Feb 08

Thoughts on sports and their different regional “flavors”:

I’ve always been interested in how different areas put their own twists on sports. A game played by the same rules can be played in totally different ways and interpreted in a completely different manner by different cultures.

But why? What is it about certain cultures that drives changes in the game?

rezball2A few years ago I noticed several articles that discussed a style of basketball being played in the American southwest by young Native Americans. Dubbed “Rezball“, it was basketball played at an extremely fast pace. According to ESPN.com,

Rezball is a smashmouth game of speed, aggression and stamina. Full-court presses and man D are applied relentlessly, but the transition game is the game. Guards often start a break after receiving the inbounds pass; set plays are rare. Rezball makes the 2007 Suns look like the 1995 Knicks. Squads with three guys taller than 6′3″ are rare, so even the short guys know how to play big, and all five positions boast guardlike handles and shooting skills. Watching the best teams will rivet you to your seat—from the way players improvise at warp speed to their sheer endurance and the dialed-in-but-carefree way they ball.

For some reason, Native Americans decided to add an extreme element of speed to their game. Granted, height is not a usual trait in Native Americans, so few teams would have the option to slow down the game by throwing the ball to a lumbering big man underneath the basket. But from what I know about Rezball, it is faster than the Philippines Basketball Association, a league known to impose height requirements to give domestic players a chance.

So why did the Native Americans tweak basketball in that way? Is running or sprinting a typical habit of the people?

On the complete opposite side of the spectrum is the southern style of professional wrestling, known in some circles as “rasslin’”. According to Wikipedia,

Rasslin’ – refers to a southern style of professional wrestling which emphasizes kayfabe and stiffness, with fewer squash matches and generally longer feuds. It was synonymous with the NWA-affiliated promotions. Rasslin’ included TV tapings at smaller venues, as compared to the larger and more well-known arenas utilized by northern U.S. promotions such as the AWA and WWF/E. The term is derived from a phonetic spelling of how the word “wrestling” sounds when spoken with a heavy Southern accent. It is also commonly used in a derogatory manner by non-Southern wrestling fans to describe that style of wrestling.”

Southernxident(To be honest, although the description is correct, I have never heard anyone in Florida refer to it as “rasslin’”. Actually, due to the mixed population in Florida, I’ve been told the state is a very difficult place to wrestle in, because transplanted fans from different parts of the country look for different things in their wrestling performances.)

I’ve been told that “southern” professional wrestling is generally slower than its northern counterparts. In the definition above, “emphasizing kayfabe” means characters and stories have more of a role in southern pro wrestling matches. In order to build those stories and develop those characters, the action must be slower. No rapid, high-flyin’, biff-bang-boom-wham-bam-slam matches. In southern wrestling, each match tells a story and it is the story that is emphasized more so than the athletic performance.

So why is wrestling different in the South? What is it about southern culture that favors deliberate storylines over fast-paced action?

Having lived in the South for over 20 years, I can attempt to answer this. For the same reason country music is generally slower, and southern accents are not as fast as northern dialects, Southerners prefer a more laid back lifestyle. People are more spread out in the south and aren’t ingrained with the urgency of northern city folks.

There is also the notion that morals are more prevalent in the South. Whereas in the North, people are all jumbled together and no one knows which way is which, in the South, there are traditional codes of conduct – such as how a gentleman or lady should act. Pro wrestling storylines feed off of these ideas. Bad guys deliberately brake the codes of conduct and good guys get in the fans’ favor by giving these villains a helpin’ of fist-flyin’ justice.

Before I end, I would like to leave you with a few questions.

Questions: Could there have been at some point different nuances in baseball? Were there slight differences in baseball strategy when the game started its growth in America? Did southerners play a slower-paced game than northerners? Was the northern game the origin of homeruns and fastballs and the south the birthplace of off-speed pitches, setting up batters, and base-to-base offense? Could there have been a difference in regional pitching psychology? Also, was there a different style of game strategy in the Negro Leagues?

The best answers may win something from me, if I can think of a cool gift.

