For Chief Yellowhat...

I love living in Las Vegas. And with the our little girl on the way, I'm excited about all the things living in the west has to offer. Things that I didn't get to do when I was a kid. San Diego Zoo, the Grand Canyon, Disneyland (sure we went to Disneyworld, but it's not the same as the original), California beaches, real snow skiing (not the hills of Michigan), etc. But there's one area of my childhood that the west cannot provide for my little girl.

Roller Coasters.

Oh sure, sure, every casino on the strip on every corner has one. But they are really just little thrill rides. Only one (New York, New York) actually comes close to being a TRUE roller coaster. The one out at stateline is nice and cheap with a, what was at the time of construction the world's largest, huge drop. But even then, you aren't in the midst of a carnival atmosphere with cotton candy, elephant ears, and expensive sodas with more roller coasters to explore. Sorta one and done.

And yes, there's Magic Mountain. It was once labeled the roller coaster capital of the world. Once. A long time ago. Now it just feels like they squeezed as many coasters into one area as they could. When you are on one ride, you loop and ride through another. After awhile, they all kind of blend together.

No, for theme parks, there is only one destination for a true roller coaster enthusiast.

King's Island.

Now, before you midwesterner give me the Cedar Point argument, let me stop you right now. I know there are parks with taller rides. I know there are parks with steeper drops. I know there are parks with more loopty loops and corkscrews. But there is no park, no park in the world, that can match the speed and distance of the greatest roller coaster ever created.

The Beast.

Yes, even before you climb aboard one of the three 36 passenger trains, you can hear The Beast's satisfaction in striking fear into the heart of a new passenger. As you stare at the impressive six layers of 2x4 used to brace just the track, you have to wonder just how much lumber went into making this...well...beast of a track. The truth is, no one knows! There is so much wood that went into this monster that no one kept track and now it is a mystery. Try it. Try to find the answer. Good luck.

Some of my best memories of childhood revolve around King's Island. There was a pattern to the day. You started at Top Gun, because it sucked, but you had to ride it, so you tackled it early to get it out of the way. Then you hit the Racers. Backwards was a must! (Although rumor has it that they changed the backwards ride to now go forwards. Shame). Then you stood in the rediculously long line to ride Days of Thunder (IAAASSSSSAAAACCCC!). Next was the Vortex. I have to be honest. The first time I went to King's Island, I was scared to ride this coaster. I didn't do it. Neither did my friend Kevin and we both tried to pretend we would've if the other had wanted to. Then came lunch. SKYLINE CHILI BABY!!! After that you tried to win the girl a stuffed animal in the Coney Island section. Once lunch was digested, it was off to the King Cobra. Then, after this proper warm up, and only then, could you even consider taking on The Beast.

I remember standing in line with two good friends to ride The Beast when a gentlemen interrupted our conversation to tell us he was one of the first people to ever ride The Beast. We went along with him until he told us that The Beast used to have a loop in it (this was before Son of Beast was injuring people with it's metal travesty). After that, we figured he was off his rocker. He proceeded to 'jeff gordon' us (as Johnny "IT'S TIME" Scott said at the time) and jump ahead of the line. He happened to be wearing a yellow hat. From that, the legend of Chief Yellowhat grew. Chief Yellowhat, the only man to ride a loop on The Beast.

I say you must ride The Beast after a proper warm up. But it's not you that's warming up. You see, The Beast is a woodie. It's not state of the art. It's not new technology. It's classic. And the cool nights in Ohio means the wood is stiff and unforgiving in the morning. You don't want to be on one of those first rides out of the gate. You want the late afternoon runs. You want to hit the ol boy when he's good and ready to give you the ride of your life.

It takes four minutes and thirty seconds to tame The Beast. And once you've tasted the good stuff, nothing else quite compares.

One day I'll take my daughter there. One day we'll board the 7,500 feet of track, scream with delight as we drop over 100' into the earth (that's right, the first drop goes underground!), and hold on for dear life as we twist and turn through the 35 acres that The Beast covers.

Until that day, I'll have to settle for this:

If I Were To Ever Fight...

...surely this is how it would turn out.

BIG BROWN!!!!

I don't know what it is about horse racing but I LOVE IT! I love how beautiful those enormous animals look as they stretch for another stride. The power in their legs. They way they almost float above the track as they race at full speed. Absolutely stunning.

It always seems at this time of year I get to watch the three races which make up the triple crown, the greatest acheivement in thoroughbread racing. For three years in a row, we had a horse win the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness Stakes but lose the Belmont Stakes (War Emblem in 2002, Funny Cide in 2003, and Smarty Jones in 2004).

