My holiday letter

It’s that time of year. Christmas is coming and Hanukkah is underway. The temperatures have dropped to obscene levels (polar bears are booking flights out of Iowa because it’s too cold for them). Along with all this come holiday letters from your friends and family.

I’ve never written a holiday letter, and I haven’t actually received that many, either. Though I’m starting to receive more. It’s typically a married couple thing or a family thing, and many of my friends fit into both of those categories (yet another sign of how old I’m becoming). My friends have written great letters in the past. Funny, well-written, even with blatant references to me, which I like, of course.

So this year, I’m going to write one. I may be single, but things have still happened in my life over the past 12 months worth documenting. And I will even open it to all my friends, strangers, whomever. You don’t even need to have a significant other to receive this!\

Enjoy!

Dear friends and family,

Greetings and Happy Holidays! I hope this letter finds all of you well. And I hope you and your family have had a happy, healthy and fruitful year.

At the risk of sounding clichéd, it’s been an eventful year. Professionally, it’s been a very successful and very fortunate year for me. The year began for me with a new job. I was hired as an Editorial Associate at the University of Iowa’s Carver College of Medicine, and started the new position in February. After what seemed like a very long search and an attempted relocation on the other side of the country, I was grateful to have been hired for a position that was in many ways what I had been looking for.

I work in the Department of Psychiatry in a research lab that conducts multiple Huntington disease studies. I started out working on the redesign of our biggest HD study that ended up occupying much of my time for the first couple of months. I then took over the coordination process of submitting articles reporting research findings to medical journals and doing public relations work for our studies.
In recent months, I have refocused most of my attention on the PR work (which is what I was hired to do). There’s a lot of work to be done in this area, and I’m basically building most of our efforts from scratch. But it’s challenging, rewarding work. And I’m doing things to promote a study that will hopefully lead to treatments for a horrible disease, so I feel like I’m helping people, which is what I wanted to do since I started my latest job search.

I kind of define myself at this point in my life largely by what I’m doing professionally, so starting the new job was definitely the biggest and best event for me in 2009. But a close second would be completing my first marathon. I finished the Des Moines Marathon on Oct. 18 after over five months of intensive training. Why did I decide to run a marathon you ask? A friend I volunteer with told me how she was running one, and then one day basically on a whim, I decided it would be fun to train for and run one myself. It most certainly was fun, and one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done.

Training was difficult and utterly time consuming. I scheduled the rest of my life around training runs this summer and fall. But it was worth it in the end. I finished the race with a time of 05:05:30, which isn’t setting any records (aside from my own PR), but was about where I wanted to finish. Crossing the finish line was incredibly exhilarating, and I recommend it to anyone who likes running. I hope to run one again sometime (I’ll likely be tempted again this year).

Other items that have defined my year include: moving to a new apartment in Iowa City (I like living here a lot); having season tickets to the University of Iowa football home games and witnessing the crazy season in person; becoming active in the social media scene (insert joke about my Twitter obsession here); having my “Fave Five” article published in my new favorite publication, Hoopla (the photo even turned out good!); continuing to volunteer once a week at the Ronald McDonald House in Iowa City (great place, love the staff and families); and starting a radio talk show with my brother Corey on KRUI.

I’ve enjoyed watching family and friends experience happiness and success in their lives this year as well. A big congratulations to all you who have had a baby this year, which includes so many of you that I won’t name anyone for fear of leaving someone out. We sure are getting older, aren’t we? For everyone who has embarked on new journeys this past year like I have, I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride as much as I have. But I also know with the economy in its current state, things beyond our control have had an impact on our lives, and I hope the steps taken over the past year will begin to improve that aspect of everyone’s life very soon. As always, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.

When the new year begins, I’ll be looking forward to winter being over so I can start running more frequently again/going outside again. I’ll also be looking forward to continuing to grow both professionally and personally. If you’re in to resolutions, I hope you find one that leads to a fruitful 2010 for you. My resolution is the same this year as always: to be a better person than I was the year before. I hope I accomplished that this year, and I hope to do the same next year.

Happy Holidays to everyone. I hope you had a wonderful year, and I hope 2010 is even better. Best wishes to you, your friends and family.

Sean Thompson

Still here, huh? Thanks for reading that. Hope it wasn’t too self indulgent. I’d love to hear about your year. What defined 2009 for you?

A case for Twitter and SM

When I get together with my extended family, there are certain constants. Absurd amounts of good food, for example (takeout or eating out; my grandma doesn’t cook, never has. She had Thanksgiving catered!). One of the new constants among many of my family members is making fun of me for my use of social media, especially Twitter (@seanathompson).

I’m used to being made fun of for any number of things by my family. My slenderness; my tendency to sunburn at the lake; my ginormous head size (though we all have that curse, not just me!). It’s just something my family does. We all have robust senses of humor. But the mocking of my social media use bothers me a little. Mostly because I wish they got Twitter and other SM the way I do.

I’ve tried to explain Twitter to them. But like most other people who make fun of us social media-ites: they’re usually not too keen on listening. It’s that kind of closed-mindedness that frustrates me.

Of course, this criticism isn’t limited to my family. I’ve heard similar sentiments at work as well. Twitter and SM haters think it’s a waste of time. They think that I and others merely post updates about what kind of sandwich we’re eating. They claim that nobody cares what I or even a celebrity is doing at any given time.

Of course, the only sandwich I will ever tweet about is the Crispy Buffalo Chicken Sandwich from The Vine in Iowa City. Seriously, it’s so addictive, it’s deep-fried crack (courtesy Matt Farrell). But I fundamentally disagree that even pure status updates are insignificant. I for one am interested in what my friends are doing or what celebrities are doing/thinking.

Especially for celebrities and other well-known people, Twitter is a revolutionary tool. Never before has there been a marketing and public relations tool that lets well-known individuals connect directly to their fans and the public at large. There’s fast becoming no need to use the traditional mediums to communicate with consumers/fans/casual observers. Even the media now does much of its reporting using direct tweets from celebrities and other well-known people. While using tweets alone is lazy journalism, it’s certainly valid to use direct-quote tweets as part of one’s reporting.

This form of communication makes fans feel more directly connected to their favorite celebs than ever before. Such use of Twitter is only expanding. Of course, there are those who are now becoming celebrities in their own right because they’ve mastered Twitter and SM and are communicating things that other SM users are interested in consuming.

The other well-propagated myth courtesy of Twitter haters is that the “pointless” status updates are its only use. Nothing could be further from the truth. I started using Twitter as a status updater. Now, I feel like I’m only at the tip of the iceberg in terms of its use for news and information gathering, communicating, networking and professional development.

I get most of my news from Twitter. And no, that doesn’t mean I’m getting 140 chars on each story. If you’re interested in something, you follow the link and read on. Rather than going to 20 separate news sites, I follow 20 news twitter accounts, and get much more information than I would otherwise. It allows everyone to be their own reporter (which for a former reporter like me is quite a nice fix).

And as a former reporter transitioning into the world of public relations, I have learned more about my new profession in a month or two by following fellow PR pros than I could have reading any single book. And so far I’m only reading a fraction of the blogs that I should be and hope to be. I’ve also found free webinars that I know are going to make me a better professional and will benefit my research lab. SM is to thank for that.

The networking comes naturally with the professional development. That’s an element I’m looking forward to taking advantage of more in the near future. I’ve found some awesome and inspiring young gals and guys doing really innovative things, and I want to become a more active participant in the conversation myself.

Ultimately, maybe I can’t convince my family members or anyone the many beneficial and exciting uses for Twitter and other SM. As friend and tweeter extraordinaire Adam Sullivan said (tweeted) to me, “The only people who don’t like Twitter are the ones that don’t get it.” I’m not convinced I fully “get it” yet, but I’m eager and excited to continue learning. I’m utterly convinced that Twitter (or something like it) is the future of media. So you’re only hurting yourself if you’re not at least attempting to get it.

To paraphrase Rick Clancy, the head of social media for Sony “the conversation is happening with or without you.”

