Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Ballwin vs. Kirkwood Triathlons


Having now completed both sprint triathlons, I can now objectively assess which is the best one for you*.

The Ballwin course is roughly a 300m swim, 9-mile bike ride and a 3.5ish mile run. The swim portion is done in heats and you stick to the same lane. The bike route is a loop you do twice and has a steep incline about a fourth of the way in and some inclines here and there, but is relatively flat. The run has a few sizeable hills and makes its way through a neighborhood.

The Tour de Kirkwood course is approximately a 400m swim, 12-mile bike ride and a 3-mile run. The swim here is a serpentine swim, meaning participants start at one end of the pool, one after another in 3-second intervals, swim a complete lap, duck under the lane barrier, and so forth, until they reach the other end of the pool. This involves knowing a bit more about your swim pace, but is pretty easy if you surround yourself with like-bodied individuals. The bike route is also a loop you do twice and has a few inclines, one huge hill in the middle and a grueling long climb in the middle portion. The run is a course you run twice, which means you tackle the steep hill at two different times.

So which is the better course? It all depends what you’re looking to do.

If you’ve never done a sprint triathlon before and want to ease into it, I recommend the Ballwin. It doesn’t have as much time in the water, has a good bike course and actually has a more interesting and scenic run course with not a lot of hills throughout.

But if you’re looking to tackle a challenge or kick it up a notch, the Kirkwood is the Tri to, um, try. It’s still relatively accessible to the casual athlete, but still has challenges for the more serious (I saw a few aerodynamic cycling helmets).

Of course, there’s a third option. Since the two are pretty much two weeks apart, why not do both? Use the Ballwin to prepare for the Kirkwood. I mean, if you’re putting in the time to train, you might as well get the most lung-straining, sweat-pouring bang for your buck.

*You being people who are interested in doing triathlons.

Monday, July 30, 2012

Nobody wants to watch your stupid team.


I turned on the Olympics on Saturday morning ready to watch me some Olympics. Instead I got women’s basketball.

What???

NO!

That’s not the Olympics!

Faster. Higher. Stronger.

I can run or swim faster than you. I can jump higher over this bar or farther into this sand pit. I can pick up more of these heavy things more times than you and throw them farther or use my strength to pin you to the ground. That’s the Olympics.

Basketball, soccer, volleyball and other team sports have no place in the Olympics. Sorry.

I want the practical Olympics. The objective Olympics. The individual Olympics. And, most importantly, the obscure Olympics.

If you already have your own multi-million dollar enterprise (tennis), maybe sit this one out and let the table tennis players have their moment in the spotlight? Because no one wants to see your millionaires get more fame. If I want tennis or golf, I’ll watch one of the Opens.

And, yes, I said objective. That means judging can’t be the sole determinant in who wins and who doesn’t. Sorry, Gymnastics, but you either stick the landing or you don’t—I don’t care what the judges think.

This may seem harsh, but so is watching basketball when you’re looking forward to some super awesome swimming. Gold.

Friday, July 27, 2012

It's go time!


After years of training.
Okay, after months of training.
All right, weeks.
Fine, days.

After drinking beer and eating birthday cake for the last 72 hours straight, I am ready.

Ready to dive into the tepid waters, ascend the hillocks and glide over the verdant knolls of Kirkwood.

Yes, mere mortals, this Sunday, bright and early*, it's time for me to take my place among the athletes known as tri-athletes.

Wish me luck. And know that if I do not post on Monday that my body has rejected itself. Which, let's face it, is what other people do every day. Hey-o!

Also, this will be my power song.



*Like 7:30?? I think getting up out of bed that early on a Sunday is the first leg. Sheesh.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

T.N.T.


Last week I shared with you a list of my past nicknames. But I forgot one. An epic one.

Here’s the story:

When I first moved to the Midwest, I made it a point to accept any lunch invitation extended to me at my new job. So when some of my new team members asked me to go to lunch, I assumed it was going to be the standard “How do you like the job”-type business talk. Nope. 

One of the guys, Navin*, liked to tell a story to new team members about a guy he went to high school with. The guy only had one testicle and had been nicknamed “One Nut Jones**” behind his back. Well, one day the guy discovers his nickname and the story ends with a surprise that you’re expecting to be hilarious, but turns out to be shocking. Which is why Navin liked to tell it to new employees—to test them and haze them a bit.

So Navin tells me the story and I’m shocked. But then I tell him, “You have no way of knowing how many testicles I have. I could have one nut, too.” and before the words are out of my mouth, one of the other guys goes “Whatever, Two Nad Tad”. And, thus, a nickname was born.

