Oh So Special

Meet Special Agent Oso. The. Unique. Stuffed. Bear. He's on a special assignment to help a kid somewhere. With help from you, there's nothing he can't do. He's Oh So Special.

I've watched Oso so many times that I feel the compelling need to let you into the world of mind-numbing kid's television. We DVR a few shows that we put on for Hendrik when he's whiny (5% of the time), tired (2% of the time), or his parents don't feel like parenting (93% of the time). The shows we watch are as follows, in order of Hendrik's favorite to least favorite:

1. Sesame Street
2. Special Agent Oso
3. Chuggington
4. Jack's Big Music Show
5. Curious George
6. Super Why
7. Handy Manny
8. Yo Gabba Gabba (we stopped recording this for reasons of our sanity)

I've taken these shows and ordered them from most tolerable to driving-me-absolutely-bonkers:

1. Curious George - No annoying songs, not formulaic, I only despise that stupid wiener dog. I envy the Man in the Yellow Hat's wardrobe (and property! A condo in the city? A house in the country? All on a semi-competent biologist's salary, too!), and I like the black kid who calls George "city kid".
2. Jack's Big Music Show - Lots of songs, but very low on the annoying factor. I also prefer muppets to cartoons.
3. Super Why - Formulaic, but low-key and not that annoying. Except Super Red is kind of a skank.
4. Sesame Street - If Sesame Street had more old-school stuff and not these incredibly-long sketches that are super boring, then I'd rank it #1. I despise Abby's Flying Fairy School and just hate anything involving the super whiny monster Telly. Grover is still pretty cool, and Cookie Monster is awesome. Elmo gets a ton of air-time and I've gotten used to the fact that he speaks like Ricky Henderson (always in the 3rd person), plus it's hard to totally hate something your child absolutely adores.
5. Chuggington - The kid trains just piss me off in general, and the song gets stuck in my head for centuries (Chuuuuuuuuuuggington. Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-chuggington). The kid trains always blatantly disobey the rules, get in trouble, and then don't even get in trouble for it! Where's the stern lecture? Where's the grounding? Where's the back of the hand or belt on the backside!?!?!
6. Special Agent Oso - See this entire blog post, but not as annoying as…
7. Handy Manny - Handy Manny is not so annoying as it is INCREDIBLY BORING. 15 minutes to change a light fixture? And when is Manny gonna hook up with Kelly? There's not much to like with Handy Manny. The tools are either incredibly stupid ("I'm a hammer!") or huge wusses (see: Rusty, Monkey Wrench). The next store over features Mr. Lopart, your prototypical Chester Molester, who scores 11 out of 10 on the Creepy Factor. He owns a candy shop (red flag, anyone?), has a cat as a best friend, and is just the most unlikeable character ever. It baffles me how this show ever got on the air. We never watch it anymore.
8. Yo Gabba Gabba - I like this show, aside from the fact that I feel like I'm on drugs when I'm watching it. You have to be in the mood to watch this, and I've never been in that mood. When my buddy (who had kids at the time) was visiting us a couple years ago, he convinced me to turn on "Yo Gabba" to see how awesome it was. There were no kids in the room, and I had no idea what Yo Gabba was at the time. We turned it on and watched it for like 5 minutes and my brain turned to mush and I collapsed to the floor.

So there you have it. Now let's get back to Oso.

This show is about a yellow bear that works for a stupendously inefficient global spy network with a seemingly bottomless budget. He gets called by his boss "Mr. Dos" to help kids with everyday tasks in 3 Special Steps. The show is very formulaic, and always starts with Oso trying to complete some ridiculously easy training exercise, like covering his spy car with a car cover. Oso always screws up the exercise, sometimes causing major damage to his spy plane/car/submarine/spaceship while almost killing everybody within 10 miles. He always screws up because he can't listen to more than one instruction at once. The animals in charge of him are Wolfy (a wolf), and Dotty (a dot--J/K LOL!--she's a cat).

Wolfy, Dotty, and Oso get plastered

Both Wolfy and Dotty are extremely patient, considering Oso almost kills them every day. After he ruins his exercise, he gets a call from Mr. Dos to help a kid who is in dire need, for example:

a. A kid can't tie his own shoes
b. A kid can't figure out how to throw a Frisbee
c. A kid needs to perform CPR on his dying father (haha-just kidding! Oso's only teaching essential life skills here)

So Oso takes his talking helicopter halfway across the world in a matter of seconds (from what I can tell, their headquarters is in Norway). This heli is called "Whirlybird" who also is the worst character of ALL TIME (worse than Lopart), and who also hates Oso so much that he's always trying to kill Oso by twisting his words ("What's that, Oso? You said you wanted to die today?" "No, I said I'd like some pie today! Whirrrrleeeee!!!") and dropping him 1000 feet to a certain death, which Oso usually avoids by luckily falling into a pillow-soft pine tree and into the family's kitchen, ruining everything, which could be the title of the show: "Oso Ruins Everything".

Once Oso meets the kid, who of course recognizes this bear whose company has been stalking him this entire time, and they commence solving the perplexing dilemma using the 3 Special Steps. It goes without saying that every single problem can be solved with exactly 3 steps, no more, no less. Sometimes, if it's something easy, like throwing a Frisbee, they really have to stretch out the steps:

1. Pick up the Frisbee
2. Inspect it for asbestos
3. Throw the Frisbee

Sometimes, it's a harder task, like baking a cake, so they squeeze everything in one step:

1. Find the cake mix
2. Preheat the oven
3. Ask your mom to do everything else while you watch the tube

Even though the steps are spelled out for Oso, he usually struggles with even the simplest of concepts. In fact, usually the kid has to show Oso how to figure something out, which makes me wonder about Oso's qualifications as a task mentor. Paw Pilot, this annoying talking-head character that lives in Oso's PED, usually has to give Oso some special tip. I'm always hoping she'll say this: "Here's a tip, Oso: Use your #$*& brain!"

Oso is usually on a pretty tight deadline. Paw Pilot will give him an exact amount of time to complete the task, usually in seconds: "Hurry up, Oso, Ashley's dad will come in the door to inspect her cake in 8 seconds! Also, he has a gun! And a short temper!"

This is when Oso gets frantic (potential show name: "Oso Gets Frantic") and starts ruining everything again and they have to start over. However, Paw Pilot is an extremely slow counter, and the 8 seconds usually translate to what feels like 37 hours. They succeed in the end, the dad puts his gun away (although he's slightly tempted to go bear hunting), and everybody's happy. The family usually invites Oso to stay ("Yes, we'd love to have a smelly, stupid bear who never listens stay at our house indefinitely!"), but he declines (family breathes huge sigh of relief) so he can finish his training exercise, which he never should've screwed up in the first place.

Once Oso successfully completes his training exercise, Wolfy howls, "Outstanding, Oso! Owwwwwstanding!" with much zeal. Sometimes, Wolfy or Dotty will even give him a present for completing the task. One episode, Oso put together a puzzle for his training exercise and they gave him a TRAIN. Not a toy train, an actual train with a French accent whose name is Rapid (pronounced "Ra-PEED"). I'm always a little curious about what Oso's compensation package includes, and how much insurance his spy agency needs to cover all the damage he causes.

The most irritating thing about the whole show is the title of each episode, which is always a play off of a James Bond movie title. They even make a mind-numbing song out of it which Paw Pilot sings in the middle of each episode. If you recall, the James Bond titles don't make much sense as it is, so you can imagine how horrible these songs are. Some examples of titles are:

A View to a Frisbee
Hopscotch is Forever
Octo-puzzle
Hide Another Day
Live and Let Dry
For Show and Tell Only

All in all, Special Agent Oso is a brilliant show with complex plots, stunning cinematography, deep character development, and should be a force to reckon with at this year's Academy Awards. I give it 5 out of 5 stars. A must-see! 2 thumbs up! The feel-good story of the year! If you only watch one show this year, make it "Special Agent Oso"!

