Christmas Vacation

Just a few pics from some of my activities over Christmas break that I forgot I took. First up, a trip to the Denver Natural History Museum with my sister and her friend to see the Genghis Khan exhibit.  Tickets were for scheduled start times, so we enjoyed some of the other sights at the museum while we waited.  I was very excited to see the actual Khan exhibit, but ultimately it let me down.  It was more of an exhibit on ancient and modern Mongolian life, less about Genghis.  Which made it interesting, but disappointing.  The company was good, though.

Next up, I went to the Denver Botanic Gardens to catch the Christmas light displays.  I always enjoy this excursion.  It's very laid back, generally very cold, and they have good hot chocolate in the cafe at the end of the trail.  This year I went with a friend who managed to coax me into a conversation about all the things that are wrong with me. We ended up closing the place down.  Smooth.  Anyway.

 

And of course, we had our annual Rummy game(s), where it seemed like I managed to lose every game we played.  I got destroyed by my loving siblings.  Even mom likes to rub it in when she administers a beating.  Ty's daughter, Calli, got a hold of a flashlight and began conducting examinations.  She's either gonna be a great dentist or a great cop when she grows up.

And here is a grab bag of some of the better shots I captured on my new camera.  Enjoy:

  

   

How Can 98 Degrees Leave Me This Cold?

Not sure what got me thinking about this today, but I was reflecting on the worst concerts I've ever attended, when I stumbled on some memories I hadn't visited in quite some time.

There was the time I took the stake president's daughter to the LL Cool J concert at Fiddler's Green.  I must have been 16 or 17 at the time, and was actually a moderate Cool J fan (still am.)  When she told me she had won free tickets on the radio but wasn't going to go, I informed her that such waste was unacceptable and that I was on my way to pick her up.  In my haste, I forgot to consider two things.  First, rap/hip hop concerts are rarely any good.  No instruments, no "band".  Just one guy and his silly entourage running around mumbling into the mic for two hours (exception to the rule:  Wu Tang Clan brings an unrestrained chaos to the stage that's actually a lot of fun to witness.)  Second, he's not called "Ladies Love" for nothing.  Performances of songs like "Doin' It Well" and "Back Seat of My Jeep" are probably best enjoyed with somebody that is NOT the daughter of your ecclesiastical leader.  But there we were, watching Cool J demonstrate his "hungry kitty" technique on an overturned bar stool while all the "shorties" surrounding us cooed like pigeons.  Lesson learned.  Stick to rock bands.

Unless you count Collective Soul as a rock band.  I caught these guys playing at the University of Utah's basketball arena in college.  I knew some of their stuff from the radio, and though I liked it alright, I didn't like it enough to call myself a fan.  The concert didn't help any.  Remember that movie Can't Buy Me Love, where lawn boy Patrick Dempsey gives the cool girl, Cindi Mancini, a bunch of money to help replace her mother's leather tart-wear that she ruined, and in doing so essentially buys his way into the cool crowd?  Remember how he tries way too hard to fit in with the cool kids and just comes off looking like a hyperactive jagoff (at least that's how I remember it)?  That's what their lead singer reminded me of.  The music was fine, and had I been blind, I might have enjoyed the concert.  I am not blind, however, and he may as well have broken out the African Anteater Ritual for all his theatrics.  As AC/DC said, it's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll.  What they didn't say (read between the lines, folks) is that if you prefer flopping around on the stage like an wounded bird, maybe the bottom suits you better. 

Which brings me to the #1 on my "worst" list, and I know I'm going to take heaps of crap for this, but so be it.  The story demands telling.  I have a friend who works for the Utah Jazz, and she would occasionally get free tickets to concerts that didn't sell out at the Delta Center.  That fact right there should tell you something about the downward trajectory of this show.  My friend called me the night of the show and told me she had a stack of about 20 tickets for the 98 Degrees concert and wanted me to go with her and her sister.  I laughed, thinking she was joking.  She was not.  As I contemplated the TV reruns I would miss by going, I glanced over at the couch where my roommate sat pawing at his happy trail while meditating on the evening's SportsCenter highlights.  In that moment, I made a decision that would transform that night from being indistinguishable from hundreds of other nights in my college career, to one that remains vivid in my memory to this day, for no other reason than the tragic, unintended comedy of the spectacle.

I met my friend and her sister at the arena and immediately realized I was in for a delightful dramedy.  Me and my friend were 21 or 22, and were probably the oldest ones there (barring chaperones) by at least six years.  The arena barely sold enough tickets to fill the lower bowl. Our seats were in the upper bowl, and thank goodness for that.  Up there the girls were simple fans, out of range of the corrupting musk of boy band sweat that affects the brains of adolescent girls like a spilled cup o' joe on your laptop.  I spent the evening hanging over the railings surveying the madness sprawled out below.  It was much more entertaining than anything happening on stage.  Except, of course, when one of those mincing peacocks would send the little girls up front into weeping convulsions by kneeling down and handing out roses.  My favorite was the ex-Mr. Simpson.  He would stoop down so tenderly, never shrinking from the runny noses, the foaming mouths and gnashing metal braces, flashing like paparazzi cameras in the stage lights, to give a flower to some lucky girl. As he slowly sauntered back to the main stage, their little critter hearts teetering at the breaking point, he would stop mid-strut, turn back over one shoulder and give the three-fingered, raised-pinky waive.  With the scent of man(ish) sweat still frying their circuitry, the girls would erupt into a frantic bounce, sobbing and embracing and speaking in tongues like it was the day of Pentecost.  This exhibition continued for what seemed like eternity.  We didn't stay to the end.  I didn't want to get caught going upstream against these teenage drama piranhas coming off a feeding frenzy.  I guess if you have to witness a truly awful performance, you may as well look for the humor in it.

So let me hear it folks.  What are some of the worst concerts you've ever been to?  Can it top this:

Speaking of Life Not Turning Out The Way You Thought It Would...

Just arrived in the Hilariously Sad File...
Back when Arnold Jackson was pondering what Willis was talkin' 'bout, I doubt he imagined that when he was 41, his mugshot would end up splashed across the interwebs.  But here he is, a strikingly sad illustration of the distance from a Park Avenue penthouse to a holding pen in Santaquin, Utah:

The short story on what I'm sure was a very long night for Kettlecheeks there is that he was arrested for a civil disturbance at his home and then jailed for an outstanding warrant stemming from a domestic violence charge last year.  The mugshot is a pretty disturbing contrast.  It wouldn't seem that the story could get worse than spending some time in the local pokey and having this picture all over the tabloid press.  But this is a man who's celebrity reached its pinnacle in the 80's and has spent the latter half of his life in straight-to-DVD purgatory.
So naturally there comes a healthy aftershock to the story, some salt in the wound, wherein Kettlecheeks gets blackmailed in order to make bail (hint: like most blackmail these days, it involves nakedness).  He had been cast in a mockumentary in which a group of midgets compete against sports mascots for a million-dollar prize.  During the filming of this masterpiece of epic bad taste, a shot of Lil' Cheeks was captured in a shower scene and Big Cheeks got into a dispute with the producers over their intention to use the footage.  According to reports, when they found out he was in jail, the producers said, "Hey, as thanks for letting us use the Lil' Cheeks footage, we'll post your bail and you'll call off your legal gnomies. Deal?"  Big Cheeks spat in his hand and sealed the deal.  And now he's home, which I have to wonder if that's really better than jail, given the circumstances of his arrest.  For some reason this one doesn't make me hilariously sad.  Just regular sad.