Sunday, February 26, 2006

23 pieces of candy in the halloween bowl?

I scored 24 out of 33 while watching Grey's Anatomy tonight.

It's a good show, but it needs less soundtrack. It's a Sunday night drama, not Peter and the Wolf.

She was destined.


PR Rep #1: Right, so we have a new athlete client who wants a stage name. Any ideas?

PR Rep #2: "Engelbert Humperdinck"?

PR Rep #1: No - it needs to sounds more like her sport. I was thinking we just take two words - one implying gun, the second indicating speed - and use those. Thoughts?

PR Rep #2: "Canon Octane"?

PR Rep #1: "Pistol Delorean"?

PR Rep #2: "Shotgun Transmission"?

PR Rep #1: "Trigger Fasty"?

PR Rep #2: I got it! How about "Uzi Diesel"?

PR Rep #1: Perfect! Just make it sound more German, and I think we've got ourselves a winner.

House lights fade to black.

Friday, February 24, 2006

Think back.

What is your earliest memory? 3 years old? 4? 2? I know there are people who claim they can remember their own birth. I’m skeptical, but I guess I have no reason to doubt them.

I think it would be funny if all of a sudden, I just *snap* remember everything that happened between birth and my current earliest memory (which, by the way, is visiting my mom when she was in the hospital having Cecilia). My brain does occasionally let me in on secrets it had previously deemed classified – hiding places of iPod components, conversations I’d had with Lisa about ice cream sandwiches, high school locker combinations, etc. I think I’m pleased I don’t remember teething, but wouldn’t it be interesting to recall what was going through your mind when you chose your first word or took your first step?

I played with young Julia yesterday during a long lunch away from my studies. I pride myself on being able to make her smile, and I wonder if she finds equal pleasure in making me look like a peek-a-booing idiot. She doesn’t speak much right now, except for the occasional “mama” or “dada” or “Jesus, Jesse, get the hell away from me”, but I’d like to think that if she could better communicate, she’d tell me she likes looking in the mirror with me. Or that she truly appreciates the time and effort I put into itsy bitsy spider. Or that she loves my beard.

Maybe once she can talk, she’ll *snap* remember and drop me a line.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Kudos: the Parking and Lawyering Edition

Anna anna bo banna
banana fanna fo fanna
me mi mo…

Manna from heaven is what Anna Carr is. Kudos to her for making my mornings that much nicer because I get to sleep in with my wife for a few more minutes. Kudos to the good doctor for letting me avoid the rat race that is the undergrad parking lot. Kudos to my old smoking buddy for helping me abuse the system that has for so long abused me. Kudos to Dr. Anna, “Banannie” Carr for giving me her faculty parking tag.

Lisa lisa bo bisa
Banana fanna fo fisa
Me mi mo

Me so happy me married to Lisa Battaglia Garvey. Kudos to Ladybird, who always has my best interest in mind. Kudos to my own personal Lois Lane for saving us 30 bucks which will now inevitably go to sushi and flowers instead of to the Shitty of Buffalo. Kudos to Lisa “Wifey” Garvey, who moved my car to the other side of the street this morning so I could sleep in.

Dave dave bo bave
Banana fanna fo

Favorite person of the day is Dave Hoffman. Kudos to Homer for helping me with a school assignment. Kudos to Oberon for randomly running into me in the hall and for being so damn smart. Kudos to Dave “Hassel” Hoffman for turning what would have been three or four consecutive all-nighters into just one.

Aly aly bo baly
Banana fanna fo

Phallic-shaped sadists designed the New York State Bar, and Aly Culliton is taking it today. Kudos to her for passing it. (Please save this one for a few months until she actually gets her passing grade. And she will.) Kudos to the Aly “Grandaughter-of-a-Sunofabitch” for being lawyerly and knowing more pirate jokes than anyone else on earth.

Now if only Art and Chuck would doing something worth mentioning.

Monday, February 20, 2006

Thanks.

Thanks, everyone. Thanks for your support, your well-wishes, your kind words and your desperately needed prayers. Thanks for your chicken cacciatore.

I don’t have to report on the down-side of all this. Even if you haven’t gone through something similar before, I think you know the cons without me listing them.

Here’s a pro: I have three new heroes. Joe’s kids stood tall. Part of my mind tells me that I can assume/imagine how bad it is for them, and then another part smacks the first part down and calls it an idiot. I have no clue. I hope I never do. The three of them showed a superhuman ability every time they took a breath without passing out. Someday, I’ll tell my child about these heroes and how strong they were.

One more note before I leave this one for awhile: I was a pallbearer for the first time in my life. What an honor to be able to play such a part. The weight of an uncle in his pine box split six ways is still surprisingly great, and even though the Garvey men are not known for grace, we cousins and brothers walked in perfect synchronicity, without incident. Getting a half dozen guys from my family to do anything even half coordinated is not an easy task, and I think Joe would be quite pleased to know the trip to his Final Reward had such a unifying effect, even if only for a few seconds.

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Rest.

