Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Photos From My Weekend

I just want to warn you that the following photo may get you a little fired up. It sure as hell got me fired up, but that isn't difficult to accomplish.




The shirt reads "Rebel Born, Rebel Bred, and when I die I will be Rebel Dead." Fine. He's a redneck. Any fraternity-loving southern boy wearing the confederate flag on his shirt is annoying enough. My problem is that he is wearing the hat of the World Champion Boston Red Sox! Dick. It took all my strength not rip it off his head in the name of all that is good in this world.


One of my good friends, and former roommate, turned thirty this past weekend. I realized at her party how much I miss living with her. Don't get me wrong I love my current living situation, you can't beat the live in chef, but I did enjoy the nights where she and I would get a little goofy. This photo marks the point in the evening where we crossed from having a fun enjoyable night to being ridiculous. You know that point, one minute all is well and good, and the next you are wreaking havoc. We had decided to try on each others shoes. Why? I don't know. The next thing you know we were getting in our bathing suits and jumping in her pool. Brilliant idea I might say. A short while later I was holding her hair while she "puked her way from her twenties into her thirties." Her words not mine. Luckily Dave and her husband just let us be our silly drunken selves while they carried on a nerdy science book conversation.

Good weekend overall. But this coming one will be better!

Friday, July 22, 2005

Peter, Peter, Peter



I love you. I really do. You know more about baseball than anyone else on TV. You might be one of the most knowledgeable men of our time. We all know that you are required to report about all the teams fairly, but you are a Sox fan. You grew up a Sox fan and you remain a Sox fan. It is in your blood. I love watching you on baseball Tonight, especially when you are contradicting that fat ass John Kruk. I look at your preseason reports to help me pick my fantasy team and many times one of your prospects has helped me out. I hung on to Johan Santana last year on your suggestion and he ended up winning the Cy Young award. Thanks for that. But for the love of God what the hell are you doing in this picture. It is embarrassing enough that Bronson Arroyo is making CD's and recruiting fellow teammates to help him out. Dirty Water was just fine when the Standells did it, Bronson is pushing it a little. Then there was Johnny Damon taking the stage with some Detroit band before the home run derby. Johnny doesn't realize that we get it, he has long hair, he thinks he is a rock star, but he cannot sing. We all know it. His is having an amazing season so we can forgive him for his off field ridiculousness. But Peter, not you too! I know that this is for charity. I know that it raising a ton of money. But you look like you forgot your metamucil this morning. Seriously. You probably think that it helps to have Wake standing behind you doing his best Tim McGraw impression, but it doesn't. It just makes you look like some old guy that jumped the stage at the county fair. You are the best baseball commentator of your generation, stop with the Marty McFly routine. Please. On behave of the rest of the Red Sox Nation, stop. Just stop.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Coming Down

The last few days have been consumed by Harry Potter. I have been stealing opportunities to read, between work and sleep there have not been many. I knew others who and had already finished and last night I could not take it anymore. I wanted to know what happens and not even my own body, which was fighting for sleep, was going to stop me. I felt like an addict who would not stop until I got my fix. In the wee hours of the morning, after crying like a blubbering fool through the last fifty pages, I was done. I am drained emotionally and yes, I do realize how absurd that sounds. I have been joining various friends and coworkers in theory sessions about the outcome of the story. If you are not a Rowling fan, or you are one of the countless people who have said to me "I don't read the books, but I like the movies," you may not realize that us Potterites converge and discuss the books in an obsessive manner. People that you never pegged as Potter fans come out of the closet. Everyone has their theories. So-and-so is going to do this. I think so-and-so did that. I listen. I add my two cents. But in the end I don't really want to know what is going to happen in the next installment. I really just love the ride. First the rumors of when the book is coming out, then the date is released and we plot how we are going to get our copies. Then we finally have the chance to purchase the coveted prize and we rejoice. Holding your copy seems surreal. Then the second phase begins, reading. Suddenly you become very serious and you don't want to talk to anyone. When you are not reading you freak out if anyone near you is discussing the book because you don't want them to spoil it for you. I actually threatened to draw blood on a coworker if she told me anything. I wasn't kidding. Then you get so close to the end that you can barely sit still. The pages turn faster and you can taste the answers coming. Then, it is done. The chatter begins and the whole cycle starts over again.

Not everyone gets it and that is fine. Many, many people have laughed at my enjoyment and again, that is fine too. I know that getting this excited about a "Children's book" seems neurotic. I am not ashamed. I embrace the ridiculousness of it all. You don't get it and there is only one explanation for it, Muggles, all of you.

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Freaks



As soon as you sent this to me I knew I had to post it.

