My Year in Garmin Connect... Killing time in a boring meeting, attempting to look productive, about the best thing I can do is open up Garmin Connect and tool around. I could be doing something work-related. You see, Garmin Connect is where I upload my workout activities after they happen. I am very much in the camp of "If I don't have my Garmin device or it isn't in Connect, then it probably didn't happen". I have access to more GPS devices than I have fingers, so I have no excuse to run with a naked wrist or handlebar. And if I do, I totally make something up to put it in Connect. This has to be the most vain activity I participate in. So last week when I felt safe I wouldn't be called out in our "Marketing Deliverables" (please verify if this is in fact a real word) meeting, I ran some GC reports to see what last year looked like. Whereas in the previous 4 years at Garmin I wasn't consistent at uploading activities, this past year I made an attempt to keep the journal up to date. The charts below show how many minutes and miles I ran, rode and sweat out. And before I'm accused of home-cooking the mathematics, if you add everything up, there's a gap outside of running and cycling that's filled with a variety of indoor and outdoor soccer games, as well as some classic racquetball slugfests with Z. Running: 116 activities, 542 miles, 86 hours outside (treadmills are lame...and I was kicked out of the YMCA) and a very rough estimate of 57,500 calories burned. That's an average of 4.7 miles and 44 minutes per run in 2011.
(All serious, pretending to be The Legend)
Not in the numbers: I got lost running at Lonestar Lake in Lawrence after a photoshoot with one of Garmin's sponsored triathletes, and a four mile easy yog turned into a blisteringly-hot slog past hordes of vultures (true story) who I can only assume wanted to eat my soul. I was so dehydrated at one point, I debated jumping in the lake and swimming across to my car. Classic case of being able to see the finish line but having no idea how to make it there. http://connect.garmin.com/activity/109502829 Favorite run: Psycho Wyco 10 mile trail run: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/68272808
Cycling: 31 times on the bike, 870 miles, 43 hours outside (not coordinated enough to figure out an indoor trainer), and approximately 38,000 calories burned. That's an average of 28 miles and 1 hour 23 minutes per ride.
(Amusing myself since I was all by myself during the Team Garmin ride-out)
Not in the numbers: On my hybrid bike, I finished the Bike MS event at the exact same time as our department VP, who was riding a sweet Cervelo. Our rides were virtually equal, with the only other minor difference being that he took the 110 mile route, while I rode 78. http://myfuturestache.blogspot.com/2011/10/bike-ms-is-that-all-youve-got-weather.html
Close Second: Team Garmin Ride-out. Rode 20 with the professional cyclists from Team Garmin Cervelo. Can't find this in GC, but I know it happened. I helped organize, and as a result was the last dude out of the gates. Caught up to a few families, but by the time I arrived back at HQ the beer was in jeopardy of not finding my belly.
(Team Garmin pro cyclists captivating a full house in the Garmin auditorium)
Totals: 175 activities, which is roughly one outing every other day of the year. I was 30 miles shy of 1,500 and 1,300 calories away from burning 100,000 last year. While that seems like a lot of sweat equity, I more than made up for it by making a habit of gorging on Kin Lin's General Tso's, Chipotle's burrito bowls and frozen pizza's after working out. I'm that person who fuels his workouts with thoughts of cupcakes, dark beers and comfort food. Which is why I'm glad the one thing I didn't log was calories consumed. Then I'd be breaking some records.
Professional indoor soccer is one of those rare spectacles that
cannot be properly explained with written or spoken word – the eyes, brain and
at least one of the other senses (smell, possibly?) must experience it
together, first hand. Sure, you could tell someone that they’ll watch a soccer
game where double-digit outcomes are expected from both sides. That like in
basketball, there’s four fifteen-minute quarters and a three-point arc. Similar
to hockey, there’s a penalty box where the administrators of particularly
egregious infractions are shelved for two minutes. And unrelenting body-checking.
Loud early nineties music is blasting through the stadium at
all times - ALL times. I’m fairly certain the last two times I’ve heard Bush’s Machinehead were at Wichita Wings games,
14 years apart. And Kurt Cobain’s legacy will never be in jeopardy as long
indoor soccer is still around.
