Good to be Home

It's New Year's Eve, as well as my wife's birthday, so I'd best keep this short. We're back from Orlando, where I guess the crowds are massive this evening. We went to Islands of Adventure at Universal Orlando on Thursday, with all five kids, and it was ridiculous.

There were up to 3 hours of delays on some attractions (Harry Potter and The Hulk), and the Harry Potter World was a sea of people. Absolutely a madhouse. For a while, I was thinking, "Never again." But by the evening hours, lines were a little shorter, and if that was indeed been of the busiest days ever at the park (it made national news, and they were turning people away), then the best thing to do is go at a better time of year next time.

Happy New Year.

League scores 2011-12 so far

Just posting scores to date for the season. I doubt it will last, but I've got a good string of 200+ games going. In fact, 199 is my low, which I did twice in the first week. Both games involved a big split in the 10th. Nine total in both games would have been good enough for 200s. Ah well...

199, 211, 199 = 609
222, 226, 202 = 650
212, 269, 229 = 710
204, 217, 234 = 655
201, 236, 242 = 679

A Different Bowling Model

I tried a new bowling style in league last night, and while I didn't have my best night, it was certainly promising. I ended the first game with a solid ten pin in the ninth, after a strike in the eighth, and then left a 2-8-10 in the tenth for a disappointing 201 game. I followed that with a 236 and 242 for a 679 set, which brought my average up to 220. Not quite to last year's final average, but I've only bowled 15 games to date because of my back injury.

The change I made was to start with the ball hanging lower, and my body slouched a little, head-down. I'm not sure exactly how it looks, but I imagine it's something like Del Ballard, Jr., with a tad less slide.

Previously, I had been trying a more classic style, like a Brian Voss, only with a 5-step delivery, and without the model-good looks. My local bowling pro got me to lower my ball position at set-up to about midpoint. Previously I started it higher, like Mike Aulby would often do.

The change helped me with direction, but didn't help as much as I wanted with ball speed. With the previous two styles, the only way I could generate acceptable ball speed (in my mind, anyway, to keep up with how the power game has become more commonplace), was to either bring my back swing way back high, or to muscle it on the downswing. The former was difficult for me to control my accuracy with, and the latter seemed to give me difficulty keeping consistent with my release.

Here's what the "Ballard" change seems to have done for me:

1) Keeps my head low the whole time. I tend to otherwise be too upright, causing me to loft it too much at times, unless I bring my head and body lower during the approach, which gives me consistency problems.
2) Gives me the ball speed I need because I walk more quickly to the line now. Standing more upright made walking faster more awkward.
3) Allows me to not think too much about my backswing. I've never been comfortable with a big backswing. I can let it be as short as comes naturally now, and still get over 16 mph on my ball because of my faster (yet more in control) approach.
4) I don't know if this has anything to do with the new style, but the ball was coming off my thumb better than any previous league night this season, even though the hole was fitting just as snugly as ever.

As much as it seems like a lot of changes, all I really do differently is drop down to the "Ballard position" at set-up, and everything else comes together. This style isn't actually new to me. I used it for a few years in the late '90s/early '00s. I had what I think was an old 14 pound blue resin Hammer drilled for someone else (only a semi-fingertip span for me), so while I had some success with that style, I also had a lot of struggles. I didn't buy my first new and custom-fit reactive ball until about three years ago when I got back into bowling after a lengthy layoff. I went back to my older style then for whatever reason.

I'll update regularly how it goes. I also hope to post some before/after videos. I was encouraged at how well I threw it, despite just a decent score for the night. I probably would rather look like Voss when I bowl (I even used to sport the wavy brown hair when I grew it out more), or maybe take the ball back like Michael Fagan. But pretty is as pretty does, and I'm getting too old to look good, anyway.

Why I Bowl (Because I HAVE To)

There's a bowling forum(www.mrbowling300.net) I frequent, and one of the discussions was opened with the question, "What is it that you like about bowling?" It's an interesting way to phrase the question, and I would expect a plethora of answers from a community of avid bowlers.

Here was my response:

I can think of so many things, but my enjoyment of the game must be hard-wired. I remember being a toddler and my neighborhood daycare mom bowled in one of those women's leagues where the center would have a nursery on site. She walked us kids past the lanes to the nursery.

It was the coolest sight I'd ever seen, and I really only remember her doing it once or twice, but I was so drawn to it. The pins looked not like they were set up in triangles, but just straight lines across, for my young depth perception from that distance must not have been developed yet. Seeing the grownups knock them down and watch them scatter about was amazing!

So I guess my answer to the question would be something about how the pins fly, and while ours is a game of repetition, we all know from experience how many different ways the pins can actually fly, topple, mix, etc. Don't tell us bowlers that there's no variety in this game; we know all too well the nuances.

I even liked the smell of the old bowling alleys as a child, stale smoke from the night before and all. Maybe because it's a unique smell that triggered a neurological association to something I really liked.

Anyway, I've "quit" bowling off and on over the years, but now that I'm mature enough (finally...at 45!) to handle the bad nights, I'm back for good. When I came back this last time, I remember saying, "You can take the boy out of bowling, but you can't take the bowling out of the boy."

I meant it. It's been in me probably since birth.

New Game Show

Of all the reality shows past and present, I think my favorite is Kitchen Nightmares with Chef Gordon Ramsay. Of all the modern-day prime time game shows (going back to Who Wants to be a Millionaire), my favorite was Minute to Win It. I have found a new one.

You Deserve It premiered on ABC tonight, and it was a cross between Deal or No Deal and Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, with a little bit of Password in. Plus, it's every bit as fun to play along with as any game shows that let you feel smarter than the contestant, a la Wheel of Fortune.

Check it out if you get a chance. One word of advice, however: as with all prime time game shows past and present, the DVR is your friend.

Mid-life Crisis?

Whenever I'm in mid-life crisis mode, I listen to Bruce Springsteen's, "Girls in Their Summer Clothes." Not that I was ever a lady-killer, but the line, "And the girls in their summer clothes pass me by," sure hits home for this 45-year-old.

I don't know if I'll ever feel any older than 28 mentally, which I guess is good. But I always look older than I think I do whenever I see a photo. Still, I think I'm doing OK in that regard.

Terms of Endearment is on television right now. It was released in 1983, and ran while I was an usher at Har Mar Cinemas 11 in Roseville. It was interesting to see all of the teary-eyed patrons exiting the theatre and staring into the midday winter sun after a matinee showing. Out of curiosity, I went to IMDB to check the age of Jack Nicholson, who won an Oscar for his role in the film, a role, interestingly, which Burt Reynolds turned down. Oops.

Anyway, IMDB shows Nicholson was born April 22, 1937. That would make him 45 while filming the movie. Even though he looks much younger than today, he still looks a lot older than I feel, and older than I think I look when I check the mirror. No doubt I'm kidding myself, but hey, whatever works.

I read an interesting article today from this week's City Pages about the Acme Comedy Company's 20 years in the business. I found interesting one bit about how there was a time when much of the fresh new talent in local stand-up was guys having a mid-life crisis deciding they were going to chase a dream.

Yep, that sounds like me. Whether as a joke teller (I have a friend who would write them...even being a bit delusional, I know my limitations), getting back into radio announcing someday, or what have you, I know I'll be trying something fairly soon that I don't want to grow old not having tried.

Mid-life crisis? Perhaps, but I'd rather that than an end-of-life crisis.

