Have you ever watched a sporting event -- whether it be baseball, basketball, football, boxing -- and you're right near an extremely psychotic fan who seems to live and die on every play? The type of fan who goes absolutely bonkers when his team does something good, and...well...absolutely bonkers when his team does bad? The type of fan who won't calm down for even a second unless his team is up 56-3?
That's me. I'm that psycho fan. :-)
We are currently in the midst of college football season. And for the last 23 years, I have been a fan of USC. And last week, my Trojans--ranked third in the nation -- traveled to Columbus, Ohio, to play the eighth-ranked Ohio State Buckeyes.
And so it was last week that I went over to my Dad's -- a fellow USC fan, who sat me on his knee when I watched my first USC game on TV, in 1986 against Notre Dame -- to watch the game.
And with the game close throughout, psycho fan Nev took center stage.
Understand this: I'm considered a nice guy. Even sensitive. But when it comes to watching one of my favorite sports teams, psycho fan Nev will beat down anyone in his way to make sure victory is obtained.
And last week, that included my dad.
My poor Pops. With the USC game in doubt until the final seconds, he faced my full wrath throughout the game. Everything he said irritated me. Any mere mention of negativity was met with a slew of venom on my end. You see, to be honest, when one of my teams is in a close battle, I'm not a fun person to be around. When USC played its season opener on Sept. 5, for example, my wife Ramona was about to wander into the living room when she heard me screaming at the television that we were down 3-0.
She then decided it was better to go back to sleep.
It's nice when you have a wife who understands you. :-)
Anyways, back to my dad and my wrath. With USC trailing most of the game, here's some of the onslaught my dad had to deal with:
Dad: The problem is, USC is being outcoached.
Nev: Outcoached. That's all you ever say. Outcoached. Each year, every year, every game, you say we're being outcoached when we're losing. Well you know what? I'm tired of it!! You are forbidden to say "outcoached" for the rest of the year!! God damn it, get some new material already!!!!!
Dad: USC was favored by 6 1/2, and I never thought they'd cover.
Nev: You never said that!! You can't say that now!! You can't say you never thought they'd cover when they're losing!! You never said that beforehand!! Never never never!! You lie!!!!!
(note: Actually, my dad did say that before the game. Sorry Dad. That one's on me.)
And then there was:
Dad's girlfriend Vera (speaking to my dad): Why don't you sit on the couch next to your son?
Nev (speaking to my dad): Don't you dare even think about sitting next to me until you get your mind right!!!!!
And finally, my dad said a few mean things about the struggles of the NFL's Oakland Raiders, another one of my favorite teams.
Nev: I HAVE NO FATHER!!!!!
Like I said: Psycho fan. :-)
And then, as I mentioned before, there's me yelling at the TV. Specifically, at the players on the screen. When the USC safety went out with an injury, I screamed at him to get a cortizone shot and suck it up. When the Ohio State quarterback scrambled for a first down, I demanded that the USC defenders take out his knees and "TEAR SOME LIGAMENTS!!!!!"
What can I say? I'm crazy.
But I noticed something last week that I've started noticing the past several months. These games -- these close games, this yelling and screaming and carrying on and living and dying on every play -- are taking their toll on me. I find myself taking longer to recover between games. In my younger days, I could yell at the top of my lungs and threaten everyone around me, and the next day I'm back out and ready to go. But after last week's game, I needed more time to mend. I was bruised, battered, exhausted. It wasn't until yesterday that I felt like my old self again.
It was yet another reminder that --at age 30 -- I wasn't quite as young as I used to be.
My father-in-law Jim warned me about this one time. Jim is a UCLA alum and, in his day, he lived and died with the Bruins on every play. But eventually, he told me, he just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't bring the energy to every game like he used to. It was just too much, he said. He got older, had more responsibilities, and eventually he just got tired of the roller coaster ride.
He still watches UCLA games, still gets excited when they do well. But as far as being a crazy, psycho fan, those days -- he said -- are over.
And one day, they will be for me too.
There are fewer psycho fan Nev days ahead than there are behind. I realize that. I'm not sure when the end of the road is going to be. Maybe in two years, three years, four or even five. But I do know that I can't do this forever. I'm not a kid anymore, and eventually I'll have to step aside and let the new generation of psycho fans take over.
But for now: Psycho fan Nev remains. :-)
One last thing about watching last week's game with my dad:
Following USC's come-from-behind victory, the TV cameras panned to a shot of all the sad Ohio State players and coaches.
My dad and I pointed at them and laughed.
Then we hugged.
And all was forgiven.
A true father-son moment.
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Have you ever wondered how many punches I threw at my wedding?
Now you can find out.
:-)
Check out this video of me and Ramona's grand entrance on the day we said "I do."
