Life is like an analogy...

Thank you, Facebook Friend Finder, for existentially freaking me out

2011-03-06T13:34:00.000-08:00

So before I moved to Southern California in August 2007 to attend a graduate creative writing program at Chapman University, I worked for a few months as a reporter for a very small weekly county newspaper based near my hometown in Washington State. I had to write six stories a week: three on events happening in Everett, Washington and three on events happening in Mukilteo, Washington. Everett is the fourth-biggest city in the state and Mukilteo sits just west of Everett.

I had focused on features, reviews, and commentaries when I worked for The Daily Evergreen, the student newspaper at Washington State University, so the hard news stories I had to write for this county newspaper were much different and not always easy (that's why it's called hard news! ba-dum-ching). Specifically, when you write features, everyone wants to talk to you about their local business/charity event/art exhibit/performance/social gathering/etc. because they want the publicity. When you write hard news, people sometimes don't want to talk to you because they don't want the publicity if they're being asshats. This was...interesting for me, mostly because I hate cold-calling people and like it even less when I have a sneaking suspicion the person I'm cold-calling will yell at me and/or hang up on me.

What can I say? Some people are great journalists who can sense intriguing stories, have really thick skins, and possess a drive to "comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable" -- and some of us are people-pleasers who just want to write about the museum photography exhibits and not get bitched at by some corporate slime or doze off at 8 a.m. city council meetings about road paving or tear up along with a distraught person crying over the phone and talking about how she's been evicted and/or has cancer and/or is suing the state MY GOD THIS IS THE WORST JOB EVER.....

Thankfully, I was accepted into the Chapman graduate program so I quit working for the newspaper, packed up my car and drove 1200 miles to Orange, California in the heart of Orange County. I lived blissfully in Orange for two years, soaking up the weather, writing to my heart's content, meeting my husband, and eating In-N-Out burgers at least once a week with the occasional Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles trip to Hollywood. After we graduated, my husband and I moved to Irvine, just south of Orange.

• • •

Last night, I was trying to find someone's profile on Facebook using the person's email address, and I decided to try the Friend Finder thingie that Facebook promotes ad nauseum on the right-hand side of everyone's homepage. I have the former newspaper job listed in my profile and one of the options with the Friend Finder is to search for people who work or have worked at your previous place of employment.

Since Facebook wasn't letting me find the person I wanted to find with the email address, I clicked the link for finding other employees at the county newspaper out of curiosity. The newspaper staff was very small, so I was surprised when two people popped up in the search results, both of whom are currently reporters.

So here's the existential freaky part:

There are two reporters -- one male and one female. I could see some information on both their profiles, given their privacy settings. The female reporter went to Washington State University, like I did, and now lives in the next town over from my hometown in Washington State. That seems reasonable and expected, given that the newspaper is written for my home county.

What does not seem reasonable, expected, or even freakishly possible is that the female reporter's hometown is Orange, California -- exactly where I moved when I left the newspaper to go to graduate school. Orange is not a huge city: the population is under 150,000 and it's next to the much larger cities of Anaheim and Santa Ana (both with populations over 300,000). In fact, Orange County is such a gerrymandering mess, that it's often difficult to tell which city you're actually in without a mailing address.

Seriously, what are the chances that:

• I would leave this tiny local newspaper to move to her hometown -- and now live essentially next door to it while...
• She would leave Orange, only to end up working at the same tiny local newspaper and living essentially next door to my hometown?

I have this weird feeling that Elton John is going to bust into my apartment at any moment, singing songs from The Lion King. It certainly wouldn't be any weirder than this coincidence.

You Learn Something New....

2010-02-04T00:31:00.000-08:00

Be sure to check out my new blog "You Learn Something New," where I prove that you do, indeed, learn something new every day.

http://learnnewstuff.blogspot.com

"It's Christmas and we're all in misery."

2009-12-29T00:57:00.000-08:00

On Christmas day, former University of Florida head football coach Urban Meyer decided he would retire from coaching and announced the decision to the press on December 26th. Because Florida is in the highly popular Southeastern Conference and the football team won the national championship in 2008, the head coaching job is horribly demanding and stressful. In his press release, Meyer cited health problems, including cyst-related chest pains and headaches, as the reason for the sudden retirement. He did not mention the recent 32-13 drubbing Florida took courtesy of the University of Alabama the weekend before to his announcement --- but I'm sure that had nothing to do with it.

After the announcement, Meyer told the New York Times he had no heart damage but that his health "pattern" was "self-destructive." Meyer also told the Times that, upon hearing the announcement, his 18-year-old daughter said, "I get my daddy back." And, honestly, what a great present. It's a feel-good Christmas miracle the whole family can enjoy.

Twenty-four hours later, on December 27th, Meyer announced Brett-Favre-style that he'd had a "change of heart" and, instead of resigning, would take an "indefinite" leave of absence. However, he hoped to be on the sidelines with Florida next season. During the December 27th press conference, Meyer said: "I want to make sure I do right by my family. My second family is my players and my staff. The love that I have for these players, I think that's well documented. Maybe one of the issues that I deal with is that I care so deeply about each individual."

But, Urban, what about your real family? The daughter who hugged you and said she finally has you back in her life? Isn't your biological family more important than your football family?

Then again, you don't have to spend the holidays living in close proximity with your football family --- and I think that's the crux of the issue here.

It's great to decide on Christmas morning --- as you're gathered around the tree in your Christmas PJs, opening presents, feeling all the warmth and love in the room --- that you want to retire and get away from all the stress to spend more time with your family.

Twenty-four hours later, when you've spent the whole day with The Fam and The Extended Fam, during the most stressful holiday of the entire year --- with screaming kids and relatives crammed into the spare bedrooms and a huge wall-to-wall mess from the gigantic turkey dinner in the kitchen --- you start to wonder if maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. Maybe the headaches and chest pains caused by stress and rage aren't really going away --- especially if the extended Meyer family holiday celebrations are anything like my extended family's holiday celebrations. Talk about stress and rage.

I think it came down to the lesser of the two evils for Urban: staying at home or staying on the job. After spending a Christmas crammed in a house with my entire extended family, I know which one I'd choose….

Things You Will and Will Not Do While Staying at Your Parents' House and Suffering Through 24 Hours of Severe Stomach Flu

2009-08-14T02:18:00.001-07:00

Things You Will Do

1) Throw up
2) "Throw up" even after there's nothing left in your stomach to actually throw up
3) Cry
4) Feel uncomfortably sweaty and hot
5) Feel uncomfortably sweaty and cold, complete with goosebumps from head to toe
6) Watch your usual Monday night TV shows (baseball, The Closer, Dance Your Ass Off) but become irritated both when The Closer makes you laugh because it hurts to laugh and that girl on Dance Your Ass Off won't shut up about how awesome she is. God, you hate that girl.
7) Read an entire book on Feng Shui
8) Find yourself unable to walk more than 10 steps without having to stop and either sit down or lie down because you're too nauseated and dizzy
9) Unbeknownst to you, begin to withdraw from some of your prescription medications because you slept for about 20 hours the day before (while you were getting sick) and didn't absorb enough medication when you did take it because you threw up too soon afterward --- and have now gone about 48 hours without any medications
10) Have your mom tuck you into a blanket nest in an armchair with the hope that you can sleep there because you can't sleep in your bed without being overwhelmed by nausea. Call your mother "Mommy" despite being almost 30 years old.
11) Fail to sleep in the armchair
12) Ask your dad to tell you stories about growing up/working on his family's wheat farm to take your mind off the sweating, chills and killer nausea
13) Talk about your dad's childhood family pets
14) Attempt to recite the Gettysburg Address with your dad again to take your mind off your physical pain
15) Fail to actually recite it because it's been over 20 years since you memorized it for a school project
16) Sing a fair number of the Kenny Rogers Greatest Hits album with your dad because he used to sing songs from it to you when you were a baby/toddler and he rocked you to sleep in the rocking chair
17) Realize that, 25-plus years later, you still know ninety percent of the words to Kenny Rogers' "Lucille," "The Long Arm of the Law," and "Ruby (Don't Take Your Love to Town)"
18) Become semi-delusional because you begin feeling like you're sitting in a massage chair when you are, in fact, lying perfectly still on your bed. Something is causing an overall tingling/twitching feeling in your extremities
19) Feel incapable of lying still because the pins-and-needles sensations are too painful
20) Feel incapable of stopping your teeth from chattering because of the chills
21) Alternate within a five-minute timespan of telling someone to call 911, deciding it would be best to go to the urgent care clinic instead, and demanding that they just give you your goddamn medications because maybe you can actually force your stomach to not throw up long enough for the medication to absorb and stop some of the possible withdrawal symptoms
22) Spill anti-nausea liquid all over yourself and your bedsheets; the liquid is red and, as it soaks into your t-shirt, you realize it looks like blood
23) Have a disjointed conversation with an EMT who is wearing, you think, yellow-tinted glasses
24) Find you are incapable of putting on a jacket
25) Show up to both an urgent care clinic and an emergency room unshowered with unwashed hair and no deodorant wearing your plaid pajama pants, flip flops, a beat-up zip-up hoodie that's too big for you and a recently-stained, previously-holey, sweat-drenched 15-year-old t-shirt advertising a now-defunct college football bowl game. In essence, looking like a homeless person.
26) Inform the triage nurse at the urgent care clinic that you are not overdosing, you're withdrawing from medication. Curl up in a ball on the bench where you're sitting immediately thereafter.
27) Retain consciousness throughout the entire day but find yourself unable to make eye contact or fully verbalize your thoughts because lifting your head and moving your mouth too much make you feel like you're going to throw up. In essence, become despondent and make multiple people think you might be passing out
28) Be carried by EMTs
29) Ride in a wheelchair
30) Marvel at the promptness of the ER (I know, right?)
31) Inform the triage nurse at the ER that the red stains on your shirt are antinausea medication, not blood
32) Have your first-ever IV drip
33) Complain about how thirsty you are
34) Complain about how hungry you are
35) Complain about the IV needle in your arm and how much it hurts
36) Ask the nurse which word is more appropriate: "nauseated" or "nauseous"
37) Have your blood pressure taken five times in two hours. Top out at 114/70
38) Wish you had something to read because it's boring sitting in the hospital while your IV bag drains
39) Decide that one door in the ER is connected to a tape recorder that makes the sound of a child crying every time the door is opened
40) Be discharged from the ER after two hours, rehydrated and finally non-nauseated

Things You Will Not Do

1) Sleep
2) Eat
3) Drink liquids of any kind

Roscoe's Non-Chicken, No Waffling

2009-02-09T06:47:00.000-08:00

So after Ben and I saw The Phantom of the Opera yesterday at the Pantages Theatre in Hollywood, we went to an early dinner nearby at Roscoe's Chicken 'n Waffles, legendary for its...wait for it...chicken and waffles. Seriously, though, the Scoe's #1 — 1/4 fried chicken and two waffles made from their homemade mix — is to-die-for. And they have lots of other great Southern-style food: grits, collard greens, cornbread, biscuits, all that good stuff.

As we drive down Gower Street toward the restaurant, we see this huge charter bus parked a half-block away from Roscoe's with about 15 people standing around on the sidewalk next to the bus, hugging and laughing. Ben and I wonder aloud what a charter bus from Santa Barbara full of rich white people is doing in downtown Hollywood (why not in Beverly Hills?) but whatever...maybe they went to Phantom too.

So we park and as we walk up to the restaurant, we see that the charter bus people are walking toward the restaurant as well. Uh-oh.

Now the building set-up for the Hollywood Roscoe's Chicken 'n Waffles is well-designed to keep the riff-raff out. The restaurant has two adjoining dining areas and two doors: the entrance is in the smaller dining area and the exit/cash register is in the larger one. So when you walk up to the entrance with its nondescript door and very small entryway, it looks like you're at a total dive, because you can't see the second dining room. The restaurant uses the small entryway to its advantage by keeping most of the waiting guests outside until the host seats them and occasionally roping off the entrance if the waiting people get too pushy.

Ben and I slide inside just ahead of the tour group and get our names on the list right before one of the tour group guys in his swanky leather jacket says: "We need a table for 30." Ben and I both look at each other like "Where does he think he is? A banquet hall?"

The host this afternoon is an African-American kid, probably in his early 20s, who doesn't look particularly imposing since he's pretty lanky (plus he's wearing the Roscoe's uniform of dress pants and the logo polo shirt). However, he's got some sort of neck tattoo and has clearly worked at Roscoe's for awhile because as he takes names down for the waiting list, he lays down the law. "We're gonna seat you guys at three tables of 10. It's gonna be about 20 minutes," he tells the Leather Jacket Tour Guy. And before LJTG can say anything else, the kid walks away to help clear off tables.

It's a smart move on the host's part because if he stands there, LJTG is just going to keep bugging him about when the tables are ready. As it is, the tour people are cranky because it's only 56 degrees today in L.A. and there's a wind chill and they have to wait outside. And they keep opening the door, holding it open and trying to see what's going on while the rest of us who are waiting inside are subjected to the cold air.

Periodically, the host comes back to check on the waiting crowd and see if anyone else needs to get on the list. Every time he does however, the tour people do, in fact, start bugging him:

"Do you have a place inside we could wait?"
"Is there a bar we can sit at?"
"Do you know how long it will be?"
"What's going on with our table?"

After a couple rounds of this, with the host reiterating that they do serve beer but they don't have a bar, that it will be 20 minutes for the table and that they're sitting at three tables of 10, he gets fed up, ropes off the entrance and walks away. The tour people act all put out by this egregious offense and continue to hold the door open letting in all the cold air.

When the host comes back, I ask him quietly if he can make the tour people close the door and he agrees, unclipping the rope, stepping outside, clipping it back again and telling the tour group that they need to wait with the door closed.

He gets back inside, re-clips the rope and gets the door closed only to have it open again to some gray-haired lady with a heavy accent, asking if she can use the bathroom. She's also part of the tour group. When the host relents, unclips the rope and lets her use the bathroom, everyone else in the tour group jumps on that bandwagon, again holding the door open to plead their cases:

"Oh I need the bathroom too."
"Can we just use the bathroom?"
"We just want to go to the restroom."

After five people pull this trick, the host clips the rope authoritatively and says, "No one else is using the bathroom until you've been seated." Then he makes them shut the door again and walks away. But when some plasticized lady, who hadn't heard his admonishment, opens the door and finds him gone, she reaches in, unclips the rope herself, steps inside and walks to the bathroom.

That was where I just about lost it. I wanted to open up the door and shout at the people: "You are the rudest tour group I have ever seen — and that includes tour groups from Japan. You have a warm charter bus, which I'm 99% sure has a bathroom, sitting half a block from here. If you're cold, sit on the bus until your table is ready. If you have to use the bathroom, go use the one on your goddamn charter bus. But most of all, stop holding open this door and letting all the cold air in so everyone else who is already in here is freezing. And stop being such total assholes."

Fortunately, Ben and I got a table a couple minutes later so I was able to restrain myself. But we were seated near the door and continued to watch the spectacle. As the host walked back to the door to let the first group of 10 inside, I was able to better see his tattoo: a rather large elaborate skull covering almost the entire left side of his neck.

And as the first 10 members of the group filed in, including LJTG, I wanted to stand up and yell: "Please tell the rest of your asshole tour group that the host as a skull tattooed on his neck and they probably shouldn't fuck with him anymore."

I think my waffles might have tasted even sweeter if I'd actually said it....

Stuck in the Middle

2009-01-31T02:24:00.000-08:00

So yesterday a California judge ruled the names of people who donated to Proposition 8 (the one that wipes legal gay marriage off the books) couldn't be shielded from the public records.

And here's what a jackass for Protect Marriage (the group that sponsored the measure) said to the judge during the hearing (as quoted in the San Francisco Chronicle):

By requiring disclosure, "The government is getting in the middle (of the issue) and saying, 'Here are the people to go after,'" Richard Coleson, a lawyer for the committee, [said].

THE GOVERNMENT IS GETTING THE MIDDLE OF THE ISSUE?! REALLY?!

Gee, I never thought that putting a moral issue on a government ballot and having the public vote on it would put the government in the middle of everything!

Be careful what you wish for, Dick C. You just might get it....

The Truth of the Matter

2009-01-26T08:02:00.000-08:00

I wrote this a few years ago for some sportswriting scholarship contest that I didn't win. However, when I stumbled across it this morning and read it again, I thought it might be worth showing to someone besides the selection committee:

My love of sports began with baseball — Grandma has been a Braves fan since 1953. The love was cultivated with the Cougar football family vacations — Hawaii, the Aloha Bowl and Mike Utley at age eight; Arizona, the Copper Bowl and Drew Bledsoe when I was twelve. My love of sports multiplied spreading to hockey, gymnastics, basketball, horse racing and ice skating. I love sports and I love sport — the concept, the essence, the metaphor of our existence.

My love of sportswriting, however, began with bowling. More specifically, when Frank Deford went bowling in Sports Illustrated’s article "Frank Deford Goes Bowling."

Until college, I took my writing ability for granted. Teachers complimented me on my essays and stories but I didn’t think I was much better than many of my peers. Effective writing was standard in my house; my parents were English teachers and it was a given that one wrote as if one’s livelihood depended on it. Writing was fine but I had no desire to live my parents’ life — I had other plans.

For three-fourths of my college career, I questioned why English literature and theater and psychology became ultimately unsatisfactory majors. After briefly leaving college, due to poor health and severe indecision, I realized what I had been missing. My livelihood truly did depend on writing.

Most writing students prefer fiction but, in my first attempts, I struggled with character development and plot choices. Everything I wrote seemed so artificial — the reader already knew I was "making it all up."

I perused pieces I’d written in the past — pieces written strictly for my own enjoyment — and I saw the pattern of nonfictional accounts. In my spare time, I had drafted an essay reflecting on Edgar Martinez’s eighteen-year career with the Seattle Mariners, analyzing the sense of clarity his retirement brought me: what would I remember eighteen years from now? Certainly Martinez’s last at-bat. Certainly not the trivial turmoil that seemed so important today.

My first published sports article covered the Yankees’ June 2005 losing streak, suggesting the Bronx Bombers represented a trend in America: extreme capitalism’s rise and fall. When the article ran nationally at Collegesports.com, I knew my decision to write again was probably a sound one. However, every sportswriter can cover the Yankees, Barry Bonds, the pitches, the touchdowns, the free-throws, the scores.

Sportswriting is more than sports. Sportswriting captures the theater of sport portraying the performances on an enormous stage: both the playing field and the public eye. Sportswriting captures the psychology of sport, digging deep into the thought behind of each action, each interaction. Most importantly, sportswriting — effective sportswriting — captures the humanity of sport: the people who occasionally wear the label of "athlete" and how lives are forever affected by, essentially, games. The Yankees commentary was a start but I can do more than scratch that worn surface.

Frank Deford sets out "to examine bowling academically," two words which, most likely, never resided side-by-side until that article. Deford then examines passionately, thoughtfully, painstakingly — other adverbs that wouldn’t be found next to “bowling” under normal circumstances.

I want to push past the normal circumstances, the game recaps and the milquetoast questions. I want the true stories in sport: the bowler in America’s heartland, the player forever loyal to a losing team. I love sportswriting because it is the truth and, for me, truth is better than fiction.

No Fighting Irish here...

2008-12-23T14:42:00.000-08:00

So word on the street is that the Cleveland Browns are dealing "in house" with a donnybrook in the weight room between face-of-the-franchise quarterback (former Notre Dame Fighting Irishman) Brady Quinn and defensive tackle (former South Carolina Gamecock) Shaun Smith. Apparently, Smith punched Quinn in the face.

Now I'm all for people standing up for themselves and "[not taking] shit from anybody," as Billy Joel would say. But I also don't think the average person confronts professional football lineman on a regular basis. If Quinn really did set out to get into a fistfight with Smith after they exchanged words, you have to wonder if Quinn had been hit in the head by something else prior to the fight.

Because Shaun Smith weighs 325 pounds. He's certainly not afraid of some 235-pound pretty-boy quarterback. And if Quinn had processed all this and was still high on adrenaline, pissed about losing again (despite being injured) and looking for a fight, attempting to stare down this:

...might make you think twice. Dude, this guy shoves people around for a living.

I have a feeling that, ultimately, there were two hits: Shaun hitting Brady and Brady hitting the floor.

In Plain Cite

2008-11-23T03:35:00.000-08:00

If you're anything like me, you've gone to college and, at one point during your time in college, had to write a paper using Modern Language Association (MLA) formatting. And I'll bet you half your college tuition that you can't remember how to cite a single item in a Works Cited page off the top of your head right now. No, no — don't go look it up. It's totally fine. In fact, I can tell you off the top of my head now how to cite a single basic book. I know because I did it the other day at work:

Author Last Name, Author First Name. _Title_. Publishing Co. City: Publishing Co., Year published. Page numbers, if applicable.

