My Recovery Run

So last Saturday I ran the Spinx half marathon during my Mastodon trip to Greenville, South Carolina. There was joy. There was fun. There was suffering in the sun. But that story is for another post. Suffice it to say I ran 13.1 miles and, so far as I can tell, lived to tell of it.

Sunday was a travel day, and I intended to take yesterday and today as recovery days before easing back into my training for the Vegas Rock 'N Roll half marathon in December. Apparently my dog / personal trainer Berkeley had other ideas.

Berk: "OMG! OMG! You're home from work! Time to play!"

Me:  "Hey bud. Good to see you. Now settle."

"Settle? I don't think so! I've been napping all day. Time to play!"

"Bud, I'm tired."

"Fine. I'll entertain myself."

"Berkeley Cooper put down that bed! Come back! Your bed is NOT a toy!"

"OK fat boy, we're going for a run then."

"No, we're staying home. I'm still sore. Ouch! Ouch! Stop biting my feet!"

"You're wearing SOCKS. You know I own all socks in this house."

"Those are my work socks. Drop them. Stop chewing my socks!"

"OK, but I have ways to persuade you to run."

"Ouch! Dude, why do you have to punch me? I have so many bruises on my thighs, my doctor is going to ask me if I'm in a 'safe place' next time I see him."

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your call."

"OK, settle down and we'll go for a run. A SLOW run."

"That's more like it. Hey! What are those?"

"Gloves. It's chilly out."

"Those aren't gloves! Those are FRONT PAW SOCKS! ATTACK!"

"Ouch! Dude, my hands are in those gloves! Ouch!"

"Well let's run then."

"Slowly. Ouch! What was that punch for?"

"We're running fast. Get with the program."

"Ouch! Fast is fine then. No sprinting!"

"Wimp."

"I am sore. I've run two half marathons in the past two weeks."

"Whatever. You need some speed work, fat guy. Whoa! Trick or treaters! Bet they want to party. Hey kids! Want to play? Huh? Huh?"

"Berk! Enough! You win, we'll run faster. Stop scaring the kids."

"They aren't scared. They love me. Everyone loves me."

"I'm not loving you so much right now. My legs hurt. We're going to walk this hill."

"Hill? Yay! SPRINT!!"

"Aaarrrgggghhhh!!"

"Baby. Suck it up. It's just a hill."

"Aaarrrgggghhhh!!"

"Knock it off. You're embarrassing me. Now sprint home!"

"Can't ... breathe ... help ... me ..."

"Hey, good run! Now get me a treat. I said, GET ME A TREAT!"

"Chicken jerky OK?"

"It'll do. Oh, and we're running again in the morning."

"No we're not. We just ran five miles fast."

"Don't make me wake you up."

"Ouch! OK, we'll talk about it. Ouch!"

Don't even think of running without me.

Play with me. Or else.

The Poker Gods Send Omens

So, as of a week ago, my Christmas plans involved port, gourmet salamis and cheeses, bad movies, and a sleepy boxer in my lap at home. My parents were headed from western Nebraska to Salt Lake City to see my brother and his family (including my two adorable nieces, ages 5 and 2). My sig other was headed to eastern Iowa to his family and their personal "don't ask, don't tell" detente where I am just the landlord for the house where my sig other lives.

Then, a cosmic convergence of omens occurred. I found out I was one round trip from making Elite status on United. I am a mere 220 points from making Platinum on Caesars' Total Rewards for the first time (screw you folks who can play in a Caesars property year round and get to cut lines with your freakin' Diamond cards). I have a handful of "use it or lose it" vacation days at work. My sig other's youngest niece demanded that he bring her "best friend" Berkeley home to play at Christmas. What were the poker gods trying to tell me?

Not fully believing the portents, I checked out Orbitz, United.com, and Total Rewards. What to my wondering eyes appeared but an opportunity for an awesome holiday excursion. A round-trip flight from Des Moines to Salt Lake was within $30 of the cost of a multi-way trip from Des Moines to Vegas to Salt Lake. I had two free nights at Planet Hollywood or Paris to use. Could the signs be any clearer?!?

Suddenly, my sedate holiday at home has transformed into a whirlwind itinerary of two days in Vegas, followed by two days in Salt Lake with my parents, my brother and sister-in-law, and my nieces. Not quite "home for the holidays", but still a perfect Christmas nonetheless.

