It's no finger in my chili, but ...

I was snacking on some double-stuffed E.L. Fudge cookies during dinner at work tonight, when all of the sudden, I looked down and realized that there was a hunk of plastic lodged in the chocolate stuffing.
Huh, I thought, glad I didn't bite from the other end first.

I wondered if I could sue the Keebler elves.

But then I started thinking about, what if I won? What if I got a huge settlement and it bankrupted the elves? They would be forced to close down the tree with the magical oven. I can see them now -- little elves with little knapsacks slung over their backs as they close down the tree for good and go their separate ways. Probably shedding elf-sized tears.

Too sad.
I couldn't do that to Ernie and the cookie crew. So I threw the cookie away.

It was just as well. I noticed when I got home that the plastic tray the cookies came in had a piece missing, so it must have broken at some point and gotten lodged in the cookie post-elf participation.

But if I ever find anything in my Cocoa Krispies, I am sooo taking down Snap, Crackle and Pop.

Waxing nostalgic

I saw "Fever Pitch" earlier today (or yesterday by the time everyone reads this). It was pretty good. A few strange moments -- either surprising seriousness or out-of-place humor where the Farrelly brothers fall into old habits -- but otherwise very cute and funny. Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore may just be the most adorable on-screen couple ever. And of course, it was about the greatest comeback in baseball playoff history (Red Sox vs. Yankees last year, for those of you who may not know what I'm talking about). And while I was immensely pleased that the Red Sox were able to break the curse of the Bambino, it got me thinking of other sports highlights that I've witnessed. (Incidentally, if you have too short of an attention span, there's an interactive portion of the blog at the end of the post.)

It was June 2001 -- the Stanley Cup finals. The Colorado Avalanche vs. the New Jersey Devils. It was already historic because it was the first time in more than a decade that the No. 1 seed from the East would face the No. 1 seed from the West in the finals. This was back in the glory days (at least as I remember them) of the Avalanche -- Joe Sakic; Peter Forsberg; the greatest goalie of all time, Patrick Roy; and so many other greats. It was destined to be an amazing matchup. But for us Avalanche fans it was about more than winning a second Stanley Cup. We were rooting for a man named Ray Bourque. In his 22-year NHL career, he had won numerous accolades, but one had always escaped him -- the Stanley Cup. So he had joined the Avs from the Boston Bruins because he thought it would give him a better shot at winning the Cup before he retired. Colorado was rooting for him, Boston was rooting for him. We wanted the Cup, but we wanted it for him.

And so the series began ... and it was epic. Game 1 went to Colorado in a rousing victory. Game 2 went to New Jersey. And back and forth it went. By the time we got to Game 6, it was nerve-wracking -- the Devils led the series 3-2. They only needed one more game to win and Game 6 was in New Jersey. But miraculously, the Avs pulled it out and the battle went to Game 7 ... at home in Colorado. It was just the third time in 30 seasons that the finals had gone to seven games.

During all this, I was at the University of North Carolina at internship training. But I and several of the other guys there would go out and watch the games or watch on the TV in the lounge of the dorm where we were all staying. As Game 7 went on, I was glued to the TV. I lived and died with every shot taken, every shot missed, every goal scored.

And in the end, Colorado won, 3-1. It was magical. I cheered in excitement. But then came "the moment" -- when the players handed the Stanley Cup to Ray Bourque and he lifted it above his head, his lifelong dream finally accomplished. It's the moment that still makes me a little teary-eyed to think about.

I have a friend who was actually at the game and he said he's never experienced anything like it. The place just exploded in celebration -- everyone cheering, grown men crying because they were so happy, strangers hugging one another.

And I guess that's what moves me the most about many of these sports victories. In a world where there are so many things to divide people, where more often than not people don't give each other the time of day, where strangers won't even make eye contact with each other, much less smile -- every once and awhile, you come across a moment when those differences don't matter, when no one is a stranger. Everyone is united in their love of a team and the common cause of celebrating its victory.

And for a moment -- just a moment -- you see how amazing human beings can be to one another.

And then the rioting usually starts.

And of course, because sports competitions are a zero-sum game, whenever there's a winner, there's a loser. And I can't help but feel for them, too, because I've also been there.

