I've moved this blog to a fun URL: http://www.thestepdude.com
This will be around for a few more months. As I start writing on StepDude, I'll eventually delete this.
Thanks for reading!
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Friday, July 9, 2010
Sunny with a slight chance of bears
It’s amazing the excuses one can find before venturing out on a camping trip.
“Says here slight chance of rain. What if we’re cooped up in the tent?”
“Where will we find a spot? It’s the 4th of July weekend and it’s going to be packed.”
“Lows are going to be around 40 – you sure the kids are going to handle this?”
Sometimes you just have to pack up and go, welcoming any discomfort in return for fresh air, open flames, an excuse to get dirty, and the invigorating threat of a bear attack. And so we did last Saturday, pitching camp at Shingle Creek campground along the scenic byway that is, uh, Mirror Lake Scenic Byway. Shortly after arriving, the kids busied themselves picking out the lumpiest possible spot for our tent while I jogged off to pay the site master. When I got back, they had already laid out the tent and were alternately confused and amused by the folding bungee-pole system. Considering our last (and their only) tenting experience was last summer in our backyard, I patiently explained every step in tentsmanship, including the physics behind arch tensile strength and how to put the plastic bone thingy through the loop to hold the door flap thingy open.
Meanwhile, Annie was readying our first outdoor meal of the day, sandwiches and chips, a meal which the children refused to accept on account of it not being prepared in a fire.
Kids: “Why can’t we start the fire yet?”
Me: “It’s 82 and sunny...”
Kids: “Can we start the fire now, pleeeease?”
Me: “We didn’t bring enough wood for a 10 hour fire watch, so no.”
Kids: “Can we just make a little fire out of these sandwiches?”
Me: “Well… er, no.”
Camping puts me in a wild kind of spirit. For example, I had my shirt off before I even helped with the tent, to prove how manly and protective I could be against the bears. This photo of me slouched in an uncomfortable folding chair just does not do my physique justice. Immediately the kids felt more at ease, while Annie was like “nice try dude” and tiny boy inside her was like “thanks for nothin’, wimp.” But I ask all witnesses: did any bears show up?
We milled around the site, grabbing kindling and extra wood for later and reading books or answering “no” to fire questions until Annie’s sister Heather and hubby Jake and son Emmett arrived. They brought additional, more comfortable chairs as well as a unique sleeping device called an “air mattress.” I would envy them later that night, at 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 o’clock in the AM, or every time I rolled over the giant tree stump under the tent. Or heard the faint crackling of a stick in the woods, a sure sign of lurking bears.
The afternoon got more exciting as we secured camp and headed 20 miles up the road (in vehicles) to the Lower Provo River Falls. It’s one of those rock-bottom river beds cascading down the mountain, like something you’d see in a movie. But it’s not your run-of-the-mill scenic overlook because while there is a small platform with a guardrail, there is also plenty of open space on which to run around and access to the river. So we spent almost 2 hours there. The kids saw a couple teenagers (they now classify anything they witness a “teenager” doing as either cool or dangerous) crossing the river at one flat spot and climbing up the wall on the other side. Of course, Preston wanted to try it and after I cycled through more excuses not to do it, we did it. He managed the slippery rock bottom and strong current on his own while Zoey held my hand across. We ended up making it okay with no ouchies!
The rest of the trip involved lots of fire tending, some hiking around the campground, stick wielding, log-bridge crossing, marshmallow rationing, and as I mentioned before, little to no sleep. But we made it. No bears attacked, we woke up and made campers’ eggs and oatmeal, and headed home to recover.
Later that night – as it was the 4th of July – we let the kids do some cracker-jack fireworks in the common area by our pool. Once we bought them they simply could not wait to strike matches and argue about whose spark fountain was better, so all incendiaries were burned out before dusk came. It wasn’t even dim. White and blue and pink showers of sparks, 3 feet off the ground in broad daylight. The true celebration of Independence Day, I guess.
“Says here slight chance of rain. What if we’re cooped up in the tent?”
“Where will we find a spot? It’s the 4th of July weekend and it’s going to be packed.”
“Lows are going to be around 40 – you sure the kids are going to handle this?”