Athletic dudes with funny names and socks pulled up over
their knees crash into each other, hurling their bodies with reckless abandon
as the ball squirts around the field, from player to player. Professional
indoor soccer covets a variety of personalities, all sage enough at something to keep playing at this level:
The super-skilled dribbler (who can’t shoot); the tall, speedy forward with a
cannon shot (who won’t defend); the versatile playmaker (who is good at
everything, but can’t play the entire game); the bruising defender (who has a
way of getting the tiniest piece of the ball in addition to one or both of the
opposing forward’s kneecaps); the acrobatic keeper (seriously, they all are);
the fiery ex-player/coach (who still thinks he could be out there, and is
probably right).
(VIDEO: Check out how quick the action turns sour with this Comets goal)
With the above in mind, Retro Night at the Kansas City
Sprint Center was shaping up to be a dream event. It pitted fierce long-time
rivals against each other: The Missouri Comets and the Wichita Wings. This
rivalry has transcended home cities, leagues that have folded and begat other
leagues (that have folded and begat other…), bankrupt teams, players switching
side and allegiances, coaches doing the same, mascots, owners, cheerleaders,
cheering sections. The histories of these teams resemble two close-by trees,
their individual subterranean networks of roots having crisscrossed to such a
degree that neither tree knows whether the roots visible at their base are
their own, or that of their frenemy.
For a ‘90’s Wings fan, this game was tickling blast from the
past. Former Wichita Wings star LeBaron Hollimon, graduate of Wichita Northwest,
traded in his short shorts for a suit and now patrols the Wings bench area,
dishing out guidance like one of his mid-90’s tackles. Through a friendship (or
contractual obligation) with my high school club coach, Tony Palomino, LeBaron
would sometimes join my practices and help coach our team. He was a nurturing
mentor who provided us with unbiased and helpful constructive criticism, such
as the time that he said our defense resembled a “sloppy shit sandwich”, a
phrase so cutting and hilarious that I still use it to this day.
(LeBaron...wishing it could be him out there)
On the other side of the pine stood his former teammate,
coach and player/coach, Kim Roentved, one of the most celebrated Wings of all
time. Roentved played 14 seasons for the Wings during two stints, and another five
for the Comets. His fiery demeanor, flowing perm and natural leadership made
him a long-time fan favorite. That and the fact that if there was ever a fight,
an overly-aggressive slide tackle, a verbal berating of a ref, or a hell-bent
sixth-attacker in a dirty yellow jersey running like crap all over the field,
it was The Rocket.
(Roentved, a shadow among men)
Kim and LeBaron were the types of dudes that Chad and I
would watch while in high school and think, “Man, it’d be freaking awesome to
play for the Wings”. And while we traded in our shin guards (the Sunday night
league I’m in doesn’t technically require them) for much-less-cool professional
jobs, we know someone who didn’t. Chris Lemonsis more than just the Wings starting left back and a guy with dope
hair – he’s a graduate of Andover High school who helped lead our high school
team to some of its more successful years (until my jerk brother’s team won the
State Championship).
It was surreal seeing him out there in the same colors as some
of our favorite Wings players, such as “Fast” Eddie Henderson, Chico Borja, Dale
Ervine, Chris Peat, the Dunn brothers, Tatu (more on that
dude later) and “Stormin” Norman Piper, among others. This is a guy whose dad, the team and town
doctor, at one point in my life informed me of the following medical bombshells:
my tonsils are jacked and need to go; my finger is broken, even though mom sent
me to school; I passed my sports physical; that even though I was in pain from an
accidental cleat to the groin, I was going to be just fine. Chris and his family
were part of AHS soccer during the early years, when the program was in its
infancy. When we practiced on the middle school’s backup football field. When
we’d bus it 4 hours to beat Dodge City 13 – 1. I’ll stop here before I begin to
sound like Uncle Rico.
(Lemons, getting his D on)
So as you can imagine, we were more than excited to see this
game. Kyle, a long-time Comets fan, was also not going to miss it, even though
being a Comets fan is lame. Kyle is famous for breaking out old-school indoor
soccer trading cards during one particularly celebratory New Year’s Eve party.