...And that is the extent of my offhand MLA knowledge.

That's the thing: we can't remember because we shouldn't have to remember because the whole concept of Works Cited/References/Bibliographies is pretty much useless outside of academia and research. And if you're in one of those fields, you will constantly have access to guides that will tell you how to cite whatever it is that you need to cite.

So why should you have to remember?

Furthermore, even if you tried to remember, you would probably FAIL because MLA is just one of several citation formats. The American Psychology Association decided that, for some reason, the MLA wasn't good enough for them and made their own citation format (APA) that's used by some of the social and hard sciences — except for sociology which has its own format (ASA).

So while MLA would cite one of my Theory of Teaching books this way:
Rafoth, Ben, ed. _A Tutor's Guide: Helping Writers One to One_. 2nd ed. Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/Cook, 2005.

The APA would cite it this way:

Rafoth, Ben (ed.). (2005). A tutor's guide: Helping writers one to one (2nd ed.). Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/Cook.

You see the difference? Yeah, me either.

Then the University of Chicago decided neither one of the previous formats did their anthro and and history writers justice and wrote the Chicago Manual of Style — which has two different systems within its one format: the humanities system and the author-date system. Plus, Chicago says you can cite one text in various ways depending on what you're doing. An example (and a link for reference):

Note: 1. Wendy Doniger, Splitting the Difference (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), 65.
Bibliography: Doniger, Wendy. Splitting the Difference. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999.
In-text citation: (Doniger 1999, 65)
Reference list: Doniger, Wendy. 1999. Splitting the difference. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.

I am not making this up.

It's just so goddamn arbitrary — and why in the world do we, as academics and researchers, need at least five different citation systems? Doesn't one appropriately convey the information needed for citation? I mean, they all seem to cover the same material.

And as a result of puzzling over this for at least 45 minutes with my Theory of Teaching class last week, I decided to invent my own manual of citation. I mean, associations and universities seem to not care one way or the other if an adequate system already exists so why should I?

Here — for the first time ever published — are the Bartlett Citation Manual rules:

List the items below in your citation in order of the list given here. Put a smiley-face emoticon between each item except for the author name — you should put an exclamation mark after the author's name.

Alphabetize by year
In the title, capitalize verbs and prepositions only
Italicize and underline the title
For articles, list the article title in backwards word order in parentheses.
For author's names list by middle initial; then first name; then last name (using the semi-colons as shown). If the author's middle initial is not available, choose a random letter and assign it to the author
For subsequent authors and/or editors, include a clever nickname in quotation marks between the first and last name. If the person is an editor add the word "King" to the nickname
Underline the publishing city
Italicize the publishing company
If there are multiple cities where the company has a publishing house, list them all
For each edition, write the phrase "Up-To-Date" and then list the year
List the square root of the page numbers
Grade the book's usefulness on an A to F scale.

So taking an article from the same book I cited twice earlier, one should write a Bartlett citation like this:

2005 :) (Key the is Focus: Ideas Organizing) L.; Alice; Trupe! _A tutor's guide: Helping writers one To one_ :) Ben "King Raftastic" Rafoth :) _Portsmouth, NH_ :) Boynton/Cook :) Up-To-Date 2005 :) 13.190906 :) B+ :)

Simple enough, right?
Right?

Addendum: I would have posted this last week right after the class discussed it but it took me so long to actually cite something using those old systems that I had to take a week-long break and then come back. Thank God for the Bartlett Citation Manual!

I Don't Know What That Is....

2008-10-23T01:36:00.000-07:00

My semi-photographic, fully-auditory, steel-trap memory is both a blessing and a curse. I should have figured this out long ago but it only now just occurred to me.

You see, I absolutely heart the show Arrested Development to the point where I have memorized various quotes and large chunks of dialogue almost involuntarily after watching the episodes repeatedly. And when various situations in life remind me of the show, my memory kicks in and automatically spouts off a quote or bit of dialogue.

For example (click on the links for the references in context):

While watching the Vice Presidential Debate...
SARAH PALIN: Blah blah Joe Six-pack blah [winks at camera]
ME: I wonder how I can talk her out of ever making that face again. (1 min. into clip)
******

Giving a presentation in class on the book Invisible Cities...
ME: So the stories in the novel can be charted to emulate skyscrapers. Of course, in Venice, they can only build up not out.
JERK IN CLASS: But what if you made your chart going horizontally instead of vertically.
ME desparately wanting to say: Maybe you should make land. On the ocean. There's no land on the ocean. (30 sec. in)
ME actually saying: Because Venice can't build out — only up [narrowing eyes in icy stare].
******

My mom is cleaning out the refrigerator...
MOM: Whose...Latin food is this?
ME: It's not just Latin food, Mom, it's my Latin food....and I think it's Colombian or something.
******

After our ex-roommate stole our ice cream scoop...
BOYFRIEND: If it's really bothering you, I'll buy you another one.
ME: She can't just go buy her own?! It's an ice cream scoop! What could it cost? Ten dollars?

The problem, of course, is that not a lot of people have seen Arrested Development (hence why it's no longer airing). So the quotes and dialogue go over the heads of these people which is a little disappointing since I know many, many people would enjoy the show if they would just watch a couple episodes.

But the part where I realized that my memory was even more of a curse, was when I noticed that several of my friends and family who have seen the show don't pick up on the quotes or dialogue; they don't remember the scenes word-for-word like my auditory memory allows me to.

So while I'm hanging out with people who've seen several episodes, I crack what I think is a hilarious inside joke about "girls with low self-esteem" or "a FIRE!...sale..." or "No more B.S.!" or "figuring out a way to make money while I'm working!"

And....crickets.

Occasionally, people chuckle when I say, "You know...Arrested Development." But it really doesn't have the same effect. And I don't like hating my memory but it's not exactly helpful in these situations.

I guess in the coming years, as Arrested Development continues to not produce shows and fewer and fewer people will have even heard of the program, perhaps I'll get tired of the all this funny business.

But until then, life is an endless array of mundane instances that only I find funny and, as a result, a steady stream of odd looks and awkward smiles that ultimately say: "I don't know what that is...and I don't care to find out." (@ 5:45 in).

Addendum: Last summer when I was preparing to get married in the Catholic church, the priest was describing the ceremony and explained that the part of the ceremony where you actually become legally married (called the rite of marriage in the ceremony) is only ten minutes long. I literally had to bite my tongue because I almost automatically said, "See if you can get it down to five."

Green Thirty-seven! Blue Fifty-two! ....Heidi?

2008-09-28T04:19:00.001-07:00

Ben and I couldn't remember why CBS and FOX stopped showing two NFL games each on Sundays (because they used to) and so we moseyed over to Wikipedia.

In the Wiki description of the licensing contracts and how the media markets are determined, the phrase "Heidi Game" was mentioned. Neither one of us had heard of that reference, so we clicked the link.

In a nutshell, here's what we found: On November 17, 1968, the Jets were playing the Raiders in Oakland on NBC (this would be the Oakland Raiders Part I; in 1982 they moved and became the Los Angeles Raiders, then moved back to become the Oakland Raiders Part II in 1995. Thanks, Al Davis, for that big waste of time).

The game was considered a big matchup because both teams were at 7-2 and it did not disappoint. However, NBC had scheduled Heidi, a made-for-TV movie based on the children's novel, to air at 7 p.m. EST, assuming the game — which started at 4 p.m. — would be finished. NBC's contract with the movie's sponsor, Timex, stated the film would run from 7 to 9 p.m. and the network executives told the broadcast supervisor to cut from the game to Heidi at exactly 7 p.m.

With 1:05 left in regulation at nearly 7 p.m., the Jets scored a field goal to go ahead 32-29 and the Raiders returned the ensuing kickoff to their own 23-yard line. NBC went to commercial and the executives attempted to contact the station in Burbank to request that the broadcast remain with the game. However, the execs were unable to get through since thousands of viewers were also calling NBC, asking that the football game be aired in its entirety.

Thus, at 7 p.m. NBC came back from commercial and began airing Heidi — while the Raiders scored two touchdowns in three plays: a reception with a penalty, a 43-yard run for one touchdown and a fumble and recovery for the second touchdown on the ensuing kickoff to the Jets. The Raiders won 43-32 but the majority of America saw goats in the Alps.

Here, however, is my very very favorite part of this whole debacle, from the Wikipedia article:

"At 7:20 pm, a crawl across the bottom of the screen announced the ending to the game (during a dramatic point in the movie when Heidi's paralyzed cousin Clara fell from her wheelchair and had to summon enough courage to try to walk)."

Now we all know it's horrible to laugh at paralyzed people and so let me tell you that I am not laughing at Clara being paralyzed or falling out of her wheelchair (or the unfortunate use of the word "crawl" in that excerpt).

No, what I'm laughing at as I read that line over and over again is the mental image of the sickening dissonance that permeated the room when the Oakland Raider fan in Detroit cheered upon seeing the bulletin, only to have his eight-year-old daughter burst into tears because she thought her dad was laughing at poor Clara crumpled on the ground. (Or, alternatively, the dad in Queens who starts swearing just as Clara pulls herself up and begins walking).

Don't believe me? Watch this (the sickening dissonance part is just after the 2:45 mark). And don't miss the part about angry viewers blowing out the switchboards at the New York City Police Department.

Man.... Truth really is stranger than fiction.

A Musing Thought

2008-09-25T01:47:00.000-07:00

Here's a great one:

This week, ABC Television is promoting their season premieres as part of a National Stay-At-Home Week, implying, of course, that one should stay at home and find out what's happening this season on ABC shows (the network would add an "!" after this sentence but that's not happening here).

While I enjoy watching Dancing With the Stars and Pushing Daisies, I wasn't too sure about this whole "promote lethargy!" ad campaign. Then I saw the announcement for the new ABC special airing September 30th — at the tail end of National Stay-at-Home Week:

Half Their Size "!": The People Magazine Weight Loss Challenge

Of course, the premiere promo logo is slapped on the end of the ad.

How do you spell "irony"? A-B-C.

Three Things I Think I Think Today

2008-09-16T23:26:00.000-07:00

(Taking a page from Peter King with the title...)

1. As I was driving home from class, taking my usual route through a nice residential middle-class neighborhood, I noticed a jet black Lexus towncar with tinted windows parked next to the driveway of a nondescript two-story house. As I got closer, I saw that the license plate of the towncar read: "4HITMEN"

So if that had been my nondescript two-story house I was driving up to and if I hadn't called those people, I would make the fastest U-turn this world has ever seen and never go home again.

2. I've noticed that my university is posting flyers with lots of contacts and help information for victims of sexual assault. This would be wonderful — if the place the information was posted wasn't inside the women's bathroom stalls.

I understand some of the apparent reasoning behind it: if women are afraid of others finding out they've been sexually assaulted, they need somewhere private to read the information. But then there's this great thing called school e-mail where everyone has a private account and doesn't have to go sit on a toilet in the second-floor bathroom in Random University Hall to get the information through their email.

Furthermore, the first thing the flyer states is: Make sure you're in a safe place.

....Yeah. For most women who have been sexually assaulted, a "safe place" is not a public bathroom if the actual door to the bathroom (and not just the stall) can't be locked. So, if you are supposed to take the flyer's information literally, you would read the first line and leave the bathroom — missing all the other important information on the flyer.

Finally, is there a particular reason these flyers are only in the bathroom stalls and nowhere remotely visible on campus? Are people really that sensitive to the topic of sexual assault and so we're still stuck in the Stone Age and Not Talking About It? Or, even worse, is there something we need to know about sexual assaults in campus bathrooms that the school isn't telling us? Because if that's the real problem, I don't want to know what information someone needs after a sexual assault. I want to know where I sign up to help track down the asshole rapist before he assaults anyone else and if I get to kick him in the balls when he gets arrested.

3. Every single day, something reminds me of the apparent truth that "time is money." Because it totally is. I was sick on Monday so I couldn't get to school early enough to make copies of my manuscripts for class using my printing quota. I decided that hitting up the Kinko's between my house and school was the best way to get my copies and make sure I wasn't late for class. Copies were 9¢ per page and I copied about 350 pages. Then I hopped in the car and drove the rest of the way to school, arriving in class just as everyone was getting seated.

Later, my housemate, who's also in the class, told me that the Staples two blocks north of the Kinko's offers copies for 8¢ per page. So I had to explain that if I'd had more time I would have gone somewhere else and saved money — but since I was sick and didn't want to be late to class, I had to go to the copy place that was fastest and on the most direct route between our house and school.

Had I gone to Staples, I would have saved over three dollars on my copies. Had I used my school printing quota (almost all 400 pages of it), and probably waited in line to use one of the school printers, I would have saved almost ten bucks.

Time is money. If I want more time, I spend more money. If I want more money, I spend more time.

(And while the copy story is good, my all-time favorite example of the "time is money" concept has to be packaged shredded cheese.)

Gut Instincts

2008-08-18T03:48:00.000-07:00

I still struggle with sugar/carb cravings and have a very hard time ignoring my stomach when it begs for ice cream, pastries or cookies. I know this isn't optimal for my overall health since I'm hypoglycemic and insulin resistant which can lead to Type II diabetes. Yeah, that six-hour glucose tolerance test complete with tremors, belching and exhaustion was good times. And I never want to go through that kind of thing on a regular basis as I might with Type II diabetes.

But while I rightly try to ignore my stomach's pleas for candy, sometimes I wrongly ignore the other gut instincts...and I always end up paying the price.

I found a doctor in Washington who did more extensive hormone testing than most — since I also have crappy hormones which I wanted to get checked. However, this doctor, Dr. R, seemed more concerned with my sugar cravings. He correctly pointed out that insulin resistence and hormone problems are often co-morbid. So against the protests of my gut (it's just the addiction talking, right?), I agreed to do a particularly disgusting body-fluid test and, when that came back positive, try a protocol to help curb the cravings. I would get my system more used to eating protein, veggies and small amounts of natural sugars and dairy — instead of the other way around. And not only would this help with the cravings but I wouldn't be "eating my way to diabetes" as I always say of some other people....

The protocol was OK — until I discovered that one of the medications Dr. R prescribed did not play nicely with the sleep-cycle medication I've been taking for several years. And Dr. R knew about my medications from my very first appointment.

He had already irritated me with his condescending tone and offhand comments. And with his semi-obsessive need to do allergy testing — regardless of me saying that my allergies acted up in Washington but not California and that I had no food allergies. This guy was on a mission to do exactly what he wanted to do and not really listen to the patient. And when I showed a very mild reaction to dairy foods (and nothing else), he was convinced that I should eliminate dairy from my diet altogether:

"Do you eat dairy?" he asked me.
"Yes, I eat dairy for the protein," I told him, implying that I intentionally did so to help my blood sugar issues and not "just 'cause."
"Well, protein comes in a lot of forms," he told me — as though I was five years old. "Meats, eggs, pinto beans, soy..."

At this point I wanted to interrupt and say, "Yes, but haven't you heard that soy screws up your hormones if you have high estrogen which I do?" Alas, I refrained. He wouldn't have cared anyway since hormone testing, which I had specifically requested, was the last thing on his mind.

So this latest development with the drug interaction just further confirmed my suspicions that Dr. R wasn't all that. And when I brought the drug interaction to his attention, he asked if I could stop taking the sleep-cycle drug and "just take a Tylenol PM" while I was on the medication he prescribed.

...Yeah. What a great idea.

Guess I'll trust my gut next time even if it is addicted to sugar. And never let anyone but Dr. N prescribe extensive medications for me.

Speaking of Dr. N: The efficiency and effectiveness of Dr. R's office staff and answering service leaves something to be desired. Sure, they respond quickly to a phrase like "drug interaction" because that can lead to phrases like "in a coma" and "filing a lawsuit." But try a phrase like "lab results" or "reschedule my appointment" or "why doesn't he listen to my requests as a patient?" and it goes in one ear and out the other.

Dr. N's staff, on the other hand, takes notes when I call, immediately gives him messages and returns my calls in a "timely fashion." In fact, Dr. N led an international medical delegation to China and still found time to check his messages several times a week while he was gone.

Honestly. Priorities, Dr. R. Priorities.

Story Problem(s)

2008-08-12T23:55:00.001-07:00

If it takes me one half-hour to write one page of my thesis that I consider satisfactory and one half-hour to edit each thesis page, how many days will it take me to complete a 200-page thesis?

Show your work below:

So, if I remain at a constant rate in thesis writing, a 200-page thesis (a collection of 10 short stories at 20 pages per story) will take me 100 hours.

Subtract about 30 hours for the pages I've already written, then add in 100 for the editing process for a grand total of 170 hours to write and edit my thesis.

Since a day is comprised of 24 hours, search multiples of 24 to find the number closest to 170. 24 multiplied by 7 is 168. It will take me 7 days and 2 hours to complete my entire thesis... if I write 24/7.

ANSWER: Break out the No-Doz and let's get cracking!

Shower to Shower

2008-08-08T03:09:00.000-07:00

It is an exercise in futility for me to take a shower anymore.

Normally, this wouldn't be a problem since we all know how much I hate having wet hair. But since I've been living in California in August, all that has changed.

I have never sweated so much in my life. Because I am literally sweating every minute of every day and I'm one of those people who normally can exercise for twenty minutes and barely perspire. I'm jealous of my housemates who are guys and can walk around in just shorts. Adam is boycotting shirts.

I have the fan on during the day, the fan on and the windows open at night, I keep the lights off, I wear tank tops and light cotton shorts — in fact I usually spend most of the day in my pajamas because they're the lightest cotton things I own. And I've already sweated in them so there's no point in changing.

And yet, I still sweat. Profusely. It's 3 a.m., I just got out of the shower, the fan is on, the window is open and I can already feel the sweat between my shoulder blades because I've leaned up against a pillow to type this and I'm wearing a t-shirt. And now I'm lying on my stomach, propped up my elbows and the crooks of my elbows are starting to sweat. I just got out of the shower and now I need to take another one.

It comes down to two choices: either I shower every hour on the hour or I don't shower at all. Since taking a shower twelve to sixteen times a day would make my skin like sandpaper, I think I'm gonna have to go for not showering at all. So if you smell my armpits from fifty feet away, it's not my fault — it's California's fault.

Heh, puns...

Statheads exploding

2008-08-04T16:59:00.001-07:00

So I'm watching Monday Night Baseball on ESPN which normally I'd watch anyway while I write because A) it's inspiring when writing about baseball and B) it's nice white noise in general. (Don't believe me? Give it a try and see....)

But today, there's a C) it's the Cubs versus the Astros at Wrigley Field and since my collection is set in Chicago, it's imperative that I watch any Cubbies' game I can see (and on the West Coast, we don't get many opportunities).

Unfortunately, something has always bothered me about the ESPN broadcasts regardless of who's playing. I enjoy looking at players' stats and seeing situational stats — i.e. Raul Ibañez is 2 for 8 this year for grand slams in bases loaded situations. That's an important stat to know when Ibañez comes to the plate with the sacks are drunk because it tells us the probability is that Raul hits a grand salami — which will instantly change the game.

So what is it that ESPN does that bothers me? Somehow someone has dictated that the national baseball broadcasts show every single hitter's situational stats for every single count. That's not just obsessively weird, it's absolutely frightening. Who the hell is forced to calculate all those figures late into the night? Because you've got every single hitter on every single team (since every team plays at least one game on ESPN) and those stats change with every single at-bat. So if ESPN has Albert Pujols' batting stats in May, when the Cardinals play on ESPN again in July, some lowly unpaid intern has to recalculate all those statistics.

An example:
Cubs player Jim Edmonds is up to bat.
If the count is 1 ball and 0 strikes (1-0), Jim Edmonds is hitting .226 with 7 HR and 23 RBI
With a 1-1 count: Edmonds hits .240, 7 HR, 20 RBI
2-1: .231, 4 HR, 13 RBI
3-1: .087, 1 HR, 4 RBI
3-2: .132, 1 HR, 5 RBI

And then the 3-2 average goes up because Edmonds hits a double.

But, except for the Cubs' manager and the Cubs' catcher, no one in the entire world needs to know those stats. Not even Jim Edmonds because all he can do is take pitches and hope they're outside the strike zone so he doesn't rack up strikes which would lower his average for the different counts (and, obviously, eventually make him strike out). Edmonds doesn't want to try to hit every single pitch because the probability will always be against him regardless of the stats he posts (remember: in baseball, you're considered great if you can hit a ball three times out of ten).

