<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510</id><updated>2011-11-27T15:21:26.639-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweaty's Page</title><subtitle type='html'>A page about a bunch of random stuff.  Mostly Capri Sun.  You'll love it.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>37</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-6038629400411935220</id><published>2009-06-07T12:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T12:19:19.503-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Greatest of All Time?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z0UKFHhyTk0/SiwSszIcdbI/AAAAAAAAABg/3mrku8sCc90/s1600-h/XROG19806071609.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 241px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z0UKFHhyTk0/SiwSszIcdbI/AAAAAAAAABg/3mrku8sCc90/s320/XROG19806071609.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344667418631108018" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Roger Federer, arguably the best tennis player of all time, has just made a major push to be considered the undisputed greatest of all time by winning the French Open.  The French Open is the only Grand Slam event that has eluded Roger during his illustrious career.  Though were it not for clay court god Rafa Nadal, Roger would have won the tournament four times before, as Nadal is the only player to have beaten Roger at Roland Garros in the last four years.  Eliminated in the fourth-round by Swede Robin Soderling, the path seemed wide open for Roger to claim his first title on "la terre battue".  Other top players like Novak Djokavic and Andy Murray were dismissed early on in the tournament, which some might argue diminishes Roger's accomplishment.  I disagree wholeheartedly.  While his fellow top players were eliminated, Roger kept his sights set on his goal.  He could have easily been defeated in a similar fashion by lesser-known players.  And he almost was.  Coming from behind more than once, Federer refused to be defeated.  He pushed ahead with sheer will power and determination.  As his most formidable foes were defeated early on, the pressure and expectations mounted for the Swiss superstar.  At times, it seemed too much, but we witnessed first hand why he is so great.  Playing the man who defeated his arch nemesis, Roger easily defeated the young Soderling, who was in his first grand slam final ever.  The nerves seemed to be getting to him in the first set, which Roger won easily, 6-1.  After a fan jumped out of the stands and disrupted play by rushing Federer and waving a flag in his face, Roger seemed to cool off.  Soderling found his game and managed to take Roger to a tie-break.  But Roger would not be denied.  He dominated the tie-break.  He only needed one break in the third to wrap up his historic win in Paris.  Congrats to you Roger, and I'll be rooting for you to break Pistol Pete's grand slam record in this year's Wimbledon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-6038629400411935220?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/6038629400411935220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=6038629400411935220' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/6038629400411935220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/6038629400411935220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2009/06/greatest-of-all-time.html' title='The Greatest of All Time?'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_z0UKFHhyTk0/SiwSszIcdbI/AAAAAAAAABg/3mrku8sCc90/s72-c/XROG19806071609.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-4096697337570214162</id><published>2009-05-31T12:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-31T12:17:02.007-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fire-eater</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://dataisdelicio.us/img/fire_eater.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 339px; height: 313px;" src="http://dataisdelicio.us/img/fire_eater.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My facebook name is Nick Fire-eater Peterson.  I am not actually a fire-eater, I just thought that it was a wicked awesome nick-name.  Well, apparently someone took it a little more seriously.  Here is a copy of an message I got in my inbox:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;were looking for male fire eaters jugglers the more outragoues the better also stilt walkers swoard swallores&lt;br /&gt;for a shoot in nyc around june 6-8th forthe band MADJUANA there on my space and on here and you can contact them and me mentioning my name . . .&lt;br /&gt;I dont know all the details Im just helping track down talent for video for my friends band&lt;br /&gt;I myself am a photographer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man, it's times like this I wish I really was a fire-eater.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-4096697337570214162?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/4096697337570214162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=4096697337570214162' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4096697337570214162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4096697337570214162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2009/05/fire-eater.html' title='Fire-eater'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-7325773094112101331</id><published>2009-05-30T11:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-30T11:39:50.135-07:00</updated><title type='text'>NEW YORK</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z0UKFHhyTk0/SiF9cT1L_xI/AAAAAAAAABY/g-Y83wF7e8o/s1600-h/SDC10076.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z0UKFHhyTk0/SiF9cT1L_xI/AAAAAAAAABY/g-Y83wF7e8o/s320/SDC10076.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5341688558351286034" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to New York with some friends last weekend.  I have officially spent as many weekends in New York as I have in D.C.  New York was out of control.  That place is huge.  First thing I noticed was that the metro in New York is about a million times more complicated than the metro in D.C.  No worries, we eventually found our way to where we wanted to go.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First off, the drive was pretty long, and I encountered road tolls for the first time.  Man, it's pretty expensive to us some of those roads and bridges.  We stayed with friends of a friend in Jersey.  Jersey was pretty sweet.  I had imagined it as being similar to New York, but it was actually pretty chill.  We then drove to New York, stopping off in Staten Island.  Yeah, I've been to Staten Island.  Then we continued on and parked at a park and took the Light Rail into town.  First stop was Ground Zero, which was pretty crazy, but mostly just a big hole in the ground.  I don't want to diminish it's importance, but we didn't stay long at that location.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On we went to Times Square.  That place was sweet.  Super huge, tons of people and buildings, it kind of blew me away.  Talk about the complete opposite of Manti, where I grew up.  We saw where they tape the Late Show, the Hello Deli, which was, unfortunately closed.  Then we decided to get some Broadway tickets to Mary Poppins.  Whilst in line, Tracy Morgan drove by in his Lamborghini.  Yeah he's a celeb and all, but I'm not really a fan.  Anywho, after we got the tics, we went to Chinatown.  Man, that place is pretty sketchy.  Okay, it's super sketchy.  Then we went and hit up Mary Poppins, which was totally worth the wait in line and the crappy seats.  After that, we went home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday we went to church and got invited to dinner:)  We drove by my friend's old house in Jersey and ended up getting invited to lunch by her old neighbors.  Then it was off to dinner, with a pretty chill family.  We were basically adopted by two families in Jersey.  Not bad for a weekend trip.  Then we headed back to D.C.  I drove the last leg of the trip into the District.  I was pretty nervous, but I managed to get us to our apartment in one piece.  And there you have it, my weekend in New York.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-7325773094112101331?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/7325773094112101331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=7325773094112101331' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/7325773094112101331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/7325773094112101331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2009/05/new-york.html' title='NEW YORK'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_z0UKFHhyTk0/SiF9cT1L_xI/AAAAAAAAABY/g-Y83wF7e8o/s72-c/SDC10076.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-3947167280632924111</id><published>2009-05-21T11:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T12:04:10.979-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Veterans of Foreign Affairs</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://k43.pbase.com/g6/96/675696/2/84984495.HFv4Egmf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 600px; height: 800px;" src="http://k43.pbase.com/g6/96/675696/2/84984495.HFv4Egmf.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have decided to continue my blogging efforts in order to document my summer as a Washington D.C. intern at the Veterans of Foreign Wars.  This place is legit.  I was worried that it would be a sketchy building in the middle of the ghetto, but the building is quite nice and it is located right accross from the Hart Senate Building on Capitol Hill.  My first few days as an intern were pretty dull.  The guy I am going to be working with is on vacation for a week, so they stuck me with the Associate Director, who doesn't know what to do with me because he's got enough on his own plate to worry about.  So I am brushed aside and given a book on the history of the VFW to read and left to myself.  Well, that was super boring, but luckily a few days later, they got my permanent residence set up.  I have my own office, which is awesome, and a computer to mess around on when I don't have anything to do.  Today my supervisor had to go to Annapolis for the day and left me a small task to accomplish.  Well I finished all I was supposed to do in the morning, so I have been sitting around reading my history book and dinking around on the computer for the past three hours.  One more to go!  This summer should be interesting.  Hopefully I'll be wrinting soon about trips to New York, Boston, and Philly.  Peace!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-3947167280632924111?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/3947167280632924111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=3947167280632924111' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/3947167280632924111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/3947167280632924111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2009/05/veterans-of-foreign-affairs.html' title='Veterans of Foreign Affairs'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-5715150404941917217</id><published>2009-03-10T20:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-10T20:50:11.930-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Dream Job</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://briangiese.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/2007/11/28/telemarketing.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 241px; height: 287px;" src="http://briangiese.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/2007/11/28/telemarketing.gif" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I've recently discovered a new entry for my list of shit-jobs: calling people and asking for money.  Now the people who trained me would tell you that I am not a tele-marketer.  I am calling from the U, updating alumni information, and, of course, asking for a donation.  Well guess what, I am a freaking telemarketer!  Our shifts are supposed to go from 5:00 to 9:00 p.m.  The computers dial automatically, and we are supposed to call until the computer automatically logs us out.  Last time, I called all the way up until 8:59 before the computer logged me off.  Then we have a talk before they let us leave.  8:59!  Just let me go the freak home!  Then tonight, same story.  But guess what, 8:59 rolls around, the computer keeps dialing.  No one answers.  Dials next number.  No one answers.  Keep dialing.  Oh, what do ya know?  Someone answers!  So here I am, 9:00 on the dot, and I'm in the middle of a conversation!  Fun fun fun.  As if I didn't already love that job enough, I get out fifteen minutes late because the stupid computer won't stop dialing.  Man I hate technology sometimes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-5715150404941917217?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/5715150404941917217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=5715150404941917217' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5715150404941917217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5715150404941917217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2009/03/another-dream-job.html' title='Another Dream Job'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-721520304830607675</id><published>2009-02-25T23:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T00:04:36.706-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dating Game</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www2.bc.edu/~dvoskina/noodle.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 379px; height: 337px;" src="http://www2.bc.edu/~dvoskina/noodle.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I went on a double date with a good friend of mine.  He had a date, and this girl's best friend was to be mine.  This was the second of such date-nights, and I am starting to see a pattern developing.  We always spend so much freaking money.  We somehow always end up eating at steakhouses, and when I am used to eating home-made sandwiches and ramen noodles, it is somewhat of a shock to get a dinner bill that totals fifty bucks!  However, tonight we went to a Tepenyaki joint, and our cook was the man.  He made a Star Wars joke that killed me.  One of the girls was trying to use chop sticks, but couldn't figure it out, and in a voice like Obi-wan Kenobi, he said, "Use the fork!"  (instead of "use the force").  No one else got it.  Come on, this is classic Star Wars humor coming from a Japanese guy.  Star Wars is an American tradition, get with it people!  That is another thing that kind of gets on my nerve.  I'd love to talk to my date, but she doesn't hear half of what I say because she is constantly having a whispered conversation with her friend, a conversation only the two of them are invited to.  Then we go and drop another thirty bucks on some activity after dinner, so by the end of the night I am out eighty bucks, and don't even get a kiss on the cheek for my efforts.  What the eff?!  This dating game is going to break me in the end.  What bugs me the most is I will never get past a hug at the door with this girl.  If I'm going to be droppin' eighty bones on a lady, she better be plannin' on buying a wedding dress and marryin' a brother.  I don't wanna go broke buying some other dude's future wife dinner.  Shit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-721520304830607675?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/721520304830607675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=721520304830607675' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/721520304830607675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/721520304830607675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2009/02/dating-game.html' title='The Dating Game'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-8838347560880027821</id><published>2009-01-21T13:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T13:30:54.249-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z0UKFHhyTk0/SXeTySZmghI/AAAAAAAAABA/3BnrFCX2GHI/s1600-h/CIMG1003.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z0UKFHhyTk0/SXeTySZmghI/AAAAAAAAABA/3BnrFCX2GHI/s320/CIMG1003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293862379139269138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past weekend I went to the Salt Lake car show with my favorite people in the world, Winters and Hannah.  What a coincidence that they are also the only people who read my blog:)  It was a freaking awesome time.  Don't get me wrong, the cars sucked, and we made a point to take many pictures in front of said crappy vehicles.  The best part was the Maui Wowi stand.  Now the reason it was so freaking awesome is because we went to the Deseret Industries beforehand to purchase uniforms for the show.  I wore a stunning yellow turtleneck with a sweater that had the sleeves cut off along with my beautiful birthday shoes.  Hannah found a killer purple sweater as well as some perfectly form-fitting cowboy boots.  Also, she found a diabolic bowling ball, not pictured.  Matt chose a chic  McDonalds sweater vest and a one in a million Rockstar hat.  He drew a shirt on her so that she would be more appropriate to go out in public.  This experience made me want to dress up like this every day.  It was nice to not try and conform to the norms of society.  True, we got many, many weird stares from others at the car show, but I didn't even care.  It taught me a great lesson, conform to my own norms.  Don't be afraid to march against the grain.  It's not cool to try and be different simply for the sake of being different, but it is also not cool to try and conform simply for the sake of blending in with the crowd.  Be your own person, stand up for what you believe, and in the words Robin Williams as Genie on Aladdin, "Beeeeeee yourself!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-8838347560880027821?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/8838347560880027821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=8838347560880027821' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/8838347560880027821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/8838347560880027821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2009/01/this-past-weekend-i-went-to-salt-lake.html' title=''/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_z0UKFHhyTk0/SXeTySZmghI/AAAAAAAAABA/3BnrFCX2GHI/s72-c/CIMG1003.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-6049221602730319631</id><published>2009-01-08T19:58:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T20:16:36.388-08:00</updated><title type='text'>High Heels</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ec1.images-amazon.com/images/I/51HM96KNEBL._AA280_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 280px;" src="http://ec1.images-amazon.com/images/I/51HM96KNEBL._AA280_.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know, I've noticed an unusual amount of gals with high heels lately.  It isn't just the classic variety with the strap, but normal looking, everyday shoes nowadays have heels on them.  Some look classy, some do not.  But you know what I think every time I see any kind of heel on a girl?  High-maintenance.  I don't know why, but these heels seem to scream out 'I like to buy shoes', which, in other words, means 'I love to spend money for no good reason'.  In my mind, a girl who wears heels is the kind of girl who would spend a thousand bucks on a Gucci purse if her credit card had a high enough limit.  This is a girl who spends two hundred dollars on jeans just because they have the right name or brand on the butt.  This girl spends an average of ninety two bucks to get her hair cut three quarters of a centimeter.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I don't mind some heels on a Sunday to go to church, or an evening that requires formal wear.  But why would you risk a broken leg, or worse, just so you can make a fashion statement?  This girl needs to get her priorities straight.  However, cowboy boots on girls are freaking awesome!  Honestly folks, I love those cute little slender shoes that gals wear.  That tells me they care about looking good and being fashionable, but they aren't obsessed with it.  Give me a pair of Pumas over a pair of stiletto heels any day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-6049221602730319631?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/6049221602730319631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=6049221602730319631' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/6049221602730319631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/6049221602730319631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2009/01/high-heels.html' title='High Heels'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-2948751858628753560</id><published>2009-01-02T21:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T14:27:49.774-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sinking the Crimson Tide</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://media.signonsandiego.com/img/photos/2009/01/02/9d23e49d-6be4-467e-8fbe-c23ae698db1anews.ap.org_t350.jpg?1640fae913a1dac1b26c7eb88806b9f9b0341305"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 422px;" src="http://media.signonsandiego.com/img/photos/2009/01/02/9d23e49d-6be4-467e-8fbe-c23ae698db1anews.ap.org_t350.jpg?1640fae913a1dac1b26c7eb88806b9f9b0341305" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Utes win!  Utes win!  Utes win!  Wow, what a game.  Utah jumped all over Alabama in the first quarter.  Three touchdowns in what seemed like five seconds.  Bama had no answer to the hurry up offense the Utes threw at them.  I'll admit that I got a little nervous when they came back and scored on a Utah turnover at the beginning of the second half to come within four points.  But Utah didn't sweat it, they just came right back and answered to the tune of a 28-17 lead.  Their defense was, as Mike Tyson would put it, "impregnable".  The Crimson Tide had only allowed 15 sacks all season long, and the Utah defense racked up 8 sacks against them in one game!  You can argue that Alabama was without offensive tackle Andre Smith, but what the U did was still amazing.  An Andre Smith-less Alabama only allowed 2 sacks to Florida, one of the top teams in the nation.  Utah tallied 6 more sacks than a BCS-Championship Bowl bound Gator squad.  Moreover, Florida beat Alabama by 11 points (31-20).  If they end up beating Oklahoma and winning the national championship, shouldn't Utah at least tie for the number one spot, if not be the sole possessors?  A Utah squad beat former no. 1 Alabama by 14, while Florida only managed to defeat the Crimson Tide by 11.  Think about it folks, it makes sense.  In the mean time, congratulations to Utah, and screw the freaking BCS!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-2948751858628753560?