good to the last drop

The walk-off squeeze bunt in the 10th inning wasn't even the strangest thing that happened at the Sox game last night.



Neither was LeiGh Vanna White-ing a bag of Sox peanuts while behind bars.

Most of it happened in the second inning. To wit:

• There was genuine applause when Frank Thomas came up the first time in the second. Which instantly turned into "uh, what now?" when he promptly escorted the baseball to deep left, just like he always used to do. I mean, we're happy to see you do well, but uh, why couldn't you be satisfied with, say, a double off the wall? And then he hits another homer in the 5th. Garland sucks.
• Ozzie, annoyed with the tight strike zone and Garland's generally sucktacularity, comes out to the mound to talk to his pitcher after giving up Thomas' aforementioned and a back-to-back, cherry on top, solo shot to Bobby Crosby. Umpire Doug Eddings comes out to break up the meeting, Ozzie apparently didn't like the color of Eddings' trousers, gets tossed.
• Play is stopped for a good long while as a squirrel prances around in the left field grass. Pablo Ozuna, hamfisted outfielder though he is, knows enough to not get near the wild animal, and generally gives off the body language of, "I don't get paid for that." The security guys along the left field stands? Not moving an inch.
  
  Finally, like sheep to the slaughter, two grounds crew guys jog out of the visitor's dugout, which is on the right field side, i.e., the furthest away from the squirrel possible. The crew dudes start sprinting when they realize 40,000 people are watching them attempt to do their jobs. The squirrel, alert to the possibility of a golden comedic moment, now jailbreaks for the center field warning track. Grounds crew guys freak, try to cut off the path of escape, squirrel doubles back to the left field corner. Cheers of "SQUIRREL... SQUIRREL... SQUIRREL" have predictably arisen. Jill shakes her head, wonders where we are "right now." Helpful fans along the left field stands try to reach out to catch it, maybe not thinking about how dumb grabbing a feral rodent might be. Order restored when the squirrel hides under? inside? the tarp. ToddH deadpans, "maybe the squirrel can pitch."

The rest was pretty straightforward. Mackowiak ties it, Jenks holds' em, Pablo squeezes it.

from the creators of Anchorman...

...comes my sleeper pick for the summer. Too bad it releases in August.


Going to the game tonight. Figures to be a lot of runs scored with Garland pitching.

may showers

People often ask me how I'm coping with the job thing. I grumble about it mostly (that's what's expected). But, I think I need to do a little more navel-gazing, a little more grousing to catch up because I've been having too much fun lately to grouse.

I drove up to Milwaukee Friday night to spend some QT with family friends the Twins (TM) and godson Alex (who loves to introduce me as his "godfather" for the odd looks), who, ceremony notwithstanding, are officially done at Marquette. Did this make me feel old? Yes, yes it did.


Laura looks happy and relieved, Alex looks scared and about to relieve his pants. Can you cry laugh at the same time? The random "Road work ahead" sign in the corner is also great, and kind of ominous.

We took in a Brewers game, which went undeterred by finicky Midwest spring weather because of Miller Park's retractable roof, and where Prince Fielder became a new favorite (how many can you have at once, anyway? Double digits too many?) after he pounded a monstrous drive to deep center, which was "estimated at 475 feet, the second-longest since Miller Park opened in 2001."

What's not to like about a guy that has a great name, great baseball pedigree, weighs 280 lbs, and can hit baseballs farther than I can hit golf balls? Pretty much nothing. And he just turned 22, and looks a lot like Big Papi. The thing is, David Ortiz didn't turn into Big Papi until his age 28 season.


See the Cingular and Roadrunner billboards (right of the scoreboard)? Fielder's homer hit the beam under the ads. For good measure, he cranked out an opposite field shot his next AB.


