Badass Rams

The Rams have quite a history. The present, however, is historically disappointing. The 2011 version of the Rams finished with just two wins. It was a fairly forgettable group, and not many are worthy of me spending money on a jersey.

A few exemptions do stand out, though, and both have famous fathers. Defensive end Chris Long (#91) racked up 13 sacks in 2011 and continues to draw comparisons to his dad, eight-time Pro Bowl selection Howie Long. Linebacker James Laurinatis (#55) had the eighth-most total tackles in the NFL last year (142) and the third-most solo tackles (105), which I find more badass than anything his dad did as The Animal in professional wrestling.

But the current crop pales in comparison to the greats that have represented the Rams organization. Tom Mack (#65) had a Hall of Fame career at left guard, Jackie Slater (#78) should be mentioned when discussing best left tackles of all-time, and while some might want to include Orlando Pace (#76) in that argument as well, I would leave him out. Marshall Faulk (#28) may be a running back, but my criteria for badass-ness is "What jersey would my dad be OK wearing?" Since Faulk went to San Diego State, and my dad is a former Aztec, Faulk be more than acceptable.

If you want to talk about badass Rams, you really need to go to the defensive line. You could pick anyone from the Fearsome Foursome: Deacon Jones (#75), Merle Olsen (#74), Rosie Grier (#76) and Lamar Lundy (#85).  And while Lundy is usually the forgotten member of the Foursome, the fact another defensive end wearing #85 is even more badass more be the bigger slight. Lundy was a tight end and defensive end for the Rams. That is pretty badass, but playing with a broken broken leg may be the most badass football story (until Ronnie Lott cuts off his finger). Jack Youngblood (#85) was so good as Deacon Jones' rookie backup, the Rams traded Jones the next season. Youngblood fractured his left leg in the divisional round of the 1979 playoffs. He played every defensive down in the Rams win against Tampa Bay as well as every defensive down in the loss to the Steelers in the Super Bowl. That is badass.

Next up...Minnesota Vikings

Timeout? I don't need your sticking timeout!

Amy and I choose not to spank. Actually, Amy chose it and I agreed. I am fairly indifferent to corporal punishment, but Amy was pretty set against it, so we give Reese timeouts.

Luckily Reese is a pretty good kid and we haven't had to give her too many timeouts, but as she is getting older and trying to exert her independence, the punishments are becoming more frequent. Still, the timeouts are a rarity.

I would think because timeouts are rare, they would be perceived as extreme and a notice to Reese that whatever action just occurred was heinous enough to deserve punishment. I would think. Reese, apparently, thinks otherwise.

Ever since we first started giving her timeouts, she gladly (almost proudly) would walk to the corner and sit down. She would not fuss and would not fight. She would walk (sometimes smiling) right to the corner and sit down. It is not as if I want Reese to cry, but some sort of remorseful reaction would be an indication she understands timeouts are to be avoided.

A very recent example of her defiance in that face of punishment happened at a friend's house. The friends have a piano that sits in an adjoining room to the living room where all of the toys were and where everyone was congregated. Reese was immediately enthralled with the piano and went into the room to bang a key. I quickly scooped her up and told her the piano was off limits and showed her the toys and her friend in the living room. The toys and friend and living room satiated her for a bit, but Reese soon went back to the piano. I quickly scooped her up and told her the piano was off limits and showed her the toys and her friend in the living room. Again, she played and was busy, but again she made her way to the piano and hit some keys. I scooped her up and sternly told her not to do that again or else she would get a timeout. I put her down and felt a little bashful that my daughter was disobeying me so openly and other people saw it. Reese played a little bit, then made her way to the piano room again. I called her name, she turned and looked at me, I told her not to go in there or she would get a timeout, and she continued to look at me but also continued to slowly inch her way to the piano room. I told her again she would get a timeout. She smiled at me, turned, walked into the piano room and hit a key. I called her name as I walked over to her, she walked out of the piano room with a smile on her face, walked over to a corner and sat down.

She knows what  a timeout means. She understands that a timeout means she has to sit facing a corner. Clearly she knows this.