I don’t know what to write here. I haven’t been exactly sure how to think or act or speak in the last few days, so I’m not surprised that blogging about “it” isn’t inherently an easy thing to do. Sorry for the disjointed jumble to follow…

My uncle, Joe, committed suicide on Monday. My dad’s brother. Yes, he was sick for awhile, if you consider depression an illness, which I do.

On Sunday, Lisa’s grandmother spoke philosophically about the death of her husband a few years previous. “I hate when people say I ‘lost’ him. I never ‘lost’’ him, I knew right where he was.”

I guess technically, tangibly, we always knew right where Joe was, but we definitely lost him years ago. He was reclusive for much of my life. Without a doubt, he was the uncle with whom I had the most tenuous relationship. We spoke with love and amicable warmth on Christmas Eves and family barbeques and times when he was over to help repair a lawnmower. And though Joe and I shared those qualities most quintessential to The Garvey Male (very smart, facial hair, loves hockey, studied latin, democrat, etc.) I can’t say our outward similarities extended much past that.

I remember when I was a kid and I asked him where the bubbles in my coke came from. The easy answer there is “magic!”, but he didn’t even hesitate to explain to a 7 year old how carbonation works. He said that I couldn’t see the microscopic reaction happening, but I could see the bubbles, the result. The rest, I’d just have to trust him on. I did.

I wish I could tie these things intelligently together for you, something about being “lost” and trust in what you can’t see, but no – these are just things I can’t get out of my mind. I’ve also, understandably, had Elliott Smith playing in the corners of my psyche for days now. Do me a favor: go listen to King’s Crossing, say a prayer for his son and two daughters, and have a coke.

Magic, right?

Monday, February 13, 2006

Week 18 - Potato sized baby



Lisa and I made it in for another sonogram today and everyone is happy and healthy. The young'n came out for a photo op and showed us the little in utero dance it's been practicing. It kind of looks like the twist.

Our physician (nurse? lab tech? babytician?) was sweet and thourough. She asked us about names while she took 54 different pictures of our child's feet, heart, noggin and the like.

It's the good news I need.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

My fake fake book

Writing fake memoirs seems to be all the rage these days. I, the progenitor of the Man Fact, should have excelled at this. Unfortunately, I may have taken a few too many steps over the line between that which is at least somewhat believable, and that for which “bullshit” is too kind a term. This is evidenced by some of the rejection letters I got back recently:

Dear Mr. Garvey,

First, thank you for your manuscript submission. It is obvious that you put a lot of effort into your book, “Mike Garvey: the True Story of the Rock Star Astronaut Who Invented Cheese and Beat Up a Caveman”. Unfortunately, considering the current circumstances surrounding falsities in auto-biographies, we have decided to avoid any work that pushes the envelope of believability. Your work, though a wonderful read, not only pushes the envelope, but knocks it down and kicks it in the mangos.

Indeed, Mr. Garvey, you have a true talent for story telling and though our fact-checkers have yet to get back to me on any one of your 74 chapters, I honestly believe that your tale needs to be shared with the public at large. Surely, this generation would benefit from hearing about the man on whom Indiana Jones is based, especially when that same man survived underwater for two hours, just to prove that it could be done.

In the spirit of improvement, I offer you the following advice. Please don’t take this personally, but you could benefit from the perspective of a publisher who may or may not believe that you once won the Daytona 500... on a horse:

1. In chapter 23, you discuss at length how you lived your entire life without the benefit of electricity, but then chapter 48 is titled How I Invented Electricity. You may want to go back and see which of these is more not-a-lie.
2. I don’t believe for a second that you’re next in line for Buddha’s job.
3. The section in which you talk about how you managed to thwart a political assassination, effectively securing the alliance between two countries sounds suspiciously like an episode of Deep Space Nine. The tip-off was that your friend Odo was there.
4. On page 337, you write “Then I killed the hooker in a blind, crack-addled rage with the help of Tangalina Tolie (name changed to protect the identity of this extremely famous and hot person).” First, I’m guessing the average reader, not to mention Ms. Jolie’s lawyers, can guess the identity of your partner in crime. Second, I’m guessing this never actually happened.
5. Speaking of lawyers, I checked with our legal department and it turns out that the disclaimer you included on the last page: “By reading this sentence, the reader hereby agrees not to call the author a liar or remove him from your Oprah’s Book Club list…” would indeed not hold up in any court, ever.
6. A monkey sidekick? Really?

In conclusion, Mr. Garvey, we recommend you either switch over to fiction or take a job in politics. (Sorry… “publisher” humor.)

Sincerely,
Stupid McJerkmore, AssFace Publishing

(name changed to protect the identity of this publisher who has terrible taste)

Saturday, February 11, 2006

Take that, DHKA.

Your IQ Is One Billion

Your Logical Intelligence is Exceptional

Your Verbal Intelligence is Exceptional

Your Mathematical Intelligence is Exceptional

Your General Knowledge is Off the Charts


By the way, when I first took this test and then fooled with the html, I actually misspelled "Exceptional".

