Crippled.

Some of you may or not know that I busted my knee on January 2nd of this young year due to a negligent driver being an idiot. Idiot drivers are the worst kind of idiots. I've been patiently waiting for it to fully recover ever since; however, a dull ache remains, and if I hit it or touch it accidentally, it fucking throbs. I guess flying off your bike and grinding your knee against straight concrete will do that. Anyway, I thought I'd take the time to go ahead and let the 5-6 people who read this blog know how feeling crippled has affected my everyday activities.

Now, I'm a bit of complainer. I know that and have come to grips with it. I actually really do love that as you get older, you realize your strengths and weaknesses more and more. It's refreshing and you adapt better in situations prone to evoking a certain emotion . . . if that makes any sense. Anyway, because of my knee the complaining has ratcheted up, and my friends have been forced to take the brunt of it. I feel sorry for them and I apologize, but I feel like in the end it's a pretty good trade for driving their sorry asses around all the time. Of course, I'm kidding. I just drive their sorry asses around most of the time.

Exercise has become impossible. No running. No bike riding. It's depressing. I went running the Monday after the accident naively thinking I was all better and consequently spent the rest of the day walking around like my leg was perpetually asleep. It killed. Now, if this was the summer, I wouldn't be able to stand it. I mean, how would I sweat? I've definitely been going through adrenaline withdraw, and that's kind of okay because it's winter. It's hard to do a lot of shit in -25 degree weather anyway. Push-ups and pull-ups are pretty much the norm. Regardless, I can feel myself getting fatter. Is there any worse a feeling than feeling yourself gain weight? Sounds vain as fuck huh? Well whatever, everyone's vain as hell. Most are just too vain to admit it.

I'm 27 and will soon be 28. I typically think of myself as a vivacious, healthy rascal operating on unadulterated energy. I don't drink caffeine or take any stimulants. With this injury, however, I've become sadly brittle and old as I ache around my apartment and office trying not to bend me knee or accidentally bang it up against anything. I should probably go cane shopping tomorrow. I've also been finding myself blankly staring at webmd.com and checking for ear hair. I assume I should make an appointment for a colonoscopy pretty soon. I'm an old man. Thank god for Justin and Zach, though. They're ancient.

In conclusion, I did make an appointment to see a sports medicine doctor. I'm kind of looking forward to this because I can ask him about all of the ridiculous sports injuries that my favorite athletes have had to endure. Can you please explain to me what Tommy John surgery is? Will Carson Palmer ever return to form from his ACL surgery? What exactly is "turf toe"? Plus, I may get to have my first MRI, which is exciting, just as long as my whole body doesn't have to go in the tube. Is that the only type of MRI because if so, no thanks.

All in all, I suspect I'm fine. I just need some sort of explanation and fully plan on being told to just "try and stay off it and take some ibuprofen to stunt the pain." Pffft . . .

Recent Happenings.

Justin and I recently had a conversation about how our lives have slowed down a bit, thus leading to a decrease in our mildly entertaining, whimsical blog posts. We obviously blame the cold. There's no way it could have anything to do with us getting older and becoming more boring or doing less interesting things. Not possible. Anyway, the past few weeks have yielded a string of entertaining, painful, and hilarious events that are worth me ranting about for a while (and illustrating) just to affirm the fact that I remain a spry, young troublemaker.

I went back to Cincinnati for Christmas and in comparison to my Thanksgiving trip, I had no high aspirations or grand schemes as to what I was going to do. I went to enjoy the company of my friends and maybe run into a couple of people I hadn't seen in a while. I ate at Dewey's, got the highly anticipated paper shredder for Christmas, played some vicious tackles football (the brutes beat the speedsters down, and trust me, I'm no brute), enjoyed 70 degree weather during the tail end of December, didn't get a fucking cold, ate whatever I wanted, went to a delightful Christmas party, and capped it all off with a nice trip to the Comet 20 people deep. Here are some photos from the Christmas party and the burrito party.

Christmas party:

Kenny in his amazing cane vest


Killing cream cheese salamis. Heather appears to have pissed herself.


