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Tickling the (Plastic) Ivories

For a long time the “about me” section on my Facebook and MySpace (remember MySpace?) profiles included something along the lines of “teaching myself to play piano.”

That prompted more than one person to ask the obvious–did I eventually learn how to play?

The answer I guess is in the ear of the beholder. I can punch the keys in an order that makes songs. I have retained a small bit of my ability to read music from my elementary school foray into playing the violin. So in short, I can kind of play the piano.

In fact, I know one complete song that can be found on a commercially successful album. I’ll give you a second to try to guess which song it is. Go ahead, I’ll wait…

Think you know it? Well, you’re wrong. It’s Vanessa Carlton’s “Twilight” and it is ridiculously easy to play. Here’s her version, with a little help from some additional instruments.

Now my international music debut, which only includes the piano part (she wouldn’t come over and sing for you):

Wow, that was amazing. Of course, I am no one-trick pony. As I said that is the only complete song that I know. But my repertoire includes a number of song beginnings that for one reason or another were never followed by learning the rest of the song. For your enjoyment, I made a medley of such songs:

In order, that was:

-Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” in some sort of key
-Missy Higgins’ “They Weren’t There“
-Delta Goodrem’s “Not Me, Not I“
-Beethoven’s “Fur Elise”
-Norah Jones’ “Not Too Late“
-Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” (with extra joy!)

A standing ovation is not necessary, though if you want to politely applaud I think that might be appropriate.

June 25, 2010 Norah Jones piano Uncategorized video
Finding a Newbie

There is something oddly funny about listening to people interview for your current job.

For those who don’t know, I am dropping my current two-job status for a single position, thus necessitating leaving my part-time video gig. We work in a very small office, so the “conference” area is less than 10 feet from my desk and only separated by one of those flimsy cubicle walls.

Because I am leaving next week, my boss has been interviewing candidates at a furious pace in hopes that I can train them before I leave. I am definitely in favor of spending my final days just telling someone how to do my job and watching them do it.

It will be very interesting to see who my boss ends up hiring after listening to everyone’s interviews. I know who I would pick, but I have a feeling he will go in a different direction.

Then again, I will work with the new person for three days and he’ll have to be with them for far longer. So I guess his opinion might be slightly more important than mine.

I hope they enjoy my freshly cleaned desk.

June 23, 2010 Uncategorized
Continuing Saga

When we last left our story (from my 8-year-old self via yesterday’s blog post), the gang had returned from an errant time travel trip to the exact moment the blueberry dog was due to wake up from a wayward taser shot.

Chucky was wrong about Good Humar Man’s house smelling like a dead skunk. The stench was from the blueberry dog, who had been sitting unconscious for six months and emitting a smell that can only come from a magical dog named after a fruit.

“You idiot, it’s just the dog” Danny said. “Help me clean him up, and would someone open a window!”

Danny and Chucky picked up the groggy dog and brought him into the shower to rinse him off. Since he is a magical dog, he actually enjoys being bathed and sweet blueberry scents began to waft from his coat.

Troy took charge of airing out the house as the rest of the group set about to planning their retaliation for the dog’s kidnapping.

“Why don’t we just let it go and get some Taco Bell,” Chris said. “All of this time traveling and bad-guy chasing has my stomach screaming for food.”

“You’re always hungry,” said Troy.

“So you should be used to it by now.”

“Annoyed, yes, but I’ll never get used to your constant belly-aching. Pun intended.”

“Whatever.”

Danny and Chucky came back into the room with the now-sweet-smelling dog. The group decided they should try to return to the lair and confront Blueberry Bebop and his henchmen, Dr. Heat and Mr. Chewy.

With no better ideas than simply blowing up the hideout, Chucky did something so simple that everyone was shocked it worked. He asked the dog what to do. After all, what good is a magical dog if he can’t talk?

