Corey Simpson

June 28, 2007


Corey SimpsonI’ll be honest - as much as I like The Simpsons as a television show, I’m not incredibly excited about The Simpsons Movie. Is that bad? I understand that the show is funny and well-written and all of that, but I just can’t get excited about it anymore. I haven’t watched an entire episode straight through in about four or five years. And I can’t blame that on cable — we get it free on Fox.

Still, I love the website. It’s great. The Simpsons Movie website gives you tons of fun games and news and clips - and, it’s got a “create your own Simpsons character” feature.

It’s hard to be accurate. After all, there aren’t that many noses and chins to choose from. So this character to the left is as close as I could get. If Corey Vilhauer lived in Springfield, [state omitted], he’d look a little different. I mean, this guy’s hot. You can’t see his paunch and you don’t see a bald spot. He’s everything I want to be. Except more yellow.

Head over there and have fun. It doesn’t take long at all — in fact, I did this while I was talking to a client on the phone.

Tags: Movies, Random Links, Television |

2 Comments

Play ball!

June 26, 2007


The BirdcageHow many thousands of people have written about the experience of being at a baseball game? It’s a tired subject, sure, but it’s an important one all the same. And we’re not talking about just the game itself. We’re talking about the the auxiliary sounds, smells and events. It’s an amazing paradox – a sport that, at times, is less exciting than the experience.

But that’s what makes it fun – especially minor league baseball. Very few take it truly seriously. The atmosphere is loose, the egos are contained. No one is preening in front of a multi-million dollar check – they’re all fighting to move up or fighting to stay in the game.

So going to a minor league baseball game – we have the Sioux Falls Canaries – is an experience in the national pastime as it’s supposed to be played. It’s kids running for balls, people talking over beers, the sickly smell of onions on a bratwurst, of beer breath and fresh air and the darkening sky as the stadium lights turn on. It’s nothing but pure life, boiled down into a 5,000 seat area, with a baseball game to distract us when life gets too dull.

Baseball has grown on me. A friend of mind mentioned how baseball isn’t an instant pick-up. You can’t just suddenly “like” baseball. You have to grow into it by slowly learning every nuance. A strike and a ball mean so much more in so many situations. There’s a hidden strategy that makes the game unbearable for the new fan but incredibly rewarding for those who discover it. Baseball isn’t a sport – it’s a board game, it’s Risk, it’s numbers meeting physics, the ultimate clash of two long-learned sciences.

I had a blast tonight, just Kerrie and me, sometimes watching the game and often focusing on the people around us. We got cupcakes (thanks, Chamber of Commerce!) and watched several odd yet strangely exciting fan-participation games. We sang “Take Me Out To the Ballgame” and talked like we were people-watching at a bar. We sat outside and enjoyed the breeze. And we watched the Canaries lose 9-4, but not before a very late “rally” sparked our attention near the end.

I know professional baseball’s been going on for a few months. But for me, it’s as if the season just started.

Could you pass the peanuts and Cracker Jacks, please?

Tags: Baseball, Outdoors, Sports |

3 Comments

Remembering the Crippler

June 25, 2007


We all had false teenage idols – people we unnecessarily looked up to, regardless of how important they really were in our lives, revered for odd reasons that were really never questioned. They were just there. They were unreasonable loves, like a particular television show or silly band, nearly embarrassing but there nonetheless.

But just because those people or things were frivolous, it didn’t mean they were stupid. They are part of growing up. And they stick with you forever and ever, regardless of how you’ve passed them by.

Today, one of those people that I had passed by passed away.

I have made no secret of my former love of professional wrestling. And I will make no secret now that, regardless of how obnoxious it has become and how I no longer follow it, professional wrestling still holds a strong spot in my heart. It can still be a common topic among friends, a nostalgic look back through history, through an escape that was part athletics, part pure drama.

Through all of that, though, I have still held a longing respect for one wrestler – for Chris Benoit, a wrestler that transcended the petty angles and boring fake-fighting. He wrestled for the pure sport of it, for the acrobatic delight of the fans, a good guy through and through. He was never as heralded as the talkers or the brawlers. But he was a special talent – a man that could make other people better through in ring style and teaching.

He was better than the sport, I always thought – stuck in a wrestling landscape that didn’t quite appreciate him as much as they should have, a landscape that was built through edgier and edgier stories, larger and larger breasts and less and less pure technical talent. He was old school before it was cool to be old school. He was fluid. He made everything look easy. He made professional wrestling look less like the childish melodrama it has become and more like the carefully staged production it once was.

I latched onto Chris Benoit – a smart beacon in a room full of fakes, a wrestler I could still seem intelligent in liking. He was the braniac’s wrestler, the technical artist’s wrestler, the hardcore fan’s wrestler. He was not a fan favorite. He was not selling tickets. But he was putting a full night of work in every night, all night, making his opponents seem like a million bucks and letting the glory wash over in the locker-room.

