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The only difference between baseball and softball is that when you get hit by a softball, it leaves a bigger mark.
– Unknown
I don’t even know if I have the energy to tell you today’s story the way I want to. It’s 9pm, and I just got home, and I walked a hundred miles today, and I’m so, so tired, and I haven’t eaten dinner yet (I’m waiting for David, who is still at work – this is the third night in a row he’s been this late).
Anyway, I think I told you I play on a rec league softball team. If I didn’t, well, I do. Mostly it’s people from work, but also some other people who are friends with the team captain (who works where I do). We are terrible. There’s no way around it. We’ve been playing since early May, every week (give or take several rainouts), and we still haven’t won a game. Today we lost 22-1, and even that was a mercy-rule shortened game.
The thing is, there’s no reason we should be so bad. On paper, our team looks good – we have several excellent players and even most of our girls are decent to good (including me). The problem seems to be, though, that the majority of the boys want to do EVerything even when there’s a perfectly capable girl “in the way.” This often results in miscommunication, miscues, missed cut-offs, etc. The boys also seem to get overly excited when the ball comes to them and their inner Major Leaguer comes out and they try to do stuff like field the ball on the run rather than make sure they have it in their glove before trying to throw it.
We look like the god damned Bad News Bears out there, and while it was funny for a while, now I’m just pissed. It’s not really fun anymore. I nearly walked off the field tonight (where I was playing – uselessly – in right field, which I hate, because it’s the “girl’s” spot and I’m better than that; usually I play second base) because people just do not pay attention or realize that we could be a lot better if people would just take their time and make smarter, more controlled plays.
Beyond the sucktasticness of the team, the other problem is, we always seem to play at fields that are miles from anywhere. Tonight I walked 45 minutes from my office to get to the field. Sure, I could have taken the Metro to a stop that would have put me a 30-minute walk away, but since that stop is on a different line from my work stop, I’d have had to change trains and probably waste the fifteen minutes waiting for the other line. Truthfully, I don’t mind the walk there usually, because I look at it as an opportunity to get exercise and warm up for the game, but after the game when I’m tired and it’s late and I’ve got to walk back to the Metro a hundred miles, it’s not so appealing.
I’m not a quitter, though, and I believe that, as an adult, if you make a committment to something, you see it through to the end. Besides, there are only about 5 games left. And I love softball, but that’s a really generous description of what our team plays each week, so I don’t know if that’s enough to tip the scales, because, on the other hand, I have sort of come to dread Tuesdays, and that’s not good for anyone. So, I need to really think about this and decide what I’m going to do.
Hey little sister, what have you done?
Hey little sister, who’s the only one?
Hey little sister, who’s your superman?
Hey little sister, who’s the one you want?
Hey little sister, shotgun!
– Billy Idol, White Wedding
So it’s Friday night at 10, and David is, unfortunately, still at work. Fortunately for me, though, this allows me to indulge in one of my favorite guilty pleasure shows – Say Yes to the Dress on TLC.
The premise behind this show is that women come to Kleinfeld – a widely known high-end bridal salon in Manhattan – to search for the perfect wedding dress. Each of them is paired with a “consultant,” which is really just a fancy word for salesperson, and shown multiple dresses in the hopes that one will catch the bride-to-be’s eye (and wallet).
This show is like the ultimate in wedding porn. Kleinfeld carries thousands of dresses in all styles and price ranges. That is, assuming your price range starts around $1500. The brides generally come in with a budget, be it $1500, $3000, or $10,000. Sometimes, like tonight’s lesbian couple searching for “matching pantsuits,” the budget is unlimited. This is actually the part of the show that irks me the most: no matter what the stated budget is, the consultants – without fail, always bring in dresses that are out of the bride’s price range. The goal, of course, is to get the bride to fall in love with one of those dresses, and they count on the absolute madness that surrounds so many women planning weddings – the idea that the day has to be perfect and that every detail matters immensely – to convince her that she must have THIS dress or the wedding will be a disaster. It’s kind of unsavory, frankly. And watching the struggle some of these brides and their families go through – one bride’s obviously working class mother agreed to take a second job to afford the out-of-her-price-range dress her daughter wanted - is a little more reality than this show needs, I think. It should be pure fantasy.