Feb 03

the_jerk-steve_martinI wish there was more realism in the movies. I’m tired of movies trying to toe the line between fantasy and reality but becoming so fantastical as to  lose the point. For example, how come bad guys never shoot straight? Unless otherwise designated as a “sharpshooter” with a scope and other doo-dads, bad guys couldn’t shoot the broad side of a barn. They couldn’t shoot the water if they were standing on the beach.

Here is another question: Why doesn’t anyone ever have to get gas or run out of gas? I have to fill my tank roughly once a week. That’s once every seven days. If I was involved in a high speed car chase on a random day, there is a 1 in 7 chance that my car would be low on gas. And that would impede my ability to have a decent chase.

Most importantly, however, is my biggest pet peeve about the movies. Where is the long arm of the legal system? Things happen, stuff blows up, people die, cars crash, escape pods are jettisoned, enemies vanquished, and yet in very few movies is legal action taken.

The only movies I remember where people are hampered via lawsuit are Ghostbusters II and The Jerk. The characters in those movies have to recover from the evil court system just as normal people would.

(If you haven’t noticed, I’m not counting legal dramas like To Kill a Mockingbird. Of course those movies had trials. The characters were lawyers. What else would they do?)

Here are a few other movies I think should have had some legal action:

Transformers – There is no doubt someone should have to pay for the destruction, terror, and mayhem caused by the Autobots and the Decepticons. Giant robots smash a city and no one pays? Someone should have to play the Khalid Sheikh Mohammed role and face the music for the devastation. Mr. Witwicky, father of Sam Witwicky, should have taken the fall.

Gremlins – This is a no-brainer. Mr. Peltzer buys a mogwai for his son. The mogwai spawns gremlins. The gremlins kill people and destroy the town. Ipso facto, Mr. Peltzer, being responsible as he would be for the actions of his pets, is responsible for the action of the gremlins. My guess is that he would have faced a large fine and definitely some jail time, bring new meaning to the term “bathroom buddy”.

Star Wars – Where do I start? Where were the war tribunals? The Empire blew up a freakin’ planet. Someone has to take the fall for that. They also committed countless atrocities, from religious persecution to enslavement to cruel and unusual torture. They broke business agreements, killed innocent jawas, and freely and willingly engaged in kidnapping. Sure Vader, the Emperor, and Grand Moff Tarkin are dead, but I sure some of those in charge survived. Where was the Star Wars version of The Hague?

Terminator – Instead of sending soldiers back and forth from the future, why didn’t anyone send lawyers? I don’t think it would have been that big of a stretch to prove that the apocalyptic vision of Sarah Conner was real. Especially after what happened in Terminator 2.  Skynet could have been put out of business early, before the robots took over. They could have had their assets froze and their R&D department closed. That would have stopped the tragic events of August 29, 1997.

Wait a second … That day was pretty uneventful. Except for the Rais Massacre in Algeria, which to my knowledge was not caused by robots, nothing of note happened. Maybe the lawyers did come from the future and stop Skynet.

Who Shot Mamba? - In this Internet phenomenon that’s sweeping the nation, protagonist Merri Sherman is accused and interrogated in the killing of his friend Mamba. His interrogation by Detective Tracy Riggs was nothing less than demeaning and unprofessional. What if Sherman had filed charges against Riggs immediately upon his escape from Riggs’ clutches? Sure, a lot of stuff wouldn’t have happened, but it could have prevented other stuff from happening. That’s called a domino effect.

What other movies would have been drastically altered by the inclusion of the legal system?

Feb 01

I know I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but the other day I checked the demographics of my Facebook fan club (If you haven’t joined, why not? It’s free, yo.). Although I wasn’t entirely surprised by the numbers, they were a bit startling. Apparently, I am most popular with the 25-34 male demographic. As a matter of fact, across all age groups men outnumber women 73% to 25%. Then I started thinking, besides my cheerleader post, I don’t remember the last comment I received from a female reader.

I don’t know why, but this bothers me.

(By the way, perhaps you noticed 73+25 = 0nly 98. I am not asking what the other 2% are. I’ll leave that between them and Facebook.)