My first marathon

After deciding in June (mostly on a whim) to train for and run a marathon, I completed my first marathon at the 2009 IMT Des Moines Marathon on Oct. 18

After doing a few final stretches, I meander into the rows of people lined up at the starting line. It’s about 7:55 a.m., and I feel a little like a cow being led with the other cattle to something where I don’t quite know what to expect, but I have a feeling it’s not going to be pleasant. All the nervous energy that I’ve been filled with throughout the week leading up to the marathon has not left me; rather, it’s doubled or tripled in intensity.

My mind is racing. Why didn’t I get here earlier to loosen up and stretch? My nerves had no doubt made me late, and I barely had time to jog a block and then try to stretch on a chilly morning. I could see my breath, and after shedding layers down to a long-sleeved t-shirt over a regular t-shirt and shorts, I was shivering. My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering while trying to jog. This isn’t a good sign. I should have worn more layers.

I looked at the people around me. It was comforting to see that most of them seemed about as anxious as I was. As the national anthem played, I shifted from one leg to the other, much like an NBA player during game one of the finals. I clapped after the song was over, though I hadn’t heard a word of the song. But it meant that it was almost time to go.

And then, apparently it was time to go. Though those of us near the back where I positioned myself certainly didn’t hear the starting gun or any announcement. But we saw the mass of humanity move up the street well in front of us. It looked like an hourglass moving in reverse. I wasn’t sure how long it would take for our part of this river of runners to begin flowing. There were a few false starts, where we’d move ahead a few feet only to stop.

Then, we began walking, followed by jogging ever so lightly. Before I knew it, the starting line was approaching. The nerves didn’t go away, but suddenly, I wasn’t nervous because I hadn’t stretched enough or it was freezing cold. It didn’t matter anymore that I should have gotten new shoes weeks ago. A feeling of confidence that I had felt at various times during my training returned, and I knew I was ready. As I crossed the starting line, a huge smile forced its way onto my face, and I began establishing my pace.

Mile 1 snuck up on me fast, as did Mile 2. Mile 3 came a little slower. Once we got out of downtown and into the hilliest part of the course early on, I was feeling pretty well warmed up. No need to stop and stretch, which is something I normally would do after 5 minutes of a training run. I began establishing my pace of walking a minute for every mile, even though I certainly didn’t feel that it was necessary yet. But I knew I’d need that stamina for later on in the race.

The miles began to fall away like the layers of runners’ clothing that littered the sides of the course. But with every mile sign I saw, I was reminded how many I still had to go. It wasn’t discouraging, but it kept me paced the way I wanted to be.

The spectators on the sides of the course continued on through the wealthy hillier neighborhood and into the Drake University neighborhood. People stood or sat and clapped, and I smiled every time and tried to acknowledge them all with a wave or a “thank you.” Their kindness and enthusiasm buoyed me, as I’m sure it did others, and I can’t fully describe how awesome it was to have them experiencing this with me.

I continued on toward Drake Stadium. The wind had really picked up once I got there, and making a circular lap isn’t always what gives you energy during a marathon, but it was very cool to run a lap around the historic track where so many world-class athletes had competed.
Coming away from Drake and back toward the river, I had now passed the halfway point. I was feeling it, but my plan to walk as much as I needed to feel fully refreshed at the 13-mile mark left me feeling good. It didn’t take me nearly as long as I thought it would.

As I ran downhill toward the string of parks that made up most of the rest of the course, I saw my friend Matt and brother Corey for the first time. They walked with me for a minute or two, and their presence and support gave me a big boost of energy as I entered the parks section.

It was about at this point where I lost sight of a runner I had been keeping pace with for large portions of the marathon. His shirt said “blind dude” on the back, and he was running with his “guide dude,” also identified by t-shirt. I have much respect for that fellow-runner, as I did for the several wheelchair competitors that I saw on the course.

The parks sort of blended together, and eventually, I fell into a pace with about 8-10 others that I would see for most of the rest of the race. Mile 20 is about where I hit “the wall,” and from then on, it was all will and adrenaline. My legs felt like two planks of wood; my ankles like they were comprised of rubber bands, and my feet ached with every step. I kept reminding myself, one foot, then the other, one foot….

A well-placed receptacle of Gu energy gel I’m sure helped me get through the last four miles. As did my playlist flowing into my ears via my iPod. Though I didn’t have enough time to organize the playlist the way I wanted, some perfect songs came on at the right time, like The Streets’ “Prangin’ Out” and Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone.” When I got to Mile 24, I assessed what energy I had left, and decided I would do the last two miles and 385 yards without walking.

Making that decision and carrying it out gave me a new wave of energy, as did more adrenaline and every last bit of motivation I had built up during my training. As I had countless times throughout the race, I thought about crossing the finish line, and tears welled up in my eyes. I struggled to pull it together and tried not to think about it anymore, needing all my concentration to finish the marathon.

I cruised by a number of runners who were still walking, as Kelly Clarkson’s “Sober” pumped me up. And then, I made the turn, and was heading up the final street, the final two blocks, with the Finish line visible. I’ll always remember what song was in my headphones (“Somewhere a Clock is Ticking” by Snow Patrol). I’ll always remember the cheering spectators lining the finish area and hearing and seeing Matt and Corey cheering me on. But I don’t really remember what I was thinking. I know I was happy and relieved. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw up my hands and yell. But it felt overwhelmingly good. I was proud.

So proud that I did something kind of silly. After having my timing tag removed, I got to the woman handing out medals. This being my first marathon, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to take the medal or have her put it around my neck. But she was holding it with both hands, so I decided to go for it. I figured I had earned it. And she didn’t seem to be taken aback by my actions. But it was really great to have her place it around my neck, where it would remain the rest of the day, only taken off for a shower and ice bath.

More thanks to the marathon for providing all the food and drink after the race, which I both ate and loaded up on for later. And special thanks to the Des Moines University student who stretched me out following the race. I’m sure it helped my recovery immensely.

I’m certain that completing the marathon was one of the most personally rewarding and fulfilling accomplishments of my life. My time of 5:05:30 is nothing to brag about, but it’s about where I wanted to finish. And finishing was my main goal. For me, there’s really no better feeling than setting a difficult goal and achieving it. Finishing the marathon has also boosted my self-confidence.

I have been battling some post-marathon blues in the week after the race, and I’m glad my body has recovered so I can run again (which I haven’t done since the marathon, which seems like the longest time I’ve ever gone without running, which of course isn’t even close to being true). But anytime I’ve felt frustrated, discouraged or down since the race, I just think of what II accomplished, and I’m instantly back up again. Wearing that medal helps too, which I can’t really do in public, but you better believe I’m wearing it now.

All I Ever Wanted Was to See Kelly Clarkson in Concert...and I Did!

I'm a big fan of Kelly Clarkson's music. I had seen her perform on TV a few times, and to be honest, I thought her live TV performances were lacking. But having seen her live in person, I no longer question her live performances.



Kelly came out with high energy from the start, beginning with the title cut from her latest album, "All I Ever Wanted." For a song that's a bit more pop and even dance than Kelly's usual pop-rock style, the song was fully backed with loud guitar during the chorus, and because of the live version, it's now one of my favorite cuts on the album.


Kelly's band matched her energy well. She was joined by a large crew of guitarists, a bassist, a drummer, a keyboard player, a DJ, and a backup-singing duo. The playing was clean and skillful, and most of the songs were loud and rocking.

Kelly's vocals were superb. She has an amazing voice that really comes across live. Her vocal talents were most prominently on display during a brief acoustic breakdown. The acoustic version of "Behind These Hazel Eyes" was carried by her soulful voice.

Kelly knew how to keep the crowd involved. She encouraged them to sing along multiple times during the set, and chatted with the audience between songs. She even accepted a number of gifts from fans who walked right up to the stage during the early part of the set, and put on a gold "I [heart] Iowa" shirt" (complete with University of Iowa tiger hawk emblem) that a fan threw on to the stage.

