Hallo-weenie ~ P90X Blog 9

There aren't any pictures of me in Halloween costumes to put at the top of this. No Batmans or cowboys or army guys.

Greetings. I was the only kid in America who hated Halloween; or at least the only fat kid.

It just seems like so much work, getting dressed up for candy. I can only remember one costume, mostly because it was totally inappropriate in a cute, coudln't-possibly-know way. I dressed up in black face. You're not supposed to do that, as a Caucasian, but I didn't know that at age 8. The costume was for Darren Nelson, former Minnesota Vikings running back. Nelson is a black man, so, naturally, I wanted to look authentic.

I wore a Vikings helmet and jersey and used all the brown in my Halloween makeup kit. A few people sort of choked when they asked me who I was supposed to be. One asked why my face was painted. I was too young to pick up on any of that, but I have since figured it out.

That might have been the last costumed year. Mom might know of some other costumes or have some incriminating photographs, but I sort of doubt it. Halloween was not the family's favorite holiday.

Except for one year.

That was the year The Engineer, AKA my Dad, got involved.

Dad used to tell my brother, Steve Dorsey, and myself about a ghost he rigged up in his Florida yard as a kid to scare people on Halloween. Steve and I bugged Dad to do it for years. Finally, with it confirmed that I was not trick-or-treating, Dad relented.

We bought some nylon rope and pulleys and a hook that hung on the rope. We attached the rope to a pair of trees about 100 feet apart in the front yard of our house. Dad hung a volleyball from the hook and covered it with a white sheet. At night, we added a probably-toxic green Glow Stick to the volleyball and it was complete; we had a Ghost Volleyball sheet thing.

It was a big hit. I got into Halloween that year. I wore all black as I stood next to the base of a tree in the front yard and pulled the Ghost Volleyball from side to side in the yard. After a while, I got sneaky. A woman and a little girl walked onto our front porch before I silently wheeled the ball behind the unsuspecting candy-takers. The woman thanked Mom for the candy, turned around, and let out the most God-awful scream I have ever heard. I had to actually come out and calm her down; she sat on the front porch to catch her breath before moving on to the next house.

Ghost Volleyball freaked a lot of people out, but it didn't win me over to Halloween. Later that night, I went out with no costume "dressed as a 13-year-old pretending he's 14." It's so much less work that way.

Halloween is, essentially, a tax levied on your neighbors to see kids dressed in cute or horrifying costumes. As long as that tax is paid in Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, nobody's house gets egged. It's a great tradition and I'm all in favor of scantily-clad women at Halloween parties, so I'm not suggesting we do away with it. The best part is that it's over and we can focus on the next big holiday: Veterans Day. Hey, at least some of us get holiday pay for that holiday.

I Almost Forgot ~ P90X Blog 9 Pt. I

I'll try to put more numbers up there in my blog designations. Somebody asked the other day what's up with the P90X name. It's a simple play on the exercise program, but this has nothing to do with physical exercise. I need accountability, so when I show up for work and realize I haven't written anything today (beyond a cover letter), I swear and immediately log into Blogger.

There will be more later and this, of course, doesn't count. And I didn't forget! That's all that really matters. Score another one for P90X.

An Interesting Hurricane ~ P90X Blog 8

I can say I've been through a hurricane sort of like I can say I've been in an earthquake. Yeah, sorta.

Boston got brushed by Hurricane Sandy. That's enough, thank you. I don't need a more zealous hurricane experience. Was there a lot of storm hype? Yes. A CNN headline right now reads, "Death, Floods, and Destruction."

Certainly, there was some of that. There's a simple rule when severe weather hits: Don't do dangerous things. I'd love to say I followed that rule with Sandy.

However, I was scheduled to work last night. My work is 54 miles from home and offers no mass transit options. As winds picked up over 50 mph and gusted near 60, that's when I left for work. It wasn't really raining, which was good, but I followed my Dad's words about driving in snow: There's no such thing as going too slow.

Those words came in handy on the way home. The commute to work was no problem. The return route was trickier. It was raining hard and winds were still gusting up to 50 mph. Our front tires need to be replaced, so driving was sketchy.

