I'm trying something completely different. Since my life has taken a turn for the uninteresting (partially untrue), I'm gonna start writing stupid shit. What follows is the first of what I think will be a (semi-) weekly post riffing on noir writings. It may be stupid and in all likelihood will amuse no one but myself, but well, it's my blog and I've been indulgent up until now, so why fight it?
Also, just to say it, please don't reprint this material without my permission. I retain all copyright on materials I post on this blog unless it is someone else's.
The Phil Collins is bouncing off the hard wood floors as I sit and think about her. Her name wasn't Sudio, but I just wanted to say the word. It had been a week since she left me sitting in my El Camino with nothing left to hold onto except my own sense of self-worth and Phil was there for me again. Just like he had been there for me in sixth grade, when Courtney wouldn't dance with me at the fall formal. And in eleventh grade when Kerry abandonded me for the Eagles Reunion tour. And after prom, when Jane dumped me on the dance floor, Phil Collins was there to hold my head and wipe the tears from my eyes. That's just the kind of guy Phil Collins is. I know guys in my line of work are supposed to be tough, and I am when I have to be, but sometimes just hearing "In the Air Tonight" will make me cry like a little child.
But that's a digression. She left. And now I'm here throwing myself recklessly into my work. They say any distraction is a good one when you're trying to forget someone, but I gotta tell you, scanning over life insurance documents to try and figure out some bullshit about what I can't even remember. I thought I took this kind of work because it was interesting.
That's the night my new client walks into--a boring, semi-depressed affair that I thought I only invited Phil Collins to. He's a slight man, my new client. Everything about him says small, and it only says that because saying timid might be overstepping the bounds. He's wearing a pair of glasses that are barely bigger than his tiny green eyes. His suit is well-worn and he's already loosened his tie after a day that, if I had to guess, was another in a long line of mental and pyschological beatings. His eyes were small, as I said, but they were sharp. There was still a flicker of something in there. It's too soon to know whether it's hope, or brains, or just a couple pints.
"You're [the gumshoe]?" he asked as if the name on the door wasn't assurance enough.
"Yeah." And then a silence settled in for a second. He was either having second thoughts or he didn't know how to start. "Why don't you sit down and tell me your name and your problem and I'll suggest ways I can help."
"Yes." He sat quickly, setting a briefcase neatly beside the chair and folding his arms into his lap as I reached for the stereo and turned the Phil Collins down. "My name is Simon Flettering and. Well. It's my wife, Selma. I think she's left me."
"You're not sure?" I've been dumped many, many times, and I've always been sure that I was dumped. But then, maybe I just dated women who were extremely communicative that way. Maybe.
"I came home from work yesterday and she was gone. Her closets were cleared out and the suitcases were gone. There wasn't a note, but...she wasn't there." His eyes shifted nervously as he spoke. It's never easy to tell another guy you've been dumped. No matter how many times it happens to you, you just hate to have to tell other guys. It's not so much the judgment or the possibility of getting emotional, it's the wierd vulnerability. It's that moment of telling your buddies that there's a way to get to you, right to your core.
"Have you been having trouble lately?"
"A little." Another quiet stretch as he considererd what to tell me and I thought about what the best way to ask my questions was without chasing him, and his wallet, out of the room.
"Can you tell me about it? The more you tell me the better I can tell you whether it's best to search for her or wait for her to return. Or let her go." The last sentence caught him in the gut, I could see it in his eyes. But he got it together quickly.
"Well. We'd been having a lot of arguments lately. She'd gotten herself a new boyfriend and I he was treating her--" He'd said it so casually.
"Excuse me, did you say 'new boyfriend'? As in she's had others?"
"Sure. We're. Well, she has boyfriends and it's okay with me. As long as they treat her nice, which this last guy didn't."
"You're not the jealous type, Simon?"
"No, not really. We're a different type of marriage, [gumshoe]. She has boyfriends and it's okay." His face turned red and his eyes stared out the window behind me at the streetlight that dropped into view from seemingly nowhere. And I thought it was hard to tell another guy you've been dumped.
"Sure. I've read about those in Penthouse."
"Well. Regardless." He swallowed. "This new guy was taking up a lot of her time. And I asked her about it. And there was yelling."
"Uh-huh. How did you ask her about it?"
"After dinner. She'd made steak and was just about to go see him again, and I asked her about it."
"I see, but what did you say?"
"I just asked why she was seeing so much of him?"
"Sure. Well, why don't you tell me his name?"
"She didn't tell me his name. She just told me he had a huge--"
"Yeah. Well, I'm not gonna go around looking for a guy with some huge junk."
"But you're gonna look for this guy?"
"Seems like. I get $200 a day plus expenses. Why don't we start out with a week and we'll meet again next week."
"That's fine." He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a checkbook. It's a beautiful sight to watch someone write you a check. This insurance stuff I'd been working on paid most the bills, but it wasn't gonna get me to retirement. Or a new car, which I needed.
I waited until he handed over the check before I asked if he'd involved the cops yet.
"No."
"Okay. Well. I'll get back to you if I find anything. If not, we'll meet a week from now."
And that's how this shitstorm started.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Semester Out.
And that's the semester...and I gotta say, that was a lot of material we just covered.
My goal going into the semester was to finish all three of these classes doing well enough to get honors qualification from them. You see, to get honors in the program overall, you need to get 7 out of 8 classes finishing at 90% or above. So I wanted to save my one miss for later classes, just in case they were harder or I was working and wouldn't have as much time to devote to them. I think I did well enough to keep things alive, but really, I'm not sure.
In two classes, I should be good. They were hard, but I understood them and they came pretty naturally. In the third, though, it wasn't that easy. And I made some stupid mistakes that may punch my grade just below the line. It didn't help that the teacher had an air of nonchalance that made me feel that he was sometimes mailing it in, but really it was my mistakes that could cost me this one. But, it's all still a learning experience. And I know I need to re-read assignments before turning them in. And make sure I'm fully answering questions.
But, whatever. I think I just turned in a perfect test tonight. And I think that's gotta be good enough for now.
My goal going into the semester was to finish all three of these classes doing well enough to get honors qualification from them. You see, to get honors in the program overall, you need to get 7 out of 8 classes finishing at 90% or above. So I wanted to save my one miss for later classes, just in case they were harder or I was working and wouldn't have as much time to devote to them. I think I did well enough to keep things alive, but really, I'm not sure.
In two classes, I should be good. They were hard, but I understood them and they came pretty naturally. In the third, though, it wasn't that easy. And I made some stupid mistakes that may punch my grade just below the line. It didn't help that the teacher had an air of nonchalance that made me feel that he was sometimes mailing it in, but really it was my mistakes that could cost me this one. But, it's all still a learning experience. And I know I need to re-read assignments before turning them in. And make sure I'm fully answering questions.
But, whatever. I think I just turned in a perfect test tonight. And I think that's gotta be good enough for now.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Ramblings about liquor (or I know there's a coherent thread that could link these thoughts together more elegantly, but...well..)
You know what kind of thinking can get me in trouble? The kind where I think that on Sunday (my 31st birthday), it'll have been a decade since I was old enough to drink. Kids who were being born when I was in third grade will now be able to have their first legal drink in this country. Yeah. I was all nonchalant about the birthday until I thought that beauty up.
^^^^
I had been drinking before I turned 21, of course. I started the summer after I graduated from high school. I think my first drink was at my friend John Notch's apartment. He lived across SE 5th in an apartment complex that had sprung up somewhere in the five years before that summer. I don't really remember what it was I first had. I kind of wish I did, because deciding to drink was such a big deal to me at the time. The oddest thing to think about is how in those 10 years, things that used to seem like the biggest decision in the world are now the easiest. It used to be whether if I started drinking was I going to turn into an alcoholic like both of my grandfathers. Now it's do I feel like and ale or a porter.
And it used to make me feel grown up--in the way that an 18 year old is always so grown up and able to make the tough decisions for themselves. I never would have imagined that 10 years later life would be so much more complex. It's not really harder, because I approached everything like it was the biggest thing and you know, if I'm being honest, I guess it kind of was. I was about to go to college (an experience that absolutely changed my life). I was about to have sex for the first time* (an experience that is similar to starting to drink in that now, it's not so much of a big deal, but at the time every step in that direction was monumental). And I was feeling just as confused and frustrated as I am today.
^^^^
I remember my girlfriend at the time taught me the helpful rhyme, "Hard before beer, you're in the clear." And it's counterpart, "Beer before hard, you're in yard" (presumably throwing up). Though, I've never thrown up in a yard. In an alley once, but that's a different story. I later learned the more sensible "Beer before liquor, never sicker." It's a better rhyme and I can't help but think Alexander Pope would approve of this a little more.
^^^^
I turned 21 in London, where the drinking age is 18, so I'd been drinking legally for 3 or so months before that. Still though, there's something awesome about turning 21 and being surrounded by friends and doing something special. We went to Wagamama's in Soho (which I hear is still there, by the way), an awesome noodle bar. They say they can help you live a better life, which I don't know about really. But the food tastes good.
Anyhoo. That's where I had sake for the first time. And really the only time until recently.
^^^^
Like I said, I don't remember what my first drink was (though it was probably a Heineken knowing what John was into that summer), but I do remember sometime that summer I started drinking Mountain Dew and Vodka. Together. Before you go out and make yourself a pitcher, let me just say it's not a drink that holds up to more sophisticated pallets. But jesus, I used to love those things. What the hell was wrong with me that I thought putting those two things together was good?
*As I've cryptically mentioned before on the blog, I was molested when I was younger. I've always struggled with does that count as "the first time"? I can see it either way and I change my mind about it, but today I'm counting this as the first. Possibly because it makes my point** a little better.
**I could be flattering myself by thinking I have a point.
^^^^
I had been drinking before I turned 21, of course. I started the summer after I graduated from high school. I think my first drink was at my friend John Notch's apartment. He lived across SE 5th in an apartment complex that had sprung up somewhere in the five years before that summer. I don't really remember what it was I first had. I kind of wish I did, because deciding to drink was such a big deal to me at the time. The oddest thing to think about is how in those 10 years, things that used to seem like the biggest decision in the world are now the easiest. It used to be whether if I started drinking was I going to turn into an alcoholic like both of my grandfathers. Now it's do I feel like and ale or a porter.
And it used to make me feel grown up--in the way that an 18 year old is always so grown up and able to make the tough decisions for themselves. I never would have imagined that 10 years later life would be so much more complex. It's not really harder, because I approached everything like it was the biggest thing and you know, if I'm being honest, I guess it kind of was. I was about to go to college (an experience that absolutely changed my life). I was about to have sex for the first time* (an experience that is similar to starting to drink in that now, it's not so much of a big deal, but at the time every step in that direction was monumental). And I was feeling just as confused and frustrated as I am today.
^^^^
I remember my girlfriend at the time taught me the helpful rhyme, "Hard before beer, you're in the clear." And it's counterpart, "Beer before hard, you're in yard" (presumably throwing up). Though, I've never thrown up in a yard. In an alley once, but that's a different story. I later learned the more sensible "Beer before liquor, never sicker." It's a better rhyme and I can't help but think Alexander Pope would approve of this a little more.
^^^^
I turned 21 in London, where the drinking age is 18, so I'd been drinking legally for 3 or so months before that. Still though, there's something awesome about turning 21 and being surrounded by friends and doing something special. We went to Wagamama's in Soho (which I hear is still there, by the way), an awesome noodle bar. They say they can help you live a better life, which I don't know about really. But the food tastes good.
Anyhoo. That's where I had sake for the first time. And really the only time until recently.
^^^^
Like I said, I don't remember what my first drink was (though it was probably a Heineken knowing what John was into that summer), but I do remember sometime that summer I started drinking Mountain Dew and Vodka. Together. Before you go out and make yourself a pitcher, let me just say it's not a drink that holds up to more sophisticated pallets. But jesus, I used to love those things. What the hell was wrong with me that I thought putting those two things together was good?
*As I've cryptically mentioned before on the blog, I was molested when I was younger. I've always struggled with does that count as "the first time"? I can see it either way and I change my mind about it, but today I'm counting this as the first. Possibly because it makes my point** a little better.
**I could be flattering myself by thinking I have a point.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
New stuff...
1. Being unemployed sucks.
You probably knew that, but I thought it worth reiterating and expounding. It sucks for all the things you would think. The not having money. The feelings of aimlessness and worthlessness. These you could probably guess at.
But there are other things that suck about it too. I don't know if it's just me, but I don't feel bad about being unemployed. And that makes me feel bad. I don't miss my work. At least the work I've had in the past. They were growing experiences and I don't really regret them, but if I had the choice between those jobs and what I'm doing now (which is waiting for a temp gig to start and going to school and maybe getting a volunteer opportunity), I would chose this. And I feel really guilty about it.
I feel guilty for blogging (though I haven't done that much). I feel guilty for using my time to read anything that isn't schoolwork and I feel guilty if I go running or something that makes my feel better.
So, I don't let myself do any of them. It's like I have to punish myself. Not quite hairshirt-type punishment, I'll grant, but this is how my subconcious works. When I had to spend a day at the unemployment office, I hated it of course, but I also sort of felt this is what I deserve. It's not like the firing itself was bad enough for my transgressions (being paid too much to do stupid crap), I should go to this office and be treated like an utter loser devoid of any standing in the community other than that of a drain.
This is how my mind works...and it's not good. But there you go.
2. I'll be 31 very soon. Not nearly as momentous or daunting as last year, but it's still worth noting, I am not dead.
3. I'm going to endeavor to keep this blog more current than I have during what I will now call "the dark period", except for an upcoming trip to Thailand.
4. This point is mostly for anyone in Thailand who has some pull. Um. I'm glad the airports have been vacated by protestors. That's a plus. But, if you guys could have your government together and settled by the time my wife and I go there for our honeymoon, that'd be super. I'm not saying go to an dictatorship or anything drastic, just, you know, kind of have it decided and non-voilent and western-loving (or at least western-money-loving) by the time we get there and for the duration of our stay, that'd work well for me. It's maybe a little sad that I'd be okay with a little less democracy for the Thai people if it means my honeymoon can be relaxing (for me), but hey, if the last 8 years have taught me anything it's to sell out rights for comfort. And well, these aren't even my rights, so I can care even less, right?
5. Despite the above rantings, I am okay. I'm not happy, but I'm not morose. I'm enduring. And hey, I'm going to Thailand in a bit, so things aren't so bad.
You probably knew that, but I thought it worth reiterating and expounding. It sucks for all the things you would think. The not having money. The feelings of aimlessness and worthlessness. These you could probably guess at.
But there are other things that suck about it too. I don't know if it's just me, but I don't feel bad about being unemployed. And that makes me feel bad. I don't miss my work. At least the work I've had in the past. They were growing experiences and I don't really regret them, but if I had the choice between those jobs and what I'm doing now (which is waiting for a temp gig to start and going to school and maybe getting a volunteer opportunity), I would chose this. And I feel really guilty about it.
I feel guilty for blogging (though I haven't done that much). I feel guilty for using my time to read anything that isn't schoolwork and I feel guilty if I go running or something that makes my feel better.
So, I don't let myself do any of them. It's like I have to punish myself. Not quite hairshirt-type punishment, I'll grant, but this is how my subconcious works. When I had to spend a day at the unemployment office, I hated it of course, but I also sort of felt this is what I deserve. It's not like the firing itself was bad enough for my transgressions (being paid too much to do stupid crap), I should go to this office and be treated like an utter loser devoid of any standing in the community other than that of a drain.
This is how my mind works...and it's not good. But there you go.
2. I'll be 31 very soon. Not nearly as momentous or daunting as last year, but it's still worth noting, I am not dead.
3. I'm going to endeavor to keep this blog more current than I have during what I will now call "the dark period", except for an upcoming trip to Thailand.
4. This point is mostly for anyone in Thailand who has some pull. Um. I'm glad the airports have been vacated by protestors. That's a plus. But, if you guys could have your government together and settled by the time my wife and I go there for our honeymoon, that'd be super. I'm not saying go to an dictatorship or anything drastic, just, you know, kind of have it decided and non-voilent and western-loving (or at least western-money-loving) by the time we get there and for the duration of our stay, that'd work well for me. It's maybe a little sad that I'd be okay with a little less democracy for the Thai people if it means my honeymoon can be relaxing (for me), but hey, if the last 8 years have taught me anything it's to sell out rights for comfort. And well, these aren't even my rights, so I can care even less, right?
5. Despite the above rantings, I am okay. I'm not happy, but I'm not morose. I'm enduring. And hey, I'm going to Thailand in a bit, so things aren't so bad.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Pumpkin Carving: Or how pumkins are like classic horror films.
I know I haven't posted much, but that's partly because all I'm doing is reading and searching for jobs, which post in and post out, is boring. But Haloween is here. And that means pumpkin carving!
Here's the one Dinah did:
It's very well done, of course. Clean lines, symmetrical. You can just tell Dinah did it. And if you had to describe it as representing a classic horror film, you'd probably say Dracula. Or I would, because that's just the kind of thoughts I have when I'm carving pumkins.
And then there's mine: I wasn't going for clean and symmetrical. I was going for creepy and off-kilter. Where hers is Dracula, mine is more Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It plays more to my pumpkin carving strengths to not have to worry about making everything even. Of course it helped that I chose to use the sideo f the pumpkin that was heavily scarred. But then, I've always been a big believer in using the minuses of a pumpkin as strengths. (I put too much time and thought into pumkin carving.)