Granted, I am a 25-34 year old male and most of my writing throughout the years has been on “guy” subjects like sports, music, and politics. I also don’t think it helps that my sense of humor is either extremely dry or utterly slapstick, neither of which I’ve noticed are the predominant sense of humor of the fairer sex. I also tend to be very random, which doesn’t help. From what I’ve noticed, most women prefer predictability, which leads to comfortability and connection. Most women want something they can relate to consistently, something they can identify with, and something, like Poison, they can believe in.

So besides following the advice of this article on marketing to women, is there anything I can do to make my writing more “female-friendly”?

Feb 01

College football signing day is this week. Soon high school seniors across the country will make their decisions on what programs they will spend their next four years at.

But what if the military had a national signing day? What if we followed military recruiting like we follow college football recruiting? That is the subject of my latest post over at ScalpEm.com.

Thoughts on Another Type of Signing Day

Jan 29

I was lucky enough to be caught at a Subway in South Tampa when the President’s motorcade drove by. One viewer said there were 38 motorcycles.

If the sound was better, you could hear the lady at the end say something to the effect of “Why do they need such a big escort for one man?”

I thought that was pretty funny.

Jan 26

bachelors-dirty-room-02This is sort of a follow-up post to one I wrote a few weeks ago on the growing amount of to-do lists I have in my apartment.

One of the guilt trips I often face is that I don’t think I clean my place frequently enough. When I was growing up, my mother would clean the whole house every Sunday. Like Mr. Clean meets the Tasmanian Devil, she would whip through four bedrooms, three bathrooms, two living rooms, a dining room, and kitchen like she was on a mission from God. A mission to annihilate all dust, dirt, and dog hair from the face of the planet Earth, or at least her house. Sure, I’d help her out at times, by vacuuming my own room and maybe even cleaning my bathroom, but that just meant she had time to juggle a load of laundry or two while cleaning.

Since I’ve been in my own place, sans roommate, since 2003, I’ve assumed the role of chief, cook, and apartment cleaner. Although being chief of my place is simple enough, the other two roles have been a work in progress. While I am slowly but surely cultivating my culinary competence, my cleaning capability still has much to be desired. At least by the standards my mother instilled in me.

(Good thing she is scared of heights and I live on the third floor of my complex!)

So in order to make myself feel less guilty for not scrubbing the bejesus out my apartment every weekend, I’ve convinced myself I don’t have to. First of all, it is only me in the place. How dirty can I possibly make the carpet in a room in rarely go in? Why clean a tub I never use? And why clean when I can go out?

Now I’m not saying my apartment is nasty. Far, far, far from it. I like to think on the average bachelor scale, I’m in the middle, leaning toward the above-average percentile. Not quite the epitome of order and neatliness, but far from your average frat house or male-dominate college apartment (seriously, I have a friend whose college apartment had a bag of another dude’s hair nailed to the ceiling, a sink full of dirty pots and pans, and the crusted remnants of a thrown chocolate cake smeared on his living room wall).

But here is my dilemma: I live in a nearly 1000sq ft apartment. If I were to clean the whole thing, wall-to-wall, top-to-bottom, inside and out, how long would that take? Three hours? Six? Maybe 12? I have psychological hang-up due the potential time commitment.

What I need to do is find my Effective Cleanliness Range (ECR) and then plan my cleaning accordingly. For example, if it takes 5 hours to do 1000sq ft, that’s 200sq ft per hour. That’s my ECR.

Since I can’t change my ECR without reducing the quality of the clean (can’t do that!), maybe I could change the time spent cleaning. I could clean an hour a day, perhaps after work in the evening. But I know that won’t happen. If I was disciplined enough to do something for an hour a day after work, I would be at the gym working out – something I haven’t been dedicated to in the last year.

So here is another thought: what if I moved to a smaller apartment? Using the same ECR (200sqft/hr), I could obviously clean a smaller apartment faster. Something to think about.

Another thing to think about is the fact that one day I hope to buy my own house, condo, or townhome. Again assuming it is just me and I don’t have any roommates, and my Russian mail order bride has not yet arrived, what is the breaking point at which my ECR would be insufficient to clean the whole place in a week? That would be my Maximum Effective Cleanliness Range (MECR).