Happy Holidays to all my followers, from me and Berkeley!

Berkeley bored by another Packers win.

The Packers are up three TDs. Can we play now?

How about a run? Frisbee? Heads up Badugi for rollz?

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum! What?

Santa better bring me a goose and a bag of duck treats.

The Great Chako Death March

While traveling home from Christmas in Nebraska, I noticed that Dr. Chako had posted his New Year's resolutions. One caught my eye:

But a new year is coming. I've settled into a routine of sorts, and I'm ready to try again. This time I think I can achieve the workout goal. Here's my plan - I'm going to run 365 miles in 2011. It should be attainable, right? Who can't go an average of 1 mile a day? My friend Laurie just cleared 1000 running miles in 2010 (awesome, BTW). Mine should be a piece of cake (mmm, cake). I have some additional motivators, not the least of which is the Mud Run at the end of April with the G-Vegas crew (seriously, are you building Mastodon around this?). I'd also like to run a couple other races, too. I did the Angel Island 12K last January and it was a blast. I'd like to do it again. I also wouldn't mind running at least a 5K every other month - I think I can get my time below 25 minutes. I'm also seriously planning on bringing my running shoes to the next #WPBT.

Running has always been my workout of choice. Back in my late 20s and early 30s, I would average over 40 miles a week, would do several road races each summer, and even ran a marathon. As an aside, the marathon was a major error—the race was in a nature preserve with "Alligator Crossing" signs every half mile or so, leading me to fear that if I came up lame, I'd wind up on the "prey" side of a nature movie. Anyway, although my mileage has dropped off the past few years, I do enjoy running to relax, do some thinking, and keep myself in some semblance of shape.

Unfortunately, I hurt my foot in April, and my running has gone down while my weight has gone up. My foot has finally healed to the point I can run 15-20 miles per week, and the past couple of weeks I've started getting back into a regular running routine. I figured Dr. Chako and I could both use a little incentive to achieve our workout goals, and what's better motivation than fine dining in Vegas? So, after a couple of text messages, the good doctor and I have reached the following challenge:

• From January 1, 2011 through the WPBT in December, we will both keep track of our running mileage.
• I am spotting Dr. Chako 2:1 on the mileage. If he hits his goal of 365 miles, I will need to run 730 miles to push on the wager. Of course, the more he runs, the more I'll need to run, which is a good thing.
• Winner gets dinner for four at his restaurant of choice in Vegas during WPBT. Right now, I'm thinking CarneVino or Craftsteak, but please post your suggestions / motivations in the comments.

Now I take this challenge very seriously; I am playing to win. So, I have enlisted a secret weapon, my super-trainer, Berkeley. Berkeley loves running with me, though he mostly does a fast trot or easy lope to match my slow pace. However, at inopportune moments, Berk will decide we need to sprint for a few blocks, usually to chase a rabbit, bicycle, or car. Unfortunately, my running route follows a bike trail and a couple of major streets, so there is far too much sprinting. Also, sometimes Berk will taunt me by grabbing the leash in his mouth and alternately sprinting and running sideways, jerking me forward, encouraging me to run faster. 

At this point, I think there are even odds whether Berk kills me via heart attack before the WPBT dinner, or the dinner itself finishes me off. I'm really hoping it's the latter ...

(Image source).

Happy Holidays!

I will be taking the weekend off from blogging, but wanted to wish all my readers a very Merry Christmas!  I hope y'all have fun with friends and family, and wish y'all safe travels. Remember, set aside the petty grievances for the weekend (they should have been aired on Festivus), and just relax and laugh a lot.

Speaking of laughs, here's an "Elf Yourself" video sent to me this morning by the sig other, featuring he and Berkeley in a Christmas country hoedown.  Enjoy!



Note:  Anyone who grew up in the Midwest in the 80s or 90s almost certainly had an elementary or junior high school physical education class unit on square dancing or country line dancing.  'Nuff said.

Idiot Sports Announcers Watch (v. 1.3)—Don't Call It a Comeback!

Don't call it a comeback
I been here for years
Rockin' my peers and puttin' suckas in fear ...
....
Shotgun blasts are heard
When I rip and kill, at will
The man of the hour, tower of power, I'll devour ...
....
Listen to the way I slay, your crew
Damage! [uhh!] Damage! [uhh!] Damage! [uhh!] Damage!
Destruction, terror, and mayhem
Pass me a sissy so suckas I'll slay him ....

