Earlier this month, or maybe last month, my based-somewhere-in-the-Czech-Republic sister emailed me requesting my mailing address. This seemed odd, mostly because I don't know what she'd have to send me. I don't have a birthday coming up. She can't send me Czech booze through the mail (though it'd be amazing if she did. And she probably could.) I really doubt that it's worth her time to make a CD or something, "just because she was thinking about me."

So, basically, I forgot about it.

Anyway, I arrived home, slightly tipsy and slightly...melancholy...on Friday night. Checked the mail. Sports Illustrated. An envelope, clearly from my sister. (Her handwriting, after all.)

Anyway, the letter made me all giggly and happy, because she's a pretty amazing kid. Actually, first, the envelope made me all giggly and happy. Homemade. Misspelled my street address. Listed my name, then the subtitle, "Bro #2," which probably refers to my a) location in the age hierarchy, b) ranking in the "how much I like my brothers" hierarchy, and c) ranking in the family cuteness hierarchy. Also, I've always liked her handwriting, because it's distinctly un-girly.

Then, the contents of the envelope. Remarkable. A photo cut out of a magazine. Probably 5" by 7", or so. A picture of a dude on a bike, with a path receding into the background. The dude kind of looks like the drummer from Green Day, with white gloves and a black derby hat and a beige plaid jacket. And paler, too. (On the back, some record reviews, it seems. Unrelated, though a neat coincidence, because I like record reviews.) The text is written only on the path in the picture, from narrow to wide as the path moves to the forefront. In her scrawly, distinctly un-girly handwriting. Visually, pretty neat.

Then, the textual contents of the letter. Simply, "I'm doing well. Great. Incredible. You should be jealous of me (Ed: Here's the coolest part.) - although you should be content in your own life and shouldn't wish me harm." (Ed: !) And it continues from there. She writes about picking fruit. And going on walks. And generally being commune-al. And then she wishes me a healthy voice, I think. Downside: Not signed "Love," though I guess that's not her way.

Basically, the letter was amazing. Made me happy for quite a bit of time. I brought it into work on Saturday, kept it in my pocket, and showed it off to at least two coworkers. I think they just think that she's weird, and I guess they're right.

- - - - - -

I'm pretty excited because The Boy's coming up for a few days. Actually, just a day and a half. Tuesday night. All of Wednesday. Out Thursday morning. Packed schedule, kind of. Or, rather, packed Wednesday.

We'll be venturing north of the Ring Fingernail, perhaps to the Ring Fingertip, to spend the afternoon on a lake with my aunt and uncle and my cousins, who are renting a house out there. Since my grandma died in the spring of 2004, we've not a had a full-out family Christmas, as we had for the previous...twentysomething years. The incentive was gone for a lot of my dad's siblings, it seems, for obvious reasons. (We've had really nice Christmases the last two years, nuclear ones, but something's been missing, too.) Anyway, I've probably seen this family twice since then, once for Christmas Eve dinner in 2004 and once right around New Year's Day this year, and they've always been fun. In fact, I've probably seen them a few more times than that, but not many more.

And the oldest is going to college sometime in August, so that's a pretty good topic of conversation. And the youngest has a cell phone, though it's officially the "Family" phone because, according to my uncle's email, "she's too young to have her own cell phone." I discern that it's hers, of course. So that's a pretty good topic of conversation, too.

So I'm looking forward to doing the beach thing or the hangout thing or whatever, really.

So that's Wednes-day. Wednes-night takes us to the house of coworker who grew up on a lake by our ballpark. "All Staff Grill and Drink on a Pontoon Boat Night." Yes, I've been looking forward to ASGADOAPBN for a long time, since we started discussing it three weeks ago. I think The Boy will enjoy himself. If he doesn't, everyone else probably will, so I guess he'll get over it.

Tuesday, I don't know what's planned. I do know that I've not properly cleaned, so maybe we can clean on Tuesday night.

The Boy's making pretty big sacrifices to come to ASGADOAPBN. I think he has to drive back to the CHI slightly hungover on Thursday morning, only to go hang out with his friend who is also a girl and her family of FIBs at some lake in Wisconsin that night. So he's taking a risk by making the trip way up north - he might be in less-than-ideal conditions for his third trip in a week.

Ahh, to be young, unemployed, and (pretty soon) rich.