Anyway, Happy Haloween!
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Another Hodge-Podge of stuff....
You know, I didn't come into this past year thinking I needed to change everything. I just thought about some adjustments I wanted to make to my life. But looking back at where I was a year ago (which has always been something I've liked to do), I've really come a ways this year.
Firstly, I got married. I didn't think it would be such a big change. Dinah and I had been living together for almost 5 years before we got married, so it seemed that all the mysteries were figured out. The little ones are figured out, I think. But there's so much more to it than I thought. And there's something about telling someone in such a formal way that you're not going anywhere, ever, that makes things just enough different. Deeper. I don't know that I can explain it just 6 months in, but I'm liking this.
Also, I've started running somewhat consistently and I've cut 25 pounds off of my body. (I don't like to say lost it, because it makes me feel like I'll find it again someday. Which I might, but I don't need to imply it.) That's a pretty big change. I'm not at the target I set for myself yet, but I'm not far. And truthfully, I feel so much better about my body (though I'm still no pin-up model*) that I don't think I'd feel too bad staying here. So. We'll see.
And yes, I lost my job almost a month ago. Which is a set back. But I'm in school now. I'm gaining skills and accredidation. I'm on the road to something, even if I sometimes lose sight of it and wallow in the fact that I was fired and become bored spending my days doing work that's due in 2 weeks and reviewing my review of the original readings. Here's the truth about the whole being fired thing: I don't miss the job. I miss some of the people. I miss the money. I miss the feeling of accomplishment I sometimes got from my day. I miss being annoyed, because it was my way of making myself feel like I was doing something that was worth being annoyed over, when I really knew it wasn't. So, that's that. Not that they care, but I wish the former employers well. This was probably best for everyone, and I know they've moved on. And I'm in the process. So. Yeah. That's the chapter on that.
I just worry that future employers will look at that chapter and judge me harshly because of it. That's the only thing about how everything went down that bothers me. But all I can do now is fix it so they don't. Oh, and find a job that I like. And there are some out there, so that's good.
Anyhoo. Sorry for the lack of updating.
*They have male pin-up models right? Or do women stop pinning men up after they stop reading Tiger Beat?
Firstly, I got married. I didn't think it would be such a big change. Dinah and I had been living together for almost 5 years before we got married, so it seemed that all the mysteries were figured out. The little ones are figured out, I think. But there's so much more to it than I thought. And there's something about telling someone in such a formal way that you're not going anywhere, ever, that makes things just enough different. Deeper. I don't know that I can explain it just 6 months in, but I'm liking this.
Also, I've started running somewhat consistently and I've cut 25 pounds off of my body. (I don't like to say lost it, because it makes me feel like I'll find it again someday. Which I might, but I don't need to imply it.) That's a pretty big change. I'm not at the target I set for myself yet, but I'm not far. And truthfully, I feel so much better about my body (though I'm still no pin-up model*) that I don't think I'd feel too bad staying here. So. We'll see.
And yes, I lost my job almost a month ago. Which is a set back. But I'm in school now. I'm gaining skills and accredidation. I'm on the road to something, even if I sometimes lose sight of it and wallow in the fact that I was fired and become bored spending my days doing work that's due in 2 weeks and reviewing my review of the original readings. Here's the truth about the whole being fired thing: I don't miss the job. I miss some of the people. I miss the money. I miss the feeling of accomplishment I sometimes got from my day. I miss being annoyed, because it was my way of making myself feel like I was doing something that was worth being annoyed over, when I really knew it wasn't. So, that's that. Not that they care, but I wish the former employers well. This was probably best for everyone, and I know they've moved on. And I'm in the process. So. Yeah. That's the chapter on that.
I just worry that future employers will look at that chapter and judge me harshly because of it. That's the only thing about how everything went down that bothers me. But all I can do now is fix it so they don't. Oh, and find a job that I like. And there are some out there, so that's good.
Anyhoo. Sorry for the lack of updating.
*They have male pin-up models right? Or do women stop pinning men up after they stop reading Tiger Beat?
Monday, September 8, 2008
Your basic update...
Sorry for the time off. I needed some time to regroup and get some things together.
On the Friday before Labor Day (ironically enough), I was let go from my job with the outsourcing company.
It's a scary thing being fired. It's never happened to me before. I mean, being outsourced was scary, but this is different. There wasn't anything waiting for me after. It was a long three-day weekend that I spent applying for jobs and trying not to feel like a loser.
It's been a little more than a week, and I've met with a staffing agency and kept busy with, applications, housework and new classes. And truthfully I'm okay. It's all a little odd and I'll be happier when I have a job again, but it's kind of nice to have time to study during the day and not feel as rushed.
It is weird not having to go anywhere all day and staring at the same walls all day.
There's more to write, and I know I will write it, but I guess I'm not quite through sorting it through. I'm okay though.
On the Friday before Labor Day (ironically enough), I was let go from my job with the outsourcing company.
It's a scary thing being fired. It's never happened to me before. I mean, being outsourced was scary, but this is different. There wasn't anything waiting for me after. It was a long three-day weekend that I spent applying for jobs and trying not to feel like a loser.
It's been a little more than a week, and I've met with a staffing agency and kept busy with, applications, housework and new classes. And truthfully I'm okay. It's all a little odd and I'll be happier when I have a job again, but it's kind of nice to have time to study during the day and not feel as rushed.
It is weird not having to go anywhere all day and staring at the same walls all day.
There's more to write, and I know I will write it, but I guess I'm not quite through sorting it through. I'm okay though.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Race Issues #2
Update: The results just came online. I finished 1791st out of about 3700 people. (Dinah finished 1792, which you may notice is a higher number than 1791. Seriously though, it would've been a lot harder to do this if I hadn't had her support throughout the "training" and the race. Still, I edged her out when it was crunch time.) Our time was 35.12. I was shooting for under 40 minutes, so this was good. Really good. (You know for me. Some jerk finished the whole thing in 16 minutes. Stupid competative lawyers...)
Some more pics submitted without comment...
Beginning of the race:
End of the race:
Some more pics submitted without comment...
Beginning of the race:
End of the race:
Race Issues...
I ran that damned race. It was 99 degrees and humid, so humid the raging wind off the angry lake whipped the air-water into my flesh ripping and tearing with every cursed stride. Translation from hyper-dramatic story to reality--75 degrees, nice light breeze, good race.
Here we are at the beginning of the race:
Notice the gleam of hope in my eye. The steely-cold determination. The smile on Dinah's face. We set out to get 5 kilometers run god-damn it.
Now, the after:
Here we are at the beginning of the race:
Notice the gleam of hope in my eye. The steely-cold determination. The smile on Dinah's face. We set out to get 5 kilometers run god-damn it.Now, the after:
The layer of sweat through my custom-made shirt given to me by the firm. The look on my face. The sad, Elvis-about-to-meet-his-final-toilet-bowl look on my hair. I did run those 5 kilometers god-damn it.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
I don't usually want to link to porny-type material...
from the blog, but this I couldn't let go. (The link itself isn't porn and is safe for work. Though not for your sanity.)
If I were writing this JD would be half-hearted or injured for 85% of the encounters. But Stephen would keep paying him because he was Peter North for the other 15%.
If I were writing this JD would be half-hearted or injured for 85% of the encounters. But Stephen would keep paying him because he was Peter North for the other 15%.
Family fun...
Being 6 hours away from my mother is something of a pain in the ass sometimes. That distance keeps us from seeing each other regularly and hanging out. It keeps me from helping her with stupid little things around the house. Mowing the lawn, fixing light bulbs-that kind of shit. When she goes in the hospital (which she did last week), it's the other distance between us that keeps both of us from helping each other.
I was on vacation with Dinah's family last week (thus no posts) and I got a call Thursday from my brother telling me she was in the hospital. She had been having "spells" where she gets overheated and feels faint. She went to a doctor, had a spell in front of him and was ambulanced to the hospital.
I called my brother back to get the phone number from the hospital and to listen to him bitch about how the doctors didn't know what was going on, then I gave her a call. She had me on the phone for 5 minutes telling me about how she couldn't sleep and the woman next to her breathed loudly and the carts running up and down the hall all day and night were annoying. And it's too hot there. Hopefully she'd get out of there the next day. She talked about the spells quickly and then moved on. I hang up knowing she probably didn't want to talk about it anymore. She's in the hospital and she hates being in the hospital. It was okay.
I called her the next day for an update and it was pretty much the same conversation. Doctors don't know what's wrong. Think it might be this. Running tests. But now she has a fan and that helps her keep cool and drowns out the noises. Hope your vacation is going well. Again I tell myself she doesn't want to worry me. She's doing what she has to do for herself to get through. Yes, I could've used some comforting, but I'm a 30 year old guy and she's sick and worried and God knows what, so I should just deal. And really, I didn't want to think critical thoughts of my mother if she's dying. Which I was somewhat convinced she was. (So, now that she's out, I guess I feel okay being a little more critical. That's just gotta be great for my karma.)
The last time I called was Sunday. Still didn't know when she was getting out. Quicker phone call this time. It was maybe 2 minutes. The doctors think it's an infection. White blood cells going up, but they don't know where the infection is and they can't really do much about it now. I talk a little about what's going on with me, work and shit, but it's more a report than an interaction.
So. I didn't call Monday. Or Tuesday. I just didn't want to have the same or shorter conversation. I should've called and it bothered me that I didn't. But, it also bothered me that no one called me.
And that's when I kind of remembered, yeah. This is how we always interact. And that's how we always will interact. Until she does actually die.
So. On Wednesday, I called her hospital room. "Carol's room!" A chipper voice said to me. My mother is not named Carol. So, I called her house a bit later felling like a huge jerk for not having called. And we had pretty much the same conversation.
What can you do?
I was on vacation with Dinah's family last week (thus no posts) and I got a call Thursday from my brother telling me she was in the hospital. She had been having "spells" where she gets overheated and feels faint. She went to a doctor, had a spell in front of him and was ambulanced to the hospital.
I called my brother back to get the phone number from the hospital and to listen to him bitch about how the doctors didn't know what was going on, then I gave her a call. She had me on the phone for 5 minutes telling me about how she couldn't sleep and the woman next to her breathed loudly and the carts running up and down the hall all day and night were annoying. And it's too hot there. Hopefully she'd get out of there the next day. She talked about the spells quickly and then moved on. I hang up knowing she probably didn't want to talk about it anymore. She's in the hospital and she hates being in the hospital. It was okay.
I called her the next day for an update and it was pretty much the same conversation. Doctors don't know what's wrong. Think it might be this. Running tests. But now she has a fan and that helps her keep cool and drowns out the noises. Hope your vacation is going well. Again I tell myself she doesn't want to worry me. She's doing what she has to do for herself to get through. Yes, I could've used some comforting, but I'm a 30 year old guy and she's sick and worried and God knows what, so I should just deal. And really, I didn't want to think critical thoughts of my mother if she's dying. Which I was somewhat convinced she was. (So, now that she's out, I guess I feel okay being a little more critical. That's just gotta be great for my karma.)
The last time I called was Sunday. Still didn't know when she was getting out. Quicker phone call this time. It was maybe 2 minutes. The doctors think it's an infection. White blood cells going up, but they don't know where the infection is and they can't really do much about it now. I talk a little about what's going on with me, work and shit, but it's more a report than an interaction.
So. I didn't call Monday. Or Tuesday. I just didn't want to have the same or shorter conversation. I should've called and it bothered me that I didn't. But, it also bothered me that no one called me.
And that's when I kind of remembered, yeah. This is how we always interact. And that's how we always will interact. Until she does actually die.
So. On Wednesday, I called her hospital room. "Carol's room!" A chipper voice said to me. My mother is not named Carol. So, I called her house a bit later felling like a huge jerk for not having called. And we had pretty much the same conversation.
What can you do?
Thursday, July 24, 2008
I heart my wife
5 years ago, also on a Thursday, I had my first date with my wife. (She wasn't my wife at the time, as anyone who's followed the blog probably understands, but, you know.)
I'd picked out a restaraunt on Surf and Sheffield, just a short walk from her place. It was a warm day, but pleasantly so. She was wearing a nice sundress and a bit of makeup around her eyes. She looked gorgeous.
As we walked, we talked. Idle chit-chat that I don't remember and before long we were at the restaraunt. And that was the problem. I hadn't called ahead for reservations, figuring that it was a random Thursday, so it wouldn't be busy. Apparenty, though, it hadn't been busy for a while. It was closed and looked like it had been for a couple months.
Luckily there wasn't a health violation sticker in the window, cause that never goes well on a first date. But still, it was not a good move.
But despite that flub, we went on to Joy's and really, she's been overlooking my flaws ever since.
I'd picked out a restaraunt on Surf and Sheffield, just a short walk from her place. It was a warm day, but pleasantly so. She was wearing a nice sundress and a bit of makeup around her eyes. She looked gorgeous.
As we walked, we talked. Idle chit-chat that I don't remember and before long we were at the restaraunt. And that was the problem. I hadn't called ahead for reservations, figuring that it was a random Thursday, so it wouldn't be busy. Apparenty, though, it hadn't been busy for a while. It was closed and looked like it had been for a couple months.
Luckily there wasn't a health violation sticker in the window, cause that never goes well on a first date. But still, it was not a good move.
But despite that flub, we went on to Joy's and really, she's been overlooking my flaws ever since.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Running on Faith (what else can a poor boy do?)
I remember being fat all my life. I was never a fan of walking for exercise or transportation (any farther than I had to go anyway). Not from middle school, not to the country store, and not to the mall, though all of them were probably less than a mile from my house. It might as well have been 20 or 100 miles. And running? Well. I was never a fast runner and running from home to first on a single was about all I really wanted to have to do. And really, this kind of exercise just wasn't something I could do. I was too out of shape. Too fat.
It wasn't until the wedding, when Dinah and I were looking through pictures for the centerpieces that I saw, I wasn't fat all my life. There were some pictures where I was thin. I was a little surprised to see that. And it led me, of course, to thinking I could be thin again some day.
Well. Today is not that day. But, it is getting better and I did make a decision that is either a little stupid or just a little different. I entered a race.
It's just a 5k (which is just over 3 miles for those who only measure in American), but in my mind it seemed insurmountable. Add to that the fact that I entered it through the firm where I work (after asking the outsourcing company whether or not this was okay, because, you know, I work here, but I don't work here). Running a distance I had never run, with coworkers about, seeing me sweating and panting. This sounded like a bad idea. A very bad idea. But, on Thursday last week I entered anyway.
So. Unsure of what the hell to do, I turned to Dinah. Who turned to the internet. We found this. A nice schedule that should help prepare my legs so that I won't embarrass myself more than I have to. I counted back from the day of the race (August 14, btw), and was frightened at the thought of having to run the number of miles they recommend. Most of my running had been around a mile to a mile and a half. Now, I was looking at the week before and seeing 4 miles, followed by 2 miles. It was crazy. There was no way I could do this. But I also couldn't pull out.
So, Sunday morning, Dinah and I set out on my first 3 mile run, as the schedule dictated. (I'm on week 3 and today is the Friday of that week, if you want to know what I should be working on.) It sucked. It sucked, but I did it. I ran the full way without stopping (a big deal to me). And yesterday I did 3.5 miles (though the schedule called for 3, the weather here has been so goddamned lovely*, I just kind of wanted to keep going, so I did). This is good. For me.
Often times, I find myself intimidated by the efforts others make. People who run 10 miles a day or who lose 50 pounds in two months. And I don't want to compete with them. I don't want to run 10 miles. I don't know how far I want to run really. But. I'm now running farther than I thought I could.
*Note. I mean, wow. It's actually kind of cool here this week. In the middle of July. I know this is somehow related to the weather changes in the world and it's ultimately probably a bad thing, but I can't help but enjoy it. It's putting a crimp in my usual summer "video gaming/watching movies/being inside all the time" mentality, but in a good way.
It wasn't until the wedding, when Dinah and I were looking through pictures for the centerpieces that I saw, I wasn't fat all my life. There were some pictures where I was thin. I was a little surprised to see that. And it led me, of course, to thinking I could be thin again some day.
Well. Today is not that day. But, it is getting better and I did make a decision that is either a little stupid or just a little different. I entered a race.
It's just a 5k (which is just over 3 miles for those who only measure in American), but in my mind it seemed insurmountable. Add to that the fact that I entered it through the firm where I work (after asking the outsourcing company whether or not this was okay, because, you know, I work here, but I don't work here). Running a distance I had never run, with coworkers about, seeing me sweating and panting. This sounded like a bad idea. A very bad idea. But, on Thursday last week I entered anyway.
So. Unsure of what the hell to do, I turned to Dinah. Who turned to the internet. We found this. A nice schedule that should help prepare my legs so that I won't embarrass myself more than I have to. I counted back from the day of the race (August 14, btw), and was frightened at the thought of having to run the number of miles they recommend. Most of my running had been around a mile to a mile and a half. Now, I was looking at the week before and seeing 4 miles, followed by 2 miles. It was crazy. There was no way I could do this. But I also couldn't pull out.
So, Sunday morning, Dinah and I set out on my first 3 mile run, as the schedule dictated. (I'm on week 3 and today is the Friday of that week, if you want to know what I should be working on.) It sucked. It sucked, but I did it. I ran the full way without stopping (a big deal to me). And yesterday I did 3.5 miles (though the schedule called for 3, the weather here has been so goddamned lovely*, I just kind of wanted to keep going, so I did). This is good. For me.
