Observations Of Events During Superbowl Weekend

All these events happened during Superbowl weekend, and are in no way in chronological order or in an order of importance.

Buggy decides to choke me out with a dual combination of a scissor lock around my neck from behind while using his hands as leverage to exert some extra pressure on my windpipe. He's learning....air flow as well as blood flow are equally important in taking down your opponent. For this I am a proud father. In addition to open palm slapping a school bus bully earlier int he school year, he is learning other techniques. A little more practice and he'll he getting in trouble at school for picking fights with older kids and winning. I'll have to scold him and explain to him why that is a bad thing, and yet, part of me will be smirking inside knowing I have raised a boy that learns to handle himself physically.

So I play along, and fake death. He checks the eyeballs by lifting the eyelids, and I have rotated the eyeballs downward so he only sees the whites of my eyes. Then he proceeded to surprise me with a move I had no idea he knew anything about. He had gone from killing dad to trying to resuscitate dad. He pulled my head up and tilted it back and with a firm grip on my nose he began to give me mouth to mouth. I stopped this before he gave me a heart stopping blow to this old guy's chest. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was bringing me back to life by giving me "face to face". After his mom came home from work, and heard this story, she was more than just a little amused at the antics of her youngest boy. I on the other hand, was less than enthused with a slight bit of his spit-laden breathing that had entered my mouth.

Later on Friday night, I had the neighbor from downstairs send up their grandson to ask why we were letting it shower in their kitchen. I was unaware of such phenomenon. So I made a check under the sink, and sure enough there was a pool of water, along with some fissures in the woodwork that allowed some of the water to leak through the floor and down out of their ceiling around the light above their kitchen sink. So, the sink and dishwasher were now off limits. I found a nice sized hole in the u-shaped pipe. So I call the property managers' number. No answer. Well, this doesn't shock me at 830 at night. I leave a message, and then again in the morning call back. I explain to the young ditsy lady in the office that the pipe has a hole in it and it leaks into the downstairs neighbors' apartment. Can she send someone over to fix it?


To that she replies, "Can it wait until Monday?"
I said, "No, I'd rather it be taken care of now. I can't use the sink or the dishwasher, which is a major inconvenience considering I pay for an apartment that comes with fully functional plumbing."

And to this she asks, "Why can't you use the kitchen sink?"
"UH, cuz there's a BIG HOLE IN THE PIPE THAT LEAKS ALL OVER IF ANY WATER FINDS ITS WAY DOWN THE DRAIN and RAINS IN THE NEIGHBORS APARTMENT...and the same if I use the DISHWASHER." I'm generally pretty easy going about whatever, bu when someone who is supposed to serve me asks a dumb question that any third grader would be fully capable of understanding the answer to, since it was already explained...well, Mookie The Sarcastic has a way of coming out.
I hear a disgusted sigh and a half hearted, "I'll see if I can't get anyone over there then.." As if somehow I have inconvenienced her. Well, I ended up waiting until this morning, Monday morning. I spoke with the maintenance guy while he checked it out and took a whole 5 minutes to solve the problem. Apparently there were a lot of issues that surfaced over the weekend that never got taken care of. I have never cared much for this young lady who works in the office. She is more concerned about getting new people in, and doesn't care much for dealing with anyone who has already signed their lease...until its time to renew anyways. She wrote it down, but from what I understand, it never got passed on to any maintenance guys to even look at the issue. Damn near the entire pipe was rusted out, almost along a seam.

There are a lot of aspects I don't like about my job either, but I do them to the same ability I do the other aspects that I do like, because its my F*&$ing job. I don't understand why these young idiots don't get this concept anymore. Guess I'm just too old fashioned in that I actually expect someone does their job the best they can do.

So for the last couple of days my wife has been schooling my oldest, Josh, on how to do dishes by hand, in a plastic tub to wash and one to rinse, and then hand dry and put everything away. I'm sure he has been scarred by such an atrocity of not being able to use an actual dish washing appliance. Even though his mother was doing the washing part for him. But good experience for the boy, as Calvin's Dad would say, "It's good for you and builds character."