Some highlights of the setlist were the modesty anthem "I Do Not Hook Up"; "Never Again" (which, unfortunately was the only song performed from Clarkson's commercial flop "My December," which, in my opinion, is her best album); "Whyyouwannabringmedown" (which seemed like it was probably Kelly and the band's favorite to play); "Since You've Been Gone" (which had 98 percent of the audience jumping up and down just like the music video); and "Because of You (which Kelly said she wrote at age 14 and is one of the saddest songs ever recorded).


Speaking of sad songs, I hope Kelly never loses her angst. It's from heartbreak and disappointment that her best songs are inspired, whether she wrote them or not. It's a point that she mentioned herself, so her awareness of it makes me think she will keep rocking stages like she did at the Iowa State Fair in Des Moines for a long time to come.

My favorite five cities

My travel résumé is not particularly robust. I have aspirations to someday visit more foreign countries, but so far, I’ve only seen Canada and Mexico. But I have been fortunate enough to have explored a decent amount of the U.S.

I’ve also lived in a few different places. And from what I’ve seen and experienced so far, there are many fun, interesting, comfortable and beautiful places in this country. I would encourage anyone to get out and see what your country has to offer, whether it be through travel or living somewhere different for a while. I know I still have a lot more to experience (like the whole east coast, for example).

So in honor of Independence Day, these are my top five favorite cities in the United States. The criteria are pretty open, but these are places I’ve been that have maintained a very positive connotation in my mind.

5. Minneapolis/St. Paul, MN: Centered in the land of 10,000 lakes, the Twin Cities are the crown jewel of the upper Midwest, and the largest and most vibrant metropolitan area in a very underrated state.

When I think of the smartest cities in the country, the Twin Cities are definitely on the short list. Lots of highly educated, conscientious people live and work there. And the local economy and workforce doesn’t seem to be tied to any single industry, which should insulate the cities from any boom-and-bust atmosphere. There is traditional industry present, but there are also tech companies, financial headquarters and outposts, a large public university (University of Minnesota), and decent tourism presence. It’s also a major transportation, trade and retail hub for portions of five states.

The schools are highly thought of among people who think of such things. There is an abundance of nice parks, lots of recreational opportunities a short distance from the metro area, and four professional sports teams with strong ownership. And the city has a very progressive, sleek feel to it, without abandoning its Midwestern roots and values.

Those who know me might try to automatically disqualify the Twin Cities as a city I would want to live in because of the frigid winters and cool spring/fall seasons. True, it’s much too cold there during the winter, but unfortunately, if I only lived in places where it was warm all the time, I’d be eliminating more than half of the country as a possible habitation. And I’m not ready to do that (though I’ll continue to complain during the winter if I’m in a cold-weather place).

4. Billings, MT: This is more of a personal pick for me. Having lived for three years in two northern-Wyoming cities, I’ve spent a lot of time in Billings (dubbed the “Magic City). And I have many fond memories of the city. So this is largely a sentimental pick, but I don’t think it’s entirely unfounded as a desirable place to live.

Nestled amongst the northern Rocky Mountains, Billings is one of those relatively big cities that can feel big when you want it to but can also feel cozy and subdued. It’s the major hub for transportation, retail, tourism, trade, industry and about anything else you cant think of for an entire region of upper mountain west states. On any given weekend, you can drive through a retail parking lot on King Avenue West and see as many Wyoming license plates as you can Montana plates. This mixing of locals and visitors gives the city an exciting vibe, because a sizeable portion of the people in public places are there to buy something they can’t get at home, or do something fun that their town just can’t offer.

Billings has a modest downtown area, but it seems to be surviving well despite the concentration of retail opportunities in other parts of the city. Two universities keep the city young and offer sporting events and culture. Metra Park brings in large crowds for concerts, sporting events and trade shows. And I personally have not seen many metro vistas more beautiful than the view of a humming Billings at night from the rimrocks overlooking the city.

The city is also close to plenty of recreational and other areas worthy of exploration. It’s not quite a gateway city to Yellowstone National Park, but it’s close enough. Red Lodge is very near by, as is plenty of hiking opportunities in any number of mountain ranges in Montana and northern Wyoming.

3. Bellingham, WA: I first truly experienced Bellingham when I visited on a whim during a three-day weekend while living in Wyoming. I was taken with the city’s stunning waterfront on one side, and climbing mountains on the other. Throw in a seemingly endless amount of parks and green space in between, and you’ve got a highly desirable place to live.

So I did live there, if only for a summer. And if an opportunity presented itself, I don’t think I’d hesitate to go back someday. Bellingham is an intensely progressive city, with residents who just seem to “get it.” They’re ahead of the curve on preserving the environment and conservation. And they have a style and friendly attitude that suits the city well.

Downtown B’ham is located just above the bay, and has maintained a number of historic buildings with a thriving restaurant, bar and theater/art scene. What it lacks in retail, it makes up for in buzz. Bellingham Bay offers miles of trail path, as well as sailing, parks and green space, and plans for a “new” waterfront complete with retail and more culture. Again, an example of residents getting it. If you have such an incredible natural resource such as the bay, you really should utilize it to the fullest extent.

Western Washington University has one of the most beautiful campuses I’ve ever seen, set slightly above the downtown area and surrounded by forest. You’d be hard pressed to find a greener college campus. Whatcom Community College is not as picturesque, but its campus is sizeable and modern by community college standards. Bellingham serves as a retail hub, largely for Canadians who actually live closer to the wonderful city of Vancouver but choose to come to Bellingham to do their shopping.

Bellingham’s proximity to Vancouver is another major selling point. It’s also close enough to Seattle for day trips, and easily within reach of a national park, national forest, and the San Juan Islands. And as if the many outstanding city parks weren’t enough, state parks and the Chuckanut Trail drive are all at your fingertips.

2. Denver, CO: In some ways, Denver is a lot like a more progressive, higher educated larger Billings. Any mountain-based recreational opportunities imaginable await in the Front Range. But the city has enough culture and hipness that you might forget about all the amazing recreating available. A very attractive skyline, buzzing downtown with lots of retail and dining, and collection of museums and large sporting/performance venues provide the city its big city credentials.

Once again, Denver has the regional-hub appeal, but somewhat less so than some of my other cities because Salt Lake City, Albuquerque and Cheyenne, WY are all close by (close in mountain west terms, that is). But it’s a beautiful city, with everything just about any other major city in the U.S. can offer. And it’s setting in the Rocky Mountains is unparalleled.

Denver is also ahead of a lot of big cities on the environmental front. A recent Newsweek article talked about Denver’s desire to transition from mineral extraction to a more green way of producing energy and manufacturing. And I have a theory that in cities like Denver that are surrounded by so much natural beauty, residents are naturally going to be more environmentally conscious. You can’t ignore the need to protect the beauty of what’s in front of you every day.
Economically, Denver seems to be diverse enough to avoid major busts. The energy and minerals industry has a strong presence, but so do tech and environmental startups and tourism. And Denver does serve as the central location for most mountain west regional headquarters in the private sector as well as the Federal government.

1. Iowa City, IA: Predictable, I know. And this is largely a sentimental pick. But Iowa City does have a lot to offer to its residents, and not just those who grew up here.

Iowa City relies upon its state university more so than some other college towns, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The residents largely embrace the culture (both the good and the bad) that comes along with a state school. They follow the Hawkeyes with great passion. And with a lack of any professional teams, so does much of the rest of the state, converging in Iowa City on football and, to a lesser extent, basketball game days.

Iowa City’s economy is largely tied to education, with the university, strong public school system, and presence of two large national testing companies (ACT and Pearson). In concert with the UI is UI Health Care, the largest employer in town and one of the most highly regarded schools of medicine in the country, both for care and for research (insert kissing-up sound here, as I work for the COM). Anytime you have a destination like UI Hospitals, it gives the community a sense of pride and swagger.

Recreationally, Iowa City isn’t particularly stronger than a lot of other Midwestern cities, but it does offer a number of hiking opportunities in town and just outside town. It also has a thriving biking and running community.

