lived up to its billing. I heard nothing but positives about it prior to our trip and after going its easy to see what all the fuss is about. The weather is nice (really warm in our case), the city is beautiful, the food is good, and the people are friendly.

Unlike some of our other recent trips, this getaway featured a larger group. Besides Gwen and myself, there was Pete, Betsy, Betsy's work-friend Dimas (favorite over-used quote regarding him - "DIMAS high-school-football RULES!"), Margie (a PA whom Gwen knew from Iraq), Steve (Margie's Man), and my friend John Lesher, a buddy from medical school who also did (civilian) residency in Seattle (and who is perhaps most famously known for being Destro during our infamous Cobra Halloween in New Orleans.) It was a good group.

We flew out on Friday afternoon, another Ryan Air low-fare special, destined to return on Monday. Things started off well, because we learned we shared our departing plane with the German speed-metal band "Vendetta". Suspicions began to mount that a band (of some sort) was on board when we saw surly long-haired German guys checking in instruments at the ticket counter. Several of the guys including a manager-looking type had t-shirts on with a web address featuring the words 'vendetta' and 'band' on them. (A little searching reveals the band's myspace page...).

Once I got it in my head that there was some band on board the plane I couldn't stop making cracks about "how hard this flight was going to ROCK", or "dude, this is going to be SO AWESOME", etc. It was even funnier when we boarded and Gwen ended up sitting next to two of the guys. The ultimate moment came when we landed and as we were walking off the tarmac I caught a glimpse of the back of one of those t-shirts, which featured the all-too-truism "If you are married, you can divorce your wife. But if you're married to metal, you're married 4 life." I don't know why, but the gratuitous use of the NUMBER 4 on the shirt had me cracking up infinitely more than if I just seen the shirt with a written 'for'.




(A little research reveals that Vendetta is in the midst of a comeback tour of sorts after releasing only two albums, sometime in the 1980s or 1990s. They had a show in Barcelona over the weekend. The image of this poor band - relegated to flying Ryan Air - its a little sad. Despite my many "these guys effing ROCK" declarations, I can't help but think a more successful band wouldn't have to suffer a discount airline during their tour, checking their instruments, removing chains for security scanners, etc - the thought of this just cracks me up for some reason.)

Anyway, after rocking out (in my head) with Vendetta we arrived into one of the auxiliary Barcelona airports located a good distance outside the city, and we had to hop a bus to get into town. The first thing we noticed was how sunny it was, and we began stripping off jackets and sweatshirts (which are necessary for the German "Fall") on the way down. Spain, unlike Germany, was doing its best to hold onto at least a small piece of Summer.

Pete, a natural tour guide anyway (he has schooled us many times over by now from the various Ric Steve's books in many cities), had been to Barcelona before and took the reins when it came to leading us around. Gwen (after much toil I might add) found us a great apartment big enough for eight, which was located in a great spot right near the hub of Barcelona's activity.

When the five of us showed up (Gwen, Pete, Margie, Steve, and myself), the other three were already there. We dropped up of our stuff and then headed right down stairs where there were a couple of open air cafes and bars literally right below our apartment windows. The sun was out, and soon we began to have a few drinks and then we headed out into the city.

It was good to catch up with John in particular, who I hadn't seen since February 2006 (when he and Chris visited right before I went to Iraq), and we spent some time catching up. The rest of Friday night we sort of marched around Barcelona, stopping in for drinks here and tapas there. The food in Barcelona is quite solid, unique if not earth shattering. Its better than German food (not hard), probably not as good as French or Italian, but closer to the latter two in my opinion.

One weird thing about Spain is that everybody eats dinner late - like REALLY late - put it this way if you show up at a restaurant at 9:30 pm you are probably one of the first to be seated for "dinner" that evening. We adapted to this madness by having an early evening snack each night, which basically amounted to four meals a day and played a little havoc with people's digestive systems. (Eating dinner at 12:30 am is just weird. On the flip side, I was a big fan of the "siesta" mentality...)