Saturday night, went to check out Secret Machines at a midnight show at Metro. Why a midnight show, guys. I know, so I'd be bleary-eyed for Mass the following morning. Random observations include:

1. I could have sworn guitarist Ben Curtis was wearing a blouse. A little too tight to be "fitted," black, cap sleeves, v-neck, topped off with a rather large charm on a silver chain, which would have fit *right* in during the 80s heyday of terrible movies like "Conan the Barbarian" and "Beastmaster." This jives with MaxFactor's observation that crowd seemed, more um, non-hetero than he'd envisioned. Nothing wrong with it, just didn't know the gay community was so into psychedelic rock. Good on you guys.

2. Drummer Josh Garza is a golden god. And it was his birthday.

3. SM has a very strong "it's-all-about-the-music" vibe during their performances; they don't indulge in Crowd Banter 101, they don't have a traditional floor configuration (main singer is off to the side, the trio faces each other), and lots of time you can't even see them cuz their usually backlit, the light show lases directly into the audience and the smoke takes care of the rest. So it's a little weird to listen to the new album, which sounds post-relational and attention-needy, and juxtapose it with how they carry themselves. Also, Ben Curtis wants to be a Guitar Hero (TM), which sort of makes sense considering their avowed Zeppelin love, but doesn't considering their generally aloof vibe. Anyway. They're probably still in the middle of figuring it all out.

4. I should have gotten the other shirt. Dah. At least I still have a shirt that says "Secret Machines" on it.

Woke up Sunday and had a great brunch with the boarders, my parents, my godson's and his cousin's families. Fun. This doesn't even include the two Sox games I went to last week. To answer your question, yes, I'm still actively looking for work, but what are you supposed to do when a school that's interested can't hire you because you don't coach soccer? Oh well. Here's to good times until then.

late night

Conan's been in town this week, giving us precious moments like following Mr. T around the town:



Have a good weekend.

When I consider

Sonnet XIV (1652)
John Milton

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest He returning chide;
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best. His state

Is kingly: thousands at His bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait."

Freddy loves MJ

The longest laugh of the today goes to Freddy Garcia allegedly testing positive for marijuana use during the World Baseball Classic. Apparently, smoking weed also means you lose 3-4 MPH off your fastball, adding a few pounds, and some of his mound demeanor.

"You talk to Freddy off the field, and he's the same way: laid back. He doesn't look like Venezuela. He looks like he's from California, I guess," says Ozzie.

I suspect a plot by Brandon McCarthy to break free from bullpen duties. All it would take is an unsuspecting IM conversation:

BMacSKILLZ: u ther?
FG34Calcetines: sup
BMacSKILLZ: wutcha doin
FG34Calcetines: internet poker its the bombbbbbbbb
FG34Calcetines: wanna play
BMacSKILLZ: no thx
FG34Calcetines: ok
FG34Calcetines: wut u doin?
BMacSKILLZ: eatin for the 5th time today
BMacSKILLZ: i want Oz to have a cool signal 4 me when i come out of the pen
BMacSKILLZ: the goatee thing didnt fly, i guess
BMacSKILLZ: anywayz
FG34Calcetines: thats cool man i can talk to him
FG34Calcetines: hes mi gente cuz of my wife
FG34Calcetines: he gonna listen to me cuz we're from Tierra de la gracia
BMacSKILLZ: s'ok
BMacSKILLZ: listen, there's gonna b a hydrant flushing next week
BMacSKILLZ: near my place, gonna be beer, ppl chillin out, food, hookahs and stuff
FG34Calcetines: hookaz are awesome

reading

One of my tutoring students asked me what I read. Nowadays, I tend to read stuff in a style that I want to write. So, Nick Hornby, John Irving, Chuck Palahniuk of late. I was trying to explain to my student, that for a writerly nerd, it's hard to just enjoy a plot, because I'm wrapped up in analyzing the language or dissecting how the dude turned that phrase so hilariously. I know *just* enough to be dangerous.

"Piano" (1918)
D.H. Lawrence

Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.

In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.

So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.

looking for land mines

It was a grueling weekend. As someone who works with Catholic youth, I was sent to a training session for child sexual abuse awareness, in the hopes of eventually training others in it also. Anyway, 8 hour sessions of horrifying anecdotes and shocking statistics pretty much did me in. My friend, who dragged me into this whole thing, said afterward, "where's the tallest building?" Indeed.

