My superhero alter ego

Newsletter - Halloween Blood and Guts Edition

2011-01-19T20:21:00.000-08:00

I usually don't do requests, but got an email from a buddy Tommy P the other day wanting a newsletter. Who am I to let a fan a down? But be careful what you wish for.

You know by now that Breen and I are having a baby. What you might not know is we're having a girl. Her name is Avery. She'll be here in January and I'm already preparing myself for the prison sentence I'll undoubtedly serve when guys like Tommy P. come around calling. As Breen will tell you, I'm preternaturally conditioned to protect those around me (unless it involves some kind of fire, bee sting, or climbing to a height over four feet - then you're on your own) and Avery will be no different. I'll have to shield her from a cruel harsh world where fantasy football teams don't win every week, the stoplight at the corner of South Ave and East Street is always red and guys with fake tans and blowouts are hiding around every corner in Jersey. But I digress, it's not raising my little girl that has me the most uneasy (I'll be among the world's top 10 dads for sure). Rather, it's being in the hospital room when it happens. Because I have a weak stomach and from what I understand the birthing room is a house of f#$%ing horrors.

I've been, sort of, joking for months now that I'll need to employ a stand-in when the water breaks, the bags get packed and we head off to the hospital to, effectively, pop a watermelon out the top of a Snapple bottle. I'm working now to prepare myself for the inevitability of getting sick. Thankfully Breen understands my shortcomings. After all, this is the guy who once threw up in his kitchen sink after smelling a bad fart. Who heaved all over the grass when putting his face too close to a rinsed out jar of olives. Who yacked when someone mentioned, just mentioned, that a stain on a wall in a bathroom could be feces. And these are just the times I remember off the top of my head. My stomach holds up to almost nothing and I fear the maternity ward will be no different.

It doesn't help that the wife and I have started going to birthing class. These classes are supposed to put parents at ease and get them ready for the magic of child birth. For the most part they've been informative. But a couple of times the instructor has pulled the old video sneak attack on the Dougster. Fool me once shame on you. She threw on a film of a lady going through labor with the disclaimer, "There's a brief crowning scene, but just from the side." Total lie. It was a full on crotch shot that left nothing a secret. Fool me twice, shame on me. Last week she popped on a flick about late labor. It started with a woman basically looking like she was in a prison sauna. Then, out of nowhere she's doubled over while popping a baby out. That part I actually made it through. But then the video's voice over guy says, "And then there's the placenta." (If you know about birth, you know what I'm talking about) At this point I gasped, moved my eyes quickly to the blank wall next to the screen, and went to my happy place. When the movie finally ended and I looked up, guess who was the only person in the room not crying tears of joy? Everyone else had witnessed the beauty of childbirth. I had narrowly staved off a full on puke-a-rama.

Look, it's not that I don't understand the magic of birth. I get it. It's gorgeous and miraculous and yada-yada-yada. It's just not for everyone. Hopefully Breen is able to comfort me while she's giving birth to our child and I'm sucking on ice chips, using some coping methods, getting a back massage, and using all the breathing techniques I've learned in class.

Breaking Fantasy Football News

2010-12-30T07:56:00.000-08:00

December 14, 2010 4:50 PM

Garwood (Associated Press) - Today, in a move that surprised some, long time owner, part-time commissioner and perennial under-achiever Douglas Norrie announced his retirement from fantasy football. Norrie, coming off two consecutive last place finishes in the vaunted Sons of New Jersey League and a heart-breaking playoff miss in the Broadstreet Fantasy League, quietly met with a group of reporters and loved ones to announce his decision.

When addressing the media, Norrie was careful to focus on his career as a whole and tried not to lament the losses. "Thirteen years is a lifetime in this business," Norrie said. "I've seen more than my share of garbage time points, heroic Monday night performances, missed field goals, terrific waiver-wire pickups and vultured touchdowns. I walk away from the game with my head held high and my bench outscoring my starters. The Peyton Hillis's and Tashard Choice's of the league will no longer haunt my dreams."

Norrie's career in fantasy football began in 1997 in a dank dorm room on the Juniata College campus. There, he and nine other wide-eyed students held a draft and diligently worked each week to calculate the scores by hand. "My high from that league was watching Emmitt Smith, in the '99 season. have the first half of his life in a Monday night game against the Vikings. 140 yards and 3 touches. I needed every point I could get. My low was when he got hurt in that same game in the third quarter. I lost by 3 points."

When asked his biggest regret, Norrie was quick with an answer. "Easy. 2001 SHS Draft, third round. Michael Bennet over Ladanian Tomlinson. Nothing else is even close."

When asked if this would be a Brett Favre- like retirement, to only have him return next year, Norrie laughed and said, "Hey, I like using the camera on my cell, always wear Wranglers and have been known to gun-sling. So who knows."

Norrie's wife Sabrina briefly took the podium with a prepared statement. "Doug's a better man from January to August. His bowing out of fantasy football is a decision with his family and the greater good in mind."

As news of Norrie's retirement rippled through the fantasy community friends and competitors offered up their thoughts on the decision. Two Tight Ends co-owner and longtime rival James Davis said, "You hate to see a lovable loser hang it up this way...but certainly you can understand his reasoning. Shame he quit in the middle of the streak... but have to respect him going out on bottom."

Recent Fantasy Football retiree and friend Michael Pacchione said, "Doug always sat idly by when I would get in blow out email fights with our commissioner." The commissioner in question, Dave Allegretti was not available for comment.

Norrie will hand off commissioner duties to Davis. No word on who will fill the open league slot.

"It's been a great run and I'll look back at this time fondly. But there's always work to do. Fantasy baseball is right around the corner."

The Decade Awards

2009-12-21T20:16:00.000-08:00

I feel like, very quietly, the end of the decade has snuck up on us. It was only yesterday I was standing on a porch in the Poconos, banging some pots around, lighting off fireworks and rejoicing the reality that Y2K didn't send us into a societal freefall. Ahhh, those were the days. That being said, it's been a pretty great ten years. There probably isn't a more interesting time in life than your 20s. You're out of school. Hopefully employed. Have a little freedom. And the world hasn't yetbeaten you into a bloody pulp. But rather than rehash it all in one, big, long narrative (I will be doing that later with my Memoir - Don’t Put That on the Stove! Are You Trying to Burn the Whole House Down?: The Doug Norrie Story) I thought we could run through some awards. Let's hand them out.

Road trip of the Decade (What was I thinking award) - To the bus trip I took from Philadelphia to Denver. I talked myself into this for two reasons. I saved about $150 by busing it rather than flying and I thought it would make a good story because I had just read the most overrated book of all time, On the Road by Jack Kerouac. I expected a carefree little jaunt through the Heartland. What I got was a 42 hour death sentence complete with a guy who I believed to be a serial killer, an Indian woman with a face full of sores sleeping on my shoulder, an extended layover in the most depressing place on Earth (the bus station in Omaha), an evangelical bus driver who took us through Nebraska (with God as his co-pilot) and a guy who snored so loud for about eight hours that I thought I might just have to commit justifiable homicide.

Student of the Decade (Ridiculous quote award): This goes in a landslide to Mr. Romane V. who I actually taught twice: second and fifth grades. This kid was a quote machine. So much so that a couple of years back I printed up a mini book of things he had uttered throughout the year. I attached it to this email. Have fun. Some highlights: "Mr. Norrie, did you know my favorite President is... Frankenstein?" and in response to the question "What are you looking at?" he said, "The sun. I wish it would gain 10,000 pounds." Good kid. But I have nightmares that in 15 years I will be in the emergency ward of a hospital after suffering my first of many heart attacks and will hear over the PA, "Paging Dr. V, Dr Romane V."

Job Interview of the Decade (Life-saving award) - Some of you know how I got my current job, for the rest of you, here goes. I was working at a summer camp in the off season when a school group came to use the facilities. I just happened to also be looking for a teaching job. While eating lunch with said school group, one of the kids started choking. I, in superhero-like speed and grace, gave him the heimlich manuever and dislodged a piece of taco from his throat. Three days later I had an interview. A week later I had the job. I've been teaching at Pleasantdale ever since. If you got your present-day job in a more grandiose fashion I'd love to hear it.

Living Situation of the Decade (Feels like home award) - Tough call here as I've lived in a ton of places this decade including: a cabin in the woods by myself, another cabin with some good friends, my buddy's parent's house, a 3 bedroom house with no furniture, my in-laws, a basement in Verona and the dining room of a condo in Colorado. But I have to give the award to my apartment in Belleville. In the summer it was 130 degrees; in the winter below freezing. The living room and kitchen were the same 150 square foot stretch. There was only one closet and it had no door. I only had a love seat to sit in, a futon to sleep on and a free-standing radiator that liked to occasionally blast out a steady torrent of steam giving the whole place a refreshing Rain Forest-like vibe. Also, Francis, the owner and lady who lived downstairs was about 107 years old and liked to randomly scream at me for things like parking in the driveway. Loved every minute of it. Which leads me too...

Roommate of the Decade - Another tough one with many options. Too many to name, (not true I just don't feel like it) but there is one guy who stands head and shoulders above the rest. Simon Ashmele. A British national I worked with at Camp Mason near the beginning of the decade. Simon loved a good game of snooker. His favorite movie of all time was the remake of Halloween. He listened nonstop to movie scores (the only music he would listen to). He ate spaghetti on top of matzoh. He wore a fanny pack. He owned matching pajama pants, top and slippers. He once gave another man the same pajama set as a gift (I was not that man, I swear).

***Very Close Second to Christopher "28 on the 28 on the 28" Lengle: Once tore his hamstring reenacting a dance he had been doing with a girl the night before. Accidentally lit girlfriend's hair on fire while having sex on New Years Eve. Went to pick up said girlfriend at the airport except he went to the airport in the wrong state. (Greensboro, NC instead of Greenville, SC). Went on a road trip. Stopped in Austin. Liked the town. Bought a house. Chris was a man among boys.

Reality Check of the Decade (Gut-wrenching award) - This wasn't one isn't even close. Finding out I am going bald (am bald) wins in a total and complete landslide. Nothing else is even in the rearview. In fact I detail this discovery in this blog post. No need to relive it again but rest assured I haven't begun to miraculously grow any hair back yet.

Sports Moment of the Decade (Improbable award) - This decade was packed full of meaningful sports moments for me. The Red Sox finally won the World Series, then two years later won again. The Giants upset the big, bad Patriots in one of the greatest Super Bowl finishes ever. I ran three miles in a row without stopping to puke. But after careful consideration, I need to give the award to Christopher "Toph" Miller. The scenario: Senior Year. Juniata College. Intramural Softball Championships. My team has a three year, undefeated streak. It's the bottom of the last inning. We are down by one run. Toph, who's batted last and been relegated to right field the entire season came to the plate with a man on second. And with one swing he drove a ball over the right field fence for the improbable walk off victory. We stormed the field, never having lost a softball game in college and carried Toph off to the bar to celebrate.

*If I had won KeiserPong the previous paragraph would have read very differently.

** Honorable mention goes to the kickball game we played with the bridal parties and families the day before Breen's and my wedding. I'm not mentioning it because I kicked a homerun or that I famously ended the game right after my team had taken the lead claiming, "We need to go to the rehearsal now Game is over. We win." No, I mention this because the runner up for the sports moment goes to my friend Mike Pac for showing up late to the game, trying to bunt in kickball and then absolutely barreling over Breen's friend Erika on his way to legging out an infield single.

Vacation of the Decade (Just in the nick of time award) - The road trip Breen and I took to New Orleans was great for many reasons. I stroked the back of an unsuspecting woman (thought it was Sabrina) while on a tour of Graceland, got harassed by the creepiest park ranger in history, and took a walking tour of the French Quarter at noon, in August But this vacation gets the award for Sabrina and I outrunning Hurricane Katrina. Literally. We were in Mississippi camping. We couldn't believe our good fortune to be on the beach without another soul in sight. We relaxed, went kayaking (with dolphins), swam, and generally just lazed about. When we got back to our campsite we went to the office to re-up for another night. Why not? The manager told us we couldn't because the whole town was being evacuated and we had limited time to bust out of Dodge before the storm hit. We packed up and hit the road. 16 hours later Katrina did its thing.

*Worth mentioning here is my sister and brother-in-law's honeymoon. They went to beautiful Riviera Maya, Mexico. Then Hurricane Wilma struck and they spent the majority of the honeymoon holed up in a Mexican schoolhouse with no running water, no toilets, wet mattresses, and a resort worker standing guard with a machete outside the door. Romantic.