After gallivanting about Friday night we all headed back to bed late. The next day most of got up around 9 am or so. Pete got up early and actually went running through the city for an hour, thus declaring himself insane. After he returned we found some coffee and a quick breakfast before signing on with a "Bike Tours of Barcelona" type of thing which turned out to be really cool. We had a good local guide who spent about 4 hours total with us on some rented mountain bikes and the weather was phenomenal. Bike touring, we're learning, is a great way to see a place and cover a lot more ground in less time and with less energy. We circled all over the place on those things from the inner city to the ports areas and beaches and back again. We were schooled in local and national history alike at points along the way and of course their was immature behavior on the bikes from time to time (read: every five minutes).

After the tour we got some more tapas and then some of us headed back for a nap (read: me) while others went out to a city park and explored some more. We met up again later and had dinner and some more drinks to round out Saturday evening.

Sunday Pete headed out early for a Picasso walking tour that no one else made it to (nobody, including Pete, made it to bed before 3 am the night before). This early go-getter, bright eyes and bushy tailed behavior, combined with the prior day's running all combined to suggest that Pete is not in fact human.

While Pete was doing his tour, several others of us took our time and then headed out on our own. Margie and Steve hiked off somewhere while Gwen, John, Dimas (high school football rules!) and I went to the Picasso museum and spent an hour or so there. (Between Van Gogh and Picasso, I take Van Gogh, having been to their two respective museums in consecutive weeks. Both are good - I just think Van Gogh is better. Write that down.)

Lunch was more tapas and beer (a recurring theme) and then we all met up back at the house to send off Betsy and Dimas-high-school-football-rules, who were flying out Sunday evening rather than Monday.

Following that, Gwen and I headed out on our own for a bit and walked for another hour or so checking out some more of the sights. We returned to the apartment again at about 5:30 pm on Sunday or so for a very important reason - it was almost time for NFL football. I had brought my laptop and we had internet service in the apartment so I was all set to watch football. (Yes, I'm obsessed. Yes, I spent at least four hours watching football on Sunday night on my laptop in an apartment while in Barcelona, a city I had never been to before. Any more questions?) Gwen stayed around to watch football with me. We were both happy because both the Steelers and the Giants won, and I even had some fantasy luck for once this season, always a plus.

While we were watching football, John and Pete headed out to try to go to a REAL "football" game featuring the Barcelona team at the stadium. Unfortunately the game was sold out, but they managed to head to a bar and watch the "match" like a couple of pure-bred Euros.

After the first set of NFL games was over, we headed out for another dinner, which turned out to be our best meal of the trip. We sat on some lush red carpet dais which seemed quite middle eastern, though the food was Spanish. It was an interesting set up, but we had a good meal and some good conversation (it was just Pete, Gwen, John, and I at this particular dinner) - a good way to wrap up our trip.

On Monday morning, we got back up early, cabbed to the bus station, bussed back to the airport, boarded our (delayed) plane, landed, and drove back home. Total travel time was about 8 hours to do all this. (Not sure what's up lately, but on my recent travels over the past 8 months I'd say at least 60 to 70% of my individual legs have had some sort of delay or problem. The industry is apparently in shambles.)

And that's our trip. I had a good time and again Barcelona is a great town - I could easily go back in the future at some point. That said, the travels, despite being a great opportunity, can get tiring (and not to mention expensive - the dollar is incredibly weak right now - ouch) when strung together consecutively and I'm looking forward to a few weekends of chilling out (and more importantly - focusing on watching football). We have another trip coming up to the States at the end of this month to see Gwen's mom and step-dad in Florida. After that we're happy to rest for a while, I think, and then host (my parents come out over the holidays) before possibly attacking the mountains again for another ski season.





More Photos:

Barcelona 2007

My Summer Vacation

Back.

I'm not going to waste time with the usual litany of excuses this time, either. Let's just move forward and get straight to recapping the latter half of summer, shall we?

It seems like I spent said summer alternating between a fairly rigorous work schedule and a thrilling-but-tiring travel schedule. Time has flown by, the football season is here, and fall is in full swing.

And with that, as usual, its time to play catch up here at the Lord of the Funboys.


