Deep Thoughts

My lunch fall back is currently egg salad. And I'm not really the world's biggest egg salad fan. Why is that?

Swept

Nice way to end the series, huh? A shut out. They should call it a shit out. As in Shit Out of Luck.

Nice job, Red Sox!

Am I Jinxing This Series?

Maybe I should say something more like: There was a game. Two major league baseball teams competed. One of the teams won. The other, despite a late rally, lost by a run. The two teams will face each other again today, in the last of a three-game-series.

Meanwhile, our softball team lost again. However, we played a lot better this time. I think it's because our roster was shorter. Teams thin out over the course of the year. It happens. I wound up with, what I can only describe as severe pain in both my thighs before the game even started. I stretched during warm-ups, but I may have over stretched and I think I was dehydrated. The result? It felt like I literally blew out my thigh muscles. It was the weirdest thing. It's never happened to me before. I managed to get on base during my second at bat, but I needed a pinch runner. Jere, however, was a super star. He executed a really heroic catch later in the game. It was sure to be a serious base hit, possibly a double. He back handed the catch, totally taking the wind out of the sails of the batter. It was an awesome thing to see. I'm still working through the thigh thing, but I'm determined to field during our next game. I can walk today. I guess that's good.

Game 1

Dice K pitched alright last night. The problem is that Pettitte pitched better. Damn that guy. (I noticed that he's packing a little junk in the trunk these days. Looks good on women. Not on men. I feel bad for dudes who carry butt weight. It's very jarring to see. I also found out that he's of French and Italian decent, which explains his good looks. Bad eyes, like a gypsy.) Manny's error was difficult to watch, but not as painful as Johnny Damon's home run. Oh, well. We got it out of the way. We were due for a loss, unfortunately. I would rather lose to Pettitte than to Clemens. We should be able to see most of tonight's match up, if we can hustle back home after our softball game. Speaking of which, it would be nice to win a softball game. Or at least not lose so badly. Wish us luck! (I heard last week that a team can't be mercy'd during the regular season. Ugh.)

It's pizza day, here at the office. I love it when they treat us like this. Conveniently, I used my last dollar on coffee this morning. They sometimes get pizza with breaded eggplant. It's wicked good.

BECKETT!

Important Series

Game 1: Andy Pettitte vs. Dice K

Game 2: Fatty Clemens vs. Eye of the Tiger Beckett

Game 3: Wang (Yawn) vs. Schill

It's no secret that I think Andy Pettitte is really cute. He's the only Yankee I've ever been sweet on. When he went to pitch in Houston, I thought it would have have smart to scoop him up, but now he is on a serious decline, just like the rest of them. (Did you see last night's Yankee game? Whoa.) Johnny Damon was not my type when he was a Red Sox, so he certainly isn't now. Jeter's head is way too narrow on the top for my taste. Same goes for Abreu. Bernie Williams was sort of too pretty. Cano is alright. Posada has the floppy ear thing plus a little horse face to him. Knoblauch = Rodent. Giambi = Reptile. Brosius = Doughy. Strawberry = Skinny. O'Neal = Rectangular. A-Rod = Don't Get Me Started. I thought that David Justice was really handsome, but then the whole woman beating thing surfaced. The result is: not handsome anymore. So, apart from Pettitte, I can't think of any cute Yankee players in recent times.

Game 1, as it turns out, will be the only one I will be able to watch. We've got a softball game tomorrow night and Thursday, I'll be at work. The Sox are up by 8 games, but we've still got 31 games left. Hopefully, we'll sprint to the finish. It all depends on how many nights off Francona intends to give our key players during key games. Word of advice for Tito: Once we've clinched the thing, THEN dole out the nights off. The only game I am concerned about is #3. I'm still not 100% with Schilling. I can see him losing it and getting pulled early. Or maybe he'll be all pumped and in the zone. In any event, I'm most comfortable with the Game 2 match up. Clemens is going to get rocked. You heard it here first, people.

Oh, Happy Day!

Many women still complain about the unbalanced state of affairs in the United States. Myself included. But the stuff that really gets my goat cannot be solved through the legal process. Allow me to explain.
Yesterday, I threw a bridal shower for my mother. Several weeks in advance, I sent out the invitations. Last Sunday, I received a call from one of the attendees, informing me that her daughters had not received invitations. These are folks I hardly know, as they are the children OF the children of the groom. My mother's address book (the source of the invitation list) did not contain these names or associated addresses. Because of my gender, I have to (a) organize and execute this sort of occasion and (b) smooth things over after feelings are hurt. Only women are judged based on whether or not they leave someone off of an invitation list. Only women are expected to plan these social events. Only women are expected to read minds and predict the future. My status as a good and decent human being hangs in the balance until I have effectively thrown a shower and completed damage control for holes in my mother's address book. Do you think for a second that a man is made to feel inept if he forgets to call a buddy of his on his birthday or fails to send a thank you card to his mother? This is so unfair. I can accept that there has never been a female president. I can (almost) accept that there will never be a female player in major league baseball. But these social expectations are bullshit. And I seriously think we do it to ourselves. It's not like there is a man standing over us going, "You'd better get those holiday cards out!" If women lightened up on the whole thing, men would adjust. Trust me. There are few guys now who care whether or not their female counterparts even make dinner. So, why are we so hard on ourselves? Why do we care what so-and-so's great aunt thinks about the appetizers? It's a game you can't win because it's impossible to please every single person. And yet, here I sit feeling bad because of the invitation snafu.