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/2948751858628753560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=2948751858628753560' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/2948751858628753560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/2948751858628753560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2009/01/sinking-crimson-tide.html' title='Sinking the Crimson Tide'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-2856724897532816744</id><published>2008-12-16T18:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-16T18:58:44.677-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christopher Lloyd, That's Right, I said Christopher Lloyd</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://l.yimg.com/img.movies.yahoo.com/ymv/us/img/hv/photo/movie_pix/universal_pictures/back_to_the_future/christopher_lloyd/future2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 264px; height: 400px;" src="http://l.yimg.com/img.movies.yahoo.com/ymv/us/img/hv/photo/movie_pix/universal_pictures/back_to_the_future/christopher_lloyd/future2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.sitcomsonline.com/photopost/data/747/Lloyd.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 202px; height: 330px;" src="http://www.sitcomsonline.com/photopost/data/747/Lloyd.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You read correctly, I am going to blog about Christopher Lloyd.  I have recently been taking a stroll down memory lane as far as the movies I have been watching, and I realized how great of an actor Chris Lloyd really is.  Notably, my favorites include all three "Back to the Future" films as well as his role as Uncle Fester in "The Addams Family".  He also played lovable clueless man Jim Ignatowski on the 70's sitcom "Taxi".  This guy never ceases to make me laugh.  All through out "Back to the Future" his scientific seriousness and quarky theories as Dr. Emmett Brown force a smile on my face every time.  &lt;br /&gt;As far as the "Addams Family" this whole show is sheer genius.  Director Barry Sonnenfeld's movie interpretation of the popular 60's television show was spot on.  He used more adult themed situations and humor to appeal to a more modern audience, which in my opinion, endeared me more to the many eccentricities of the Addams' than I would have otherwise been.  Getting back to Christopher Lloyd, his role as the long lost Fester Addams is perfectly played, from his struggle convince the family he is the real Fester, to slowly showing viewers his true colors shining through, until he is revealed as the real Fester Addams.  &lt;br /&gt;Actors of Christopher Lloyd's character are becoming harder and harder to come by.  His is a dying breed, as classy comedians are nearly extinct.  Funnymen these days are overexuberant and unnecessarily vulgar.  If you're going to be vulgar, do it for a reason other than to be vulgar.  Don't get me wrong, Will Ferrell and others do make me laugh, but not on as consistent of a basis as classic comedians like my main man, Christopher Lloyd.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-2856724897532816744?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/2856724897532816744/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=2856724897532816744' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/2856724897532816744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/2856724897532816744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/12/christopher-lloyd-thats-right-i-said.html' title='Christopher Lloyd, That&apos;s Right, I said Christopher Lloyd'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-8397522158268784084</id><published>2008-12-13T13:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-13T14:03:20.748-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Otter Pops</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.i-mockery.com/blabber/pics/otter-pops-armageddon.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 279px; height: 274px;" src="http://www.i-mockery.com/blabber/pics/otter-pops-armageddon.gif" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man I love Otter Pops.  I think I ate about six of them last night.  Then I've had another two so far today.  I know I'm going to keep eating the ones that I have until they are all gone, probably by the end of today.  When I find something I like eating, I eat it until I can't stand it any more.  Why is that?  If I were smart, when I find something good, I would savor it.  I would only use it when it would give me the optimum satisfaction.  If every time I use this good thing I have found, it gives me less and less satisfaction, I should put off using it until my satisfaction will be at optimum level.  That is the problem with us humans as a race.  When we find something good, we use it frantically until it no longer exists.  Where wisdom would tell us to use prudence, desire for luxury pushes us to use and harvest until nothing remains.  Let's learn to use some restraint, to save our natural "Otter Pops" so that in the future, when we're sitting around thinking of the delicious frozen explosion of flavor we once enjoyed, we can walk over to the freezer, open the door, and pull out a refreshing cold one to satisfy our craving, instead of feeling that pit in our stomachs when we realize that we don't have any more, we ate them all too fast.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-8397522158268784084?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/8397522158268784084/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=8397522158268784084' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/8397522158268784084'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/8397522158268784084'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/12/otter-pops.html' title='Otter Pops'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-198236978396598750</id><published>2008-11-16T13:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-16T13:20:21.649-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bass Players</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://userserve-ak.last.fm/serve/252/8233423.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 252px; height: 378px;" src="http://userserve-ak.last.fm/serve/252/8233423.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently I was having a conversation with an intellectual about bands and who makes the bands "cool".  We decided that in order to make a band "cooler", the band member must not increase the overall average "suck" of the band.  Lead singers have the most influence on the band.  They are usually the face of the band, and they are obviously the voice, so they are what we normally associate the band to be like.  Next comes the lead guitarist.  Their killer riffs and shredding abilities can attract or repel our ear juices to their sound.  A close third would be the drummer.  If you haven't dreamed of banging the hell out of some drums in front of a sell-out crowd, you are kidding yourself, cuz everyone has had that dream.  They are the designated "badass" of the band.  Now where a band usually meets it's weak spot is the bass player.  Usually these guys or gals are softspoken 'whoevers' who sit in the shadows on the side of the stage while everyone else is rocking out.  The bassists usually increase the "suck" of the band more than anyone else.  But you know what I was thinking?  I went to the Weezer concert, and their bass player, Scott Shriner, freaking kicks ass.  He is about the coolest bass player there is.  He sang a bunch of the songs when River's voice was going out, and when he sang "King" he freaking rocked the place.  So Weezer is so freaking awesome in part because their bass player does not increase the "suck" level of Weezer, he freaking decreases it.  In fact, the only other bass player I can name is Flea from the Red Hot Chili Peppers.  He also decreases the "suck" of the Chili Peppers.  Okay, I can also name Mike Dirnt from Green Day and Mark Hoppus from Blink-182.  Both good bassists as well.  But if you are going to be a bassist that I have heard of, you aren't gonna be someone that increases "suck".  And Scoot Shriner is not an increaser of "suck".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-198236978396598750?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/198236978396598750/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=198236978396598750' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/198236978396598750'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/198236978396598750'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/11/bass-players.html' title='Bass Players'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-6569407151218964049</id><published>2008-11-12T17:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T17:39:25.176-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Weezer</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://media.canada.com/8c8b3290-2b08-4dc6-8e3e-2cc645fdfe05/042108_weezer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 382px; height: 322px;" src="http://media.canada.com/8c8b3290-2b08-4dc6-8e3e-2cc645fdfe05/042108_weezer.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although it has been over a month since I saw the most rockinest show ever, I have finally decided to blog about it.  Man this concert was radgidelic!  Some crappy local band opened and played for about a half an hour.  Then Angels and Airwaves did their thing for another hour or so.  Even though I don't really know any of their songs, they still rocked the house and put on a good show.  Their light show went haywire for a while, but they kept things a goin' and did a good job at it too.  So kudoos to Angels and Airwaves.  Then the anticipation began.  Holy crap, I can't put it into words.  Through the previous two acts I hadn't moved too much.  Than it happened.  The tale tale opening to "My Name is Jonas".  Holy crap the whole place erupted.  I started yelling and screaming and jumping around.  Man they were freaking awesome!  I sang along to just about every song, which left my voice horse by the time it was all over.  They sang all the classics: 'The Sweater Song' with special guest Tom Delonge from Angels and Airwaves, 'El Scortcho', 'Greatest Man That Ever Lived', 'Say It Ain't So', 'Dope Nose', 'Hashpipe' and many others.  The sweetest part of the whole night was when the crowd lifted a man in a wheelchair into the air and held him there.  Rivers and Pat were like, 'sweet', and I was like, 'sweet'.  Rivers voice was going in and out so other members of the band sang some of the songs, which I actually didn't mind at all.  In fact, I kinda liked it.  Rivers was interactive with the audience, as was Pat when he sang his song 'Automatic'.  So if any of you two people who read this blog ever get the chance, I would highly recommend going to a Weezer concert if you get the chance.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-6569407151218964049?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/6569407151218964049/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=6569407151218964049' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/6569407151218964049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/6569407151218964049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/11/weezer.html' title='Weezer'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-720277479218125696</id><published>2008-09-26T21:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T16:02:24.835-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ragin'</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.art.com/images/-/Rage-Against-The-Machine--C10284951.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://images.art.com/images/-/Rage-Against-The-Machine--C10284951.jpeg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just got done listening to Rage Against the Machine after a long days work.  You know, Rage just soothes the soul, especially after a shitty day of work.  Any song that ends with shouting "F@#* you I won't do what ya tell me!" over and over again will instantly relieve any anger or built up pressure you may have been suppressing throughout your day.  