There are several trips to work through, all of which deserve their own monster post. My laxness, however, has prevented anything like that from happening. So I've decided to just riff a little, do a basic outline of the various trips, expand here and there where I may, provide a few photo links, and just see what happens. Gwen's blog will have most of the details anyway, should anyone reading this find themselves curious.

Anyway - let's do this.


San Diego




Time Frame: Early August

Synopsis: Gwen and I spent 6 days in sunny so-cal hanging with my peeps. The purpose of the trip was two-fold. One was to show Gwen the town of San Diego itself, a place she had never been to. The second reason was our fantasy football draft, which occurs annually as part of the famed Best Day Ever (Tm), which itself is a part of Best Weekend Ever (Tm), a yearly festival of my friends. (And yes, it IS that important to travel to a 9-hour difference time zone for a mere six days to do a fantasy football draft. Next question.)

Highlights:

-San Diego

It rocks. I love it, I love going back, and I'd really like to live there again someday (just under two years anyone?). Seeing my friends there pushes me to a near-euphoric state just about every time. When I'm there I laugh more than anywhere else. I'm constantly smiling. The group dynamic is spectacular and we have fun doing just about anything. I love it every time. What else can I say? I feel like I'm never in a bad mood there - as long as bowling isn't involved.


-Best Day Ever 2007 (Tm).

Picture this: You wake up one morning to perfect southern California weather. First on the agenda, a drive to La Jolla and a pick up football game on the beach with 7 of your closest friends. You go out, start tossing the football around, pretend to stretch, and make about 4000 jokes about being old and getting hurt while smiling the whole time. You pick teams and start playing a game of beach football on a perfect day. Plays are drawn up on people's chests in makeshift huddles, passes are caught and dropped, people fall and giggle, occasionally someone scores - everyone has a blast.

By the end somebody wins though you don't remember who (actually it was Norm, Eryn, half of Justin and I this year - schooled 'em). There's a group photo afterwards where all the smiles are about as genuine as it gets. Next up you head back to a sick house in La Jolla (thanks Norm/Teri connection!) and hose down, jump in the pool, hang out, and then start the BBQ process. The boys' respective ladies and kids arrive and you start barbecuing food and hanging out by the pool and the beach. You grab your first beer. People start making comments about fantasy football. Various GM's start talking trades and holdovers while chowing down on dogs and burgers as anticipation for the upcoming football season builds. Some people start running around with a camera and pictures are taken commemorating the day.

Then its time to get serious. You hunker down with the various fantasy football research materials you've assembled and take one more quick glance through. The women are shooed elsewhere for a time and have a sewing circle or who knows what - it doesn't matter because its Man Time now. A giant draft board is drawn up. The trade talks heat up as people toy with their holdover options. The league rules are discussed and modified as needed and then finally the holdovers are announced and the the draft is ready to go.

And then it starts - a live fantasy football draft, one of the top 10 funnest things to do - in life - period. Slowly (very slowly when Iwan or Little Buhr is picking) the board fills up with players and the rosters for the year start to be set. Some peoples' picks are stolen, some envied, others chastised, and then a few hours later Mr. Irrelevant is drafted and the whole thing is over.

By now its gotten late and some dinner is arranged. There is more hot tub and pool time and a lot of post-draft commentary. After dinner its time to head out and begin the final phase of Best Day Ever 2007 - video game night. Waiting at a buddy's house is an old school Nintendo 64 and an even older school Super Nintendo. You fire up a bunch of 4-player games that ruled the day 10 years ago and have a blast. There's the perennial all-time pantheon game - NHL '94, along with Mario Kart and a WWF-style Wrassling game on the N64 that suck up the rest of the night. The games start and then the laughs start. Goals are scored, racers are out-distanced, and various home-erotic looking 'wrasslers' are pinned and taunted.

At some point later, someone realizes how late it is and then its done. You settle back into bed that night, realizing how awesome the day you just had was. You're fired up you're in San Diego, hanging with your friends. You lie in bed knowing you just had a kick-ass day and just before you fall sleep, you grin and realize you're already looking forward to next year.