As I came within 10 miles of home, a guy wouldn't let me pass him. He kept speeding up (I was going all of 55 or 60 mph), so I eventually just dropped a hundred yards behind him and let him lead the way. There's no such thing as too slow.

I was watching the guy in the Nissan Pathfinder because it's hard to see huge puddles on the interstate. The lights were working, but it's water on dark-black asphalt. After a couple miles, I saw the Pathfinder throw up a spray and swerve to the right hard. He almost rolled his SUV. I took my foot off the gas, tapped the brake a little, then coasted through the same puddle. Water shot over the roof of the car. But I went straight and didn't try to do anything with the wheel. Just hold on.

Our Mazda Tribute made it through that bay of water just fine and brought me home to Amy, who was watching TV and had the furnace on. Not a bad way to weather a storm.

Living in the city can be a good thing when severe strikes. According to power maps I looked at last night, 2 percent of Boston addresses lost power at the height of the hurricane. Neighboring communities had as many as 94 percent of residents without power; over 300,000 people were without power this morning.

People died in this storm. I don't know how. If I'd stayed on our couch, drinking wine and enjoying the furnace, the biggest danger I faced yesterday would have been a 2-inches in circumference branch nearly hitting me in the dog park. The risks I don't take for Daisy Duke.

Lots of things were impressive about this storm. We had consistent wind over 40 mph, with gusts to around 60 mph. I stood in those winds at the dog park. For my Minnesota friends, of which there are many, the experience was not unlike standing in the emergency exits at the Metrodome, which woosh you out with the pressurization of the domed stadium.

The high tide was cool to check out, but I did so very safely and for a short period of time. When severe weather's coming, there isn't anything to be afraid of. Just don't taunt it. Stay in your home. Don't try to rewire your electrical system. And slow down when you drive.

Storm Song Reference Here ~ Storm Update

I'd love to have pictures with this blog, but it's hard to take pictures when it's raining sideways.

Daisy Duke is, as most of you know, a dog. As such, Daisy Duke sometimes needs to go outside. And so it was 15 minutes ago when we went to the dog park up the street for her second of three outings of the day.

It smelled funny. That's what hit me as we walked up the street. There is a smell that comes when you rip a branch off a tree with a chainsaw or when you're snapping branches with your hand. It's a sawdust-like smell and it's unmistakable.

It was almost a surprise to see a few medium-small tree branches on the ground. There's virtually nothing like that on our street, but the park is up a hill, not protected by buildings. The leaves were flying off trees as winds gusted over 50 mph. I'm just guessing about that number, based on local weather reports.

Though a bit confused at first (and scared of a flapping noise emitting from some Halloween flags a neighbor put up), Daisy was a little tentative before bounding about the park. She writhed on her back in the grass and cavorted with sticks. Mostly, I tried to keep my Minnesota Twins cap from blowing off.

And now I have to go to work. It feels exactly like it felt as a kid, when all the other school districts cancelled classes but yours stubbornly soldiered on.

Rock You Like a Hurricane ~ P90X Blog 7

There's a couple feet of retaining wall between our parks and the water. Also, it hurt my face taking this picture.

Dad used to love severe weather. During a big storm he'd go out to the garage, open the garage door and just watch the weather. In a particularly bad storm, with a tornado warning in effect for our town, Dad stood there laughing. I'm pretty sure I went inside and sat in a closet by myself.

Dad would love this weather. Boston is not in the direct path of Hurricane Sandy, but we're seeing some effects. That's about as bad as it is. We're seeing some effects.

People are, of course, freaking the hell out. Boston is shutting down the subways at 2 p.m., which will force The Wife to take a cab home from work. Schools are not in session. Police are driving down the streets saying something over the loudspeaker. It's impossible to say what the police are announcing, as they're flying by at 20 mph and not stopping to actually let anybody hear the message. Many workplaces are closed.

This is a big deal, but it's really not that big a deal. We've maybe had a half inch of rain today. Sure, the winds are gusty and the tide is coming in quite high, but it's basically just windy. I have to drive 55 miles to work today. TW has to take a cab home. That's about the worst of it for us.

In Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York this is a big deal. There's lots of rain there already and it's dangerous. I'm not sure it's worth canceling Michael Strahan and Kelly Rippa for this storm in Boston to show live coverage from Cape Cod. It's not that big a deal.