- - - - - - - -

I've grown pretty comfortable referring The Boy as "one of my best friends" in the past few years, and started using phrases like, "we're really close" when telling non-stories about my family to others. I think that's pretty neat, right?

But I also think it's pretty neat that myself and my two brothers and my sister are all pretty different, though The Boy and I actually are pretty similar. But I'd think that there's more variance in our family than most.

Anyway, the previously-mentioned nuclear Christmases of the last two years are about the only times that all of the siblings and the parents are together, so the nuclear Christmases are pretty cool, too.

- - - - - - - - - -

(I was going to add a part here about how a coworker's mom and her mom's boyfriend were in town over the weekend, and about how she clearly wasn't looking forward to seeing either of them, and about how she clearly wasn't going to even be able to scam groceries out of her mom, and about how it's pretty clear that she clearly doesn't like or respect her mom, and about how I happened to witness an awkward coworker-to-mom's boyfriend hug, and about how terrible it was. And then I was going to write about how neat it is that my parents are still married and seem to enjoy each other's company, and about how neat it is that I think they're pretty cool people. But then I decided that that would be pretty sappy, and that this post has already been pretty sappy. So, instead, I just wrote it in the form of a run-on sentence or six. Thanks for reading that part, maybe.)

- - - - - - - - - - -

I had a pretty amazing lunch on Saturday. I was working in our team store, folding t-shirts or something. I had brought my tuna casserole and a few peaches and some carrots in for lunch, but I realized that I didn't particularly want to eat any of them at that point in time. It was sunny and pretty warm outside, and I wanted to go somewhere where I could pay seven bucks and have a tuna sandwich with a pickle and some potato chips on the side, and eat under an umbrella on a plastic chair.

Understand that I never eat any lunch except for the lunch I bring in. Too expensive, and never enjoyable enough to justify the seven bucks. I cook my lunch days in advance. (The tuna casserole, which I'll finish Monday, was cooked the previous Tuesday. Eww.) I've eaten lunch out twice in my three-and-a-half months in The Ring Fingernail, on my first day and on a whim a few weeks ago. Neither worked out particularly well.

So I asked my coworker. (The same coworker that's hosting ASGADOAPBN. I don't know how many stories have to be told about a given individual until the person's given an official RedHotHalos nickname. As for now, a generic title suffices.)

Me: "Hey. What are you doing for lunch?"
CW: "Well. I'm going to go home, and change. And I'll probably curl my hair."
Me: "You wanna go eat somewhere instead?"
CW: "Hmmm. What kind of place are you thinking about?"
Me: "Pretty much somewhere where I can eat a sandwich on a patio."
CW: "Hmmm. [Pause.] Hey. I've got an idea."
Me: "Yeah?"
CW: "Why don't we go to my house? We can eat outside. I've got sandwiches."

Oh man. So we made turkey sandwiches and a salad and ate on the beach. Lunch, barefoot, and less than four minutes from the office. Pretty amazing.

Crap like that didn't happen in The Port.

Also, I then ate my lunch for dinner. And, therefore, avoided having a hot dog or a slice of pizza.

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

Nick Swisher is one of my favorite baseball players. He was pretty hilarious in Moneyball. He hits home runs. He seems to be friendly. He seems to like people. (Also, I made him a late-round pick in my fantasy baseball draft, and he's played first base every week for my about-to-fall-out-first-place team, because I found out only after the draft that Travis Hafner was strictly DH-eligible. But Swisher carried it for a time.)

I base my opinion of Swisher only on his portrayal in Moneyball and his portrayal in a recent Sports Illustrated article. (Week of the U.S. Open. Phil Mickelson hunched over after a massive choke job on the cover.)

There's a particularly fantastic sentence in the article. Particularly fantastic, of course, because of the end of it:

"So what you see is what you get: a big, joyful hitter who grew up sleeping on bat racks when his dad was a minor league manager, was recruited as a strong safety by Notre Dame, plays beer pong at the house he shares with righthanders Rich Harden, Joe Blanton and Huston Street, and has Oakland poised for yet another second half run."

Worth something, right?

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

The R/DS's best friend from college was in town for a few days this week. Came in Thursday night, spent Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights here, and left early, early this morning for the CHI. (He saw Zambrano complete the sweep this afternoon.)

