Every Time I Won Free Tickets to Something, Part 1

It was the summer of 1988. As a kid, I was a week or so from starting 7th grade out to Cap. As a nation, we were three weeks from the summer Olympics in Seoul, Korea. As a family, we were in Denver for some reason, probably school shopping or a temple trip.

One thing we did a lot while driving around Denver was listen to 850 KOA news/talk. For the uninitiated, KOA is the 50,000 watt voice of the west. We did not have such things as talk radio in the valley. We were limited to KGIW of Alamosa and KOB out of Albuquerque which supplied us with all the Gloria Estefan and Billy Ocean we could handle.

We were driving around one afternoon and they announced they were giving away tickets. The men’s Olympic basketball team was on a national tour before heading overseas and the seventh of eight stops would be the following night at Denver’s McNichols Arena. 

Every contest has its parameters, and this particular competition was limited to the younger demographic. They wanted to give two tickets to someone 14 and under. I was super into basketball at the time but probably would have never taken the initiative to call on my own. I was an out-of-towner, after all. These city folk certainly weren’t going to give the tickets to a kid from the valley.

But my parents gave me the nudge so I went into Emma’s house and picked up the phone to give it a shot. I don’t remember all the details but I remember being on hold for what seemed like a very long time and occasionally someone would get on and give me an update. The reason why I was holding for so long was because I was going to have to go on the air and tell the hosts why I should get the tickets. I didn’t have a very good answer, just a generic “because I really like basketball” but apparently they weren’t picky because they gave me the information to go down and pick the tickets up at the station the next day. 

One of the main mid-day shows on KOA at the time was a therapist somewhat in the vein of Dr. Laura which wasn’t of particular interest to me but my parents loved it. Anyways, upon arriving at their offices we may have ridden up the elevator with her. I don’t remember exactly how that conclusion was reached but it provided a little bit of fun for the adults to talk about later. 

So my dad and I went to McNichols Arena that night, August 24, 1988. This was the last Olympic team restricted to amateur athletes. The most famous name among them was “The Admiral” David Robinson, who would return four years later as part of the 1992 Dream Team. It was still pretty exciting as these were some of the top collegiate players at the time including Danny Manning of the national champion Kansas Jayhawks.

Their opponent was “NBA all-stars” although that term was used a little loosely. This  wasn’t Magic Johnson and Larry Bird we were talking about. The roster changed depending on the city the game was taking place in, and so this night’s team was heavy on Denver Nuggets and Utah Jazz players. We were treated to a competitive and entertaining game - it went to overtime with the Olympians prevailing 105-103. 

Later out to Cap, I recounted this experience to my new student council peers and basically they thought I was making it up. I guess that’s the way my whole life has been - just a collection of experiences far too fantastic to be believable.

Media of Yesteryear

Part of my childhood went out with the trash today. This stack of old VHS tapes. Of course, it was my plan all along to dispose of these. About three years ago, I started a project to convert all of my old treasured recordings to DVD to save storage space and protect against the day when VCRs are no more. I filled a box full of converted tapes, ready to throw away, but instead I just put it on a shelf. Because I might still need them for something, I told myself. But the truth was that I wasn't ready to toss them just yet.



You see, me and these tapes have been through a lot. Some of them I've had since 1986. A lot of them have been recorded on again and again and again. Sports mostly, but also TV shows and movies. When you were a kid, recordable VHS tapes were scarce. I maybe had two or three that I scored from my dad. But once those were full, what did you do? Figure out what was expendable, and tape over it. If you were a kid with only a few dollars of spending money, you weren't necessarily inclined to use it to acquire new blank tapes. You just recycled and scavenged. And over time I did build up an impressive collection. (I have more that are not pictured here).

One tape features Pee Wee's Big Adventure and the made-for-TV classic Ollie Hopnoodle's Haven of Bliss. Another tape has the 1991 and 1992 Grammy Awards. I have a lot of old Broncos games. I have the 1990 World Series (in its entirety) spread out over three tapes. Now it is all preserved on DVD (Pee Wee excepted).

So I figured if I took a picture, it would make the parting a little less sorrowful. I suppose with modern technology, I really don't still need any of this on VHS or DVD. Because it's all probably on YouTube.

As a Child, I Refused These

Cottage cheese. I never liked it as a kid, I don't like it now, and I can't imagine that I ever will. A lot of people treat it like it's a perfectly normal thing to eat. I don't get it at all. You can put it in the lasagna but that's about it for me. So gross.