Same Old Kayfabe

I can't believe it took me over a year to hear about this book, but I just picked up Minnesota's Golden Age of Wrestling at the Dakota County Library today after being told about it by a colleague at work. I was pretty excited, but skeptical as well. You see, the author is a local guy, George Schire, who goes way back with the AWA, to the years my high school friends and I were big fans. After the AWA folded, you could occasionally catch Verne or Greg telling stories about the business. But it was always in the context that the matches were legit. So I was skeptical that this would be anything but reminiscing about old matches (which would be good) as if they were real contests (which would be bad).

The book only occasionally breaks kayfabe ("kayfabe" is the "code" in pro wrestling that refers to acting as if the business is non-scripted or predetermined), and contains such rare shoot material (a "shoot" in pro wrestling is anything that is not a put-on, be it an interview, or a fight, or whatever else that may happen in the business) that the reader doesn't really know what to believe. Oh, I know not to believe that Stanley Blackburn actually stripped Verne Gagne of his title in 1981, but when you think you might be reading a shoot, you have to wonder, such as certain attendance figures it refers to regarding some of the shows.

That said, it's a must have for anyone who religiously watched All Star Wrestling at any time in Minnesota. The bios in the back of the book are fun to read, similar to Ross Bernstein's Grappling Glory: Celebrating a Century of Minnesota Wrestling & Rassling. It doesn't add a lot of insight into the business that you might expect from an "insider." It pretty much sticks to the facts of the wrestling, i.e., who won what belts against whom and in which city.

One of these days, when ol' Verne is gone probably, someone will offer up what working in the AWA was really all about in the glory days. That would be a helluva read. Until then, books like Schire's and Bernstein's will still do.

Golf With Old Friends

I played my final round of golf for the year, most likely, yesterday with some old friends. We all worked in the same department at our present company over twenty years ago, on the lower rungs of the ladder in our respective fields. Today, one is a Vice President (with whom I actually had never been true "friends," but we have always been friendly, and played ball together for a few years), another a Director, another a Senior Database Engineer, and I, a Team Lead.

I'm the only one not still in Technology, and I sometimes wonder whether I should have stayed in that field. I didn't quite have the passion for technology that is required to excel, but I think now that I've seen how it affects other areas of our company, having worked in another area for 10 years now, I think I could. Problem is, 10 years of technological changes have passed me up.

I have also wondered whether I should have been more driven to put in 10+ hour days to try to climb the corporate ladder. My LSAT scores alone give me the confidence to believe I'd have enough smarts for it, but you need to put in the hours as well, even if partly for show. Not that my successful golf buddies are about show; they've truly earned it. But I've seen the show part work for others, to be sure.

Thing is, while I could envision myself finally, at age 45, go all out in investing in my career, I saw something on the golf course that makes me re-think that. During the round, all three others were checking their cell phones for work e-mails throughout the round, with the V.P. of course checking the most frequently, between literally every shot.

He is clearly a skilled golfer, which doesn't surprise me, as I remember the days we played softball together on the diminutive Duluth & Case fields in St. Paul in the late '80s (diminutive in that the fields overlapped to the point where outfielders in separate games would be facing each other....still hard to believe there was never a serious injury from that set-up). But his game was rusty, as it was only his fourth time out this year. I had been feeling sorry for myself for not having played as much golf as in past years, and that my handicap went up a whole stroke because of it, but I still got out for at least a dozen more rounds this year than he. And I wasn't checking my cell phone during any of them, either, other than to perhaps update Facebook to boast about being able to play golf.

Speaking of which, I posted the above photo on my Facebook wall. My caption read, "Missed my second career ace on the last round of the year, but tap-in birdies are always fun, and my back held up for 18!" Yes, my aching back made it, and more tellingly, didn't hurt the next day (today).

It's definitely a trade-off to succeed in the corporate world, something I learned quite early, and rejected for myself, but with a lot of second-guessing. I'm happy for my old friends' success and I hope to play more golf with them next year. I'm also happy that I know I'll be playing a lot more than they will, and that I'm OK with the trade-off.

Umpires and Announcers (yep, again)

Up later than I should be, I realized I haven't blogged yet in October. I've got little to say, other than watching sports lately has again got my blood pressure up, thanks to announcers and officials.

Umpire Joe West just took off his mask staring down the Arizona Diamondbacks' batter who obviously didn't like the strike three call against him. The graphics on the TV clearly showed West blew it. I don't mind umps being wrong occasionally, but spare me the stare-down. You're not the show, and if you're trying to be, at least make sure you got the call right.

"Umpires get 98% of the calls right," we often hear them say, "them" usually being an umpire.

No they don't, not even when you give them the easy ones. Unless you include them correctly calling everything down to a foul ball back into the screen a "FOUL BALL!"...then maybe. But still, probably not. I should do a study some night.

That said, it was a different game in this postseason, and I wish I remembered the umpire, so I can prove I'm fair-minded, when one of the announcers made an a$$ of himself. The ump got strike one correct, and then ball two correct, and even as the graphics still showed the locations of those two pitches, one of the announcers inexplicably said words to the effect of, "I think (Umpire) knows that first one was a ball, so he gave (Batter) a make up call on the second pitch."
I wish I could remember who the announcer was, just 'cause I like to call them out.

Yeah, I'm bitter. Oh well.

My Aching Back

After a couple of weeks of gradual progress with my back healing, this past weekend it took a turn for the worse. I decided to go into urgent care, and the good news is no surgery is needed.

I may have stayed at a Holiday Inn Express, but I'll leave the medical diagnoses to the professionals from now on. Based on my symptoms and some random anecdotes I'd read and heard, I was certain something was much more wrong than a little misalignment.

Imagine the disks as toy blocks, each separated by a small gap. They should all be square/parallel with each other. The X-Rays showed that one of mine, the one where all of my pain originates, was just a little off square. Physical Therapy is what the doctor prescribed, as well as some potent pain killers. No chiropractic, no surgery.

The bad news is no heavy lifting either, for a while at least, even in exercises where I don't feel my back at all, such as the bench press. My wife warned me about that, telling me I shouldnt' be lifting while it's hurting, and the doc confirmed it when I asked him.

I hate it when she's right.

My No-Show at the 2011 Minnesota State Mid Amateur Golf Tournament

For the first time in five years, I did not compete in the Minnesota State Mid Amateur golf tournament. Open to 240 golfers, with the top 60 (and ties) making the cut to the third and final round, it's a tournament I've come to look forward to every September.

This year, however, due to lack of consistency in playing frequency, which led to inconsistency in playing quality, I decided to pass. Plus, it was at a couple courses that I wasn't too excited to play - Dellwood Hills and Tanners Brook. I've only played Dellwood, a private course, once, and that was nearly 30 years ago. I've never played the other. Still, from word of mouth, I was OK with missing out. Not to mention I would have had to withdraw because of my back injury (which is still healing well, thanks).

Apparently, I wasn't alone. There were no fewer than 200 entries in the past four State Mid-Ams, but this year, unless I'm reading it wrong, there were only about 160, and several of them no-showed. It looks like a lot of the scores are missing from the first two rounds, but the cut line was a two-day total of 161, which happens to be one stroke higher than my lowest two-day total of the four times I've entered. So you're telling me I had a chance.... (Final Results here)

It's sad to see the drop in competitors, but I'm used to this kind of disappointment. The same thing has happened in bowling and softball locally. The state championship I was so proud to share in just ten years ago no longer even exists. The local Central Bowler's Alliance, which 20 years ago saw about 100 or more of the top scratch bowlers in the state (and some from surrounding states) compete every month. Nowadays, it's typically around 45 during "peak" season.