—LL Cool J, "Mama Said Knock You Out"

This morning, I took Berkeley on our "long" walking route, about four miles total.  Along the way, we popped into the vet clinic for something like six vaccine booster shots—who knew dogs could get bird flu?  Of course, I also love the whole "bring in some poop" process—$22 to look at it, $4 to throw it away—not glamorous work, but it pays better than what some might argue is similar work at McDonalds.  About $160 later, Berk is officially the Superman of puppies.

On our walks, I listen to a variety of podcasts on my iPhone via Stitcher radio.  Most of the podcasts are for poker or sports topics, and this morning, I happened to load up the Dan Patrick sports talk radio highlights for this past Wednesday.  What I heard made my blood boil.

Patrick was interviewing Rich Eisen, a major figure and lead commentator for the NFL Network and NFL.com, official media arms for the league.  Patrick asked Eisen if he had to buy an NFL jersey for his young son, would he pick Michael Vick (Philadelphia Eagles star QB embroiled in a dog fighting scandal), Brett Favre (Minnesota Vikings star QB involved in a sexual harassment scandal), or Ben Roethlisberger (Pittsburgh Steelers star QB enmeshed in two sexual assault scandals)?  Eisen stated that, because his wife was a dog lover who worked with the ASPCA, he definitely wouldn't buy a Vick jersey.

Then Eisen and Patrick went where they shouldn't have gone.  Patrick suggested that Vick, who is having a statistically remarkable season on the football field, should be a contender for the NFL's "Comeback Player of the Year", awarded each season to a player who has demonstrated perseverance in overcoming adversity (typically an injury).  Eisen emphatically stated that Vick already has Comeback Player of the Year "locked up".  If true, then the NFL has truly abandoned any pretense of caring about character over cash.

It's not just Eisen and Patrick drinking the Vick-comeback Kool-Aid.  This week's Sports Illustrated cover story also refers to Vick's "comeback" and "rebirth".  In fact, it seems many (if not most) major sports writers and broadcasters are firmly in the "bygones" camp in covering Vick, choosing to applaud Vick's athletic exploits with barely more than an apologetic "he deserves a second chance" nod to his criminal past.

ESPN columnist Rick Reilly suggests that, "in a backward way, Vick has been the best thing to happen to pit bulls" because he raised public awareness of pit bull fighting.  Well yes, by all means, let's give Vick a citizen of the year award for his efforts.  And while we're at it, let's give O.J. Simpson an award for raising public awareness of spousal abuse.  Reilly also suggests that we forgive Vick because he's "remade" himself into the "the most exciting athlete in American sports" by paying more attention to his diet, training more diligently, and working harder in practice.  Ya know, there are plenty of exciting athletes out there to applaud who seem to have learned those lessons without needing 18 months in federal prison for motivation.  Perhaps we could find two or three of them to hold up as paragons of virtue?

Another ESPN columnist, Bill Simmons, actually went further into absurdity in justifying his Vick worship.  Simmons actually repeated Reilly's "Vick did a favor for animal rights" nonsense, only he explicitly drew the comparison to O.J. Simpson and spousal abuse!  While we're at it, let's take a moment to recognize Tiger Woods for his strong work in support of traditional family values.

Simmons also suggested we are all "hypocrites" about animal cruelty because most of us enjoy eating meat.  I'll go Simmons one better.  Growing up on a farm, I've actually been a part of the meat industry on the production side.  I've castrated pigs, branded cattle, and been on a slaughterhouse "kill floor".  The difference between those in the meat industry and people like Vick is that the meat industry does not engage in animal cruelty for sport and gambling.  The purpose of the meat industry is to provide food, while the purpose of dog fighting is let a bunch of guys get their jollies watching two dogs tear each other to shreds in what are generally lengthy, bloody battles.  The meat industry minimizes the pain inflicted on animals (or at least does not cause gratuitous suffering to animals), while dog fighting thrives on maximizing brutality.  Michael Vick doesn't get off the moral hook for electrocuting dogs merely because many of us enjoy a good steak or pork chop.

Simmons also makes the absurd suggestion that Vick—animal torturer and felon—is a better person than LeBron James—basketball superstar who has never been so much as arrested—because "LeBron steadfastly refuses to admit his 'Decision' [to leave his hometown Cleveland Cavaliers for the Miami Heat] was ruinously handled from start to finish." Seriously?  You want to stake the credibility of your support for Vick on that argument?

