The Platinum Blowout and its Owner

On an unexpected weekday, I find myself with some time to actually enjoy myself on a weeknight and not take a dinner break…only to continue working. It being the day after the MLB All-Star game, I thought I might take some time to myself, hang out with the dog, watch the ESPY’s, and maybe chime in on the Lebron James’ jumping ship to the Miami Heat (even though, I knew it was getting a little too late to do it).

After prepping dinner and throwing it in the oven, I turned on the TV to find that it was still on FOX from the night before (side note: Joe Buck’s dedication of his vitriolic soliloquy on baseball the night before to George M. Steinbrenner, III, the greatest sports owner in the history of time – Harry Frazee is a close second – made me not only throw up in my mouth, but on Joe Morgan’s shirt!) and, while the attractive blonde host had me intrigued, my testosterone wasn’t quite ready to take on the estrogen overload of “So You Think You Can Dance.” Subconsciously, I turned to channel and, when I thought I was going to eventually land on ESPN, a short, Irish-Italian, Oompa-Loompa looking, pygmy with a platinum-blonde blowout and a porno like goatee charmed me with his raspy screaming out of the TV. Maybe it was the hair; maybe it was the sunglasses inside, but I think he was his transformation from all-business to all summer, Guy Fieri had my full attention.

He was screaming at me about “One Minute to Win It,” a game show that I saw advertisements for 6 months ago and I thought would be cancelled by now. Oh, how I was mistaken. Not only was it not cancelled, they were in the middle of a summer tour! For those of you unfamiliar with the show (as I figure most of you are since (1) it’s hosted by Guy Fieri and not on the Food network and (2) if I thought you were aware of it, I wouldn’t have labeled this “Waffle Fries Parfait Presents), the whole point is to win money, up to $1 million, for performing impossible tasks in, you guessed it, one minute. Want an example? Try pulling all the tissues out of a tissue box…in one minute. (While I’m sure it’s not part of the show, it given one minute to gouge out Joe Morgan’s eyes, it’d take about 30 seconds).

When I was introduced to the night’s contestants, Lebron James was so far out of my mind, Jesse Jackson might have referred to the thought of him leaving as a “runaway slave.” I had moved on to bigger and better things: Aaron Hedrick, a bartender from Orlando and Kimberly Fox, a karate instructor out of Kansas City, tonight’s competing couple (Cheap Joke: I bet they make a serious Tokyo Tea). If that combination itself wasn’t weird enough, how about rocking the rings together (literally, at the same time) on some beach somewhere in Florida, trying to blow an egg across the floor as fast as you can with a pizza box, trying to hit an upright pencil with an M&M, or stacking up Yahtzee dice…underneath the cup. As always, the people say they are poor and need money in order to do the things they want to do (like socialize with other people).

After the introduction, we bring out our contestants and of over the game rules. They have 10 tasks which get progressively difficult to perform. If they can complete all the tasks, they can win, one MILLION dollars (which Guy Fieri says is his favorite thing to say, but I couldn’t hear him over the loser audience who actually paid to watch this disaster “en vivo”). The couple gets three lives that, once all the lives are used (and they lose), the game is over. In addition, they get to see the challenges they must complete and determine which of the two gets to complete the task. Now for the challenges.

Level 1 – Candelier, Prize – $1,000

The couple is required to construct a five-story structure using empty soda cans, progressively adding more soda cans with each level (i.e. one can, to two, to three, etc.). They have one minute to complete.  Naturally, the typical “contestant-host” dialogue continues, made famous by the various discussions held by Regis Philbin and the contestants on the hit game show, “Who Wants to be a Millionaire” (which everyone knows sucked after Meredith Viera hosted it). We find out that the couple practiced this at home…I guess they are big time fans of the show. The couple picks Kim to go because she had “better luck with it” at home. Fieri makes an unfunny quip taking a shot at Aaron’s masculinity, and then the game begins. Kim finishes the task after only 50 seconds. Dancing and shenanigans ensue; karate instructor round-house kicks that tower dead. First Round stats: 1/1, total time: 50 seconds average time per task: 50 seconds; money won so far: $1,000.