Sometimes you just have to pack up and go, welcoming any discomfort in return for fresh air, open flames, an excuse to get dirty, and the invigorating threat of a bear attack. And so we did last Saturday, pitching camp at Shingle Creek campground along the scenic byway that is, uh, Mirror Lake Scenic Byway. Shortly after arriving, the kids busied themselves picking out the lumpiest possible spot for our tent while I jogged off to pay the site master. When I got back, they had already laid out the tent and were alternately confused and amused by the folding bungee-pole system. Considering our last (and their only) tenting experience was last summer in our backyard, I patiently explained every step in tentsmanship, including the physics behind arch tensile strength and how to put the plastic bone thingy through the loop to hold the door flap thingy open.
Meanwhile, Annie was readying our first outdoor meal of the day, sandwiches and chips, a meal which the children refused to accept on account of it not being prepared in a fire.
Kids: “Why can’t we start the fire yet?”
Me: “It’s 82 and sunny...”
Kids: “Can we start the fire now, pleeeease?”
Me: “We didn’t bring enough wood for a 10 hour fire watch, so no.”
Kids: “Can we just make a little fire out of these sandwiches?”
Me: “Well… er, no.”
Camping puts me in a wild kind of spirit. For example, I had my shirt off before I even helped with the tent, to prove how manly and protective I could be against the bears. This photo of me slouched in an uncomfortable folding chair just does not do my physique justice. Immediately the kids felt more at ease, while Annie was like “nice try dude” and tiny boy inside her was like “thanks for nothin’, wimp.” But I ask all witnesses: did any bears show up?
We milled around the site, grabbing kindling and extra wood for later and reading books or answering “no” to fire questions until Annie’s sister Heather and hubby Jake and son Emmett arrived. They brought additional, more comfortable chairs as well as a unique sleeping device called an “air mattress.” I would envy them later that night, at 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 o’clock in the AM, or every time I rolled over the giant tree stump under the tent. Or heard the faint crackling of a stick in the woods, a sure sign of lurking bears.
The afternoon got more exciting as we secured camp and headed 20 miles up the road (in vehicles) to the Lower Provo River Falls. It’s one of those rock-bottom river beds cascading down the mountain, like something you’d see in a movie. But it’s not your run-of-the-mill scenic overlook because while there is a small platform with a guardrail, there is also plenty of open space on which to run around and access to the river. So we spent almost 2 hours there. The kids saw a couple teenagers (they now classify anything they witness a “teenager” doing as either cool or dangerous) crossing the river at one flat spot and climbing up the wall on the other side. Of course, Preston wanted to try it and after I cycled through more excuses not to do it, we did it. He managed the slippery rock bottom and strong current on his own while Zoey held my hand across. We ended up making it okay with no ouchies!
The rest of the trip involved lots of fire tending, some hiking around the campground, stick wielding, log-bridge crossing, marshmallow rationing, and as I mentioned before, little to no sleep. But we made it. No bears attacked, we woke up and made campers’ eggs and oatmeal, and headed home to recover.
Later that night – as it was the 4th of July – we let the kids do some cracker-jack fireworks in the common area by our pool. Once we bought them they simply could not wait to strike matches and argue about whose spark fountain was better, so all incendiaries were burned out before dusk came. It wasn’t even dim. White and blue and pink showers of sparks, 3 feet off the ground in broad daylight. The true celebration of Independence Day, I guess.
Friday, July 2, 2010
It's summer, baby
Sometime long, long ago, like this past winter, I took an eight week writing course at the University of Utah. The class was engaging, informative, and intellectually stimulating. I sat with a dozen people week after week as we explored, critiqued, and created meaning through words. My appreciation for writing and a desire to develop the skill had never been higher. Predictably, I immediately stopped writing.
Sort of. I started writing about sports bars in Salt Lake City, which is like writing about beach life in Nebraska. Also, I realized I only like going to two or three sports bars (all of them in Michigan) and I only like to do that when there are good public-viewing sports on, like football or, uh, football. So the spring and summer have been unproductive.
Also my wife’s pregnant. Not the best time to make weekly treks for “inspiration” or “research” or “beer”.
Speaking of pregnant, Annie’s pregnant! We have these little Doppler-radar images showing some small creature inside her belly. Apparently that’s my son. The proud Gingrich name lives on, hurrah! “We” are over 5 months along. The book The Expectant Father tells me to take more ownership and share this pregnancy, but let’s be honest: she is over 5 months along. I am over 5 months behind on supportiveness.