Often times, I find myself intimidated by the efforts others make. People who run 10 miles a day or who lose 50 pounds in two months. And I don't want to compete with them. I don't want to run 10 miles. I don't know how far I want to run really. But. I'm now running farther than I thought I could.
*Note. I mean, wow. It's actually kind of cool here this week. In the middle of July. I know this is somehow related to the weather changes in the world and it's ultimately probably a bad thing, but I can't help but enjoy it. It's putting a crimp in my usual summer "video gaming/watching movies/being inside all the time" mentality, but in a good way.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
It's over.
I've left her.
We couldn't agree on anything for a long time. I'd say one thing and she'd do another. And I'd leave feeling upset, but keeping my feelings to myself. Sure, I'm culpable, because I'd always say, "It's good. Fine. Thanks." But, I knew it wasn't fine. I knew I wanted the back worked a little more. And ultimately, we just couldn't agree on what to do.
Oh yeah, I came here and talked about how great it was to have a female barber, or hairstylist, or what-have-you. But, you know what. It's over.
I don't know if there are rules about breaking up with your barber. But, much like I did with girlfriends in highschool, I am just not going where she goes and not asking for anything I have to pay for.
It's been a couple months now, and I've been experimenting with some male barbers, again. And so far, my elbows have been penis free (thank you for asking), and the back has been worked superbly. (*ahem*)
We couldn't agree on anything for a long time. I'd say one thing and she'd do another. And I'd leave feeling upset, but keeping my feelings to myself. Sure, I'm culpable, because I'd always say, "It's good. Fine. Thanks." But, I knew it wasn't fine. I knew I wanted the back worked a little more. And ultimately, we just couldn't agree on what to do.
Oh yeah, I came here and talked about how great it was to have a female barber, or hairstylist, or what-have-you. But, you know what. It's over.
I don't know if there are rules about breaking up with your barber. But, much like I did with girlfriends in highschool, I am just not going where she goes and not asking for anything I have to pay for.
It's been a couple months now, and I've been experimenting with some male barbers, again. And so far, my elbows have been penis free (thank you for asking), and the back has been worked superbly. (*ahem*)
What a freaking day....(or the tide is turning)
A lot going on at work. Today I had to go to the Chinese Consulate to drop off some documents. I've done this three times before without any problem. Today, however, there was a problem. Some paperwork wasn't filled out correctly, even though it was filled out exactly the same way as I had done in the past. I found this out after waiting for an hour and talking to the gentleman for another half hour. It didn't make sense.
So. I come back to the office and let the powers that be know what happened so they can deal with it (because, I am, afterall, a mere file clerk. This sort of brain-work is too much for me). Their solution? Send me back with a new, corrected file. Makes sense, right? Except that their correction was to re-fill out the paperwork changing two words. Two words that had nothing to do with the problem that had gotten the papers rejected. It didn't make sense, but whatever.
So. Two hours of waiting later, I'm at the same window talking to the same guy and he's still not buying this bullshit. So, I spent about 3 1/2 hours total today to accomplish nothing.
Meanwhile, I've got shit piling up (shit that's actually mine to do, mind you) on my desk. And I've got to get ready to spearhead the moving of files and such that's happening on Friday. So. I should be pissed right?
It's weird. I'm not. I'm upset I didn't get a lunch today because I'm really hungry. But the wasting of time didn't bother me in the slightest. I had enough comic books with me to get through the time. (Marvel is kicking some serious ass now. And Grant Morrison is sucking balls big time, if you ask me.) And I'm not gonna be doing this forever.
I registered for my classes even though they don't start for another 2 months. I'm starting to think about buying books and taking tests. Things are getting better. And it's a nice feeling when you feel like you're getting un-stuck.
But. Don't think I will be rooting for any of the Chinese athletes in the Olympics. That's your penalty China.
So. I come back to the office and let the powers that be know what happened so they can deal with it (because, I am, afterall, a mere file clerk. This sort of brain-work is too much for me). Their solution? Send me back with a new, corrected file. Makes sense, right? Except that their correction was to re-fill out the paperwork changing two words. Two words that had nothing to do with the problem that had gotten the papers rejected. It didn't make sense, but whatever.
So. Two hours of waiting later, I'm at the same window talking to the same guy and he's still not buying this bullshit. So, I spent about 3 1/2 hours total today to accomplish nothing.
Meanwhile, I've got shit piling up (shit that's actually mine to do, mind you) on my desk. And I've got to get ready to spearhead the moving of files and such that's happening on Friday. So. I should be pissed right?
It's weird. I'm not. I'm upset I didn't get a lunch today because I'm really hungry. But the wasting of time didn't bother me in the slightest. I had enough comic books with me to get through the time. (Marvel is kicking some serious ass now. And Grant Morrison is sucking balls big time, if you ask me.) And I'm not gonna be doing this forever.
I registered for my classes even though they don't start for another 2 months. I'm starting to think about buying books and taking tests. Things are getting better. And it's a nice feeling when you feel like you're getting un-stuck.
But. Don't think I will be rooting for any of the Chinese athletes in the Olympics. That's your penalty China.
The New Yorker
The New Yorker cover.
I think a lot of people who object to the image do so because they think there are a lot of Americans who won't understand that the image is satire. Or that what the image is getting at is the many lies and misconceptions that are coming up about the Obamas now. To these people, I say, yes. It is definitely going to be seen as proof or a reassertion of these lies by some people.
But. People already believe that. It wasn't the New Yorker who put that idea out there. They're just pointing it out and now we have the opportunity to talk about it and hopefully spread some knowledge. I doubt that'll happen, but hopefully, right? But at least, it's out there now in front of everyone.
And if we can talk about race in this country without getting upset and talking about hurt feelings, or just being completely idiotic, maybe we can make this country a little better. Maybe.
Also, I know some are worried that a lot of people (often referred to as "rural", which is a whole other issue) won't get that it's satire...well. You know, we can't just pander to the stupid people of this country for the rest of our lives. We've done that for far too long and it hasn't helped us one damned bit.
I think a lot of people who object to the image do so because they think there are a lot of Americans who won't understand that the image is satire. Or that what the image is getting at is the many lies and misconceptions that are coming up about the Obamas now. To these people, I say, yes. It is definitely going to be seen as proof or a reassertion of these lies by some people.
But. People already believe that. It wasn't the New Yorker who put that idea out there. They're just pointing it out and now we have the opportunity to talk about it and hopefully spread some knowledge. I doubt that'll happen, but hopefully, right? But at least, it's out there now in front of everyone.
And if we can talk about race in this country without getting upset and talking about hurt feelings, or just being completely idiotic, maybe we can make this country a little better. Maybe.
Also, I know some are worried that a lot of people (often referred to as "rural", which is a whole other issue) won't get that it's satire...well. You know, we can't just pander to the stupid people of this country for the rest of our lives. We've done that for far too long and it hasn't helped us one damned bit.
Friday, July 11, 2008
It's a town full of losers and I'm pullin' out of here to win...
I love Des Moines. I can't stress that enough. I have fond memories of living there and I sometimes delude myself into thinking I could live there again, as an adult and parent. I can sort of see myself taking my kids to one of the schools that used to be praised as the best in the nation. I'd work downtown somewhere. Someday I'd go to highschool football games and root on my kids. (Thank goodness Dinah is talented athletically, because otherwise the kids would be doomed to being in choir, like I was. Though I enjoyed it and the mockery that came with it...but I digress). I suppose I can picture this because this is essentially what my parents did (you know, until the divorce).
And I was raised in a time when Des Moines, and Iowa in general, was losing many young people after college. This fact caused guidance counselors, parents and older people who stayed (usually at church for me) to oversell either the "good", "simple", "honest" life of Iowa, or the "hard", "dangerous", "expensive" life of anywhere else.* Sure it was unfair propaganda, but I was stupid. And I liked the dream of the easy life in Des Moines. Safe and honest.
But, as I said, it's a delusion.
I started to suspect I would leave Des Moines in highschool. I went to a magnet school half a day throughout highschool and it was here that I first really even thought that leaving Des Moines and looking for more was really a possibility. It wasn't so much that I had no idea that I could leave Des Moines, but more that I'd never really been asked to think about it. And at Central (the magnet school), I was suddenly surrounded by people who had not only given it thought, but who seemed to really have plans about where they were going and what they were doing. It's beside the point that they may not have ended up going where they thought they would, because it's highschool and no one really has it all figured out. The point is, these were people who had tried to figure it out. In contrast, I hadn't really given it much thought. I hadn't been encouraged to really.
I mean, yeah, I'd get asked what I wanted to be a lot. I did well in school and everyone at church seemed to think me a bright kid, so they wanted to know what thoughts I had about my future. Except, what they really wanted to do was tell me I should be a doctor or a lawyer. If I mentioned that I wanted to be a writer (which I did since the time of reading a Mark Twain biography after our trip to Hannibal, Mo.), it was generally ignored or discouraged. (I picked up on that quickly and started telling people that I wanted to be a circle. That answer never seemed satisfactory, so it somehow changed into "I want to be a duck. They can swim and fly and waddle. They got it all." Which I suppose was my way of saying, "I don't know. And I don't care for your ideas on my future." I was a jerk.) And as I got older and took those tests that tell you what you're "aptitudes" would lend themselves to, it seemed they always came up with things that I had no interest in. Civil Engineer. Lawyer. Good jobs, but niether are really things I wanted to be. When I had to talk about the results with the guidance counselors, I would smile and say, "sure, that sounds good" and "yeah, I guess that's gonna make me some cash." Whatever. I never took it seriously.
At Central, all of the sudden for me, expectations were raised. I remember my 9th grade civics teacher showing slides of his trip to Africa as part of a lesson and he said something that I'd never heard or thought before. "When you go to Africa..." When. It wasn't only a possibility, it was a foregone conclusion. I could go to Africa if I wanted. (Thailand will have to do for now.)
Suddenly, the delusion started to seem less certain to me. And as time went by, I became less and less enamored with Des Moines. There was nothing to do as a highschool student (not that there's much I do when I go back, either). And the people who seemed to want to stay always seemed like they were too content to try for anything better. Close friends from Lincoln (where I went to highschool the rest of time) stopped feeling as close as they were. And Lincoln itself, which I identified as being more "Iowan"--filled as it was with people who were probably going to stay in Iowa--never seemed to have a place for me. I was growing away from Iowa. Which ended up being the reason I ended up going to college right in the middle of it.
I wasn't sure about Grinnell the first time I visited. I remember the sun shining brightly on I80 as BD and I drove up for a visit. I had only applied to 2 schools, but I'd gotten into both of them. (In an odd moment of clarity and confidence, I had known going into the college process the type of school I had wanted and I hadn't really been too concerned about rejection.) One was in a quiet Missouri and the other was an hour from my house. And while rural Missouri wasn't exactly the whole world that I planned on seeing, it was somewhere new.**
Within 10 minutes of visiting Grinnell, though, I knew these would be my last 4 years in Iowa. I remember being on the tour. We were in Gates Pit, passing by a junior sitting in a tiny room studying chemistry (I think). The tour guide stopped and asked him why he was stuck in such a "shitty room". (He said shitty right in front of us. This was awesome.) The guy replied that he'd just gotten back from studying in....well, I can't remember where he'd studied. I want to say it was Africa, but it could've been China, or London, or Spain. The tourguide explained that Grinnell encouraged all of its students to go abroad. That's what put Grinnell in the lead to stay.
Of course the time at Grinnell is a whole other story.
*Once, after I'd moved to Chicago, I was back at church for the midnight service for Christmas, which our church held at 10 pm. (Seriously.) I was talking to a really nice lady who was 15 or so years older than I was about living in Chicago. Even though I'd been here for either 2 or 3 years (I can't remember which for sure) at that point, she had some advice for me. "If you go on the South Side, you better," (and she said the next part in a gutteral whisper and a thumb motion) "get the hell out. That's where the black people are." Yeah. She wasn't as nice as I thought.
**Not to mention that the college recruiter really wanted me to go there. She gave me special attention at the visit I attended, at one point telling me, "A cute guy like you should have no problem finding a girl to do your laundry and type up your papers for you." As a highschool senior I was seriously flattered. It only occurred to me later that it was sort of insulting to think I wouldn't/couldn't do those things for myself or that I expected/wanted someone to do those things for me. But I digress.
----
But, as I say, I love Des Moines. I love it for the opportunities it gave me, even if by giving me those opportunities, it made me realize Des Moines wasn't going to be the place I wanted it to be.
And I was raised in a time when Des Moines, and Iowa in general, was losing many young people after college. This fact caused guidance counselors, parents and older people who stayed (usually at church for me) to oversell either the "good", "simple", "honest" life of Iowa, or the "hard", "dangerous", "expensive" life of anywhere else.* Sure it was unfair propaganda, but I was stupid. And I liked the dream of the easy life in Des Moines. Safe and honest.
But, as I said, it's a delusion.
I started to suspect I would leave Des Moines in highschool. I went to a magnet school half a day throughout highschool and it was here that I first really even thought that leaving Des Moines and looking for more was really a possibility. It wasn't so much that I had no idea that I could leave Des Moines, but more that I'd never really been asked to think about it. And at Central (the magnet school), I was suddenly surrounded by people who had not only given it thought, but who seemed to really have plans about where they were going and what they were doing. It's beside the point that they may not have ended up going where they thought they would, because it's highschool and no one really has it all figured out. The point is, these were people who had tried to figure it out. In contrast, I hadn't really given it much thought. I hadn't been encouraged to really.
I mean, yeah, I'd get asked what I wanted to be a lot. I did well in school and everyone at church seemed to think me a bright kid, so they wanted to know what thoughts I had about my future. Except, what they really wanted to do was tell me I should be a doctor or a lawyer. If I mentioned that I wanted to be a writer (which I did since the time of reading a Mark Twain biography after our trip to Hannibal, Mo.), it was generally ignored or discouraged. (I picked up on that quickly and started telling people that I wanted to be a circle. That answer never seemed satisfactory, so it somehow changed into "I want to be a duck. They can swim and fly and waddle. They got it all." Which I suppose was my way of saying, "I don't know. And I don't care for your ideas on my future." I was a jerk.) And as I got older and took those tests that tell you what you're "aptitudes" would lend themselves to, it seemed they always came up with things that I had no interest in. Civil Engineer. Lawyer. Good jobs, but niether are really things I wanted to be. When I had to talk about the results with the guidance counselors, I would smile and say, "sure, that sounds good" and "yeah, I guess that's gonna make me some cash." Whatever. I never took it seriously.
At Central, all of the sudden for me, expectations were raised. I remember my 9th grade civics teacher showing slides of his trip to Africa as part of a lesson and he said something that I'd never heard or thought before. "When you go to Africa..." When. It wasn't only a possibility, it was a foregone conclusion. I could go to Africa if I wanted. (Thailand will have to do for now.)
Suddenly, the delusion started to seem less certain to me. And as time went by, I became less and less enamored with Des Moines. There was nothing to do as a highschool student (not that there's much I do when I go back, either). And the people who seemed to want to stay always seemed like they were too content to try for anything better. Close friends from Lincoln (where I went to highschool the rest of time) stopped feeling as close as they were. And Lincoln itself, which I identified as being more "Iowan"--filled as it was with people who were probably going to stay in Iowa--never seemed to have a place for me. I was growing away from Iowa. Which ended up being the reason I ended up going to college right in the middle of it.
I wasn't sure about Grinnell the first time I visited. I remember the sun shining brightly on I80 as BD and I drove up for a visit. I had only applied to 2 schools, but I'd gotten into both of them. (In an odd moment of clarity and confidence, I had known going into the college process the type of school I had wanted and I hadn't really been too concerned about rejection.) One was in a quiet Missouri and the other was an hour from my house. And while rural Missouri wasn't exactly the whole world that I planned on seeing, it was somewhere new.**
Within 10 minutes of visiting Grinnell, though, I knew these would be my last 4 years in Iowa. I remember being on the tour. We were in Gates Pit, passing by a junior sitting in a tiny room studying chemistry (I think). The tour guide stopped and asked him why he was stuck in such a "shitty room". (He said shitty right in front of us. This was awesome.) The guy replied that he'd just gotten back from studying in....well, I can't remember where he'd studied. I want to say it was Africa, but it could've been China, or London, or Spain. The tourguide explained that Grinnell encouraged all of its students to go abroad. That's what put Grinnell in the lead to stay.
Of course the time at Grinnell is a whole other story.
*Once, after I'd moved to Chicago, I was back at church for the midnight service for Christmas, which our church held at 10 pm. (Seriously.) I was talking to a really nice lady who was 15 or so years older than I was about living in Chicago. Even though I'd been here for either 2 or 3 years (I can't remember which for sure) at that point, she had some advice for me. "If you go on the South Side, you better," (and she said the next part in a gutteral whisper and a thumb motion) "get the hell out. That's where the black people are." Yeah. She wasn't as nice as I thought.
**Not to mention that the college recruiter really wanted me to go there. She gave me special attention at the visit I attended, at one point telling me, "A cute guy like you should have no problem finding a girl to do your laundry and type up your papers for you." As a highschool senior I was seriously flattered. It only occurred to me later that it was sort of insulting to think I wouldn't/couldn't do those things for myself or that I expected/wanted someone to do those things for me. But I digress.
----
But, as I say, I love Des Moines. I love it for the opportunities it gave me, even if by giving me those opportunities, it made me realize Des Moines wasn't going to be the place I wanted it to be.