Nov. 8, 1997 -- my freshman year at the University of Missouri. I'm at the MU-Nebraska football game with my roommate. We've got seats close to one of the end zones and not far from the field. Although the rivalry with Nebraska is second only to the one with Kansas, no one really expects Missouri to win the game. Nebraska was undefeated for the season, hadn't lost a Big 12 game during the regular season in almost five years and had won the last 18 times they had played Missouri. The stats were not in MU's favor.

But lo and behold, the Tigers began beating the Cornhuskers. By the time the game was almost over, MU led 38-31 with just more than a minute left to play. The air was electric. People were crowding around, ready to rush the field and tear down the goal posts. We could taste victory -- and one of the greatest upsets ever. And we were there to see it firsthand.

And then it happened. Right in front of me.

Nebraska had flown down the field -- 67 yards in 62 seconds. Then, on third down with seven seconds left until sweet, sweet victory was ours ... one of the most freak "accidents" in college football history occurred. The Nebraska quarterback threw the ball into the end zone, but the receiver couldn't get to it. But as he fell, he kicked it and it landed in the arms of a diving Nebraska player.

Touchdown.

As you may know, it's illegal to purposefully kick a ball in a football game and doing so can result in a 15-yard penalty. But it was ruled accidental, a claim that remains somewhat dubious, particularly for Mizzou grads. But it was what it was. And after Nebraska scored the extra point, the game was tied and went into overtime.

But by then, we knew it was over. The momentum had shifted. The stadium, once raucous, was nearly silent. No one could believe what had happened. The football gods had taunted us, waving the possibility of an amazing upset before us, only to snatch it away at the last possible second as we reached out to see if it could possibly be real.

Nebraska won, 45-38.

You've never seen an entire stadium full of people file out and disperse into the streets as quietly as we did that day. It was heartbreaking.

And so, my dear friends, if you've read this entire lengthy trip down sports memory lane (or just skipped to the end), I conclude by asking you to share your top sports moments -- the wins and the losses. So go ahead, what's your most memorable game?

Going phishing

Sorry I've been bad about posting on the blog lately. I'm in the middle of getting myself organized (sort of a spring cleaning, I guess). I'm finally unpacked and have pictures hung and that sort of thing and now I'm working on cleaning up and organizing files, papers, e-mail boxes, etc. So bear with me for a bit, but I promise to get back into the groove soon.

In the meantime, follow this link to an interesting Washington Post piece on phishing scams. Phishing, if you don't know, is when someone sends you a fake e-mail to get you to reveal personal information that they can then take advantage of (credit card numbers, bank accounts, social security number, etc.). Identity theft is becoming a lot more common, so I'm sure you've gotten some. But take the quiz and see if you can tell the real e-mails from the fake ones. The answers will also give you a better idea of what to look for when you get an e-mail like that.
Best rule of thumb: Always be skeptical.

I feel like a VIP

For some reason, all the employees at my work (and I think a local radio station) were offered a free, advanced screening of the movie "Kung Fu Hustle" tonight and an advanced screening of "Unleashed" (the movie with Jet Li by the guy who wrote and produced "The Professional") in a few weeks.
Fortuitously, I had the night off this week, so I went. It was a fun movie. Very "Matrix" meets "Kung Fu" meets "Spaceballs."

Yeah, it's a weird combo; I know.

At any rate, you can read my full review on Gig Matrix.

Finances, feuds and fatties

If you're like me and don't know a lot about investing or financial things in general but want to learn, a new TV show called "MoneyTrack" is supposed to be an informative look at finances for average Joe's. Read more here, but it's on public television (the Web site hasn't been updated to say where it will show yet, though) and includes segments on "Becoming an Educated Investor," "Couples and Money," "Financial Survival Kit" and "Technology."

As proof that life imitates art, two families in Florida escalated their feud into a shootout after the son from one family and the daughter from the other began dating. Read the whole Shakespearean tale here.