Sometimes people are douchebags.  But you can't tell them.  You can't let them know how selfish, retarded, stupid, or even how ugly they are.  This is why I do something I call 'Ragin' at the end of some days.  Ragin' consists of driving in your car or relaxing in your room blasting RATM and singing along.  Rage is always singing about some kind of injustice in the world, why not sing along and add all the injustices that have happened to you and let the power of music ease your burdens?  We can't all write our own songs with the word genius of Zach de la Roca or shred on the guitar like Tom Morello can, but when I am rockin' out and Ragin', I feel like they wrote certain songs just to describe how my life sucks sometimes.  By the way, Zach's new stuff with "One Day as a Lion" is not that great.  I mean, the lyrics are still pretty cool, but he just isn't the same without Tom.  That guy does some crazy stuff on his axe.  Anywho, if anyone still reads this blog, try it sometime and see if it doesn't help you vent all of the things that you have been holding in for who knows how long.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-720277479218125696?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/720277479218125696/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=720277479218125696' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/720277479218125696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/720277479218125696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/09/ragin.html' title='Ragin&apos;'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-4692980828868953059</id><published>2008-08-14T09:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T10:27:04.705-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Scorcher</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.latimes.com/media/photo/2008-08/41581148.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.latimes.com/media/photo/2008-08/41581148.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went and saw Tropic Thunder yesterday morning.  Then I went and saw it again last night.  It was pretty freaking hilarious.  Jack Black plays "the comedian" playing a serious role for the first time in his career.  Saddened that people only think he's funny because of his farts, he turns to drugs to satisfy his insecurities.  And while the actors are dropped in the middle of nowhere to film a war movie, his drugs run out and he has trouble dealing with his withdrawals, to say the least.  Ben Stiller is an over the hill action star looking to get his career back on track after a horrendous performance in the drama, "Simple Jack".  His commitment to the movie remains well after it is clear to the other actors that things have taken a serious turn for the worse and they are dealing with real drug dealers instead of hired Viet Cong locals.  Robert Downey Jr. is one of my favorites in this film.  The perennial allstar, Academy Award winning, philosophical acting genius who is well known for literally becoming the characters he plays, Downey's character, Lazarus, gets surgery to turn his skin from black to white to play the role of an African American sargeant.  It is hilarious listening to him try to talk like a black man from the south throughout the movie.  Even after he is convinced the movie has turned into reality, he never breaks character.  Tom Cruise plays the financial backer of the film, Les Grossman.  I think Cruise had a fun time playing the vulgar, eccentric, self-assured billionaire.  You could see it in his eyes.  He got to say things that most of us would love to say to the jerks we see every day but don't have the balls to say it.  Things become hilarious when you see Cruise as a balding, overweight, extremely hairy middle-aged CEO berating the director of the film for his inadequacies as a film maker.  All in all I thought this was a good movie with some hilarious parts in it.  It kept me laughing even though some of the things said were deeply disturbing, the fact that I knew they were not serious made it okay in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.  While working the other day, the most beautiful girl that I have ever seen came in with her mother and grandmother.  Holy crap she was smokin'!  Tall, slender, asian descent, I couldn't take my eyes off of her.  So here I am, reaching out to you beautiful asian girl.  If you read this and you were in Costco on 300 west in Salt Lake on August 12, 2008, I would love to take you out to lunch.  Don't slap fate in the face and ignore this post script.  I am the tall, ruggedly handsome, stand-up comedian/pilot/doctor that helped bag your food after it was purchased.  I extend my hand out to you, will you take it. . .?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-4692980828868953059?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/4692980828868953059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=4692980828868953059' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4692980828868953059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4692980828868953059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/08/scorcher.html' title='Scorcher'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-3099469749125970492</id><published>2008-08-05T21:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-05T21:38:06.368-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crushin'</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1loup.net/share/images/Nike%20Pro/03-Rafael%20Nadal.PV__.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://1loup.net/share/images/Nike%20Pro/03-Rafael%20Nadal.PV__.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's what I'm spittin':  After about four years on top as the undisputed best tennis player in the universe, Roger Federer is about to have his throne usurped by the one and only Rafael Nadal.  The weird thing is, I'm okay with that.  Rafa has shown that he is as classy as they come, and he has also proven hands down this year, that he is more than equal to the task of taking Roger's place as numero uno.  For now.  I say for now, because I have in no way counted the Swiss champion out.  Pete Sampras, the well known second best tennis player in history, fell off the map once he won his twelfth grand slam title, and he went on to win two more.  He did this as an old man.  I have complete faith that while Roger has had an off year, he will undoubtedly work harder and have even more desire to reclaim his rightful place on the top of the tennis world.  It will not be a walk in the park though.  Rafa has worked hard to get where he is, and he will not take things lightly now that he has reached the top of the metaphoric mountain.  He has the high ground now, and Roger is going to have to be amazing in order to return to the summit.  I do have to say this, regardless of how the year ends, what Nadal has done this year rivals anything that Roger has done.  He has made a name for himself, and all the greats of tennis past and present must show him the respect that he has earned, even in their great presence.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-3099469749125970492?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/3099469749125970492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=3099469749125970492' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/3099469749125970492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/3099469749125970492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/08/crushin.html' title='Crushin&apos;'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-3371062492207964735</id><published>2008-07-27T15:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-29T15:06:45.665-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pure Evil</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.hollywoodchicago.com/uploaded_images/joker_thedarkknight.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.hollywoodchicago.com/uploaded_images/joker_thedarkknight.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally went and saw the new Batman a few days ago.  I had pretty hight expectations.  Everyone I knew was singing its praises.  The commercials and trailers made it look like the action packed thriller I have been waiting for since the Bourne Ultimatum.  I knew that Christian Bale would deliver, as he did in Batman Begins.  Though the intensity of his "Batman voice" can sometimes be over-dramatic, his overall performance was superb.  Definitely the best Batman to date.  My main concern when first hearing about the movie was the choice of the actor to play the Joker.  Heath Ledger did not seem like the ideal candidate.  Then came the first movie trailers.  My worries left, never to return.  After seeing the film, here is what I have to say about the Joker and Heath Ledger's performance.  He was pure evil.  He was creepy, he was disturbing.  His blatant disregard for human life made him seem like an inhuman evil from an unseen world.  His laugh sent chills up my spine and every time he talked, I felt like I was listening to Satan himself.  My diagnosis of the Joker: I loved him.  I couldn't get enough of his demented outlook on life.  For some reason I wanted to see what boundaries he would break next.  Ledger literally created an alter ego.  It was not the young Aussie actor in that show, it was a being that can never exist in real life, because Ledger played him so perfectly.  He was the star of the movie, no matter what others may say.  And not just because he passed away before the movie opened.  Regardless, my respect for the acting of Heath Ledger has been changed forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-3371062492207964735?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/3371062492207964735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=3371062492207964735' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/3371062492207964735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/3371062492207964735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/07/pure-evil.html' title='Pure Evil'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-1009887931450435030</id><published>2008-06-18T21:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-21T20:16:44.476-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So I had to kill the guy, and the cops are still lookin' for him. . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.divalyssciousmoms.com/kung-fu-panda.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.divalyssciousmoms.com/kung-fu-panda.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just saw Kung Fu Panda tonight, and here is my diagnosis: it su---rprised me.  I thought the movie was freaking hilarious.  Jack Black shows that he can make people laugh to tears even when you can't see insane facial contortions or zaney body movements.  He is just a funny guy.  I am convinced that Black comes up with half of the things he says while he is chillin' in his casa eatin' a pie and most likely smokin' a doobie.  Some of the stuff is definitely toned down to gain the family viewership, but overall I thought that most lines were written in a way that people of all ages would find them amusing.  What's more, some of the fight scenes were actually very intense!  I know that this is an animated movie starring animals that walk and talk, but they really got quite intense.  And the showdown between the panda played by Jack Black and the evil, unstoppable ninja warrior snow leopard delivers as the epic battle one craves for to end the show.  The voices of Angelina Jolie, Dustin Hoffman, Jackie Chan and Lucy Liu are also in the show, but other than Hoffman, you don't even really notice the others.  