---

Its been a phenomenal decade. I plan on living the next ten years with the sole intention of having things to write in the next "Decade Awards" in 2019 so it should be pretty interesting. I hope everyone has a great holiday, a happy New Year, and a fantastic 2010.

Amazing response to Buckle Up

2009-12-02T08:26:00.001-08:00

This is from an old friend Melissa. Too good not to share.

Hey Doug.

Your car stories prompted me to share a quick story… Mike and I have a good friend, the best man in our wedding actually, who lived in Jersey City after college, where he worked as a teacher. He never, ever would lock his car in college, and always kept a spare set of keys in the glove compartment. Of course, he continued these habits when he moved to NJ. One morning, he was leaving to go to work and his car was gone. He called the police, described the car, and the officer told him—“oh, we just found that car in an alley with the keys in it—we haven’t even filled out a report yet. Come on down and pick it up.” No paperwork was ever filed. Of course, that didn’t make him change his habits though, and sure enough, a few months later, he gets ready to leave for work again, and the car is gone again. He calls the police, files the report, and they tell him that it probably won’t be found. His golf clubs, laptop and grade book had been inside the car. Gone. He files an insurance claim and gets new golf clubs. (Though he had to tell a few lies to the police and insurance company, because he had it registered to his parents house in NY where the insurance was cheaper, so he tells the police he was just visiting NJ.) Weeks go by. He’s a runner, and was out for a run one day a few miles from his apartment. Sees a car that was just like his, with the same bumper sticker he used to have, but this car had temporary NJ plates (again, his were NY plates). Gets closer and realizes, this is his car. He tries the handle. Locked. He runs home, gets his keys, runs back, opens the car, and steals it back! Called the police to tell them he found it (which, they were not pleased about—they wanted to stake out the area to catch the person). Golf clubs and laptop were still there, and the NY plates were in the trunk. Grade book was gone for good!

He encourages us to tell this story whenever we can because his life’s goal is for someone to tell it back to him someday in a bar somewhere, so that he can say “That was me!!”

Hope you’re doing well!

-Melissa

Buckle Up

2009-12-02T08:25:00.000-08:00

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. I know I did. I’ve gotten some really nice words about the newsletters coming back which is either people just trying to make conversation with me or some really great compliments. Either way, the motivation is back. I hope to keep cranking them out. Thought it would be a nice time to share this. Some of you are well versed in this story already. For others, buckle up. You are about to get a crash course in my history with automobiles.

January 2000 - My parents are nice enough to make the initial purchase of a Honda Civic for me. This car serves two purposes. It’s insanely generous Christmas/ college graduation gift. It’s also a motivator because I have to start making the monthly finance payments the second I graduate college meaning I can’t slack off.

June 2002 - A recycling truck backs over front of Civic, crushing the hood and my confidence in the Jackson Township Department of Public Works. After this, the air conditioner never quite works right, the car always shakes at any speed over 70mph and the headlights point more up than out making everyone think I am high beaming them.

June 2003 - During a thunderstorm, a tree branch falls through the back windshield causing extensive damage and also prompting a friend of mine to claim it was a 12 year old kid who had taken a 30 pound branch and hurled it through the back of my car. (it just fell off a tree). While getting it repaired, the jackass car guy doesn’t seal the window correctly. Torrential downpour. Another buddy of mine sits in the backseat which actually makes a sloshing sound it is so wet. Car forever smells like wet moldy towels.

August 2004 - I pay car off and famously (and sarcastically) claim, "It’s paid off, now I will probably total it.”

September 2004 - Car is totaled when some idiot rear ends me on the Parkway. Trunk disappears as do my dreams of going through just one month of no car payment.

November 2004 - Purchase Toyota Matrix. Walk out to school parking lot to see a massive dent in the rear passenger side door. I leave note in teacher's lounge and office of school threatening to murder the person who did it. Surprisingly no one fesses up.

October 2005 - On Halloween Day I come outside to find car egged from the previous Mischief Night. After closer inspection it appears my car is the only one on the block to suffer this fate. I conveniently forget all the houses and cars I egged on Mischief Night in North Plainfield and make mental note to beat up neighborhood kids.

March 2005 - Ground lights on car are stolen. I don't know why. I do not replace them as I didn't even realize they were there until I noticed them missing.

August 2006 - Some guy rear ends me while exiting off Parkway. Huge dent in trunk. We decide to keep insurance companies out of it. He writes me a check. I buy a new computer.

Why has all of this stuff happened to me? I am willing to ignore Occam's Razor (in this case: bad luck, something with my general care of automobiles) and go right to the universe conspiring against me. I was able to boil it down to three major things in my life that have caused the Gods of Automobiles to hold a pretty massive grudge. Here are my transgressions:

1. While in middle school, I vehemently resisted my parents purchasing a Ford Crown Victoria Wagon eventually making the argument that "it's the most embarrassing car in America." My parents ignore me and the Gods begin to take notice.

2. While on my paper route, the Gods decide to mete out a little revenge. I take too wide a turn on my bike and am actually hit by a car. The bike is totaled but, amazingly, I walk away unscathed. This just makes the Gods angrier.

3. I fail my first driver's license test in epic fashion when, after perfectly parallel parking, I run a red light, speed, and make and illegal left turn. Gods become even angrier at my apparent lack of respect for the road. They reach the boiling point when I do end up passing test with flying colors the second time around.

I am writing this newsletter as an apology. I am sorry Car Gods. Whatever I did to offend you was done unknowingly. I want to make amends now more than ever. It’s been awhile since any major car controversy and I can already see the writing on the wall. Something is going to happen and soon. Maybe it will be just a fender bender. Maybe it will be a crane dropping a steel beam and crushing the Matrix to oblivion. Maybe I will just walk outside and the car will be gone (the least likely of the three judging by its condition.) I don’t want any of these things to happen. I need this little baby to run for another 100k miles at least. This will give little Eirron enough to time claim his dad is buying the most embarrassing car in America.

Be good everyone. Coming next: The Gift Giving, Holiday Spectacular.

Small talk

2009-02-20T06:54:00.000-08:00

I don’t think I could ever become a successful politician.

**** Quick digression here before we even really get started. What is the minimum achievement or skill needed to be labeled a “politician?” Do you need to actually win a political race? Gain a political seat? Could I be considered a politician by just officially running in a lot of races even if I never emerged victorious? With that in mind, by definition I could give myself a number of different labels as long as I didn’t need to put “successful” in front of them. Example:
- Musician – I can play guitar
- Lady’s man – I got married
- Counselor – I give tons of great advice all of the time to everyone I know
- Comedian – I am hilarious
- Writer – I send emails like this one out to people I know

Something to think about when someone labels themselves.
******

Back to political aspirations. I would struggle with this as a career choice for a couple of fairly obvious reasons, but the main one would be: I am not great at talking to people I don’t know. If we know each other even a little bit, no problem, I can talk for hours about whatever you please. But if we just met or are sitting together somewhere? Forget it. I’ve got nothing. I clam up, have nothing to say, don’t want to know anything about you, don’t want to tell you anything about myself, and want the situation to end quickly. To this end, this is one of the reasons I do not want to ever go on a cruise with Sabrina. Once I was told that on cruises you have to eat meals with complete strangers. That little nugget alone was all the excuse I ever needed to never ever get on a cruise ship. The idea of night after night of worrying about where I was sitting for dinner would be more than I could handle.

Part of me just doesn’t see the point in small talk. Why do I want to get to know you if there is potential we will never see each other again? That’s like watching the first two episodes of a new show only to know it is getting cancelled before anything of substance happens. Small talk like that just seems pointless. Hence the long odds against a successful political career (forgetting the fact that I don’t know the first thing about politics). How would I ever campaign? I would walk up to someone’s door, introduce myself, stand in awkward silence for a minute or two until I handed them some literature, ask for the vote and leave. Not exactly Obama-like. So in the next couple of years if you see a campaign sign akin to:

Elect Norrie for Comptroller (or something similar)**

You know one of two things have happened. I have overcome my disdain for small talk or I am running on the “silence” campaign. Neither sounds too promising.

*** Wouldn’t this be great if the parenthetical addition were actually on a campaign sign? Like saying, “Vote for me for whatever you think I would be best at.”

Quick entertainment notes

- Tonight I will resume covering “Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles” for cinemablend.com if anyone is interested in reading about the struggle to save mankind from robots that used to sing for the band Garbage.

- Additionally, in March I will also begin covering the new animated sitcom The Good Family . It is a new show from Mike Judge of King of the Hill fame.

- If anyone watches 24 my buddy Mike is covering that show for cinemablend as well. After reading one of his reviews Sabrina asked me, "Is it bad that I liked his review better than watching the actual show? And I like really liked last night's episode."

Janbruary

2009-02-20T06:12:00.001-08:00

Every year I dread late January and all of February. Foremost, the weather is awful and has been especially cold in New Jersey over the last couple of weeks. Beyond that, this time of year is absolutely dead in terms of sports. Unless you are among the millions of Steelers fans or one of the seven Cardinals fans, there is very little to get excited about right now. NBA basketball, if you even follow it, doesn’t really kick into gear for another month, NCAA hoops hasn’t quite wrapped up its preseason before the madness that is March, hockey – never mind everyone hates hockey, women’s basketball, and baseball is still months away from meaning anything. Beyond that, I can’t even go out and play the sports I am good at: bocce ball, swimming pool basketball, or betting on horse races. Come to think of it, why do we even have this terrible section of the calendar?

Maybe it’s time to consolidate. That is what all of the economists are telling us to do right? Cut back. Save. Combine services. It’s time to do that with January and February. Would anyone even notice except to revel in the time that is Janbruary? Consider the implications of this new month. Get ready for it. We could kick it off with New Years, roll right into MLK weekend, and get a bunch of TV premieres to fill our nights. Just when we are getting back to work we chuck in Valentine’s Day to appease the lady folk (not mine, we don’t celebrate), roll through a weekend of playoff football, and then into the Super Bowl, which happens to combine with President’s weekend so now we have the Monday after the big game off and then bam! it’s March, the NCAA tournament is starting and St. Patty’s Day is just around the corner. Gasp. Who wouldn’t love this new month?

I was trying to think of examples of two (or more) crappy, terrible or useless things that when combined turn into an awesome pairing. It was harder than I thought so I enlisted my buddy James to help. Here is what we came up with:

- Horseshoes and stakes
- Slinkies and stairs
- Cheech and Chong
- Bricks to the face and the guy from the Sprint commercials who walks around in cities in his overcoat talking about how amazed he is at his company’s phones
- All of the people ever to appear on The Real World

I can’t find any fault in this month-merging plan at all and I encourage you to come up with any downside. Also if you can think of combinations of stupid things that make a great thing let me know. Until then, let’s make Janbruary happen.

Inauguration

2009-01-21T17:50:00.000-08:00

On Tuesday, Sabrina, and my buddy James and I were lucky enough to be in Washington, DC for the inauguration. (It wasn’t luck in the sense that we took a wrong turn and ended up in DC where something huge happened to be going on, but rather that we were lucky enough to be able to go). It was an amazing day. I wanted to just try and send out some of my thoughts and highlights to anyone interested. Lists always works for things like this, right? They are much easier than trying to recap the day in a narrative form. That would take actual skill.

One note: I have no way to describe the amount of people that we encountered on Tuesday. I read estimates of 2 million but honestly there is no way to describe being among this number of people so if sometimes I use thousands, hundreds of thousands, or millions I am using them interchangeably. The bottom line is: there were people everywhere.

- Happening upon the Presidential motorcade going by on Monday afternoon when we were doing a trial run through DC. Did you know you have to wave to President as he drives by so that Secret Service can see your hands? Me neither, until now.

- Getting up at 5 AM Tuesday morning. My cousin’s fiancé Kevin got up to drive us there. This was such an awesome thing for him to do considering he wasn’t going into the city and actually had the day off. (Kevin may or may not be a conservative. If so, then this act is exponentially more selfless).

- Entering DC in the dark with thousands of others at about 5:45 AM with absolutely no idea which direction to go. It was a bit confusing and intimidating as the streets were packed with people going all different directions. Plus it was dark, we had no map, and our plan in general lacked a certain amount of foresight. Luckily there were also thousands of policeman, military personnel and volunteers giving directions and advice along the way. No one ever made us feel bad for asking a question even when the answer was obvious. They even said, “Good morning” as you walked by. I thought this was amazing on the part of these people. It made getting to the capitol much less stressful.