To see Big Brown do what he just did to the rest of the field got me excited. It was like his jockey was driving a car and just decided to throw it into high gear and run away from the pack. Amazing.

One more race to go!!!!

ALMOST!!

Thank you Betsy for pointing out how long it's been since I've posted. Truth is, I had REALTOR (like doctor just with 'real' instead of 'doc'. It's not Realator. That word doesn't exist. Unless you live in eastern Tennessee where you are allowed to add syllables at any place and at any time to any word) classes last week then did a job with a production company that I moonlight with to earn a little extra needed cash. Anyway, I should have more time to blog now that I'm back to working. And awe all know, with Jake, Work=freetime-to-search-the-internet-for-random-clips. This week's episode comes courtesy of a moron who apparently decided to attempt a standing back flip without ever practicing it before in his life. Enjoy!

I Am Tony Stark's Jealous Fan...

Went and saw Iron Man on opening night. Pretty darn good. Anybody else see it?

In honor of the movie, this website has a list of real life gadgets so you can assemble your very own iron man suit. Good luck.

If You Make It...

Through the whole thing without laughing...congratulations, you're dead.



I'm not sure if you can read his shirt or not, but it says, "Stud Muffin."

Butterfly Kisses...

I think I was about 10. Maybe I was a little older. Maybe I was a little younger. But the margin for error on this one can't be more than a year. Definately right at the 4th or 5th grade mark.

First I noticed the other boys didn't do it. It had seemed so natural. Just the way the world was. But suddenly I realized this was something that, if left unattended, could cause me great shame in the near future.

The time was now. I knew I had to act, but finding the courage to do so meant hurting someone I loved. I remember trying to find an excuse that wouldn't be so obvious and painful. I thought about it until I came up with the perfect excuse.

The moustache.

OF COURSE! His moustache. That makes the perfect sense.

"Dad." I asked.

"Yes son?" He said.

"Do you think it'd be alright if maybe I stopped kissing you?" I continued, "I mean, not because I don't want to, but because your moustache just kinda rubs my face and it hurts. You think we could just, I don't know, hug from here on out?"

"Sure"

And thus ended an era in my life. I began to grow up.

I dropped my buddy off at the airport this afternoon and on my way back, I decided to grab some lunch. I was hoping to have all my work done so I could go home and eat, but I knew I had at least a couple more hours left of work to go, so I decided to stop at my favorite Chinease...err...Asian buffet.

I was enjoying chicken on a stick when I noticed some people walking in. It was some grandparents with their daughter, who, in turn, also had her daughter (the granddaughter) in tow. It soon became apparent that they were meeting the husband here, because the moment the little girl saw her dad, she let out a huge, "DADDY!!!" and ran to him.

He swallowed her up in a giant bear hug and gave her a big kiss.

I had to fight tears.

Wednesday night, we asked the ultrasound operator not to tell us right away the sex of our child. Instead, we had her type it off in the corner of the picture and then put the picture in an envelope. Afterwards, we went to dinner and opened up the surprise together.

I'd like to say that I was impartial. That I screamed and cried and gave the girl with the green eyes the biggest of big hugs. That I was mature enough to not show my disappointment in my sperm (by the way, I'm pretty sure that's the only time in my life I will ever write that sentence).

But I'm an immature little kid. My humor is stuck in the sixth grade, and sometimes I think my emotional maturity is too.

"I'm sorry honey," my wife consoles me with.

"About what? I'm super excited." I lie.

"Yeah right. I know how much you wanted a boy," she cross examines me with.

And she was right. I wanted a boy soooooooooo bad. I even had the name picked out. Jaxon Alexander Keck. It means "Jake's son, the defender of mankind." Seriously, who wouldn't want to be named the defender of mankind?

It wasn't to be. And I pouted. I just couldn't get over how badly I had wanted a boy. And now, Jaxon may never exist.

My wife says I am too emotional. I say she isn't emotional enough. But I would agree with her that I demontrate my emotions at a much higher rate than her. That may not be a very manly thing to admit, but the truth's the truth. I cry at movies more than her. I cry at weddings more than her. I cry hug more people than her. It's just the way I'm wired.

So when I saw that little girl, run into her daddy's arms, I fought tears. Why? Because I suddenly realized the fullness of the gift God is giving me.

If I were to have a son, someday, in the not so distant future, I would be dropping him off for school and we'd have a conversation that would go like this:

"Uh, dad?"