All in all, it was one of the funniest shows I've seen in the recent past, animated or not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may be wandering what is with the title of this blog.  I saw a Seinfeld today and Kramer and Jerry are at the movies and see a guy they don't want to talk with.  Jerry says, "Act like we're talking."  Kramer: "We are talking."  Jerry:  "Act like it's interesting!"  Kramer (overly loud so the intruder can hear):  "So I had to kill the guy, and the cops are still lookin' for him. . ."  That is what is with the title.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-1009887931450435030?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/1009887931450435030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=1009887931450435030' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/1009887931450435030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/1009887931450435030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/06/so-i-had-to-kill-guy-and-cops-are-still.html' title='So I had to kill the guy, and the cops are still lookin&apos; for him. . .'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-5068451371229092390</id><published>2008-05-30T20:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-30T21:11:31.671-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Here's What's On My Mind</title><content type='html'>First and foremost, I finally saw Ironman, and it is super badass.  Robert Downey Jr., a man who I have never felt was any more badass than King Friday of the Land of Makebelieve on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, blew me away with his humor as well as his decision to go straight to the cause of his upset conscience and blow it to hell.  He did kind of bother me as the guy who has no respect for women at all, but since he is smart, rich, and super cocky, women cannot resist spending the night with him.  This is not a strike against RDJ, but women in general.  They are not attracted to men who have interested in them, they are only attracted to men who treat them like they are objects of desire and lust and nothing more.  Or maybe all women are simply just not interested in me.  Speaking of said objects, Gwenyth Paltrow was looking very nice in this film.  So, a movie that had every opportunity to be cheesey and extremely lame denied the humanly desire to be lazy and unremarkable and took the high road to greatness, humor, and entertainment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of the common human shortcoming of laziness, people need to check themselves.  Recently I began working at a well known warehouse store as a cart wrangler.  It is amazing how many douchebags simply leave their carts in the middle of the parking lot, or even better, as far away from the store as possible.  How inconsiderate can you be?  Holy crap people, is it really that tough to push your cart ten feet and put it in its properly marked place?  You pushed it all over the store and out to your car, can't you push it just a little further?  Seeing this has made me look at other aspects of my life and caused me to ask myself, "Am I being considerate to other people?"  I'm not saying I am a saint, but I have been trying to show other people a little consideration rather than treating them like they don't matter.  It's something to think about. . .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-5068451371229092390?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/5068451371229092390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=5068451371229092390' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5068451371229092390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5068451371229092390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/05/heres-whats-on-my-mind.html' title='Here&apos;s What&apos;s On My Mind'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-4821618922127545432</id><published>2008-05-16T13:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T13:47:14.684-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Badass</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y20/FatBeGoneStacy/Basha%20journal%20headliners/badass.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y20/FatBeGoneStacy/Basha%20journal%20headliners/badass.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In reading the blogs posted on croonies.com the word 'badass' has come up a plethora of times.  This has caused great reflection in my mind about the most badass movies that I have seen.  While I have not yet seen Ironman, that will not be on the list, but I do have a couple I think all would agree are badass.  Here are my top three.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Coming in at number three: Four Brothers.  A tale of four hardened young orphans who grew up in a foster home with a kind and loving foster mother.  Their mother had found permanent homes for hundreds of other children, these four were the only kids too wild and out of control to find a home for, so she kept them and raised them herself.  When she is murdered, the four come back to town, and when the police don't work fast enough, they start an investigation of their own.  Mark Wahlberg gives his usual 'mess with me, I'll break your face performance' and leads his three other 'brothers' down a trail of deceit, bribery, corruption, and murder that leads back to a local gangster, Victor Sweets.  Talk about a tale of shoot first and ask questions later.  Model/actor/musician Tyrese delivers a believable performance as a tough black man from the hood, though he does tend to overdo it at times.  Andre 3000 from Outkast nailed his role as the sensible family man who seems to be the only brother to have made anything out of himself.  And Garrett Hedlund rounds the list off as the kid punk-rock brother trying to show his older siblings he can bang and brawl with the best of 'em.  An action packed thriller from beginning to end, this film definitely qualifies as badass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second place on my list is a film that perhaps not a lot of people remember: Tombstone.  Kurt Russell plays Wyatt Earp, retired Kansas lawdog looking to leave his past and become rich in the mining town of Tombstone, Arizona.  Along with his brothers, Virgil and Morgan, and their wives, they buy a share of a local saloon and set up shop.  A gang called the Cowboys is prevalent in Tombstone.  These guys are above the law and do what they please whenever they please.  So when Wyatt's brothers accept positions as town sheriffs, Cowboys and Earp's clash.  In the infamous shootout at the O.K. Corral, the Earp's, accompanied by Doc Holliday (Val Kilmer), kill numerous Cowboys.  In revenge, the Cowboys kill Wyatt's younger brother Morgan, and attempt to kill is older brother Virgil and their wives.  What follows is the definition of badass.  Wyatt and Doc assemble a posse and go on a Cowboy killing spree.  Perhaps the most badass moment of the film is when Doc Holliday confronts Cowboy leader Johnny Ringo in a showdown to end all showdowns.  While this film is totally badass, the first half can move a bit slow, causing it to come in second to the most badass film of all time. . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Departed.  That's right, I know you knew it was coming.  How could this movie not be number one?  It is filled with hardened gangsters, corrupt cops, clean cops, under cover agents on both sides of the law. It's got suspense that will raise your blood pressure to the point of exploding!  How good is this movie?  I watched the whole movie, then watched the theatrical trailer right after, and that made me want to immediately watch it again!  Martin Scorsese showed once more that he is the master of mob, murder, and mayhem.  Jack Nicholson was a perfect, evil, gangster genius who couldn't be touched by the cops.  Matt Damon performed amazingly as the undercover rat for Nicholson in the state police department.  This film made me realize that Leo DiCaprio can be more than just a chick-flick posterboy, he can downright act.  Throw in a little comic relief from Alec Baldwin and the most badass of all, Mark Wahlberg, and how could this not be the most badass movie in the world?  Even the soundtrack was badass.  Everytime the Dropkick Murphy's Irish rock plays it sends shivers up my spine.  Though Scorsese has directed some good films in his life, including Goodfellas, I have to say that this is his best film ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there you have it folks.  Don't like it, feel free to comment.  You won't change my mind, and you'll be wrong, but if you gotta get something off your chest, feel free.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-4821618922127545432?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/4821618922127545432/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=4821618922127545432' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4821618922127545432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4821618922127545432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/05/badass.html' title='Badass'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y20/FatBeGoneStacy/Basha%20journal%20headliners/th_badass.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-98689123102159820</id><published>2008-05-01T20:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-01T21:02:33.199-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hopeless</title><content type='html'>A lot of people say that feeling sorry for yourself doesn't get you anywhere.  True, but saying that doesn't make me feel any less sorry for myself.  I am a born worrier.  If something remains undone I can't seem to get it out of my head until I take care of business.  For example, I need to find an apartment by the end of the month.  I thought I had things taken care of, then, as life seems to do as often as possible, things fell through.  That really bugs the hell out of me, you know, when you think something is going to happen, then due to no fault of your own, some third party messes up and forces you to start from scratch.  Add on top of that the new job I started that I don't like along with the new co-workers I didn't seem to click with, plus the chickless life I lead, and this summer is really lookin' like it's going to be a great one.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-98689123102159820?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/98689123102159820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=98689123102159820' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/98689123102159820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/98689123102159820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/05/hopeless.html' title='Hopeless'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-7111460391248877975</id><published>2008-04-18T18:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T19:23:48.553-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Back</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://mlb.imageg.net/graphics/product_images/pMLB2-2544395dt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://mlb.imageg.net/graphics/product_images/pMLB2-2544395dt.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Due to the vehement requests of my faithful reader, I have decided to make a more concerted effort to try to write more often.  I went to a baseball game last night.  Nothing big, just a small time farm league team, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself nonetheless.  Most of the scoring was done before I got there, and no runs were scored until the game winner, which I will talk about momentarily.  