And now, he’s gone. Found dead in his home with his wife and son. As of now, no one knows how. But everyone who loved watching him is mourning. Amazingly, it happened on the night he was about to be crowned ECW champion – the last American title he had never held.

It was over three years ago when Chris Benoit finally, for the first time, undisputed, held up the World Wrestling Entertainment championship title. He was met in the ring with his longtime friend – the now also deceased Eddie Guerrero. That night, my two favorite wrestlers – two brilliant workers that defined the “smark” generation, that made us all forget for a few minutes the bullshit, the planned run-ins, the over exaggerated bravado, the scene struggling to stay afloat, weighed down under its own over-the-top brashness – held the two Championship Titles for their respective shows.

And that was the last time I ever followed wrestling. I lost interest. The moment I wanted to see had been shown, like watching the final episode of a television drama. Everything after that was contrary to the happy ending I had envisioned.

Especially this.

I’ve taken heat before for my current views on wrestling. I’ve been called out for considering the sport to be long passed, a “stage I grew out of.” I’ve effectively alienated and insulted my friends that still watch wrestling.

But keep this in mind. While I never really follow wrestling anymore, I still respect some aspects of it. I respect a hard fought lucha match, a smart storyline, a technical masterpiece and a tape of Japanese NOAH-style stiff suplexes. Most of all, I still respect Chris Benoit and his legend; his 22 year career, built brick by brick, layer by layer until he was at the peak of his sport, the best actor in a long running play.

Without Chris Benoit, I would have had nothing to watch. One by one, my favorite characters came and went, became monsters and then were rendered ineffective. Except Benoit. He was always there, still working hard, still rising above the steroid rumors and womanizing and sloppy wrestling to be the greatest technical wrestler that had ever entered the squared circle.

Sure, I haven’t missed him much over the past three years. But whenever I throw my Best of Chris Benoit in Japan tape into the VCR, or come across his name on the Internet, or think of how I played hours - DAYS - worth of WCW No Mercy on Nintendo 64, until my thumbs bled and my eyes rolled back in their sockets, rest assured he’ll be missed.

Tags: Sports, Television, Wrestling |

4 Comments

Satan’s VCR

June 22, 2007


As someone who is constantly attempting to position myself as some sort of faux-intellectual, it’s always a surprise to people that one of my hidden, deepest loves is with the acoustic rock stylings of Tenacious D.

Above the over-the-top aspects, I find “The D” to be - seriously - one of the funniest and most subtle acts in the humor industry. They are simply hilarious. Brilliant. All of that.

They are, of course, the masters of rock. They have perfected the “losers think they’re great” act. I can’t help but laugh, constantly, with difficulty in holding my bladder full.

Even the movie - which was geared more towards “everyone in the entire world” and not the usual “fans of Mr. Show and subtle, awkward sketch comedy” - was worthwhile. Not as good as the original shows, or the CD, or the concerts, but good nonetheless.

So I was surprised to hear that the Tenacious D: The Pick of Destiny website was awarded a bronze Cyber Lion at the International Advertising Festival in Cannes this past week.

Then I went to see the site.

It’s awesome.

Go there now. Here’s the link again. Watch the entire intro. Then check out Satan’s VCR. Spend all of your billable hours in watching a year-and-a-half old website.

I know I just did.

Tags: Advertising and Marketing, Movies, Music, Random Links |

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A decade of love

June 21, 2007


Ten years ago today, Kerrie and I started a journey – nay, an adventure – in life. We entered into a relationship, one stretched taut by long distance and by light communication and by youthful ignorance, both of us fully in love with the idea of being fully in love.

We built a life together through dorm rooms and pints of beer and travel and laughs and, yes, finally, a love that we truly understood. So eventually, it was bound to happen.

Four years ago today – the same day, six years later – we entered into the next part of life. As our pastor said, the two of us joined together as one in order to make a stronger two.

We know this because we watched our wedding video today. It was beautiful, not just because we were married and we love each other and all of that, but because of how idyllic it all was. The doves, the dinner and the escape, us driving away from the hubbub as fast as we could while our friends, family and peripheral attendees all celebrated our new life together.

It’s amazing to think back ten years ago. Did I ever think Kerrie and I would last through the summer, let alone through two colleges, several career changes and a grasping group of relatives. Did I ever think that we would be living back in Sioux Falls, loving life, enjoying every step of the way, living our dreams. Did I ever think we’d be getting ready to expand the family, by one, maybe more?

Who knows what I thought. It was so long ago. I was a different person, as was Kerrie. We’ve changed, helping each other through tough times and difficulties in order to mesh. To become that stronger two that was promised to us just four years ago.

Four years have passed since we locked hands and hearts and lips in front of a congregation of well-wishers. The numbers have decreased, but the love hasn’t. Our friends and family made the promise then to support us through everything, and they’re still going strong today. For that we thank them. Each and every one.

Especially those who didn’t make it past those four years, for whom life was tough, for whom time caught up, but not before allowing us to welcome them into our lives for just a slice of one of our greatest days. My grandfather was one of them; Kerrie’s father and aunt, as well. We’ve seen a parent of a friend leave us. And we’ve seen a friend of our parents go as well.