Level 2 – Backflip, Prize – $2,500

The couple is required to place two pencils on the back of their hand and flip the pencils forward, catching them in their hand without dropping. The couple is required to do this six times, adding two pencils with each attempt, so that, by the last attempt, they will be flipping and catching 12 pencils; contestant-host discussion ensues. As if its staged, we found out that Aaron was practicing this one a lot and he’s a yellow belt. In fact, he has 6 different yellow belts (jack of all trades, master of none?) for which Fieri quips, “Go to Macy’s!” Har-de-har-har; should have had a heart attack at that last grease joint you checked out. Aaron completes the task in 26 seconds; more dancing. Second Round stats: 2/2, total time: 76 seconds average time per task: 38 seconds; money won so far: $2,500.

Level 3 – Bite Me, Prize – $5,000

The couple is required to lift five shopping bags of decreasing height with their mouth and place it onto a podium. The kicker is that no body part, other than feet, is permitted to touch the ground, so the couple must rely on “balance and creativity” to complete the task; contestant-host dialogue. Needless to say, they practiced this at home and both of them love the game. We found out both do gymnastics and, through grace and chivalry, Aaron cedes the game to his lovely fiancé (I really think the producers pushed for this – who wants to see some ugly dude bend over?). Kim finishes the task after only 29 seconds. Third Round stats: 3/3, total time: 105 seconds average time per task: 35 seconds; money won so far: $5,000.

Now, the moment we’ve been waiting for – the introduction to the families. The couple brought Aaron’s dad, mom, brother (who screamed “Brother!” when he was announced, like some lost 8 year old; Aaron responded with an equally enthusiastic “Brother!” like a 6 year; “The Goonies” flashed through my mind when this was occurring), and Kim’s friend Chelsea, the woman who’s responsible for this post as she brought the lovely couple together.

Level 4 – Scary Cherry, Prize – $10,000

I want to know who came up with this one. The couple is required to use their breath in order to get three, hanging cherries in their mouth. They need to stand there and blow the hanging cherries, getting the cherry to move in a pendulum motion, and get the cherry into their mouth. I haven’t seen it yet, but I have a feeling Aaron will be doing this, after some contestant-host chatter (I was right).  Aaron completes the task in 23 seconds; brief make-out session. (Side note: I didn’t see this earlier as I was typing, but in case you want to do the tasks at home, they let you know what supplies you need. Fantastic.) After Aaron completes the task, he goes on to say it was a “magical moment” and his “breath control was spot on.” This is turning into a real-life Will Ferrell skit. Fourth Round stats: 4/4, total time: 128 seconds average time per task: 32 seconds; money won so far: $10,000.

Level 5 – Sticker, Picker, Upper – $50,000

The couple is required to roll an egg on a plate, with one hand, around the plate to pick up three stickers. If the egg falls and breaks, they are eliminated (but, they still have three of those fake lives yet, so the strategery is there). In a break of pattern, Aaron goes again for two tasks in a row). The $50,000 can be used for the wedding, so Kim tells Aaron, “Baby, you have a minute to marry me.” I vomited on the inside. Aaron completes the task in 27 seconds and his fiancé kisses him and the fist pump, Jersey Shore style. Fifth Round stats: 5/5, total time: 155 seconds average time per task: 31 seconds; money won so far: $50,000.

Level 6 – Penny Hose, Prize – $75,000

The couple is required to retrieve a penny at the bottom of each leg of a pair of panty hose. They are only permitted to use their hands and cannot use the one hand to help the other in getting the penny. They must then take the pennies out and place them on the stool. Kim says, “I got this.” Kim completes the task in 35 seconds. Slight groping, but it’s ok, they’re engaged. Actually, it might have just been a chest bump. Sixth Round stats: 6/6, total time: 190 seconds average time per task: 31.67 seconds; money won so far: $75,000.

Level 7 – Pink Elephant; Prize – $125,000

The couple is required to attach an expanded slinky to their face. In order to win, they need to bring the swing to rest – and compressed – on their forehead. Aaron goes for it (because he did better in practice, I think it’s because his forehead’s big enough to put a billboard on it). This is the 60 second circle baby! Holy testicle Tuesday! Aaron completes this task, on his first attempt, in 7 seconds! Dancing, jumping, Fieri’s freaking out, the spring’s going all over the place, what the hell is going on? Seventh Round stats: 7/7, total time: 197 seconds average time per task: 28.14 seconds; money won so far: $125,000.