Hot Stove

For the Hot Stove, Cool Music concert goer, there are always surprises. Last year, because of torrential rain, they brought the concert inside. We were standing in the right place at the right time, I guess, because we managed to watch the entire thing in the front row. It was muggy and a little uncomfortable, but still pretty sweet.

This year, the stage was set up facing the bleachers. Kay Hanley's band played, followed by Buffalo Tom. But this time, musicians kept weaving in and out of the act like that Victorian-style line dancing. Theo played, then a few others joined and pretty soon there were about 12 people on the stage jamming it out to old classic rock-style tunes. Songs that don't normally float my boat sounded pretty cool all of a sudden. Kate and Buffalo Tom paired up for an interesting cover of Blondie's, "Dreaming is Free." The show was then topped off by modern day Otis Redding, John Legend. He really sexed things up and got the crowd on their feet. Totally professional. Not one note was off. Not one beat missed. It was a real treat.

We sat up in the Dunkin Dugout for Legend.



Our new neighbor has moved in downstairs, evidently. He's from Iceland, so we hear. I've already developed some weird character in my head and true to the strangeness, I am hearing odd noises coming from his apartment. Like when the Tasmanian Devil spins around, but continuous. Maybe he keeps the world's largest bumble bee as a pet. What do you want from an Icelander?

I'm off to New Bedford to host my mother's bridal shower. It's actually going to be a tea party in a Bed and Breakfast downtown. My best friend, who lives down the street from the B & B, is graciously allowing me to take over her kitchen for the afternoon to make all the food (talk about Hot Stoves). I hope I can pull this whole thing off. Being an only child is so much fun! I love my mom to pieces, but this shingdig is setting me back nearly 500 bucks. I never realized how expensive these things can be when you have to rent the venue.

Hilarious

You must read this old archive from The Weekly Week.

Hint:

Tonight

Jere and I will be attending our third Hot Stove, Cool Music Concert at Fenway Park tonight. One of the dudes in Buffalo Tom wears the same top every time. I will be looking out for that, of course.

Helping

This post goes out to my friend, Karen.

I divide people into 2 categories. Helpers and Non Helpers. These labels are applied specifically to the act of crossing the street. You can tell a lot about a person by the way they execute this. Let me tell you how I cross the street. If a driver in an automobile is gracious enough to let me cross (outside of the crosswalk, where I do not have the right of way as a pedestrian), I dash to the other side of the road in as straight a line as possible while waving my arms around in gratitude, like an idiot. I am a helper. I am humbled when a perfect stranger takes time out of their busy day to wait for little old me to make it safely over to the opposite side.

Since I've described my helpful approach, you can pretty much determine what the other category does. Nothing grinds my gears worse than some chowder head who barely acknowledges that another human being is accommodating their lazy diagonal stroll from point A to point B. Are we not civilized? Do we not display simple decency any more? It is one of my biggest pet peeves. Even worse when the Non Helper is chatting away on a cell phone. The message is pretty clear: the earth and everything in it, including the nice person letting me walk across the street, revolves around my chowder head ass.

There is a subcategory, of course. The Semi Helpers. These are folks who actually make eye contact and give you what might be perceived as a nod, but the super slow pace and diagonal direction are still present. It's a small notch above the Non Helper, but it's still pretty bad.

I have employed one strategy on a group of hard core Non Helpers and it sort of worked, so I will pass it along to you, my helpful friends. The next time one of these selfish dweebs commits this egregious social error, sit there. Long after the person has crossed. Just keep your ass parked on the street for as long a time as you can. Naturally, this won't work if there are cars behind you, but if you are lucky enough to be alone, you should do it. It really messes with people. At least it did the one time I attempted it. When, and ONLY when, you feel satisfied with the amount of time you've sat in the road, you can proceed.

Our softball team got creamed by both our opponents in last night's double-header, but since it wasn't major league baseball, we didn't feel too badly afterward. Well, except for the all over body soreness. I literally had to lift both legs into--and out of--my car this morning. It was a lot of fun, though.

Frostbite Softball

... officially starts tomorrow. Jere and I signed on to play this season. We had our first practice tonight. Invigorating. We are totally psyched for tomorrow evening's double-header.

In Red Sox news, we won! Lester gets the W. Ironic, too, as this is the time of year when the (D)Evil Rays typically heat up. They enjoy taking wins away from teams who are legitimately in contention for a playoff spot. It's like their "thing" or something. They win to lose. Or lose to win. Or something.