Now, there is one point where Reilly, Simmons, Patrick, Eisen, and their ilk are absolutely correct—Vick has served his prison time, and if the NFL and the Eagles want Vick representing them, that's their business.  Even though many felons after prison find themselves shut out of lucrative employment opportunities, Vick is under no obligation to turn down millions of dollars if some team is willing to pay him for his services.  If Eagles fans and fantasy football enthusiasts want to root for or gush over Vick, that's their right. Heck, I even understand the sentiment for Vick's fans—"Vick may be a felon, but he's our felon".*

Here's the thing.  Just because Vick has served his time, and is saying and doing all the "right" things, doesn't change the fact of what he did.  Vick financed an illegal dog-fighting business, looking to profit off of the torture of animals as a form of entertainment and gambling.  Vick also wasn't merely a passive investor, he got his hands dirty—and literally bloody—by participating in the killing of several dogs.  Vick wasn't someone committing a youthful indiscretion, nor was he caught in an addiction beyond his control. So please, can we all stop the nonsense talk about how Vick has overcome "adversity"? Adversity is something that happens to someone beyond their control; adversity is not the consequence of a personal moral choice. Adversity is an injury, an illness, a family tragedy. Vick's serving time in federal prison was a well-deserved punishment, not adversity.

For those fans who can stomach Vick's past off-field conduct, Vick's current on-field performance is certainly exciting.  For sports journalists, Vick's resurrected career is an attention-grabbing topic for punditry.  For the NFL and the Eagles, Vick's athletic prowess is certainly lucrative.  Frankly, if the league is sufficiently bereft of dignity and talented, non-felonious stars, Vick's cornucopia of highlight reel plays might well make him worthy of being named league MVP.

But, please, don't call it a comeback.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As you make your year-end charitable contributions, please keep these worthy organizations in your thoughts, or look up your local chapters of these groups and donate your time, cash, or needed supplies, or even help an animal find a new, loving home.

American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA)
The Humane Society of the United States
The Animal Rescue League (ARL) (Iowa chapter)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Just a reminder, when someone is dismissive of criticisms of Vick because "all he did was kill some pit bulls", here are some examples of the breeds of dog Vick consigned to torture and death.

(Image source).

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*  There are plenty of sports teams at all levels of play fielding players of questionable moral character.  Coaches, fans, owners, and/or administrators alike all have to reach some decision on where to draw the moral line regarding whether they employ, coach, or root for a particular player.  Even my beloved Huskers are not immune.  In my mind, Tom Osborne's legacy will always be tainted by his decision in 1995 to reinstate Lawrence Phillips to the team after suspending him for physically assaulting his then-girlfriend.  Although Osborne likely had Phillips' best interests at heart, and the Huskers did not need Phillips (they had a pretty serviceable backup RB in Ahman Green), nonetheless the fact remains that the Huskers chose to keep a pretty unsavory character on the team on the way to a second consecutive national title.  And Husker fans cheered.

Dog Day Morning

Sonny:  So, what country do you want to go to?
Sal:  Wyoming.
Sonny:  Sal, Wyoming's not a country.

—Dog Day Afternoon

So, it's barely noon, and after my morning, I think moving to Wyoming—well, maybe San Diego—is a swell idea.

As my Twitter followers know, the sig other and I are puppy-sitting this week and weekend for Fritz, a year-old German shorthaired pointer (a/k/a "German shorthair").  Fritz is probably five inches taller than Berkeley, but also 15 pounds lighter, and more full of energy, if that's possible.  Basically, Fritz is the lanky wide receiver, while Berk has turned into a monster linebacker (75 pounds—so much for being "on the small side for boxers").

As might be expected, the pups have been tearing around the house like maniacs, chasing each other, playing games with toys, and wrestling.  We have resorted to sleeping in separate rooms with one pup each so that they will actually sleep.  Of course, Berk still wakes me up three times a night to see if it is time to go find Fritz and play.  When they do get let out of the bedrooms, it's as if they haven't seen each other in years.

This morning started off rather innocuously.  We took the pups out to take care of their business around 6:15.  I watched them while catching up on my Twitter and Google Reader feeds, letting the sig other get ready for work.  He left around 7:00, and I went in to brush my teeth.  That's when the pups decided to launch their evil plot.