They take some time to think about this. Do they want $125,000 or $250,000? They talk about getting married, moving Kim’s mom out to where they live, Aaron’s brother is screaming “Brother!”  the best way a bald-headed idiot with a full beard can, and, for the first time, Fieri is quiet. With three lives to go, they push on to the impossible dream of $1,000,000!

Level 8 – Punch Your Lights Out!; Prize – $250,000

Apparently this game is a killer because the crowd just goes “Ohhh!” Having never seen this atrocity of Americana, I was unaware. The couple is required to hit nine lights with bean bags to shut them off. Accuracy is key because if they hit a light that’s already off, the bastard turns back on. I think I did something like this in Cub Scouts once. The contestants are confused; Aaron talks about throwing bean bags, hitting lights, turning them off, hitting off lights turning them back on. He bravely takes on this task. Kim makes sure he’s got his technique. With a sigh of confidence, Aaron approaches the bean bags. His strategy is to go up-to-down or –left-to-right, based on the wind in the enclosed studio. Another kiss and a cracked-voice “thank you, baby” and we are underway!

(Wait, we cut to commercial, only to come back to some fat woman who needs to bounce a quarter 15 feet into a 5 gallon water jug to win $1,000,000. With a great name like Super Coin, the task seems impossible. We talk to our contestant – I forget what she said about herself because I just don’t care. In fact, I wasn’t listening, I was typing this sentence. Needless to share, the fat, overweight American failed.)

Ok, back to the engaged couple. We learn more about them; I didn’t listen, and there was dancing and annoying, club-like music. Aaron completes the task in 25 seconds. Seriously, what the hell? No wonder they need the money; both of them quit their jobs to practice these retarded games! Aaron;s style, by the way, all underhand to reduce affect of wind and punching out the lights from up-to-down. Eighth Round stats: 8/8, total time: 222 seconds average time per task: 27.75 seconds; money won so far: $250,000.

Level 9 – ; Prize – $500,000

Kim’s hugging guy. Aaron’s hugging guy. They’re guaranteed $250,000, and brother is freaking out man! And, heartbreaker, I’m informed I have to wait until next week to see if they won.

Ok, time out, back it up a little bit. I just spent an HOUR watching two people complete eights tasks in only 222 seconds, and I have to wait until next week to see if they won? Damn you, NBC; Damn you, Aaron & Kim; Damn you…Guy Fieri!

This is a call to all of my favorite craft brewers out there, advocates of beer, and overall beer aficionados: what is the obsession with extreme beer?

Seriously, maybe I’m missing something. I’m definitely one to push for different kinds of beer (as most people who read this blog from time to time…I know all three of you…can attest to my passion for the “beverage for the masses), but, where is the envelope going to take us. At the same time I’m kind of excited to see what’s next; I mean, Sam Calagione of Dogfish Head brewing company last year planned on brewing a beer my grinding the necessary ingredients…by himself…in his mouth. Now, for those of you who know Dogfish Head and their “Ancient Beer Series,” such a beer is a throwback to ancient cultures and how they would mash up their ingredients to brew (I guess the pestle and mortar weren’t quite invented at this point),  which is the next in the line of their Ancient Beer series. This might work on a small scale, maybe for a five or maybe even ten gallon batch; but could you imagine chewing that stuff for a commercial brew? I’m getting cotton mouth just thinking about it.

While I do hope, one day, I can find the coconut beer in some distant location in the middle of some distant mountain that Michael Jackson found (no, not that Michael Jackson, the one associated with beer…Google him), is it wrong of me to expect, maybe a little selfishly, a nice, low alcohol, refreshing, session beer?

While the movement to extreme brewing was pushed by the fact that the market was flooded with everyone’s version of an IPA, pale ale, stout, etc., so brewers felt they needed to do things in order to differentiate their product. While extreme brewing was cool at first; who doesn’t want to attempt to drink Dogfish Head’s 120 minute IPA, rolling it at 20% (they have since lowered it to 17% because it was a bit too extreme…and like turpentine)? But, now everyone has a double IPA, Imperial stout, Imperial…whatever. Other than manual mashing, what’s next? Brewing beer with fish skeletons?

I really feel that it’s time for us to “bring it back.” Give me a really good, sessionable IPA or pilsener; I don’t care anywhere how much alcohol or IBUs you can rock in order to make my stomach churn like the vat of acid Harvey Dent falls into.