That provided us with hours of conversation over how great the sport is, how
short the shorts used to be, how amazing the perms, rat-tails, mullets and
mustaches were…and were our eyes deceiving us, or did a reputable company
actually print indoor soccer trading cards?
The Sprint Center was not sold out, but the 8,000 plus fans
in attendance were not there by accident. While technically a home game for the
Comets, the Wings followers – now apparently called the Orange Army – had a
strong showing. The classic “DE-FENSE” and “WICHITA…WINGS…WICHITA…WINGS” chants
were loud enough to be heard by the players and fans alike. This made me ponder
the whereabouts of some of the long-time and visible Wings fans, such as the
large guy with the beat-sticks and that always started his own chants and the
old dude who wore overalls to every game, and was courteous enough to berate
the refs using their first names.
(Three fans, two teams, one badass hat)
What about that lady who won the 1990 Taco Rio Fan of The
Year? She wasn’t there, but she darn sure goes to all Wings games in Wichita. That
lady is Donna Cummings – Chad’s mom. She taught us a daunting lesson that day:
no matter what level of success Chad or I achieve in our lifetimes, there is
nothing that we will ever do that will be more awesome than winning the 1990 Taco
Rio Wichita Wings Fan of the Year. Period.
The pre-game introductions were classic. Fans waived
glow-sticks as the lights turned off. The Comets mascot (which a paternity test
might determine is the love child of the KC Chiefs and Sporting KC mascots)
rode around on a scooter under the spotlight, tossing out plastic soccer balls.
The jumbotron showed clips of ancient match-ups between the two teams (footage
obviously cut straight from VHS), ending much as you might expect it would:
with a clip of the Comets goalkeeper running and jumping towards the wall feet
first, propelling himself into a rapid-fire back flip. You couldn’t tell if he
stuck the landing, because a Syfy-channel quality explosion engulfed the screen
when his feet were due to hit the ground – digital flames were everywhere. When
he was introduced, that very same keeper ran not towards his lined-up
teammates, but instead headed for the wall and, somehow to everyone’s surprise,
performed the very same, incredible off-the-wall back flip. His body did not
explode.
The White Puma, Jimmy Nielsen, Sporting KC’s keeper and team
MVP, was on hand for the opening kick-off. He was also at the bar inside the
Sprint Center waiting for Chad and I to take our pictures with him. Or so
that’s what we presumed.
(Chad and The White Puma)
(The Puma and I)
Some Jock-Jams song was booming over the system as the ball
was put into play. The game was fast. The sport is fast. Season tickets to Sporting KC has us accustomed to a very
deliberate, spread-out style of play. Not in indoor, man. There’s a reason
players go shifts of 2 – 3 minutes; because they’re running their asses off. I
forgot that slide tackles were permitted; and I forgot that a slide tackle in
indoor almost always leads to a diving wipeout. Sprinting, running around,
leaping over tackles, forward somersaults, bodying up, crashing into the
boards, sprinting off and leaping over the wall into the bench area…these are
just some of the ways a pro indoor soccer player marginalizes his body
throughout a career.
(VIDEO: This is why you put your hand in front of your marbles when you're selected for the one-man wall)
The goals came quickly when they happened – indoor soccer is
not a sport that rewards texting. The Comets drilled an impressive 3-pointer,
but only after a Barry Sanders-esque handling of the ball. Neither of the refs,
yet the entire Wings fan section saw this obvious infraction on the jumbotron
replay. I thought Chad was going to hurl his dad’s 1984 Wings kango-style hat
at the announcer, seated 5 rows below us in-between the two penalty boxes. Kyle,
sporting a 1981 vintage Comets shirt, high-fived other Comets fans and refused
to admit that his team was a bunch of cheaters.
(Homeboy is totally about to get his scissor-kick on)
Most of the goals were the result of a fast break or
counter-attack, each team capitalizing on lazy defense or the odd keeper
clearance that lands directly on a cherry-picking striker’s foot (see Dale
Ervine’s entire career). It’s hard to fail when you’re on a breakaway and We Will Rock You is violating your
eardrum’s threshold for not violently spurting blood.
