2025 in Rearview (Pages and Stages)

There were three goals I had rolling into 2025. Watch more movies, read more books, attend more live shows. It was my hope to keep myself distracted so the news of the real world didn’t drain my already weary soul. I succeeded. I watched more movies last year than I have in a long time. Books and performances on the other hand … Technically I did it. While I didn’t read as many books or go to as many concerts as I would like, I did more in both categories than in the year (years?) prior.

As with the movies, I ranked them in two separate lists for you to enjoy. Solely objective, completely opinionated, and set in wet concrete. With a solid enough argument, I could change my mind. Should you want details of any of my choices below, all you need to do is ask.

Watching Evil Dead: Unlocking the Radiant Artist Within (2025) 10/10

A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn (1980, revised in 2003) 9/10

Hip-Hop Is History by Questlove (2024) 8.5/10

UnClobber by Colby Martin (2016) 8.5/10

Blood at the Root by LaDarrion Williams (2004) 8/10

The Devils by Joe Abercrombie (2025) 8/10

Eruption by Michael Crichton and James Patterson (2024) 6.5/10

We Ate the Dark by Mallory Pearson (2024) 0.5/10

Georgia Warder / Andrew Rivers / Steve Hofstetter (Comedy) 10/10

Puddles Pity Party / Weird Al (Music) 10/10

Gabrielle Grace / Joseph (Music) 10/10

Adam Conover (Comedy) 10/10

Heather Shaw (Comedy) 9/10

Amos Gill (Comedy) 8.5/10

Nonpoint / POD / Seether (Music) 7/10

While this quantity is an improvement over the year prior, I do hope to exceed 2025’s productivity in this new year. My wife and I are reading Dungeon Crawler Carl together and I’m reading Baby Teeth when I’m home alone. Maybe next year I’ll have more to look back upon.

Nietzsche & the Kool-Aid Man

whoever fights monsters

should see to it that in the process he (or she) does not become a monster

and if you gaze long enough into an abyss

the abyss

will gaze back into you

The Open Mic

If I have a fatal flaw as a DJ, it is how I sing along with 90% of the music I play. I am the kind of dude who would lose most ‘try not to sing’ challenges on the very first song. However, I do not have a stellar singing voice. It might not even be semi-decent. Simon Cowell would critique my voice with the most eviscerating vocabulary imaginable were I to audition for whatever show he is currently judging. I am a crappy singer yet I love singing.

My lyrical knowledge is deep and wide. I do not know everything, but I know a lot. From the Brat Pack to Wu Tang, Johnny Cash to Cash Money, Rednex to actual rednecks, new wave to nu metal, disco to digital, indie folk to arena country, Men in Black to Back in Black, Livin' on a Prayer to Livin' la Vida Loca. Pop rock, pop punk, and electro pop. Classic rock, modern rock, and hard rock. All three waves of ska.

I can “celebrate good times” and “party in the USA.” They say “play that funky music white boy” and I say “it’s getting hot in herre.” Ask to go “fishin’ in the dark,” my answer will be “I want it that way.” You could tell me to stop, but you will have to explain if it is “in the name of love” or because it is “hammertime.” Either way it will not matter because “the wave can’t stop” and I “don’t stop believin’.”

It is more than singing though. I join wedding parties on the dance floor for the Cha Cha Slide or Cupid Shuffle. I wobble and do the YMCA. I wave my arms “from the windows to the walls” and slowly drop to the floor when “shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low.” I also shuffle a little two step dance move through most gigs from behind the safety of my table where no one can see my awkwardness. My dancing ability is just as abysmal as my talent for singing. I am the stereotypical white dude – zero sense of rhythm. Still, I love to groove. Music is therapeutic and I find myself helpless to resist the beats and vocals which accompany such therapy.

You do not have to be good at an activity to participate. Most people who tell me they enjoy golfing are terrible golfers. They will never be PGA material, they hook and slice nearly every drive, and spend more time in sand traps and the rough than on the fairway. Between throwing clubs and cussing at water hazards, these people will insist the game of golf is the most relaxing thing they do all week. I get these people. They need a handicap for golf; I need one to sing and dance. I suck at my musical pastime yet still consider it the most relaxing thing I do, even if I am exhausted by the end of the night.

However, unlike those supposedly happy golfers, you won’t find me cursing my mixer or throwing microphones. Instead I leave the mic on and turn down the volume when it is not needed. The microphone sits in a boom stand, stretching from the side so I can talk into it while clicking buttons and twisting knobs. It is not in constant use, only there when I need to make announcements or introduce dedications. I assume people would rather “dance to the music” than hear me “talk too much.”

This last weekend, my habits caught up with me. I played through the ceremony and cocktail hour without an error. Dinner was great and guests were complimenting my selection of music. Then it happened. About an hour and a half into the gig, I turned and looked at my microphone. In that moment, I realized the volume was still on. I spent all that time singing and dancing next to an open mic.

Oops.

Coffee & Road Trips

Dad’s stories used to be one of my kids favorite things but they make the request less frequently these days. Listening to me reminisce about my wonder years isn’t as interesting to teenagers. I’ve also reached the age or reruns. “I’ve heard this one before, Dad.” Still, when they request me to entertain them with tales of my youth, I oblige. I won’t be able to do this for much longer.

Last weekend, they wanted crazy driving stories. Most of tales I have to tell about diving wild involve my brother, Aaron. I told them about the time he picked me up from school and we scared a student driver by head banging to some metal music turned up to full volume while heading down the long driveway from the MPHS campus. Story time ended with an anecdote from a road trip we took to Cheyenne in the summer of 96.

It was an ill fated trip. The original plan was a non-stop drive straight through from Seattle to Cheyenne, but it was nearly midnight when we reached Billings and Aaron was too tired to continue. He got us a hotel room and we slept hard. In the morning, we discovered I had accidentally locked his keys in the car and we had to wait for a police officer to pick the lock for us. On the way back home, we spent the night with one of our dad’s college friends in Meridian. After they woke us up for breakfast, news broke about the bombing at the Atlanta Olympics. Then Aaron’s car broke down on the freeway after we passed Caldwell. He took the next exit and his Ford Lemon sputtered to a stop on front of a gas pump in Sand Hollow. There was a mechanic there who took a look at the car. He didn’t have the parts to fix it and it would take a week to get it if he placed an order. Instead, he duct taped some hoses together so it would hold long enough to get to a fancier mechanic in Ontario. After the car was fully repaired, we got lost trying to get out of Ontario. Attempting to make up time, Aaron got caught speeding by a flying radar trap somewhere north of Umatilla. The ticket was for driving 15 mph over the limit.

I didn’t tell the kids about any of that though. Instead I focused on our arrival in Cheyenne.

Aaron and I agreed it would be funny if we were blasting west coast rap while driving through the city of cowboys. I selected our entrance music as we rolled into town: Gospel Gangstaz. Windows down, volume up. The bass bumped and thumped the whole way to Grandma and Grandpa’s house.

There was one necessity visibly absent during our hip-hop ride: coffee shops. Growing up in the Seattle suburbs, America’s coffee Mecca, we were accustomed to seeing drive-thru coffee stands in parking lots at every major intersection. It felt weird driving through Wyoming’s biggest city and not seeing a coffee shop. Or any big city without seeing a single latte stand.

Granted, this was 1996. The concept of espressos were still an American novelty abundant on the urban coasts but foreign in the heartlands. Small town USA had yet to discover the joys of breves and americanos. In mid-90s Cheyenne, if you wanted coffee, you brewed it at home with the ground Folgers you purchased at the grocery store, or you bought a cup with unlimited refills at 24 hour diners like Sheri’s.

Still, Aaron was a coffee addict and I was coffee curious. We wanted to get some real good caffeinated brew, The first question we asked when we arrived at The Budd house: where can we find a coffee stand? Of the many aunts and uncles gathered, only one knew where we could seek our treasure. There was only one drive-thru shop and it was located on the other side of town. Aaron got the directions and we jumped back into his car for the cross town drive in hopes to find the glorious java.