Monday, July 7, 2008
Less Stressing Update...
As you may remember, I wrote a post about a month ago outlining three things I wanted to start changing for myself. I figured an update would probably be good for me, so I can have some record and accountability of everything.
The first thing I was working on was my weight. I wanted to lose 26 pounds. Well. I'm not really making progress there. Or none to speak of. I have been pretty good at excercising, but portion control has (as it always is) been hard for me. I'm down 2 pounds, which is good, but not where I was hoping. And some of this may be mitigated by some muscle I may have put on. I've been doing some weight and strength excercising. Maybe. I can't say for sure I've seen a lot of change in the way my body looks, but then again, I pretty much just stare right at my stomach.
The second thing was the stressing about work and other little things (like how much CTA sucks) that bother me and have a tendency to really bother me. Here, I've made some progress. I've been a lot better about being patient with everyone at work. Not perfect, but at least I've stopped letting people know when they're bothering me. Which is good for a lot of reasons. I've also really stopped worrying so much about a lot of little things (did I mention CTA is really horrible? But it's okay, they're gonna suck whether I am mad or not.), which is good.
But every now and again, I just lose all motivation and start to feel the resentment of my work situation. It still eats at me. So, I can say I've made cosmetic progress (which is good), but I can't say that I've made real progress. This is because I can't really be sure whether I should care about my work (which I was raised to do) or not give a shit (which seems to be what my employers want, I guess). Ideally, I'd like to care about my work. Do something with my time that means something. I think about my friends who are doing such amazing things, and I'm putting shit away. It bothers me. It's probably a lot of ego. But still, that's what I want. And with paralegal classes starting in a couple months, maybe I'll be on my way to having that. Hopefully.
But. Whether the classes get me feeling like I've got some movement (lack of paralysis) in my live or not, I'm kind of stuck here. The job market around here is crappy. (To put it nicely.) That and a couple other factors look like they'll keep me here till my program finishes up in August 2009. And when I think of it as 13 months, it feels like a prison sentence (which I admit is overly dramatic and self-indulgent). So, yeah. This is a work in progress.
The father sitauation. I've done nothing about this. I can't think of the best way to do this. I have to think about what it is I want from him. And how to best negotiate everything that has happened as well as things to come. And really, I have to figure out how to deal with his lady-friend.
The first thing I was working on was my weight. I wanted to lose 26 pounds. Well. I'm not really making progress there. Or none to speak of. I have been pretty good at excercising, but portion control has (as it always is) been hard for me. I'm down 2 pounds, which is good, but not where I was hoping. And some of this may be mitigated by some muscle I may have put on. I've been doing some weight and strength excercising. Maybe. I can't say for sure I've seen a lot of change in the way my body looks, but then again, I pretty much just stare right at my stomach.
The second thing was the stressing about work and other little things (like how much CTA sucks) that bother me and have a tendency to really bother me. Here, I've made some progress. I've been a lot better about being patient with everyone at work. Not perfect, but at least I've stopped letting people know when they're bothering me. Which is good for a lot of reasons. I've also really stopped worrying so much about a lot of little things (did I mention CTA is really horrible? But it's okay, they're gonna suck whether I am mad or not.), which is good.
But every now and again, I just lose all motivation and start to feel the resentment of my work situation. It still eats at me. So, I can say I've made cosmetic progress (which is good), but I can't say that I've made real progress. This is because I can't really be sure whether I should care about my work (which I was raised to do) or not give a shit (which seems to be what my employers want, I guess). Ideally, I'd like to care about my work. Do something with my time that means something. I think about my friends who are doing such amazing things, and I'm putting shit away. It bothers me. It's probably a lot of ego. But still, that's what I want. And with paralegal classes starting in a couple months, maybe I'll be on my way to having that. Hopefully.
But. Whether the classes get me feeling like I've got some movement (lack of paralysis) in my live or not, I'm kind of stuck here. The job market around here is crappy. (To put it nicely.) That and a couple other factors look like they'll keep me here till my program finishes up in August 2009. And when I think of it as 13 months, it feels like a prison sentence (which I admit is overly dramatic and self-indulgent). So, yeah. This is a work in progress.
The father sitauation. I've done nothing about this. I can't think of the best way to do this. I have to think about what it is I want from him. And how to best negotiate everything that has happened as well as things to come. And really, I have to figure out how to deal with his lady-friend.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Dear Joe Buck,
I know you're catching a lot of flack now (even from Skip Bayless (who was actually pretty rational, believe it or not)) about your comments about how you rarely love baseball.
And while I agree that it's not ideal for someone who has been so closely associated with baseball-calling the World Series, the All-Star Games, and countless Saturday afternoon games-for a good long time, I don't see your statements as anything more than you being burned out. Maybe ready to try something new. There's nothing wrong with that.
However, I disagree with some of your assertions. I don't think the games are too long. Could they be shorter? Should they be? Yeah. Probably. And if you're going to watch all the games, attention undivided, you I could see why probably want them to be. I think a lot of people multitask while the games going, same as they do with radio though. I don't think length of the games is as big a problem as baseball seems to think it is.
But, you did stumble on something when you compared baseball's schedule to football. Saying of football, "It's got such an advantage being once a week and every game's a big deal. And there are only 16 games all year..(snip) Standing really change in a couple weeks." I think you are right. I think a lot of people like how things can change so quickly from week to week. And that they really only have to invest 3 hours of time to watch their team (though most people probably invest a good deal more than that) during the week to know what's going on with their teams.
You're right. Baseball is more demanding. With baseball, there's generally at least 6 games a week for your team. And if you're reading local columnists and national coverage and trying to keep up with other teams in your division and league as well as interesting things happening all over the league (as I do), it can take up a lot of time. (And that's not even talking about the fantasy leagues.) I can see why a lot of people could find that daunting. I can see why a lot of people, as you say, would watch a game or two on the weekend, but not have the time to invest on during the week games. But for me (and I'll stipulate that I'm not an average baseball fan, but not a superfan. I still have a life outside of watching the Cardinals and all that goes with it for me.), I think that's what makes the game great.
162 games. 6 plus months. It's much more like work than a game when you think of it in those terms. There's few days off. Ther's not a full week to strategize and plan for just one game. Instead, they have to play pretty much every day for 6 months (barring injury) trying to produce at a steady rate and win games. It's a game of endurance and delayed gratification-two qualities which aren't (let's say) used most in describing the current zeitgeist, in America at least. It's not as easy to celebrate after a win, because it doesn't feel as big. It feels more like the wins we get at work (if we're lucky). Yay, I did well at my meeting today. Tomorrow there's another meeting and I've got to do well at that too. So, in a way, it's less escapist than football. And because a lot of why we watch sports is because of the escapism, baseball can suffer if it feels like it's a chore to keep up with everything.
And, Mr. Buck, it sounds like baseball has become a chore for you. Professionaly, I think this means that maybe it's time for you to step away from the game of the week. If you're not enjoying yourself, it's going to (and I would say has) come across as you call the game. You've got a dry sense of humor, and a low-key approach, so that can mask some of the ambivalence you feel, but ultimatley, the viewer's gonna be able to tell. And it's not gonna be a good situation for you or for the game.
For you personally, though. Well. I feel bad for you. You talk about how you used to enjoy the game and it's always sad when people lose the joy they once got from something. So, if as rumored, you're looking into getting a talk show or something, I say good for you. Good luck. Maybe getting away for a little bit would do you some good.
Anyway, just my thoughts. Good luck,
Joe
PS. If you think it's hard to watch 162 games a year, (which few people do Mr. Buck) I don't want to hear you bad-mouth another player who has a hard time getting up for each and every game.
And while I agree that it's not ideal for someone who has been so closely associated with baseball-calling the World Series, the All-Star Games, and countless Saturday afternoon games-for a good long time, I don't see your statements as anything more than you being burned out. Maybe ready to try something new. There's nothing wrong with that.
However, I disagree with some of your assertions. I don't think the games are too long. Could they be shorter? Should they be? Yeah. Probably. And if you're going to watch all the games, attention undivided, you I could see why probably want them to be. I think a lot of people multitask while the games going, same as they do with radio though. I don't think length of the games is as big a problem as baseball seems to think it is.
But, you did stumble on something when you compared baseball's schedule to football. Saying of football, "It's got such an advantage being once a week and every game's a big deal. And there are only 16 games all year..(snip) Standing really change in a couple weeks." I think you are right. I think a lot of people like how things can change so quickly from week to week. And that they really only have to invest 3 hours of time to watch their team (though most people probably invest a good deal more than that) during the week to know what's going on with their teams.
You're right. Baseball is more demanding. With baseball, there's generally at least 6 games a week for your team. And if you're reading local columnists and national coverage and trying to keep up with other teams in your division and league as well as interesting things happening all over the league (as I do), it can take up a lot of time. (And that's not even talking about the fantasy leagues.) I can see why a lot of people could find that daunting. I can see why a lot of people, as you say, would watch a game or two on the weekend, but not have the time to invest on during the week games. But for me (and I'll stipulate that I'm not an average baseball fan, but not a superfan. I still have a life outside of watching the Cardinals and all that goes with it for me.), I think that's what makes the game great.
162 games. 6 plus months. It's much more like work than a game when you think of it in those terms. There's few days off. Ther's not a full week to strategize and plan for just one game. Instead, they have to play pretty much every day for 6 months (barring injury) trying to produce at a steady rate and win games. It's a game of endurance and delayed gratification-two qualities which aren't (let's say) used most in describing the current zeitgeist, in America at least. It's not as easy to celebrate after a win, because it doesn't feel as big. It feels more like the wins we get at work (if we're lucky). Yay, I did well at my meeting today. Tomorrow there's another meeting and I've got to do well at that too. So, in a way, it's less escapist than football. And because a lot of why we watch sports is because of the escapism, baseball can suffer if it feels like it's a chore to keep up with everything.
And, Mr. Buck, it sounds like baseball has become a chore for you. Professionaly, I think this means that maybe it's time for you to step away from the game of the week. If you're not enjoying yourself, it's going to (and I would say has) come across as you call the game. You've got a dry sense of humor, and a low-key approach, so that can mask some of the ambivalence you feel, but ultimatley, the viewer's gonna be able to tell. And it's not gonna be a good situation for you or for the game.
For you personally, though. Well. I feel bad for you. You talk about how you used to enjoy the game and it's always sad when people lose the joy they once got from something. So, if as rumored, you're looking into getting a talk show or something, I say good for you. Good luck. Maybe getting away for a little bit would do you some good.
Anyway, just my thoughts. Good luck,
Joe
PS. If you think it's hard to watch 162 games a year, (which few people do Mr. Buck) I don't want to hear you bad-mouth another player who has a hard time getting up for each and every game.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Happy Bloomsday.
The Writer's Almanac Today has Garrison Keilor reading from Ulysses. Worth a listen.
Reviews
Job reviews always make me a little unhappy. I've never had a bad review per say. Usually there's a couple criticisms-most of which have been pretty solid and on the nose-but mostly they're pretty decent. I just go in, sit down, listen to them read off whatever they've written down and react to it a little and then go back to my desk and wonder why they even bothered. The thing about the reviews is that I could tell them everything they've written down, and I could tell them more. But they don't really want to know more. They just write the reviews because they have to.
I bring this up because the outsourcing agency gave me my review last Friday. (I don't know why they do end of the year reviews in June, but that's their way, I guess.) Everything averaged up to a "meets expectations" (which I think is like a B), which is good I guess. This half-year (which is all they were reviewing) hasn't been a "meets expectations" kind of year, in my opinion. I have really done an okay job. I'd say it's more C+ than anything.
Of course I'm probably harder on myself than they are. But that's the thing. My opinion doesn't matter. Reviews are really just a time for them to tell you what they want you to work on. Their criticisms are meant to give you something to strive for, sure, but really they're just meant to enforce on you that what they think of your performance is what counts. They have a point of course, because they're giving me a check* to do this stuff. But I think it's this that irks me about it.
Trying to simmer what I do into anecdotal evidence of my worth is really dumb. Sure, someone once saw me checking my email at work, but is that a reasonable reflection of how I spend my time? Actually, I am updating my blog right now...but, no. It's not. And yes, I lost my cool with a couple of people (who are idiots by the way. I wonder if at their reviews, it gets mentioned that they can't read past a third grade level. It maybe should be at least brought up). But what about the sheer volume of shit I handle? And the times I didn't lose my cool (when I clearly should have)?
I don't ask these questions because I actually care about the answers. I gave up on really caring about this job (you know to really try to make this place what I think it could be). I now just try to make sure I do enough work everyday so that I won't ever feel overwhelmed when they ask me to do more stupid shit.
But, yes. I can do it with a smile on my face, since that's what they want.
The truth is it's the not caring that upsets me. It's how I'm getting through this until I start classes and doors start opening. But it still bothers me.
*Note. I wanted to put cash, but they don't give me cash. I shouldn't have even put check, because I have the direct deposit. So, every other Friday is like an old spy movie where I'm checking my accounts (sadly, it's not Swiss) to see if everything's okay and disaster** has been averted for another fortnight.
**Note to note. Not that it would be a disaster for me to not work here. It would however, be a disaster for them if I stopped holding their system together through my amazing willpower and sheer tenacity.***
***Note to note to note. Maybe I shouldn't write my review. Too much sarcasm and truth. And they wouldn't know which was which.****
****Note to note to note to note. This one's merely gratuitous.
----
Sigh.
I bring this up because the outsourcing agency gave me my review last Friday. (I don't know why they do end of the year reviews in June, but that's their way, I guess.) Everything averaged up to a "meets expectations" (which I think is like a B), which is good I guess. This half-year (which is all they were reviewing) hasn't been a "meets expectations" kind of year, in my opinion. I have really done an okay job. I'd say it's more C+ than anything.
Of course I'm probably harder on myself than they are. But that's the thing. My opinion doesn't matter. Reviews are really just a time for them to tell you what they want you to work on. Their criticisms are meant to give you something to strive for, sure, but really they're just meant to enforce on you that what they think of your performance is what counts. They have a point of course, because they're giving me a check* to do this stuff. But I think it's this that irks me about it.
Trying to simmer what I do into anecdotal evidence of my worth is really dumb. Sure, someone once saw me checking my email at work, but is that a reasonable reflection of how I spend my time? Actually, I am updating my blog right now...but, no. It's not. And yes, I lost my cool with a couple of people (who are idiots by the way. I wonder if at their reviews, it gets mentioned that they can't read past a third grade level. It maybe should be at least brought up). But what about the sheer volume of shit I handle? And the times I didn't lose my cool (when I clearly should have)?
I don't ask these questions because I actually care about the answers. I gave up on really caring about this job (you know to really try to make this place what I think it could be). I now just try to make sure I do enough work everyday so that I won't ever feel overwhelmed when they ask me to do more stupid shit.
But, yes. I can do it with a smile on my face, since that's what they want.
The truth is it's the not caring that upsets me. It's how I'm getting through this until I start classes and doors start opening. But it still bothers me.
*Note. I wanted to put cash, but they don't give me cash. I shouldn't have even put check, because I have the direct deposit. So, every other Friday is like an old spy movie where I'm checking my accounts (sadly, it's not Swiss) to see if everything's okay and disaster** has been averted for another fortnight.
**Note to note. Not that it would be a disaster for me to not work here. It would however, be a disaster for them if I stopped holding their system together through my amazing willpower and sheer tenacity.***
***Note to note to note. Maybe I shouldn't write my review. Too much sarcasm and truth. And they wouldn't know which was which.****
****Note to note to note to note. This one's merely gratuitous.
----
Sigh.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Thuds.
Thud. Thud. WOOO!
Thud. Thud. Thud. Oof.
It's 1 am and this has been going on for a while. It was okay at first, because I was reading couldn't sleep. They'd been at it for at least two hours. Cornholing. Out in the alley.
Now, this is not a lurid tale of buggery or spoonerism or whatever else it's been called in the past (though I am looking forward to seeing what sort of webtraffic I may get from this*). This is about a past-time that I've never seen adults play before moving to Chicago. Cornhole**. Which is basically bean bag toss into two large wooden bins (sometimes painted with college and sports logos). How this game earned the name cornhole, I, sadly, do not know.
I don't want to degrade the game, because if you look at any pasttime to the bare essentials of action, they all seem silly. (Really, we can throw little missles at a board? I'd love to play darts! Seriously, even baseball can look silly if you think about it in the wrong way. I mean, they're running in a square. Isn't that a more circular activity? But I digress.) I just don't understand how you can play what is basically a child's game for (at least) two hours. Now, I understand beer was involved and the weather was gorgeous here last night. Probably the best it'll be for a while. And, in Chicago especially, you have to get out there and enjoy the weather while you can. But, two hours? Playing a game I haven't enjoyed since kindergarten. (Not that I don't love doing many of the same things I did back then. I love sitting in circles, and taking naps, and breaking graham crackers along the perferation, and only working half a day.)
But there they were at 1 in the morning. Thud. Thud. Thud. Woo!, playing the game with vigor. And there I was, lying in bed, earplugs in my ears, finally frustrated enough to say something. So, I sit up, lean out toward the window and yell, "All right shitbirds, it's 1 am. Enough of the fucking cornholing." (Yup, I turn into a bad imitation of Herc from the Wire at 1 in the morning. I'm not proud of it, but it's interesting.)
"It's not cornholing. We're playing cornhole." I heard someone say not that loudly or confrontationally. "Why do people call it cornholing?" But they shut it down pretty quickly after that.
