It's the bulls and blood, it's the dust and mud...

So, my New Year's resolution is now complete. One new place and three new things. Got the place out of the way, and so much more, on my cruise in April. Speed dating and motorcycle classes certainly qualified for new things. The point of the resolution was to break out of my comfort zone and those two things certainly fit the bill. Thing number 3 was elusive for a little while because I didn't want to include something that was a first, but not a stretch. Examples include my first Broncos game (yay!), getting published (double yay!), hitting halfway on my beer tour (ok, that might be a stretch), or a certain concert (see previous blog post), etc. Number 3 was going to have to be karaoke or dancing in public or something equally nerve-wracking, given the weight of the first two firsts.

Well, give me a couple beers and leave me temporarily insane from two hours of screaming along with the Pid Army--enough material for a whole other blog post that probably won't get written, but let's just say that it is an experience better tolerated by the inebriated and or those lacking a sense of smell--and I just might climb up on a mechanical bull. It's been on my bucket list for a few years, but I never thought I would actually do it in front of other people. I think I did pretty well, given the Blue Moon buzz, although my exit from the ring was a little less than graceful since I was dizzy and tipsy. Those several seconds of one-handed craziness were enough to successfully fulfill the resolution. I still wasn't brave enough to give Allyson a run for her money talking to total strangers and trying to pick up guys, but maybe one day after enough firsts, I'll have stretched my comfort zone to epic proportions. Until then, I'll settle for the small victories.

Give a Little Heart and Soul

Well folks, the moment was 13 years in the making, ever since that fateful summer of '98 when Mimi and Grandad scheduled a family reunion for the same weekend as a very important Red Rocks concert. It took several months to get over the massive injustice (appropriately, the immensity of the injustice has diminished significantly over the years), and I spent the next decade making up for it by buying every CD, watching every youtube video, possibly spending hours looking through fanart and teen magazines.

Courtesy of Alice 105.9, I finally got to see them live, and am old enough now to appreciate the musical talent, and still young enough at heart to jam out to a little Mmmbop. (Hey, when they played it on the 80's throwback station at work, I turned it up and endured the ridicule.) It was a little surreal, I'll be honest. There were moments that I couldn't quite believe that I was there. Like, maybe, the moment that Hilary caught a guitar pick that Ike threw into the crowd. Yes, people, that does happen to anyone and everyone who is NOT ME.

One of the best parts of the night was talking to other fans in line. Three other women who had all made the journey solo, brave souls, who had of course followed the band through the last 13 years like we had. We swapped "coming out of the closet" stories, because this is in fact one of those embarrassing things that you hide from everyone but the most trusted confidantes. We talked about how we came across Middle of Nowhere (my neighbor gave it to me saying, "I thought they were girls, now I don't like it), and which brother we crushed on. The three 27-year-olds were naturally in agreement, and the other two girls were younger and therefore had both defaulted to Zac. Anyway, the fans were super fun and funny and very excited.

I'm going to skip over Meiko, the opening act, except to say that she was funny, and enjoying her contraband wine on stage, and a typical singer-songwriter. She did have some funny intros to her songs--like after a break-up with a boyfriend, he asked her to sing him one last song, and she said he wouldn't like it and he didn't care; so she sang him a song with a chorus that went something like "you're a good looking loser and I'm the one that got away." Literally, those were the words.

On to the main event. The Musical Ride Tour operates on the premise of giving fans the option of choosing one of three full albums for the band to play during the concert. Each city has three of the five studio albums as options, and then fan voting decides the rest. Boulder (and myself) chose This Time Around. Two of my favorite songs from TTA are slow songs that otherwise would have been left off a set list, guaranteed. And two other songs from TTA are two of my favorite Hanson songs anyway, so I wasn't disappointed. I spent large portions of certain songs trying to figure out how to get my pictures to focus when I was zoomed in so far. But the energy was high, the fans thrilled, and everyone was having a great time.


You know the concert is a rousing success when you get done and don't even notice they haven't played your favorite song until they start the opening chords during the encore. (Don't worry Laura, every person there knew every word to Penny and Me.) It was equal parts throwback and new stuff. They played my three favorite songs from their latest album, all of which are big-band-style dance-inspiring pop songs. It was easy in the throes of it all to forget that later I'll have to go back to being slightly embarrassed. Everyone in there was unabashedly enjoying themselves.