As I'm brushing my teeth, I hear rustling around, along with the ominous sound of no puppy playing.  This cannot be good.  I walk out to the kitchen, and find the pups with a bag of treats in the living room, trying to paw it open.  Guess opposable thumbs do come in handy.  Since the treats are kept in the laundry room, it appears the sig other forgot to close that door on his way out.  Berk knows better than to get into the treats, but Fritz is raised in a "no-treat" home, so he was literally a kid in a candy shop.  Since it was actually pretty funny, I scolded them just a bit for show, then went back to start shaving.

I barely have shaving cream on my face when I hear a huge crash!  I walk back out to the kitchen, where I find a plate shattered on the floor.  Wonderful.  Hmmm, apparently Fritz can reach the five foot countertops, and wanted the plate of crackers he saw me put there last night.  Poor Berkeley was cowering under the coffee table (his hiding place since his first day at home), knowing Fritz had broken another rule, and desperately trying to stay out of sight.  Fritz was clear across the room, wearing a hangdog guilty face.  This time, the scolding was not so friendly.  Pick up the plate, get out the vacuuum, back to finish shaving.

I decided I couldn't trust the boys unsupervised, so I put them out on our deck.  Now our deck has typical three foot railings, plus it is built out over an eight foot deep "moat" that runs along the side of our townhome complex (to allow daylight windows for the basement on that side), with a five foot gap between the deck and moat edge.  So there is no way anyone—or any puppy—can get onto or off the deck without jumping about five feet, after first climbing over the railing.  In other words, the deck is a perfect place to keep a couple of pups out of mischief for a few minutes.

Apparently our deck is not the doggie supermax facility I had assumed.  I get out of the shower, look out at the deck, and see Berk staring down the road ... at Fritz, who somehow jumped off the deck, over the moat, and out onto the lawn without hurting himself.  Wonderful.  Yup, Fritz was happily chasing birds right next to the street, and appeared ready to romp over to the park. 

As much as I might want to murder the scamp, it wouldn't do to report Fritz being run down by a car.  So, in something of a panic, I throw on sweats, and pull on my sandals ... and one has been chewed into oblivion by a puppy who was bored by the other eight dozen toys strewn around the house.  Nice touch.  I decide to go for it Zola Budd-style and chase down Fritz, who gives me a big ol' grin as I drag him back in the house.  Brat. 

I go back in the bedroom to put on my work clothes.  I hear the boys running around the kitchen, then Fritz suddenly dashes into the bedroom, followed closely by Berk.  They both stare at me, with suspicious guilty faces.  I say, "What are you boys up to now?"  Berk looks right at me and ... starts peeing on the floor.  Awesome.

Berk got a stern scolding as I drug both boys out for a potty break.  Berk went right in his kennel; he knew I was mad.  Fritz fought me like a dervish before I could get him in his kennel.  Where's an alligator wrestler when you need one?  Then, as I turned to walk back into the bedroom, my sock felt wet and warm.  Oh yeah, Fritz had left a big puddle of pee in the kitchen, with a trail of pee running the length of the kitchen to the front hall, where another puddle was on the doormat.  Exceptional.  So, I got to use about a billion paper towels to scrub our carpet and the entire kitchen before finally getting to leave for work.  How much fun can one guy have?

I head out of the house about 8:00, 30 minutes behind my planned schedule.  Oh well, no big deal, nothing on the calendar for work today.  I look down at my watch, it says 6:50.  Yup, dead battery.   *Sigh*  I turn onto the main road to the freeway, only to discover that I had not put in my contacts because of the hullaballoo with Fritz (I have a mild near-sightedness, so I don't need contacts around the house).  I turn back for home, get my contacts, head back out.  I pull back out onto the main road, only to see ... a cop car right behind me.  What a lovely pickle for the sh*t sandwich that was my morning.  Yeah, I might have pulled a bit of a rolling stop.  In my first break of the day, the cop did not pull me over.  Thank gawd for variance.

Perhaps today is not the best day to play poker.

Two felons out on parole.  Fritz, the ringleader (left), and

Berkeley, the muscle (right).

Happy Birthday Berkeley!

Yup, my cute little sweetheart puppy officially became a bad-azz dog as of midnight.  Time for him to get a job!

Relaxing after a long walk.

Hanging with buddy Oliver, a/k/a "The Snapping Westie".

How dare you interrupt my nap time?!?

I like football, long walks, and destroying my sworn enemy, the peace lily.

Seriously?  Who do you think runs this show?

Still blogging?  How about a treat before bed?  Please?

Another Night at the Meadows

Last night I made my return to the Meadows ATM after a month or so layoff, recovering from two Vegas trips, getting caught up on work, and getting some quality time in with Berkeley now that the weather has turned Iowa-spring beautiful.  I was afraid there would be some rust, but I made two early hero calls (JJ on a K-Q-x flop, and calling with bottom pair to catch a busted flush draw) to build up some chips.  But then I made a great call with KQs on a flop of Ah-Kh-Tc, to find I was up against the T-high flush draw (as I expected).  The turn was a Q to steal some more outs, but the river brought the 3h.  Ouch.  Rebuy!  Ooops.  Error.  I made two donkey plays—paying off a rock with TPTK when he caught his 3-outer for two pair, and trying to bluff a calling station when a flush draw hit the river.  I also flopped the nut boat with Q9, got it all-in against QT, but the river was another 9 for a chop that felt like a loss (though in fairness, about half the money went in on the river when I knew a chop was likely).  So, I called it a night.  Bad luck + bad play usually is a sign that it's time for gin.

There was a fun hand that went down shortly after my 1/2 NL table opened.  A young kid had just taken a big hit, and was looking to push with his last $30-$40.  Someone raised preflop to $12, kid and a couple others call.  Flop is Tc5d3s.  Kid pushes for $25, gets called by one player.  Kid shows QcJc for no pair, no draw, and is up against QTo.  The poker gods smiled on the kid, however, throwing out runner-runner Ac-Kc for the backdoor royal flush!  Kid made a nice pot and a $200 high hand jackpot.  Pretty sweet!

* * * * *

Today was a gorgeous day, sunny, light breeze, upper 60s this morning.  So, the sig other and I took Berkeley to nearby Raccoon River Park for a walk on the nature trail around Blue Heron Lake.  Berk did the usual dog head-out-the-window thing on the drive over, and had a ball on the walk.  We also checked out the doggie park, and we'll likely sign Berk up once he gets past his overly-friendly puppy phase.

Anyway, as we walked, the sig other reminded me that today was the birthday for our gal pal who went with us on our recent spring break Vegas trip.   I texted her a birthday wish:  "Happy Birthday! Rigor Mortis!", referring to our running joke since St. Paddy's Day on the Strip.  Of course, about an hour later, the sig other happens to mention that our friend was driving to an uncle's funeral this morning!  Yeah.  Awkward.  Maybe I'll nominate myself as "D-Bag O' the Day"....  Thankfully, she hadn't even thought of the awkward connection when I texted an apology.  As for the sig other:

Gee, you know that information really would've been more useful to me YESTERDAY!

—Robbie (Adam Sandler) in The Wedding Singer

Joining the Hive

"You will be assimilated."

—The Borg, "Star Trek: The Next Generation"

Friday night I played a short session at The Meadows ATM.  It was one of those sessions where you feel like you never do anything right.  My first hand, I have Presto and turn a 5 for a nice pot before my chips even reach the table.  But then, my stack got flushed.  Literally.  I ran top two pair, two straights, and a baby flush into flushes, which is not a particularly profitable approach to the game.  Thankfully, my Spidey sense kept my losses somewhat limited.  The pickle on the sh*t sandwich that was my session was when I flopped an OESD with 64s on a board of 5-3-3.  I bet the flop and got a call from an uber-tight player.  Turn is a 7.  Donkey Kong!  I bet, he calls.  River is a blank, so I push my last $100 into the $400 pot.  He reluctantly calls with ... 73s, and says, "I was worried you had pocket 5s again."  I wish.

I headed home to watch some Olympics with the puppy in bed.  I fell asleep around 3:00 am, and I woke up around 5:00 am and heard Berkeley on the floor, chewing something.  Turns out it was several somethings:  a toothbrush, a razor, and ... my BlackBerry.  All were in pretty sad condition:

Puppy Chew Toy

As an amusing touch, I checked the still-functioning BlackBerry later in the day, and discovered Berkeley had somehow managed to call one of my friends at 3:38 a.m. and leave a six minute voicemail message, presumably of him chewing and slobbering, but who knows, maybe he barked something insightful.  I suspect my buddy was passed out and never heard the phone, or more amusingly, was perhaps drunk and thought he was getting a steamy booty call.