But, they wouldn’t keep trying to push the envelope; to find some obscure ingredient to make some ridiculously alcoholic beer, if we, the consumer, didn’t continue to buy it. I guess you can’t blame them when their patrons are clamoring for it. The top 5 beers on sites like beeradvocate.com and ratebeer.com average 10% to 11% ABV…far above the 5% to 6% of typical session beers. SO, of course the brewers are going to push for the extreme beers…it’s what the people want.

While I understand the economic forces of supply and demand, I think there are cooler, more unique ways to differentiate your beer. Take Indigo Imp Brewery, for example. They dip one of their bottles of every six pack in wax, with a different color wax for different styles. This does two things (1) makes their sixers look really cool and (2) gives the beer extra protection from the harmful UV rays from light. Double bonus!

Philosophers will say: “Is the tree thinking? If not, it can fall as hard as it wants or do back flips in the middle of the forest; if it ain’t thinking, it ain’t being!”

Whichever route you want to take, it brings me to my main point. In the world we live now, there’s too much of a need to stay “connected,” to desire to know what everyone else is doing. For gossip columnists, websites like twitter, facebook, and, dare I say, celebrities/people that start their own blogs, is just more fuel to a fire. There are some people who will come to check out my blog post to read and see what I have to say, but, if I tried to have the same conversation en vivo, I can’t say the person would have the same interest in the conversation. Maybe it’s because these posts are better written than how I speak…or maybe it’s because it’s a way for people to keep in touch with me by checking into my consciousness every once in a while.

Facebook intrigues me. How many people out there have had this conversation with your friend:

Amigo: “Yo, you going to Chris Hanson’s party?”

Me: “No, I didn’t .”

Amigo: “Dude, I posted it on your wall and sent you an invite on Facebook like 3 weeks ago.”

Me: “You have my phone number!”

Amigo: “Dude, I wrote it on your Facebook wall?”

Me: “Are you next going to tell me you bought an amp that goes to 11, so you can play at 10, and when you need that extra boost, you go to 11?”

Seriously. No wonder cell phones are turning into mini computers. People are more concerned with what I had for breakfast in 140 characters or less on Twitter, then calling me and inviting out to a party (even if it’s for Chris Hanson, who’s probably trying to get some group arrest going down or something). Unfortunately, in all its awesomeness, people forgot how to use a phone. I will even speak for myself on this one. I have over 100 contacts in my cell phone. I know all of them as names, but I know no one’s phone number! But, why would I have too? I can just store the phone number and call the name. It’s like playing a game with JavaScript running under it: I don’t know the language, but I can play the game.

Nowadays, you don’t even need to call anyone to set a time to go out. All you need is a Foursquare app on your Smartphone and, Bam!, you just find out where your friends are (as long as they have FourSquare). Oh, and to make things even more interesting, if you check into a place more than anyone else, you become the mayor of it (for a brief amount of time, one of my friends was the mayor of my other friend’s apartment). The whole point of Foursquare is to find out where your friends are without even talking to them. If you thought Facebook was borderline stalker, this can become straight up creepy.

But, my point is this, we are now in a society but it’s more appropriate for people to be distant than to be social. How many text message conversations have you had over a few hours that could have been handled in a 5 minute phone call? But, why do that; it’s easy to be more confrontational when you distance yourself away from the person you’re confronting. I can only hope that society begins to find it’s social roots again in the future, otherwise, I feel like people will eventually text or Facebook IM each other while they’re sitting right next to each other in a room (wait, didn’t I do that already?)

The Better Marriage Blanket saved them (youtango.com)

Wow! What a surprisingly solid weekend. Started off with a fairly hectic day on Friday and a trip to Philly; a golf tournament championship defense and a night of debauchery; a solid substitute for the tradition like no other in order to keep the spirit alive; and ended with a good dinner with family.

I think I’m still recovering from the night of debauchery, but I made it through. Fairly steady consumption for over twelve hours never ends well, unless you throw in a golf championship. I blame this for the distance between posts, but it’s most likely due to a influx of work.

As most of you might, I will be getting married in Aruba soon. I know, being only twenty-five, I’m pretty young to be getting married. In my defense, I offer this: who wants to be 50 years old with a 12 year old? I think my point has been proven solely with that statement. Plus, I need another income to support my desire to check out Europe before procreating.