Her reaction to the threat of a timeout was, "The crime is worth the time. I do not mind a timeout if it means I can play the piano."

Isn't that part of what a punishment is supposed to be, a deterrent? Some people in our society do not commit crimes because they see them as immoral. Others, however, do not commit crimes because they do not want to go to jail.

So what do you do if a criminal is not deterred by the prospective punishment? Do you increase the punishment?

Just last week I was making the bed and Reese climbed onto our bathroom sink and turned on the water. This is an almost daily habit for her neither Amy nor I encourage or allow. I had scolded her earlier about it, so this time I picked her up and physically put her in her room. She was not happy about it for about 30 seconds, then she started playing in her room.

Is it time to try out spanking? Is rulers across the knuckles too Old School Catholic School Nun? I'm pretty sure Amy (not to mention the department of social services) would not look kindly on putting a toddler in stocks (the 17th and 18th Century public punishment, not NASDAQ or Dow Jones). And waterboarding is now an international crime, and I don't want to go to The Hague because Reese kicked at the dog.

Maybe the timeouts need to be longer? Maybe they need to be more frequent? Maybe they need to be in a different place? Maybe I need to send her to her room more often?

Whatever needs to happen needs to happen, because whatever is happening now is clearly not working.

Big Trouble

I know I have mentioned major steps in Reese's development before (Game Changer), but this is a little different. This is more of a realization that I have my hands full, or at least will have my hands full (VERY full) in the near future.

The other day I was in the kitchen standing next to the refrigerator and Ripken was lying next to my feet. Reese was watching Yo Gabba Gabba or Sesame Street or some other show. Or at least she was watching the show initially, because I noticed she had started to walk into the kitchen and right toward Ripken. As I watched her, Ripken noticed her, too, and he would look at her, then look at me. Reese only stared at Ripken and, in the awkward toddler way of walking, tried to creep quietly and secretly toward the dog. Ripken had his eyes on her, though, and then would look to me as if to say, "What is she planning on doing to me? Please save me!" It was actually quite amusing to see a 2-year-old attempt to sneak up on a dog that is looking straight at her.

When she got just in front of me and about an arm's length away from Ripken, Reese suddenly turned to me and said, "Boo!"

I was surprised. Not surprised insomuch that I jumped or was startled. But I was surprised because not once did she give any sort of indication she paid any attention to me.

I am no child psychologist and I have never taken any early childhood development courses, but it seems to me the behaviour she exhibited shows an incredible amount of intelligence. She tried to trick me. She tried to make me think she was after the dog. She tried to manipulate my train of thought. And she did more than try. She succeeded!

Last night at dinner Reese started playing with her food. Amy was scolding her, but Reese kept on playing with her food. Amy took away her food and tried to make sure Reese understood playing with food was not acceptable behaviour at the dinner table. Reese kind of slumped her shoulders as most people do when getting into trouble, but she quickly sat up, opened her eyes wide, pointed to the center piece and exclaimed, "Flowers!"

Now it is entirely possible Reese was suddenly happy to see flowers in the middle of the table, even though they were there all day (two days, actually). But it sure did seem to me (and Amy) Reese was trying to distract mom from discipline her. Reese was using the distraction trick we had been using on her! (Lessons I've Learned So Far)

Again, this sort of behavior shows (at least to me) an advanced way of thinking (at least for a 2-year-old). For her to use distraction, it shows she thinks she can get into the way Amy and I are thinking. She thinks flowers are so exciting to us, we will forget at her playing with food. Trying to guess other people's emotions is called empathy, and it is something some adults have trouble with. But here is a toddler attempting to gauge our emotional response to flowers.

Amy and I are in big trouble, because if 2-year-old Reese is already successfully manipulating my reactions and unsuccessfully distracting us from her getting into trouble, what can we expect when she is a teenager?

I shudder at the thought.

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Greatest achievement

I am a fan of trivia. I get it from my dad. We sometimes call my dad Cliffy Clavin, a reference to the know-it-all postman from the '80s sitcom "Cheers."