So out of the entire 6 billion people on earth and the millions of people watching this broadcast, two people and the ESPN intern who adds up the stats, have a need to know this information.

I feel bad for that intern because what a freaking PITA (my new acronym for Pain In The Ass).

Rest In Peace, Skip!

2008-08-03T19:31:00.001-07:00

Some sad news I just heard on the ESPN Sunday Night Baseball broadcast from broadcaster Jon Miller: Skip Caray, longtime announcer for the Atlanta Braves, passed away earlier today.

Skip, whose real name is Harry Christopher Caray, Jr., is indeed the son of Hall of Fame Chicago Cubs broadcaster Harry Caray. Skip's son is known as "Chip" but he's Harry Christopher Caray III.

I always enjoyed watching Braves' broadcasts on TBS with my dad especially when Skip and Chip were calling the game because Skip had a wonderfully dry wit and made fun of many aspects of the broadcast (opposing mascots, Mets' fans, the B-movies shown on TBS, etc.). A particularly great instance, cited on Wiki: "In order to get back at Atlanta Journal-Constitution columnist Ron Hudspeth for a critical column, Caray paid to have an airplane tow a banner above Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium during a Braves game which read, 'For a good time, call Rona Hudspeth,' and included Ron's actual phone number."

Skip was a "homer," openly cheering for the Braves but wasn't afraid to criticize them either. According to a fan message board, during the 1980s when the Braves totally sucked, Skip once announced the team running out of the dugout as, "And, like lambs to the slaughter, the Braves take the field." Skip, along with announcers Joe Simpson, Pete Van Wieren and Don Sutton, were banned from the Braves' charter plane after criticizing Braves catcher Javy Lopez for continuing to set up outside the catcher's box after he was caught by the umpire.

But my dad's and my favorite Skip memory was when Skip and Chip were calling a game in 2003 or 2004 and discussing popular then-Braves center fielder Andruw Jones's birthday. Chip said Andruw was, I think, 26 years old and then joked, "You've got ties that are older than Andruw, Dad." There was a pause and then Skip deadpanned, "Slowly talking your way out of the inheritance." We still laugh about that one.

Hopefully Chip can carry on the Caray generation but there will never be another broadcaster like Skip.

WTF WSU?!

2008-07-16T03:04:00.000-07:00

Activism runs in my family. My parents have joined unions, bargained contracts, captained strikes, overturned institutional regulations, spoken at national conventions and picketed about the state capitol (a fun time which included the limerick-ed poster: "Dear Governor Booth / We know you're not telling the truth / When you just run away / From the state's rainy day / You're not funding the future: our youth!")

My activist claim to fame is being one of three Marysville citizens who filed a petition to recall two atrociously-underqualified money-grubbing members of the Marysville School Board — and the judge ruled in our favor.

SIDEBAR: The story ends there because we chose not to require the district to finance the recall election. The two board members were the minority at that point and had less than a year left in their terms. They, smartly, didn't run again. Regardless, they were both completely asinine.

Anywho. The point of this ramble about activism is leading up to the — speaking of asinine — decision of my alma mater Washington State University to cut down numerous trees around campus. Apparently, they already chopped down a beautiful bunch outside the stadium before anyone stopped them, but now they're going after the grove outside of Avery Hall, where the English department — my department — is located. You can see a diagram here and a picture of the trees here.

But wait! There's more!

The pièce de résistance of this whole pile of bullshit is that WSU, in their infinite wisdom, is billing this as part of a "beautification project."

No, really. Did the Capital Planning and Development Department really think people in an area with a higher-than-average level of Ph.D.'s per capita would be stupid enough to roll with that euphemism? "No, no, no, you don't understand! Cutting down stately, mature, non-diseased trees is beautifying the campus. It's funny 'cause it's ironic!"

Want to combat this irony? Or stand up to a ludicrous "educational" institution? Or be a mild tree-hugging environmentalist? Or just do me a favor and save some helpless majestic shade trees that I absolutely love? Go here: http://www.savewsutrees.com and sign the electronic petition. It will take you less than two minutes and I will forever be thankful.

Of course, activism like this inspires me to write a limerick, just as my mom did. So here we go:

WSU now decrees
In their usual deaf tyranny
That beauty abounds
When the trees are cut down —
How brilliant is that irony?

As a final note: perhaps the title of the this post could be more professional and mature... hmmm... no, actually, I think that sums it up quite nicely. Because, really: WTF?

Medco Survey Says

2008-06-24T05:25:00.000-07:00

In case you haven't heard, Medco Mail Order Pharmacies are on my "Dead to Me" list. They recently sent out a confidential customer service survey, however, and I just couldn't resist responding. After answering the multiple choice questions, I didn't have a lot of space for comments so I tried to make it succinct:

Let's put it this way: my doctor, who is an internationally-renowned neuropsychiatrist, takes time out of his jam-packed schedule to trade tales with me on how dissatisfied we both are with your customer service and general business-running. Because your company is the only mail-order program my insurance company uses, I'm required to purchase medications from you — if I use the medications long-term — in order to save any money. The only thing I would rate "above average" about your company is the actual shipping time once my medications leave your warehouse. However, since you don't control the shipping company, I imagine that's the reason why it's the best part of doing business with you. My father actually refuses to purchase prescriptions through your program because he sees the hassles you cause — and if time is money, I'm wasting a lot of money compared to my dad who gets his prescriptions at a retail price.

Oh, King Felix....

2008-06-23T17:20:00.000-07:00

So Felix Hernandez is in a pitching matchup with über-ace Johan Santana at Shea Stadium. Because it's at Shea, the Mariners must play by National League rules meaning the pitcher has to hit in the lineup.

Felix walks up to bat with the bases loaded and, on the first Johan Santana pitch, hammers the ball out of the park for a grand slam! And this is while he's pitching two-hit ball.

His awesomeness just keeps getting awesomer.

But in the bottom of the fifth, Felix threw two wild pitches. As Carlos Beltran came home on the second pitch, Felix tried catch the toss from catcher Jeff Clement. Beltran slammed into Felix, spiking his leg...and Felix went down.

He sat at home plate for several minutes with tears in his eyes while trainer Rick Griffin examined his left ankle. Felix ripped off his cap and slammed it in the dirt as the frustration mounted.

There was a lot of slamming in this game. But Beltran goes on the "Dead to Me" list for slamming into Felix and causing him to roll his ankle.

Addendum: Felix sprained his left ankle. No word yet on how long he'll be out.

Bombs Away!

2008-06-18T02:55:00.000-07:00

I'm in "Sacremende" tonight en route via the I-5 corridor to Seattle for a few weeks. When I drove down to California last summer, however, I didn't take I-5 all the way and missed some interesting stuff in NorCal — specifically the roadside signs.

Apparently, NorCal I-5 is monitored by "aircraft" to catch speeders and the DOT uses signs with the warning and a picture of an airplane to convey this. But one sign looked suspiciously like someone had marked it to show the plane dropping a bomb — which gave me an idea as the 47th jackass in a BMW/Corvette/SUV tailgated me and then sped off at 90 miles an hour once I moved over to the right-hand lane.

How awesome would it be to threaten that planes would both flag your speeding car using radar and then...bomb it?

I mean, they wouldn't really bomb it. The DOT could just threaten the consequence and then stage a mock-bombing with a car to freak everybody out. And they could blow up another car every few weeks to make sure people didn't get complacent and assume that it wasn't going to happen.

And while I regularly go about 7 or 8 mph over the speed limit (which will never get you a ticket), I would gladly drop it down to 7 or 8 mph under the speed limit if the DOT would implement this plan. Because nobody would ever speed again.

FAILed and FIRED

2008-06-09T12:00:00.000-07:00

Oh, Mariners. Heads will roll but the first one being the hitting coach? He's a symptom of the problem. You're putting a band-aid on a bullet wound. And all those other clichés.

But, hey, I got to make my first FIRED instead of just FAIL, FAIL, FAIL on the FAIL Mariners blog: http://marinersfail.blogspot.com

The excitement is building. Maybe they'll just keep working their way up the ladder and then the owner will sell. Yay!

More Basebrawls!

2008-06-08T01:40:00.000-07:00

It's been documented a few times here how much I enjoy basebrawls. But before you condemn me for being both pro-violence and a hypocrite, you have to know something about basebrawls: 9 times out of 10, nobody gets hurt.

Oh, sure, a guy might get a few bruises or a cut on his hand from trying to grab somebody's ankle (and getting a cleat instead) but basically basebrawls are the poor man's version of bar fights. Which just makes them that much funnier.

Take the Thursday night donnybrook between Tampa Bay and Boston.

Now watching the video, you will notice four very distinct elements of the basebrawl — and the Tampa Bay-Boston one is textbook:

1) Batter charges the mound. The opposing catcher immediately runs behind him and tries to grab him while the pitcher tries to defend himself.

2) Like bees to a honeycomb, the entire infield, outfield and the players in the batter's dugout will swarm the mound grabbing at each other's arms and/or shoving each other around. It doesn't matter who you're attacking — just grab and/or shove somebody wearing the opposing (<--- important) uniform.

3) About 30 seconds after the charge and about 20 seconds after the swarm, you'll see about a dozen more guys join in, coming from different directions across the field. That would be the bullpen — it's hard for pitchers to race across the entire field when they never practice it, so they always miss the fracas fun.

4) In less than 60 seconds after the mound charge, you will have almost all members of both teams (including coaches), all the umpires and all the security guards in a big cluster on the mound. But at this point, there are so many people either grabbing at each other's jerseys to stop the fight or trying to push away a person grabbing at them that it just becomes guys falling over.

No, really. It's just a pack of guys in two different-colored uniforms falling over each other.

And that's what makes it so funny. Nobody gets hurt — it's just a big group of people stumbling over each other and falling down. They might as well put them on ice skates in a rink because you would get the same effect but with more spectacular falls.

Rays of Hope

2008-05-20T00:57:00.000-07:00

When I just can't take another second of the Seattle Mariners' front office screwing up the team as soon as possible after the season starts (we're 7.5 games out in mid-May), I root for the Tampa Bay Rays.

Yes, you read all of that right. Not only are they not the Devil Rays anymore but they're also not the usual cellar dwellers in the American League East — that would be the Yankees.

And the Rays aren't just "not in the cellar" — as of Monday, May 20th, they're second place in their division, only one game behind Boston. How awesome is that? Let me quantify it for you.

The (Devil) Rays finished the season above last place only once in their entire existence as a Major League Baseball team. In 2004, they finished fourth instead of fifth.

Basically, until this year, the Rays were the quintessential small-market skinny younger brother team whose payroll was less than the luxury tax the Steinbrenners pay for the Yankees so they can go over payroll limits. I know, it's gross.

The Rays are currently 29th out of 30 MLB teams in payroll and yet they're 5.5 games ahead of the Yankees in the standings and they've basically been ahead of the Bronx Bombers (bomb, indeed) all season. The Rays have been over .500 (winning more games than losing for the non-baseball readers) since April 25th, which is the longest period in franchise history. That's right. They've never played .500 baseball for 23 games straight like they're doing right now — not even close, in fact.

Now before anyone points fingers and calls me a hypocrite for jumping on the Rays' bandwagon since they're winning, remember that rooting for the Rays comes with a big caveat:

Their entire existence to this point has consisted solely of suckage. So I felt terrible for them and wanted them to do well (just like I still do with the Royals and the Cubs). Now they don't suck and I'm happy that a struggling, small-market team finally got it together and is playing some amazing baseball.

...Unlike the stupid Mariners.

GO RAYS!

SIDEBAR: And while I agree that a monkey could probably manage the Mariners better than John McLaren at this point, I really don't think the actual problem is with him. He's just a symptom. Case in point: the Mariners fired their manager Bob Melvin after the 2004 season since the team really sucked. Melvin was hired to manage the Arizona Diamondbacks who are now kicking everyone's ass in the National League West. Geez, Bob sure is a crappy manager. Thank God we got rid of him. Oh, hey, guess what: we still suck.

I want to write a letter to the Mariners' front office:

Dear Bill Bavasi and Howard Lincoln,

It's not the manager. It's you.

Love,
Shannon

The Most Awesome WTF Face in Reality Television

2008-05-15T08:26:00.000-07:00

I freely admit that American Idol is my very guilty pleasure, partially due to all the snark on Television Without Pity, and probably because both things kept me from being completely and horribly depressed during the year I was living at home and thinking that I couldn't succeed at anything.

SIDEBAR: And now I guarantee you will never again make fun of me for liking it without feeling like you just kicked a litter of kittens.

But after watching the last bit of Season 1 and nearly every single episode of every season since then, I think I'm qualified to say that this is, hands down without a doubt by far, the best moment in American Idol history:

Yes, that's Simon Cowell looking completely petrified, mortified and dumbstruck at the exact same time.

But you will get infinitely more enjoyment out of The Most Awesome WTF Face in Reality Television if you put it in its context: during this performance by a past Idol winner. Yes, you read that right: winner.

Mooning Over Baseball

2008-05-14T05:59:00.000-07:00

I can't sleep (see: the "Screw you, bed. I didn't want to take a three-hour nap today" support group), so I've decided to post major league baseball statistics as relating to the moon. No, seriously:

You have a better chance of orbiting the moon than you do of
1) Pitching a perfect game (no hits, no walks, no hit batsmen)
2) Hitting for the "natural" cycle (single, double, triple, home run in that order in one game)
3) Executing an unassisted triple play (making all three outs in one inning in one play by yourself)

How do I know this?
Because as of today, 26 people have orbited the moon.
17 professional players have pitched perfect games.
14 professional players have hit for the natural cycle.
14 professional players have executed unassisted triple plays.

As Juno would say: "Whoa! Dream big!"

Incidentally, famous spitball pitcher Gaylord Perry has an interesting connection to the moon with regard to his poor hitting. Supposedly someone — either Perry himself or his manager Alvin Dark — said, in the mid 1960s: "They'll put a man on the moon before [Perry] hits a home run."

Funny thing was that the proclamation actually came true — but only by a few minutes. According to snopes.com:

"Gaylord Perry, while playing for the San Francisco Giants, did indeed swat the first home run of his career on 20 July 1969, in the third inning of a day game against the Los Angeles Dodgers at Candlestick Park in San Francisco....Although the exact time of Perry's first homer was not recorded, it came in the bottom of the third inning of a two-hour, twenty-minute game that began at 1:00 PM PDT, so it probably occurred between 1:45 PM and 2:00 PM, which would place it within minutes of Apollo 11's historic touchdown on the lunar surface at 1:40 PM that afternoon."

What still isn't verified is who said the man would be on the moon before Perry hit his home run — or if anyone said it. Snopes.com is unable to verify if that part of the story is accurate but Perry and Dark are still very much alive (and not getting younger any time soon), so you'd think somebody would bother asking them.

I guess I'll start working on that.... But maybe I'll try to sleep first.

Quintessential Craigslist Ad

2008-05-08T10:27:00.001-07:00

So we're trying to find a third roommate (looooonnng story as to why the one we had left) and the whole Facebook ad thing to find a student is not working out at all. I don't know how Adam and I managed to stumble across each other last summer because I've gotten responses from six people in the past eight weeks and none of those worked out. Part of the problem may be that the Facebook "Marketplace" doesn't update for three weeks at a time and Facebook keeps saying they'll fix it and it never happens and.....

As a result, I go to Craigslist about seventeen times a day hoping I'll be able to find a warm body with decent credit who doesn't smoke crack, can pay about $625 a month ($575 + utilities) and move in by the end of the month. That's not too much to ask, right?

But apparently, those people don't exist. At least not on the Orange County Craigslist. Nope, Craigslist doesn't have those people but it does have about forty-seven thousand of these people:

$400 — Looking 4 a roomate (Huntington Beach)

Chill 22 yr old looking for a place to live. I prefer something within walking distance to the beach!!!! I can only pay $400 a month including utilities and Id like to have my own bathroom. I do have bad credit but no evictions!!!1!

I have a 40 lb dog named Rusty. He's potty-trained and totally friendly and everyone loves him. Im a single parent so my 3 yr old son stays with me a couple times a week but he's real quiet. I like to have people over on the weekends but I'm very responsable and respectful of other roomies space!!!! I'm clean and totally drama-free!

Plz email if u have something available! I need to move in ASAP. Thanks!!!!! :)

Yeah....
I know beggars can't be choosers but I'd rather have a roommate who wasn't completely delusional — and these Craigslist posters clearly are.

A Musing Thought

2008-04-26T13:51:00.000-07:00

Some rambling thoughts from my tired, procrastinating mind:

• When I went to the bank, I noticed a sign for the bar and grill next door: "Happy Hour: 11 a.m. to 7 p.m." That's not a happy hour...that's a happy day.

• I had to get my blood drawn, as I do every few months for Dr. N.

SIDEBAR: Dr. N. and I occasionally have some fun medical adventures. Like the time he glued electrodes to my scalp, attached them to a portable computer and had me wear them for three days straight. Or the other time when he wanted to test my blood sugar over the course of a day so I had to drink one hundred milligrams of sugar water as fast as I could and then have a butterfly needle stuck in my arm for six hours.

At the lab, the "vampire" lady was obviously mad that she had to work on Saturday. So she takes my form and goes through everything and finally comes over to the booth for the blood draw with several labels with my name printed on them to attach to my vials. She sets down the form, looks at it and says, "What's your name?" ...Lady? It's on the form and the computer screen you just looked at and the six labels you just printed out. Bizarre.

• My dad and I were watching the NFL draft and some of the participants really need to re-think their clothing choices. You'd think Commissioner Roger Goodell could be bothered to wear a suit and not just a sport coat. He is, you know, the Commissioner.

Plus, Keyshawn Johnson's outfit is giving me a seizure. Everyone else is wearing navy, gray or black suits while "Key" is rocking an ecru suit with shimmery beige pinstripes, a green picnic-blanket plaid shirt, a bubblegum-pink tie with some...random-colored polka dots and an olive-green pocket square. Addendum: Finally found a screencap of this bad boy of a suit.

I am not making this up. When you show up to work on national television wearing five different colors and patterns which do not, in any way, match each other, it's time for an intervention.

Perhaps ESPN should just issue Keyshawn solid-color Dr. Denton footie pajamas as his uniform.

Survival of the Unfit?

2008-03-21T23:05:00.000-07:00

A new blog post was requested and this one has been rolling around in my brain for a few weeks.

After discovering — when I got multiple medical bills totalling over fifteen hundred dollars — that Blue Cross had conveniently directed me to purchase insurance that had absolutely no coverage in any state other than Washington (thanks, BC!), I am currently on the waiting list — hoping to receive coverage in April — for Major Risk Medical Insurance courtesy the State of California.

Yes, that's correct. My prescription medication alone (and literally no other factor than the number of prescriptions I take) has made me a Major Risk not only to the private health insurance companies in California but to the Entire State.

Major Medical Risk to an Entire State at the ripe old age of 27.

This is so, so sad.

And literally the first thing Blue Cross did after asking my age was ask me how many prescriptions I was taking. Five? For what? Depression, anxiety, hypothyroidism and epilepsy.

Sorry, we don't cover that because according to our computer program, you could cost us lots of money. No, no — we don't care about the other health factors. Your medications are excessive enough as it is, young lady (oh, the irony of that phrase!).

I don't have cancer. I don't have diabetes. I'm not a heart attack waiting to happen. I'm 5' 4'' and weigh 120 pounds which is the ideal weight for my height. I'm under 30. I don't smoke nor have I ever. I have approximately two alcoholic drinks per month, if that. I don't use recreational drugs. I don't have unprotected sex. I try to exercise regularly despite a health condition which can hinder doing so. I eat vegetables, fruits, grains, dairy products and protein every day — and a lot of it is organic. I avoid hydrogenated fats, refined sugars and processed food in general — much more than most people in my demographic.

I see a "preferred provider" once every three to four months to have my medication and blood levels checked (since he's "preferred" he gives the insurance companies a deal). I either take over-the-counter medications or see alternative medicine practitioners if I have minor health problems, which means I pretty much pay out-of-pocket for cold remedies, allergy medications, chronic pain treatments, etc. The preferred provider I see regularly monitors six of the eight chronic conditions I have, recommends vitamins (also an out-of-pocket expense) and diet monitoring to manage two of those conditions and prescribes generic medications for two other conditions.

My health isn't the best but, come on — it's not like I'm asking them to cover chemo treatments, kidney dialysis, quadruple bypasses and stomach stapling. I don't have conditions that lead to those procedures (e.g. hypertension, obesity, etc.). I want to keep health care costs down as much as the insurance companies do, so I do what I can to avoid running up my medical bills with unnecessary doctor visits and medical procedures.