But the most disturbing news of all as of late: Cookie Monster is cutting back on the cookies. (Thanks to Tosser for the heads-up.) Read the article, but basically it comes down to wanting to portray a healthier image. I can understand, and applaud, Sesame Street's efforts to encourage children to eat healthier, but it just feels wrong. It would be like if Ernie gave up rubber duckies. Also, the Cookie Monster's name was Sid?!?! What the ... ?!

I have to admit, the more darkly humorous side of me thinks it would be more effective to have Cookie Monster continue to binge on cookies and become morbidly obese. He could show children what it's like to not be able to lift himself off the couch, to have to catch his breath all the time, how he can't play with the other puppets.
And then, eventually, he would have a coronary and die.
Traumatic for the kids? Sure.

But I bet they lay off the cookies after that.

Very random thoughts

Sorry that it's been a week since I've posted anything, but here are some very unconnected thoughts:

1) I've discovered that the Italian word for someone with papal potential is "papabili."
What a cool word. I totally plan on using it more often now.

2) Speaking for things I'm adding to my lexicon, I've been trying to add two Southern expressions I've learned since moving here: "Law bless" and so-and-so "would've liked to have died." The former means "oh my goodness" and the latter means someone couldn't believe it.
At least I think. It's all a little confusing.

3) If you want to see something that will totally blow your mind, check out this Honda commercial. It's been around for a while, but I'm just now getting around to mentioning it. It took 606 tries to get it right. And it's awesome.

4) I was in D.C. for half a day last week (I apologize to the many of you in the area I didn't tell or see, but I promise that I will be up there often and will see you soon.) and saw this just outside the Jefferson Memorial:

I thought it was an interesting juxtaposition with this, just in front of the steps leading up to the memorial ...

Yes, those are large, puppet dogs playing rock 'n' roll.

But I'm sure when they were singing "Who Let the Dogs Out," the dawgs they were referring to were the Founding Fathers.

Spring forward to a flashback

Lest you forget, turn your clocks ahead one hour at 2 a.m. Sunday morning....

As far as the flashback rodent story, during college I lived in a duplex. One semester, a friend of mine decided to sublet from one of my roommates because he was in France. She brought with her a pet hamster that she would let run around in her room at night. It wasn't a problem because the door was closed and he would always go back to his cage in the morning.

That is, until one morning when she woke up and he wasn't there. We searched and found no sign of him. She left out food, and we hoped that he would eventually find his way back. It should be noted that she lived in one of the upstairs bedrooms, while I lived in the downstairs one. A few nights later, I heard an eerie scratching in my room. I finally realized where it was coming from: inside my closet wall.

The next morning:
Me: "Anne Marie, I think I found your hamster."
AM: "GREAT! Where is he?"
Me: "In the wall of my closet."
AM: (spit take) "WHAAAA??!?!?!"

We finally deduced that the hamster had crawled into Anne Marie's walk-in closet, which connects to the crawl space and he had been stupid enough to fall/crawl into one of the holes in the floor and had fallen down an entire story (which, for a hamster, must be like falling off a 20-story building) and managed to land, alive, in the area of the wall in my closet.

Anne Marie, Reuben and I dropped some food down the hole and tried to think of ways to get him out. We made a little makeshift ladder, but it wasn't long enough. We tried leaving string down, hoping maybe he had turned into a commando hamster of some kind who could shinny his way up it. We would have built a little hamster escalator if we knew how.
But we were stuck.

Finally, with heavy hearts, we decided there was nothing we could do. He was on his own and would probably die down there.

A couple of nights after that, we were having dinner with a couple of friends and relayed the story of the trapped hamster and what we had decided. One of our friends, in his thick Southern drawl, exclaimed loudly:

"LORD ALMIGHTY!! THAT THING'S GONNA REEK WHEN IT DIES!!!!
YOU GOTTA GET IT OUTTA THERE!!"

Anne Marie and I looked at each other.
The smell. We hadn't even thought to consider how bad a smell it might make; it was just a little hamster after all.

But he was right.
We had to get it out.

I immediately left the table and grabbed a hammer and a screwdriver. I knocked on the wall several times trying to figure out where the hamster was so as not to impale the very creature I was trying to save. Like POWs, I rapped, he scratched and we managed to communicate. I used the hammer and screwdriver to create a small, rectangular opening low in the closet wall. After I had done this, we grabbed some thick gloves so the little rodent wouldn't bite anyone. You would think the hamster would be happy to see his saviors and the light of day, but no. It took a lot of coaxing and some food to finally get him where we could grab him and bring him to safety.