On the bright side, I got to connect with some high school principals, which resulted in some phone calls about jobs... but not teaching English. I dunno, at some point, maybe I'll just get the message that I shouldn't be doing this. I'd rather quit after having tried it, tho. Why don't people want me to teach English? I promise I won't be the *worst* teacher you've ever hired. Um, also I'm male and not Caucasian, so maybe I can help your quota out that way too. You wouldn't believe how many times my being male and not-Caucasian has been assumed as something that should help me. I dunno what to tell you, but it hasn't really worked out. But, considering my cold streak, I could probably apply to an all-Asian American Catholic boys writing school at this point, and still miss out.

Also, I don't know how I feel about this movie.

I'm a little worried at Ozzie's insistence of using the "Sunday lineup" more than once a week, the Sunday lineup being any combination of Pablo Ozuna, Alex Cintron, AND Rob Mackowiak all playing at the SAME TIME. I don't have a problem with resting your starters after a long postseason and a short offseason.

I know the Mariners and the Royals suck. I know that every day, we send out at least an average to above-average starting pitcher. I know the defense is pretty bulletproof. But really, can't the starters take turns having days off? Do I really need to see a lineup that has, consecutively, Mackowiak, Cintron, BAnderson (altho he's coming out of his slump), and Ozuna? We're playing offense 9 against 5. We don't need to sit 3 starters at once, outside of injuries. Cuz even Babe Ruth and Konerko will slump eventually, and the collective balance of the everyday starters will be necessary.

But no one, justifiably, has sorrow to spare for the defending champions, who, coming into Wed night, have the best record in the AL at 14-6. We're a long way from calling off the season.

even his mother calls him, the Edge

Episcopalians rock out to U2 Eucharist.

planning/thinking

"My favorite fruit is grapes. Because with grapes, you always get another chance. 'Cause, if you have a crappy apple or a peach, you're stuck with that crappy piece of fruit. But if you have a crappy grape, no problem - just move on to the next. 'Grapes: The Fruit of Hope.'"
-- Demetri Martin

Speaking of hope, waiting to hear back from last week's interview. It's funny to think that I drove an hour to go talk to somebody for 15 minutes. Also, trying to plan out my summer, mostly in terms of which five-day retreats I'll be helping on. Early July is the local one, late July is Toronto, and I might fly out to Washington for their camp in mid June. So, if anybody has an extra $300 lying around and willing to donate to a good cause... I think I really can help some kids out. I swear I won't pocket it and run.

This is my fifth year of doing these retreats, which is way longer than I ever envisioned doing something like this. I wasn't really the volunteering type during school, and now I'm responsible for coordinating or leading the retreats for my organization (MI Youth) for 3 states. I'm feeling a little pressure to make the most of the limited time that I have with it, because part of the basic philosophy of the youth ministry is to have "youth evangelize youth," and at some point in my mid 30s, I'm going to get a little old for it. So I see five more years of doing this sort of active participation in this ministry, so I want to do everything that I can, while I can. Plus, it's nice to feel like you can add something substantial to something worthwhile.

Contreras one-hit the Royals last night. If the pitching comes around, and the way Thome's been yeast to the offensive dough, Sox could be straight up killin' the Central.

I need... something to write.

***
The middle-aged woman plodded over to the chair, gingerly sinking into the cushioned seat. She looked intently at the magazines laid out on the table before her, and carefully picked one after shuffling through the titles. She held it in her left hand and leafed the pages with her right, sitting upright to ease the pressure off of her feet, it seemed, her short legs crossed and tucked under the seat.

She sat until the nurse called her to the desk, asking her to fill out a form. She nodded and took the clipboard. She asked me what some of the words said, not that she didn't understand, but because she couldn't quite make them out even with her glasses.

I read aloud "patient history" and she once again nodded her understanding, filling out the information as briefly and efficiently as possible.