To be honest, however, part of the appeal in watching this, for me, is to marvel at that very same madness that I just criticized. It’s amazing to me that women will pay thousands of dollars for a wedding dress. I just cannot fathom that. Even those brides whose wedding budgets would have paid for my law school education with change leftover – I just don’t get it. It’s one day, you wear the dress for 6 hours, and you never wear it again. And you can’t do anything else with it, either, except put it in a box and hope you have a daughter who might want to wear it. I’d rather spend the money to rent a Dippin’ Dots cart.
And I don’t travel in circles where these kinds of things matter, either. My mother would die if I told her I wanted to spend $2000 on a wedding dress. I happen to know that Aimee got everything – wedding dress, veil, undergarments, shoes, etc – for under about $700. And her dress was absolutely perfect for her. See?
(That’s hands-down my favorite picture of her, ever.)
And if I were as crafty as Lydia, I’d make my own wedding dress, too. I absolutely love the pattern she chose. Oooh, maybe I’ll pay Lydia to make my wedding dress!
Look: there’s no doubt the dresses on this show are, for the most part, beautiful. And if these women are comfortable spending that kind of money for a dress, and it makes them happy, then more power to them. I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show.
Forgive me when you see me draw back when I would have gladly mingled with you. My misfortune is doubly painful to me because I am bound to be misunderstood; for me there can be no relaxation with my fellow men, no refined conversations, no exchange of ideas. I must live almost alone, like one who has been banished; I can mix with society only as much as true necessity demands. If I approach near to people a hot terror seizes upon me, and I fear being exposed to the danger that my condition might be noticed.
–Ludwig Van Beethoven
1. Almost always being literally the last person to hear about something
2. Poorly captioned television programs and DVDs (We’ve been watching all the West Wing seasons in order – the first 5 all had English subtitles; seasons 6 and 7 only have French and Spanish subtitles. They’re captioned, but on our big TV, for some reason, the DVD player doesn’t decode captions, so we’ll have to watch them upstairs on the other TV. I don’t understand it, but it pisses me off.)
3. People who assume I’m stupid when I tell them I have a hearing impairment and ask them to repeat what they said
4. Missing important PA announcements on the Metro or at the airport
5. Baby-sitting the Princess and Conductor after bedtime, wondering and worrying whether I’ll hear them if they call for me (This often results in multiple trips to the hallway outside their bedrooms, waiting and straining to hear something and hoping when I don’t that I haven’t missed anything. And this leads to worrying what I’ll do when it’s my own kids.)
6. Finding myself without batteries to my cochlear implant processor at rather inopportune times (You’d think, after 5 years, I’d never leave home without batteries, but because I don’t carry a purse or bag as a rule – except to work – this happens more regularly than I’d like.)
7. Not being able to locate the direction a siren is coming from while driving, and often not recognizing that the noise I hear is a siren until the police car or ambulance is already bearing down on me
8. That new (read: post-2002) music is, for the most part, just noise to me (This is probably the one that’s the hardest for me to take.)
9. The difficulty I have now in understanding people with foreign accents (This used to be no problem for me, and I’m sad that its become so hard.)
10. The sheer amount of energy it takes – particularly when I’m tired or sick – to focus on listening to and understanding what people are saying, especially in large meetings or settings where what’s going on is not captioned in any way (like at a play)
I’ll be back tomorrow with 10 good things! Happy 4th!
Food is an important part of a balanced diet.
– Fran Liebowitz
There was an item in this morning’s commuter paper (an offshoot of the Washington Post) on Mia Farrow’s hunger strike to raise awareness about the situation in Darfur. Here’s what it said:
Mia Farrow ended her 21-day hunger strike for Darfur nine days early, People [Magazine] reported. “I just got weaker and weaker,” she said. By Friday, her blood sugar had dropped dangerously low, and she found it difficult to stand. “I was very disappointed,” she says.
Now, look, I understand that the point of the item is that she didn’t last the full 21 days that she intended to, but honestly, what exactly did she think was going to happen when she STOPPED EATING?
Sometimes I’m confused by what I think is really obvious. But what I think is really obvious obviously isn’t obvious.