(VIDEO: Some nice wall work leads to another Wings goal)
With action close after the first 30 minutes of play, were
discouraged from pee breaks with the announcement that there would be a
“reunion” game. An image of a gimpy and out-of-shape Chico Borja immediately
filled my heart with a reformed-Grinch-like joy. Sadly, the skilled half of
“The Classic Connection” did not participate, nor did his cherry-picking
Jekyll, Dale Ervine. There were other names there, though.
In goal was Chris Damico - the Aaron Rodgers to Chris Peat’s
Brett Favre…assuming that is, that Rodgers isn’t quite as good as Favre, but
still balding and sharing a name. Protecting the other set of pipes was Yaro Dachniwskyand his ponytail, of the Kansas City
Attack, formerly the Atlanta Attack. I once shot a PK against him during a
summer soccer camp when I lived in Atlanta. Totally had him faked out with my
eyes, before I launched the ball thirteen feet over the crossbar. It was his
camp; no need to embarrass him.
Ted Eck was there, rocking the same exact haircut he had
fourteen years ago. So was “Scorin” Gorin Hunjak. Tatu, the highest profile
signing in Wings history, was there sporting slightly more circumference than
normal, still measuring in at well below 5’7, but with quads the size of Land
Rover. I used to have a Wings shirt with his autograph on it (if I remember
correctly, Dad took me to a public event where he was speaking and signing
things); I kept it prominently displayed in my closet but refused to wear it
out in public for (a completely rational) fear that I’d get mugged by some
indoor soccer-loving hoodlum. Because they exist.
(Tatu...still a menace on the pitch)
The teams were
rounded out by a bunch of stocky, portly dudes with great skills and sputtering
motors. Survivors of WNBA-quality team names such as The Cleveland Crunch,
Tampa Bay Rowdies, Chicago Storm, and the Baltimore Blast - now they simply played
for the Blue and White teams. Sadly no Fast Eddie, no Chris Peat, no Eric
Rasmussen, no one else of Wings mid-90’s fame, unless you count Kim Roentvedcoming onto the pitch in his suit and
tie to mash it up a bit. Time was called, leading the players from the multitude
of teams and leagues to embrace each other, and possibly search for oxygen
masks. The PA announcer got on the mike a few minutes after time expired to
leave us with one final goodbye message from the one-time all-stars: “One of
the members of the reunion game has lost his car keys”. Touching…
(One of these dudes may have had to cab it home)
(The Rocket lives unafraid of the penalties for uniform violations)
We beered up and were pumped to witness the conclusion to
this game. It was tight throughout, with no team gaining more than a few points
advantage. As is typical with indoor, things got more physical as the game
progressed. Tempers and blue cards flared. The coaches became more vocal and
animated on the sideline. I thought there was a good chance Kim was going to
punch one of his own players. Or maybe that’s just what I wanted.
(VIDEO: If the shot's not looking good, of course you call a timeout)
With two minutes to go, Wichita was up 10 – 9, and the
Comets pulled their keeper for the indoor soccer equivalent of the Hail Mary: the
sixth attacker. Five guys turns into six, at the expense of a wide-open net.
There’s nothing not hilarious about a goalie up past the midfield line and
absolutely no one – from either team – on their half of the field. The
microsecond the ball changes possession, five or six dudes sprint all out to
the goal to prevent the yang to the offensive’s six-man possession yin: the
full-field nail-in-coffin goal.
(The game was as serious as Chad's hat)
On the other hand, if the keeper-less team can knock one in,
they sixth-attacker sprints off in favor of the regular keeper and normalcy
resumes…assuming the other team doesn’t employ the exact same tactic. It’s like
chess, but with more flailing elbows. Wichita’s defense held tight, no doubt
aided at least in part by the utterly-original “DE-FENSE, DE-FENSE” chant the
Wings fans brought with them from the Air Capitol, and the 1980’s.
(Kyle hoped his celebration wasn't premature)
Ten point three seconds remained and Missouri had a free kick
near the goal. Twelve grown men shifted position in a space equivalent to that
of the area behind a Taco Bell (former Wings sponsor) counter. All six Wings
players were within a corpse-outline of the goal. The free kick was blocked by
some unlucky body part; the ball bounced, and was then cleared by a man in
orange, kick-ball style – high up and towards the other goal. Nine attackers
would not have prevented this outcome, as once a team decides to bunker down
and defend their goal box, the ball has to be precisely struck and perfectly
placed to get past them. And let’s face it, that doesn’t happen with five guys
in your grill.