"Yes Jaxon?"

"Do you think, maybe, instead of giving me a kiss, we could just, you know, high five or something? Your mustache just kind of rubs my face."

"I don't have a mustache Jaxon."

"So high fiving works?"

And that will be it.

With my daughter, the kissing will never stop.

Gotta Start Saving...

Got to pay for a wedding now...

Because It Reminds Me Of Poop...

I'm sitting in an extremely boring real estate continuing education classes. Today we are talking about ethics. The lady who is teaching the class sounds like she is from Alabama. The word "duty" keeps coming up. But the way she says it, it sounds like "dewdie" and makes me laugh.

I am six years old.

I Am A Ruined Man...

Have you ever been proud and ashamed at the same time? Last night I had one of those moments.

I used to play hockey (okay, "roller" hockey, but still. What can I say? I grew up in Indiana. We had more parking lots than frozen ponds.) on a pretty regular basis. Then, the team I played for decided to switch to Sunday nights and, at the time, my schedule couldn't accomodate that. But lately, I've been able to play ok an as-needed basis. Yesterday, I got the call from the dugout that my services would be needed. So, I strapped on my old gear and entered the rink of battle.

The game was tight. It was 3-3 late in the third. With about 2:30 left in the game, I pursued a puck deep in the corner. The opponent was bringing the puck out and as he got near me, he lost his balance. I don't say that tongue-in-cheek as in he "lost his balance" by me hitting him with my stick. I mean he was clumsy. Well, he fell right into my feet, which caused me to fall. As I fell on top of him, he proceeded to kick and punch at me. This isn't such an abnormality, even in roller hockey. Now, while this is annoying, being that it isn't abnormal, I tried my best just to get up and rejoin the action. When I stood up, my opponent decided he wanted to endanger my future children, by ramming his stick as hard as he could at them. Well, being that we don't know the sex of our child yet, and I don't know whether or not I have a male heir, this simply was unacceptable.

(The following is my recollection of the events. He may remember it differently)

I turned to him and said, "I'm sorry sir that you were unable to proceed unimpeeded down the rink, but I simply was trying to improve my teams situation in this gentlemenly game of puck and stick."

He said, "Screw you!" And punched me in the face.

I said, "Sir, if you want to go to fisticuffs, I've got your Jack Johnson and Tom O'Leary right here."

Then he kicked my dog off the overpass.

I said, "Now this is happening."

And that is (pretty accurately, I must say) how the fight began. I don't know if it was my feeble wrestling background or having just watched GSP destroy Matt Serra, but something instinctively kicked in and I took him down.

To Chinatown.

I'll have to be honest and say that I'm glad I "won". Maybe that's my pride talking. Whatever. If you're going to fight, fight to win right?

But I will say I'm ashamed of myself. Would it have cost me anything to just to walk away even AFTER he hit me? No, it wouldn't have.

But it wouldn't have made a very good story either.

Time's Almost Up...

In honor of today: A Chuck Norris Tax Joke.

When Chuck Norris sends in his taxes, he sends blank forms and includes only a picture of himself, crouched and ready to attack.

Chuck Norris has not had to pay taxes, ever.

What To Do, What To Do...

Well, I'm sitting in a small office on the wrong side of a desk. It's roughly my third week on the job, but it really feels like my first day. Even though my licensing credentials are the same and only needed to switch brokers, when I was with Lennar, I didn't belong to the National Association of REALTORS. This is the association that lets you list and view homes on the MLS (Multiple Listing Service) which is how 99% of resale homes are sold in the valley. I couldn't join the association until my license came through to my new broker, so the last couple of weeks, I have mostly been bugging Mark and having him show me what to do.

Friday, my credentials finally came through and I was able to take care of all the necessary paperwork and fees ($1500!!!!!!!) to join the association. So, today kind of feels like my first day on the job. Especially since I am bored and are blogging.

Just like old times.

All That Is Right With The World...

Came accross this little gem today. Yes, I know it's wrong. But it's okay. I'm a democrat.

(I actually have no idea how that justification has to do with anything.)

Way Up High...

All three of my Dad's brothers (and various parts of their families) were in town last weekend. They came in late Saturday and just left this afternoon to go home. We had a great time. I didn't get ANY sleep Saturday night and went to bed Sunday night about 2 o'clock Monday morning. It's been a long time since I tried to keep that schedule. Needless to say, I am pooped. Hopefully, I can get back to posting regularly soon. I know you miss hearing how I spent my day, Mom.

Introducing, In the Red Corner...

"Why would anyone do that?"