It was there. As promised. No other vehicles were in line when we arrived so we drove up to the window without a wait. My order was simple, a single shot mint latte. Aaron placed an order for his usual: a quad shot mocha mint. Unfortunately, what was a normal drink in the Seattle suburbs was unusual in Cheyenne. How unusual? Well, they had never heard of it.

“What’s that?” The barista asked.

Aaron asked if she knew how to make a mocha. She did. Then if she knew what a double shot was. She did. By this time, he had the attention of both baristas.

“Well,” he said, “if it takes two shots to make a double shot, then it would take four shots to make a quad shot.”

“Four shots?” said one barista. “Can you do that?” asked the other.

Aaron nodded and instructed the ladies at Cheyenne’s only drive through coffee shop how to assemble his quad shot mocha mint.

Today, there are at least seven Starbucks in Cheyenne (more if you include those located inside of grocery stores) and a couple dozen other cafes, drive-thru stands, and boutique shops offering a variety of fancy espressos. If you’re ever in Chy-Town, I’d recommend stopping by Rail Yard Coffee Haus.

It’s a new age where coffee is holy water and every caffeine craving American has their favorite spot to get their fix. 25 years ago was a different time, we were not quite so obsessed. The plentiful options available now were once nonexistent.

I’ve told this story dozens of times. My Seattle friends don’t believe it ever happened because coffee shops have been a fixture of our culture since the grunge era. Younger kids don’t believe me because they can’t remember anything before the ubiquitous latte stand. As I relayed this tale one more time with my kids, I had a revelation.

The first quad shot mocha ever made in the city of Cheyenne was made for my brother. This as an indisputable fact.

The baristas working at the coffee stand we visited had never made a quad shot before. They didn’t even know it was possible which means such a strong coffee had never been brewed in their shop. Since that lone latte stand was the only coffee shop in Cheyenne, there was nowhere anyone else could have previously ordered such a monstrosity. Therefore, it is only logical to deduct my brother’s order was the first time a quad shot had been made in the entire city of Cheyenne.

In previous iterations of this story, I never considered the monumental implications of what my brother accomplished the sunny July day in the summer of 96. To be the first patron to order a quad shot mocha in the entire city makes him a legend.

There should be an award for such feats.

Four years after our trip, Aaron and his wife became residents of Cheyenne. They’ve made the city their home. And it’s become easier for Aaron to find espressos with more than two shots.

The official Heartsong ornaments 2020

Every December when I was younger, my mom created handmade Christmas ornaments for my brother and me. Her plan was to provide us with ornaments of our own to use when we were older. She had a theory: when we moved out of her house to start life on our own we would have at least 18 Christmas ornaments to decorate the Christmas tree we get four ourseves. It wasn’t just Aaron and me either. She made these ornaments for all of the Budd family cousins too.

Annie also indulges in this crafting tradition. She started making ornaments with Joylyn when it was only the two of them together. Now, with our families blended together, the holiday crafts continue.

There is a difference though. When I was a kid, Aaron and I just let mom do her thing. These days, the ornaments are a family affair. The kids help brainstorm ideas and often handle sharpies and hot glue guns to assemble and decorate the family ornaments we give as gifts to our closest friends and family.

It was tempting to aim for funny this year. The thematic possibilities for 2020 were endless. We even googled in search of toilet paper roll and murder bee shaped confetti. We looked for miniature medical masks to place inside a plastic globe. We pondered the viability of using dollar store sized bottles of hand sanitizer.

After much contemplation, a decision was made to avoid the year in review approach to ornament making. No references to the pandemic, social distancing, the election, Netflix binging, conference calls, extreme weather, or apocalyptic animals.

We realize 2020 has been a weird year. This was the year that real life imitated something halfway in between Maury Povich and the twilight zone. It started with a tiger king refusing to accept reality and is ending with an American president who refuses to accept reality. In between those two cultural mileposts, we’ve seen mask orders and anti-mask rallies. We got professional sports played in empty arenas and super-spreader parties held in NYC, DC, and LA. New generations of video game consoles were released with near life-like graphics yet the most popuar game in America is a cartoony contest about armless spacesuit wearing little people trying to catch a murderous imposter while fixing their spaceship. Graduations were observed on zoom, vacations were cancelled, theaters were closed, and everyone had to figure out how to live life six feet apart.

This world has enough crazy, we didn’t need to add to it. We ached for something normal. Nothing could be more normal for us than this.

Inside a plastic mason jar, you’ll find feathers and snow. Well, artificial snow but the feathers are real - mostly from our chickens and ducks with a few from our turkey, Uno.

While we love our horses, the birds are the heartbeat of Heartsong Meadow. Annie had a pair of Chinese geese when she moved to the farm. Elvis, a black silkie, was one of the first three chickens we got and is the OG of our farm animals. Ruby and Stanley are long time fowl residents. Wasabi the emu is one of our newest feathered friends and he’s quickly become a favorite part of our world. This farm wouldn’t be what it is without the birds.

They greet us every morning. We’ve hatched several, both naturally and artificially, raising some ducks and chickens from tiny lil ducklings and chicks. Joylyn collects eggs and sells them. Chloe has trained a few chickens to jump on her and perch on her shoulder. Annie and I even rescued a dozen abused birds while on the way to a Valentine’s Day date. Now everyone wants to pet and hug the emu.

When it came time to design this year’s ornaments, it made sense to do something with the feathers. In a year as weird and wild as 2020, the birds kept us grounded.

We all took turns collecting feathers, searching for the cleanest and most intact plumage we could find. The birds blow feathers frequently enough that we could have made 100 ornaments. However, we only made 19.

If you receive one of the Heartsong ornaments, we are sharing with you a piece of our hearts. The fake snow has been added because we’re always dreaming of a white Christmas.

Maybe next year we’ll do something funny.

The (adjective) Elf on the (noun)

Hiding a little elf for kids to discover when they get out of bed each morning has become a favorite (and sometimes loathed) holiday tradition for many families. Santa’s mischievous spy has become an internet sensation as parents seek out increasingly creative ways to display their elves and avoid repeating the same thing over and over again. The inappropriate ideas posted in chat forums and on social media became a meme worthy of a notorious reputation for hilarious antics.

If you were to purchase the official Elf on the Shelf, you will get more than just a simple posable elfin doll, the box also includes a storybook to be read to children explaining the elf’s life and purpose. We have one of the Elf on the Shelf branded elves, Joylyn named it Elfy when she was three. Elfy has been a recurring element of our home every year from the day after Thanksgiving through Christmas Eve. Elfy came packaged with a storybook. However, not all elves have a backstory.

We recently added a second elf to our holiday routines. Annie and I hide one elf every night like we always have while the older kids take turns setting up the second elf for their younger sister to find the next morning. We didn’t buy a second Elf on the Shelf though; instead we got a craft store elf - similar in appearance yet distinct enough to avoid confusing the two mythical creatures. No storybook was included with the discount elf, just a doll in a box.

With no backstory for our new elf, we had to create our own. As a writer, this is something I could easily concoct on my own but that wouldn’t be fun. Wouldn’t it be better if the kids created his story? And what if they didn’t know they were making a story about an elf? For our second elf on a different elf, we did it Mad Libs style.



Now Joylyn is aware how Elfy and *checks notes* Chad know each other. With two elves, we have twice the opportunity for hijinks and shenanigans.

Need a story for your elf? Feel free to play along. Have your kids (or significant other) fill in the blanks for your own elfish story.

Hello, my name is (goofy Name). I am a (adjecive) elf from the (direction on a compass) pole. Elfy is my (adjective) friend. We met each other while playing a game of (something you play in PE), elves versus (animal plural). We won.

Santa asked us to (verb) you every day from now until (holiday). He has a (noun) to keep track of which kids are naughty and which kids are (adjective). If you want to be on the good list, make sure you (verb) your parents, and be (adjective) to your siblings, and do all of your home(noun plural) for school. Don't forget to clean up the (noun) you make after dinner and brush your (body part plural) every morning.