The magical blueberry dog, who curiously did not have a cool name like Elmer or Fabio, launched into a speech defining such clear and precise strategy that you would have thought he was trained at West Point. Actually, he was trained at West Point, but it was the West Point Kennel.

He explained that the henchmen had simple weaknesses that would render them completely inert–Mr. Heat was susceptible to ice cream, while Mr. Chewy was easily distracted and frightened by penguins.

The team was so pumped up by the dog’s speech that they immediately ran from the building to launch their attack on Bebop’s hideout. Fortunately for them, there are not many inhabitable places in Antartica, so the hideout was conveniently located across the street.

Good Humar Man went straight for Mr. Heat, defeating him with a barrage of ice cream sandwiches, fudgesicles, chocolate eclairs and sno-cones. In fact, he was so satisfied by the cool treats that he officially changed his name to Mr. Lukewarm.

Mr. Chewy was a slightly more difficult challenge, but the group was in luck. It just so happens that Chucky was an experienced penguin whisperer, and was able to get a dozen of the tuxedo birds to follow him to the lair. At the mere sight of the waddling bunch, Mr. Chewy began screaming and shaking uncontrollably as he pleaded with Chucky to make them stop. Chucky is an extreme guy, as noted by his use of bazookas and tasers earlier in the story, so he allowed the penguins to knock Mr. Chewy down and perform a choreographed celebratory dance just to freak him out.

Mr. Chewy was never the same, and would spend the rest of his life wandering Antartica screaming the words of Nelly Furtado’s “I’m Like a Bird.”

With the henchmen taken care of, the group focused on Blueberry Bebop. A quick search led them to a large room on the second floor of the lair. They were surprised to find the door unlocked and Bebop inside taking a nap. Apparently he had not heard the encounters with his henchmen.

“This looks like it is going to be easy,” Chris said. “Should I go ahead to Taco Bell and get us a table?”

“Yeah, we got this,” Good Humar Man said. “Just make sure you don’t get one too close to the soda machine. I hate when people have to stand next to our table while I am eating.”

“No problem, chief.”

Chucky, Troy and Danny sprang into the room and pinned Bebop to the bed. Good Humar Man shut the door and yelled to wake up his adversary.

“Get up you jerk!”

Bebop’s eyes popped open, and he saw that his captors had made it impossible for him to escape. He knew why they were there and sought to explain himself.

“It’s all just a big mix-up you see,” he said. “I have a blueberry dog too and he ran away from home. I was looking for him out in the street and I thought I saw him in your yard.”

“So you lost your dog and thought you would just take mine,” Good Humar Man said.

“No, no! He looks exactly like my blueberry dog–they all do!”

“A likely story. I think you just wanted to have a magical one. You should have just paid the extra $20 at the pet store, you cheap jerk!”

“I didn’t have the money back then, and besides, I don’t even need the magical version. I was happy with my blueberry dog, he just ran away. That’s all.”

“You know, I am feeling very generous today. I am going to believe you. I just have one stipulation–you have to mow my lawn for a year.”

“Your lawn? We live in Antartica.”

“Oh, right. How about you just come to Taco Bell with us. You’re buying.”

“Deal!”

The whole crew went off to Taco Bell and shared a peaceful meal at a table that was far from the soda machine. While they were eating, Bebop’s blueberry dog returned home after being gone for six months. Since the door was locked, he curled up on the front porch and went to sleep, hoping his owner would return soon and let him in from the cold.

The End.

June 22, 2010 nostalgia Uncategorized writing
The Case of the Missing Magical Blueberry Dog

Some of the things I write are really forgettable. “The Case of the Missing Magical Blueberry Dog” is not.

I wrote this amazing piece of literature as a third grader, apparently with the help of a kid named Troy. He lived a few houses away from me during elementary school, and was definitely one of the more unique kids at Floris Elementary.

It is a wonder our teacher that year survived given the cast of characters in our class. But I guess it was this kind of incredible storytelling bursting from her students’ brains that kept her coming back day after day just to see what we would come up with next.