"Did you eat when you woke up?" she asked, concerned that my habit of fasting until late in the afternoon would eventually ruin me.

I explained that I had a little cereal, just to appease her. I did, I just didn't finish the bowl.

She nodded again. "The bills you had to pay, you should send them soon."

"I know." She can never stop being a mother, checking up on everyone.

"Do you need some money? Do you have enough to pay?"

"It's ok. I have enough."

unstop the day

Decided to celebrate Easter by taking in some pop music at the Metro. Hey, you and I both know that Jesus loves a good beat to dance to.

The Editors opened up with an energetic set, although I got a little nauseous with lead singer Tom Smith's ADD/migraine stage hysterics. I'd say they're Interpol, but more light side and not quite as good. Their set was almost as long as headliner Stellastarr*. Also, it simultaenously gave and took away Jill's hope of starting a band completely composed of editorial staff. Or they at least would have to get a different name.

Stellastarr* only stuck around for 55 minutes and played all the goldies and oldies that I was looking for. Was definitely disappointed that they didn't have any new stuff to try out. That's guitarist Michael Jurin (left) and lead singer Shawn Christensen in the picture. Christensen has a great, fluttery hiccup that cuts through all the noise; it's cool that it doesn't get overpowered by the amplifiers. Bassist Amanda Tannen's sweet hollabacks got caught up in the wash, sometimes, but it could be that I was fricking deaf from being too close to the stage/speakers.


I'll admit that the real treat was being right up against Tannen's stage side.

This might be the last show for awhile. Coachella is far away, Intonation and the Pitchfork Festival conflict with volunteer commitments, and... wait, I hate outdoor festivals. The oppressive heat, the unwashed masses, port-a-potties, long lines, standing all day... Call me crazy, but I happen to like air conditioning and uncrappy acoustics. (Lollapalooza looks tempting, though. Wilco? Secret Machines? the Shins? BSS? New Pornographers? Heck, Feist?) I'll probably poop out and just go see Band of Horses in June at Scooba'z.

easter

There is only one temptation. All particular temptations are expressions of this one original or "primordial" temptation. This is the temptation to believe that the fulfillment of the desires of the human heart depends entirely on us. Dependence on another leaves us at the mercy of what we cannot control. Therefore, we are tempted to reject all forms of dependence. The most radical form of dependence is love. Therefore, the original temptation is to deny that our existence is a pure and perfect gift of an infinite Love that deserves to be loved in return. The fullest revelation that God is love is the incarnation of Christ. Therefore, the primordial temptation is to reject the incarnation and its consequences.

--Monsignor Lorenzo Albacete

good idea, bad idea

Good idea:
I was scrolling through Max's iPod, and he had a playlist for different years. He said the lists comprised of the songs that were particularly memorable to him at the time, so in essence, it was a musical autobiography.

Bad idea:
Most people don't use playlists on their iPod, simply relying on the "Shuffle Songs" feature. And end up hitting "skip" a lot, I suppose. Although they might not care enough to do even that.

Good idea:
Using your celebrity status to speak out about a problem, like JK Rowling and our "thin-obsessed" culture.

Bad idea:
Being a celebrity and talking too much about your past, like how your dad abused you. Really, you seemed totally fine to us.

Good idea:
Inside Man. Excellent acting and a serviceable script, although the conceit was visible far earlier than in most heist flicks. An enjoyable two hours.

Bad idea:
Showing up 15 minutes late to an interview. Diagonal streets are not my friends.

you think you know, but you have no idea (long baseball post)

Baseball preview: time to pick division winners.

But.

Colbert-style.

That means, of course, using The DaColbert Code.

AL West
Predicted finish: Oak, Angels, Tex, Sea
Oakland's got the best pitching this side of the White Sox, enough to edge out an Angels team with some injury and age issues. No surprise if the Angels finish first instead, however.

Best acquisition: Brad Wilkerson, Tex
The swag from the Soriano trade, whose OPS skillz should prosper mightily in the HappyFunBall palace that is the Ballpark at Arlington. Oh, and Tejas got to save a bundle of cash, too.

