Another New Year's Eve

It's New Year's Eve, and my wife and I are waiting to ring in the new year at the airport.  We are flying out on the 1:15 AM flight to Orlando to cheer on the Gophers in the Citrus Bowl, and then we're heading right back to Minnesota on Friday.

It's been a typically stressful holiday season, and while I love watching the kids enjoy it, I'm always glad when it's over. Year-end stuff at work always adds to the stress, and my wife gets anxiety when flying.  As my dad once said, having fun sure can be hard work.

But I am looking forward to the New Year.  I'll have some resolutions and goals, some of which I'll try to remember to share here.  Or perhaps I'll forget about it and post something entirely unrelated a month from now, as if I never said anything about it.

Physical goals, bowling goals, financial goals, even career goals this time around.  We'll see. Oh, yeah, parenting goals as well.

Is it really the eve of 2015? Wow. Just wow.

Happy New Year and Go Gophers!

Gaming DNA

When I was in junior high school, I was addicted to pinball. Any quarter I could muster, I would take to Lotsa Fun at the Har Mar Mall in Roseville, Minnesota, or perhaps the Kresge store in the same mall, or the now-defunct and my eventual main hangout, Rose Bowl Lanes, across the street. The video game Space Invaders was introduced at some point in my junior high tenure, shortly followed by Asteroids, and the end of pinball's dominance in arcades was begun. I'm not sure what hooked me, but it's not too surprising, since my dad was a terrific pool player (and still amazes me on the rare occasion he plays). I think there's a similar arcade-like DNA there.

I made the switch, too, becoming a regular at Circus, the successor to Lotsa Fun, using the same mall space with an expansion. There were a few games I was pretty good at. I became a very good foosball player as well (also in the billiards DNA), even winning a couple championships at my Technical College (I know, I know..."real impressive"). The only game I became better at than anyone I ever saw was Wacko, and obscure game where you moved a hovering-saucer-riding alien, shooting other aliens it would meet at different points along the path.  What made it challenging was that you had to multi-task in a way no other game required.

In my adult years, I enjoyed some home video games, with my favorite being Links golf on the PC. I still fire it up once in a while, despite the franchise folding sometime after Microsoft sold it in 2004, preferring it to even the most recent Tiger Woods games from EAS. For a while, and in spurts, I would be addicted to the game, and even quite temperamental when I didn't play well.

This background leads to the point of this post: I'm not a gamer, and I'm not sure why.  My 20-year-old son is, my 7-and-9-year-old sons are hooked on Skylanders, Mario, and most recently, starting to really get into WWE. But not only am I not a gamer, I don't play home video games at all, other than occasionally when my young sons want me to play with them. And I'm not sure why.

Perhaps they have become too realistic, although I can still see myself getting the bug to play Tiger Woods again, and perhaps even Brunswick's PBA bowling game, both of which are quite realistic. Perhaps because I never really enjoyed the personally violent games I say personally violent, because obliterating scores of spaceships were fun. I still enjoy playing Galaga every time I visit Breezy Point Resort.  So, perhaps I only enjoy video games for nostalgia, or if they are realistic facsimiles of sports I enjoy playing in real life.

I guess it's a good thing, as it saves money and keeps me from wasting time.  Then again, I spend plenty on games for the boys, and I really don't use all that free time as productively as I should.

Oh, and I did lie a little. I still occasionally play bumper stars on Candystand.com. It's a bit addictive for me, and I'll binge in it still occasionally. It's basically a video game cross between pinball and billiards.

Yep, I can't defy, nor will I ever totally shake, my arcade-like DNA.

Everything was better at Grandma Ann's

My Grandmother, Ann Malmgren, was laid to rest yesterday. It was truly a celebration of her life.  Tears were shed, and there was sadness, but the joy of stories, memories, and even home movies made it a wonderful time.

As with my Grandpa Leonard (Ann's husband, who passed away 21 years ago), I was asked to deliver the Words of Remembrance at the Mass of Christian Burial.  Basically, it's the non-clergy eulogy.  Knowing I had only a few minutes during which to speak, and that it had to be religious in nature (which I found a little awkward coming from me), I kept my stories short and simple.

I talked about hoping to awe and inspire everyone with my stories, but in preparation, was having trouble coming up with anything other than what everyone else would have said about her. So, as I explained, I started a brainstorming session, writing down a word or two about every memory I had.  Here was my list:

Worms

Well water

Peas

Orange Juice

Baseball

Linens

Ice cream

Popcorn

Tonight Show

Coffee Maker

Poached eggs

Basement smell

Jokes

Laugh

There were more I could have written down, but I realized I was getting nowhere.  It was a  mundane list for sure.

But then,after looking it over some more, I realized that's what made Grandma Ann so special. To have fond memories of her linked to each of these ordinary things could only mean that she truly was extraordinary. 