It was run listening to my friend heckle the opposing team, and perhaps more amusing was watching his girlfriend turn her head in embarrassment and shame while he shouted nonsensical rantings at the top of his lungs.  I would have to say one of the best parts of the night was purchasing the "All Star", which is simply a huge wiener with the works.  Man that wiener was messy, I got more on my face than I did in my mouth.  But it was all worth it, those succulent juices kept my stomach full for the rest of the evening.  Anywho, the game went into extra innings with the score tied 2-2.  Then, in the bottom of the 11th, one of the dudes on our team cranked one over the center-field fence.  Talk about drama and excitement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now on to what I really wanted to talk about, how computer animation and CGI is ruining film.  Now I am a huge fan of new technology and the fascinating new things that can be done with computers in this day in age.  My problem is how over-reliant many filmmakers are becoming on these new technologies.  Case in point: the new Star Wars.  I don't know if anything in those films other than the human actors and actresses were real.  It looked like the third film was shot entirely in front of a blue-screen.  Nothing looked remotely real.  In my opinion, the reason the original films were so sweet was because they went to the effort to painstakingly hand craft everything, from the models to the uniforms to the makeup for the aliens creatures.  It looked real because it was real.  Not real aliens, but real people in real makeup.  If there were such things as aliens, that is what they would have looked like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't pretend like I am not a fan of Toy Story, The Incredibles, or Monster's, Inc., but these films are not attempting to tell the story of real-life people or occurrences.  I Am Legend would have been a much more enjoyable film had the director attempted to use real actors in modern make-up to imitate the infected population.  And don't even get me started on Beowulf!  Using new computer technology for things that are impossible to create in real life is fine.  Even using it to make life easier for filmmakers does not bother me one bit.  But let's not get lazy folks!  Forgetting that humans can be pretty good at turning a regular human being into a wookie, a stormtrooper, or a human infected with some ungodly disease leads to over-reliance on something that does not do justice to the people paying money to watch your films.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-7111460391248877975?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/7111460391248877975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=7111460391248877975' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/7111460391248877975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/7111460391248877975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/04/im-back.html' title='I&apos;m Back'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-1415530021021126715</id><published>2008-03-27T12:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-27T13:15:56.559-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Most Wonderful Time of the Year</title><content type='html'>I don't know what it is about this time of year, but people go crazy for college basketball.  Pools are put together from work bracket tourneys to friendly competitions to gangsters who will break your thumbs when you don't cover the spread.  In the past I have been part of these escapades (as my crooked left thumb will attest).  I must admit that normally the thrill one gets from predicting the outcome of a totally meaningless game is unmatched in other areas of sporting activity.  It's almost like successfully picking a game somehow makes up for a pathetic personal life, the debt that is slowly asphyxiating me, or that night I 'couldn't quite perform'.  Yes, bracketology has indeed become one of the most important sciences our young nation has at its disposal.  Unfortunately this year I didn't get the chance to fill out a bracket and that has lead to something I never thought possible: complete disinterest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have found that I could care less about who wins or loses.  With the exception of hoping Kansas loses asap, Davidson could end up the champs and I wouldn't raise an eyebrow.  (Only kidding about the Kansas jab Cronnie.  Go Jayhawks! That is, if I cared of course.)  Friends and family call me asking if I am watching 'the game'.  "Oh, yes, of course" I reply as I turn down the T.V. so they can't hear the theme song to Hanna Montana playing in the background.  "Can you believe San Diego just upset UConn?!"  "Yeah, I can't believe that guy made that shot that one time.  Amazing," as Miley Cyrus belts out "The Best of Both Worlds".  I'll tell you, lots of people wrote off Billy Ray after "Achy Breaky Heart", but I always had faith he'd return to the top, even if it was through his budding 15 year old daughter.  But I diverge from my point.  Simply not filling out a bracket has turned one of the most exciting times of the year into a total snore for me.  I'd love to find Doc Brown, hop into his DeLorean, crank that baby up to 88 miles per hour and go back in time to fill out a bracket and see how that one small incident could change my future for good, or for evil. . .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-1415530021021126715?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/1415530021021126715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=1415530021021126715' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/1415530021021126715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/1415530021021126715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/03/most-wonderful-time-of-year.html' title='The Most Wonderful Time of the Year'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-5959067296658784835</id><published>2008-03-25T10:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T14:18:30.815-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bitch</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://thecia.com.au/reviews/b/images/bedazzled-800.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://thecia.com.au/reviews/b/images/bedazzled-800.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So lately things have been pretty depressing in the female department for me.  I broke up with my girlfriend, an awesome gal, but I just wasn't feelin' it.  I'm not the kind of guy to have a girlfriend just for the sake of having a girlfriend, so I had to break things off.  What's more, I recently discovered that a former love interest is engaged.  No, not to me, but to another man.  One word enters my mind: bitch.  This has happened to me approximately four times now.  It seems that I am only satisfied with girls who have absolutely no interest in me at all.  I must ask: What is not to like?  I am freaking hot, with long, luscious locks of hair that I keep shiny and wavy (I spent six bucks on shampoo, which is roughly six times what I usually pay).  I think it is true what they say, treat a girl like shit and she'll come back for more, but treat her like a princess and she'll take you for granted and crush you without explaining why.  This also leads me to believe that my ex-girlfriend can only be thinking one thing about me: asshole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which brings me to my next point: I have given up on finding another gal by myself.  I am what the government would call a discouraged dater.  I have no hope of finding the right girl for me, so I sit at home, wallowing in self pity and oggling the hotties on the E network.  I would make a plea to all those who read this blog, but since that only adds up to about two people, I feel such a plea would be in vain.  So here is a big f--- you to all those who are happily involved in a relationship.  In the words of Happy Gilmore, "Suck my white ass every girl I have ever wanted!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-5959067296658784835?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/5959067296658784835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=5959067296658784835' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5959067296658784835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5959067296658784835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/03/bitch.html' title='Bitch'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-6669354756258320341</id><published>2008-03-07T09:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T09:52:56.330-08:00</updated><title type='text'>St. Patrick's Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://pages.prodigy.net/rockaway/leprechaun4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://pages.prodigy.net/rockaway/leprechaun4.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a blog that my little brother recently posted.  I am speachless.  I guess he was born with a writer's genius that I was not blessed with. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;St Patricks Day&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah spring time.  The air is warm and the snow is melting, the trees are blooming everything is fine and no one has a care in the world, right? WRONG!!! Along with this wonderful season we also have a terrible vermin among us.  This wonderful holiday that we have rapidly approaching upon us called St. Patricks day.  There is a dirty beast amongst us at this time, a beast so brutal and in human i dare not look at them. Thats right im talking about the leprechaun.  This little demon takes advantage of us as we are partying in our drunken state. The leprechaun will sneak into you underwear drawer and take all of your underwear and throw them all in the dirty clothes hamper.  So when you wake up the next morning and shower you cant find any clean underwear.  When you are in this situation you cant think of anything to do.  And that is when that little jerk gets his satisfaction.  My advice to you my friends is to take a pair of clean underwear and put it on top of the fridge.  You might be asking yourself why the fridge, well the fridge is much taller than a dirty little leprechaun thus causing him much grief.  By the time he can get to the top of the fridge he will have tired himself out and in turn fallen asleep.&lt;br /&gt;By the time you wake up and find that you have no underwear in your drawer, dont fret there is a nice clean pair on top of the fridge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're Welcome&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-6669354756258320341?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/6669354756258320341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=6669354756258320341' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/6669354756258320341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/6669354756258320341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/03/st-patricks-day.html' title='St. Patrick&apos;s Day'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-1909906088362749173</id><published>2008-02-13T12:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-13T12:14:24.157-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g139/misfitjunkage/ffffrk6.png"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g139/misfitjunkage/ffffrk6.png" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I finally went to the gym yesterday.  It had been so long I felt like Homer Simpson in that episode where he discovers an all night gym, thinks out loud, "All night gyme (gym).  