The obligatory group shots. Coates' head appears to be floating behind everyone in the second photo, and you can see my gold underwear.




Comet:

Brian attacking me.


Kenny drinking sour cream. By the way, he didn't do this to pose for the photo. I caught him doing it.


Table shots. People appear happy.




Rebecca's best moment ever.


I left Chicago in a snowy state when I returned to Cincinnati for Christmas. However, due to the abnormal weather, I came back to seemingly clear streets. I was pumped because I hadn't been able to ride my bike for like three weeks due to the weather. Plus, I had just had a bunch of work done to it and I knew it was going to ride like a thick slice of heaven. So on Monday, I layered up and got ready to head to work on the Falcon. Not two minutes from leaving my house, I bit it hard on some black ice sneakily hiding on one of the three turns I have to make the entire trip. Ouch. A bit dazed, I decided to suck it up and cautiously move onward, which I did just fine.

It turns out that this was all a precursor to this past Friday when I was heading southeast on Milwaukee during a relatively slow traffic day (not many people working the day after New Year's Day...except for me of course) when a Mini Cooper owned by a suburbanite unfamiliar with the laws of bikes, decided to pull out, make a left turn from a parking spot, and clobber me. The only thing I could muster to say as I saw the accident forming was "Oh shit!" and then I braced myself for the hit, finally ending up lying on the concrete with my bike about 7 feet down the road. It sucked. My knee got fucked up and has been damn painful ever since. The funniest thing about it was that although the lady was extremely apologetic and worried, she had no idea that bikes have the same right as cars on the road. When I talked to her yesterday, she was using phrases like "dual responsibility" and "whoever caused the accident" to the point where I had to stop her and tell her that the incident wasn't my fault one bit. She honestly didn't think that bikes had the same rights as cars and that bicyclists are supposed to yield to cars. Give me a break. From the suburbs okay...that dense though? Please. I knew that when I was like 12, and I'm from the suburbs.

Anyway, my knee is getting better, and she is going to be paying for any necessary repairs. Oh, and she's definitely going to be buying me a new pair of jeans. That's for damn sure. Shit got ripped. Jesus.

Finally, here are a bunch of pictures from my fancy New Year's Eve. I drank several adult beverages. There's no progression to the photos.


I like this photo.


The Burlington.


Can't remember that dude's name. Priceless face.


The $60 included plastic noisemakers. Fancy ass shit.


I'm not looking at anything.


This is Loren's alcohol drinking face.


Attacking Robyn.


I have a weak tongue.


Loren thinks she looks super good in this photo. She told me so.


I can't get rid of the red eye in this one. Too bad Carley. Great picture.


Uploading photos takes forever, and I'd probably say that this has been my most time consuming blog post ever. I just really wish I had a photo of my mangled body lying in the middle of the street after the bike wreck. That part of the post has got nothing without an illustration. Oh well...

The Albums of 2008.

It's been a trying day. I was able to narrowly escape an editorial cleansing. Lots of nail biting, smoking cigarettes, and overall turmoil. I survived, however, and will live another day in the dying industry of print publication. All that being said, I'd be remiss not to highlight the albums of the year. I'll undoubtedly leave some out by accident, but here they are in no particular order.

1. TV on the Radio - Dear Science - May be my vote for album of the year (yes, I agree with Spin). For once they didn't blow their load in the first half of the album. Funk elements, undeniable swagger, enough catchiness to asphyxiate a young child. Perfect.

2. Fleet Foxes - S/T - Justin and I bought this together the same day at Shake-It because we're lovers. Melodies that'll melt your damn heart. They pull that shit off live too. A slice of pop heaven.

3. My Morning Jacket - Evil Urges - I'm getting the big boys out of the way first. Not my favorite album of theirs by any means. They tightened the songs up, which I think is kind of sad, but Jim James knows how to deliver a dizzying, hypnotic delight.

4. Los Campesinos - Hold on Now, Youngster & We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed - These upstart Welsh boys and girls released two albums this year. Sprawling pop songs with catchy fucking hooks all backed by spiteful lyrics. Both albums are great.