Thursday, February 09, 2006

Lest we forget our awkward accomplishments

I recently reconnected with a few high school friends from good ol’ Iroquois and it got me to thinking. This year marks a decade since I Strived to be My Best, which (apparently) is just long enough for me to forget which plays I was in during which years. The drama club was the first and only real group I was in back then (sports? me? pftht.) I consulted a few of my yearbooks to figure out exactly what my high school theatrical resume looked like. Here it is:

Freshman year: Monsignor Mariel in Les Miserables and Perchik in Fiddler on the Roof.
Sophomore year: Elwood P. Dowd in Harvey and Buddy in It’s a Dog’s Life.
Junior year: The Narrator (Stage Manager) in Our Town and Audrey II (the puppeteer) in Little Shop of Horrors.
Senior year: The Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz and Juror #3 in 12 Angry Men (which we called “12 Angry Jurors” since I don’t think we even had 12 guys in the club at the time.)


Monday, February 06, 2006

Really?

Someone just found the royal toybox by searching for "nekid sex pitchers of boys" via Yahoo Search.

I mean, seriously.

"Fear itself", nothin'.

I awoke this past weekend in the middle of the night when the screen door on the back of our apartment became the wind’s plaything. It sounded like gunfire each time door met door jam, and of course, in my mind, that meant aliens were attacking. Al Qaeda was taking over. The world was all at once on fire, sinking fast, and being mauled by rabid bears.

I woke up the rest of the way, let my heart slow from hummingbird speed, and shuffled through the kitchen so I could latch the back door shut.

Now, I’m a rational person, but on the short walk from bed side to back hall, it’s impressive how many worst case scenarios your mind will wander toward in such a short time. Rabid bears don’t seem all that silly when you’re walking through the dark in your skivvies and you have exactly zero bear traps within reach. Luckily, I cracked open the door to the back hall and saw that the door to the yard was closed and dead bolted. But I could also see that the basement door (which, at that moment, was known as the Portal to Hell) was open.

Before I walked down the dark (and evil!) stairway, I almost grabbed a meat cleaver. I didn’t. It was too cliché even for my over-active imagination. Though in retrospect, I wish I had taken it. I mean, when else am I going to use a meat cleaver if not for itchy and scratchy-esque self-protection? Certainly not for cooking.

As you might expect (unless you thought everything up until now was foreshadowing) I shut both the basement door and the outer screen door without incident. Then I went back to bed and tried to convince myself that I didn’t just lock the bad guys in the basement, delaying the inevitable bear-mauling until I had to get to the beer fridge.

Saturday, February 04, 2006

The task at hand v. Everything else.

My second semester fully kicks off on Monday and though I haven’t stepped foot into four of my classes yet (one of them started a few weeks ago), I’m already eyeball deep in reading. Nothing I can’t handle, mind you, it’s just that since I haven’t really started the semester, any little distraction becomes infinitely more entertaining than the law. Here’s a quick list of things that my mind would rather have focused on today than my reading:
  • John is over fixing my surround sound, and he’s testing it by using the playstation. That’s right. I’m doing homework in here, and he’s playing video games out there. Temptation City.
  • My cell phone showed a spark of life. It’s literally ten days short of retirement, and it shows its old age. (I get my upgrade on Valentine’s Day. Aw.) The “send” and “end” keys simply don’t work. The rubber thumb pad on the back pealed off. It shuts off randomly. The “6” and the “7” buttons only work if you reeeeally mash them. Today, though, it's worked fine, and I’m perplexed as to why.
  • Lisa’s day off. Twenty feet might as well be twenty miles.
  • Leah brought over brownies, which are detrimental to both my grade point average and my sculpted figure.
  • A CD of sound effects Lisa gave me. My favorites are “European siren” and “In a hurry music”. Oh, and “Laughing trumpet”.
  • Justice, a bimonthly by Alex Ross. Issue #4 (of 12) comes out next week, just in time to satisfy my nerdiness fix.
  • Wired Online, speaking of nerdiness. Legos and Batman in this issue.
  • Freecell. To date, I’ve won 255 games straight.
  • And of course, there’s always blogging.

Friday, February 03, 2006

To my cousin, who leaves for a semester in Ukraine today:

I find it hard to believe we’re related since you’re all gung-ho activist, let’s-make-the-world-a-better-place, forget-the-whales,-they’ve-already-been-saved,-now-let’s-save-the-humans, no-really-I’m-in-it-to-make-the-world-a-better-place-not-for-the-money, and I actually misspelled “Ukraine” before spell-check corrected it for me.

I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’ve read a lot of Justice League comics in my day, and I fully expect my legal degree to help me work for the greater good (I use my powers for awesome). But if I make enough money to buy myself a PS6 in a few years – I’m not going to complain.

Anyway, I’m proud of you and I hope you have fun in the tropical paradise that is Ukrainia. Please send me some vodka.

-Mike

PS – I may or may not have dated a Ukrainian in college and it may or may not have gone well, so if a family comes running at you as soon as you get off the plane with pitchforks and torches, your best bet is to yell “I’m Canadian and not a Garvey!!!” and then run.

Thursday, February 02, 2006

Then again, have we really had winter yet?

If the groundhog comes out of its hole and sees that Lisa has posted for the first time this year, it means 6 more weeks of winter.

Sorry about that.