Worst acquisition: Brian Lawrence, Tex
It might not be a great idea to trade for a *flyball* pitcher to the aforementioned HappyFunBall palace. Especially when you gave up a young groundball pitcher for him.

American League West...
Kanye West...
Common...
Uncommon Grounds...
coffee...
Starbucks...

Seattle! And for good measure, hit Ichiro!! third. Oh, if this code got into the wrong hands...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AL East
Predicted finish: Bos, Tor, Bal, NYY, TB
Big holes in each of the contenders, but Boston seems to have the fewest, with a decent starting rotation (Beckett, Schilling, Clement, Wells, Papelbon + Wakefield) and they're still gonna score runs. Also, I hate the Yankees.

Best acquisition: Coco Crisp, Bos + Wily Mo Pena, Bos
Boston replaces Captain Caveman's production for pennies on the dollar, gets a useful part for a fungible pitcher (Arroyo), and two of the best baseball names at no extra charge. Isn't Nuke Logan still out there?

Worst acquisition: AJ Burnett, Tor
Darren Dreifort, part 2. Right on cue, he's even starting the season on the DL.

American League East...
East of Eden...
John Steinbeck...
Grapes of Wrath...
Battle Hymn of the Republic...
Civil War...
warlord...
George Steinbrenner...

Yankees?! Dammit! Even The DaColbert Code wants the Yankees to win.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

AL Central
Predicted finish: Cle, Chi, Min, Det, KC
Yah, I know I'm a White Sox fan, but I just don't see them staying injury free like they did last year. But, we still make the playoffs and win the World Series. Duh. Cleveland looks strong, aside from the bullpen.

Best acquisition: Javy Vazquez, Chi
Sox bolster the rotation with insurance just in case Contreras falls on his face without other Cubans around. Can Man Soo Lee just lie and *say* he's Cuban?

Worst acquisition: KC's entire free agency class
Scott Elarton, Reggie Sanders, Joe Mays, Mark Grudzielaniek, and Doug Mientkiewicz is a lot of money for 65 wins, and jersey lettering, now that I look at it.

American League Central...
central air conditioning...
shampoo + conditioner...
Pert Plus...
positive charge...
proton pack...
Ghostbusters...
Bill Murray...
Harold Ramis...
Dan Aykroyd...
Blues Brothers...

Chicago! Heck yes.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NL West
Predicted finish: SD, SF, LA, Ari, Col
The ugly stepsister of MLB. Like when Jacob finally worked off seven years of labor for Laban to marry Rachel, but got stuck with Leah instead. Ya feel like somebody is getting screwed over because *someone* from this decrepit division gets to go to the playoffs (Philly fans feel me). Anybody but the Rockies can "win" it.

Best acquisition: Mike Piazza, SD
It's not the best signing, but... the Angels couldn't have used him DH? Petco is going to suppress his power, and he never was a Gold Lover behind the plate, but it's only for a year plus an option.

Worst acquisition: Shawn Estes, SD
Or, as the Doc likes to say, "Shawn Testes." Still doing the ghost of Jaime Navarro proud. Definitely the crappiest white pitcher I've ever seen. Yah, I got a list for that too.

National League West...
Best Western...
motel...
road trip...
Tom Green...
Green Lantern...
Jack O Lantern...
Halloween...
Michael Myers...
Austin Powers...
James Bond...
Barry Bonds...

SF. Ugh. Have fun, Jacobs of the National League.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NL East
Predicted finish: Atl, NY, Phi, Fla, Was
Hard to believe Atl is going for their *15th* division title in a row. Ridiculous. Too bad Florida has twice as many titles in the same span.

Best acquisition: Carlos Delgado, NY
Sure wish the Sox got him instead of Thome, even tho Del-got-it has some tendinitis issues in the spring.