Part of our parenting process has been to relax, mentally prepare, and take on one thousand new home projects, including selling our home. So we’re making it more livable than it’s ever b
een so we can leave it. Makes perfect sense. Also, we’re refinishing an old crib - the same one Zoey and Preston used - so we have one less thing to buy for the baby. This fun project involves wearing a cool outfit of bright orange rubber gloves, goggles, and the grubbiest painter’s jeans, so you know it’s awesome. You “paint” a thick orange solution over the wooden pieces of the crib and then you take a long break for it to dry (my favorite part). Then you scrape the dried orange substance off along with the old finish. And then you look down and notice your pants and feet have tiny holes burned through them, but the wood is nice and dry and smooth so you can stain it some other woody color.
Feel free to stop by Annie’s Facebook page and tell her how excited you are for her – she’s been playing it cool, but we (really, we) are super stoked. Also, if you know anyone that needs a groovy town-home in a family-friendly complex with a pool, we’re for sale.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Super Bowl XLIV Ad Review
Don’t worry about New Orleans anymore, ‘cause they have a winning football team! Instead, let’s put our collective focus on television advertisements. Ads carry more import than city infrastructure and economy and psychological well-being anyway, right? Well, no. But I have no answers for N'awlins, or Miami, or Indy (boo-hoo), so let’s move on.
Super Bowl XLIV had more viewers than any television broadcast in history, surpassing the legendary finale of M*A*S*H, a show from the 70s or 80s which was about an army of Idaho potato farmers fighting for survival against Irish oppressors. I’m pretty sure it starred Steve Guttenberg.
This year’s advertisers, which can be classified into two groups: “Brands” and “CBS”, obviously viewed the Super Bowl as their prime opportunity to persuade innocent fans of the Colts and Saints to start thinking about other things besides football, like how hilarious underwear can be (UNDIES!) and that Denny’s and Abe Vigoda still actually exist. These life tools are invaluable after the respective fan-nations recover from their joyous hangovers (winners) or their less joyous hangovers (losers) to realize that football season is, alas, over. For the rest of us non-rooters, casual partygoers, and TV addicts, the ads are meant to reinforce how dumb men are. Specifically men who drink Bud Light, willingly, in front of other people.
I’ve already hinted at one theme (UNDIES!), but I’ll get to that later. Another great ad theme was the string of hit CBS shows which are apparently #1! Like Lost, something, something, something, capital letters, something, capital letters Los Angeles, something, something, and of course, The Late Show with old unfunny comedians.
Speaking of old, The Who completed like the 8th straight halftime act featuring an artist whose career pinnacled before I was born. In a clear tryout for next year’s Super Bowl halftime act, KISS and mini-KISS showed up for a Dr. Pepper Cherry ad. (Mini-KISS is slated for halftime of next year’s Puppy Bowl.) Dr. Pepper Cherry: tastes just like sweaty face paint!
Bridgestone, a company that makes tires for automobiles (hopefully not Toyotas), wins the award for Brand Trying Hardest to Seem Cool Despite Fact that Most Humans Pick Whatever Tire is Carried by their Dealership or the Shop Around the Corner with Free Coffee. “Gimme the ones with those grooves in it!” They (Bridgestone, a tire company) also pulled a super lame The Hangover rip-off with their killer whale-in-car ad, with the lamest bachelor party reference of all time. Listen, Bridge-people, Goodyear long ago invented a flying machine to promote themselves, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Only one American automaker paid up the bucks for chicken-wing-interrupted glory: Dodge. Their “I will…” ad featuring a bunch of guys who were saying things about me hit home with most people in the room. It also managed to get in one of the 30 underwear references (UNDIES!) of the night. A few critics have called it whiny, but I related to it in every way. I may just have to go out and test drive a Charger after I fold this laundry and clean the litter box.
Google made a lot of people “awww” and “hey yeah, that IS Google!” with their touching spot about someone figuring out how to create totally unreasonable expectations for their relationship and life. Go watch Sleepless in Seattle again, daydreamer.
Doritos, a product my family and I always referred to as “bad breath chips”, probably had the best laughs in a macro sense (marketing jargon!) with the kid slapping his Mom’s suitor, the guy getting shock-collared, the casket dumping over, and the Doritos-clad warrior attacking dudes in ugly gym clothes. These ads were submitted by regular ol’ people, not agencies, and turned out to be more memorable and funnier than almost every other ad. It’s a YouTube world people, and we’re just living in it. I re-watched almost all of the ads in a conference room with a bunch of marketers on Monday, and everyone LOL’d when the warrior appeared.