*Not his real name
**Not his real name either

Monday, July 23, 2012

Vice President of Job Titles


Right now, I have a job title that has nothing to do with my current responsibilities. Don’t get me wrong: my job is fine. It’s just that my title is a bit disingenuous at the moment. I am supposed to be a writer who mentors younger talent and runs projects of a certain size and scope. What rhymes with “scope”? Nope.

If I had to give myself a new title based on my daily tasks, I’d say “Last-minute Copy Surgeon” or “Concept Architect & Demolisher”. Words that are words individually but lose all meaning when strung together.

A friend of mine is just starting their career and was given a high-sounding title because they’ll be client facing. Their company felt they needed to project legitimacy beyond their years or experience. “Hi, I’d like to start this relationship off by lying to your face.”

My favorite title, which I see across all companies everywhere, is “Vice President”. How can you be a vice president when there are a hundred of you? The only acceptable answer is that they are actually presidents in charge of vices, like gambling or swearing. “Hi, I’m the President of Swearing and Doing Cocaine”.

Worse than the titles themselves are the job descriptions. Who doesn’t want a “proactive self-starter”? How about an “enthusiastic motivator with passion”? Anyone feeling a bit, I don’t know, “entrepreneurial” today?

I don’t know about you, but my day is just a complete waste of time if I haven’t found some “synergy” with my fellow “Vice Presidents”.

Friday, July 20, 2012

Old Writings

Beginnings are easy; endings are hard. And a breeze through some of my past story ideas seems to anchor the truth of the sentiment. It was like taking a walk through a cemetery filled with stillborn ambitions and dreams. I'm not sure what this story was about or where I was going with it, but I thought I'd share it all the same. I think I'll call it ...


Autumn Morning

It was an autumn morning, the first of the year. Outside, the sky held back its light, leaving only an austere gray composed of mist and fog. What light did reach the place had diminished significantly from the prior week. The torch of summer had been passed to fall, and was slowly burning itself out.

All summer long, the trees had absorbed the sweltering heat of the sun. And now, with its departure, the trees released that heat through the crackling reds, yellows and ochres of its leaves. Burning pyres that blazed to exhaustion. Their ashes softly borne away by the wind, one by one.
 

Thursday, July 19, 2012

The Animal


He sits, confined in his small enclosure.

Bored with inactivity and little empowered to make decisions on his behalf, he spends his days in a state of progressive atrophy. His brain softening slowly, like a banana ripening into gooey, useless mush. His once proud shoulders have been rounded smooth over time.

Onlookers and passersby tap on the glass, but he has long inured himself to such distractions.

A wayward crumb on his shoulder captivates him now. He picks at it. He examines it. And, after much careful consideration, he guides it into his mouth.

He scratches himself absentmindedly.

Once, long ago, he ran free.
Once, longer still, he dreamed of glory.

Now, presently, he just is.
And aches for the day when he isn’t*.

*No, dear readers, I’m not suicidal. Sheesh.

Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Writer's Block


It was a night of some sort. Stormy? Dark, perhaps? Dark like a really dark thing. And there was a dog outside in that darkness. It, too, was dark, but not as dark as the dark night. And it had eyes. Green ones that were green like an object that is green. Petting the dark dog with the green eyes in the dark was a girl. The girl was not dark, but she was crying. Her eyes were also green—greener than the dog's green eyes—and tears moved like a similar wet substance usually does from the greener-than-the-dog's-green eyes of the girl and they fell on the dark dog with the green-but-not-as-green-as-the-green-eyes-of-the-crying-girl-with-the-greener-than-the-dark-dog’s-green eyes. Then lightning struck them and they both vanished into the dark of the dark night.

The End

Tuesday, July 17, 2012

A rose by any other name ...


You would think with a name like “Tad” that I wouldn’t need a nickname. As it is, I’ve only met one other Tad and, as is the rule, I killed him*. But, thankfully, I’ve been blessed with a bevy of sobriquets in my day:
·      Bones—Believe it or not, I was a skinny lad. So skinny that you could see my ribs, or so my fellow classmates claimed in elementary school
·      Taddy—One of the first to catch on and be used affectionately
·      T-Dawg—Pretty much standard issue in the ‘90s if your name started with a “T” and you listened to hip-hop
·      D-style—Yeah, you read that right. With a “D”, not a “T”. My friends at the time thought to give me a nickname that had some edge. Or something
·      Rad Tad/Tadhole—The name for my alter-ego on the rare occasions when I’ve had waaaaaaay too much to drink
·      Senator—When I first moved to Missouri, my friends took me to a dance club that turned out to be a strip club. I refused to use the ATM to withdraw money because I joked that I might run for office one day and didn’t want the transaction to show up on my bank statement
·      Tapper Tad—There used to be a bar for sale called “Dapper Dan’s” and everyone thought it would be a great idea if I bought it and renamed it. No one seemed to want to invest in the bar, however, so only the nickname remains
·      Tadworth/Tadly—The supposed names I will use if I win the Lottery and become filthy rich (see also: T-Dawg/Tadhole)
·      Tadsome—An adjective used to describe people or objects that look like me
·      T—Used by both friends and people who want something from me**