*Note. As you may have noticed, I have (for vanity's sake) started keeping track of the number of views the blog gets. It's kind of a fun thing. I can see the locations of people who look at my blog. Big shout out to whomever is looking at my blog in Russia.
**Note, the second. Jesus, this is an actual thing. I really thought it was just some local, stupid thing. Who knew?
---
I wake up this morning to the sound of my alarm clock. It's one of those docking systems for my iPod, so it wakes me with some Springsteen. I get up slowly, leaving the music going as I usually do. I'm a little tired from the cornholing last night. (Let's take that out of the context of the previous story, shall we?) Dinah's in California with work this week, so I get up a little later, but not enough.
I take my morning shower, the water helping to ingratiate some life into me. As I'm getting out and just starting to towel myself off, I hear a beeping. I quickly realize it's my alarm clock. For some reason (either the iPod has been disconnected somehow or the the thing just sucks), it's beeping. didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI. Loudly.
So, I do what any normal-thinking person does. I wrap the towel around myself and run (run!) into the room to turn off the alarm before it disturbs the upstairs neighbors. (I really like the upstairs neighbors. Not for anything they do, but simply because they're not the last guys. Those guys where horrible. Terrible shitty loud music all the time. Breaking doors. Shouting and hollering. And sounds from upstairs that I think meant they were getting out the stridgels and oiling up for some greco-roman wrestling. I'm not sure if the upstairs neighbors were the cornholers. But even if they were, they are wayyyy better.)
I start out with a zeal that somehow makes perfect sense to me, but I realize quickly that my feet aren't dry and the hardwood floors aren't forgiving. I skid a little as I come out of the bathroom, but keep going. didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI. As I reach the doorway to my room, my right foot slips. And my left foot doesn't hold. And I go ass over applecart landing on my hip and smashing my right elbow, actually cutting it in a shower of noise that I would think would be much more disturbing than the pinging of the alarm clock. Thud. Oof.
didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI. I get up slowly and shut the alarm off. Then I collapse on the bed for a second. A bandage on the elbow and a bruise on my hip, nothing big.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Oof.
It's 1 am and this has been going on for a while. It was okay at first, because I was reading couldn't sleep. They'd been at it for at least two hours. Cornholing. Out in the alley.
Now, this is not a lurid tale of buggery or spoonerism or whatever else it's been called in the past (though I am looking forward to seeing what sort of webtraffic I may get from this*). This is about a past-time that I've never seen adults play before moving to Chicago. Cornhole**. Which is basically bean bag toss into two large wooden bins (sometimes painted with college and sports logos). How this game earned the name cornhole, I, sadly, do not know.
I don't want to degrade the game, because if you look at any pasttime to the bare essentials of action, they all seem silly. (Really, we can throw little missles at a board? I'd love to play darts! Seriously, even baseball can look silly if you think about it in the wrong way. I mean, they're running in a square. Isn't that a more circular activity? But I digress.) I just don't understand how you can play what is basically a child's game for (at least) two hours. Now, I understand beer was involved and the weather was gorgeous here last night. Probably the best it'll be for a while. And, in Chicago especially, you have to get out there and enjoy the weather while you can. But, two hours? Playing a game I haven't enjoyed since kindergarten. (Not that I don't love doing many of the same things I did back then. I love sitting in circles, and taking naps, and breaking graham crackers along the perferation, and only working half a day.)
But there they were at 1 in the morning. Thud. Thud. Thud. Woo!, playing the game with vigor. And there I was, lying in bed, earplugs in my ears, finally frustrated enough to say something. So, I sit up, lean out toward the window and yell, "All right shitbirds, it's 1 am. Enough of the fucking cornholing." (Yup, I turn into a bad imitation of Herc from the Wire at 1 in the morning. I'm not proud of it, but it's interesting.)
"It's not cornholing. We're playing cornhole." I heard someone say not that loudly or confrontationally. "Why do people call it cornholing?" But they shut it down pretty quickly after that.
*Note. As you may have noticed, I have (for vanity's sake) started keeping track of the number of views the blog gets. It's kind of a fun thing. I can see the locations of people who look at my blog. Big shout out to whomever is looking at my blog in Russia.
**Note, the second. Jesus, this is an actual thing. I really thought it was just some local, stupid thing. Who knew?
---
I wake up this morning to the sound of my alarm clock. It's one of those docking systems for my iPod, so it wakes me with some Springsteen. I get up slowly, leaving the music going as I usually do. I'm a little tired from the cornholing last night. (Let's take that out of the context of the previous story, shall we?) Dinah's in California with work this week, so I get up a little later, but not enough.
I take my morning shower, the water helping to ingratiate some life into me. As I'm getting out and just starting to towel myself off, I hear a beeping. I quickly realize it's my alarm clock. For some reason (either the iPod has been disconnected somehow or the the thing just sucks), it's beeping. didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI. Loudly.
So, I do what any normal-thinking person does. I wrap the towel around myself and run (run!) into the room to turn off the alarm before it disturbs the upstairs neighbors. (I really like the upstairs neighbors. Not for anything they do, but simply because they're not the last guys. Those guys where horrible. Terrible shitty loud music all the time. Breaking doors. Shouting and hollering. And sounds from upstairs that I think meant they were getting out the stridgels and oiling up for some greco-roman wrestling. I'm not sure if the upstairs neighbors were the cornholers. But even if they were, they are wayyyy better.)
I start out with a zeal that somehow makes perfect sense to me, but I realize quickly that my feet aren't dry and the hardwood floors aren't forgiving. I skid a little as I come out of the bathroom, but keep going. didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI. As I reach the doorway to my room, my right foot slips. And my left foot doesn't hold. And I go ass over applecart landing on my hip and smashing my right elbow, actually cutting it in a shower of noise that I would think would be much more disturbing than the pinging of the alarm clock. Thud. Oof.
didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI didididiDI. I get up slowly and shut the alarm off. Then I collapse on the bed for a second. A bandage on the elbow and a bruise on my hip, nothing big.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Less stressing....(Kind of)
Sorry for the no-post last week.
I'm trying to do some bigger changes in my habits. Nothing huge, mind you, but some things I feel I need to get a handle on before I have kids (which won't be for two years probably, mom. Sorry).
The first of these things is my weight. Since the wedding, I've (somewhat surprisingly) maintained my weight. My running has become a lot less enthusiastic as I sort of expected. So, I talked to my wife about it and we've set goals for ourselves and our health. I'm planning on cutting another 26 or so pounds off my gut, hopefully by Thanksgiving. That'll still put my a bit above my "recommended weight" which makes me feel woefully obeese, but I guess I'll have to get the 26 off either way. So, I'll get it off and see how it looks.
The thing is, I'm probably never going to be a poster boy for fitness or health. I enjoy eating and drinking too much to really ever be as fit as is apparently recommended. But. I need to get better.
The second thing I'm trying to get a better grasp of is my temper. As most of you probably know, I have a bad temper. I let things get to me and after a while of taking stuff in, I vent in somewhat unhealthy ways. I don't want to get into it too much (mostly because I find it embarassing that a thirty-year-old man gets so bent out of shape by stuff he considers stupid and inane), but it's something I've needed to get a handle on for a long time.* So, I'm working on this.
*Note. In 5th grade, the teacher pulled me aside and talked to me about my temper. He said that if I didn't watch it the upperclassmen at McCombs (where I was a Trojan) would "beat me into the ground." I think he told me this after I got into a fight with another 5th grader (I wanna say Troy Donahoe, but I'm not sure. ), while playing soccer**. Truthfully, he was right, it was something I need(ed) to work on, but if it was Troy (and I'm starting to feel sure it was), then he probably he had it coming. He was kind of a dick.
**Note to Note. We didn't play soccer. We played a game of tackle the guy with the soccer ball while the teachers don't pay attention. Oh, sure there were still goals and score was kept, but it wasn't soccer. It was still competitive though. And the teams were for all year. I was on Ryan's (can't remember his last name. He moved away before I got to middle school) team in third grade. And everyday we took on Danny Soda's team. (Which is the greatest name in the history of names.) I remember one day I scored the winning goal and Danny Soda knocked me down and picked me up by the legs and swung me around in a circle a couple times before tossing me a couple feet. I was a heavy kid, too. Anyhoo.
Mostly my temper is a problem at work, where I feel unappreciated and taken for granted (you know, like most everyone). So, I'm working on it. I was doing great last week until Friday. The long weekend before certainly helped put me in a better frame of mind, but even that couldn't get me through a whole (short) week.
I'm trying the deep breathes. I'm trying perspective. I'm even trying giving people the finger under my desk (which sort of works, but makes me almost giggle everytime, so I think people think I'm losing my mind. Which is maybe okay. I'm not sure yet). But thus far, I haven't found a truly dependable way to get through the stress without getting myself all worked up. I think just trying is making it easier and easier though, so hopefully I'll get the hang of it.
The last of the things that I feel like I need out of the way before my children come into this world, (and probably the hardest to figure out and deal with in a way that I will find satisfying-because, you know, it depends on someone else a great deal) is my father.
I've been listening to the Writer's Almanac Podcast everyday for a while now. Seems like a tangent, but the Writer's Almanac, as Garrison Keeler points out at the end of every podcast is sponsored by the Fetzer Institute who is now on a Campaign of Love and Forgiveness. Now, I haven't poked around enough to figure out how I'm going to work things out, or even what sort of time table I want to work on, but I have looked enough to know I no longer want to carry around the anger I have for him. It's odd. I didn't miss him for one second of the wedding, even though I thought I would. But, almost every other day, I think about him. And I wish he hadn't made the decisions he made. And I wish that at least he should have been honest with me. And if I let it, I can feel it all wash over me again and I can hate him anew. And I want to yell and scream and probably punch him in the stomach. (See, that temper thing I'm working on still needs work.) But I don't want to feel that way anymore. I don't want to be that guy. And I certainly don't want my kids to see that example and think that's the best way to deal with people. (You know, like I learned by watching my Dad. But, I digress.) Yeah.
So, yeah. A lot of changes I'm going to try and make. It's good. Change is good. At least these changes.
Anyway, I hope all is going well for everyone else.
I'm trying to do some bigger changes in my habits. Nothing huge, mind you, but some things I feel I need to get a handle on before I have kids (which won't be for two years probably, mom. Sorry).
The first of these things is my weight. Since the wedding, I've (somewhat surprisingly) maintained my weight. My running has become a lot less enthusiastic as I sort of expected. So, I talked to my wife about it and we've set goals for ourselves and our health. I'm planning on cutting another 26 or so pounds off my gut, hopefully by Thanksgiving. That'll still put my a bit above my "recommended weight" which makes me feel woefully obeese, but I guess I'll have to get the 26 off either way. So, I'll get it off and see how it looks.
The thing is, I'm probably never going to be a poster boy for fitness or health. I enjoy eating and drinking too much to really ever be as fit as is apparently recommended. But. I need to get better.
The second thing I'm trying to get a better grasp of is my temper. As most of you probably know, I have a bad temper. I let things get to me and after a while of taking stuff in, I vent in somewhat unhealthy ways. I don't want to get into it too much (mostly because I find it embarassing that a thirty-year-old man gets so bent out of shape by stuff he considers stupid and inane), but it's something I've needed to get a handle on for a long time.* So, I'm working on this.
*Note. In 5th grade, the teacher pulled me aside and talked to me about my temper. He said that if I didn't watch it the upperclassmen at McCombs (where I was a Trojan) would "beat me into the ground." I think he told me this after I got into a fight with another 5th grader (I wanna say Troy Donahoe, but I'm not sure. ), while playing soccer**. Truthfully, he was right, it was something I need(ed) to work on, but if it was Troy (and I'm starting to feel sure it was), then he probably he had it coming. He was kind of a dick.
**Note to Note. We didn't play soccer. We played a game of tackle the guy with the soccer ball while the teachers don't pay attention. Oh, sure there were still goals and score was kept, but it wasn't soccer. It was still competitive though. And the teams were for all year. I was on Ryan's (can't remember his last name. He moved away before I got to middle school) team in third grade. And everyday we took on Danny Soda's team. (Which is the greatest name in the history of names.) I remember one day I scored the winning goal and Danny Soda knocked me down and picked me up by the legs and swung me around in a circle a couple times before tossing me a couple feet. I was a heavy kid, too. Anyhoo.
Mostly my temper is a problem at work, where I feel unappreciated and taken for granted (you know, like most everyone). So, I'm working on it. I was doing great last week until Friday. The long weekend before certainly helped put me in a better frame of mind, but even that couldn't get me through a whole (short) week.
I'm trying the deep breathes. I'm trying perspective. I'm even trying giving people the finger under my desk (which sort of works, but makes me almost giggle everytime, so I think people think I'm losing my mind. Which is maybe okay. I'm not sure yet). But thus far, I haven't found a truly dependable way to get through the stress without getting myself all worked up. I think just trying is making it easier and easier though, so hopefully I'll get the hang of it.
The last of the things that I feel like I need out of the way before my children come into this world, (and probably the hardest to figure out and deal with in a way that I will find satisfying-because, you know, it depends on someone else a great deal) is my father.
I've been listening to the Writer's Almanac Podcast everyday for a while now. Seems like a tangent, but the Writer's Almanac, as Garrison Keeler points out at the end of every podcast is sponsored by the Fetzer Institute who is now on a Campaign of Love and Forgiveness. Now, I haven't poked around enough to figure out how I'm going to work things out, or even what sort of time table I want to work on, but I have looked enough to know I no longer want to carry around the anger I have for him. It's odd. I didn't miss him for one second of the wedding, even though I thought I would. But, almost every other day, I think about him. And I wish he hadn't made the decisions he made. And I wish that at least he should have been honest with me. And if I let it, I can feel it all wash over me again and I can hate him anew. And I want to yell and scream and probably punch him in the stomach. (See, that temper thing I'm working on still needs work.) But I don't want to feel that way anymore. I don't want to be that guy. And I certainly don't want my kids to see that example and think that's the best way to deal with people. (You know, like I learned by watching my Dad. But, I digress.) Yeah.
So, yeah. A lot of changes I'm going to try and make. It's good. Change is good. At least these changes.
Anyway, I hope all is going well for everyone else.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
The St. Louis trip...
We left after work on Friday and made it about halfway to St. Louis, stopping the night in Maclean, Illinois where we had a Super 8 lined up for the night. We walked into our room and it was uncomfortably warm. The air conditioning unit underneath the window came to life in a rumble that never died down. The bathroom door wouldn't stay shut. The pool was broken. And the pillows were small and not supportive. I mention all these things not to jump on Super 8, but just to contrast that with the hotel we stayed at in downtown St. Louis.
The Riverfront Hyatt Regency is what they call it now, but when I was growing up and hearing the Cards on the radio, it was the Adam's Mark St. Louis. In fact, when I made the reservation earlier this year it was the Adam's Mark, but whatever. This was a great hotel. We got a junior sweet, so we had plenty of room and we had a view of both the Gateway Arch and the old Courthouse (where the Dredd Scott case was litigated*). Gorgeous view. And the bathroom door shut the whole way. The king-sized bed was overflowing with pillows and the room temperature was cool and controllable without noise. Great.
*Note. I couldn't remember what the Dredd Scott Case was. All I could recall was it was "a slavery case bad." That right there is why I couldn't major in history and why I didn't get a lot of A's while majoring in English.
But that wasn't why we came to St. Louis. And we couldn't even get in our room at first. Apparently, our idea of coming into St. Louis just for a day and staying at the old Adam's Mark is not really an outside the box thought.
So, we left the van and our bags and headed over to Busch III.
And let me say, this stadium is gorgeous. Better than the hotel even (though warmer). The weather was high 70's and sunny when we got there, but clouds mixed in throughout the day to combine with a nice cool breeze for a perfect spring day. The walkways are big and accessible. Getting in and out of the stadium was so easy. (Wrigley really is a death-trap. I'm all for old stadiums and their beauty-and Wrigley is beautiful-but squishing in the almost-40,000 people in and out of there on a 90 degree Chicago sweat-fest? Well. It's not fun.)
We got there early and found our seats in the right field corner next to the foul pole. Chris Duncan, Troy Glaus and Skip Schumacher were taking batting practice as we sat down. This is where I really eye-balled the stadium. The orange-ish brick and the black of the railings and light towers were strikingly new. (Most of the games I've seen have been at Wrigley, so it's my most immediate frame of reference. Also, this is the newest baseball stadium I've been to.) The field itself was gorgeous. The crowd was late arriving (which seemed odd for the best fans in baseball), but they were quality. The southern family behind us offered up good commentary. As soon as Dioner Navarro bat touched the pitch that would be a homerun, the father cried, "Oh no!" With a southern accent. And People actually talked about matchups and after Albert failed to move two runners over with an out in the early innings, someone actually faulted him for it. I know it's just one crowd and it's hard to compare them to Cubs fans. But. In this small sample size, the Cards are waaaaaaay ahead. (Which isn't to say we don't have our douches, we do. And they were about, but not in as great a number.)
The pitching matchup (and the reason I had trouble sleeping the night before*) was Adam Wainwright v. Matt Garza.
*Note. This was the first time in a long time that I was so excited I couldn't sleep. It was just like when I was a kid and going to Adventureland that next day. I'd be lying on my transformers sheets thinking, "I'm gonna ride the Tornado and then the log ride and then the bumper cars and then the ladyfinger (my favorite!), but I have to go to sleep now. The sooner I go to sleep the sooner I wake up and ride the Tornado and the Scrambler..." Yup. 30 years old and going to see Wainwright pitch and Pujols hit and Ankiel do Ankiel things, this was making me all atwitter.
