Simone, Tell Me About Your Big But

Jere and I attended yesterday's wacko Red Sox-Yankees game. I had a good feeling going into it, even though Beckett was shakier than I thought he might be. It was classic tit-for tat, but we ended the game 5 runs ahead. Strange, too, because we started the game with a 6 run deficit.

I don't know if it was because of hormones or what, but I was a little less patient with the crowd yesterday than usual. And it wasn't even the Yankee fans who irritated me (we were fortunate not to have been sitting near any of them). Here is a list of people who grind my gears at baseball games.

Drunky McGee
I enjoy a couple of beers at the park. Baseball, beer, hot dogs (veggie dogs, in my case) - it's all good. But, what I don't understand is getting shnockered by the 2nd half of the first inning. And there is always some person who is either comatosed in their seat or totally belligerent.

Glamor Puss
These women don't come to the game with the intention of watching it. They may not know much about baseball at all. They spend most of their time in the ladies room, touching up their makeup and gossiping about how "Chah-lie was checkin' me out." The sign says FENway, not RUNway, ladies! Aren't there better places you can take your fake tans and boobs?

Texter
I don't text people unless I have to. No matter how far along the technology has come, I still find it to be rather clunky. But I understand that I am in the minority. Especially at Fenway Park, where Jacoby can't steal a base without hordes of people reaching for their phones to text someone who is obviously desperately waiting for an update. You can put cell phone people in this category, too. Why pay for super expensive seats when all you are going to do is spend 9 entire innings talking on the phone?

New Borns
Baseball and kids are a natural combination. When you see a little boy or girl at the game for the first time, you get all excited for them, knowing that this is a really special experience. All of their favorite players are going to be standing on the field in front of them. I think, though, that your average 3-month-old infant might not understand why it's so loud and windy. I am always so amazed when I see moms and dads bringing babies that can fit in the palm of one's hand to the game, along with all the crazy equipment that goes along with the baby. How can you even fit that stuff in the aisle? Is it really worth it?

Chatty Kathys
"So, like, I was all, huh? And she was all, what?" These people kill me. There is an exciting play about to unfold and here they are in some intense conversation about who the hell knows. The funny thing is, they seem to get annoyed with everyone in their section when they respond to the game. Like we are all interrupting their little chat. How rude we are!

The Beach Ball
Not a person, technically, but what is the point of this?

Homophobes
One of the most disappointing experiences is bonding with the fan next to you, only to find out later in the game that they are a homophobe (or a racist). I hate those "Jeter Sucks A-Rod" t-shirts or whatever, too. Why do grown men (or anyone for this matter) still feel the need to insult people by throwing out homophobic slurs? It's embarrassing and hurtful. News Flash: No one is impressed!

The Jabber
Maybe this person is part Drunky McGee. You know who I am talking about, right? The first jab is an accident. Maybe they apologize, maybe they don't. The second time you feel the elbow jerk you in the arm, you start wondering. Pretty soon, they almost cause you to spill your beverage because there just isn't enough space to accomodate all of the insane hand gestures they are using to express themselves to the person next to them.

Feel free to share your favorite baseball game attendees.

Here's what I don't get:

Those abandoned cars you see on the sides of the highway. I'm not talking about the ones that appear as if their owners are probably on foot looking for the nearest gas station. No, no. I'm referring to those with multiple orange tickets stuck to them. Even one sticker suggests that the car has been there for a while. What gives? People just say, "Eh, fuck it," I guess. How can you sever ties with your car so abruptly?

I was going to make soap tonight, but I am too exhausted. My morning commute was complicated by a Mack truck at the tolls (from 495 to I90) that, because of its inability to allow me to cross over, forced me to take the wrong on-ramp to the Mass Pike, thus causing me to drive 22 miles on the wrong side of the highway. I was an hour late for work. ONE HOUR LATE. Mercifully, my client was running late, too. I didn't miss our conference call. Did I mention the torrential downpours? The fact that I was nearly out of gas? I almost became one of the people I described up there.

