Late Fall Dodgeball - Week Four: They Say I Walk Around Like I Got an "S" on My Chest.

I don't know what that means.

Since my honeymoon's officially over, my wife has surreptitiously begun the inevitable course of action that all wives eventually take (or so I've heard): distancing herself from me. This means she rarely comes out to support me in my sporting endeavors anymore, and as a result, the internet is left sadly devoid of action-packed videos of Team Awesome bustin' heads. Instead, you get a photo that I snapped of my teammates in between matches, simultaneously milling about and buttering up the ref. We've always got our eyes on the prize.

Unfortunately, we took our eyes off of it just long enough to lose our first match of the night this week. This damn Green Team. Thankfully, we've learned to like them (or at least I have), so any losses we incur at their expense aren't nearly as painful as they once were. But they still hurt. We gave 'em a pretty good run for a little while, but they pulled ahead mid-match and there was no turning back.

It didn't help that we were without Mike, our resident tall dude/intimidator/target. With him out of the mix this week, it seemed many eyes were focused on yours truly. Or maybe I just sucked really bad this week. Either way, I had a lot of opposing players ganging up on me, giving me the ol' "let's both bean him at the same time" routine. Annoyingly, it worked quite a few times, especially in our first match. I was on the sidelines much more than I wanted to be. Part of my problem is my over-eagerness (I have a tendency to rush the mid-line and just start firing), and part of my problem is just not catching balls that I should. Or, trying to catch balls that I shouldn't. What can I say? I go for the big plays, and look quite stupid when I fail at them. It's the story of my life.

Our second match was much better, mostly because we won. We played a team that looked slightly familiar, and though they seemed nice enough, they were spazzes of the highest order, which made the entire affair a free-for-all of head shots and errant tosses. (Coming from their side.) Though I don't know if "head shots" is even the proper term. They would have been head shots had any of us been on one another's shoulders, standing on stilts, or if Manute Bol had been subbing on our team, which I keep bugging him to do. Come on, Manute, you owe me one.

Anyway, I think a few people may have taken shots to the noggin, but I also knocked the wind out of a couple of their more petite gals with my rifle-like cannon of an arm, so we'll call it tit for tat. (Insert your own joke about me beaning one of the girls in the boob here.) It's always odd playing against a team that's so out of control. In a way, it's good, because they leave themselves so open to being hit that it's not really difficult to knock them out. But, their throws are so inconsistent and their bodily motions are so jerky and awkward – you just don't know where they're coming from. I usually just try to pick off the people in the back who think they're safe. Here's the thing, though: they're not.

We have moved snugly into third place, which ain't a bad place to be, because we've already played two of the three top teams (two teams are tied for second), and the last third of our schedule isn't looking as rough a the first two were. Famous last words, I know.

Standings are here. We're already down to the last two weeks. Oh, how the time flies when your thoughts are filled with shattering capillaries.

Late Fall Dodgeball - Week Three: The Villains in Black.

.

We would make MC Ren proud.

Maybe teams are just gunning for us because we are the defending champions. Maybe they just hate our ugly mugs. Who knows. But one thing is clear: opposing squads are coming at us with a viciousness that is teeth-showingly apparent as soon as the first whistle blows. Thankfully, we've been up to the task. This week wasn't as drama-free as we'd like, but there were no major incidents. Unless you count me repeatedly pegging people in the knees. That was a common occurrence - one that, for me, never fails to bring exquisite pleasure. For the person on the other end of it, it never fails to bring ice packs and post-match web searches for low-cost knee replacement surgery. Just don't expect me to pony up the dough, you sissies.

Our first match this week was against a team that I'm fairly certain we had never played before. In fact, I'm pretty sure this is their first dodgeball season, because they seemed to struggle with the concept of leaving the court once you get hit. It made no difference, we trounced 'em anyway. But not without me having a few choice words with a chap who I clearly (and audibly) hit on the leg (or at least the shorts). I threw a dart between his legs, heard that sweet sound of contact, and scurried for another ball. I reached down, grabbed it, looked up, and he was still standing there.

"Excuse me, good sir," I offered politely. "Doth my ears and eyes deceive me? For I am quite certain that the ball I most recently hurled with much velocity in your direction did indeed hit its mark. Pray tell, am I mistaken?"

"It went between my legs, dude," he replied.