Now it's just time to wade through the hundred pictures to find the best of the bunch. And for those of you out there who are skeptical that this trio can offer something other than 90's bubblegum pop, go find "Give a Little" or "Thinking 'Bout Somethin'" or "Been There Before" and give it a listen before you judge.

Feeling like a Denverite

It's now August 21st, and I have no idea where summer has gone. Most schools have started back up again, I see the bus swinging through our neighborhood to pick up swarms of unhappy kids. And despite the fact that it's been 4 years since I've had a summer break, I still cling to the ideal of relaxation, vacation, sleeping in (who am I kidding, I always sleep in), and generally having as much fun as possible until Labor Day.

Two things have made it ok for fall to arrive. First of all, hello heat. I don't know if summer is always this hot, but I think the last time we had this streak of 90-degree days, I was mowing lawns and making up songs to Veggie Tales tunes. I would love for fall weather to arrive even if I'm not quite ready to greet the fall months. Remember, I am a jacket girl, like other girls are shoe girls or purse girls. And I love to wear me some jackets.

The second thing is that the last month or so, I really feel like I've taken advantage of Colorado in the summertime. With the exception of a brief stint at Lake Monroe which felt more summery than my June and July combined, I've gotten my fill of summer right here at home, without a vacation. Two Film on the Rocks, including my first viewing of The Goonies, a rocking tailgate party and a Marc Broussard concert. Two indulgent Tuesday nights at the James Bond Film Fest at The Mayan followed by some Sweet Action Ice Cream. A bike ride to Wash Park, frisbee, and dinner and drinks at Wash Park Grille (still on the bikes). A successful summit of Mt. Evans. My first organized Ultimate Frisbee game. A Rockies game (victory). My first Broncos game (also a victory, thanks to ABC for the tickets). Fresh tomatoes from my garden.

While I haven't gotten to enjoy the perfect summer nights as much as I'd like, now that the temperature is finally falling below 85 in the evenings, I still think I've packed it in pretty well. Here's hoping I can keep the streak going with nice fall things as the weather turns more tolerable. Yay for feeling like a native!

The Sting of Defeat, The Promise of Continued Greatness

I have to get at least some words on the page if I have any hope of sleeping tonight. I still haven't progressed past the point of shock. I am utterly stunned to have witnessed the end of our world championship run. I'm not upset, I'm no longer worked up. I'm just speechless and dumbfounded. You look at the team that created miracles where none were to be had against Brazil. You look at the iron will of Abby Wambach, the steel resolve of Hope Solo, the composure and speed of Christie Rampone, the spark of Megan Rapinoe, the consistency of Lauren Cheney, and you have to wonder how this team could have walked away without the World Cup trophy. I just don't understand. There were the skeptics who said it would harm American soccer if we won, questioning the wisdom of reinforcing the smash-and-grab style of power and fitness futbol that the U.S. have relied on to this point. But the irony is, we didn't play that game. We outpossessed an incredibly technical, talented, precise Japanese side, and we controlled the flow of the game. We just couldn't find the back of the net. And in a game of inches, of seconds, of half-chances, of guts and glory, that proved to be the difference. Too many posts hit, too many just wide, too many over the crossbar. Too many chances wasted.

As I struggle to process the reality of today's loss, and wonder how the players are attempting the same, I look for the silver lining. Regardless of the outcome, our girls put on a show. It was an exciting game to watch, a thrilling tournament to witness. I hope that the bandwagon fans recognize greatness when they see it. Abby's rocket of a shot off the crossbar. Christie's goal-line clear. Alex Morgan's beautifully threaded cross finding Wambach's head, and her even more phenomenal finish on the first goal. Hope coming up big again despite the weight of impending loss. LePeilbet's flying deflection of a through ball. A guitar-playing, Simon-and-Garfunkel-singing, fearlessly positive coach. There is hope for U.S. soccer. This will sting for a while. And for some, the chance for a world championship will not come again.