Look for me every (general time of day) to see what kind of (noun plural) we have while you sleep on your (piece of furniture). I might be (adjective) or I might be (adjective), but my goal is to make you (verb).

I will (verb) my final report to Santa on Christmas Eve. Only (adjective) kids will get the best presents under their Christmas (type of plant), bad kids will get a lump of (mineral). After Christmas, I must say (a different way of saying goodbye) and (verb) back home to Santa's (type of building). We are going to have the best Christmas ever!

Love, (same goofy name as before) the Elf

Enjoy. I would love to hear what epic stories you and your loved ones devise. Feel free to share. Or, like the elves do with Santa, report back on Christmas Eve.

Tour de Bux

The City of Coeur d’Alene could (if they wanted) hold a unique race every year. No, not Ironman, that’s already a thing. The city also runs their own triathlon, duathlon, marathon, and 10k runs. There’s a marathon done in the neighboring town of Hayden. And you can compete in a scenic bike race around the lake called Coeur d’Fondo.

My proposal for the city by the lake is a new bike race – one that combines this region’s love for fitness and coffee. Part race, part scavenger hunt, and part endurance test: I call it Tour de Bux.

Here’s how it works. Riders must race their bikes from one Starbucks to another, stopping at every location to consume a drink of their choice as quickly as possible, and collect a tag documenting completion for each individual store. First competitor across the finish line with the correct number of tags win. Starbucks swag and gift cards could be awarded as prizes.

The race begins with the first drink at the Coeur d’Alene Resort where Starbucks is served in the lobby cafe. Stop number two is two miles up Northwest Blvd to the Riverstone Starbucks. Next, riders head over the hill and one mile east to Ironwood Square. After drinking their third coffee, racers will ride 1.2 miles north on Government Way to the Starbucks next to Costco, then across the street to the Starbucks inside Safeway. The next two stops are also inside stores: Fred Meyer is less than a mile to the west, followed by Target about a mile and a half north on Highway 95. The final stop where competitors will drink their eighth cup of coffee is one mile north of Target at the Cornerstone Starbucks.

Finishers won’t sleep for days.

If that sounds a bit ridiculous, it is. Actually, it’s a lot of ridiculous.

Combined population for Cd’A, Dalton Gardens, and Hayden is around 69,000 people. With eight different Starbucks to choose from, that’s roughly one Starbucks per 8600 citizens. Contrast with the city of Spokane Valley (population is 99,700) where there is also eight Starbucks locations. Coeur d’Alene is comparatively coffee crowded.

In calculating Starbucks per capita in Coeur d’Alene, you can easily reduce the ration by eliminating people who (like my older brother) refuse to consume anything related to Starbucks. You can also remove people who are loyal customers of the various drive through stands and rival coffee shops like Thomas Hammer, The Human Bean, and Dutch Bros. Generously speaking, you’re left with half of the population who might frequently or occasionally patronize one of the local Starbucks which leaves us with one Starbucks per 4300 residents. Store hours are often open for business 15 hours a day. According to my overly analytical nerdy brain, each Cd’A area Starbucks exists for 287 locals during every hour it’s open.

photo courtesy of Eventige

This is overkill. Unlike my brother, I don’t despise Starbucks. I enjoy their salted caramel mochas during the holidays and I think their vanilla bean Frappuccino can be deeply satisfying on a hot summer afternoon. Yet I wonder if we really need eight different Starbucks so geographically close to each other?

News earlier this week announced the closure of 400 Starbucks stores. It wouldn’t surprise me if at least one of those closures is in Coeur d’Alene. The market is saturated, too much of a good thing.

However, if there are no store closures in Coeur d’Alene, there should be a Tour de Bux as soon as this whole COVID pandemic is over.

Tortured

The last solid food I ate was Wednesday and I will not be able to eat solid food again until at least tomorrow. Why? Doctor’s orders. I was admitted to the hospital for a perforated and infected colon. It’s a level of pain I’ve never before endured and not one I would recommend experiencing. Medical staff had me on an IV drip and a clear liquids diet until my discharge at which point I graduated to a clear and full liquid diet. I can’t eat real food, but I can ingest anything that would melt at room temperature.

It’s difficult to explain how hungry I feel. I am reminded of the emptiness in my stomach every time an advertisement for a restaurant specialty or grocery item plays on TV. You really don’t realize how heavily food is advertised until a doctor places you on a liquids only diet. Every edible product in every commercial looks like it might be the most delicious treat ever cooked by God or human. Even foods you wouldn’t normally consume.

For example, I don’t like seafood. Can’t stand it. One of the most commonly aired commercials during my hospital stay was for Arby’s new fish sandwiches. After being confined for 24 hours without any solid food, and delivered meals consisting of chicken broth and jello, those fish sandwiches started looking tempting and tasty.

image courtesy of Arby's

This is the depths of hunger I attempted to describe to my kids when their mom brought them to visit on Thursday night. They came around dinner time. Room service delivered my liquid meal seconds after they arrived. They were curious about my food and I had to stop my daughter from stealing my honey packet. I told them they couldn’t begin to understand how hungry I was at that moment. “Those Arby’s commercials for fish sandwiches? They look delicious and I hate seafood.”

The kids laughed but Bekah had a different response: “Speaking of which, did you know Wendy’s serves breakfast now?”

Of course I knew that. It’s also the kind of food I should avoid for the rest of my life. But as soon as she mentioned it, I was hungry enough I could have probably eaten every breakfast item on their menu. She proceeded to describe in mouth watering detail Wendy’s potato wedges. She was torturing me. Intentionally. We’ve been divorced for several years but I’m sure she still finds immense satisfaction in teasing me.

When it was time for them to go, Chloe wanted to stay. She and Christian both had school the next day so Bekah reminded them they’d need to exit if they wanted time to watch a movie before bed. The kids both stalled and lingered a little longer so Bekah tried a new tactic. “C’mon. We gotta go. If you want to get Chinese food, we have to leave now. Do you want Chinese? We're going to go get Chinese.”

The last thing I heard as they left was Christian pleading, “Mom please stop.”

The torture didn’t end the moment my ex-wife was out of earshot. I was discharged the next day and out of the hospital before lunch. I stopped by my office to talk to my boss and walked in while site leadership was serving barbecued burgers and potato chips for an employee appreciation day. Annie asked me to deliver a bacon cheeseburger and fries on my way to see her. Friday night, Chloe baked a chocolate cake. Saturday morning, Christian cooked pancakes from scratch. Saturday night, I picked up three medium pizzas from Dominos. Sunday morning, I got donuts from the donut shop and fried bacon for a special breakfast. I didn’t eat any of it.

Instead of the parade of delectable delights moving through my kitchen, I’ve survived on jello and protein drinks. And I am starving. Figuratively speaking.

Those fish sandwiches still look amazing. And I don’t even like fish.

Pay Up

A little over a year ago, I posted a list of who I would want to see cast in the MCU version of The Fantastic Four. If you missed it, you can read part one HERE and part two HERE. As a quick refresher on one character from the F4 universe, this was my pick for the actor I would love to see join the Marvel roster. And it seems someone at Disney was reading.

Rami Malek was (and still is) who I think would be the best option to become the Silver Surfer. And he's been busy. After his Academy Award winning role in Bohemian Rhapsody, he joined Iron Man Robert Downey Jr in Disney's Doolittle. In a couple months, we'll see him as the villain in the newest Bond movie, No Time to Die. Between his talent, success, and experience with an MCU alumnus, Malek would be the perfect fit inside the world of Marvel films.

If the rumors are true, the casting team at Marvel Studios took my suggestion to heart. What rumors? Watch:



Well, Disney? What do you have to say for yourselves? I'm ready to discuss my consulting fees. Or you could just hire me. Please?