And now I have to drive TW to work. I'll update the blog if something exciting happens on the way there or home. Like maybe I'll pick up some Chinese food! With hot and sour soup! What terrors this storm will rain down on my waistline!

This Post Was Inevitable ~ P90X Blog 6

The entrance to Piers Park, where the only fault I can find is the black
sign on the far right of the gate pictured above.

We love having guests, and living in Boston hasn't exactly slowed the flow of tourists through our guest bedroom. Since moving here near the end of June, at least 10 people have spent the night either in our guest bed or on our couch.

I don't know that I've seen this strawberry
color before.

Guest No. 11, SIL, was supposed to arrive this morning. But SIL is a mother of an infant, and the infant got very sick last night, and SIL had to cancel. That's really too bad because she's good company and SIL could use a break from being a mom for a couple of nights.

SIL, a Minnesotan, asked me just a couple of days ago if leaf-peeping season was over in Boston yet. Maybe it's my Minnesota upbringing that made my eyes bulge a little when I responded: No! It's pretty much peak season in our neighborhood. And the leaves in Boston Common and on the Charles River are just starting to go.

This is mind-boggling stuff. According to a report from my mother, a renowned ecological fan, the leaves in Minnesota went brown near the end of September and basically plopped onto the ground in a collective, "We're done here" moment. It snowed in Minnesota yesterday, as well as a few weeks ago.

My brother put it well a number of years ago when he said, "The weather in Minnesota prepares you to live anywhere, because it couldn't possibly be any colder in the winter AND any more humid and bug-filled in the summer." That's a simplification, but the lad's not wrong.

I set out with Daisy Duke on a walk yesterday afternoon, a lovely 60-degree, bluebird-sky day. Daisy wasn't terribly interested in the leaves so much as she was smelling the trunks of the trees for signs of dog urine, squirrels and assorted woodland creatures. Me? I took pictures.

This tree had reds, yellows, greens and
oranges.

Thank God that happened. Hurricane Sandy is coming, which means one good puff of wind on Monday or Tuesday will knock all our remaining leaves down. But more important, thank God for SIL's sake. It's not nearly the same as leaf-peeping. BIL, her spouse, isn't wild about leaf colors. Which is fine. The world is basically split into two groups: people who like fall colors and those who do not care one iota about them.

And so, for SIL, these are the five pictures taken Wednesday on a terrible, terrible camera phone. Maybe we should get a Kickstarter fund to buy a new camera so you can get the full effect of pictures. Then this blog would look more like a travel brochure. Come to think of it, we're pretty well set for visitors, so maybe we'll stick with the old cell phone.

Me, getting arty.

Today's weather is decidedly less glorious. This was taken
outside the MIT campus, looking at the state capitol. 

I Don't Take a Sheet ~ P90X Blog 5

I tried to take a picture of the actual billboard in our neighborhood
park, but dogs aren't allowed. So, enjoy this picture from what
looks to be the same billboard.

Just a schorty today after yesterday's epic boring post.

I'm not the most conservative person in the world, but this advertising campaign makes me stop and wonder. It's from a park about a mile from our house. I run past this billboard on a daily basis. It's directly next to a YMCA and the park is jammed with kids year-round.

The slogan made me laugh out loud the first time I saw it. "I take a sheet in the pool." Hmm. It's far from the only edgy slogan for the energy strips, judging by their website (takeasheet.com). Sample slogan for LeBron James: Taking a Sheet is part of my halftime routine."

Let's argue both sides of the ethical issue. The company can argue that it has a literal meaning. Parents don't have to avert their childrens' eyes. If the kids ask about it, parents can just say, "She's a swimmer and she takes an energy sheet before she competes." All the slogans can be explained at face value, without lying to kids.

Parents can argue the slogans are aimed at kids. They know their kids know the swear words already, so they're not worried about that. They simply don't want swear words becoming a normal part of society.

What do I think? I don't really give a ...

This Is The Most Boring Blog Ever ~ P90X Blog 4

There was a time when this sight would cause heart palpatations. Also,
I'm not sure how to spell that.

