Odd conversation with a boss today.

He walked in, basically with nothing to say, and started picking my brain. My thoughts on the R/DS. My thoughts on the ring fingernail. My thoughts on the rest of the staff. My thoughts on the relative commitment level of the rest of the staff. (That is, do I think that the rest of the staff is planning on being around come next season? Yes, we're three games into the season, and we're already concerned about mid-September. That's how it always happens.) My relative commitment level beyond this season. "Keep this under wraps, but there's this apartment that we have for the coaches, and we're stuck with a year-long lease on it..." [Implied: You can probably wind up there.]

And then, me being me, I started pontificating. About my thoughts on working in the "industry." [I like most aspects of it.] My thoughts on how much I enjoyed this past weekend. [A lot.] My thoughts on how much I like broadcasting. [A lot, though I may have concluded that it's not the be-all-end-all in terms of professional satisfaction.]

I think he was pretty surprised by the "not the be-all-end-all" fact, because I think that he's thinking of me - already - as a post-season [in-season?] successor to the R/DS.

I also asked how they wound up with the R/DS. "We thought it was a great hire. We were real excited about him. Sadly, we pretty quickly realized that he might be a mistake." [Seriously, shouldn't he not be saying things like this to me?]

Essentially, he was trying to get a pulse on what I think about the organization, and what I think about my place in the organization, and, more importantly, how I view my future in the organization. Flattering, I guess. Uncomfortable [Shoot! I've been here less than two months! You really want my opinion on this stuff?], too, but also interesting.

- - - - - - - - -

I also learned today that the office is even more incestuous than I previously realized.

We'll start with the boss who was speaking with me, call him J.

J's parents are co-owners, one serving as "President" and another as "General Manager," or something like that. Titles mean very little.

Also in the office -

J's best friend from college. J's best friend's wife was here at the outset, though she got a better job elsewhere. J's best friend will be leaving after the season.

J's father-in-law.

J's wife's former college teammate, who is engaged to a player. [At the moment when he said, "My wife and M. were teammates in college," I cleverly said, "Wait? Teammates? This is even more incestuous than I realized." I thought it was a good statement, so I included it above, also.]

Basically, there are what I would call 11 "core" employees, and seven are somehow connected. Wild.

Worst part of this? J refers to ownership as "my mom" and "my dad." Just uncomfortable, but part of the charm, too. In a way, anyway.

- - - - - - - - - -

At the beach this weekend, while in a semi-sleeping, semi-meditating, semi-relaxing state, I started singing, as completely as I could, the first half of Guided by Voices' Bee Thousand. I also repeatedly came back to Pet Sounds, and often to Blackalicious' Make You Feel That Way.

And then I started thinking about my favorite songs ever, just because. Favorite albums tend to stand out, and earn their way to the top. Favorite songs waft in and out of one's consciousness.

My best stab at my ten favorite songs (in no order, though the first one listed is my unadulterated favorite):

Guided by Voices - Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory
Wilco - I Am Trying to Break Your Heart
Guided by Voices - I Am a Scientist
The White Stripes - Hotel Yorba
Blackalicious - Make You Feel That Way
Neutral Milk Hotel - Two Headed Boy Pt. 2
Kanye West - Family Business
Guided by Voices - A Salty Salute
The Beach Boys - Wouldn't It Be Nice?
The Mountain Goats - This Year or Dance Music, but I can't decide

That was pretty fun, I guess. It's far from definitive, though I'm very comfortable that the first two GbV songs, I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, Wouldn't It Be Nice?, and Make You Feel That Way are cinches. Gosh, Make You Feel That Way is powerful, in a dumb, not-powerful, but still beautiful way.

- - - - - - - -

Localizing myself:

Saturday, I applied for a library card. Should arrive in the next few days.

Tuesday, I opened a local bank account.

Wednesday, I got my first local haircut. They give the hot shaving cream on the neck treatment, though it's not as good as the treatment in either Evanston or The 'Port. Still, a pretty high-quality haircut.

Next on the list is local auto registration, though I'm told that my insurance will shoot up once I'm registered here. Stupid no-fault automobile laws, or something. Problem is, my tags have been expired for two months, so I need to register somewhere.

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

This is my 500th post. No joke. Perhaps you should check the archives to see the ones you missed. I'm sorry. Here's to 500 more. Or no more, I'm not sure.