- Walking on a closed down underground thruway with tons of people. It felt like a movie. We walked out up an exit ramp and ended up a block from the Mall.

- Getting on to the Mall and just seeing hundreds of thousands of smiling faces already there and waiting. It was 7AM and freezing.

- Camping out in front of a jumbotron. Looking one way and seeing the Capitol glowing in the morning light and the other way the Washington monument. Humbling.

- At about 8 AM the powers that be replayed the MLK Memorial concert from two days before. This got the crowd going. There is nothing like a million people singing “Shout” at the tops of their lungs. We have a video of it. Amazing. Also “American Pie” was another hit in the crowd. Good thing Garth Brooks didn’t sing all of the verses.

- Being in such a big crowd for so long can be daunting and patience testing. Not this crowd. Everyone was courteous, polite and just genuinely happy to be there. For all the people around us, it rarely seemed claustrophobic or intimidating.

- Lots and lots of colors.

- My second favorite part of the day. A couple in front of us had brought their two young children. When Obama gave his speech they each put a child on their shoulders so they could see the screen. The kids were young but I presume their parents wanted them to be able to say, “You were there. You saw this.” When the speech was over the husband turned around, tears in his eyes and kissed his wife.

- During this speech you could have literally heard a pin drop on the Mall. Millions of people just listening. The only sounds were the speakers and the occasional affirmation of the overall message.

- Before leaving the mall, James Sabrina and I just running around trying to get as many pictures as we could.

- My favorite part of the day. The reverend Joseph Lowery’s benediction. Here is a transcript and here is the video but the best part was these lines that he said in closing:

Lord, in the memory of all the saints who from their labors rest, and in the joy of a new beginning, we ask you to help us work for that day when black will not be asked to get back, when brown can stick around, when yellow will be mellow when the red man can get ahead, man and when white will embrace what is right. Let all those who do justice and love mercy say amen. (Because if you haven’t heard two million people say “Amen” in unison, well then you haven’t lived.)

Inauguration Pics

2009-01-21T17:49:00.001-08:00

Inauguration Pics

2009-01-21T17:48:00.001-08:00

Inauguration Pics

2009-01-21T17:32:00.000-08:00

Year End Awards

2008-12-23T04:21:00.000-08:00

What would the end of the year be without awards? What would the awards be if I didn't make a bunch up while I waited for Christmas break to start? We have a lot of awards to get to. Good luck getting through it. Without further ado :

The 2008 Doug Norrie Year End Awards!!!!!! Clap, clap, clap.

Person of the Year (Fictional character award):

Vic Mackey – no one had a more badass, manipulative, disaster of a year than this guy. If you don’t watch The Shield, well, I won’t ruin it for you. Let me just say that Pat Griffin wants nothing more than to be Vic Mackey and that alone makes him my POY.

Person of the Year (dedication to a cause award):

Joe Keiser – no single person has done more to advance the cause of Beer Pong and Beer Pong education than this man. In addition to holding the annual KeiserPong tournament (a yearly ritual in this family for sure) he has also expanded to the franchise to the KeiserPong Winter Invitational. Coming soon: KeiserPong: Elementary School Knockout!! Keep fighting the good fight my friend.

Movie of the Year (Only one I saw in the theater award):

Dark Knight. Assuming I get this thing out by the 23^rd, this will be my last shot at making sure this movie lands in my stocking Festivus morning. If not? Well, I don’t want to say that the holiday is ruined, but I really couldn’t have dropped anymore hints about this.

Douchebag of the Year (Creeping me out award):

Alex, my wedding videographer. Lots of candidates for this award. Some from today alone. But when you look like you finance your whole business with a secret kiddie porn operation, get cut off at the bar during the wedding for having 9 glasses of wine, push one of my guests out of the way for being “in the shot,” and just generally creep everyone out? Then you are a man among boys (probably literally).

Wedding Guest of the Year (No Show Award):

Danny Difabio in a walk. He spent our wedding at the bar about ½ mile away while my best man Pat ate his meal. Nice job. (added award to his wife Kelly for not murdering him on site) In awards given out before the ceremony Danny also walked away with the Clutch Plumbing Award and Ponytail Award.

Engagement of the Year (Secrecy Award):

Justin Starling. At our party the other night he conveniently went the whole time without telling anyone he had just asked his longtime girlfriend Amanda to marry him. Huh? I guess the talk about our fantasy football teams and the Ravens/ Cowboys game were just a little more important. Congrats my friend!

Forward thinking of the Year (Colleague courtesy award):

Anthony Carsillo. As a fellow male teacher, Anthony had the foresight to stock the only men’s faculty bathroom with magazines and air freshener. Nice.

Dog of the Year (independence award):

This one was difficult as there were many new dog additions to my group of friends and family. After much deliberation the winner is Bentley Carruthers. Bentley won for being the one dog in the group that just does whatever the f@#k it wants. Plain and simple. I aspire to be Bentley. Head out the window, wind in my floppy ears and just chewing whatever couch happens to be in the room. He’s a top dog in my book.

Retirement Announcement of the Year (Unclear if my mom knew it was coming award):

To my dad: The Reverend Jack Norrie for stepping down from the pulpit and into the unknown. No one could put me to sleep faster than my dad when he got up there for the sermon. It took my years to come to my senses and realize I was missing some really good stuff. Me think me learn gift of words from me dad.

Bravest Guy of the Year (Arachnid fighting award):

To the stoic Mexican resort worker unlucky enough to draw the short straw and have to come to our room to kill the scorpion on the drapes. Faced with the deadly beast and with Sabrina and I screaming “MIRA MUERTE! MIRA MUERTE!” (we thought we were saying we wanted to see it dead, but I think were screaming “WE SEE DEATH!!”) he calmly hit it with a towel, took it to the hall and killed it. My man was cool, calm and collected.

Moment of the Year (Personal happiness award):

Goes in a landslide to the Giants winning the Super Bowl. I haven’t been that happy in a long, long time. Distant second: my wedding.

Book of the year (One I almost bought as a joke award):

Monday Night Jihad by Jason Elam. A book about a Muslim terrorist threat at a football game thwarted by a player/ government operative written by an NFL kicker? Surprised Oprah didn’t latch on to this bad boy. I was going to make a joke about a possible sequel, but when I found the book on its website I discovered there actually is a sequel. It seems linebacker Riley Covington is back to play some football and kick some terrorist ass. (I laughed out loud typing this whole paragraph)

Conversation of the Year (I wish I had the transcript award):

Goes to the conversation I had with Colin Walsh about music at the New Year’s party last year. I was on complete fire. Witty, smart, funny, introspective, and had no one else jumping in with their inferior opinions. I walked away amazed and thoroughly impressed with my intellect and verbal prowess. Unfortunately, I can’t remember anything I said because it was about 6 hours and 15 drinks into the party.

Injury of the Year (Ridiculous award):

To the herniated disc I suffered on the drive home from my bachelor party. I got it from sleeping passed out hunched forward for about an hour and a half. All three guys in the car agreed, “It looked like you were dead.” Great weekend.

TV Show of the Year (Cultural Advancement Award)

Hole in the Wall. If you haven’t seen this show, well you are really missing out. I could take a page just describing the levels of disaster occurring on this show and it wouldn’t do it justice. Bottom line: people with IQs below the retardation line, trying to contort to fit in a various holes in a moving wall? Masterpiece Theater watch your back.

Announcement of the Year (Knowing is half the battle award)

The upcoming GI Joe movie. I am not sure if I have ever been more excited for a movie. As long as they have the B.A.T.S and Zartan I will be good.

And Finally...

Visual of the Year (Children are our future award)

To the kid I saw unabashedly humping a giant Stewie doll at Great Adventure for at least 15 minutes while his parents and about 50 others watched in horror. My sister-in-law has video confirmation of this. It was intense, unapologetic and very, very disturbing. Great Adventure was full of unforgettable white trash moments, but this one wins in a romp.

It’s been a great year. More newsletters to come in 2009. Thanks for reading, sending along your comments, and not asking me to remove you from the mailing list! I love you all.

A fellow sufferer

2008-12-16T16:37:00.000-08:00

From the one and only Albert Hernandez:

Hey all I got to say is gambling is a sin. But i broke that sin and every other sin that there is a long time ago. But your wrong Doug. You go thru so much pain even if you win. I was crying the whole night watching Eli get sacked and have him start in my fantasy. I still won but only by three points but i went thru so many emotions and I almost started to wonder is it worth all this pain and suffering to win one game. Now I feel like I wish I had lost so I don't have to endure all the pain again in the champion rd. and what makes it worst is if i lose I will come in second and I will be even more upset that I was this close to winning it all and lost.

Well said brother

Football Season

2008-12-16T06:53:00.001-08:00

I shouldn’t gamble. At all. Ever. I don’t have a gambling problem. Far from it. I never make bets on games. I don’t go to casinos. I don’t check betting lines and have never had a bookie. I play a little poker, run the NCAA tournament brackets for my work and participate in fantasy baseball and football. That is about it. So why is it a problem? Let me walk you through my day Sunday. Woke up. Ate breakfast. Drank my coffee. Checked email. Went out and looked for the cheapest Christmas tree I could find. Sat and cursed at the TV and computer for ten straight hours as I watch my fantasy football season end in crushing fashion. That pretty much encapsulates all of my Sundays during fantasy football season.

Sunday I lost in the semifinals of my home league for a number of different reasons including: bad roster choices, bad luck, the universe conspiring against me, whatever god you worship hating me, the Cowboy's Tashard Choice, being jinxed because I didn’t help Sabrina decorate the Christmas tree, 8 years of the Bush presidency, broccoli, the stock market, the kid that stole my bike in 8th grade and snakes. All of these things factored in equally in my loss yesterday. As I sat and lamented this devastating series of events I thought, “This is supposed to be fun?” Even when I was winning, my Sunday (a beautiful day in the GW) was ruined as I sat nauseously through a day of football. It was anything but fun. It was torture.

A friend and I were talking this weekend about gambling and he said that problem gamblers have an addiction because there are times where the losses have more rush than the wins. What? I can say assuredly that the rule does not apply to me. As Tashard Choice scampered 38 yards into the end zone at the end of the Giants-Cowboys game Sunday night, and Sabrina curled into a protective ball on the couch lest she get hit with a stray flying pillow, remote or expletive during my Tazmanian devil-like destruction of the living room, I thought, “Today sucked.” (Would this read differently had I won? Of course but my mood the rest of the day was unchanged.)

In the end, I think I have learned some things about myself, foremost being I may not be cut out for high pressure, nerve racking situations. (In this instance the high pressure situation was watching grown dudes run around a field tackling each other). What will I do about it going forward? Probably very little as I am sure next fall you will find me in my basement, holding the draft, making fun of Albert for choosing Ahmad Bradshaw in the third round and thinking, “God I love this time of year."

Writer's Bloc? Try Time Travel

2008-12-12T05:53:00.000-08:00

This article is posted at Cinemablend.com/television

During the first season of Heroes, I, like many others, used to think about which super power I would most enjoy exploiting for my own personal gain. (Eliminate Peter and Sylar’s powers as those are cop outs akin to asking the genie for more wishes) At first Nathan’s flying ability seemed appealing as I could do the traveling my wife always wants to do. Then it was Jessica’s super strength making armed robbery a cinch. Parkman’s mind reading abilities were also right up my alley, but then I realized Parkman’s real ability was to make me want to shut the TV off every time he came on. Finally, I settled on Hiro and the power to travel infinitely through time and space; the best, most prolific and easily exploitable power. Gambling, vacations, more gambling, practical jokes. The world would have been my oyster. Unfortunately, while Hiro’s ability seems the most advantageous, it is also the very power the show’s writers should never have introduced.

Time travel is a tricky thing (Just ask Marty McFly and Doc Brown). Unlimited time travel in a TV series is a nightmare. In movies, time travel has constraints because of production length and story. We can find holes but just as we are asking our questions, the end tidies up and the credits roll. (example: Wait a second how is John Connor’s father from the future? F-it who cares that movie was awesome!) Not so the case in television. Consider this email I sent to Cinema Blend’s TV editor Kelly West, about why I stopped watching Heroes:

I stopped watching Heroes about 4 weeks ago because of this very problem. I just felt the show was stuck in this endless loop of: save the future, go back to the past, mess something up, try again, deal with another annoying Parkman arc, back to the future, realize they failed, start again. I just gave up.