But because the drug companies are holding the insurance companies hostage with their prices — and no one appears to be stopping them — 27-year-olds who take multiple prescription medications are a Major Risk to an Entire State.

Why is the health care in this country such a piece of shit?

It's a Catch-22 for many people with chronic conditions because if you're too sick to work full-time, then it's very, very hard to get decent health insurance — which you need because you have chronic conditions.

Unless you are covered by your employer — and a lot of employers have no employee coverage (looking at you, fucking Wal-Mart) or minimal employee coverage — your insurance options are limited at best. You can try for individual coverage. You can try to get on a state program. You can make Jesus your health insurance.

And, sadly, millions of people in this country are making Jesus/God/Allah/Buddha/[deity or lack-thereof of your choice here] their health insurance and hoping they don't get in a major car accident or suddenly develop some malignant tumor or have a child with severe health problems.

Because they can't afford to pay for health costs. Because the drug companies are greedy bastards. Because doctors and medical clinics charge exorbitant amounts for routine appointments. Because it costs $300 (half my month's rent) to simply walk into an emergency room. Because chemotherapy costs $10,000 a day.

Do you have a daily stipend of $10,000 to throw around if you were to develop a cancerous growth that required chemotherapy? No? So…you can't get that treatment. So now what? You have to pay to live and now since you can't afford to live, you die.

Mmm...Darwinism — plus capitalism — at its best.

And here Gee Dubya Bee preaches about how Jebus and Biblical values are what this country needs. Does he not realize that this country's health care system is essentially "survival of the fittest"?

Hey Mikey! We like it!

2007-12-10T12:20:00.000-08:00

So Michael Vick is going to prison for almost two years. Yay! And the most he can have shaved off his sentence for good behavior is three months because it's federal prison.

This is excellent news...but there's one thing that really pisses me off.

Vick's lawyer asked for leniency saying that while Vick grew up in a rough neighborhood he was never in trouble with the law and he does charity work.

Yeah, I mean, who cares about the dozens of defenseless dogs he directly and indirectly killed? He donated money to the Boys and Girls Club!

Boycotting Barry Bonds

2007-11-01T23:48:00.000-07:00

Barry Bonds has announced he will boycott the Cooperstown Major League Baseball Hall of Fame if his "756" (read: 650, going by pre-steroid averages for Bonds) Home Run ball has an asterisk stamped on it.

This boycott includes "skipping his potential induction ceremony," according to the article.

Apparently, Barry didn't get that memo about how the Hall of Fame committee treated Mega-Roid Mark McGwire this past voting session, in McGwire's first year of HOF eligibility. A player needs at least 75 percent of the almost-550 member votes to make it into the Hall.

McGwire received 23.5 percent. And everybody knew why.

In conclusion:

Dear Barry Bonds,
Nice to see you cultivating your reputation as an asshole. Nobody gives a shit if you boycott the Hall of Fame because the Hall of Fame voters are going to boycott you.
Love, Shannon

Curses! Or: John Madden Strikes Again — But We Dodged a Bullet

2007-10-15T05:48:00.000-07:00

The Madden Curse is back in full force, as seen here.

We had Vince Young, he with the now-injured quad, on our team but we weren't counting on him to rake in all the points. No, we left that to LaDainian Tomlinson.

Now I know I was bitching a few weeks ago about how awful LT was and how terribly we were losing. But things have come around since then and I certainly can't complain about yesterday's 47 points (including 200 rushing yards and 4 touchdowns) from Mr. Tomlinson alone.

Here's the kicker: In December, I begged, pleaded and hypothesized that Tomlinson would reject Madden's offer to be on the cover of the Madden game — mostly because I knew we would be picking him first in the fantasy football draft nine months later. I even detailed how I thought the conversation would go. And somehow, in the midst of baseball starting up and not living in California at the time, I missed this amazing little tidbit reported six months ago:

"LT turned down Madden game cover."

Well, of course he did. And you read it here first, five months before it happened.

* * *

Incidentally, John Madden has now single-handedly marred the careers of eleven professional football players without ever setting foot on a field. Is that a new record? Can we resume putting Madden on the cover of his own game just to celebrate? I think the players have suffered enough....

Well, That's Fantastic....

2007-09-18T06:50:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I have a slight obsession with fantasy sports. I play fantasy baseball online where I subscribe to the theory of trading starting pitchers on a regular, if not daily, basis. I co-manage a fantasy football team with my dad playing against several of his co-workers, including Carla, who named her first son Peyton and is pregnant with Brady (yeah. She and her husband are huge football fans).

So last year in the fantasy football league, we got the #1 pick and drafted Shaun Alexander. Ha. Yeah, that worked out well.

But, wait! It actually did! Because we sucked so much that we ended up in the toilet bowl and won that, meaning we got the #1 pick again this year! Amazing! We weren't stupid this time. We knew we had to avoid the Madden curse, as well as the age/Sports Illustrated/past-their-prime factors.

So, of course, we drafted Michael Vick.
Ha. Ha. Ha. Maybe for the prison league.

Seriously, we did what everyone in America with the #1 pick did: we drafted LaDainian Tomlinson and climbed on our laurels to kick back and watch the fun, while raking in the dough.

Anybody seen what LT has done in his first two games? No. Because he hasn't done anything. He's been stuck spinning his wheels against a Chicago defense (damn you, Urlacher! Hate!) and a Patriot defense (damn you, Tom Brady! I'm going to hold you indirectly responsible!). He ended up throwing for a touchdown against Chicago when Philip Rivers (who we also luckily have!) couldn't get it together.

We've lost the first two games. Each week we've had the lowest scores of anyone, so it wouldn't matter who we played. Sure, the scoring system changed from last year but, as my roommate would say: "Don't blame the field."

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, we're going on two years now. How can you get the #1 pick and then lose so much that you end up in the toilet bowl and get the #1 pick and have the exact same thing happen again?

And don't even get me started on fantasy baseball........

BULLETIN BULLETIN BULLETIN

2007-08-27T21:20:00.000-07:00

In a shocking turn of events, convicted felon and former Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick has found Jesus.

Sometime between being exposed as a sadistic killer of defenseless dogs and the start of his Pseudo-Apology Tour, which commenced this afternoon, Vick discovered the entity which those who subscribe to the philosophies of the Christianity religion consider the "Forgiver of Sins."

Religious scholars are still speculating on how Vick made this miraculous revelation but some conjecture it may partially relate to the excessive amounts of horse tranquilizers Vick apparently ingested before mumbling his way through a contrived and insincere speech in a press conference outside a Richmond, Va. courthouse this afternoon.

In addition to announcing his discovery, Vick acknowledged his lack of experience in both public speaking and being a decent person. The quarterback also made the wise observation, "[I]t's -- it's important or not important, you know, as far as what you say but how you say things."

Some blame the tranquilizers in the instance where Vick did not appear "ashamed and totally disappointed" in himself while saying exactly that. The quarterback's public relations damage control also included the amusing Freudian slip: "For one second will I sit right here -- not for one second will I sit right here and point the finger and try to blame anybody else for my actions or what I've done."

Vick elaborated two sentences later by saying: "I feel like we all made mistakes." Etymologists suggested Vick review the definition of the word "blame."

After the astounding statement regarding the location of God's Son in Vick's spiritual life, the press conference descended into an incoherent mess of "you know"'s and Vick referring to himself in the third person.

Sports journalists pointed out the Third Person Syndrome is common of many athletes who find themselves trying to justify, minimize and/or defend their obnoxious, selfish and often illegal actions.

It is unknown whether it has occured to the quarterback that Jesus probably doesn't give a shit about forgiving assholes who murder innocent animals in gruesome fashion.

Christ was not available for comment.

Dancing with the Devil

2007-07-22T06:49:00.000-07:00

Having read the blurb at the beginning of this article, I decided it was past time for me to make a list or two, subject to change at any time. I give you:

ON NOTICE and DEAD TO ME

On Notice

wet hair
Snohomish County Executive Aaron Reardon
the pear tree in my backyard
latex bandages
insurance companies who require a prescription for physical therapy
the country of Myanmar
text messaging
L'oréal Infallible makeup
Ford Motor Company CEOs
Borders' bookstore employees

DEAD TO ME

Emmitt Smith
Barry Bonds
Medco Mail Order Pharmacies
people who don't send thank you notes for wedding gifts
the electrical outlet in my bathroom
the film License to Wed
people who announce exactly how many minutes late you are
Bath and Body Works

You'll notice that a certain felon-to-be does not make this list. He doesn't deserve to reside on the "Dead to Me" list next to License to Wed, Medco and even Barry Fucking Bonds.

Wow.
I hate Barry Bonds less than I hate that sadistic son of a bitch.
To quote Jim Halpert on The Office: "Congratulations, universe. You win."

J- Jim I- Is M- My Name is Jim

2007-07-21T04:28:00.000-07:00

You scored as Jim Halpert, Congratulations, you're Jim! How'd you get to be so awesome?

Jim Halpert

78%

Toby Flenderson

65%

Kelly Kapoor

60%

Pam Beesly

48%

Karen Fillipelli

48%

Creed Bratton

45%

Jan Levinson

43%

Kevin Malone

40%

Michael Scott

40%

Ryan Howard

35%

Andy Bernard

35%

Angela Martin

30%

Dwight Schrute

18%

Meredith Palmer

13%

Dunder Mifflin Personality Quiz
created with QuizFarm.com

Rot In Hell, Michael Vick

2007-07-18T15:03:00.000-07:00

Vick is done. "Innocent until proven guilty" is strictly a party line in this case and I'm pretty perturbed by commentators who are using it. The general media uses that; commentators are allowed to state their opinions on the morality of the case, as opposed to just the legality.

I read the indictment and the evidence strongly points to Vick's involvement. Whether he was in the thick of it or just knew his relatives were doing it and was apathetic makes no difference to me when it comes to cruelty and torture. I strongly suspect the former. In my mind, being apathetic in a case like this constitutes condoning the behavior and that makes him just as horrible as those who physically engaged in the dogfighting practice All the evidence points to Vick being way more involved than just knowing it was going on. In fact, he (allegedly) was one of the leaders in this operation.

Anyone who says it's "just dogs" needs to think about how it would feel to have his or her two-year-old child killed by someone smashing in the child's skull or electrocuting the child. That's what these horrific excuses for human beings are doing when they kill a dog — brutally killing a defenseless living thing for their own sick pleasure.

A two-year-old child understands pain and will try to stop it but doesn't stand a chance against an adult, let alone a group of adults. A dog can briefly try to stop the pain but with a group of 200-pound men fighting against it, the dog doesn't stand a chance. And if the dog is attacked to be killed before realizing what's going on, it doesn't stand a chance either.

And then, of course, there are the people who will make the Vick indictment about race. I honestly think they're subscribing to a misplaced "victim" mentality. Prejudice still exists and it is awful — but Vick's indictment has absolutely nothing to do with race. If Peyton Manning was indicted for dogfighting, I'd call him a sick, sadistic asshole too and hope that he would rot in jail. I don't care who's perpetuating dogfighting -- I just want him or her locked up forever.

Ultimately, I think Vick is in jail in less than a year. The feds have a 95% conviction rate and the evidence alleges heavy involvement and severe brutality.

So long, Michael. If you're convicted, and it sure seems like you will be, then you deserve everything you get in jail and in society because you are one sick fuck.

"EATIN' GOOD" IS GRAMMATICALLY INCORRECT

2007-05-13T04:29:00.000-07:00

But that doesn't mean I don't eat at Applebee's.

Anyway, Tony tagged me and said I had to write about one of two things. So I picked the easier/survey-type thing: My five favorite restaurants.

1) 13 Coins: In Seattle, this place is open 24 hours (which makes it awesome) but is about 2,000 steps up from Denny's (one of the few other 24-hour places). They offer everything from amazing steak to outstanding pasta, a huge wine list and a heavenly crème brulée as one of their insanely good desserts.

2) Old European Waffles Cakes and Teas: The original is in Pullman and is packed on weekends for hangover-erasing breakfast. Everything on their menu is pretty much to die for. Amongst my friends at WSU, Hungarian goulash and aebelskivers are huge favorites. I am in love with the strawberry crèpes. They don't have a website and one day, after an hour-long search, I tracked down a link to a PDF of their menu...but I can't find the link. I wish I could because then you too could marvel at the deliciousness of it all.

3) In-N-Out Burger: I am so sad this restaurant will not come to Washington. Why? Why must we be stuck with shitty McDonald's and only-slightly-less-shitty Burger King? In-N-Out has five menu items: double-double cheeseburger, cheeseburger, hamburger, fries and drinks (mostly shakes). That's it. The reason they have only five is so they can make everything taste really, really, really good by making it by hand in the restaurant. No freezers, no microwaves, no prepackaged crap. In making french fries, they hand-slice potatoes like ten feet away from the cash register. The first time I ate there with my family while we were in California on vacation, my dad stared at his burger and was like, "This is amazing." My mom kept hogging the fries, saying, "These are the best french fries I have ever tasted." It's that good.

4) Wildflower: This was outside of Tucson, Arizona, when we were staying there en route to the Sun Bowl game at University of Texas-El Paso. I went with my dad, mom, aunt Monica and uncle Don. Six years later, I don't remember every detail about the meal but I do remember that I had this kickass meatloaf (who ever thought those words would go together?) and I think we got the brie/baguette appetizer dealie and then they had some killer mudpie chocolate concoction for dessert. And then we didn't eat for a day and a half having gorged ourselves on their amazing food.

5) Applebee's: I like a lot of their stuff but I usually order the house sirloin so I can get the garlic mashed potatoes. The sirloin is always followed by the pièce de résistance—and what should be Applebee's râison d'être—the Triple Chocolate Meltdown dessert. Or as I like to call it: the "Triple Chocolate Sticky Pie of Death."

Honorable Mention: Red Robin, for their pretty sweet bacon cheeseburgers and excellent Bailey's Shakes.

And now I'm starving and craving Old European crèpes. Thanks a lot, Tony.

NOW YOU'RE SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE...

2007-05-04T05:13:00.000-07:00

While watching Daisuke Matsukawa get roughed up by the Mariners in the top of the first inning yesterday at Fenway Park, my dad and I speculated on how completely awesome it would have been if the M's had both Dice-K and King Felix.

If I recall correctly, the Mariners' front office did express interest in Matsukawa but not as much interest as they expressed in Barry Zito. And it totally didn't matter because Bill Bavasi, the Mariners' general manager, didn't effectively use the money he was given and paid craptastic Jeff Weaver, he of the 18.00 ERA, 8.325 million.

But, if we had a general manager who at least tried to work the payroll to the team's advantage, we might have be in the bidding war for Dice-K and because we have a strong Japanese contingent around here, he might have come to Seattle.

The best part about this wouldn't have been obtaining an ace equal to King Felix or even not bothering with 18.00 Weaver—though both of those aspects would have been excellent. No, the best part would involve our catcher, Kenji Johjima, who is also Japanese. If no one on the base paths knew Japanese, the two wouldn't have to bother covering their mouths with gloves or whispering during a conference on the mound like American and Hispanic players have to do to avoid the base runners and base coaches picking up the strategy.

Looking at the American League rosters, there are only four teams with players from Japan: the Blue Jays, Devil Rays, White Sox and Yankees. In the National League, we only play each team once every three years. Only four of their teams have Japanese players too: Cardinals, Dodgers, Mets and Rockies. The Giants have a player who has a Japanese surname but was born here and may not speak Japanese at all.

I don't know how close Korean is to Japanese but even if it was similar, only the Indians in the American League have a Korean player.

In fact, if no one on the opposing team was Japanese, there would be no need for on-the-mound conferences at all. They could just yell to each other in their native language and no one would have any idea what they were saying.

You have no idea how much money I would pay to see that nifty communication method between the "battery" of the team. Dammit, Bavasi—you continue ruining my enjoyment of the game.

STEPHEN COLBERT: GREATEST LIVING AMERICAN

2007-04-18T21:10:00.000-07:00

Stephen Colbert is, hands down, the Greatest Living American. And everyone in the world needs to know that when they search the internet for "Greatest Living American."

Read all about it here.

GUY'S GONE TO JAIL!

2007-04-13T04:38:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Joe Francis, creator of the obnoxious, raunchy and maturity-stunted Girls Gone Wild franchise, was jailed for criminal contempt and allegedly threatening the lawyers of the seven underage women who are suing him. In addition to the contempt charges, Francis has been indicted for tax fraud and—this just in—bribery of a public servant and possession of control substances, all before the week was out.

In case you weren't aware of just how disgusting Joe Francis is, this L.A. Times article should enlighten you (free registration required).

Basically, he's this manic misogynistic megalomaniac, this petulant man-child throwing a screaming hissy about lawsuits when someone finally informs him that actions have consequences. Sorry, Joe, but you don't get to A) take advantage of everyone including underage children and the government and B) be an asshole in general when adult behavior is required.

The bribery charges are my favorite though. Gee, Joe, you finally couldn't pay off somebody to get what you wanted, huh? Not even $500 for a bottle of water? You couldn't even have your anti-anxiety pills to take away all the horrible pain of the "free" money and the Spring Break Boobies? (Don't email me, I take meds too—which is why I get to make extra fun of ol' Francie.)

He cried to his mom and claimed he didn't do anything during the bond hearing for the contempt charges. Excuse me, Joe, what fucking planet have you been living on—oh, wait, I forgot: It's the Boobniverse! Where reality doesn't exist and the law does not apply. WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

Or something like that.

Francis is one of the more useless human beings in the country given that his company perpetuates horrible regressive philosophies about women in today's society. "Show us your boobies and receive praise and attention! Flash your vag and get brand-name merchandise!" Is this what we want our sisters, nieces, cousins, daughters, granddaughters and great-granddaughters thinking as they move through adolescence? That their body and looks are paramount and take precedence over their intelligence, creativity, talents and attributes? Do we want them believing that they have succeeded if they hear men utter Alan Arkin's ironic statement in Little Miss Sunshine: "No, I'm madly in love with you and it's not because of your brains or your personality!" in a non-ironic fashion...?

It's sickening and disgraceful to women and any man who supports equality for women. But, thankfully, karma's a bitch and now Joe Francis is crying in jail without his bottled water or his sleeping meds or his video camera.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! I kind of love it.

Hey, Francis — In the words of Kitty Sanchez during the "Missing Kitty" and "Spring Breakout" episodes of Arrested Development: Say goodbye to these: $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$.

NO-NO

2007-04-12T00:39:00.000-07:00

Felix Hernandez pitched a one-hitter on Wednesday against the Boston Red Sox. It was a no-hitter until the eighth inning and the reason it didn't stay a no-hitter until the end of the game was solely the fault of Dave Sims, the Mariners' new play-by-play television announcer. Starting in the seventh inning, Sims couldn't stop talking about the no-hitter. He probably said Felix was "pitching a no-hitter" three or four times in the bottom of the seventh as Felix was pitching and I was yelling at the TeeVee: "Shut up about it, Dave!" Then, in the bottom of the eighth, Sims was going nuts and probably said "no-hitter" five times before Felix threw a single pitch. First hitter up that half-inning: J.D. Drew. Bam! Single.

I cannot believe a seasoned sportscaster like Dave does not know the Cardinal Rule of Watching a No-Hitter. Was he absent that day in Broadcasting 101 when they discussed No-Hitter Policy? Apparently no one has informed him and Mike Blowers, the color commentator during the game, was either too shy or too inept to do it—so I guess it's up to me.

Dear Dave:
No-hitters are like Fight Club.
First Rule of a No-hitter: You do not talk about the no-hitter.
Second Rule of a No-hitter: You DO NOT talk about the no-hitter!
You can allude to it in vague terms regarding either the excellent pitching ("Wow, Felix is sure throwing the ball well tonight") or the lack of hitting ("The Red Sox just can't seem to get anything started here against Felix") but you do not, under any circumstances, say the words "no-hitter." FOR ANY REASON. It is a proven fact that it will jinx the pitcher.

Love,
Shannon

Dammit, Sims! I wanted to like you and you seemed to be doing OK until that debacle. You ruined the chance Felix had to completely outduel Daisuke Matsuzaka and show the world that Dice-K wasn't all that. And you blew it. Now, I'm licensed to dislike you and your game-calling style as much as I want for the remainder of the season. And if you ever do this again, I will never forgive you. FOR ANY REASON.

SHOWERS and STUPID SHADES

2007-04-08T05:01:00.000-07:00

I abhor taking showers.

Wait. I should clarify: The shower part is fine—it's warm and helps you wake up and you feel all clean and shiny.