For the record, he seemed nice enough. He also seemed odd. And was definitely a bit creepy-looking, owing to a bad goatee. Bad goatees are, by definition, creepy. (This doesn't stop me from working towards one, like, right now.)

Anyway, I didn't have much expsoure to the R/DS' friend.

Two highlights:

- An hour or so before game on Saturday, in the broadcast booth. Normal conversation between R/Ds and friend, probably about the Phillies or something. Then, our of nowhere, they start trading Mel Brooks movie lines. (I didn't know the quotes, of course, but used context clues to determine that they were Mel Brooks movie quotes.) It was Dorky Movie One-Upsmanship. Outstanding.

- Saturday night, I was home to clean up a bit before going out. R/DS was playing a video game. R/DS' friend was playing Gameboy. The only conversation was the R/DS telling his friend about the video game he was playing, and how he created our club's roster on the game. I don't think that the friend even gave him any indication that he cared - no "yeah?"s or "uh-huh"s or anything like this. Just Gameboy nosies. So I guess the R/DS is as odd and unnatural around his "best friends" as he is around me. Reassuring, in a way. Or terrible.

- - - - - - - - - -

WIDiRVoFOW

This Week's Reason: He says "You know" all the time. All the freakin' time.

Example: (quoting loosely, more for spirit than content) "I'm not looking forward to the trip to [insert small Midwest town that hosts baseball] because, you know, I've heard they changed the hotel. The hotel last year, you know, was pretty good. Because, you know, there was, you know, an Applebee's that basically, you know, shared the parking lot with the hotel. And if you were willing, you know, to walk a half-mile or so, you know, there's a strip mall with a pretty good selection. And, you know, they just built a new Wal-Mart, you know, on the east side. Well, not that new, but, you know, just over a year old. And that's right by the hotel, too."

I'm considering saying, "I didn't know that" or "How could I have known?" every time he says "You know." It'd probably be pretty annoying.

What's amazing is that he never, you know, says it on the air, I don't think.

- - - - - - - - -

I got home from the ballpark early tonight, around 10 or so. I was going to clean, write, and sleep. Three extended (and good) phone calls, a four-minute bout of close-eyedness, and this later, it's one-freakin'-forty. Good night.

The phone calls were totally worth it, though.

I learned that Gurs was lucky enough to see The Futureheads tonight. And that my friend T-Bone is getting married in September. He's forty-something, and it's his second marriage, but he's pretty geeked. I'm also geeked on his behalf.

A few weeks ago, I received a letter addressed to my dad. Here. In the ring finger. "Welcome to The Ring Finger. We'd like you to consider our dental practice."

This was odd, being that
a) My dad doesn't live here, and
b) He doesn't get any bills sent here.

I figured that the reason that my dad somehow got mail here, addressed to him as a new member of the community, was because the yellow car is titled in both my name and in his name.

But, still, that didn't quite explain why he'd be getting mail here - after all, the yellow car still isn't registered here.

Anyway, I figured that was a silly situation, and certainly not RedHotHalos-worthy. I've kept the magnet that the dentist sent me.

Well, today, I received something fascinating and fantastic in the mail, and I'm pretty sure it's related to the same clerical error that caused my dad to get mail here, despite the fact that he doesn't and never has lived here:

Dear [Me]:
Our records show that you haven't yet registered for the benefits of AARP membership, even though you are fully eligible.

If you have already sent in your registration, please excuse this notice.

If not, I urge you to register now so you may start enjoying AARP benefits and services with no further delay.

You need only return the form above. Please remove and keep the card below as your record of enrollment. You will receive a new card and Membership Kit, with full details on your benefits.

As a member, you'll have the resources and information you need to get the most out of live over 50. You'll have access to exclusive discounts. Dependable insurance programs and investment resources. Important health-related information. And much more. The 22 benefits shown on the back are only a partial list!

I look forward to your joining us. I think you'll agree with our other members: AARP is one of America's very best values.

Sincerely,
William D. Noevlli
Executive Director

Dude, I've got my own AARP card.

- - - - - - - - -

My parents came up this weekend, and I think it was worth it. We hit several of the important places and met the important people. Dinner with a pair of coworkers Sunday night was a hit ("Your parents are exactly like you!" a friend said, complimentarily, I think), and Saturday night at the redneck bar was everything I could have hoped for, in its own special redneck bar way.