– Michael Stipe
1. Parents who ride bikes helmetless but make their kids wear them. Just because you’re a grown up doesn’t mean your brains won’t go splat if you get into an accident. And by the way, nice message you’re sending to your kids. And while I’m at it, if you’re going to go through the trouble of making your kid wear a helmet, why not be sure it fits him right? I can’t count the number of helmets I see on kids (adults, too, actually) that are set at a jaunty side angle or sit too far back on the head.
2. Personalized license plates that tell you what kind of car it is. “Mustng” – “My CRV” – “Benz” – I don’t know why people do this. Do they think the rest of us are too stupid to figure out what kind of car they’re driving? It says it right there on the car, but thanks for making sure I can’t miss it. Have they simply always longed for a personalized plate but are too boring to think up something good? (Side note: the best license plate I’ve ever seen: PHQRSLF)
3. People who cannot be bothered to return their shopping carts to the proper area in the parking lot when they’re finished unloading them. I mean, Christ, how hard is it to walk the cart 200 feet or whatever to the effing cart corral? Are you really so damn lazy that you just hoist the cart up on to the median or leave it in the empty space next to you or squeeze it into the space between the curb and the car in the next space? Give me a break.
4. People who friend EVeryone they know, or used to know, or think they might know, or would like to get to know, on Facebook. I get a fair number of friend requests each week from people I went to high school with. Sometimes these requests sit in my box for days, even weeks at a time, because I’m conflicted. I graduated high school in 1994. That’s a long effing time ago. On a regular basis, I talk to exactly one person I went to high school with, and that’s Aimee. There are a handful of other people I see from time to time, usually through my brother (who is close with several guys from my class), and one or two others I’ve reconnected with in the past five or so years with whom I maintain a mostly electronic relationship.
I’m not one of those people on Facebook who tries to amass as many friends as I can by friending everyone whose name is familiar or who I had 4th period Geometry with or shared the lunch table with in 10th grade. It doesn’t interest me to share the information that I allow to be public on FB with the girl who threatened to beat me up in 9th grade because her boyfriend – who I didn’t even know had a girlfriend – kissed me. And yes, that person recently sent me a friend request, which I promptly ignored.
I mean, really – what is the point? Communication with at least half of the people whose friend requests I do accept, or who accept mine, is limited entirely to monitoring status updates and making the occasional wall post or comment, if that. Usually the people who request to be friends (and yes, I’m aware of how lame this sounds – almost as lame as the (honest to god) 15-minute IM conversation David and I had about changing our relationship status on FB last August) don’t even send a “Hey, it’s great to see you on here, what have you been doing with yourself?” message. And to be fair, I hardly ever send them, either.
So again I ask, what is the point of friending everybody you passed in the hallways for four years? I confess that I occassionally go through my Friends list and unfriend people. This is, in some circles, apparently a devastating thing to do to another person. But if we’ve been “friends” for months, and neither of us has commented to the other on anything, I’m guessing you’re not even going to notice I’m not on your list anymore.
How do you handle friend requests from people you used to know?
5. Why my apartment complex charges pet rent on top of a pet fee. I’m in the process of trying to transfer my lease from a one-bedroom to a two-bedroom. Yesterday, the guy told me that, in addition to the ridiculous “transfer fee” of $700, I’m also going to have to pay a new $300 pet fee, because the fee I paid when I moved in to my one-bedroom is non-refundable and non-transferable.
The lady in administration told me the fee is applied to the cost of cleaning or replacing the carpet before the next tenant moves in. Never mind that Pico, in all his born days, has never peed outside the litter box (except once when he was very young and had a UTI), and has never had fleas, and so it is unlikely that the carpet in my one-bedroom will need to be replaced and that $300 to clean 600 square feet of carpet is highway-god-damned-robbery. But no one’s explained to me, then, if the fee is for the cleaning and/or replacement of the carpet, why the hell do I pay an additional $480 a year in pet rent? One or the other would be fine, but both seems exorbitant to me.
I love everything about living here except dealing with the leasing and administrative offices. Every time I turn around with this transfer thing, there’s some new fee no one told me about the first four times I discussed transferring. It’s maddening, and it’s turning what should be a fun, happy thing into a giant ball of frustration and anxiety.
Thanks for letting me vent. Share your complaints/confusions/rants in the comments, if you like.