I hate getting out of the shower because I hate having wet hair. I have minimal muscle mass and so I'm usually cold anyway; after I take a shower, even if I use a microfiber towel and a blowdryer, my hair doesn't completely dry until about two hours later because it's so very good at retaining moisture. So, unless I'm in Italy or Florida in the summer, I still feel cold after I shower because 30% of your body heat comes out of the top of your head or whatever that statistic is that means I freeze for a couple hours each day.

So when I don't have to get up and go somewhere or look presentable, I will do everything I can to avoid taking a shower because, while I know I'll enjoy having clean hair and skin, I know I will not enjoy having wet-to-damp hair and being freezing cold.

Yesterday, I was having some severe cognitive dissonance trying to come up with a reason to wash my hair and put on fresh clothes. I wasn't going anywhere, I wasn't doing anything exciting and "You'll feel better" just wasn't cutting it.

Finally, I decided it was warm enough in my bedroom (because it had been rather warm all day and I had the windows open) that I would still be warm when I got out of the shower. So I went over to my windows to close the windows and the curtains.

Several years ago, my family bought what I enjoy referring to as Stupid Shades. Stupid Shades are thick curtains designed specifically to make the room completely dark, giving people more restful sleep. At the time, my mother was convinced that my exhaustion upon awakening each morning was because my room wasn't completely dark and I wasn't getting restful sleep (hindsight note: she was wrong). So she had the Stupid Shades installed in her bedroom and in my bedroom.

The reason I call them Stupid Shades is because they are similar to a projection screen in design but instead of yanking the shade down to move it either up or down, Stupid Shades run on a pulley system with cords attached. The shade is measured to be exactly the size of the window with minimal material left at the top of the frame. Thus, the cord attached to the pulley system has no slack and a large bead on the cord will force the pulley to stop moving when the shade is fully extended.

This large bead, however, doesn't prevent the Stupid Shade from retracting too far. Because the bottom of each shade is weighted, this wouldn't seem to be a problem—unlike packing tape, when you roll it back up and can't find the starting point and you're totally screwed—but the combination of my window frames and Stupid Shades is maddening.

If I grab the wrong string on the pulley, the Stupid Shade will ascend farther up and the weighted end is still thin enough that it can sit on top of my window frame. And that's exactly what it will do. The weighted end gets stuck on top of the window and causes the shade to flip over on itself and somewhere in between the fully-open and completely-closed versions of the Stupid Shade, the Stupid Shade becomes Stupid and gets stuck. Then someone who is tall and agile (two things I am not) has to manually readjust the Stupid Shade so it goes back to its original placement and actually works correctly.

See? Stupid Shades.

SOOOOOOO....last night I walked across the room and reached out to close the first of four Stupid Shades in my room. And I grabbed the wrong cord and the shade got stuck. So I started to climb up onto my windowseat so I could reach the top of the window and fix Stupid Shade. And I lost my balance.

And not only did I fall backward on my ass but, on the way down, I stepped on a wooden and wicker CD storage basket like I was in a slapstick comedy and it was a rake, propelling the basket forward toward me and causing all 78 CDs in their seemingly-innocent very thin jewel cases to fly out and slam into my shin. One of the CD cases was also nice enough to cut into the bottom of my foot on my big toe.

Now I have a very painful two-inch purple and red bruise on my shin, a hunk of skin torn off my foot, a hip that, most assuredly, has been thrown completely off-kilter and will need a chiropractic adjustment and for what? Because I wanted to close the Stupid Shades and wash my hair.

That will teach me—to never take a shower again.

HOW SOON WE FORGET...

2007-04-07T06:30:00.000-07:00

Note: I'm embarrassed to write this but I want to be "pro-honesty" like Cheryl from Little Miss Sunshine. Plus, I think it's pretty funny. And pathetic.

As you should know, baseball season has started which means my life has become worthwhile again. Gone are the dreary winter months with snowstorms and power outages. Here (almost) are the days of eighteen-hour-sunshine and wearing t-shirts to night games at the ballpark. Every fifth day (or so) is Happy Felix Day! and Opening Day means every team is in first place and everyone has a chance to win the World Series—even the Mariners and the Cubs.

Until a couple weeks ago, I was wrapped up in NCAA Final Four business because I was so proud of my Cougars. However, I finally got my brain into baseball gear and attended the Mariners' Opening Day where Felix struck out 12 Oakland A's and the Mariners beat a team who won 17 of 19 games against them last year. While we didn't sweep the series, which ended on Wednesday, we won two of three and that's definitely progress for this team. I'm optimistic.

But the obsession with NCAA took its toll. This morning I was typing something to friends about the Red Sox-Yankees matchup in two weeks. The game will be played in Boston and as I was typing about the game, I blanked on the name of the Red Sox ballpark.

Completely and totally blanked, couldn't remember the name, mentally ran through every field from Yankee Stadium to Shea Stadium (Mets) to Kauffman Stadium (Kansas City) to Comiskey Park (former White Sox) to Wrigley Field (Cubs) to Petco Park (San Diego) to Dolphins Stadium (Florida Marlins) to staring at my Red Sox World Champions 1918 pennant and my Red Sox World Champions 2004 baseball signed by Johnny Damon the Traitor both of which are sitting less than 10 feet away from me to
holy-shit-I-can't-believe-I-actually-have-to-look-this-up!

Fenway. Fenway Park. The Boston Red Sox play in Fenway Park and I will be writing it over and over again on a blackboard until I remember it forever.

I'm a terrible person and an even worse baseball fan. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cry into my Mariners beach towel.

LEARNING THE GREEK ALPHABET IN THIS LIFETIME...

2007-04-01T23:25:00.000-07:00

I've been organizing the past 17 years of family photos. Seventeen years!

SIDEBAR: My mom beautifully organized the first nine years of my life in the photo albums but after we moved to our new house, no one ever got around to even putting the pictures in acid-free photo boxes, let alone albums. The pictures just sat in this beat-up cardboard box (my mom's favorite storage method) where the kindling was supposed to go for the fireplace in our family room—a big brick hole carved out under the cabinet that houses the TV, the DVD/VCR player, and some bookshelves.

Then after the cardboard box got too full and I was old enough to do something so I wouldn't have to look at the messy pile of photo packets, I bought a big Rubbermaid container and organized the packets in the container so at least they weren't bent out of shape and getting damaged.

Now I'm getting the photos out of the Rubbermaid container and putting them in acid-free photo boxes. The last step is albums...and that's a big last step.

So the actual point of this post was to talk about how I went downstairs tonight, figuring it was a Sunday night with nothing good on TV, so I would be able to organize the photos from the Caribbean cruise we took in 1998 and get thisclose to finishing my organizing project.

I got into the family room where the photos were all set up and my mom was watching this Lifetime Television for Women movie: The Party Never Stops OR: Death by Drinking So Learn Your Lesson, Sloshed Sorority Sisters (and I was in a sorority, affording me the privilege to mock sororities, so don't post nasty comments telling me what a jerk I am).

The conversation went something like this:
ME: What are you watching?
MOM: Uh, this Lifetime movie.
ME: Oh.
MOM: I figured it was on Lifetime so it wouldn't be that bad.
ME: [considering this for a long minute] Really? I thought Lifetime movies weren't usually that good.
MOM: Well, what I meant was that it was on Lifetime so it wouldn't have a lot of violence or sex.
ME: Oh, I see.

So we watch the climatic scene where the main character girl, who's trying to give up drinking, leaves a message for her best friend who's playing some drinking game at some frat house. The best friend calls back while the teetotaler girl is asleep and slurs about how she's going to sleep at the frat because she's totally drunk. WOOOO! The next morning, the teetotaler gets the message and says to her "teetotaler-because-I-learned-my-lesson-and-almost-flunked-out-of-college" boyfriend: "Oh, Shanna is at the Phi Sigs and she sounded totally drunk. I better go get her."

So she walks over to the "Phi Sigs" house, which has the following Greek letters above its door:

E A Φ

Yes. The Phi Sigs at Random State University actually live in the Epsilon Alpha Phi house.

They're filming a movie about sorority and fraternity drinking and they can't even get the Greek alphabet right? If Lifetime movies had even one shred of credibility with me before this....

Screw it. Lifetime Television For Women movies have no redeeming qualities whatsoever and the boys at Phi Sigma Epsilon Alpha Phi have proven that once and for all.

I'D LIKE TO THANK THE ACADEMY....

2007-02-26T02:00:00.000-08:00

No, really. I'd like to thank them because now I personally know an Oscar-winning actor —whereas before the actor I knew was Oscar-nominated but the Academy hadn't been smart enough to recognize his great work.

I don't know that I've ever mentioned this in the almost three years with the blog, but Alan Arkin, an actor and director who has done stage, screen and television, sent me a script of his one-act play in 1998. I saw the Seattle preview and liked the one-act script so much that I wrote him a letter asking if he would be kind enough to send me a copy to use for my senior project in drama class.

He was extremely gracious and wrote me a letter promising to send the script once the show had started its run on Broadway. All he asked was that I keep the copies to a minimum since it was not yet published (it was published in 2001, I believe).

So in June 1998, Mr. Arkin sent me a copy of the script and I spent the next year producing and rehearsing the two-person play with my friend, Rob. I was horribly depressed in 1999 and acted like a jackass half the time because I felt so awful. But Rob has the tolerance of a saint and understood that I was messed up then. We got the show off the ground, with the help of local business donations, and it was a great success.

Then, in 2001, I needed an honors thesis project that involved my major. Gee, what could it be? So I emailed Mr. Arkin—by then we had exchanged several letters and emails—and he again granted permission. This time I directed the show and two of my friends acted in it. I invited Mr. Arkin to the show (!) and he said he would be out of the country but would love to see a videotape. So we sent him that.

And NOW he's won an Academy Award for his wonderful, amazing performance as Grandpa (Edwin Hoover) in Little Miss Sunshine. If you have not seen this hilarious and truly perfect movie, then stop reading this post, get yourself down to the freaking Blockbuster and rent it.

I mean it. Go now! I'm going to wait for Mr. Arkin to respond to the email I sent him yesterday morning wishing him luck at the ceremony. Hey, it worked!

Here's a picture of Mr. Arkin and 10-year-old, Abigail Breslin, the little girl who played Olive in the movie. In the next few days, I hope to find a picture of the two of them sitting next to each other at the Oscars. She was adorable in her pink ballgown and was also very cute when presenting two awards with Will Smith's eight-year-old son.

Addendum: I found links to pictures I wanted. Here is Little Miss Abigail in her pink ballgown before the ceremony. And here are three pictures of Abigail with Will Smith's son, Jaden, who was in The Pursuit of Happyness with his dad. They presented the two awards for short films. (Get it?! They're short! Ha.) I just think the two of them are so sweet and they were so cute presenting their awards.

THE DEVIL MADE ME DO IT

2007-02-18T00:03:00.000-08:00

OK, not the devil. More like Tony on his blog. It's a blog game, like those MySpace "games" where you write a bunch of things about you and then make other people write things about themselves but they don't actually do it and so you end up looking like a big overeager weirdo.

Which is why I'm doing this because Tony shouldn't have to play a one-sided game. However, I know very few people with blogs so I won't be tagging a lot of people.

Anywho. The rules:

Each player of this game starts off with ten weird things or habits or little known facts about yourself. People who get tagged must write in a blog of their own ten weird things or habits or little known facts as well as state this rule clearly. At the end you must choose six people to be tagged and list their names. No tag backs!

1. I had a jamais vu moment at the ripe old age of four. Jamais vu is the opposite of déjà vu; it where you're somewhere that you've been many times before and suddenly it feels like you've never been there. I was washing my hands in the bathroom at my daycare when I got this overwhelming feeling that I'd never been in this room/place/situation before. According to Dr. N., my neuropsychiatrist who studies such things, that is the earliest age at which anyone has described having a jamais vu/déjà vu experience.

2. With the exception of chronic ear infections at the ages of two and three, I was a normally healthy child. Only when I got into junior high school, did I begin the downward spiral into the half-dozen mental and physical ailments I now deal with.

3. The smell of sauteéd scallops and the taste of curry both make me nauseous. The two combined could very well be my kryptonite.

4. I think I look like a guy if I'm wearing my glasses while I have my hair pulled back.

5. I'm addicted to sugar (seriously, I'm sure it would be classified as a clinical addiction) but the type of sweet stuff I crave varies almost hourly. Sometimes I'll want some type of chocolatey ooey-gooey brownie-ice-cream extravaganza, other times I'll be happy with a few gummy bears.

6. My dad and I both have best friends nicknamed "Scooter." When we realized the concidence, we both agreed that the nickname was equally apt for each friend—but for very different reasons.

7. For someone who wants an MFA in fiction writing, I rarely read fiction anymore. My reading diet mostly consists of nonfiction memoir/humor, magazines, and books I've read several times already. Whenever someone asks me to recommend some good fiction novels, I can barely come up with anything, let alone good things. When I do read fiction, it's been almost exclusively short story collections. I have no idea why this is but I think it has something to do with being forced to read hundreds and hundreds of pages of literature/textbooks in college. Lengthy reading became unfun and unworthy of my attention.

8. I have a Victoria's Secret credit card and thus receive catalogs in the mail about every three days. Their catalogs usually have more clothes than underwear/lingerie because they don't sell clothes at their stores (don't ask, I don't know). Despite the fact that the catalogs regularly feature almost all the same items as the previous catalogs, I still go through all the clothes, pick out everything I want and get depressed because I can't afford it. At one point, I pretty much forgot that other clothing stores existed.

9. EBay scares me. I have visited the site maybe five times and have never set up an account or had a burning desire to bid on anything there.

10. If push came to shove, I think I would rescue an animal that was being hurt before I'd rescue a person. I think animals are more defenseless than people, especially because they don't understand why they're being hurt. Hypocritically, I'm not a vegetarian and can't ever imagine trying to cobble together a diet without some form of meat.

Your turn: Brett, Cat, Trevor, and Michael.

SALT-N-PEPA

2007-02-03T07:29:00.000-08:00

I often complain that my mother is a packrat and talk about something she's done and people laugh and don't realize how bad it actually is. Because it's so bad. So very, very bad.

Exhibit A: I was putting away the kitchen stuff I used to make cookies and saw this collection of thimble-sized combination salt and pepper shakers that my mom hoarded from the plane ride home from Italy where she and my dad and my uncle got upgraded first-class seats and I got stuck in coach with a dirty tray table, a dead iPod and a screaming baby two rows back...

But I digress.

So there's not one, not two but seven combo single-serving salt and pepper shakers piled up in the cabinet. Seven.

Now I'm going to ask you—and be honest here—have you ever in your entire life, been some place eating food and didn't have access to salt or pepper and thought to yourself: "Man, I wish I had thimble-sized combination salt and pepper shakers"?

And, if you actually said "yes," I have this question for you: has that actually happened to you seven times? And, if it has occurred seven times, did you decide that it would be prudent to find some of these thimble-sized combination salt and pepper shakers and toss one in your bag or your car so you would have access to them when you needed them? Would any human being actually plan that far ahead for themselves alone (and not, say, a picnic where you would need more than seven single servings)? In other words: does having seven of these teeny-tiny salt and pepper shakers merit any practical purpose in life?!

NO! The answer is no, no, a million times, no. No household in the United States of America needs seven thimble-sized combination salt-and-pepper shakers for any reason whatsoever. To paraphrase David Mamet and the 2007-Eleven boys honoring David Mamet: "This isn't about herbal seasonings or convenience or why a nickel is bigger than a dime—this is about crazy hoarders and common sense!"

Yes, my mother is a packrat in the worst way and, with this example (and the 33 boxes of tea in the other cabinet), I permanently rest my airtight case.

OVERHYPHENATED

2007-01-31T04:11:00.000-08:00

OK, I was just reading this obnoxious email I'd written to some asshole guy like a million (read: two) years ago. The best part about the email wasn't where I pointed out how assholic his behavior was or where I subsequently called him out for being said asshole or where I translated what he'd written into: "If what you mean is, 'let's not make this awkward or unpleasant when we see each other...'"

No, the best part of the email was where I called the event he'd invited me to:
"a toga-party-that-wasn't-really-a-toga-party party."

I like the idea of actually calling a party that when you invite people and seeing what they do.

BRILLIANT ONION

2007-01-28T05:42:00.000-08:00

I just can't take it anymore. I have to sing the praises, from the rooftops, of The Onion's American Voices because I absolutely love it.

I've been reading them for a long time and everyday (when I get the digest) I find it funnier and funnier that they use the same six photos of "John Q. Public" Americans (and have for years) and just make up different names and occupations for the photo captions. The quotes these people supposedly say are funny too but I think reusing the photos is even better.

Here's my recent favorite asking the average American about cell-phone TV.

SAD STATE OF AFFAIRS

2007-01-24T00:05:00.000-08:00

The State of the Union address was on the TeeVee last night. I didn't watch because George Dubya Bush would be talking to television cameras and reporters—and that never ends well.

But, seriously, folks. I didn't watch because I knew I would disappointed yet again when the teleprompter people failed to take the advice from Washington Post Style Invitational "Loser" Josh Borken of Bloomington, Minnesota, and slip this line into the address:

"I want to reiterate that last point, because I don't think it was iterate enough."

THE WAR AT HOME

2007-01-22T11:24:00.000-08:00

My parents are the luckiest SOBs on the planet.

What? Oh, sorry, I've been cranking up the Hyperbole Machine ever since American Idol came back on the TeeVee because that's how Simon Cowell makes his money.

Note to S.C.: There can only be one "worst singer in the world" by definition of the word "worst." Yet in every audition city, someone is the "worst singer in America" or "worst singer in the world" or "worst singer I have ever heard in this competition until we go to Memphis on Tuesday in which case there will be..." Just an FYI for future definitive reference.

Right. So, speaking of the TeeVee, my parents are lucky because I happen to be living at home for a dozen months while I apply to MFA programs and had I not been living at home when the TeeVee blew a gasket last night, my family would be fighting over a 13-inch television because that would have been the only TeeVee working in the house.

This is exactly what happened when the DVD/VCR broke a few months ago. Mine just happened to be here and so we used that. Now they can put off buying a TV, DVD/VCR and whatever other spare thing I happen to have lying around from my apartment the next time something around here breaks.

And that's what my parents love to do. They love to put things off until it gets to the point where they absolutely, positively have to deal with it now and then they both get stressed out and fight and nothing ever changes.

So in six months, I'll have to pry their bony little fingers off my TV and DVD/VCR so I have access to Major League Baseball and When Harry Met Sally... when I move into my new apartment. Then my parents will spend a few months fighting over the 13-inch TeeVee before they actually do anything to fix the problem.

In other news: Misha is functioning with probably 20% of the senses she once had. She doesn't hear very well, she doesn't see very well, she doesn't smell very well and because of that, she's basically turned into Tina from Napoleon Dynamite. I put canned cat food in her dish and then have to stick the dish in her face for about 30 seconds, admonishing her: "Misha, it's food. Eat!" before she leans over and sniffs the contents of the dish and decides to get up and eat.

PLAYOFF PAYOFF

2007-01-07T00:40:00.000-08:00

You all remember how pissed I was when Bill "Tuna" Parcells decided to bench Drew Bledsoe in favor of the Rib Man, Tony Romo, because Bledsoe is my all-time favorite NFL player.

Since my dad is a Seahawks season-ticket-holder, he automatically got tickets to the playoff game yesterday against the Cowboys and suggested I go with him. More specifically, he said:
"Do you think you want to go to the playoff game on Saturday and cheer against Tony Romo?"

Sign me up.

So we went and here are just some of the crazy things we saw at the Seahawks-Cowboys playoff game:

• People drinking Coors Light in the parking garage as we pulled into a parking spot. Dude, the parking garage. Beer is really so much more expensive in a bar? You couldn't stand around outside a deli or something? I hear Pioneer Square has some nice drunks....

• A guy I knew in high school now plays the cymbals in Blue Thunder.

• I have no idea what these people were doing but they'd set up some sort of picture window motorhome with a TV and recliners right next to Joe's Grilled Gourmet Dogs stand where we always eat. They stood in this RV made up of mostly windows and waved to people the entire time we stood there. No flyers, no announcements...just people in a weird RV with big windows waving to everyone else...

• The security crew started yelling "Ladies to the left!" as we filed into the stadium because we all had to get patted down and nobody wants a sexual harassment suit. I walked over to the available security lady and immediately put my arms out because, meh, it's no big deal. She laughed because I didn't seem to care and said, "Yeah, we get some crazy people down here." I said, "Yeah, it's a bit like a frat party." Then we both agreed: "A really big frat party."