Insulting Mr. Grinch

During the autumn of 1957, Dr. Seuss introduced a new character into the pantheon of Christmas icons: the Grinch. Despite his gruff and grumpy personality, this furry green recluse quickly became one of the most recognizable and beloved figures of the holiday season, a third place finisher behind baby Jesus and Santa Clause. His popularity skyrocketed thanks in part to CBS's animated TV special released nine years after the book's first publication.

image courtesy of MGM Television

Rather than granting MGM animation full control, Dr. Seuss went back to work revising his original tale, adapting it to a screenplay. With the script penned by the creative mind who gave life the Whoville universe, CBS hired horror movie legend, Boris Karloff to voice the green monster. The rest is television history.

In addition to the screenplay, Dr. Seuss wrote a song for the TV special. It included lyrics not contained in the original book. The tune, You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch went to great lengths to describe the depravity of the Grinch's demeanor and personality. This song has resonated with audiences for more than 50 years, ever since Thurl Ravenscroft provided his deep bass voice to the cartoon soundtrack. It has been rerecorded by a variety of artists like Cee-Lo Green and Sixpence None the Richer. And Christmas just isn't Christmas in America if I don't hear that song at least once in December.

There's a reason we love that song. The Seussian lyrics employ a series of similes and metaphors so wildly inventive and diabolically clever, the listener is compelled to ponder the meaning of each individual insult. One after another, the next put-down sounding more twisted than the prior. Yet it maintained an innocent wholesomeness throughout. These are the kind of personal digs that makes a person think "I wish I had thought of that." It begins by letting the villain know, "you're a mean one," and it goes downhill from there, a relentless onslaught of jabs and digs somehow both demeaning and delightful.

As a bullied kid, I always wished I had the courage to speak such insults to my bullies - beat them down with the power of the English language and my superior intellect. Now I just smile at the beautiful syntax and listen in awe of the unmatched wit and genius who entered these invectives into our lexicon.

Most of these taunting phrases are easy to understand. After all, these words were written for a television broadcast aimed at an elementary aged demographic. Cuddly as a cactus? Ouch. Those things are pokey; no one wants to cuddle with a cactus. Charming as an eel? Those things are fugly and possibly the least charming of all sea creatures. A bad banana with a greasy black peel? Bananas like that are better suited for the compost pile than for human consumption. We get these slights. We feel them in our bones. They allude to experiences we all share. We don't just hear these insults, we can see them, smell them, taste them, and touch them. You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch is a song that speaks to all five of our senses.

We know people who we would describe as having an empty hole for a heart and a soul full of gunk. There are individuals in our lives who remind us of an appalling dump-heap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable, mangled up in tangled up knots. We often describe many of our elected officials with the three words that best describe the Grinch: stink, stank, and stunk. From start to finish, we revel in the abasement of the nasty wasty skunk and the king of sinful sots.

While we would love to see some of these words applied to our least favorite people, we also hope to be better than the Grinch. I wouldn't want anyone to prefer a sea-sick crocodile over my company. Don't tell me my heart is full of unwashed socks, I do my kids' laundry and I know how badly my teenager's unwashed socks reek. I would hate it if my heart was called a dead and moldy tomato, I loathe tomatoes. And I never want to be thought of as the human embodiment of a three decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce.

image courtesy of MGM Television

However, there is one insult in the entire song that doesn't quite fit. Every time I hear the song, I think to myself, "actually, that sounds kind of appealing." After telling the Grinch his brain is full of spiders, (which is indisputably creepy, gross, and awful) the singer continues to state "You've got garlic in your soul."

Wait, that's it? Garlic in your soul? How is that a bad thing? Garlic is the most essential ingredient in the kitchen. It's used in so many dishes – everything from Italian cuisine to Chinese food. It's found in homesteaders' pantries and five star restaurants. It enhances meats and veggies, cheeses and breads. I worry about people who don't like garlic. I love its flavor and the smell is divine. There is a Mediterranean eatery in Post Falls that uses garlic in abundance and the scent wafts out from their building into the surrounding streets. I smell it every time I drive by and it makes my heart melt in hunger and sweet desire.

My dad once claimed he put too much garlic in a meal he was preparing. I told him his argument was invalid - there's no such thing as too much garlic.

A person with garlic in their soul is a good chef. They are the master of their kitchen and culinary artists. They bring joy to their families and their patrons. I would be honored if someone told me there was garlic in my soul.

Perhaps the garlic in the Grinch's soul was the one sliver of goodness he possessed that allowed his heart to grow three sizes. After all, no one can be pure evil, even someone vile with a termite smile like the Grinch.

image courtesy of MGM Television

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Parking Lot

The boys spent the day at the carnival. With money they earned working this summer, they purchased wristbands granting them access to unlimited rides. For ten hours (with a brief pizza break for dinner) JJ, Christian, and Annie’s nephew alternated between long lines and thrill rides.

It’s the perfect end to summer: bright lights, circus music, lost equilibrium, feelings of weightlessness, laughter, screaming, fear, excitement, deep fried foods, and cotton candy. The carnival midway is a source of joy and wonder, the freedom of childhood and the gift of nostalgia. After their first week of school, we rewarded them with a day at the fair with as much fun their legs and stomachs could handle. The summer season is complete and fall begins from the top of the world.

Granted, it was only the boys who made an endurance run of the carnival. Annie and I took Steven and our daughters through the animal exhibits then wandered through the commercial and craft vendors and finished our evening at the rodeo. As we left the arena, I texted Christian to let him know we were ready to meet up and head home. He replied with a text and a picture.

“20 minutes? I’m in line for this.”

OK, fine. We agreed this would be their final ride of the night. The rest of us sat down to watch some side stage entertainment and waited for the boys to be done with The Zipper. A half hour later, he sent me another text with another photo.

“So close. We are right under it.”

Thirty minutes later, they were done stepping out of the flipping cart and headed our direction for the walk back to the parking lot.

Before I continue, I should describe the layout of the Spokane Interstate Fair for those who have never attended. There are actually two carnivals. The big one with all of the main attractions is situated on the north end, and a smaller carnival with tamer rides aimed for younger audiences on the south side. A row of buildings (Avista Stadium, the Expo Center, and the Grandstands/rodeo arena) are host to the multitude of performers, artists, food vendors, and merchants and divide the fairgrounds in two. The boys spent their day in the northern carnival, but the exit to the parking lot forced us to walk through the food trucks and marketplace and by the kiddie carnival to return to where we parked our cars.

Once we reached the kiddie rides, the older two of the three boys spotted a harmless attraction nearby and hatched a wild idea: could they make it harmful?

It’s the bear ride: giant metal teddy bears with benches inside. Riders sit on the interior benches, and hold on to a disk in the middle. If you pull on the disk, the bear spins in a circle. Whether you decide to spin it fast, or slow, or not at all, all of the bears sit on a track which pulls all of the bears in a bigger circle. Christian and Annie’s nephew (a freshman and sophomore in high school) took one look at this ride and pondered the possibilities. They asked “How fast do you think we could get that thing to spin.” They begged for one more ride and despite the late time, we relented.

This is where the story gets funny. Immediately after I snapped this picture, a younger boy asked to join them. The carnie took his ticket and let him in, but all the other bears were full. The only available seat for this kid (who looked about six or seven years old) was next to the two teenagers looking to exploit this ride in ways it was never intended. The boys granted permission and this little kid climbed in next to them. Then they started to spin. Faster and faster. The carnival worker hadn’t even started the ride and the boys had already reached maximum rotation speed.

In my mind, I could hear the intimidating words of Willy Wonka: “There's no earthly way of knowing which direction they are going. Is it raining, is it snowing? Is a hurricane a-blowing? Not a speck of light is showing. So the danger must be growing. Are the fires of Hell a-glowing? Is the grisly Reaper mowing? Yes! The danger must be growing and they're certainly not showing any sign that they are slowing!” (sounds of maniacal screaming)

So they spun. By the time the worker pulled the lever to start the actual ride, the little kid who joined the big boys already looked a bit queasy. Their rapidly rotating bear slowly followed the ring track to where Annie and I stood. In the time it took for their bear cart to pass us, they made three full revolutions. With each fleeting passing glimpse, the older boys displayed an unchanging expression of fierce determination. They might have obtained the fastest speed allowed by the laws of physics, but they believed in a perpetual acceleration science cannot explain. Even if they couldn’t go faster, they were not slowing for anything.