I get a trivia question e-mailed to me every morning. Sometimes they are easy, sometimes hard, and they cover all types of categories. The one yesterday was fairly easy - Which president bought the Louisiana Purchase - and the answer page had a sentence or two about the question. The answer page yesterday said the Louisiana Purchase was Thomas Jefferson's greatest achievement as president. It's hard to argue that statement considering it more than doubled the size of the USA for about $15 million and something close to 10 cents an acre.

I asked my dad, who was a history teacher besides being a trivia buff, what he thought the greatest achievement of the United States was. He was stumped. He said he would think about it and get back to me with an answer.

There are many things America could hang it's hat on - The Constitution, Declaration of Independence, Civil War, Emancipation Proclamation, Panama Canal, Normandy Invasion, leading country and host of United Nations, etc. All of those are worthy achievements to be considered, even though the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were technically achievements before we became a nation.

When Amy came home from work, I posed the question to her. She waited just second and then asked me, "What is your greatest achievement?"

Right away I answered, "Marrying you and having Reese."

And it's true. Those are the things I am most proud of in my life.

There are other things I am also quite proud of, too, like becoming a professional journalist at 19 years old; getting a job (StreetZebra) without any type of connection or networking; being out of football for 17 years and then not only making the Portland Raiders, but starting at center, getting invited to the All Star game and being named second-team all-league; and, of course, beating cancer. I told Amy that I am most proud of my attitude during the cancer episode, because I mostly laid back and let the doctors and nurses and needle and drugs beat cancer. She said I need to give myself more credit. I am, indeed, very proud of my attitude, but I do not think I could have had that attitude (or, at least, I do not think I could maintain that attitude) for the duration of my fight.

I flipped the question back to her.

"What is your greatest achievement?"

She said her husband and daughter.

She then went on to describe other things she is proud of, and I think the one that most impresses me is she packed up her entire life and moved from Washington D.C. to San Francisco when she was 24. Moving anywhere is quite an ordeal, but moving cross-country, where you know no one? That's got to be scary. But she did it, re-invented herself, and emerged a successful woman. I think that's greater than anything I've done.

And I'm pretty sure she drove the whole distance, too.

Which kind of ties into what my dad later said was the greatest achievement of the United States.

Transcontinental railroad.

Vampire, pirate or mermaid?

Amy had a work dinner last week and asked me an interesting question when she got home.

"Would you rather be a vampire, a pirate or a merman?"

Apparently it was a question someone threw out during the dinner.

As she works in the financial world, it was easy to predict the majority of her co-workers chose pirate. A pirate, at least in the romanticized views of Hollywood, leads a very exciting life of adventure. Who wouldn't want to chase after gold, drink rum until you can't see straight and socialize with women of ill repute? But pirate life was not what Captain Jack Sparrow (or even Treasure Island) portray it to be.

The fact is, being a pirate was a pretty nasty existence. You were poor. Like, real poor. You did bad things. Like, REAL bad things. (There are stories of pirates torturing governors of cities while his family looked on; and also torturing the family while the governor looked on.) But even if one decided to be a "good" pirate, you were still stealing from others. Maybe you could try to justify it by saying it is just like Robin Hood, but in a different location, but I could retort that it's just like the Taliban, but in a different location. And even if you were the only pirate on the boat who did not pillage and kill, your closest associates WOULD pillage and kill, making you an accessory to their crimes! (I guess if you did not pillage and kill, you could someday have a Gilbert and Sullivan play written about your life as a pirate king, but that would be a long shot.) So being a pirate generally meant you were going to be a bad person, or, at the very least, be associated with very bad people.

Being a vampire would be just as bad, probably worse, than being a pirate. Vampires are, literally, monsters. Piracy, on the other hand, is a merely profession, albeit a pretty nasty profession. Being a vampire may sound appealing (if you're a 14-year-old girl), but living forever really would be depressing. Sure, you could learn to play every single instrument in an orchestra, and learn every language in the world, and read the entire Library of Congress, but every single person you meet will die, even you are not the one to kill them. Not surprising, my wife and the only other female at that dinner chose vampire as their answers.