Friday, September 18, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Saying Goodbye To An Old Friend: My Tennis Shoes: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
Last weekend, I said goodbye to an old friend.
My friend and I had been through the wars together the past few years. We ate together, drank together, watched sports together, played video games together, laughed together, cried together, counseled friends together, traveled together...hell, I thought one day we were going to die together.
But sadly, my friend passed on before me.
My good friend...the tennis shoes.
My tennis shoes. For the past three years, they've seen me through thick and thin. See, women traditionally are the gender that buys tons of shoes, but men are the gender that really bond with theirs. Our tennis shoes are kind of like dogs. We appreciate them for their kindness, their warmth, their loyalty. We don't just wear them once and take them to the pound. We wear them constantly, every day, every hour, and see them through their final days until the sad day when we have to put them to sleep.
In my case, that sad day was last week. We were packing up to head back home from our honeymoon in Hawaii when my wife Ramona noticed a big tear in one of the shoes. We had done a rather brutal hike up a rocky trail the other day that no doubt proved to be too much for my old friend. So, seeing that they were literally falling apart at the seams, I agreed to leave them in the hotel trash can.
And a part of me was left in that trash can too. :-(
Men everywhere understand where I'm coming from.
Now: Women reading this may be asking how a man can wear a disgusting pair of tennis shoes day in and day out even as the wear and tear is apparent? Well let me ask you this: Do you put a dog down at the first sign of trouble? If a loved one is put on life support, is your first instinct to pull the plug and watch him or her die? If your star pitcher walks a couple of batters, do you automatically take him out of the game?
No.
Men stick by their tennis shoes, like they stood by for us. Our tennis shoes loved us, and we our tennis shoes. Our tennis shoes never turned their back on us, so what right do I have to do so?
When the going gets tough, a man and his tennis shoes work through the rough times.
Ramona brought me a new pair of tennis shoes. My new tennis shoes are gray, my old tennis shoes were white. My new tennis shoes are Sketchers, my old tennis shoes were a no-name brand. My new tennis shoes retail for $80, my old tennis shoes served me faithfully for a mere $20.
I'm sure me and my new tennis shoes will get along. But still...
...it will take time.
Right now, my old tennis shoes are on my mind.
Wherever they are, I hope their suffering has ended.
Farewell, old friend.
Farewell.
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
I was in 7-11 the other day getting a Big Gulp when I saw the guy ahead purchasing a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
A dude buying cereal.
At 7-11.
That's just odd.
My friend and I had been through the wars together the past few years. We ate together, drank together, watched sports together, played video games together, laughed together, cried together, counseled friends together, traveled together...hell, I thought one day we were going to die together.
But sadly, my friend passed on before me.
My good friend...the tennis shoes.
My tennis shoes. For the past three years, they've seen me through thick and thin. See, women traditionally are the gender that buys tons of shoes, but men are the gender that really bond with theirs. Our tennis shoes are kind of like dogs. We appreciate them for their kindness, their warmth, their loyalty. We don't just wear them once and take them to the pound. We wear them constantly, every day, every hour, and see them through their final days until the sad day when we have to put them to sleep.
In my case, that sad day was last week. We were packing up to head back home from our honeymoon in Hawaii when my wife Ramona noticed a big tear in one of the shoes. We had done a rather brutal hike up a rocky trail the other day that no doubt proved to be too much for my old friend. So, seeing that they were literally falling apart at the seams, I agreed to leave them in the hotel trash can.
And a part of me was left in that trash can too. :-(
Men everywhere understand where I'm coming from.
Now: Women reading this may be asking how a man can wear a disgusting pair of tennis shoes day in and day out even as the wear and tear is apparent? Well let me ask you this: Do you put a dog down at the first sign of trouble? If a loved one is put on life support, is your first instinct to pull the plug and watch him or her die? If your star pitcher walks a couple of batters, do you automatically take him out of the game?
No.
Men stick by their tennis shoes, like they stood by for us. Our tennis shoes loved us, and we our tennis shoes. Our tennis shoes never turned their back on us, so what right do I have to do so?
When the going gets tough, a man and his tennis shoes work through the rough times.
Ramona brought me a new pair of tennis shoes. My new tennis shoes are gray, my old tennis shoes were white. My new tennis shoes are Sketchers, my old tennis shoes were a no-name brand. My new tennis shoes retail for $80, my old tennis shoes served me faithfully for a mere $20.
I'm sure me and my new tennis shoes will get along. But still...
...it will take time.
Right now, my old tennis shoes are on my mind.
Wherever they are, I hope their suffering has ended.
Farewell, old friend.
Farewell.
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
I was in 7-11 the other day getting a Big Gulp when I saw the guy ahead purchasing a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
A dude buying cereal.
