I never got around to blogging about Vine, Twitter’s service for making and sharing 6-second videos that loop endlessly. I meant to recommend it to parents as a way to capture moments with their kids, sort of like the moving photographs in Harry Potter.
Parents have plenty of other options now, like Instagram video, Apple Live Photos and the new Vine Camera for Twitter, but the old Vine is going away. For posterity, I downloaded all my old Vines and smashed them together in a big supercut on YouTube. I added some titles to help with context.
What I got was a vaguely arty 27-minute film about the last four years of my life. The best part, of course, is watching my kids grow up.
In the fall of 2003, a panel of Arizona State University staff asked me what I wanted my legacy to be at ASU. I told them I wanted future students to read my school-newspaper columns and think, “That guy got it right.”
The panel didn’t appoint me to homecoming court, and I’ve always blamed that dumb answer. My journalism career quickly beat into me the idea that nobody cares about old opinion pieces.
Author Bill Hanstock calls me “a brilliant student reporter” and, immediately thereafter, includes a painful reminder about how old I am.
I’m pretty sure tortillas have been on the blacklist since I was in school, and this year ASU is cracking down on kegs and drinking games at tailgates. No “shot gunning,” a tailgating activity so familiar to me that I would have written it as one word.
See, the point of throwing tortillas at football games in 2002 was to carry on a tradition. That’s probably why I shotgun the occasional beer at tailgates. Thinking these activities are misguided doesn’t make you a fascist.
But the fun police need to appreciate that all these little things add up to a legacy of fandom. Fourteen years of these shenanigans have made me a bigger fan of ASU football than any other sport.
I want my kids to be as passionate about ASU football as I am. I realize that my debauched traditions are slowly giving way to more family-friendly activities. In time, though, the kids will come up with their own wild stuff. That’s a legacy.
Thanks to a new Arizona law that allows bars and liquor stores to sell draught beer in take-home containers, all my friends are buzzing about growlers. Usually a 64-ounce brown glass bottle, a growler is great for new parents who can’t waste precious babysitter time sipping craft beer in bars. A growler won’t collect dust like the other well-intentioned bottles of booze in your fridge because the beer doesn’t keep long. Honey, we have to drink this.
My go-to growler this fall has been Four Peaks Pumpkin Porter, a hard-to-find local seasonal that rivals America’s top pumpkin beers. I’ve brought home growlers for entertaining, tailgating and movie night at home. The biggest challenge is that the bottles are fragile and hard to transport in the car. Thanks to my baby son, I have a solution: