It's not whether you win or lose...It's how good you look on the plaque

Before I start on my main subject, I just want to give a shout out (is that still cool to say?) to Samantha and Mike for visiting us cowpokes here in San Antonio. We feel honored when anyone visits us and in that context, Jenn and I would like to make sure everyone knows that an open invitation always goes without saying. We can take you to “The Worst barbeque in Texas,” the River Walk, the Alamo and of course, the now famous (infamous) Apple store. And by the way, I’m practically registered as an Alamo tour guide by now. Of course, you may experience an inordinate amount of gas while you’re down here, just ask Oliver. And if you want to buy a mask like “Nacho Libre”, there are a plethora of choices down here at El Mercado.

With that said, onto the main event:

It was great to receive that email from The iBookie with the news that I outlasted all the worthy competition—and worthy you were. For those that weren’t there (which would be everyone but Jenn), I got so excited that I almost started doing the Mexican Hat Dance. No offense Mayka. I did feel the need to restrain somewhat, as I do live with the former title holder, and her feelings were to be respected. She must now call me Captain Madness…okay, that was dumb.

Anyway, just because everyone at work looks at me differently after I told them about the money, picture and plaque on the wall, doesn’t mean anything (except that they're jealous). In fact, in the spirit of full disclosure, I feel that I have finally reached nirvana, that state of complete fulfillment, of wanting absolutely nothing. (That is of course until Playstation 3 comes out late November). I bet I speak for many of the family members when I say that I couldn’t care less about the money. I’m just excited to see my name on that plaque. Of course, I will still accept the money with open arms, or wallet as it were. In fact, has it been sent yet? Was it sent Priority? Is it cash or check? Just kidding…(no, but seriously).

Of course, this year I think the plaque should go right on the wall in front of the entry way. Not necessarily so visitors can see that I won (which I did)—but more so to show our family traditions, closeness, etc. Which reminds me: Mom, do you remember when you told me in Brawley (or Delano) that I was better than Nick at some things? I tried to tell Nick and he would just laugh at me with his too-cool 90’s montage jacket that he got for Christmas. Well, seeing as how Nick has barely escaped the cellar dwellers (aka Sam, Riley, Aiden, Oliver) the last couple of years, I think I found that some thing. Wow, the tournament’s not even over yet and the trash-talking has already begun. This must be how Gary Payton of the early 90’s felt, except that he never won a championship.

I know that all you conspiracy theorists are secretly weighing in on my victory. Let me clear up a few things:

No, Jenn did not fill out my bracket. I understand that you might be thinking that I agreed to pay her for her consulting services, but alas, the whole bracket was mine… MINE, I TELL YOU!!! MmmwwwaaaahahaHaHaHAHAHAAAA! (uhhh, okay...).

In fact, I think Jenn’s fall from the top came about due to her extensive research. In the past, it’s gone down pretty much the same each year: 1. Jenn gets her bracket 2. She keeps me up till 2 in the morning the night before (voluntarily, of course :). 3. And finally she fills it out after asking me questions I pretend to know the answers to. This year was a bit different. In fact, the evening before sending the brackets to The i-Bookie in Salt Lake, I walked over to her on the couch while she was on the laptop. I had already filled out my brackets and it looked like she was making last minute modifications. Our conversation went something like this:

(me walking up to her)
Me: Hey there.

Jenn: Did you know Fraser and Ray are hurt?

Me: Uhhhh…yeah… of… course… I… did (scratching my head).

Jenn: I wonder if they’ll be ready for the tourney.

Me: Well, uhhh, yeah, ummm, do you know where my bracket is??? I have to make sure I put my name on it…(me quickly scurring away).

By the way, she still took Villanova despite the injuries, which would have worked if Florida hadn’t forgotten that they’re supposed to choke in the 2nd round.

As for the picture on the plaque, I am still trying to decide on which one to send. Contrary to Dad’s wishes, it will not be a picture of me kissing Jenn’s bicep. We’ll save that one for never. I will, however, send out a picture pretty soon—I have an appointment at the Salon next week and a pedicure scheduled for Thursday…

By the way, in case you forgot, All mom’s kids and money go to BYU.