At 7-11.
That's just odd.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Yearning To Fly First Class: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
The first time I was ever on an airplane, I was 6 years old. I remember the seats being comfy, having plenty of leg room and even getting an in-flight meal of hot dogs and potato chips.
Plus, I was given heaping glasses of orange juice. :-)
And that was the first and only time I have ever flown first class.
First class. We all have to walk through it every time we shuffle down to coach. First class. With its comfy leather seats. First class. Where the patrons get complimentary glasses of orange juice and champagne prior to takeoff.
First class.
No charge for the in-flight movie here.
Last night my wife Ramona and I took a red eye from Maui to Los Angeles, heading home after our honeymoon. And as we walked through first class into our cramped seats in coach, I found myself thinking the same things I always think about when I go through first class.
I found myself thinking how spoiled the folks in first class must be. I found myself thinking how these people don't know what it's like to suffer through bad food (which you have to pay for) and TVs that don't work half of the time. I found myself thinking how much I hate these people for their obvious wealth.
Man, do I want to be one of them!!
Let's face it: We all yearn to be among the pompous first class elite. We want to be spoiled, pampered, drink orange juice in fancy glasses like there's no tomorrow. We don't think that flying coach shows us that we're real people. And even if we did, who the %$#%& wants to be real?!?! Real is cramped, with screaming babies and lavatories that you have to share with 150 people. Real sucks.
And so, one day I vow to be fake. One day I vow to return to the world of make-believe. One day I vow to sit in first class, drink my OJ, enjoy my leg room, use my lavatory that I only have to share with 20 people, get my free in-flight movie, and...
Finally...
Insist on a special dietary meal of hot dogs and potato chips.
First class.
Where dreams happen.
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
What's the deal with college football having teams do a pregame handshake? Postgame is one thing: The game is over, the battle has been won or lost, there's little more to do than to say "good game." But before the game? Why don't you just have soldiers of war shake hands before they shoot each other?
Hey Iraqi soldier, I'm going to do my very best to blow your brains out. But before I do, let's shake hands.
It makes no sense.
Plus, I was given heaping glasses of orange juice. :-)
And that was the first and only time I have ever flown first class.
First class. We all have to walk through it every time we shuffle down to coach. First class. With its comfy leather seats. First class. Where the patrons get complimentary glasses of orange juice and champagne prior to takeoff.
First class.
No charge for the in-flight movie here.
Last night my wife Ramona and I took a red eye from Maui to Los Angeles, heading home after our honeymoon. And as we walked through first class into our cramped seats in coach, I found myself thinking the same things I always think about when I go through first class.
I found myself thinking how spoiled the folks in first class must be. I found myself thinking how these people don't know what it's like to suffer through bad food (which you have to pay for) and TVs that don't work half of the time. I found myself thinking how much I hate these people for their obvious wealth.
Man, do I want to be one of them!!
Let's face it: We all yearn to be among the pompous first class elite. We want to be spoiled, pampered, drink orange juice in fancy glasses like there's no tomorrow. We don't think that flying coach shows us that we're real people. And even if we did, who the %$#%& wants to be real?!?! Real is cramped, with screaming babies and lavatories that you have to share with 150 people. Real sucks.
And so, one day I vow to be fake. One day I vow to return to the world of make-believe. One day I vow to sit in first class, drink my OJ, enjoy my leg room, use my lavatory that I only have to share with 20 people, get my free in-flight movie, and...
Finally...
Insist on a special dietary meal of hot dogs and potato chips.
First class.
Where dreams happen.
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
What's the deal with college football having teams do a pregame handshake? Postgame is one thing: The game is over, the battle has been won or lost, there's little more to do than to say "good game." But before the game? Why don't you just have soldiers of war shake hands before they shoot each other?
Hey Iraqi soldier, I'm going to do my very best to blow your brains out. But before I do, let's shake hands.
It makes no sense.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
'That' Married Couple, Wedding Rings, And Changing Your Maiden Name: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
So I've been married for a week now and I've discovered the following three things:
1) Ramona and I are totally "that couple", that stereotypical couple that you see across the room being lovey dovey with each other. You know that couple you want to throw something at really hard (and preferably at their heads) because they're so lovey dovey that it makes you fully realize just how lonely you really are?
That's us. It's our heads you want to traumatize. :-)
Example:
Ramona: Hi husband!!
Me: Hi wife!!
Ramona: We're married!!
Me: I know!!
Ramona: You're my hubby!!
Nev: You're my wifey!!
Both: Tee hee hee!!
(palms flail away at each other)
Yep. We're like that.
2) Wearing a wedding ring actually isn't that bad. For someone who has never worn a ring in his life, I was admittedly a little concerned. But honestly, I hardly realize it's on.
