Mister Faded Glory | misterfadedglory.com

The Board
1. The Detroit Pistons. It’s overdue that I give congratulations for the first watchable NBA champion since the 1995 Houston Rockets. (NOTE TO CURRENTLY FREAKING-OUT AMERICA – I KNOW THE BULLS WERE WATCHABLE, BUT I’M ONE OF THE THREE PEOPLE WHO HATED THEM. SO THEY DON’T COUNT.)
2. Twenty-nine. At least it’s not thirty.
3. Movieland Manor. A recent impetus for my hiatus (That’s right, an almost-poem) was an excursion to Monte Vista, Colorado. What, you’ve never been? Anyway, 50 miles north of New Mexico, the small town features a motel adjacent to an antiquated drive-in theatre. Each motel room has a speaker system that is wired to the movie theatre, so you can enjoy spectacles such as Shrek 2 on the big screen, peering out over a sea of cars (No lie, the place was packed.) The rest of the hotel was a dive, but c’mon, it’s the little things that make it.
4. The Rocky Mountains. So I’m well-traveled, but had never been into any of the Rockies, though I have visited Denver. They’re cool. Not four-hour-tolerable-drive-up-and-down-hills cool, but cool.
5. Cooking. Proved my kitchen mettle this week by preparing orzo primavera for Ms. Faded Glory. The pasta went smoothly, about as quickly as Rachael Ray said, and came out delicious.
However, I planned to serve quick-and-easy garlic bread with the meal, and preheated my oven, tossing the bread — still in foil wrapper — onto the rack. Well, as smoke began billowing out of the kitchen, I quickly removed the bread from the oven to discover the wrapper was plastic. It had melted, and half of it fused to the still-doughy bread, with the other half molten on the oven rack. I removed the oven rack, and leaned it against the oven before taking it out to the garage for later cleaning. Following that, I noticed the edge of the rack scorched my kitchen carpet, leaving a burn stain that will require a recarpeting of the entire kitchen to repair. But damn it, the pasta was good! And, we’ve also learned that ABC needs to offer me a sitcom. Throw in a talking baby if you want, this stuff is gold….

THE BORED
1. Kansas City sports fans. Yep, you’re all up in arms because Carlos Beltran is gone, traded to the Astros.
You whine that you can’t keep your players.
You whine because you’re a small market.
You whine and whine and whine. Well, get it straight. You didn’t see this coming with inflated contract demands and a poor start? Not even the New York YankeeDevils would have kept him around!
You’ve done a good job developing a nucleus of good hitters at a time, then giving them about a two-year window to win. This is what everyone else does as well. Once you learn how to scout strikeout pitchers, rather than garbage tossers, you can expect more success. It’s that simple. Give your guys some pitchers. Give ‘em a chance.
Seriously, Darrell May? Jimmy Gobble? Jeremy Affeldt? Kevin Appier? Kris Wilson? Why don’t you find an underhand pitcher? At least then his bizarre delivery would hide the meatballs.
Again, who wouldn’t have traded Beltran? No one could or would have signed him during this year, thanks to his agent’s ridiculous salary forecast.
You want him so bad? Ship your overrated boy Mike Sweeney to the Giants, then make a run at Carlos with a long-term deal. But stop complaining. The whole city has a chip on its shoulder. Yes, you’re a big Des Moines. Get over yourselves.
2. Two-week hiatuses. Not cool, clearly when you’re hilarious. But yes, things get busy.
3. Columns with no links and probable run-on sentences and typos. Sorry. I’m still busy.
4. Movable Type. Not sure how long my dsv-circle site will continue to function, as I have no clue nor time to learn any web design, publishing systems, or other computer stuff. If blogs were run with QuarkXPress and a tabloid printing press, I’d be kicking everyone else’s ass.
5. The NBA Draft. Say what you will, that it’s a developmental draft, that too many kids go out, that ESPN has ruined another sporting event, that Stephen A. Smith needs to stop shouting, or that seniors are punished for staying in school too long, because they don’t have potential, and …
well, you’d be right.
This particular draft was abominable. OK, so you’re a GM, what do you do? Your shelf-life is likely three or four years anyway, so you draft a high-schooler, and sign them to buckets of money? Man, that’s your own death warrant.
What should you do, facing this year’s crop? Trade out. The draft is cyclical, a better one will be forthcoming, and next year’s No. 1 is likely more valuable than No. 22 pick Sergio Monia (5.9 points in the Euro league. Sign me up!).

Winner players from this year’s draft (Able to contribute by 2007) – Emeka Okafor, Luke Jackson, Luol Deng, Tony Allen, Jameer Nelson. That’s it, that’s the list, and NONE of them are going to be future all-stars, just solid role players. Quite a year.

If you’re wondering where I’ve been for the last few days, rest assured that I am well. I just happen to be exercising a vow of silence in commemoration of the death of former president/conservative tool Ronald Reagan.

It is — but of course! — complete justice that the Great Communicator is finally getting the recognition he deserves, only upon his deathbed. With that said, you can expect my silent mourning period to last well into July, probably finishing on July 4 (Yep, I’m a freakin’ patriot) with a candlelight vigil on the runway at Reagan National Airport in Washington, D.C., scene of Die Hard 2: Die Harder.