Their ride-a-long passenger did not carry the same passion for reaching terminal velocity. His emotional state was rather conflicted. Every time we saw his face, he alternated between a look of unbridled glee and complete terror. He screamed in fright, and he giggled nervously. He screamed again, looked like he was going to vomit, laughed, cried, and squealed a half-hearted cheer.

His vocal expressions were also experiencing an existential crisis. In one passing, we heard him shouting, “Wheeeeeeeeeee!!!!” Then the next time he spun by, we heard him whimper, “I don’t want to do this anymore.” Then “NOOO!” and “Why?” before he was laughing again.

When the ride ended and their cart finally locked into place, the little kid was the first to disembark. He was unsteady on his feet and his smile twitched in and out of existence. He looked confused, like he had just endured electroshock therapy and was trying to decide if it was horrifying or exciting.

After a few staggered steps, Christian walked up beside him to lend a helping hand. “Are you OK kid?”

He stared at Christian in a daze. “Uh-huh.” He feebly replied. He swayed out the gate, up to a parental figure and asked “Can I go again?”

You just know this kid is braver now than he was before. He’s going to go back to school and let his classmates know about the time he joined some teenagers on a carnival ride that spun so fast he could see the future. One day, his kids are going to ask why he’s never sacred, and he’ll answer, “One day, I rode a bear so powerful and dangerous; I could taste what the color purple sounds like. I’ve feared nothing since that day.”

The Bugler

Imaging being smart enough to understand the intricacies of the second amendment and self defense laws. Imagine possessing the intelligence required to admit to killing others, covering up their deaths, disposing of evidence, and getting away with murder. Imagine for a moment you’re a prodigious genius patriot superhero of your own domain warding off home invaders and petty thieves who thrive in your crime ridden corner of suburbia.

Then imagine being so brilliant and yet you’re incapable of spelling the word burglar.

found on twitter

Disclaimer: I am not a masterful speller. As a kid, I flunked a majority of my elementary school spelling tests. I was the kid who disqualified himself in the first round of every spelling bee. Spell check exists for people like me.

Throughout my formal education, English classes were my worst subjects. These classes routinely garnered the lowest grade on every report card. My 10th grade American Literature teacher would be horrified to learn I’m a writer today.

I am not a grammar nazi either. The first draft of everything I write is ugly enough to make the most chill member of the grammar police cringe. This is why I submit my work through a couple rounds of revision and editing before it faces public consumption.

While I am rarely one to point out flaws in other individuals’ use of the English language, there are some errors that are too good to ignore. There are misspellings so divinely perfect it satisfies my appreciation of schadenfreude. Bugler is one of those fine examples. Even with my limited mastery of syntax and my fragile ability to spell, I still know the correct spelling is burglar.

But bugler? Sounds like how you would describe someone who is obsessed with insects but lacks any basic understanding of entomology.

Does mocking the individual who designed these decals and used them to decorate the entrance to his home make me a hypocrite? Yes. Does assuming the homeowner in question is a male make me sexist? Probably. Do I care? No. Any would-be burglar thinking of robbing this abode is probably smart enough to see the fool’s error. And they’re probably laughing at his folly too.

The Art of Blogging

There are rules. Several rules. Well, maybe not rules, they’re more like suggestions. Enter “blogging tips” into any search engine and you’ll find more helpful lists than you’ll ever have time to read. There are some good suggestions out there.

If I’m honest though, I don’t follow all of the rules. Blogging is an art and sometimes the best artists are those who paint outside the lines.

Most professional bloggers will tell you to maintain a regular posting schedule. I tried it, it’s exhausting, and it hurts my soul. My brain doesn’t properly function under such rigorous demands. So I aim for regular-ish, at least once a week. However, since my car accident, I’ve been lagging behind the more relaxed self-imposed expectation.

Some prominent tips I do attempt to follow, like including pictures in every post. Blog posts with pictures attract more traffic. It's even better if there are words in your pictures. Allegedly.

I also aim to keep the length of my posts within a reasonable word count. Experts tell you if they’re too short, readers skim and move on quickly. But overly long posts risk becoming boring, causing reader to lose interest before they finish. Different writers maintain slightly varied opinions on the correct length of a blog post, and I have my own - no shorter than 800 words, no longer than 1200 words.

That’s my rule and sometimes I break it. I am today by being too short and my next post will be in violation for being too long.

Normally, I don’t pay much attention to word counts when I compose a first draft. My rough drafts are usually composed in a note pad on my computer or the notes app on my phone so that I don’t see the count until I move it into Word. From there, I edit the misspellings and grammar, re-read it for clarity and fix any logical problems, and then I consider length. If it is over the 1200 word limit, I have two choices, cut out extra words or divide the long post into two or more smaller posts.

Usually, I lean toward multi-part posting because I’m hesitant to eliminate content. “I wrote those words for a reason,” is my rationalization. Some ideas also present themselves better in separate yet related posts.

Right now though, this post is only a brief update to where I’ve been and a disclaimer of what’s next.

I got hit by a semi a couple months ago and much of my writing time has been absorbed by physical therapy and recovery. We also have a farm to run and I’ve been working through the pain to make sure our animals remain cared for and fed. Everything I do takes twice as long because I’m moving slower.

Also, just because I haven’t been posting as frequently to the blog, doesn’t mean I’m not writing. I’m working on my book and my fiancée has been incredible through her support and encouragement to hustle creating something tangible to publish and hold in your hands.

Finally, there is a reason I mention the rules, the steps I take conforming to those rules, and how I sometimes ignore the rules. My next post is going to be long. Really long. It might be the longest single post I’ve ever written for this blog. Normally, I would break up pieces of this length into a part 1 / part 2 series but not this time. My biggest challenge is how it’s a continuous narrative and I couldn’t find a natural break in the story where I could comfortably stop one post and begin another.

The story is also deeply personal. I feel it is too important to split into multiple parts. So brace yourself, it’s a doozy. You’ll want to pour yourself a cup of coffee and find a comfy seat before you read it.

A Presidential Goat

This is Trumpet. He’s a goat. And he has some fantastic hair.

A few days ago, while doing barn chores, Annie had a revelation about Trumpet’s hair: it’s a combover. His hair has a certain presidential quality to it. Maybe not presidential in a traditional sense, more like it reminds us a little of the man currently serving as president. Then we got thinking and the more we realized our goat and our president have a lot in common. And it’s more than just the floppy coif on the tops of their head. Consider the following.

They can’t stay faithful. Donald Trump initially gained fame and notoriety through tabloid headlines highlighting his marriages, mistresses, divorces, and remarriages. He has five different kids with three different women. He’s cheated on every woman who married him. Trumpet is just as much of a philanderer. A couple weeks ago, Viola gave birth to twins. Trumpet is their dad. Meanwhile, he also got Didgeridoo pregnant and she’ll be going into labor soon. If you think two baby mamas are enough, you’d be wrong because he’s also been getting frisky with two of our other lady goats: Ukelele and Kazoo. We’re going to have a farm full of goats and he’ll the daddy of all of those kids.

Trump has a weird and creepy obsession with his daughter. I’ve lost count of how many cringe inducing and inappropriate things he has said about Ivanka. Like when Trump said he’d date her if she wasn’t his daughter. Or when he asked a writer if it was wrong to be more attracted to your daughter than your wife. Or when he gave Howard Stern permission to call her “a piece of ass.” Or when he awkwardly groped her hips at the RNC convention. Trumpet also has an incestuous fascination with his kin. Let’s just say we try to keep him separated from his sister.

For Trump and Trumpet, rules don’t matter because they do whatever they desire. You want to try and contain Donald Trump? Good luck. I’m guessing his unpredictability and subversion has contributed to the unusually high turnover in the Trump administration. Likewise, Trumpet shows little interest in what you want from or expect of him. He goes where he wants. If you try to contain him, he will jump over gates and fences to do what he should not be doing.