But for me, what helps solidify Iowa City at the top are its residents. I can’t help but be biased here, given that I am one of them. But people here are generally smart, open-minded and thoughtful, and genuinely ready to help each other out in times of crisis. I experienced this sense of activism and solidarity during the floods of 2008. I’ve written about this before and probably will again, but peoples’ absolutely unselfish desire and sense of duty to help sandbag the city was awesome. It’s still one of the main reasons I came back to Iowa City from Bellingham.

Honorable mention, in no particular order: Rapid City, SD; Seattle; Cody, WY; Missoula, MT; Albuquerque; Fort Collins, CO; Coeur D’Alene, ID.

Relay For Life

I know this is supposed to be a humor blog, but I recently participated in something that I really felt like writing about: the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life, the University of Iowa version.

On April 24, my friends and I gathered with hundreds of UI students, community members, cancer survivors, caregivers, and, in a sense, loved ones last to cancer. It wasn't my idea to participate in Relay. It was my friend Carolyn's, and she did all the work to organize our team (Wally for a Cure, after our love for the sport wallyball). So lots of DAP to Carolyn for all her hard work. And lots of DAP for my teammates for raising their money, and to my donors for graciously and generously donating toward cancer research.

As the UI Rec Building filled with people, most of them college-aged, I sensed enthusiasm amongst the participants. Each team staked out an area in the middle of the track for their campsite. Some sites, like ours, were equipped with tents (which were used later in the night for a quick power nap or two).

The relayers gathered near the podium around 9 p.m. Though most of the crowd had been out of high school for at least a year, everyone took a seat on the floor, sitting cross-legged or leaning on one arm, like assembled for a pep rally. And nobody seemed to be complaining or rolling their eyes at how lame it was. The camaraderie that would be felt throughout the night was established early.

A cancer survivor took to the podium to share her story with her fellow relayers. I feel guilty for not remembering her name. But she was young, probably early 20s, vibrant in voice and in personality. And one of her legs was a prosthetic. It had been amputated because of cancer. She shared her story of living with cancer, and every eye was on her, and every relayer seemed captivated. She spoke with such strength, such wit, such determination, such vulnerability. As a journalist, I promise you, the best writer couldn't have told her story half as masterfully as she told it herself. Her speech was enough to inspire me and the other relayers for the rest of the relay. And most of those eyes that were on her were welled with tears when she finished her story.

For those who don't know what happens at Relay, like I didn't before this year, the premise is simple. From approximately 9:30 p.m. to 7 a.m., the relayers make their way around the track. Some run or jog. Some walk backward. Some go around as a team with a volleyball, bumping it from teammate to teammate (and occasionally to random relayer, who, of course, politely bumps it back). That was our team, actually. But the idea is to have at least one team member on the track at all times. Others can hang out or sleep at the campsite, or take part in the various games put on by relay organizers.

I completed my assigned hour to be on the track early, and before long, it was time to once again gather in front of the stage for a few more speeches prior to the luminaria. The lights in the building went down, and the luminary bags lining the track representing loved ones with cancer glowed with a subdued yet breathtaking hue.

A caregiver and a cancer survivor shared with the relayers this time. Two very different stories were shared. The caregiver told a heartbreaking story of her brother's battle with cancer, which took his life. She shared some of the most painful memories of her young life with the relayers, and ended the speech in tears. The other speaker, a UI student, began his speech with a joke about thinking his cancer was an STD, and kept his story light. And both were inspiring, moving, and appropriate.

The speakers gave way to the luminaria ceremony. After a prolonged moment of silence, the relayers took to the track for a few solemn laps paying tribute to loved ones lost to such a horrible disease. I thought about my Aunt Jan, whose life was taken by cancer in 2005, and I read most of the other illuminated tributes. The quiet contemplation was only broken by the musical group singing in the background and the occasional quiet sobs of relayers.

One might think it would be difficult to just pick up with the energy necessary to continue with Relay after the luminaria ceremony, but the effervescent and omnipresent camaraderie picked everyone up and lifted everyones spirits. My friend Sarah and I even took to the track for 12 laps of jogging. Given how horribly out of shape I was, I didn't think I'd be able to jog for long, but something made my feet light and my lungs flush with fresh oxygen.

As the night carried on, I was continuously impressed by the energetic spirit exemplified by the young relayers. Some slept, and certainly nobody can be blamed for doing so, but many kept walking, kept jogging, kept dancing, kept doing activities to raise money even though they had already raised their quota probably weeks earlier.

And people displayed acts of selflessness throughout the evening. Just being there was an act in itself. But a table set up for people to register as bone marrow donors for cancer patients buzzed with activity throughout the night. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but at first I recoiled at the thought of having a large needle extract marrow from my bones. But peer pressure of the finest quality encouraged me to sign up. My whole team registered, and I'm glad I followed.

Our team fulfilled its mission of having a relayer on the track at all times, and most of the time, we walked in pairs or threes or more. Overall, relay was a great experience for me for two main reasons. First, it was undeniably fun. Spending time with my friends, accomplishing the physical feat of walking countless laps around the track, playing games and eating much too many baked goods are all immensely enjoyable things.

But seeing so many 20-something (and younger, and older) individuals who are all too often pigeonholed as being selfish, uninspired and narcissistic coming together to raise money, awareness and remembrance was remarkable. You can say they only did it because their friends were doing it, or so they could feel good about themselves for one night. You can take that cynical point of view. And really, whatever reason each relayer chose to participate is reason enough, and doesn't require justification. But the sense of togetherness, charity and doing his or her part for the greater good was something I hadn't felt so strongly since being around all the amazing volunteers during the Flood of 2008.

I'm very glad to have been a part of it. And I have no regrets. Well, maybe one regret. I really should have taken part in the "speed dating" activity. But hopefully, there's always next year.

Rental regret

Moving is one of my least favorite things to do. There's all the packing, cleaning, destroying of evidence, and hiding funny notes to creep out the next tenant. It's a lot of work.


But when you're talking about moving out of your parents' house to your own place again, the task of moving doesn't seem so bad. I recently accepted a job offer at the University of Iowa Carver College of Medicine as an Editorial Associate in the Psychology department (which, by the way, I'm very excited about and grateful for, but that's another blog). So now that I have a steady income, I'm looking to move out of my parents house, where I've been staying temporarily for the past 6 months. I'm fortunate and grateful to have had a place to stay as I was going through a transition in my life, but now I need to get the hell out, as soon as possible (I don't really do well living at home, but that's also another blog).


So I'm doing the apartment searching thing, which is nearly as annoying as moving. There's a lot to choose from, and I sometimes have trouble making decisions in my life. For instance, If I'm in the market for shoes, I have to go to every store in town that sells shoes before I can decide on a new pair. After all, what if I found the same pair somewhere else for less money? Or what if the perfect shoes were at the store I didn't go to? Buying new shoes really gives me perspective as to what presidents go through when making an equally important decision, like which country to bomb.


Picking the right apartment is more important even than picking the right pair of shoes. I know from experience. I don't have that high of standards. And I've lived in some nice apartments. But I've also lived in some very shady abodes.


My second apartment in Powell, Wyo., was more like a duplex. It was half of an older house, with a nice room in the attic and a bedroom, large living room and kitchen, all for $230 a month! What a steal, I thought, it had to be too good to be true. Of course, it was. It was mostly fine in the summer, except for when the landlord set up a sprinkler outside the window to water the "grass" (it looked more like that yellow plastic grass people use at Easter). The sprinkler shot water right through the window which I had left open on a hot day, and soaked my bed. Which, of course, left me having to assure my roommate that my sheets were wet because of the sprinkler. Really, it was the sprinkler! I can't help it that Powell's water smells like urine!


Then, once vengeful winter came along with it's freezing temperatures, I realized that the insulation in the walls was thinner than Sarah Palin's resume. So to compensate, we bought some space heaters, because we didn't have to pay for electricity. That led to the fuse being blown. Logically, the fuse box that controlled our side of the house was located in the other half of the house. And our neighbor's hearing was a lot like Alex Rodriguez's explanation for his steroid use: pretty weak. So she couldn't hear our pounding on her door, and we spent a really cold night without heat.