Friday, July 15, 2005

A Plethora of Excitement

I don't really know what to do with myself this weekend. Harry Potter comes out at Midnight, and even though I am a total nerd I will not be waiting in line tonight. Saying that does make me feel better about getting my pre-ordered copy tomorrow, I've justified that as not being as nerdy. The new Willy Wonka opens today as well. I know, I know, it can't be as good as the first one. But, the Johnny Depp, Tim Burton, Danny Elfman combo has not let me down yet. I really want to go but I promised my friend Derek I would go with him and he is working tonight. OK, not kidding, Derek just called me while typing this to see if I was up for the matinee in an hour. Holy shit, my friends are just as nerdy as I am. Sweet. As if all this is not enough excitement it is a Sox Yankees weekend.

Alright, Willy Wonka here I come. I am leaving you with a little Harry Potter game to satisfy yor thirst until you get your books. Don't laugh, I know which ones of you have been sorted.


Thursday, July 14, 2005

Happy Bastille Day!

Aujourd'hui est FĂȘte Nationale.






This is my photo of the Colonne de Juillet, where the Bastille was located.

I am throwing in a my picture of Marie Antoinette's bed for good measure.

If you feel like celebrating, Jenn knows a good place in the south end if you want some crepes!! At least I know that Neil is laughing.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Third row



This was my view of the Sox game on Friday night. Dare I say- Amazing! The best part was that the seats were free and I had a parking pass. Well worth the 2+ hours I sat in traffic to get there. I was surrounded by Sox fans of all ages, with the exception of two O's fans that loved us. I pride myself on getting random candid photos, so during an Orioles pitching change I kept calling out to David Ortiz on first base. I sat there with my camera phone ready, screaming "Papi," "David," "Ortiz," whatever I could think of to get him to look at me. My pleas elicited the support of surrounding Red Sox fans who joined in the cause. "Come on David, she wants your picture!" "David, look over here!" The whole section chanting in chorus. Finally David Ortiz turned his head and looked right at me. Right at ME! He cocked his hips and pointed towards me with both hands. His playful smile gleamed in my direction. There it was my perfect photo. The photo that every Red Sox fan dreams of taking. And my phone turned off. Yup, no shot. No trophy to show off my victory. Nothing.

I'm gonna be thinking about that one for a long time.

This game there was no drinking. To be honest I was still a little hurting from the night before. My thinking was not clouded by BLB's. No drunken visions to haze my judgment. Therefore my experience Friday confirmed my thesis that all O's fans are rednecks. Case in point were the two O's fans that sat in the row ahead of us. The Sox were kicking some scrawny little bird ass the whole game and there was a lot of cheering going on from every direction. The two ten year olds behind us, the couple next to us, and the drunk guys in front of them, all cheering loudly and proudly for the Old Towne Team. So Cleatus decides to turn around in the fifth and ask the three twenty-something women to "tone it down a little bit because we are hurting his ears." What?!? You might be twenty-five, you are at a baseball game, and you are claiming that your ears hurt? We were not stretching the limits of normal baseball cheering. I wasn't even drinking!! "Are you kidding?" my friend asked with a big smile on her face. Nope- not kidding. Now, in most social circumstances I am pretty mellow. I don't seek out trouble, and I generally mind my own business. But when you behave like an obnoxious moron, I will respond in kind. He asked for it, so I brought it. I'm sure he was relieved whenever someone near us started cheering and I said that they should be quieter, while pointing at Cleatus, because his ears hurt. Or, I bet he loved that I called a few people and, in my softest voice, asked them how ridiculous it was that a guy at a game asked three women to be a little quieter. His friend was visibly embarrassed by him so it just made the situation so much better. Rednecks. Whiney little rednecks that have no place in the Al east, and definitely do not deserve a ballpark as nice as Camden Yards.

I know, I am just bitter cause I can't get to Fenway as often as I would like. I have been to about 20 games this year, three last week alone, and none at Fenway. Weird. I also can't help that not everyone is born in New England and get to claim the World Champion Boston Red Sox as their hometown team. We are the lucky ones. And we are not afraid to remind them of that.

Word.

Thursday, July 07, 2005

"Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?"

So, I have this really bad habit of drunk dialing people. Tonight I drunk dialed all of my siblings and asked them why O's fans are all such rednecks. My brothers both responded by saying that I should not get Dave's ass kicked at the baseball game. We are home safe and there was no ass kicking. That does not mean that they are not rednecks, it just means that I managed to not piss anyone off.

I hate the O's. I also hate Baltimore. For a long time Baltimore was the only place I could go in this area to watch a baseball game. Now that I have the Nationals, and I am lucky enough to have season tickets, I don't have to go to Baltimore quite as often. Except when the World Champion Boston Red Sox are in town. Then I must sit in the car for two hours in traffic, waiting to see the real Boys of Summer take the field. This is the first time I have see my beloved team in person since last summer, before they beat New York, before they swept St. Louis, and before they got their rings. The last time I saw a Sox game was also in Baltimore and it was rained out that night as well. Last summer one of my friends got her husbands law firm seats and we sat right next to the Rem Dog on the club level. Second inning-rain. I hate Baltimore.