Coolest part, though I wasn't there:
Dad: "Hey, we're going to the Hard Luck Cafe for breakfast. Can you help direct me there."
Hotel Desk Employee: "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Least cool part, and I was there:
Dad [loosely]: "You know son, pretty soon you should start making money."

At some point in the (three-minute or less) conversation, I said, "I don't know...Float until I'm 60, I guess."

But then my mom woke up and said something silly or nonsensical, and then it was time to head home so that we could get ready to go to dinner.

On the way back from the grocery store on Sunday night, I drove by the window repair shop that always displays words of wisdom on its marquee. ("Speak Less, Say More" is the one that most applied to the R/DS.)

Anyway, Sunday night...
"Take Pleasure in Pathless Woods"

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

Sunday night's closing time visit to the grocery store yielded a new flavor of soda.

Review:
Diet Pepsi Jazz: French Vanilla and Black Cherry - I like the Vanilla Pepsi, and I like this version better. Not much cherry, but a little bit. Pretty good, but not as good as Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Peppper. However, the Pepsi Jazz: Strawberries and Cream seems like it'd be not that good.

I'm hoping Flax comes up with a more in-depth one soon.

Slightly-related: Everyone in the office chugs energy drinks. Red Bull. No Fear, the Drink. Things like that. I've never consumed one by itself.

Anyway...
They consume a lot of this, which is just creepy. I really, really, really hope my mom clicks this link. There's also some sort of theme music.

- - - - - - - - -

So, I bought the CD by Rhymefest, Blue Collar, last week. I've pretty much had "Brand New" and "Chicago-Rillas" and "Bullet and a Target" and "More" stuck in my head since.

I'm going to buy the Lupe Fiasco CD when it comes out, and I'll probably like it a lot.

Does this mean I like rap? Or does it just mean that I like totally dorky rap?

[I also like The Streets a lot, but that's not really rap. But I think A Grand Don't Come for Free is among my ten favorite records ever.]

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

I've done a lot of falling asleep with the lights on lately. Probably about every other night for the last few weeks, on average. Long homestand - seven games in six days - starts Wednesday, and I'm not sure I'll make it through. Though I probably will.

- - - - - - - - -

The R/DS set me off three separate times in about five minutes of exposure on Saturday.

Once, it was him, after I asked him if I could de-intensify the air conditioning in the office [I was actually shivering], offering that, "I find it's effective to dress in layers." To which I responded, "Not when it's 85 degrees."

Another time, he complained about an upcoming road trip, and I said "Don't you find that it's more relaxing on the road? Work on your own schedule... Worry about nothing but the game..." And he gave me a condescending look and said, "Are you kidding?" and explained all the extra work he has. (He doesn't.) Pretty much, it was the first time this summer I've specifically wanted to point out things like "I did what you're doing for four years, and I know exactly what you do. Don't lie to me."

Or something like that.

I forget what the third was, but it set me off.

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

WIDiRViFoW (broadcasting-related)

This Week's Reason
Nemo and I discussed it previously. It was a college radio bad habit. He always makes on-air reference to his hometown, like listeners could possibly care. (He's from suburban Philadelphia.)

Examples
Every game: "As the late, great Richie Ashburn used to say on Phillies broadcasts if the Fightin' Phils were tied or trailing entering the bottom of the sixth inning: 'Home sixth, great time for a rally.'"

Saturday night, with the winning run at third and two outs in the bottom of the tenth: "As Lenny Dykstra once said, 'If you don't want to be at the plate when the game's on, then you shouldn't be playing.'"

Some other time, when I bio'd an opposition relief pitcher: On-air, to me: "You mention Shelocta, Pennsylvania. Amazing! A Pennsylvania town I haven't heard of."

Why It's Annoying: Because listeners don't care.

It's been nearly a week since I've written here and, quite frankly, I'm shocked. Pretty lame weekend. Most of the staff (in this case, "staff" equals "everyone in town I know") was out of town on various commitments, a few more had parents around, and plans for a one-day trip fell through. (Hard feelings on my end initially, though they've been since hugged out.)