Once we hugged it out and unloaded a few “Suck it, Kyle’s”,
we headed down to hopefully snag some time with Lemons. He came up and we
briefly chatted and bro-hugged it out, telling him how cool it was to see him
out on the field and that we hope things are going well with him. He thanked us
for supporting him and the team. Chad fought the urge to ask him to sign his
Wings cap, something that would have made the exit awkward for both sides. It’s
embarrassing enough that the phrase, “Man, Chris is totally living my dream”
came up at all that night. Though we won’t reveal which one of us uttered it.
(Congratulating our high school buddy on a Wings win)
Also stopping by was Jamar Beasley, formerly of the Kansas
City Wizards, but better known as the younger brother of US Soccer Star DeMarcus
Beasley. We let out a big
“JAMAAAAR!!!” and he gave us a smile and thumbs up. We left it at that, because
our next question was likely to have been about his brother; and tonight, it
was all about Jamar and his Wings.
(Jamar feeling the love from Wings fans)
And while our favorite Wings player of all time, Kim Roentved, didn’t indulge us by hurling his suit
jacket into the crowd or slapping an opposing player, he did trot over to our
side of the field to give the refs a piece of his mind after time expired. We
couldn’t read his lips, but I’m assuming phrases such as “I own you” and “do
you know who the hell I am?” were said behind a veiled smile. Chad once again
fought the urge to seek an autograph for his hat - this time though, to prevent
a bloody lip.
(Classic Roentved, all up in the ref's face)
To say that Retro Night at the Sprint Center exceeded our
already-high expectations is an understatement. It brought us back to a specific
time, place and mindset. (We all experienced a weird moment when at one point
Chad referred to a song as “Old-school Lenny Kravitz). We remembered the many
Friday nights at The Kansas Coliseum, walking around the stadium, drinking
cokes and messing with the Wings dinosaur mascot, Score. That time I accidentally
knocked over the little girl trying to get a free shirt. Thinking Chad was
going to get decked by the longhaired, angry blue-card recipient who was
drenched in sweat and alcohol from the beer that was chucked at him. Ron –
Chad’s dad – returning a ball to the field of play without even using his
hands, aggressively heading it. Our family babysitter for when my parents
travelled, who was a Wings cheerleader. The Wings cheerleaders. The year my
family purchased season tickets, and the many games we went to together.
It was refreshing to be around professional indoor soccer
again. I’ve been to, played in and seen hundreds if not thousands of soccer
games in my lifetime, but the pro indoor soccer leagues retain a special place
in my heart. Retro Night confirmed this, and now I know that if I ever want to
teleport back to my high school days - at least on an emotional level - all it
takes is $25 and a map to find the Wichita Wings. For more pictures, click here: Awesome Wings Photos
Closing out the trilogy that was Holiday 2011, I'm no longer in the mood to write. Plus New Year's Eve doesn't a complex story. Matt and Bethany visited me in KC. We partied. It was 2012.
(Matt, Bethany, Melody, Jaron and I began the night at Charlie's, famous for trashy pictures in the bathroom, free-for-all pots of chili and The Deuce: a shot of whiskey and a PBR for $5. You know the dudes were all over that)
(Thank you Eric for the most awesome shirt ever. Melody - you're with Number One!)
(Good-timing it at the Trotti household)
(Dog in a shirt)
(Video games gone wrong)
(Video games gone right)
(Video games gone ghost)
(Matt said I was Number Two. So I jacked him in the face)
(Dogs are not play-things)
(Now HERE'S a family photo)
(We even had the dogs at each other's throats)
(And at each other's throats while on Melody)
(Yes, that's a Star Trek combadge, that my girlfriend bought for me. I know, I don't believe me, either)
I am one of those people who politically correct individuals
feel the need to say “Happy Holidays” to instead of “Merry Christmas”, due to
the fact that my mother is Jewish and my father, Lutheran. Celebrating both
holidays with both sides of the family usually requires an intricate mix of
planning, flexibility and, now more than ever, luck. Fortunately, while one
holiday remains fixed on a particular day, the other one affords me an eight-day
sliding scale for when we can plan to celebrate as a family. And as fate has
it, they usually overlap at some point. Here's how I celebrated them both this year...