Too bad because that show's first season was excellent. All down hill from there.For big Heroes fans out there Kelly swears the last few episodes have been great, but for me it is ruined. Heroes established a power with so many infinite possibilities and limited constraints that it matters little what happens from episode to episode. When in doubt, screw it, send Hiro or Peter back to figure out how to change it. Or send them forward in time to figure out what the future holds. Good for gamblers; bad for TV.

Time travel on TV needs rules. The rules need to be set early and deviating from them can cause problems. On Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles time travel is used as a link from the future, but not as a two-way portal. In essence, the writers use the concept on a functional level. Machines and resistance fighters return to the present to protect their future interests. This link to the future provides the characters with goals to work towards and information on how to complete missions. The show even touches on the idea that things the characters do to stop Judgment Day may just be an exercise in futility. Everyone is racing back to stop the other side from winning but we (viewers) are slowly learning that the little battles being fought rarely stop the time-honored march of inevitability. (I mean if they stop the machines for good the show would just end wouldn’t it?) In the end, time travel acts as a means to an entertaining end. We aren’t left considering its implications because it rarely affects the overall story.

In another example take the cut-too short show Journeyman. Dan Vasser suffers from literal bouts of uncontrollable time travel. Much like Quantum Leap, he gets a funny feeling, and seconds later vanishes back into the past to work on some sort of job to help the future. He has to determine his mission in each episode, and doesn’t know when or why he’ll zip back in time. The show had just started working on the future implications of his actions (the shifts in time lines and time theory) when it was canceled thus leaving the 4 of us (my wife and I and probably some other loser couple out there) that watched it to only wonder. Regardless, because his power held him powerless the writers were held relatively in check.

Back to Heroes. Maybe they have addressed some of these issues in the last few weeks when I haven’t watched. I doubt it. Any scaling back to the time travel aspect of the show would just seem to be damage control at this point. They already screwed the pooch. Tip to future TV writers: handle time travel carefully. Once you start fiddling you can’t go back. (pun?)

Ahh the gift of giving

2008-12-08T05:46:00.001-08:00

Hey Doug,
I have a torturous gift-giving experience. I was actually on the giving end for this one. My grandma is a silly 91 year old that has lived with my family all my life. Like most senior citizens she loves Bea Arthur so I figured I'd get a little nostalgic. On one of my frequent trips through Best Buy last year I picked her up the first season of Maude DVD. You may have heard a clip from Family Guy or O&A recently but for those of you unfamiliar with the program here's a little taste of the theme song, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NglGyn8yE20 . Now just imagine having to be subjected to this gem in blaring 5.1 surround sound. It’s no box of crap but for the auditory senses it’s very comparable.
Later,Carsillo

The family with actual dogs

2008-12-04T19:58:00.000-08:00

Tis the season

2008-12-04T11:50:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone enjoyed their holiday as much as I did. Highlights included: A record 3 naps at Sabrina’s grandmother’s on Thursday, an awesome second Thanksgiving at my parents’ complete with a frenzied dog show (cast included one of these , one of these , add in this little guy , and finish it off with this), a two month belated surprise birthday party on Saturday night and a day of football and general sloth on Sunday. All in all the weekend was everything dreamt of and more.

As we enter the season of excessive gift-giving, gift paranoia, stress shopping, 24 hour showings of A Christmas Story , and general complaining about a holiday season that should be the best ever, but is turned inside-out by expectations I think it is important to stop and reflect. Reflect on what it means to give and receive. Reflect on family and why they are so important and how much they love us. To illustrate this I have brought in a guest contributor for this edition. When I first heard this story over the summer I thought it was too good to not share with the masses. I tried thinking of ways to convey it properly, couldn’t, and just decided to have Ashley do the honors herself. A couple of quick things to know beforehand: Ashley’s birthday falls very close to Christmas, Rich is her stepfather, Taylor is her sister and Shadow is her family dog. With out further ado, Ashley Comaites:

It was, I think, my 14th or 15th birthday. We were sitting in the living room under the Christmas tree (my birthday presents were always kept under there) and I had just finished opening all of my gifts. Rich left the room and came back with another box that he had found. These were always the best gifts, the "surprise" ones that parents pretend they forgot about. So I was naturally very excited. I was sitting on the floor and Shadow came running over and sat right next to me. He just stared eagerly at the box. This led me to believe it was some awesome gift, and Shadow inherently knew it. So I was super excited to open it. The whole time Shadow sat next to me seeming very intrigued. Rich and Taylor could hardly contain their excitement. I tore open the gift, expecting possibly the best gift of my life. It turned out to be Shadow’s poop wrapped up nicely in a box. Taylor and Rich couldn’t stop laughing, my mom couldn’t hide her disgust, and I was just shocked and disappointed. I think it was Rich's idea, with Taylor backing him up and making him follow through on it.

On that note, let’s gear up for the holiday season. Get those gift ideas ready. If anyone has a comparable gift-giving example like this please send them in. I will post them.

Like TV?

2008-12-02T06:20:00.000-08:00

I wanted to let you all know that I am now currently contributing to the website www.cinemablend.com . It is an entertainment website. The section I contribute to is the television section and I am covering Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. If you have any interest my first submission is up today. Just trying to hit my readership :)

I should have a new article up every Tuesday morning.

Turkey Day

2008-11-18T07:53:00.001-08:00

A few weeks ago I expounded on the idiocy of Boss’s Day . (Update on this: my boss did not show up for our employee-run Boss’s Day celebration so that was a nice kick in the butt). At the time I mentioned my favorite holiday: Thanksgiving. So many factors go into making this holiday above and beyond that I get excited for it months in advance. The excess food, the football, the way I’m not forced to open the chastity lock on my wallet for gifts, the food, the requisite food-induced-coma (or FIC as I say to Sabrina), the family I guess, the leftover food, the four and half day weekend, the Wednesday night bar reunion, the football game I used to play before my body rejected its athleticism, and the food. God I love Thanksgiving.

A huge added bonus to Thanksgiving around the Norrie family is that we get, not one but, two holidays. When my sister used to work at the hospital her shift would fall on Thanksgiving. Not wanting to jip my sister out of complaining about all the calories in a Thanksgiving dinner, my mom decided to do Turkey day on Friday. This alleviated the problem for Sabrina and me about what family to spend the holiday with; we got both. This has turned into tradition and we (me and my stomach) get Thursday with the Koesters and Friday with the Norries. Two turkeys, two sets of stuffing, two days of sloth, and two FICs. Happy Thanksgiving!

Worse Gym Experiences?

2008-11-06T21:41:00.000-08:00

From Kelly B
"I was just at the gym. My selection was National Geographic (dated 2001), an AARP magazine and a JCrew catalog. I decided to lift."

From the Fuzzer
"You could come and exercise at the gym in Berks County, here is your selection:

Cabellas 2008 catalog
Star Magazine
Bow Hunter Monthly
Reader's Digest (Would have been acceptable but is was SOAKING WET! Sauna proof, I think not)

The Issues

2008-11-06T10:58:00.001-08:00

Originally I was going to write a newsletter with the title Obama Wins: Millions of Overly-Hyperbolic Americans Alleviated from Actually Having to Follow Through on Their Promise to Move out of the Country but the title was hard enough to come up with and in all honesty I did not want to make light of such a historic day in our country. (Alternate title: McCain loses: Norries thank God Mom Isn't Forced to Keel Over and Die.)

So I thought I could focus on another issue weighing on me lately (mostly just today); the magazine selection at my gym (that sentence just looks loaded with puns now doesn't it.) Now I dislike working out. My aversion to exercising is not in the form of competitive sports, mind you, but rather getting on things like treadmills, bikes, elliptical machines and just robotically moving my limbs in such a way to cause calorie burn off. My herniated disc gave me a nice excuse to do nothing for about 4 months, but that is over now. Exercising is an ongoing battle. Hell, between my Senior and Freshman years I put on about 15 pounds. (this is in reference to the senior year of my 20's and the freshman year of my 30's). The only way I can get into the gym and maintain the motion required to actually exercise is to read a magazine while doing so. So how do you think I felt when I perused the magazine rack today at the Bally's in Clark? Dissappointed to say the least. A crappy sampling:

Surf Magazine
Drag Racer
Making Music (at least 10 copies)
Shape (this makes sense I guess)
Road and Track
The Sports Illustrated College Football Preview (dated 8/11/08)

That's about it. If I was not paid through January I probably would have cancelled my membership right there. It is is a miracle I got up on the treadmill at all. Relentless self-motivation I guess. I understand magazines are going the way of the dinosaur (like telephone booths and ER) but until they install computer screens with high speed internet connections on this gym equipment Bally's is going to need to step up its game. How am I supposed to lose weight?

Luckily I brought last week's issue of Time about the presidential election. I think I read enough today to make an informed decision.

Upcoming...

2008-11-04T06:44:00.001-08:00

My Election Day extravaganza where I talk about how I watched Dexter, voted, played poker, went out for half priced sushi and just thanked the higher ups that they saw this as a "whole day off" kind of thing. USA! USA! USA!

This might be why I hate dressing up

2008-10-29T18:19:00.001-07:00

My mom sent me these. Presumably to hammer home the traumatic reason I do not want to dress up for Halloween. Notice the reuse of the clown costume from me to my sister. Also pay close attention to the Superman/ Batman combination I sport in the second picture. It is worth it to note though that this homemade red cape I wore actually made me invincible. Too bad I outgrew it.

Professor Norrie Weighs in on all the mistakes I made

2008-10-29T06:49:00.000-07:00

Hi – Three things. First of all, that Fire Alarm event happened while we were living in Long Branch, not Palatine. I remember it clearly.

The second thing is if you won a creativity award for my design, then where is my trophy?!?!?

Thirdly, Winston Churchill was probably one of the greatest persons of the 20th. Century, and is one of the people I want to meet in heaven. He was a class act. When visiting with FDR at the White House during WW II, he would sleep until noon and then take a long bath. FDR, if he wanted to meet with Churchill would have to be wheeled into the bathroom where he would talk with Churchill while Churchill soaked naked in a hot tub, smoking a cigar, and drinking gin. Amazing the allies won WWII. He also made some of the most memorable quotes. About the Royal Air Force he said, “Never have so many, (the English people) owed so much (their lives), to so few (the airmen)”. When running for Prime Minister he said, “All I have to offer is blood, sweat, toil and tears”. When speaking of the resolve of the British people during WWII he said, “If the British Empire should last for a thousand years, men (sic) will still say this was her finest hour.” Good stuff. - Dad.

Trauma

2008-10-28T11:00:00.001-07:00

Back in 1983, I was a kindergartner at Winston Churchill Elementary School in Palatine, Illinois. (Why a Midwestern elementary school was named after a 1940's and 50’s English Prime Minister is beyond me) Anyway, one day in kindergarten I grabbed a copy of Where the Wild Things Are, told the teacher to hold my phone calls, and headed for the bathroom to take care of business. (I like to think I announced going to the bathroom then, the same way I do it now.)

While I was in the bathroom the fire alarm went off. The effect was life-changing. I got up but could not get out of the bathroom. The door was jammed, the fire alarm kept blaring and I just pictured myself burning to a crisp in a kindergarten bathroom of all places. From that day forward I refused to go to the bathroom in school and still hate fire alarms. In that same kindergarten class they also forced us to try tofu for the first time. Why? I don't know, but the effect was equally traumatizing to the point where today Sabrina still needs to "sneak" tofu into meals just to get me to try it.

A quarter a century later here I am still hating fire drills and tofu. Well really I just hate the idea of them more than I actually hate the reality of them.

That brings me to the point of this newsletter: Halloween. I hate, hate, hate dressing up for Halloween. Or at least I hate the idea of wearing a costume. I have felt this way for awhile. The last time I enthusiastically dressed up for the holiday was in 6th grade when I went to school dressed as a cemetery. My dad took an old cardboard box and cut the sides in a way that made each face look like a different gravestone. I won an award for creativity. Since that day I have dressed up exactly 3 times for Halloween. Two you can read about HERE and the third was last year when a friend and I went to a party dressed as the guys from the "Dick in a Box" Video.

See, for tofu and fire alarms I can trace my aversion back to a single moment. For Halloween the reason is less clear. There must be a reason I hate the dressing up but I don't know it. But that is just it. Maybe like tofu and alarms I hate the idea more than I hate the actual thing. That is why this year I am willingly and excitedly donning a costume for a Halloween party! I am going as a railway worker! (I am trying to convince Sabrina to go as the actually train tracks. There are so many jokes for this scenario that I might explode). Does this mean I am growing as a person? I’ll still consciously pass on the tofu but slowly and surely the big guy is finally growing up. Happy Halloween!