So I was kind of desperate to get out of that apartment. The one that I chose to move into seemed alright. I guess I forgot to check one important aspect when I viewed the place: the shower. I assumed this being after the Great Depression, most bathrooms come equipped with a shower and not just a bath. I assumed wrong.


Instead of a shower fixture, the bathtub had a hookup for a shower-like nozzle that was connected to a hose, but not attached to anything. And for some reason, the tub wasn't up against a wall, so it wasn't like you could just nail it up. So I spent the first six months or so hosing myself off like an animal. I'm used to eating like an animal, smelling like an animal (I wear Squirrel for Men by Calvin Klein, really big with the ladies), but not bathing like an animal.

Most recently, when I moved to Bellingham, Wash., this summer, I lived in a house with two college students. The house was old and a little dingier than I was used to, but overall, it was fine by college house standards. Except for one minor mishap the morning after I moved in: the toilet exploded. No, really. It spewed really gross stuff over the bowl and filled the bathroom with what I can only imagine had to include human feces and urine. The mess was bravely cleaned up by my roommate, but I only used the upstairs toilet from then on (I still have reoccurring toilet-explosion PTD dreams to this day).

How did resolve these apartment-related issues? The way most people do: I wrote columns about them in the newspaper I was working for at the time. That only served to apparently make the elderly owner of the duplex in Powell cry (I guess she didn't realize I'm a humor writer). But it did finally get me a fixture to hang the hose from, so I had something that somewhat resembled a shower.

So whoever rents me my next apartment, you'd be well served to heed my service calls and complaints. Or you might find your property in this blog, to be read by tens of people.

A-Rod's big week

When Alex Rodriguez admitted this week to using performance-enhancing drugs for three years while playing for the Texas Rangers, baseball took a hit harder than one of A-Rod's juiced up home runs. Rodriguez is widely regarded as one of the game's top two or three players, and such a revelation certainly tarnishes if not ruins his reputation. Whether baseball fans will ultimately excuse his actions as just another transgression of the steroid era remains to be seen. The more important question is: what the HGH was he thinking?

I totally understand why marginal professionals would take PEDs to try to earn more money and notoriety. I don't condone it necessarily, but I understand. But Rodriguez had already established himself as one of the best players in the game. In 2000, his final season before joining the Rangers, he had an outstanding season. So why would he need to take any illegal substances, putting himself in such serious personal risk?

That would be like me plagiarizing a different humor writer who wasn't as funny as I am. Why would I want to cheat like that? I'm already amazingly funny. A-Rod and I, we hit home runs practically every time we step to the plate!

A-Rod says in an interview with ESPN's Peter Gammons that he did it because he was under a lot of pressure to perform at a high level after signing with Texas. I guess we all deal with pressure in different ways, I suppose. But did he have to cheat? Why couldn't he have handled the pressure the way most people do, like overeating. Possibly drinking. Take it out on others. Work himself to the bone, realize he wasn't satisfied with any of his results, and fall into a shame spiral? You know, healthy ways of dealing with pressure.

But it's difficult to be too upset with Rodriguez. After all, it seems like his cool demeanor on the baseball field doesn't translate to a cool and popular guy in the clubhouse. To quote A-Rod from the Gammons interview:

"Peter, in our clubhouse, everybody makes fun of me. I'm talking about from the clubhouse kid, to every coach, Larry, Mike, Joe Torre. Every guy on the team. And I like it. I like taking it. I am not a good ragger, but I am a good receiver... That's really a compliment the guys feel that comfortable that they can actually make fun of me at any time. So did I hear A-Fraud? We joked around about a lot of things. Listen, 25 guys have 25 different nicknames. So to me there's no harm, no foul there."

It appears A-Rod is the Yankees' whipping boy. And by the way, Alex, it's probably not a sign of friendship that everyone makes fun of you. It's so prevalent, it's even part of the Yankee Stadium tour.

Tour guide: And this, folks, is All-Star Alex Rodriguez, or A-Fraud as I like to call him. He also responds to A-Clod, A-Moron or A-Lawd, as in 'lawd he sure is a loser!' Isn't that right, Lexie? Feel free to kick him in the groin if you want, he won't mind. Don't be shy!

So I do feel bad for Rodriguez. He's getting hammered by respected journalists in the media. He's also getting hammered by the New York Post, which ran the front-page headline "A-Hole" the day after Rodriguez's confession. That's really mean (and funny).

Rodriguez was relatively forthright in his interview. But some of his responses were sketchy. Like saying he doesn't even know exactly what substance he's guilty of using, because it was such a "loosey-goosey era." He could have taken steroids, HGH or injected Old Spice into his veigns, who really knows?

But I'm starting to realize why A-Rod is not highly regarded amongst his teammates. First, he says things like "loosey-goosey." The last time someone said that was, um, in the 1920s. And did you see the outfit he wore for the Gammons interview? The lamest blue sweater over a collar shirt combination I've ever seen! He looked like a librarian...or Mr. Rogers.

A-Rod can beg for mercy all he wants, and maybe he will be forgiven in the eyes of baseball fans. But if not, he's reaping what he's sown, or in this case, injected. And at the end of the day, he still gets to go home and get a little loosey-goosey with Madonna, if you know what I mean.

Texty situations

I feel so much more modern writing this humor blog. It's way cooler than the humor columns I used to write for dusty old newspapers. Frankly, I'm glad not in that industry right at the moment. I have a deep and complete love for newspaper journalism and those who work in the field, but the economy has rocked an already struggling industry. It's almost as dead as Rod Blagojevich's political career (Don't cry to hard for the now-impeached B-Rod, though, as he seems to have a new career as a TV show guest. I'm sure Illinois citizens are seething about his recent media blitz. Soon they'll be paying him off to stay off camera).

Moreover, my move to the blog world gives me instant cyber cred, which I am in desperate need of. You see, I've mostly been left behind when it comes to the most utilized form of high-tech communicating: cell-phone texting.

Is he seriously writing a post about texting now? In 2009? OMG, ppl hv bn txting 4 lk 10 yrs now! Wht, is he lke 30 or smthing. LOL!

I do some texting, but I try to avoid it. My cell phone plan charges me 20 cents for each text read or sent. And given that I am a financially crafty individual (editor's note: unspeakably cheap), I keep my texting activities to a minimum. In fact, I request that my friends keep their text messages sent to me to 15 characters or less. I can read that much of a preview of the message for free! Take that Verizon!

But my lack of texting isn't helping my image any. Everybody texts. Blind people text more than I do. My coworker gets text messages all day long. And he looks so cool and important reading his new messages! Cell phones vibrating with the promise of a new, juicy text message are like the clipboards of the 1990s. Everybody looks more important when holding one.

Just to try and look cool, I've resorted to signing up for as many free texts as Verizon will send me, such as payment reminders. I always try to look really amused or surprised when I get one.

OMG, how pathetic! & I thot hz Ashlee Simpson obseshun wz bizR!

All this new texting brings up some interesting social quandaries. What messages are acceptable to relay by text? For instance, can you ask somebody out by text? I say yes. For one, nothing says you like somebody more than the knowledge that they might have spent up to 20 cents to avoid social awkwardness just to ask you out. And besides, if the recipient says no, you can always claim it was a sarcastic text. Since it's very difficult to read sarcasm in a text, it's the perfect cover!

"Oh, yeah, when I said you're really hot and if you don't go out with my I'll be totally crushed, I was just kidding. You didn't get that?"

But can you break up with somebody via text? I say no. If it's not acceptable according to Miley Cyrus, it's not acceptable for me (that goes for all things in life). That's the kind of thing you owe to your significant other to do in person. Or at least on Facebook.

Until I finally get a cell phone plan worthy of the 2000s, I'll probably be on the outside looking in on this texting culture. But feel free to text me feedback on my blogs as much as you want, in 15 characters or less. Believe me, it can be done.

"Hilarious!"
"U R so funny!"
"I liv 4 ur blog!"

The freeze is on

It's not easy following up a record-setting season that seemed to consist of a never-ending clown car of blizzards and cold weather. Much to my dismay, however, this winter is certainly holding its own.

