All-Star Games

In my opinion, the only sport that offers an all-star game that means anything is the Major League Baseball All-Star game. The NHL all-star game doesn't have the same feeling as a regular NHL game (minimal hits and body-checks, but definitely much better than what the NFL and/or NBA have to offer), the NBA All-Star game is all about offense, and the Pro Bowl is one of the most boring games to watch because nobody tries to tackle anyone.

There needs to be more incentive for playing in an all-star game. The NFL's Pro Bowl doesn't feature any players from the current year's two Super Bowl teams and it's held at the end of each season (when the competitiveness of each player has completely fallen off). I've never seen so many players simply "walking" into the endzone untouched.

Nobody in the NBA wants to try to block a dunk or challenge any shot in the paint. It has become the ultimate celebration of ego-centrism and not about what it claims to be about, "the team". I like watching the dunk contest, the rookie vs. sophomore game, and the celebrity game, but I haven't watched an actual NBA All-Star game for as long as I can remember.

The winner of the MLB All-Star game has home-field advantage in the World Series. If the National League wins, the National League team in the World Series will play 4 game at home instead of 3 (regardless of their record). This brings out the very best in every player participating in the Mid-Summer Classic. That could mean the difference between winning the World Series or losing it. No other sport offers the same thing.

Don't get me wrong, I love all sports. However, when it comes to watching the games' best...I stick to watching baseball. True, baseball is also my favorite sport, but I think that it is the only sport that presents a truly meaningful all-star game.

Using Negative Situations As Inspiration

Date: January 28th.
Location: Great Divide Ranch in Philipsburg, Montana
Time: 2pm

Background: I took a job with Project Vote Smart in December of 2009 and started it in January of 2010. I would be moving from Tacoma, WA to Philipsburg, MT. I was excited and, at the same time, skeptical. I would be leaving all that was familiar to me for the majority of my life for a job in the Rocky Mountains of Montana and with an organization that didn't pay very well at all. I never held this against PVS because they're a non-profit organization that was surviving in the worst economic climate since the early 1980s and were still up and running. They also employed recent college graduates, which were hungrier than most employable people and were willing to work for less. That tends to be the case for recent college graduates in their low-to-mid 20s, but not for someone that was almost 30 and had worked for more money.

Despite multiple offers from other jobs, I accepted the position because I had used PVS' website in the past and I had a lot of respect for the organization. They stood for truth, openness, and integrity in the political electoral process and this struck a chord with me personally because I despised partisan politics and political apathy. This was a way for me to directly contribute to the solution to a lot problems that I had with the political process. I was stoked. The next year of my life would become the most difficult year that I had yet to encounter and, yet, completely changed me as a human being. It also introduced me to amazing people that I am still very thankful for having met.

Before I left for Montana, my Dad and I spent about an hour talking and tearing up in the driveway. From the time I graduated from the University of Washington (June 2009) to the time I left (January 2010), we had grown closer together during the time that I lived there while looking for work. I also found it difficult to be leaving my best friend (my brother, Phil), my Mom, my nephew, Tyler, and all of my friends that I have been friends with since elementary, middle, and high school.

The ten hour drive to Montana was long, tiring, and eye-opening. The more I drove, the more lost I felt. I no longer saw the familiar surroundings of a Starbucks coffee, shopping centers, and/or popular fast-food chains. I had left familiarity for a life of obscurity.

At a certain point in Montana, my GPS stopped working and I would have to resort to using the Mapquest maps that I had printed on my computer at home. My car was completely full and each time I shifted gears my elbow and forearm would bump into something in the back of my car and in my passenger seat. I was amazed that I had managed to fit everything into it.

The closer that I had gotten to the Great Divide Ranch the more I found myself saying, "What the hell am I doing?! This is crazy. There is absolutely nothing out here. Can I really do this?"

I followed the directions to a "T" and found myself, eventually, losing cell phone reception coming up this long dirt road infamously titled Moose Lake Road. All of my fellow PVSers can attest to their love/hate relationship with this particular road. The first time my car entered this road would be the last time that my car wouldn't rattle or make weird squeaky noises. This road was the bane of my existence while I lived in Montana.