• I picked out the lime-green stocking cap I wanted and then stood in line until almost kickoff to pay for it. Seriously, the ProShop had the most poorly-thoughtout crowd management I have ever seen. Five cash registers and hundreds of people waiting in line for over 30 minutes to buy stuff. You guys couldn't come up with any better plan? Eventually, Dad got in the other line and actually beat me to the front because the cash register in my line broke down. Ridiculous. The cap, however, is really quite spiffy and it might have been almost worth the wait.

• The bad news, besides the wait, is that if I'd shown up about two hours earlier, I could have gotten green gloves to match for free. The better news is that the ESPN article referred to the fans as having "Shrek-colored gloves."

• While I was waiting in line and my dad was standing on the other side of the ProShop temporary barrier, eating his dog, the people in front of us in line pointed out that some guy was getting arrested for having a flask. Whoops. Hey, kid—they search people going into grocery stores nowadays. What were you thinking? Then again, he was probably underage and stupid in the way of alcohol-related matters. The cops then made him stand there for about ten minutes in handcuffs while everyone around him gossiped about "the guy over there in handcuffs."
DAD: Well, it looks like he won't be enjoying the playoff game as much as he thought he would.
ME: Look, I know the beer in the stadium is expensive and all but is this really worth it?

• A guy sitting in the row in front of us and about eight seats to the right was wearing a Terrell Owens Dallas jersey. Idiot. I don't know how he got charter seat tickets but his girlfriend was a Seahawks fan so maybe that was how. Based on his jersey pick alone, however, I don't know how he managed to get a girlfriend because he's got to be an asshole.

• The game was exciting, mostly (and unfortunately) because it was one of the sloppier games I've seen. The teams just kept handing each other chances to kick ass...and then not capitalizing.

• But the crowning moment, the piece de resistance, the play-that-made-my-day was, of course, this.

Tony Romo, who represented Parcells' decision to bench my favorite NFL player, ended up literally costing Dallas their playoff run.

So, Big Tuna: thought there were better fish in the sea than Drew, huh? Maybe if you hadn't worn the kid out so much playing QB, he would have been in better shape to handle that ball. Or maybe, when you were so excited to switch QBs, you'd had the wherewithal to consider training a new holder, you would be gunning to play the Bears now.

But, no. You put all your faith in that kid turning things around...and look where it got you. I'm not saying Bledsoe would have been better; I'm just stating the fact that your supposed savior, Tony Romo, lost that game.

...And then cried on the field about it. (Literally, too, there.)

So, with my new lime-green stocking cap pulled down firmly over my ears, I walked out of the stadium—past the T.O. jersey guy, whose girlfriend was trying to kiss it all better—and out in the celebratory night, cheering for the Seahawks (and against Bill Parcells) all the way. I was glad I had my new hat because it was definitely cold last night.

Then again, revenge is a dish best served cold....

GOING POSTAL

2007-01-02T16:35:00.001-08:00

CBS EVENING NEWS BLURB: ...Gerald Ford, whom others are already calling a decent and gracious man.
ME: [having been awake all night] That's the best they can say? He's a president. They closed the post offices in memory of him and put my chances with two grad schools in total jeopardy because I hadn't mailed out my writing samples! If they're gonna do that, they can say better than that. [To Dad] Did you vote for Gerald Ford?
DAD: I don't remember....Wait, nobody did. He was the first president to have never been voted into office. Nixon resigned and Agnew had already resigned and so Gerald Ford was it.
ME: My grad school career was put in jeopardy for someone who was never actually voted into the presidental office?

NEW YEAR, SAME OLD

2007-01-01T07:32:00.000-08:00

I'm applying to 15 graduate schools (and 17 different programs) but I have a sneaking suspicion I won't get into any of them. It's not because I'm bad at school but because I'm bad at following directions.

The grad schools don't make it easy though. The department website says one thing while the online application says something completely contradictory. Or the general graduate school page wants blah-blah-academic-research-cakes for the statement of purpose topic while the program doesn't care what you write.

Between the fifteen of them, they've come up with the following varying requirements (listed in order of school and how each school lists the requirements):

one set of transcripts
three letters of recommendation
manuscript cover sheet
autobiographical sketch
statement of purpose
25 pages of writing
self-addressed stamped postcard
1-2 page statement of purpose
three letters of recommendation
one set of transcripts
GRE scores
25 pages of writing
30-40 pages of writing
1-4 page personal statement
three letters of recommendation
two sets of transcripts
GRE scores
three letters of recommendations
20-30 pages of writing
500-word statement of purpose
Application for Graduate Awards
Program Financial Aid Application
2-3 short stories
manuscript coversheet
personal statement
two sets of transcripts
application for Graduate Awards
Program Financial Aid Application
Three letters of recommendation
GRE scores
Two sets of transcripts
Writing sample (less than 40 pages)
Statement of Purpose
Personal statement
GRE scores
Three letters of recommendation
Manuscript: 3 short stories
Manuscript: 3 essays
Manuscript cover sheet
Three letters of recommendation
200-250 word personal statement
one set of transcripts
one-page résumé
domicile affidavit
two sets of official transcripts
GRE scores
application form (printed copy)
three letters of recommendation
writing sample
250-500 word personal statement
one set of transcripts
GRE scores
three letters of recommendation
300-500 word statement of purpose
20-25 pages of writing
Fellowship application
less than 30 pages of writing
self-addressed stamped postcard
two letters of recommendation
GRE scores
personal statement
one set of transcripts
GRE scores
application cover sheet
statement of purpose
25 pages of writing
three letters of recommendation
list of relevant courses
photocopies of transcripts
photocopies of GRE scores
personal statement
500-word statement about teaching creative writing
three letters of recommendation
transcripts
GRE scores
at least 30 pages of writing
two letters of recommendation
transcripts
GRE scores
8-10 pages of academic writing
sustained work of creative writing
statement of purpose
less than 30 pages of writing
two sets of transcripts
GRE scores
three letters of recommendation
acknowledgement card
25-30 pages of writing
2 copies of 300-500 word statement of intent
three letters of recommendation (duplicates)
two sets of transcripts
GRE scores

I have a headache again.

FINAL FANTASY NO MORE

2006-12-27T04:09:00.001-08:00

So, uh, we did win the #1 pick for Fantasy Football 2007—just as I predicted last month. And even though I said I would never play Fantasy Football again, I have no self-discipline (or dignity) and my dad and I have been arguing non-stop since Monday about whether we will pick:

• LaDainian Tomlinson
• Peyton Manning
• Shaun Alexander

"Shaun Alexander?!?!" I hear you screaming, "Are you insane?! Don't you remember what happened this year?!"

Yes. And I also know that LT will win the NFL MVP award and then John Madden will immediately give the go-ahead to put LT on the cover of Madden NFL '08 and we all know what happens to people who become cover boys for the Madden games (see: Alexander, Shaun. And McNabb, Donovan; Lewis, Ray; Vick, Michael; Faulk, Marshall; Culpepper, Daunte; George, Eddie; Levens, Dorsey).

I think my argument for Peyton Manning is pretty strong based not only on the Madden curse but on the fact that our league has a special rule for quarterbacks and kickers. The rule reads that quarterbacks and kickers are technically drafted by team and not by player. You can draft Josh Brown as your kicker but you're actually drafting the "Seahawks kicker"—if Brown gets injured or does not play, you still get the points from whoever the Seahawks kicker is.

Obviously, you don't go around looking for the best combination of starting and backup quarterbacks (or kickers)—you draft Peyton Manning because he's Peyton Manning. But you also have the safety net when drafting a quarterback in the number-one spot because if Peyton gets injured, you get points from the backup quarterback automatically. When Alexander got injured, we had to drop one of our other running backs to pick up Seattle's backup running back, Maurice Morris. And, subsequently, dropped him to pick up a myriad of other underperforming second-tier running backs because everybody else had the good RBs already drafted....

Furthermore, running backs—and many other professional athletes—who have outstanding years, will have average years immediately thereafter. It's just the nature of the sport, the human body, and Andy Warhol's fifteen minutes of fame. While this can happen to quarterbacks, it's less likely to happen compared to other football positions and other athletes as evidenced by Marino, Montana, Namath, Favre, etc., etc. And, honestly, when was the last time Peyton Manning ever had a bad year statistically-speaking?

My other argument is: Maybe we should just buck all the trends and take Alexander, figuring we'll:
A) avoid the Madden curse for sure
B) likely get a whole year's production out of all four of our RBs and
C) get to have the schadenfreude-ish fun of watching someone else spend an entire football season in misery—just like we did this year—after LT goes down with a broken ankle in the second week.

Then again, maybe this will be the year Tomlinson maintains his humbleness and makes that all-important phone call:

"Hi, John. Yeah, listen, I appreciate the offer and I'm really flattered that you want to feature me but, John, you've seen what's happened since 2000. You know, when you started making covers with photographs of current players instead of just you. I think maybe it's time to go back to the old way from the last millenium. Do you really want to keep punishing players and teams with season-demolishing injuries and poor records as a result? Please, John. For the love of the NFL—go back to the old cover!"
**********

I may not know which NFL player I'll have as my number-one pick but I do know this: the NFL SuperBowl entertainment committee is stupid.

Three years ago, everyone was up-in-arms over the wardrobe malfunction and they had to make sure that would never happen again by airing halftime shows featuring less sexually-explicit older musicians.

So, following that logic, this year's halftime headliner is Prince.

Clearly, the SuperBowl entertainment people have never heard the lyrics to any Prince songs.

WHAT WILL THOSE CRAZY KIDS THINK OF NEXT?

2006-12-20T23:53:00.000-08:00

In our local paper, they run a weekly feature on Tuesdays called "SuperKid." In this feature, they pick a high-achieving and well-rounded high school student from one of the county's school districts and profile this person. It's usually milquetoast-to-boring but this week's blurb disturbed me—or, more specifically, this week's photo of the SuperKid disturbed me.

The profile (which you can read here) talks about the girl's volleyball and basketball skills, her love of Disney films, her dog, et cetera. In the photo, she's laughing and it all looks hunky-dory— but take a closer look at the poster behind her.

Yes. She's laughing and sitting inches away from a Youth Suicide Prevention poster. And nowhere in the article does it talk about Youth Suicide Prevention.

Now, I'm not blaming the girl at all for this bizarre photo. This rests solely on the photographer. The girl attends my "alma mater" high school and I know for a fact that this school has the biggest campus in the state, in terms of area. You're telling me that there was no other place in the biggest campus in the state to take this photograph of this very nice and talented girl than on a bench with this poster?

It would be one thing if, in the article, she discussed how she was on the school's youth suicide prevention committee and how that was important to her because blah blah life-is-worth-living-cakes. But it doesn't. Maybe she did talk about it and the editor stupidly removed that information due to space constraints and didn't even bother looking at the photo. Or maybe the photographer just sucks at picking location.

Regardless of who at the newspaper screwed this one up, the whole thing creeps me out because, as it stands, the photo makes it look like this very nice and talented girl is saying: "Youth suicide. Ha ha ha! What will those crazy kids think of next?"

JEOPARDY FOR TWO

2006-12-16T10:48:00.000-08:00

The Seahawks, as a whole, played horribly on Thursday against the 49ers and, according to my local paper (scroll to the bottom), all the players are being punished for it:

"[Coach] Holmgren said that wide receiver Darrell Jackson (foot [injury]) and center Robbie Tobeck (hip [injury]) are the only two players in serious jeopardy of playing in the week 16 game against the Chargers."

Can't you just hear the locker room speech?
"Goddammit, you guys were so awful that none of you have a good chance of getting on the field next Sunday! In fact, since Robbie and Darrell were injured last week and weren't part of that crapfest, they're the only ones who have a shot to get any playing time in the game! The rest of you losers don't even bother suiting up. Rob and D-Jack will take care of this one."

...This is why we copy edit carefully.

CHOOSE ONE OF THE FOLLOWING

2006-12-12T21:23:00.000-08:00

Things I would rather do instead of writing a personal statement/statement of purpose for graduate school applications:

A) Watch the complete Arrested Development series
B) Make pumpkin bread and then make oatmeal-chocolate-chip cookies. Then eat all of the food I just made and get a nice big fat sugar high
C) Stuff 85 envelopes with Christmas cards and family newsletters
D) Gargle broken glass (always a go-to option)
E) All of the above
F) All of the above simultaneously

dsfuw9py784ihufgaihuaerg0[838ioergnjkhdfoji;nsfgohaiuawt

(Sorry. That was my head repeatedly hitting the keyboard.)

"ARROGANCE IS THE OBSTRUCTION OF WISDOM"

2006-12-08T12:45:00.000-08:00

OK, so I'm applying to, as Brett would say, a "cubic buttload" of grad schools. Fifteen, to be exact. Of course, I have my preferences based on higher-ranked programs, particular faculty and, "shallowly," location (I was sorely disappointed to find no MFA programs in Hawaii).

But because the MFA is not a research-based degree, you can't tailor your school choices to ones who want you to boost their research programs and professors who secretly think you would be a perfect candidate for university exploitation, since you are passionate about the research, willing to teach 100-level classes full of students who are "only here because of the stupid university requirements," and take little to no pay for it ("A tuition waiver and two-thousand a semester? I can totally live off that..."). What? I'm just telling you what I heard...

In terms of location, while the Mason-Dixon line is certainly a... dated reference—and, moreso, freaking pejorative—it's the most efficient one I can use for desired locations. South of the Pejorative Line? It's all good. North of it? Is... COLD.

However, several excellent schools happen to be north of the Pejorative Line so, when applying to those, quality outweighs temperature (one of the few times in my life that will ever apply because I have severely cold extremities).

But, having researched all the schools and begun the application process, I found out too late that I should and do have a bone to pick with one of the North-of-Pejorative-Line schools. I don't want to name names, though, so let's just say it's University of the State Which Is Also Home to the Detroit Tigers Baseball Club.

So USWIAHDTBC is a rather prestigious school and has a stellar English department, among other nationally-known programs. The general Graduate School requirements, however, leave something to be desired. Let's break them down:

1. They want a statement of purpose which is—and this is a direct quote—"a concise, well-written statement about your academic and research background, your career goals, and how [USWIAHDTBC] graduate program will help you meet your career and educational objectives."

Now this is an absolute requirement for all graduate schools so I'm not put off by that. It's when they add in the second requirement:

2. "a concise, well-written statement about how your personal background and life experiences, including social, cultural, familial, educational, or other opportunities or challenges, motivated your decision to pursue a graduate degree at the [USWIAHDTBC]."

But...but...I have to write two? None of the other schools where I'm applying require two different statements. They all require statements, and the criteria vary (some are more "personal," others are more academic), but — let me repeat — none of them require two.

SIDEBAR: "Concise" and "well-written"—could we be any more vague? If I write a paragraph at a seventh-grade level is that good enough? My English-teacher parents laughed at that description.

So I was a little irked about the double statement requirements but I had to suck it up if I wanted to apply. This final requirement, though — which I stumbled across several weeks later, buried in the general Graduate School webpage — was the final straw.

USWIAHDTBC says their deadline is January 1st for the upcoming fall semester. But the actual deadline is nowhere close to January 1st, as shown here:

"Your completed application and supporting documents (including transcripts, test scores, and letters of recommendation, etc.) should be mailed early enough to arrive two to three weeks prior to the deadline. The deadline is the date by which all application materials must be received by both [the general Graduate School] and the program of study."

So...January 1st isn't the actual deadline. It's the "Good-luck-getting-into-another-school-if-we-receive-your-application-on-this-date"-line.

I want to write a letter:

Dear USWIAHDTBC,
If you want things to arrive that far ahead of your supposed deadline, why not just move up your deadline? Three schools I'm applying to have December 15th as their deadline. But it's the day by which the materials must be postmarked. And they don't require two freaking "concise, well-written" statements.

And even though two of the three are Ivy League schools, they don't get all up on their high horse about receiving things two to three goddamn weeks before their "deadline."

A wise man once said: "Arrogance is the obstruction of wisdom." Think about it.
Love,
Shannon

Normally, I wouldn't insult a graduate school as such (because we all know arrogance is the obstruction of wisdom), but with the undesirable location, statement of purpose, personal statement and ludicrous "deadline," USWIAHDTBC has four strikes against it. And anyone from the Detroit Tigers Baseball Club will tell you that four strikes means you're already out.

SNOW DAY

2006-11-28T23:49:00.000-08:00

It's almost Wednesday but we still don't have Monday's newspaper. Or Tuesday's. They might be buried in the foot of snow on the driveway... if the paper people tried to drive the route at all. I wouldn't. And if someone called to bitch about not getting their paper, I'd say, "Right. I'm going to risk severe vehicle damage and bodily injury just so you can read your stupid paper. Get off the phone and go read it online."

Yesterday, Brett and I were watching the TeeVee at 5:45 in the morning (the first and only time this will probably happen in our lives, unless we end up in a nursing home together) and an ad for the day's Judge Judy episode came on. It was regarding this woman who had taken money from this guy who wanted to kiss her.

BRETT: I can't believe this actually went to court.
JUDGE JUDY: [to woman] Don't get involved with married men who say they want to kiss your tongue ring.
ME: [to Brett]: Sage advice.

Later, everyone was at home (due to the foot of snow) when the cable company called. I answered the phone and they asked for Mom.

ME: Mom, it's Comcast.
MOM: They have to talk to Dad. They call here all the time and want to tell me about the cable stuff and I keep telling them they have to talk to Dad because he's the one who deals with all the cable company things but they still keep calling for me.
ME: Dad, it's Comcast.

Still later, I tried to cook Trader Joe's Potato and Cheddar Pierogi in the Pasta Express. The thing worked great with ravioli but cooking pierogi may have been the worst experiment this kitchen has ever seen.

"DESPAIR"AGING TELEVISION

2006-11-24T00:20:00.000-08:00

I decide to group all the Despair.com TeeVee Demotivators together because they're just so much fun. If you've watched Arrested Development, Grey's Anatomy, American Idol, or The O.C., then you'll understand exactly what these mean.

Arrested Development:

Grey's Anatomy

The O.C.

American Idol

Credit to the lovely Demotivator Maker at despair.com
As a copyright note: these pictures are not mine but they are being used in parody and therefore I'm allowed to use them under copyright law. Just FYI for the Feds out there...

3-2-1 CONTACTS

2006-11-22T21:16:00.000-08:00

I got contacts today for the second time. However, the first time doesn't really count because I was fifteen and kept keeling over in pain while wearing them because my eyes were stinging like someone had put vinegar, baking soda and battery acid in them.

First up, I got to practice putting them in, in front of the assistant, to make sure I could do it. And I couldn't mostly due to my very, very, very long lashes. Now, nobody likes a braggart but when I talk about my very long dark enviable lashes courtesy of my Italian heritage, I immediately qualify it with: "Yes, long dark hair on my eyelids. And eyebrows. And legs. That's lots of fun to try to remove."

See? Everything has its downsides.

So I'm struggling and struggling to put them in. Takes me about seven tries on each eye. The worst part is that once I got one in, my vision was all blurry and so I had to squint and fumble around trying to put the other one in.

When I finally got them both in, I had to rub and roll my eyes and try to make my head not explode because I had funny films sitting right on my irises. Then the doctor came in to check and agreed with me that the left one wasn't exactly right (ha! but wait, more corny jokes ahead!). They needed to order a contact that was a little different shape because my eye is so freaking weird. But they said I was 20/20 in the right eye and 20/30 in the left eye, so I would be OK until they got the new contact in.

So I went to the front desk and scheduled my appointment to pick up the new contact. Then the assistant gave me the solution and case and everything. Then I paid and then I picked up my purse and left.

When I got home ten minutes later, my mom came rushing out and said, "You forgot your solution at the doctor's office." Sitting on the counter, right next to my hand before I picked up my purse and left. Apparently, I just didn't see it...

FINAL FANTASY

2006-11-19T16:56:00.000-08:00

That's it. It's over. Six weeks from now, I will never play fantasy football again. After this season, I've resigned. Retired. Finito.

We had the number one pick. That should immediately make your team a contender, right? We took Shaun Alexander. He's our homeboy! It's double the fun to root for the Seahawks on Sunday!

For those of you who don't follow pro football: Shaun had two mediocre games and then the team revealed that he'd injured his foot and would be out 3-4 weeks.

That was in mid-September. He finally played in today's game and ran for 37 yards and no touchdowns. We didn't even play him because we figured he wouldn't do very much — and we were right.