I'm sincerely hoping this year's drop in interest was for much the same reason I skipped it: apathy about the specific courses, and their less-than-exciting-or-convenient locations.

Next year's tournament will be hosted by Midland Hills and Town and Country. Midland is the home course of my high school alma mater, Alexander Ramsey (now Roseville Area), and the other is where my Vice President at work is a member. So I'll be looking forward to that one, and will try to train weeks in advance in a serious attempt to make the cut.

Both are centrally located, private courses, so there's no reason to expect the same apathy as this year from Minnesota's elite 30-and-over amateur golfers. But as Yogi Berra once said, if people don't want to come out to the golf course, how are you gonna stop them? (He actually said "ball park.")

If they don't come out, at least I'll have a better chance to make the cut, and the free round on a private course that would come with doing so.

"Just hop on my back...no wait, don't!"

It's been a roller coaster past few days for me. I was unable to fix our water softener, so I planned on taking it apart to give it one more try. "After the golf tournament, Dear, I promise!"

The golf tournament was Saturday. On Friday, I achieved a 24-yr-or-so goal of bench pressing 315 pounds - "three wheels" as my old lifting buddies and I would call it, because it represents three 45-lb. plates on each side of the lifting bar. A nice aside, I thought to myself, was that my joints and tendons felt terrific compared to the last time I got close to doing 315.

It was fairly short-lived, however. Oh, Saturday went great. My playing partner and I won the two-man best-ball tournament at Troy Burne Golf Club. I shot a plus-three 39 on the front nine, which included a triple bogey on hole 2.

By the ninth hole, my already iffy lower back started to hurt. I barely made through the round and didn't say a thing to my partner, not wanting to make excuses. I shot a plus-eleven 46 on the back. Thankfully, he shot 37, good enough to carry us to victory, like Kirby Puckett in Game 6 of the '91 Series. The old joke in such situations is to tell the guy who carried the team, "I sure hope your back doesn't hurt." Oh, but I wish I could say that mine did only figuratively.

While my back was hurting bad when we putted out, and I was looking forward to relaxing at home. But by the time I was done relaxing, my back hurt so bad, Felix Unger would've said, "Man, I'm sure glad I'm not you!"

Thankfully, it's getting better, although I did have to postpone my start to the 2011-12 bowling season. For a while Saturday, I was seriously wondering if I'd ever play any sports even semi-competitively again, including bowling. Ironic because I started lifting years ago to improve my softball power.

I'm still a bit down about it all, so to cheer myself up a bit, I'll post last year's league bowling results. I kept more complete stats, even frame-by-frame, but for now, I'll keep it simple below. I never got around to it this past spring, and then summer league went horribly (after a decent start), so I've been pretty down on bowling as well.

It was a good season last year, here's hoping my back, wrist, and fingers all get to nearly 100% by the time I get to start this season.

My Golf and Bowling Wishes/Fantasies

I played some golf this Labor Day Weekend in Alexandria, Minnesota. If I could only play one course the rest of my life, I might just pick the Alexandria Golf Club.

Speaking of impossible, hypothetical scenarios, I was reading the new issue of Golf Magazine, which has a reader survey full of such questions. One is, "Which Golf Superpower would you most like to possess?"

Here are the reader survey results:

1. Split every fairway with a 270-yard drive - 41%
2. Win every match you ever play - 27%
3. Make every 3-footer for the rest of your life - 26%
4. The ability to execute one hole-out every round - 6%

I would have to go with #3; that would leave the game's fun challenges left to the learning process, while adding the confidence needed to improve on them (imagine how confident you would swing the club knowing you'll never miss a 3-footer!).

Similarly, if I had one bowling superpower to pick from, it would be to never miss another single-pin spare again. Heck, I'd even settle for narrowing it down to the 10-pin. Same reasoning as the 3-foot putt fantasy.

If anyone is still reading this blog, I'd be curious to know what you would pick, and why?

A Dress Code Even a Bowling Shirt Would Fail

If any of my kids ever got in trouble at school over policy that I disagreed with, I would hope I would stand up for them. My ex-wife once got into a heated argument with a school official for defending our son for pushing a kid in the snow - a kid who had been picking on our daughter, if I recall correctly. She showed more gall than I would have, but I doubt either of us would go anywhere near where the parent in this story did: http://www.kcra.com/news/29018987/detail.html

From the article, the parent, Pami Gibbs, was "accused of making references to ethnicity during the attack on Fillmore Elementary Principal Evangelina Ramos. Gibbs is white, and Ramos is a Latina.

"Assistant Superintendent Dan Wright said Gibbs became upset Monday morning when Ramos said the 29-year-old woman's son couldn't wear a T-shirt with skulls on it. According to witnesses, Gibbs suddenly began punching Ramos in the face."

Racial slurs, nope. Punches, nope. But is it a silly rule? You betcha (in my best Minnesota Nice), at least if it's one of those "zero tolerance" rules.

I haven't read Minnesota School District 196's bylaws yet, but when my son enters Kindergarten a week from today, I'm not sure I'll be dressing him up in the bowling shirt (yes, bowling shirt) I bought him in Reno this past May.

Here he is yesterday, proudly wearing it. Destined to become a hoodlum, no?













You know, now that I think of it, I wouldn't put it past either my ex- or current wife for doing what that one parent allegedly did, depending on the circumstances.

Bully for me

Bullies and bullying are more at the center of our society's conscience than I can ever remember. I read a very interesting bulletin board discussion the other day on the topic. What was fascinating to me was the variety of stories the posters shared of them being bullied.

I found several other things interesting, such as the differences in their stories and my own experiences. I was an easy target, and got treated meanly by many people. I wouldn't wish some of that on anyone, except for three people perhaps; the only three whom I really consider to be bullies of mine in my younger years (two from Junior High, one actually from when I was 18). Oh, there were plenty of mean things done by many, and some real jerks whom I won't soon forget. But nothing like these three, even if they really don't deserve my ire today.

I found it interesting how many posters to the thread knew the whereabouts, and in many cases, the stories of the demise of their personal bullies. It almost made me wonder if they weren't making up the stories to create their own happy endings. I have no idea what happened to my bullies. None are on Facebook, as far as I can tell. One still lives in the Twin Cities I think.

Of all the meanness I experienced, I harbor almost no resentment to the majority of the individuals who caused it. There are only these three exceptions. It goes against so much of what I stand for, but if I met any of them today, and I had at least a couple of beers in me, I might just pick a fight.

No, I wouldn't. But I might try to intimidate just to see how they'd react. They'd either show a newly found respect, seeing how I'd grown up physically and am no longer at a disadvantage, or they'd throw the first punch. I don't know how I'd respond to the latter, being that I wouldn't want to lose a job (or a lawsuit) over a grudge fight. Perhaps I'd pull a Felix Unger and say, "Look, let's settle this like gentleman. Let's meet at a boxing gym, and spar three rounds; may the better man win." Yeah, that's what I'd probably do...seriously. (Remember that Odd Couple episode?)

All that said, the picking on even these bullies gave me paled in comparison to some of the stories I read on that bulletin board. Perhaps I should consider myself lucky that I grew up in a relatively tame environment. Perhaps not, if it's the bullying that contributed some to what I am today.

Bruce Springsteen once said (paraphrasing from memory), "The first time I could even stand looking at myself was when I held a guitar." I can relate a little, only mine is after I started putting on a little muscle tone. I have no doubt the bullying had something to do with that, and while I currently have a spare tire to take care of after I hit a few lifting goals, I know that will always be somewhat true.