What I accomplished:

- Ran half a marathon, sweating a lot. (Over four different trips, I think.)
- Watched A Few Good Men and The Princess Bride, two of the top selections in the R/DS DVD collection.
- Made five days' worth of lunch in preparation for our half-completed homestand. (That is, I cooked Sunday night, and Wednesday marked the third of six games.)
- I'm not 100 percent sure, but I believe that, on Sunday afternoon, I weighed in at my lowest weight since eighth grade. This is not a joke. My dad probably has the records of my August 1994 high school entry physical somewhere.
- Finished Sputnik Sweetheart by Murakami, and read the first 100 or so pages of It's All Right Now by Charles Chadwick. Yes, I mention what I'm reading because it makes me feel smart.
- Solo beached, listening to The Lemonheads.

- - - - - - - -

The parents are coming in town Saturday night through Monday morning. I'm quite looking forward to it. I think we'll karaoke at the redneck bar on Saturday. Sunday is open, though it'll include The Hard Luck Cafe. I'm trying to assemble a small-but-good dinner group for Sunday night. I'll probably scam some groceries off of them, too. Pretty good, I think.

The trip was strategically planned to limit possible R/DS exposure. He'll be leaving shortly after the game on Saturday, though I'll plan to bring them to our broadcast booth for 10 minutes of small talk prior to the game. Hopefully, he'll live up to his billing as successfully as he did when Nemo came in town. That is, hopefully he'll come out odd and get odder. Maybe even drop in a hint of arrogance.

- - - - - - -

I haven't yet specifically commented on the hiring of Pat Fitzgerald to run NU football. I think it's a courageous move and, probably, the only one Mark Murphy could have made. I sent Murphy one of I'm sure were several hundred emails the day after the hire was announced - probably about noon on Saturday. I referenced one of Coach Walker's favorite cliches - to "dare greatly," and the fact that Fitz's hiring certainly was an instance of that.

Mark Murphy sent back his gratitude for my support Sunday at 11:48 p.m. Pretty impressive.

Also exciting is the fact that Tavaras Hardy has been hired as an assistant to Bill Carmody. His taste in women is known to be wanting, but he sure became a pretty good Big Ten player. And, like Fitz, he believes in the program, I think. Stuck around when the rest of his class was transferring, and that says something...in order to sell a product (that is, in order to recruit), one needs to believe in the product. "T" certainly seems to.

Neat hire, and I'm happy to have him around Welsh-Ryan in official capacity. Not as happy as Rico, though.

- - - - - - - - -

I've made reference to this before, but Wife owner has a dog. I don't know about dog breeds, but it's a really small dog. High-pitched barking. You know when Wife's coming around a corner because you first hear his jingling bells on the way. I don't particularly like dogs, I'll be honest, and I don't think I'd completely mind if somebody, you know, stepped on him.

After the game tonight, I was wandering through the office portion of the ballpark. She was on one side of the hallway, and I was headed towards the other side, where the office I share with the R/DS is located. The office marked "General Manager" is located towards my side of the hallway. This office is generally hers, though she often works in the office marked "Accounting," which is where she was headed.

So, I say hello, and begin walking towards my shared office.

Her: "Can you open Dog's office?"
Me: [Don't clearly hear what she's said. Walk her way.] "Huh?"
Her: "Can you open Dog's office?"
Me: "Dog's office?"
Her: "Yeah. My office. Dog stays there during games."
Me: [Walking towards the "General Manager" office.] "This one?"
Her: "Yeah, that one. Just crack it open a little."
Me: [Opens door.]
Her: "Here baby." [Kissing noises.] "C'mon baby. Mommy wants to see you again."
Dog: [Makes jingling noises. Scampers through cracked open door. Heads to "Accounting" side of hall.]
Her: "Mommy missed you." [More kissing noises.]

I'm pretty sure that she loves the dog more than any of her children, or any or her children's spouses, and definitely more than Husband. Probably more than at least three of her four grandchildren.

We don't really have meetings anymore but, when we did, he'd get the Mr. Bigglesworth treatment. Pretty creepy, but also a source of endless amusement. Also, creepy, awful off-color jokes. Feel free to make any you'd like.

- - - - - - - - -

Inspired by Flax's extensive (and, in typical Flax fashion, absolutely hilarious, page, I'd like to write about the soft drinks I have been consuming lately. Surprisingly, these are not as well-written or properly-analyzed as Flax's.