I've been in a once-on-Sunday, once-during-the-week posting rhythm of late, and I apologize for changing that this week. I had planned to post at points during the past week but, amazingly, I've broken some sort of personal record by going out a total of eight straight days. Often, just a post-game beer or two (or, in two cases, a pre-season beer or two), but enough to prevent proper commitment to the high-quality work you've come to expect of late.

- - - - - -

After knocking out Beck a few weeks ago, GbV's "I Am a Scientist" (maybe the lowest remaining seed as an 18) faces "Our Lips Are Sealed" in the Gimme Indie Rock tournament. Please support Dayton's finest export accordingly. America thanks you.

- - - - - -

But for a weeklong Sunday-on-the-roof-related pinking last year, I haven't had a significant sunburn since...well...probably 1992 or so. I was far less pain-tolerant then, probably.

With 85-degree (Sunday, mid-afternoon) and 93-degree (Monday, early-afternoon) temperatures in the area, the Great Lakes beckoned and, well, it's time to consider the streak over.

Sunday's announced objective: "The summer doesn't truly start until I've lost one layer of skin." Thankfully, my forearms started to peel Sunday evening at about 9:45 (only 7:30 since my first exposure to the sun, which has got to be a record of some sort), and this afternoon's beach gear included some sunscreen (SPF 23 and SPF 15, neither mine).

I'm out of practice, however, and the result is a slotchy pink-and-pale pattern on my torso, significant salmoning of the shoulders, and a lobster-like visage. Live and learn.

(For the record, my legs remain pale, and the arms have taken on an actual tan tint, which is worth something.)

Worst part, however, is the top of the feet. I made the brazen but conscious decision to ignore them, and the dogs are officially barking. Good with the bad, I guess.

Rud family rule: Aloe is for wussies. I'm still holding out, although that might change come Tuesday night.

- - - - - - - -

Baseball: We had a real, real nice opening homestand Wednesday through Friday, with two sellouts and a rain-soaked Thursday evening. I got a chance on Wednesday to greet fans on the way out, and it was a blast. Not a frown in the house, and lots of

Me: "We'll see you back tomorrow?"
Fan: "We won't miss a game all year."

Upside of the weekend was the fan support, the relative smoothness of our gameday operation, and reasonably snappy play on the field. (We don't really control quality of play, but terribly played ballgames affect everyone at the yard.)

Downside was, well, the broadcasts.

There's a long way to go, I'd say. I did no play-by-play on Wednesday (R/DS wanted to be on the "historic" calls like, for instance, the first groundout to short in franchise history), and Thursday's was riddled with technical problems. Not related to the technical problems, however, was the fact that I sucked. Sucked hardcore. Calls were slow, knowledge was weak, and I was just off my game. I had, after all, been out of practice for eight months.

Problem is, while I was technically better on Friday, I still wasn't particularly good. When serving as the color guy (for four of my six half-innings), the R/DS Does. Not. Shut. Up. He's got pitch counts, and home batting averages from last year, and lifetime batting averages against the other franchise. In other words, he's armed with useless and impertinent information. He's also armed with rudimentary baseball knowledge, and a cumbersome way of stating it.

So, while I may have sucked, I was the first-best person on our broadcasts, I think. But, then again, I'm also a dick.

I'm not trying to be negative or defeatest, but broadcasting will be tough this summer. This is because a) the R/DS is aggravating, and, b) because I'm not doing it every day for the first time since I started drawing a paycheck. It'll be tough to find a rhythm, especially in the solo innings (which is what matters if I'm trying to make a career out of this), but I'll do my best.

I was pretty smooth on Friday, actually.

- - - - - - - - -

In listening to the game while drinking on newly-purchased patio furniture on Saturday night, coworkers and I did come up with some rules for the "R/DS Play-By-Play Drinking Game."

These include:

- Take one drink when he mentions a pitch count.
- Take another drink if he follows the pitch count with a ball-strike ratio.
- Take another drink if he follows the ball-strike ratio with a comparison to either a) his counterpart's ball-strike ratio or b) the pitcher's ball-strike ratio earlier in the game.

- Take one drink when he plugs a sponsor at a point in which he is not contractually obligated to plug the sponsor.
- If the sponsor has not purchased any actual radio advertising (commercials, live reads, or drop-ins), take two drinks.