-Catching up with Zemsky (Sushi, Sarcasm, and a 6-year old Ninja)

-San Diego Zoo (Hey, it's world famous. And two words: Zebra Penis)




San Diego Pics:

Photo Link 1: Norm's Photos (Have to scroll down to Aug 4th, 2007, Draft Day entry)

Photo Link 2: Eryn's Photos

Photo Link 3: Our Photos

Photo Link 4: Adam's Photos




Croatia (mid-August)

After spending four days sunning myself on the Adriatic in the land of Grand-Papa Stup, I must say that in my book Croatia is strongly vying for best destination - ever. One of the most beautiful places I've ever been, it retains its sense of the exotic (barely any Americans, Brits, or other native English speakers, though everyone manages to speak English) and mixes in a low-cost super unique vacation experience. Thousands of islands, perfect water temperature, brilliant scenery, and did I mention its the land of Stup?

One of my favorite parts about this trip was that my name had some sort of kingly association. I felt like I was C-3PO encountering the Ewoks every time I dropped it (which I did with reckless abandon I might add). People's faces would light up, and then they would extoll the virtues of some other Stuparich (yes, there are more than four in the world!) that they'd known. (Clearly my favorite running joke of the trip was saying something like, "We don't need to pay. I'm Stuparich," in the same sort of tone that Will Ferrell from Anchorman used to declare, "I'm... kind of a big deal.")

There was a general consensus among the Croatian commoners that the Stup namesake had much to do with the sea - there was a famous line of sea captains all named Stuparich - this was awesome to learn. (Later my dad told me that my own grandfather was being trained as a sea captain himself before World War II hit - more in a minute). Another guy told me of a "great artist" named Stuparich, which I found amusing and actually quite appropriate given my skill at doodling a profiled figure smoking a cigarette. Now I know where that comes from.

Even at dinner one night, we sat down and I dropped my name to the waiter in the village of Veli Losinj (which is THEE home village). The waiter looked taken aback and then mentioned "Hey, there's some old guy named Stuparich who takes his nightly walk down here just about every night." Well, that set our table abuzz. Maybe we were related! And not five minutes later, the waiter shows up at our table and looks out pointing, "It's him!". Then he runs over and corrals the guy, who's out for his evening walk, bringing him over to our table, and we introduce ourselves, exchange some pleasantries, and revel in the fact that we had the same name and form part of the island's most powerful family. It was awesome. I swear he even looked like my grandfather.

Speaking of my grandfather - a cool story. He was conscripted into Mussolini's Navy (famous sea captain in the making that he was) in the 1930's when Italy was huge and owned a lot of the Balkan region, including Croatia. Apparently Grand-Papa Stup wasn't cool with no Fascist Military Service, so he literally jumped ship off the coast of New York City, swam to shore, and started over. How cool is that? Take that Il Duce!

There was even a memorial Church built on a high bluff overlooking the Adriatic that was "in memory" of some Antonio Stuparich. I'm not sure who he was, only that he rocked and rocked hard and was probably some sort of great-great-etc-grandfather.

Anyway, the combination of a perfect place and the fact that such a sweet place was also an ancestral homeland was really cool to me. I'm definitely going back.

Croatia Pics


Paris (late August)




My buddy Marc "Fwats" rolled out to Paris on some business adventure for a long weekend, and I was able to get off the call schedule and roll out to meet him for a few nights.

Fwats and I go way back- to high school to be exact. He unfortunately missed out on our fantasy draft (and Best Day Ever) this year, so it was nice to get to see him another way.

I think of anyone I know, I have more private jokes and random quotes with Fwats than anyone else. This is a product of spending a lot of time together in high school, obsessing over science fiction and eighties movies, and watching way too much Mystery Science Theater 3000. As a result, we still rattle off the most inane quotes at the drop of hat like we were 15 all over again - in some ways we haven't changed at all.

Anyway, I got in late Friday night and hung with Fwats and some of his work peeps (including some real live Frenchies!) until the wee hours of the night at some outdoor bar. We must have been up until at least 3 in the morning, but to judge by the amount of people out and the overall "electricity" of the place, it kept feeling like 9 at night. The weather was perfect. Good times.