5. Beach House - Devotion - I don't care if this duo is mind numbingly boring live. This album pours fruity, Skittle-like dream pop everywhere and I'll eat it all up...every single time.

6. Titus Andronicus - The Airing of Grievances - Angst through and through, but done with a slight, condescending smirk. Distorted, cracked vocals hanging over dirtiness. Just really, really good.

7. Racebannon - Racebannon IV: Acid or Blood - My vote for best album cover of the year. Look it up. Less insane than previous Racebannon albums, but still fucking nuts. A little bit more order to the chaos making it feel more plotted and demonic, if that makes any sense.

8. Spiritualized - Songs in A&E - I actually haven't listened to this as much as I should. However, I want Jason Pierce to be my older, strung out brother who comes to family gatherings, never takes his sunglasses off, and appears to have a tick in every conceivable part of his body. Yeah, that's what I want.

9. Plants & Animals - Parc Avenue - Did this album get its just due? A little wacky, a little Queen-ish, but damn catchy. I could listen to the song "Feedback in the Field" and whistle that damn melody until I went nuts.

10. Night Marchers - See You in Magic - John Reis makes magic every time. No Drive Like Jehu or Hot Snakes, but still...I just really like John Reis and that's why this album's in here.

11. Fucked Up - The Chemistry of Common Life - I recently saw these guys live and the rather large singer (Damian Abraham) stripped down to his boxers, did the "mangina," and then broke up a fistfight between a bouncer and some 17 year old kid. That's how shows should be. Future of hardcore? Maybe not, but they sure have something figured out.

12. Blitzen Trapper - Furr - I called it when Wild Mountain Nation came out. Didn't I? They recently did a show I went to at Schubas and sold it out. Next stop, Empty Bottle a few months away. Their next album will be a big deal. This one's the big buzz maker.

13. Arms Exploding - Ruminari - My friends are in this band, and I like this album a lot. Not just because they're in the band either. I swear. I happen to know the people in the band, and they happen to be my friends.

14. Howlin' Rain - Magnificent Friend - Psychedelic, classic rock with all the trimmings. Perfect for a sunny day sitting on the porch with some beers and a couple of your loser friends.

There's more, but this seems like a good place to stop. Plus, I can't really think of anymore off the top of my head, and I don't feel like sifting through my CDs, records, and Itunes.

Christmas Retarded.

I love that as you get older, Christmastime begins to lose its luster and allure you often associated the holiday with as a kid. For instance, I have no fucking clue what I want for Christmas. I feel like I should have several grandiose presents mapped out in my head, but all I can think of are practical gifts. I just don't care that much. It becomes more about the stress of what you're going to get others instead of stressing out about what you're going to get. I don't know which one's better or worse. When asked, I told my mom I wanted a paper shredder...a paper shredder. This is what popped in my head. I also need new shoes. Not to be fashion conscious or anything. Simply because my current shoes are falling apart. Why can't I be more creative with what I ask for? Do I not have it in me anymore?

I can possibly attribute this transformation to my childhood when I asked for a Power Wheel every year of my life until I was probably around 15, and I never got one. This obviously has scarred me terribly, and I've never recovered. Being disappointed year in and year out had such a negative effect on my psyche that I'm surprised I ever learned how to tie my own shoes. My older brother (he's 31) is getting a Wii for Christmas this year. That seems like fun, but I can't ever imagine having one. I can, however, imagine getting a paper shredder.

I'm not gonna lie, Christmas has just kind of become a headache. I'm not good at getting presents for people either...just not creative enough. I've come to grips with that. So, that doesn't bring me great joy because I always feel like the recipient is just a little bummed out that he or she got another gift certificate to Best Buy, Target, etc. My uncle, whom I haven't seen in like four years, gets me a gift certificate to Best Buy. See, now that makes sense. I wish I could go to a self-help seminar solely dedicated to teaching the gift-giving-disabled how to properly purchase a creative, heartfelt present and deliver it to its intended recipient.

I can't even imagine what it would be like if I had a family consisting of more than five people. That'd be fucking tough. The mental energy I'd have to spend trying to think up presents would probably result in a painfully crippled mind that wouldn't fully recover until after January...at least.