We all know that President Trump is a raging narcissist. His sociopathic behavior is mirrored in Trumpet the goat. As far as Trumpet is concerned, everything that happens around our farm is about him. When we go out to the barn, he jumps to greet us as if we only made the trek to see him. Then he circles around us until we acknowledge him. Should any smaller creatures stand between him and his destination, he will trample straight over the top of them. If Heartsong Meadow had a daily newspaper, he would demand constant front page mentions. He poses for our trail camera. He smiles when we catch him acting naughty. And don’t ever call Trumpet a goat – he might get confused and think you’re calling him the greatest of all time.

When we feed the chickens, Trumpet thinks we’re feeding him. When we feed the horses, Trumpet thinks we’re feeding him. It doesn’t matter what animal is being fed. Trumpet assumes all food is for him. He loves to eat, much like President Trump. What would Trump be without a bucket of KFC, his extra scoop of ice cream, or a taco bowl on Cinco de Mayo? Trump and Trumpet share an insatiable appetite. Neither of them, man or goat possess the will power to resist a Big Mac.

They have so much in common: megalomaniacs, obnoxious, loud, and constantly in search of a meal. At least in the goat’s case, the hair is real.

A Halftime Show that Won’t Disappoint

It seems some people were not impressed with Maroon 5’s performance last Sunday. Buzzfeed compared Adam Levine’s shirt to household upholstery, and several ladies swooned when he took off the same shirt. The majority of songs they played were from their 17 year old debut album, Travis Scott’s guest appearance was heavily censored, and Big Boi represented his home town with a fur coat and a Cadillac. Annie thought Levine looked like Ernie from the trailer park. I thought he looked like the bastard offspring of Eminem and Justin Bieber.

Regardless of whether you were bored or entertained, one thing is clear: the NFL doesn’t know what they’re doing. Year after year, they recruit big name artists to play the Halftime Show and more often than not, those acts end up lackluster. Social media annually floods with complaints over the suckage Super Bowl viewers just endured for 15 minutes. Other than the exception of Bruno Mars, there hasn’t been a universally praised halftime concert since Prince in 2007.

The wonderful citizens of the internet have a solution to this problem. They have a superstar in mind who could satisfy audiences of any age and fans of any genre. Someone who has been performing with the same band for over 30 years, a four time Grammy winning performer, and a very weird man. So weird it’s even in his name: Weird Al Yankovic.

It’s not just a couple a of randos on Reddit who want this to happen. There are some big names championing this cause including Patton Oswalt.

Dear @NFL: Please have @alyankovic do next year’s Halftime Show. How do we make this happen? I bet @Madonna will come out and do “Like A Surgeon.” Signed, (Gary Oldman from The Professional voice) EEEEVERYOOOONE

— Patton Oswalt (@pattonoswalt) February 4, 2019

I can get behind this idea. Imagine the possibilities. While Patton suggested a guest appearance from Madonna, I have some other ideas. If it was up to me, here’s what you would see at the 2020 Pepsi Halftime Show.

The performance starts with only the band on stage. They play the opening riff of their Queen Parody. Yankovic’s voice sings from off stage: “Another one rides the bus. Another one the bus.” The lights go out and a lone spotlight shines down to the entrance where Al rolls in on a Segway for a rap medley. White & Nerdy is up first followed by All About the Pentiums. The first guest star jumps on stage during this second song: Dave Grohl playing the guitar. Grohl was the guitarist on All About the Benjamins - the Diddy song Pentiums parodies. The medley ends with Coolio and LV joining Al for Amish Paradise.

Next, the band plays their spoof of a song from a previous Halftime performer: Perform This Way – a parody of Lady Gaga’s Born this Way. Even better, Weird Al wears sparkly shoulder pads as a tribute to Gaga’s Super Bowl fashion. Perform this Way leads into a second song from the same album, Party in the CIA which parodies Party in the USA by Miley Cyrus. Naturally, Miley would Join Al for the spoof of her song.

As Miley exits the stage, another famous face enters: Steven Tyler. The two guys sing Livin’ in the Fridge, a parody of a song originally written by Tyler – Aerosmith’s Livin’ on the Edge. As Tyler sings the final chorus, Al disappears for a costume change. Crowds cheer as the Aerosmith front man bows.

Lights dim again and Al emerges carrying a light saber and wearing a brown robe. The next song is a sing-along for the whole stadium – The Saga Begins. “A long long time ago, in a galaxy far away …” Joined by fans dressed in Star Wars cosplay, they lead the crowd singing “My my, this here Anakin guy. May be Vader someday later - now he's just a small fry. And he left his home and kissed his mommy goodbye. Sayin' "Soon I'm gonna be a Jedi.” Episode 9 should still be in theaters so this would be a great cross promotional opportunity for Disney.

Finally, or Al’s last few minutes on the stage in Miami, he strips off the Jedi robe to reveal his signature Hawaiian shirt, a stagehand delivers his accordion. Al is known for his polka collections which mash up bits of popular songs into one track - all accompanied by accordion riffs and polka beats. For the NFL, Al unleashes a new collection unheard before: The Super Bowl Polka – polka renditions of tunes performed in previous Halftime Shows: hits from Coldplay, Katy Perry, Black Eyed Peas, Justin Timberlake, and Beyoncé. As the song ends, surprise – he’s not done yet and neither is the polka. Lin-Manuel Miranda arrives for the grand finale: The Hamilton Polka. Fireworks. Lights out. Commercial break.

It’ll never happen but a boy can dream. Right?

Ode to Mullets

It's the Kentucky waterfall, the neckwarmer, or the Camero cut. The official hairdo of NASCAR, ice hockey, country music, butt-rock, meth addicts, and our worst memories of the 80s. If you have one, I'll assume you drive an El Camino and listen to Nickelback. It's even a movie trope. When you see a kid with a mullet in the theater, you know he's a bully. Or a redneck. Or both.

image courtesy of New Line Cinema and Warner Bros Pictures

In the early days of Bush Jr's presidency, my friend Steve and I spent a couple afternoons mullet hunting. We'd hang out at Boise Towne Square or drive through Garden City looking for people with the regrettable hairstyle so we could take a photograph of them. Somewhere on the internet, in the days before social media, there was a website full of hilarious pictures of mullet-topped citizens. It even had them sorted by classifications, coiffured subspecies. There was the frullet (part afro, part mullet), or the skullet (bald on top, long and flowy in back). The website was completely driven by user submissions and Steve's goal was for them to use a picture he submitted.

We never got a picture good enough to be sent to the web collection of epic mullets. But a juvenile with a kidlet (kid with a mullet) flipped us off, and we were chased through the mall by a body builder unironically dressed like a member of The Power Team.

image courtesy of The Power Team

There are times I wish I had a camera with me to sneak a photo of some creative mullets. At a birthday party for a friend of a friend several years ago, there was a mullet of preposterous proportions worn by the birthday boy's mother's girlfriend. It started with mall-bangs up front (like Tiffany in I Think We’re Alone Now), Farrah Fawcett feathering on top, buzzed in racing lines on the side, and the mullet sprouting down the back. But it was no ordinary mullet, it was divided in half. The left side was cut a few inches shorter than the right side and neither half was trimmed straight; the two sides were cut at odd angles - one of which was sharper than the other. Finally, out from underneath the staggered mullet, like Obi Wan in Episode 1, a thin Padawan braid pony tail hung down to her waistline. It's like her hairstylist asked her what she wanted and she replied, "Give me one of everything."

It's been a good long while since I've witnessed one in public, until this week. It was a mullet that was trying not to be a mullet but clearly was still a mullet.