My day just slid off the cutting board after that. Ugh. I am glad to be home, but my Joan Jett soap will have to wait until tomorrow.

Stuck in the Middle with No One

I always gravitate toward the places no one really goes. I like the products that get discontinued. I enjoy the television shows that get canned. I spent a good part of my youth listening to Rush. Enough said.

I cut mammals out of my diet several years ago. There is no label for this other than pollo-pescetarian or whatever. Last year, I cut out birds. Now, I am strictly pescetarian. This is comfortable for me, at this point in time. I might take this to another place some day, I don't know. But try explaining that to the rest of the world.

Mammal eaters tend not to respect anyone who cuts meat out of their diet. Some are very hostile about it. A few people I consider to be really good friends have made me feel ashamed for choosing to avoid them.

Vegetarians think I'm nuts. And they actually get mad at pescetarians because a lot of us tend to label ourselves vegetarians. I don't know why. We aren't vegetarians. I've heard that for some people, it's just easier that way. Otherwise, you have to keep pamphlets at the ready, explaining it.

I think that the poor vegans are never satisfied with their own veganism, let alone considering anyone else's dietary choices. It's not easy to be vegan and I respect those who accept this lifestyle and make this commitment.

People who know me realize that I am easy like Sunday morning. I really, really, really hate being preached to. Really. Really, really, really hate it. I try very hard not to preach. Even when it's very good information and done with the best of intentions, in a loving way. I cringe when people use their celebrity status to tell the world how wrong they are about something. I listen to NPR, I am informed, I make my own decisions. I am an only child, so I spent quite enough time feeling lousy about myself. I don't need to be scolded, browbeaten or shunned by society. I just wish we could all do our thing without judgement or criticism. If I brush my teeth standing on my head, it's because I want to. I am aware that my blood is rushing to my brain and that this might not be the best way to do it, but this is my preference so leave me alone.

Of course, I have to go and choose a diet that confuses most of the world. It makes perfect sense to me, but we are so caught up in all of our labels. I'm a [fill in the blank] are you a [fill in the blank]? I use them because I have to, but I think it's stupid. What if I wanted to be vegan, but still eat fish? This is actually a very appealing idea to me, but, unfortunately, I would be fucking with the whole order of things and we can't have that.

Completely unrelated: I am so very disappointed that the Red Sox didn't make it to the WS, but they played their hearts out and walked away with dignity (as opposed to losing in 5). I will be paying attention to the WS, but not hanging on every pitch. I've got lots of soap to make an whatnot.

Bad, Flip Flop! Bad!

I started developing a problem with my right foot. One day, I noticed that I had a bruise the size of a fist right in my arch. Just as this started going away, I began feeling shooting pains and soreness in my inner heel whenever I took a step. This doesn't really bother me much when I wear heels or shoes with decent support. My self diagnosis? Freaking flip flops. I've been wearing them all summer and since we moved into the new house, there's been lots of stair climbing. I read that podiatrists everywhere are furious with the number of foot injuries and problems from chromic flip-flop use. Outside of lack of support, people have slipped and fallen more frequently (ever wear them in the rain?). They've even gotten their flip flops caught in the pedals of their cars.

So, though I don't think I can give them up entirely, I will not be wearing them all summer long in the future. I can't believe I have to wear heels to feel better!

Commute Woes

My morning commutes for this week:

Monday - 1 Hour, 15 minutes
Tuesday - 1 Hour, 45 minutes
Wednesday - 2.5 Hours (truck rollover on route 1)
Thursday - 1 Hour, 45 minutes

What the heck am I going to do? Obviously, this cannot continue. Leaving at 7:15, only to arrive a hair before 9 is unacceptable. My commute home is exactly 1 hour.

Rolling from Walpole to Waltham in the morning is a slow form of torture.