We've lost eight games. Two of the three that we won were skin of our teeth and the third was horrible because it hinged on Drew Bledsoe who got pulled at halftime and lost his job as the Dallas quartback. Yeah, that was fun: wishing his replacement would suck but wanting his replacement to not suck because, hello, our entire fantasy score was riding on the Dallas quarterback.

And there's the problem with fantasy football. Depending on who's on your team and who's on your opponent's team and who your players are up against and a whole plethora of personnel predicaments, you end up like me at 4 p.m. today:

• Pissed because Darrell Jackson caught a 41-yard touchdown which put our opponent up by ten points

• But happy that the Seahawks scored again because they had a chance to win.

• But also happy that the 49ers kicker was getting ready for another field goal because he was on our fantasy team

• But pissed because the 49ers kicker was getting ready to kick another field goal that would take away any chance the Seahawks had to win the game.

• Then pissed because the kicker missed the field goal

• But happy because now the Seahawks could win the game.

• And then pissed because they lost anyway and because there was absolutely no point in feeling pissed-happy-pissed-pissed-happy-pissed in a matter of minutes.

So I can't play fantasy football anymore. Not only am I going to give myself a heart attack and a relapse of clinical depression but when I'm rooting against my home team because of my fantasy team, something's really, really wrong.

Seriously. Priorities.

Addendum: Of course, if we win the toilet bowl and get the #1 pick for next year, we are taking LaDainian Tomlinson, hands down. He's much more versatile. And then the Shaun karma will come back and bite us in the ass and LT will break his ankle in the first game and...

WHAT'S THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN?

2006-11-12T19:35:00.000-08:00

Well, I'd argue that it's pretty close to past 24 hours I've had.

Yesterday, a bunch of my mom's family went out to celebrate my aunt Joanna's birthday. My cousin/best friend, Alanna, was going to be there so I went along. In a span of 24 hours, the following things happened:

• We went to see Flicka which I had told my mom I'd go see with her even though my dad cautioned us against it. He knew and we did too that any dramatic movie revolving around an animal usually has the animal put in peril in some way. Which makes both Mom and me cry. So we both spent the last twenty minutes of the film sobbing after Flicka got attacked by a mountain lion, etc., etc.

• I'd driven down separately and so, after dinner, I went out to my car to find that some absolute asshole had backed into the spot next to me and literally blocked me into my parking spot. And in the most ridiculous way: my side mirrors don't flip in and he was blocking one side mirror with his mirror and a post was blocking the other mirror. The car was just too wide with the mirrors, which I found out for sure after I scraped up the right-hand mirror and one of the right-side doors trying to get out.

So we called security and they came to the garage and said that they couldn't call a tow truck because the garage people had to call the tow truck and none of those people were still on duty and the police couldn't do anything because it was private property yada yada yada.

As the security officers are trying to jack up the asshole's car in hopes that we will lift the mirror so I can get my car out, the bastard shows up and is all, "Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry. The guy next me was on the parking line, so I had to be over..." I don't yell at strangers but I just went off and bitched: "Whatever, jerk. We've been here for an hour, you've ruined this birthday celebration and you shouldn't be such a jackass when you park. Hello! You had to get out the passenger door because you parked too close to me. That should have been your first clue that you did such a crappy parking job." (Unfortuately, I had to keep the language PG because he had some four-year-old with him and it's not the four-year-old's fault his dad is an asshole.)

• By then I'd been awake from 18 hours, so I drove home and fed the pets and Misha was completely uninterested in her food. Five minutes later, while I'm in the bathroom, she pukes all over the floor. So I have clean up the cat puke and then stay awake until Mom gets home to make sure that someone will be with Misha if she gets sick again (she did puke up the rest of the hairball the next morning).

• Then that night I had a very nice seizure which has made me dizzy and groggy and miserable all day today and completely unable to enjoy fantasy football. Not that it would matter because we're losing horribly as usual. How do you get the number one pick and still have the worst record in the league. Damn you, Detroit Lions! You injured Alexander and have ruined my fantasy football season.

And with that, I'm so cranky and groggy that it's time for bed. Seriously: at 7:30 p.m.

Addendum: Hope from Hope is Emo understands the pain of parking lots...

HEY, REMEMBER THE '80s?

2006-11-11T05:14:00.000-08:00

http://www.80stvthemes.com

It's like I've died and gone back to 1986.

It's got theme songs from every 80s sitcom and drama you thought you forgot, plus commercials (Coke, McDonalds, Jason Alexander with hair in an American Airlines spot...) and game shows. Yay!

Sigh. I heart the '80s.

CURIOUSITY KILLS...

2006-11-06T03:21:00.000-08:00

I've come to the conclusion that Wikipedia is heroin for the too-curious: Seems sooo great and, next thing you know, you're sweating like crazy and can't sleep.

I was reading some posts on Television Without Pity and I was reminded of all those great Nickelodeon shows in the late 80s/early 90s: Pete and Pete, Hey Dude, You Can't Do That On Television, Salute Your Shorts, etc.

In a post someone mentioned a bunch of stuff they found on Wikipedia, so I went there and started reading all this trivia and found out that Patty Hearst was in an episode of Pete and Pete. Who in the what now? What's she doing in a kids' show?

So, of course, I was all, "What was the deal with that whole Patty Hearst thing anyway? I never knew what the whole story was..." and clicked on the Patty Hearst link.

From there it was off to Stockholm Syndrome, then over to Jigsaw Killer because I wanted to read more about this alleged Stockholm Syndrome with the girl from the first movie, then I clicked over to Hannibal Lecter because I'm too scared to see all these horror movies but not too scared to read about them online at 3 a.m. in a house where the alarm system hasn't been... SHIT! Be right back!

How does this even happen?! I'm reading about this hilarious children's show remembering how fun it was to be nine years old and five minutes later: Serial Killer Extravaganza!

This whole Wikipedia-internet-superhighway-of-information thing has got to stop.

Now it's almost 4 a.m. so I guess it's off to sleep. Or not.

P.S. From Wikipedia, a list of people known to be addicted to opiates such as heroin...

REVENGE OF THE SLEEP

2006-11-04T02:33:00.000-08:00

I went to bed early tonight (11 p.m., which is early for me) because I wasn't feeling well and Juan Weekly had to work and couldn't go to Seattle as planned.

But now at 2:30 a.m. "tomorrow" I'm awake because I couldn't remember the subtitle of Star Wars Episode III.

No, seriously. I woke up about 2 a.m., from what had become a nap, and I laid there thinking, "I'll fall back asleep in a few minutes and if I don't, then I'll go downstairs and take my meds and that will put me back to sleep." Then I started thinking about the movie we watched tonight, Shattered Glass, which stars Hayden Christensen. And I kept thinking about how he was really good in this movie, playing a real-life journalist for The New Republic who fabricates all these stories, and so why the hell was he so effing bad in the Star Wars movies? (I still don't have the answer to that.)

Then I remembered I wanted the whole set of Star Wars movies for Christmas because I grew up watching them and loved the characters (Chewy!) and the names of each of the movies began running through my head: Phantom Menace... Attack of the Clones...what was the third one?... A New Hope...The Empire Strikes Back...Return of the Jedi... What was the third one? ...Can't be Empire...Can't be "New" something...Emperor? No, too much like Empire...but Palpatine was the main focus of the third one because it was all his fault...Darth something?...I'm hungry now... Episode III: Everyone dies...that's fitting...and why was Hayden Christensen sooo bad?and WHAT THE HELL IS THE NAME OF THE THIRD EPISODE?!

So I came downstairs, took my meds, ate food and found out it was Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. Thank God. Now I can sleep.

TASTES LIKE... WAIT... NO, IT DOESN'T....

2006-11-01T23:38:00.000-08:00

I was hungry for fourth meal but not in the mood for Mexican. I surveyed my options in the fridge, freezer and pantry and then remembered that there were some chicken nuggets in the back freezer.

At least what I thought were chicken nuggets. Turns out they were "meat-free" nuggets.

What's the point of going vegetarian but then eating things that simulate non-vegetarian foods like chicken? Yes, you're not eating meat but aren't you just perpetuating the meat-consuming culture you're against, following all the meat-eaters off their bridge?

"They eat bite-size breaded pieces of meat and while I don't agree with eating meat, I like the concept of eating bite-size breaded things. So make mine without meat and I'll eat it." Why not have jalapeño poppers instead? Same difference.

And if you love the taste of chicken nuggets enough that you're willing to eat the "meat-free" version, why not just eat chicken itself? It's healthier for you than the pounds of soy you're consuming. When they sign up for vegetarianism, do people not realize that "chicken nuggets" aren't allowed? Did the name not give it away?

If you're going to be a vegetarian, be a vegetarian and eat vegetables, fruit, grains and, if you care to, dairy. Don't be a "vegetarian" and denounce us omnivores while chewing on your Gardenburger.

Then again, you could see how many food groups you can exclude from your diet while still maintaining your ability to stay alive, like My Cousin the Vegan.

WIN, LOSE and DREW

2006-10-28T03:44:00.001-07:00

I've been so disgustedly pissed over Bill Parcells benching Drew Bledsoe in the Cowboys-Giants game this past Monday night that I have no energy to even bitch about it in coherent sentences. (What? You didn't know this blog had:'Drama Queen' as one of the side effects?)

As you can see here in this official play-by-play, Drew throws an interception in the endzone, right before halftime, down by five. Yes, it was a horrible judgement call especially for a veteran. If you can't find the receiver you want on 2nd-and-goal, throw the ball away. I know that and I'm a girl. God knows Bledsoe has a rocket arm.

And, yes, I know Bledsoe can't scramble at all. (Maybe it's a WSU thing: John Olerud can't run at all either... and I was just about to quote something that isn't for blog publication because it's for work publication...)

Anyway, so Drew can pass all day but can barely make it out of the pocket. He's been that way his whole career and every NFL defense knows it. Thus, the Giants go after him, hurry him in passes, sack him several times (once for a safety) and generally make things miserable.

The Dallas crowd is already yelling "Kill the Quarterback" (couldn't resist a Casey at the Bat reference...) and so they see the sacks and safety as more damning evidence. Apparently they missed the O-Line's horrendous "blocking" in the same way the O-Line missed Lavar Arrington and Michael Strahan about 27 times each.

Two factors that those chanting for the Rib Man (What? His name is "Tony Romo." It's one letter different) failed to note:

1) Regardless of who your QB is, when your O-Line can't block, the QB is going to hassled, hurried and get sacked. Even if he can run, he can't continuously run, assess the field, dodge defenders and throw accurate passes.

2) On Oct. 15, the Giants defense sacked Michael "The Scrambler" Vick seven times.

Vick. Sacked. Seven.

So Parcells has a shitty O-Line, knows his QB can't run, saw what the Giants defense did to the best-running QB in the NFL and set up Bledsoe to fail.

And when Bledsoe couldn't continue running, assessing, dodging and throwing on every single play and makes a harried, horrible decision, Parcells goes bonkers and benches him. What about benching Kosier, Adams, Colombo or Rivera for running past the defenders they were supposed to be blocking?

"Oh you had Arrington? I thought I had Arrington... Wait a second... whoops."

It was this monument to bad decision-making:
• You're constantly getting rushed and throw a terrible endzone pass, in the vein of:
"Well, this is Roy Williams of the Detroit Lions but I still can't believe Donovan McNabb threw that ball."

• You're down by only five but you still bench the QB at halftime and blame him, without looking at the whole picture.

• You're in your second NFL game and this time it counts. You immediately throw an interception.

On and on and on. I'm just pissed about the whole thing. Bledsoe is my all-time favorite Cougar. I met him when I was twelve, I own an autographed "Drew-Bledsoe-before-he-was-Drew-Bledsoe" Copper Bowl hat, and I've followed his whole career. I just hate to see it end the same way it ended in New England. That was terrible to say the least.

I was more disappointed about Drew than I was excited about Drew + Rib Man scoring 37 fantasy points and allowing us to beat our opponent who had Peyton Manning. Thanks a lot, Tuna, for ruining my big fantasy football game and my favorite "real" NFL player in one fell swoop.

In other news: Reni has decapitated her third "baby" toy. And she's actually rather disturbed by it. She keeps looking at the body and looking at the head and can't figure out why when she picks up one, the other one stays on the floor.

At this exact moment, she is watching the wall — literally, standing and staring at the wall — because there were shadows and lights moving on it within the past ten minutes and they might come back.

NO POINT IN CRYING OVER...

2006-10-22T23:50:00.000-07:00

Last week while I was in Pullman, the dog had some sort of stomach/abdomen distress and had to go to the regular vet and then, later, the emergency vet because she was crying/not moving/unfunctioning.

So when I get home on Thursday, my mother explains that Reni is now on some pain pills, some Pepcid AC and has to have a blander diet with chicken and rice twice as day, as opposed to her regular dog food twice a day.

My mom went to visit my grandma today and so Dad and I were in charge of Reni's medication and feeding. I was not feeling well today, so Dad did the medications and feeding. Once my mom got home and began getting ready for work tomorrow, the evening went like this.

10 p.m.: I remind my mom that Brothers and Sisters is starting right now on TV. She says "OK." I ask her if she's going to watch it because if she is then I'll go upstairs and study with my GRE book so she can have the downstairs TV. She says she might but she has to check her email first. So I begin discussing GRE math problems with my dad.

10:30 p.m.: Dad and I finish discussing and he goes to bed.

10:45 p.m.: My mom tells me to come look at some funny thing on the computer. I explain that I'm studying for the GRE (just like I was 45 minutes ago).

11 p.m.: Mom comes into the kitchen and says, "So you can talk and talk to Dad but you can't talk to me?" I say, "I was talking to Dad about the GRE math problems. That's the only thing I've been doing for the last hour." She asks me if I'm going to watch Brothers and Sisters. I point out that it's over and she says, "What? I was checking my email for an hour?" I say, "Yes. I told you when it started at 10 p.m." She says, "Oh. Well, then I'll use my foot massager" (this very effective but crazy-loud machine, similar to the ones shown here). I say that I'll go upstairs then, so I can study where it's quiet.

11:20 p.m.: Mom knocks on my door.
ME: What? I'm trying to study. (Because I am.)
MOM: [opening the door anyway] Where is Reni's chicken and rice? It's all gone.
ME: I don't know. I wasn't feeling well today and didn't feed her. Dad did.
MOM: [increasingly distressed] I can't believe it's all gone! It was supposed to be enough for today and tomorrow!
ME: Well... I don't know what I can do. You'll have to ask Dad.
MOM: I just can't believe it!

Mom then closes my door, goes downstairs, begins crying and yelling about how much work she has to do and slams cupboards as she prepares another batch of chicken and rice for the dog.

And I thought the foot massager was noisy...

So I put down my book, go into my parents' room and wake up my dad by growling: "Mom is freaking out and crying because Reni has no more chicken. I told her that you fed Reni today but she won't ask you what happened to Reni's chicken. She just keeps freaking out and crying. I'm trying to study for a test which may affect which grad school I get into but I can't study because Mom's freaking out and crying. Over the dog food. This? Is not my problem."

11:25 p.m.: Dad gets out of bed and goes downstairs. He and Mom argue about whether or not the dog really needs to continue the bland diet and if it's really worth a freakout-crying session. He accuses her of overreacting (really?!) She accuses him of underreacting and not caring at all.

11:26 p.m.: I come downstairs and, over protests from my dad to just go back upstairs, say that I can't handle Mom getting upset over dog food while I'm studying for one of the most important tests in my academic career.

The point of this vignette?

PEOPLE: For the love of [deity of your choice here], please learn to communicate like reasonable, rational adults (no freaking out, no minimizing and no crying over dog food) before you have children.

Because, otherwise, you will be paying for years and years of your children's psychotherapy so they can learn to:
A) communicate like reasonable, rational adults and
B) resist the urge to strangle the ineffective communicators in the family.

Fricking dog food.

I SEE DRUNK PEOPLE...

2006-10-21T01:33:00.000-07:00

In today's entertainment news: Haley Joel Osment pleaded no contest to drunk driving.

What?!?!

Since when was this kid old enough to drive?

IT'S ALWAYS IN THE LAST PLACE YOU LOOK...

2006-10-10T01:10:00.000-07:00

I sat down to the computer today and my mom's screen was still up. Before I switched over to my screen, I noticed she had a folder titled: "Missing Things."

I could understand why my mom would have a running list of "Missing Things." She's rather computer-illiterate and often misplaces files in the wrong folders or renames them and later forgets what she called them or (and this is my favorite) sits down to the computer while my screen is still up, types up a whole document, saves it on my desktop and then freaks out later when she can't find it. You think she would have noticed that she wasn't on the desktop with 75 documents listed -- which is what hers has.

So I could understand a list of Missing Things, where, when you couldn't find a particular document, you would add it to a list to look for later. But this was a folder of Missing Things and that confused me. I opened it up and saw a few documents: curriculum, letters, nothing Earth-shattering.

And you guys? ...I still don't get it. Maybe I'm an idiot but that folder is mistitled. These things can't be missing. They're right there in the Missing Things folder where anyone could find them...

ACHING A-ROD

2006-10-08T23:08:00.000-07:00

Alex Rodriguez Placed On Emotionally-Disabled List, The Onion reported recently.

Well, if he was feeling that bad before, you can only imagine how positively shitty he felt yesterday, getting his team's collective ass handed to it for the final time this season (thank [Deity of Your Choice]).

TAKE HIS WIFE... PLEASE!

2006-10-02T02:07:00.000-07:00

I shouldn't even talk about this but today was the fourth time someone has assumed my dad and I are married.

(A moment of silence, please, to think about just how disgusting that really is.)

Yes, back in the day when my dad was 42, my mom was 43 and I was 13, people mistook him for my older brother (that was one very, very sorry professional photographer) and it was funny to everyone but my mom.

Then when I was 18 and my dad was 48, I left my glasses at my friend Selena's house and since I couldn't drive without my glasses, my dad drove me to her house to get them.

While we were there, Selena's ridiculous Aunt Dee Dee asked my dad to help them move this china cabinet. As Dad and Uncle Whatever hauled the thing out the front door, Dee Dee turned to me and said, "Oh, it's so nice of your husband to help us!"

ME: (throwing up a little in my mouth) Um, he's my dad.

But Dee Dee's a weirdo so that was just a fluke... until we ran into the Los Angeles Yelling Bum in 2002 who shouted at my dad, "Now, sir, why aren't you holding her hand?!"

DAD: (seriously disturbed) Because she's my daughter.
(five-second pause, as LAYB processes that information)
LAYB: Aww, OK then you cool, man!

Then the people at Macy's, as we pick up my cousin's wedding gift: "And do you want both your names on the registry list?"

ME: (here we go AGAIN!) It's from the family. My mom's in the car because she's allergic to all the perfume in the store.

And now today, at my grandparents' farewell party. My grandmother's childhood best friend greets my dad, laughs and smiles, turns to me and says, "And this must be your wife!"

Is everyone living in a V.C. Andrews world and I just haven't gotten the memo? When did it become OK for noncelebrities to marry people 30 years younger/older than themselves? Isn't that strictly Larry-King-Anna-Nicole-Smith territory? And it's not like we physically interact and send these people the (ewww) wrong message; Dad and I hug each other about once a month.

It can't be because I look old. On looks alone, people constantly guess that I'm 21 or 22, even though I'm 26. After several conversations, then people decide I know more than an average 21-year-old and put me at 23, maybe 24.

And, yes, I know everyone thinks Dad's so much younger than he actually is. In fact, when they were 50, both my parents could have easily have passed for 40. Without knowing how old his child was, most people would have placed 50-year-old Dad at 35.

But that was half a dozen years ago. Dad will be 57 next week and somehow Wrinkled-Neck-Graying-Hair-Bifocal-Wearing Man looks younger than ever before?

I have no idea how to stop this continuing mortification, short of:
A) refusing to go anywhere in public without my mom or
B) wearing a shirt that says: "You sickos! I'm his daughter, not his wife!" (mature, right?)

Grandma's Best Friend later said to me, "Oh, I'm so sorry I thought you were your father's wife. You must have been so embarrassed!"

Lady, you have no idea...

ROYAL-LY MEAN

2006-09-26T17:19:00.000-07:00

I'm really happy the Detroit Tigers are already in the playoffs and I hope they win the whole World Series. However, I also had Justin Verlander as one of my fantasy baseball pitchers and this is just mean.

Sporting News Fantasy Source reports: The Tigers plan to skip Verlander's start later this week to give him a break before the playoffs. Wilfredo Ledezma gets Friday's start against the Royals.

Fantasy Source spin: It's official, Verlander owners: The Tigers don't care about your fantasy team, and they'll rob you of a start against the Royals to prove it.