At any rate, I have found something that surely will save my marriage in the future – and could save your (or mine) relationship right now! It is called the “Better Marriage Blanket,” a nice, soft comforter to assist you and your loved one with dealing with any “problems” that might occur involuntarily while sleeping. I think the video says enough:

All I have to say to that is: how come the woman’s always the victim?

Jerry Seinfeld (Tall Horse Wines wordpress blog)

Today, I was like, “Crap, I got to post today! I went out drinking last night, but if I don’t post, all the blogging I’ve been doing to win back some portion of my fan base (if it exists) will be shot and the glory that is Waffle Fries Parfait will be shot to hell.” I quickly went to the internet, radio station website, and even my office intranet, looking for something – scratch that, ANYTHING – that I could blog about.

Searching my company’s intranet was a waste; I should have known better than to find inspiration from an accounting company. Accounting Standards Codifcation? Just typing it out almost made me fell asleep. A cup of coffee later, I was back in the saddle, and off the company’s website. My search continued.

Next stop: stupidfunnynews.com. I’ve been able to find a couple of gems here, but it was not looking good today. “Is the Gulf of Mexico Oil Spill A UFO Cover up,” had my interest, but upon further review of the matter at hand, I realized that, well, it was not what I was looking for. Dreaming about some secret Area 51 bunker  lost in the Gulf of Mexico, five miles below the ocean, where some alien life form was being held…or torture…I was let down when I read the, ahem, “article.” After reading all about six sentences worth of writing, the person’s point was that the oil spill has been purposely permitted to flow in order to cover up something in the water so that satellite’s couldn’t permeate the thick oil. While I believe that’s as valid as expecting a unicorn to walk into my apartment and give me a lamp with a genie in it who will then give me unlimited wishes, I guess it had some credibility.

But, it  wasn’t enough for a full post, and I was intrigued by this headline: “TSA screener beat co-worker over small penis comments.” Pure gold right? A little bit of government incompetence, alpha male syndrome, and meatheaditis? Well, almost. While I did find it amusing that not only did the man accidentally walk through the X-ray to show how well endowed he wasn’t, the guy who saw him started some kind of TSA gang to hound him. Some people leave high school, but high school can’t leave some people. I did find it amusing that the offended person decided to confront the offender with a baton in the parking lot, demanding some respect. It ended with him beating the victim with said baton, demanding – in Spanish – that the dude get on his knees and apologize, and then an arrest the next day at work. In a United States government issued, TSA uniform, the man went down. I guess it could have been worse, like a pink bunny pajamas.

Finally, the last one I saw was “Topless woman saves apartment from fire.” When I realized it was a British event, I immediately lost interest; they rock their birthday suit over there…often. It would have been better if it was someone like Michelle Duggar. Now that would have been a story.

While others did peak my interest, “German robbers destroy bank but fail to get cash” and “Man in room 119 arrested after mistaken 911 call” didn’t quite peak it enough to get me to click on them. Well, I guess for today, I’ll continue to Wait for Godot. Hopefully this post about nothing was somewhat entertaining. It will at least buy me sometime so that I can start my exposes of the old school McDonald’s characters. I mean, how did the Hamburglar become the Hamburglar?

The Gates of Hell (NJ.com)

This past weekend, I had to go and do, arguably, one of the most difficult things that any person, in the world, in the history of time could ever have to do before they died: I had to go to the New Jersey Motor Vehicle Commission and renew my driver’s license. For fellow New Jerseyites, you know my pain; for you states out there that permit you to mail in your renewal application and they MAIL you your new license, I unceremoniously and jealously raise my middle finger to your face. 

At any rate, I woke last week, not quite at the ass-crack of dawn, but pretty close, so that, maybe, I might be able to renew my license and get to the gym by 10 AM for my “Orientation” appointment (which I went to, only to find out I didn’t need to and the trainer kind of shunned me; she wanted the really out of shape people who never did any athletics before…ever). I was sorely mistaken. You see, unfortunately, in New Jersey, the MVC requires your physical presence in order to renew your license. I know – it’s so 15^th century (I think the MVC is planning to roll out the printing press next year; it’s all contingent if Chris Christie can take some money out of his food budget in order to, you know, invest in his own state). I got into my car, pissed off that I didn’t have enough time to not only make coffee but neither to buy it. 