"Ah," I continued. "If that is your chosen story, I do believe it to be a whimsical one, and quite flimsy to boot. But I am a gentleman, and I dare not quarrel whenst upon this regal court of play. Let us continue, but be forewarned: I shall henceforth resign from any acts of mercy or good nature, and instead opt to immerse myself in a lunacy-ridden mission to make these remaining 16 minutes of play a living hell for you. When I am good and finished, you will wonder from what part of Lucifer a heart as black as mine was carved. I will, old chum, make you wish you had remained at your dilapidated homestead and never made the hasty error of setting foot in this most hallowed of ball-dodging establishments. Let us carry on, then!"

Later in the match he drilled me in the face and I caught it. And he looked like he was going to start crying. It was awesome. On top of that, we walked away with an 8-1 victory. There's nothing like beating teams to let them know you're a winner.



The next team we played was one who we were at least partially familiar with. I think one team split into two teams, and this is one of those teams. Anyway, they're a streaky bunch, but have a few players who can definitely hold their own. I get the vibe they don't care for us very much, but like I said, I'm getting that vibe from everybody lately. Looking back, I always didn't really care for the team that won the championship, so it makes sense. The fact that we're all prime physical specimens, the likes of which are rarely seen outside of fitness magazines, might also be a factor. I mean, come on: you don't think we hear the whispers? The rumors of performance-enhancing drug use? We may be muscle-bound and glistening, but we're not deaf.

Anyway. The match was an intense one, and seemed really short for some reason. And though it was well-played by both sides, if you wanted to be completely accurate, you'd have to say it was better-played by our side. Because we won. 5-1. And I caught the shit out of some balls and really frustrated some people.

This is what I do.

Standings are here. Second place, with a match against our arch rivals, the first-place Green Team, coming next week. Shit's gonna be wild, yo.

Still working on uploading old videos to Vimeo. Just haven't done it yet.

Late Fall Dodgeball - Week Two: They're Heating Up...

Sadly, no game-time photos or videos were taken this week, so you'll have to settle for this photo I snapped of us standing around before our first match. You should be able to sufficiently glean the palpable intensity that surrounds us.

I ain't gonna lie: this week felt good. After a shaky start last time around, I think we were all in the mood for a little ol' fashioned confidence-boosting. During my usual on-the-way-to-the-gym routine of chugging Diet Rockstar and listening to G-Unit at peak volumes, I blew past cars on the freeway and remained focused on one goal: walking away from our set of matches certain that at least one of our opponents was going to have to make a stop at the pharmacy that night for Tylenol, an ice pack, and possibly a gurney. They might also choose to contact their lawyer to get a will in order before a rematch occurs. Anyway, these thoughts were preparing me, in a roundabout way, for victory. And no less than two would do.

We looked strong from the opening. We were playing a team who I'm pretty sure we had played last season, but in case there was any question about who the returning champions were, we made it crystal clear by taking a decisive 8-0 lead. They got one back (which resulted in quite a hullabaloo from their players), we took one more, and we walked away with a 9-1 victory. They took the merciless beating in stride, and I'm happy to say there were no outbursts. But, one of their girls did look like she was going to cry when I almost took her hip off with a pinpoint-accurate throw of missile-like velocity. I would have offered her a tissue, but I am completely devoid of compassion and most other human emotions.

Our second match was a lopsided one, with our opposition only fielding five players, one of whom appeared to be a hastily-acquired sub. Apparently this gave us the green light to not take them seriously, and before we knew it we found ourselves embroiled in a 2-2 tie. I called a huddle, threatened my teammates and their loved ones with unspeakable acts of violence, and we skated to a 7-2 victory. You just have to know how to motivate 'em.

To the girl I pegged in the ovaries: the look that shot across your face as the ball I threw made contact with your reproductive organs has been burned into my memory for all of eternity. And I thank you for that. I hope I didn't knock anything loose.

Standings are here. All of a sudden we're in second place. I like it.

More House.

The Bot is sad that the faucet in the tub isn't leaking anymore.

He's the only one.

This weekend, with major assistance from my father-in-law, I not only fixed the constant leaking of the tub faucet, but fixed the water-shooting-out-of-the-faucet-when-the-shower's-going problem as well. The Bot is standing next to the new faucet (with spiffy new knobs), wondering why there's not a steady stream of hot water for him to stick his mouth under anymore. I'm taking the photo, wondering if my water bill's going to be bigger than it should be because of all that hot water that went down the drain these past two weeks.

Whatever: the damn thing is good as new now, and we even installed a new shower head for good measure. Observe.

Old crappy yellowed plastic Water Pik:

Sleek new chrome model, resembling a futuristic sports car:

The water pressure's still not quite where we would want it to be, but it's improved. And we're picky about our showers. I like it to leave a mark. That ain't happening with this one, but it's definitely getting the soap out of my back hair, and that's the most important thing.