- If he responds to an email from a staff member with a "Shout Out" to the staff, take one drink.
- If he follows this by relaying the contents of the message sent, take another drink.
- If he repeats the blatant and obvious lie outlined in the message, take another drink.

- Finish your beer when he mispronounces the word "Balk." (He pronounces the L, which is just ridiculous.)

Had we followed the rule on Sunday night, we would have finished four beers in a five-minute period. Not a real disciplined pitcher, it should be stated.

- - - - - - - - - - -

WIDiRVoFOW
(I'll be honest, this will probably become a list of "why he sucks as a broadcaster" in the very near future, but I'll stick with petty complaints here.)

This Week's Reason: He has awful taste in things, but doesn't realize it.

Supporting Evidence: His favorite band: Bon Jovi. His favorite movies: All four Police Academy movies.

Once, knowing that he listens to a lot of music, particularly pop from the 80's, I had to ask: "R/DS, do you listen to the Beatles?" His response: "I'm more of a Monkees guy."

Most Aggravating Aspect: His ring tone. I'll be sitting there, typing or reading something or compiling asinine and unimportant stats...that is, working...and I'll be interruped:
WHOA! WE'RE HALF-WAY THERE-ERE! WHOA! LIVIN' ON A PRAY-ER!...and he'll either a) let it ring, or b) sing along before picking it up.

Again, not made up.

"...he is so un-natural on the air (and, I sense, in life.)" Clearly, I couldn't have written or said it better, Nemo.

Pretty slight tonight. No real exciting weekend hijinks. Nothing of particular note during the past week. Just lots and lots of folding clothes, and a bit of envelope-stuffing, and some running, and a brief, quadriceps-stinging debut as the club mascot. I made three children cry in about 40 minutes of public time, which has got to be near the record.

- - - - - - - - - -

I bought groceries this morning, and happened to arrive at the store wearing my team "Staff" jacket. As I was loading up the conveyor-belt thing at the register, a lady chatted me up. "What position do you play?" "Oh, I'm just part of the office staff. It's getting pretty crazy over there." "It sure is exciting, isn't it?"

It was pretty neat to hear, "It sure is exciting, isn't it?" instead of "What's it like to work for that guy?" or "How do you possibly deal with that guy?" or "That guy's stealing money from the city."

It's a pretty nice change.

- - - - - - -

We're closing in on Opening Day for our club, which comes Wednesday night. Earlier this week, we held an open tryout, because that's what teams at this level do. Players came from around the Midwest and Canada to get their shot at a summer on the ring fingernail; a bit more than fifty showed, and none were kept, but they got their chance, I guess.

The morning session was standard scouting kind of stuff - 60-yard dashes, pitchers working with catchers and radar guns, a little bit of live batting practice - and I didn't see any of it. The second half of the day, however, was a scrimmage between the tryout guys and the guys currently on the roster, and I had a small role - operating the scoreboard as our sound guy, public address announcer, and message center guy got a chance to do some tinkering and dry-running.

The best part of baseball, I've decided, is watching pregame infield practice. Baseballs flying all over the place, the crack of the bat and the sound of glove on ball, a little bit of ridiculous chatter. I really, really like the the rhythm of it, and it was exciting to get the chance to watch; it's been since a few days after Labor Day, after all.

- - - - - - - - -

So, a group went out for dinner after work on Tuesday (I think) to celebrate someone's birthday. During a lull, I asked the birthday boy, "So, as you look back on the year, what's the best thing you accomplished?" It was asked with a giggle and a let's-keep-this-conversation-off-of-shop-talk look, and it got the silly answer it required.

He then asked me, "Well, what was the best thing you accomplished this past year?"

Without flinching, I answered, "Leaving a full-time position for a freakin' internship," then giggled. Brought the house down. It could be a fringe-depressing, when you think about it (or don't), but it's not.

- - - - - - - - - -

WIDiRVoFOW

This Week's Reason: He is most certainly a liar. Extent of lying is unknown, and the lies are usually harmless, but they sure are annoying. It's frustrating when you're sure you can't believe everything that starts with, "Did I ever tell you about the time...?"

Supporting Evidence:
My first night in town, he declared himself "an accomplished chef." As it turns out, he rarely cooks, and when he does, it's macaroni and cheese. This is not the evidence, however.