One note before I get to the story–the Danny Schwartnager character was supposed to be named after Arnold Schwarzenegger, but clearly spelling complicated last names was not our forte. I will leave in the rest of the misspellings, so bear with our third-grade skillz:

It took place in Antartica. Suddenly Blueberry Bebop drank rubbing alcohol and dognapped the magical blueberry dog. When the Good Humar man found out that his dog got dognapped he told Troy, Chris, Chucky and Danny Schwartznager. He was going to find his dog.

When the Good Humar man got to the hideout he said, “allright Dr. Heat, give me back my dog!!!!!” He walked up the hallway…. the steps came closer, who would open the purple steel door?

Chucky opened the door. He took his lazerride bazooka and blew up the door. He took his tazer and tried to shoot Mr. Chewy but missed and shot the magical blueberry dog. It knocked him out for a half a year. Troy said, “Without the magical blueberry dog we will all be doomed.”

To be continued…

(I found a page titled “The Case of the Missing Magical Blueberry Dog Part II” and can only assume it will continue this very clear plotline):

Good thing Troy had an time traveling divise, so he can type in a 1/2 a year. But he acciduntally typed in 123,456,789,001 and a 1/2 yearr in the future. When they were there Troy realized that he typed in the wrong year.

There was alot of panic Troy was worried. Chucky screamed, “How do we get back?” Troy replied, “I don’t know but there’s got to be a way. Let’s try going back in time 123,456,789,001 years in the past.”

When they got there Chris said “Home sweet home.”

“Sweet? It smells like a dead skunk in coffee,” said Chucky.

The End.

Tomorrow on the blog, I go “back in time” to help third-grade Chris finish this story in a somewhat coherent way (at least with better spelling). Stay tuned.

June 21, 2010 nostalgia Uncategorized writing
Watch Like It’s 1994

Today I watched the latest installment of ESPN’s amazing documentary series, “30 for 30.”

The docs began airing last year as the network celebrates its 30th anniversary. Part of what makes them so great is that they tell very specific stories–instead of talking about basketball star Reggie Miller’s life, they did an hour on his relationship with his rival, the New York Knicks.

ESPN also took a smart approach by bringing in well-known directors to tackle each project. Barry Levinson (“Wag the Dog,” “Toys,” “Rain Man,” “The Natural”) directed a piece about the Baltimore Colts band. Peter Berg (“Friday Night Lights,” “Hancock”) tackled Wayne Gretzky’s trade from the Edmonton Oilers to the Los Angeles Kings. Steve James (“Hoop Dreams,” “Prefontaine”) told the story of Allen Iverson’s arrest and trial as a high school student in Virginia.

The latest doc, “June 17, 1994,” is the most groundbreaking to date. Director Brett Morgen brings a style that departs from the usual documentary template. Instead of having a narrator push along the story and rely on current interviews to tell the story of the past, he uses only period footage to present his narrative.

The result is gripping, a style that pulls the viewer into a deeper experience of feeling as if one is seeing something happen live.

June 17 was a Friday. It featured several big sporting events, including game five of the NBA Finals, a parade for the newly crowned Stanley Cup champion New York Rangers and the second round of the U.S. Open, which turned out to be the final one for golf legend Arnold Palmer.

It was also the day O.J. Simpson and Al Cowlings led police on a low-speed chase down a California highway as the nation watched on live television.

Morgen blends footage from all of those events to give a sense of what it was like to be sitting in front of a TV that day. In doing so, he also creates juxtapositions among the seemingly isolated events–the crowds at the Rangers parade vs. the crowds that lined the freeways during the infamous Ford Bronco chase, for example.

With no narrator and no after-the-fact analysis, the viewer is left to take in the coverage of various news outlets and broadcasts from the games and weave them into previously held thoughts about those events.

