Captain Marvelous’ Marvelous Blog

Dr. Horrible…

July 19th, 2008

…and then she stomped off and played guitar hero for a while…and I’m not complaining!

http://www.drhorrible.com/

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Jeopardy! Baby! - Part Deux

March 28th, 2008

I don’t want to talk about it.

Not really.

Not yet. Maybe tomorrow, or Monday (but definitely not Sunday). I might want to talk about the train, though. But once agin, not tonight.

Tonight I converse with Scotch.

Posted in Observin' | 1 Comment »

So, tonight I head down to Portland for step two of my Journey of Destiny. Sure, I’m starting Part I with step two, but you can argue semantics with me when I’m finished kickin’ smart ass all over the airwaves. Okay, maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself here.

Anyway - hopping a train this afternoon for my in-person audition for Jeopardy! And that’s right, from here on it will be referred to only (and properly) as Jeopardy! Jeopardy! is the name of the show, and I’m proud of the title’s exclamatory nature. One may be in jeopardy, but I’m shooting to be on Jeopardy! (!)

I passed the online test in January, and in the interest of full disclosure this was my third attempt at getting on the show. Tomorrow I have to take the 50-question test again, play a mock game, and go through a personality interview. If I pass all three of those phases I get entered into the contestant pool for the show. Then, I assume, I and the viewership of the nation await my smartotic coming.

Dear reader, you have no idea how long this has been a dream of mine. I’ll update everyone when I get back from PDX, unless of course Sony Entertainment puts some sort of gag order on me - which can only mean good news. Look out suckahs, I’m about to open a can of nerdly whoop-ass!

Posted in Fightin' | 7 Comments »

On Birthdays and Anniversaries

March 7th, 2008

Where have I been? Oh…here, there and maybe a few places in between. That said, things are good. New job (same company), kids are older/bigger/more vocal, and baseball season is right around the corner. And if baseball’s almost here, so is another season of company softball. I’ll be coaching the squad again this year; hopefully not spending nearly as much of my own money to do so (about $400 last year). Anyway…to the topics at hand.

I am incredibly sore today. I took yesterday off as a “sick day” ostensibly to just catch up on some relaxation. The entire office is being decimated by a lingering flu-like sickness that seems to not want to go away. Combine that with the ailments Kid Fantastic and Broccoli Joe keep picking up, and bringing home, from daycare and my immune system is working full time to stay ahead of the germs. Sore, though, because after half a day of just lolling around the house I decided to head out to the front yard to continue my assault of the flower bed that formerly housed three giant rose bushes and several miles of ivy (strung end to end). The rose bushes had already been removed, and most of the ivy was gone, but I had to get to the roots and then remove them. It was brutal work. I’m kneeling in the dirt, trying to move boulders that have been in place for at least 20 years so I can get to the roots (like tree trunks, I tell ya!) when all of the sudden a very tiny, very old Vietnamese women is standing over me gesturing and mumbling in a different language. My neighbor to the north of us, Liu, lives with his family. How much of his extended family live there we have never really been able to determine. There are small kids (up to 4, maybe 5), there are really old people (maybe 3?), and I’m going to say at least two married couples. I don’t know how they all fit in that house, but whatever. Old Vietnamese Lady (OVL) gestures a few more times, and then disappears. Next thing I know Liu’s garage door is opening, closing, opening again, closing half way, opening a bit, closing some more, and then finally opening. OVL triumphantly reappears with a huge crowbar and an axe, also sizable. She hands me the crowbar, mumbling, and starts directing me where to place it to move the boulders so I can get at the roots. After moving the stones she hands me the axe and tells me to start hacking. By tells me, she pantomimes and mumbles some more. So there I am hacking awy at the 20 year old roots of this ivy that has so taken over parts of our property. It really doesn’t want to go away. Next thing I know OVL is handing me the saw I’ve also brought out of my own garage with other assorted gardening and not-gardening equipment to help me get the job done. Obligingly, I take the saw and get back to it. I’m dripping sweat, huffing and puffing until I can’t go on. I don’t know, maybe 5 minutes had elpased. I sitting somewhat dejectedly in the dirt when OVL hops the little wall between our properties, picks up the axe, and has it herself. I feel incredibly out of shape. Today’s soreness does nothing to help refute this supposition. It was my birthday last Saturday, and a week later I feel old.