What's a gyme?"  Then he walks inside and spouts out his realization, "Oh, a gyme!"  Anywho, that is how long it's been since I rediscovered my gyme, "Planet Fitness: The Judgment Free Zone".  As you can guess it's a gyme for losers like me who are super weak and don't want any muscleheads laughing at how puny we are.  It was good to go.  I am sore today, which means I had a good workout, right?  Let's forget that I was following an old man through all the weight machines and had to make things lighter so I could deal with the reps.  I didn't quite embarrass myself to the point of not wanting to go back, so I am planning on another grueling workout today.  Hopefully that old man isn't there again.  I felt like he was judging me the whole time. . .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-1909906088362749173?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/1909906088362749173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=1909906088362749173' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/1909906088362749173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/1909906088362749173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/02/n.html' title=''/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-6947398943166027842</id><published>2008-02-09T13:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-09T13:57:28.595-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Few Thoughts</title><content type='html'>Here I am, once again, sitting in the Huntsman Center waiting for another women's basketball game to start.  How many of these are there?  I lost count.  What I am trying to get at is that this place seems to release my most random thoughts into the atmosphere.  One of the warmup songs was Brittney Spears.  How screwed up is she?  Truth be told, she is a wacko, but it didn't help that she was driven to insanity by her fans as well as every member of the media.  When her stories reach and claim a whole segment on CNN, you know that things have gotten out of hand.  What's more, the paparazzi isn't satisfied with how much of a wreck her life is.  They will not be happy until she has killed herself.  Heck, I just looked the word 'paparazzi' up on google and a picture of Brittney popped up on the screen.  Also, school has pissed me off lately, with the lengthy chapter reading assignments.  Don't people get it, no one can concentrate on fifty pages worth of information that must be read each night.  Women's basketball, why did I agree to take this job for another year?  How is Novak Djokavic feeling fine to play in the Australian Open, but too sick to take part in Davis Cup?  Why am I so picky when it comes to girls when I am the definition of a nerd (Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings are my favorite books)?  Why did Dumbledore have to die?  Why didn't Gandalf have to die?  Why can't I seem to find a decent apartment to live in that doesn't smell weird and have crazies living in the floor above?  And if, pray tell, global warming is our environment's biggest threat, why the devil won't it stop snowing?!  This is just a small sample of the things that run through my head in the minutes preceding one of the women's basketball games.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-6947398943166027842?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/6947398943166027842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=6947398943166027842' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/6947398943166027842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/6947398943166027842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/02/few-thoughts.html' title='A Few Thoughts'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-3547075123567055873</id><published>2008-02-05T11:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-05T11:48:58.754-08:00</updated><title type='text'>He Slipped</title><content type='html'>As he walked down the icy sidewalk, he murmured to himself, "I'm gonna freakin' slip and kill myself today."  This was not a new thought, as it crossed his mind frequently during the snowy wintry months.  He continued to walk, eyes on the sidewalk as he made his way carefully to class.  The throng of students walking towards him combined with the many behind filled him with a sense of urgency he knew was uncalled for, yet his pace quickened ever so slightly.  Then it happened.  The sound of a honking horn caused him to look up as he tread over an icy patch on his path.  He seemed to move in slow motion as both feet flew high over his head and he landed with a resounding crash.  Then he lay motionless.  Two strangers stopped and looked over him.  "What happened?", one asked the other.  "He slipped."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-3547075123567055873?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/3547075123567055873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=3547075123567055873' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/3547075123567055873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/3547075123567055873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/02/he-slipped.html' title='He Slipped'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-5560445707095342360</id><published>2008-01-23T17:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T17:48:36.893-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's been a while</title><content type='html'>It has been a while.  Let's just say that I haven't been in much of a blog writing mood.  Dingo made me feel inspired to write again, seeing as he or she actually read one of my posts.  So a much deserved shout out to dingo, whoever you are.  This post, however, will probably be read by only a few, and enjoyed by even less.  So in honor of my sister Jamie, I dedicate this blog to the game of tennis.  The Australian Open is in progress as we speak, and I am stoked to have another grand slam event to occupy my short attention span.  As always, I am cheering for Mr. Roger Federer.  Not because he is the best, not because he is knocking on history's beautiful oak door, not even because I have traveled to the city of his birth, Bale, Switzerland.  No, I am cheering for the suisse because of his poise and demeanor on and off the court.  Always the gentleman, some of Roger's quotes have let some to believe that he is arrogant and cocky.  This is not true in the least.  He is simply telling the truth.  When he says "I was playing well, no one could've beaten me today" he couldn't be more right!  Take his match against James Blake early this morning.  Blake played well, he played incredible.  Quite possibly one of the greatest matches of his career, and Roger still beat him in straight sets.  When a player can consistently play the best players in the world on their best days and not allow them to win one set, he or she has the right to talk in such a way that others might interpret as trash talk.  Serena Williams is one of those players.  When she is on, there is not a woman on the tour, not her sister, not Justine Henin, who can take her out.  However, Serena does not hold herself with half the dignity on the court that Roger Federer shows.  Her obnoxious shouts of joy at her opponents mistakes are unsportsmanlike and rude.  After a loss, she is quick to site a nagging injury that she neglected to mention before the match.  It is never her fault.  Federer, on the contrary, has been known to say that he wasn't playing his top game, but never a third factor.  If he loses, it is his fault or his opponent's great play, never the fans or an injury or the sun or any number of other cheap excuses.  So here is to a great champion, someone with all the virtues and determination that a true champion should have.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-5560445707095342360?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/5560445707095342360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=5560445707095342360' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5560445707095342360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5560445707095342360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2008/01/its-been-while.html' title='It&apos;s been a while'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-5521547884871869675</id><published>2007-12-12T11:03:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-12T11:03:31.493-08:00</updated><title type='text'>'Nuff Said</title><content type='html'>“ . . . no one ever considers himself an expert if he really knows his job.  A man who knows a job sees so much more to be done than he has done, that he is always pressing forward and never gives up an instant of thought to how good and how efficient he is.  Thinking always ahead, thinking always of trying to do more, brings a state of mind in which nothing is impossible.  The moment one gets into the “expert” state of mind a great number of things become impossible.&lt;br /&gt; “I refuse to recognize that there are impossibilities.  I cannot discover that any one knows enough about anything on this earth definitely to say what is and what is not possible.  The right kind of experience, the right kind of technical training, ought to enlarge the mind and reduce the number of impossibilities.  It unfortunately does nothing of the kind.  Most technical training and the average of that which we call experience, provide a record of previous failures and, instead of these failures being taken for what they are worth, they are taken as absolute bars to progress.  If some man, calling himself an authority, says that this or that cannot be done, then a horde of unthinking followers start the chorus: “It can’t be done.””&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Henry Ford&lt;br /&gt;My Life and Work&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-5521547884871869675?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/5521547884871869675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=5521547884871869675' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5521547884871869675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5521547884871869675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2007/12/nuff-said.html' title='&apos;Nuff Said'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-4730674290840100037</id><published>2007-12-10T08:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-10T09:01:12.643-08:00</updated><title type='text'>L'art de vivre</title><content type='html'>As the Christmas holiday approaches and finals have begun to return to the hell from whence they came, I have realized that even with school being over, I am only going to have a few days off for Christmas.  And considering that two of those days comprise the weekend, really I only have two free days.  My first day off is the 22nd (Saturday) and I have to return to work on the 26th.  I realize that my complaining may not be justified as others have much tougher work schedules than myself, and may even have to work on Christmas day itself.  What I am trying to explain in this post is that we as Americans take our jobs too seriously.  The French have what they call l'art de vivre (the art of living).  They don't live to work, they work to live.  Every holiday possible, including many we haven't heard of here in the States, will get every employee at least one day off.  Tuesday holidays are a good enough reason to take Monday off and make it a four day weekend (faire le pont).  Some well-meaning capitalists would be outraged at such an attitude.  "Time is money" seems to be the slogan here.  But is money so important?  