I first tried the Lodi MVC. I had high hopes – which were dashed as soon as I turned into the parking lot. I got there a little after 8 AM (when the place was supposed to open) – which I guess was my bad since it was the Saturday before Memorial Day weekend – and the line was wrapped around the building and no light was on in the facility. To make matters worse, there was another army of desperate New jersey drivers flocking to the entrance like sheep to the wolf’s den and parking was already impossible, with cars going around the parking lot like a perpetual motion merry-go-round. I realized then, that today was going to be a long day and most likely was going to require a cancellation of my gym appointment (which is what eventually happened). After about 10 minutes of avoiding dumb drivers and dumb people (Edit: logically impaired drivers and logically impaired people – thanks Maddogruss Girl!), I was able to escape and quickly headed to the Wayne MVC, hoping for, at least, a somewhat different result. 

When I got there about 15 minutes later, the line was still in building and people were still finding parking spots. Unfortunately, I arrived at the same time as everyone else who was escaping the desolate Lodi situation, so I opted to park in the P.C. Richards parking lot and walk over (thank you for not posting any “for customers only” signs). 

As I arrived top the entrance, all of my “points” in hand (in New Jersey, in order to get ca new license, you need six points worth of documentation and proof of address. Old license = 4 points; Social security card = 1 point; ATM Card = 1 points; recent credit card bill  = proof of address). When I got there, a line started to form outside and it was being directed by a cop in some serious shades and a Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. Ready to bust some violators! (Actually he did. Some guy tried to cut the line and the cop stopped him and asked him where he was going. He said, “I’m going to the bathroom.” The cop said, “You better go in and come back out.” The guy turned around and walked to his car. The cop smirked victoriously – and I secretly applauded him). I filled out my stuff, called up the gym to cancel my appointment and, after waiting 20 minutes outside, I made it inside. 

Luckily, I was smart enough to bring a magazine so I could ignore everyone else – and pass the time. Additionally, I had a buffer between me and genes that should have been lost to Darwin’s evolution years ago. Some guy just would not stop talking to the poor brother and sister in front of me! About what you ask? Why, Suzuki motorcycles, of course! Did you know you can buy a 2000 Suzuki, a body kit for $500, and it looks like 2004 Suzuki crotch-rocket? Yeah, neither did I, but since I had to find out, so did you. For another 30 minutes, I listened to this guy talk about crotch rockets, call everyone and their mother “brother” and just be a putz. Who held up the line because he forgot some documents in his car? You guessed it. Who held up the line when he left something he had with him in the car when he went to the car the first time? You guessed it. Who was parked right next to me in the P.C. Richards parking lot? You guessed it. 

When I finally arrived to have my points checked, I walked up to some elderly woman who, no offense, should have been in a retirement home about 25 years ago. While she did say I was good to go, I’m 90% sure that she couldn’t see the stuff I was using to verify my identity. 

She also asked if I was changing my address. This is one of the things that the MVC lets you do online, since you have to within 30 days of moving. However, they just send you stickers to put on your license, registration, and insurance card. The bad thing is that you have to put it on the back of your car. Frequently, people ask me if I still live at my Mom’s, which I haven’t for a few years, which is understandable – they didn’t see the sticker on the back. However, this woman, I would think would have known. But, since it’s the MVC, she didn’t, so, she checked the change of address box. Whatever. (Unfortunately, this “misplacement” of my address has never fooled a cop, who continues to put my correct address on any tickets I get…Damn it). 

Then, she gave me a cardboard number and my stuff and waved me away while simultaneously saying next. Like a friggin’ gulag. And you thought the Soup Nazi was bad? Another thirty minutes pass and my number gets called by another woman – right across from the first woman. This is what boggled my mind. Okay, if you’re not familiar with new Jersey politics, Governor Christie just laid off a gaggle of public school teachers, saying that they “aren’t teaching well enough.” When this woman just check my six points and address again, I was like: wait, I just did that. The MVC, arguably the most painful place to ever go to in New Jersey, has two people DOING THE SAME EXACT THING – but they just fired teachers so they can have 100 kids to a classroom. Seriously, Christie, what are you doing? You’re making Corzine look like a saint right now. 