You probably noticed the Dockers no-pants chant? I liked this ad better when it was the Dial For Men chant about 2 years ago. Unoriginal, unfunny, and filled with too many tighty whities (UNDIES!). For a good usage of pantsless people, see Careerbuilder.com’s ad. That one featured both men and ladies in their delicates (UNDIES!) as a casual Friday policy gone waaaay too far. The best line was delivered bitingly by a half nude gentleman to the lone remaining pants-wearing holdout: “Nice pants, Terry.”
FINALLY! As the commercial pointed out, men everywhere have been tearing up the gossip lines with their buddies wondering if Dove would release a “for Men” line of products, which they have! Uh…no. See above review of Dockers – this is another Dial for Men rip-off. WE’VE SEEN IT.
Basketball is a sport near and dear to my heart. I love playing it, I love watching it, I love writing about making 19 consecutive 3-pointers and how crappy the NBA Slam-Dunk competition (sponsored by Sprite!) has become. So it pained me to see McDonald’s completely abuse the memory of the classic Jordan vs. Bird game of “HORSE” ad. You remember: “from the bleachers, over the rafters, off the glass, nothing but net.” Swish. The new one—which, in true professional sports league fashion, was overhyped—featured LeBron James and Dwight Howard calling out ridiculous dunks, and then we had to watch as their herky-jerky digitally enhanced selves “completed” those dunks. The NBA is now failing at their real dunk contest and at making impossible dunks look cool on television. McDonald’s, I am most certainly NOT lovin’ it!
In another lame remake, Boost Mobile knocked off the Bears Super Bowl Shuffle from 1985. I guess if you take something that’s already hokey and stiff (but awesome at the time!) and copy it, it’s going to be hokey and stiff. And of course, there was a line about some teammate’s “cheetah print thong” (UNDIES!) to continue with the overdone theme.
This review is getting out of hand, and there are plenty of places to get professional, respected opinions on the ads by people who had time to write them two days ago. Or you can just watch them again on your own, because I just checked and New Orleans is still partying. So let me wrap up with my favorites:
Audi “Green Police”: It sounded like a real Styx song, was fun, dramatized an important topical issue, and clearly showed one of the vehicle’s consumer benefits. Audi had my favorite ad two years ago, too.
Both Coca-Cola ads: Surreal contrast of bright, wacky Simpson’s characters underneath light-hearted music and no dialogue; and the sleep-walker’s dream sequence, which happened to feature a man in boxers (UNDIES!). Both harkened to the classic feel-good message going all the way back to “I’d like to teach the world to sing…” Simply brand builders, but good ones.
Volkswagen slugging: Relatable across generations, and capped off by—no, not the kid punching grandpa in the crotch—but by Tracy Morgan’s “How do you DO that?” line to Stevie Wonder. Rarely do 2-second celebrity cameos work, but this one was perfect.
Unknown: Somewhere in this mess was Megan Fox in a bathtub. I don’t know what it was for, but I’m sure I scoffed at it and turned to my wife to tell her how much I love her. My wife, that is.
Sorry I couldn’t keep this review, uh, more brief (UNDIES!).
Super Bowl XLIV had more viewers than any television broadcast in history, surpassing the legendary finale of M*A*S*H, a show from the 70s or 80s which was about an army of Idaho potato farmers fighting for survival against Irish oppressors. I’m pretty sure it starred Steve Guttenberg.
This year’s advertisers, which can be classified into two groups: “Brands” and “CBS”, obviously viewed the Super Bowl as their prime opportunity to persuade innocent fans of the Colts and Saints to start thinking about other things besides football, like how hilarious underwear can be (UNDIES!) and that Denny’s and Abe Vigoda still actually exist. These life tools are invaluable after the respective fan-nations recover from their joyous hangovers (winners) or their less joyous hangovers (losers) to realize that football season is, alas, over. For the rest of us non-rooters, casual partygoers, and TV addicts, the ads are meant to reinforce how dumb men are. Specifically men who drink Bud Light, willingly, in front of other people.
I’ve already hinted at one theme (UNDIES!), but I’ll get to that later. Another great ad theme was the string of hit CBS shows which are apparently #1! Like Lost, something, something, something, capital letters, something, capital letters Los Angeles, something, something, and of course, The Late Show with old unfunny comedians.
Speaking of old, The Who completed like the 8th straight halftime act featuring an artist whose career pinnacled before I was born. In a clear tryout for next year’s Super Bowl halftime act, KISS and mini-KISS showed up for a Dr. Pepper Cherry ad. (Mini-KISS is slated for halftime of next year’s Puppy Bowl.) Dr. Pepper Cherry: tastes just like sweaty face paint!