Paris is a great city. Sure, its fun to bash the French (and I'll do this at the drop of a hat, mind you), but I have to admit that Paris is one of only a handful of cities that has a palpable energy to it, like the city is alive in itself. Other cities in this category from my experience include basically New York and Tokyo, and maybe Berlin on a good day. Its just a huge energetic city and it rocks, in spite of its French-ness.

And we were actually treated well by the locals, none of the snobby attitude that I was expecting and maybe even hoping for a little (its all about the stories, people).

We cruised around on the Saturday, stopped for a few meals, and then I dragged Marc to a fantasy football draft at a Paris internet Cafe. (One of my four fantasy leagues this year - of which I'm currently a cumulative 5-11 in - ugh - more on this obsession in a later post).

Afterwards we had a kick-ass dinner at some no-name sidewalk bistro and just enjoyed each other's company and catching up. Wow that sounded a little romantic. OK, maybe it was a little. So sue us. After dinner we walked to Notre Dame and cruised further around the city, ending up by the river having drinks at some hopping bar.

Sunday morning Fwats went to the airport at the crack of dawn, and I drove back to Germany, and our little getaway was over.

But we'll always have Paris.




The Wine Road (France) (Early September)

Gwen and I took a two day, two night vacation into the wine country region of south-east France, relatively close to where we live. The trip feature good scenery, good food, beautiful countryside....and wine. It's mostly a white wine region, and we prefer reds, but we indulged nevertheless and it was a good time. Gwen has a good post about this trip, and I'll defer to her for the rest.

Photos

Seattle (Mid September)

I headed back to the Pacific Northwest for the first time since residency for about ten days. I went because work sent me; the reasons for this are long and boring, but the upside is that I got to head back to Madigan, catch up with old colleagues from work as well as old family and friends still in the area, and stuff my face full of more sushi, seafood, and Rosebud than you shake a stick at.

It was great to see people like John, Trish, Yanni, and others I hadn't seen in years. It was definitely interesting to stroll through the "halls of residency" once again, this time as a slightly more hardened staff character. Returning to the medicine residents' area (affectionately known as the sushi bar) was especially trippy, mostly because a suction cup Spider-Man I had originally brought to the place was still hanging on one of the windows.

I got to have a few dinners with John, an evening with Yanni and Trish, a different dinner with Nate and Charles, and also a nice rendezvous with my Northwest Family - my (second?) cousin Cynthia, her husband Mike, and their children Heidi (w/ husband Marcus and new baby), Justin, and of course, the notorious cousin Heath (good show!). It was definitely great to catch up with those guys, who always provided me a nice get-away-from-it-all refuge during the holidays and such in my residency days.

On the Saturday Eryn flew up and we hung for the weekend, tooling around town. Seattle is a great city, definitely top 5 on my list in the US. The food is the BEST (even better than New Orleans given my personal tastes), and the entire city is even better now because, unlike when I was living there, it's smoke free. This means that some of my old favorite bars, formerly tolerated despite a heavy smoke load, were now even more enjoyable.

I walked past my old apartment, which is now being sold as condo (along with every other unit in the building), and also cruised around the old neighborhood. I ended up walking around half the town again, which was cool and brought back good memories.

Eryn and I went out Saturday night, meeting Heath and some of his peeps. I ended up getting slammed on jack and cokes - more drunk than I'd been since New Year's in Berlin and I paid for it on Sunday morning. (Not sure what is about Eryn's presence - guy just drives me to drink I guess.)

My hangover, however, couldn't quell my enjoyment of watching NFL football in a sports bar at the appropriate time again - for the first time in over two years I might add. Despite the loss of all four of my fantasy teams AND my Giants that weekend (which is hard to do), I still enjoyed going to the old place I used to spend Sunday's, lounging around and just watching endless football.

(Note - I gave the camera a rest in Seattle - sorry no pics.)



And that's that. My summer. Last weekend Gwen and I headed to Dusseldorf and Amsterdam to meet up with her step-mom, but we're venturing clear into fall territory now, and I'll defer to her blog for the details. Anne Frank house was cool and sobering as expected. The lesson again is that Nazis are jerks. I'd like to spend some more time in Amsterdam again at some point.



And I think that's enough. Hopefully this post will jump-start this place a little. Once you do one post, its easy to come back for more. Until I fall behind....again.