Me, I did not hesitate to say merman. Unlike the other two, being a merman or mermaid does not come with inherent evil issues (steal, torture, kill, drink blood, glitter in sunlight, etc.). A mer-creature is just another living being. You can choose to be good or bad. A mer-creature is not weighed down with the urge to drink blood, or sworn to burn down an entire seaport. As a merman, I could swim to a my mer-job, make my mer-money, and go home to my mer-family. What's not to like about that?

Hiatus

I realize it has been longer than a month since my last post.

Please forgive the extended hiatus. It was unintentional. No real good reason for the lay-off. There may be a lot of reasons, but none of them are real good.

The fact of the matter is I have had a pretty rough month or so.

It started with getting news that a man I played flag football with on Sunday mornings died at work. I did not know him exceptionally well, only the few hours each Sunday during the fall and winter when a handful of guys (and some girls, too) would meet at a grassy park and throw the football around. All told, I may have had a total of 180 hours with him, but he left an impression on me. I had talked with Amy about the group of guys I played flag football with and we had agreed it would be nice to have Curtis and his family over for dinner or lunch or something some time. But I never got around to asking him. His death really did hit me hard. It might be because he had a family (a son and two daughters). It might be because he was young and in shape (he was like Brett Favre at quarterback, throwing fastballs into double coverage and making broken plays somehow fixed; plus, he was a beast at linebacker). Or it might be because I don't have a lot of close male friends in this area, and he was one of the few I respected.

Shortly after the news of Curtis' death, Reese got sick. Like REAL sick. It was a Sunday night and Reese went to bed without too much hassle. She woke up before midnight coughing, so I went to her room and lay down on her floor to comfort her. Her coughing stopped and she was asleep in less than 10 minutes, but Ripken woke up and was whining. I left Reese's room and took the dog downstairs and let him out in the backyard, but he was still whinny. I was frustrated, so I just left the backdoor open and sat down on the couch and flipped on the TV to pass the time until Ripken chilled out. Reese would intermittently cough and whine for a few seconds, but would be quiet quickly thereafter and remain asleep (or at least silent) for 10 to 15 minutes before coughing again. Ripken had just settled down and had stopped whining and I was getting ready to bring him back up to bed (he sleeps in our room) when Reese started to cough again. Then I heard splashing. Then she started to really cry. I rushed up to her room as Amy was waking up from the crying. Reese had thrown up all over her floor (she has slept in her bed twice since we converted it from the crib, so she sleeps on her floor. Amy and I think she sleeps on the floor because she is a very active sleeper, rolling around a lot, and she fell off the bed the first night after we converted it.) The vomit was in her lap. The vomit was in her hair. The vomit was on the carpet. The vomit was on her blankets. I snatched Reese up and carried her to the guest bathroom and set her down in the bathtub. I stripped her and turned on the water. Amy came in and took over with the bath as I tackled the mess in the bedroom. We have a SpotVac that we used for accidents from the dog, but it was enlisted for a different dirty job that night. I started a load of laundry and continued my efforts in her room. Amy finished Reese's bath and got her new pajamas and took her into our bed. Then Reese vomited again. I stripped our bed and Amy took Reese into the guest bedroom. I was just finishing up cleaning Reese's room when she vomited in the guest bed. Amy had an important meeting at work first thing Monday morning and she needed to get to bed (it was approaching 2 a.m.), so she got some sheets, tossed them on our bed and tried to sleep. I got a bowl from the kitchen, a bunch of towels and had Reese in the guest bed. She threw up a couple more times, but she was done by 5:30 or so. She had diarrhea in the morning, but was relatively fine the rest of the day (I was a walking zombie, though). Reese was a little warm and obviously tired, but overall she recovered quickly. But when we put her to sleep Monday night, she threw up again. This time it wasn't as bad, and we didn't need to clean everything because she was on a bunch of towels, blankets and other easily washable sheets.