I had a great party, though!

This sore day is also an anniversary of sorts for me. 20 years ago today I was diagnosed with diabetes. For many years I used to dread this day in the weeks prior to it. It was a time in which I could build in my own self-timed depression. I used to refer to my condition as terminal rather than chronic to further deepen the hurt. Today was a day to be mad at the world for screwing me over. To be mad at my parents for making me (genetically) what I am. To be mad at my parents (again) for moving in the middle of my freshmen year in high school when the symptoms first arose. I’m not so angry anymore - I’ve found it takes too much energy to sustain.

In conclusion - I’m older, still dealing with it, somewhat out of shape, and have plenty to live for. I suppose most days are like that for me. So that ain’t so bad. The soreness I could do without, though. Damn ivy.

Posted in Observin' | 3 Comments »

The Cap’n just can’t abide…

July 6th, 2007

For the most part, I’m a fairly mellow guy. I maintain a certain level of even-mindedness that I, for one, am quite proud of. Some have offered, by way of constructive criticism, that I seem to shy away from conflict and should be more assertive. I tend to see it as saving my breath. I pick my spots to add my voice, so that when I do the people around me can be fairly certain that I am offering a well thought out perspective that I hope carries some weight. I’m not quite sure what all this has to do with my story here, but I think I missed an opportunity to be more forceful than I was recently, and that regret eats at me a little (and then festers). Essentially, I can not stand for behavior that defines a person as a dick.

Dicks are pissy. Dicks whine. Dicks throw tantrums. Dicks are inappropriate upon initial contact, as well as in their reactions. The Cap’n just can not abide the dicks in this world. And for some particular reason, my most recent encounter with a dick has left me in a foul mood. Which is just another to reason to despise them.

I play on, and coach, my workplace softball team. I make a point of letting everyone on the team know that I really couldn’t care less if we win our games or not. This isn’t to say that I’m not a competetive person, just that my motivation to play in this softball league is to have fun, not to win. Winning’s nice, and I enjoy it, but my focus is to get everyone in the game and to make sure they’re having a good time. So when somebody on the other team is being a dick, it rubs me the wrong way.

Here’s the situation: Our team is getting pummelled by this other team. The mercy rule probably should have been invoked, but whatever, let’s just play. So this dick comes up to bat for the third or fourth time, makes some snide comment about how he’s been up to bat so many times because his team’s kicking some ass, when my pitcher questions whether he’s batting on his strong side. There was a question earlier about the length of his bat, and he said he was batting on his weak side, but then he was also pitching to us with his “weak” hand so we doubted the veracity of his claim that he was batting weak-handed. Now, this is this the first time in three years of playing softball on this team that we have ever challenged the batter, which speaks a little to the non-competetive nature of the league. At this point, though, we’re getting our asses kicked, and I’m going to support my pitcher so I make the formal challenge.

And this guy loses his shit. He throws his bat across the diamond, almost hitting members of his own team. He stomps around for a while, bitching about not being a cheater, until finally making his way back to the batter’s box. I couldn’t believe the umpire didn’t eject him. Hell, I couldn’t believe his own coach didn’t pull him. I wanted to slap him, or put him in a “time out.” He was acting like a petulent little bitch, and I missed my opportunity to really call him on it. And for some reason, that has put me in a funk for the last couple days.

Not only that, but he was wearing a Red Sox hat. So I suppose I should have known he was a dick from the start.

Post Script: My mood is restored. On the side, I perform marriages. I met with couple whom I am marrying this weekend for lunch. They said they wanted to pay me, and I told them in lieu of payment I would ask them to make a charitable donation to the organization of my choice, in an amount they felt appropriate. They blew me away with their generosity. And that has ebbed the funk.