Cheerleaders

2008-10-24T08:19:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago in my autobiography post I mentioned a possible title as “All the teachers are dressing as cheerleaders.” This elicited some responses asking for an explanation. Here goes:

During my first year of teaching I was clueless. My main concerns were not upsetting anyone and not standing out from the crowd. Being the only male (save the principal) in the school this made some aspects of the job difficult. I used to call it reverse sexism. There were tons of examples that I won’t go in to but Halloween was a challenge. At the time I was told that the principal expected teachers to all dress up for the holiday. What did I know? I had only been there two months, wanted to get tenured and didn’t want to be a rabble-rouser. The teachers came up with a theme for that year. And that theme was “cheerleaders.” What made this decision even more egregious and sexist was that they chose the theme while I sat right in front of them. I felt sick to my stomach. Cheerleaders?!

In my seven years of teaching this still stands as the most frustrating and difficult decision I have faced (it’s been a pretty easy run). I didn’t even know, if I did dress up, how I would dress as a cheerleader. In the end I wore sweatpants, sweatshirt and prayed to god that no parent would ask what my costume was. Here is a picture I found of that day. You can see the effort I put in.

I only told Sabrina about this costume choice. What a mistake. She told a couple of my friends and I was left this message on my cell phone from my buddy James:

“Cheerleader huh? Nice job. I’m sure your father would be very proud. His only son, a cheerleader.”

In the years since I have come to my senses about dressing up for Halloween. I sent out an email this year saying I was dressing as “dignity.” For this costume I would wear my regular work shirt and tie and therefore maintain my dignity. (Last year I was integrity) That being said I didn’t learn my lesson quick enough about Halloween as evidenced below when the next year we dressed as crayons. I love teaching.

It's a celebration b*****es

2008-10-21T06:26:00.000-07:00

If it were up to me we would only celebrate or observe two holidays: Thanksgiving and my birthday. Unfortunately the overly festive nature of this country precludes this from happening. We are inundated with contrived holidays like Arbor Day, Groundhog Day, etc. (A topic for another day is “How I Got My Wife to Eschew Valentine’s Day")

But of all the hair-brained holidays and reasons to “celebrate” THIS has to be the worst. Boss’s Day?! What brown noser came up with this you ask? THIS person, that’s who. I can't believe this got on any calendar. Only a governing body full of bosses could allow this to happen. What a collective kick in the crotch this is to the American workforce. A holiday like this makes me think we will celebrate anything. We actually observe it in our school. That is how I knew about its existence. My favorite part of the wiki explanation is how employees are encouraged to give a small gift and work extra hard that day. That made me literally laugh out loud.

In honor of this I have come up with some comparable holidays. By the way, creating an official holiday is difficult and time consuming. I know because I did some research on how to create "National Boss Stay at Home Day." It sounded like more effort than I was willing to put in. Just getting started meant calling a local congressman. Even that seemed like too much work. Anyway on to the list:

National Natural Disaster Day: Where we celebrate all of the joys brought to us by hurricanes, tornados, earthquakes, etc. You could celebrate by coming to work, walking into a co-workers office or cubicle and breaking something that they cherish.

National Slow Driver Day: Where we thank all of the slow drivers that help keep our roads safe and us just 5-10 minutes late for that important meeting. We will celebrate by driving 45mph in the left lane, keeping our blinker on for 4-5 miles at a time and letting in every car from every parking lot we pass. Plenty of people in Jersey observe this holiday daily during my afternoon commute.

National Give it Away Day: Do not confuse this with some kind of charitable donation day. No, on this day you celebrate by going around to your peers and basically giving away the endings to books or movies they have not seen or read. My dad celebrates this about 8-9 days a year.

Autobiography Follow-Up

2008-10-16T14:45:00.000-07:00

Got some great responses to the autobiography. Some people wrote some of their own and some added to mine. Most people just wrote to confirm how f--ing hilarious and talented I am. No real surprise there.

Additions to my autobiographical titles: (Again with The Doug Norrie Story attached at the end)

"I'm Sure It Will Turn Up Somewhere:" (Courtesy of my mom)
"What Makes You Think I Want to Talk to You Anyway:" (thanks Fuzz)
"I Never Really Liked the Red Sox Anyway:" (Mike Pac)
"How to Marry a Woman 10 Times Better Looking Than I am:" (backhanded compliment? from Nate C.)

People's own they sent in:

"I Really Wish I Had Thought About That Before I Said It: The Katie Carruthers Story"

"I Swear Officer It Isn't Mine: The Anthony Carsillo Story"

"My Book: The Michael Pacchione Story"

He explains: In case this title sounds stupid consider being able to say, "Well, in My Book" but its referring to your actual book title, not some fictitious book of opinions.

"How I Managed to Avoid Growing Up By Staying in School: The Nate Carlin Story"
Keep sending them in. I will put them up here.

A Doug's Life

2008-10-16T06:33:00.001-07:00

I would love to write a book. The idea of having something formally published just seems so scholarly and advanced. I imagine the life of a writer to be spent drinking coffee and waking up late on weekdays while the rest of the world speeds by in a rush to go to work. (I guess I mostly just want an excuse to not go to work) I have even tried sitting down and writing some stories and or bits of a novels to no avail. Newsflash: writing is hard. Making it readable? That is even harder. I know my limitations. One of them is creativity when it comes to creating characters, setting, plot etc. I read somewhere once that these are fairly important elements of a story. Who knew? Anything I write comes out sounding or being about things I have done in my life or people I have known. I can’t step out of the box. This brings me to the conclusion that anything I write will be autobiographical. This presents its own set of problems but at least I won’t have to sit around trying to make stuff up. With this in mind I have come up with some working titles of my autobiography

(read each of these with “:The Doug Norrie Story” right after them):

“Balding in America , A View from the Top:”

“All of the Teachers are Dressing as Cheerleaders for Halloween:”

“It’s Cool as Long as I Don’t Need to Take My Shirt Off:”

“You Think You’ve Had Car Problems?:”

“Where’d All My Socks Go?:”

“What Happened? I Fell Asleep:”

Coming soon to the clearance isle at a Barnes and Noble near you.

(If anyone wants to send me the working title for their own autobiography please do. I can think of a bunch for friends of mine. Also if you can think of better ones for me feel free. No one can fake laugh at themselves and then hold a lifetime grudge better than me.

Penny Pictures

2008-10-08T10:43:00.001-07:00

These are a couple of pictures drawn by my buddy Alex. This might be the most penny-inspired art in the history of the world. Good thing I didn't have him illustrate my "Naked Gym Guy" post from last year.

A Dollar for My Thoughts

2008-10-06T15:48:00.001-07:00

5 things that have annoyed me the most since my last newsletter:

1. NJ.com's continued insistence on publishing all things Springsteen, including this little nugget . Thanks Boss!

2. The worthless Vice Presidential debate preempting The Office last Thursday.

3. The traffic light at the corner of Central Ave and Terminal Rd in Clark (ongoing)

4. The cats living in my neighborhood that use our garden as their litter box (also ongoing)

5. The announcement of THIS . - For those that don't get where I am going with this, it is the US issuing a commemorative penny. A PENNY!!! AARRGGHHH!

When I first heard about this I almost lost my mind. Ask my students. I railed about this for like 10 minutes to a group of shocked, and most likely terrified, fifth graders. I have been a penny basher for years. Any currency that most people would rather put in the garbage than in a piggy bank has no value. Right now it ranks only slightly above a bottle cap. (I bet on most college campuses it ranks significantly below the bottle cap actually).

Please send me a list of anything of merit you can buy for a quarter or less (gumball machine gum aside James) and I will happily send you the big rusty bag of pennies Sabrina and I for some reason still have in our basement. I would say that besides the TV game show "Hole in the Wall," the penny is the stupidest thing we have going in America right now. (Sidenote: When I first saw this TV show I turned to Sabrina and said, "This is why the terrorists hate us.")

I know my ideas aren't new here when it comes to the penny. Rational minds are arguing against it right now. So altogether lets just say "No" to the penny. If not, well then just save up 40,000,000 of them and you can buy a nice little cape in Cranford.

The Garden State

2008-10-06T15:31:00.001-07:00

Oh New Jersey . Why do you do his to me? Sabrina and I always joke about the website NJ.com. For those that do not know about it is the website powered by the Star Ledger (by far the biggest paper in New Jersey ) and every other fledgling/dying newspaper in the state. Basically it acts as a one stop shop for everything Garden State . The jokes we make about it often revolve around how the site never seems to have enough content to sustain as a true - highly trafficked news source. Some days a headline will read "Major Drug Bust in Newark nets Gang Members" but then an hour later the main headline will read "Hey Jerseyans- Send us you shore pics!" Huh?! How am I supposed to take this site seriously? Send us pictures of yourself to put up? This isn't Facebook people. It is supposed to be a reputable site for news. I thought about this today as a I perused the front page (yes I still read it religiously mostly looking to see if my town is mentioned in any mafia related arrests ) . At the bottom is a section titled "New Jersey Living." Here is a sample of links to click on. Tell me which one seems a bit odd. Fashion, Shopping, Home and Garden, Travel, Springsteen. ??!! There is a whole link for a person. Here are some sample headlines one can enjoy when clicking the link:

"Bruce writes a song for new movie"

"Saturday's Milwaukee setlist"

"No Bruce at the Democratic National Convention"

All of these headlines are just from the last two weeks and believe me there are many more.

I am beside myself. Amazingly enough this is par for the course when it comes to NJ.com. Sabrina and I will also joke that when their webmasters are in doubt the front page will give us some random news about the Boss (or if they are really hard up a quick note about Bon Jovi although he runs a distant, distant second).

As if New Jersey did not have enough stereotypes with the Turnpike, Parkway, mafia, pollution, etc we need NJ.com perpetuating them. That being said when you are ready to buy a home here let me know. What a great place to live!

Love and Marriage

2008-10-06T15:29:00.000-07:00

Its been an interesting summer to say the least. Lets take a quick link and parentheses -filled tour through my summer before we get to the good stuff. It started with a bachelor-party-induced herniated disc. (Not as crazy as it sounds) Then I spent a couple of weeks here belaying this guy's son up and down a rock wall. Was able to squeeze in a quick wedding (slide show takes about 5 minutes) to Sabrina. Was the best man in a wedding two weeks later where I lost the best man speech 10 minutes before show time (found it in my back pocket later that night). On to another wedding in Boston where Sabrina got to see this place for the first time (from the outside at least). And it is off to sunny Mexico next week to cap it all off. Phew!

This summer got me thinking about how great it was to get married. Besides the love and lifetime commitment part (blah-blah-blah) marriage and the process of getting married fills a very specific purpose for me. I like to be good at things. In fact there are certain things I like to think I excel at. Baseball analysis. Scrabble. Bocce Ball. Excelling at these things allows me to do something else I love: Dispense unwanted and unneeded advice about them to anyone within earshot. And now I can do that about marriage. I am an expert. Like I said, this includes the actual wedding aspect and the role of husband. I hit grand slams in both. That being said I will offer you some advice on both. Read closely and remember its an expert talking.

Wedding ceremony/reception
- Think twice about planning outdoor wedding in the middle of July. Weather forecasters are not wrong about the heat. Tuxedo jackets do not cool you down.
- Go ahead and practice the vows beforehand. This saves you having to ask the officiant twice to repeat a line because you realized you weren't really listening.
- When your cousins fiance tells you he got the same wedding ring as you resist the urge to smugly tell him what a "deal" you got on it. This can end with him telling you sheepishly he got it for half the price.
- And finally: Pre-screen your vendors. This saves you from a Gallagher look alike showing up to videotape the whole thing

Being a husband:
- Do everything you used to do except occasionally remind your wife that she is married to you now, lest she think it is an easy get away.
- Dispense marriage advice to all of your single friends. They love it.
- When a disagreement occurs, take it from me there is nothing a round of rock, paper, scissors can't solve.

What's in a name?

2008-10-06T15:26:00.000-07:00

When it comes to having kids I have two dreams. The first is to have quintuplets so I can have enough same-aged little tikes to coach them in basketball without anyone else’s kids corrupting my starting five with their non-athleticism. The second is less farfetched. In fact it’s perfectly reasonable. It is to one day have a son and name him Eirron. Many of you have heard me go on and on about the advantages of having a palindromic name. (Most of these reasons center on the “Wouldn’t it be awesome” argument.) If you’ve heard me make my point for this name, you have always heard my fiancé’s staunch stance against it. She wasn’t even able to get on board after I offered to drop Racecar as his middle name. She has never offered any reasoning behind her refusal. To me it seems a “no just to say no” defense.