So yesterday I had to venture out in search of a new phone.  Since I have AT&T coverage (the sig other has an iPhone), my options were somewhat limited.  After some online research, I narrowed my choices down to a couple of BlackBerrys.  But the A&T store at the mall across the street only had one of the models I was interested in, and no staff interested in helping me.  So, I headed up the street to Best Buy.  Turns out they were running a special deal for their Rewards Zone members, where a 16GB iPhone 3GS was going for only $99.  So, I went with the iPhone.  It took about 30 minutes for the staff to set me up.  I left and went to make a call in my car when I discovered the phone was not in the box!  Hmmm, awkward.  I was heading back into the store when I ran into the salesperson who had assisted me, running out to the parking lot with my phone.

Anyway, I've been hearing iPhone users rave about their phones for several years now, and it always seemed a little over the top, like those too cheerful cult members passing out propaganda on the street corner.  Well, in less than 24 hours, I've joined the iPhone cult.  The dang thing is just ... slick.  The touchscreen is huge compared to the BlackBerry.  The interface is incredibly intuitive; no guessing where settings are located as with the BlackBerry.  Applications (pardon me, "apps") are easy to find, quick to download, and a snap to install.  I've added four apps so far, and none of them took longer than 2-3 minutes total to find and install.

Among the apps I've installed are a free Blogger app (BlogPressLite) that will let me update my blog on the go. I also added a free Google app that will let me access my documents and other Google programs quickly.  But, my new favorite app is TweetDeck, which is a huge improvement over the Twitter app I was using on my BlackBerry.  TweetDeck took less than a minute to install, as opposed to the BlackBerry where installing a Twitter app required me to find it on the internet, download it, then endure a complicated set up procedure.  TweetDeck is also a great app since it allows me to set up different "columns" or groups/categories of people to follow.  This enables me to follow the Ironmen separately, for example.  Just from browsing the app store, I fully expect I will downloading apps for days, like a puppy looking for treats.  Just so my iPhone doesn't become a puppy treat ...

For those of you losers out there who don't have iPhones, go get one!  Now!

"Resistance is futile!"

Puppies vs. Toddlers

As some of you may know, I bought the spousal unit a boxer puppy for our third anniversary this Fall. Berkeley has gone from being a cute little ball of fun to a mischievous 30 pound bundle of raw energy and excitement. Although Berk has changed our lives way more than I ever would’ve thought possible, I really can only barely remember life without him—which makes me sound scarily similar to my brother talking about his first child, my adorable niece Lucy.


This past Christmas, I was able to travel to Salt Lake City to visit Lucy (and her parents). Lucy is just shy of two years old, and is the early stages of the “walking and talking” phase. She may be the happiest, most lovable kid I’ve ever seen, constantly smiling, giggling, and hugging one of her parents, or one of her three dogs (two real and very tolerant dogs, and an oversized stuffed animal we gave her for her first birthday—who is also remarkably tolerant).

During my few days in Salt Lake City with Lucy, I was struck by the many similarities between parenting a toddler and raising a puppy. For example:

* First puppies and first kids get way too many toys, but they love them all.

* Puppies and toddlers love their owners/parents unquestionably—even when they get mad and pout, it rarely lasts longer than a few minutes.

* Puppies and toddlers have unlimited energy —until they suddenly crash for a nap, often in what appears to be an awkward position.

* Puppies and toddlers are at their most mischievous when they are quiet—too quiet. Nothing causes owners/parents more alarm than when their puppy/toddler is not in sight and can’t be heard.

* Puppies and toddlers have an amazingly fun and uncomplicated world view. Play, eat, drink, pee, poop, hug, sleep, repeat. Not a bad life.

* Anything the owner/parent is eating or drinking is automatically assumed to be better than whatever the puppy/child has been given to eat—and pouting and begging will ensue.

* Anything that falls to the floor is something that must be tasted, if not eaten outright.

* Owners and parents with their first puppy or kid take way too many photos and annoy their friends with way too much talk about their puppy/kid. (Exhibit A being this post!)

Of course, there is one major difference between puppies and toddlers—When you want to go play poker for a couple of hours, you can’t put your kid in a kennel!