Between his build and facial features, he looked like Milton from Office Space. His fashion choices were similar too, only substitute current geek-chic glasses for the oversized wire frames and add a minimalist tribal tattoo sleeve.

image courtesy of 20th Century Fox

As for the hair? It was that weird moldy blonde, similar in color and texture as Donald Trump, and slicked back the way Trump’s sons do. Then in back it went down further than you’d expect, ending in a peculiar pointy shape - as if it was once a rat tail cut off while he slept by a prankster sibling.

Mullets have often been referred to as business up front and party in the back. This hair cut was New Yorker up front and homeschooled from Athol in the back. Never have I been more confused by someone else’s haircut.

Thankfully, the mullet has faded from use. Billy Ray Cyrus abandoned it years ago and it's been shunned by most everyone in the public spotlight from politicians to race car drivers to aging metalheads. The mullet is known as a cultural embarrassment and I hope it remains stigmatized for years to come.

Predictive Substitution: Harry Potter

I have a confession to make. One that makes me feel as if I have failed as a nerd. Are you ready?

I have never read any of the Harry Potter books. And I haven't seen any of the movies either. Strange, I know. You can shame me later.

Before I lose all credibility though, I must explain. The Potterverse isn't completely foreign to me. A good number of my friends are die-hard fans. Two of my three kids have read the full series of books; my oldest has read each of the books at least seven times. Despite never reading a single line of Rowling's novels, I am familiar with the stories. I could easily fake being a Potterhead.

I see the memes on Facebook and follow J.K. Rowling on twitter. I know enough of the story and plot twists to get the jokes. As for spoilers? Yeah.

"You're wizard, Harry." He's also a horcrux. Harry was an orphan abused by his aunt and uncle. They kept him in a cupboard under the stairs at 4 Privet Drive. Students take the Hogwarts Express train to get to their school, which departs from Platform 9 3/4ths at King's Cross in London. Wizards shop in Diagon Alley. Gringotts is a bank. Ordinary people (those who do not possess magical abilities) are pejoratively known as muggles. Hagrid is a big dude. Death Eaters are bad. Quidditch is a complicated sport. Hedwig the owl dies. Snape kills Dumbledore, but Snape isn't completely evil even though it looks like he might be. Voldemort is He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Hermione Granger is the real hero.

If Hogwarts was a real place, and my family was sorted into the houses, my oldest son and I would belong in Gryffindor, my daughter in Ravenclaw, and my youngest son in Hufflepuff. If I had a patronus, it would be a mountain goat. My daughter's patronus would be an Arabian horse. And my fiancée’s daughter's patronus would probably be a Shetland pony.

My knowledge of the wizarding world of Harry Potter and all his friends has been gained vicariously, like some sort of geeky osmosis. While I'll never be a Potter expert, I do appreciate what Rowling accomplished and the fictional universe she created. I know enough of the lore to enjoy the fandom without actually doing the reading and watching work of a true fan.

Which brings me back to the memes. While scrolling through Facebook, I stumbled upon a fill-in-the-blanks with predictive text game that had a Harry Potter theme. Harry was known as "The boy who lived," a phrase that also serves as the title of the first chapter of the first book. This line was the source of the meme, asking friends to use their phone's predictive text get a Potterish nickname.

(Your name), (the gender with which you identify) who (finish with predictive text).

When I did it, I got, "Nic, the boy who has a little more time." Which vaguely sounds like a threat, like my time is running out. Or an insult as if I'm not already doing enough. Perhaps, though unlikely, it's a reference to my superpowers, the ability to complete tasks quicker than expected allowing me a little more time. Note: I don't have superpowers.

Some of the other Potter-names were good for a laugh. The woman who has been through the ringer. The girl who was a little confused. The woman who is coming out of the oven. The man who was a little extra.

These quick breaks from reality give us a temporary reprieve from the dreary headlines of school shootings and scandals involving elected officials. We all need a little distraction in our lives, and I thank the nerds on the internet for providing what we need.

It also got me thinking. Rowling wrote in a way to make the reader empathize with Harry Potter. We were meant to experience the world of Hogwarts through his eyes. We should feel what he feels through both triumph and tragedy. What if we were to place our names into the titles of each of the seven books then completed it with a mix of Mad Libs and predictive texting.

Book 1: (Your name) and the (Dream job)'s (finish with predictive text)
Book 2: (Your name) and the (room in your house where you spend the most time) of (finish with predictive text)
Book 3: (Your name) and the (fill in with predictive text) of (your most exotic bucket list destination)
Book 4: (Your name) and the (closest fluid container) of (finish with predictive text)
Book 5: (Your name) and the (fill in with predictive text) of the (your favorite mythical creature)
Book 6: (Your name) and the Half-(fill in with predictive text) (your title of nobility if you were a member of England's aristocracy)
Book 7: (Your name) and the (your biggest fear as an adjective) (finish with predictive text)

My Harry Potterish book titles are as follows:

Book 1: Nic Casey and the Writer's Favorite Team
Book 2: Nic Casey and the Kitchen of the Gospel
Book 3: Nic Casey and the Kids of Kastellorizo
Book 4: Nic Casey and the Water Bottle of Thistle
Book 5: Nic Casey and the First of the Yeti
Book 6: Nic Casey and the Half-Washington Duke
Book 7: Nic Casey and the Insignificant Morning

Consider this my gift of escapism. Take a break from the nastiness of social media and geek out for a few minutes. Feel free to play along and comment what your books would be called. Maybe one of these days, I'll get around to reading the Harry Potter series. I've heard it's great.

The Super Bowl that Was

As we delve deeper into 2018, it is obvious we are stuck with a President Donald Trump. However, we live in a world where the team who lost the Super Bowl is owned by Trump's friend Robert Kraft, coached by Trump's friend Bill Belichick, and led by Trump's quarterback friend Tom Brady.

Confession: I used to be a minor Patriots fan. Back when they were perennial underdogs yet to win a Super Bowl, I occasionally cheered for them. Since their first championship win in 2002, my opinion of them has degraded thanks to their cheating scandals, Belichick's permanently grumpy face, Brady's smug arrogance, and their many connections to Trump.

Sunday, the dogs snuggled up for a nap while I watched the game. The Philadelphia Eagles are NFL champs and their city has been burnt down to rubble in celebratory(?) riots. Eagles-fan-for-a-day is now over and we can all go back to supporting our regular favorite teams in anticipation for next fall. Before we return to our legitimate fandoms, I have some favorite Super Bowl LII moments to share.

Of the actual sport with real athletes doing things on a field, here are my top five highlights.
5. The Patriots failed trick play. Tom Brady errors as a receiver and the ball was over-thrown. It's schadenfreude seeing Brady fail in a play that his team perfected.
4. Gronkowski's touchdown celebration. It's nice to know that I'm not the only white dude who shouldn't be allowed to dance.
3. The catch that was a touchdown that was fumbled then caught again and was ruled a touchdown. It could have been called incomplete, but the call was upheld and I might have screamed loud enough to scare both sleeping dogs.
2. The Eagles trick play. Foles succeeded in the same play Brady missed earlier in the game. The Eagles beat New England at their own game by out Patriotting the Patriots.
1. Brady's fumble. After the touchdown that almost wasn't, the Patriots needed a miracle. Instead, they got Tom Brady. The ball was stripped from his hand, cementing the Eagles’ victory.

Also worth noting: JJ Watt's award. I've got a tremendous respect for Watt and his actions following last year's hurricanes. The man placed the value of human life above his career and I can't think of anyone more deserving of the Walter Payton Man of the Year award.