I had originally planned on describing why many of these held special meaning to me, but for time purposes, limited it to just a couple. As it turned out, less is truly more. Most people who knew Grandma Ann knew exactly what I meant by enough of these that they understood there must be something similarly wonderful to those they did not. It's like hearing a joke that you don't get, but know that you should get, and why, and thus find it funny.

I concluded my personal remembrances with the following, and am paraphrasing here, as it was mostly ad-libbed from the rehearsals that took place in my head:

Everything was better at Grandma Ann's. Some of it is understandable: her cooking, sewing, and gardening, for example. 

As for some of the others, it may not make much sense, and you might ask, "How could all those things, like mass-produced, store-bought ice cream, be better just because it was at Grandma Ann's?" 

Well, that's a question that pretty much answers itself.  Everything at Grandma Ann's was better...just because it was at Grandma Ann's.

Here is a link to her obituary: http://www.andersonfuneral.net/obituaries/Anna-Malmgren/

Things I think about when my team is sucking

What better way to cheer myself up over the pathetic Christian Ponder-led Vikings showing in Green Bay tonight than to criticize a sports announcer? No, not one of the football game's announcers, but the play-by-play guy who did the Giants-Pirates Wild Card game last night.

I don't recall who was on the play-by-play, but it's not about picking on him. Rather, it's about any announcer who does this, including former Twins announcer John Gordon:

"(Batter) is up, and (On-deck Batter) would be next."

Gordon used to do that all the time.

"What's wrong with that?" you ask. "The on-deck batter would be next. if the current batter keeps the inning going."

Well, that's all fine and dandy, except there was one out and no one on base.

So unless by "would be" the announcer meant, "(On-deck Batter) would be next, unless he gets knocked out like a sacked QB by a foul ball, or the manager does something incredibly stupid and puts in a pinch-hitter for Hunter in the third inning."

Until last night, I thought Gord-o was the only one who ever did that. I suppose I'm going to notice it all the time now. Funny how things work like that. For example, my ex-wife was the first person I ever noticed using the non-word "acrossed." She said it while we were doing a crossword puzzle together.

(She gave me quite the lashing for correcting her, but dang, if you ever catch me doing something like that, if you're my friend, I expect you to correct me immediately!)

Then I started to hear some sports announcers use it, as in, "He passes the puck acrossed to Parise."

And then I heard it in a production of Oklahoma!, which means two things, probably: 1) That its use has been around a lot longer than my ex-wife, and 2) That it probably wasn't meant to be used any more than "Caint" (as in "I caint say no") or "Whatcher" (as in "Whatcher gonna do when he starts talkin' purty?")

Yes, I'm quoting old Broadway tunes instead of watching football.

I should turn the game back on to see if Ponder is still playing QB.  Chandler Harnish would be next.

Grandma Ann

I just got word tonight that my maternal grandmother slipped into a coma and may not make it through the night.  She is 95 years old, and has been living in a nursing home for some time. I haven't been able to have a meaningful conversation with her for several years, but that won't make it any less sad when she goes.

Whenever she does pass, among many other things, I will remember her wonderful cooking, and her amazing ability to tell a joke, no matter what joke, and make everyone laugh. She was pretty amazing; she had to learn to be.  She basically raised her siblings from the age of 12, as the oldest, when her mother passed away and her father was away.

If her time does come soon, I am very glad I got to visit her one more time recently, a visit during which she was unusually sharp. Below is a picture of her with my two youngest boys and me.

(Not) Finding Bigfoot

I am watching the season finale of Finding Bigfoot. The episode is called, "Biggest Search Yet," so I'm guessing they capture the beast, and needed to make this a special two-hour episode.

See, I am being facetious with that comment (my ongoing joke with my wife is that THIS is the episode they finally find him!), but despite my overall skepticism around Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Yeti, etc., I have no problem suspending disbelief when it comes to the subject.  This includes Bigfoot-themed movies, regardless (usually) of how awful they might be.

In my 2010 post about having Bigfoot dreams, I noted the source of them being a belief in the being from my childhood. I was an impressionable child, willing to believe just about anything a reasonable-sounding adult was willing to believe. So movies like those from Sunn Classic Pictures really had me going.

Today, I call myself a skeptic, and not just of mysterious monsters, but of everything, by the true definition. That is, make a claim that I haven't heard of or formed an opinion on yet, and I'm going to want you to back it up, and as Carl Sagan would say, the more extraordinary the claim, the more extraordinary the evidence I'm going to need.

But I still find Sasquatch an interesting subject, and the only reason I can figure is what I said about suspending disbelief. I suppose I can in other subjects, too. I enjoy some good ghost movies, despite my disbelief in them.  Ghost-hunting reality shows, on the other hand, I have no time for.  And while I find the Bigfoot hunters just as silly as the ghost chasers, I still get a kick out of watching them.