But I still get chills when I watch Rapinoe's cross just out-distancing Brazil's keeper and "that beast" getting ahold of it for one of the most exciting plays in sports history. I still pump my fist when I see Solo denying Daiane's PK. I still hold my breath when Carli Lloyd strikes one from distance. I still put my faith in a 36-year-old soccer mom's legs when she chases down a breakaway. And for another four years, and for life, I will bleed red, white and blue with these incredible women, these amazing athletes, these unwavering role models. They are still my heroes.

American Splendor.

I stole the headline, but it fits appropriately, because even though I liked the "Hope Springs Eternal" headline more, today really was about the splendor of a full 21-(wo)man team of Americans with indefatigable spirit. I've always wanted to use indefatigable in a sentence ever since a Groundhog-Day-esque episode of cheesy 7 Days, a la old-school UPN.

(brief side-note before I get into this- just saw a headline on ESPN.com that said "A-Rod will have knee surgery" and I freaked out because I thought Amy Rodriguez was done for the WWC. Turns out the rest of the world is concerned with a different A-Rod.)

Wow, where to begin? I sit here completely drained emotionally, mentally, and physically, although the latter has more to do with having just finished working the weekend, and day 6 of 8 in a long stretch. And I think about how to put into words the incredible roller coaster of this morning's epic World Cup match. It was epic in every sense of the word. And I could walk through step-by-step and relive the joy, the agony--OH, THE AGONY--the suspense, the frustrations, the celebrations, the tachycardia and dyspnea (mine, not the players') as I watched a superior American side battle the Brazilians, but I am exhausted. And so, here are my lasting impressions in brief:

Pride. I have so much pride in watching this team make their own destiny. It's been a rough road to even get to this tournament, surviving a loss to Mexico and a home-and-home against Italy that I'd rather forget. But even before that, it's been a constant struggle for players as individuals and as a team. Hope's surgery, Abby's inability to find the back of the net (which I would argue speaks to how this team performs as a team), Tarpley's ACL tear, etc. But it has only added to the character of this team. They take pride in themselves, and they inspire pride in their fans. I am not only proud of their athletic prowess, their never-say-die attitude, their will to win, and their general beastliness of the best kind. But after today, I've never been prouder of their positivity and their sportsmanship. Watching Brazil decay into a mess of complaints, derogatory remarks, cheap dives, and an appalling display of what the analysts are calling "gamesmanship"--a euphemism for pretending to be hurt to run the clock because you aren't good enough to seal the game with your play--I am proud to be American. Because while we argued with the reffing (something on which I will not comment because I'm trying to wind down for bed) and allowed emotions to get the best of us at times, we would never stoop so low as to embarrass our fans or elicit boos where cheers recently reigned due to poor sportsmanship. I'm proud of you ladies. For keeping your heads high when playing down a player, or five since the refs were decidedly yellow today, and for playing your game.

Awe. I saw the replay of Abby's goal about 15 times today. I still can't get over it. As Tony DiCicco said, she literally willed the team to win. I can't fathom the perfection with which Rapinoe served that ball across two-thirds of the field, and I can't fathom how Abby, after 122 minutes of play, 54 of which were endured with 10 players, found the energy to find that ball and hit it home. The mental toughness to block everything out but herself and that ball, and the physical prowess to make it happen. In fact, I can't imagine how any of those players played that long a man down. The level of fitness is truly awe-inspiring. But man, that goal.

I was asked once in a speech class to name something beautiful, and I said "an Abby Wambach header." I believe that today, an entire nation agrees with me. And as long as I'm being dumbfounded by perfection, hello bonjour Hope Solo's outstretched hands, denying well-placed PK's, not once, but twice (I liked Abby's little dig in the post-game interview about legitimately stopped penalty kicks).

I've long maintained that she is bar-none the best keeper in the game today, if not ever. If 6 years as the starting goalkeeper for the U.S. and posting two, count them two, losses doesn't speak to her greatness, maybe you could talk about the hundreds of scoreless minutes (within about 50 of the all-time record) she's put up in goal over the dozen games leading up to the Sweden match in group play. Unbelievable.