Sub-zero temperatures. Snow falling more rapidly than Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich's political career. Snow drifts thicker than, well, than Blagojevich's hair (by the way, of all things, why are people so critical of Blago's hair? He has bleeping golden hair! Truthfully, I'd pay a lot of money for hair like that. I probably could pay a lot of money for that hair. Call me, Rod!).

I had hopes that this winter would be a kinder, gentler one. Yet here I sit, with my hot notebook computer on my lap, the fireplace running, and I'm still shaking like a wet dog in Siberia.

At least it has warmed up to a balmy 9 degrees as I'm writing this. That's hovering right around Dick Cheney approval rating levels. Two weeks ago, it was about 40 degrees below zero. Unfortunately, must not have heard how cold it was, because we were expected to report to work as usual. So I layered up and headed outside. I passed a polar bear on the way to my car, who remarked "this is too much, I'm out of here." My car sounded like it was built with Legos as it crept to work, cracking and creaking the whole way.

Possibly more astounding than the frigid temperatures is the behavior some people exhibit in said temperatures. One day while driving, on a single-digit day, I saw a older fellow jogging down the sidewalk like it was a beautiful spring day. I like jogging as much as the next guy, and I have respect for his commitment to fitness despite the elements. But come on, what are we trying to prove here. It's dangerous to even look out the window on most winter days, let alone go jogging outdoors.

A driver in a vehicle in the oncoming lane spotted the same jogger. I had to agree with the look on her face that combined shock and anger. It reminded me of when I used to go canvassing door to door during the caucuses last winter as a organizer for the Hillary Clinton campaign. On especially nasty days, people would look at us not so much with pity, but with anger that someone would voluntarily be outside. I feared someone might throw chicken soup in my face at some point (actually, it probably would have felt pretty good).

Hopefully, relief is on the way. My brother the meteorologist tells me that temperatures in the 40s are on the way next week. Finally! I was worried I would be in my 40s before the temperatures got that high again.

But who are we kidding? Even if it does get that less cold (I can't say "that warm" because 40 is not really warm), I'll still be chilled. I must have poor circulation, or be very susceptible to cold weather, or both (editor's note: or just a really big baby). But if I can hook up with Blagojevich, at least I'll have the hair. You'll take a two-party, out of state check, right, governor?

Out in the cold alone

I used to think that people who said global warming was a myth were either the same polluters causing global warming in the first place or just plain wrong. But after the start of this winter, those people may be on to something.

Every winter is cold of course, but this winter seems colder than usual so far. Last week, we spent more time in the single and negative digits than above them. It was colder than Anne Coulter in a meat locker. And that’s pretty cold!

The cold temperatures have been especially hard on me for one single reason: I’m a huge wimp when it comes to dealing with the cold. I’ll be the first to admit it. I just can’t handle cold weather, and I always seem to feel colder than anyone else. Slap a pacifier in my mouth, because if you’re talking about dealing with cold weather, I’m a big, big baby.

This inability to stay warm made me realize something: I’m never going to be comfortably warm again until spring arrives. Maybe when I’m driving long distances, the heater at full blast will eventually warm my car up to an acceptable level. But other than that, I’m a Popsicle.

The insulation in the walls in my apartment seems to be about as thin as Kate Moss on a diet, so there is not much refuge from the cold at home. The Tribune office can get pretty cold too, as evidenced by the frost that was forming on the inside of the windows near my desk last week.

So I may not be comfortable again until at least March, but I must give credit to the people of Park County. Last Thursday in our “Look who’s talking” feature on the opinion page, the people on the street were downplaying the frigid temperatures like it was nothing when asked what they thought of the weather. Had I been asked the same question while standing outside, my answer would have read something like “(teeth chattering) It…It…It’s fffreeezing…(more teeth chattering, then fall to the ground and assume the fetal position).”

People in Park County don’t stay indoors to get away from the cold; they have Christmas parades in it! Whose idea was it to have a parade in the dead of winter? I actually went to the parade in Powell earlier this month, and it was so cold, as I approached Bent Street I saw a polar bear walking back towards his car, saying “you’re on your own.”

Maybe it won’t be as cold as it has been all winter long. But I’m not getting my hopes up. Fortunately, many Park County residents seem to be adept at handling the cold weather. For those that are, if you see a tall skinny guy on the sidewalk in the fetal position, if you could check to make sure he’s still breathing, he’d greatly appreciate it.

Not giving thanks alone this year

Last issue, you read what Tribune columnists Alison Stewart and Doug Blough had to be thankful for, and also on this page, you’ll read Don Amend’s take on the holiday. Never one to avoid a bandwagon, I have afew things to be thankful for (besides Ashlee Simpson) that I’d like to share with you.

Of course, I have the typical things to be thankful for, like having a roof over my head. Even though over the past month, that’s about all my apartment has provided at times. I live in a very old house converted into a duplex, and as me, my rooommate and our neighbor have found out, the electrical wiring leaves something to be desired. Since I am a thrifty person (editor’s note: unthinkably cheap) we’ve been trying to heat our house with space heaters instead of using the gas heater because of astronomically high natural gas prices. But as we’ve learned not once, not twice, but three times, a space heater is too much for our electrical grid to take. And once the power has been blown, it’s not as easy to fix as throwing the switches in our breaker box. It’s our neighbor’s breaker that controlls our side of the house, and our breaker that controls hers (don’t think about it too hard, your head might explode).

The third time it happened, we couldn’t get our neighbor to flip the right switch until the next morning, so I slept with two pairs of sweatpants, four shirts and four blankets to keep warm (I was still cold). And the next morning, I showered in the dark (when showering in the dark, make sure you know where the soap is at all times).

I am also thankful I get to spend Thanksgiving with some friends this year. To be honest, Thanksgiving isn’t that important of a holiday tome, but even I felt a little sad last year alone in my apartment. Sitting in front of the television, with an under-cooked frozen turkey
saturating it.

So I’m sure yesterday was better than last year. As for our Thanksgiving spread, it may not even measure up to last year’s frozen dinner. I think we’ll have the typical turkey and mashed potatoes and the like, but my friends’ and I collective cooking skills are about as strong as President Bush’s approval rating. I hope your Thanksgiving was as good as I’m sure mine will be. After all, anything is better than siting alone, in the dark because the power has blown again, wearing four shirts and eating tear-salted turkey.

It's been more than a week since it happened, and I'm certainly not getting any younger (as you will soon find out), so I'm ready to share something with you.

Come here, a little closer: (In a whispering voice) I recently turned 24 years old.

I know what most of you adult readers are thinking: So what? Twenty-four? I'd kill to be 24 again. How could he possibly feel old atage 24? Even Ashlee Simpson columns are better than this garbage. But put yourself in my shoes before you write off my worries. You see, up until turning 24, I've still viewed myself as a "young person." It's kind of an indefinable classification, but for me, 23 was the mythical cutoff age. Anytime I felt like I was getting older, I always thought, well, at least I'm not 24. But that reassurance was gone faster than a Scooter Libby resignation.

Even though I had this perception in my mind of being old, nothing changed after turning 24. I still look the same. And when I say the same, I mean young, like high-school aged (on a good day). I still have people say to me: it's so nice of the Tribune to let high schoolers intern there when I'm out reporting for an article.

(Side note: Unfortunately, my recently attained haircut, which made me look even younger, didn't go away when the clock struck midnight on my birthday, either. For future reference: When the stylist breaks out the books with the pictures of different haircuts and all you want is your hair cut shorter, run. My hair looked like something out of the ‘50s, which was probably when the stylist started cutting hair.)

My parents definitely still look at me as a young person, if not a kid sometimes. My mother recently e-mailed me twice to remind me to get a flu shot. That I can understand I guess, but are e-mail reminders such as "wear a coat when you go outside, you'll catch a cold," "wash your hands, they're filthy" or "stop making a fool of yourself, I'm sorry I had you" really necessary? But I guess I ask to be treated that way when I still call my parents with simple questions, such as "what does adjusted gross income" mean on tax forms and "how does one make toast?"