And I like that it's shiny!! :-)
One thing, though:
How the hell do you get this thing off? The whole "twisty" thing don't work and I can't pull it off without soap and water. Is it naturally supposed to be welded onto your skin? Is that part of the deal?
And finally:
3) People who mistakenly say:
Hello Mr. and Mrs. Barich
:-)
Now before I go further, know this: Ramona has decided to keep her maiden name. And honestly, I'm totally cool with it. Women today shouldn't automatically be expected to change their last name upon marriage. And besides, my new wifey (tee hee hee!!) is becoming one of the premier sports columnists in the country and is known nationally by her maiden name.
Plus, she's letting our future kids have my last name. So why should I complain?
Nonetheless, I have to confess that it's kind of cool when I hear people call us "Mr. and Mrs. Barich". I get a big kick out of it, probably because I know it won't last very long. It makes me realize that I'm indeed married, and because Ramona remains in honeymoon mode, being called "Mrs. Barich" isn't pissing her off yet. Before it wears off, I aim to take advantage by having at least one person call her: "Mrs. B."
(Note: As I write this, I asked Ramona how she'd feel about being called "Mrs. B." She did not look pleased. Admittedly, hearing it reminds me of a 60-year-old librarian).
I know that eventually, people calling her Mrs. Barich will annoy her. And that's cool. Today during our helicopter tour in the Hawaiian island of Kauai, someone accidentally called me "Nevin Shelburne."
And to me, it was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard.
Men changing their maiden name.
Can you say:
Penis-less?
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE:
Although Ramona and I are having an amazing honeymoon so far, we have avoided the overpriced spa at the hotel. The spa offers such deals as:
Sunscreen application with foot reflexology massage.
A 20-minute service. Price: $50
In other words, $50 to have someone rub your feet with suntan lotion.
In a "reflexology" fashion.
Right.
1) Ramona and I are totally "that couple", that stereotypical couple that you see across the room being lovey dovey with each other. You know that couple you want to throw something at really hard (and preferably at their heads) because they're so lovey dovey that it makes you fully realize just how lonely you really are?
That's us. It's our heads you want to traumatize. :-)
Example:
Ramona: Hi husband!!
Me: Hi wife!!
Ramona: We're married!!
Me: I know!!
Ramona: You're my hubby!!
Nev: You're my wifey!!
Both: Tee hee hee!!
(palms flail away at each other)
Yep. We're like that.
2) Wearing a wedding ring actually isn't that bad. For someone who has never worn a ring in his life, I was admittedly a little concerned. But honestly, I hardly realize it's on.
And I like that it's shiny!! :-)
One thing, though:
How the hell do you get this thing off? The whole "twisty" thing don't work and I can't pull it off without soap and water. Is it naturally supposed to be welded onto your skin? Is that part of the deal?
And finally:
3) People who mistakenly say:
Hello Mr. and Mrs. Barich
:-)
Now before I go further, know this: Ramona has decided to keep her maiden name. And honestly, I'm totally cool with it. Women today shouldn't automatically be expected to change their last name upon marriage. And besides, my new wifey (tee hee hee!!) is becoming one of the premier sports columnists in the country and is known nationally by her maiden name.
Plus, she's letting our future kids have my last name. So why should I complain?
Nonetheless, I have to confess that it's kind of cool when I hear people call us "Mr. and Mrs. Barich". I get a big kick out of it, probably because I know it won't last very long. It makes me realize that I'm indeed married, and because Ramona remains in honeymoon mode, being called "Mrs. Barich" isn't pissing her off yet. Before it wears off, I aim to take advantage by having at least one person call her: "Mrs. B."
(Note: As I write this, I asked Ramona how she'd feel about being called "Mrs. B." She did not look pleased. Admittedly, hearing it reminds me of a 60-year-old librarian).
I know that eventually, people calling her Mrs. Barich will annoy her. And that's cool. Today during our helicopter tour in the Hawaiian island of Kauai, someone accidentally called me "Nevin Shelburne."
And to me, it was the stupidest thing I'd ever heard.
Men changing their maiden name.
Can you say:
Penis-less?
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE:
Although Ramona and I are having an amazing honeymoon so far, we have avoided the overpriced spa at the hotel. The spa offers such deals as:
Sunscreen application with foot reflexology massage.
A 20-minute service. Price: $50
In other words, $50 to have someone rub your feet with suntan lotion.
In a "reflexology" fashion.
Right.
Friday, August 21, 2009
The Hours Before My Wedding: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
Let me tell you something I discovered this evening about wedding rehearsals and wedding rehearsal dinners: When they're for you, they're absolutely exhausting. :-) As I write this, my New York relatives who flew in for the wedding -- all of whom are at least twice my age -- are downstairs in the lobby at our hotel, chatting it up like they're 12-year-old girls at a sleepover, while I am alone in my room planning to hit the hay after I post this blog.