The Wife and I have a weekly date night. That's how you know we don't have children. It's usually a weeknight, when we haven't seen each other for a few days. I hop the subway and meet her at Government Center and we get dinner in the North End or at an Irish pub. In a few weeks, we'll stroll through Quincy Market and look at the Christmas decorations.

Last week's date night brought me to Lechmere, the end of the dreaded Green Line on the subway. It's the closest stop to TW's work, so we had a tentative plan to explore the Galleria and perhaps find some dinner, possibly at The Cheesecake Factory.

TW is a newly minted physician assistant and she needed to stay a little late to catch up on her paperwork for the patients she saw in her family practice clinic. That's cool. I'll hang out in the mall.

First, I haven't "hung out" in a mall since high school, and even then it was a rare occasion. It took me all of three minutes to walk from end to end, completely uninterested in any of the shopping opportunities available to me.

Then a guy walked by in a Geek Squad shirt.

Oh yeah. Best Buy. Christmas is coming up and my list is Zero long. I need some ideas. Naturally, I went to check out Best Buy. In my teens and early 20s, Best Buy was a wonderland. There was always a gadget to salivate over. A stereo to check out. Computers to inspect. Games to test. And the music selection was incredible. It was geek heaven.

Best Buy hasn't changed all that much, but I have.

I walked through every aisle in the computer section. It was an exercise in futility. I don't play games or do anything requiring upscale graphics processors. My computers are used to write stories, write blogs, and to stealthily haunt your Facebook profile. From a computing power standpoint, I could use a 2005 Epson. I'm pretty sure Epson only make/made printers. That's what I know about technology anymore.

Perhaps some iPods, iPhone gadgets and assorted Apple stuff? Negative. I don't have an iPhone, try not to use the iPad and have no need for a new computer.

Need is the key word here. But we'll get back to that.

Video games. Oh, Best Buy video games section. You had me at Doom, back in 1994. Your PlayStation displays sold me on the PS2 back in the early 2000s and the Nintendo 64 during my college years.

There's tons of neat stuff in the games aisle. There were 10 different headsets for you to hook into your gaming system so you can give voice commands to the game (!) or talk smack with 13-year-olds while playing shoot-em-ups on the Internet. Thing is, I don't play those games. I don't really like much of anything, come to think of it.

Don't misunderstand, I like to think I have plenty of hobbies, if I could access them. I like to golf but I couldn't tell you where the nearest course is, how much it costs to golf, or whether there's a driving range. And it's probably 20-30 minutes to get there, which seems like a big hassle. In Utah, skiing was the main winter hobby. I had a season ski pass for six straight years. In summer, there was mountain hiking. Neither hiking nor skiing is really an option right now because of where I live.

Also, I'm incredibly boring. This is something of a revelation because, theoretically, I like to try new things and get my adrenaline going. I just don't see how to do that while living in the city. At least, without running naked down the street, which could be exciting in a different way.

And still, Christmas is bearing down in its unrelenting way. The Target Christmas ads are on. I should have presented my Christmas list a month ago, but I can't because I don't have one. There is one newfound hobby that makes me slightly less of a bore. Brewing beer is kind of awesome. On a recent visit to Maine, Nacho Man and I brewed a bourbon porter. And it will be spectacular because it always is. I have a dozen different kinds and brands of beer in my fridge right now and another dozen or so in the basement. My cousin in Mississippi mailed me six bottles from Mississippi's only microbrewer, Lazy Magnolia (that he is under age and that it's illegal to mail beer is of no consequence).

Beer excites me. I drink beer about twice a week, so please don't get concerned. And I would, if necessary, ask for beer-related items for Christmas. A "rocket burner" or "turkey burner" to heat up huge vats of water; a 15-gallon pot to boil water in; all the brewing widgets; a kegerator with room for two 5-gallon kegs. Yes, mentally, I could spend $1,500 on brewing-related items.

But they don't sell any of that at Best Buy. You don't ask for beer stuff for Christmas. And I'm just cheap. Remember that use of the word "need" ^ up there? I don't really need anything. I needed lemons to make a potato-cabbage-leek soup this morning. I need new shoes. I don't need $1,500 of brewing supplies. Therefore, I won't get it.

Maybe that's my newfound middle-aged-ness speaking. I'm middle-aged and, therefore, boring. It's strange to feel boring and be kind of OK with being boring, aside from asking the occasional, "What the hell has happened to me?"

Tonight, however, is again Date Night, which is kind of awesome. I haven't really seen TW since Sunday. I awoke to find an email from her this morning informing me that she dropped her iPhone in ... uh ... some water. But it was a cute email. We still like each other and are excited to see each other. If that's getting older, I guess I'm OK with that. Too bad for Best Buy. They could use the business.

Man Up ~ P90X Blog 3

We are easily entertained.

Man-cations. Man-dates. Man-night. Those Manly things are all tired plays on the word Man. What does it mean to be a man? Surely not enjoying Mancations with your Man friends while doing Manly things.

And yet, cliches are cliches for a reason.

It is with regret that I report on the goings-on of Monday evening. I walked to the Boston airport and hopped a bus to Portland to visit The Bearded Beernut and Nacho, Nacho Man (and Nacho Man's brother, Dandy). We were going to play pegs and aces, drink beer and eat bacon.

It drives me batty to bend to stereotypes. Truly. You should know that. But when you see bacon-dusted french fries on the menu at Nosh, you order them. Then, at LFK, when you see bacon-covered macaroni and cheese, you order that.

At Taco Escobar, our third restaurant of the evening, Nacho Man decided it would be awesome to order nachos. And it was. At The Great Lost Bear, the fourth dining establishment of our evening, Nacho Man order nachos again. Hence his new nickname.

Last night I ate: Half an order of bacon fries, bacon macaroni and cheese, a fourth of an order of nachos, half an order of fried vegetables, and a feeble 1/30th of The Bear's nachos. There was so much food that I couldn't drink a Guinness. At 11 p.m.

And that is how I spent 16 hours in Portland. In addition to my newfound hobby of waddling, it was an excellent night out, though Bearded Beernut and Nacho Man were moving a little slow this morning for some reason. Maybe they're not real men.

The Year I Started to Feel Middle-Aged ~ P90X Blog 2

Just hanging out on a wooden Navy ship, preparing to shoot cannons
at the British, or hordes of elderly tourists. Whichever.

About five years ago, Ross-mosis wanted to go see a band called The Killers play a show in Utah. I guarantee you know their biggest hit song, Mom. "Somebody told me, that you had a boyfriend, that looks like a girlfriend, that I had in February of last year.

No? Ok, Mom, here's a link to the video. Careful. It's catchy.

Ross-mosis and I were pretty sure this was going to be awesome because the band was playing an old airplane hangar out by the Great Salt Lake. It was a bizarre location and it couldn't have been more than 2,000 people at the show.

Ross-mosis and I powered our way to within about 30 feet of the stage. I looked around at the crowd a few minutes before the show started (after an amazing set by Louis XVI, the best opening act I've ever seen). "Ross-mosis, do you realize we are in the upper 5 percent of age of all the people here?"

He looked around and shrugged. "I guess we're old people tonight."

And then we proceeded to witness the third-greatest concert I've ever seen. The Killers were awesome. The age thing? That didn't bother me, either. I was in the best shape of my life at age 30, weighing about what I weighed in sixth grade. I skied. I didn't have kids. I did things young people did.

Well, I did things young people in Salt Lake did.

Five years and 3,000 miles away, I've been having my first middle-aged moments and it's not entirely unpleasant. Brace yourself for a shock: Boston is not very similar to Salt Lake City. I don't know how Mitt Romney gets along here.

Boston is a totally fun town. It has great bars and great concerts. The restaurants are among the best in the world. There's historical sites everywhere and cultural centers that people visit from around the globe.

It is also a younger man's town, and I am no longer a younger man.

Viking is one of my best friends. We met in second grade at Afton-Lakeland Elementary when he moved into the school district. We were best man in each other's weddings. He came a couple weeks ago with his wife, Sweet Caroline (Bom-Bom-Bom!) to celebrate their ninth wedding anniversary.

When I have friends in town, I like to do touristy things with them. We plod around the Old North End, visiting historical sites and pastry shops. We go visit the USS Constitution, a 225-year-old boat still technically in active military service.