I had been following college basketball a little and now I don’t really know what to do. I don’t want to start reading about Spring football just because I know it will undoubtedly raise hopes and expectations to unrealistic levels. I watched the Utah Jazz play the New Orleans Hornets last night, which the Jazz ended up winning. Unfortunately they’re still 2 games out of a playoff spot. They’ve had more chances than Daryl Strawberry to get that 8th playoff spot, but they have choked when it has mattered most. Sometimes it seems like they just stand around there, looking like Trevor folding clothes while watching TV. Oh well.

I heard the funniest thing toward the end of the game. New Orleans was losing pretty badly and “O-tag” was still on the sidelines. I think it was Boller who said something to the affect that, “it looks like Ostertag has accepted his role on the bench, to come in as a role player.” How could he not accept this—He’s getting paid $4.4 million this year to (1) average 14.1 minutes per game ($312K/minute) and (2) root for his team. And mom, don’t worry, I like the “Tag”, I just thought it was funny what they said.

And no, I am not a spurs fan: They are boring, they have Bruce Bowen and Eva Longoria is the center of every sports story here. It wears on you…

Well, the original bracket will now go into a very safe place. In fact, I’ll probably put it in the safe right between my 1991 Donruss Harold Baines error card now worth approximately 18 cents and my 1938 Wheat penny. Ahhh, the amount of wealth I have acquired over the years. At this rate, the Harold Baines rookie card should be worth about 3 ½ cents by the time I retire and cash it in. But alas, the bracket and its victory shall never diminish.

Which reminds me, I had better go so I can update my résumé.

Ramblings from Russia

It’s been a while, so I thought I’d contribute to our wonderful family forum, and no Samantha, this isn't from your long lost cousin.

First of all, congratulations to Trevor for a great biathlon swim. It looks like you swam in the same pool that I did when I did the team competition a couple of times. I don’t know how it is now but when I swam, they kept the pool at a comfortable 82 degrees. It’s nice when you swim in warmer water because then you don’t have to go through a sauna session afterward.

I was coming home from work on Thursday and decided to take the bus home because I was going to be at work a little later than usual. It’s not very often but every once in a while I’ve wondered what I would do if someone took over the bus and started to rob everyone. Well it finally dawned on me that the chances of someone robbing the bus are highly unlikely. First, the bus is highly visible and people would notice that the bus wasn’t going anywhere. Second, waiting bus riders would get suspicious (or impatient) and call in to voice their suspicions (complain). Finally, after collecting a total of $2.14 from all the passengers on board, they would probably be picked up by the cops (with the help of cell phone, bus radio, etc). Or, the bus driver would probably run them over. The rational individual would see that the risk would be much greater than the reward. And since the bus is usually full of rational people…

I guess my latest news is that I finally had “the thing” removed from my chin. For those that were unaware of my plight, I first noticed the bump on my chin about two years ago. I was sitting in a government law class, most likely playing Madden football 2004 on my laptop on the back row when a perplexing question (or maybe just an itch) caused me to rub the aforementioned area. It was then I notice what seemed like the small pea-shaped bump.

Well, after another year and a half, Jenn finally succeeded in convincing me to go to the doctor, which (the first time) turned out to be a complete disaster—the doctor turned out to be a cross between Uncle Rico and Phil Mickelson. As I waited in the patient room, I was lucky to be entreated to numerous pictures on the wall of said dermatologist playing the greens. I first thought, “Okay, this guy probably just loves golf, and wants everyone to know it.” Come to find out, it wasn’t that simple—he talked to me for a total of 6 minutes, three of which were spent looking at his watch, undoubtedly late for an 11:30 tee time. His final words best summed up his professionalism when I asked him what he would recommend: “Oh, I don’t know… It’s probably a cyst (3 second pause) but usually cysts are softer than what you have…but you can do whatever you want.”

