Game On: Week of Jan. 25

Here is my recent column reviewing Trine 2: Director's Cut and Black Knight Sword. Thanks to the NJ Herald papers for publishing.

  

Friday Funnies

Can't explain it, but for some reason I had a dream about watching this cartoon last night. I've always been a big Goofy fan, and I still drink water from the Goofy mug I bought nearly 20 years ago. So on this cold, wintry day in DC, Let's all spend a few minutes laughing at Goofy in the Olympics from 1942.

My 10 Tears of Remembering

Ten years ago, on July 23, 2003, the darkest day of my life happened. That was the night I got the call from my mother that my dad had died.

It's been 10 years. Damn. I hate even thinking it's been longer than one year.

I'm going to do my best not to attempt stunning prose (because I will fail miserably). I'm not writing about this as some form of therapy (because I never went the therapy route and never wanted to ... welcome to my life of eternal internalization). No, I'm just going to try to share and relive some memories on the 23rd of each month this year because by the time July 23 rolls around, I want to try and think of something, anything, other than that horrible day that ruined me in so many ways.

I don't have a set schedule of topics. I was trying last week to be witty and come up with a set post idea (Sports, UK, food, movies, etc) but I found that either the topics overlap or in some cases (Sports) my fingers would likely fall off before I finished writing it. Instead I'm just going to throw out some stuff and see what sticks. I'll try and stick to a narrative or theme if I can, but there's just no telling where a particular entry may wander to.

As this is the initial setup post, I'll briefly talk about my flight of fancy or lunacy, depending on how you take it.

About six years ago I jotted down some notes (now unfortunately lost) in what I'd hoped would be an outline of a memoir of sorts. It would have been, more or less, just about me and my dad. The peg would be that I would run a marathon, and I'd recall past memories of my dad while interspersing bits about how insanely stupid it is for me to try and run a full marathon thinking that this was a sound reason to think I could live just one day longer than him.

He was 53, and I retain this "think about it every day" fear that I'm going to shuffle off this mortal coil at the same age. The men in my family lineage haven't always stuck around very long (Campbell and Duffy women, however, are epic long-lasters, so my sister is in luck). This fear has shaped a lot of decisions that have affected not only myself but with the wife and so on. For one thing, I sure as shit go to the doctor a lot more often, and read more articles about coronary health than I probably should.

Shocking no one, sports was a big connector for my dad and I. So unless I can conjure up some golf-related way of honoring him (I've had thoughts but other than shooting in the 70s I can't think of much else), I thought maybe something like running a marathon would be cool. It would mean me getting on a better path to healthiness and also conquer something that feels scary (it's 26 freaking miles of running nonstop) and satisfying (did I mention its 26 freaking miles?) all at the same time. To document my prep for such a thing and actually do it and blend that in with memories of my dad could be something worthwhile, if even for myself.

I have no talent for writing long form, but I figured at worst I knew a couple people who are stronger writers than me who could help if it ever came to fruition. But then I lost the outline and haven't tried again since. Hell, the content may only fill up 50 pages so it could make a nice novella for someone to use as kindling when the zombie apocalypse arrives.

And with that, I'll close out this initial post, but there are at least 11 more to come. If I'm smart, I'll sprinkle a few smaller ones in here and there just for good measure. And speaking of good measure, I'll let you all in on classic memory. My dad loved the movie Scrooged. Sure, everyone loves it, but he loved it above all else for the ending. I'm a bit of a scrooge when it comes to birthdays and holidays. He'd sit and rewind and re-watch the final 10 minutes more often than I can count. He showed a hard exterior but inside he was a hopeless sap just like his son.

Maybe one day I'll take a long vacation and try to rediscover that outline. Maybe I'll do it just for the sake of myself, to try and remember as much as I can so I don't forget things. It's the least I could do for someone I so desperately have missed for the last 10 years.

Game On: Week of Jan. 18

My recent column reviewing DmC: Devil May Cry and Little Inferno. Thanks to the San Angelo Standard-Times and the North Jersey papers for publishing.

  

Friday Funnies

No joke, I was fooled. I saw trailers for Ted and thought it looked funny, but figured the best parts were in the trailer. I've been burnt too many times.

But damnit, this movie is hilarious. It features two hours of one of my favorite things: Animal humor. Love it. Always comes through for me, no matter how many times I see it. And this time, the animal humor is a teddy bear that comes to life and grows into a classic Boston wiseass.

Can't recommend this movie enough, even when it gets into the usual emotional BS at the 3/4 mark. But there are some surprising performances that show up, especially from Giovanni Ribisi. But anyway, let's focus on the funny, because it's everywhere.