And somewhere along the line, my back starts killing me from all the walking. I bend at the waist, then I reverse the maneuver and stick my belly out, arching my back. I sit down. Generally speaking, my back hurts like an old man's back would hurt.

All those bars, concerts and restaurants that serve food until 2 a.m. are wonderful, but that's not really what I'm interested in anymore. Bars are expensive and I have great beer in my refrigerator. This leads me to my next blog: I am turning into the most boring person on the face of the planet.

This has to be normal. People get older and their backs start hurting. They have kids and don't particularly want to hang out in bars until 1 a.m. You can't look at this situation with any wistful sadness. It would be sad if I *wanted* to go out to the bars or go see concerts and come home at 1 a.m. on a regular basis. Instead, I enjoy playing Solitaire Blitz on Facebook. You should send me a game request.

The back can be dealt with. A little yoga fixed the lower-back situation pretty much immediately. But there it is: Dealing with middle-aged problems. Yep, I'm just counting down the days until Medicare and Social Security eligibility. And perhaps it's time to consider voting Republican.

Ha!

The Highs and Lows of The Big Move ~ P90X Blog 1

If you look closely, you might see Daisy Duke swimming out to greet
the crew of the USS Constitution.

The difference between living in Boston and, say, Lakeland, Minnesota (population 1,993) is there tends to be wonderful surprises that come with living both by the water and in the big city.

About half an hour ago, I got into my car to go return a video game to Red Box. I took the back way home to avoid traffic and pedestrians. There was a fire boat out on the Mystic River blaring water out of every nozzle. That's not so unusual. But trailing a couple hundred yards behind the fire boat was the USS Constitution, the oldest boat in the Navy, celebrating the 225th anniversary of its first sail in 1787.

I quickly parked and jogged out to the end of the pier to take a picture. As usual, the first picture was the best, though I put a couple more at the bottom of the blog. A couple of Italian guys were hanging out on the dock talking loudly to nobody in particular, which is par for the course.

"Why isn't there anybody out here?"

"'Cuz nobody gives a damn about history no more."

It was laughably stereotypical, but stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason. That trueism is one of many that have been hammered home since we moved to Boston in June. The learning curve in a new city can be steep. The question The Wife and I have received most often in the past few months always has an underlying assumption.

"Do you love living in Boston?"

Lots of people have visited Boston. You tour the Old North End, visit Cheers off Boston Common and catch a game at Fenway. What's not to love? It's easy to love a place when you're on vacation, especially when that town is Boston.

Real life has more gray areas. We do love Boston. And we hate Boston. Since May 1, TW and I have been on an emotional roller-coaster. I simply cannot believe it has only been five months since TW graduated from college. It feels like years ago.

I have many friends who have lived in the same state or same general location for all of their lives. I have my fifth state-issued driver's license and am in my seventh state of residence in the last 17 years. No, I'm not shooting for all 50 states.

Moving is traumatic. We have some excellent friends in Maine. We have many in Minnesota and Utah. We moved to Boston with Zero friends. TW left school and started medical practice. That'd be daunting for anyone. I started a new full-time job. I got laid off but am working part-time at the same paper. And we've had at least 10 people stay in our guest bedroom since the middle of July. Sometimes, it feels like life is whirling around our heads.

There are also incredibly good moments. TW walks out of the State House or Faneuil Hall at sunset and is awed. I walk through Boston Common on the quick step to hop on the subway. We ride bikes along the Charles and notice the Head of the Charles Regatta is this weekend. The leaves, my God, the fall leaves. And the simple joy of making new friends ... with somebody who went to high school with my brother and lives 300 yards from us. It's a small world.

We love Boston. And we hate Boston. Neither of those statements is true, exactly. Living somewhere different is very, very hard. But there are moments here, when the water guns are pumping at full bore and a 225-year-old ship sails by, where I have to realize this is an incredibly unique period in life. And I'm not going to let it go without blogging about it.

And now we're back to Square 1, Blog 1. I won't bore you with the details. Ninety straight weekdays of blogging, excepting Christmas and possibly Thanksgiving. I need to write. Not to entertain and not to make money but because it is part of my DNA. Hang in there. It's going to be a bumpy ride.