At home
Diet Ruby Red Squirt - It's pretty good. I was convinced I had made a mistake when I first bought it (I was saving a buck over everything else in the section), but it turns out that it's pretty good. Grapefruity. Yum. I've just purchased my third 12-pack over the last six weeks or so.

Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper - My former "Go-to," before taking the Diet Ruby Red Squirt plunge. I like it because I like Dr. Pepper, and also because I like a touch of vanilla flavor.

Diet Berries and Cream Dr. Pepper - I purchased it on the way back from Battle Creek last week, because the gas station was "out" of coffee. I did not like it, though I finished it. I much preferred my Little Debbie Fudge Round, as previously written here.

At the ballpark

Diet Pepsi - It makes my teeth hurt. Too sweet.

Aquafina Flavor Splash - Citrus - Allegedly a lightly-flavored combination of grapefruit, lemon, and orange, it goes down smoothly. Too smoothly. I think it might be laced with crack.

Aquafina Flavor Splash - Grape - Laced with a less-addictive version of crack, I guess. Still pretty good, and still smooth.

Aquafina Water - Original Flavor - I always prefer tap water, particularly in the ring fingernail.

Diet Mountain Dew - Sweet, sweet nectar. The greatest beverage ever.

Thank you for reading.

Also, a brief rundown of what I've been eating a lot of lately:

Frozen Grapes - I was introduced to this recipe by Gurs, via Bullshot.
1) Place grapes in bag.
2) Freeze overnight.
3) Remove from freezer.
4) Let stand one minute.
5) Enjoy.

Best in seedless varieties, obviously, and I prefer purple.

Hard-Boiled Eggs - I've recently started boiling a half-dozen eggs at a time, and eating them as a late-night or mid-afternoon snack. Also, a good on-the-go breakfast, along with an apple. I make them using this. I think you should purchase one. (I am not a paid Salton spokesman, though I'd be willing to endorse the Salton Great Eggs. I guess I have.) Also, three soft-boiled eggs, a can of black beans (drained), and lots of Tabasco makes for a great breakfast.

- - - - - - - -

I'd like to publicly apologize to my friend Dirtbag. A few weeks ago, I called him out for taking what I considered far too long on his wedding Thank You cards. I believe I wrote "[three months!?]" in reference to his timeframe.

Dirtbag explained that wedding etiquette dictates that husband and wife are officially granted one year to enjoy each other's company, and that Thank Yous should be mailed by the end of the first year. Three months, therefore, would be a quick turnaround for such delivery. Dirtbag also revealed that he would have posted an official comment regarding my ignorance, but that he was unsure how to spell "etiquette."

Dirtbag's gone corporate and, one week in, he's pretty satisfied. Dirtbag don't work for nobody, it should be noted, though he and John have entered into a mutually-beneficial agreement. He helps them out, and they pay him for his work. Also, they match his 401K contributions three-to-one, and their health insurance is cheap.

From "80 Hours, No Pay" to "Some Level of Security" in about 10 months. May we all be so fortunate, at some point, anyway.

- - - - - - - -

My friend Tina, with whom I've spoken once in the last 11 months, is a beautiful writer. See?

It was a pretty nice conversation. I was moved to call her again this weekend, but then I forgot.

- - - - - - - - -

The R/DS revealed a lack of understanding of baseball again tonight, in a ridiculous way. On two different occasions, he mentioned that a relief pitcher would be summoned, but only "after Player X is introduced." Of course, in both cases the player was not a pinch hitter, but instead was already in the lineup. Therefore, it wouldn't matter if the player was announced or not; he was in the game. The strategy of "Go to the lefty reliever after the lefty pinch hitter is announced" does not apply here, stupid.

But he did it twice. I called him out [off-air] the second time.

"Yeah, but... oh, yeah, I guess you're right."

Of course I'm right, dumbass.

- - - - - - - - -

WIDiRViFoW
(A bit trifling, though they all are; however, this is something that annoys me no matter who does it. It just happens that he does it a lot, and I'm there when he does it.)

This Week's Reason: When he sings along with anything - most notably music played over a public address system - he tries really hard to sing on key.

Why This Annoys Me I: Philisophically, music is about joy. Effortlessness. Passion. Trying to sing in the proper key stifles one's joy.

Why This Annoys Me II: It's pretty widely acknowledged that I can't sing.

Why This Annoys Me III: I really don't want to hear "Uptown Girl" or that Huey Lewis "Heart and Soul" (Is it called "Heart and Soul?") song sung by anyone, at any time. I certainly don't want to watch some pale, odd-looking, arrogant, fat dude who I dislike anyway sweat through every note...but, my needs be damned, I'm subjected to it every freakin' day sometime between the hours of 5:00 and 6:00 p.m. God, life sucks sometimes.

It's been a pretty good stretch of three or so days, so I'd like to write about them.

Recall that, as I was leaving the ballpark on Monday, I was told to "try to come in at least one of the next three days." Because I had been planning on coming to work for two of the three days (with an approved Wednesday off day), this surprised me and made me quite happy. I took advantage.

(Note: I don't think this is particularly good. No narrative flow. Just a listing of events. I think I'm inconsistent in my tenses [tense?]. I'm not very proud of it. Doesn't live up to the high recent standards, but we'll deal with it. My mom talked up this here blog tonight - "I feel like I've talked to you a lot lately, even though I haven't." And Gurs did last night - "Me and Hotpocket agree that it's the best thing on the web." Quoting loosely, of course. Anyway, I hope I'm not becoming complacent. I guess this post will satisfy my mom's blog-needs, but maybe not Gurs' and Hotpocket's. We'll see.)

Let's try to recall what happened:

Tuesday:
8:30 - Ran before work. 3.6 miles.
9:40 - Went to work, arriving slightly before 10.
10:00 - Did actual work for about 55 minutes. (Previous day's game was a quick, low-scoring one, so the post-game work was similarly quick.)
10:55 - Killed time.
11:32 - Had a pretty extended conversation with a former employee who had left the club before I started here. Good talk.
11:40 - I am told by the concessions guy that there's free lunch for the staff. I dutifully spread this message.
11:42 - Made a date with the intern who was working at the reception desk to go down to lunch together.
12:15 - Went down to lunch. Ate a burger. Hung out for a half-hour.
12:45 - Stopped by the team store.
1:15, approximately - Left.

On the way home, I got in a great phone conversation with The Boy. I learned that his former roommate is taking Spanish this summer with Jesus, aka Jim Caviezal, aka the guy who played Jesus in The Passion of the Christ. Jim's born-again, but nice, it seems. He also didn't buy the workbook, so he copies off of The Boy's old roommate.

I also tried to convince The Boy to set a firm "Come to the Ring Fingernail" date. I think that the Bullshot-approved Field Day is enough to convince him that the first weekend of August is the right time.

2:45 - To the beach. Meet three coworkers and the former employee. Converse. Drift in and out of sleep. Look at my book, but don't read. Hang out. Overcast skies, but I still got some sun.
4:30 - Some dude walks by. "Nice turquoise shorts, dude." Me: "Dude. They were five bucks." He: "Yeah, I mean that, nice turquoise shorts." Me: "Thanks, pal. Best five bucks I spent last month." It was odd.
5:00 - Leave beach.
5:20 - Go for another run. 3.6 miles. Walk portions, but still average a far-faster pace than when I began a few months ago.

Rest of the night includes going to the grocery store, looking up directions, not doing dishes, watching the All-Star game, getting a few drinks while watching the All-Star game with coworkers, and going home. Once home, I freeze some grapes for the drive. Pretty good.