It was also that week that she was sick that a friend of mine had died from a form of brain cancer called Glioblatoma multiforme. That news hit me harder than the news of Curtis's death because I had worked with her at Disneyland. Catou, which is a German form of Catherine, was young and beautiful and successful and athletic, but she had been suffering and battling this cancer for two years. Her parents would send out email updates regarding her fight, but the last few updates seemed to show that the end was near as Catou would be awake and alert less and less and her appetite was going away. I am thankful to her parents for the updates, but it was also sometimes hard to read. But every update added that Catou was in good spirits and not in pain. Still, it was incredibly sad to hear that parents were about to bury their daughter, and maybe that is another reason her death hit me so hard.

The next week, I came down with a nasty cold which zapped whatever remaining strength if I was a zombie before, I don't know how to describe what I was with that cold. A lot of orange juice later, and the cold subsided, but on Monday I woke up with the worst back pain I had felt since 2000. Most of you probably know, but for those of you who do not, I was diagnosed with testicular cancer on May 1, 2000. But I did not go to the doctor because of any "cancer-related issues," whatever the hell that means. I went to the doctor because I had incredible back pain. I had the back pain for about a month. I did not do anything significant that would have caused the back pain - I was not moving furniture, I was not lifting boxes of books, I was not tipping cows over in the middle of the night. My back pain was unbelievable. I could not stand, I could not sit, I could not lie down. I was taking 15 to 20 anti-inflammatories a day, and yet the back pain persisted. Why did I wait so long to go to the doctor? Well, I was 24 at the time and wildly optimistic and reasoned I pulled a muscle. Second, I did not have a whole lot of money. And third, and most important, the magazine I was working for did not give me insurance. Yet. I received insurance and went into the doctor the next day. The doctor took an x-ray of my chest to see if he could see anything wrong with my back. He instantly saw a tumor in my chest pushing on my lungs and saw my lymph nodes were swollen and pressing on my spinal column. Not fun. So when I had major back pain again, my mind thought of cancer. The death of my good friend due to brain cancer probably had a major reason I thought of my past issue because I have had back pain in the past and never thought about cancer. My back pain this time was so severe, Amy came home for lunch, saw me efforting to do regular house work and called in to her supervisor and to say she had to stay home with me. I went to the doctor's office that afternoon, and then went to the hospital the next morning for a blood test (Amy had to stay home Tuesday morning for that, as well). The blood test came back perfect, so that was a relief. But I have been going to a chiropractor and message therapist weekly ever since.

Halloween was OK, except that it was on Monday night. Not that Monday night Halloween is anything horrible. But the San Diego Chargers were playing that night, and I really wanted to watch the game. It was hard to pay attention when the doorbell kept ringing every 30 seconds, but seeing Reese hand out candy and then ending with, "Ba-bye. Thank you." She was not scared or timid even if the costumes were more mature and bloody. She was happy and excited to meet the trick-or-treaters at the door.

Reese's two-year birthday was low-key, just the three of us at home. We used Skype to talk with grandparents as she opened some presents. I made a cake to look like Sesame Street's new central character Elmo. I wasn't too sure it actually looked like Elmo, but when I showed it to Reese, she immediately said, "Elmo!" That was all of the confirmation any chef could ask for! Two days later, we flew done to Long Beach. Saturday was her birthday party at my sister's house, complete with a Sesame Street bounce house. A handful of my closest friends and their families came to help celebrate, and I think everyone had a blast. The next morning, Amy and I drove up to Santa Barbara to have lunch with one of Amy's friends. We then drove up the California coast to spend four days and three nights in the Carmel/Monterrey/Big Sur area for our fifth wedding anniversary. We drove back Wednesday morning, and hit some hellish traffic on the way back. What should have been about a six hour drive back was about a nine hour drive back. Actually, it was more of a four hour drive and then a four hour crawl. Santa Barbara is only about five total exits on the freeway, and it took us an hour to go from one end to the other. Thanksgiving was back at my sister's house with all of my family and my brother-in-law's family. The next day we went to my other sister's house and let the cousins play together one last time. The weather was phenomenal - bright, clear, sunny. The weather - and the way Reese played with her cousins - made it difficult to leave the next morning, but we had a plane to catch. Arriving in Portland, the weather certainly made it feel like November and autumn, but it didn't feel like home.