There's something wrong there. :-)
If this blog is all over the place, forgive me. For those of you new to this blog, I write this a mere 16 hours away from getting married to my fiancee Ramona, and my head's a little hazy. She and I have been together for more than eight years and have been engaged for nearly a year, so although I technically haven't felt like a single man since Enron was all the rage, tonight (cue dramatic music) is technically my last night of freedom.
And I'm sitting on a couch. Falling asleep. Blogging.
But despite my lack of living it up, I'm happy. Truly happy. I'm getting married tomorrow, I can honestly say I'm not freaked out, Ramona seems totally happy that she's marrying me (either that or her "tears of joy" was actually caused by her stepping on a rusty nail at the restaurant), and all my friends and family are here ready to celebrate with me.
Pretty cool, huh? :-)
Not that tonight wasn't without its craziness. When you factor in parents, ring bearers, flower girls and Ramona's Grandma Eve, there are over 20 people in the actual wedding, and the rehearsal today consisted of all the women trying to talk over each other while me and the men...more or less stayed silent.
In fact, one of my groomsmen Joe commented at one point:
Nev, I'm a little surprised at your lack of input.
For the record: At today's rehearsal I was asked one question, made a suggestion, and it was ignored.
Just following the wedding tradition of many men before me. :-)
But despite all of that, we got through the rehearsal, and quickly. People know when to line up, where to walk, what to do, what to wear, what to say, and me and my best man Kevin even threw in a fist bump for good measure.
Plus, the rehearsal isn't without its funny story. Midway through I got a text from my friend and former co-worker Frank:
What's up Nev? Got any plans today?
Uh, yeah bud. I'm getting married tomorrow. Other than that, not too much.
The rehearsal dinner was even louder and more crazy, which will happen when you have 60 people from both sides of the family who don't know each other yet like to talk. I found myself meeting people I'd never met before, seeing old friends, revisiting with family I hadn't seen in a long time, and at one point I even went over to a table and said:
I know I'm related to all of you, but I have no idea who you are.
It was an ice breaker. :-)
But it was fun, eventful, everyone got fed, and no blood was shed over the course of the evening (at least in the restaurant). More importantly, everyone was happy. My parents seemed thrilled, Ramona's parents were smiling, Ramona was glowing, friends and family were laughing together, and I had a plate of cheese enchiladas in front of me so I couldn't complain. :-)
So what's my point here? No point. It's just that it's hours from my wedding and I'm cool with not being a bachelor anymore. I'm ready to go. I'm ready to marry the love of my life, wear the ring, be called husband (that will take some getting used to) and live happily ever after.
I'm getting married.
And I'm feeling pretty good.
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Again: I'm getting married in 16 hours.
Does that qualify? :-)
There's something wrong there. :-)
If this blog is all over the place, forgive me. For those of you new to this blog, I write this a mere 16 hours away from getting married to my fiancee Ramona, and my head's a little hazy. She and I have been together for more than eight years and have been engaged for nearly a year, so although I technically haven't felt like a single man since Enron was all the rage, tonight (cue dramatic music) is technically my last night of freedom.
And I'm sitting on a couch. Falling asleep. Blogging.
But despite my lack of living it up, I'm happy. Truly happy. I'm getting married tomorrow, I can honestly say I'm not freaked out, Ramona seems totally happy that she's marrying me (either that or her "tears of joy" was actually caused by her stepping on a rusty nail at the restaurant), and all my friends and family are here ready to celebrate with me.
Pretty cool, huh? :-)
Not that tonight wasn't without its craziness. When you factor in parents, ring bearers, flower girls and Ramona's Grandma Eve, there are over 20 people in the actual wedding, and the rehearsal today consisted of all the women trying to talk over each other while me and the men...more or less stayed silent.
In fact, one of my groomsmen Joe commented at one point:
Nev, I'm a little surprised at your lack of input.
For the record: At today's rehearsal I was asked one question, made a suggestion, and it was ignored.
Just following the wedding tradition of many men before me. :-)
But despite all of that, we got through the rehearsal, and quickly. People know when to line up, where to walk, what to do, what to wear, what to say, and me and my best man Kevin even threw in a fist bump for good measure.
Plus, the rehearsal isn't without its funny story. Midway through I got a text from my friend and former co-worker Frank:
What's up Nev? Got any plans today?
Uh, yeah bud. I'm getting married tomorrow. Other than that, not too much.