Wednesday:
7:00 - Press snooze.
7:10 - Press snooze.
7:20 - Turn off alarm.
8:04 - Get up, later than planned, and too late to run.
8:45 - Leave aparment. Head out for noon minor league game in Battle Creek. Eat frozen grapes, carrots, and celery during early part of trip. Drink cherry-flavored, locally grown coffee. Pretty great. Stop at Burger King near Grand Rapids. Love the hash browns, dislike the ham, egg and cheese biscuit sandwich. Moral: Always go bacon. Or sausage. Definitely not ham - too thin.
11:10 - Exit Interstate 96. Expected arrival: 11:45
12:20 - Actual arrival. M-66 is a bitch.
12:22 - Make eye contact, exchange alternate-height handshakes (that is, I'm several feet below them) with both broadcasters.
12:25 - Head to seats, third base side of plate.
Later - Purchase hot dog and Cracker Jack. Five dollars. Relocate to field-level seats by third base coaching box.
Later - Enjoy wide-ranging conversation of two dorks in front of me. Sports talk stuff. ("We'll miss Wallace.") Comic Book stuff. (I can't quote.) Odd stuff about them both being insomniacs.
Later, by three or four innings - Relocate down the left field line, to "The Largest Outdoor Bar in Michigan."
Pitching change, Top 6th - Try to get ice cream. Line is too long. "Decide" against it.
Top 7th - Catch a foul ball. I don't know who hit it.
Mid 8th - Enjoy the catcalls towards the "Gatorade Girls" from the manufacturing guys who have been enjoying "The Largest Outdoor Bar in Michigan." Dudes were in their 30's. Girls in their mid-teens. I don't recall specifics, but they were pretty good.
Bottom 8th - Nod off, at least twice.
Top 9th - Return to field-level seats. Enjoy a stirring, exciting, two-run comeback in the bottom half of the inning.

Post-game: Totally nerd out. Wait by the visiting clubhouse. No joke. Ask This Guy to sign my ball. He does. He was awesome. Glides to the ball in center. Legged out a triple, complete with a headfirst slide. They say he's one of the ten best prospects in baseball. I'm a nerd.

Also, visit with visiting broadcaster for about 20 minutes. He has to head back home, sadly.

3:30 - Leave park for establishment with home broadcaster. Order a few beers. Eat dinner. Enjoy conversation. Trade stories. Catch up on other guys in the league. Talk up my situation, but look back and kind of miss the former situation. Mostly, though, I know - and tell him - that the good outweighs the bad, and that the move has been the right one. Tell new stories.
7:45 - Leave. Two drinks and one burger in me. Great, great time. More than four hours of a great time.
8:15 - Get disconnected while talking to Cookie. He's got Corey Dillon on speed dial.
8:30 - Refill car. Use surprisingly clean gas station restroom. Purchased a Little Debbie Fudge Round - awesome - and a Diet Dr. Pepper - Berries and Cream - awful. I wanted coffee, but the gas station "had none."
10:40 - Arrive in the ring fingernail.
11:20 - Talk to Gurs for, like, an hour. Nothing of substance is covered.
12:50 - Sleep.

Thursday -
8:20 - Awake, later than planned. Shorten the run - 2.45 miles.
9:45 - Arrive at work. Go hard. Proud of my efforts.
1:25 - Eat lunch.
2:20 - Leave work.
2:50 - Leave home, with beach gear.
3:04 - Stop by eye doctor. Pick up new contact lens.
3:15 - Arrive at beach. See coworker who had same idea. Chat. Read. Listen to music. People watch. Apply sunscreen. Dog watch. Finish Kafka on the Shore. Talk about Neko Case. (Not a conversation, a monologue.)
5:35 - Leave.
5:55 - Run. 3.6 miles. A bit of walking, but a faster pace than when I began a few months ago.
6:25 - Shower. Eat a mango and two clementines.
7:00 - Go the library.

The haul (this library is incredible)
Haruki Murakami - Sputnik Sweetheart (busy week coming, and this was his shortest, I think)
Charles Chadwick - It's All Right Now (read 50 pages last summer. It's 600 pages. I won't read it, I bet.)

From the A section of the CD racks (I stopped at mis-alphabetized Air - Moon Safari. That'll be where I start next time):

Acid Mothers Temple - Electric Heavyland (The library's got Japanese noise!)
Akron/Family and Angels of Light - Split CD, I guess
Aluminum Group - Happyness
...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead - Self-titled debut. (It's so old, their contact email address is something @mail.utexas.edu. Awesome!)
Annie - Anniemal

From the "Just Arrived" (though not necessarily new) section:
R.E.M. - Around the Sun
Starlight Mints - Drowaton (2006)
Scott Walker - The Drift

What a great library. Seriously. Tiny town, but it's got Acid Mothers Temple (two CDs, though I only got this one) in the selection. Acid Mothers Temple sucks, unsurprisingly. I didn't like the Scott Walker much, either, though I'm supposed to. Anniemal made me dance.

8:00 - Purchase a belt.
8:10 - Place chicken on stove with tomatoes.
8:20 - Return. Clean. Place meats in freezer.
9:30 - