Remember that thing he did, and how much it drove you crazy? Yeah, but better.

I'm as guilty as the next football fan for having too many things to say about Brett Favre.  His career and latest season-ending mistake (whether it's even appropriate to call it that) have been dissected and re-bagged and dissected again like a small town upper-level biology class fetal pig.  Everyone's sick of it.  Even the smell of the debate ("will he or won't he retire?") makes people throw up just a little bit in their collective mouth.  But before I can let it go for this off-season, I need to break it down one last time.

For the super majority of Packers fans, Favre is an old girlfriend (or boyfriend, depending on your chosen gender).  Actually, he's "The Ex" from hell.  The one you took to Prom, the one you went all the way with for the first time, the one that (cover the kids' ears, folks) is a first-ballot Hall of Famer.  In the sack.  But after years and years of creative shtupping, Favre is the one that the Packers dumped because they met somebody new that was kind of hot in college (Aaron Rodgers).  Favre and the Packers goofed around with trial separations and reunion hook-ups.  But a few years ago, Favre was gone for good after the Packers broke it off.  If that was all there was to it, both parties would have gone on with their lives.  Except that after fooling around for a year, Favre did the unthinkable.  He hooked up with the next door neighbor.  And Packer fans can hear them doing it ALL THE TIME, making a big deal out of how great it is and how could anyone have ever let something like this go.  So when it looked like Favre and his new flame were on their way to the Big Show, Packers fans cursed their "Ex" with the sort of vitriol that could never be taken back.  In the end (at least for now), Favre didn't get the storybook wedding and honeymoon that was desired.  And Packers fans jumped up and down and partied extra loud in the parking lot outside where the ceremony was to take place, making it sound like they always knew it wouldn't work out and that anyone that messes around with Favre ends up broken-hearted in the end.  Favre's new flame wants him back.  Maybe this time it will be different, they're trying to tell him.  Maybe this time, the Vikes will get what they've always wanted and in the process Favre will get what he always dreamed about.  Meanwhile, Packers fans are still taunting and laughing.  Maybe while imagining how great it once was.  Maybe while closing their eyes and trying to make it work with the new flame.  It will never be the same, and all those old pictures and memories are not only faded.  They're now dirty and some Packers fans can't even flip through them any longer.  It just hurts that much.

Sound ridiculous?  Probably.  But the point for me is that all this overheated emotion and overly sexualized lust or revenge or whatever it is misses the real point by a million miles.  Money.  The NFL is a business.  And they are the ones that truly love him.  Brett Favre came back and for one year got $12M in salary.  In endorsements alone, I'd bet that he can pull down $50M in the year ahead - even if he retires for good this time.  If you think not, consider his substantial upside in a post-Tiger Woods world (grizzled veteran who just had his best year ever at age 40, married to his high school sweetheart, appealing for his toughness and, yes, he still takes chances like a big ol' kid).  But aside from what may be to come, just consider what has happened to both franchises from a money position.  The sales of Vikings merchandise went up 533% from 2008 to 2009.  Their merchandise was the Number 3 team as of December 2009, Brett Favre's Vikings jersey was #1 among all players.  The Packers?  Last year by some rankings they were in the top 10 (#8 as of before this Season).  As of December 2009, they don't even make the top 10.  They've got no players in the top 25.

Say what you will about Brett Favre.  But I can tell you one thing for certain.  I'm not going to be blogging about it anymore.  Because on some level, that's exactly what the NFL wants.  And I've got other things to do, what with life and all.  I suggest everyone else look elsewhere for their drama, in similar fashion.

Hope your own merchandise is flying off the shelves today, no matter what color.  Rock on.

Surprise, surprise - being heard feels good. So let's try that again.

First of all, I need to offer up a well-earned correction.  Happily.  Last week, with very little subtlety I tore into Williams-Sonoma for not attending to my initial plea for help in replacing or repairing a big ol' KitchenAid mixer gone kaput.  Thankfully somewhere out there in the collective dingy basement of those scouring the internets, my wee little post made its way up the ladder to the PR Director at Williams-Sonoma in San Francisco.  Fast forward through a few emails and you now find me dealing directly with the General Manager at our local Williams-Sonoma.  I'll keep you posted on the mixer.  But, rest assured, Williams-Sonoma has surprised and impressed me immensely.  

Which has me thinking - where have I missed out on past complaints that a special someone keeping an eye on little ol' us here @ andthefamilybuick might have been able to do something about?  So as I wait for a brake job on our generic family wagon (don't EVEN get me started on the enigmatic duality of Firestone here in Ballard), I think the time has come to pick at a few scabs.

Hey, NPR - remember that car we donated this past summer?  Yea, the Volvo with like 180K miles, the busted head gasket that essentially meant we needed a new engine, and the caked-on decade and a half of good memories.  Yea, you sold it at auction and gave KUOW here in Seattle 700 bucks.  That one.  Well, we never even got a travel mug.  Or a tote bag.  I know you have our address 'cause we get new pleas for pledges every few weeks, it seems.

Hey, Apple - remember me coming in nearly a year ago to see if you could repair my wife's old iPod (screwy internal drive) a few months after I'd replaced my laptop with the shattered screen (my daughter innocently pulled it by the power cord off the breakfast counter)?  Yea, the guy you told that you'd give 10% off a new iPod if we donated the old one.  I must have misheard you.  What did you really say?

Actually, this is pretty fun.  So one more.

Hey, President Obama - remember me, the guy who's been defending you even as seemingly every other dolt who could afford a bumpersticker back in '08 has jumped ship in protest of some sort of nonexistent gripe about your job performance? Remember, the dood with the broad historical reading of politics who's nonetheless learned a bit from past forecasting mistakes and the past election cycle called it for both your and McCain's nominations back in November '07?  No, I'm not one of those going all "MassHole" on this Scott Brown special election and calling it the end of ObamaCare while wasting time building strawmen and blathering about "revolution".  And no, I'm not those guys demanding that the Dems dig in their heels and fight back.  I'm that other one, up here in the Northwest wearing the Milwaukee Brewers hat.  Yea, the old classic logo one - that's me.  The one looking for you to show how well you can play the rope-a-dope routine on health care.  Pull the compromise bill.  Push through a smaller bill on the obvious stuff.  Pivot to the economy.  Frame the argument, don't take it spoon fed by the haters.  And play more basketball.  The country somehow seems to feel better about itself when we see you loose and lithe on the court.  Thanks for that.  Oh, and if you want, could you erase my NSA file?  You should be fine if you go back to about '87 or so.

Hope your own customer service success stories also go all the way to the top today.  Rock on.

Maya sports some of the fairy and princess crap she's borrowed from playdates over the last few days.

Maya sports some of the fairy and princess crap she's borrowed from playdates in the last few days.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

While Sarah's in Nepal, I've been doing what I can to keep Maya focused on everything but that fact. Which has, actually, been a breeze. For those wondering what she's been up to, a few pics follow. Rock on.

Today's skate rats and all their protection make me wonder how I ever survived.

Today's skate rats and all their protection make me wonder how I ever survived.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

Maya checks her work on our first shot at bread in 2010.

Maya checks her work on our first shot at bread in 2010.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

The new Barbie, never out of reach.

The new Barbie, never out of reach.
Originally uploaded by emaggie

What's my least favorite Customer Service excuse? All of them

Anyone who knows me well can answer the following question - aside from over-priced hipster cupcakes, what modern convenience do I find most irritating?  The answer, of course, is dealing with a"customer service representative".  It's an impossibly broad category, if you waste time thinking about it.  Any job, really, should be considered a customer service job.  But I'm specifically miffed by those generally still human members of society who have the task of answering our questions about, say, a broken Kitchen Aid mixer (Williams-Sonoma, I'm possibly looking in your general direction).  Those people are the ones that pee in society's coffeemaker, wrinkle our collective laundry, don't clean up after their dogs who always stop out front of our shared driveway, and/or just plain make certain tasks that, say, 30 years ago were not that big of a deal a whole ton more irritating.  Not that I'm talking about anyone in particular.  But if you decided to dump a whole bag of really obnoxious garbage in public to stage your own personal tea party protest, you may want to consider the front entrance of a Williams-Sonoma.  As an American who's also a big fan of all the Founding Fathers, I wouldn't try to stop you.