When I first got there, I was tired, cold, and anxious as to what awaited me. My now good friend, Aaron, was the first to greet me at the front. He was the manager of the Ranch and immediately began introducing me to the other six people that lived on the Ranch. I spoke very little that night and managed to go to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow...I was dead tired.

My second day of work, we had a huge bonfire for a staff member that was leaving (I would later learn that the guy that the bonfire was for was a huge pervert and had a "tramp stamp"; you read that correctly folks, a dude with a "tramp stamp"). This wasn't a few logs stacked together...this was a recently torn down barn. Yeah, it was huge. After standing around the fire drinking, everyone decided to drive into town and go to the White Front (one of the three bars in town and, by far, the most popular). By popular, I mean that the beer was cheap, the regular clienteles had probably been drinking there since they were 11, and it was the only place with a shuffle board in town. I decided against going with them because I was sick. The combination of adjusting to the elevation gain, lack of hydration, and drinking a lot of beer got to me.

As I lied in bed, I suddenly realized that I wasn't the only one that decided against going into town to drink (Side note: the "drive" into town was a 45-minute drive down an ice-covered mountain road followed by a winding country road with deer, elk, etc.). One of the other staff members was in his room singing along with Bob Dylan. Now, I don't know how one could possibly sound worse than Bob Dylan, but this guy did. Ironically, he and I would become rather good friends.

The following morning I managed to fall asleep with my earplugs in and failed to hear my alarm that went off at 6:15am. The Bob Dylan impersonator came into my room in his underwear, turned off my alarm, and told me that I had woken up everyone on the Ranch and that he wasn't very pleased with me at the moment. I immediately felt like an ass.

Work went well for the first six months that I was there until July 20th, 2010. I was playing in a work-sanctioned basketball tournament with staff members and interns when I had a complete rupture of my patella tendon and my life immediately took a turn for the worst. I don't think that many people truly understood what this moment was like for me or how hard difficult it made my life and how much it affected the next year of my life.

This unfortunate accident happened after work and a week before my medical coverage began. Sitting in the back of the SUV with two of the interns, I immediately knew that this was going to be bad. I knew that I would get no help from Project Vote Smart and that I would have to personally pay for every cent of every single medical bill. After it became apparent that I would have to get surgery and pay for this all out of pocket, I knew that this would ruin my credit and clean out every single bank account and piggy bank that I owned. I managed to scrape up $1,600 (the amount needed to, at least, GET the surgery taken care of...half of the surgery center costs). The longer I waited to get the surgery, the more realistic permanent physical disabilities would become for the remainder of my life.

I was only 30 years old. I wasn't some out-of-shape weekend warrior; I was athletic and in pretty good shape. Why did this happen to me?

The surgeon told me that I would struggle with this for the remainder of my life and that it was just a reality that I would have to grow to accept. However, for those of you that have been through a similar predicament, accepting the fact that you're actually not as strong as your mind thinks is a very difficult thing to do. This, apparently, is what getting old is like.

My roommate and great friend, Chris, did all that he could to help me drive 1.5 hours to my surgery and to my pre-op appointment. I knew that he did all that he could, but I still would have to attend weekly physical therapy appointments and follow-ups with the surgeon. There was only so much that he could do without jeopardizing his own job; at a certain point, I would be on my own to drive to Missoula for the many follow-ups and physical therapy treatments.

I have a manual transmission and I was unable to bend my left knee for nearly four months. Imagine trying to sit down to take a crap without being able to bend your left knee; seems pretty challenging, doesn't it? One, basically, just lines up and falls straight down on the toilet seat. For those of you that didn't want that image in your head, you're welcome.

Driving was particularly difficult. Each week and each time that I had to drive, I would use an aluminum baseball bat to push down on the clutch each time that I shifted gears. I did this for each of the 45 minute drives to and from work and the three hour (round trip) drives to Missoula once a week (sometimes twice for medication because the town that I lived in didn't have a pharmacy). When I was able, I would take a ride with Mark or Chris, but my inability to bend my knee made it difficult to get around and/or sit in the backseat or, for that matter, any seat.

I did this for nearly four months. My personal life and my professional life were nearly impossible to bear.

I also had to sit at my desk and elevate and ice my knee for nine hours each work day. When I had to get up to use the restroom, I had to strap on my knee brace (which took 3-4 minutes each time), squeak my way to the restroom, unstrap and strap my knee brace to go to the bathroom (regardless of my reason for having to go), and to unstrap my knee brace when I returned to my desk (another 2-3 minutes).

