Breaking Records and Crashing Weddings

It's getting late, and I should definitely be getting ready for bed, but I wanted to try and get one more post in before the work week begins. These last couple of months have really been a big drain on me. As excited as I am to finally have a house that Megan and I can call our own, it's been a lot of work. Not only have I been working a great deal on the house, but when we finally got our act together to begin moving into the house, we picked the worst possible weekend to do it. Yes, my friends, we picked this weekend. And by this weekend I mean the hottest weekend in Nebraska ever. Now, you might think that's hyperbole, but let me assure you, it's not. The previous record high was set during the freakin' Dust Bowl! If you're from around here you might think that sounds like some bit of Cornhusker football lore, but you'd be wrong. No, the Dust Bowl was the worst drought in American history, took place for the greater part of the '30s, and was the backdrop for Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath. Yeah, that Dust Bowl. Anyhow, the previous high was 103 and on Saturday we beat that by 2 with 105. That's one record hope to never take part in breaking again.

So, Saturday was the day we were supposed to move. My mom was going to roll into town with a fully loaded U-Haul that we were going to unload partially at her house, partially at mine and Megan's new house, and then reload and move even more stuff to our house. Instead, mom showed up early. And when I say early, I mean 12 hours early. She pulled into the driveway at 10:00 p.m. on the dot. As soon as she showed up, I knew this was an opportunity not to be squandered. I convinced Megan and mom that the thing to do was start unloading immediately, if not sooner. I mean, why move when it's going be 105 when you can move during the middle of the night when it's a cool 84? Yeah, it was still 84 at 1:00 a.m when we got done! In other words, it was miserable. It was hot and humid and I was sweating from places I didn't know I could sweat from, but we got most of the big stuff moved before we went to bed. Let me tell you, I am so glad we that did, because we finished up on Saturday around noon with a little help from Max, and Dear God, was it hot. I think I drank my own weight in water and never once went to the bathroom. I honestly think the liquid was evaporating before it hit my tongue.

After a well deserved afternoon nap, Megan and I decided to take a break from all the house stuff and joined Max and Tim Lenon for late showing of Wedding Crashers. Now, Megan and I had only been to the theatre to see 2 movies this summer prior to seeing this one, so it might seem like an odd choice. Not odd per se, but not exactly what one would term "high cinema." Man, was it worth it, though. It was so nice to go to theatre after busting our humps for weeks on end and just relax and laugh.

And boy did we laugh. A lot. Wedding Crashers centers around two characters played by Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn who, as the title suggests, crash weddings. They create identities, ingratiate themselves into the families, and use the euphoria they actually help create at the weddings to get laid. Luckily, that's just the ground work for their characters and is mostly played out in the first 20 minutes. The movie really picks up when Wilson's character falls for the daughter of the treasury secretary and Wilson and Vaughn infiltrate her family's weekend get away. I almost hate to say it, but hilarity ensues. One scene, in particular, at the dinner table had the audience laughing so hard the dialogue was inaudible for a good 3 minutes.

The performances of the supporting cast from the treasury secretary (Christopher Walken), his nympho wife (Jane Seymour), to their daughter and Wilson's love interest (Rachel McAdams) are all solid, but the true stars are Wilson and Vaughn. They are a comedy dream team, each bringing their own brand of humor to the movie. Vaughn brings the jokes at a rapid fire pace, while Wilson brings his own laid back charm. The result is comedic gold.

The movie itself is formulaic, a bit too long, and has one of the most unbelievably pat endings I've seen in a long time, but it's well worth the price of admission. It's the funniest movie I've seen since Anchorman and the best performance from Vaughn since Swingers. So, if you're looking for a nice break from the heat and summer 'blockbusters,' you could do a lot worse than Wedding Crashers. Just don't feel you have to almost die from heatsroke to enjoy it.

Reunited and It Feels So Good...

I've been putting off this post in the hopes that I would actually have time to post some pictures I wanted to show off, but it doesn't look like I'm going to get a chance to. Instead I'm going to bow to pressure and write about the reunion now and just post the pictures later.

So, on to the reunion. The reunion was great. Honestly. It was great. I had a great time and sincerely wish it could have gone on longer. At the same time, the reunion was one of the most disappointing experiences I've had in a long time. I know that sounds really incongruous, but let me explain.

What made the reunion great was getting to see and hang out with my friends. It has been a long time since Tristan, Zach, Max, Tim, Nicole, Megan Whittle, and I all got to hang out. It was, you know, the Class of '95 crew getting together for no other purpose than having a good time. What made it even better was that we got to bring along our wives, husbands, girlfriends, and/or children. We spent time together catching up and talking about the new experiences we were having, rather than just reminiscing about times past. It was a great feeling to be around each other and to each have enough good stuff going on in our lives that we didn't have to resort to talking about "the good old days.'" I could see my friends actually being who they had the potential to become back in '95. Sure, not one of us is perfect, but it's nice to see your friends really come into their own.

However, the good hanging out didn't really even happen at the actual reunion. So, I guess that's where my first real disappointment comes in. The fun really took place at non-reunion activities, like at Nick and Ben Schicker's kickass all-day cookout. The "official" reunion took place over three days, with a get together on Friday night at the DC Centre, a tour of North on Saturday morning, drinks at Stir bar on Saturday night, and a picnic on Sunday. Most of the activities turned out to be pretty lame. To be fair, though, I heard that the tour was pretty cool and most of us skipped the Stir thing, opting instead for partying at Casa Del Schicker.

Friday, though, was the big night, the big get together, the big disappointment. First off, the food pretty much sucked and the music was even worse. The music came courtesy DJ Mr. Phreeze (aka the 3rd best DJ in the Midwest) and was not only terrible, but way too loud. I thought the point of a reunion to get together and catch up with former classmates, not to scream until your throat gets sore so the person standing next you to can actually hear you, while no one dances to whatever crap the DJ is spinning. That said, if the intent was to bring back memories of time wasted at North High dances doing the exact same thing, then they succeeded. Ah, memories. On the plus side, it was open bar, so it wasn't a total waste.

The big disappointment was compounded by very few other people who I was looking forward to seeing show up. So, there were really no surprise appearances or even surprises in general . All I really wanted was a couple of big surprises and they didn't even need to be good surprises. I'm talking "Whoa! She got fat," to "Can you believe they got married?" to "You joined the seminary?" Any of these would have been fine, but there were really none to be found.

I take that back, there were a couple of surprises. The first coming from having a rumor confirmed that a certain overacheiver had not only become a heroin addict, but had been through rehab twice. This rumor was even confirmed by the recovering heroin addict himself, who has since apparently gotten his act together and seems to be doing well for himself. The other surprises were seeing two old friends patch things up, a former couple who absolutely can't stand each other actually be in the same room together without incident, and an old friend who didn't really get along with Tristan and Tim say some really nice things about them.

Other than that, it was really just being with a few of my closest friends in the same room with a whole bunch of other people I didn't really know, or could care less if I ever saw again. Therein lies both the blessing and curse of having a small, close group of friends. I mean, as great as it was to see and hang out with everyone, it felt like something that we would be doing anyway. And not only that, but we could be doing it somewhere else. Somewhere with better food, music, and alcohol. Somewhere like Ben's. So, the next day we did go to Ben's, and that was when the reunion became worth it. But by then it wasn't really a reunion anymore, it was a party (it just happened to be a party that was 10 years in the making.)

Sunday, started off with yet another pretty lame event. The picnic had pretty low attendance and was windy and hot. And I don't mean hot in the Paris Hilton sort of way, no I mean feeling like you are being blown on by a giant hair dryer any time you venture outside. The food was only slightly better than on Friday, but it would have been hard to be any worse. Again, things got better after the planned activity when, later that evening, the Max and the Dalleys came over to join Megan and me for ice cream. The ice cream was good and we had quiet conversation while watching little Elijah Dalley play with toys. The highlight of the evening came when Eli got to witness his first ever thunderstorm and really enjoy it. If there's anything cuter than an adorable 2-year-old boy squealing with delight, raising his hands over his head, and exclaiming "Thunder! Thunder!" then I'm pretty sure I haven't seen it.

So, in all, it was a great weekend, but I don't think we needed a reunion to have a great weekend like that. Sure it was an excuse get together, but hopefully we might be able to put together something similar on our own. Does that mean I'm swearing off reunions? Hell, no. Why not? Well, because there's still people I really want to see and I'm sure there are bigger and better surprises in store. And besides, even if I wanted to swear them off, I have a feeling a certain Class of '96 member would drag me to hers anyway.