As long as I am physically able, I will be hitting the iron, even though the bullies become even further away in my past.

Snide Remarks a la Reader's Digest

Good heavens, it's been a while since I've posted. There are so many things about which I could write a complete post, some on subject matters about which I have previously written, and others not, but knowing that I probably won't get around to writing about every one of them, I'll "bulletize" as we like to say excessively in the corporate world.

• My trek to a 315-lb. bench press is still on schedule, as on my most recent workout last Friday, I did 12 reps of 225 lbs., which according to at least one of many sources, equates to a maximum one-rep press of 312 (http://www.muscleandstrength.com/tools/bench-press-calculator.html).


• I am now able to close the 150# hand gripper with either hand (I'm not sure if I said I could do this before; if I did, I was lying).


• Michelle Bachmann is as guano crazy as ever.


• I haven't been too rough on umpires this year (it gets old), but I saw a horrible balls-and-strikes umpire at the Little League World Series qualifying game between Northern and Southern California the other day. I would be surprised if you couldn't find him on YouTube by now.


• I once learned, I think, that you are not supposed to put a period at the end of a bulleted thought. Well, sometimes your bulleted thought needs more than one sentence, and thus really should have the second sentence end with one. So for the sake of consistency, I use periods, unless every one of my bullet points is merely a phrase, and not a complete sentence.


• With my wife, today I finalized my first-ever new car purchase, a 2011 Honda Odyssey EX-L. I'm a "Get me from Point A to Point B" kind of guy when it comes to cars, so this was out of character for me. But the .9% financing, plus the fact that my wife got a nice raise with her new job, made for only a slightly ill stomach on my ride home. I'll be much more at ease after the 60 months are up.


• My wife's new job is at Thomson Reuters, where we met, and where she left to pursue her dream job in Radiology. That makes two of us who left T-R to pursue dream jobs in a field that starts with "Radio," only to return to the perceived security at 610 Opperman Drive.


• More than ever, I'm getting bitter about not having stuck it out in Radio. Hearing 75% of the announcers involved in Minnesota Twins broadcasts does nothing to cure my bitterness. Being involved in Twins broadcasts was my dream job of all dream jobs.


• I'm pretty proud of my oldest son for passing his driver's test on the first try. That's one thing he can always say he did better than his old man.


• Pretty cool reaction tonight by the Detroit Tigers' fans after Jim Thome's 600th career home run.


• See, that last bullet was not a complete sentence, and thus probably did not need a period, but for all of these other complete sentences.

Soon to be Crushing Coconuts and Ripping Phone Books

Back in the late '70s and early '80s, I was quite the fan of AWA Wrestling, Verne Gagne's since-defunct organization. Among the many angles and gimmicks you would see would be feats or claims of strength.

Otto Wanz would take a phone book and rip it in half with his bare hands. I can do that, too, if the phone book is that of a town of no more than 25,000 or so. Or, if it's a big town, it would have to be a progressive town, whose residents no longer use landlines, and whose businesses have switched their advertising bucks from print to the Web.

It was also claimed that Baron Von Raschke's "Claw" hold could crush coconuts. I can squish an Almond Joy candy bar barehanded, even a frozen one (I think), but that's about it.

I posted last month about my quest to bench 315 (I'm at 235 for 10 reps...getting close!), but considering my favorite recreational activities are bowling, golf, slowpitch softball, and shaking Adrian Peterson's hand, I figured it was a good idea to set some strength goals centered around my grip.

The for-pay Web site www.cyperpump.com has a bunch of information, user forums, and of course, products for sale, all around the subject of grip strength. As for the products, they include a training program and industrial-strength hand grips. These are not your run-of-the-mill squishy stress balls, or even WalMart plastic-coated grip springs.

I've long been intrigued by the real manly grips. Imagine, then, how giddy I was when I saw on display several packs of these Popeye-builders at GNC. They sold them in threes, with a retail price of $49.99, not unreasonable compared to internet prices. Better still, they were on sale for $19.99 a pack!

You could buy the "beginner" pack, which was three grips: 50#, 100#, and 150#, the numbers presumably representing the pounds of force required to close each grip. No slouch in the strength department, I of course opted for the "advanced" pack: three grips, with weights of 200#, 250#, and 300#. It ended up costing me only $9.99, either because of an additional discount, or a cashier mix-up. The extra adrenaline of getting the grips at 80 percent off retail list was surely enough to allow me to at least crush the 200# grip.

It wasn't, and don't call me Shirley. Ironically, I needed a very sharp knife to even open the package. I got the 200# grip to move OK, but nowhere near closing it altogether. Humbled, I went back to the GNC a couple days later, and laughed in self-deprication when the clerk said, "I remember you!" I explained that, yeah, I needs to eat me spinach a little more, and work on the beginner set a while before tackling the big-boy grips.

So I bought the beginner set, this time for $19.99 (still a bargain), went home and got the knife out, and prayed to the almighty forearm gods that I could handle the 50# grip. They answered, and I found the 50# grip to be somewhat easier than the typical WalMart grips, and I also succeeded in closing the 100# grip, which is a little tougher than the "WalMart."

As of today, I can almost close the 150# grip with each hand, coming up just short by a couple of millimeters. I hope the training "secrets" I'll pick up from the Cyberpump site will help hasten my progress, and while I have no grand illusions, I would like to think one day I could at least close the 200# grip. That would be significant, and hopefully, beneficial to my hobbies.

Today the Eagan white pages, tomorrow, Duluth.

Holding Ponds, Shelley Fabares, Loose Meat Sandwiches, and Uprooted Trees

My son and I have been back from our golf/nostalgia trip to Iowa since about 5:30 Monday evening. I've been wanting to turn around and head back since 5:31.

We arrived in Carroll at a little after 10:00 AM, pulling into the Municapal Golf Course around 10:30, hoping to get a round in. The annual Men's Club Tournament was going on, so we had to wait until about 11:15.

We had a bite to eat in the clubhouse, where I told my son his mother worked in the summer of 1997. I also told him the story of how I actually played in the Men's Club Tournament, also in '97. It was memorable because after an extremely disappointing opening 9 of 42 on the easier, par-35 side, I started the turn birdie-birdie-birdie-par-birdie, which remains the only time I've ever made three straight birdies. I parred the rest until 18, where I bogeyed, for a three-under-par "in" nine of 33. It gave me a 75, to barely qualify me for the Championship Flight on the following day.

Yeah, he was as excited to hear that story as you are to read it, no doubt.

The Carroll Muni, although still a bunker-less, hacker-friendly course with a rating of sixty-something, and a slope of 108 or so, is a much improved course from when I used to play it.

They did two things to make it so: 1) They started irrigating the fairways, and 2) they dug some trenches to create holding ponds, so that parts of the course susceptible to flooding would drain after heavy rainfalls.

I exaggerate very little when I say that had I known they were going to do this, I probably would not have left Carroll. Not that I wish I didn't leave...I'm just sayin'. They also remodeled the clubhouse, and added GPS to their carts - icing on the cake.

I finished with 75, the same score I shot that day in '97. Lowlights were a couple missed tap-ins. Highlights were my son birdying #2, and leading me by two shots after two holes, and my eagle on #8 after driving the par-four green.