Perhaps it's the degree of my skepticism, and that it hasn't yet reached 99.5% certainty of its non-existence. Whereas I find all psychics and mediums to be frauds and/or delusional, ghost-hunters as kidding themselves, and a host of other things too obviously ludicrous to mention (although I'll mention one to give you an idea; dousing), I'm ever-so-slightly open to accepting that there is a small chance of a species similar to ours, yet capable and wanting to keep hidden.

Then, when I read what I just wrote, I think, "That's ridiculous," and get close to 100% disbelief, and my skepticism is again equal to my skepticism of all other things paranormal, supernatural, etc. For a while, anyway.

I guess it's like this: If I saw a psychic and was impressed with something he did (like say something about my deceased grandparents that I wouldn't think he could know), I would think, "Nice trick, but I'm not buying."

If I were dared to stay in a "haunted house" for a nice little fee, I'd gladly accept.  Then, upon hearing scary noises in the dark, I'd think, "Hmm, weird noises in an old house. How original. Come out, come out, wherever you are, ghosts!"

But if I were alone in the woods, and I came upon a Sasquatch, while I might try my best to think, "Man in an ape suit," my guess is I would probably shit my pants.

And that's the difference between my Bigfoot skepticism v. all the others.

2014 USBC Open Championship

This will hopefully be the beginning of my posting more often again. I used to try to post once per week; then tried to make sure I posted at least once a month.  Now I don't even necessarily rush to get an 11th-hour post on the last day of the month just to keep that going.

The main reasons for the fewer posts are: 1) I've run out of ideas that take more than a couple of sentences to cover, and 2) I've used Facebook to express my couple-sentence thoughts. 

It's a lot like the songwriting I used to try to do.  When I was younger, I would just write, and even if I felt the writing sucked, I'd just go with it.  It eventually, however, turned into less and less writing because instead of just going with it, I'd wait to write until I had a complete thought to go with.  Those became less and less frequent until I did virtually no more writing.

I don't want blogging to go that route.  So instead of, say, waiting until I have my complete post about technology and hobby sports (bowling, softball, and golf, for example), I'll start the thought here and just go with it.  I won't complete it today, but hopefully will piecemeal it until it's a "finished product."

I had remembered an old newspaper clipping a friend of mine had saved on the sudden increase of sanctioned 300 bowling games.  It was largely due to advances in ball technology, lane technology, and relaxed rules. 

You might think the article was from the early 2000s. It could also be from circa 1992 when reactive equipment became the norm.  Or perhaps you remember the short-oil trend of the late '80s that saw a spike in perfectos. (My first and only sanctioned 300 was from this era.)

In fact, the article was from circa 1983, and when I find the image in my old cell phone, I'll reproduce it on this blog (or have my friend re-send it). The reason at the time was the advent of urethane balls like the original AMF Angle, and I would also guess that lanes, even though still nearly 100% natural wood, were much more consistent with their resurfacing.

So look for that in the near future.  

I also wanted to discuss my 2014 experience at the USBC Open Championship, which was my most successful yet.  Even though scores are up this year, I was quite pleased with my 1857 score in all events. Some of the success came from bowling with bowlers who were more on the same page with regard to how we were playing the lanes.  Part of it was the slightly easier conditions. Part of it was that I truly have become more educated and just better at bowling on a sport shot.

While it was by far my best Open Championship yet, by 153 pins in fact, I have plenty of reason for optimism in future tournaments as well.  I attribute that largely to the education I've received from bowlers like my Pro and old friend, who gave me post-tournament tips in starting out better.  You'll see from my scores that I had poor starts in each of my events, largely due to leaving splits, either of the wash-out type (e.g., a 2-8-10 split), or from going through the nose.

Cashing in every event was very gratifying.  Doing so despite averaging 166.33 in my first games gives me hope for better things to come.  

Here is my final scoresheet:

Memorial Day

It was a pretty darn good Memorial Day weekend.  Golf and leisure time with friends and my wife. I just finished mowing the lawn and had a 16 oz. Grain Belt Nordeast on a less-than-full stomach. I can feel it, although it will take one more to count as a "buzz."

I rarely drink past the buzz phase.  Perhaps because the gut-rot of too many beers or the headache that comes later are a part of the reason.  Mostly, however, it's simply that I don't need any more than a good buzz to feel good.  I don't get the appeal of drunkenness beyond that.

I especially don't get it for those whom it makes violent, weepy, pass out, or anything other than simply happier than they were before drinking it. I've seen so many types, and I just don't understand why they'd drink past the "happy" state if they knew it would lead to something bad.