Note to Note. I was trying to find old Adventureland commercials on YouTube, but no luck. Today the internet let me down.
Anyway. Wainwright didn't have his great stuff, which was sort of obvious from the start. (Reminded me of a Matt Morris start I saw in Wrigley once. I've been working on a post for that story since Morris' retirement, so we'll get back to that sometime.) He battled all game and left with a lead in the 6th. But it was a tough game. Which was to be expected because the Rays have one of the best lineups in the game. They are fun to watch as well.
I'll be honest. I was pretty sure the Cardinals weren't going to do well. They'd been in a bit of a funk of late. Dropping three to Milwaukee (who hadn't really been hot) and 2 to Pittsburgh (who...well, aren't good). They bullpen had been a sieve. Things were pointing toward a May collapse and I had a feeling that I had come to witness it.
But, I was pleasantly surprised. The team was fighting. The Rays scored first, but the Cards scored immediately after. And I must say, Aaron Miles had a spectacular game. He got was 4 for 4 and had a really nice play at second base to save a run. (So, yeah. I'm sorry Aaron Miles. You've been really good this season. My bad.) My heart did drop a little in the 9th when Albert struck out and Miles ran into another out. (No, really, Aaron. I'm not throwing you back under the bus, I'm just saying. Hey, I was surprised you got on base at all.) Going to extras seemed like doom. But Ryan Franklin pitched us through the 10th (he'd pitched the 9th as well), and Ryan Ludwick. Well. Ryan Ludwick hit a homerun. Wind-aided, maybe, but awesome. That's the happiest I've been at a baseball game.
The only downside of the game? No Rick Ankiel. Apparently he hurt his shoulder. Get well soon Rick. *
*Note. I did not send flowers, depsite repeated, compulsive urges. I'm making progress.
After the game, we checked into our fabulous hotel and chilled for a bit. Seeings how I'd been wearing jeans, I needed to shower. (Every winter, I forget that 78 degrees is really warm when you're sitting in the sun.) After that, we headed to the Arch park and made our way through the pretty waterfront park to LaClede's Landing. Apparently, this is where St. Louis really started and it's a historic disctrict with brick streest (which I am a sucker for) and horse-drawn carriages (which I am less a sucker for, but still somewhat suckish). We ate at the Morgan Street Brewery, which was really good. I had their Maibock and Dinah had the Dopplebock (along with food), and it was real good.
I couldn't convince Dinah to do the the Wax Museum, but that was okay. We took the half-gallon jug of Dopplebock we bought back to the hotel, before setting out to walk around the downtown. I liked the downtown. It was pretty, but maybe a little still. And there seemed to be a lot of places looking to be leased.
The next day we had breakfast delivered. (I've never had room service before. It's really nice.) Then we checked out the Arch again. Today we were actually going to go inside and take the tram (not elevator) up. But. Apparently everyone takes the tram on Sundays, so we couldn't fit it in. We did pudder around the museum they have there. It was extensive (including anamatronics!), but not clearly organized. It was set up sort of like a tree. Where, starting at the center, you have the beginning date 1803 (for the Louisiana Purchase) and the next ring around it represents the next decade. It's a neat idea, but it makes it hard to follow a narrative through it.
After that, we checked out of the hotel and wandered around St. Louis for a bit. We looked through Forest Park, which seemed gorgeous. In the park they have the Art Museum and History Museum and The Muny, which is an awesome outdoor amphitheater. Looking around the areas around there was great too. To the west of Forest Park is Washington University (which has an awesome campus, good for them!). To the North is the Loop, which is apparently a hopping place for youngsters (or so Dan Buck, son of Jack Buck told me on the hotel travel channel) to hang out.
Then we went to Lafayette Square and ate at Sqwires, which was a renovated wire factory. Food there was good and the people seemed nice.
And then we left St. Louis. On the way out we drove by the Stadium again and saw the festivities for Stan Musial. The Cardinals were having the name in front of the stadium changed in his honor. Awesome.
Yeah. So we saw a lot of St. Louis, and as Dinah and I are considering where to live after Chicago, we added St. Louis to the list. (Along with Milwaukee, Minneapolis, St. Paul, and scenic Levittown.) I'm worried the summers are way too hot for me. And that I'll be really out of the way for family and stuff. But. We'll see.
The Riverfront Hyatt Regency is what they call it now, but when I was growing up and hearing the Cards on the radio, it was the Adam's Mark St. Louis. In fact, when I made the reservation earlier this year it was the Adam's Mark, but whatever. This was a great hotel. We got a junior sweet, so we had plenty of room and we had a view of both the Gateway Arch and the old Courthouse (where the Dredd Scott case was litigated*). Gorgeous view. And the bathroom door shut the whole way. The king-sized bed was overflowing with pillows and the room temperature was cool and controllable without noise. Great.
*Note. I couldn't remember what the Dredd Scott Case was. All I could recall was it was "a slavery case bad." That right there is why I couldn't major in history and why I didn't get a lot of A's while majoring in English.
But that wasn't why we came to St. Louis. And we couldn't even get in our room at first. Apparently, our idea of coming into St. Louis just for a day and staying at the old Adam's Mark is not really an outside the box thought.
So, we left the van and our bags and headed over to Busch III.
And let me say, this stadium is gorgeous. Better than the hotel even (though warmer). The weather was high 70's and sunny when we got there, but clouds mixed in throughout the day to combine with a nice cool breeze for a perfect spring day. The walkways are big and accessible. Getting in and out of the stadium was so easy. (Wrigley really is a death-trap. I'm all for old stadiums and their beauty-and Wrigley is beautiful-but squishing in the almost-40,000 people in and out of there on a 90 degree Chicago sweat-fest? Well. It's not fun.)
We got there early and found our seats in the right field corner next to the foul pole. Chris Duncan, Troy Glaus and Skip Schumacher were taking batting practice as we sat down. This is where I really eye-balled the stadium. The orange-ish brick and the black of the railings and light towers were strikingly new. (Most of the games I've seen have been at Wrigley, so it's my most immediate frame of reference. Also, this is the newest baseball stadium I've been to.) The field itself was gorgeous. The crowd was late arriving (which seemed odd for the best fans in baseball), but they were quality. The southern family behind us offered up good commentary. As soon as Dioner Navarro bat touched the pitch that would be a homerun, the father cried, "Oh no!" With a southern accent. And People actually talked about matchups and after Albert failed to move two runners over with an out in the early innings, someone actually faulted him for it. I know it's just one crowd and it's hard to compare them to Cubs fans. But. In this small sample size, the Cards are waaaaaaay ahead. (Which isn't to say we don't have our douches, we do. And they were about, but not in as great a number.)
The pitching matchup (and the reason I had trouble sleeping the night before*) was Adam Wainwright v. Matt Garza.
*Note. This was the first time in a long time that I was so excited I couldn't sleep. It was just like when I was a kid and going to Adventureland that next day. I'd be lying on my transformers sheets thinking, "I'm gonna ride the Tornado and then the log ride and then the bumper cars and then the ladyfinger (my favorite!), but I have to go to sleep now. The sooner I go to sleep the sooner I wake up and ride the Tornado and the Scrambler..." Yup. 30 years old and going to see Wainwright pitch and Pujols hit and Ankiel do Ankiel things, this was making me all atwitter.
Note to Note. I was trying to find old Adventureland commercials on YouTube, but no luck. Today the internet let me down.
Anyway. Wainwright didn't have his great stuff, which was sort of obvious from the start. (Reminded me of a Matt Morris start I saw in Wrigley once. I've been working on a post for that story since Morris' retirement, so we'll get back to that sometime.) He battled all game and left with a lead in the 6th. But it was a tough game. Which was to be expected because the Rays have one of the best lineups in the game. They are fun to watch as well.
I'll be honest. I was pretty sure the Cardinals weren't going to do well. They'd been in a bit of a funk of late. Dropping three to Milwaukee (who hadn't really been hot) and 2 to Pittsburgh (who...well, aren't good). They bullpen had been a sieve. Things were pointing toward a May collapse and I had a feeling that I had come to witness it.
But, I was pleasantly surprised. The team was fighting. The Rays scored first, but the Cards scored immediately after. And I must say, Aaron Miles had a spectacular game. He got was 4 for 4 and had a really nice play at second base to save a run. (So, yeah. I'm sorry Aaron Miles. You've been really good this season. My bad.) My heart did drop a little in the 9th when Albert struck out and Miles ran into another out. (No, really, Aaron. I'm not throwing you back under the bus, I'm just saying. Hey, I was surprised you got on base at all.) Going to extras seemed like doom. But Ryan Franklin pitched us through the 10th (he'd pitched the 9th as well), and Ryan Ludwick. Well. Ryan Ludwick hit a homerun. Wind-aided, maybe, but awesome. That's the happiest I've been at a baseball game.
The only downside of the game? No Rick Ankiel. Apparently he hurt his shoulder. Get well soon Rick. *
*Note. I did not send flowers, depsite repeated, compulsive urges. I'm making progress.
After the game, we checked into our fabulous hotel and chilled for a bit. Seeings how I'd been wearing jeans, I needed to shower. (Every winter, I forget that 78 degrees is really warm when you're sitting in the sun.) After that, we headed to the Arch park and made our way through the pretty waterfront park to LaClede's Landing. Apparently, this is where St. Louis really started and it's a historic disctrict with brick streest (which I am a sucker for) and horse-drawn carriages (which I am less a sucker for, but still somewhat suckish). We ate at the Morgan Street Brewery, which was really good. I had their Maibock and Dinah had the Dopplebock (along with food), and it was real good.
I couldn't convince Dinah to do the the Wax Museum, but that was okay. We took the half-gallon jug of Dopplebock we bought back to the hotel, before setting out to walk around the downtown. I liked the downtown. It was pretty, but maybe a little still. And there seemed to be a lot of places looking to be leased.
The next day we had breakfast delivered. (I've never had room service before. It's really nice.) Then we checked out the Arch again. Today we were actually going to go inside and take the tram (not elevator) up. But. Apparently everyone takes the tram on Sundays, so we couldn't fit it in. We did pudder around the museum they have there. It was extensive (including anamatronics!), but not clearly organized. It was set up sort of like a tree. Where, starting at the center, you have the beginning date 1803 (for the Louisiana Purchase) and the next ring around it represents the next decade. It's a neat idea, but it makes it hard to follow a narrative through it.
After that, we checked out of the hotel and wandered around St. Louis for a bit. We looked through Forest Park, which seemed gorgeous. In the park they have the Art Museum and History Museum and The Muny, which is an awesome outdoor amphitheater. Looking around the areas around there was great too. To the west of Forest Park is Washington University (which has an awesome campus, good for them!). To the North is the Loop, which is apparently a hopping place for youngsters (or so Dan Buck, son of Jack Buck told me on the hotel travel channel) to hang out.
Then we went to Lafayette Square and ate at Sqwires, which was a renovated wire factory. Food there was good and the people seemed nice.
And then we left St. Louis. On the way out we drove by the Stadium again and saw the festivities for Stan Musial. The Cardinals were having the name in front of the stadium changed in his honor. Awesome.
Yeah. So we saw a lot of St. Louis, and as Dinah and I are considering where to live after Chicago, we added St. Louis to the list. (Along with Milwaukee, Minneapolis, St. Paul, and scenic Levittown.) I'm worried the summers are way too hot for me. And that I'll be really out of the way for family and stuff. But. We'll see.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Mascots...
I started to my educational life as a Roadrunner. I don't remember being especially proud of that, but it was fun to think about. Little-Kindergarten-through-5th-Grade-me, being fast and fun and always outrunning the coyote and his hairbrained schemes and toys. (This was all I knew about roadrunners at the time. And that our mascot on the yearbooks and tote bags was purposely designed after the Warner Bros. character didn't encourage me to look much harder, I guess.) It made me feel good to think that was what I was. Part of the reason I liked it was probably because I was a fat kid and getting to pretend I was quick. It kind of made me feel good.
This was before I realized that you weren't imbued with the characteristics of your mascot. And I learned this lesson quickly when I become a Trojan. I didn't know what sort of Trojan they had intended with this name, but when Brian Cherry told me the other type, well, I knew I was not going to represent or be represented by a Trojan.
And I took this attitude with me when I was a Railsplitter and Pioneer. Niether of these really had any meaning to me. I mean, it was nice to think of myself as a hard-working type of person that being a railsplitter brings to mind, but I did not work all that hard in Highschool. And I found it hard to think of myself as a Pioneer, when many folks had gone to this college before me and I clearly wasn't blazing any trails in my studies. (Though there were definitely pioneers at Grinnell.) But still, it was there and I took some token pride in the label.
Then I went to work in the "real world". And there were plenty of differences, but one of the more subtle ones is there are no longer mascots. No longer these idols put in front of you who you're supposed to represent or whose characteristics you're supposed to emmulate. I went from being a pioneer to being nothing. Maybe not the biggest problem on my plate at the time, but it was a problem.
And for 8 years now, I've been nothing. There's no mascot for the 20-something college graduate to emmulate. I mean, sure there's that guy you see in traffic or on the train or bus. That guy who looks like he's got his stuff together. Wearing the shoes that wouldn't look so hot on you. Listening to way cooler music than you do. Carrying his briefcase, or if he was sort of alterna-corporate, his messenger bag. He didn't decide to go to either Hair Cuttery or Great Clips soley depending on which side of the street he was on at the time. Hell, he probably paid 20 dollars for his haircut. And while he might be fine to model yourself after, there's nothing inherently brave or exciting about him. Not like a cougar, anyway.
So when I apply and am accepted to a Paralegal program at a local University (Did I bury the lead a bit? Probably.), I was looking forward to being somethign again. It didn't have to be a sleek panther or the wise owl. It didn't even have to be a noble game-cock. I was just excited to be something again. So, what do I get? Nothing. I mean admittedly, it's a certificate program, but still. One would expect a label that I can comfortably self-apply.
Perhaps I'm supposed to be old enough to not need this kind of foolishness, but I guess I'm not. I mean, sure, getting the degree is important (probably the most important thing about getting into the program), but there was a part of me that was looking forward to having a mascot. So I know what I must do. I have to come up with a mascot for Roosevelt University. (Note: if you search mascot on the Roosevelt site, you come up with Fala, who was FDR's dog as a mascot for the Institute of Continued Learning, which I guess my program (again, I don't know for sure) would fall under. But it's not a mascot for the school as a whole. I mean, does Tennesee have a different mascot for Grads and Undergrands? I don't know, but I don't think so. And truthfully, I was hoping for something a little more....grand?)
So, where to start? It seems to me that it should have to do with some aspect of both Roosevelts (Franklin and Eleanor, not Teddy. Though I liked his trust-busting ways, the school is not named after him so, I will not be a Rough Rider. Thankfully.) as they were both rather remarkable people. I only came up with a couple possibilities. My ideas:
This was before I realized that you weren't imbued with the characteristics of your mascot. And I learned this lesson quickly when I become a Trojan. I didn't know what sort of Trojan they had intended with this name, but when Brian Cherry told me the other type, well, I knew I was not going to represent or be represented by a Trojan.
And I took this attitude with me when I was a Railsplitter and Pioneer. Niether of these really had any meaning to me. I mean, it was nice to think of myself as a hard-working type of person that being a railsplitter brings to mind, but I did not work all that hard in Highschool. And I found it hard to think of myself as a Pioneer, when many folks had gone to this college before me and I clearly wasn't blazing any trails in my studies. (Though there were definitely pioneers at Grinnell.) But still, it was there and I took some token pride in the label.
Then I went to work in the "real world". And there were plenty of differences, but one of the more subtle ones is there are no longer mascots. No longer these idols put in front of you who you're supposed to represent or whose characteristics you're supposed to emmulate. I went from being a pioneer to being nothing. Maybe not the biggest problem on my plate at the time, but it was a problem.
And for 8 years now, I've been nothing. There's no mascot for the 20-something college graduate to emmulate. I mean, sure there's that guy you see in traffic or on the train or bus. That guy who looks like he's got his stuff together. Wearing the shoes that wouldn't look so hot on you. Listening to way cooler music than you do. Carrying his briefcase, or if he was sort of alterna-corporate, his messenger bag. He didn't decide to go to either Hair Cuttery or Great Clips soley depending on which side of the street he was on at the time. Hell, he probably paid 20 dollars for his haircut. And while he might be fine to model yourself after, there's nothing inherently brave or exciting about him. Not like a cougar, anyway.
So when I apply and am accepted to a Paralegal program at a local University (Did I bury the lead a bit? Probably.), I was looking forward to being somethign again. It didn't have to be a sleek panther or the wise owl. It didn't even have to be a noble game-cock. I was just excited to be something again. So, what do I get? Nothing. I mean admittedly, it's a certificate program, but still. One would expect a label that I can comfortably self-apply.
Perhaps I'm supposed to be old enough to not need this kind of foolishness, but I guess I'm not. I mean, sure, getting the degree is important (probably the most important thing about getting into the program), but there was a part of me that was looking forward to having a mascot. So I know what I must do. I have to come up with a mascot for Roosevelt University. (Note: if you search mascot on the Roosevelt site, you come up with Fala, who was FDR's dog as a mascot for the Institute of Continued Learning, which I guess my program (again, I don't know for sure) would fall under. But it's not a mascot for the school as a whole. I mean, does Tennesee have a different mascot for Grads and Undergrands? I don't know, but I don't think so. And truthfully, I was hoping for something a little more....grand?)