Worst acquisition: Alfonso Soriano, Was
I read an article about the Yankees when Soriano first came up with them, and they were talking about moving him to the outfield. They asked Jeter about it, and he said, no, they shouldn't do it, because he doesn't have great depth perception. Now, Jeter just happened to be on the field throwing warm-up tosses to Soriano. He says, watch this to the writer, and throws a ball 2 feet above Soriano's head. Alfonso, allegedly, didn't even move to compensate, just watched the ball sail over his head. I know that's not scientific fact, but... that doesn't give me a lot of hope. Also, the Nationals play in a huge park that's going to suppress his power.

National League East...
Easter Bunny...
Bugs Bunny...
Space Jam...
Black Jesus...
Air Jordan shoes...
Spike Lee...

NY. All that spending finally pays off. The DaColbert Code sure loves the big markets.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

NL Central
Predicted finish: Hou, StL, Mil, Chi, Pit, Cin
Mil is the popular darkhorse pick, but I think Clemens resurfaces like a horror-flick villain and takes Houston to the promised land again, if he hasn't hit the BBQ too hard by then.

Best acquisition: none. I tried, really, but Preston Wilson doesn't do it for me. Some really middling acquisitions in this division. Jacque Jones on the Cubs? St. Louis signing Prince Sidney Ponson? Yikes.

National League Central...
Central Park...
joggers...
wristbands...
wristwatch...
watch dog...
dog crap...

ChiCubs. Hey, maybe the first decade of the millennium is when all of the curses *do* die.

Award winners and playoff predictions next week. Hey! Baseball's here!

photographing, or trying to

At least some of them turned out. I have a nasty case of the jitters. Gotta lay off the coffee.

Click the images for super-big versions.

Over the weekend, robins were hanging out in the tree directly in front of our house, while nary a robin is to be seen in any other tree on our block (I checked). I don't really care about birds sitting in trees, but it was weird that they weren't out anywhere else. They probably heard about Mama Ahn's cooking. Cuz they look fat enough to have had some of it already.

Yesterday, went to Queen of All Saints basilica in Lincolnwood, which has some of the best and most extensive displays of stained glass I've seen, even better than what I'd seen in Rome. I kinda wished for a brighter day, but the sun would probably have overpowered my dinky camera.

One of the cool things about the basilica is that the stained glass is in sets of four, with each grouping of four having a unifying theme, like the Gospel writers in this example, or significant scenes from the life of Jesus, or saints who were popes. I'm probably going back next week to photograph more of it.

potpourri

Watching some horrendous movie on HBO (King Arthur, I think) with Clive Owen and Keira Knightley. Keira comes on the screen just as my mom rolls through.

mom: (stares at screen) Is that the girl who steals?
me: What?
mom: You know. The girl that steals. She shoplifts. It was on the news.
me: ... You mean Winona Ryder. (I point) That's Keira Knightley.
mom: She looks like the girl who steals.
me: That's Winona Ryder. She's American. Keira Knightley is British. (I'm not sure why that's helpful to say)
mom: Oh. I don't know her. (looks more) She's not very pretty.

On second thought, she might not be so far off.


----

I was sitting in the library, reading John Irving's The World According to Garp. I look up to stretch out my neck, and directly in my line of sight, I see an older man, bespectacled, neat mustache, probably in his late 50s, wearing a bright yellow shirt with palm tree prints crisscrossed on the front. The weird thing is that between he and me is a potted plant that actually closely resembles the plant life on his shirt. Basically, he's wearing the perfect camouflage for anyone seeing him from my angle. Good thing I could see him.

---

V for Vendetta is worth seeing. Pretty straightforward plot but with some interesting things to think about, and more about Guy Fawkes than you ever thought you'd know. It was nice to see that Hugo Weaving could shed his Agent persona for once, unlike in LOTR. Not seeing his face helped. That seems like something fun to say.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?"
"Sure."
"Can you just cover your face, so I can pretend that you're not you?"
"..."
"It's cuz when I see your face, all that comes to mind is YOU, and I'd rather think of, I dunno, somebody else, like a vigilante that throws knives but still has your cool voice."