This kind of disagreement takes me back to when we first started dating x years ago. At the time she flatly refused to partake in any celebratory moves when something exciting happened. These included, but were not limited to: high-fives, low fives, fist pumps or double fist pumps. Whenever I held my hand up to her to celebrate something she would smile, look at me pityingly, grab my hand and say, “Yay.” No return gesture. That didn’t stop me though. I never gave up. Even knowing the non response coming, I continued offering the hand or the fist and slowly but surely wore her down. It started small. After a couple of years she high-fived me back without thinking and I knew I had won. I whittled her down so much that now I even get random fist pumps from her!

Long story short that is my plan for my first son’s name. We aren’t having kids anytime soon so I figure I have time. Little by little we’ll get there and I can’t wait for the day his kindergarten teacher reads roll call, realizes what he/she is looking at, looks at my son and thinks, “Wow, that’s the best name I have ever seen.” Front wards and backwards.

(And if my plan doesn’t work I have a backup plan. His name will be Sammy C. Norrie. The C will stand for Claus and I will have little problem convincing him he is related to Santa. That should make him a legend until about 2^nd grade. After that, maybe not so much).

Some Random Thoughts

2007-03-12T17:19:00.000-07:00

1. I want to name my first born son Eirron Norrie. Can you figure out why?

2. First day of soccer coaching today. Let just say when half the kids run around with their hands in their pockets and one is more excited about picking up the cones than playing, well there is some work to do.

3. I came very close to become a playground legend today (about 19 years after it really matters). With about 50 kids watching I took a kickball, and from about 60-70 feet away threw it baseball style towards the basket. My first thought was, "this thing has a chance," and as it got closer I was convinced it was in. The distance seemed good and it was definetly on target. It ended up hitting the very front of the rim and bouncing out. So close to immortality I could almost taste it.

Love and Marriage

2007-03-06T19:40:00.000-08:00

“I can’t wait to get married so we can go on Wife Swap.”
- My fiancé

A match made in heaven coming to a wedding chapel near you in May of 2008. Quotes like this from your future bride are disturbing on a number of different levels, but I think what disturbs me the most is that Sabrina actually likes to watch Wife Swap. For those that haven’t seen it, the basic premise can be summed up in this series of equations where:

P = psychotic wife
L = loser husband
A and B designate dysfunctional families

P(A) + L(A) = P(B) + L(B) = convinced of being perfect parents

P(A) + L(B) = P(B) + L(A) = act like lunatics imposing differing (but no less retarded) parenting philosophies on each other

If this doesn’t make sense don’t worry I am not that good at math and it really isn’t that important anyway. Rest assured these people are some of the biggest psychopaths and least competent parents around. If it weren’t for MTV airing My Super Sweet Sixteen I could be easily convinced that these people lacked more self-awareness than anyone else on the planet.

In last night’s episode (I watched against my will as it was on in the background while I read) producers paired a family of self-centered, drunk, lazy Italians from Ohio with a pair of hick-talking, horseback riding rodeo cowboys from Delaware (State motto: before you knew it you’d driven through it (made that up myself)). The show was predictable. No one gets along, everyone lives at different extremes of the parenting spectrum, constant arguing, with the only people being truly effected are the kids who are scarred for life on national television. The only bright spot of last night’s episode was the end where the two husbands got in a fist fight with the hick meting out what he described as, “cowboy justice.”

This show just backs up my idea that we should have birth control in our water. The system would be fairly easy. We place some kind of pregnancy blocker in the tap water. To unblock it one needs only to go to the town office and pick up the antidote. No questions asked, no screenings, no job verification or credit score. You just need to show up. Judging by the general laziness of the American people I think this would cut down on unwanted pregnancies by a healthy percentage. This would also cut down on couples, like the ones that go on Wife Swap from just pumping out future kids who will most likely just be societal pains in the asses. I mean they will probably have one to start, but once they see that having kids makes it difficult to continually feed their egotistical, self-centered lifestyles, they will probably just cut it off at one. Basically my system cuts down on the idiots becoming parents, which decreases the talent pool for shows like Wife Swap. It’s a societal win-win and I won’t have to trade my wife for an over-eating, bad TV watching woman who needs to be pampered at all times. Oh wait…

The Pope, Jesus and a Car Salesman walk into a bar

2007-03-01T16:55:00.000-08:00

I hate jokes this. Actually most times I just really don't like predetermined jokes. I like my humor on the fly and creative. Reading a joke out of a joke book and repeating it does not make you funny. It just makes you a good reader with an average memory. I can't remember the last time I told a joke like this and after writing this I vow to never do it again.

What made me think of this was a certain person that works in my school. I didn't really promote this blog around school (I doubt it would have mattered if I did) so I feel somewhat comfortable writing about people there. This particular colleague loves these jokes. He has so many of them that I am convinced he goes home and memorizes them just to come in and tell. I never know how to react to them. I usually just quickly laugh and quietly repeat the punchline to reinforce that I heard the joke. Awkward.

It is difficult to pinpoint what exactly makes something funny. Different things illicit different reactions. That is except for people tripping and falling, everyone thinks that is funny. All I know is that when you spout out something with a set punchline, most times, it is stupid. That being said have you heard the one about the priest, George Bush and Madonna...

Sedatives not working? Rent Capote

2007-02-26T13:00:00.000-08:00

I should preface this by saying that I was really excited about this movie for two reasons:

1. I had just finished In Cold Blood
2. I like Philip Seymour Hoffman

And while the movie wasn't the worst thing I had ever seen, my god was it boring. I am not sure what I expected when the movie about an eccentric author placing himself in the depths of rural Kansas. But between Hoffman's accent and the complete lack of anything ever happening I just couldn't last. I slept for the last ten minutes. It was one of those sleeps where I didn't even feel myself getting tired, more worn down than anything, and then Sabrina was waking me up. I don't know how she made it.

I do have a tendency to be able to fall asleep rather easily so I guess I can't totally blame the film. This is the same guy who fell asleep right before the dance scene in Napolean Dynamite and I was loving that movie. Some things just put me out.

I met Barack Obama in my dream and man was he a dick

2007-02-22T13:29:00.000-08:00

I had a dream the other night. Usually I don’t remember dreams that vividly. Dreams don’t play a big part in my sleeping time. I have no idea how to interpret them and frankly I have no need to figure it out. That was what made this dream so remarkable. When I woke up I actually remembered it.

In this sleep world I was still a student in some kind of school. For a project, certain students were paired with celebrities of sorts. I don’t remember anyone else there except for Penelope Cruz. Well I got paired with Barack Obama.

Being quasi-political (I know some names of candidates because I look at the pictures in Time each week) the Obama pairing intrigued me. I wondered what he would ask me. Well to say he “mailed in” the interview would be an understatement. That loser didn’t even try to get to know me or my feelings on issues. Such a hypocrite. I don’t know what I expected from a politician but he could have shown a little class. He was on his cell phone most of the time. In the end I think I just told him that I watched Lost and Heroes. That was it.

Anyway, I woke up before the interview was over which was good because it was getting awkward. Obama is going to have to do a great deal in the coming months if he wants my vote.

Don't stand so close to me

2007-02-18T09:10:00.000-08:00

“I don’t want them to enter the black hole that is your life”
-Sabrina, my fiancé, in reference to her socks

According to the woman who is on the precipice of pledging her lifelong devotion to me, my life is a black hole. At first I was hurt. But after a few seconds, and some apologies on her part, I was able to see the validity in her statement. Aspects of my life resemble “a region of space-time where escape to the outside universe is impossible.”

Now in Sabrina’s defense she was referencing socks. I have a problem with socks. My problem is that I lose them with startling consistency. I could buy a package of socks today and lose at least 3 of them by the middle of next week, guaranteed. Who knows where they go? All I know is that my apartment is about 400 square feet (at most) and I have lost more than 2 dozen socks in here in the last year and a half.

I can’t even lose socks correctly though. It’s not like I lose pairs of socks. I like to lose just one of them, rendering the other one somewhat useless. This leads to many days where I wear socks that are “just close enough” to being matches. Last weekend, while at my parents’ house, my mom dropped a large plastic bag in my lap. It was full of socks with no match. There were at least 40 in the bag that had no mate.

Its not just socks though. I lose many things, like my Ipod, camping tent, soccer cleats, guitar picks, and pride when I try to dance. Can’t help it. I just lack the ability to keep order. Things go missing at such a rate that it doesn’t even really faze me at this point. That is probably a bad thing. Like a star that has collapsed on itself, I am sucking things out of my universe. Hopefully Sabrina doesn’t fall in. I need her around.

No Child is Left Behind on a Snow Day

2007-02-15T18:28:00.000-08:00

If you want an overblown weather report about impending snow just take a stroll down to your local elementary school. It doesn’t matter where you live. If there is even a hint of snow in the forecast I guarantee that is the main topic in any hallway in any school in America. Teachers are a sad bunch. They will constantly refresh weather reports on the internet, confer with colleagues on their thoughts about a possible school closing, and perform various rituals they feel will increase the chance of a whiteout.

Two day ago was one of those days at P’dale. The weather report called for a 30% chance of 1-2 inches of snow. Now I took that prediction as a 70% chance of nothing. That didn’t stop the hysteria though. The day was filled with speculation, wishing, praying, and a vast majority of teachers staring longingly at the sky. In situations like this I take a firm stance. I have been called a “downer” or “pessimist” for my reluctance to ever admit that we might have a snow day.

I wasn’t always such a curmudgeon. But then I got burned. During my second year of teaching there was a night where the weatherman predicted an imminent storm. It was not a matter of whether snow would fall, but rather how much digging we would be doing in the morning. As I watched humongous, digital clouds engulf the map of Jersey I decided to have a couple of libations and dismissed even the thought of going to bed. This was a slam dunk. I even made plans for the next day. I would sleep in, read a bit and then when it cleared up a bit, go shopping for some things I needed. In the meantime a couple more beers would put a nice touch on the night.

It’s easy to see where this is going. I finally went to bed at around 2AM, content, comfortable and looking forward to a day of slumber. For some reason I woke up at about 4 in the morning. Just for shits and giggles I decided to look outside. Um what? There wasn’t even a flake on the ground. I glanced at the streetlight (obviously the best place to look to see how hard it was coming down) and saw nothing but soft fluorescent. No precipitation.

First I panicked. The call for a snow day usually comes at 5AM which only gave the weather an hour to turn around. Then I let out a string of expletives directed at Sam Champion. At this point I knew I was in trouble. I hurried back into bed and squeezed my eyes praying for sleep. Fat chance. All I could think about was the great day I supposed to have and it was ruined. There would be no snow, but that didn’t stop me from lying in bed for the next hour and half waiting for a call that never came.

Now I already explained what a day before a storm is like in school. Surprisingly it pales only in comparison to a day where there was SUPPOSED to be a storm. If you want to see people cursing their lot in life, just head down to the local school on one of these days. Its apathy and anger at their very best. Teachers feel as if they have been cheated. It’s ugly. No teaching occurs, just apathy. So yesterday when I got the call for a snow day I was happy. Not because I knew I would be spending the day in bed, but because the kids wouldn’t have to endure a day of bitterness and cruelty.

I am better at sports than fifth graders

2007-02-13T16:22:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the delay for all four of you. I already had this entry written last week and was just slow on posting it. I will just paste the original here and then add today’s occurrence at the bottom to hammer home the point with startling clarity.

Most of you know I teach 5th grade. At one point in my life I considered myself an above-average athlete. Played three sports in high school, soccer in college, pickup games year round, etc. Gravity, age and general laziness have taken their toll. If I was getting recruited right now my scouting report might read:

Too many pounds, not enough muscle, slow and can’t jump but at least his reflexes aren’t what they used to be.

All of that is okay though because I have found a new outlet to display my athletic prowess. I do this in the form of challenging my students to various athletic endeavors. It’s a good way to stay fresh. Every year a student or two claim they can beat me in various challenges like a race, long distance kicking, kickball, etc. This has never happened. Honestly no one has come close. The last time I raced a student I ran backward for the last quarter of it like Maniac Magee (a fifth grade reading reference). I only write this because for those unathletic souls out there who feel the need for s confidence boost or some self esteem, look no further than you local elementary school. As long as you don’t look too creepy and your intentions are sound, there is a whole world of kids up to the challenge.