I won't bore you with the details of the Saturday spent accomplishing this, but it was an ordeal. We went back and forth to Home Depot five times before we finally got everything working right. First we needed a tool to reach the valve that turned the water to the house off (which I never would have found without help, btw). Then we needed a pipe wrench. Then we needed a new spigot and knobs. Then we needed gaskets. Then the knobs weren't the right ones. There was something else in there, too.

But, it was a day well spent. We're going to fix the jacked-up door in the bathroom next weekend, and I'll try to do a better job of documenting that. There's going to be a circular saw involved, so it promises to be some big time stuff. Luckily I still have my goggles from my belt sander expedition. You can never be too careful.

In other news, if anyone has a pair of 60W 17.75" Lumiline bulbs, I could really use those. Hook me up.

In additional news, I bought this today:
So I'll see you in a month or two.

The Films of Judy Greer, Part Ten: What Women Want (2000)

I knew it would come to this, but I didn't realize I would feel so stupid about actually sitting through crap like this. Parked on the couch late at night, alone, watching What Women Want didn't exactly make me feel like I should have been clad in a ratty nightgown cradling a bucket of Bon Bons, but it was as close as I've been to feeling like that in a while.

The fact that the flick was over two hours long did not make things any easier. At around the 90 minute mark I assumed they should have been wrapping things up, but I could tell they weren't even close. There were way too many questions left to be answered – like how Mel Gibson was going to magically not hear the voices of women thinking anymore, and how I was going to live with myself after sitting through the entirety of this schlock fest.

Well, Mel finally got mildly shocked by a down power line or some shit, and I fended off being consumed by dark shame by laughing at how utterly misogynistic this movie was, which was sad considering that women I respect like Ms. Greer and Ana Gasteyer were in it, but also ridiculous because it seemed to be done under the guise of being empowering. I guess when your film is directed by a woman, It's OK to have every thought coming out of the women's mind in the film revolve around calories or self-obsessive lunacy. I mean, come fucking on.

This movie is what is wrong with society.

Anywho, Greer plays Erin, a suicidal mail girl who works for Gibson's character's company. Throughout the film she contemplates killing herself, Mel hears her, and of course, he saves her towards the end of the film by offering her a better job. She looks pale and miserable throughout the movie, which is not a stretch for her. It's part of her appeal, people.

Is Helen Hunt too old to be in movies now? You don't see a lot of her these days.

Late Fall Dodgeball - Week One: It's Time to Defend the Crown.

And we didn't do a very strong job of it the first night out. But, we had to lose sometime. And as usual, we did it in the first game of the season. I'll get to that.

First, I want to mention that I'm really looking forward to the league this time around. It looks like there's a good mix of old and new faces, and some solid competition as always. Plus, I got a new pair of sneakers for the season, so I'm content. (It was my championship gift to myself.) Clearly though, we are the team to aim for. Joy heard a girl on one of the other teams, while she was watching us, say (and I'm not kidding): "I think if I saw Team Awesome walking down the street I'd cross to the other side. They're intimidating!" You got that right, sista. Now step on the court so I can peg you in the cervix.

Anyway, yes, it's going to be a great season. We've already won our championship, so I hope we can just have a good time and not worry too much about winning or losing. Easier said than done, I know. I always tell myself to be lighthearted about the whole thing, but when the balls start whizzing by, I go into a trance-like state where all I envision is one of the foam balls crushing some squirrely dude's skull. It often works to my advantage.

On to the matches. We lost our first one. Just flat-out lost it. We played pretty well, but in the end, we got straight-up beat. It was against a team who we knocked out of the playoffs on our way to the championship a few weeks back, and they were thirsty for revenge. We weren't playing with the same vigor. So, good for them. They got what they wanted, we got snapped back to the reality of losing after closing last season with so many wins, and we realized quickly that if everyone is going to be gunning for us like that team was, it may be time to finally nut up and look into the oft-discussed anabolic steroids.

But, that would have to wait until after our second match. As usual, we were warmed up and slightly angry at losing our first game of the season. It was enough to propel us to victory in the second half of the evening, but we were right: teams are taking us very seriously. Whether this enhances their ability to get hit and not go out, we may never be 100% certain, but it sure seems that way. I hit this girl in the hip, and she must have been practicing her routine in the mirror before she drove to the gym, because it was timed quite nicely. She gave a big dramatic wipe of her brow and a simultaneous "wheew!" (like, "Wow, that just missed me!), and just kept on playing. It was not cool. Thankfully, we won the game, but it reminded me of what riles me in our matches. It's not the winning or losing, it's the opposition's weasling. Their dishonesty. Their ability to ignore the sound we all heard when in fact, it emanated from their person.