*There can be only one
**But they didn’t get none, son

Monday, July 16, 2012

A list of things


Things currently making me happy:
·      The bitter kiss of quinine
·      Pools filled with salt water and good people
·      Non-sexual pictures texted to me by friends at random
·      The triumphant return of poker night
·      Outdoor movies on Art Hill and free music at the Botanical Gardens
·      Bikes!
·      Trips!
·      Tomatoes!
·      So many tomatoes.
·      The Adventures of Tintin (non-tipsy edition)
·      Seriously, what am I going to do with all of these Tomatoes!

Friday, July 13, 2012

Keyword Comedy

Sometimes you just can't make this stuff up.


Apparently, people actually search for PG-13 nip slips and, when they do, they find my blog coming in at number 6, due to this previous post.

Now, you would assume that I would just write boobie, boobie, boob, boobs in my posts from now on, but that's not exactly the audience I'm aiming to have boost my readership.

So instead, I'll leave you with this: wealthy female supermodels low standards bald blogger.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Death by Slideshow

Do you want to know the top 100 movies of all time? What about the 43 funniest cat videos? How about 18 steps you have to take to prevent getting scammed on the Internet?

Guh.

I'm so sick of click-heavy websites that are light on content. It's so obvious that they're just trying to drive up their numbers and it's a guarantee that I'm just going to click right back out of it. Especially if each slide reloads the whole page instead of being a self-contained imbed.

The same vitriol goes for the "how to" sites that just aggregate queries from other search sites. Instead of the "like" or "+" button, why not the "not helpful" button on links that manage to rise to the top, but aren't actually relevant.

So the next time you're searching for "tastefully nude photos of That Tad Guy" and get sent to a "non" site, feel free to tell them "not helpful". Unless they have a fully embedded slideshow, of course.



Tuesday, July 10, 2012

All-Star Lame


We, as a society, have All-Star fatigue. The fans, the players, the announcers, even the host cities. What was once a novelty is now an obligation. Especially the homerun derby.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ll hit you a damn homerun. Now get out of my face.”

And it’s not just baseball. The basketball all-star game is just a bunch of millionaires alley-ooping each other uncontested dunks (or is that the regular season—hey-o!). But at least they pretend to play. The football pro-bowl game is just an excuse to send players and corporate sponsors to Hawaii—I’ve seen flag football games with more contact. I don’t know if hockey has an all-star game or not; I don’t follow it.

So how to fix them? I have two solutions. Yep, not just one solution: two. And if any organization implements them, I want a flat fee of $10,000 US. A regular player price to pay for All-Star solutions.

Solution #1: Hold it every four years.
You know why people love the Olympics and the World Cup? You guessed it: absence. The slam-dunk contest with Michael Jordan was epic. The slam-dunk contest with Brent Barry performing Jordan’s free-throw line dunk was tragic. The same goes for the homerun derby—if you can’t get the big dogs out there, don’t hold the contest. By holding the event every four years, you make it special again. Players don’t race to back out or get “sick”. And you could even rotate all of the major four, so that baseball is year one, basketball year two, etc.

Solution #2: The Non-Star Game
Go in the opposite direction: have all of the players who are about to get cut play to save their positions. Add some bona fide consequences. “This time it counts” Ha! THIS TIME it counts.

Monday, July 9, 2012

TadLibs Weeeners!


Last Thursday, I announced the unique chance to be apart of history. Well, dear readers, two brave souls grabbed that chance as if it were the last bacon-wrapped scallop at an all-you-can eat buffet. Below is the original home-edition as well as the two weeening entries. Congrats, gentlemen, you are now immortalized forever on the Internet. Ballz Huzzah!

Original Home Edition
That Tad Guy is so (Word that rhymes with Tad). He is my best friend in (geographic location). I really admire his (personality trait) ways and especially his (part of the body).