The rehearsal dinner was even louder and more crazy, which will happen when you have 60 people from both sides of the family who don't know each other yet like to talk. I found myself meeting people I'd never met before, seeing old friends, revisiting with family I hadn't seen in a long time, and at one point I even went over to a table and said:
I know I'm related to all of you, but I have no idea who you are.
It was an ice breaker. :-)
But it was fun, eventful, everyone got fed, and no blood was shed over the course of the evening (at least in the restaurant). More importantly, everyone was happy. My parents seemed thrilled, Ramona's parents were smiling, Ramona was glowing, friends and family were laughing together, and I had a plate of cheese enchiladas in front of me so I couldn't complain. :-)
So what's my point here? No point. It's just that it's hours from my wedding and I'm cool with not being a bachelor anymore. I'm ready to go. I'm ready to marry the love of my life, wear the ring, be called husband (that will take some getting used to) and live happily ever after.
I'm getting married.
And I'm feeling pretty good.
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Again: I'm getting married in 16 hours.
Does that qualify? :-)
Saturday, August 15, 2009
All Right, I'll Do The Damn Project Runway Hater Blog Again: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
OK, so here's the deal. Last week, I had made the announcement that I wasn't going to continue with my Project Runway hater blog this season (which starts Aug. 20) because I'm getting married on Aug. 22 and will essentially be away for the first three episodes of the season.
Plus: I truly did hate watching the show. :-)
But because so many of you have asked me to continue doing the blog -- and because I didn't feel like doing another wedding-related blog post this week even though the big day has overtaken my life (BTW: watching people come up with seating charts has to be like watching army generals come up with a battle plan for Afghan strongholds. I mean, there must be similarities) -- I have decided to use this week's space to announce that I will in fact by doing the Project Runway Hater blog -- www.projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com -- again this season.
Happy now? :-)
For those of you who don't know, last year my fiancee Ramona (who was my girlfriend at the time) was pushing me to do one of those fan blogs on a show, thinking that I would be good at it. I, however, hesitated. See, I'm not into fan blogs. I've always found them boring. What's the point of writing on a show you love? You'll either a) write about how much you love the show (which is like watching an action movie without a bad guy) or b) you'll rip the show but not really rip the show because you love it so (and if that sounds like it makes no sense, that's because it makes no sense).
But then I got an idea.
"What if I wrote about a show I hated?" I asked Ramona.
I mean, why not? I had never seen a hater blog before, and wouldn't it be funny to read someone's views on a show they absolutely hated? Ripping the show apart. Showing a lack of understanding. Telling fans of the show that they're moronic imbeciles for liking this idiotic piece of television.
Now that I could get into!!
So I started thinking about kind of show would be perfect for such a blog. Enter Project Runway. I hate clothes, I had watched approximately 13 minutes of one episode and wanted to throw myself off a cliff during every second of those minutes, and Ramona loved the show so I knew that our arguments over her love and my disdain would make for great copy.
And so it began. :-)
And the funny thing was: The blog was successful. Each week, I did a running commentary of the crap that was on screen (and no, my hatred of the show never wavered) and people came to read!! By season's end, more than 13,600 hits were registered on projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com and I even got a small write-up in the Houston Chronicle.
So bucking under public pressure, I will indeed do the blog again. But please note: For the first three weeks of the season, my posts will be late. I'll do my best to squeeze in the Episode 1 recap before the wedding, but recaps of Episodes 2 and 3 will have to wait until I come back from my honeymoon in early September.
So my hate will just have to wait.
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
A friend of mine said the following to me yesterday:
Enjoy your last weekend as a bachelor.
Whoa.
Now that sounded "OH MY GOD I'M GETTING MARRIED IN A WEEK WTF AM I DOING!?!?!"-ish.
:-)
Plus: I truly did hate watching the show. :-)
But because so many of you have asked me to continue doing the blog -- and because I didn't feel like doing another wedding-related blog post this week even though the big day has overtaken my life (BTW: watching people come up with seating charts has to be like watching army generals come up with a battle plan for Afghan strongholds. I mean, there must be similarities) -- I have decided to use this week's space to announce that I will in fact by doing the Project Runway Hater blog -- www.projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com -- again this season.
Happy now? :-)
For those of you who don't know, last year my fiancee Ramona (who was my girlfriend at the time) was pushing me to do one of those fan blogs on a show, thinking that I would be good at it. I, however, hesitated. See, I'm not into fan blogs. I've always found them boring. What's the point of writing on a show you love? You'll either a) write about how much you love the show (which is like watching an action movie without a bad guy) or b) you'll rip the show but not really rip the show because you love it so (and if that sounds like it makes no sense, that's because it makes no sense).
But then I got an idea.
"What if I wrote about a show I hated?" I asked Ramona.