Our society has become so infatuated with commercialism and keeping one up on our neighbor that while we are more prosperous than even, we are also working harder than ever in order to afford the lifestyle we have become accustomed to living.  I'm not saying it is bad to want to have a good life, but for crying out loud, take some time off and relax a little.  How are you going to enjoy your new toys if you are working 24/7.  Life's too short not to enjoy it a little.  So go out to a movie, take a nap, read a book or kiss a girl (or boy, depending on your gender or sexual orientation).  Live your life, not your job!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-4730674290840100037?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/4730674290840100037/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=4730674290840100037' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4730674290840100037'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4730674290840100037'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2007/12/lart-de-vivre.html' title='L&apos;art de vivre'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-4811296435302690157</id><published>2007-12-05T15:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-05T15:58:09.317-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Am</title><content type='html'>I am not overjoyed.  I am not sad.  I am not eccentric.  I don't like birds, bugs or icecream.  I don't want sugar in my coffee.  I don't have to smile when I'm pleased.  I am not sick.  I am not well.  I'm not here to please you.  I am not here to displease you.  I've never been to Singapore.  I've never killed a man, I've never struck another in anger.  I am not a rock.  I am not an island.  I cannot prevent forest fires.  I am not outgoing.  I am not your mother.  I am not your father.  I am not your conscience.  I am in love.  I am not perfect, and I will not be satisfied until I am.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-4811296435302690157?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/4811296435302690157/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=4811296435302690157' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4811296435302690157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4811296435302690157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2007/12/i-am.html' title='I Am'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-7991058607095655793</id><published>2007-11-16T12:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-16T12:45:55.395-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Blog With A Moral</title><content type='html'>I was just barely studying in a remote corner of the fourth story of a building on campus, when an irresistable wave of sleepiness overcame me.  Since no one else was around and I felt quite secluded, I decided to kick off my shoes, lay back, and enjoy a quick catnap before going to work.  At some point during my slumber I heard two guys walk by.  Apparently the desire to judge and criticize me was just too great, because I heard, as they walked away, "Who does he think he is?  This isn't his house."  First moral to this story, don't judge others.  You never know all the circumstances to a situation, especially a situation you witnessed while walking by on your way to some destination.  I've seen others doing what I did, in much more public places.  I have no problem with that, as long as you are not taking up unjustly amounts of space that others desire to occupy.  Moral two, always give others the benefit of the doubt unless you have a good reason to do otherwise.  It can be hard not to judge others by their appearance, but would you really want others to do the same to you?  What if I'd have been up all night fighting a fire and saving orphans?  And last, but not least, don't be a douchebag.  If you have something you are just dying to say about someone else, have the courage to say it to their face.  If you don't dare say that thing you want to get off of your chest directly to the person concerned, chances are you are making a hypocritical judgment.  "Let he who is without sin first cast a stone."  We all have an obligation, as human beings, to respect those around us.  No matter what position you are in, how famous you are or how much money you make, nothing gives you the right to disrespect someone for no reason at all.  &lt;br /&gt;Join me next time, I will be discussing our moral obligations to trees. . .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-7991058607095655793?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/7991058607095655793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=7991058607095655793' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/7991058607095655793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/7991058607095655793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2007/11/blog-with-moral.html' title='A Blog With A Moral'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-4949203820838038627</id><published>2007-11-15T17:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T17:53:38.247-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Women's Basketball, encore</title><content type='html'>Here I sit once again at women's basketball.  I actually used to like the John M. Huntsman Center, but now that I have spent so many hours here doing something that I detest, I could care less if I never set foot in here again.  That being said, I saw the movie Wristcutters the other day, and I really enjoyed it.  It was very well done and quite amusing.  I was glad that my buddy, let's call him Shmandon, brought my attention to this film.  It was about a dude who "offs" himself after being dumped by his girlfriend and ends up in a world, like this one only crappier and filled with other people who have "offed" themselves.  There he finds out his ex killed herself too, and he goes looking for her.  On the way, he and his Russian friend find a hitchhiker who has come to this place by accident (overdose).  Our hero falls for her, and they end up together in the end.  Sounds cheesy and all, but it was freaking hilarious.  I loved the Russian friend's music (When there is trap, set out for you. . .).  Another movie I recently saw and loved was Reign Over Me.  Don Cheadle was great and I hope that Adam Sandler wins an Oscar for his performance.  So actually this post didn't really have anything to do with women's basketball, it simply described the setting that this blog was written in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-4949203820838038627?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/4949203820838038627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=4949203820838038627' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4949203820838038627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/4949203820838038627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2007/11/womens-basketball-encore.html' title='Women&apos;s Basketball, encore'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-8114989944713228913</id><published>2007-11-03T13:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-03T13:57:16.597-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Utah Women's Basketball</title><content type='html'>Here I sit, waiting for the game to start.  I can't help but yawn, as I was here late last night and early this morning.  I showed up a little over an hour before the game was scheduled to start.  The life of a women's basketball manager is not a glamorous one.  Little thanks and lots of rebuke are in store when one dabbles in a profession like this.  "I get no respect."  You got that one right, Rodney.&lt;br /&gt;Thousands of seats remain empty.  I could yell to my fellow manager down on the floor and he would have no problem hearing me.  He looks almost as excited as I am.  At least I have access to the internet. . .&lt;br /&gt;The games will start momentarily, thank the heavens, I will now have something to occupy my attention.  Two hours of not having to worry about getting chewed out for something that is not my fault.  Two, short, wonderful hours.  The only thing better would be, let's see, to not be here at all?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-8114989944713228913?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/8114989944713228913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=8114989944713228913' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/8114989944713228913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/8114989944713228913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2007/11/utah-womens-basketball.html' title='Utah Women&apos;s Basketball'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-477370116627550248</id><published>2007-10-24T20:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-22T13:54:42.170-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Capri Sun</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lamar.colostate.edu/~hillger/products/capri-sun.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: pointer; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://lamar.colostate.edu/~hillger/products/capri-sun.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have recently rediscovered the delicious flavor of Capri Sun. Now, if you remember the commercials for Capri Sun in the 90's, this liquid beverage turns the drinker into a silvery mercury substance. In the form of this mercury substance, one can move at superhuman speed and can even fly. However, when returning to human form, you always have a skateboard in your hands. Don't ask me why, it is all part of the miracle that is Capri Sun. One friend has expressed his fears that the effects of turning into a mercury blob may have cancerous implications, prostate cancer implications. So while I continue to drink this pleasant fruit flavored drink, I try to avoid turning into anything mercury, cuz I don't want to get prostate cancer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-477370116627550248?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/477370116627550248/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=477370116627550248' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/477370116627550248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/477370116627550248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2007/10/capri-sun.html' title='Capri Sun'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1088008402759863510.post-5167156524693470057</id><published>2007-10-24T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-24T10:59:18.730-07:00</updated><title type='text'>First, and possibly last, blog</title><content type='html'>I am super new to this whole blogging experience, and I don't know why I decided to call my blog Sweaty's Page.  If I remember how to get back to my blog, rest assured that there will be some sweet blogging going on.  Check back to see if my quest to become a legit blogger&lt;br /&gt;succeeds. . .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1088008402759863510-5167156524693470057?l=sweatyspage.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/feeds/5167156524693470057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1088008402759863510&amp;postID=5167156524693470057' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5167156524693470057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1088008402759863510/posts/default/5167156524693470057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sweatyspage.blogspot.com/2007/10/first-and-possibly-last-blog.html' title='First, and possibly last, blog'/><author><name>SweatyShembach</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17009216484382683778</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
