Fame Comes Swiftly On Another's Name

A few weeks ago, a reader requested that we do with Taylor Swift's songs what we did with Rascal Flatts'. Unfortunately (or perhaps that should be fortunately?), Taylor Swift hasn't written enough songs of her own to make up a long enough or half-way sensible post. So, we decided to combine her song titles with those of the man upon whose name she built her fame, Tim McGraw.

Tell me why, because just to see you smile I'd come in with the rain from outside and stay forever and always. I guess you don't love me anymore because I've got the cowboy in me. My next thirty years can come not a moment too soon. I'm a real good man and you got the wrong man and that won't change. The way I loved you was fearless so stay beautiful while I cry teardrops on my guitar. Who says grown men don't cry? Tim McGraw? Well he's just a picture to burn because our song is a walk down memory lane. Our love story was the best day with a place in this world where the green grass grows down on the farm. Give it to me straight. I still think you belong with me, but it's your love so you can take it with you. Just please remember me.

---

Hey Stephen,

I see the eyes of a woman everywhere and I'd lie if I said I'm smiling. You're my best friend, so please take me away to welcome to the club. Just don't mention Memphis or try to comfort me. I didn't ask and she didn't say why we said goodbye. I guess one of these days when she wakes up she'll realize what she left behind and she'll try to cook up refried dreams. Ain't that the way it always ends?

- Angel Boy

Rascally Love

You Help Me Remember The Day Before You Walk the Llama Backwards and I Can Almost Love You Out Loud but Life Is a Highway so Me And My Gang are Fast Cars And Freedom to Mayberry. My Wish and My Worst Fear are What Hurts The Most is Words I Couldn't Say and I Breakaway From Time To Time to Stand This Everyday Love.

Too Good Is True 'cuz When The Sand Runs Out I've been Waiting All My Life to Love Another Day and I Was Born To Bless The Broken Road. Some Say you're Better Now but I Feel Bad I'm Moving On.

But She Goes All the Way. Her Secret Smile is a Long Slow Beautiful Dance that Still Feels Good and I Melt into her Skin. The Glory of Life is One Good Love and These Days This Everyday Love Takes Me There.

So, While You Loved Me I was The Man In Love With You. But now you're Bubba's Girl and Head Over Heels so Shine On. Here's To You. How Strong Are You Now?

Footnotes

While in an empty library with a couple of (female) friends, I improvised a few lines to Brad Paisley's Ticks. When I got to class, I punched out the following. Enjoy.

Every time you read your book
In this quiet library
Give that page another look
Cause me to reverie
And on the cover there of your text
I see my favorite author
I'd like to see what you read next
And get to know more

Hey that gives me an idea
Let's get out of this class
Walk down into the basement
And find a place to sit

Cause I'd like to see you out in the biographies
I'd like to kiss you way back by the quotes
I'd like to walk you through a shelf of dictionaries
And I'd like to check your footnotes

I know the perfect little path
Out in these books I used to read
Don't worry babe they've got some Longfello
And the life of Abbot and Costello
I'd hate to waste a calm like this
It'll be safe you wait and see
The only thing that interrupts this bliss
When we get there is me

You know every guy in here today
Would like to take you home
But I've got way more class than them
And that ain't what I want

Cause I'd like to see you out in the biographies
I'd like to kiss you way back by the quotes
I'd like to walk you through a shelf of dictionaries
And I'd like to check your footnotes

Ooo-ooo-ooh you never know where one might be
And ooo-ooo-oooh theres lots of places that are hard to read

I'd like to see you out in the biographies
I'd like to kiss you way back by the quotes
I'd like to walk you through a shelf of dictionaries
And I'd like to check your footnotes

Oh I'd sure like to check your footnotes

Fashion #4: Yeah, I wear a speedo.

People like athletes. They are a tad like airline pilots, military personnel and Carrie Underwood in that few have anything negative to say about them and their good faith and humor is almost universally assumed. Some of my less athletically minded friends have considered introducing themselves as athletes to girls, just to get more positive attention. When asked how he would answer an inquiry about what sport he plays, one of my more innovative friends answered he would brush it off with a "you know, the one with the ball and the points that requires great feats of physical prowess." Yeah, that one.

It may be because people like to watch those who are in shape perform at their best. Or maybe it's just that people are awed and intrigued by all those impressive feats. It could also be that people like the thrill of a being in a cheering stadium, the shocked feeling of seeing someone stomped to a pulp, or the tingling butterflies they get in their tummies when a hush falls over the crowd at the climax of a game.

So when people ask me what I do, I bring up my best feature first. I confess that the first thing I tell them is that I am a swimmer. It usually works well for a few moments. The other person is impressed that I would devote so much time to swimming back and forth in a body of water with no one chasing me and they ask about how many people I've seen drown.