Television has changed a child from an irresistible force to an immovable object.
– Unknown
So here in Michigan, they have a place called Meijer. When David first told me about it – it’s where he worked through high school and college – I thought it was just a grocery store. Boy, was I wrong. It’s got everything. It’s kind of like Wal-Mart, but with wider aisles, better lighting, and better stuff. And everyone here shops there. I’ve been there three times in two days, and I don’t even live here.
When we were leaving the store after our first stop there, I saw this:
These are TV Karts. Put in a dollar and pull out one of these carts, and you can stuff your small child inside where he can watch “quality children’s programming” as you load up your cart. I’m not kidding.
Give me a break. You really need a TV Kart to entertain your child for the 45 minutes or whatever that you’re in the store? If that’s true, you have bigger problems than a TV Kart can help you with.
What is the world coming to where parents can’t manage their children for even short trips out without resorting to things like this? David and I saw a family out at a restaurant once – two parents and three kids, one of whom was a baby. The two older kids, probably twins about 3 years old, were watching a portable DVD player at the table while their parents talked and ate. I couldn’t believe it. If you don’t want your kids’ company, get a baby-sitter. In my opinion, you do your kids harm when you don’t teach them to entertain themselves without mindless electronics or when you ignore them rather than use the opportunity to spend time with them. Maybe that’s just me.
Anyway, I hope you’re all enjoying the post-Christmas lull. Michigan, although covered in snow, hasn’t really been as cold as advertised since I’ve been here, and for that I’m grateful. David’s family is lovely and welcoming, and I’ve enjoyed meeting them all. Maybe later we’ll go bowling and I’ll get to wear my new purple bowling shoes (one of my Christmas presents from David – I love them)!
“It happens every time – they all become blueberries!”
– Willy Wonka, in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Thursday, I had to be at work by 8, which is 45 minutes earlier than I usually get there. In order to do that, I had to take the 7 o’clock shuttle, which meant I had to get up at 6. That is one hour before my usual waking time, and it is not good.
Anyway, I got up at 6:10 and got out of the shower at 6:30. I needed to eat something, so I whipped up a blueberry smoothie in the kitchen and brought it into my bedroom so I could drink it while I was getting dressed. You see where this is going already, don’t you?
I was standing near my dresser putting lotion on my legs. In between, I was taking sips of the smoothie (from a straw, without picking the cup up off the dresser). I do not know how it happened, but I pumped more lotion out of the bottle and moved my hand towards my body, and the next thing I know, disaster struck:
Yeah, that’s blueberry smoothie all over my beige carpet (in my apartment, which I rent). Awesome. And of course, now it’s 6:45, and I need to be out of the house in about 12 minutes, and my legs are covered in smoothie. I had to hop back in the shower to rinse off, slap lotion back on, do the quickest hair and make-up ever, and get the hell out of house, which meant I had no time to even clean it up, not that I had any idea where to even begin.
And if you know me personally, you know that this causes me, like, actual physical pain to look at. My bedroom is so pretty, and now it’s covered in blueberry smoothie. And it’s not even centered in front of the dresser, so that I could just move the area rug from in front of the closet to cover it up! And this is why I should never have children. Because I am a control freak and they are going to hate me.
I’m exaggerating (a little), of course, and tomorrow I’m going to rent a steam cleaner from the grocery store, but I’m worried that this is not going to come out and then I’ll have to live here for another year (I just renewed my lease) seeing this every single day. Boo.
And if you don’t expect too much from me
you might not be let down
— Gin Blossoms, Hey Jealousy
Hope can kiss my ass.
More later.
A baseball game is simply a nervous breakdown divided into nine innings.
– Earl Wilson
Well, judging from the (non)response to my last two posts on the Braves, none of you people care about them. That’s ok with me, but don’t think it’s going to stop me from telling you my stories.
I was at the game last night, Braves v. Nationals. I was hopeful: Jair Jurrjens, a good young pitcher, was on the mound for us, Chipper is hot (batting .410 with a .690 slugging percentage – that’s awesome, in case those numbers mean nothing to you), and the Nats are struggling.