So, if I still look young and people still treat me like I'm young, what is the big deal about turning 24? I couldn't quite explain why 24 was such a milestone, but I only knew that I felt older suddenly. Once you're not young anymore, you're not old, but you definitely aren't young (it's really quite simple).

When you're not young, you're supposed to start acting like an adult. That means dressing nicer (appearing like a homeless person is no longer acceptable). It also means using adult words, meaning "dude" is no longer an all-encompassing way to address someone. And eventually, it means really scary stuff like having kids (I don't even think I'm ready for plants) and, gulp, becoming a Kiwanis member.

I just don't think I'm prepared to stop being young. But 24 was telling me otherwise. Then, a simple online survey changed my whole perspective.

The survey asked for my age, and I started from the bottom of the list up, thinking my age group would come sooner that way. Not so. I scanned all the way to the top before finding my age group: 18-24! I was still grouped in with young people! And the lowest possible age group! My spirits were lifted. I immediately stopped the survey to call AARP and cancel my membership.

As it turns out, society does still consider me a young person. All it took was a survey to prove to myself that I wasn't done being young yet.

So I've got one spectacular year of being young left. Then, I'll turn ... I can't even say it ... twenty-f... twenty-fi... twenty ... quarter of a centur......

Dude, I love being 24.

Call it a comeback

If you see me around town this week and I seem to be in a particularly good mood, don’t worry. I’m not on anything. My high spirits will be a product of the culmination of an incredible comeback.

That’s right, Ashlee Simpson is back. As you regular readers of my column (editor’s note: he means his parents) likely remember, Ashlee is one of my favorite musicians. Even though I don’t own any of her music. It was her now completed MTV reality show, “The Ashlee Simpson Show,”that made me a fan for life. But after the final episode of the show aired last winter, I’ve basically lost touch with Ashlee. Her name never seemed to come up in the news, which, after the year she had, was probably a good thing.

As I’m sure most of you know, Ashlee had a less than favorable experience on Saturday Night Live last year when a backing track she was using to support her almost completely lost voice played the wrong song. Of course, the sensationalist media unfairly painted Ashlee as a lip syncher. Then, Ashlee was booed during her halftime performance at the Orange Bowl worse than Karl Rove at a CIA picnic.

After two embarrassing instances like that, nobody would be surprised if Ashlee’s career plummeted lower than the cut of her more famous sister Jessica’s shorts in The Dukes of Hazzard movie. But Ashlee is proving them all wrong. Her new album, "I Am Me" (a title so simple, yet so true), hit stores Tuesday, and is sure to be a huge hit. But before that could happen, Ashlee had to return to the scene of last year’s debacle.

Yes, the set of SNL. Most people in their right mind wouldn’t go back to a place with such bad memories. But Ashlee’s not like most people. She summoned all her courage and took the stage, this time with a healthy voice and no need for a backing track. And she belted out “Catch Me When I Fall” off her new album, which, as she briefly explained, was written following her first SNL experience. There probably wasn’t a dry eye in the studio following the performance (I’m not afraid to say I shed a few tears).

Though “The Ashlee Simpson Show” won’t be making a return on MTV, Ashlee made a one-time reappearance on the network recently with a special chronicling her 21st birthday celebration and private performance. Some things have changed, like her hair color, from black back to her natural blonde. I really liked her black hair, but sometimes, you have to return to your true self. I should know, as I dyed my own hair blonde not too long ago, in part to return to my earlier days when I had natural blonde hair (Ashlee and I are keeping it real).

With her album now released, Ashlee’s comeback is one of the most impressive in recent memory. (Maybe second only to Michael Brown, the ousted former director of FEMA. Somehow, after horribly and tragically mismanaging the federal government’s response to Hurricane Katrina, Brown was back being paid by the federal government as a consultant to find out what went wrong with the hurricane response. Seriously, can’t we find a better job for this guy? Since Bush can’t ever really get rid of a crony, and since Brown has a background with horses, can’t he muc kout the stalls at the ranch in Crawford? Brownie, you’re doing a heck of a job with that hay.)

In an article in the New York Daily News, Ashlee recognized who stood behind her (me), and who tried unsuccessfully to drive her out of the business. “It’s so weird,” Ashlee recalled. “I have awesome fans, and the people who were not nice to me after that SNL thing were, like, old men. They don’t listen to my music anyway, so it’s like, leave me alone!” I couldn’t have said it better myself. This fan will always have your back, Ash, even if you fall again. Us blondes have to stick together.

Bowling for my bank account

Getting together with friends at the local bowling alley. The exhilaration of seeing that last pin teeter over for a strike. Inhaling two packs worth of second-hand smoke.
Yes, a night of league bowling can be a lot of fun. But don’t' have too much fun, and you better bring your checkbook (or a mortgage).
About a month ago, my co-workers and I joined a Thursday night bowling league. When they approached me to join, I thought "sure." I enjoy bowing and shouldn't turn down any social invitation. Little did I know the financial commitment I was making.
The first night of bowling costs $25. Ten dollars for three games and $15 for "membership" in some national bowling association. Each additional night is $10. Now that's a lot of money to roll a ball down a lane. And granted, it is fun, but I'd like to know where that money is going. Supposedly there will be a party at the end of the league (sometime in February or something), but I will believe that when I see it.
And get this; even if you can't make it for a week and can't find a substitute willing to pony up the money (yes, subs have to pay the one time $15 too), you still have to pay! What kind of racquet is this? And where is the money going? The lanes still look the same as they did back in 1945 or whenever this place was built. They take the name "Classic Lanes" quite literally. And there are only two employees that I can tell: The owner who distributes shoes and a lady at the food counter. I don't know where the money is going. It's not on the owner's wardrobe.
Given the bank breaking fees, you would think you could at least do what you want on the lanes. Not so. Bowlers are some of the most uptight people, and they take their customs very seriously. First and foremost, you better stay at least five feet away from the lane if someone on either side of you is getting ready to bowl, finishing a bowl or even thinking about bowling. Because if you are anywhere near them, you will throw off their entire concentration for at least 10 minutes.
I learned this the first night when I began approaching the balls but didn't even step up on to the lane and the guy preparing to bowl next to me had to step away, walk around the front part of the building and regain his composure before he could bowl. Then, after I failed to hit my fifth strike in a row, I fell to the lane dejected. The uptight bowler couldn't handle this either and told me to get off the lane when I was finished.
I mean seriously, this is bowling. A sport where the most accomplished members of our league are a fat guy whose crack shows every time he rolls and old ladies with blue hair who have to bring an oxygen tank with them to the lanes while they continue to smoke between rolls. How much concentration can this game really take?
And you can't touch the video screen, either. On the second night, I was trying to enter our team name (Which is "Headline Bowlers." Does that make us nerds?) on the screen, just for fun. But I pressed a wrong button. Before I knew it, a member of the team sharing the lane with us came up from behind me and said, "what do you think you're doing?" With the press of a few buttons, the screen was back to normal but our team name was still blank. "Sorry, I won't touch it anymore" I said with a trace of sarcasm in my voice. How annoyed this person who I originally thought was a man but later found out was a woman (I think there's a reason they don't go bowling on The OC) seemed with my antics. I'm surprised she didn't slap my hand with a ruler and send me to some sort of holding cell in the back for delinquents (I bet it exists).
As for the bowling, somehow our team is in third place overall out of eight teams. So I guess all the money spent will be worth it if we can claw our way to first place and beat all the uptight bowlers.
More likely, I'll get suspended for my behavior after I cough while someone is bowling. But I'll still have to pay the $10 a week.