You can also expect news coverage of Reagan’s death/funeral/wake/eulogy/decomposition to last into the summer, winding up June 15 on CNN, June 18 on The Washington Post and The New York Times, eight days ago on MichaelMoore.com, August 1 on MSNBC, and June 30, 2008 on FoxNews. While you’ve no doubt been deeply grieving over the news, here’s what you may have missed.

Tapes finally surfaced in the Enron scandal, proving the company sought to manipulate California. CBS broke this story, but conveniently during the whole Reagan-palooza, it may have gotten lost in the shuffle. Congrats, CBS corporate honchos, kick back and wait for the tax breaks.

The government is planning to dispose of oodles of toxic VX gas that is stored in Indiana, the only problem is – they don’t know where to put it! Ha! Dupont wants to dump it in the water. Naturally.

Guess what, there’s another G8 summit this week. Ah, who am I kidding? No controversy ever erupts at those.

We’ve increased troops in Iraq. No doubt ensuring a smooth governmental transition on June 30 – TWENTY DAYS AWAY.

And, in an egregious display of hubris, John Ashcroft appeared before a Congressional committee to explain the surfacing of a confidential memo, stating that [any custodial interrogations under direct supervision of the commander-in-chief may include [torture].] Now, you don’t need to be a legal scholar to realize that this could mean ANY military interrogation might not have to abide by the silly Geneva Convention, Miranda rights, or that pesky Constitution, because the president is technically commander of the entire military chain. Nice try, Ash. However, he claimed no executive privilege, showed no evidence of an executive order, showed no case law, none of those escape tools that right-wing higher-ups generally spin out … nothing! He just simply said the administration felt no need to turn over the memo, not to mention any need to abide by any international or domestic policies and laws on custodial interrogation and apprehension. Classic. I don’t know why he stopped short of claiming that God said it was all right. Yeah, like it didn’t cross his mind.

Anyway, make sure you have fun over the weekend celebrating — I mean, mourning – Dutch’s death. But watch out for the wool – being pulled right over our eyes.

I’m just as startled by the news as you are. Yes, it’s true, the band Creed is no more. I don’t know what’s most surprising about this news.
a. The fact that VH1’s lede to this story was “The biggest rock band of the past decade has broken up.” Hunh? Did anyone take these Tool-cum-Pearl Jam-cum-Stone Temple Pilots clones seriously? Ever? No, besides themselves.
b. That they lasted this long, with a gospel-grounded self-loving lead singer and a speed-metal wannabe guitarist.
c. That a manufactured rock act is calling it quits amid any fanfare at all.
d. That Creed actually tried to supply the soundtrack for “The Passion of the Christ.”
e. That vH1’s story is approximately six billion words long.

Ah, rest in peace, Creed. For all the rock bands that take themselves too seriously, there are a few that don’t at all, and some who balance the two extremes out. For you, however, there was no middle ground. It was all pathetic.

Song of the weak.
What else? Creed, Higher/With Arms Wide Open/What’s This Life For. The first album was serviceable enough that even some grungeheads got snookered into buying it. The next three (four?) were lighter, carbon copies of each other, revealing more gospel roots each time.

Rock is scary, unknown, and rebellious at its best. At its worst, it contemplates personal existence within a religious institution. Right or wrong, that’s how it works. However, now the members of Creed have plenty of time to figure out how to get into heaven, and perhaps — just perhaps – it’s by refraining from playing the same power chords over and over with the melody of a pop song.

I’ve now lived in a house in the Midwest for nearly seven straight months (quickly becoming the longest consecutive period in which I’ve inhabited the same abode), and the neighborhood is fairly decent. You know, some families, some couples, some single people, no real noise or anything distracting. Across the street lived another young couple, both grads of Fort Hays State University. They were nice, held the occasional get-together for their friends (Never invited, but we were just acquaintances), they had a dog (well-behaved) and we spoke on occasion.
Well, as is the norm for Memorial Day weekend, they packed up and moved out. Gone. Yep, the dog, too. In turn, all weekend I’ve been treated to the eerie spectacle of an entire compound moving into the house across the street. So have my left-side neighbors; last night I witnessed them gazing across the street in either contempt or horror. In any case, the occasion gives rise to the first-ever game (presented by Mister-Faded-Glory) on this site.

MATCH THE CARS PARKED ACROSS THE STREET WITH THE PROPER RESIDENT OWNER
a. 1983 Monte Carlo, white, with super-rad mags, parked in front lawn.
b. Late-1980s Mustang, red, louder than an airplane takeoff.
c. Late-1980s Mustang, black, louder than Fran Drescher’s laugh.
d. 1989 Honda Accord, two-door, white, three wheels, one permanent jack, parked in yard to west of garage.
e. Standard two-tone 1998-era Dodge pickup, large, typical for Kansas.

1. Auto service worker, late-20s, shirt open, cigarette permanently in mouth.
2. Skinny, chain-smoking, short-haired male, early 20s, always-dirty super-baggy Jnco jeans with wallet chain.
3. Loud, screeching, woman, early 20s, Motley Crue t-shirt, too-short gym shorts, always yelling “Where are you going!!” each time a car loudly pulls out of driveway.
4. Goofy, laughing curly-haired blond male, late 20s, with grass stem in mouth.
5. Wailing baby, understandably peeved at living arrangements.
6. Lead singer of Faster Pussycat, complete with long, black hair, ultra skinny (waifish), and semi-feminine characteristics.

Hint: One of the residents doesn’t yet drive a car.

Fun for the entire family, no doubt! Answers to come, later in the week.