To be less opaque if you don't get that last reference - Sarah Palin did it again.  She's 500-miles-wide and an inch deep.  Which is as new and insightful as saying the ocean is wet.

From the wonderful adventure that is Maya's not-quite-5-year-old life, the new favorite word metaphor around our house is "rollerskates".  She just got a pair, after I returned the poorly received Razor scooter that Hanukah Harry left under the ol' Festivus pole.  She really only wanted the skates.  I was just being a wuss in thinking that she might be a bit young.  Hell, in little more than a year she can start kids roller derby here in Seattle.  So you can rightly expect that I'm psyched that she is picking it up pretty fast.  For a normally cautious kid, it's a treat to see her get a bit ballsy.  And it brings back memories of how I lived in rollerskates for a hearty chunk of most weekend days in the Winters of my youth.  My cousins who lived nearby and I had skates to run constantly evolving courses we set up in their huge cement floored basement.  I'm glad Maya got that gene.

Hope your own lost memories show up in genetic copies today.  Rock on.

Yea, but Jay Leno claims he's the Brett Favre of Late Night TV, so that kinda blows my whole point...

Aside from adding my support to Conan O'Brien - especially given the thoughtful wit employed in today's written statement where he lays out why he thinks NBC sucks - the time has come to reflect briefly on the Green Bay Packers.  Or, more specifically, on the end of their season in the Wild Card game loss on Sunday to the Arizona Cardinals.  If ever there was a game that neither team deserved to win, it was this mess.  The Cards pulled out a 51-45 victory in Overtime of the highest scoring game in NFL Playoffs history.  To this very day both teams are insisting that they suited up their Defenses.   Some people have even gone so far as to complain about the missed incidental face masking which maybe should have been a penalty, even though Aaron Rodgers then trumped that doofus complaint by kicking up the ball like a hacky-sack right to the Cards linebacker Karlos Dansby.  No matter what might or did or someone imagined happened in an alternate universe replay of that game, Rodgers kicked this season out the door with the most appropriate metaphor of a play in Packers history.  The statistics were all amazing.  The heart was all empty.  Team executives, coaches and a healthy majority of Packers' fans will say that this is a great young bunch of players.  I don't disagree that this team has the ability to enthuse.  But cheering for this year's version of the Packers is like getting all pumped up for a "Caddyshack" sequel or a new Kelsey Grammer sitcom or, heaven forbid, a run by the Cowboys at the Super Bowl.  No, this Green Bay Packers season is one that will forever remain cemented in place thanks to one unfortunate memory.  This was the year that fans at Lambeau Field booed Brett Favre as he played his way to an impressive victory.  For the Vikings.  I'm still nothing but a Packers fan.  It tastes awfully different saying that, though, given that lingering memory.  

It is an essentially human thing to cheer for athletic competitors, especially ones that you identify with on a personal level based on proximity, history or just plain adoptive fun.  Cheering for the Packers this year took on a new level of identification that I think on some karmic level utterly doomed the experience.  We were expected to cheer for the Packers out of a sort of guilty denial.  As in "sure we know there's some major league bad juju going on here, but if you don't support them then all those years of cheering for good and bad teams will be cast aside and you'll be a Judas just like that 800-pound purple gorilla no one wants to acknowledge".  To that I say "good day, sir."  I will not be a party to this madness.  Nor will anyone else until next year.  Because Mike McArthy is a moron, Ted Thompson tortures puppies and anyone who thinks they had a chance this year almost certainly has at least one Favre jersey still hanging in their closet that they're pissed they won't ever be able to wear again.