Meanwhile, what a disappointment last night's game was. This is what we get for letting Carlos Pena become a free agent. We should have retained our local boy. Liking some of these (Devil) Rays is new, weird territory for me. Hinske, Pena, Baldelli, Flyod. All old Red Sox players, with the exception of Rocco, who I like (a) because he is from Rhode Island and (b) that's one awesome name!

The Results Are In!

The results of my mom's latest tests are in and they are very good. Though the cancer in her lungs is "stable" (meaning no further growth, but no improvement), the disease in her lower back is beginning to eradicate. (To follow up on an earlier post, the ER doctor was totally full of it and there was never a period where the cancer suddenly left her lungs) We are happy as clams! She is going to cut the chemo back to once every three weeks so that she can enjoy one solid week a month of feeling good. She called me this morning to find out if I knew anyone who could get her some reefer. This was recommended by her oncologist to fight the chemo-induced nausea she's battling with. Unfortunately for her, I don't dabble in that kind of stuff. I bought pot one time in college and felt so awkward doing it. Mom's oncologist said that he could prescribe a pill form of the drug, but it wouldn't be as helpful as smoking the real McCoy. So if you all know anyone that can perform this discreet service ...

The MOBA is branching out! Not only do they have a permanent collection of shoddy classics in Dedham, but the Somerville Theater now houses a new crop of gaudy goodness! Furthermore, the MOBA has recently published a book, cataloging their priceless works. It is a must have!

Speaking of publishing, Jere and his mom's book has had it's publication date pushed out to October 15th. Fear not, Red Sox mystery enthusiasts ... it's worth the wait!

Onto gripes (which I am becoming quite good at these days). High gas prices have forced folks into a greener lifestyle, meaning that a lot of people have decided to cast their cars aside in favor of pedaling their bikes from point A to point B. This is great news for the environment and helpful in cutting back some demand for oil. I hold these intentions in the highest regard, especially since I am still shoving gas into my vehicle, thus perpetuating our dependence on the stuff. With all the new bike riders on the road, I think a refresher course re: the rules of the road is in order. Either riders don't know or know and choose to ignore the basic rules of the road. Here they are, lest we forget:

• Ride only one person on a regular bicycle; seat facing forward; not on handlebars.
• Ride with at least one hand on the handgrips at all times, do not hold packages.
• Ride one person to a bike unless it is designed for more passengers.
• Bicycles are vehicles like cars, and follow all traffic rules.
• Ride to the right side of the roadway.
• Ride a bike path adjacent to a roadway, if one is provided.
• Exercise safety; wear a helmet and give the right-of-way to pedestrians on sidewalks.

I have never witnessed a person on a bike stop at a traffic light and wait the full amount of time required. I rarely see cyclist using proper hand signals. Often times, bikes come out of no where and sit in my blind spot on the wrong side of the road. I don't want to have to accidentally injure anyone. Why, oh, why are people hell bent on not using common sense? There is nothing to physically protect a cyclist from danger (and, more often than not, their own naiveté). I hope that the police have raised this concern and notify people on bikes when they break the rules. Are the not subjected to the same moving violations as anyone in a car?

Rain, Rain, Go Away ...

Someone please post a convincing argument as to why race car drivers are considered to be "athletes." I don't get it. Doesn't that open the door for other groups to be called athletes? I suppose you need agility and strength to control your vehicle, but I need that, too, when I'm lugging bags of groceries up three flights of stairs. Don't get me wrong, I really WANT to be brought around to this notion, but I'm not quite there yet and I guess I'm asking for a smart and interested person to convince me. After all, Shirley Muldowney is one of my idols.

Jeers to Jessica Simpson for wearing a T-Shirt that claims that real women eat meat. I, myself, am a pescetarian (Merriam-Webster just inducted this term into the dictionary this year - hurray, I feel valid!). I don't have an issue with eating meat or killing non-human mammals and birds ... if you do it with your bare hands! That's the way it's done in the wild, people. Instead, we have big factories where cows and baby cows and little pigs get their brains bashed in. Maybe Jessica's shirt should say, Real Women Eat the Meat That Comes Out of Factories Where Cows and Pigs Get Their Brains Bashed In. If you're going to make a statement, don't do it half-assed. Go all the way! At least fish get to enjoy a real and normal life in a natural habitat before they get scooped up, killed, and cooked. I'm not saying it's a great way to go, but hey, it's better than life in a meat processing plant.

Don't you love how the conservatives are really pushing this whole, "See? The surge worked!" bullcrap on America? Okay, if that's true, how come they remain mum on troop withdrawal? How long are our troops -- courageous, dedicated human beings with families and lives in the United States -- supposed to be subjected to this fabricated war? Also, how are we suddenly put in a situation where we have to praise Bush for enacting this surge? That would be like giving your neighbor a big pat on the back for fixing the side of your house that they ran their truck through. Hey, thanks, it was totally genius how you patched that up for me.

One last rant: Miley Cyrus. Can't stand her. I hate her big, bubblegum, spoiled rotten smile. I can't believe that Annie Leibovitz made me pose like that. I feel bad for Annie. She's a pioneer in her business, a living legend. She's a low-key, but incredibly accomplished professional. I hope she didn't lose any sleep over this.

Red Sox-Yankees tonight! I think I'll make some apple soap. Very Patriotic.

To Do the Laundry and Clean Up My Room

I find this to be appalling. In this day and age, it is truly offensive to me that we are still looking to the future first lady for a cookie recipe. And somehow the success of their respective husbands hangs in the balance until the winner of the cookie recipe is determined. The idea that wives belong in the kitchen and that said wives are judged, not on their character or abilities, but on whether or not they can follow a cookie recipe is outdated and dangerous.

Stay in the kitchen! Make me some cookies! But, don't eat them yourself.

Ladies, Please Take Note

Like so many women, I've got a shy bladder. I'm working on it. I hear that in Japan, background noise is piped into public restrooms to help people deal with this. There's nothing like a wasted trip to the ladies room. I've always admired people who can just open the flood gates the second they sit down. Some people have very forceful equipment. Sadly, I do not. When there are other women mucking around in there, I have this kind of pathetic stop-go trickle. I've tried to meditate and block out noises. I've tried to visualize large bodies of water. Not much works.

To add insult to injury, there is always some woman who, after exiting the stall, decides that she's going to futz with her appearance, indefinitely. You hear the sounds of someone smoothing out their clothes, heels clicking and shuffling, hair accessories snapping and unsnapping, zippers, etc. Sometimes, women are moved to brush their teeth after exiting the stall. Or give themselves a huge makeover, complete with vigorous hair brushing and foundation application. Or stare at a side view of themselves. Come on! What's more important? The way your ass looks in those pants or my poor bladder? If you didn't get it right before you left the house, chances are, fifteen minutes of ladies room futzing isn't going to help you.

I urge you to think about this the next time you decide to set up camp in there, people! The kidneys are very precious organs.

Heath Ledger

That was shocking. It still hasn't really cemented. It's so difficult for me to imagine why, if you've got everything going for your way, someone would ingest all those pills. Either it was suicide (most doubt it, at this point) or it was accidental. I am not sure how a person can take so many drugs accidentally. I'm not even sure what sleeping pills are supposed to do for a person, anyway. Not being a drug taker myself, it's a little hard to figure out. What a shame.

Like sand through the hourglass ...