Lesson learned from the bouncing bear

It was almost two years ago that a single bear fell from a single tree and made one of the greatest video clips of all time.
This week in Missoula, Mont., state government officials showed they have learned some important lessons from the "bouncing bear" as they avoided a similar incident.
For those who have forgotten, the bouncing bear was a 2-year-old black bear who made his way down from the mountains surrounding Missoula and found his way into a tree in a residential area. After being shot with a tranquilizer by Fish, Wildlife and Parks officials, the bear fell from the tree. Unfortunately for the bear, somebody had the idea of placing a trampoline to break his fall. What ensued was the bear catapulting into the air and onto the ground (it's okay to laugh at it because the bear wasn't injured).
The clip aired all over the country and likely embarrassed the FWP people to no end. Monday, FWP had its chance for redemption. According to the Montana Kaimin, a young female bear had once again wondered into town by accident, this time with two fellow bears. My guess is they were paying homage to the bouncing bear so close to the two-year anniversary. They probably wanted to re-enact the event that mad that bear more famous than Smokey.
Or maybe these bears were trying to become famous themselves by doing the same thing. You know the kind of bears I'm talking about. The ones that think they are so Hollywood.
Officials rounded up the other two without incident, but the baby was resilient and made its way into a tree. Before stunning the bear with a "jab stick," I'm sure FWP officials had a meeting to discuss their course of action.
Okay, we need to avoid the embarrassment of the bouncing bear that replayed all over the world last time. So how can we get 'R done this time?
Well, how about a trampoline, surrounded by smaller trampolines to help break the fall. This way, the second trampoline hit will only create a minor bounce.
Yes, yes, I like it.
Um sir, how about we just catch it with a net?
Hmmm...
Pure genius. Instead of using something designed to make things bounce, the officials went for something that is designed to catch things. The bear plummeted again, 25 feet, but landed safely in the net. She was then placed in a carrier for large dogs.
Unfortunately for the FWP, there were apparently no cameras around this time to catch the successful capture. The bouncing bear and the trampoline that made him famous will live on forever.
As for the new bouncing bear wanna be, the smart thinking of the FWP ruined her plan for fame and fortune. Sometimes fortune shines upon you and sometimes it stabs you with a jab stick.

An afternoon in the Park County Courtroom

By spending one afternoon in a courthouse, you can see the whole spectrum of human behavior, emotions, and acts of desperation by reasonably desperate people.

As the cops/courts reporter at the Powell Tribune newspaper in Wyoming, I write about crimes and the justice (or lack thereof, depending on who you ask) that follows on an almost daily basis. But between the weekly trip to the district courthouse and typing up the police report (chock full of animals running at large), the topic can get rather boring.

Until you spend some time in court, observing the legal process in action. In my more than a year on the job, I have yet to cover an actual jury trial here in Park County. But even the simplest of hearings can say so much about the people involved in the case and the problems they have caused to themselves or to others.

Today was no different. The hearing I was there to cover, a preliminary hearing for a 17-year-old young man (boys don't move out of the house) accused of setting fire along with another to a local state criminal investigations office in Powell.

For starters, the hearing was delayed one and a half hours because the defendant was in transit from the nearest jail that had the capability to house a juvenile, hundreds of miles away in Lander, Wyo. That speaks volumes about the limitations of the justice system in Wyoming. Not only that there are no closer facilities to hold juveniles in, but that somehow, this transit issue wasn't taken into account when the hearing was scheduled. This isn't the first such blunder I've seen with inmate transportation to the courthouse (one time, the wrong inmate was shackled up and brought over by mistake).

So before the hearing, I sat in on a sentencing hearing for a man who admitted to and was found guilty of domestic battery. Though the crime was a misdemeanor, domestic violence is taken seriously by the courts, the defendant represented himself. A bold move, considering court-appointed counsel is free to those who truly cannot afford it.

So by himself, the man pleaded his case to the judge on how he was sorry. In reality though, he wasn't alone in the courtroom. His wife, the woman he admitted to beating, was sitting right behind him in the first row of the public seating area. She even spoke on his behalf, pleading with the judge to let her husband return home rather than serve more time. She said here sons and elderly mother needed the man's support, as did she, having recently been in a coma. She also said she had forgiven him for what he did. But that didn't seem to be the main issue.

The man, while quiet and seemingly embarrassed, showed no real remorse for what he did. But what was his wife to do other than accept him back. Live soley off welfare and whatever Medicaid she was eligible for? Poverty was forcing her to take back an admitted wife beater. When the judge sentenced the man to one year probation instead of jail time, his wife seemed pleased, but certainly not overjoyed.

The judge himself seemed as though he wanted to be harsher with his sentence, what could he do? Deny this family their only plausible source of income? But what message does this send to the man's sons (their ages were not discussed)? That as long as you bring home the bacon, you can slap mom around a little when you get angry? Ultimately, the wife will have to make the decision to cut the abuser out of there life, because a provider is not worth living with the degradation, both physical and mental, of being married to an abuser. At least that's easy to say from my removed seat across the courtroom.

A blog about advice, not an advice blog

Somebody once said that a mind is a terrible thing to waste. I definitely agree with that. Believe me, no part of my mind ever goes to waste. I have to use all of it to complete daily menial tasks, like walking and remembering to eat.
But almost as tragic as wasting a mind, good advice is a terrible thing to waste. And I fear my 23 years of wisdom and experience are currently serving no greater good. Because in order to give advice, you need someone to take it.
I am an older brother, but my brother Corey doesn’t usually take my advice. For example: I went to visit Corey at college in Indiana recently and tried to get him to flirt with this girl who was totally flirting with him. Well, I guess it’s debatable if she was flirting with him or just talking to him. And she was working in a customer service field at the time, checking out sports equipment. But people who flirt (talk) with you even if they’re working aren’t just doing it because they sort of have to, are they? Like waitresses? If that’s true, I’ll be crushed!
Sean’s brain: Of course that’s not how it works. Waitresses flirt with you because you are a cool guy. Here, let me release some endorphins.
Okay, good, that’s better.
Anyway, I think the reason Corey often ignores my advice is he’s seen my body of work. Sure, I’ve made my fair share of not-so-smart decisions. And my brother knows about most of them. But the way I see it, somebody needs to benefit from my trial-by-error experiences.
Just because I wasn’t necessarily a “ladies man” in college doesn’t mean I don’t know how to react when a girl is flirting with you. I told my brother he just had to be confident and ask the sports equipment girl what her name was, where she lived, etc, and get her phone number. Unfortunately, as I was giving him this advice, she was still standing directly in front of us. But that just provided more trial-by-error advice for him: tact is very important.
But really, I’m surprised Corey doesn’t want to be a younger version of me because in many ways, we are very alike. First of all, no matter how reluctant we are to admit it, we look a lot alike. Yes, there is another person out there blessed with these looks (you can stop laughing now). Case in point, when I was visiting my brother I told him I wanted to see if I could still blend in as if I were a college student at age 23 (which I’m sure would work, since most people seem to think I’m either an NWC student or, more frequently, a high school intern). So I told him for this weekend, I wasn’t his brother visiting, I was his cool friend. Five minutes later, a lady in the dorm cafeteria asked us “are you guys twins?” It didn’t take long for that cover to be blown.
Me and my brother even share the same enormously gigantic head (thanks to our dad). You think I’m exaggerating, but that photo of me above had to be shrunk by 500 percent to get it to fit. Our head size leaves us both susceptible to head injuries. It’s a proven fact. He’s lived a relatively head-trauma free life so far, but not so for me. I think it’s just that our heads are so big, the odds of something happening to them increase exponentially.
That’s why the only person who’s ever randomly had a light fixture fall from the ceiling of a parking garage and hit them in the head is yours truly (about five years ago). The gravitational pull from my head must have caused it to come crashing down. This is yet another area where my advice could be helpful: recovering from head trauma.
Though I wish my advice had an outlet, the truth is, Corey is doing fine for himself without it. Except maybe in the girl department. Instead of actually asking out the sports equipment girl, he “facebooked” her. For those who don’t know, Facebook is a popular Web site where you can post a profile about yourself and list other facebookers as your friend, and see if they respond in kind and list you as theirs. Last I heard, sports equipment girl had yet to respond to my brothers’ facebooking.
No worries, though. The final piece of advice I gave my brother was: “There are plenty of girls out there who would be ecstatic to be facebooked by you. If sports equipment girl doesn’t want to facebook back a good looking, albeit big-headed guy like yourself, that’s her loss.”
See what good advice I give? But since my brother doesn’t really listen to me, I’m available as a mentor if anyone’s interested. Just facebook me, I promise I’ll facebook you back.