So, where to start? It seems to me that it should have to do with some aspect of both Roosevelts (Franklin and Eleanor, not Teddy. Though I liked his trust-busting ways, the school is not named after him so, I will not be a Rough Rider. Thankfully.) as they were both rather remarkable people. I only came up with a couple possibilities. My ideas:
- The Dealers. It's of course, referring to the New Deal. And I guess you could go with the New Dealers, but I like just the Dealers. It's just a tad more obscure this way. It demands that people know at least the name of the New Deal and why it is associated with the Roosevelts. It doesn't really strike fear in the heart of people, but RU has no sports teams at this time, so just acknowledging the connection to the New Deal is probably cool, right?
- The Statesmen. This works for both the Roosevelts (maybe Eleanor more than Franklin). Again, this doesn't strike fear, but it's cool. The problem I have with this is that it isn't catchy.
So. Feel free to share others and I'll update if I think of more. (There's a fifty percent chance I just go ahead with Panthers or something).
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Saturday...
This Saturday, I'll be in St. Louis for a game against the Rays (formerly affiliated with Satan, but have since found redemption). Pitching probables (and I'm crossing my fingers) Adam Wainright (Cardinals Ace and World Series/NLCS hero) and Matt Garza (who I know very little about). I'm super-pysched and it's taking all the strength I can summon not to put you all (all 3 of you) through another countdown (wedding-style!).
The only other time I visited St. Louis, I was 8 or so. As I've mentioned, my Dad was a Cardinals fan since he was young, and so was I. Being that I was young, I don't really remember a lot about the trip. I remember seeing Willie McGee's face on a giant (huge, even) scoreboard. I remember the pixilated dots of the old scoreboard, that had a redspot on his right cheek for some reason. (I assume that for PR reasons this wasn't a zit they were representing.)
I remember we were sitting way up high looking down on the artificle turf. Everyone looked so small, like the little green army men I would sometimes play with later. My dad was showing me how to keep score again.
And I remember picking up extra plastic cups that other people left behind after the game. I poured beer out onto the concrete completely confused that someone would leave these treasures behind. I felt guilty making off with the ten or so I stacked between my hands and my chin, but they were still being used in my househond when I graduated high school.
And that may or may not have been the day we ended up getting a round Cardinal pillow that I used to sleep with in highschool. I seem to remember us getting it that trip, but I can't quite trust my memory of it.
I think we saw two games, though it may have been three. And I have no idea what happened in any of the games. I can't even remember who the other team was (though I want to say Mets).
I remember at the hotel we watched Popeye on TV for a while. I know I'd seen some Popeye cartoons before, but I remember thinking it was so foreign to see him having his own show. And I think this is also where I found out there was a Popeye's Chicken. And it was very confusing that they were not in fact related to one another.
And I definitely went up the Arch. I remember the elevator tilting and adjusting, tilting and adjusting us all the way up. I have no memory of the view.
It's odd. These are the concrete (more or less) things I remember from the trip, but thinking about them just makes me happy. The power of youth, I guess.
The only other time I visited St. Louis, I was 8 or so. As I've mentioned, my Dad was a Cardinals fan since he was young, and so was I. Being that I was young, I don't really remember a lot about the trip. I remember seeing Willie McGee's face on a giant (huge, even) scoreboard. I remember the pixilated dots of the old scoreboard, that had a redspot on his right cheek for some reason. (I assume that for PR reasons this wasn't a zit they were representing.)
I remember we were sitting way up high looking down on the artificle turf. Everyone looked so small, like the little green army men I would sometimes play with later. My dad was showing me how to keep score again.
And I remember picking up extra plastic cups that other people left behind after the game. I poured beer out onto the concrete completely confused that someone would leave these treasures behind. I felt guilty making off with the ten or so I stacked between my hands and my chin, but they were still being used in my househond when I graduated high school.
And that may or may not have been the day we ended up getting a round Cardinal pillow that I used to sleep with in highschool. I seem to remember us getting it that trip, but I can't quite trust my memory of it.
I think we saw two games, though it may have been three. And I have no idea what happened in any of the games. I can't even remember who the other team was (though I want to say Mets).
I remember at the hotel we watched Popeye on TV for a while. I know I'd seen some Popeye cartoons before, but I remember thinking it was so foreign to see him having his own show. And I think this is also where I found out there was a Popeye's Chicken. And it was very confusing that they were not in fact related to one another.
And I definitely went up the Arch. I remember the elevator tilting and adjusting, tilting and adjusting us all the way up. I have no memory of the view.
It's odd. These are the concrete (more or less) things I remember from the trip, but thinking about them just makes me happy. The power of youth, I guess.
Jim Edmonds...
Dear Jim Edmonds,
I'm struggling here. I'm having a hard time picturing you in a Cubs uniform. And the thought that I won't have to wait long to see the reality, is not helpful. So, I'm writing to you on this public place (if you consider the 5 people who visit my blog public) to ask your help, because I'm now 30 and I can't think that plugging my fingers in my ears and pretending this isn't happening is gonna work for me now.
Let's go back a little, shall we, Mr. Edmonds. I have no doubt that you recall the good times as a Cardinal. The 2 World Series appearances. The win over the Tigers (take THAT Detroit!). You had 5 of the best years a Center Feilder has ever had while you were wearing that Cardinal Red uniform.
So, when you asked for a trade this offseason, I didn't begrudge you that. I thought, 'hey, he's done so much for the franchise. He's been a solid player. By all accounts you were a solid clubhouse presence in St. Louis. If he wants to go, then that's okay.' I was still cheering for you, sir. Padre or not, I want Jim Edmonds to play well. Because I remember the joy of watching you make some of the most amazing catches ever. And I remember watching your uppercut swing connect and moonshot a ball into the right field seats.
And now. You'll be a Cub.
I don't begrudge you that. I don't. I realize it's a business and you have to go where the opportunity is. It's in Chicago. So, yeah, I get it. But. I just can't help but remember the game where Carlos Zambrano threw at you. Twice. And how the fans there hated you. And how you seemed to hate playing there. You played 1st base there a couple times because you were having a little trouble seeing the ball off the bat. I don't bring this up to crap on your situation now. I really don't. But. It just seemed to me that if ever there were hostility between a player and an entire situation (from fanbase to field to other stars on the team), this was it.
But. Here we are. And that's okay.
You're doing what you have to do to keep playing. And I honestly wish you well. I hope you bounce back and the uppercut starts mashing the ball into the bleachers. And I hope the Cubs fans embrace you. And hey, at least now Zambrano won't throw at you (probably. I just don't know about that guy.).
Anyway. Good luck Jim. If you need me, you'll have to yell, because on second thought, fingers in my ears is the way to go.
Sincerly.
Joe
I'm struggling here. I'm having a hard time picturing you in a Cubs uniform. And the thought that I won't have to wait long to see the reality, is not helpful. So, I'm writing to you on this public place (if you consider the 5 people who visit my blog public) to ask your help, because I'm now 30 and I can't think that plugging my fingers in my ears and pretending this isn't happening is gonna work for me now.
Let's go back a little, shall we, Mr. Edmonds. I have no doubt that you recall the good times as a Cardinal. The 2 World Series appearances. The win over the Tigers (take THAT Detroit!). You had 5 of the best years a Center Feilder has ever had while you were wearing that Cardinal Red uniform.
So, when you asked for a trade this offseason, I didn't begrudge you that. I thought, 'hey, he's done so much for the franchise. He's been a solid player. By all accounts you were a solid clubhouse presence in St. Louis. If he wants to go, then that's okay.' I was still cheering for you, sir. Padre or not, I want Jim Edmonds to play well. Because I remember the joy of watching you make some of the most amazing catches ever. And I remember watching your uppercut swing connect and moonshot a ball into the right field seats.
And now. You'll be a Cub.
I don't begrudge you that. I don't. I realize it's a business and you have to go where the opportunity is. It's in Chicago. So, yeah, I get it. But. I just can't help but remember the game where Carlos Zambrano threw at you. Twice. And how the fans there hated you. And how you seemed to hate playing there. You played 1st base there a couple times because you were having a little trouble seeing the ball off the bat. I don't bring this up to crap on your situation now. I really don't. But. It just seemed to me that if ever there were hostility between a player and an entire situation (from fanbase to field to other stars on the team), this was it.
But. Here we are. And that's okay.
You're doing what you have to do to keep playing. And I honestly wish you well. I hope you bounce back and the uppercut starts mashing the ball into the bleachers. And I hope the Cubs fans embrace you. And hey, at least now Zambrano won't throw at you (probably. I just don't know about that guy.).
Anyway. Good luck Jim. If you need me, you'll have to yell, because on second thought, fingers in my ears is the way to go.
Sincerly.
Joe
Friday, May 2, 2008
my 2 cents...
The Bissinger/Lietch debate about sports blogs and journalism doesn't seem to affect this blog much when you first look at it. I don't really write about sports. I'm not a journalist, nor am I trying to be. I noticed the debate because I'm a deadspin.com reader. I don't generally comment on there, but I do enjoy reading the comments.
But before I delve too much, a quick recap. Bob Costas hosted a forum on which he invited Buzz Bissinger (of "Friday Night Lights" and "3 Days in August" credits, among many others), Will Leitch (of Deadspin.com and "God Save the Fan") and Braylon Edwards (of the Cleveland Browns) to talk about the blogs and their impact on sports journalism. The debate was actually ugly and unhelpful. Bissinger was very angry and it was hard for me to discern what it is he exactly hated about blogs, but the money quotation that's getting thrown around is (and I'm just gonna paraphrase) blogs are devoted to speed and cruelty. The debate that ensued was really not a debate as much as it was a piling on in an emotional and unthinking way. And as such, I wasn't going to say much about it. (Besides others have put more thought into it and have interesting thoughts on it.) But what does stir me to say something (I know you're thinking, Joe, you're writing because we demand your thoughts on this, but no...) was Bissinger's latest comments on NPR.
Here it was, finally, the reason Bissinger got so upset. And, you know what? I surprisingly, agree with him (on some stuff). I agree that it's enough with Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears. I agree that there's a lot of dumbing down going on in the media and in our culture. And I appreciate that he's willing to say he was too angry to really make his point.
What I don't get is how blogs are responsible for the way that cruelty sells in America right now. It seems to me that tabloid rags have been doing stuff like this for a long time. And most people I know realize this and ignore the National Inquirer and its ilk. If there's any problem with how blogs work now, it's that we're not sure which ones are good and which ones aren't and it's not as easy to tell as with tabloids, which are printed up on that newstock and are put in a row at the cash registers of supermarkets.
I think the urge for cruelty that Bissinger talks about is definitely in our culture, but where he blames blogs, I blame people. The blog is just a template. It takes a person to make it good or bad. And yes, a lot of people post anonymously on the web so they can be cruel. But that's a symptom of larger problems, I think. And it's seen in a lot of places besides blogs.
Which brings me to the part of the Costas-talk where Matt Leinhart and his beer bong pictures are brought up. I agree with Bissinger that Leitch's defense of the Lienhart photos as being "humanising" was a little off. It was probably posted (and I don't know, because I've never even so much as talked to anyone at deadspin) because it was funny. And because it would bring people to the site.
But, you know, the secondary effect of it is that it does make Leinhart more human. And I think that's a good thing. I don't want to root for these marketing giants anymore. I look at Michael Jordan now and admire what he accomplished, but I don't care about it. Same for Derek Jeter. I don't see them as people. I see them as brands. And as such, I don't care much about them any more than I do Nike, McDonalds or General Motors. In the rush to be a global marketing force, they've lost the humanity, the ability to seem relatable to me.
This isn't to take anything away from their accomplishments. Jeter's a great shortstop. Jordan's probably the best ever. But as they've made themselves marketable (and God bless them for cashing in on their fame. I would if I could.) they have to pretend to be these perfect people who have no opinions and have no fun that might be considered offensive. (Remember the story about Jordan where he said (paraphrasing again) Republicans buy shoes too?)
I sort of feel bad for them, now. (Especially with the NFL just kicking guys out of the league for crimes that are never prosecuted, much less proved.) (Though it is hard to feel bad for a guy who makes a pretty nice chunk of cash, but still.) I wouldn't want to have to deal with the papparazzi he probably has to deal with daily. Much less the camera-phone that took these pictures. It does suck.
But it's not like Lienhart did anything wrong. No crime. All he was doing was enjoying the lifestyle his job (and the cash that comes with it) afford him. So, I don't see him as being "humiliated" as Bissinger says this was intended to do. I see him as a young guy who I can kind of relate to now. (Kind of.) And in a vicarious way that goes beyond dreams of playing QB, I like him a little more now. Much in the same way that going on Saturday Night Live made me like Peyton Manning more, because I saw him as more of a regular guy. Clearly these are different because Manning's move was calculated and a marketing effort, but the effect, for me anyway, is similar.
And I'm sure Bissinger could point to more, less savory material that gets posted and doesn't have this effect on us, but I think my point is this: These are normal people who are put in extraordinary circumstances. They have money and fame, but they're still as fragile and stupide and greedy, and horny and interesting as the rest of us. And it's kind of nice to see them this way once in a while, because seeing them on billboards soaring above us doing amazing feets of athletic prowess is great, but the hero worship is enough. It's only good for their marketing and my feelings of inadequecy. And really, there's enough of both to go around.
But before I delve too much, a quick recap. Bob Costas hosted a forum on which he invited Buzz Bissinger (of "Friday Night Lights" and "3 Days in August" credits, among many others), Will Leitch (of Deadspin.com and "God Save the Fan") and Braylon Edwards (of the Cleveland Browns) to talk about the blogs and their impact on sports journalism. The debate was actually ugly and unhelpful. Bissinger was very angry and it was hard for me to discern what it is he exactly hated about blogs, but the money quotation that's getting thrown around is (and I'm just gonna paraphrase) blogs are devoted to speed and cruelty. The debate that ensued was really not a debate as much as it was a piling on in an emotional and unthinking way. And as such, I wasn't going to say much about it. (Besides others have put more thought into it and have interesting thoughts on it.) But what does stir me to say something (I know you're thinking, Joe, you're writing because we demand your thoughts on this, but no...) was Bissinger's latest comments on NPR.
Here it was, finally, the reason Bissinger got so upset. And, you know what? I surprisingly, agree with him (on some stuff). I agree that it's enough with Lindsey Lohan and Britney Spears. I agree that there's a lot of dumbing down going on in the media and in our culture. And I appreciate that he's willing to say he was too angry to really make his point.
What I don't get is how blogs are responsible for the way that cruelty sells in America right now. It seems to me that tabloid rags have been doing stuff like this for a long time. And most people I know realize this and ignore the National Inquirer and its ilk. If there's any problem with how blogs work now, it's that we're not sure which ones are good and which ones aren't and it's not as easy to tell as with tabloids, which are printed up on that newstock and are put in a row at the cash registers of supermarkets.
I think the urge for cruelty that Bissinger talks about is definitely in our culture, but where he blames blogs, I blame people. The blog is just a template. It takes a person to make it good or bad. And yes, a lot of people post anonymously on the web so they can be cruel. But that's a symptom of larger problems, I think. And it's seen in a lot of places besides blogs.
Which brings me to the part of the Costas-talk where Matt Leinhart and his beer bong pictures are brought up. I agree with Bissinger that Leitch's defense of the Lienhart photos as being "humanising" was a little off. It was probably posted (and I don't know, because I've never even so much as talked to anyone at deadspin) because it was funny. And because it would bring people to the site.
But, you know, the secondary effect of it is that it does make Leinhart more human. And I think that's a good thing. I don't want to root for these marketing giants anymore. I look at Michael Jordan now and admire what he accomplished, but I don't care about it. Same for Derek Jeter. I don't see them as people. I see them as brands. And as such, I don't care much about them any more than I do Nike, McDonalds or General Motors. In the rush to be a global marketing force, they've lost the humanity, the ability to seem relatable to me.
This isn't to take anything away from their accomplishments. Jeter's a great shortstop. Jordan's probably the best ever. But as they've made themselves marketable (and God bless them for cashing in on their fame. I would if I could.) they have to pretend to be these perfect people who have no opinions and have no fun that might be considered offensive. (Remember the story about Jordan where he said (paraphrasing again) Republicans buy shoes too?)
I sort of feel bad for them, now. (Especially with the NFL just kicking guys out of the league for crimes that are never prosecuted, much less proved.) (Though it is hard to feel bad for a guy who makes a pretty nice chunk of cash, but still.) I wouldn't want to have to deal with the papparazzi he probably has to deal with daily. Much less the camera-phone that took these pictures. It does suck.
But it's not like Lienhart did anything wrong. No crime. All he was doing was enjoying the lifestyle his job (and the cash that comes with it) afford him. So, I don't see him as being "humiliated" as Bissinger says this was intended to do. I see him as a young guy who I can kind of relate to now. (Kind of.) And in a vicarious way that goes beyond dreams of playing QB, I like him a little more now. Much in the same way that going on Saturday Night Live made me like Peyton Manning more, because I saw him as more of a regular guy. Clearly these are different because Manning's move was calculated and a marketing effort, but the effect, for me anyway, is similar.