Now, onto the Superbowl. Let me first say to all those rooting for Indianapolis to win: BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHA

Its not so much that I am a Saints fan, but as a 49er fan, I feel an allegiance to the NFC team in the Superbowl as well as the Pro bowl. That is, as long as the NFC team is not the Dallas Cowboys, Green Bay Packers, or any team made to include a certain guy we call Brett Favre. In fact, if Brett Favre we're to ever lead my beloved San Francisco 49ers to the Superbowl, I may come close to rooting against my own team. Okay, maybe not THAT bad, but I would pray for a victory almost solely on the shoulders of others and a career ending injury for the guy who can never seem to just retire and be done with it.

New Orleans was damn near killed off by wind and water a few years back by Hurricane Katrina...I wonder if a fire will erupt and burn the city down in what will be the first Mardi Gras to last at least 2 weeks? Because lets face it....there is almost always a riotous atmosphere and a car or two set ablaze in whichever city wins the Superbowl, almost always. And, New Orleans is really going to celebrate their first ever Superbowl appearance and win right on into Mardi Gras. There will be NO break in the party action. Participants will sleep in shifts to ensure the party never stops. It could be March before its all over.

Now to assess the game. While the total score tally ended up being 48 points, it was definitely a lower scoring game than predicted. And while the 31-17 score was a seeming blowout, it was much closer than that in reality. The 4th quarter pick off my Tracy Porter that was run back for a Touchdown sealed the deal, but up until that point, this was a close game that could've gone either way.

I was not surprised by the gutsy calling of Sean Payton in the first half (or the entire game for that matter) opting to go for it on fourth and goal at the 1 1/2 yd line. The play before I was sadly disappointed in the running back Mike Bell. He went off tackle right, and as he changed direction from lateral to down field towards the goal line, the idiot made a stupid mistake. HE tried to make the cut on his inside foot. I'm no superstar athlete but even I know that cutting on your inside foot always lands you on your ass, and if you don't it was merely because God himself had come down and kept you in a more upright position. Inevitably Bell never was able to plant his cleats into the turf because of this display of shoddy footwork and slipped on his face, with a little extra help from a salivating defender. It was this dumb mistake that forced the 4th and goal play to even come into question. Now, I too would have gone for it on 4th and goal, no doubt. On your opponents 1 1/2 yd line down 10-3? with about 2 minutes left? Oh yeah.
But the play calling itself was amateurish at best. The kind of thing you expect from a first year coach in a JV game at your local school, not Sean Payton who has made his season on gutsy and smart game planning schemes. He stacks two receivers left, and then runs another off tackle right square into a mess of defenders, without any help outside the Offensive line. of course he wasn't going to score. That play was dead before they ever got out of the huddle.

Coach Payton did redeem himself coming out of halftime, with a brilliant and completely unexpected onside kick call, which was recovered by the Saints, and subsequently marched down the field for a touchdown to take their first lead of the game 13-10. Indianapolis, led by future Hall of Fame QB Peyton Manning, engineered a drive to answer New Orleans and regain the lead. Then the game slowed down, in a back and forth manner, with only 1 field goal by the Saints coming prior to the last 5:30 of the game. Then with about 5:30 left in the final quarter, Drew Brees capitalizes on a failed FG attempt by Indy, and marches the ball right down the field for another touchdown, followed up by a controversial 2 pt conversion to put the Saints up 24-17. Indy comes back out, making play after play. Then it happened. Peyton Manning throws out to the outside receiver, and Tracy Porter just cuts in front of the receiver, picks it off and runs it back 73 yards to pound the nails into the coffin that held the Colts' chances of a Superbowl victory. With about 3:30 left in the game it was just too much for even Manning's comeback abilities to overcome. Eventually as the clock winded down Manning threw an incomplete pass on 4th down, giving the Saints the ball and the ability to run the clock out without running a single real play. I saw the first half of the game on TV, and had to listen to the second half on the radio. But through either venue, it was quite an exciting game. The NFC wins and Brett Favre wasn't involved. The boss will be happy, I'm happy with it. It was a good weekend overall, despite having to, as usual, work on Superbowl Sunday.
I LOVE FOOTBALL!