Afterward, we checked into our Super 8, and headed over to the Carroll Country Club, a private course for the locals, but out-of-towners are welcome to pay daily greens fees. Highlights were a nice up-and-down birdie on #2, and meeting a nice young man who turned out to be the former pro at the Muni back in '97, and who, as a three-year-old, can be seen in a picture of my then-one-year-old daughter's birthday party at the Muni Clubhouse. I told him to say hi to his dad from me, but didn't remember the birthday party photo until later.

After the second round of golf, I caught up with my former radio station program director, who had just finished calling one of the local high school's girls' softball team's games, a lopsided playoff win. We chatted and he invited me to the station, where he was heading back to return the "Marti," which is the piece of equipment used to transmit the broadcast back to the station.

Seeing the new studios and equipment was cool. Seeing enough had not changed so that it felt like home was very cool, including the old, autographed Shelley Fabares picture (not THAT old - it was from her "Coach" days, not her "Johnny Angel" days).

Day two, I let my son drive the 110-or-so miles to Marshalltown. We were pretty hungry by the time we arrived, so I took him to a lunch I knew he'd never before experienced, and may not again for many years to come. I took him to Taylor's Maid Rite.

The loose meat sandwiches were as yummy as I recalled, and the malts, which were new to me there, were a nice surprise. My son enjoyed them too, much to my delight, not unlike a father first sharing a White Castle with his son, hoping his son would, to, learn to love the sliders.

As we did in Carroll, we then drove around to see the places we lived while there. It was the first year of his life, so he wouldn't remember, but he seemed interested in some of the story-telling.

Our first place of residence was humble, largely because I had driven into town after his mom and were just married, to find a place to move into quickly and that would allow pets. So humble was it, that when I pointed out the house to him, he said, "We lived in THAT?!?"

"No," I said, "That is the house our neighbors lived in. The house behind it, which was once-upon-a-time the neighbors' guest house, is where we lived. See that "203 1/2" on it? It doesn't even have a whole number for its address!" Some young woman was unloading stuff from her car, and I thought to myself of the dreams she must have about someday moving up.

We then checked into the Marshalltown Super 8, which was, curiously, about $20 cheaper. I suppose because it was Sunday. From there, I called the pro shop of the number one public golf course in Iowa, The Harvester. Harvester is located near Rhodes, which is just down the road from Carroll.
I exaggerate very little when I say that had I known they were going to build that course, I would not have left Marshalltown. OK, I'm exaggerating a little bit more this time. It's a great course to live nearby, but it's high-end price ($79 for twilight rates is what we paid, which included range balls and carts), probably would have kept me from playing it more than a couple times a year, especially on a small-town disc jockey's pay.

The course lived up to its billing. If I played it enough to learn it a little better, it could become my favorite. Highlights of the round were parring the 530-yard, par-four 16th (that is not a typo), and parring the par-five 18th after hitting my second shot into the water from 221 yards (I dropped, hit the next shot to about 10 feet, and made the putt. Dang, coulda been an eagle!) Lowlights were our scores on some of the other holes, and my forgetting to bring my SkyCaddie to the course.

We came back into town, drove around a bit, grabbed some KFC, and went back to our motel room. It was a strange evening in that the power in the motel went off about three times, each time being restarted quickly. The evening would become stranger.

I was awoken at about 4:25 by the most intense electrical storm of which I have ever been in the middle. For a solid half hour it was steady flashes of light, rumbling thunder, and whistling howling wind. Oddly, the power was still on throughout much of it, until finally it went out again, not to come back on until after we left the next day, and this time it was the whole town's power. Below is a screen capture I took of the storm on weather.com, just after the worst of it was over, and just before the power went out for good.

We toured the town Monday, finding at a minimum fallen branches and leaves on ever street, and at a maximum large limbs and even uprooted trees. One house I remembered from long ago, not far from the old guest-house/shack, had a tree fall right into its roof and its neighbor's roofs, causing large holes in both.

I had driven by it only out of curiosity because I remembered it was a nice, little house in a mostly-modest neighborhood, and was for sale in 1995 for $97,000, very high for a house of its size in that neighborhood back then. I was told that it was because of the immaculate condition and amount of wood in the interior that made it worth every penny. I only knew from the brief time my then-wife and I were looking at houses in Marshalltown, prior to our move to Carroll. I found it a little strange that I was so saddened to see it damaged like that, more so than I was at any of the other houses.

I could go on for much longer about every little detail, for every little detail that I can remember will be remembered with absolute fondness. But I'll just wrap up by stating the obvious: it was a terrific extended weekend of father-son bonding, and went much, much too fast. Next time I visit either or both towns (I hate when people use "either" to mean "both"), I hope to visit more of the people with whom I used to work, as many of them still work at the radio stations.

Who knows? I recently joked with my former P.D. that I hope to "retire" in about ten years, working only enough to get by, and in a job I truly love, so I might be looking for a part-time gig with him someday. It's been fourteen years since I've been in my last dream job. Perhaps it's only ten more years away.

Better Late Than Never

I'll never be in the running for any kind of "Father of the Year" award. One small piece of evidence is the fact that the thing I am so looking forward to this weekend is something most fathers with grown sons have done many times over.

My 17-year-old son and I will be going on our first-ever extended trip together - just the two of us. By "extended," I mean "more than a long day."

What's more, we will be visiting the places he spent the first three years of his life. If all goes well, we will visit Marshalltown, Iowa (year 1), and Carroll, Iowa (years 2 & 3), and will play plenty of golf during our stays.

Carroll is where he first swung a club on a course, at age two. The beauty of a small-town municipal course is that no one discourages you from bringing a two-year-old, as long as it's during slow hours, of course.

By the time he was three, he had as sweet a swing as a certain child prodigy and eventual philanderer. That's no exaggeration. Today, his 30-or-so-handicap swing is better than my USGA-5.3-index swing. His game only suffers from a lack of playing, and a lack of watching or otherwise following golf with any real amount of interest. You can blame that on his parents' splitting up before he turned six.

If we find time, we will visit the ICU in Des Moines, where he spent the first two months of his life, having been born two months early, and at a size of a three-month premie (2 lbs., 7 oz., to be exact). Most babies born that prematurely show some physical challenges as they grow: some as minor as having to wear thick glasses at an early age, others more advanced. We got remarkably lucky with him; he has shown no physical or developmental signs ever, but for a slightly less-than-average height.

When he was born, it was a crapshoot as to whether he would survive, but I dreamed of the days we would be able to do things like this. I never would have believed that it wouldn't happen until he was 17.

Also exciting is that ever since a couple weekends ago, when we played a round together in Alexandria, Minnesota, he has taken a greater interest in golf, perhaps because he has finally realized that he may have some potential in the sport (yes, sport). It will be interesting to see how much he improves even over the three days we are together, as we will play up to five rounds, weather permitting. That's more golf than he has played in the last two-plus years combined.

But even if we only get one round in, it isn't all about that. It's about the quality time, and going back to the places we spent a lot of it, 14 years, and then some, ago.

Three Wheels

I used to be a huge fan of bodybuilding, and I even thought someday I would have a huge, vein-popping physique myself. Oh, I knew I would never be a Mr. Olympia, mainly because I wasn't going to try steroids (and never have). But I figured with hard work, and educating myself, I'd be pretty damn big and cut.

The problem was that while not using steroids was obstacle number one to winning a Sandow (the "Oscar" of bodybuilding, going to the Mr. Olympia winner), having average genetics was equally inhibiting. Sadly, it took me several years to figure that out.