Yeah it's easy to wonder and judge and all that. I'm trying to come up with an analogy, but nothing comes to mind.  Perhaps watching Vikings games. They make me happy, until eventually, they blow it and break my heart.  And yeah, NFL football is close to an addiction. So I should know better and just turn the TV as soon as it becomes apparent the Vikings might blow the game.

That actually wasn't a bad analogy, even if tongue-in-cheek.  I'll try to come up with a better one, but first, I'll crack open another one.

Thanks to all who have served, by the way. I don't drink to forget, and I won't forget.  Cheers to you.

Bad Hockey Dad Rears His Ugly Head

In my Debate Dad post, I mentioned how I was once a bad hockey and basketball dad. Long story short, I couldn't keep my mouth shut, trying to coach from the stands to my older son, now 19.

My eight-year-old is playing hockey, as is his six-year-old brother.  I don't ever have to get on the younger of the two as far as effort is concerned.  He's more competitive in team contact sports.

The eight-year-old, however, needs to be reminded to put out full effort when he's in a game, even though at that age, they still aren't keeping score.  I remind him that his team still wants to do well, so they need his help, and that it's more fun playing hard because it makes better things happen for you.

He enjoys playing goalie more than other positions, and today got to play two games of it in the season-ending jamboree. Whether playing goalie or as a skater, he has a similar tendency as his older brother: he looks at me regularly throughout the game. As I told his older brother when he was playing hockey, and then basketball, I tell him to focus on the game and don't look at me.

His younger brother only occasionally looks my way, and it's typically a short "thumbs-up" or something similar, before continuing straight back to the action. Eight-year-old gets the thumbs-up quite often, too, but you can tell there is a difference in his glances my way. It's a sort of look for approval, and this is where Bad Hockey Dad comes in.

Whereas I should just always be giving him the thumbs-up when he looks my way, and save the "don't look at me so much" talk for after practice, I far-too-often use those moments as coaching moments.  I'm not yelling out like I did with my older son, but try to use hand gestures, like pointing at the puck, or cranking my arm, to get him to focus on the action and pick up the pace a bit.

Even that doesn't sound so bad, but today, with him playing goalie, I made a fool of myself by trying to show him goalie positions after one goal was scored on him.  He was struggling just a bit, and there was one series where he had the opportunity to drop on his pads and perhaps smother the puck, but he stayed on his feet and eventually the other team batted the puck in.

I often forget that he's an eight-year-old, and thus incapable of remembering every piece of advice I throw his way prior to a game or practice. While I'm not actually angry with him, when I'm trying to show him these things during play, I'm sure I come across as being upset or disappointed.

My antics today moved him to tears, even yelling audibly back to me, "Daddy, stop!" While he was yelling that in my direction, the other team scored another goal, with him looking my way instead of at the action on the ice.

I felt like I was Vic Morrow's character in The Bad News Bears.

So here I sit, contemplating how I'm going to be a better hockey dad, coach (even though I'm not one of his hockey coaches, I do coach him in baseball), role model, and just plain father. Right now, among all of the thoughts in my head at 3:48 am, I think the key is to make sure I allow sports to be fun for him, be there to play with him, and use the positive moments to coach with.

Duh, right? It's absolutely humiliating to know that it took being called out by my tearful child in the middle of a hockey rink to finally figure it out.

YMCA Distractions

When I'm working out with the free weights at the YMCA, I try to minimize the grunting by internalizing the intensity.  Most of the noise I make is from exhaling with each rep, finishing the last rep sometimes with a hint of a grunt, and sometimes accidentally setting the weight back a little loudly.

So while I'm not perfect, I think my gym etiquette is probably good enough to not lose my membership if I belonged at Planet Fitness. At the YMCA today, the fellows around me all would have had their memberships revoked.

The funny thing is, while all of them were plenty strong for the average guy, they were not the gym-rat types one might expect these noises to be coming from.

Well, maybe one of them didn't make a gym-rat-type noise: he was singing aloud to his iPod.  Badly. And like Rusty Griswold said to his parents about their rendition of "Mockingbird," I wanted to say to the guy, "That sounds made-up!"

An other guy grunted with every rep.  Dude, the tenth rep where it was life-or-death to get that bar off your chest, I can understand. But reps one through nine?  Please.

The third guy slammed the Smith Machine weights down after each set as if the last rep made his arms fall off.  There's an old adage that I subscribe to that goes like this: If you have to drop the weight, it was too heavy for you.

I would cut the guys some slack, because I certainly would not want any footage of some of my weight-room antics from my young adult years.  It was mostly walking around with imaginary lats, but other things as well that I still try to forget.

These guys, however, are much older than my 21-year-old self.  One of them, in fact, is older than my 47-year-old self.  I'll try to figure out how old the song he was singing is next time we cross cables...er, paths.

Early money has it being an '80s hair-metal song.