Tip your blogger

We went on a horseback riding excursion on our recent trip to Hawaii. I'll let you take a couple moments to reflect on how awesome that last sentence makes us sound. Okay, that's enough. Now that you're filled with envy/hatred/awe, you're in the proper frame of mind to read this post.

Anyway, the excursion was 85 bucks per rider. Our beloved little boy was not with us, so that added up to a whopping 170 bucks. That may not sound like much to you, but we've been known to stretch 170 dollars into a week's worth of groceries, an extravagant trip to Costco, 5 mortgage payments, and a medium box of toothpicks. The excursion was into a remote valley called Waipi'o that has various waterfalls, farms, and was supposed to be very pretty. It was indeed pretty, and we enjoyed the valley, thank you very much. The guide was decent, at best, trying to be funny (the nerve!) all the time and wouldn't really give me a straight answer to my questions very often. I felt like I was annoying him with all my questions, which, if you're a tour guide, is not the feeling you want to be giving your tourists. Frankly, I don't care if you're annoyed with my questions, I paid a lot of money to be on this trip and I'm going to ask them anyway! He probably shouldn't be a tour guide if he doesn't like dealing with tourists.

At the end of the tour he made a few more canned jokes and then gave us a tip spiel, adding that "the customary 15%" was expected. His tip spiel was longer than ordinary, and it reminded me of the Simpsons bit where a park ranger gives a bland explanation about something and then enthusiastically thrusts his tip jar out, shaking it, with a big smile.

I don't like where this tipping culture is heading. Almost every store I go into has a tip jar next to the cash register. Most people just toss their change in there, but I pay with credit cards usually, and even if it's a cash-only place, I like to hoard my money like so many Genghis Khans (oh, it's "horde", you say?). You're probably thinking, "Tipping is optional, Kent, so just re-LAX!" Well, I'm here to suggest that tipping is no longer optional, and is now a Guilt Charge. If you don't want to feel guilty for not tipping, you tip. If you're fine with the guilt, then you don't have to tip. You're paying either with cash money or with emotional distress.

I would like to consider myself a guilt-free non-tipper, but I survived on tips for around 6 years of my life, so I can't. First, I was a pizza delivery boy, and then I was a server at TGI Friday's (flair!). So, therefore, I have the guilt and feel obligated to not only tip, but tip WELL.

I think some occupations certainly deserve a tip, especially because they are paid barely anything without tips. My base pay as a server was $2.15/hr. My paychecks were so worthless that I never picked them up until my boss broke into my car and stuffed them into my glove box. My base was a bit more as a delivery dude, up to $5.50/hr until I got promoted to manager, when I made a whopping 6 bones/hr.

The 15% rule should only apply to servers. The amount of work they're doing for the table, bringing out drinks, taking the order, cleaning up dirty dishes, etc, is certainly worth about 15% of the bill, especially considering their base pay, which essentially implies that the server works more for his customers than for the restaurant. I can't think of any other occupation where the provided service is worth 15%. As a delivery boy, I kept stats on my deliveries, and my average tip was $1.50, and my average delivery was about $15. Although I always wanted more than that, I can be a little more objective now that I'm a deliveree instead of a deliverer, and I say that the service provided is worth about 10% of the price.

What about valet parking, bellhops, and maids? I've always been iffy on this, and they say that you should tip 2-3 clams per bag, and I really have no idea what to pay the valet or the maid. If I'm on the company's dime, I'm much more generous than the norm, getting all my money back when I fill out my expense reports (filed under "sundry"). On my own dime, a few factors come into play: Did they have a good attitude? I don't feel compelled to give a tip to some surly bellhop; How many singles do I have in my wallet? I hate getting change just for a tip; How much money have I spent already on this trip (i.e. am I feeling rich or poor)? How essential was the service? How messy was my room?

I usually tip valets about 3 bucks for getting my car. For a few months back in 2007, I parked in a valet parking lot across the street from my building, as they were having a deal on parking. Because I was paying 200-ish bucks a month to park there, I didn't ever tip the valets. I was mostly fine with this, however, I did see other monthly parkers tipping, but I got over it.

I tip the bellhops about 2 bucks a bag, for a max of 5 bucks for lots of bags. In February 2010, we went to this "all-expenses included" resort in northern NH for a ski trip when Hench was 4 months old, and we had all sorts of junk with us. The bellhops were very helpful and I gave them 5 bucks or so and felt that they deserved it. However, when we got our final bill, there was a 15% Gratuity Charge tacked on the final bill, and the gratuity charge was over 100 bucks! Because it was an all-inclusive resort, every meal was in this pretty fancy ballroom with menus, servers and ushers and the lot. I also had to wear a sport coat to dinner, which totally sucked because who wants to pack a sport coat on a ski trip? You already have to pack enough winter equipment as it is. Anyway, did I get 100 bucks' worth of service there? Not even close. The most valuable thing I got was the help from the bellmen and I already tipped them. We only had 4 meals in the ballroom, and 3 of those meals were buffets with no need for servers, whose only responsibility was to provide drinks, which didn't come until 20 minutes after we sat down and finished our meal. I really could write a novelette about how much of a rip-off this place was.

I don't tip the maids unless we made some egregious mess, or if we hadn't spent much money on the trip (this is theoretical- hasn't happened so far). Once, on the company dime, I left a 20 accidentally on the shelf and the maid took it, thinking it was the tip. I figure that covers me for the rest of my life.

I certainly don't feel obligated to leave anything in a tip jar. Somehow people feel justified in putting a tip jar out and somehow deserving extra money for doing their job. The way I understand it, a tip is to reward someone for giving exceptional service. It's hard to give exceptional service while ringing up my sandwich for 6 bucks and taking my money.

I am a notoriously bad tipper when it comes to taxis. I hate taxis with a violent passion, and every time I have to take a cab, I can feel my lifespan getting shorter by the month. Cab drivers are the absolute worst drivers. The reason why they are so horrible is because they are from crazy countries that pretty much have anarchy on the streets. The worst country I've been to is Egypt, where crossing a street requires an arm and a leg and a hope and a prayer. After each and every cab ride, I feel dirty, violated, and nauseous. Dirty because the back of cabs are next to outhouse toilets in filthiness. Violated because I paid 40 bucks to go 3 miles across the harbor to the airport in a smelly car. Nauseous because the drivers don't know the meaning of the word "gradual". I have 2 memorable cab stories:

1. In 2007, I took a cab from the airport on a Sunday afternoon to my apartment in Somerville. I got a Bulgarian cab driver who deliberately took me on the worst, round-about route. Once I saw him going to the wrong freeway, I asked what he was doing and he said he was taking the best way. We argued the entire way home, about 20 minutes, him insisting that it was the best route, me angry that he was running up the meter and taking minutes away from my precious Sunday. I was on the company dime, so I didn't care about the fare, but it was the principle. The guy turned off the meter to "appease" me, even though I would've just appreciated it if he admitted he was trying to dupe me. At the end, he asked me how much it usually cost, I said 45 bucks and I gave him 40. He was livid, but I just grabbed my stuff and got out of there before he punched me. He would've beaten the crap out of me, too.