The evidence comes from Saturday afternoon. I asked what he was eating for dinner.
R/DS: "I bought a nice steak on the way back from work."
Me: "How are you going to prepare it?"
R/DS: "Well, I've got a meat seasoning rub for it. [Ed: No complaints here.] And I always love to make my steaks on the Foreman."

On the Foreman? Accomplished, schmoccomplished.

Season starts Wednesday, which means he'll be gone half the time. Rejoice! The WIDiRVoFOW isn't particularly good, but I'll do my best to keep it going. We'll see.

Three days. One foot near the ring fingernail, one...here.

At one point, I think I might be packing up the car and heading East. Then, well, I'm not. A rough rundown:

Thursday:
4:00 EDT - I receive an email from my dad, alerting me to an opening that needs to be filled ASAP. Number two job. A big step up in level. Probably a decrease in pay, and maybe a significant one. I ponder whether it's worth it, and I decide it is.

11:59 EDT - Half-asleep, I email the number one radio guy, attaching a resume, and emphasizing my qualifications, and name-dropping a few people he knows who will have nice things to say about me. I write that I can be there Monday.

Friday:
4:38 EDT - I get a callback, from the outgoing guy. He's leaving on good terms, and he's helping with the callback process. He tells me the details (less money - doesn't even cover his rent, he says, more work, but it is a huge step up, I think) and confirms that I'm interested. I am. "I wouldn't go too far from your phone. You'll probably be hearing from number one soon."

5:01 EDT - I call my dad. Give him the update. Quietly, of course, and out of the way of coworkers.

5:06 EDT - I do some on-the-sly research, and determine that I would be able to cover rent. I'd be dealing with another roommate, though. Rooms were definitely available.

I don't hear anything the rest of the day.

Saturday:
10:40 EDT - I call a former colleague of mine, currently broadcasting in the league I'd be headed to. "Dude, I emailed [number one] to let him know that you're really good and that he should hire you." We talk about what the league and the opportunity have to offer, and I'm happy with the possibility.

10:44 EDT - Still on the phone... "Dude, he just wrote back. ... ... ... Oh, crap. Sorry dude. They're hiring somebody else. Somebody local. Crap. Sorry dude."

Sunday:
12:04 EDT - While doing laundry, I get a call from number one. A pleasant conversation, eight or ten minutes in length. He says that I'm a strong candidate, and that a lot of people said really good things about me, but that they wanted the guy who could start immediately. I don't mention the fact that, yes, I also wrote that I could do the same. It was nice to get a callback, I guess.

Nothing gained, nothing lost, just another story from a life lived with an ear to the ground and an eye on the future. Strange, strange life. There's one more possibility left, an exciting one, but it's looking like a summer on the ring-fingernail.

Check that. I gained a "friend," or at least a "connection." This means a once-monthly email his way, just to check in...who you know, right? Can't hurt to have someone else on your side, even if it's only through a ten-minute phone conversation.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Kitchen tip!

Last night, I was chopping onions. Staff cookout, or something. I washed my hands. I sniffed my hands. They still stunk.

"Hey, let me show you how to get the onion smell off of your hands," a co-worker says. "This looks odd, but it works." She grips the faucet, and rubs her hands up and down it a few times.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

I do it, and it works. Incredible. People do win on RedHotHalos.

- - - - - - - - - -

[Warning: It's the middle of May, 2006, and I'm about to write about Northwestern's 2007-08 men's basketball team. I'm very sick. The WIDiRVoFOW will follow.]

I'm pretty excited with the way Northwestern basketball is headed. It's not really that important, but, over the weekend, Bill Carmody got his second commitment from a highly-rated, and local, junior prospect.

This is important for several reasons:
- He's local.
- He's highly-rated.
- He's got a sort-of cool, sort-of ridiculous nickname. (Juice)
- Not only is he local, he's from Chicago.
- Not only is he from Chicago, he's from the Public League.
- He's also not-white. We'll have two not-whites next year, and three the following season. I think that's a good thing.

Before an analysis of the 2007-08 roster, a rundown of the 06-07 roster:

Seniors:
6-5 F Tim Doyle
6-8 F Bernard Cote
6-10 C Vince Scott

Juniors:
6-2 G Justin Okrzesik [Rice transfer, sat out last season]

Sophomores:
6-4 G Craig Moore
6-4 G/F Sterling williams
6-6 F Jean-Marc Melchoir

Freshmen:
6-8 F Drew Coble
6-6 G/F Jeff Ryan
6-8 F Nikola Baran
6-3 G Jeremy Nash

That's not a very good team. However, the final four players listed represent the best recruiting class NU has had since Esch signed. Or, anyway, at least since Jitim's class. (Jitim, McCants, lots of warm bodies who never made it.)