Damn you, Leyland! You and your baseball-strategery-chain-smoking ways! I'm only 400-plus points ahead of the second-place person in my league...

GEOGRAPHICALLY-CHALLENGED

2006-09-24T00:40:00.000-07:00

The Indianapolis Colts are in the AFC South division of the NFL. The Baltimore Ravens are in the AFC North.

The city which is actually farther north? Indianapolis.

Even when devising a system which could affect the entire National Football League in terms of division winners, playoff scenarios and Super Bowl teams, men still can't ask for directions.

WORDS IN THE AIR II

2006-09-22T03:42:00.000-07:00

Another Tribute of Quotables from Brett "Words in the Air" Jackson:

"Mandates are just institutionalized hypocrisy."

"I'd just like to state for the record: there is a bottle of night train in my bar. We're ridin' the train to nowhere."

"It's perfect.. if no one else wants to do it, I must.. though I preemptively forgive myself for failing. And not trying very hard."

"So you see [pharmaceutical drug] commercials where there's an unholy list of side effects but a rosy picture of potential relieve. All over tv. It's an abomination."

"but I have to submit a cover letter and resume.. what do I do? he needs to just give me the job!!! damnit... "

"I remember the stinkubator !!! that's the most brilliant job of labeling I've ever heard! Thank you for adding that little piece of smart to that dank room."

"I've written your number down and it will be in my pocket at the appointed time when I need it."

"It's all about statistics people, all about statistics. (which I find reprehensible, but nonetheless)..."

"I myself have never been impressed with florida... and likewise all the things associated with florida. One of these days it's going to be underwater and I will be glad to be rid of it."

"it;s weird having a job.. it increases the typo rate. you should consider it.. sometimes it's boring, but never when i'm working.. only when they're training me."

"mosquitos buzz around, looking for blood to eat."

"the government has no way to collect so we pay for their retarded war on drugs with no drug-funded tax money to cover the cost."

"and who better in the galaxy to see it with than you for your birthday?! that question is rhetorical, since I don't care if there *is* someone better to see it with at that particular time because I don't want to see it with whoever that is."

"So like we've all said at one time or another--it will all work out in the end. i just hope now is the time it will be working out. "

DID I FORGET SOMETHING...?

2006-09-18T17:32:00.000-07:00

I was at the dentist last week and the hygienist and I talked about grad school. I've been doing that a lot lately and, with a few minor modifications, the conversation always goes like this:

OTHER PERSON: So how's college's going?
ME: Oh, I graduated in May.
OP: Really?!?! [as if I was the first person to ever graduate from college] Well, that's great! So what are you going to do next?
ME: I'm going to go to grad school and get my MFA.
OP: Great! So where are you going to go?
ME: I'm not sure yet. I've got to do all my research and then apply.
OP: So where are you thinking about going?
ME: [prefering that the conversation end now] I don't know. I've got a couple places in mind but really I've got to keep researching faculty and figuring out who I'd like to work with.
OP: OK. So are you working right now?
ME: No... I'm helping organize my parents' house.

Then the conversation slowly dies out.

But we talked some more about the hygienist's daughter being in college, including an interesting discussion on gay men as casting directors (don't even ask, I don't know what the hell was going on...) and then the dentist came in.

He scraped at my teeth a little bit and then said, "So did you do anything fun this summer?"

ME: [long pause, thinking: dog getting hit by a car ≠ fun...]... Oh, yeah. I went to Italy for two weeks.

I'd completely forgotten...

THANKS, BUT NO THANKS

2006-08-29T01:19:00.000-07:00

Yesterday while I was getting ready to leave the house, someone came to the door. My dad answered it and I heard two people come in all jubilant. They coddled and cooed over Li'l Reni with the hurt leg and asked my dad all about it, then began talking about something else which I couldn't hear. By the time I came downstairs, five minutes later, they were gone. I grabbed my purse and Dad and I had the following conversation as I was leaving:

ME: Who was at the door?
DAD: [holding up small book, "What Does the Bible Really Mean?"] Jehovah's Witnesses.
ME: What did they say?
DAD: They told me the end of the world was coming.
ME: What did you say?
DAD: [sitting back down at the computer] I told them I had to finish writing this math curriculum.

FANTASTIC BASEBALL II

2006-08-22T17:43:00.000-07:00

I am kicking ass and taking names in my fantasy baseball league. I've been in first place for about a dozen days and don't seem to be in any danger of losing my spot. Case in point: I got a daily score of minus 93 points the other day and I still stayed in first place. Probably because I got 93 points the day before... so it was like I just didn't play for a day.

I've said it before and I'll say it again... Why, oh, why can't I manage the Mariners? And why, oh, why can't they win a damn game?

Hopefully, however, the fantasy winning streak will carry over to fantasy football. Larry Johnson and/or Shaun Alexander would help a lot in that department.

...WHERE?

2006-08-10T01:54:00.000-07:00

My dad got a brochure in the mail today, introducing him to "the southeastern North Carolina's newest coastal community."

Southeastern NORTH Carolina?

What is this? The Bermuda Triangle: Carolina? A vortex from which no directional measures can escape? A cheap housing development that's slowly sinking into the ocean?

I call Shenanigans. Or maybe just "Atlantis."

SIDEBAR: If someone asks you whether Virginia or West Virginia is farther west, don't be an idiot. The answer is Virginia.

AFTEREFFECTS...

2006-07-19T19:40:00.000-07:00

OK, so I went to Europe for two weeks and when I got back and sat in front of the computer, I couldn't really remember what I should do to make the machine run properly.

And I think I've forgotten how to drive. And there's nothing to eat in the house but I'm too tired to take a shower and find some clean clothes and go out and buy something. My circadian clock still thinks it's 9 a.m. tomorrow and wonders why I won't go back to sleep.

In other news: My dad woke up at 3 a.m. this morning in his pitch-black bedroom and thought he was in a hotel. He couldn't remember where the bathroom was in this particular "hotel" (because we stayed in eight different hotels), so he felt his way along the wall, all the way around the huge "hotel" room to the door, opened the door, saw the mattress set from my apartment sitting there and thought to himself, "This is one weird hotel!"

Then he completely woke up.

NHL GOES TO H-E-DOUBLE-HOCKEY-STICKS

2006-06-20T02:44:00.000-07:00

The Carolina Hurricanes won the Stanley Cup yesterday despite the fact that they're based in a state with (to quote Lewis Black) "no natural ice."

I think a state with no natural ice should not be allowed to have a major league hockey team. However, if that rules out too many teams, then make every NHL team reside north of the Mason-Dixon line.

But until NHL gets its priorities straight, here are some suggestions for keeping the sport at least somewhat respectable so the whole of Europe isn't dying of laughter in between running around football games in their underwear:

"They favor Florida hockey over universally-loved football?! Yet another reason to hate and mock the U.S.!"

STANLEY CUP RULES TO KEEP HOCKEY RESPECTABLE:

If a Canadian team and an American team are playing in the finals, the Canadian team automatically wins the Cup.

If an American team north of the Mason-Dixon line and an American team south of the Mason-Dixon line are in the finals, the Northern team gets the advantage by automatically winning one game.

If two teams south of the Mason-Dixon line advance to the finals, no Stanley Cup finals are played and the NHL season is automatically canceled for all Southern teams for one year (so like the strike, but better).

Otherwise, play proceeds as normal.
****************

I say move the teams in Anaheim, Atlanta, Carolina, Dallas, Florida, Los Angeles, Nashville (!), Phoenix, San Jose, St. Louis and Tampa Bay to every large Canadian city that doesn't have a team yet because then the deck is stacked in Canada's favor as it should be.

But they won't and the NHL will go to hell in an enormous tiered silver Cup. It will certainly be hot enough in North Carolina.

GOOD NEWS v. BAD NEWS = .500

2006-06-19T01:45:00.000-07:00

MARINERS:

Good News! We swept the Giants, Angels and Royals.

Bad News! We got royally swept by the A's.

Good News! We're only five games out.

Bad News! If we'd beat Oakland even once we'd be less out.

Good News! We struck out Bonds like seven times.

Bad News! Felix gave up No. 718******* in the first at-bat Bonds had.

Good News! Beltre is hitting better now that he's batting second.

Bad News! Jose "Extra-Base-Hits" Lopez has a jammed finger and wasn't in the lineup today.

Good News! We don't have the worst team batting average in the league (10th out of 14).

Bad News! 60% of our starting pitchers have losing records and Felix is barely .500 (7-6).

Good News! Felix seems to be much more good-consistent: using the curve and breaking stuff more.

Bad News! Everyday Eddie is equally consistent -- in a bad way (Captain Longball).

Good News! We're having a better year than the Braves -- the first time we've been better than Dad's team since I really got into baseball in 2003.

Bad News! Pretty much every single person we've traded away is having a better year than they ever did with us (Freddy Garcia, Carlos Guillen, Randy Winn, Rich Aurilia, Scott fricking Spiezio...)

See? It's half-and-half. 500-year, here we come!

CUSTOMER APPRECIATION

2006-06-12T23:36:00.000-07:00

I've never heard a commercial begin with the words, "Has nature been less than kind to you?" -- until today.

Yikes.

HEAD, SHOULDERS, KNEES...

2006-06-07T03:14:00.000-07:00

The Italians worship their Catholic churches (funny 'cause it's true... though the Second Commandment might disagree). They expect the utmost respect from everyone when entering these houses of God. And I was raised Catholic, so I understand this, even if I don't practice.

Part of this respect, however, includes that no one wears shorts (despite the hot Italian sun) and that women must wear skirts, cover their shoulders and (sometimes) their heads.

Oh, Catholicism.
It's not enough that the whole celibacy thing may be the reason you're paying off priest problems...
or that you didn't apologize for treating Galileo like crap until 1992...
or that you still don't fully grasp that the pros of artificial contraception pretty much outweigh the cons.

Now I've got to wear a skirt everyday that we'll be possibly going into a church and I have to bring something to cover my shoulders and my head (baseball caps need not apply). My mom suggested buying mantillas (mantille in Italian) once we get there but I have a feeling they'll be handing out those – and corsets – at the door.

DEPRESSING STATISTICS

2006-06-06T23:42:00.000-07:00

I saw Dr. N. today and he was very pleased with all the progress (no longer depressed, graduated from college, socially unanxious enough to host a party, etc.).

I was pleased that he was pleased because I wanted to haggle the dosage of my antidepressant. So I said, "You think there's a chance we could work on tapering down the Effexor while I'm out of school this year?"

He gave me that look that doctors give when they're thinking up every reason to advise against what the patient has suggested. Having seen about 30 doctors, I know "Doctor Looks." Usually, the ones I get are the "I'm-glad-things-are-good" looks but occasionally this one comes about.

"I have two kinds of patients," Dr. N. said, in his lilting accent, and I knew what was coming. "One kind is the patient who feels great and wants to go off their medication. The other kind is the patient who doesn't feel good and wants to up their medication."

"But I do feel great. I haven't felt clinically depressed in years," I protested. "And I've got a lot of the other problems figured out and so I think that's helping keep the depression at bay."

This set me up for the Depressing Statistics. "Do you know," he began, "What the chances are of someone who has had a depressive episode having one again?"

ME: 20 percent
DR.: Higher.
ME: 75 percent
DR.: That's too much.
ME: 40 percent.
DR.: Higher.
ME: I feel like I'm on The Price is Right.

It turns out the statistic for a second depressive episode is 50 percent. It then increases to about 80 percent and then to 90 percent. I think I've had just one but it may have been more like two, in which case, the odds are against me.

I'm not depressed now and feel like I've got control over the three-pound gray wrinkly mass in my skull. However, that could be because -- as Dr. N. said, in his pleasant Afrikaans accent: I'm "taking my medication."

Now, that's depressing.

I'll see what I can talk him into next time. Until then, it's Meds... or Madness.

(And yes, I do own that item. What's the fun in being crazy-anxious-depressed if you can't laugh about it?)

CATCH-23?

2006-06-03T03:04:00.000-07:00

So here's a conundrum for you:

I'm nearsighted and when I'm not wearing my glasses, I can't see clearly more than four feet away.

Glasses, however, hide themselves rather well. And since I can't see clearly more than four feet in front of me, when I've lost my glasses it's impossible to find them because I can't see them.

Once I find them, however, I can put them on, walk across the room and marvel at the fact that if I'd had them on, I would have found them so much faster.

Conundrum.

MOVIN' IN

2006-06-01T23:48:00.000-07:00

I think the biggest issue I have with moving back home is not that my mom throws Italian hissy fits every hour on the hour (even though she does). Or that 70 years' worth of teaching supplies are piled up all over the house (because they literally are piled). Or that it's just a matter of time before Dad display his aggravatingly argumentative alcoholic tendencies (one of these days...).

The biggest issue I have with moving back home is that I can't find anything.

I can't find the shirt I want to wear. I can't find the three-pound bag of peanut M&Ms I brought from school. I can't find my Oxford English Dictionary, even though I told my parents not to pack it right away because we might need it and two hours later we did (need it -- after they packed it). I don't even remember what word we were arguing over that required the dictionary. Regardless, you always need the OED at hand. And I can't find mine.

And I can't find my hair clips or my socks or hand lotion or decent food or even a fricking Kleenex around here. I had three boxes of Kleenex in my one bedroom apartment.

I don't know how they function around here with 70 years of crap piled up and no Kleenex. Maybe that's why they're dysfunctional. Suddenly, it's all making sense....

NASH-TY

2006-05-22T23:06:00.000-07:00

The Phoenix Suns are on to the NBA conference playoffs and I was watching SportsCenter when Steve Nash, the Suns marquee player, was giving a press conference.

Question: Does Steve Nash not realize how unattractive his hair looks?

It does absolutely nothing for him and when he gets sweaty (as he does in a game) or has just showered, like he does right before a press conference, it looks even worse.

Dear Steve,
You make millions of dollars. Surely, you can afford a better haircut. Isn't the style you currently have impractical anyway since it's all in your eyes while you're doing your job?

Also, just for good measure: Shut up, Barry Bonds. On principle alone.

ACTING OUT

2006-05-19T02:34:00.000-07:00

It has recently come to my attention that I do equally strong impressions of the characters Karen Walker from Will and Grace and Archie Bunker from All in the Family.

People, this is what happens when you've been in theatre. You become an amorphous melodramatic extravaganza of show tunes, caricatures, jazz hands and Shakespearean jokes.

THE PRICE IS UP... AND DOWN

2006-05-17T10:38:00.000-07:00

I've figured it out.

The college kids / younger adults get uppers.
My proof:

• Two guys each jumped about 14 feet in the air and one of them could not stop shaking and dancing and moving around.

• Another girl practically hyperventilated once she got in contestants' row.

The older adults get alcohol.
My proof:

• This one guy could not remember the numbers on the price of this Lincoln towncar to save his life. He kept trying to put the same numbers in the same spot.

• An older lady fell down while climbing up the stairs.

• One lady called the cat litter brand "Titty Cats."

Good work, The Price Is Right. It's (frustratingly) hilarious.

FANTASTIC BASEBALL

2006-05-15T15:14:00.000-07:00

I'm #1 in my fantasy baseball league with over 3000 points. And I'm the first to crack the 3000 mark. Yay!

The best trade I've made so far this year is what got me here. I wanted the Toronto Blue Jays' Roy Halladay to pitch for me on Saturday but I already had Atlanta's John Smoltz and he and Halladay are both very expensive.

So, to round out my three-man pitching staff and give me more money to devote to Halladay, I bought a very inexpensive pitcher: St. Louis set-up man Adam Wainwright. I figured St. Louis is pretty good team and hopefully Wainwright could get me a few points here and there.

Then on Saturday, after Halladay pitched a gem and I got over 200 points out of my team for the third time in four days, I got greedy. I was very close to getting in the #1 or #2 spot in the league and so I decided I would push my luck buying one more starting pitcher for Sunday. Then I could keep all three pitchers and have my starting pitchers get me considerable points three days in a row.

However, since I'd already spent a ton of money on Halladay and Smoltz, I needed some more money to spend after I sold Wainwright.

Being the savvy general manager that I am, I looked at my team, saw that outfielder Ryan Freel was underperforming, giving that I was paying him over five million. So I sold him and picked up a less expensive outfielder (Hector Luna). Then I sold Wainwright and took a gamble on a decent pitcher on a hot team.

And Clay Hensley, my pitching phenom, threw a complete game of two-hit shutout baseball for the San Diego Padres, who have won 14 out of their last 15 games. And Adam Wainwright got the loss in St. Louis yesterday. And now I'm literally at the top of my game.

I should be managing the Mariners.

DISSECTING ACTING

2006-05-14T23:07:00.000-07:00

So I was watching the first part of the Grey's Anatomy season finale tonight and I realized that the actors on the show should be considered better actors than those on most other shows.

Why?, you ask. Because during some of the most tense scenes when the characters are operating, they're wearing drab clothes, scrub caps and surgical masks. And they're holding surgical tools very carefully to avoid, you know, killing someone.

Therefore, the only truly emoting part of the body the viewers can see: the eyes. Not the hands, or mouth or anything else. Just the eyes. Now, there's a lot your eyes can say when you act, but it's an incredible challenge to act with just your eyes and nothing else.

So, yeah. Go Grey's Anatomy. I cannot wait for the rest of the season finale tomorrow night. More eye acting.

WHEELING AND DEALING

2006-05-12T16:06:00.000-07:00

I watched The Price Is Right today, as I have been for the past several days, now that my sleeping schedule allows for it. It's my second-favorite game show, after Wheel of Fortune, and so I've had a great time all week playing along.

I noticed something really weird with today's show however. It seemed like every single contestant was on drugs of some sort.

I don't know if it was all the same drug — some seemed drunk, others seemed skittish, a few seemed dazed, others overwhelmed. And I've seen plenty of episodes with people excited to kiss Bob and win cars and play Plinko but never with every single person who "comes on down" seeming to be "up" on something.

They usually tape several shows back-to-back, so I'll be interested to watch on Monday and see if everyone there seems equally out of their minds. Maybe they were handing out special cocktails while everyone waited outside the studio...

SIDEBAR:Vanna White, pre-Wheel of Fortune was a contestant on The Price Is Right but she never made it out of contestants' row. I guess she's better with letters than with numbers. Rimshot!

CUM LAUDE ALUMNA

2006-05-10T08:32:00.000-07:00

So as of this morning I am an official registrar-approved-free-of-fines-Cum Laude Washington State University graduate, with my Bachelor of Arts in English with Creative Writing Emphasis and a Minor in Theatre, as a Member of the Washington State University Honors College.

That's a lot of Capital Letters.

VERBAGE

2006-05-03T02:12:00.000-07:00

When I watch The Apprentice on the TeeVee, I often see ads for Deal or No Deal, the game show with Howie Mandel where you play the probability of having a large amount of money in the briefcase you've chosen when you begin the game or of selling said briefcase for a large sum, possibly more than the suitcase is worth to begin with.

It's all about statistics and probability and while it was interesting the first few times I watched it, I soon got bored with its melodramatic lights, suggestive monetary earnings and people sobbing all over themselves because of a sleek silver briefcase with the number 15 on it. I found it was much more fun and gave the ability to multi-task when I watched the show on mute. Like porn, you don't need the words to enjoy Deal or No Deal — I mean, that's what my friends who watch porn tell me about it.

However, while the show (the Deal or No Deal show, not the porn) used to air just twice a week, NBC has begun showing it three times a week. I don't think this is a good marketing strategy and you think they would have learned from the last broadcast station who had a hit game show and began shoving it down everyone's throats. (ABC? Yeah, you...)

NBC claims they will not go that route but ABC showed Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? four times a week and we all remember from kindergarten math that three is only one less than four.

Once my dad and I saw that NBC was airing the show three times a week, we shook our heads.

"They're going to Millionaire it," I said.

Who ever thought that word could be used as a verb and that I would use it? I think it's a rather appropriate description for going against common sense and doing something to excess, though, so I'll be using it more often. And hopefully I can come up with other words that shouldn't be verbs but can be made so.

LITTLE LIMERICK

2006-04-29T04:40:00.000-07:00

Another reason to love a blog: One can be completely self-indulgent in writing whatever the hell one wants.

I'm sure you all remember that I think limericks are the most underrated form of poetry. Therefore, whenever the opportunity arises to write one, I take advantage:

Here I am confessing
That I think I'm PMSing
And as a result
I'm craving salt,
Eating pizza and digressing...

Addendum:

I've just found the best limerick... not mine, of course and not sure, whose but if someone can prove it's theirs, they can have credit.

A Limerick packs laughs astronomical
In space that is quite economical
But the best that I've seen
so seldom are clean
and the clean ones so seldom are comical!