What hooked me in the iron sport was trying to become a power hitter in softball. While I did accomplish that to some degree, I did fall pretty short of my potential, as other life decisions got in the way. I'm still a fan of lifting, and occasionally check out the 'roided-up behemeths at the magazine stand. But I no longer find such size to be desirable, in part because I know the only way it is possible is to commit a felony.

So I've revisited my interest in lifting. Weight loss will have to take a back seat (I've dropped 3.5 pounds in three months...yeah, a real dangerous crash weight-loss, I know), as I pursue a lifting goal I always had my sites on, but have yet to reach. Every time I got close, I would sabotage it by going on hiatus from workouts, start trying to lose weight, focusing on some other interest, or even getting sick and not lifting again right away once I got well.

But no more. My goal: to bench press three wheels, with no straps, lifting shirts, or drugs. Three wheels is slang my friends and I would use for 315 pounds. It means three 45-pound plates on both sides of a 45-pound bar, for a total of 315. My ultimate goal is to actually do that for four repetitions, just to hear the awesome "clanking" sound so many plates transmits. But first things first...

I'm almost there. According to several different sites, my 225 lbs. bench press for 10 repetitions equates to a maximum one-rep press of 298 pounds. (I only did nine reps today, but I didn't go to failure. I had at least one more in me.) The most I ever got to was 305, after which I took a couple weeks off to let my joints recover a little before going after 315. But I didn't keep true to those plans.

Since joining the YMCA again this past March, I've been pretty good about keeping it up. And I think I know what works for me better than I ever did before (but am still trying to learn). I'm also not neglecting other body parts, so that my body doesn't start looking like all man-boobs and little else.

I hope to post more in the near future about how I'm doing it, in part to share with others so that they don't have to waste the time and money I have in the past. It's positively embarrassing to admit how much of both that comes to.

It's also to motivate myself, by posting my progress "out here" permanently. Here's hoping I don't catch a cold or a nagging injury to make me stop my momentum. Or if I do, here's hoping turning those short layoffs into long ones is a thing of the past.

Breakdance Goaltending

I watched much of tonight's Game 1 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Ironically, a night after I noted in a sports discussion with family members that hockey is normally a higher-scoring sport than soccer, Game 1 ends up going to Vancouver by the score o f 1-0, and they got that goal with just 18 seconds left in regulation.

Ah, but an anomaly does not negate a tendancy!

I posted on Facebook how both goalies stood on their heads. It's an old hockey expression, supposedly stemming from the idea that a hot goalie stopping everything is likely to be flopping all over, all night, when stopping so many shots. The more spectacular the saves, the more impressive, and I guess the epitome of a spectacular save is doing so while inverted.

Goaltending has always been, but never moreso than today, about positioning and controlling rebounds/puck flow. With the sofa cushions that pass for goalie pads, gloves that look larger than the "#1" foam hands the fans wear, and chest protectors that look to be modeled after the Michelin Man, most of the saves made today are simply a matter of the goalie staying put.

It's not as bad as (Indoor) Professional Lacrosse, however. Its goalies pretty much grab a twin bed mattress and hide behind it in front of the net.

USBC Open in Reno

I meant to blog during my trip to Reno, but the time I ended up spending on line was mostly spent cleaning up work e-mails. I'm sitting at the gate awaiting my flight to Salt Lake City en route to Minneapolis/St. Paul.

So I'll keep it short. My bowling sucked mostly, save for a decent stretch in the team event from frame 4 in the first game to frame 8 in the third game. I shot a respectable (for me) 581, after starting with 32 after the third, and then finishing the 9th and 10th in game 3 with back-to-back 4-10 splits. Ruined a possible 600-620 series with those dang splits.

The bright spot was our team rolled 2919, which will probably get us about $100 back. The dark spots were plentiful. My final tally: 581, 482 in doubles(my first 400 in ages, but my partner only shot 500, so I don't feel too guilty), and 512 in singles. I totalled 1575 for the nine games, for a 175 average.

Something to improve upon for next year, I guess.

No excuses. Carry could have been better today, but that's not what did me in. I didn't make shots, and was poor on some easy spares. So I will go on record as saying I absolutely must commit myself to three things:

1) Spare shooting
2) Consistency in my strike ball
3) Committing to the shot

There was a decent enough shot on the lanes, but the mistake I made over and over again throughout the weekend was being afraid of getting the ball out too far and thus having it not come back. So I went through the nose time and again. When I didn't leave splits, my spare shooting was poor as well.

So that's the trip report in short. I'm more upset at myself than humbled. I KNEW I was only a house bowler going into this, but I performed very poorly even taking that in consideration.

Good thing I get 100 free games of bowling for joining my sport shot summer league. I hope I take the time to use them, and use them wisely.

Bin Laden Dead

I just updated my Facebook page status with the below story, trimmed to the maximum 420 characters. Here's what I originally tried to post:

Just a few short days ago, in a motel in Tomah, WI, my young boys saw some military men, probably visiting from nearby Fort McCoy.

"Who are they?" one asked.

"They keep us free from the bad guys," I said.

"Like the police?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"But who are the bad guys?" he followed with a look of concern.

They still won't quite understand, but tonight's news has allowed me to explain just a little bit more what those men (and women) do for us, and perhaps help my boys sleep a little easier tonight.

Reunion Tours

In a post entitled Time Passage, I talked about the phenomenon of time passing faster the older you get. A perfect example came up when I found out the Monkees are reuniting for a tour this year, as well as Deborah Gibson and Tiffany.

It was 25 years ago when I saw the Monkees on their reunion tour at the old Carlton Celebrity Room in Bloomington, Minnesota. A whopping 18 years after their TV show was canceled, I was a 20-year-old marveling at how long it had been since I had seen the show on re-runs (a whole 9 years or so!), and getting a kick out of me seeing them and others (Herman's Hermits and Gary Puckett included) play the moldy oldies.

Now, some 23-ish years since Deborah and Tiffany were staples on pop radio, it seems like nothing. And they still seem young. Crazy.

I look at photos of the Monkees (again without Michael Nesmith, who perhaps doesn't need the money as much), like the one here, and can't believe how old they are. Peter Tork looks every bit of his 69 years, although I'm sure I thought he looked an ancient 44 back in '86. Hell, I'm 44, turning 45 in three days!

I'm sure 25-years from now, I'll marvel at how quickly time has flown again, and Deborah Gibson, in her mid-sixties, will still be that kid who just can't shake my love.

What Are They Teaching Them?

Tonight my wife and I took our five-year-old to his kindergarten school's open house. He was very excited to see what a "big kid" school looked like. Everything looked tiny to me (classrooms, gymnasium, cafeteria, etc.), but to a child of five, it must have looked larger than life.

There was a lot of artwork on display as we toured the hallways. We saw students' pictures of the Titanic, Japanese culture, and more. One of the first class projects we saw on display was skyscrapers. Accompanying the childrens' pictures were factual tidbits.

One student's drawing was of the Eiffel Tower. According to the student, the Eiffel Tower was completed in 1889, is 1063 feet tall, and is the largest man-made structure in the world.

"Is?," I asked myself. Um, teacher?

Perhaps they just need to update the encyclopedias in the "big kid" library.

Four Times Better Than a PGA Tour Pro

In the Valero Texas Open PGA Tour event today, Kevin Na took a 16 on the par-4 ninth hole. The company I work for had its national sales meeting at the JW Marriott in San Antonio, where the TPC Courses are located. One "networking" activity was a golf scramble, during which I played the same TPC San Antonio course Na and the rest of the tour pros are playing this week.