Take away the seniors, and the following season the roster includes:
6-6 G/F Mike Capocci
5-10 G Michael "Juice" Thompson

[For the record, Ryan is ranked as the 14th-best prospect in Illinois by chicagohoops.com. Thompson is ranked 13th, and Capocci ninth. Jitim was apparently ranked 14th.]

That roster is just interesting, in a dorky, uninteresting way.

What's more exciting is that there are scholarship offers out for more players similar to Capocci, Coble, or Ryan. Lanky shooter types, including a pair of Top 100 high school teammates from Valparaiso, who have NU high on their lists.

I think Carmody's really building momentum for the program, and I can see some really good things happening for the Moore-Williams senior class. (Yes, now I'm looking forward to 2008-09.)

The makings are there for a team that's difficult to score against (tall guards at the top of the zone) and that can score the ball (lots of shooters) and that can run a bit (Nash and Thompson, particularly).

I'll go shoot myself now.

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

I stayed with the Cubs today. Enjoyed the bogus out-on-appeal of Giles at the plate. Thought Hill threw a pretty nice game. Questioned if Dusty gave him the quick hook. (First-guessing.) Got a bit upset when Williamson allowed a run-scoring hit. Cursed when he uncorked a run-scoring wild pitch. Cursed louder when he allowed a second one. Threw something and turned off the TV when Novoa allowed the three-run homer.

They suck. They don't take pitches. They don't work the count. They can't hit. The bullpen sucks. I'm really happy that I haven't seen much of them lately. I saw the first four innings of the blowout losses to Milwaukee two weeks ago. I saw an inning's worth of last Tuesday's game at San Francisco before falling asleep. I haven't seen them win for a long time, but nobody else has either, I guess.

- - - - - - - -
WIDiRVoFOW

This Week's Reason: He has a gigantic [appropriate?] inferiority complex, and it frequently puts me in difficult and uncomfortable situations.

Supporting Assertion: He'll often say things like, "I don't know why you're the number two guy - you're much better than me," or "I'm just happy they haven't fired me yet, considering that you're so good."

Supporting Evidence:
On Thursday afternoon, we were at a meeting at the radio station. Somebody I hadn't yet met stopped by. Meeting ends, R/DS and newcomer have to talk a few things over. I finish talking with a radio station employee that I had previously met and who had some questions for me, then join R/DS, who is finishing up with the person I hadn't met.

As they're finishing, I interject.
Me: "Hi. I'll be the R/DS' gopher this year."
Employee: "I'm the sales manager here."
Me: "Good to meet you."
Employee: "Good to meet you, too."
R/DS: "Yeah, he's my number two guy even though he's better than me. He'll probably take over for me by the end of June."

All: [Stare awkwardly at shoes.]
R/DS and Me: [Leave.]

[Note: This is not made up.]

Two nights ago, I decided that this would be my last summer doing the whole "baseball radio thing." It was a hasty decision, and one that won't stand for too long, but it was one that sounds a bit appealing.

Circumstances resulting in this hasty "decision:" I was on the balcony, and I was reading, and my iPod was on, and the R/DS couldn't annoy me, and it was awesome. Just awesome. Peaceful. Wonderful. Couldn't have been much better.

In a way, it's a bit depressing to consider a decision like that. One could say that I've been "living a dream" - that's how I termed it five years ago in a mass "hey friends, here's where I'm going" email - and I have, and it's been really cool. (In two weeks, when we start games, it'll probably return to being really cool.)

But, at the same time, I do miss out on a lot. Summer nights. Normal hours. Barbeques. Sandals. Vacations, or, at least, rest. My favorite memories of baseball seasons are not at all baseball-related. Graduation week, when I skipped out on a series in 2002. The Nemo wedding. Sitting shirtless on Gurs' roof at 1206. Going to Kansas City with The Boy in 2003 (baseball-related, but not related at all to my baseball).

And, obviously, there are always great times and great moments - how many people go to work at a ballpark? [answer: more than you realize] - but sometimes you question whether the positives outweigh the negatives. And the answer to that conundrum changes by the day, unfortunately.