Plymouth

We just got back from an awesome getaway at Rebecca's family cottage in Miles Standish State Park. Very cool. I wish I had the courage to take my camera into the kayak, but alas, I did not. Here are the pics I did get.


Marshmallows go here.


Beach chair by the fire


Looking out at the lake


Another sweet view of the lake


Our fabulous hostess and friends


Me and Jere

Nutty Headlines

Barry Bonds is suing Curt Schilling for defamation.

And the Awfulman still sucks! I didn't know that Jose had it in him. I wish he could have applied some of that passion when he played 2nd base for the Red Sox. Jose "automatic out" Offerman moved into an Independent League after major league baseball had had enough. He was also known as "sack of potatoes" by me for his determination to blatantly ignore the fact that a baseball game was actually being played around him. Now this crazy assault business? That Jose sure is a tough one to figure out.

Lastly, Giambi, the fat lizard freak, is getting off pretty easily for taking steroids. How much you wanna bet he's still juicing? He's been all puffed out since last season. This up-down-up-down stuff doesn't fool me.

It's a carcaradon carcharias.

If you are heading to the Cape, be careful in the water.

"Yes, I am that person."

Shocked Co-Workers View Jane in a New Light

Waltham, MA. After a lengthy commute in light rain, an office discussion revealed that 25-year-old Jane Doe, does, in fact, drive abnormally slow during such times. Jane's receptionist was appalled. "I always wondered who was responsible for adding another half hour to my commute! Now I know!"

Jane, who has been driving since the age of 17, admits that the tradition of driving painfully slow in light rain or snow was handed down to her by her parents. "We had our share of honkers, but it gave my mom and dad great satisfaction to know that they were able to slow the traffic down to a reasonable speed. We were doing our share to prevent accidents." When asked what constitutes a safe speed on the highway during a sprinkle, Jane stands firm. "A 20-mile-per-hour crawl. Nothing more."

Jane also claims that she uses her tactics as a pedestrian. "This world moves way too fast. So, yes, I have to walk very slow sometimes. My goal is to slow everyone else down, but some people do get impatient and pass me in a huff. At least I try!"

Ms. Doe does not drive when the snow is heavy or the rain torrential. And all of her co-workers are thankful.

Pics

The Ride Down


Fountain at the Inner Harbor


Close Up


Mast


Where Domino Sugar Comes From


Our Companions


View from Our Seats


The Crowd Through Jere's Lenses

I think it's disgusting that I now have to root for Gary Sheffield to keep the Yanks from clinching the AL Wild Card.

Balty

We are making our way down to Baltimore to take in Saturday's game with my friend, Taylor. This is a yearly event. He's an Orioles fan living in Philly. And, being the generous person that he is, he treats us to this annual game. Expect pics!

Competitive Birthing

I was shocked, while housecleaning on Sunday morning, to hear this segment on NPR about competitive birthing. I guess this is a new way to flash one's Benjamins around. Can you imagine having children because of misplaced career competitiveness?

I have a pair of married friends who tried very hard to get pregnant for quite some time. Now, they are parents of two beautiful twin boys. These children were brought into this world because of the love that my friends share. They are a wonderful, intimate little family unit. I find this "competitive birthing" concept to be especially insulting when I think about my friends, their personal struggle, and the ultimate joy they have found as a family. This is not to say that the moms and dads who are creating life ala assembly line don't love their children. It just feels really unnatural to me and kind of Stepford-like. Actually, it's worse than that. It's one thing to keep up with the Jones' if you are using inanimate things like gardening equipment and such, but real, live, human beings? This just proves that becoming a parent later in life is the way to go.

Porch

Or, as my relatives say: PAWCH

These chairs have been very useful this year. Excellent for the beach, but also handy for outdoor flicks or whatever.



We got these window boxes from Jere's parents and filled them with ivy. It's hearty (since I'm plenty capable of killing stuff). Ivy good. Delicate plant bad.



Anyway, this is an excellent spot for eating veggie dogs and listening to Castiglione.

Baseball Season Officially Begins in the Bronx

Excellent article over at Call of the Green Monster.

Still Sp-ACE-ing

Sweet.

Recent Signings

I am a little saddened by Gabbo's departure (probably not as sad as he is), but our pitching staff is a lock now. Bring on the Gagne! I can't think of an appropriate nickname at the moment, though I will say that he has an impressive beard style. I find it amusing that he taught himself English by watching Will & Grace. Is he, like, the only dude currently in the majors with a full on French accent? Nuts! What a strange culture shock it must have been for him, going from Montreal to Los Angeles. (God, I hate L.A.) Lastly, I'm glad he got that Tommy John surgery out of the way a couple of years ago.

Also, and probably a hell of a lot more noteworthy, the Celtics are back in business. Now that (the much coveted) Garnet and Allen are working with Pierce - the C's have really their sured up their chances in snagging a seat in the playoffs.



Doc Rivers is totally stoked.

Polish Red Sox

I realize that we Polack Red Sox fans are in the minority (most of us are loyal to the White Sox), but hey.