Not since Baby Jessica was removed from the well had there been so much rejoicing.

The next day, I bought a flat wall panel and glued it to the wall over the hole. It blended in perfectly. I doubt anyone has ever thought twice about it.

I'm happy to say that the hamster spent the rest of its days with a bit of celebrity, being the wonder hamster who had miraculously cheated death.

Well, until Christmas break when he died of natural causes.
He was buried in a shallow grave behind the duplex and now probably haunts the residents of 1811 Juniper Circle who keep wondering why, late at night, they hear scratching in the walls.

Life's other certainty

Geez, I make a reference yesterday to discussing death and then today Terri Schiavo dies and the pope comes awfully close.
I considered discussing what has become the Schiavo debacle, but with so many other pundits and people who have never seen/met her weighing in on the situation and giving medical diagnoses, I'll think I'll stay out of the fray. Besides, what expertise could I possibly have to offer that "psychic" John Edward hasn't already?

So on to my story:

A few days ago, I finally put two and two together and realized that the odor problem in my hallway closet was connected to an earlier problem I had involving a roommate.
Unfortunately, my roommate was of the small, furry, rodent type. (See?!? Now my apartment seems like a crap-hole again and nobody's ever going to want to come and visit me...)

About a week and a half after I moved in, I noticed that a hole had been chewed through the plastic bag of the bread I had left on the kitchen counter and part of the bread had been eaten. I was pretty sure I hadn't done that in my sleep, so I told the landlords that I had a rodent problem.
The next day, they sent a maintenance guy with a few sticky traps that he put down in strategic positions. He also stuffed a couple of holes with steel wool, which he said the rodents won't chew through.

I checked the traps daily but nothing happened for a couple of days. Then late one night, I heard the scurrying of tiny feet in the vents.
Not a good sign.

The next morning, I woke up and realized that my little friend was not impressed with my efforts to catch it. One of the sticky traps that lay between the stove and refrigerator had been scooted to the side to allow passage. Another trap behind the stove had an upside-down cockroach trap on top of it. I don't even know where the cockroach trap came from! So not only did this rodent know that the sticky traps should be avoided, it dragged some cockroach trap it found who-knows-where and dropped it on the sticky part so that it didn't have to worry about it.

It was at this point that I began to wonder if I was dealing with an escaped lab rat that had been genetically altered to become supersmart.
Or worse, I thought, what if it's a squirrel? I actually worried about this latter possibility because:
a) I really rather like squirrels.
b) If you've ever tried to prevent them from doing something, you know squirrels are unbelievably clever.
I finally decided it probably wasn't a squirrel because, if it had been, I would have already returned from work late one night to find my cupboards cleaned out; my Xbox, TV and other valuables gone; and a spray-painted note scrawled on the wall saying: "DEEZ NUTS!!!!"

Ahem.
Anyhow, I rearranged some of the steel wool to better block one of the holes and waited. I haven't heard or seen Brain (nor his cohort Pinky) since, and I've even begun keeping bread out on the counter again without any problem. So I had sort of forgotten about it. But when the closet started stinking and then the same odor would show up in the bathroom sometimes (please keep your bathroom humor to yourself), I began to realize that the smell was coming from inside the wall that the closet and bathroom share.

That's when I had my revelation, which, after talking with a few others about it, I think is probably correct:

There's a dead rodent in there.

Now, having some experience with extracting rodents from a wall (see flashback post tomorrow), I considered just going in there myself and taking the danged thing out. But I hesitate to do that because I don't really know where in the wall it might be. I talked with the landlords, but they're not quite sure what to do either. I figure the smell will eventually go away and in the meantime, I bought air freshener for the closet and under the bathroom sink where it's connected to that wall.

On the bright side, it's totally not noticeable with the closet door closed (unless of course, you go into the closet) and occasionally in the bathroom. Plus, I think the worst of it might have passed. But then again, I don't really know what the staying power of rotting rodent is.

So there you go. Mystery solved.