Since I’m at work for 40 hours a week and asleep for roughly 42 hours a week (6×7), that leaves 86 hours to get my clean on. Add in the “getting ready for work” time (10 hours a week), the driving to and from work (another 10), and the time needed for food in and food out (10 hours a week)  and I’m down to 56 hours.

If I kept up my ECR of 200sq ft per hour, my MECR could feasibly be 11,000sq feet before cleaning overwhelmed my need to eat, sleep, or work. That is one big house. Of course, keeping that house at level of cleanliness would completely eliminate my ability to get my boogie on.

And we can’t have that.

You know, instead of moving, maybe I should stay where I’m at, stop writing, stop figuring out inane formulas, and actually start vacuuming. Especially on Sundays.

My mom would prefer it that way.

Jan 24

(Like many artists, writers, and creative geniuses, I have tons of unpublished material filling up binders, boxes, folders, and file cabinets. These vary from ideas to notions to poems to half-written stories. Every once in a while, I’m going to dust one off and publish it here. This was a story I wrote for a school writing class. Back then, I excelled in self-depreciating prose. And yes, it is vague and I removed names to protect the innocent. Hey, I don’t want to get sued or anything.)

yunioshi4qtThere she was.  The kind of girl a guy like me had no chance with.  I knew my place.  I was neither my high school’s star quarterback nor its ace pitcher.  I was more along the lines of the guy who got sand kicked in his face by some muscular guy when at the beach.  As a matter of fact, I avoided the beach.  I stopped going there after I had gotten so burnt I couldn’t sleep for a week.  But that’s beside the point.

How did a social simpleton like me get so lucky as to sit in front of a girl as beautiful as her?  I shouldn’t lie, the teacher sat us in alphabetical order and her last name began with the late before mine.  But who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?  Here was my chance to be the man.  To be the type of guy other guys look at and ask, “How did a guy like that get with a girl like that?”

Let me take a moment to describe this young goddess.  She was tall, not eight feet tall or anything, but taller than the average 17-year old girl.  She had long blond hair and beautiful blue eyes.  She was on the school cheerleading squad but seemed not to share the stuck up attitude of her squad mates.  She was near perfect.

It took me about two weeks to muster up enough courage to say hi to her.  Surprisingly, she said hi back.  Slowly but surely I started talking to her more and more.  Our class was often broken up into groups, and we would always work together.  Not only was she beautiful, but I found out she was also very intelligent.

She and I started becoming pretty good friends as the semester progressed.  One day that continues to stand out in my memory was when she showed me her newly acquired belly button ring.  Being it was 1994 and several years before Britney Spears or Shania Twain brought fame to the midriff, her stomach was one of the sexiest things I had ever seen.  I felt so privileged.  Maybe she liked me.

I never took advantage of my in-class friendship with my new cheerleader friend.  I didn’t talk to her outside of class and even though I knew where she worked, I never paid her a visit.  I was too scared.  Finally, I had the notion to ask her for her number.

If it took me two weeks to say hello to her, it must have taken a month for me to get enough courage to ask her for her number.  After we took our last test of the semester, but before the week of our final exam, I waited for her outside of class.  I talked to her all the way to her locker.  I was so nervous.  Then I said it, “Hey, I was wondering if you would be interested in talking to me away from school?”

“Sure,” she said, “let me give you my number.”

What followed was possibly the happiest moment of my teenage, high school years.  I, by no means the most popular person in my high school, had a popular, beautiful, cheerleader’s number.  It was a victory for non-studs everywhere.

Even with my complete inexperience with girls, I knew I could not call her that night, or even the next day.  I did, however, bring my yearbook to our last class.  She signed it, writing, “I am glad I got to know you.  You are really sweet and made class a little bit better.  As good as it could have possibly been.  Have fun this summer and next year.  Maybe I’ll see you.  Stay as sweet as you are now.  Love, X.”

(Ed. Of course, she didn’t sign it “X”, as that would be weird. She put her real name thankfully.)