2. In 2008, I was in Manhattan and had to catch the Delta shuttle at La Guardia. I wasn't in a huge rush, but that didn't matter to the cabbie. He drove like an absolute mad man, honking at everybody, flipping off pedestrians and grandmas, driving over sidewalks, on shoulders, etc, using the F-word with each breath, and just being that crazy driver that everybody sees and rolls their eyes at. I was embarrassed to be in the back, as if this was somehow my fault. Also, I was about to puke. I didn't want to leave him a tip, but I was scared of the repercussions if I didn't, so I did. Once again, company dime. This is the part where that annoying person who lived in NYC for 6 months laughs and says, "Oh you silly non-New Yorker, all cabbies are like that!" My retort is that I've been on enough cab rides in that city to know that's not true.

So what is my general rule for cabs? I rarely take them when I'm paying, but my hatred is so deep that I am a lousy tipper regardless of who's ultimately paying for it. For a 40 dollar ride to the airport from downtown, I tip 5 bucks max. For an 80-dollar ride to Whitman, I pay 5 bucks again. I just can't give these cabs a good tip, even though cabbies are notoriously confrontive about bad tippers.

What about guides, though? I took a 6-day trek through the Himalayas in Nepal with a porter and a guide. The whole package, all-inclusive, was 100 bucks for all 6 days. The porter took my pack, the guide kept me company, and all I had to do was carry my day-pack and hike. I was still a poor student at the time, but I believe I gave them the equivalent of 20 bucks each at the end. I read somewhere that the average yearly salary of a Nepali was 150 bucks, so I was feeling pretty good about myself after that. They certainly deserved it, doing all that work, and they didn't even ask for a tip, although the company I booked it with suggested that I tip my guide and porter. Which is exactly the way it should be, because I have no idea what these guys are getting paid. I'm pretty sure the company guy said, "Make sure you tip these guys, because we're not paying them jack."

I've been on a couple Boston Duck tours here. There's about 20-30 people on the ride, and the price is 25 bucks, and I believe I gave the guide 2 bucks, and felt fine with that. Also, when I did it, I just handed it straight to him, not doing the "secret tip handshake" with the bills tucked in my thumb fold like a drug exchange.

Which leads me to the horseback excursion. First of all, we weren't feeling rich at all. Hawaii is DARNED expensive, and this excursion wasn't cheap. Secondly, the guide did a decent job with the information/jokes, but his overall demeanor was condescending and arrogant. Thirdly, there was this other native dude that was his helper, and that guy was much nicer and friendlier. Fourthly, the guide didn't really DO anything except point and talk. He just sat on his horse, brought up the rear, and said factoids every 5 minutes or so. And finally, his last tip spiel was way too forthcoming, and it was apparent to me that he was mailing it in. As we got out of the van at the end, back at the ranch, I noticed the other horsebackers were giving the secret tip handshake with the guide, with what appeared to be twenties. I had left my wallet in the car, so I had to go back to it to get some cash. We only had about 20 bucks, but I gave Mel 12 bucks to give to the guide. I didn't want to give it to him myself because I didn't like him. When Mel gave it to him, she handed him the money like a normal exchange, but he quickly shook her hand in the process and stealthily took the money, leaving Mel with an ounce of cocaine in her hand to finish the transaction.

All in all, our tip amounted to 7%, less than half of his suggestion. And you know what? I still felt like I was ripped off. I am generally known to my friends as a cheapskate (although my family thinks I spend money like the Kardashians), but I think I'm a fine tipper. I just don't feel like giving money to people when I didn't get any value from it. I would've been fine giving him only 5 bucks, as I felt that's how much value I received from his services, but the other 7 bucks were for the Guilt Charge. I would've preferred that the company either baked his tip into the price or suggested giving him a tip via credit card, making it obvious that we should be leaving a tip, and sparing us the awkwardness of the transaction. The company also had a misleading sign out front that said something like "Tip your horse, pet your guide" which I thought could be meaning that we weren't expected to tip the guide.

Despite that, the horseback excursion was quite fun, one of the highlights of the trip, the others being seeing the volcano glow at night and the black sand beach. The Waipi'o Valley was stunning and riding the horses through the jungle and through rivers was fun, and I would recommend it. Just bring some cash for your guide.

Now, it's customary to tip your blogger 15% of your monthly internet bill. I accept Paypal, checks in the mail, and stomps on the head.

Bound Away

Hardcore fans of this blog (which don't, unfortunately, include my wife, who, as I write this, has yet to read the last post(sub-parenthetical statement: I just broke the record for word/comma ratio (not including lists (now I just broke the sub-parenthetical statement record!!))) know that I have been posting once a month pretty regularly now. The main reason for this is that I don't want to break my streak of months with a posting, which is now at 42. There is no other reason.

Every month I hem and haw about the subject of my posting. I don't like to repeat subjects very often, and don't want to write about sports too often and risk losing my female reader (Liesl). I also try to stagger my complaining posts, which are far too easy to write. My first thought was to write about how much I hated dogs. However, that violates the repeating principle, since I already wrote about it, even if I had new material. It also violates the complaining principle, because my last post complained about my former roommates.

My second thought was to post a cute video of Hendrik attacking a dog with love, which he does fairly regularly. This, however, is a cop out, and only gives my faithful readers 2 minutes of entertainment, instead of 10 solid minutes of entertainment on the first read, and then 10 minutes for every read thereafter (I'm sure you all read my posts dozens of times. No?). If there's a video post on the last day of the month, you know that I've ran out of ideas before the month ended.

Midway through this month, I had zero ideas. However, while listening to "Bound Away" by Cake, I came up with my inspiration. Unfortunately, it involves me exposing myself to my audience as never before. The only time I've ever been more naked than this was when my friends dared me to take off all my clothes during General Conference. I was around 5 years old, and in the basement with similarly-aged chumps. My family was in the living room, surrounding the monstrous 13" TV placed on a chair for the special occasion of Conference. It must've been a Sunday session, because we never moved the TV in for Saturday sessions, which were "optional" at our house. Somehow, I had friends over, which must have been some sort of coup since traditionally friends weren't allowed over on Sundays. NO FUN ON SUNDAYS was the general rule growing up.

Anyway, someone double-dog-dared me to take off all my clothes, and of course I did just that. I mean, what was I supposed to do? NOT FOLLOW THROUGH WITH A DOUBLE-DOG-DARE?!?!? There are really no other options at that point. All I remember after that was a whole lot of giggling about me being naked. Even though I had no clothes on, I still wasn't that naked. That came later, when my snarling mother found out about the double-dog-daring going on during conference, and I was dragged by my wrist up the 13 shag carpet stairs to the main floor and through the living room with all of the older siblings giving me looks of disgust and disdain for ruining Conference. They probably don't remember any of this, but it happened. Mom could've dragged me through the kitchen and dining room and avoided the living room altogether, but she wanted me to experience the Drag of Shame. Then I was dressed appropriately and disciplined by forcing me to watch the entire afternoon session, which was also optional.

So here I am, telling you the deepest, darkest secret you may not know about me. Well, you probably do. In fact, you probably won't be surprised in the least when I say it. You'll think, "Yeah, I already knew that." Which makes it that much worse. Okay, I'm stalling. Here's my secret:





I cry.

All the time.

Almost every day!

"What? No! Say it ain't so!" Calm down. Let me explain. It's not what it looks like.
I don't cry, like bawl or anything. I just get all choked up. My eyes well up. A tear may or may not escape. Sometimes it's enough to do the "cry hiccup", where I try to stifle my emotions that are running up my body and end up doing that hiccup type thing which makes it worse. My nose may release a sniffle. If that's crying, then I cry. Almost every day. I blame it on my mom, who cries pretty regularly.

