An Open Letter to My Younger Self

With the amazing technological advances being made every day, I’m positive time travel will be possible very soon. To prepare for this inevitability, I have drafted a letter to Young Lance to share what I have learned along the way.

Dear Young Lance,

I know it must be strange getting a letter from your future self. Trust me, it’s a little strange writing it. As I write this, I (you) am 31 years old. I know, trippy isn’t it? There is no way for me to know how old you are when you get this, so I will try and cover all the bases.

First, let me give you a little primer on what your life will be like in the year 2007. It may not be what you expect, but it’s pretty awesome. Unfortunately, you do not become a professional basketball player, which might come as a shock if you are reading this between the ages of 10 and 14. After about 14 it starts to become pretty clear where your future as an athlete is headed. Also, I should mention that you do not become a juvenile delinquent either, which should come as a surprise to your (our) parents. Actually, you are a professional writer at a tech company in Austin. You probably already feel the tug of writing, so that may not come as a surprise. Keep at it, it serves us well. You work in a cubicle though, but it’s not as bad as it seems.

Now let’s get to the important stuff. If you haven’t noticed already, girls can be quite a distraction. Leave them alone until you get to college (SFA, by the way). It’s doubtful you’ll listen to me, even though nobody is better suited to give you advice, but the girls worth knowing don’t come along until after prom. Sorry dude.

Chances are you’ve already met Craig. Keep him close, he’s one of just a handful of truly steadfast friends you’ll come across. He’s an average basketball player, but it might do you well to teach him the difference between personal fouls and flagrant fouls. When he asks if you want to go to Big Bend for Spring Break, say yes. When he asks if you want to try rollerblading, say no.

Love on your grandparents because by the time you’re my age they’re all gone.

Don’t sweat the SATs. SFA has really reasonable standards and it’s perfectly suited for you. Don’t do the potluck roommate thing though. A whole year is a long time to bunk with Charlie the Ambiguously Gay Roommate. Don’t bother with those criminal justice classes either, all they accomplish is delaying graduation by a semester. When a girl named Donna asks you about some class you have together, play it cool because she’s the one.

Finally, you’ll never “feel” like a grown-up. You (we) haven’t outgrown comic books, cartoons or video games and I think that’s a good thing.

I hope this has been helpful.

Sincerely,
Old Lance

Yet Another Grassmick

The Grassmick family welcomed its newest member yesterday. Baby Anderson joins Jonathan, Melissa, Emma, Johnny, Annie, Sleepy, Dopy, Niner...

Congratulations guys.

History in the Making

Everyone fortunate enough to be watching the Dallas/St. Louis game on Sunday were witness to one of the plays of the decade. It's been a long time coming, but this makes suffering through the days of Anthony, Randall, Quincy, Ryan, Chad, Vinnie and Drew worth it.

Thoughts on the NFL after week two

OK, am I the only one who is tired of seeing Reggie Bush on every commercial? I know, Peyton is everywhere also, but at least he has done something. I cannot remember a time when an athlete was hyped so much before he did anything (maybe Tiger, and obviously that panned out). Yes, he was part of a Cinderella story last year, but now the clock has struck midnight and Bush has turned back into the too flashy, undersized back that the Texans passed on in the draft (they are beginning to look pretty smart now that Mario Williams is coming of age).

We should all thank the Packers for taking down two of our NFC east rivals in the first two games. I still think the Packers are not that good, but if they can win games like these last two they will make the playoffs. By the way, wasn't that TD pass by Romo as he was going down to his knees Favre-esk? Tony, like Brett, looks like he really loves the game. I like watching guys like that.

Cleveland Browns Crap! Just when I thought we were destined for the #1 pick in next year's draft y'all gotta go and hang half a century on the Bengals. Fortunately, our pick ought to still be pretty good because even after scoring 51 they still almost lost the game. Brady Quinn better get pretty comfortable on the bench for a while.

The Bengals are well on their way to returning to their rightful place as the "Bungles."

Aren't you glad that you ended up with the second pick in your fantasy draft and someone else picked LT?