Fast forward:

Today I took part in a game of knockout. If you don’t know what it is look here . Anyway, today was against a mixed group of fifth and fourth graders. After I systematically, and with sniper-like efficiency, eliminated a large number of students I was left with only one player left. He was a FOURTH GRADER. I guess I am just not a closer. I am no Mariano Rivera or Kobe Bryant. Not clutch. After I talked a bit of trash to this student, who barely comes up to my waste, I preceded to get knocked out in the first three shots. It was a bitter reminder that my athletic skills are deteriorating at an alarming pace. There is a group of third graders who I am sure are chomping at the bit.

Hey Gym Locker Room Guy: Just because you can be naked doesn’t mean you should be

2007-02-01T17:05:00.000-08:00

I probably don’t need to elaborate more on this topic than what the title already states, but let’s see if I can push a couple hundred words out about it. I am in the gym today finishing up my normal routine of:

Enter gym
Find interesting magazine
Get changed
20 minutes on elliptical machine (Fat Burn setting, level 5)
Get drink
Stare at weight lifting equipment
Get another drink
Put on sweatshirt, get out car keys, call it a day

Well today, somewhere between steps 7 and 8, my routine was broken up when I endured what can only be described as the most disturbing millisecond of my life.

Now before I elaborate on this I need to explain some of my own, personal aversions to nudity. More specifically, my staunch unwillingness to be naked. I like clothes. Better yet, I love clothes. I like having them on. I like them covering my various flaws and I love having the comfort of more than one layer. Clothes are like my security blanket. I have nightmares about being naked. These aren’t ones where I have to give a speech and all of a sudden I am in my birthday suit. No in these dreams I have chosen my own personal hell as I have misplaced my clothes and now I am forced to go through my regular life without them. They are some of the most chilling sleep experiences I have. I avoid nudity at almost all costs and I expect others to adhere to this –ism.

Unfortunately, the gentleman at the locker next to me at the gym did not embody (pun?) the same beliefs as I. No, he was your classic, “I’m at the gym, conventional norms do not exist in this space” kind of guy. Clothes be damned. To make a long story short, I was hunched over my bag getting out my sweatshirt when I felt a presence next to me. Out of sheer instinct, like a jungle animal that smells danger, I turned toward the left. That’s when I saw it. Since time is a quantifiable measurement (at least by our Earthly standards) I am sure some scientist somewhere could calculate how long I looked, but I would like to see the clock that computes that quickly. Nanoseconds would feel like centuries. Rest assured I looked away but not before the image burned itself into the recesses of my brain. No cheap jokes about him buying me dinner first.

Howdy Tim

2007-01-31T18:18:00.000-08:00

In the show Home Improvement, Tim Taylor (Tim Allen's character) is given sagely advice from his next door neighbor Wilson. For the two of you that have never seen the show Wilson and Tim meet in their respective backyards which are connected and Wilson helps Tim solve all of his day-to-day problems. The catch with Wilson is that you never see his face. The show began with Wilson just hidden, save his eyes, behind the fence separating the backyards. Over the many years the writers and producers found more creative ways to hide Wilson's face. Whether it was behind a book or a mask, the audience never saw his face. I actually never really knew what he looked like from until I wasted two hours of my life watching the E! True Hollywood Story: Home Improvement. (This was an hour long program that I have seen twice. I have spare time)

My, and I assume most people's, reaction to this scenario of never seeing someone's face was ridiculous and eventually moderately annoying. The show did it is as shtick and then kept it going ad nausea. How could something like this happen in the real world?

I have been living with Sabrina's parents for about a year and half now. It’s been a good run that will soon end and in that time I have gotten to know some things about the neighborhood. The guy next door is a police officer that drives an unmarked car while the lady on the other side is a nosy gossip. Mr. Jimmy roams the streets smoking cigarettes and the guy up the street is a crazy dickhead who I try to antagonize by speeding up in my car only when I am driving by his house. And then there are the neighbors across the street: Bob, Linda and their daughter who is about Sabrina's age. There is nothing particularly remarkable about the family. They seem to like the color white as they have four, impeccably clean, white cars. What is remarkable is that in the 548 some odd days I have been living here (not including the 3 1/2 years of visits to the house prior) I have never seen Bob and Linda's daughter's face.

Now I have seen her from a multitude of angles. Walking to the front door, getting in the car, talking to someone outside. But I have never seen her face. At first it was interesting. I would catch her at just the wrong moment: just as she turned away, right after she ducked inside. I wasn’t stalking her; I just wanted to see what she looked like. Recently I found myself pressing the issue. I would wait in the car an extra second to see if she would turn the right way. I would look preoccupied while really hoping she would get out of her car before me if we arrived home at the same time. This was fruitless. I never saw her. I needed to see what she looked like. Did she have a horrible scar on her face? Did she look like anyone I knew? I know this sounds mildly psychotic but I don’t really know another way to describe it. I even admitted to Sabrina that it was bothering me a little that I had seen her so many times and still couldn't pick her out of a lineup.

Well Bob and Linda put their house on the market and it finally sold the other day. They have been emptying their house preparing for the move. I drove home on Monday and could tell they were just about finished and ready to leave James Ave. for good. When I pulled up I could tell that Mystery Girl was around because her car was running and the backdoor was open. I thought, "This is it. This is my final chance to see her." I waited in the car. I made myself look busy. I fiddled with the radio, checked my cell phone and shuffled through some papers. Waiting. Then I saw movement by the front door. She came out but I was horrified to realize she was carrying something. A large dollhouse to be exact. The dollhouse blocked my view. I could only see her from the neck down. It was like some cruel joke. She carried it to the car and put the dollhouse in. She immediately turned away and dashed back in through the garage. Frankly, I was stunned. I was never going to see this person. She had become a real life Wilson, without the intellect and fatherly advice. Now I have to imagine someone else’s head whenever I think of her. Even while writing this I imagined a girl I used to work with as the face on her body. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. Maybe I will call E! and have them do a True Hollywood Story on her family.

Its a delicate balance

2007-01-29T18:04:00.000-08:00

I think you know the guy. While watching the game he cheers just a bit too loudly. He gets just a little too into the TV show and talks about it just a bit too much. (Coincidentally I am like this with The Office) He lets you know just a fraction more about his popularity with the female population than you care to imagine. He is just “that guy.” No one wants to be him and those who are like him are just too clueless to know it.

I have met many versions of him in my life. In elementary school it was Freddy Guzzy who was just a little too into He-Man action figures. In high school it was Alex A. ( I don’t want to type his whole name in case he Google’s it, and we work out at the same gym) who was a little over-the-top about professional wrestling. (In my second parenthetical section of this paragraph I can say that Alex’s obsession paid off as he is actually, technically a professional wrestler). In college it was Eric N. who just was a little too annoying about everything be it food, sports, cars, video games. Lucky for me I lived with him for a year. It was study in excess to say the least.

Well after knowing these folks my whole life I know when to spot them, and I met a doozy on Saturday. His name was Ozzy and his vice was soccer. Now soccer is a classic “that guy” sport. Part of it stems from soccer’s lack of American mainstream popularity. In addition, soccer lends itself to a certain clothing style that just screams, “look at me, I chose the wrong sport!” Ozzy had that look down to a tee with the Adidas Copa Mundials and, the always in style, Umbros. (Which I thought had been discontinued but was proven wrong). I met him at a soccer licensing course I was forced take so I can coach the WO U-9 Fighting Wildcats to the ‘ship this year. Understand that to obtain the old “F License” you need do little more than show up to the gym with a heartbeat and a $30 check. Throughout the day we were required to take part in “non-competetive” drills to demonstrate proper skill.

Ozzy did not realize this. From what I can gather, Ozzy assumed one needed to show overall soccer dominance. His victims were of little consequence as well. It didn’t matter if he was beating me or Helen; the 5’2 195lb mother of four who was getting the license to help out her daughter’s team. Ozzy went, as the French say, “balls to the wall.” He was flying all over the court, flicking backheels, going in hard for tackles and in the downtime showing off his world class juggling skills. At one point the instructor even tried to call him out on this by challenging him to juggle the ball for as long as he could while the class watched. His response, which actually kind of impressed me, was, “we better not because I can juggle for a really long time.” It honestly was a sight to behold.

Now I don’t have a deeper lesson or worldly comparison to this behavior. Some people are just idiots with little self awareness. That’s the way the world is I guess. These people need to make up for those that care too little. It forms a natural balance I suppose. So I want to thank you Ozzy. You even out the world for my friend Dave who thinks soccer sucks. It’s a delicate balance. We need “these guys.”

The Five Stages of Grief

2007-01-23T18:10:00.000-08:00

A couple of years ago my friend Nate and I were standing around shooting the breeze. At one point Nate mentioned something about his hair. Nate had, shall I say, less than a full head of locks. The baldness was in its opening stages for him. I looked at his hair and then felt the top of my own and felt comforted. I grinned at Nate mockingly and made the comment to him (because I am a supportive friend), “Man if I ever started to lose my hair I think I would kill myself.” Nate laughed at me but in his eyes I thought I saw a hint of murderous rage.

Fast forward to the winter of 2003. I was playing music at the time and Sabrina and I trekked to the city to take some promotional shots of me posing introspectively at different parts of downtown. One of the pictures was me walking up the stairs from the subway. A week later we got them developed and when we got to said picture I froze with terror. I turned to Sabrina and screamed, “What the hell is that!!” The “that” to which I referred was the giant horseshoe pattern my hairline was forming on top of my head. Sabrina grabbed me as I tried to dive headfirst out of the second story window.

Now there are five stages to grief. Denial I had been taking care of for years. The Anger was immediate and ruthless. I blamed Sabrina for not telling me. I got mad at my parents and grandparents for what I deemed to be just another in a long lines of personal genetic disappointments. Bargaining was a two-sectioned stage. I quickly realized that hair growth supplements were not 100% guaranteed and also inordinately expensive. So I lost bargaining on a monetary level. Then I bargained with the hair itself. I tried combing it this way and that, spiking it, gelling it, anything to hide the obvious. This went on for awhile until I realized I didn’t want to be a “comb over” guy. Then came Depression. Now this stage stuck around for awhile. I would examine every picture of myself to see the best or worst angles for my hairline. I also realized that even baldness wasn’t going to give me a break. Instead of receding back into a respectable widow’s peak I was doomed to have the dreaded horseshoe pattern with triangle patch in front.

Only now after four years have I finally started the Acceptance stage. I probably tried to fool myself before into thinking I had come to grips with the situation. I hadn’t. I was kidding myself. Slowly though I have begun to accept. When I look in the mirror I know what I am going to be seeing. When I see pictures I know what to expect. There just isn’t going to be hair there anymore and that is okay. That’s karma and I regret my words to Nate. If I had just bit my tongue I would combing my gorgeous locks laughing at all of those bald bastards out there.

VORP, WARP, EQa, oh my…

2007-01-21T09:35:00.000-08:00

I have been following baseball for as long as my memory serves. An early institution in my life was the collecting of baseball cards. Collecting, in actuality does not really do it justice. Ordering, sorting, and studying baseball cards is probably a more accurate description. My family still makes fun of me because on a trip to Yellowstone National Park (Montana, Wyoming and the Dakotas: My parents’ idea of a good vacation is a title for another for another day) I didn’t spend the hours and hours of driving in my grandparent’s RV enjoying the pristine and awe-inspiring scenery. Rather I sat in the back sorting my 1986 Topps set into teams, then positions, then by batting average, then by players posed sitting, players posed standing, hair color etc, etc. It was a never-ending and strangely captivating process.

While this was the source of entertainment for me in the elementary years, I have never been one of those who remembered the individual, minute, stats for each player. I can’t tell you what Wade Boggs hit in 1985 (.368 – just looked it up ) or John Tudor’s lifetime ERA (3.12) Nevertheless, I have been drawn to baseball for as long as I can remember. My dad grew up a diehard Red Sox fan and he sucked me in painfully early. I still remember my first trip to Fenway Park to see the Sox play the Angels (the last time I was there I snuck into the stadium with a tour group, so I am glad I have grown up). I still have a vivid image of Keith Moreland hitting one out of Wrigley Field when we lived in Chicago. When I was too young to stay up late enough to watch important Sox games my dad would always post the score of the game by the light switch in my bedroom so I could wakeup and immediately know what had happened. Some of these moments are the reference points for much of my childhood.