I touched on this in yesterday's post, but I will expand a little on it today, as there is now a sequel. Everyday, I take route 2 to 128 in the morning. It's the most direct way to work. I am not alone. Seems that everyone in western Somerville merges on to 128 along with me. The line is terrifically long. I don't mind waiting in this line. What I do mind is the fact that there are assholes who refuse to wait in this line. They drive up alongside the mile of bumper-to-bumper traffic until they reach the exit, put their blinker on and bully their way into the front of the line. These people should suffer horribly. They should be forced to vomit their breakfast and eat it again through a straw. They should be subjected to a never-ending loop of Lionel Richie's "Hello" until they go completely insane. I have always complained bitterly about these savages. It seemed that my pleas to the universe for help with this matter would go unanswered.

Until now.

I started noticing that there were cops parked on the meridian by the exit. Yesterday, I mentioned that I asked one of them if their purpose was to police the system and prevent the line cutters. Affirmative. So, you can imagine my delight this morning when, after an impatient chowder head cut in line (in back of me, as I keep my bumper as close as physically possible to the one in front of me at all times) and WAS PULLED OVER. Oh, was I delighted. Nothing could have pleased me more. Not free coffee, not George Steinbrenner's retirement, not a new pair of Doc Martens. Nothing. I pumped my fist in victory, MLB style. It was a great way to start the day. The only thing that could have trumped this was to be a fly on the uniform of that officer. To have listened as the asshole fumbled her words and played dumb when it was explained to her that there are arrows painted on the cement for a bloody good reason.

I know what you're thinking: Hey, get a life. But, these tiny injustices stick in my craw and I can't get past them. Especially when I am faced with them, day after day. So, even if the Red Sox don't force another game, I will have tasted a drop of sweet victory today. The nectar of the traffic gods. Thank you, Massachusetts police!

New Boot Troopin'

This morning, I saw a woman in a large SUV type vehicle. She had a child in the front and possibly others in the back. I tried to imagine what this woman's schedule was like. Bring child number 1 to preschool. Bring child number 2 to kindergarten. Jack, you're doing it wrong! Bring baby to doctor to take a look at that cough. Cut over to Stop and Shop for the week's groceries. Herb, pick up on aisle 2! Call the plumber. Pick up child number 1. Make lunch. Are you crazy? You don't feed a baby chili! Clean stuff. Your Mom calls the vacuum cleaner JAWS? Pick up child number 2. Make dinner. Have quality time at dinner table. Bathe children. Collapse. I am leaving out a billion other things, I am sure.

Is this what the woman imagined her life was going to be like? Maybe her husband had dreams of stockbroking when he was a boy. And maybe he is realizing those dreams now.

This scares me a lot. I want to have a family. But I don't want to be that lady in the SUV. How can this be avoided? Alright, well, I won't marry a stockbroker, for starters, and I won't buy an SUV. How does a woman become a mother but maintain both her creativity and her individuality? How do these very important things not get swallowed up into some domestic abyss? I suppose if you marry the right person, you won't be left dealing with all of these things alone. You can make a team of it. And if your husband gives a damn about you, there's a chance that you won't be left with all the crap work, taking marching orders from the all-mighty breadwinner. This is one of my goals in life. To be a mom someday, without losing my soul. For now, I am trying to learn the guitar solo from Iron Maiden's, "The Trooper" on my flute. Do any of you have this sheet music?

(speaking of troopers) Later this morning, I saw a state trooper standing at the 128 exit on route 2. When I passed him, I rolled down my window and asked him if he was there to keep people from cutting in line. "Yes!" he replied. Finally. FINALLY. I gave him a huge thumbs up. I wanted to do more. I totally feel like Iron Maiden's "Eddie" when in line for the 128 exit. It's a battlefield. I am not kidding. I nearly got into it with a rude commuter last week who decided that she was too good to wait in line with the rest of us. I will spare you the details.

Feeling better today. I am at that stage where my nose isn't running constantly, but my taste buds are on hiatus. All I am able to get is this sort of mucous smell, with a little "stale air" aroma mixed in. You know that weird sick taste/smell? You know how old t-shirts smell? Or any cotton garment that's been sitting in a drawer, untouched, for many months? Am I the only one familiar with this smell? Anyway, that's the taste/smell my body decides to dole out to me during this phase of the cold.

My last rant, which has nothing to do with baseball: While eating my lunch this afternoon, I noticed that Yahoo! used a picture of a young African American couple next to the rotating headline, "Seven Tips to Beat the Bad Credit Blues." Casual racism? I was at the bank not long ago and they had a promo on the wall with a similar message, except the person with the bad credit was Latino. Ugh. Why isn't anyone else complaining?

P.S. Guess who I am thinking about going as for Halloween this year?

Broad (Out)Casting

I am angry today.

It all started this morning, over at Jere's blog. There was a thread of conversation going on in response to Suzyn Waldman's ridiculous cry of sexism over the mocking of her tears by some. I guess she got all emotional wrapping up the season for the Yankees and was criticized for it. My response, in a nutshell: Yeah, I know that she is a human being with human emotions and she is going to express said emotions when feeling, um, emotional. What she fails to realize, though, is that when she makes an ass out of herself (blubbering, orgasmically, all over the fact that Roger Clemens came galloping back to the Yankees on his stallion of greed) she is showing America what happens when you "stick a women in the broadcasting booth." It stinks, but it is her responsibility to be polished and professional AT ALL TIMES. We aren't at that stage yet where women can fart and burp all over the booth but still be taken seriously when announcing games. Men have always enjoyed this. Therefore, the women LUCKY enough to obtain these jobs should go the extra 10 miles. Why? Because these are male dominated arenas. Women are still "proving" themselves in them. Female sports casters, unlike their male counterparts, have to watch their weight, shlep all over the field in high heels, and wear low cut blouses to keep the male audience (because that's the ONLY audience for professional sports, you know) engaged. Totally f'd up, but it's the price you have to pay if you want a job doing something you love.

So, after getting myself a little worked up over that, I was then faced with blatant objectification on "1510 The Zone." This is an alternative station to WEEI and I've been listening to it regularly. They've got a decent morning program with a duo called "Mike and Lew." I was so happy to have found this show, I emailed them through their website, expressing my gratitude and congratulating them on a job well done. They don't discuss politics, they're smart but not full of themselves and they really know their Boston sports. Well, like a complete slap in the face, they used this morning's program to talk about the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders and their asses. The old, "sure she's pretty, but she's really dumb" comment was thrown around a lot, too. Hello! As a woman, I have zero interest in this stuff. The message is clear: Women in sports are only good for eye candy. We don't want to hear you and we only want to look at you if you've attained our visual ideal. Please stay out of our sandbox.

My immediate reaction was to first reinstate the "women in sports" links I had in my older blog on this one. I've added a few new ones, too. There's a pretty good article about gender bias in sports through Fair.org - you ought to read it. My next reaction was to create this post.

It's not like I am just waking up to this disparity. I've lived with it my entire life. Most times, I am not bothered by it. Every once in a while, though, the realization that a woman, no matter how able she is, will never be allowed to play in major league baseball sinks in. That really sucks. I've heard the arguments that physically-speaking, a woman's body isn't built the same as a man's body and therefore a woman would somehow become a liability on an all-male team. Bullshit. You mean to tell me that in this whole big world of ours, there isn't ONE woman, NOT ONE, who can throw a 98 MPH fastball? You've got to be joking.

Also, I think I'm coming down with something. Maybe this has fueled the cranky factor. I hate to start the day like this. Especially an important day like today. By game time, I will have brushed all of this off, I'm sure. Sorry to have ranted. I thank you for your patience.

Hump Day Catch Up

I see no reason NOT to put Ellsbury in over J.D. Drew if the following things happen:

1. Drew continues to play flatly.
2. The Red Sox advance to the playoffs.

Jacoby made hitting off of Halladay look like a walk in the park. He owned the bases. He was a super stud last night. Can he play right field? Well, they didn't seem to care whether or not Wily Mo could play any old fielding position, right? As long as he was squeezed into the line up. Why would this logic not apply to Ellsbury, who is red hot right now? We want to win, don't we?