Got into this line of conversation tonight with Gurs. "In a way, I'm no closer to anything now than I was one or two or five years ago," and "I've probably taken a professional step back, in fact," were among the things I said. I also said, "Well I'm closer to death than I was two years ago."

"Actually," he corrected, "you're probably farther from death, when you think about it."

He's probably right about that.

Point of this portion of the post? Navel-gazing, I guess, but that's sort of the point of an exercise like blogging, right?

- - - - - - - - - -

The biggest problem - at this precise moment - is that I am completely trapped during my current "home" life. In every way, the R/DS is a terrible person to be around. Boring. Not particularly friendly. Incredibly negative. He's a terrible conversationalist. Oddly, we share about zero actual common interests. He's terrible to watch Jeopardy! with, because he answers every question aloud, whether or not he knows the answer, and always says "What is?" [or "Who is?," etc.]. He has awful taste in music and movies. (I'll distill something into a WIDiRVoFOW later this week.)

I was just doing dishes or something tonight, and he started lecturing me on the greatness of Foreigner, and started comparing some song by Foreigner to some song by Bad Company, and then he made a remark about "The Final Countdown," with a statement like "You can't beat English-as-a-second-language rock about intergalactic travel," all while I was responding to none of this. At this point, I retired to my room to kill a few hours. Remarkably, none of this is made up.

It's just tough to be suffocated, but I'm suffocated when we're in the same room. He sucks up all the hot air.

Sometimes, I fear I make him sound like a worse person than he actually is, but I don't think this is the case. He's really that bad. Damn!

- - - - - - - - - - -

Again, I'll emphasize that the rest of the coworkers are generally good. We're getting an intern crop in right now, and they're not as good, for the most part.

I really respect and like the work our co-owners do. They go hard, and they take it seriously, but they let it be known that they appreciate our work.

Tuesday, co-owner wife called a grave-sounding meeting. There was a negative tone in her voice, and we had to make sure that every staff member was present. That doesn't happen - staff meetings are usually missing about half of the staff, or a bit less. But she calls the meeting, looks us over, and then co-owner husband walks in, carrying a box of stuff: windbreakers, personalized, for everyone on the staff (including this been-there-for-three-weeks intern-guy). "I'm just so thankful that I have the best staff in the world," he said, flipping us each a jacket. "Thanks for all your work, and I'm really looking forward to the season."

It was real nice of him. More positive feedback than I got in four years in the previous place, and I don't think that's an exaggeration.

Also, co-owner husband and co-owner wife have both made it a point in the last five days to thank me for my effort and let it be known that they appreciate my work and to tell me that I'm doing a good job. It doesn't mean a lot, but it does. And I've looked them in the eye and thanked them for the chance to work for them.

- - - - - - - - -

I received Grandaddy's swan song, Just Like the Fambly Cat, from Amazon today. I think I'm going to like it a lot. Anticipation of this record led me to crack out my copy of The Sophtware Slump this morning, as well. I think Sophtware might just be among my top 20 all-time. (It was number 45 when I did it four years ago.)

"Jeez Louise" is the first single from Fambly Cat, and it's pretty rocking good. There's a great song called "Rear View Mirror," and I really like "The Animal World." Also, there's an instrumental called "Skateboarding Saves Me Twice." While I can't relate, as my only skateboarding experience involves bad chin scrapes while participating in one-knee cul-de-sack races, I sure like the title.

I think they'll be missed. Better than they were credited for being.

- - - - - - - - -

The Gimme Indie Rock Tournament is going pretty well. "I Am a Scientist" pulled through with the win over Beck's "Loser," and I thank the person who may or may not be posing as "Lil Rud" for voting.

Now, a very interesting matchup pits Neutral Milk Hotel's "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea" against Radiohead's "Paranoid Android." Both worthy songs, to be sure, but ITAOTS is transcendent - "Android" is merely fantastic. I'd encourage all to put Neutral Milk Hotel through to the next round. Your conscience thanks you.

- - - - - - - - -

I've got to stop writing long, rambling, boring posts. Don't you think?

Back in January, I returned to Glenview. Present in Glenview, and never in places where I controlled the purchase of groceries, were sweets. Various varieties of not-quite-as-bad-for-you-as-most candies and ice cream bars and ice cream sandwiches and cinammon twists and sherbert-and-cream concoctions and cookies. "Light" varieties. Every flavor scope was covered - fruity, chocolate-y, toffee-y. Truly, a cornucopia of goodness for the sweet-toothed - with reservations - individual.