My Naked Wrist

Tonight is the first time in more than five years that I no longer have this LiveStrong band on my wrist. Weird seeing it not there any longer, not making sure it didn't come off, not fiddling with it when in discussion or when thinking (toying with it like a nervous tic).

In fact, it may be more than five years. Maybe more than six. It's been on my wrist so long (through every shower, sleep, meal, sport or whatever I've done, I never took it off) I honestly don't remember when I actually put it on.

I'm guessing it has to be close to six years, perhaps a bit longer. I know because when my original one broke, I bought two replacements thinking they maybe snapped more often than I thought they would. I still have the other one in the package. That was when the wife and I were still living in Cleveland Park and before we were even married, so you see, it's been a long time since my left wrist has not had a twinge of yellow to it.

I didn't start wearing it because I had contracted cancer, nor was it just because I watch a lot of Tour de France and got swept up in the marketing of it all. I did it because I have family members who had cancer and so I started donating to a lot of those cancer-fighting organizations, one of which being LiveStrong. I also didn't want to end up wearing 75 colored bands on my arm like some creepy high school sex clique, so I settled on just the one.

In the past year I've been surprised by all the questions I was asked by friends about whether I'd keep wearing the bracelet after all fresh evidence and allegations started coming in against Armstrong. My initial defense was, "well, he never failed a test, so how can I judge the man?" despite me being a rational enough human being to recognize he was most likely guilty of just being better at beating the tests than the tests were at catching him.

I could have taken it off months ago. I could have taken it off when he finally admitted via press releases that he'd cheated and all the medals and accolades were stripped from him. I instead decided to wait until he spoke the damn words himself, and while I won't both watching Oprah, I decided that after tonight I couldn't come up with a good enough excuse to keep wearing it anymore.

I'm not ashamed that I can still watch replays of Lance's big racing moments and feel the excitement of it. In some ways, I just can't separate the impressive feat of it no matter if he cheated or not. If we're to believe it, more than half of the cyclists in his time were doping, which means if it was a somewhat level playing field, he's still kicking everyone's ass year after year. Now, that logic probably holds zero weight and I know it, but I guess when you've watched a group of guys pedal 40 miles straight uphill in rain and snow, you're just left impressed and everything else be damned.

It wasn't about the supporting the cause anymore. I can send money to whomever or whatever cause I want and still be a supporter. I just finally reached the point where seeing the band made me think more about Armstrong than it did my family and the chance to end a ridiculously horrible disease that has claimed the lives of people I've known and afflicted others. The band became more about them than the man who started it and the specific disease, it just became (for me) about constantly saying Fuck You to cancer.

I still say it, and now I probably don't need a band on my wrist to remind me anymore.

My Sister's Not-So-Secret Food Joy

One of the surprises of this recent holiday break was learning one of my sister's food crushes. Girl loves herself some White Castle. Needless to say, I was both stunned and proud.

As someone who admittedly ate quite a fair share of those greasy, oniony, grilled burgery delights. Let's be clear, the things are damn delicious. They get you thinking things you wouldn't dream of doing, but you suddenly find yourself talking to yourself not unlike this:



Believe me, this is real. Anyway, I was not only shocked to hear her talk about her trips to White Castle when she's back in Louisville (poor Denver is not blessed with the shining white beacon on a dark, desolate street), but that she likes it so much that someone gives her gift certificates so she can eat them for free. Outstanding.

So before she left on her flight we took 30 minutes to drive down the road and sit at the grimy counter and chow down a four-pack. Being the first time I can remember eating a White Castle burger in probably 10 years, holy crap if they were not spectacular. I was shocked by how "nice" and "clean" the White Castle establishments have tried to become. I appreciated the dirty, nasty floors and the grease-stained window where you stood and watched these ladies cook 40 or so of these burgers at once. It's less depraved in appearance but the clientele are still the same.

We laughed when a guy in front of us in line gave us a well-reasoned pitch on which combo packs to order so that we could best maximize the money on her gift certificate. I even snapped a great picture of her proving her devotion to the White Castle cause.

And when we sat down, I loved every bite, and I even ate mine faster than her.

Friday Funnies

Over the holiday break the wife and I took in the movie version of Les Miserables, because nothing says Christmas like rape, prostitution, violence against children, and a heavy-handed dose of god, all with musical accompaniment.

Naturally, afterward the wife several times muttered to me, "Vive la revolution!" And instead of smiling and thinking about the movie we just saw, I smiled and thought of Christophe, from the South Park movie.