I mean, why not? I had never seen a hater blog before, and wouldn't it be funny to read someone's views on a show they absolutely hated? Ripping the show apart. Showing a lack of understanding. Telling fans of the show that they're moronic imbeciles for liking this idiotic piece of television.
Now that I could get into!!
So I started thinking about kind of show would be perfect for such a blog. Enter Project Runway. I hate clothes, I had watched approximately 13 minutes of one episode and wanted to throw myself off a cliff during every second of those minutes, and Ramona loved the show so I knew that our arguments over her love and my disdain would make for great copy.
And so it began. :-)
And the funny thing was: The blog was successful. Each week, I did a running commentary of the crap that was on screen (and no, my hatred of the show never wavered) and people came to read!! By season's end, more than 13,600 hits were registered on projectrunwayhater.blogspot.com and I even got a small write-up in the Houston Chronicle.
So bucking under public pressure, I will indeed do the blog again. But please note: For the first three weeks of the season, my posts will be late. I'll do my best to squeeze in the Episode 1 recap before the wedding, but recaps of Episodes 2 and 3 will have to wait until I come back from my honeymoon in early September.
So my hate will just have to wait.
:-)
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
A friend of mine said the following to me yesterday:
Enjoy your last weekend as a bachelor.
Whoa.
Now that sounded "OH MY GOD I'M GETTING MARRIED IN A WEEK WTF AM I DOING!?!?!"-ish.
:-)
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Turning 30 With The Most Wonderful Woman In The World By My Side: A Nevin Barich Blog Experience
Usually when I write birthday blogs, I typically write about getting older while coming up with some funny little twist. And this year was going to be no exception. I am mere hours away from Thursday, Aug. 6, where I will turn the big 3-0. My 20s will be gone, I'll be starting on the path to middle age, and I even had the "funny twist" all set up:
"If the 30-year-old me ever went head-to-head with the 20-year-old me, 30-year-old Nev would kick 20-year-old Nev's ass!!"
But here's the thing: I honestly have barely thought about turning 30. I really haven't. My birthday really did sneak up on me this year. I know people make a big deal about turning 30, but as my 30th comes near, I have something much more important on my agenda:
Getting married to the most wonderful and beautiful woman in the world. :-)
For those new to my blog, on Aug. 22 I am getting married to my longtime girlfriend Ramona Shelburne. Ramona and I have been together for more than eight years, and it's her that I want to talk about this week.
Being with Ramona has taught me many things over the years. She taught me never to settle in my life. She taught me not to fear venturing out of my comfort zone. She taught me that it's OK to fail, and if I do, people won't think less of me and/or run away from me.
All of these lessons were huge and have helped me immensely throughout our relationship, but there was one lesson in particular that Ramona taught me that I value above everything else:
Unconditional love.
Unconditional love. It's different from falling in love. Falling in love, in many ways, is easy. You find someone that matches your physical, emotional and mental qualities, and you realize that it's easy to open up your heart to that person and let him or her in. You're seeing the best in that person and it makes you feel amazing.
That's falling in love.
But unconditional love is different. Unconditional love is when you continue to love that person no matter what. Unconditional love is when you love a person even after seeing some of their bad qualities, their flaws. Unconditional love is when you love someone even after seeing them at their worst, their lowest points.
Unconditional love is the love that matters most.
Ramona was the first woman I met with unconditional love in her heart. And I confess: It took me a long time to realize just how important and rare that really was. It was a lesson she and I have had to learn (and will continue to learn) more than once in our relationship, a lesson I nearly failed once or twice. But seeing her give me unconditional love during my low points in our relationship taught me the importance of doing the same for her. It's like a friend of mine once told me: "It's not about the good qualities in the person. It's about their bad qualities. Loving the good is easy. But if you can love the bad along with it, then you've got something."
That "something" is unconditional love. Ramona has always had it, and during our relationship, she taught it to me. :-)
Case in point: As I write this, I am currently holed up in my bedroom with bronchitis. I feel terrible, have to be waited on hand and foot, and look like one of the zombies in the movie "28 Days Later." The other night, I had a horrible coughing fit, so bad that I was nearly in tears as I feared something was seriously wrong. But Ramona was right there, calming me down, taking me to the emergency room, making sure I took my medicines and got plenty of rest. Her care has been awesome, but what's been even more awesome is knowing that even in this bad state, she still loves me regardless. I'm currently in one of those "at my worst" moments and yet I'm OK, because I don't have to question whether Ramona's love for me is any less. And during her "worst" moments, she knows that she also doesn't have to question my love for her.
That's unconditional love. :-)
Unconditional love is not easy. It's a two-way street -- both people in the relationship need to have it. So for those of you in relationships right now who have this type of love, I say never take it for granted. For everyone else, I say that falling in love is amazing. But unconditional love is truly the greatest love of all.