I cry during movies. I cry reading articles in the Ensign. I cry when I "get real" with someone. I cry when I listen to particularly poignant songs. See the following examples…

Movies:

I really get into movies. If I watch a movie, it's like I'm in the movie. The actors are my friends, the story is part of my life. If they are mad, I get mad with them. If they rekindle lost romances, I'm happy for them. If they tell their mom or dad they love them, I think about how much I love my own parents. If they hug their kid, I think about Hendrik. If they connect with a love interest, I think about Melanie. If they say goodbye to their favorite toy, I think about Gibby, my first stuffed lion.

You're thinking, "Yeah, I do that, too, but you don't see me choking up."

Wrong! No you don't, tough guy. You're totally detached. You don't even care at all that Elizabeth Bennett has finally confessed her feelings for Mr. Darcy! You're just watching P&P because your wife is making you, and you're really just using that as leverage for the 8 hour NBA playoff marathon you're planning on watching tomorrow.

If you asked me which movies made me choke up, I couldn't even tell you. There's been so many. Most of them aren't even good! Pretty much any chick flick in which I wasn't simultaneously playing Civ IV. You know the moments where they bring up the violins and there's the moment where the burly, quiet dad tells the longing son, "I know I don't say it very often, and I should, but…I love you." It doesn't even matter if the rest of the movie was painfully awful. It still happens. It's why I don't watch "Full House" (that, and the fact that it's awful).

Fun fact: "Full House" is Baldwin's favorite show.

Melanie eats it up. She knows I do it, but pretends like she doesn't. "Oh, I didn't even notice." Or, if she sees it happen, "I think it's so cute!" Shut up, is what I say to that. If we're spooning and she feels me do the "cry hiccup", she'll turn around and play dumb, like she totally doesn't know it's happening. She gives me the same look that Hendrik gives me when "Elmo's World" comes on. Melanie is an emotional statue. She has never cried. Ever.

Kid's movies are the worst. I intentionally skipped these for the past few years, knowing that I would be watching all sorts of them once I had a kid. Having a kid opened up a whole new sentimental part of me, which I'm sure most of you parents understand. Despicable Me, Toy Story, Monster's Inc, etc, really get to me.

Ensign:

I read the Ensign every morning on the train. I'm usually sitting next to someone who probably sees the huge graphics and titles and is thinking "What is this religious nut reading?" I know I should reach out and share my testimony, but, you know, I'm a horrible person, so I don't. The articles that really get to me are the conversion stories about some poor South American 90-year-old lady that bakes bread for the sacrament every week and walks 2 miles to do her visiting teaching. It's always just so touching and inspirational.

I'm always curious if the person next to me can sense that I'm having a moment. There's not much evidence for it, but there are a few eye wipes and nose sniffles, so I figure that they think I have a cold, so I don't really try to mask it.

"Getting Real":

This doesn't happen very often, but as soon as I try to tell someone, especially someone I rarely "get real" with, that I appreciate them or that they did a great job, I get all choked up inside and have to look away to keep from them seeing me misting up. Last week, our babysitter of 1 year had her last day. She did a pretty good job overall, although we were about ready to move on. As she was getting ready to leave, I paid her, and then told her how much we appreciated her help with our son. It seemed simple enough. Nope. Made me misty. I cleared my throat and faked like I had to go do something urgent.

I usually do pretty well with goodbyes, unless my mom's involved. As soon as I see her getting misty, it's all over, including the crying. Nothing can trigger my tears like the sight of my mom crying. Or an especially stinky Hendrik package.

Music:

As mentioned above, the idea for this post was whilst listening to "Bound Away" by Cake. The song is for travelers, never home, and always bound away from their families by their occupation. Even though I don't travel for work, it still seems to bring out the wimp in me. I just imagine what it would be like to leave my family for extended periods of time and that's enough to get me all emotional. My imagination really gets the best of me, especially when music's involved, because there's nothing to do but listen and think.

Hymns and various classical pieces get to me, as well. Just yesterday, on Easter, we had a very talented member of the ward play a rendition of "O Divine Redeemer" on his cello, with some piano accompaniment. I struggled to contain myself, and if I didn't have Hendrik crawling all over me as a distraction, it would've been waterworks. I also tear up whenever we sing "Abide With Me, 'Tis Eventide", because that's my grandpa's favorite hymn, and I think of the old reunions when it would normally be the last song we'd sing before we departed.

Those are the triggers to my emotions. It's almost like Pavlov's bell with me at this point. Hit one of my triggers and watch me unravel. I'm so predictable. I started realizing it when I was about 12 years old. I remember when my dad said he was getting called as a bish, and for some reason I just cried and cried. Then during my Aaronic Priesthood ordination I pretty much cried through the whole thing. I hated the fact that I was so tender. I tried to toughen up-and succeeded-for most of my teenage years. That even lasted through the mission and through college. When I got married, there were a lot of moments that I had to keep it together, and for the most part, I did. Then Hendrik was born and it was all over. My heart was exploring uncharted territory, and I didn't know how to handle it. This time, however, I decided to just own it and let myself go. So, here it is, an official declaration of wimpiness. I hope you'll still be my friend. I don't think I could handle it if you weren't!

All time favorite roommates

Most of us have had a few roommates in our day. It's part of growing up. For some reason, I feel the need to get down on paper my feelings about the particular painful ones. Here is a list of my worst roommates, listed in chronological order:

1. Daniel

Daniel was my first roommate that I didn't know beforehand. It was the semester after my mission. I moved into Moon Apartments at the B3, which was famous because a Hansen had lived there since the Ute Indians built the complex in 515 A.D. The nice part about Moon was that it had furniture from the original construction, which added to its character. I did 1.5 years there, which was about 2 years too many.

Anyway, Daniel was a nice, well-dressed guy who liked to talk about girls and how much he hated Utah. He was from the backwoods of Virginny, where they fashion pants out of tree bark and haul water out of the crick. He served his mission in Peru, and had a soft spot for Latinas. He played the guitar and was the lead singer of our band, "The Man in the Yellow Hat".

What made Daniel obnoxious was that he acted like- as my high-school buddy Dan put it- a "teenie-bopper". He wore hemp necklaces and dressed like a preppie. He laughed at sophomoric jokes with a little too much zeal and overlaughed in general at the stupidest things. He lacked a lot of basic common sense and wasn't considerate in the least. One of his favorite things to do was to belch. His belch wasn't an accidental burp like the dainty ones Mel releases after a sip of Caffeine Free Diet Doctor Pepper, these were intentional, spirit-breaking belches.

The absolute worst was his morning routine. He had classes at 8, and I didn't have class until 10, therefore, I was always asleep when he woke up. First of all, he was one of these guys that had to hit snooze several times before actually getting up. Secondly, he let out a floor-rattling belch as he got out of bed, when most people would simply yawn. Thirdly, he would open and close the bedroom door as if nobody in the entire world was asleep. Fourthly, he wouldn't bring his things into the shower with him, which means he's doing all of his dressing and grooming in the room, not even trying to be quiet in the least. Fifthly, he wouldn't keep his deodorant/cologne/hair gel/who-knows-what-else out on his shelf or on top of the dresser, they were all haphazardly placed in his top drawer. It always sounded like he was opening and closing a drawer full of billiard balls and shuffling through them. Sounds are always 20 times louder when you're trying to stay asleep. Last of all, there are loud belches, at least 5 of them, scattered throughout this whole process. I could even hear him belching in the shower, through 2 doors and a pillow pressed against my ear. It was with Daniel that I perfected the Pillow Muffle, which is the art of muffling all noises with your pillow, while still staying comfortable and ideally asleep.
Daniel had some redeeming qualities, too. I'm sure of it.