Hope you also get something big off your chest today, even if it couldn't be any less important in life's grand scheme.  Rock on.

Upping the randomness. You're welcome.

I'm going to go back to an older style of blog randomness this week.  A number of things have caught my eye and I'm behind on throwing a few thoughts at the ramparts.  Here goes.

Saddest story of the past week was the suicide of a Vermont artist that always made me chuckle.  That sounds totally condescending and inappropriate given the gravity of taking one's life.  But if you know anything of Stephen Huneck's work, you'll realize that I'm not a total cad.  Huneck was known for the folk art he did largely centered around cartoonishly-sweet images of dogs.  He spread his success widely - I remember being in Colorado for a wedding back in 2002 and stumbling upon a studio of his work.  I think he also opened one in Carmel at some point.  According to the story I saw in the Burlington Free Press, he was despondent after laying off his employees last week.  The economy hits artists, too.  Especially the rare ones that not only have employees, but appear to care very deeply about them.  Google Huneck's work - I'll bet you've seen some. 

On the other end of the spectrum, the story in yesterday's Style section of the NYTimes was a laugh riot.  It dealt with a bunch of anecdotal New Yorkers that are living what was described in many ways, but constitutes a "caveman" diet and lifestyle.  Dudes eating loads of meat, exercising by throwing around rocks and the like, fasting for 24+ hours between meals, and generally being hilarious.  These "paleo diet" folks are welcome around my campfire anytime. 

All of Seattle is as damp as a locker room towel bin after a hard basketball practice.  Hope your own fireplace is stoked to also be stoked today.  Rock on.

Seeing more in "Avatar" than just hot, blue supermodels

  As we all can see from this perfidious effort, not all avatars are created equal.  This is my not so clever way, however, of launching into a review of James Cameron's fantastic movie "Avatar" which I saw a few days ago.  I'm later than most that have chosen to praise it.  And I may not add all that much to the discussion.  Still, my rating is a solid A.  And even though I also recently loved "Up in the Air", regular readers of my irregular reviews know that I'm no pushover when it comes to this end of the ratings scale.  "Avatar" is just that compelling and worthy of comment.

First of all, the definite downside of this phenomenon must be mentioned.  When a movie ticket costs over double the current national average ($13.50 for a regular 3D showing, $15.50 for the IMAX version), we're seeing a perverse reverse Robin Hood.  Plus at the showing I caught mid-week, there was an obvious prevalence of repeat viewers most obviously evidenced by people leaving with little more than a few minutes left in the story, but after the magnificent climatic scenes had completed.  People are going to this in droves for the thrill ride experience.  Those people are young.  Those same people are anesthesized to just what a crazy price their experience represents.  But, as is always the case, this is the economic future we're seeing.  And no amount of blogger snark is going to reverse that universal trend.

"Avatar" is the sort of transfixing, transformative art that will change a million college majors.  The technical meticulousness is mind-blowing, and there will be ample jobs for the sorts of brainiacs that can drive the machines that head into this new class of film production salt mine.  But I think more than enough has been said about that side of "Avatar".  What I saw was a movie that dares people to give a damn.  Though not really about the story or the technology or something broader than a few hours spent in a large darkened room with a few hundred strangers.  No, "Avatar" is all about what all the best movies have at their core.  The lazy call it escapism.  So, let's call it escapism.  Or, if I can be so bold as to take it a step farther, "Avatar" is about thinking outside of yourself for a period of time, no matter how short-lived.  Hence the brilliance of the metaphor, I must concede.  

Almost no one can or will identify with the characters in "Avatar".  Sam Worthington is the sort of preordained oracle that we've seen before, but with an entirely unique physical metaphor that forms the basis for this ordination.  I will go so far as to say that "Avatar" should be shown at AA meetings, in juvenile delinquency rehab programs, or to the clinically depressed to say "think big, insanely big...because why the hell not."