The love of my life taught me that. :-)
So how do I feel about turning 30?
Bring it on!! Because I got the greatest woman in the world by my side.
I love you, Ramona!! Thanks for saying yes!!
:-)
Before I get to this week's Sign Of The Apocalypse, a lot of you have been asking whether I'm going to continue my Project Runway Hater's blog for this upcoming season. The answer, unfortunately, is no. Despite hating watching the show all season, I genuinely loved that people got a kick out of the blog, and getting that mention in the Houston Chronicle was awesome. However, the season doesn't start until Aug. 20 and my wedding is Aug. 22. Factoring in final wedding preparations and the honeymoon, I'm already missing the first three weeks of the show. So it's with a bit of sadness that I say no to the Project Runway Hater blog this season.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Remember that dare I talked about during last week's blog entry?
Here's the video.
:-)
"If the 30-year-old me ever went head-to-head with the 20-year-old me, 30-year-old Nev would kick 20-year-old Nev's ass!!"
But here's the thing: I honestly have barely thought about turning 30. I really haven't. My birthday really did sneak up on me this year. I know people make a big deal about turning 30, but as my 30th comes near, I have something much more important on my agenda:
Getting married to the most wonderful and beautiful woman in the world. :-)
For those new to my blog, on Aug. 22 I am getting married to my longtime girlfriend Ramona Shelburne. Ramona and I have been together for more than eight years, and it's her that I want to talk about this week.
Being with Ramona has taught me many things over the years. She taught me never to settle in my life. She taught me not to fear venturing out of my comfort zone. She taught me that it's OK to fail, and if I do, people won't think less of me and/or run away from me.
All of these lessons were huge and have helped me immensely throughout our relationship, but there was one lesson in particular that Ramona taught me that I value above everything else:
Unconditional love.
Unconditional love. It's different from falling in love. Falling in love, in many ways, is easy. You find someone that matches your physical, emotional and mental qualities, and you realize that it's easy to open up your heart to that person and let him or her in. You're seeing the best in that person and it makes you feel amazing.
That's falling in love.
But unconditional love is different. Unconditional love is when you continue to love that person no matter what. Unconditional love is when you love a person even after seeing some of their bad qualities, their flaws. Unconditional love is when you love someone even after seeing them at their worst, their lowest points.
Unconditional love is the love that matters most.
Ramona was the first woman I met with unconditional love in her heart. And I confess: It took me a long time to realize just how important and rare that really was. It was a lesson she and I have had to learn (and will continue to learn) more than once in our relationship, a lesson I nearly failed once or twice. But seeing her give me unconditional love during my low points in our relationship taught me the importance of doing the same for her. It's like a friend of mine once told me: "It's not about the good qualities in the person. It's about their bad qualities. Loving the good is easy. But if you can love the bad along with it, then you've got something."
That "something" is unconditional love. Ramona has always had it, and during our relationship, she taught it to me. :-)
Case in point: As I write this, I am currently holed up in my bedroom with bronchitis. I feel terrible, have to be waited on hand and foot, and look like one of the zombies in the movie "28 Days Later." The other night, I had a horrible coughing fit, so bad that I was nearly in tears as I feared something was seriously wrong. But Ramona was right there, calming me down, taking me to the emergency room, making sure I took my medicines and got plenty of rest. Her care has been awesome, but what's been even more awesome is knowing that even in this bad state, she still loves me regardless. I'm currently in one of those "at my worst" moments and yet I'm OK, because I don't have to question whether Ramona's love for me is any less. And during her "worst" moments, she knows that she also doesn't have to question my love for her.
That's unconditional love. :-)
Unconditional love is not easy. It's a two-way street -- both people in the relationship need to have it. So for those of you in relationships right now who have this type of love, I say never take it for granted. For everyone else, I say that falling in love is amazing. But unconditional love is truly the greatest love of all.
The love of my life taught me that. :-)
So how do I feel about turning 30?
Bring it on!! Because I got the greatest woman in the world by my side.
I love you, Ramona!! Thanks for saying yes!!
:-)
Before I get to this week's Sign Of The Apocalypse, a lot of you have been asking whether I'm going to continue my Project Runway Hater's blog for this upcoming season. The answer, unfortunately, is no. Despite hating watching the show all season, I genuinely loved that people got a kick out of the blog, and getting that mention in the Houston Chronicle was awesome. However, the season doesn't start until Aug. 20 and my wedding is Aug. 22. Factoring in final wedding preparations and the honeymoon, I'm already missing the first three weeks of the show. So it's with a bit of sadness that I say no to the Project Runway Hater blog this season.
And now for this week's:
SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE
Remember that dare I talked about during last week's blog entry?
Here's the video.
:-)
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