A Birthday and A Beating

All started out well. My Pseudo-brother Jeremiah's son Jaden had his 1st birthday. His wife Holly had the party at her parents' house, as there was more room there than at their place. And good thing, as the turnout was the biggest I had ever seen for a 1 year old's birthday in my life. Good food, good cake and ice cream, good people. Not much more you could ask for in a birthday party.

The presents came, and Jaden was interested at first only in one of the cards, but eventually became enamored with one toy, while other children helped open his presents. Daddy Miah was videotaping the event, while Mommy Holly took care of overseeing the present opening. Holly did a good job, as most mothers do at these sorts of things. Miah on the other hand...very different story. On more than one occasion he almost slipped up and gave away the fact he was watching more of the Iowa-OSU game that started just as the present opening began. I also caught him videotaping me...and I'm pretty sure he was checking out my crotch. Thought I saw a little wink and a nod right after that. He is a weird one.

After the gift opening, the party divided into factions. Most people upstairs, a few of us downstairs watching the game. Then came Buggy downstairs, who decided to pick a fight with uncle Miah. It didn't work out so well for Buggy, but eventually Miah was relieved by my other son Josh. They went back and forth for quite awhile, providing some entertainment in addition to the game on TV. Holly's son, Gary and another girl got in on the action. Aunt Janine's son Austin, a 15 year old boy got in on it. Buggy tagged him in to help out against Josh. Austin proved too much for Josh, but this didn't stop Buggy from splashing in on his brother a few times for god measure. It ended up a bit of a free-for-all for a short period of time. And then before I knew it, I was pulled into the match.

Now, if all information was filtered through the actual truth and common sense channels, this would be the story:

Austin is a kid I haven't seen in quite a long time. In fact during the first say 3 years of his life, I had seen more of him than I had since he started school. The boy is 15, and today was maybe the second time of his school life I had met up with the young lad. Well, we tangled, after he decided to jump up on my back. I found it rather amusing at first. He sort of rested his hands on my shoulders, checked me with a little pressure as if to see if I would tell him no, before jumping up and wrapping me into a half-hearted headlock. Once I laughed him off and walked around with him hanging onto me, he tightened it up a bit. So, I obliged him with some effort of my own. It went back and forth for a while, eventually resulting in me tapping out. Right near the end, we went into a roll, I involuntarily tried to simultaneously eat and nasally inhale some portion of his body, heard some kind of popping noise from my face, and ended up in a well executed supine side headlock. That's when I tapped out.

I could make some excuses that my wife was ready to leave, and would leave me there if I didn't come upstairs to leave very soon. I could say that I wasn't going to actually choke Austin into unconsciousness. Both are very true statements, but in the effort to not make excuses, I was plain out-stubborned. Neither of us, given an indefinite time limit, may have gone until one of passed out, and /or broke a bone. Well, passed out. I have a feeling that even with broken arms, legs and ribs, we still would've attempted to wait the other one out. But, I have to give it to the kid. He was tough, flexible, and as stubborn as anyone I know. So, I tapped out. I now sport some good bruising action. The top front of my nose is one big bruise, I have a bruising striped along the front of my right nostril, and another one on the left side of the bridge of my nose. It doesn't hurt so much, but it looks pretty bad, and is somewhat annoying. The upside is, I think him smashing my nose worked the nostrils into a wider position allowing me to actually breathe easier.

HOWEVER, we all know all information is filtered and geared toward an agenda. Going through the Mook News Network is no different. Here is that version of the truth:

OLD MAN MUGGED BY YOUNG STREET HOODLUM!!!
Dateline Altoona Iowa 14November2009

What started off as a calm birthday celebration and a football game for an old man took a turn for the worse. Minding his own business, The Mook suddenly was attacked from behind by some young punk. The old man never stood a chance. Pummelled and pounded repeatedly, The Mook fought the good fight. However, his attacker, being half his age and full of youthful energy that had long since been sapped from the old prize fighter.