I should probably take my own advice and post a more complete, inspiring review.  But I'm about to take my wife to the airport for a short-duration but impressively broad trip to Nepal.  I'm avoiding my own editing work and a wide range of writing that is starting to get a bit moldy unless I take off the SaranWrap and rotate things a bit.  Getting a few thoughts out on "Avatar" seemed important enough at the moment to put those grander, more intensely personal things aside.  That's how good this movie is, and I recommend that you see it.  Even if you're surrounded by rude frat boys sipping beers and your 3D glasses give you a splitting headache when it's all over, you'll be glad you did.  Rock on.

2009 YearEnder

The New Year is in full swing.  Which shouldn't worry me, although events of the last few days have made me waver.  This morning, someone clipped the driver's side mirror off our car that was parked out front of the house.  This past weekend, I did a faceplant and busted up my ski helmet on only my 3rd day on the slopes this season.  So time to shake some dust off the ol' karma.  Besides, my helmet is under warranty from my local ski shop (shop evo online, they rock).  And a rearview mirror is just a way to keep from looking forward.  Speaking of which, some of you have already seen the following - the business end of my annual YearEnder.  With this, I begin my 6th Year of this blog and hope y'all keep coming back for more kindly in TwentyTen.
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First, a few thoughts in lieu of a DecadeEnder
I don’t do DecadeEnders. Too much to likely leave out. Besides, we can’t even agree on what to call the Decade that we just kicked to the curb. The “Aughts”? An anachronistic, lame retread. And if we go with anything as incomplete as The Zeroes or as bleak as The Bush Decade, I’ll just put away my snark pen and go back to writing dirty limericks. If an adequately clever decamoniker comes up, maybe I’ll get back to you. But for now I will offer up only one pick. The Person of the Decade. Al Gore. Think about it – dude got more votes yet saw the Presidency slip away, then he got all fat and reclusive, eventually he went back to his first love shtick which allowed him to become an Oscar winner, a Nobel Peace Prize winner, and a wealthy, svelte, smooth operator. He even started a cable network. He’s the white Oprah.

2009 as a Series of Snapshots

• Chesley “Sully” Sullenberger successfully braced 155 passengers for impact. Crash landing an 80-ton glider on the Hudson River was the easy part. But even the fame that came next he handled like a hero.
• George W. Bush and Dick Cheney left office. But not before losing nearly $600 from each of their security deposits.
• Brett Favre was secretly enlisted to launch an undeclared guerrilla war along the borders of Wisconsin, Minnesota, and some of the more confused parts of Iowa.
• Michael Jackson died, at long last proving that general anesthesia administered daily just before bedtime is not good for you.
• Sarah Palin and Carrie Prejean each “wrote” books. And they looked fabulous doing so.
• Obama held a Beer Summit at The White House for no reason whatsoever. The world learned that Joe Biden doesn’t drink. So all that crazy stuff that comes out of his mouth? That’s the pills talking.
• Iran’s ruthless, theocratic regime morphed into a fully-loaded turd cannon aimed at a broadening protest movement. Since June, many thousands have died or simply disappeared into a Kafkaesque nightmare. Kinda makes worrying about whether Jon Gosselin’s apartment was really robbed recently or if Kate Plus 8 will get their reality show back seem a smidge, oh I don’t know…criminal, don’t you think?
• Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich was removed from office for crimes against, um, humanity? If you listened to him, all Blago said was “the fix is in.” I think he was talking about hair products.
• Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize. And he didn’t even train for it or warm up beforehand – he just went out and did it.

Comeback of the Year
Afghanistan – An aimless war that is now over 8-years-old got a renewed jolt of attention this Year. But with twice as many casualties in 2009 as in 2008 and a forecast of increased bleakness, this is a comeback that sapped a nation’s spirit. Kinda like Lindsay Lohan’s.

Lexicon Addition of the Year
“Hiking the Appalachian Trail” – This new euphenism manages to be both dirty and ironically exotic at the same time. Although a part of me wishes that Mark Sanford had instead used the alibi of heading off to “hike the Ice Age Trail” in northern Wisconsin. It’s actually quite sexy there, too.