Finally, I get up to the counter, pay my $24, and they ask me if I would like another photo for my license. Mind you, I’m 25 now, and the last time I took a driver’s license photo, I was 18. I said, “No, print it,” and I slid my new license into my wallet so fast I thought the ink was going to smudge since it was so hot. I pretty much ran to my car to escape that hell on earth. As I rolled away in my TO Camry (the YOTA has since disappeared), only one thing came to mind: I had to go back Friday to get a new registration. FML.

I was walking down the hallway to the kitchen, but, due to my walk, it was from a different direction than I normally come from. As I was walking, I came across a couple empty offices, an office that, for whatever reason, the light is on all the time (with no light switch, which is weird) and then I came across a room that perplexed me.

Now, before I tell you what I saw, let me start by saying that I am all for women in the workplace. I’m not chauvinistic; I was just legitimately taken aback by what I saw. The door right before the kitchen was an office door, but there was a paper bag or piece of cardboard covering the window. The words on the door read “Breast Feeding Room.”

While I was aware that the company I was auditing made healthcare poroducts, they were developed to test blood – not pump breast milk out of engorged breasts. Naturally, two things came to my mind 1) When was a law or standard implemented which required a specific designation of a breast feeding room; 2) Was this a way for the company to permit their female employees to breast feed their infants at work or was it just for pumping? Since I heard no crying, I assumed that it was most likely just for pumping, made a “huh, interesting” face, and moved on to get my coffee.

This memory was driven deep into the recesses of my brain, until I came across an article in Bloomberg Businessweek for the week of 5/17/10 – 5/23/10, titled “The Mother of All Office Dramas,” written by Lauren Sandler. It discussed nothing else besides rooms that are now being set aside throughout offices in corporate America so that women may relieve the pressure of their engorged breasts.

The story begins with a situation in which a woman showed up for a meeting and needed to pump. Being too far away from the ladies room to get there, pump, and get back, the other members of the meeting informed her that she could use an office who’s male occupant was “out for a spell.” Needless to say, she began pumping, and he walked in, screamed, and closed the door. Needless to say, both were stunned. When she was finished, she walked out of the office, embarrassed, only to find the office occupant being consoled by other office workers, equally embarrassed and startled.

This has led the push for certain procedures, or even rooms, to be set aside for such necessary activities. In one case, a woman was ridiculed for needing to pump (as well as had her hours reduced) and, therefore, didn’t do it at work. When she developed mastitis – an infection caused by clogged ducts – she was able to reach a confidential settlement with the offending company outside of court. Think this happened 30 years ago? Try 2006.

As companies took note of the medical need for woman to pump, especially since women tend to return to the workplace quicker after giving birth, some companies have set rooms aside. While such rooms aren’t always practical – I can’t imagine too many fast food restaurants will be able to designate a certain area for breast pumping within their fairly open restaurants (that is, other than the bathroom – in some cases, company’s incur extreme costs to meet the needs of their female employees. I found it interesting when I read that a certain advertising agency did not just set aside a room for their one female employee to breast pump, they purchased a hospital-grade pump for the woman to take on her road trips and even paid to FedEx the breast milk back to her home in packed, dry ice!

So, the next time you are walking around your office building – or might hear a buzz coming from the women’s room – I hope it’s not on the way to get your coffee, because you will not look at you creamer the same, or might just start taking it black.

(Information was obtained from Bloomber Businessweek, May 17-May23, 2010, “The Mother of All Office Dramas,” Lauren Sandler)

I’m sure most of you saw my post yesterday. It was a tragic day, the day we all found out that our “tradition like no other” was coming to an end; that all of the good memories and hope for future ones came to a thunderous, door slamming close. As I was slowly going through the denial – the first stage of grief – I was a man of mixed emotions. I was angry at the University and I was angry at the local town. I did not believe that this was happening. I mean, how can you cancel a “tradition like no other?”

Apparently, there were certain litigation requirements by the University. We have already begun the process of meeting their requirements, including obtaining the necessary insurance coverage and “blessing” from the local authorities. Now, all we have to do is work on convincing our wise, old sage of a leader that, in fact, the event is feasible and still can be set up, in less than a week. Given the additional requirements needed by the University in order to meet the certain insurance requirements, this will, undoubtedly, increase the cost for the event, although I do not believe it would be too significant (most likely $20 or less, per attendant).