Bridgestone, a company that makes tires for automobiles (hopefully not Toyotas), wins the award for Brand Trying Hardest to Seem Cool Despite Fact that Most Humans Pick Whatever Tire is Carried by their Dealership or the Shop Around the Corner with Free Coffee. “Gimme the ones with those grooves in it!” They (Bridgestone, a tire company) also pulled a super lame The Hangover rip-off with their killer whale-in-car ad, with the lamest bachelor party reference of all time. Listen, Bridge-people, Goodyear long ago invented a flying machine to promote themselves, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Only one American automaker paid up the bucks for chicken-wing-interrupted glory: Dodge. Their “I will…” ad featuring a bunch of guys who were saying things about me hit home with most people in the room. It also managed to get in one of the 30 underwear references (UNDIES!) of the night. A few critics have called it whiny, but I related to it in every way. I may just have to go out and test drive a Charger after I fold this laundry and clean the litter box.
Google made a lot of people “awww” and “hey yeah, that IS Google!” with their touching spot about someone figuring out how to create totally unreasonable expectations for their relationship and life. Go watch Sleepless in Seattle again, daydreamer.
Doritos, a product my family and I always referred to as “bad breath chips”, probably had the best laughs in a macro sense (marketing jargon!) with the kid slapping his Mom’s suitor, the guy getting shock-collared, the casket dumping over, and the Doritos-clad warrior attacking dudes in ugly gym clothes. These ads were submitted by regular ol’ people, not agencies, and turned out to be more memorable and funnier than almost every other ad. It’s a YouTube world people, and we’re just living in it. I re-watched almost all of the ads in a conference room with a bunch of marketers on Monday, and everyone LOL’d when the warrior appeared.
You probably noticed the Dockers no-pants chant? I liked this ad better when it was the Dial For Men chant about 2 years ago. Unoriginal, unfunny, and filled with too many tighty whities (UNDIES!). For a good usage of pantsless people, see Careerbuilder.com’s ad. That one featured both men and ladies in their delicates (UNDIES!) as a casual Friday policy gone waaaay too far. The best line was delivered bitingly by a half nude gentleman to the lone remaining pants-wearing holdout: “Nice pants, Terry.”
FINALLY! As the commercial pointed out, men everywhere have been tearing up the gossip lines with their buddies wondering if Dove would release a “for Men” line of products, which they have! Uh…no. See above review of Dockers – this is another Dial for Men rip-off. WE’VE SEEN IT.
Basketball is a sport near and dear to my heart. I love playing it, I love watching it, I love writing about making 19 consecutive 3-pointers and how crappy the NBA Slam-Dunk competition (sponsored by Sprite!) has become. So it pained me to see McDonald’s completely abuse the memory of the classic Jordan vs. Bird game of “HORSE” ad. You remember: “from the bleachers, over the rafters, off the glass, nothing but net.” Swish. The new one—which, in true professional sports league fashion, was overhyped—featured LeBron James and Dwight Howard calling out ridiculous dunks, and then we had to watch as their herky-jerky digitally enhanced selves “completed” those dunks. The NBA is now failing at their real dunk contest and at making impossible dunks look cool on television. McDonald’s, I am most certainly NOT lovin’ it!
In another lame remake, Boost Mobile knocked off the Bears Super Bowl Shuffle from 1985. I guess if you take something that’s already hokey and stiff (but awesome at the time!) and copy it, it’s going to be hokey and stiff. And of course, there was a line about some teammate’s “cheetah print thong” (UNDIES!) to continue with the overdone theme.
This review is getting out of hand, and there are plenty of places to get professional, respected opinions on the ads by people who had time to write them two days ago. Or you can just watch them again on your own, because I just checked and New Orleans is still partying. So let me wrap up with my favorites:
Audi “Green Police”: It sounded like a real Styx song, was fun, dramatized an important topical issue, and clearly showed one of the vehicle’s consumer benefits. Audi had my favorite ad two years ago, too.
Both Coca-Cola ads: Surreal contrast of bright, wacky Simpson’s characters underneath light-hearted music and no dialogue; and the sleep-walker’s dream sequence, which happened to feature a man in boxers (UNDIES!). Both harkened to the classic feel-good message going all the way back to “I’d like to teach the world to sing…” Simply brand builders, but good ones.
Volkswagen slugging: Relatable across generations, and capped off by—no, not the kid punching grandpa in the crotch—but by Tracy Morgan’s “How do you DO that?” line to Stevie Wonder. Rarely do 2-second celebrity cameos work, but this one was perfect.