For the first two months after my surgery, I was forced to use a CPM (continuous passive motion) machine that, basically, assisted in bending my knee while I slept. The picture at the top of this blog entry is what I had to sleep in each night. I don't know why the guy in this photo is smiling because having to use this thing each day and to sleep in it is no walk in the park. This guy must have had some really great pain medication because I sure didn't.

For most of my life, I never slept on my back. However, with the CPM machine, I was forced to do so.nSo, from looking at this photo you can see how extremely difficult this was on me. Each night, for nearly three months, I got a maximum of four or four and a half hours of sleep each night. This entire phase of my life almost seems like a blur to me and, if it weren't for my friend/roommate, Chris, I'm not sure I would have made it through.

Almost everyone at my job was extremely supportive and understood the kind of hell I was going through at the time. Well, almost everyone...except for two people whom I will not mention at this particular time. I will, however, say that karma is a bitch and they got exactly what they deserve.

I rarely left my apartment for nearly 4 months except to buy groceries and to go to work. I lay in my bed for hours and days at a time. My weekends would be over before I even knew they began. My co-workers would go out for drinks and nights of debauchery and I would be stuck at home. Days blended into nights, nights into days.

My medical bills and living expenses left me with very little moving room financially. For the year that I worked for Project Vote Smart, I barely cracked $17,000 in 2010. I would only have $20-$25 for groceries every two weeks. I also missed my brother's wedding because I couldn't drive at the time and my orthopedic surgeon felt that flying a day after surgery would be extremely troublesome and could cause complications after the surgery. I was supposed to be my brother's Best Man and I was supposed to plan his bachelor party. My knee injury caused me to miss out on his wedding and it caused me to miss out on most of my own life.

I know that the above descriptions seem long and extremely detailed; I did this on purpose. For people to truly understand just how difficult things have been for me since July 2010, those things needed to be said. I kept journals about how depressed I was, how horrible I felt, how much pain I was in, how difficult daily tasks were, and how my life felt as though it was slipping into a dark and desolate abyss.

Despite all of this, I managed to focus on every little detail and I wanted to feel each and every moment of this life-altering experience. I wanted to remember all of it and use it as motivation for the future. Because I did that, I, now, cherish each and every moment of each day. Each time I walk down a hall, up or down a flight of stairs, or jump...I remember how I felt never knowing whether I would ever be able to do any of that again; each step is a blessing. Each time I lie in bed at night, I remember how horrible those three months were when I had to sleep with my leg in that CPM machine. Each time I laugh, I remember how very little I laughed in 2010. Sure, I laughed here and there, but I always did so with my knee pain in the back of my mind. Each laugh was a momentary sense of happiness in the darkness that had engulfed my life.

The Situation: I had hobbled my way towards the meeting room with Kristen and one of the two that shall remain nameless. Up to this point, I knew what was about to happen because this "particular person" was out to get me for quite some time and I hadn't been the same since I had my knee surgery a few months before. #1 (my director AKA one of the two that shall remain nameless) was one of two employees that didn't give two squirts of piss about me when I injured my knee. #1 and #2 (#1's evil, soul-consuming girlfriend) didn't like me for a number of reasons. I was social, got along with everyone, went out and had drinks and went on hikes and camping trips with everyone else, and, to them (#1 and #2) was a constant thorn in their side. I was cool with #2 for a while when she first got to the Ranch, but her true colors began to come out after #1 began to slowly gain control of her way of thinking. They're just two of the most repugnant people that I think that I have ever met and I hope that they remain together because I wouldn't want to see either of them corrupting another free-thinking soul. I also hope that they never reproduce. So, Kristen and #1 sat me down, explained to me that they were letting me go, and that today would be my last day. I slightly remember what they said, but as soon as I heard what I needed, I only had a few immediate thoughts. My immediate thoughts: Because next month's rent was due the following Monday, I already knew that I would be heading back home that weekend. Seattle was only nine hours away. My first worries were for my, then, roommate, Brandon. Project Vote Smart doesn't pay very much and it was difficult for any employee to pay their bills (even with a roommate) and pay for basic necessities. I was going to be leaving that financial burden on him. I would also be risking the possibility of breaking our lease agreement and face, only, my second bout with unemployment in my life. I've been working since I was 14 and I've never had a problem finding work. After I had graduated from UofW in June of 2009, even with a bachelor's degree, I struggled to find work for five months. I also knew that economic climate in the United States had not improved and that finding work was going to be another hard-fought struggle.