Lastly, I'll say my piece about spy-gate, or tape-gate, or whatever kind of gate people are calling it. First of all, when are we going to stop tacking "gate" onto the end of every scandal? In 100 years if the President sends men to steal documents from the Four Seasons are they going to refer to the scandal as Four Seasons-Gate? Or from then on will all scandals end in "seasons" rather that "gate?" Anyway, I think the league was too soft on the Patriots. Obviously the Pats were cheating to gain an edge. If they got nothing from it they would not have risked punishment by doing it. If I can recall correctly, the Patriots did not dominate in any of their Super Bowl victories or on the way to those Super Bowls. It seems like there were several occasions when it came down to a field goal. If they were spying then as well maybe they got just enough of an edge to win by a field goal. Sure they were a great team, but they just needed that extra edge to win as often as they did. It reminds me of the arguments some disillusioned Barry Bonds fans try to use to change the subject. Was he a Hall-of-Famer before he took steroids? Of course he was. Did the extra boost of power and longevity allow him to break Hank Aaron's record? I think we all know the answer to that. Steroids turned several of Bonds' would-be warning track fly outs into homers just like knowing the opposing team's defensive calls allowed the Pats to eek out a victory from time to time.

Business Time

I heard a reference to this song on Sports Center the other night so I think it is pretty main stream. But in case you have not heard it, here it is. I'm sure you will not be able to get the tune out of your head, especially when it is business time.

With Friends Like This

I spent most of my adolescence wasting time with my friend Craig. Our activities rarely extended beyond playing basketball, reading comic books or playing video games. But sometimes boredom got the best of us and we would try something different.

On one such occasion I decided to give Craig's new Rollerblades a try. Looking back, that he even owned a pair of Rollerblades seems ridiculous, but whatever. I walked out into his driveway and strapped them bad boys on. Once my feet were adorned with said footwear, Craig helped me take position in the middle of the street in front of his house. This particular street, Spanish Trail, seemed like an ideal place to stage my first-ever Rollerblade mission. Starting in front of Craig's house it was pretty straight and, best of all, downhill.

Standing on the crest of the hill, staring down Spanish Trail, I was wearing the following: a t-shirt, shorts and Rollerblades. I guess it was youthful hubris, but that this could turn out to be anything but my finest hour never crossed my mind.

With a healthy shove from Craig, I was off. I started out slow but before long I was picking up speed. I started drifting to the left and that's when I realized that Craig had left 'turning' out of his tutorial. He must have remembered too, because at about that time I heard him yelling behind me, "It's like skiing! Turn like you're skiing!"

By this time I was barrelling down the street, veering toward the drainage ditch and Craig's instructions seemed to come at just the right time. I know how to ski, so I shifted my weight, attempting a hockey-style stop. Bound by the laws of physics, the polycarbonate wheels were unable to maintain contact with the street and pretty quickly I was horizontal, flying through the air.

These are the things my brain processed:

1. "Craig has never been skiing, why would he know how to stop?"

2. "Wow, I'm going faster than I thought."

3. "I am about the hit the street, which from this new perspective, can best be described as an asphalt cheese grater."

4. "Mother $@#% that hurts!"

5. "Is that #$%&@ laughing at me?"

And I was right, he was laughing at me. I bled a lot that day and it was the last time I ever roller bladed. It was also the last time I took advice from Craig unconditionally. That was only one of at least seven different occasions I almost died as a result of something Craig and I were doing.

We live in different towns now.

Oh My God What's Your Name My Name's Lyle

I couldn't resist making this lyric from Lyle Lovett's song "Redneck Woman" the title of this post, but it has little to do with what comes next. If you are not familiar with Lyle's music, it difficult to categorize so I won't bore you with an explanation. But I came across this YouTube clip that I wanted to share here. The song is called "Flyin' Shoes" and is Lovett's cover of the song "To Live's to Fly", written by Townes Van Zandt, which explains the images in the video. So, I encourage you to take some time away from whatever you are doing and give this a listen. If your day does not improve by a factor of 10, I will refund every dime. Enjoy.