I accept that Natalie Portman is beautiful, but the shaved head only emphasized how much she really is, actually. The poverty embellished what's left. Anybody can look presentable under the glam makeup and professional stylists, but it's hard to negate the baldy. It's different than the normal Hollywood uglification.

this one is more fairytale, than barroom

I don't normally like the blues-tinged, folksy rock that Johnny Cash propagated, so I was surprised to find myself enjoying Isobel Campbell's (of Belle & Sebastian) and Mark Lanegan's (Screaming Trees) new one, "The Ballad of the Broken Seas." It's pretty much the aural version of sweet and sour pork, or Chubby Hubby ice cream, both of which blend together two opposing flavors to pleasing results. The constrasting sweet and sour (or sweet and salty) brings out and enhances the opposing taste. Lanegan is this great, rumbly, sunburnt, prickly cactus of a voice that is clear on the other end of the spectrum from Campbell's watery pixie murmur. And it works great.


Lanegan was not in the hizzouse at Schuba's last night, with Eugene Kelly (above) pinch-hitting. Isobel was thoroughly entertaining on her own, with her Scottish accent and Small/Cute (TM) mannerisms. Melody put it best: "I can totally imagine what she was like when she was six years old." I tend to like it when performers can laugh a little onstage, show some normal human emotion, which she did in light of some technical difficulty. I was tempted to get a picture with her after, but... I'm too cool for that. Beats watching the Oscars.

gatball

One of the places I've been interviewing at, asking whether I'd consider sponsoring various clubs (depends), coach volleyball (sure, I played before), or coach baseball.

Huh?

I don't remember putting anything about baseball on my resume or application materials, not even under "nerdy obsessions."

I first think, no. I didn't even play Little League. I've played in church leagues and intramurals during undergrad.

Then I think, wait. This could potentially be ridiculously awesome.

Visions of Gatball swirled in front of me. Gatball (TM) would mostly consist of meticulously memorizing baseball stats from say, the last 25 years or so.

Who was the NL Rookie of the Year in 1987? Benito Santiago, fool! Who was the AL Cy Young for 1993? Black Jack McDowell, friends. (Greg Maddux won in the NL, which kinda made Chicago the center of the pitching world, I guess.)

The major downside to coaching baseball would be having to wear the uni, for sure. There's no way anybody looks good wearing those. There's something weird about having a non-athlete go through the rigor of wearing an ill-fitting uni. We don't do it any other sport, so why does baseball insist? They could wear comfortable althetic gear, like football coaches do, would definitely make a lot more sense.

Anyway. Something to shoot for. I already know I can do a better job than some people. Ahem.

(He has a hitting video that he sells on his website. Can't wait to get to the section on "Batting hacktastic free swingers with no plate discipline at the top of the lineup because they have speed." Or, maybe, "the Everyman Baseball Proletariat Ethic of Jose Macias," and "The God-man: Neifi Perez.")

God bless ya Dusty. I'll continue to keep my non-dark skin out of the sun while I work on the tenets of Gatball (TM).

what?

Bros. Maximillian and Pio. Who says being holy isn't cool? They're CFRs (Franciscans of the Renewal) working with the poor in Brooklyn.

While on another mission trip down in South America, the nuns they were working with asked the American brothers to sing an American song. Brother Maximillian, never at a lost, dusts off a swank version of Kenny Rogers' "The Gambler." The sisters all applaud and clap, their English not sophisticated enough to understand the song. When queried about his song choice, Br. Max said "It was the first thing that came into my head." God bless you, brothers.

... ladies

My first time going to watch a stand-up routine at his Friday night show. Thanks Melody, for finding him, wherever you found him. I haven't laughed like that in a long time. It's also nice to know that I'm not alone/crazy for noticing little things and wondering why they are that way.

"Spare change and wedgies are the same, because I only give them to people are who are really asking for it."

"I like how an eating contest, turns into a pooping contest."

"Exes and ok movies are also the same. They're both ok at the time, and I enjoyed them, but I wouldn't want to see them again."