2. Alex at B3

Alex actually wasn't that bad of a roommate at all, and I actually barely even remember him. My brother Brian is encouraged to leave a lengthy comment on Alex, as I only have one complaint: When he cooked a meal, which was usually for 1, possibly 2, people, he dirtied EVERY SINGLE DISH IN THE ENTIRE APARTMENT COMPLEX. It was uncanny! Spaghetti and Meatballs? 30 dirty dishes! Chicken Parmesan? 45 dirty dishes! PB&J? 1,734 dirty dishes!

3. Radiohead

Ah, Radiohead. So named because of the size of his noggin, clumped together with his similarities to Radio, played so affably by Cuba Gooding, Jr., in the movie of the same name. Radiohead was not aware of this nickname.

Radiohead moved into a tough situation. Sam, Jason, and I were dominating the Enclave at the time. We were in our prime - Juniors, nice tans from a summer at the pool, long enough at the Enclave to know who was cool and who wasn't, but not too long where we'd worn out our welcome (although I was doing my best to wear it out and that right soon). We'd been the only 3 dudes in a 4 bedroom apartment, so we were nervous about the 4th roommate. In fact, the annoying EQ president from a couple doors down had enquired about our spot. We had the gall (such jerks, us!) to give him "the talk", which was that we didn't want him to even think about signing the lease for the 4th spot. This coming from the same dudes who avoided "the talk" with any girl we were dating.

We naively thought that nobody would move in. But, alas, we came home one day and there was a scent, nay, stench in the air. Somebody's stuff was in the 4th room. We considered tossing the stuff out the door to send a message. Cooler heads prevailed.

It took a few days, but we eventually met him. He was about 5'9", stocky, and hairy as the day is long. This guy looked, walked, and smelled like a gorilla. We didn't notice the smell at first, but then after a few weeks we started to see clouds of green stench escaping through the cracks of his bedroom door. He never, ever, left his door open, so we were started to wonder how many crates of spoiled eggs and raw breasts of chicken he was keeping to create the stench. So we pulled our shirts over our noses and broke into his room. It was for the best.

Immediately, it was clear: these shirts weren't near enough protection. Sam donned a gas mask he bought from the Army Navy Surplus, and went inside, reporting to us through a hose like a deep sea diver. 1 pull meant more slack and 2 pulls meant to bring him back. He was in there for the better part of a minute, and we were sure we'd lost him. Jason was all but moving his stuff into Sam's room when Sam tugged sharply twice. Using all of our strength, we barely managed to get him out of there alive. We were expecting tales of dead bodies, dog excrement, or rotting brains, but instead we got:

"Nothing. There's nothing in there!"

It was true. Just heaps of clothes, books, and other miscellaneous stuff you'd find in a typical college guy's room. How could ordinary stuff smell so bad? He even had a scented candle in there to try and mask the odor. It just made it worse, like cherry BO.

The one redeeming thing about Radiohead was that he had 15 bottles of cologne. I'm not kidding. Sure, I made up a few things in the past few paragraphs, but he really did have around 15 bottles of cologne. I shared a bathroom with him, and he just left them all right there on the sink. There was barely enough room for my toothbrush and toothpaste. We'd all use a few samples of his cologne now and again, but the worst abuser of Radiohead's cologne was Sam. I think he even just stole a couple of the bottles outright. Don't try to deny it, Sam.

That year, Jason and I were on an intramural team. We were in the living room trying to create a dream team of guys that weren't so good that would make us look bad, but not so bad as to make us look REALLY bad. We wanted to have 7 players, but only came up with 6. Then Radiohead came in. Sam asked with a plotting smile if Radiohead liked to play basketball. The reply: "Why, yes, I love basketball!" Then Sam, his evil smile cornering up in his cheeks like the Grinch, said, "Kent and Jason need 1 more player, you should play on their team!" Of course, we had no other option but to allow him on our team. We'd kill Sam later.

However, it didn't turn out to be so bad. Radiohead was a hustler, knew his place, played good D, and got a few rebounds. When he turned his ankle in the tournament, we found that we actually missed him. We made the Final 4 that year, but lost badly to a team of 10 players. We only had 6 players, and had played 6 games in 6 days.

The best Radiohead story was the Donut Incident. Every Monday, Jason, Sam, and I would go to Macey's for our weekly grocery shopping. We'd buy the same crap every college dude buys: frozen burrito's, candy, milk, cookies, and, if we were feeling rich, hamburger helper. I also would treat myself to a few fresh donuts from the bakery, as Macey's donuts are delicious. We went home, and I left my remaining donuts on the table, leaving them for the next day.

The next morning, the donuts were gone. I asked Sam and Jason if they ate my donuts, but they didn't. I didn't believe them at first, but they swore on their future wives' future graves, so I had to. I just couldn't imagine why Radiohead would just take my donuts without asking. When Radiohead got home, I asked him if he saw some donuts on the table, and he said he did, and ate them, because, he said, "It didn't look like anybody was going to eat them." I told him they were my donuts, and I was planning on eating them the next day.

Fast forward a few days. I come home and Radiohead approaches me with a box of Krispy Kreme donuts. He told me the donuts were for me, and that he was sorry for taking my donuts. Apology accepted! I put the donuts down on the table and went to bed, dreaming of eating donuts the next morning for breakfast.

You know the rest. The next morning, the donuts were gone. I asked Jason and Sam if they stole them. They had to swear on their future children's future graves to get me to believe that they hadn't eaten my donuts. I mean, it had to be them, right? Why would Radiohead get me donuts to make up for the stolen donuts, and then eat them again? When I asked Radiohead if he knew what happened to his gift donuts, he confessed that "it didn't look like you wanted them" and had eaten them. Classic Radiohead!

Once, we were just chilling in the living room, watching the tube, when Radiohead came home and parked himself on the loveseat. Within minutes the whole room started to smell foul, like the inside of a hobo's kneebrace. We started to blame each other for the stench, thinking that someone had cut the cheese, but the smell did NOT go away. When Sam had enough of the odor, he walked out of the room, passing near to Radiohead. When he was out of Radiohead's view, he waved to us, pointed to Radiohead's feet, and plugged his nose. It turned out that Radiohead had kicked off his shoes when he sat down, and the smell fouled up the whole room. Now we knew the reason for his smelly bedroom.

I always felt sorry for Radiohead, but couldn't stomach his stench long enough to do anything about it. You can judge all you want, but I don't think you would've done any more than we did.

4. Matt

When I moved into the hole in Somerville (just outside Boston) in November of aught-5, I moved in with a former roommate, Lane, and a new guy, Matt. Both were Mormons. Because Mormons liked to live with other Mormons in the singles scene in Boston, the places were usually dumps. Plus, most of the places in the city were 200-years old and dumpy anyway. But they had lots of character!

Matt was a super nice guy. But he was really effeminate and weird, and just awkward in general. Matt wasn't a bad roommate, per se, he was clean, organized, and didn't smell weird. But he always wanted to be involved, and talk and stuff. I liked my privacy and my peace and quiet. I'd be watching a football game and Matt would come in and sit down and try to talk football with me. You know those conversations with people who don't really know much about sports? It was like that. Someone would make a nice play, and he'd say "Great action!" or something weird like that. He didn't really understand the concept of downs and yards to go, and it was just annoying. "Go team! Make a goal unit!"