We have the elder members of our group approaching certain University personnel on Monday or Tuesday of next week, with a hard decision to be determined by Tuesday. Please be advised that, even if we are able to obtain the permission of the University, if the sage says no, that is the word that is spoken. There will be no further discussions, no more arguments, no more Facebook groups.

As we see the very existence of our “tradition” hang in the balance, please at least take to note that, by no means, does this mean that our “tradition” has been extinguished from existence. Not only will it live on in our hearts every Memorial Day weekend, in no way is the related University banning us from having future events on campus. If the event is canceled for this year, take comfort in knowing that we will do all we can to have the event later this summer and, at least, in 2011.

I know we are all waiting for the outcome and the next couple of days will be drawn out, but take solace in knowing that we have the best men available fighting for us and hope still remains that the event will go on as planned. While you are free to make alternate plans, do not feel that our tradition has ended this year.

Keep your heads high and your chariots swinging low. Whatever comes over the next couple of days, I can guarantee that our tradition will continue.

The event that I intend involves the sweet, succulent, slow roast of some tender cow shoulder over about an 18 hour period. It involves meeting up with people I haven’t seen in at least a year…and in some cases, even longer. It’s beyond the eating of the meat Sunday evening, amongst very good friends that I can look at all and know they are my Brothers. It is legitimately like going to a family reunion, but you don’t want to leave this one. It’s a time where people are legitimately interested in hearing about you taking on some new, cool job or going on a summer long road trip. Whether you’re under the tent or hanging by the fire, people are celebrating the joys of a new child or nuptials coming soon. Then, there are those who will commiserate with you if you’ve lost a love, a family member, or a good friend. It’s more than just a 48 hour party to officially kick off the summer and bring the school year to an end.

Maybe we had taken too much for granted the last 34 years. Maybe the reason as to why it ended was just the straw that broke the camel’s back…or just an excuse to cover up ending it for a string of past infractions. While I understand the reasoning to cancel the event – I, too, would be concerned about potential property damage from a potential open fire had I had a string of fires unrelated to the event arise on campus – I just don’t understand how this has not been an issue in the past? I mean, this isn’t our first rodeo.

While I can’t say we are saints – because we are far from it – I can honestly say that we are an organization of men of morals. While we may joke about how we are misfits, I believe that we are men who take our values of Love, Honor, and Truth to heart and, in the event that one of us falters, we do not cast fingers, but instead extend hands to pick each other up. Not only have I seen this happen within my fraternity of brothers, I can proudly say I have been a part of it, on both sides.

We do not hide our event – we are outright and in the open. University officials, I invite you – encourage you – to come and see it for yourself. Do you want to see four generations of men, enjoying each other’s company for 48 hours? Come on by. Do you want to see a 3 hour softball game played very competitively, but as men? Grab a seat. Do you want to see the memorial to fallen brothers, hearing the crackling of tears of emotion in the name reader’s voice after each Brother’s name is read? Listen solemnly. Do you want to see a fraternity which can proudly say that we not only have two blood brothers as Brothers, but a father-son duo as well? Stop over. And, most importantly, if you want to find a group of people that not only love their fraternity, but their school; a group of people who do feel like family amongst each other, and feel at home within the dorm rooms, despite the communal bathrooms (or maybe because of them)? I invite you to take a room.

For over 34 years the Brothers of my fraternity have been continuing a “tradition like no other;” have been battling it out in the “sport of kings;” and turning the meat a “quarter turn to” the west every 15 minutes (more or less). In the past 34 years, the Brothers who started this tradition have seen each other grown into successful men, start families, raise children, lose family members, lose friends, and lose Brothers. We have all rallied around a professor, who we all admire, respect, and revere. In some way, we view this professor as our friend, our father (maybe even grandfather, for some of us), our wise sage, and, most importantly, our Brother.

I am not writing this to beg you to permit us to continue our tradition, to make it to 35 years. What has been decided has been decided. But, if there is some kind of doubt, I tell you this. The quality of the men attending this event, while they may not be perfect, are significantly different than any miscreants that may patrol the campus at nights, causing problems. For 34 years we have held this event without significant incident. I only ask that you consider this before ending this tradition, ripping away a 48 hour time period that, for everyone attending, they wish would happen more than once a year.