(I should note here that, previous to January, I would often acquire these things through irregular shipments from the old homestead, or personal deliveries from visiting siblings, or through 200-dollar grocery store visits on weekend appearances. I never bought the stuff, but it certainly had a sporadic - and brief - presence.)

As the weakest-willed person I know, I would often eat these concoctions by the package, particularly the French Toast and Maple "twists" and the Trader Joe's Cat Cookies (ginger, chocolate, and ... vanilla, I guess...mmm, especially with milk).

Three weeks in to the ring-fingernail experiment, I've successfully depleted the supply of sweets that came here with me. (Actually, it was more like ten days.) Gone is the Zip-Lock bag containing equal parts peanut butter and caramel candies (eaten over a two-day stretch, with one given to the R/DS), gone are the Cat Cookies (eaten three snack-size baggies at a time, with a glass of milk, over a one-week period), and gone are the cinammon twists (a one-night binge on my first Saturday in town).

So let's say that you (or rather, I) enjoy the sweet stuff, but fear your (my) own weak will. What do you (I) do here?

The solution has come in the form of the sweet, splendid goodness of the mango. I've always (since 2003) been an occasional mango-eater, but now, my friends, I've become a fringe mango-addict. Well, one a day, anyway. So, so sweet, and better than chocolate, I think. Yum.

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I made an important discovery on Saturday night. I met the R/DS and another coworker at a lame sports bar at the end of the third quarter of the Suns-Lakers Game Seven. They had left for the bar at the half, but I needed 45 minutes away from the R/DS, to be sure.

From one sports bar to another, both equally pretty-lame, and then the R/DS called it a night. Co-worker and I headed to a third establishment, closing it, and then to my new Mecca. (Please note, Dad, that we "used good judgment": a one- or two-beer per establishment rate - nothing extreme - and none for me at the first one, owing to very bad bartending.)

Mecca, thy name is X&X Lounge.

Upon entering, co-worker and I were greeted by the sight of an odd thirty-something man posing as a bouncer, and by the sound of The White Stripes. And not "Fell in Love With a Girl" or "Seven-Nation Army," but something cooler. Smell? Smoky. Touch? Greasy, I guess. Taste? Nothing immediate, although the gyros are highly-regarded.

After confirming our viability with the real bouncer (Norm McDonald says: "Hello, real cops?"), we sauntered towards the back. And as we sat down with some co-workers (coincidental meeting), my eyes drifted to a banner at the back of the facility:

Moosehead Pints
One Dollar
"All Day, Every Day"

A waitress arrived. "What would you like?" "That sign says 'Dollar Moosehead. All Day, Every Day.' Is that true?" (A tip of the hat to The Chris Farley Show). "Yeah." "I'll have a one-dollar Moosehead, please."

A few moments later, my one-dollar Moosehead arrived. As did the sounds of Death Cab for Cutie. Not "Soul Meets Body" or "Crooked Teeth" or "The Sound of Settling," but a track not used on The O.C.

I consider this a small victory, and a big step in my potential enjoyment of the ring-fingernail.

(Note for future or current Twin Citizens: I could not find a link for The X&X Lounge, but I did find this. What's this? Well, scroll down to Lloyd Duncan's response. Lloyd, on June 19, 2004, reported that, from the top of the IDS Building in Minneapolis, one can clearly see the X&X Lounge. I find this difficult to believe. I also find it difficult to believe that my google search for "X&X Lounge" yielded this link on the first page.

Mecca needs a web presence, I think.)

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New Weekly Feature Alert:
(This is also my only weekly feature.)

As my primary act of villainy, I'd like to introduce Why I Dislike the R/DS Vignette or Foible of the Week (WIDiRVoFOW, pronounced "Wi-DERVE-a-fow," though it looks oddly like "with the," a clause that is properly pronounced "Wif-Da").

This week's reason:
He loves to hear his own voice.

Supporting Assertion:
He never says "because." Instead, he says, "for the simple fact that," which is a) cumbersome and b) three times the syllables.

Supporting Evidence:
"I think I'm ready to go home, guys, for the simple fact that it's pretty late and I'm starting to fade." Said Saturday night, at approximately 11:30.

Surprising Revelation Alert!!!

Why I Like the R/DS:
He makes for good copy.