All I know is, if management goes against working Jacoby into the line up, and we get eliminated in the playoffs because of some shitty ground out or fly out off of Drew's bat, I will be really pissed. REALLY pissed. I know they won't go with the kid, though. Why? Because it's something that seems logical and clear to me. And my instincts regarding Red Sox decisions are always the opposite of what management does. It's like dealing with my ex-husband.

I was celebrating my friend's birthday during the no hitter. I missed it in real time, but I saw a few key moment's at Jere's parent's place the next day. Glorious.

In office news ... one of my coworkers has been planning her wedding now for what seems like an eternity. Every day, for like the past three years, she can be seen in the hall, on her cell, having a conversation about catering, cakes, floral arrangements or seating charts. She carries a little wedding planner around all the time. Yet, she never leaves the office to get married. She's recently asked us all to donate our used wine corks for some crafty thing she's doing for the reception. I haven't asked her when the big day is. I am afraid to.

Looks like I am going to miss this week's softball game. I think I may have strained a quad muscle or two in my right leg. Oh, Trot Nixon, I literally feel your pain. Every time I think I have a handle on it, I'll get out of my car the wrong way or I'll sprint to cross the street and BAM. It comes right back.

Lastly, I've not made any comment on Michael Vick. Here's the only thing I am going to say: I don't care how *common* dogfighting is where he is from - that is no excuse. It's like saying, "Well, where I come from, tearing the heads off little cats and shoving cat litter down their tiny necks is a weekend activity. With prizes and everything!" Sorry, but inhumanity is inhumanity. I also think that Wonderland is an evil place. I hear that they might be forced into ceasing dog racing activities soon. Thank heavens! Seriously, I have no beef with betting on sports. I don't understand the whole gambling mentality, but I am not against it. It's the cruelty that I have serious objections to.

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.

Coco Crisp

I hope the old fart, windbag types who call into EEI and complain about Coco Crisp will shut up now. I think he's proven himself as being a valuable (and affordable) player for the Red Sox. The grand slam the other day pretty much sealed it. I know these negative types will still call in and demand that the Sox trade him for someone else. I try not to listen to EEI. Most of the callers and many of the hosts are at complete odds with me, in terms of my opinion on the Sox. It only makes me angry and frustrated to listen. I'm actually surprised that the "Should we re-sign Manny?" discussions haven't begun with a vengeance. I hear mutterings here and there, but it isn't in full swing just yet. (Incidentally, I think we should try to re-sign him, but I know this will be contrary to the popular opinion. I guess, unless we can make up for all of his production by finding a different solution, we really ought to go for the re-sign.)

My patience with Lugo is really running out. He's the one who ought to get shit-canned.

Here's hoping that the Sox will sustain their lead in the division after the All Star break!

In other news, I have (somewhat) recently discovered that I am either sulfite or histamine intolerant. You know what this means, people? That's right. No more alcohol consumption without asthmatic and sinus-related consequences. Nice. Mind you, I will not stop consuming alcohol. It's just become a lot more, um, "for special occasions only."

Ugh

Henry Rollins is really becoming more and more weird to me as the years pass. First, he does the voice overs for the Good Year Tire Commercials. Nuts, right? Now, he's planning on having Rufus Wainwright as a guest on his IFC show. Rufus Fucking Wainwright. Does music getting any more blah than that? Morrissey is the real deal. Wainwright is simply pretentious and shallow.

What is going on with you, Henry Rollins?

Earlier this year, I sent away for a Bikini Kill t-shirt. The company accidently sent me a Rufus Wanwright t-shirt instead. Perhaps I should send it to Henry Rollins. Or maybe I will auction it off on eBay and make a buck.