I left Dr. Rico’s office feeling a little discouraged. About a month later I went to a different dermatologist who proceeded to show me pictures, diagrams, etc. Paraphrasing Jason Kidd, going to this doctor was “360 degree turnaround.” Of course, his hands were shakier than Tim Allen’s movie career. (Which begs the question: Have Tim Allen’s movie choices sunk to a level on par with Shaq and Hulk Hogan. I mean, No Holds Barred and Blue Chips were good flicks, but before you know it, they roll out movies like Suburban Commando and Kazaam and you wonder if they lost a bet or something. I guess this all comes from seeing the previews of Tim Allen’s new movie, The Shaggy Dog. If anything, I probably won’t watch it for the mere reason that Mom will probably buy it on sale at Costco for $19.98, and I can watch it a couple of Christmas’s from now.

I made the follow-up appointment to go under the knife, even with the shaky hands. The night before the surgery, I woke up in cold sweats, beginning to realize that this surgery could hinder my success in life—I mean, my face is my livelihood (just kidding). No, but seriously...

I think this is probably a good place for a disclaimer: While I did have surgery on my chin and love (& live) to tell about it, it obviously comes nowhere close to what other members in our family have had to go through with other surgeries and I make no attempt to equate mine or minimize or parody those that others have gone through.

Now, just like most of the Tustison clan, I make it a general policy to avoid the doctor, until spousal nagging finally takes it toll. Therefore, I’m not generally versed in doctor’s office vernacular or the appropriate modus operandi—and the unfamiliarity made me a bit uncomfortable. The last time I went under the knife, I had been home from Honduras for about six months when I had a mole removed from my lower back. It was done at Mom’s 7th doctor’s office job, located in Sal Lay. For some reason, something as simple as a mole removal actually took about four nurses. I didn’t know if they were admiring my mole or waiting for me to crack a soda can between my shoulder blades.

So the point is that I was a little nervous going in. The doctor gave me four shots around the area, handed me some kind of mask with a hole in it and went to work with the scalpel. About halfway through, I thought I heard something drop to the floor (& my suspicions were comfirmed when the nurse picked something up.) And what do you know, it sounded like a little ball the size of a pea. Now, I know that the extent of my medical knowledge is only built on the first and second season of Grey’s Anatomy and that it may be minimal at best, but I do know two things: 1. Whatever fell probably wasn’t supposed to fall and 2. The ‘whatever’ was probably my twin (a la My Big Fat Greek Wedding).

Anyway, the whole process lasted about thirty minutes. I will most likely have a scar, but it will be rather imperceptible since he made the cut slightly underneath. Otherwise I would have an uneven butt chin.

Needless to say, everything went well and Jenn even took me afterwards to get a Blizzard at Dairy Queen. It reminded me of the first time I broke my arm trying to out-jump Tyler Veasey on the trampoline and Mom took me to the hospital after I had complained for a few days of uneasiness in my left arm, not to mention the concussion I received from the head-on collision with the ground. Anyway, after getting my arm wrapped up, I fondly remember the following: a) the Kit Kat on the way home, b) the drugs c) and of course the bendy WWF Pro Wrestler (I think it was Hulk Hogan).

But I want everyone to know that I am doing just fine. The recovery process has been good to me. I even went to our stake basketball tournament (against Jenn’s wishes) and ended up scoring half the points. Of course we lost 55 to 30. I also ran for a half hour the same day they released me (I didn’t have to stay overnight for observation) and ended up finding a ten dollar bill. I find that these extracurricular activities help me channel away the pain.

One final note: I am still waiting for Mom to write her 20,000 word blog about her new shiny Ipod. I don’t think everyone has heard about it yet…

New News From Us Too

After just nine months, Chad has become the newest Senior Budget Analyst for the City of San Antonio. He was told that he is their first choice of 72 applicants (17 of which were interviewed). His hard work and extrememly good looks have finally gotten the credit he deserves! In reality he is quite humbled by their confidence in him. I know that he will continue to do well and I am definitely proud of him.