Like the dropping of the ball in Times Square, Anvil's Best Of issue has become a tradition, albeit a new one. While it may seem like an oxymoron to have such things as "new traditions," I believe they play a crucial role in our overall happiness. For every dying tradition, a new one is born.
It's a fine line between acting like a jackass and being one. I've spent far too much time walking that line, and occasionally, falling. Ever since I was a wee lad, I've enjoyed making people laugh. For the most part, I'm known for my self-effacing dry wit, sarcasm and dashing good looks. From time to time, however, I've taken my act too far.
At least once every two weeks I dream that my teeth are disintegrating or falling out. The dreams me freaks out, just as waking real-life me would. Unlike many British folk, I hold my chompers in high regard, so these "nightmares" are particularly disturbing. I used to wrack my brain trying to figure out what the dreams meant. Maybe they were the result of subliminal messages hidden in the "Hang in There" kitten posters on the ceiling of my dentist's office, the ones reminding me to floss and brush regularly, or else. Perhaps my dentist laced my free floss or toothbrush with LSD? Luckily, before I filed a formal complaint with the ADA, I consulted the Dream Dictionary.
I love betting, probably because I rarely lose. My confidence bit me in the ass, however, or in the nipple, as the case may be, Super Bowl Sunday, when I made a bet with my fiancée that the New England Patriots would beat the spread. Unfortunately, we hadn't agreed on the prize going into halftime, and when Janet exposed her breast, I had an epiphany: The loser should pierce his/her nipple! I figured my fiancée probably wouldn't go through with it, and if she did, it might be kinda cool. It never occurred to me that it might be my nipple that ended up getting its own decoration.
I've covered a few oddities over the years, including my unreal experience involving a rental car as well as income-generating opportunities stemming from reciting all fifty states alphabetically. In early April, however, I was lucky enough to participate in a truly unusual event involving a yellow school bus and fifty people dressed to the nines.
Portland has been in the news a good amount the past few months, and; very little of it favorable. From terrorist sympathizers to political sex scandals, we've got headline makers in spades. Unfortunately, that is only part of the story.
People that know me may think I don’t take criticism well, but I disagree. I’m a sponge when it comes to learning, which includes feedback on how to improve myself professionally.
In August of 1995, a coworker stormed into my office and pleaded to me, "Can you believe Jerry Garcia is dead?" My emphatic reply was, "Jerry who?" For the majority of readers that are shocked by my lack of familiarity with the infamous leader of The Grateful Dead, I must admit I was raised on a stable diet of R&B and rap music.
Since 1958 when it was first introduced to the world, The Mini Cooper created a sensation. The microscopic pocket car was cute, fun and just a little sexy. Nearly 45 years later, BMW reintroduced a slightly bigger, even better interpretation of the classic. In a rare instance, automotive engineers and marketers came together to build and sell more than just a car, they sold a lifestyle.
Like too many Americans, I drive to work by myself. One weekday morning in the spring of 1997, I walked up to my trusty Honda Civic to find my remote didn't elicit its familiar chirp when I pressed the button. Puzzled, I looked under the hood to check my alarm siren, only to find that the wiring had been pulled out. I looked around nervously, waiting for some evildoer to jump out with a crowbar.
I recently returned from a European vacation (see photos in the Gallery) and was more surprised than I should have been at just how much people outside of the United States dislike us. It's easy to see why: we're the wealthiest nation in the world and have a tendency to get into everyone else's business. While I did experience some degree of discrimination for being American, the time abroad was truly enlightening and inspiring.
Traditionally speaking, bachelor parties are known as a last chance for the groom to reconsider before making the marital plunge. It's the end of single life, and the beginning of a new chapter, involving battles over toaster settings, hair in the drain and dirty dishes. Having recently gone through the memorable experience myself, I feel obligated to share what I've learned much as Mr. Miyagi shared The Crane move with the Karate Kid.