The Mook was checked out by doctors at the James Medical Institute, and diagnosed with a deviated septum, severe rhino-contusions, a separated exterior nostril wall, and a broken ego. The Mook was quoted through an overheard conversation that he would've taken the young whippersnapper had it been face to face, instead of this surprise attack from behind loaded with cheap shots. Reportedly stolen was his blind-guy's walking stick thingy, his AARP and Medicare cards, and some random medications.

Current Rent-a-Cop investigations have come up with two possible theories for the attack. It has been narrowed down to a random act of gang violence, or a specific attack for the purpose of stealing identity and drugs. One certain Rent-a-Cop, who chose to remain anonymous had this to say about the day's vicious attack, "Darn kids these days...always out to strike fear into innocent citizens, and all to satisfy their drug habits, make money that other people work hard for. And they're all just crazy, although this one, it seems the insanity runs in the family.

The Mook has decided to put it out there publicly that he wants his rematch at a future time, after his face heals. Despite better judgement, he feels he can hang with this kid. And any other kid half his age for that matter!

High Crime Apartments!!!

And by apartments, I don't mean some projects development in a bad neighborhood, or even an entire building. Just mine. Despite a heavy security presence on site (i.e.- me, super rentacop guy), it turns out I've got hoodlums living right here in my 700+ square foot domain. Right here in beautiful suburbia, a mere 2 minute walk from the local police station even!!!

I'm on to these guys now though, despite their picturesque image of innocence found in the photo shown here.

Oh no, despite them seeming to be cute and charming root beer float eating kids, I have uncovered a sinister plot. It could be mere localized crime, but I'm betting on gang affiliations, or even ties to the mob (the mob does NOT exist, buddy..GOT IT?).

The way I see it, there's definitely a criminal enterprise going on, but I just haven't put all the pieces together...YET! Hey, I may be a Super Rentacop, but these investigations take time. I want to make sure we got all the loose ends tied up before we take out this organization.

You see the one on the left...Age 10, Josh "The Marshmallow Man" Lovell. Last week, I was heating up some hot chocolate for myself, and I was out of whip cream. My wife had bought a bag of mini-marshmallows, but it seemed we were out. There was no sign of the bag, but I just had to assume it went out with the trash at a previous point.

Then just the other day, Marshmallow Man himself comes out with a bag. Not just any bag, but THE marshmallow bag. Now this boy is an even bigger King of Stashing things away than I ever was. First it was dirty socks between his bed and the wall. Now I'm finding dozens upon dozens of candy wrappers in the same spot. Sand is in his bed, don't ask me what the boy is doing, but I'm not ruling out trying to dig an oil well in the sandpit at the park. But the last thing I suspected was that the boy had stolen the marshmallows. I'm not against consuming naked hot cocoa, but I prefer a little something on the top. Lucky for him, his mother found him. she was able to scold him and protect the boy from the long arm of the Rent-a-Law, who was forced to drink naked hot cocoa because of his chicanery! She did explain to him the old mideastern custom of chopping the hands off a thief, though, and I think, rather I HOPE, he has learned the lesson here. At only the tender age of 10, I doubt it. I'm sure I'm in for at least another 8 years of stunts, pranks, lies, and outright criminality, mostly against me of course.

The boy on the left... Age 5 1/2, Corwyn "You want I should break your legs?" Lovell aka BUGGY. Known associate of his brother, the Marshmallow Man, and also the apparent enforcer of the bunch. Yesterday the boys arrive home from school. I am informed by Marshmallow Man that Buggy had hit another kid on the bus a few times. The bus driver had told Marshmallow Man to make sure that us parental units were duly informed. While close associates, Marshmallow Man is also known to throw his partner under the bus from time to time. You want information, he's the one who will roll over for you.