Amusement. At myself and how worked up I get over this team and this game. I'm passionate about football, and I can get a little heated when the Broncos play the Chargers. But nothing comes close to touching how invested I am in this team and how out of sorts I get when I watch them play. I paced, I screamed, I pumped my fist, I about put my fist through a wall, I cried, I laughed, I screamed some more, I jumped up and down, I paced again, I practiced some deep-breathing exercises. I'd like to have myself on tape during a game like this just so I know what not to do when trying to make a good impression. I can't help it. I try to tell myself that it's just a game, that life goes on, that I have nothing at stake, but it doesn't work. So probably until the day I die, I'll live and breathe the USWNT.

There's so much more I could say. The injustice I felt as I read a poorly-written/poorly-researched article that claimed Marta took the first PK that Hope saved (it was Cristiane), and that Rampone served up the equalizer (Christie, I love you, but it was Rapinoe). The raging heartburn that almost prevented me from keeping down my lunch after the game. The incessant phone calls from Laura at every pivotal moment of the game. The sense of retribution I feel watching Hope be right where she should be in a World Cup match against Brazil. The incredulity that comes with the realization that Christie Rampone is 36 and a mother of two and matched the 25-year-old 5-time FIFA player of the year step for step. Pia playing air guitar and bear-hugging Rachel Buehler. Ali Krieger's composure to put it all away. But I have to go to bed. Because the real world beckons. The world that isn't lived on the soccer pitch. So, until Wednesday, I will bask in the glory of a well-earned victory. USA USA USA!!!

Thundercats!

Well, it's official! I have my motorcycle license. Looking back, I'm not quite sure what I was expecting when I embarked on this endeavor, except to say that I was very probably spurred on my the amazing bucket-list-item-completion rate accomplished by my Aunt Carol. She is one of those people who says, I think it'd be cool to fly a plane. So she does. And I think it'd be fun to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. So she does. And I'm (this is me talking now) a little fed up with myself and my comfort zone. So, I think ultimately, I wanted to ride because I could. Why not? And I really wanted the satisfaction that goes along with saying that I did it. It's the same satisfaction that comes from climbing 14ers. Let's be honest, nobody really does that for the journey so much as the destination. There was a lingering thought in the back of my mind that I may just fall in love with riding and buy a bike and a matching helmet and jacket and be that girl. But if I had stopped to think about it, I would have remembered that I'm the kind of person that only likes the adrenaline rush if I'm not in charge of the controls.

After the first hour of riding, my nerves were definitely running amok. I was picturing myself handing in my helmet and calling it quits. You have never seen such a blatantly awful motorcycle rider. It wasn't fun, it wasn't freeing, it wasn't really much of anything positive. And so, regardless of what my intentions were to begin the class, my intention after that first hour was to see it through if only to prove to myself that I could do it. Forget any thought of buying a motorcycle. Forget the matching helmet and jacket. I just wanted to make it through the 16 range exercises and the riding exam without dropping the bike. I wanted outside of my comfort zone and I sure got it. And then some.

I was granted a short reprieve when day two was rained out and rescheduled for a week later. That gave me a whole week to psych myself up for the riding exam (the written exam was a piece of cake, by the way, and was finished on day 1). Perfect weather greeted myself and my seven classmates as we got to the range on Saturday morning. One guy had gotten off work an hour before, so despite my sleepless night, I felt like I was in better shape than him. I won't take you through all the remaining exercises, except to tell you that accelerating out of turns is definitely the reason people ride. It's a rush, even at 15-20 mph. And I will admit to being the only rider who hit the "car" during the swerve exercises. Did I mention I was awful? Don't worry, it wasn't an actual car.

The time for the exam came, and I knew the hardest part would be my U-turns, performed to the left, then the right, in a box the size of a closet. Left turn, no problem, right turn...let's just say it's a good thing the box boundaries were paint lines and not brick walls. I blasted right through it. +3 points. (The riding exam is scored from a zero. Each infringement is worth positive points and you have to score less than a 20 to pass). The swerve part of the exam went just fine, thank you very much. In fact, everything else on the exam went just fine. I ended with a 3rd-best 3 points. I won't tell you how my coworker scored, but everyone in the class passed.