The funny thing was that I didn't mind when Lane watched football with me, but Matt just made it awkward. Once, he bought cheese dip and tortillas to watch "the big game" with us. He then would make comments like, "Yup, just sitting here, watching the game with my boys." Who SAYS that? It must have been the first and only time he was doing that, and he was fulfilling a lifelong dream.

You readers are probably judging me and saying things like "C'mon, Kent, he was just trying to be nice." Which is true. But when you have to live with a dude and he's ALWAYS trying to establish some sort of relationship with you, it starts to wear on you. If he talked to me about stuff that he knew about, like music, which he did at times, then I wouldn't find it annoying.

The absolute worst thing about Matt was that he came into the bathroom while I was in the shower. Our bathroom door didn't even close all the way, so there was no way I could lock him out. But almost every morning, he'd come in and do his hair while I was showering. It wouldn't have been so bad if he would've just did it and got out, but he liked to try to have conversations with me. I'm not much for talking in the morning, and I certainly didn't want to talk to my effeminate, annoying roommate through the shower curtain. This drove me absolutely bonkers.

Matt had a huge crush on our Bishop. He'd come home from church and just talk about him for hours. Matt just loved church in general. Once I came home from church, and he was already at home, watching General Conference DVDs on the couch. "Can't get enough church?" I'd snicker, and then go to my room, wondering if I was a bad person for not watching it with him. I concluded that I wasn't, but my snide remarks were certainly not helping. On the flip side, his spirituality was getting in the way of my football viewing!

Another time, I missed church because I was super tired and slept in. When Matt came home from church, I was on the couch playing Civilization IV, which he himself played. He then sent me an email about a Civilization Addiction group that I could get involved with. I'm not gonna lie, it was nice that he cared.

Matt also had a huge crush on Lane, similar to George Constanza and tough guy Tony. He went everywhere with Lane, made meals for him, etc. One Saturday in late October, I came home in the evening and Lane and Matt greeted me in the doorway. Matt asked me in a super-excited tone if I wanted to hang out with them that night. I asked what they were doing, and Lane shrugged his shoulders. Then, Matt suggested giddily, "We could go skinny-dipping in Walden Pond!" Lane rolled his eyes, and Matt whined, "Well, we gotta do SOMETHING!" Skinny-dipping with my effeminate roommate did not sound like a good time, so I said I was tired and went to my room. Poor Lane.

All in all, Matt is a great guy and genuinely cared about me, which is saying something because I pretty much ignored him. He moved out of our place that summer and into a pad in Cambridge with 3 other like-minded Mormons, and I'm sure he loved it. I thought I might get a cool replacement. Nope.

5. Christian

Christian was a former tight end for George Washington University. He was a big guy, super nice, and super old. And by super old, I mean 31, which, in Mormon Single Years, is practically dead (no offense, Brian!). He moved into our Somerville apartment for my second year, and I was relieved to not have to live with Matt anymore. Be careful what you wish for.

Christian was much worse than Matt. He was a complete slob. He filled up the freezer with his frozen foods, and then filled up the garbage can with the packaging from the frozen foods. He never did his dishes, never took out the trash, never did any cleaning of the communal areas, like the bathroom or the kitchen. I can't tell you how gross our bathroom was.

After a few months of taking out the trash every week, which was mostly full of his crap, I asked him to take out the trash. Which he did, right away. Then the next weeks I and our other roommate, Chris, took out the trash. It was then his turn again, so I decided to see if he would do it without me asking him. I wanted to see how overflowing the trash would get. That was a bad idea. Christian called my bluff and completely ignored the fact that it was heaping over. He started putting boxes next to the trash to put his garbage in it. I finally gave in and took out the trash. From then on, I just asked him to do it every few weeks, like I was his mother. If you remember back to your roommate days, asking a roommate who you barely talk with to do anything in the way of chores is extremely awkward. I hated doing it, so after a while, I just took out the trash for him.

Christian set his alarm for early in the AM, like 6 or something. He hit the snooze a few times, which didn't bother me because I was in the other room. What bothered me was that he would hit snooze and jump in the shower, or hit snooze and leave altogether. That resulted in me spending 10 minutes trying to sleep through the sound of an alarm in the next room, and then finally getting up to turn it off. I debated chucking the clock out the window.

Christian found out that we played basketball at the church every week, so he decided to come join us. He was really good and really big. About 6'4 and 225 pounds, he was much bigger than us regular-sized chumps. Sometimes I would have to guard him, and the guy would play NBA-style against me, using his body to dominate me and back me down in the post. I would employ the hack-a-Shaq defense and just foul him as hard as I could. He'd get so mad at me, once he even threw the ball at me. I didn't particularly blame him, because I was fouling him pretty badly. However, what am I supposed to do? Let him score every time? Anytime I have a much smaller guy defending me, I don't go straight to the post and push him around. There are unwritten rules of pick-up basketball, and one of them is that you don't push around the smaller guys. You also don't swat the shots of the 12-year olds that you need to get enough people. You also don't draw charges, And you need to shoot lots of threes.

6. The Dude (can't remember his name)

Both Christian and Chris sublet their rooms for the summer, starting in late May. I got married on June 21, so I only lived with this guy for 3 weeks, but it was enough to make it into my worst roommate list. The guy kept to himself, kept the place clean, and was pretty much ideal except for 1 very large problem: he smoked pot. All the time. He tried to keep it in his room, but it pretty much made the whole apartment smell. I didn't have to deal with it for very long, but it made every minute in the apartment a whole lot worse.

When the subletters moved out of the place at the end of the summer, I had to go back and clean the entire place. I asked for 75 bucks a piece from Chris and Christian to do the cleaning. I would've hired a cleaning service, but they don't remove junk. I ended up moving 15 bags of trash out of that place, and worked all day on it. And then I went home and told Melanie how glad that she was my roommate now. We've lived together for almost 4 years now, and she hasn't annoyed me once!

Fave TV shows

Okay, I'll say it: I watch a lot of TV. Judge all you want. It's cheap entertainment, and I love nothing more after work than crashing on the couch and watching some brainless tube. I've never been a reader, because it makes me so tired. If I got home from work at 7 and read a book, I'd go to sleep every night at 7:30. Here are my favorite comedies and dramas, and then least favorite shows, because I love ranking things and you love to read my rankings.

Top Comedies

1. Parks & Rec - Ron Swanson catapults this show to a whole different level. Everything he does is hilarious. Like The Office, the main character (Amy Poehler) is the least interesting/funny. By the same creators of The Office, I had high hopes for this show from the very beginning, knowing that there was a large chance it would be better than The Office, since they weren't encumbered with an inherited story.

2. Community - Every week I flip-flop between Community and Parks & Rec, I love them both so much. Community has the most clever writing, on parallel with #3 on this list, but funnier. I also have a crush on Annie.

3. How I Met Yer Ma - Despite its laughtrack, I've really found myself looking forward to this show. It's very well-written and clever. My favorite character is Robin. She's hilarious.

4. The Office - I can't wait until Michael leaves the show. The cringe factor is way too high when the story focuses on him, which it does most of the time. I think the most comedic potential lies in Andy, Dwight, and Darryl, which is why the episode at the Roller Skating Rink was so hilarious.

5. Big Bang Theory - At times predictable, but the dorks just found a place in my heart. It's always entertaining.

6. 30 Rock - Let's just admit that it's gotten pretty stale. Most episodes I chuckle a few times, tops. Rarely a moment where I have to rewind because I'm laughing too hard to hear the next joke.

7. Rules of Engagement - The first season was great, but now it's fairly predictable. However, Putty is worth the price of admission.