What's scary about the violence is not the violence itself. Had there been a good reason, like when he switched seats on the bus to avoid a beating from some other kid a few days into school, and got in trouble for moving while the bus was travelling, I would've been fine with it. I thought, maybe the boy is defending himself. No, the boy wasn't hitting him, or even calling him a bunch of dirty names, which has been known to set off many a schoolyard fight in my day. So I thought, Maybe he's shaking the kid down for lunch money or even owed protection money that wasn't being paid up in a timely fashion. Oh no, nothing that easy, or even admirable in a weird crime syndicate kind of way. Nope, Buggy's explanation for hitting the kid:

"He was just acting crazy."

I had to take a deep breath and try not to chuckle at this one. For those of you who know Buggy, you understand this very statement is the perfect example of the "pot calling the kettle black." And whats worse, his actions only furthered this idea. I don't have my kid beating up someone for a real reason or principle, nope, he's basically committing violent acts for their own sake. He's craaaaaaaazyyyyyyyy...sorry. Now, the real topper of it is this. He didn't punch the kid. No, he went for the real demoralizing move.
He slapped the kid.
Open handed.
Now that's disrespect.
In front of the other kids.
That is as demoralizing as it comes.

If they were 8 or 9 years older, that kid would be toast for the rest of his school life. Luckily their only 5 year olds. That kid has a chance to outlive this one. Now, lets hope that it doesn't come back on Buggy, no matter how much he might deserve it, when they get older and can do some real damage.

Either way, I now realize I have a couple of little hoodlums on my hands. Do you have ANY idea how this is going to affect my chances at being named Rent-a-Cop of the Year for 2009?? Horrible! Some dumb rookie punk kid will end up getting it by default! I may have to kill my kids before they get much older and find a way to root my wife and I out of the high society circles we've become accustomed to enjoying.

I Looooove Local Cops!

Random Event #1 that inspires my loving the Des Moines Police Department

I get a call from my supervisor asking me if I am at a certain apartment complex I do patrol duties at. I tell him I left the place 10 minutes prior and am 2 blocks away. He informs me that the dispatcher with DMPD called him saying they received a call that I was getting the crap kicked out of me by a group of people at the aforementioned apartment building. And in the confusion, the call to them was made by me. Three things here. One, if I'm going to call the cops, I'd either do it prior to a situation escalating to a fight, or after myself or the other parties had finished the fight. In the midst of the fight, I'm not exactly going to have the ability to pul out my cell phone and make a call as I am having my head kicked in. Secondly, I would have radioed or called the supervisor alerting him to the situation. And lastly, and most importantly, I'm not about to pick a fight I don't think I can win. I'm sort of partial to living a pain free life.
I look around myself, and notice that outside of the cleaners inside the university, I'm free and clear of any other people by about 2 blocks. Its nice to be getting beat up by people 2 blocks away from where I'm at. All that action and none of the pain. It's kind of like acting tough on the internet. I don't have to prove myself to be a badass around here! Now you're asking yourself, why does this make me love the DMPD? It is because once they were alerted to this Super Rentacop getting beat up, 4, count em FOUR, squad cars made it to my supposed location in record time. Yep, I hold sway with the DMPD. They hear about me getting myself in trouble, and they are right there to rescue my butt from any danger. My supervisor pulled up and said that all the cops had their night sticks out ready to beat up some stupid morons who were daring to harm their precious local security guard.

Random Event #2 that inspires my loving the Des Moines Police Department

2 days after event number 1, I am called to an alarm at a local Midas car repair shop. I arrive to find a rock had been thrown through the glass front door. A small tv was discovered to have been stolen, but beyond that nothing. My supervisor showed up to inspect the damage, and during that time, 2 squad cars showed up and the police entered this building, much of which could be entirely viewed from the outside, with .40 caliber glocks drawn and ready to put down another possible criminal who might have tried to hurt this Super Rentacop. According to my supervisor, the lead officer there was one of those who showed up at Event #1.