Whatever. We won. But the other team played crazy hard. They also took a bunch of balls I threw crazy hard in the thighs and sternum. There were some tense moments because they seem to have some whiners on their team, but when you hit somebody so hard that the ball bounces up and hits one of the light fixtures rigged to the gym ceiling, it shuts 'em up pretty quick. And off to the sidelines they go.

Standings are here.

The video is from our first match, showing one of the better games we played. Make sure to watch for Katie hitting Joy while she's filming. Now that's action.

Also - I'm trying out Vimeo. The video's better, yes?

House.

Yup, we bought one.

After about a year and a half of plotting and planning, we finally sealed the deal. The home-buying process was a painful one, so much so that I don't really even want to speak of it ever again. It really tried my patience. I'll just leave it at that. But fuck it; we are now in our new place, so the road we took to get here doesn't seem so important anymore.

I have done a monumentally terrible job of documenting our moving in/first round of remodeling and repairs, so I'm just going to go through what I've got on my phone. That picture up there is the keys to our house two minutes after I got 'em from the title place. After all the invasive documentation we had to provide to get the loan for this house (check stubs were a hot commodity every two weeks), walking into the title place and having them hand me the keys without questioning for a second that I was who I claimed to be was just too perfect. It was the only easy thing about buying this damn house.

Speaking of the house, it is awesome. It was built in 1953, and has retained a lot of (what I assume to be) the original accouterments (yeah, I'm using that word) from that era. This was really important to Joy and I, as nothing bugs us more than people going into a place that has a lot of character and ripping it all out to bland it up with new shit from the same store where everyone else has bought their bland shit. It's why I had to stop watching HGTV. All the coolest things about houses from the 50's and 60's are being destroyed by people who insist on making their house look like some other house they saw one time. Lame. And boring. And wasteful.

Here are some crappy photos of some of my favorite things about the house.
This is the light switch panel in our bathroom. The switch turns on the light, but the knob controls the heater/fan/lamp that is mounted on the ceiling right above where you stand when you get out of the shower. FLH gives you fan/light/heat. FH gives you fan/heat only. FL gives you fan/light only. F is just the fan, L just the light. You already figured that out. One of the settings doesn't work, and I need to fix that. I have no idea how to do that.

This is a picture of Joy putting green paint on the walls before we ripped the carpet out.

This is a picture of the cats being awesome after we ripped the carpet out.
So yeah, the floors were in pristine shape. And that's my sweet new (old) recliner that I got for twenty bucks. (Also - ripping up carpet suuuucks. If you've never plucked hundreds of staples out of a wood floor – one by one – with needle-nosed pliers, consider yourself lucky.)

This is the built-in bookshelf in the front room that has lights built onto it.
There is a box of fluorescent bulbs leaning against it because our front room has this weird track of fluorescent lighting that runs along one wall and I had to replace one. And two in the kitchen. And two in the garage. Oh, the garage. I don't have any pictures of that.

This is fireplace in the kitchen.
I bought a set of vintage Advent speakers (at Vintage Pink, which is officially the best vintage store in town) and rigged them up to the main stereo so we can have music in both rooms if we want. The fireplace is pink, but that's not really coming through in this photo.

It's kind of hard to explain what this is.
There are two recessed picture-frame sized areas in our front room wall with glass bottoms that house these strange 17-inch Lumiline bulbs that look like fluorescents but aren't. Anyway, they're attached to this fader thingy and you can illuminate whatever's sitting in the little framed area. I've got a Talking Heads limited edition record in there right now. Only one of the lights works, so I have to buy another one. They stopped making them a long time ago and they aren't cheap. But I'm determined to get it working.

This is my new office. It's coming together.
We painted the walls gold, except for one, on which I peeled the paint off in hopes to salvage some old wallpaper that was underneath it. The wallpaper's too shabby to work, so I bought some Super Mario Bros. wallpaper off eBay that we're going to put on that wall. And I found a WWF Superstars sheet from 1989 that Joy's going to make into curtains for me. And yes, I am this guy.

This is our new washer/dryer set.
We had them delivered on Saturday, only to find out that they were half an inch too tall to fit in the cabinet where our hook-ups are, and that we had a 50 amp dryer plug instead of the 30 amp model that the dryer required. This presented a perfect opportunity for me to be a real homeowning dude and figure out a solution. I hit Home Depot for a 30 amp plug and a belt sander rental, and a few hours later I had a new plug installed in the wall, the doors removed from the cabinet, a half inch planed off the top of the cabinet frame, and the washer and dryer all hooked up. I am incredible.

Next up: tackling this leaky bathtub.