Cooked spinach. I once read a Garfield cartoon that summed up how I feel about spinach. He's sitting at a table with a bowl of spinach. He says, "Spinach - it looks bad. . . it smells bad. . . it tastes bad." And then he dumps it out with a splat and adds, "It even sounds bad." That pretty much sums up how I feel about it. It's like eating wet toilet paper. Raw spinach is tolerable, however. I'll give you that much.

Tomatoes. I did not like tomatoes in any form as a child - unless it was tomato sauce. Not stewed, not chopped, not fresh, not in a salad, not on a sandwich, not on a house, not with a mouse, now you let me be! My heart was softened around the age of 18 and I decided to try them with an open heart and an open mind. And I became converted. Now a salad or a taco isn't the same without a tomato. I did, however, marry a woman who gives me her tomatoes because she doesn't like them.

Green chiles. As a kid, I was always on the lookout for some suspicious dot of green slime in the food. What the heck is this? I'm over it now, although I have to coach my own kids through their green issues.

Mushrooms. Maybe the worst thing that nature has ever devised. Raw, cooked, whole, sliced, chopped - I don't care. No thank you.

Cauliflower. My parents never fed us broccoli, but they do love to do the cooked cauliflower with cheese sauce. My senses just couldn't handle anything about it - the smell, the sight, the taste, the texture. I'm okay with it raw with a little ranch dressing, however.

Eggs. My parents will tell you that I stopped eating eggs after I questioned how they could tell which eggs had chicks in them and which didn't. And maybe that's true. But I can remember having a plate of egg concoction before me at the age of about four and thinking, "you know what - this is kind of disgusting." And I didn't eat eggs for probably 12 years. I've come around a little bit over the years, but I still balk at any type of hard-boiled egg and pretty much just take them scrambled.

Fish. We never really had fish growing up (other than visits to Skipper's), so that's good for me. I went on a mission to Washington, where salmon is kind of big, and I tolerated it while I was there. I still tend to steer clear of seafood whenever possible. I can do fish and chips at a restaurant, but even then I barely make it to the finish line. It's just a little too fishy.

Ranch Dressing. For some reason, I always steered clear of this "white" dressing - not sure why. Maybe I encountered some blue cheese by mistake? As a kid, I always stuck to the orange-ish dressings - thousand island, french, etc. I think I was nearly an adult by the time I discovered the wonders of ranch dressing, and I haven't turned back since.

Stuffing. This is one thing that never went on my Thanksgiving plate and still doesn't. I don't get it. Soggy bread crumbs with onions and junk? Pass.

Where Was I When

So last Friday was the 17th anniversary of the O.J. Simpson car chase. Some guys on this podcast I was listening to earlier this week were doing the whole "where were you?" thing regarding that evening.

I do remember that night - my story is kind of boring, though. I was at home, a high school graduate of about three weeks, watching the whole thing unfold on television on a split-screen with the NBA Finals.

That's not the main point of this post, though. I started wondering after thinking about the O.J. thing - what are the other significant news events where I can remember exactly where I was when I heard about it?

Challenger space shuttle explosion. This is probably the first significant one I remember. I was in the fourth grade and we had just settled into our chairs in Mr. Towers' room after lunch when he told us the bad news. It was significant to me because astronomy was one of my big interests at the time, and Mr. Towers was an astronomy buff - I attended many a "star party" thrown by that man. We had been talking a lot about the Challenger thing and Christa McAuliffe, the teacher in space, leading up to the launch. I think there were probably some exciting Challenger-related classroom activities planned for the afternoon of January 28, 1986. So it was pretty shocking for a 10-year-old kid to find out - uh, that thing we were so excited about happening - well, it just had the worst possible ending. Interesting detail of this story is that Mr. Towers found out the news from my dad, who I guess had seen it on TV and gone down to the school to deliver the bad news. How times have changed. . .

Magic Johnson HIV positive. This one is kind of random, but I do remember pulling up to the house after returning from yet another trip to Alamosa, when the DJ mentioned between songs on KOB-FM out of Albuquerque that Magic had the AIDS virus and was retiring from the NBA. Happy, smiling, Magic Johnson? AIDS? What? But he's still around so I guess that worked out okay in the end.

Death of Ezra Taft Benson. I was delivering newspapers early morning at the time. I put the bundled stack in the car, picked the first one up, and there it was, below the fold on the front page of the Pueblo Chieftain.