All that being said, I am kind of looking forward to the paper shredder. I'm a dork.

Ode to Thanksgiving.

Along with Halloween, I'm pretty sure Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I'm taking both the day before and day after Thanksgiving off from work to return to my birthplace and enjoy the company of friends and family. Let me take you through my anticipated schedule of entertainment (just the highlights) once I get back to Cincinnati.

I'll probably get in around mid-afternoon on Wednesday and immediately do a shit ton of laundry at my mom's. That's right. I'm driving dirty laundry from Chicago to Cincinnati. This doesn't seem as illogical to me as it does to others. Because of my eccentric landlords, I have weird ass time constraints on when I can do my laundry at my house. I often work late, and I never have fucking quarters. My mom's washer and dryer are efficient and free. I'm looking forward to this. Doing laundry is like a 3 hour vacation. You're doing something, but not really.

Wednesday night marks the biggest drinking night of the year. I've never really understood this. People feel the need to get loaded before they meet up with their family the next day. Wouldn't it be more uncomfortable to be hung over around a bunch of relatives expecting you to make inane small talk? This is why I love my family. It's fucking tiny. No small talk required. Me, my brothers, stepdad, niece, and mom. Nice and simple. Anyway, Wednesday night will almost definitely be spent hanging out with everyone that is awesome to me at one of three places I drink at in Northside, Ohio. I'll get drunk and become louder than usual.

Thursday will be spent loafing around my mom's house and foolishly not eating in anticipation of a hearty meal. I make the same mistake every year. I don't eat all day because I think I need to maintain maximum capacity for all of the starch (mashed potatoes, stuffing/dressing, macaroni & cheese, rolls, etc.) I'm going to delicately pack in my gut. This system is no good. My stomach's so small by the time I eat that I can only handle three helpings of mashed potatoes. Unacceptable and embarrassing. And as I'm writing this, I know I'll do the same thing this year. Of course football's on, but I honestly can't remember the last time I watched an entertaining game on Thanksgiving. I'm assuming this has something to do with the fact that the Lions are always fucking dreadful and I despise the Cowboys. Regardless, it is football, and I will both watch and enjoy it. At the end of the night, we'll eat pumpkin pie and my mom will ask what we want for Christmas all the while repeating she can't spend too much money this year. None of will have an answer and none of us will believe her.

Friday will hopefully be tackle football day. Is there any other kind? I want it to be just like the Brett Favre Wrangler jeans commercial too. That's how I envision it. A bunch of old-school hardcore kids getting passes thrown to them by Brett Favre as he discusses the advantages of Wrangler jeans and smiles that sweet Mississippi smile. Oh by the way, every throw will be well out every receiver's reach forcing him or her to dive into a endless swamp of mud to make the grab. Sounds great. I will be horribly sore the next day from moving muscles that aren't used to getting any action and having the shit kicked out of me for two hours straight. Can't wait.

The Thanksgiving trip will culminate on Saturday night with what is sure to be the matchup of the millennium. The geniuses of the world have finally decided to come out with a Seinfeld Scene-It and the top Seinfeld aficionados in the universe (me, Justin, Kenny, and Billy) will battle it out for ultimate nerd supremacy. We've been talking for years about the possibility of this thing coming out and someone heard our prayers. I've had more than one friend tell me that they just want to be there to watch the battle. It will be both ridiculous and great. Amazing and pathetic. Fun and sad.

Sounds like a good trip to me.

Common Denominator.

Justin and Heidi came up this past weekend and we had a grand old time. We ate Ethiopian food, explored the city, discussed the ins and outs of the great cinema classic the Fugitive, and finally got in some much needed sports talk. Justin is my primary sports confidant in this world because we pretty much have the same outlooks, witty opinions, and disdain for certain players and/or announcers (looking at you Favre and Berman). Anyway, after they left and I got done sobbing into my pillow, I started thinking about how awesome it is that I can talk sports with anyone. Sports knowledge creates a common denominator across different realms of society and has really helped me out in certain situations.