And So It Begins/Continues

My 10-year high school reunion got off to an early start last night when former classmate Zach Trexler and his wife Lisa rolled into town. Things started off great with Max, my wife Megan, and me joining Zach and Lisa for dinner at Omaha's best pizzeria, Zio's. We all had a chance to catch up while enjoying great food and beer. Topics of discussion ranged from Zach and Lisa's son Adam, to obscure programming languages, to the new house Megan and I just bought, to GM stock, to who may or may not be coming to the reunion, to the industrialization of China and India. You know, the usual. Max even brought along his newly-reprinted Goldenboy graphic novel and we all marveled about how much better it looks than the trial run. Max was in especially good spirits as he had begun celebrating (aka drinking bourbon) the moment he opened the new version of his book. And judging from his mood, I began to wonder if it hadn't arrived before noon. So, the reunion was off to a good start. It looked like this reunion thing might actually be...good. Then, like anything that involves my high school crew getting together, the wheels fell off.

Before I continue, I should probably fill you in on a little history. In high school we were a pretty closenit bunch. The group of friends I had were together nearly nonstop, day and night, for the school year. We were either riding to school together, pulling all-nighters for the newspaper, or in a rare bit of free time, hanging out. Things were usually kosher when it was just a couple of us together, but the more of us that got together, the more trouble seemed to find us. In other words, we were like the opposite of Voltron: separated we could hold our own, but together we were pretty much screwed. A few prime examples of this are:

1. Me falling through the ceiling when I was getting sleeping bags for Max, Tristan, and Cal out of my attic after we got together for a Harvey Keitel-athon (which actually turned into just watching one Keitel movie, because we made the mistake of staring with Bad Lieutenant). Falling through the ceiling sounds bad, and it was, but I didn't fall completely through. No, I was "lucky" enogh to be saved by a crossbeam. Between my legs. Right in the junk. Let's just say I sat there for a while, feet hanging through the ceiling, before I managed to get up.

2. Max and/or me almost being decapitated by a frontloader tractor. This was on a trip to Northwest Missouri State for a journalism camp. Tristan was driving Ben and myself in his family's van to the camp when, as he was passing the aforementioned tractor, it deciding to turn right into us. This by the way, is why 9 year olds shouldn't be driving on the highway! Anyhow, after getting out of the van to survey the damage, we saw the markings from where a 5-foot-long frontloader bale spear entered the window just behind my head, missing me by inches. Max skipped out on this particular trip, for reasons I can no longer remember, but if he had come along,he would have almost certainly been sitting behind me and in the path of the very same bale spear.

3. Max, Tristan, Zach, Cal, Chris, and me being surround by 8 squad cars and almost killed in a shootout with police. I know that it's hard to have a shootout when you're unarmed, but that's what almost happened. This time we were shooting, or rather "filming" a scene for our hitman movie epic Blue in a bank parking lot with a lot of fake guns. Now, this wasn't as dumb as it sounds, as we did have the bank's clearance, but it was still pretty freakin' stupid. Stupid, and apparently more than a little disconcerting, as a passerby thinking the whole thing was real called the police. When the first police car showed up we weren't all that concerned, but needless to say, things went from bad to worse as more police and adrenaline kept being added to the mix. The car that Zach, Cal, and I were in was ultimately surrounded by policemen with weapons drawn. I ended up face down on the concrete with a cop on my back and a gun to my head. Luckily, cooler heads eventually prevailed when it was discovered the guns were fake. Good times, good times. Hey, at least we made it on the news!

The list goes on and includes such hits as:
-one of us almost falling through railroad ties on a bridge down to the street below
-a designated driver dropping acid at a party
-some of us almost having to fight our way out of predominately gay party because one of us was so drunk he wouldn't shut up about some guy's vinyl pants or what he himself would do if he was an "ass-cowboy"

I think you can see a pattern developing here. So, I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that something would go wrong last night. Nothing major, mind you, just Zach and Lisa's car not starting. This initiated a comedy of errors that started with none of us having jumper cables. No problem. They've got to have some across the street at the service station, right? They sure do, but only if you want to pay $35 to have the jackball mechanic drive his 'wrecker' literally across the street to jump it. This elicited a well-warranted "Thanks a lot...asshole," as we walked out the door.

Back accross the street at the car, we debated the merits of installing a new battery ourselves, or just getting jumper cables. We decided on jumper cables, but since it was almost 9:00 and we were at 78th and Dodge, our options were slim. Zach and I left in search of cables and left the rest of our party to enjoy after-dinner drinks at the conveniently located Holiday Lounge. Zach and I decided to try Lowe's, where we were not only surprised to actually find jumper cables, but to find them right where right where you would expect them to be... down aisle 18 in between the ladders and child safety supplies. Okay, that's probably not where anyone would expect to find them, but we picked them up and were on our way. We went back and hooked up the cables from my car to Zach and Lisa's. I fired up the Golf and we waited a couple of minutes for the dead battery to soak up a little juice.

Anyone want to hazard a guess as to what happened when Zach turned his key in the ignition? That's right, par for the course...nothing. This led to swearing and tire kicking from Zach. He finally broke down and called AAA. They showed up an hour later and were able to get it started by removing some of the corrosion on the battery connectors. Zach and Lisa then had to take it to a garage and have the battery replaced. And guess where they went? That's right, right back across the street to the same guy Zach had called an asshole, although I don't think he heard him. But, I might be wrong, since the bill for the new battery and installation was about $80.

The whole thing was classic. It was annoying, tedious, and even a little expensive. But, you know what? I loved every minute of it. I loved it because it's such a perfect beginning to a reunion for us. If that whole ordeal isn't the greatest example of things changing but ultimately staying the same, I don't know what is.

That Which Doesn't Kill You...

It's been 10 years since I graduated from high school. TEN YEARS! I've been aware of this for a while, what with me actually having a passable knowledge of additon and subtraction, as well as an upcoming class reunion. But it really hit me hard the other night at my sister-in-law's high school graduation. They kept saying 'Class of 2005' this and 'Class of 2005' that. And every time they said it, one thought kept going through my head: "You are getting OLD."

And, honestly, getting old is not a bad thing. It's for damn sure better than the alternative... And I've got to say that I like the 2005 Christian better than the 1995 Christian. Not that the '95 model was a bad guy or anything, but let's just say that there have been some major upgrades in the last 10 years. That said, I can't help but be a little jealous of the 1995 me. He still gets to do a lot of things that I'll never get to do again. He gets to ride around smooshed into a pickup cab with three other guys to go get pizza at 2:00 A.M. from Pizza Shuttle. He gets to stay up all night at Kinko's working on design projects with his friends and eat Burrito King at 3:00 A.M. He eventually gets to go through review in his design program, and after dropping off his portfolio to be reviewed, proceed to begin a 14 hour drinking marathon. He even gets to make out with teenage girls!

The funny thing is I don't really miss any of that. Hell, I don't think I even liked most of it while I was doing it. I mean, Pizza Shuttle actually kind of sucks, I hated pulling all-nighters, Burrito King will clean you out like freakin' Roto Rooter, drinking for 14 hours can kill you, and as far as making out with teenage girls goes, well, like Jon Spencer says, "I need a full-grown woman." So, it's not really the experiences themselves, but the act of experiencing them I miss.

The bright side of all of this is since I am getting older, I get to keep having more new experiences. I get to celebrate my five year wedding anniversary, Megan and I get to move into our new house together, I'll get to help decorate and pick out our new furniture, and I'll get to eat fresh vegetables picked from our garden for the first time. Call me lame, but this stuff excites me. Give me another 10 years and I'm sure I'll be reminiscing over all that as well.

Because You Demanded It!

Okay, so I don't know whether to be honored or annoyed that I have been Badgered into creating this blog (Don't believe me? Click Here.) I'm choosing honored because that's the kind of egomaniac I am.

Anyhow, I've really been struggling with this whole blogging thing. First off, do I really have anything to say that anyone would want to read? Probably not, since my life right now pretty much consists of three things: working, painting, and sleeping. And I'm not not talking artsy-fartsy painting, I'm talking the kind that requires rollers, multiple coats, and a knowledge of the difference between eggshell and semi-gloss paint. Not exactly riveting stuff.

My second problem was deciding if I really had time for this. I mean we all have friends who frustrate us because they have such great posts, but their appearance is sporadic at best (Ahem...Ryan and Ben we're looking in your direction.) But then I looked at Max, and realized if he can do it, well, then so can I.

And finally, deciding on a name for your freaking blog is freaking hard. Every time I thought I had a clever or cool idea, it turned out someone else had it first. Which, in all honesty, might prove that I indeed should NOT have a blog, since I can't even come up with an original name for mine. So, if you're here, you can probably see that I have decided to call mine Citizen Thom. This is partially because I intend to do a fair amount of babbling about my love of film here, and therefore it's a nod to probably the best movie ever made, Citizen Kane. But, that's not the only reason. Since getting married, and more recently buying a home, I have begun to feel like I truly am a citizen of this country, and I should probably start acting like it. I know that may sound weird since I was born and raised right here in the heartland, but I think that it sometimes takes a while to learn how to stop being apathetic. So, I'm thinking I might have some posts about that as well, I dunno.

So, that's it, my inaugural post. Hopefully, I'll be posting again soon. I hope you're all friggin' proud of yourselves!

Oh, and on a side note, I just spell-checked this bad boy, and I think it's pretty funny that blogger's spelling utility doesn't recognize the word 'blog.'