First things first.

GbV's "I am a Scientist" is now up for vote in friends of a friend's Gimme Indie Rock tournament. The competition is Beck's second-seeded anthem "Loser," so it's an uphill climb, but GbV's showing strong early. Please vote, but just once. Vote for the other matchups, too, especially the Wire song, just to remain credible. Deadline is Sunday evening.

Let's get Bobby P. through to Round Three! Thanks.

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Things I like about the state of Michigan (or, at least, the ring fingernail of Michigan):

Late sunsets.
Last night, I worked until 7:20, had two beers at a co-worker-purchased dinner, returned home at 8:45, and still had time to fit in a run in daylight. And this is in early May, friends, early May!

Lake Michigan.
When I drive home from work, I'm on a four-lane state highway for about four minutes. At about the two-minute point, the road starts to dip into a bit of a valley. At this point, I take my eyes from the road and gaze straight ahead. About four miles in the distance - The Lake. Peninsulas to either side, and evergreens lining the view. It's breathtaking.

The Speed Limit.
Not because it's faster than everywhere I've ever driven regularly (it is), but because it's actually appropriate. People drive 75 on the Interstate, so it's a 75 zone. On said state highway, people drive 55. So it's 55. I sense that there are probably fewer speeding tickets here than in other places, although I might be wrong. It's a bit nice to be going three-over and to not be passed regularly. Seems about right.

The Hand.

The Fact That My Bosses Buy Lunch for the Staff Every Friday.
Sometimes they cater it, but I've only been here for concessions-sampling. Still, a good barbeque pork sandwich, and I love barbeque pork sandwiches. Also, sometimes there's cherry pie.

My Family's Karaoke Past.
A few years ago, The Boy called me from here. "I have a huge headache. And I hate mom and dad and our sister." "What's going on?" "We're at the ring-fingernail. They're doing karaoke. Karaoke! Freakin' 'Achy Breaky Heart.' I mean that! I hate them. They're the worst people ever. Ever. God, I can't stand them. This is worse than when they made us see Ricky Skaggs and the Whites play in Branson. They took us to Branson! And now we're doing karaoke at some redneck bar. When did they become rednecks!?" "Wow."

Note: I missed karaoke at this same redneck bar two weeks ago. The Bulls-Heat was higher on my to-do list. I'm sure we'll be back, though.

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Things I don't like about the ring-fingernail of Michigan:

The Eastern Time Zone.
I've always thought that The 11 O'Clock News seemed too late to reasonably watch. And I'm right. Also, Conan's musical guest isn't on until 1:30. That seems too late. The workday still starts at nine (or earlier), right?

Six-Dollar Beers.
They're everywhere, it turns out, alhtough I wasn't buying while drinking these six-dollar beers. I'll stick to $2.50 High Lifes (also available), thank you very much.

The R/DS.
He doesn't do his dishes. Ever. To the point where I have to bring a bowl, a knife, and a spoon into my room with me at night, thereby guaranteeing that I'll have all necessary utensils for breakfast in the morning.

The R/DS.
He lies. A lot. It took 16 days, but tonight I finally got his legendary story about nearly being signed by his hometown Phillies out of an open tryout. "They loved my defense behind the dish, but I just sucked in the cage on the second day." This from a guy who, admittedly, couldn't make his suburban Philly high school team.

The R/DS.
Just tough to be around, in general. We're making it, though. Or, we'll make it, anyway.

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Odd things I've noticed about the ring fingernail of Michigan:

This Wacky 'No Parking' Sign.
It's about three minutes south of "In Town." It says "No Parking This Side of Sign." There is no definitive endpoint of the No Parking zone, although I'd assume it's the corner that is five yards away. Elsewhere in town, there is a properly-written "No Parking From Here to Corner" sign, but not at this particular corner.

"Immediate Seating."
Maybe it's not uncommon, but I've noticed it here for the first time. Several restaurants have neon signs, flashed on and off like a hotel's Vacancy sign, that say "Immediate Seating." I guess it's important during high-tourist season, but it still strikes me as odd.

- - - - - - - - -

One of my superiors is gone Friday and Saturday, so I'll be running our ticket office for those days. I think I'll be able to handle it. Bring in the iPod, and dance the day away. I only add this piece of information so that I can write why my superior will be away: He's graduating college on Saturday.

Movin' on up, I am.

Woof.