The game was scoreless into the 6th, each pitcher doing a nice job – not many strike outs, but lots of pop ups and ground balls. Each team scored one run in the 6th, and then, despite a Nats threat in the bottom of the 9th, we went into extra innings. No score in the 10th, though the Nats loaded the bases – and McCann made an awesome double play at the plate to save the day – then the 11th.
In the top of the 12th, Teixiera hits a double, McCann grounds out to first, Francoeur grounds out to second, then Teixiera scores on a base hit by Kotsay. I lose my mind cheering wildly while Nats fans, including my companions, shoot me murderous looks. Braves up 2-1. Gotay takes a walk.
Now it’s 2 on, 2 out, top of the 12th with a 1-run lead. The Braves have not won a 1-run game all season (no other team in the majors has fewer than three 1-run wins). The pitcher’s spot is up. What does Bobby Cox, arguably a baseball genius, do? Pinch hit for the pitcher to try to drive in at least one more run, right? Uh no. He inexplicably lets Acosta bat, essentially conceding the third out, and Acosta heads back to the mound in the bottom of the 12th. And that’s when the wheels fall off.
Acosta walks Kearns, and Willie Harris follows up with a single. Then Wil Nieves (who, if I were a Nats fan, would be my baseball boyfriend) mixes up the signs and lays down a bunt that goes right back to the pitcher. Easy double play, right? Uh no. The ball, essentially your basic grounder, goes right between Acosta’s legs and the bases are loaded with no outs. Then, although Acosta should have been pulled at that point, he wasn’t, and he WALKS IN THE TYING RUN. Oh my god. THEN Bobby decides it’s a good time to switch pitchers, and Buddy effing Carlyle, failed starter, becomes the Braves’ last hope. By this point, I’m not even in my seat anymore. I’ve been pacing, then I sit in the aisle, on the steps, with my hands on my head, partially covering my eyes. I can hardly stand to watch.
The Braves pull everybody in so they can make the play at the plate – the trouble with that, as you may know, is that anything hit over the short outfield ends the game. And damn if that isn’t exactly what happens. On Carlyle’s first pitch, Lopez hits a blooper to left that, had Gotay been playing at his usual depth would have been caught. That doesn’t matter, of course, because Willie Harris is faster than a cheetah on Red Bull, and would have beat any throw home from left. But still. Kill me now.
So the Braves find yet another way to break my heart when I’m in attendance. Let’s review:
1. Lose to the Mets 7-0 at Shea Stadium when the Braves are in first place and the Mets are in next to last.
2. Lose both games of a double header at Shea, neither one by very many runs.
3. Lose to the Nats at RFK last September on shitty pitching by Lance Cormier, when if I’d gone to the Sunday game instead I would have seen Tim Hudson pitch a complete game shutout.
4. Lose to the Nats on opening day at Nationals Park on a walkoff homerun by golden boy Ryan Zimmerman.
5. Lose to the Nats last night on crappy relief pitching and a poor management decision.
I have tickets for a game in August. Maybe I should stay home?
In other news, my camera? Is awesome. Here’s the view from our nosebleed seats, taken without any zoom at all:
And here is my baseball boyfriend Brian McCann batting, taken from way up there with digital zoom to 24x:
Awesome, yes?
P.S. Thanks to Jane, technological genius, all of my photo resizing problems have been solved and HMITH will ever after have perfectly sized photos! Yay!
And Man created the plastic bag and the tin and aluminum can and the cellophane wrapper and the paper plate, and this was good because Man could then take his automobile and buy all his food in one place and He could save that which was good to eat in the refrigerator and throw away that which had no further use. And soon the earth was covered with plastic bags and aluminum cans and paper plates and disposable bottles and there was nowhere to sit down or walk, and Man shook his head and cried: “Look at this Godawful mess.”
– Art Buchwald
Here’s the setup: My apartment complex runs a shuttle service to the Metro station every morning on the half hour between six and nine. At 7:00, 7:30, and 8:00, there are so many people waiting that often one bus can’t take them all. In the past, this meant that if you couldn’t get a seat on the shuttle, you had to make a run for the local bus, but you never knew for sure whether you’d be able to get a seat on the shuttle. After many complaints from residents, the complex apparently worked out a deal with the shuttle bus company that for those three times in the morning, the route would be serviced by two of the larger shuttle buses (which probably seat about 25-30 people each), one behind the other. The first bus would pick up until it was full and then head for the Metro; the second would catch the stragglers at the early stops and, usually, all the people at the last shuttle stop. This system has worked well for more than a month, and I thought everything was settled and going smoothly.