I don't remember much about hole 9, but I do know my scramble team started on hole 7 and we were even par through several holes. So we parred hole 9, and I think we may have even used all of my shots, at least up until the par putt.

So at the very worst, I can say I would have scored no worse than a bogey 5. Of course, we played tees some 50 yards closer, but still...

To Na's credit, except for that hole, he was -4 for his round, which, had he parred the ninth, would have left him one stroke behind the leaders on the difficult new Greg Norman design.

I remember a couple similar rounds I've had in the past, although both were only 9-hole rounds. Once in Carroll, Iowa, I shot 42 on the par-35 front nine, which included an 11 on the par 4 fifth hole. It was a horribly windy day, and I managed to play -1 for the other eight holes.

Similarly, in a work league a few years ago, I took a 12 on the par 4 sixth en route to something like a 43 on the par-35 front nine at Southern Hills in Farmington, Minnesota. I was either even or one over for the other holes, and it too was a windy day.

I only bring up those memories to remind myself how much better Na handled his 16 today. If you haven't seen it on the sports highlight shows, here's a hint: Much better than I. (And I didn't handle them well.)

Bowling Chick Flick?

For the last five years or so, I've wanted to write a screen play. I have yet to start it, but my idea is around a junior bowler, and it is not a comedy. I know, how boring. And geeky.

Geeky is good...see Star Wars, for one. But the junior bowling geek niche might not be quite strong enough to make up for the potential lack of appeal to the general populous.

That's OK, though, because a good story with characters you care about can be about Tiddly Winks and still be successful.

Now, I hear about this movie in production, entitled Split, and am concerned that someone might be beating me to the punch, even though it is a romantic comedy. Then again, perhaps it will be the start of a new genre of bowling-themed movies, and thereby create a demand for my masterpiece.

At the very least, I hope it's done well enough to represent the sport and its enthusiasts well. Regardless of whether it does either, I can just about guarantee it will feature, at some point in the movie, a bowler getting a Brooklyn strike, and acting like he meant to do it.

As I've written before, I can tolerate bowling movies where the actors are clearly poor bowlers, but Brooklyn strikes shown as the norm? I hate when that happens!

(P.S. After writing the above and then Googling to find a hyperlink to information on the movie, I found an informational trailer, which showed part of the in-progress production. Sure enough, it shows a bowler throwing a Brooklyn strike, not even a solid one at that, and then acting cocky afterward. Arggh!)

Van Hallen?

There was a friendly debate happening on a friend's Facebook wall, on whether certain bands/artists belong in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. I won't bore you with all the details. I just wanted to post a comment which I typed up, then decided not to submit. I'd hate for no one to ever see what I had to say on the subject.

Although, by posting it here, I'm almost guaranteeing it.

Anyway, one guy was making the case that Van Halen is not Hall-worthy. Here is how I almost responded (typos included):

"On whether they advanced any cause of music...yeah, probably not. :) But they were very influencial as well as popular. One needs not like that which was influenced...see Grandmaster Flash, after all. While Eddie VH was no Hendrix, he influenced a heck of a lot of other guitarists. And as one who went to high school after Xeppelin but before Def Leppard, VH was teh rock band that filled the gap. Yes, they are no Zepp (nor is DL in the same league as VH). But should such popularity and influence not suffice? Maybe if Roth never left. But they sure made a lot of teen boys learn how to finger tap scales on a cheap Squire guitar. :) Perhaps Eddie should get in alone."

Tsunami

The first-person accounts and footage of the Tsunami in Japan is hard for me to turn away from. I have such a creepy interest in the power of flowing water.

It's a bit hard to explain. Take heights, for example. I can look out an airplane window with no problem. I can look out a high-story window and enjoy the view.

Looking straight down, however, is like the flowing water thing. I'm curious enough to look straight down, but then after several seconds, I have to get back from the view. It's not a "frightening" thing so much as it is a creepy thing.

So when I'm next to a large, flowing river, once in a while, I can get pretty mesmerized.

I'm not sure I'm even making sense to myself, so I'll conclude with this anecdote. When I was about 12 or so, I went tubing down the Apple River in Wisconsin. At one point I found myself so in my own world that I allowed myself to flow all of the way to the end of the line, to the wire that had a sign saying words to the effect of, "No tubing beyond here."

I don't recall being scared or anything, but I just held on to the wire, still in half a trance, staring past the wire at what looked like an increasingly strong current. An adult waded out, took my hand, and pulled me to shore. He didn't "save" me or anything, but the experience was perhaps creepy enough for me to have had a lasting impact.

Oddly, however, it's not for myself I get "creeped" out about flowing water, it's for others. I don't know how I'll deal with it if I ever taking my kids to the Apple River. One thing's for sure: I will need to keep them in close proximity to me the entire time.

Glenn Beck and his Marks

Someone made this comparison somewhere on a political forum I frequent, but I'll elaborate further: Glenn Beck is Pro Wrestling.

Specifically, he is Pro Wrestling circa 1985.

In the mid-eighties, the world was starting to "smart up" to the "sport." Further, because they were less and less certain as to whether pro wrestling was real competition, fans were becoming bored with matches that included five-minute toeholds, and a simple clothesline as a high-spot of a match. So Vince McMahon starting getting more and more gimmicky. Every wrestler became more of a comic-book character.

I hope what happened to pro wrestling happens to Beck. Eventually, even McMahon admitted it was entertainment-only. This helped put the final nail in most of his competition, as only the deepest pockets could survive the loss of the "marks," i.e., the fans still stupid enough to believe it was on the up-and-up.

As the business evolved further, the stars even talked about the angles openly on the Net and elsewhere out of character (known as "shoot" interviews and dropping "kayfabe"). The only true drama that remained was the business politics behind-the-scenes. Ratings and house show attendances dropped to a point where all that was left were wrestling geeks (and I don't mean that as an insult) who still enjoyed the story lines and admired the performers for the showmen and women they are. And while gimmicks are still a part of the business, the characters came to resemble the most violent and bad-ass of the comic book characters.

Today, there are only two big pro wrestling players in the US market (one real big, the other trying to be a viable competitor), and all others are indies performing in front of 75 people in American Legion Hall basements for free. People are still making money, but not by pulling the wool over anyone's eyes.

This can't happen to Glenn Beck soon enough. I will support and even admire him the day he fesses up that it's all a work, and manages to still generate an audience and earn a living with his brand of entertainment.

Some day, he may still be making millions as an admitted actor/entertainer. Or perhaps he will be asleep at the wheel, protecting "kayfabe," while the business passes him by, a la Verne Gagne. But right now, he appears to be more like Vince McMahon in 1985, his outrageousness at its peak, and knowing what his "marks" will eat up as if his act were legit.

How much more outrageous he gets before finally admitting it's all an act, I don't know. But if he is going to be McMahon in this analogy, and not Gagne, he may have to come clean soon.

Cartoon Character Voices

I'm watching a modern Scooby Doo cartoon on Boomerang with my 3 1/2-year-old. I think Mindy Cohn is very good as the current voice of Velma. This episode is actually from 2004, but http://www.imdb.com/ shows her as still being the voice today. Not a bad gig for a former child TV star.

Casey Kasem is Shaggy in this episode, although imdb shows that the movie version of Shaggy, Matthew Lillard, is the cartoon voice of Shaggy starting in 2010. Kasem sounds good still in 2004, but over the last few years his voice really started to show its age. So even though I'm not too fond of Lillard as Shaggy (although oddly I found him very good in the movie, just not so much as a cartoon voiceover), I suppose it was time.