Death of Howard W. Hunter. I was in the laundromat of the MTC in Provo when a member of the MTC Presidency got on the intercom and announced that President Hunter had passed away. We got on a plane a few days later for Seattle, and on my second day in the mission, I watched the funeral at the Silverdale Washington stake center.

Death of Gordon B. Hinckley. I might as well throw this in as long as we're doing the prophets, although it's kind of a lame story. I actually didn't hear that President Hinckley had passed away until two days later, and I believe I got the news from an LDS Living e-mail. I had to look up to see what I was doing at the time that woud have left me in the dark for 48 hours. I was working at a client, without internet access, and I believe I was fighting a cold. So that makes sense, I guess.

World Trade Center Attack. I was in my last semester at BYU. Elizabeth had a temporary job at the BYU employment office, so she had already left. I was at home in our Wymount apartment, getting ready for class and probably thinking about our third anniversary date for that evening - we had a sitter lined up. Elizabeth calls and tells me to turn on the television because we were under attack. And I was all "what?" and so I turned it on, I think just before one of the towers collapsed.

Assassination of JFK. Well, let's see, I was a premortal spirit and I was attending a farewell service for this guy Richard, who was going down to be born that afternoon, when this girl runs in and tells us that the president was shot. . . seriously, what were we doing?

Well, this post didn't turn out to be as interesting as I thought it might. So, sorry about that. On a positive note, I just ate a delicious orange.

Tall Tales

As a young boy, I had a friend who was pretty good at storytelling. For some reason, I still remember a couple of the best ones.

One of our funnest summer activities was playing baseball. One time he told me the history of his baseball. Apparently, his neighbor across the street had been a major league umpire back in the 1920s and had picked up a stray baseball after a game and saved it for 50 years until he bequeathed it to my friend. And this was the ball we played with back behind his house.

Another time he was telling me about a dog he had once owned, an exemplary canine. He used to hitch his wagon to the dog and have the dog pull him around. Then one day a guy in a Ferrari came by the house and wanted to race or something. And although it was close, the dog did in fact outrun the Ferrari while pulling my friend in a wagon.

Even at seven or eight or however old we were, I think my BS Meter was pretty well calibrated. I didn't call my friend on it at the time, but I even at that age I could detect how illogical the stories were. Dude, I've known you practically your whole life. Wouldn't you have told me about this race-dog before now?!? And why don't we go over and visit your umpire friend who has retired to the middle of nowhere? Maybe he can regale us with stories of the Babe.

I'm not sure why I still remember these stories, but they sure are funny.

What Gives? or The Times, They are a Changin'

As a kid, I played little league. I also went to birthday parties. And later on, I did graduate from high school.

My kids go to birthday parties. And they play little league or other kid sports. And we have just passed graduation season. I've noticed that things don't seem to be the same.

It seems that a typical birthday party nowadays requires that the host(ess) provide some sort of gift bag filled with goodies comparable in quality to what you might find at an Oriental Trading Co. clearance sale. Hey, we do it too whenever we throw a b-day party for the kiddies. . . I'm just saying that I never remember getting or giving any parting gift when I was jamming on the birthday party circuit back in the 1980's. I'm just wondering who invented this tradition and how it became birthday law.

My kids aren't quite as sporty as I am - my son played soccer when he was four and HATED it. It was soccer, so I can't totally blame him. My daughter is currently playing t-ball. One thing I've noticed in both cases is the overabundance of snacks. There is a snack after every practice and every game. The parents of team members take turns bringing the snacks week after week.

I played five years of little league and can never remember having a team-organized snack. Not after practice, not after games. I don't even remember being provided with water. It was a long time ago, so maybe I'm mistaken, but it seems like if you required sustenance after the game, your parents were stopping at the Loaf and Jug on the way home.

I can remember one time - one of the moms told us that if we won our game, she would buy us all a pop. At the time, this seemed incredibly generous - wow, a pop! However, in the context of 2009, it seems rather stingy - "I'll give you a snack, alright - but only if you win your &*^%$ baseball game!"

I guess we were just tougher in those days. If we got hungry at practice, we ate gravel or a piece of our shirt. And then at the games, we would just eat the other team.

I suppose the snack concept was invented around the same time as the concept of a "soccer mom". I'm not sure if this might be one of those chicken-or-the-egg dilemmas.

Lastly, what is the deal with graduation parties? A couple of weeks ago one of my co-workers spent the entire weekend going around to about a half-dozen celebrations. I'm quite certain that these didn't exist when I graduated high school. I didn't have one - other than maybe some relatives having some grub over at the house. And I'm not even sure I had that much. And none of my friends had a party. At least, not that I was invited to. I don't even think I knew graduation parties existed at the time. But it seems pretty commonplace now to open up the house to everyone you've ever known.