Then comes the test. There is no foolproof profession or extra-curricular activity. Lawyers may be wealthy, smart and well dressed, but their ethics put them in the same category as the smaller members of the Mustelidae family. Plumbers may work hard and have strong bodies, but their salaries and close proximity with "ewwey" substances makes their work imperfect. For extra-curricular activities, members of the debate team may be intelligent and have good prospects for the future, but their meager social skills and utter nerdiness balance out these qualities. Jocks may compensate for the deficiencies of debaters, but they carry their own liabilities.

Turns out, there are two types of people in the world. The ones who ask a swimmer what his favorite stroke is and the ones who ask if you wear a Speedo. Invariably, on a bad day, it will be the latter. The conversation usually goes like this:

"Do you actually wear a Speedo?"

"Well, if you mean Speedo brand, yes." [note, the question is left unanswered]

"Whew, for a second I though you were, uh, one of those kind of people..." [laughs]

"Well, I kind of am. I prefer to call it a competitive suit." [gulps]

"Wait; say what?"

But for a swimmer, wearing a suit isn't a fashion statement. It's a tool for speed. The electrician doesn't remove a pair of pliers for its aesthetic appeal; rather he worries about how well it will snip a wire. Similarly, we swimmers are not concerned about our apparel - until, of course, a friend asks the fateful question.

My new approach is to make like Billary and avoid the question entirely. I talk about how full body suits are becoming the norm for professional athletes (you know, the clothes that Jessica Alba wears to parties?) and start to talk about the greats in our activity. Heck, I'll even get into a conversation about my sister's music before I answer the speedo question straight up.

But just because we're athletes doesn't mean we never think about how we look. Just stop at a finish sometime and watch the guys and girls adjust their hair after a race and we most definitely still care about our tan lines.

Fashion #1: Halter Top Ohio

The voters have had their say and, unlike the Democratic Party, we even counted input from Michigan and Florida. Lots of great ideas and a few perfectly good ones were floated around and the general consensus seems to be that FCN and rFCN should blog about fashion for the rest of the week. Why a bunch of guys should choose this topic to write about and why "fashion" is such a pressing issue is as elusive to us as Meagan Fox's beauty, but we have never let lack of understanding keep us from expressing ourselves and we aren't about to start now. Fashion you proposed, fashion you voted and fashion it is.

I was on vacation in Indiana. The reason why my family chose this state over the plethora of others with better weather to spend a week of our leisure time eludes me at this moment, but I've heard it may have had something to do with friends. Regardless, we couldn't wait to get out of Indiana (even Gary is pretty bad, despite rampant rumors that the "town that knew me when" is "the only place that can light my face") so we packed ourselves into a car and drove across a slow moving and very dirty looking river into Ohio.

Once across, we found the only fun thing in Ohio: an amusement park full of nausea inducing rides and cotton candy (there's also an airplane museum, which is ironic given that the first thing to fly from Ohio was an export).

I don't remember too much of what happened at the amusement park but I did endure a very moist rendition of the "Submarine Adventure" which pretty much consisted of dousing a cart full of paying customers with frigid water a la Taylor Swift. Soaked to the skin and feeling about as proud as Kellie Pickler after a trivia quiz, I marched through the park looking for more thrills.

That's when fashion enters this story. See, I knew you were getting impatient; sometimes you have to wait through an elaborate set up and a few references to cute country crooners.

A normal looking guy who carried himself as if he thought he were buff walked up to me and said in his best Brady Quinn voice: "Were you eying my girlfriend?"

I looked at the newcomer with surprise. I'd never seen him before and I certainly didn't remember his girlfriend. "Who?"

"You passed a girl a minute ago...she was wearing a pink halter top. I don't like how you looked at her." The Quinn clone was trying to start a fight.

"Good sir," I answered, trying hard to avoid an English accent, "I've passed about twenty women in the last minute. It is quite possible-" My words were cut short by a clear image behind my questioner. Not twenty feet away was a young woman in the most hideous pink halter top I'd ever seen, and I've seen some pretty hideous halter tops. She wasn't particularly awful looking - in fact she was downright ordinary - but her poor fashion choice detracted from any of her natural good looks. When people looked toward her they didn't see a girl, they saw a bright pink top.

"What?" The Quinn clone had followed my gaze and was seething.

"Look mister," I said, growing some nerve, "you are a pretty dodgy boyfriend, you know that? First, you can't stand anyone looking sideways at your girl when you should view it as a big compliment. You mitigate your own manhood in an overzealous effort to stand up for her and upset the tenuous equanimity of others (me specifically) in the process. Second - don't interrupt me - second, you are a terrible boyfriend for not getting your girl something better to wear. Subpar is the nicest adjective I can think of to describe the outfit and even that doesn't begin to approach the horrendous attire she has chosen and you have allowed, by silent consent or otherwise. The fact that she is halfway good looking does nothing to vitiate her abysmal attire."