And I'm sure Bissinger could point to more, less savory material that gets posted and doesn't have this effect on us, but I think my point is this: These are normal people who are put in extraordinary circumstances. They have money and fame, but they're still as fragile and stupide and greedy, and horny and interesting as the rest of us. And it's kind of nice to see them this way once in a while, because seeing them on billboards soaring above us doing amazing feets of athletic prowess is great, but the hero worship is enough. It's only good for their marketing and my feelings of inadequecy. And really, there's enough of both to go around.
small thoughts for a small day...
- Well. The California Office of the law firm I work with has now also been outsourced. Which probably isn't a surprise, but what is notable is that they used a differenct outsourcing company than the one I've been "acquired" by. (The long story of my "acquiring" was covered here and here.) Apparently, my outsourcing company didn't even get a chance to bid, which has them worried a bit. And that has me worried a bit. It would probably take a little bit for everything to shake out and for me to have to leave (6 months at least according to my boss), but this is really no comfort to me. My plan was to stay here while I attend classes and then see what's out there. Now, I'm changing my plans.
- What really sucks about the possibility of being let go is that I was never really given the tools to succeed. Things don't work here, and for the longest time I blamed myself. But after the outsourcing company had their expert come through, she pointed out that none of it was my fault. My favorite thing she said? "It's not fair. It's not fair to you and it's not particularly well thought-out." It's always nice to hear you're the voice of wisdom (filing wisdom!) in a sea of ignorance (about filing!). I'm like a filing sensei. With poor students. Oh, do I digress?
- But. Bright side of the day. I got in all the stuff I needed to for my paralegal program, and the head of the department emailed me back this morning (just seconds ago, thank you internet). She says things look good and she can't think of a reason I wouldn't be accepted. So. That's nice.
- Dinah's parents are in town for the weekend, which should be nice. I know we're going to the Art Institute for their special exhibition on Hopper and Homer. Which should be good. I was reading in Smithsonian Magazine (yeah, I subscribe to it, because I'm now old.) about Homer and it should be interesting to see his works now that I have an idea of who he was. And of course, I'll make sure I get a chance to look at the haystacks. I know it's cliche, but I love Monet.
- Cardinals/Cubs this weekend in St. Louis. I hope I get the chance to watch at least some of this, but we'll see.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
What's up with me...
I'm going to Thailand at the end of this year. Dinah and I have decided that's where we'll take the official honeymoon of our marriage. (Brought to you by Cheer with color guard. Don't let the name fool you, we're not white supremacists!) Dinah was definitely the driving force behind this decision. Partly because her "childhood hairdresser" (seriously. If there's one thing that I could point to as showing how I sometimes don't understand the seeming-near-Rockwell childhood I ascribe to her, it's that she is still in contact with the woman who cut her hair when she was 8. As I mentioned in my controversial expose called "Penis on the Elbow", my relationship with the man who cut my hair the most when I was young was, well, uncomfortable.) is from there and may be able to point out some good places to go and fun things to do.
As you'll see if you read the Wikipedia article I linked to in the first sentence, Thailand had a revolution in 2006. This is one thing that gave me pause, but Dinah has assured me this was a "joyous" revolution. I don't know if this means the party she favored or is a member of won, or if it means it was a happy revolution with balloons and cake, but since we're married, (and this is our honeymoon) I guess I have to go along with this.
****
A couple updates on my last blog entry about Cubs fans and why they suck. First, our friend, Marty Brennaman has issued a statement about his statements. From the article:
But I was wondering why Marty didn't say Reds fans were the best? Or at least better. He works for the Reds. This might bear further investigation.
The second update. There's rumors around that the Cubs threw the last World Series they were in. Now, it looks like gambling and cheating in baseball (especially in Chicago) were much worse than we knew. I don't really have much of a comment on the situation other than to giggle a little to myself.
Edit: And now comes this. That's what I'm dealing with on the train and around my neighborhood. (Which is actually about a mile west of Wrigley. So others do have it worse, I know.)
****
I've applied to a Paralegal certification program, so I'll be waiting to hear from them for a bit now. I'm fighting the urge to call them just to make sure they got everything (they haven't cashed the check for their application fee yet) and to figure out when decisions are made.
The program begins in September and goes through next August. So, I'm gonna spend the rest of the spring and summer waiting to hear and then (hopefully) waiting to start. It also means I'm not probably going to change jobs for a year and a half. Which is okay, I guess. As long as I'm making bigger strides to getting a job that could be more fullfilling, that's the bigger deal. But, of course I'm going to have (a lot of) days that have the possibility to be soul-crushing here. But, as always, it's never wrong to plan exactly what you're gonna say when you leave.
****
Just because I needed to hear it. And maybe you do too.
The Rainbow Connection.
(Did I just spend 20 minutes trying to find the "best video" of this? Yes. Am I ashamed? Only a little.)
As you'll see if you read the Wikipedia article I linked to in the first sentence, Thailand had a revolution in 2006. This is one thing that gave me pause, but Dinah has assured me this was a "joyous" revolution. I don't know if this means the party she favored or is a member of won, or if it means it was a happy revolution with balloons and cake, but since we're married, (and this is our honeymoon) I guess I have to go along with this.
****
A couple updates on my last blog entry about Cubs fans and why they suck. First, our friend, Marty Brennaman has issued a statement about his statements. From the article:
"[Compared to Cubs fans] Cardinals fans are hands down the best in baseball.Just so you know, I didn't ask the question, "Marty, how would you compare Cubs fans to say, Cardinal fans?" I wasn't even in the room.
They respect the game. They don't go to the game to do stupid stuff."The Cubs
have some great baseball fans. But the ones who act like idiots (ruin) it for
people like me."
But I was wondering why Marty didn't say Reds fans were the best? Or at least better. He works for the Reds. This might bear further investigation.
The second update. There's rumors around that the Cubs threw the last World Series they were in. Now, it looks like gambling and cheating in baseball (especially in Chicago) were much worse than we knew. I don't really have much of a comment on the situation other than to giggle a little to myself.
Edit: And now comes this. That's what I'm dealing with on the train and around my neighborhood. (Which is actually about a mile west of Wrigley. So others do have it worse, I know.)
****
I've applied to a Paralegal certification program, so I'll be waiting to hear from them for a bit now. I'm fighting the urge to call them just to make sure they got everything (they haven't cashed the check for their application fee yet) and to figure out when decisions are made.
The program begins in September and goes through next August. So, I'm gonna spend the rest of the spring and summer waiting to hear and then (hopefully) waiting to start. It also means I'm not probably going to change jobs for a year and a half. Which is okay, I guess. As long as I'm making bigger strides to getting a job that could be more fullfilling, that's the bigger deal. But, of course I'm going to have (a lot of) days that have the possibility to be soul-crushing here. But, as always, it's never wrong to plan exactly what you're gonna say when you leave.
****
Just because I needed to hear it. And maybe you do too.
The Rainbow Connection.
(Did I just spend 20 minutes trying to find the "best video" of this? Yes. Am I ashamed? Only a little.)
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Cubs fans, Bud cans...
It was October 14, 2003. A fortnight into October and the Cubs were still playing. I was living about a mile north of Wrigley field where the game I was watching on TV was taking place. Amazingly the Cubs were 5 outs away from going to the World Series. And we all remember what happened next. Moises Alou failed to catch a foul ball (that a fan may have prevented him from getting to) and threw a hissy fit. Mark Prior (pitching the 400th inning of his season) started to implode and Alex S. Gonzales booted an easy inning-ender. And ever so quickly, the Cubs lost the series. In short, the Cubs crapped the bed. Writers (stupid writers!) brought up the Curse of the Billy Goat again.
In the past the Cubs fans took losses like this more or less in stride. It was who they are and they more or less expected it. This loss was different though. They were getting closer to the 100 year mark. Between that and watching the Red Sox end their futility the year after, things started changing. The fans started expecting more. They started feeling desperate as they neared the 100 year mark of failure. (And it's definitely on people's minds).
And then things got worse. The rival White Sox won a World Series right across town. More people in Chicago were watching the White Sox than the Cubs, which is totally unthinkable, really. And judging by the firm I was working at when the W-sox won (and all the shiny-new Sox hats), a lot of Cubs fans were sick of losing. The fans didn't want to be the "loveable losers" anymore.
Then, in 2006, they watched their more immediate rival St. Louis Cardinals win (hell yeah!) with a team that has since been labeled the least talented team to win the World Series. (Take that 1986 Twins!) And I think (I don't know, but I think) the Cubs thought it could've been them. And suddenly (well, probably spurred by the attempts of the Tribune company to sell the team), management went out and brought in talent in a way they hadn't done in a long time, which got fans expectations up.
Now. Why do I bring this up? Well, yesterday Marty Brennaman, the Cincinnati play-by-play announcer made some comments about Cubs fans that should probably be put in context. In short, Brennaman said that Cubs fans actions make the team hard to root for. They, in fact make you want to root against the team. They're "far and away the most obnoxious fan base" in baseball. (Though he does say he can't speak too much to the Yankees and Red Sox fans because he doesn't see them.)
I can't speak for them being the worst, because I haven't seen as many crowds as Brennaman, but I can definitely say this year, they have been quite obnoxious. So far, we've had the start of fans throwing multiple balls back after opponents hit home runs (which is what raised Brennaman's dander) and we've had a drunken fan fall into the homerun basket out in the bleachers. And this is just the stuff that's caught the news media's attention. What they don't see is the fans drunkenly (hey, there's that word again) piling out of the stadium, slowing down all traffic and El in and out of the area. The bar fights and the screaming and harassing they do to anyone who is wearing an opposing hat or jersey. Just the general nuisance the fans en mass are. Sure, it's all mostly harmless, but it is obnoxious.
But, I didn't come here to dig up bad memories of Cubs failures past (no...not me) and defend Brennaman's opinion (though he's certainly got a point). I came to put it in context. To explain it a little bit.
When I first moved here in 2001, I went to some games. The first game I saw at Wrigley, Kerry Wood pitched against the Pirates. It was a day game in either April or May. The Cubs had no real expectations of winning, but they were a decent team. And the game was fun. Sure, everyone was upset the team couldn't get it together, but they were who they were. The "loveable losers". You couldn't get mad at them for sucking. It was who they were.
And really just getting out to Wrigley for a day game was its own reward. You went to the game hoping they would win, but not expecting it. Then the near-World Series happened. And all those things I talked about in the beginning happened. And everything changed. The fans now expect a win every game. But what didn't change is the idea that going to Wrigley is a lot about having a good time and not as much about actually watching the game. It's more about getting drunk (for a good many Cub fans, especially the twenty-somethings, though not all) and cheering when good things happen and booing when bad things happen, but with the expectation that the team should win, no matter what. The fans think they deserve it.
And when it doesn't happen, they act like idiots. It's really that simple. At least it is to me (a Cardinal fan). And really, I feel some sympathy for them (after all, it was nearly me...). It's the same kind of sympathy one would feel toward a four-year-old who can't stop peeing himself. So, I guess I don't share Brennaman's outrage at throwing extra balls on the field. To me, it's all just frustration of an entitled fan-base. They'll get over it in 2015 (as prophecied by Back to the Future 2), when they finally do win.
****
What is interesting to me though, is when you compare Brennaman's comments to the events of what is now being called "the Bartman game". On the one hand you have people, including Cub players (erroneously) blaming a fan for blowing a game. To the extent that the poor guy had to be escorted out of the game for his own safety. And all of his personal information ended up all over everywhere. The Illinois Governer joked he should join the witness protection program. People really hated this guy who had been a fan of the Cubs his whole life.
Back to yesterday when we've got Brennaman telling us that the Cubs fanbase is one of the most obnoxious. And that it's the fans the makes him (and presumably others) root against the team.
And it brings up something else Brennaman (or possibly his cohort, whose name is escaping me, though he definitely used to work for ESPN) said. Speaking of the Cubs continuous losing streaks he said, "Oh, it's never their fault". (Meaning the team's fault, not the fans). And he's got a great point. For some reason, no one ever says they players weren't good enough. It's always that they fail to come through in the one moment. Or, mostly, that something supernatural or flukey intervened to stop the Cubs from their destiny.
(Here's the truth of the Cubs in 2003 (which I apparently figured out 5 years later. Hey, I make up in correct what I lack in quick), they weren't good enough. If they were, they would've won the games after the Bartman game. People seem to think this was the deciding game. It wasn't.)
Maybe the fans are doing the team more harm than good? I don't know. One thing's for certain though, there's nothing lovable about these losers. (Watch for Jay Mariotti to steal this line later in the season after the Cubs start to really tank...)
In the past the Cubs fans took losses like this more or less in stride. It was who they are and they more or less expected it. This loss was different though. They were getting closer to the 100 year mark. Between that and watching the Red Sox end their futility the year after, things started changing. The fans started expecting more. They started feeling desperate as they neared the 100 year mark of failure. (And it's definitely on people's minds).
And then things got worse. The rival White Sox won a World Series right across town. More people in Chicago were watching the White Sox than the Cubs, which is totally unthinkable, really. And judging by the firm I was working at when the W-sox won (and all the shiny-new Sox hats), a lot of Cubs fans were sick of losing. The fans didn't want to be the "loveable losers" anymore.
Then, in 2006, they watched their more immediate rival St. Louis Cardinals win (hell yeah!) with a team that has since been labeled the least talented team to win the World Series. (Take that 1986 Twins!) And I think (I don't know, but I think) the Cubs thought it could've been them. And suddenly (well, probably spurred by the attempts of the Tribune company to sell the team), management went out and brought in talent in a way they hadn't done in a long time, which got fans expectations up.
Now. Why do I bring this up? Well, yesterday Marty Brennaman, the Cincinnati play-by-play announcer made some comments about Cubs fans that should probably be put in context. In short, Brennaman said that Cubs fans actions make the team hard to root for. They, in fact make you want to root against the team. They're "far and away the most obnoxious fan base" in baseball. (Though he does say he can't speak too much to the Yankees and Red Sox fans because he doesn't see them.)
I can't speak for them being the worst, because I haven't seen as many crowds as Brennaman, but I can definitely say this year, they have been quite obnoxious. So far, we've had the start of fans throwing multiple balls back after opponents hit home runs (which is what raised Brennaman's dander) and we've had a drunken fan fall into the homerun basket out in the bleachers. And this is just the stuff that's caught the news media's attention. What they don't see is the fans drunkenly (hey, there's that word again) piling out of the stadium, slowing down all traffic and El in and out of the area. The bar fights and the screaming and harassing they do to anyone who is wearing an opposing hat or jersey. Just the general nuisance the fans en mass are. Sure, it's all mostly harmless, but it is obnoxious.
But, I didn't come here to dig up bad memories of Cubs failures past (no...not me) and defend Brennaman's opinion (though he's certainly got a point). I came to put it in context. To explain it a little bit.
When I first moved here in 2001, I went to some games. The first game I saw at Wrigley, Kerry Wood pitched against the Pirates. It was a day game in either April or May. The Cubs had no real expectations of winning, but they were a decent team. And the game was fun. Sure, everyone was upset the team couldn't get it together, but they were who they were. The "loveable losers". You couldn't get mad at them for sucking. It was who they were.
And really just getting out to Wrigley for a day game was its own reward. You went to the game hoping they would win, but not expecting it. Then the near-World Series happened. And all those things I talked about in the beginning happened. And everything changed. The fans now expect a win every game. But what didn't change is the idea that going to Wrigley is a lot about having a good time and not as much about actually watching the game. It's more about getting drunk (for a good many Cub fans, especially the twenty-somethings, though not all) and cheering when good things happen and booing when bad things happen, but with the expectation that the team should win, no matter what. The fans think they deserve it.
And when it doesn't happen, they act like idiots. It's really that simple. At least it is to me (a Cardinal fan). And really, I feel some sympathy for them (after all, it was nearly me...). It's the same kind of sympathy one would feel toward a four-year-old who can't stop peeing himself. So, I guess I don't share Brennaman's outrage at throwing extra balls on the field. To me, it's all just frustration of an entitled fan-base. They'll get over it in 2015 (as prophecied by Back to the Future 2), when they finally do win.
****
What is interesting to me though, is when you compare Brennaman's comments to the events of what is now being called "the Bartman game". On the one hand you have people, including Cub players (erroneously) blaming a fan for blowing a game. To the extent that the poor guy had to be escorted out of the game for his own safety. And all of his personal information ended up all over everywhere. The Illinois Governer joked he should join the witness protection program. People really hated this guy who had been a fan of the Cubs his whole life.
Back to yesterday when we've got Brennaman telling us that the Cubs fanbase is one of the most obnoxious. And that it's the fans the makes him (and presumably others) root against the team.
And it brings up something else Brennaman (or possibly his cohort, whose name is escaping me, though he definitely used to work for ESPN) said. Speaking of the Cubs continuous losing streaks he said, "Oh, it's never their fault". (Meaning the team's fault, not the fans). And he's got a great point. For some reason, no one ever says they players weren't good enough. It's always that they fail to come through in the one moment. Or, mostly, that something supernatural or flukey intervened to stop the Cubs from their destiny.
(Here's the truth of the Cubs in 2003 (which I apparently figured out 5 years later. Hey, I make up in correct what I lack in quick), they weren't good enough. If they were, they would've won the games after the Bartman game. People seem to think this was the deciding game. It wasn't.)
Maybe the fans are doing the team more harm than good? I don't know. One thing's for certain though, there's nothing lovable about these losers. (Watch for Jay Mariotti to steal this line later in the season after the Cubs start to really tank...)
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