I've heard that more than once. Watching one guy pound another guy inside that octagon begs that question. Yet, I've never asked it. Even when it's a one sided affair and the loser looks like he was in a bad car accident (and probably hurts more than if he actually was). Even when there's an injury.

I don't have to ask. I know why.

I quit my job yesterday. Just for context, I loved my job. I enjoyed working with people, helping them find their dream home. I think Lennar is a good company, and, as best they can, care about their employees. I loved my boss. I thought he was smart and did a lot of things right.

So why did I quit?

When I was a kid, I used to wrestle. In high school, I wasn't necessarily good, but I wasn't bad either. I won most of the matches I was supposed to win, and I lost most of the matches I should've lost. And most of the time this was pre-determined before I went on the mat.

It wasn't set-up or anything, I just pre-determined it. Usually, when I went up against an opponent with a good record that I knew, ultimately, no matter how hard I tried, I would probably be defeated. Mostly because he was a better wrestler than me. So, when those times came, I usually didn't try very hard. I made it look good, but I was defeated before I went out there. That might sound strange, but it was an ego saver for me.

You see, by not trying, I didn't really feel like I'd lost. By not giving my all, I wasn't putting myself out there. In the back of my mind I could say, "well, I didn't really lose because I didn't really try. Who knows how I would've done if I'd tried."

I continued this attitude through most of my life. Things I should succeed at, I did. And things I would have to work hard to succeed at, I didn't try very hard, so if it failed, I didn't feel like it was really me who failed.

Theodore Roosevelt was quite a president. He was the first vice president to succeed a president who died (McKinley) and actually get re-elected. He was the first president to invite a black person to dine at the White House. He was the first president to officially call the White House "The White House". He was the first American to be awarded a Nobel Prize. He is the only president to be awarded a Medal of Honor. He's also the reason I quit.

There is a quote of his that I've committed to memory. It goes like this:

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."

When I was in fifth grade, I wrestled for the junior high team. I was too young to have an ego, and as it was my first year of really competitive wrestling, I didn't know if I was any good or not. We entered a four-team tournament at the end of the year. As it turned out, I was ranked third (out of four). But, the second ranked kid couldn't make weight, and I suddenly found myself in the championship match against the number one ranked kid in my weight class. Well the match starts and I find myself on my back. I struggle and strain and somehow make it out of the first period. The second period was more of the same. I find myself in danger of being technically pinned by losing by more than 15 points.

The third period starts and he's controlling the match. Now, don't get me wrong, this kids is a better athlete than me. The fact that these people exist is a reality my life that hasn't escaped my knowledge. But something in me decided I wasn't ready to lose. Something snapped inside and I went after him. I got him in a headlock and squeezed as hard as I could. With about 8 seconds left in the match I pinned him.

I was a the champion. I was the only kid on my team that year to win a championship. I put myself out there and won. I strove valiantly. I knew victory.

I think there is something in a man that identifies with that. It's the reason the UFC is the fastest growing sport among men ages 18-40. It's the reason my brother-in-law is joining the Air Force in his thirties. It's the reason I envy him. And it's the reason I going out on my own.

I am entering a very competitive arena. If I succeed, it will be because of me. And if I fail, it will be because of me. Much like Cortez, I am burning the ships and not looking back.

"Why would anyone do that?"

If you have to ask, no explanation will do.

The critic line begins to your left.

Them Jars Of Clay Are Right...

This is going to be a very crazy week.

Today I made a pro/con list of whether or not I'm going to quit my job (Matt, I know this violates rule number something or other about blogging, but I don't care). You always know it's going to be an interesting week when it starts off like that. Plus, my wife left me a honeydo list a mile long. I'm almost there, but thought I would post while I had a break.

Tomorrow I'm working all day.

Wednesday I have an appointment at the church, lunch appointment, and then a vet appointment for the doggies. Athena has these horrible allergies that keep us up all night with her scratching. Diesel poops blood. Gross, I know.

Thursday is D-day. I absolutely positively have to know by then what I'm going to do about work.

Friday is either work as usualy or the first day of freedom. We'll see what happens.

WEST VIRGINIA SUCKS (and other NCAA rumors that aren't true)...

If anyone cares, I am auctioning of a slightly used NCAA men's tournament bracket.

WESTERN KENTUCKY!!!!!

Well, I had my first big hurt of the tourney. I had Drake going all the way to the Elite 8.

What a shot.

Dear Jason...

...You asked for it.



(if you don't get it, see comment on post below)

Nature's Vagina...