Unknown: Somewhere in this mess was Megan Fox in a bathtub. I don’t know what it was for, but I’m sure I scoffed at it and turned to my wife to tell her how much I love her. My wife, that is.
Sorry I couldn’t keep this review, uh, more brief (UNDIES!).
Friday, January 29, 2010
My Memoir of Writing Class #1
Saturday morning, I packed a bag lunch of turkey sandwich and Teddy Grahams (honey flavor), drove to the University campus, and attended Read Like a Writer. I joined 11 other students and an instructor, all better read than me, in that they did not scrunch up their face and shrug when the instructor mentioned someone named “Ayn” Rand. I certainly did my part to participate in the class. In business, I’ve learned if nothing else that if you’re walled in with a bunch of people around a table, saying stuff is the best way to avoid nodding off. So I offered my limited examples of book knowledge (Dirk Pitt is rad!), espoused original observations, and even made counterarguments to a few really opinionated lifelong students, which isn’t something I normally do. It was a rare time for me to engage in intellectual discourse with a group of people about things other than work or sports. I do engage my wife in intellectual discourse about once a week, but you should stay out of my business.
Several classmates expressed their desire to write memoirs; some as retirees with decades of life experiences looking to share their stories, others as people writing to write. I’ve thought about this too, and I find that the following facts about me – facts which are almost certain not to change – make the idea of my memoir quite silly:
- I was never in the military
- I was never poor
- My father was not a drunk
- My mother was not an evil taskmaster
- I did not attend Catholic school
- I am not an expert in any field
- I am not gay
- I did not have an older brother who beat the dickens out of me
And let’s be honest, facts like those are often bases for compelling and interesting memoirs. But screw it. I’m compiling a memoir-ific outline using the following facts about myself – facts which are almost certain to make you drowsy:
- I sort of skipped 3rd grade
- I once made 62 consecutive free throws
- I won the “Director’s Award” in 8th grade band, only to quit band after 9th grade
- I grew up on the rugged avenues of Hudsonville, MI
- I scored a 33 on my ACT
- I’ve sprained my ankles a combined 34 times
- I wore teeth braces for 5 years, and still made homecoming court
- My family is quite nice and I enjoy hanging out with them
My challenge is clear: figure out how to create an indulgent meal out of weak-sauce ingredients. And if there’s one story-of-my-life asterisk here, it’s that I avoid challenge at all costs (just kidding, employer!). I’m diving into this memoir full speed, tomorrow. But if it takes 31 more years to write, all the better, because by then I will have:
- Probably beaten down a few minor diseases
- Probably been married 4 or 5 times (just kidding, honey!)
- Probably developed random neuroses, like plucking hairs out of my upper arms (wait, I already do that)
- Probably punched a few hobos
- Probably figured out what I’m good at
- Probably failed as a writer...
Several classmates expressed their desire to write memoirs; some as retirees with decades of life experiences looking to share their stories, others as people writing to write. I’ve thought about this too, and I find that the following facts about me – facts which are almost certain not to change – make the idea of my memoir quite silly:
- I was never in the military
- I was never poor
- My father was not a drunk
- My mother was not an evil taskmaster
- I did not attend Catholic school
- I am not an expert in any field
- I am not gay
- I did not have an older brother who beat the dickens out of me
And let’s be honest, facts like those are often bases for compelling and interesting memoirs. But screw it. I’m compiling a memoir-ific outline using the following facts about myself – facts which are almost certain to make you drowsy:
- I sort of skipped 3rd grade
- I once made 62 consecutive free throws
- I won the “Director’s Award” in 8th grade band, only to quit band after 9th grade
- I grew up on the rugged avenues of Hudsonville, MI
- I scored a 33 on my ACT
- I’ve sprained my ankles a combined 34 times
- I wore teeth braces for 5 years, and still made homecoming court
- My family is quite nice and I enjoy hanging out with them
My challenge is clear: figure out how to create an indulgent meal out of weak-sauce ingredients. And if there’s one story-of-my-life asterisk here, it’s that I avoid challenge at all costs (just kidding, employer!). I’m diving into this memoir full speed, tomorrow. But if it takes 31 more years to write, all the better, because by then I will have:
- Probably beaten down a few minor diseases
- Probably been married 4 or 5 times (just kidding, honey!)
- Probably developed random neuroses, like plucking hairs out of my upper arms (wait, I already do that)
- Probably punched a few hobos
- Probably figured out what I’m good at
- Probably failed as a writer...
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