For those who only watch the Super Bowl for the commercials, here are my five ish favorites.
Honorable mention: Amazon's Alexa lost her voice. Celebrities fill in as a replacement for the voice of Alexa; none made me laugh as much as Rebel Wilson setting the mood.
5. Dodge Ram's Vikings. This ad would have been ranked higher on my list if it wasn't for their other Super Bowl ad. Using Martin Luther King Jr's voice to sell trucks was so offensive it soured this truly great commercial featuring headbanging Vikings in a Dodge Ram driving to the Minneapolis while listening to Queen's We Will Rock You.
4. Wendy's slams McDonalds. McDonalds flash freezes their beef to "seal in fresh flavor." Unlike Wendy's who use never frozen beef. Wendy's reminded us the iceberg that sank the titanic was also frozen.
3. Every commercial is a Tide ad. David Harbour (AKA Chief Hopper in Stranger Things) spoofs "typical" Super Bowl ads, including those for cars, beer, jewelry, soda, shaving cream/razors, and smart home systems to demonstrate how every advertisement is a Tide ad because the clothes worn in every commercial is super clean.
2. NFL’s Dirty Dancing. Eli Manning and Odell Beckham Jr danced together like Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey. The two football stars recreated the Dirty Dancing routine set to Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes duet (I've Had) The Time of My Life.
1. Doritos and Dew Duel. Doritos has a new spicy flavor of chip and Mountain Dew has a new cool refreshing flavor of soda. First, Peter Dinklage faux-rapped to Busta Rhyme’s verse from Look At Me Now to promote Doritos Blaze, facing off against Morgan Freeman who lip-sang lyrics from Missy Elliot’s Get Ur Freak On for Mountain Dew Ice.

Hollywood also debuted new movie trailers and these are the films I can't wait to see.
5. (tie) Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom & Mission: Impossible - Fallout. I can't tell which of these two are of greater worth. Both are franchise films from franchises I enjoy. I was underwhelmed by the last entry in both series. Both have colons in their title. Both have potential to be awesome, or completely horrible. I can't make up my mind, so I'll list both.
4. Skyscraper. I have no idea what this movie is about. All I know is an aging Rock wearing a prosthetic leg will be doing parkour and leaping from heights that would kill a normal mortal. Despite limited information and a guaranteed need for a willing suspension of disbelief, I'm in.
3. The Cloverfield Paradox. This was a surprise trailer for a movie to be released as soon as the game was over. I have not yet had time to watch it and the reviews from critics who did have time suggest that I shouldn't make the time. However, the first Cloverfield movie also got poor critical reviews and it's on my lists of favorite monster movies and favorite found footage movies. I will log into Netflix this week and see it against professional advice.
2. Solo. Until now, I have had the lowest of low expectations for this movie. As a prequel, I know the main characters will survive with all limbs attached so they can appear in the original movies. The stakes are low. In these situations, the sense of danger is never high enough to worry a character's safety. But the Super Bowl teaser changed my mind and now I can't wait for the month of May.
1. Avengers: Infinity War. This is the other reason May is going to be a good month.

Justice League is 2017

Looking back through all the movies I watched this year, along with the events and headlines we witnessed in real life, I have concluded Justice League is the most 2017ish movie of 2017.

First, a quick synopsis of the movie. Justice League picks up after the death of Superman at the end of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. Criminal elements feel emboldened knowing Superman isn't around to stop them. Diana Prince deals antiques by day and plays superhero on the weekends. Bruce Wayne believes a threat too great for Batman is coming, so he is trying to recruit a team of powered individuals to fight alongside Batman and Wonder Woman. Barry Allen enthusiastically joins the team, but the other two metahumans, Arthur Curry and Victor Stone decline.

Unfortunately, the bigger baddie Wayne anticipated was already on earth. Superman's death activated mother boxes, signaling Steppenwolf's return to earth to conquer the planet. He had been here once before but his conquest was thwarted by the combined armies of Atlanteans, Amazonians, Olympians, the Green Lantern Corp, and humanity. The modern era would never be able to raise such opposition. People no longer believe in the Greek gods, the Atlanteans and Amazonians isolated themselves. The Lanterns are nowhere to be found. The mother boxes give Steppenwolf his power and his quest to retrieve them eventually unites the five superheroes into a team, despite the initial hesitancy of Aquaman and Cyborg. Thinking they would not be strong enough to defeat Steppenwolf, Batman uses the remaining mother box to resurrect Superman in the Kryptonian incubation waters - the same pool Lex Luther used to transform General Zod's dead body into the monster Doomsday. Bringing Superman back to life didn't go according to plan, allowing Steppenwolf to retrieve the final mother box without opposition. The heroes follow Steppenwolf to Russia where he is using the mother boxes to recreate earth. The united Justice League battles against Steppenwolf and his horde of parademons, almost losing until Superman arrives to save the day.

image courtesy of Warner Bros and DC Films

Going into this movie, I expected the worst. It was directed by Zack Snyder who was also in control of the abysmal productions of two other DECU disappointments: Man of Steel and Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. I've rarely enjoyed any of his other films and think he's the most over-rated director in Hollywood. Contributing to the lowest of low expectations were expensive re-shoots, changes in directors during post production, and rumors of behind the scenes drama. Walking out of the theater, I was pleasantly surprised. I could only summarize Justice League with three words: not that bad.

Let's be clear though, Justice League is not a great movie. Despite some great action in the first couple acts, and excellent portrayals of the new characters, the third act devolved into a red-tinted CGI slogfest. The humorous tone improved Justice League compared to other Snyder films, but I think those can be credited more to Joss Whedon who took over after Snyder had to abandon the project for personal reasons. The result was uneven in tone and filled with plot holes, yet better than I predicted.

Now as we close the year that was 2017, I believe these past twelve months share much in common with Justice League. Like the movie, it wasn't a great year yet I look back and think, 'it wasn't that bad.' Consider the following.

Anticipation: Based on Snyder's previous DCEU films, most movie critics and cinephiles expected Justice League to be a dumpster fire. However, there were fans who loved DCEU bombs like BvS:DoJ and Suicide Squad and they were eager to see Justice League. Based on Donald Trump's surprise electoral college win, many Americans excepted 2017 to be a dumpster fire. However, there were supporters who voted for Trump and were eager for him to take office.

The bad guys: In the middle of Justice League, the movie unnecessarily turned Superman into a villain. In the middle of real life, Donald Trump unnecessarily turned trusted media outlets into villains.

Cult of personality: Justice League featured a legion of parademons who supported their leader, Steppenwolf. 2017 featured a legion of white supremacists and neo-Nazis who supported their leader, Donald Trump.

Superhero-y stuff: Justice League gave us the opportunity to see superheroes doing superhero things, like Wonder Woman foiling a bank robbery, Aquaman providing care for a remote fishing village, and The Flash moving fast to rescue civilians. 2017 gave us the opportunity to see humans doing superhero things, like John McCain's thumbs down vote foiling a repeal of Obamacare, JJ Watt's fundraiser providing relief to the flood ravaged city of Houston, and Robert Mueller moving fast to investigate Russia's meddling into American elections.

Inexplicable changes in character: When talking about Superman in Dawn of Justice, Bruce Wayne said, "He has the power to wipe out the entire human race and if we believe there's a one percent chance that he is out enemy, we have to take it as an absolute certainty." When talking about Superman in Justice League, Bruce Wayne said, "The world needs Superman ... He's more human than I am. He lived in this world, fell in love, had a job, in spite of all that power." When seeking political dominance prior to Donald Trump's election, the GOP positioned itself as the moral majority, morally superior to the Democrats. When seeking political dominance since Donald Trump's election, the GOP has abandoned their moral superiority, enabling a serial liar and philanderer, making excuses for police violence, supporting racists, and endorsing an alleged pedophile.

Sometimes funny: Justice League had its funny moments, like when Bruce told Aquaman "I hear you can talk to fish" or when The Flash said he needed friends. 2017 had its funny moments, like when Winona Ryder kept changing her expression at the SAG Awards or when President Trump accidentally tweeted the word ‘covfefe.’

Unfortunate ending: The climactic scene of Justice League was the worst part of the movie. It ended in a fight against Steppenwolf, was convoluted, relied too heavily on special effects, and predictably gave victory to the heroes. The final months of 2017 was the worst part of the year. It ended in a fight for tax reform, was convoluted, relied too heavily of special interests, and predictably gave a tax cut to the wealthiest Americans.

Still, despite all that went wrong in both Justice League and 2017, there were several moments to celebrate. In the end, it wasn’t that bad. Here’s to hoping 2018 is better.

image courtesy of Warner Bros and DC Films