A few nights later I decided to call.  Again nervousness seized my body.  I could barely push the numbers on the phone.  I completed her number and waited for her to answer.  One ring, two rings, three- my nervousness was increasing exponentially- four, five rings.  Finally, a machine picked up.  It was not her voice.  It wasn’t even a family member’s voice.  It was a message for a company I had never heard of.  I was crushed.

I never did see my beautiful cheerleader friend again and although I have had my share of rejections (and successes) in the years since, few girls have put me on such an emotional roller coaster.  She is responsible for both the best and worst day of my high school years.

The bitch.

Jan 24

(Like many artists, writers, and creative geniuses, I have tons of unpublished material filling up binders, boxes, folders, and file cabinets. These vary from ideas to notions to poems to half-written stories. Every once in a while, I’m going to dust one off and publish it here. Here is a poem about the name “Jordi Scrubbings”.)

I created my alias in January 1999.

Jordi from that little French baby

who appeared on MTV in the early 90s.

Scrubbings from Dick Scrubbings,

a guy my friend Chris played in a talk-show we made.

Jordi became a character in a home movie as well.

Flash vs. The Aliens: The Earlier Adventures of Flash Hercules (coming soon)

Together Jordi and Flash (again played by Chris)

worked for ANUS

(the Alien Neutralizing Underground Society).

Protecting the world from the Hartoonians and ANAL

(the Anti-Neutralizing Alien League)

and their attempt at planetary takeover.

Now Jordi is my online persona.

An instant message screen name

and a From label on outgoing emails.

Most of my friends know its me,

but Amazon, Yahoo, Google, and the world have no clue.

The other day Jordi talked a little trash

to my 15-year old cousin.

He had no clue who it was

and called me a faggot.

I told him if he knew who he was talking to

he wouldn’t have said that.

Then I told him to tell his mom I said hi.

Jan 22

Auroch fighting WolvesWay back in the day, when I could have had it my way, before I did marches, I worked for the golden arches.

That’s right, my first job was flipping burgers and slinging McMuffins at Mickey D’s. I did that gig during my senior year of high school before I decided to be all I could be.

Outside of the fact that I sometimes got food for free, working at McDonald’s pretty much stunk. Although I didn’t mind coming home smelling like onions and mustard a few times a week, and finally making more than my parents’ allowance was a good thing, my beef (get it? ha ha) was that I was never on a consistent schedule. Depending on the manager, sometimes I worked 25 hours a week, sometimes four. Good thing I didn’t need much cash, because I couldn’t even afford to pay attention.

Even though it has been nearly 15 years since I was in the food business, it might be time to reacquaint myself with some culinary skills. According to an article on the Telegraph.co.uk website, Italian scientists are primed and ready to do some genetic manipulating and bring back an ancient species of cattle called the Auroch that “weighed around 2,200lb and stood 6.5 feet at the shoulder”.

That’s a lot of burgers.

(P.S. Oddly, for whatever reason, the Nazis also tried to bring back the Auroch back in the 1930s.)

(P.P.S. If the farts of regular-sized cows are supposed to be bad for the environment, wouldn’t Auroch farts be worse? Wouldn’t their farts be larger and more powerful? Is the payoff of more plentiful burgers and steaks worth destroying the environment?)

(P.P.P.S. I say yes.)

Jan 21

I’m late on this, I’ll admit. While other blogs had their “best of” lists out just after Christmas, I waited to see if Santa Claus would bring me the music I wanted. Sure enough, two of the top five were Christmas presents. One, however, I just bought a week ago and because I hadn’t done this list yet, I figured I would throw it in at number 10.

And so, without further ado, here is the Jordi Scrubbings’ Top Ten Albums of 2009.

By the way, here are numbers 11-20:

  • Enter the 37th Chamber – El Michels Affair
  • The Devil You Know – Heaven and Hell
  • Wu-Tang Meets Indie Culture Vol 2 – Enter the Dubstep
  • Everyday Demons – The Answer
  • Street Sweeper Social Club
  • Blackout 2! – Method Man and Redman
  • Let’s Do It Again – Leela James
  • Escape 2 Mars – Gift of Gab
  • Lipstick on the Mirror – Pop Evil
  • Dearest Darlin’ – Jenni Muldaur
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