Act 2, Part A: Hanukah
(When conscious, Sydney totally appreciated the Firetruck ride)
Family traditions, like records (minus my HS 800 track
record) are meant to be broken, or at least evolve over time. With one brother
married with two kids, the young one engaged and mom living in a fire station
that also acts as a barbecue joint, you can see how our traditions would have to have evolved. Somehow, each unit
was able to come together on the same night at the firehouse for a Hanukah
celebration that I can all but guarantee is unique.
The usual suspects were there, of course: the potato
pancakes, brisket, lighting of the candles and the songs. Long since memorized,
we’ll have to wait until Georgia (4) and Sydney (2) are old enough to read
before we break out the paper notes once again. We exchanged gifts, no longer
closing our eyes until mom lays them down in front us; with little kids around,
this seems ridiculous, though I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t remember the
last time we passed out gifts in this manner.
(Wichita's Fire House Trolley, all lit up)
(Wichita's Fire House Trolley, all disappeared)
After gifts were opened and hugs and kisses exchanged, we
did what I assume all proper Jewish families do: loaded up beer in eco-friendly
bags and hopped on a fire truck to drive around Wichita, seeking out Christmas
lights. The Cummings family came along, giving us all a chance to catch up.
With heated seats and a see-through retractable screen, the Wichita’s Fire House Trolley (yours to rent from Jet BBQ) is about as comfortable as is
possible in the winter. I’ve benefited from thousands of dollars worth of free
Firetruck rides from The Jetman, but with the whole family there, plus the
Cummings, the lights and onlookers, the beer and heated seats, this was one of
the most enjoyable tours of Wichita. Hope no one has plans for next year, because I've already reserved the firetruck.
(Mom and I keeping it real)
(Eric, Melissa, the girls and a gigantic centipede)
(Chad and Amy freaking out they're having so much fun)
Act 2, Part B: Christmas
(The storm before the calm - just hours after this...the house was quiet)
Fresh off a successful turkey day, the Whantner clan
reunited once again, this time for the annual X-mas celebration. If
Thanksgiving in the new house was crazy – and it was – Christmas was a bit more
subdued. This year marked an odd confluence of familial responsibilities that
made it possible for us all to be together for Christmas Eve Night – when we
have our family celebration – but not much more than that.
Eric, Melissa and the girls were staying with her parents
this year. David and Jess left after we opened gifts to head back to KC to be
with her family. Matt and Bethany also had responsibilities with her family as
well. I’m sure that if Melody’s family wasn’t living in Chicago (and VS
actually gave her time off for the Holidays), it would be my turn to spend the
holidays with them. The “other family” year - an interesting wrinkle as our
family expands in numbers and commitments.
This is not a problem at all, though. It’s wonderful that
the individuals we’ve invited into our Whantner circle also have loving and
caring families, and a place to spend time with family during the Holidays. And
it makes the non-off years that much more special, and of course awesome. And
we still get some time together. So we make the best of it.
The only downside I see, in fact, is that somehow I was
swindled into watching the first two The
Santa Claus movies, the ironic result of a gag gift gone wrong. David,
Eric and I bought the The Santa Claus trilogy
(really - they made 3 of them?) for
Matt and Bethany last year after they proudly claimed to have watched them all in the span of a
weekend. The $30 dollars bought us a plethora of smiles last year, but a dearth
of them this year. At one point it was dad and I watching the second
installment – JUST dad and I – together on his new 110-inch projector. We did
this with the full knowledge that all three Jurassic Park
movies were within our reach…
(I want to find the guy who called this movie "Rip-Roaring Holiday Fun" and punch him in the face)
I had a real nice December 25th with Dad and
Linda, going for a nice morning jog around Terradyne, our old neighborhood.