If you missed it, ESPN is showing it again June 30 at 11 p.m. on ESPN2. You can also find more about the film at the series website.

If you would rather hear something interesting about spaghetti sauce from best-selling author Malcom Gladwell, here’s a link to his TED talk about finding out what consumers really want no matter what they may say. It’s from 2005, but I just stumbled across it today. You may recall that I somewhat recently read two of his books–“Blink” and “The Tipping Point” both of which I would highly recommend.

June 20, 2010 movies Uncategorized
My Regrets to the Duchess

Today I high-fived a bird. If you did something cooler, let me know.

Of course the bird receiving my hand slap was the mascot for the Washington Nationals and we were celebrating a successful rendition of “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.” The encounter also included some solid time on the Jumbotron.

I would like to thank Nats center fielder Nyjer Morgan for providing great entertainment for those of us seated in his general vicinity. He tossed his warmup ball into the stands before each inning and gave one group of fans a hard time after they completely failed in their quest to catch it. He also reacted when people yelled out things like, “Hey Nyjer, you’re the man and you know it!” Most players–like Chicago’s Andruw Jones–stand there and pretend they don’t hear you.

Here’s today’s hero:

The game was tough for the Nats, who apparently have forgotten that they are allowed to hit the ball. White Sox pitcher Jake Peavy looked like his old self, allowing only a few hits and totally controlling the game. Here he is getting warmed up for his dominant outing:

Perhaps the most productive part of the day though was the running conversation with my brother, who accompanied me to the game. We came up with extensive plans for running our own minor league team (when we get a few million dollars to burn, of course).

The first order of business will be to construct a t-shirt launching device known as the T-Shirt-Tank. Forget hand-held t-shirt cannons that are now so common at sporting events. We want a vehicle you can tool around the ballpark with a cannon mounted to the top. Think of all that t-shirt flinging power!

We also want to bring back the bullpen cart, and combining these ideas seems only logical. Our bullpen will be hidden from view, so that the first time you see who is coming in to pitch is when he emerges from the tank. While he warms up, the tank can go around the stadium performing its t-shirt duties.

Our mascot race would take on a different form as well. Each race would begin with some sort of predator mascot in the back (a lion perhaps), with the three or so others being things the lion would eat. There are no predetermined outcomes in our race, just like in the wild.

Arizona’s stadium has a pool just past the outfield wall. Milwaukee has a slide the mascot goes down after home runs. Our park will have a water slide for the mascot to use during games, and that fans can enjoy afterward. We will create two mascot suits, one of which will be engineered specifically for water use.

Of course, we don’t have millions of dollars to acquire and run this team. So the key to this whole plan is actually a slight variation of our recently created life plan.

Our cousin just got married to a doctor, and our brother is married to a Ph.D. Naturally, we feel the bar is set pretty high and had decided we needed to be prowling for a duchess or maybe a Grammy winner.

Now it is all so clear. What we really need to find is the daughter or granddaughter of a baseball team owner who is in line to own the team.

I wonder if it is appropriate to talk about the T-Shirt-Tank on a first date.

June 19, 2010 baseball life plans Uncategorized
Provident Strasmania

Today was one of those days that just worked out well.

I did some work at my parents’ house and disposed of some old paint and other chemicals that had been sitting in their garage for a long time. Both went very smoothly.

Then I went to a baseball game, where I saw Washington Nationals phenom Stephen Strasburg strike out 10 hitters in seven strong innings of work. Here’s some visual evidence of his awesomeness:

The game went into extra innings, which led to a really entertaining moment from the woman in the white sleeveless shirt on the left of that picture. Between innings she stood up and took a picture of the guy playing the organ, who was in a suite to our right. Then she gave him a standing ovation and yelled “yaaaaay organ player!”

Certainly a new experience for me.

The game wrapped up in time for us to get back to our local Taco Bell before they closed. I decided on the train ride home to get an enchirito, which I had not ordered in years.