Then today, the first bus arrived in the form of a HUGE charter bus. I’m talking easily a 60-seater. This happened once before, prior to the 2-bus system. I assumed it would be the only bus today, as when all of the people at my stop (the second or third one on the route) got on, it was less than one-third full. But, instead of making the rest of the route (2 more stops), the driver made the first turn off to head to the Metro, which made no sense. Turns out there was the regular second bus behind him. I, who tend to be extra-conscious of the environmental impact of my actions, was quite distraught over this. I was sitting in the first seat of the bus, right behind the driver, and at the first stoplight, I inquired politely why we had such a big bus if we weren’t going to make the full route. Here’s what happened next:
Driver: Oh, well, y’all are usually all crowded together on the smaller bus. I thought I’d take the big bus today and let you have your space. [This is true, but only in the sense that all the seats are filled; it's not like we're packed in like sardines or anything]
Me: Ok, but this is such a waste –
Driver: No it’s not.
Me: Yes, it is. It’s a waste to drive this whole big bus that’s less than half-full when there are still other people to be picked up –
Driver: What do you care? Do you pay for it? Do you?
Me (stunned, not as quick on my feet as I would like): No, but –
Driver: Then what difference does it make? You don’t pay for it, it’s not a waste.
Me: Why are you jumping down my throat?
Driver: You people, somebody says something you don’t like, they’re jumping down your throat.
Me: No, when you interrupt me and don’t let me finish, then you’re jumping down my throat. I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t just bring the regular bus.
Driver: What do you care?
Me: I live in the world; I care because this is a waste of gas to take two buses.
Driver: No, it’s not, don’t worry about it.
[By this time, the light has turned green, and the driver has started moving forward through the intersection]
Me: But it is; there’s no reason to take two buses when this one’s not anywhere close to full. We could pick up all those people and still be only half-full.
Driver: [STOPS THE BUS, LIKE HE'S MY MOTHER OR SOMETHING] Do you want to get off? If you don’t like it, you don’t have to ride. You can get off the bus. Do you want to get off the bus?
Me (shocked into silence for a moment, then): Are you kidding me? Are you serious with this? No, I don’t want to get off. Like I want you take an even less full bus to the Metro.
Driver: Alright then. It’s not a waste. I just take the bus they tell me to take. If you got a problem with it, take it up with the company.
Me: I will, you can be sure of that, and I will also take your attitude up with them.
Driver: I don’t know what you’re talking about, attitude, but you do what you got to do.
[Someone else chimes in, I think in my defense, but I can't be sure]
Driver: We take two buses every day, and we’re taking two buses today, what’s the difference?
Me: At least one bus is full on the other days when you take two normal-sized buses.
Driver: Whatever. I take the bus they tell me to take. You don’t like it, you call them.
Me: I will.
[We head down the road, the Driver, as usual not obeying basic laws and rules of traffic; towards the end of the ride, he nearly rearends the car in front of us and lays on the horn]
Me (who admittedly should have kept my mouth shut at this point, but didn’t): What good will that do?
Driver: You got something you want to say to me?
Me: Yes I do, but I will talk to you about it at the station.
Driver: I’m not interested in talking you at the station. You got any talking to do, you call the company.
Me: Well, tell me: first you say you picked the big bus so we could have more room, then you say you just take the bus they give you – which is it? [I'm not a lawyer for nothing!]
Driver: I’m done talking to you. You don’t pay for this so what do you care?
Me: I do pay for this, because I pay rent. I asked you a simple question, and I think I’m entitled to an answer.
Driver: You want an answer, call the apartment people, call my company. I take the bus they tell me to take.
Me: Fine. I’ll call them, don’t worry.
[We arrive at the station. He stops the bus, we line up, me first, waiting for him to open the door. He does. I take one step and my foot slips. I land on my ass - hard - on the bottom step.]
Me (out loud, but to myself): That’s just perfect. [I gather my things, get off the bus, and don't look back]
S’posed to be some kinda irony, or something.
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