8. Modern Family - I find this more entertaining than ha-ha funny. It's a tad overrated, but overall, a good show

9. Cougar Town - I didn't think I'd like this show, but it's got a lot of "Scrubs" in it, with the same creator and all. Like #1 and #4 on the list, the main character isn't what makes the show good, it's the supporting cast.

10. I felt bad leaving "Cougar Town" last on the list, as if I barely like it enough to make the list, so I'm just putting a blank number 10 to represent all of the other shows that are too crappy to DVR. If I DVR a show, it means I like it. How much I like it depends on how fast I choose to watch it after it's been recorded.

Top Dramas

I love serial dramas, you know, the shows that don't end each week with a nice pretty bow on it and nothing changes from week to week. I like stories that require 15 episodes to tell. I like the character development that's required, and the writing that goes along with it. That's why I can't get into shows like "Monk" or "White Collar" or anything on USA, really. Sure, they're entertaining for a few episodes, but then they all kind of blur together after a while.

1. Friday Night Lights - This was a great show. Most fans were sad to see it go, but I thought it was the right time. The best season was season 4, when East Dillon won only one game, but against their cross-town rivals. Season 5, the last one, was pretty good, but I think if they tried to continue the series it would've just gotten stale and repetitive. It enabled the show to have a perfect ending, which it did. I think good shows know when to call it quits. Unfortch, The Simpsons just don't know the meaning of the word.

2. Justified - I've always loved One Man Against Everybody shows. Die Hard, Blade, Payback - those are some of the great OMAE movies. I remember secretly watching Die Hard 2 in the dining room on our 13" TV while my parents read newspapers in the next room, volume set to 1/16 of an inch above mute, my hand holding the power cord in case I heard footsteps, because the power button didn't work. I loved how Bruce Willis saved the airport from the terrorists, then put them on a plane that he blew up as it took off. "Yippee Kaiyay, Mister Falcon" is what the TV-edited version said as the plane blew up. Coolest. Movie. Ever. Especially for an entertainment-starved adolescent. I went downstairs immediately and made up Die Hard scenarios with my Chuck Norris action figure against 50 bad guys. Yes, I was too old for it. So what?
Well, Justified is a great OMAE show. I would even consider putting it above FNL if there was more than one season of it. The first season had an awesome pilot, then the next couple of episodes didn't really follow a serial arc, so I lost a bit of interest. Then the last 6 or so episodes did, and it involved a lot of Timothy Olyphant being awesome and killing bad dudes and being awesome some more, so I was hooked. I hope Season 2 has another serial arc as well-written and intense as the first one.

3. Mad Men - I didn't much care for the last season, but the character development is so well-done that Mad Men just never fails to rope me in. I keep wishing for Don to make good decisions, however, but he never does. I guess that's not "who he is". May we all learn from Don Draper's mistakes. Plus, he's such an awesome businessman, it's fun to watch.

4. Breaking Bad - This show just makes me nervous. I watch each episode scared, not because it's a horror, but because it's so intense. Will Walt get away with it? Will Jesse do what's right? Will they evade the super bad guys of the drug cartel? Nervousness!

5. Lights Out - This is a new show with an intriguing serial arc. It always takes a few shows to build the story in these types of shows, which is why they fail to sell to the masses: America doesn't have the patience to wait for a story to develop. However, I've committed to the show after the 4th episode, which featured the main dude having to beat an MMA fighter to save his brother's life. This isn't a show about boxing, just like FNL isn't a show about football. I don't even like boxing.

6. House - I haven't really been watching this, I only like to see how the characters' stories progress. I can't stand the premise, every episode is exactly the same: Guy has a weird disease. They think it's lupus. Then something crazy happens. So now they think it's hepatitis. Then something TOTALLY crazy happens. Then House figures it out and that's that. It's only entertaining because House is a jerk and the acting is good. Plus, I needed to have something here so that "Lights Out" wasn't last.


Most Hated Shows

1. American Idol - I fail to understand the appeal for more than 1 or 2 seasons. What's the difference between this and karaoke? I've watched it a few times and was bored out of my mind.

2. Glee - I decided to watch a full episode so I could say I hated it with more of a foundation than "I hate it cause it looks stupid." Turns out I didn't need more of a foundation, the show was just as stupid as it looked. And they call it a comedy? Unintentional, maybe. I guess it's just not my thang.

3. Any CSI or CBS crime drama - I watched a few CSI's with Mel at the beginning, then realized they were all the same. I guess I don't understand why people are fascinated with the same exact plot every week: Gruesome murder, find a ridiculously impossible clue, chase a few leads, find the right sicko, then catch him in a dramatic ending. I guess old people like this trash, reminds them of the good ol' days and makes them paranoid.

4. Any competitive cooking show. I didn't mind them at the beginning, but Mel loves them so I just got really sick of them and those stupid British judges. What is the deal with the need to have a British judge? I just hate all the judges. I'd like to see the judges compete for a show or 2 and have the contestants judge them. Like has Simon Cowell ever sang in front of an audience?

5. Any competitive reality show with judges, really. And the more dancing/show tunes/celebrities are involved, the more I hate it. Women try to make the same argument about sports, but, come on, sports are so much less contrived than this garbage. I don't even watch figure skating or gymnastics in the Olympics, because I don't like sports that require judging.

6. Private Practice and "Grey's" - Mel loves these shows, but they are just too ridiculously over the top for me. People getting married/divorced every other episode. Crazy weird hospital drama with more weird medical emergencies in a season than a regular hospital would see in 20 years. Psychos with ridiculous emotional problems and unbelievable back stories. I can stomach these shows for a season or 2, but no more. I force Mel to watch them on her computer, because we have other shows on Thursday nights to record.

So those shows are pretty much how I spend my weeknights. When none of the above shows have new episodes, I watch "House Hunters", "Entourage", or "Curb Your Enthusiasm". And let's not forget the plethora of kids' shows when Hendrik gets his TV time, but that's a whole other post.

Ode to the train

One of the things I love about living near Boston is that I get to ride the train as my commute. Since I've lived here, I've taken everything except a boat to work:

1. Car - When I lived in Somerville and Allston (only a couple miles outside Boston), I drove in. Parking was about 10 bucks a day and the walk from the lot was about 15 minutes. The actual door-to-door time was betwixt 30 and 40 minutes.

2. Bike - I gave the bike a try in Somerville. It was about 15-20 minutes in, mostly downhill, but 30 minutes back, mostly uphill. The problem with this was the shower schedule. I arrived sweaty and puddly (you know, from being splashed or doing the splashing of puddles), so I had to shower in the "shower room", which was on the 10th floor of my building. It was this tiny closet of a room, across the hall from an audit room, so walking from my desk on the 6th floor to the 10th in dirty shorts and a stinky shirt got a little too embarrassing for me. Also, the uphill ride after a tiring day at work was not ideal so I gave that up after a couple of months.

3. T train - I rode this for a year after we got married when we lived in Melrose. This took about 35 minutes door to door usually, but in some cases it took 90 minutes. There are 2 types of T trains in Boston:

a. T train (regular) - These are subway trains, but really old. These are always packed with commuters, but there are enough weirdos and hippies and other smelly people from Cambridge to ruin the ride. You only need a couple of the riffraff to spoil an otherwise mediocre ride. Also, if you get a seat, the ride is 10 times better, but of course, you can't get a seat without mowing down some old people first, ala George Constanza running from a fire. Another problem with the T is that the tracks and trains are so old and inefficient that almost every day there's a "disabled" train, which means that every train in the city has to sit in place for about an hour, which turns passengers as claustrophobic as Elaine Benes (continuing with our Seinfeld theme). There is nothing worse than this. Once, to avoid standing indefinitely on the train, I ended up walking 5 miles home. Even though it took much longer than waiting for the train, I didn't regret it.

b. T train (Green Line) - They pretend this is a train, but it's really just a tram that goes underground. This insufferable line only goes underground in downtown, but then it goes above ground and that's when it gets bad. Stops are about every block, and it has to wait for traffic lights, and really isn't much better than a bus. These get unbearably packed during rush hour and it pretty much takes 45 minutes to go about 5 miles. I've never had to ride this on a daily basis, but I've ridden it enough to despise its very existence.