I'm beginning to suspect a man-crush is developing between the esteemed officer and this local security guard. I'm not sure how to break that kind of news to my wife, but if there really is a man crush going on, I may be, out of professional courtesy, obligated to return the affection. Now, you might ask, just how I can help protect the fully armed and trained police officer who comes to my rescue regularly? Well, I'll tell you. First of all, I'm highly trained. I watched something like 8 hours of instructional videos before being put out into the field. Second point is, I have a 3 cell maglite. You can blind someone, or mess them up with that kind of armament. While the cop may be in a standoff with an armed criminal, I can easily put myself between the cop and sure mortal danger by flipping my tie and whistle chain at the bad guy, and shining my flashlight on him. And of course, threaten to write up a report. Pretty much upon my arrival, I can send the officer off to other more important tasks for the night, like protecting the local convenience store coffee and donuts. After all, I'm not there, so someone needs to make sure precious such commodities need qualified supervision. And also, my presence alone assures the officer he is safe to "move along, there is nothing to see here."

Surely, no criminal is safe from such harsh tactics brought on by a pretty rentacop like myself. I suspect he'd gladly give himself up to me almost immediately. At 5'8" tall and 175 pounds of rock solid jello-like mass, I am an intimidating S.O.B. I drive a car with a big old lightbar that only half lights up, all white lights, and I can stick my head out the window and make siren noises while flying down the city streets. I yell out "WOOP WOOP, RENTACOPS", and all dangerous situations quickly end! People respect that kind of crazy!

My Son Follows the Footsteps of Celebrity Justice

Above you will see my youngest son, Corwyn, who will be 5 on Christmas Eve. If you look at his forehead, you will see a very large goose egg he received Sunday morning.
He is smiling here, but shortly after receiving his medal of boyhood, he was a soggy crying mess, in much need of his mother.

I had come home from work, and the boys were watching a movie in the living room. I went back to my bedroom to change out of my uniform and exchange communications with the wife. I heard the boys start horsing around. I am not one to tell them to stop their wrestling, as I encourage them to experience their boyish nature, within limits anyways, and have even been known to encourage it in a not so subtle manner.
Well I never heard the thump, but I surely heard the wailing crying, along with the older brother calling behind him "I'm sorry...I said I was sorry."

I'm really beginning to get irritated with the word "sorry". The oldest, Josh (age 9 1/2), has been using this word A LOT lately. Way more than he should be.

Anyways, Corwyn comes busting in the room, bawling his eyes out, and a noticeable lump on his forehead. He was obviously to shaken up to tell us what was going on besides something about "Josh threw me (unintelligible)"
Josh immediately went into his repeated incantations of "I said I was sorry." Apparently in his mind, this makes everything all better automatically. Kind of like celebrities these days. No matter what you do, say you're sorry and go to rehab, and everything will be okay!

When asked what Corwyn hit his head on, Josh started off with some story, surely trying to find a way to spin it as he spoke to make hiself seem in a slightly better light than reality might suggest. For those of you who know me well...I don't like a sotry when I'm asking a question that only requires one word to be answered. Amazingly enough, even my wife got irritated with his not answering the questions as directly and efficiently as possible. I say amazingly, because she is just as, if not more guilty of the narrative story to any question, even a 'yes or no' typer question. I'm pretty sure Josh got his way of answering questions from her. I'm convinced its genetically passed on. After finding out that Corwyn hit the wooden chair in our living room, then we got the fuller story. Just so you know, I'm fine with the filler material, AFTER my question is answered! Anyways Josh told us they were wrestling and he sort of threw Corwyn into the chair where he smacked his head, but (wait for it)..."I already told him I was sorry." He said it so matter-of-factly, as though that mere statement was the solution to his very recent fuax pas. (He even used it as an excuse for a friend who had kicked him off a slide the other day, finishing off with, "but he said he was sorry, so its okay.") He was sent to his room, after being assured that uttering a saying wasn't the key to ending his problems.

While I applaud him taking a lick like a man, and not making too big a deal out of that physical malady, I think somewhere along the line, he was convinced that apologies solved everything to the point of no further consequences. Worse, I can't even figure out where he learned that from, because it surely didn't come from his mother or me, and I don't recall him watching any TV programming with that kind of message in it.

If you wonder why their isn't a picture of Josh in this post, well, it's because after apologizing, we quickly sent him off to rehab. He should be back in 6 weeks! We're just sooooo proud.