I have probably been to a dozen of so games in Camden Yards and most have them have not been good. Last summer during the Great Cicada Crisis of 2004, we watched the Yankees spank the Orioles by about 8 million to 2. The worst part was that the game was so boring, reject O's fans thought it would be a good idea to eat Cicadas. If you were not on the east coast last summer, the twenty year Cicada cycle struck, and they were everywhere. Yes, O's fans were eating Cicadas. At one point people were collecting them so that one particularly demented man could eat over twenty of them. As if there is any question, yes I was gagging. Redneck status cemented forever in my mind.

I was also lucky enough to be at Camden Yards for the opening game of 2004. Pedro started the game in about negative 10 degree weather and I froze my ass off. I sat in the outfield, freezing, for nine innings while my team was slaughtered. As if that were not bad enough, I ate a hamburger at the game that made me sick for two days. Recap, 9 innings of butt ass cold baseball, 1 hamburger, 2 days of sickness. Nope, not fun.

There have been a few fun games at Camden Yards. The summer after Dave and I started dating we drove up to watch the O's play Tampa Bay. It was really random game to go to but we got really drunk. So drunk in fact we could not drive home. We walked around the inner harbor for a while trying to find a hotel with an empty room. Lucky for us it was the same weekend as the Preakness and there was not a hotel room to be found. This led to a lot of walking around until Dave was sober enough to drive home. Can you see why I love Baltimore so much?

I was very disappointed tonight for several reasons. First, the World Champion Boston Red Sox fielded their C team. No Tek, no Manny, no JD, no rent-a-wreck. Second it poured, and poured, and poured. Third, we lost. Another disappointing trip to the most disappointing city on the east coast. I am thankful that I do not live there, and I am very thankful that I am not from there. Perhaps we will have better luck tomorrow...

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Happy Birthday Jammie!!!!!

Ahh, you too have fallen victim to the embarrassing birthday photos. Isn't that what little sisters are for...



I will start off easy on you since you are getting old. This one isn't so bad except that Johnny Burger King is wearing a Red Sox hat and a Red Sox sweatshirt. Do you like the Red Sox Billy? Maybe if you give Keith Foulke your truck you an interview him.



The image of a lollipop holding Santa head placed in your crotch is one that I never wanted. Especially since my godparents gave that to me when I was a kid! I don't know if I want it anymore.



"Wheeeeee, look at me, I'm the creepy guy trying to keep the cute little kid in my play tent. Don't you want to stay? I have a play oven in here."



I don't really know what is happening here. I see a dogs play toy, our sister bent over, and you with a scary smile on your face. I'm gonna leave this one alone.



"I love Christmas. Christmas is my favorite. I love Christmas so much I just stand out here and hug this tree. Do you like Christmas? I like Christmas. Will you hug me?"



You look like one of those drunk clowns that have XXX over their eyes.

Don't be fooled people, that jug ain't got no booze. Thems is pennies, lots and lots o' pennies. You almost tricked us Billy.



"I'm tired of being silly. I'm just gonna lay here and spoon with the dog. That is not wierd is it?"


Happy Birthday Billy!

I hope you get to go out and drink lots of pennies tonight.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Sowing the Seeds of Love

I have been thinking all day about the group that "Secret Squirrel" brought to my attention. Their are countless things that I do not understand in this world. Blind, organized hate that hides behind the bible is definitely one of those things. I did go to their web site, but I do not recommend doing the same unless you feel like getting really angry. I found many, many, many offensive, repulsive articles, fliers and misinformation there. The most disturbing was the photos that they post of small children wearing T shirts that have "God Hates Fags" and "God Hates America" printed on them. Can you imagine what it is like growing up in that environment? First you have the bad luck of being born in Kansas, then you are doomed to parents that are hate mongers. Can any of them escape the same fate? I know the answer to that question and it is depressing. Part of me is saying, ignore them. They are a small fringe group that keeps getting a lot of national attention. They have no real impact. Then the other part of me keeps visioning the page they have on their web site of poor Matthew Shepherd's head bouncing around flames, because as we all know he was looking to get beaten, tortured and left to die strapped to a fence because he liked boys. We all know he is in hell. But not his killers. Nope, they had a chance to repent for their sins. But not Matthew. He is with Satan. Is this worth my anger? Are they worth my time? Yes, Yes they are. They are worth me getting angry about because if I don't get angry, and you don't get angry then we are agreeing that it is OK to picket outside the funeral of soldier who died to defend me, and you, and their scrawny, malnourished little children wearing God Hates Fags t shirts.

OK...I had to get away from the computer for a few minutes. Maybe I should keep getting mad, but not so much that I physically want to harm people. Good Idea.

I had intended to write about the crazy bitches in front of me at the Nationals game who would be served well by reading my baseball etiquette manual. You know you really shouldn't be at a game when you get up to get food and the people behind you, including me and a nice older couple from North Carolina, clap because we don't have to listen to your fat mouth babbling anymore. When I publish this guide it will save countless fans from the agony that we experienced today.

Johnny Damon made the All Star Team. He surpassed Ichiro by about 126,000 votes. I think it was my 25 votes put him over the top.