I didn't tell Brandon the news, at first, because it was still a shock to me and, frankly, I was a bit embarrassed by the entire situation. I, first, called my parents to tell them the news. My Dad offered me a place to stay until I found work. It was a great relief to know that, but did very little to lessen the sting of the wound that had been inflicted just hours before.

When I told Brandon the news, he was shocked. At that moment, I'm sure his worries were a lot like mine. All of the financial responsibilities of our current living arrangement would be, immediately, his burden to bear. He managed to handle the situation very well and, if he weren't the type of person he is, I would probably still be dealing with a lot of those problems.

As soon as I got home on January 31st, I put in for unemployment. However, the one person that disliked me from the first moment he met me, fought my unemployment pay for months. By the time I finally began receiving unemployment, it was June. I had managed to stretch my tax refund for four months.

Situation: I was in the back conference room with Project Vote Smart's National Director and the director of my department. They were telling me that I was being "let go". I was shocked, floored, and, well, scared. I've never been in a situation like this before.

I don't think that I uttered a single word during the entire ordeal. Their voices were drowned out by the many thoughts running through my mind. As bad as this seemed at the time, there was a sense of satisfaction...a sense of completion. You see, I was wondering when my time in Montana was over and hoping for that day to come; I was finally returning home.

Despite the fact that I didn't plan for it to come about this way, in a sense, I was happy. As much as I would miss my co-workers and friends, I wouldn't be missing a select number of people still remaining at PVS and I certainly wouldn't be missing Montana.

For some, Montana was a nice little getaway from their everyday worlds and was a place to self-reflect, relax, and to work for an organization that, in principle, was a great idea.

For people like me, Montana is a great place to visit, not to live. My first few months in Montana were great because the situation was different, I enjoyed the work I was doing, and it was nice spending a lot of time getting to know the people that I was living and working with.

You see, when I agreed to take a job with Project Vote Smart, I agreed to move to Montana, work for peanuts (I barely cracked $17K in 2010), and live on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. Reading my description doesn't truly do reality any bit of justice. The winter months in Montana are cold, lonely, and testing. At night, I had to wear a pair of thermal underwear, two pairs of sweatpants, two pairs of socks, a shirt, a sweatshirt, and a hoody.

Not having a cell phone can be a sense of newly discovered freedom. The chains in which come along with owning a cell phone were cut. My only connection to the outside world was through emails and the internet. I rarely spoke to my family on the one telephone that we all had to share.

The cold winter months made driving conditions dismal at best. Getting around was difficult and I found myself not being able to leave the Ranch for weeks at a time. Cabin fever is a real psychotic state-of-mind, believe me.

Working for Project Vote Smart made me realize certain things about myself that I never knew before. I never knew how much I would miss the daily social interactions that I used to take for granted; the casual conversation that I would have with random people in a bookstore or in line at a grocery store. From having lived in Seattle for a few years, I missed the site of a Starbucks. I longed for ethnic food (preferably Thai, Pho, and Mexican). I never knew that the site of a woman chewing tobacco would make me sick to my stomach.

But most of all, I realized that I needed things that living in Montana would not be able to provide me. My personality clashed with it on so many different levels. The reason that I lasted as long as I did in Montana was because of the few people that I worked with that became life-long friends that I will never forget. The connections that one makes with others in similar situations is stronger than any other connection. In a way, it's the same kind of connection that a prisoner makes with a fellow prisoner. You're both forced to be there and you both try to make it work.

However, I got extremely lucky. Despite all of the negative things that happened to me in 2010, I managed to make some really wonderful friends. I won't name names, but they know who they are. One of them, should I get married, will, most likely, be one of my groomsmen. He's the one that managed to help me out during the darkest days and the roughest of times. We both helped each other out and we both managed to create a bond that will definitely stand the test of time. In fact, I really miss the guy and I can't wait to see him again. If there were such a thing as a heterosexual-lifemate, he would be that person.