We miss them. We celebrate them. In fact, we celebrate everyone that was there, and those who weren’t, not yet in our lives or no longer close, but still instrumental in building the two bodies that came together just four years ago.

Ten years ago, I had no idea what was going to happen in my life.

Ten years ago, I had no idea things could be this good.

Tags: Friends, Vilhauer |

4 Comments

What’s in a name?

June 19, 2007


Naming a dog is easy.

When we named our dog, Becket, it was done with no stress and little discussion. We were free to choose from any list of famous people, words, ideas, themes, etc. We could have named him Scruffy, or Alexander, or Fuzzball, or Frank. We could have named him after a famous television dog, or after a favorite book, or after a long lost relative or long deceased pet.

Instead, we named him after a former Archbishop of Canterbury, Sir Thomas a’ Becket, a character that was brutally murdered by Henry II’s henchmen in one of the most fascinating stories in English history.

If only naming a child were so easy.

It struck me tonight as we struggled through another name book: we’re creating a new human. And we’re given the opportunity to name it. And, while it’s easy for large corporations to throw together a focus group in order to find a suitable and representative model name or, easier yet, assign a random code of letters and numbers to a new model, we’re not able to get away with naming our child Vilhauer Junior X-101.

We are responsible for more than just raising and protecting a child. We are charged with creating its identity and devising its moniker. We need to name our baby, and we need to give it a name that’s respected and meaningful. Clever and original, yet not too out of control. Something fun, yet something that won’t be made fun of. We need to give it a first name and middle name that work together, that honor the right people and fit well with our last name.

We have some names picked out. But are they the right ones? The girl name was easy – we both latched onto a beautiful handle quickly in the process, a name that I had always liked and one that Kerrie agreed with.

The boy name; not so easy. We’ve been through thousands of names, throwing the ridiculous ones onto a burn pile and saving some for later review. We’ve narrowed it down to one name that I like (and Kerrie isn’t quite sold on) and several that Kerrie likes (and I’m not quite sold on.)

The difficulty in deciding this name – this future identity – is getting a little weightier. How embarrassing to be nameless, to be sent into the world without that recognizable possession, the first thing you give over to someone and the one you remember the longest.

This name isn’t just for us or for our baby, it’s for everyone our baby meets, everyone we meet. It’s the verbal representation of our child, forever, for as long as it lives, for as long as we live.

After all, even after a person is gone, the name continues to live on.

So what’s in a name that makes it so powerful, anyway?

Tags: Sierra, Vilhauer |

6 Comments

A magazine from another (planet)

June 18, 2007


Punk (Planet)

It’s always sad when a former icon has passed on.

Today, one has. The formidable Punk (Planet) has folded, leaving thousands of punk rockers without their daily dose of knowledgeable writing and underground reviews.

I was a Punk (Planet) devotee for most of my punk rock days – a mere two years in absolute poseur-ville – and found I could still be smart while attempting to wear a dog choke collar and baggy pants. Punk (Planet) had a wonderful array of columnists – both talented writers and punk legends that opined on the state of the world, the state of the scene or the state of their ripped up pants.

I identified with Punk (Planet) as someone who enjoyed reading, and especially as someone who enjoyed writing emo-driven sappy-neoblog entries. I had built a website where I would journal online, far before the blogosphere had been recognized (thankfully so) – a site that died out once I realized that life was good and I had nothing to be whiny about.

So I enjoyed the magazine from a writer’s and reader’s perspective. It wasn’t really the most punk magazine out there, but it went along its way with thoughtful journalism instead of the ego-pounding brashness of Maximum Rock and Roll or the commercial flavor of Alternative Press. Norm Arenas became more than a respected musician through Punk (Planet) – he became, to me, a respected writer and a respected person.

Punk (Planet) was my first taste of underground literature – a magazine that spit in the face of Rolling Stone and other seemingly edgy mass-market periodicals. It got me on a ‘zine kick. I purchased all I could find. I poured over the innermost thoughts of some strangers who happened to like Morrissey and I railed against the system with the kids from AK Press. I even created my own ‘zine. And yes, it was reviewed by Punk (Planet). They tried to review everyone they could - even lame little poseurs like me.

Now, even though I haven’t picked up a copy of the magazine in nearly seven years, I find I’ll miss it a little bit. Much like Nintendo Power dominated my geeky video game years, Punk (Planet) dominated my “discovering myself” years, when I was searching for an identity, one I thought I could find at the end of a Bad Religion CD (but ultimately found at the end of a Bic pen).

So long, Punk (Planet). I truly hardly knew ye. But I’ll miss you all the same.

—

Update: Alan at Fall of Autumn Press created a YouTube video saying goodbye to Punk (Planet), featuring a screenshot of my lil’ ol’ blog. Check it out here.

Tags: Blogging, Journalism, Literature, Music, Writing |

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