Roommate CA went to the game with me, and we miscalculated his Metro fare by a mere 10 cents. I gave him a dollar for the exit fare and got my 90 cents in change back. My Taco Bell order of a Mexican pizza, enchirito and large cherry Pepsi came to the nice, round amount of $6.90. Providence? I think so.

As for the game itself, it was pretty solid even though the Nats lost. Strasburg brought a level of excitement I have never seen at a Washington baseball game, and certainly delivered on the hype. It’s a shame the offense couldn’t get him a few runs to go along with his effort.

CA and I had to get up roughly 32489097 times to let people in and out of our row, which led us to what may be our greatest creation–Flextions.

A flextion is a section of the stadium that is designated for those people who seem to be constantly getting out of their seat for one reason or another. In any section at any sporting event there always seems to be those 5-10 people who keep getting up, while the majority sits in their seat the entire game.

The solution is to put all of those people together, making it more relaxing for the rest of us. It also means they don’t have to step over those people who are sitting, making it easier to take care of whatever business they require. Plus it would be really entertaining to see 10 full sections of people get up and leave their seats all at the same time.

We figured a ratio of one flextion to six regular sections would be appropriate. If there are not enough people to fill a flextion, others can move into those seats (thus the “flex” part).

To make it seem less like we are herding the people away, the flextions will be located right next to bathrooms and concessions so those getting up can quickly get to wherever they are going.

Fans with kids are automatically put into the flextion since they are guaranteed to be frequent movers. Others are honest about their game-watching habits and request to be part of those sections, which as discussed earlier will only enhance their game experience.

I’m sure there are some holes in the plan, but it has to be a start.

We also decided on the train ride home that no person older than 13 should be allowed to carry a glove to a baseball game. You are probably not going to catch a ball, and if one does happen to come your way, man up and use your hands.

Heading to another game tomorrow afternoon with a much different perspective out in center field. Let’s Go Nats!

June 18, 2010 baseball Taco Bell Uncategorized
The Right to Cinnabon

All malls in the United States of America should be legally required to have a Cinnabon.

I mean, how can you properly shop if you don’t have the prospect of a warm, gooey, sugary delight waiting just around the corner? It shouldn’t be allowed.

One of my roommates told me last night that the Cinnabon at Fair Oaks Mall had closed. The company’s website still lists the location, but for the sake of argument we’ll take his word for it.

Granted, Fair Oaks is one of three malls I could drive to within 15 minutes. But one of the other malls has never to my knowledge had a Cinnabon, so the shopping-to-deliciousness ratio in this area is taking a huge hit.

While driving home from the grocery store (where we bought ice cream after discovering Chik-Fil-A and its milshakes were closed), we came up with a list of mall must-haves.

Under our proposed legislation, all malls must feature:

-Cinnabon
-Auntie Anne’s
-Sbarro
-Some sort of smoothie place (we’re not picky)
-Sadly these days, Starbucks

That’s the list. You can eat something substantial. You can get a quick sugary snack. You can wash it down with something fruity and cold. You can get a jolt of something with caffeine. That should be enough to get you through the mall experience.

As a former mall employee (thank you, New Balance), I consider myself an expert in shopping-adjacent eateries. At Tysons Corner Center, the New Balance store is just down the hallway from Cinnabon. The second you step out into the mall, you can’t miss the aroma. It is intoxicating.

They frequently offered a buy two, get one free deal, which I took advantage of on several glorious occasions. Before you question my sanity, I didn’t eat all three of them myself.

Except, of course, if you count the one time that I did.

I wanted to eat two of them and got the third one for another employee to enjoy. For some reason, nobody else in the store wanted to partake in the amazingness that is Cinnabon. My hand forced, I plowed through the first two and continued eating until the third one was polished off. Fortunately I weigh roughly 27 pounds and at the time had a job that required me to be moving around all day, so there were no ill effects. I do wonder what would have happened if I had washed that down with a Mountain Dew.