Only when I'd finished my monologue did I realize that the drop zone siren had sounded over my words and rendered my remonstrations incomprehensible. My friend who was standing next me shook her head as a warning and I rethought my retort.

"Look man, I didn't look at your girl. If I did, I'm sorry; I didn't mean to. Hey, have a cotton candy on me..." This time my words were heard loud and clear. My new version worked wonders as my accuser's face transformed and he eagerly grabbed the Lincoln I extended his way.

"Hey, no hard feelings bro." He took the money and left, leaving me wet, cold, scarred by the image of his terribly dressed girlfriend and in Ohio. I was out five bucks, but I had a story worth a lot more. And maybe, just maybe, those few dollars would go toward improving the wardrobe of that poor girl.

"A gentle answer turns away wrath but a harsh word stirs up anger." ~Proverbs 15:1

Music Video Melange

I detest treadmills. Although I run regularly on rubberized asphalt, packed dirt, turf and, yes, really hard cement, something about putting my full, unrestrained weight on a thin strip of textured plastic while running at speeds in excess of 10 miles per hour is unsettling. I'm afraid I'll fly off the back like a bad Schick Quattro Titanium ad or step on the strip of unmoving platform and twist my ankle. I feel like a spoiled horse on a hot walker, high stepping for my owners beat. I feel like an experiment.

My coaches see treadmill workouts as excellent pace work and the holy grail of cross-training. They advise a liberal dose of machine running, especially when the weather outdoors is not conducive to performance-level athletic training.

The local gym is a friendly place that, at this time of year, is busier than an anthill in the fall. Most guys who work out head straight to the weight rooms after saying "hi" to Shirley, the front desk attendant. Most women go to the cardio equipment (including the treadmills) and start marching. On a good day, there will be more women in the cardio section than on the first life boat off the Titanic. Social and exercise psychologists have tried unsuccessfully for years to determine what draws the female gender so exclusively to treadmills, but the research is as of yet inconclusive.

In an effort to encourage male use of the treadmills (and thus collect a hefty check from the Surgeon General) the gym has kindly placed a bank of televisions in front of the machines presumably so that we can be entertained as we pound off the pounds. Unlike the TVs at BestBuy, these units are tuned to several different channels, designed to reflect the demographics of those watching. That is, they are all tuned to various editions of ESPN.

The other day the gym broke from the unspoken rule and put one of the sets on CMT, Country Music Television. Like most treadmill runners, I listen to my own tunes when I run; something motivating, with a quick beat and a happy disposition. My current running playlist includes Nickelback and Avril Lavigne, but I'll sometimes throw in some 90s dance music like Madonna, Cascada and Whitney Houston. It's music I would never listen to under less calorie intensive circumstances, but that pushes me toward faster times on the otherwise stimulus-free treadmill.

Without sound, music videos are difficult to understand. Why is the attractive blond swinging a bat into a nice car? Why does the fat guy dance around? What's with the old guy?

By far the most disturbing thing to watch is Sugarland's "Stay" a music video commonly thought to be about requited love and a woman who doesn't want her man to leave to see another woman (although I maintain that it's a song about a meddlesome mother-in-law). In the back of the viewers mind is the pervasive thought that any man leaving Jennifer Nettles is an utter buffoon. But if you haven't seen the music video, I don't want to ruin it for you. I have embedded it below for your viewing pleasure:



How can she sing so well while crying so hard? How can anyone produce that many tears to a simple guitar and organ accompaniment?

Imagine watching that muted while running in the fourth mile of a six mile distance workout with Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend" playing in your ears. Because that is exactly what happened to me. Lavigne tackles the same moral and social quandary as Sugarland, but from a completely opposite perspective. The conflict causes a stunning confusion.

While tears are flowing on screen and rosary beads clutched tighter for prayer, the sound in my ears tells me to go away. The girl on screen is resigned, the girl in my MP3 player is taking control. The girl on screen is wearing white to Lavigne's black.

Maybe the conflict was a good thing because it got me thinking about something other than how much treadmills scare me. Then someone changed the channel. Arizona was playing Illinois and the Wildcat's star was having a big game. My player started on something from Nickelback and I continued running.

Kato, FCN; FCN, Kato

I am writing to you now, not from a cluttered and abused Windows-encumbered terminal, nor from a white, overpriced Macintosh. Nor, faithful few, am I writing this by hand and giving it to some unmentioned scribe, an unsung Nichomachea whose glib fingers and slow mind transcribe better than they imagine. Rather, I type to you through a new intermediary, a new mechanical companion whose mission is as sombre as it is repetitive and who has more zeros and ones in his head than any living human being (except, maybe, Vinton Cerf.)