4. Bus - The all-time worst form of public transportation. They seem to have stops every 100 feet, I always get sick on them, and the smelly-to-normal ratio is dangerously high. They are never on time, unless of course you're late by a couple of minutes. I only did this for a little while in Somerville, taking the bus to catch the Red Line in, but I hated it. It added 30 minutes to my commute and only cost 4 dollars less than parking.

5. Commuter Rail - The topic of the post! I've been riding this for almost 3 years, and I didn't like it as much at first, but I've really grown to love it.

a. It's much better than driving because you can read, write blog posts, sleep, or do work on the train. Also, the door-to-door is around 55 minutes, and driving alone is about 70-90 minutes, and carpooling it's 60-70 minutes. It costs 6.25 each way, so 12.50 a day, which is about what gas and parking cost. The only plus to driving is the flexibility of leaving whenever you want, but if you have to deal with rush hour traffic, it's no comparison.

b. It's also much better than the T, which isn't an option anyway where we live, but I would gladly give up the 20 minutes each way for the comfort of the commuter rail. Not only do I always get a seat, sometimes I get my own BENCH. On the commuter train, there's a 3-seat bench on one side, and 2 seaters on the other.
Depending on the train I take, I have a strategy for each day. See, you can't sit in the 2-seaters on a busy day because there's a high chance that someone will scootch on in and you'll be touching rumps for the better part of an hour. But sitting in a 2-seater by yourself is better than sharing one end of a 3-seater (aisle or window), because you have more privacy, and you don't have to worry about accidentally putting your foot on their bag or something. Of course, the most desirable spot is getting a 3-seater all to yourself because then you can lie down and take a nap much easier. The absolute worst is when the train is so crowded you have 3 people on a 3-seater, and then it just feels like a clown car.
On the Monday morning train, I sit on one end of the 3-seater, preferably the window seat, because sitting in a 2-seater is too risky, I'll probably have to share it when more people get on. Tuesday through Thursday I get a 2-seater, and then on Friday I take a 3-seater in the middle of the train because the chances of getting it to myself are high. Coming home on the 5:38 is always a tough choice: Do I risk sharing a 2-seater and go with the guaranteed space of one side of a 3-seater, or do I go for the glory and get my own 2-seater? Usually, I go for the 3-seater, because sharing a 2-seater is just too risky. Coming home on the 6:20 and later is usually a pretty good chance I'll get my own 3-seater, so that's always nice. Except today, we got the oldest train available, I'm pretty sure I saw the conductor come by with a wheel full of coal. Usually we have double-decker trains, but not this train. Single deckers are the worst! Loud, uncomfortable, and crowded. There is no redeeming quality about single decker cars.

c. The train is obviously much better than the bus, if for the sole reason that it's so smooth. You can read books without getting sick and there's rarely a smelly person on. Sometimes, however, someone gets on with a meal they bought at South Station, and the whole train smells like fatty food. This is torture for a hungry person coming home on the 7:30 train. I'd almost rather sit next to Mr. Urine, the guy who rides the bus all day while mumbling to himself.

d. One of my favorite things about the train is that we don't have to buy a 2nd car. Sure, sometimes it's inconvenient that we only have 1 car, but, more often than not it works to our advantage: "I'd love to go to that superfluous church meeting on a Saturday, but Melanie needs the car then." Brilliant!

All things considered, I'd much rather have a 10 minute commute to work like my dad does (or a 0 minute commute like my mom), but this is where my job is and so I figure I'll make the best of it. Since most of you don't ride a train every day, I wanted you to get a taste of the train commuter.

Annual BCS bashing

I was going to harp on all the big sports media outlets for not really stepping up and calling out the cruddiness of the BCS, but in November, SI came out with an expose that was well-written and boisterously against the BCS, so I couldn't complain.

However, I still feel like I owe Kurt my annual post about my/our hatred of the BCS. This year is the year that the BCS looks the best, because it's clearly no argument that Oregon and Auburn are the best teams, as they are the only 2 undefeated teams. Well, except TCU, but they're from a crappy conference and we all know that teams from crappy conferences, no matter how good that particular team is, can never beat the best teams from the BCS conferences:

2008: #7 Utah 31, #4 Alabama 17
2006: #9 Boise St 43, #7 Oklahoma 42

Clearly TCU wouldn't stand a chance against Auburn or Oregon, so let's just forget about it. When the Frogs beat Wisconsin by a couple of touchdowns, we'll know that there's no way that would've happened against Auburn or Oregon as well. So the BCS worked out perfectly this year. They got it right.

I have to give Mark Cuban major props for trying to get some change done the old-fashioned way. It's pretty easy to find BCS-haters nowadays. When I wrote my first post, I had to search and search for anti-BCS anything, and it was scarce and never from any main media outlets. Now all you have to do is a search on "BCS Bill Hancock" and you'll get pages of articles detailing the secrecy and hypocrisy of director Bill Hancock's work as directory and weak defenses of criticism.

Anyway, I have a lot of faith in Mark Cuban. A lot of people dislike him, I love him. I won't defend everything that he does or says, but I like his enthusiasm and determination to follow his own path despite the constant media mockery. And if he takes down the BCS with this current "business idea", then he'll be my hero. Of course, the meathead college football announcers at ESPN like Jesse Palmer mocked him, but that won't stop him. 95% of America wants a playoff, and by gum, we'll get our playoff before this century's done. The other 5% of America are old geezers who think these new plastic helmets are for wimps, Army is still a national power, and that FDR just barely died.

BCS Director Bill Hancock's main defense of the BCS focuses on its popularity. It's true, the BCS championship games get more viewers than most sports finales. However, it is not BECAUSE of the BCS that it gets so many viewers, it is in SPITE of the BCS. Football is America's sport, and we love it. We watch football because we like the strategy, the intensity, the battles of strength vs wit vs speed vs surprise. We love the deep pass, the big hit, the 4th-and-short, and the crushing block. We love football because we invented it. It's our baby, and soccer can get pretty tedious. College football exists in every corner of the land. You can pick your local team or your father's team or your enemy's rival team. We watch because we have to, it's in our blood. It's the only sport on during the dark, cold days of Christmas break, where we don't have work but also don't have anything to do. College football is a great product, and it might even surpass the popularity of the NFL if it had a playoff.

Pointing to its popularity as proof that "the system" works is like the producers of The Office attributing good ratings because of Michael Scott. This couldn't be further from the truth: people watch the show for all of the other characters and The Office's popularity is in spite of Michael Scott.

Let's also stop pretending that the main interest of the BCS is the student-athletes. If not for the millions of fans, college football would be like every other college sport, like volleyball. If only a handful of people cared about each game, then I guarantee there would be a playoff. The way Bill Hancock talks about it, the bowls just want the student-athletes to have a great time at their bowl game, and to heck with the fans.

Well, I'm going to keep it short this year. There are much better articles out there that skewer the BCS much better than I ever have, but for those of you who don't want to read them, just take my word for it: The BCS is evil. Secret combinations abound. Don't you stand for it, not for one second.