And let’s not forget his blog. It is (adjective). I (verb) it (number) times a day. If he were (adjective), he would be (celebrity). I just wish he would post more things about (plural noun). Or draw more pictures of (noun). Let’s face it: he should just devote the whole thing to (plural noun).

(Interjection), I wish I could make a donation to him. I would be willing to pay (number) a (measure of time) to make sure he always provides such (adjective) content.

I know in my (part of the body) that if he fought (name of a loved one) to the death, That Tad Guy would barely win.

I (verb) him.


Dan, USA
That Tad Guy is so maxi-pad. He is my best friend in Peachtree City, GA. I really admire his syphilitic ways and especially his pinky toe.

And let’s not forget his blog. It is musky. I bust it 2 times a day. If he were randy, he would be Ashton Kutcher. I just wish he would post more things about mangoes. Or draw more pictures of loveseat. Let’s face it: he should just devote the whole thing to lesions.

Ballz!, I wish I could make a donation to him. I would be willing to pay $44 a nanoseconds to make sure he always provides such chewy content.

I know in my taint that if he fought Stumpy to the death, That Tad Guy would barely win.

I jazzercise him.

For his efforts, Dan weeens this “Fast Eddie’s Bon Air camo” koozie.
  
Brian, USA
That Tad Guy is so sad. He is my best friend in down under. I really admire his rad ways and especially his posterior.

And let’s not forget his blog. It is stanky. I shoot it 9 times a day. If he were bluish-greenish, he would be DJ Lance Rock. I just wish he would post more things about Guinness. Or draw more pictures of rock. Let’s face it: he should just devote the whole thing to fish.

Huzzah!, I wish I could make a donation to him. I would be willing to pay $one million a forever to make sure he always provides such phat content.

I know in my dome that if he fought Mr. Dog-Turd Hand to the death, That Tad Guy would barely win.

I ride him.

For his efforts, Brian weeens this “I (heart) motorboating!” koozie.




Friday, July 6, 2012

Face ... lost.

Japan 1 That Tad Guy 0
I love Sudoku, but this one has me stumped. I have lost face. Usually I can get ONE number, however, as you can see by my notations, there isn't a single number I can say definitively belongs in its space. The closest is the 3-9 option in the lower right and the circled ones are the ones that I absolutely know belong in one of those spaces, I just don't know which stinkin' space. Frustrating, I know. It's Frustrating Fridays!

Thursday, July 5, 2012

TadLibs™


Want to weeen* a koozie from my private collection? Of course you do.

Just send your fill-in-the-blank answers to thattadguyisagenius@gmail.com by midnight PST on Friday. I’ll post the story with blanks on Monday and share my favorite weeening story then as well. Who am I kidding? You can take until Saturday.

THE WORDS I NEED FROM YOU:
Word that rhymes with Tad
Geographic location
Personality trait
Part of the body
Adjective
Verb
Number
Adjective
Celebrity
Plural noun
Noun
Plural noun
Interjection
Number
Measure of time
Adjective
Part of the body
Name of loved one
Verb

*What is weeening? It’s not winning. This isn’t a sweepstakes or a contest. It’s definitely not applicable to any laws. To “weeen a koozie” is to hope that a koozie just shows up randomly in your mailbox after you send an email to my inbox, depending on how good that email is determined to be by me. Are we clear? Of course we are.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

New (old) Cooler

Just add beer. And ice. And a forklift.
Guess how much I paid for this awesome cooler*?
A. Nothing, it was free because it's priceless.
B. $5, or the price for one fancy beer.
C. $24, or a buck for every beer in a case.
D. $6,884.43, or some other hyper-specific price that sounds like it just might be realistic.
E. Who cares? Let's fill that sucker with beer and pass it 'round the table!

*B is the answer, if anyone actually cares.

Monday, July 2, 2012

King of the Koozies

For a time, I was known as "a koozie guy". Whenever people were generous enough to buy me a gift, they would get me a koozie. Hard-sided, soft, oddly shaped, funny, commercial, whatever. When people saw a koozie, they thought of me.

It all began innocently enough: I was in Las Vegas and saw a koozie. I liked the kitsch of it all. It had the glorious luster of a fading Las Vegas performer combined with the cold-trapping ability of a hotel mini-bar. So the rest of the weekend, any drink I got my hands on went into the koozie. This ritual became so useful that I continued it on long after I had returned. People got the idea and I was soon swimming in koozies like Scrooge McDuck through money.

A few of my favorites:

Le Originale

Hulk arms? Slam dunk.

I think you know where this is going.

On neoprene.

Protects your beer until the last sip.

Custom made. T-riffic!