First and foremost, I get along with parents, particularly parents of someone I'm currently dating. I attribute this to sports for the most part. Being around a girlfriend's parents is always going to be slightly awkward, but it's a little less when you have a universal subject of interest that you can dissect intelligently. Parents, especially fathers, aren't usually the most approachable people when you first meet them. I've greatly benefited from my sports smarts with the last couple of girls I dated because I can always retreat into a discussion about the Reds or Bengals or Bearcats or whatever. It's awesome. A father can disassociate me from being the kid who's dating his daughter, and instead just look at me as some kid who knows Aaron Harang's ERA or the score from yesterday's Ohio State game. Plus, there's always something to talk about. Uncomfortable silences are for suckers. I usually get along better with the fathers than the daughters, and I'm kind of okay with that.

Sports talk also puts you in touch with a different ilk of people. Not terrible people, just people I may not normally hang out with or talk to. For instance, a friend of mine came into town a couple of weeks ago with a few of her co-workers. My friend and I went out to eat Indian food and later met up with her boss and co-worker at an absolutely atrocious piano bar where they covered "Sweet Home Alabama" and various Kid Rock songs...on the piano. Ugh. Anyway, as I stood there uncomfortably around a bunch of people I would probably never talk to or have anything in common with, her boss (an outspoken, wealthy Republican) and I got to talking about the Bengals. With the screeching hell of people singing "And I'm proud to be an American..." in the background (and he was enjoying the place mind you), we had found a common ground. Although I was still uncomfortable, the pain was alleviated if just for a moment. Just long enough for me to get the fuck out of there.

Also, and I'm not trying for this to sound cocky even though it probably will, I like the fact that people are surprised when I can talk sports with whomever I want. More than one person has said it's "weird" that I know so much about sports, but I can't help the fact that it's just one of those things that sticks in my mind. This weekend Justin and I were discussing Larry Johnson's "Grandma-ma" character of the early 90s when he was a semi-impressive player with the Charlotte Hornets trying to hock sneakers. Why the hell do we remember that era? Why can I recite every World Series and Super Bowl winner since 1990? Sports trivia sticks in my head, and while I went through an "I'm not going to pay attention to sports because I'm way too cool for that" period, I'm fucking glad it didn't stick. Otherwise, what would I have to talk about?

Yesterday.

I went down to Grant Park last night for Obama rally just to "take it all in" and meet a couple of friends all the while knowing I wasn't going to stay. Guess what? It was a happy mess of madness. I may have stayed longer had I had somewhere or something or someone to hook my bike to. Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. So, I huffed it back home on the delightfully desolate streets of Chicago. Seriously, I've never scene Milwaukee Avenue that empty at 9 PM. It was great. Chicago has been abuzz in anticipation of the election, and it's been a sight to behold. One of its own was soon to be anointed, and while I have never claimed to be the most politically savvy or knowledgeable person, excited people smiling make me smile and excited.

This election seemed quick. Particularly because the first election I truly followed was the 2000 election with the Florida debacle. I was up until 3 in the morning watching that thing, and went to bed not knowing who won. I equate it to watching the entire 1991 World Series between the Twins and the Braves (best series I've ever witnessed) and going to bed after the ninth inning with the score tied at zero. It killed me to go to bed, but I just couldn't stay up anymore. Obama took care of his shit in this one though, and we can all really thank the key swing state of Ohio because once he got the heart of the country, it was pretty much over. Not a moment too soon either. Obama looked like he was going to pass out from sheer exhaustion when he was making his impressive speech.

Where it goes from here, I don't know. The stock market threw-up some more today and a few Wall Street big shots took a few steps closer to that open window as the economy nears the middle of the toilet bowl. The Reader eloquently summed it up with this issue's cover reading "Don't Screw It Up." I like my job.

Oh and by the way, California voted yes on Proposition 8, only recognizing heterosexual marriage as a legal union. This is happening literally on the heels of the Supreme Court legalizing gay marriage only a few months ago. Now, several once legal marriages are unfairly suspended in limbo. What the fuck? That's sad.

This is as political as I'm going to get. Sorry for the strangeness. I'll go back to sports next post. I promise.