Nostalgia warmed me against the cool weather as I passed our old house, the
swimming pool we used to visit, the clubhouse and the spot in the middle of the
road where Chad and I once painted a chalk outline of a “dead guy” with an
almost-empty can of Cool Whip. Not sure if the parents know about this, but I
claim “Statute of Limitations”.
Dad grilled some mean steaks for Linda and I, and I actually
spent the night at Matt’s apartment before heading home the next day. With the
brothers and their sig others coming and going, it was one of the calmest and
most relaxing Holiday’s in recent memory. Different, but even so, very fun. But
still, I can’t wait until next year, when it’ll be all 12 of us in the new
house. Maybe 13 if Melody has her way about it...
As a funny bookmark to this Holiday experience, check out the Gparents' attempt to take a mini-family picture before church.
(Grandma & Grandpa: Check. Granddaughters: Check. We're all set, right?)
(Take one: Sydney - that was a heckuva sneeze. Reagan - take a look at Georgia and smile just like that. Well done.)
(Take two: Reagan - you're almost there. Sydney - you're looking at the camera, now smile this time. Georgia - that's perfect. Stay just like that)
(Take three: Georgia - NOOOOO. You know Reagan's got a great smile going on back there. At least the grandparents had it down)
This year, for whatever reason, the Holidays sped by at a
blurry clip. Week after week of three and four day work-weeks ran through like
old-school film roll, until I almost forgot what it was to work five days
straight. And in maximizing this free time – admittedly spending long periods
doing absolutely nothing – the one thing I failed to do was take a break from
all the activities (and once again, the nothing) and pen some updates. So
here’s my Holiday 2011 season in condensed form, in three quick posts.
Thanksgiving this year was at Dad and Linda’s, and marked
the ten-year anniversary of our new family’s inception. Like all merged
monarchies of such esteem, our battle-tested unit needed a way to properly
represent our ilk to outsiders – so we created a badass Family Crest. If you
don’t know us, and even if you sorta do, I’ll offer up a view into the Whantner
family peephole:
The focal
point of the crest contains a Georgia Bulldog head, representing the Brantner’s
southern roots. It’s angry because get out of our face! Inside the shield lies
a veritable a cornucopia of symbols from the White and Brantner past, as well
as the Whantner present and future. The blue golf ball is there for the many
early-merger putt-putt outings, often more competitive than the family park
rules permitted. Wheat for the Wichita Shockers is obvious, though the White
family pickle is not. This green gem is hidden in the tree every year, and the
lucky child who first spots it, and either averts or Greco-Roman wrestles the
other brothers’ to retain it, is awarded a special prize – usually the DVD that
we all fall asleep to at 10:15 on Christmas Eve night. The keg with the bow
represents hope. Not Obama Hope, but hope that our “Christmas Keg” idea from so
many years ago will come to fruition. The banner below cements our established
merger in 2001, and you bet your ass that’s bacon framing the shield. Why? If
you have to ask, get out of our house!
(This is an amazing picture, other than the fact that I look like a lonely single father)
The awesome family shield and grand opening ceremonies of
the new house gave us the confidence to take the most amazing family picture,
below. My personal favorite is the family shot in front of the window, where it
looks elegant and modern-day inside, and rustic, old-timey outside. I showed
this to one of the art directors in my department, and this was his favorite.
So that means it’s for real…
And yes…that’s me and my dog; the result of having a
girlfriend who works retail and can’t travel during the holidays. Was I glad
that she couldn’t be there for the pictures? No. Am I super-stoked that I was
able to take serious, seriously ridiculous, pictures with my tiny 12 pound
beagle/jack Russell, Mina? You bet. Thanksgiving 2011 = Success.
(Gorgeous smile, Reagan. You want to tell people that I had to pick up my dog and wave her Elvis-clock style to make you laugh?)
(So tall, blonde and attractive - they must be Whantners)
(The King and Queen of Whantnerdom)
(Dude's camera broke, these girls are so adorable)
(Why say "No", when it feels so right to say "Awesome"?)
And yes…that’s me and my dog; the result of having a girlfriend who works retail and can’t travel during the holidays. Was I glad that she couldn’t be there for the pictures? No. Am I okay with the fact that I was able to take serious, seriously ridiculous, pictures with my tiny 12 pound beagle/jack Russell, Mina? You bet.