I don’t pretend to know everything about baseball, but I know enough. More knowledgeable than the casual fan. Less crazy than a totally rabid Bill James-ite. I fall somewhere in between but I can feel stirrings of the crazy.

I couldn’t collect baseball cards my whole life. Eventually it becomes too childish I guess, but I still needed some sort of baseball outlet. And in stepped fantasy baseball. In 8th grade my friend Joe Keiser asked if I wanted to join a roto baseball league. I had no idea what I was doing but one Saturday found myself at a local diner (a couple of adults were in the league, not as creepy as it sounds) drafting a team. I don’t remember much about that initial league except that I had Rafael Palmeiro playing first base for my team. He had a decent season and I knew that I was a baseball genius.

The obsession with fantasy baseball continued for the next 11 years and I would think about fantasy baseball throughout the year. Real baseball fans know that the off-season can be just as captivating as the regular season. But then on October 24, 2004 the fascination stalled. The Red Sox won the World Series and I guess I just felt like I had seen everything. I was through. Exhausted. Baseball had given me everything. I tried joining a new league the next summer and it just wasn’t the same. I found myself not even following it for the second half of the season. And then last summer I joined a league and forgot to show up for the online draft altogether. What had happened to me? I still loved baseball but maybe I was growing up, and growing out of my desire to be a part of as my friend Danny put it so eloquently the other day, “that thing that losers who cant play baseball do to make themselves feel better.”

I watched baseball for sure, rooted for the Sox but a little piece of the juice was gone. I saw myself becoming “that fan.” You know the guy: he knows his team to a certain extent but the rest of the league is a mystery. He can name a handful of superstars but the JJ Putz’s and Austin Kearns of the world are lost on him. I also, in an egotistical way felt like I was no longer going to be the smartest baseball guy in the room. I wasn’t putting in the effort.

And then my friend James called and asked me if I wanted to be part of a league with him and some of his friends. He warned that this was no ordinary league. This wasn’t a league based on the compilation of stats or hitting the most home runs. That was for amateurs. The league was based on strategy, expectation and played through simulated games worked out through an algorithm I couldn’t explain if I studied it for the rest of my life. I was interested enough to agree and shortly I was hooked. I realized there was an entire world of baseball beyond the back of a Topps card or inside the pages of a newspaper. There was VORP (Value Over Replacement Player) or PECOTA Cards. I started spending hours sorting through spreadsheets and talking about 17 year old prospects in the Oriole minor league system. James and I have logged more than a couple of hours discussing player options (he is bringing me up to speed on some of the more obscure players) At one point we became so overly excited about a stat called “Upside” that we failed to realize that we did not even know what it meant or how to interpret it. All we knew was a guy we wanted to pick had a big Upside number and that was all that mattered.

So now I am ready for baseball again. There is a whole new world out there. In a sort of a cliché, I feel like a kid again. I feel like I am in the back of the RV again with my baseball cards and while I might be missing the outside world speeding by it doesn’t matter because man do I love baseball. Even while writing this I refreshed Baseball Prospectus more than a dozen times. There weren’t any new articles to read but not to worry, there is always three minutes from now

Sabrina's friends must have heard about me

2007-01-20T12:59:00.000-08:00

I am a good kisser. Actually very good. I know this because I have been told as much. More than once. I wish I could give you the names of the people, but I am worried about varying issues that may arise from disclosure. You are going to need to trust me, it's true. (To prove my point, Sabrina just read these first couple of sentences, agreed with me and then asked for a kiss. Boo-yah.)

I always just assumed this piece of information was saved for a very close circle of people. Namely, the people who have been fortunate enough to get to first base with me. But last night my reputation preceded me. We went to a bar to meet up with some of Sabrina's friends. (Girl friends because she is not allowed to have guy friends that dont have significant others) As the night was winding down one of Sab's friends was getting ready to leave. She hugged Sabrina and gave her the standard friend kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to me and I leaned in for the hug and of course kiss on the cheek. Then BAM she pulled the old turn the head at the last second move and planted one on me, right on the lips. She feigned horror for public posturing. But inside I knew the truth. From here I assume the legend will only grow.

Why wasnt the last episode called Revelation?

2007-01-20T12:42:00.000-08:00

"We believe because we love it." - Sabrina Koester

Certain things in life require you suspend disbelief for a second. Nothing exemplifies this more than the, now cancelled, TV show Alias. If you have never seen this particular program let me give you a quick look into it. Sydney Bristow is a covert government agent whose assignment is to uncover the deception in the world and make Earth a better place for all to inhabit. She is given the task of taking down large criminal syndicates and with her band of secret agent friends, they set about to uncover not only the criminal element in the world but also save the world from super natural powers beyond the scope of reality. All in all a captivating watch. Captivating actually may not be strong enough word. As the above quote would suggest this show almost became a religion for Sabrina and I. (She was talking about a scene from the show)

In thinking about it there are major similarities between Alias and organized religion. Make no mistake about, I am not comparing Alias to Christianity in particular or God forbid (no pun intended) comparing Ms. Sydney Bristow to Jesus Christ, Muhammad, etc. No rather I contend that for Alias to be watched, enjoyed, or followed one must be willing to look past some glaring and obvious flaws. I am sure the same can be said for many television shows, especially serial shows with reoccurring characters, major and minor plots and subplots, storylines geared to a knowledgeable fan base and supernatural references. But Alias takes a step beyond these other shows because it actually deals with the idea of "belief at all costs." And also remember that this was before Lost, Heroes, etc. It worked because it combined elements of faith, perseverance and the search for answers. I don’t necessarily mean in the show but rather it offered these things for the viewer. You got the sense from the show, like religion, that everything would turn out okay, but there was always room for doubt.

To use Christianity as a barometer consider this comparison: To fully vest oneself in the works of the Bible one must be willing to assume that Christ was able to turn water into wine, heal the sick, etc. Sydney Bristow’s feats offer some of the same general lack of believability. She is just human enough to be injured, but criminals just cannot seem to finish her off. And those that watch get the sense that to question what was happening in the show would be to question the very reason we watch. We watch because we want to be given answers no matter the complexity. Sydney is the one who will save the human race? Well I’m on board. Her friends will follow her to the ends of the Earth? So would I. The show hops through space and time like Star Trek on speed? That’s just the way the world works. And because of this faith in producer JJ Abrams and his grand vision of the show, we watched and watched and watched. All in all we tackled a majority of the first four seasons in about 3 weeks and often gave up sleep on work nights with a simple quote, "Just one more episode." You can cast your vote for me as Teacher of the Year here.

When the last disc of Season 5 came through on Netflix and we had only two episodes left there were mixed feelings. On one hand we hoped to get some answers. We wanted some vision of the future while neatly tying up any loose ends that existed in the plot. But at the same time we wondered what would happen next. Not in the show, but to us. There would be no other story, no other developments. We would be left to interpret the show on our own. Draw our own conclusions and live beyond what we had been given.

Are these feelings some sort indictment about the idolatry of television in society? Probably on some level, but on another level it illustrates how religion, on many levels is a show. There is a plot, the characters are a little better or a little worse than anyone we know and it wants us to keep coming back week after week. It gives us some and asks a lot in return. We need to keep the ratings up to ensure Christianity or Islam or Buddhism is the way to go. The more watchers, the longer it sticks around. That is until you realize it really can’t give you anymore and then it is time for the show to end. Alias did this and walked out on a high note. Now I need somewhere else to go, I hope this season Jack Bauer cures leprosy.

Why did I start drinking coffee?

2007-01-18T18:51:00.000-08:00

When I was younger I could never go into the fish section of the grocery store. In fact, I really couldn't go near it. The smell of raw seafood and the images of whole fish sitting on display in crushed ice made me instantly nauseous. I would have to hang in the cereal isle while my mom picked up whatever we were having. I never ate fish.

Similarly, in the Norrie house, every Friday was pizza night. As a family we were either socially allergic or monetarily indisposed to eating anywhere but home. Restaurants were not part of the equation. Thus Fridays were a big deal. Usually it would just mean ordering a pie from Dimolas, but on occasion mom and dad would want to get Chinese. On these occasions the 'rents would come up big and make a special trip to the pizza parlor because they knew their eldest just couldn’t force down General Tso's or rice and noodles. Couldn’t stomach and didn't want to try.

Well it would seem Dylan was right that the time's they are a changin'. Years later I am morphing, becoming a new man so to speak. Every once in awhile the little lady will want some Chinese and I'll be damned if the Sesame Chicken doesn’t sound good. Some nights at my friend Pat's house I find myself asking for seconds on the salmon.

There was no set point, distinguishable moment or conscious decision to start enjoying these things. I honestly had never thought about it too terribly hard until a couple of weeks ago when I was standing in Dunkin Donuts. All of a sudden I woke up and realized I had been here everyday for the last two weeks. I found myself about to, like a seasoned pro, order my medium French Vanilla, cream, sweet and low. At that point I thought, "What the hell am I doing? I hate coffee!" This was the same drink I used to refer to as burnt water. I couldn't even sip out of my parents' mugs without being left with a sickening aftertaste for an hour. In fact, at one point, some friends and I had argued quite seriously about the negative effects of coffee compared to beer. (I argued in favor of the hops and barley of course) Yet here I was ordering that very same "deadly poison" as it had been referred and loving every minute of it.

I started to wonder what else I could change about myself. Maybe I could get myself to go skydiving or even start to like flying. Was it possible that I would actually one day like the movie Grease? Maybe there would be a time when Phoebe from Friends would seem humorous to me. I could even get comfortable walking down the street with Sabrina and having both our arms around each other at the same time. For a brief moment nothing was safe.

But then I remembered that coffee was addictive, a diuretic and made the drinker’s breath stink. Not all change is good. Some things should stay consistent and there is pride in stability. I’m fine as is. It was an epiphany or sorts and I had it all while staring at Saresh and her Dunkin Donuts uniform. So when she asked me if I wanted my usual replied, “No, its time for a change,” and started putting my money away. But then I saw the picture on the menu of the hot steam emerging from a cup of java and said, “Scratch that, I’ll take an extra large mocha, heavy cream, four sugars.” Skydiving here I come.

Wrong template = already suck at blogging

2007-01-18T13:18:00.000-08:00

Inspired by my friend Mike Pacchione's seemingly painless transition to blogging (going from emailing people his complaints on life, to simply streamlining the process through a web page) I think I will just begin here and see where it goes. Considering I have about 10 friends total that use the internet on a regular basis I doubt I will be a Blogspot MVP anytime soon.

Unfortunately this foray into the depths of what I am interested barely got off the ground as I stalled at the "choice of template" page. Does a template say anything about you? Am I simple man or in other words a Tekka template kind of guy? Am I deep and thought-provoking enough to use a Dr. Moto or even Son of Moto template? Or should I just admit that I have given up on life and go with Scribe? If a blog tells alot about you then surely a template shows alot about you. I'm too complex for a Simple template, but I'm not Marty McFly enough for the Denim. In the end I just looked for direction and chose the only one that let me follow instead of lead. I chose Thisaway and I guess that's where we are going with this thing.

My superhero alter ego

Newsletter - Halloween Blood and Guts Edition

Breaking Fantasy Football News

The Decade Awards

Amazing response to Buckle Up

Buckle Up

Small talk

Janbruary

Inauguration

Inauguration Pics

Inauguration Pics

Inauguration Pics

Year End Awards

A fellow sufferer

Football Season

Writer's Bloc? Try Time Travel

Ahh the gift of giving

The family with actual dogs

Tis the season

Like TV?

Turkey Day

Worse Gym Experiences?

The Issues

Upcoming...

This might be why I hate dressing up

Professor Norrie Weighs in on all the mistakes I made

Trauma

Cheerleaders

Other Holidays and Reader Thoughts

It's a celebration b*****es

Autobiography Follow-Up

A Doug's Life

Penny Pictures

A Dollar for My Thoughts

The Garden State

Love and Marriage

What's in a name?

Some Random Thoughts

Love and Marriage

The Pope, Jesus and a Car Salesman walk into a bar

Sedatives not working? Rent Capote

I met Barack Obama in my dream and man was he a dick

Don't stand so close to me

No Child is Left Behind on a Snow Day

I am better at sports than fifth graders

Hey Gym Locker Room Guy: Just because you can be naked doesn’t mean you should be

Howdy Tim

Its a delicate balance

The Five Stages of Grief

VORP, WARP, EQa, oh my…

Sabrina's friends must have heard about me

Why wasnt the last episode called Revelation?

Why did I start drinking coffee?

Wrong template = already suck at blogging