One of the malls near where I lived in Florida had a Cinnabon, so I guess the greater Jacksonville area is safe. But I just checked the mall down the road from where I went to college in Pennsylvania, and they do not have the required number of cinnamon roll establishments.

Time to step up your game, Selinsgrove.

In totally unrelated news, for those of you who like celebrity gossip or “Dumb & Dumber” quotes, I’ll close with this. It looks like Rachel Bilson’s puzzling engagement to Hayden Christensen may be over. “So you’re saying there’s a chance…”

June 17, 2010 Cinnabon food mall Uncategorized
Taking the Floris Elementary Stage

In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue. Five hundred years later, I was in the 4th grade and landed a prime role in a play about Columbus.

I won’t bury the lede–here’s the video of that sweet production:

The show is called “In Quest of Columbus” and features what I believe is the entire 4th grade at Floris Elementary that year. The real highlight for me comes around the 13:45 mark, where I think I tell the girl standing next to me that I disagree by saying “you’re all wet.” Did this play somehow get set in the 1920s?

I vaguely remember some kind of audition process, and I’m glad I didn’t end up as one of the nameless, Hawaiian shirt-wearing chorus folks. Both of my current roommates suffered that fate, though one of them didn’t even remember he was in the play at all until I explained the whole thing. I just asked the other one, and he didn’t recall it at all.

I think my twin sister is one of the “cabin crew” but I’m not 100 percent on that. Actually, that sounds like a terrible thing to say. Let me look again…There she is! Ok, definitely a pirate. I mean, crew person.

It is interesting to look back at my classmates, with so many of them easily recognizable (probably because we went to the same high school as well). But then there are a bunch of faces that look completely foreign. In my group of “explorers” I can name eight of the other 12 kids. Two look sort of familiar, and I might guess one of their names. Those last two though, I haven’t the foggiest clue where they came from or where they went.

Also note that I may be the fourth tallest one that stage–not a usual sight.

I must say that I nailed the basic requirements of an elementary school actor, mainly that I didn’t say my lines as quickly as humanly possible. I do wave my arms a lot to make emphatic points about every single word I am saying. I guess I thought the audience really needed to pay attention to my message.

Another highlight comes at the 23:30 mark as we wake up in a sort of camp-like scenario. I remember struggling with this first line in rehearsals–there are actual words I was supposed to say but it was to be done in a sort of yawning fashion. It came out as complete nonsense…but it got a laugh!

Alas, there was no Oscar for my performance. Maybe next time.

June 16, 2010 kids nostalgia Uncategorized video
Peace Be With Yo-ow!

Last Sunday I did something that was totally unprecedented in my life, and I would venture to say yours as well. I injured myself in church.

To make things even better, I injured myself during a portion called the “Passing of the Peace” during which everyone greets those around them and offers a peaceful message.

Usually that involves at minimum a handshake, and being the happening young chap that I am, I have a sweet handshake ritual with one of my usual pew compatriots. It took me a little while of Googling to figure out just how to describe this handshake, but I have settled on “pound explode.”

If you’re unfamiliar, it involves a few easy steps. First, each person makes a fist, with one holding there’s a foot or two above the other’s. The top person moves their hand down as the bottom person’s goes up until the two hit. Then immediately reverse roles (top person moves down, hits, then moves back up to hit again). Finish it off by doing a standard fist bump and then immediately opening your hand as if the incredible impact has created an explosion. The last part is seen multiple times in this video.

The result is usually awe from those around you. This time, it led to this:

Maybe I should avoid doing this ritual with people who wear rings. I just hope I can heal in time for next week’s service.

Note: Tomorrow’s blog (originally scheduled for today) has the potential to be incredibly entertaining, particularly if you went to school with me in the 4th grade. Stay tuned.

June 15, 2010 injury Uncategorized