No one ever threw a party for me! And I've been the good guy!!!!

A Man, His Wife, and the Vacuum Salesman

Elizabeth dropped a bomb on me the other day when I came home: she had interacted with someone who wanted to send someone over to sell us a vacuum cleaner.

She said it was just for a demo and a short survey. But she knew, and I knew, that it was going to be a sales pitch. I'm really not in the mood for sales pitches. In the past year, I've had to beat off two timeshare vacation resort pitches, two window pitches, and a siding pitch. Only one of those was actually solicited by us, as in please come by and tell us about your product. The others were just people asking us to sit through their presentation - no pressure! You don't have to buy anything! Serious! We just want to tell you about our product!

So first of all, there wasn't a set time. We had pretty much forgotten about the possibility of a fun visitor and settled in to watch TV. And then the doorbell rings at 8:45, and it's Mr. Clean. I thought that was a bit late to be making sales calls without a set appointment. Back when I was a missionary and in the business of calling on people, we would generally not drop in on people after about 8:45 or so.

Then the guy butchers my last name, although that may have been as much the fault of whoever it was canvassing the neighborhood earlier. So we put our evening on hold for this guy and his short survey (not really, though - all parties to this knew exactly what was coming). So he hauls in a couple of large boxes and begins to tell us all about Silver King and their super-duper cleaner, the Blue Max.

I think our sales guy was a competitive speed talker before he got into vacuum sales. He literally flew through his little binder without taking more than a half-dozen breaths. I think he was just really excited to get onto the demonstration portion. He showed us all the bells and whistles and then asked to see our vacuum cleaner so that he could show us what a piece of crap it was compared to the Blue Max. And the point was well made - our well-used Hoover, of which we are the second owners, doesn't pick up nearly as much dirt and grime as the Blue Max. Big surprise.

I was impressed with the capabilities of the Blue Max, but I never had any intention of purchasing one. Not before, not during, not after. Would I like to have one? Absolutely! It really does a good job. But there is a long list of other things I would like to have for my home as well, and the Blue Max will just have to go on the list with everything else.

Apparently they are available from the factory at anytime for $3,200. The sales guy tried to get us to buy one on a payment plan which I calculated in my head to be about the same as from the factory. After I said no, he dropped the price. I said no again, and he dropped it again. In a matter of about 10 minutes, he reduced his offer by roughly $1,000. It pays to say no a couple of times, if you are planning to buy something like that. Sales guys are so weaselly like that.

I didn't really like our sales guy. One thing that bugs me is that they spout off a lot of stuff that may be true, but probably isn't. He claimed that Kirbys only have a 2-year warranty and that it is illegal to use a traditional upright vacuum in restaurants and hospitals. Sure it is, bud.

Anyways, we'll stick with our regular vacuum cleaner for now, which is suitable for 90% of all American households. (See, I did it - I just made that up! I could totally be in sales, if someday I am desperate enough to do that for a living.)

I did finally get to fill out the short survey, at the very end, after we had rejected him, and he stood there sulking and tapping his foot. It must be a tough existence to have to try and talk people into spending a wad of money that they don't even have.

Pinewood Derby Prep

I'm pretty indifferent about the Pinewood Derby. I didn't care that much when I was a Cub Scout, and I don't care much more now that my son is in Cub Scouts. I mean, I don't hate it, but I'm not one of those dads out in the garage plotting how to build the best car. Or one of the dads writing a book or creating a website on how to best win the Pinewood Derby. My boy probably deserves better, but that's just me - I can't help it. I'm an accountant, not an engineer. Someday when he needs help balancing his checkbook, though. . .

Anyways, he got his car at the last pack meeting in November and has asked a couple of times since then, "When are we going to build the Pinewood Derby car, dad?"

"Uhhh. . ."

So I told him probably Christmas break. And so, today, very nearly the end of Christmas break, we finally pulled it out and started the process. I don't really have any woodworking equipment to speak of, so that makes it a little tougher. Not that I'm a woodworker by any means. We made the cuts using a jigsaw and I demonstrated some unsafe woodworking procedures to my son. The car came out a little chawed up, but that's what sandpaper is for, right? Actually, some of the chaws might be a little much for sandpaper to correct.

I will say this - so far, the car looks as if he did all of the work himself.