Posted in Observin' | 3 Comments »

I pity the fool…

June 13th, 2007

I recently returned from a family reunion in New Jersey. Not a huge gathering-of-the-extended-clan-hey-look-there’s-my second-cousin-once-removed type of thing, just 22 kin as the result of my mom’s parents. As mentioned, we all met up in the beautiful Garden State. As a native of New Jersey I am used to, and immune to, most digs directed toward my heritage state. Upon my return to work, though, at least three colleagues of mine expressed their sympathy at my great misfortune of having had to vacation in and/or actually hail from the state that Thomas Edison called home.

Well no more, folks. From on here on out, the pity’s on me. “Oh, you’re from California. That must really suck for you what with all the smog and earthquakes, and Schwarzeneggerness.”

“You’re from Nevada? Are you a legal prostitute?”

“Gee, I’m sorry to hear you’re from Idaho. Idaho sucks.”

And if you grew up here in Seattle…Man, I am so sorry. Nice monorail, though.

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It’s about damn time

November 18th, 2006

I just ate six pieces of burnt bacon. Call it penance. Call it heaven. I’ll leave it up to you.

I have the good OCD. I am reminded of this after raking the back yard last weekend. When I was younger, one of the chores around the house was to rake the lawn. I grew up on the east coast, where fall actually smelled like a season. There was a break between summer and rain. A crispness that was fresh amidst the death of so many innocent brown leaves. I felt pride in having a clean yard. The same way, in spring, it was good to have a close-shorn yard.

But with leaves, it was a special relationship. Leaves are bastards. You think you’ve got them…but then they’re there all over again. Ubiquitous fucking leaves. Try teaching a three year old about the value of raking leaves, and allow me to introduce you to level of hell not previously explored.

But it’s OK. It’s what leaves do. I embrace, and actively engage, the ambiguity. I’m good at that.

It’s midnight and I’m slow cooking bacon for a brunch tomorrow. Can’t complain about that.

Namaste.

Posted in Observin', Bacon | 3 Comments »

It’s Friday…and I smell bacon!

October 13th, 2006

I find life is easier when there’s a routine. I know it’s easier on Kid Fantastic and Broccoli Joe if there’s a daily routine (or routines throughout the day) they can follow (bath, books, bed for example). And that makes it easier on Madame Fabulous, too. And the same goes for weekends. Although I think what I’m getting at here is more akin to rules and regulations.

THE rule for weekends is this: At least 50% of all meals consumed over the course of the weekend must include bacon for the weekend to be considered official.

It’s that simple really. Two breakfasts with bacon and BLTs for lunch one day, and you’ve got yourself a regulation weekend. Two breakfasts with bacon and bacon-wrapped filet mignons for dinner, and you’ve got yourself a stylin’ weekend. Hell, I allow a bacon and spinach salad. As long as you’ve got bacon as an ingredient in three out of six weekend meals you can put in the books. I am not exaggerating when I tell you this conversation has happened on a Sunday night when MFab and I are finally bedding down for the night:

MFab: Did you have a good weekend?

Me: Mostly. But I’m a little disappointed that we didn’t have enough bacon.

There’s nothing more depressing than not having enough bacon. Some say there’s no such thing as enough bacon. That may be true, but at some point moderation and decency necessarily have to step in. I haven’t found that point yet, but don’t think I’m not going to push that envelope.

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Purpose, Process, Payoff

September 21st, 2006

I recently attended a sales training (not that I’m in sales) that outlined the prinicples of the PPP. I’m still working on the details of the purpose here, hence a definite lack of postage.

Not that I don’t want to be devoting a certain amount of time each day to a creative outlet; it’s just hard to carve out those moments when I’m not at work or wrangling a small child or just too plain ol’ exhausted to think that anything I would write here can pass muster. Thankfully, as evidencd with that last sentence, quality control should no longer be an issue.

Enough said for now. It’ll probably take a while to work the kinks out on my front, so until then I continue my search for the lost fifth syllable (or 17th, depending on you count-out your haikus).

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