You know who is a supreme cartoon voice talent? Frank Welker, the long-time and still voice of Fred. He also does the voice of Scooby in more recent times. Check out his imdb profile; it's quite amazing his list of credits.

Back to Cohn for a minute, the show from which The Facts of Life spun off, Diff'rent Strokes, also brags an alum in today's cartoon industry. The voice of Mrs. Puff is the actress who played the Drummonds' maid after Mrs. Garrett moved on to Facts, Mary Joe Catlett. So now you know why her voice is so recognizable!

Catlett is in her 70s now, so not to wish any ill will on her, but if her voice goes "Kasem" on her, I've got the perfect replacement for her Mrs. Puff character already picked out: Linda Kozlowski. She's Mrs. Crocodile Dundee if you don't recall, and if you happen to get a chance to catch it on late night cable TV, watch her last piece of work on film, 2001's Crocodile Dundee in Los Angeles and tell me she wouldn't be perfect.

This is the kind of stuff I do when my kids rule the TV set. Or when I'm up late alone watching bad movie sequels and logged on to the Internet.

Wherefore Art Thou Watching Movie Trailers?

I was looking for a movie to take my younger sons to. I think I've settled on Gnomeo & Juliet. It didn't get the greatest reviews, but I'm sure they'll like it, and I enjoy watching my kids enjoy things.

While searching, I decided to click the trailer to The Roommate. Once I clicked it, a player popped up with a message saying the trailer would start after a commercial. I find it a little funny that I have to watch a commercial for the privilege of watching a commercial.

At 2:24, the trailer was just under three percent of the movie, if you don't count the credits. That's way too much. I feel like I've already seen the movie, so Screen Gems probably did itself a disservice by showing so much.

I don't remember what the commercial-for-the-commercial was for, either, so unless it was laced with extremely effective subliminal messaging, it was an all-around fail for them to get any of my money.

That's good, too, because popcorn at Gnomeo & Juliet will probably be about $10.

Bowler's Thumb Strikes

Bowling league should be interesting tomorrow. So far, I'm having my best season ever. I've had my second highest game ever, highest series ever, most 700s in a league season, I'm carrying my highest average ever, and have a chance to do something I've never done before: bowl back-to-back-to-back 700s. Yes, I know technological advances are a big part of that. But this post is about what could go wrong.

I've been wanting to bowl in some competitive tournaments, and to do that, I need to get conditioned for several games in a row, not just a three-game set. So yesterday I bowled six games of practice in Rosemount, and sure enough, at the end of game six, I noticed I had a blister, and it ripped. So part of my thumb is a bit raw right now, and it stings a little to the touch.

The last time I bowled with such a condition, I toughed it out (eat your heart out, Jay Cutler) for ten games in a tournament, and averaged exactly 160 for the event. I would be surprised if that wasn't dead last place. I keep that event in mind whenever I feel I need a little humility; it was positively my worst bowling tournament appearance ever.

What might save me from a similar experience tomorrow is a product called "perfect patch." The patchwork I attempted in the debacle above was old school "Liquid Skin," which was little more than glorified Krazy Glue and a small mesh patch. Perfect patch can be seen used by many touring pros, so here's hoping it will help.

If not, I will have another experience to fall back on whenever I feel the need to bring myself back down to earth.

PBA ToC on ABC

This weekend will be one of the biggest weekends in the history of American Ten-Pin Bowling. I specify tenpin, because there are of course other types, such as candlepin, which is a style popular out east, plus a couple variations of duckpin bowling. The PBA Tournament of Champions is taking place, and it will be the richest tournament in the PBA Tour's history. There's $1 million in the prize fund, with $250,ooo to the winner. Second place will pay $100,000. So it's big in that regard, but also in that it could foretell the future of the PBA Tour.

This year, there are fewer tournaments since the very first years of the Tour, and some of the tournaments feature first place checks that haven't been this low in years. Ratings are around a million per show, a far cry from when I watched it pretty regularly in the late '70s and early '80s. I could write several pages on what I think is the cause of the problem, and the cure (hint: accept the loss of popularity, no gimmicks, and respect the game in the broadcasts). Someday I will. (I think I've said that before.)

So this weekend, the PBA Tour will try to rejuvenate itself by putting most of its eggs in this basket. Some cool things include Nelson (Bo) Burton, Jr. being back on the telecast, which will be broadcast live on ABC for the first time since 1997. It will be in HD, which to me is the coolest thing of all, as you will be able to really see the fine points of the ball revolution and reaction to the lane conditions. That's something only a true bowling geek can get into perhaps, but I'm hoping Randy Pedersen's analysis will help the casual viewer appreciate some of the finer points to some degree.

It airs this Saturday at 1:30 P.M. CST, and despite my skepticism of how it will affect (or not) the future success of the Tour, it will most definitely make for compelling television. These guys (and gals) are struggling to make a living, but at least one person (even two, you could argue) might make some life-changing cash. As a purist, I feel I shouldn't be as excited as I am for the show. But as a fan, how can I help it?

A Bowling Video Even Non-Bowlers Can Enjoy

My dad once told a story to me of the first time he ever went bowling and how he made a strike...on the wrong lane. Somehow, the ball bounced over the gutters and struck on the adjacent lane, although I am not sure which one (to the left or right).

Over the years I gradually came to wonder about the story, until I pretty much forgot it altogether. Last year, an old friend with whom I used to bowl in our youth reminded me of it, and I again wondered, "Did he really do it? Did I remember the story correctly?"

I no longer have reason to doubt my father's story. At the Team USA Bowling Trials recently, the below video was captured. I've already spoiled it for you, but it's still worth a look.

The bowler rolls two conventional, although somewhat fortunate strikes first (one was a light hit, the other heavy), but notice from where he begins his approach. This was made necessary by the difficulty of the lane conditions at the time. As you can perhaps imagine, it can be an intimidating shot for those not used to playing it in their house leagues.

If you'd rather, just skip to the payoff at about the 0:52 mark. Enjoy! (And check out the fist pump after the shot is over!)

My Son: Super Mario Addict

I'm not going to get any Father of the Year awards for how I'm raising any of my kids, but that is especially true when it comes to my five-year-old and how I am handling his Wii Super Mario Brothers addiction. Today was an especially difficult day, as he was throwing fits pretty consistently for about two hours.

Everything would be fine if I just let him play it the way he wants to. He likes to play the easy levels, and occasionally try a more difficult level. After he gets tired of that, he goes back to the easy levels. But he likes me to play with him, and I like a challenge in a video game. I don't like many video games anymore, but I do like to gradually improve, and I like the games to get more difficult as I improve. This is why I still much prefer the old Links golf game on the PC over Tiger Woods on Playstation or Wii. The Tiger game has it backwards in that the better you get, the easier the game becomes. On the Links game, it's more like computer chess - once you get better, you get bored with the "easy" setting, and move to the more difficult "Pro" or "Championship" settings.

Anyway, I should have stuck to my guns when telling my son to calm down or else I'd stop the game. But I choose instead to try to reason with him while he's throwing the fits, even though it seems pretty traumatic. I love how competitive he is, and I love how no matter how upset he gets, he doesn't want to quit. I do think he'll outgrow this, and since I can relate (remembering my own life-long, self-competitive temper tendancies), I hope I can help him just by letting him play through it.

I do need to limit his time playing the game. It helps that skating lessons start up again tomorrow night, and he still enjoys that more than Super Mario Brothers. I hope that never changes.