Trend of the Year
Discombobulated Hopetards – Depending on who you listen to, Barack Obama’s first 11 months as President were either pretty disappointing or an utter disappointment. Even his most fervent supporters spent much of ’09 lamenting something or other about Obama. Please put down the naive indignation, pick back up those pom-pons and get to work. Nobody should’ve believed the Augean Stables would clean themselves.

A Few Picks for the Best of 2009

• Movies – Having not yet seen a handful of noteworthy new films, I’m nonetheless confident that “Up in the Air” is the best of the Year. Cunningly smart, genuinely affecting, and willing to ease back the curtain to show a cool-as-Freon George Clooney as a regretful, sad character.  Subtly stunning.
  
• Music – I’ll go with the sharp, crafty, French pop of “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix” by the band Phoenix. It’s the best in a class of winners from all over the map.
• Books – No book made me laugh like “This Is Where I Leave You” by Jonathan Tropper. If that isn’t reason enough, call me shallow.
• TV – “The Rachel Maddow Show” is far and away the best thing on MSNBC. I think that somewhere hidden down inside even the deepest, darkest parts of the Rushs and Becks of the World, there’s a little love flickering for her consistently sharp wit and smack-upside-the-noggin interview style.
• Radio/Podcasts – I now run at an ungodly hour most mornings, always taking with me a least a few podcasts. The one I most despise but absolutely never miss is the “Culture Gabfest” from Slate. Host Stephen Metcalf takes insufferable pretentiousness to an unjustifiably new extreme. I highly recommend it.
• Sports – Elin Woods’s early morning tee off on Tiger reverberated ‘round the world. She managed to overpower his entire career of low scores on the course and redirected everyone’s attention to how he scored just about everywhere else. You can’t call it a victory for her. But what an epic game-changer for Tiger.
• Killer App(lication) – TMZ.com’s ubiquitous clearinghouse for greasy tabloid newsiness. TMZ is now essentially a verb. As in, go TMZ yourself.

TwentyTen’s Largely Baseless Predictions

• The cabal of Birthers and Teabaggers are joined by new, equally-relevant grassroots movements – the NoLeftTesticles and the HotKarls.
• Health Care reform trips across the finish line like an 8-hour-marathon finisher who stopped along the way for a lite lunch, but still demands a medal and who thereafter repeatedly updates his or her Facebook status to bloviate about the life-changing nature of the race. Thanks for showing up, folks. But next time you should strive to actually DO something worth celebrating.
• Joe Lieberman manages to piss off Democrats anew when he introduces a strangely vindictive bill seeking to outlaw the practice of steaming milk (especially soy) for lattes on the Sabbath.
• The improbable success of the Cash for Clunkers program is followed by Obama’s decidedly less catchy home foreclosure program – (De)Clunkers for Defaulters.
• Apple’s new iSlate tablet computer proves to be a bust when trendy, early-adopters realize it is merely a $700 college-lined Mead notepad with a glowstick taped inside the back cover. Only 20 million are sold in the first month.
• The Octomom meets a sweet guy (Paul) who really likes kids. Paul works for the Postal Service, and plays fiddle in a bluegrass trio. They discover a shared love for collecting kitschy ceramic ashtrays. They take some line-dancing classes, but quit after a few weeks when the instructor they really like switches from Tuesdays to Wednesdays.
• Kanye West’s entourage gets stranded in Nashville during a freak snowstorm. Each morning thereafter Kanye wakes up in the same hotel room where only he remembers what happened yesterday, forcing him to relive the same day in different ways to infinity.
• Swine Flu vaccine shot recipients develop a curious side effect – lifelong, uncontrollable flatulence paired with x-ray vision.
• The DC Party Crashers – the Salahis – do whatever they can on repeated occasions to make the TwentyTen YearEnder. Alas, their 15 minutes have long since passed.

With that said, I’m off to line up for airport security to get my full body cavity search for a flight I’m taking in mid-March. I hope TwentyTen has nothing but the most elegant answers and countless simple pleasures in store for you and your entire brood. Be well.