FCN, meet Kato (not like the think tank; that's spelled with a "C" you libertarian illiterate), a Linux-powered notebook with a great personality and killer looks. Steve, you may recall, was my old personal computing machine who made FCN notoriety for not having any drivers and for making unique and unexpected noises when called on to work harder. Kato is similarly situated, in that it takes great computer know-how to install drivers on Linux and I’d just as soon listen to the system beeps and look at a blurry screen as mess with a command line terminal.

Kato does have an amazing personality. In fact, she told me the other day that she needed to be connected to a power source by notifying me with a subtle facial expression (actually, it was an small icon in the corner of the screen, but it was subtle). Kato has also placed well on objective standards of looks, winning best of class against many other similarly situated laptops.

But Kato’s real winning points are all found under the lid. For the size of her brain, Kato is super intelligent and can do abstract mathematical calculations rapidly and with stylish grace. She is also very communicative, able to network with others quickly and often without their knowing it. Kato is also virtually impervious to viruses and, though she has trouble having fun through any of the popular PC games, she stays healthy and fast. Kato even did the photo editing above using GIMP, a major upgrade over MS Paint.

Can you tell I’m infatuated? Just watching the little cursor blink in the command terminal is enough to get me going and on more than one occasion I have put on her screen saver as a stress reliever.

In fact, I even wrote some lyrics, to be sung to the tune of George Strait’s “How ‘Bout Them Cowgirls” about Kato:

I felt the rush of the Windows operating system
And I've seen first-hand Macintosh
And the motherboard
I've Criss-crossed down to nVIDIA
And Vista via XP and 2000
Think I've seen it all
And all I can say is


Chorus:
How 'bout that Linux
Boys ain't it somethin'
Sure are some proud distros
And you can't tell them nothin'
And I tell you right now
May just be seven wonders of this big, old round world
But how 'bout that Linux.

OK, I’ll stop. Everyone, say hello to Kato. And say goodbye to Steve, who, by the way, is sobbing on the curb like an abandoned woman and is about to Let Himself Go. Off with the old, on with the new, eh?

Pop Quiz #4

Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls please clear your desk of all notebooks, papers and digital assistants and prepare yourselves for an FCN Pop Quiz! You may, of course, keep your computer on, just don't click on the answer hyperlinks until you've answered all the questions. That includes you, Adrialien; you may be outside the country, but it's still no fair clicking on the hyperlinks until after taking the quiz. Simply select the best solution you can, maybe scratch a notation on a pad of paper to signify your decision and force a modicum of honesty and look at the bottom of the post for the answers.

1) Who is Shinzo Abe?

a) Japanese Businessman who committed suicide after a failed business dealing.
b) Japanese Agriculture and Forestry minister who committed suicide after a cabinet shakeup.
c) Former Japanese Prime Minister.
d) Champion Japanese Sumo wrestler.

2) How old is the first Baby Boomer to have filed for Social Security benefits?

a) 60 (born in 1947)
b) 61 (born in 1946)
c) 62 (born in 1945)
d) 63 (born in 1944)

3) Which of the following songs does Leann Rimes perform in her hit album Family?

a) "Nothin' Better to Do"
b) "Stupid Boy"
c) "Fall"
d) "Before He Cheats"

4) Name the two undefeated teams in the National Football League right now.

a) Green Bay Packers and Indianapolis Colts.
b) New England Patriots and Dallas Cowboys.
c) New England Patriots and Green Bay Packers.
d) New England Patriots and Indianapolis Colts.

5) Which of the following products has Greenpeace accused of containing "hazardous products?"

a) Microsoft Zoon.
b) LG Camera Phone.
c) Apple iPhone.
d) Motorola Moto Q9h
e) Greenpeace has accused none of the above of containing "hazardous products."

Ok, have you finished? That took you a long time. Are you sure you don't want to go back and change one of your answers? You can still do so without losing face. That Leann Rimes question really had you going, you might want to rethink it.

Unlike past pop quizzes, the answers were organized in a simple reverse rolling algorithm. If you haven't tried to predict the right response by guessing ahead and using a little math, we are sorry to inconvenience you with the change. If you have treated these little quizzes as math exams, we gotcha. Hah!

Here are the answers, see if you can find the pattern:

1-C
2-B
3-A
4-D
5-C

If you got all the questions right, you did excellently. You are very bright. You may want to start developing Self-Monitoring, Analysis and Reporting Technologies. (That stands for SMART). Or you could humble yourself by taking any of FCN's past Pop Quizzes.

If you got all but one right, don't feel too badly about the one you missed. Think about the ones you did get. And don't, whatever you do, consider your performance a "B."

If you missed 2-4 questions, you may want to consider a course of treatment with a monoamine oxidase inhibitor.

If you missed all the questions, take heart, the quiz was probably a complete fabrication anyway. Be happy in knowing you are more intelligent than everyone else.