After a short (ha!) trip to the DMV, I'm now official. Although, I could kick myself for taking my camera on day two and not getting any pictures. So, the only one I have to give you is a sample of the motorcycle I rode on day two. That's pretty much it, correct color and all, except mine didn't have a sideview mirror. I'm gonna try to go back to the range and catch the class on a riding day and ask to borrow a bike for a pic. Otherwise, my mom will leave me out of the Christmas letter.

So, bottom line, face your fears and knock something off that bucket list!

For Hilary, who needs a distraction from productivity

Ok, so it's apparently been a while since I've graced the internet world with my presence. So, before I fall asleep at the keyboard (I need a nap), I'll try to write something worthwhile. Here are some random musings for a Monday afternoon:

*New Year's Resolution update: my resolution was to go one place I'd never been and try three new things (preferably things that stretch my comfort zone). I've been to several new places, courtesy of Peter and Jenny's wedding (see previous blog on Minneapolis) and mostly a kick-butt European cruise. Morocco, the Canary Islands, Madeira, and Spain (Granada and Barcelona) have been knocked off the list.


And, as far as me trying new things go, I'm well on my way to knocking out that goal. I'm shooting for major firsts here, so I won't count trying escargot or logging my first Bud Light at age 26. But Speed Dating in February and my upcoming Motorcycle Classes definitely count. The 3rd item is TBD, but I promise, I'll deserve a pat on the back when it's done.

*I'm super-stoked for summer movies. Notably, the last installment of the brilliant HP franchise which will hopefully portray the end of the series with due diligence. And of course, in a million years I couldn't dream up the genius of James Bond and Indiana Jones in a Firefly-esque Cowboys and Aliens. It may tide me over until the next Bond movie. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that they figure out how to salvage the winning Bond formula and overcome the fiasco of Quantum of Solace. For those who liked QoS, it wasn't a bad movie, just a terrible Bond movie, especially on the heels of Casino Royale.

*The Bashin' Bastians continue the dominance. My kickball team is the biggest mess of hodge-podge players I've ever met. No offense to my team, I think you all are great. I'm just referring to the fact that I never thought I'd end up captaining what is essentially the free-agent team. Especially after playing on the free-agent team last year and suffering the biggest absence of team unity that I have ever endured in my 22 years of team sports. I was so certain I could come up with my own rag-tag team to play, and instead fell about 7 players short. Thanks to 5 free agents and some nice recruiting on the part of my teammates, we now have a solid 14 who have contributed to a league-leading 6-1 record. And a couple fun happy hour outings. Still probably not enough positives to convince me to captain again in the near future. On a sports-related side note- props to Organized Chaos for a well-deserved championship in flag football! That's three championships in 8 leagues for me since I moved back from Omaha.

*I found someone at work who has an equally shameful degree of arachnophobia. We spent our lunch break on Sunday swapping spider stories and laughing at our own illogical hysteria. She was arguing with a friend at a bar about the severity of a black widow bite. He said it was fatal, she claimed that if you were healthy enough and large enough to begin with, you would be miserable for many hours, but would likely survive. To boost her argument, she tried to google black widow venom on her phone, not realizing that pictures would likely ensue. When a picture of a black widow filled the screen, she screamed and threw the phone across the bar. Someone else had to retrieve the phone and clear the screen before she would take it back. I think that's right up there with me waking my parents up in the middle of the night sobbing, my mom panicking and asking if there was an intruder, and my dad sitting up calmly and asking if there was a spider. Yup, we're pathetic. Also at work yesterday, my own minor version of "substantial but temporary" damage as I squirt myself in the eye with alcohol (isopropyl, not of the drinking variety). It burns, but washes out ok. Also speaking of alcohol on my face, turns out I'm not the only one who spits out beer at Old Chicago. Several weeks ago, my pizza was rendered inedible when someone next to me said something that was funnier then than it is now and beer came out my nose. Last week, a coworker repeated the offense, only instead of spraying his pizza, he made it all the way across the table onto me. Fun times. See, we don't need drunken sign language to keep us entertained.

Ok, I think that's enough. I'm ready for my nap. Buying a new lawn mower will have to wait until later. And I'll try to update my blog more often for the five people who read it.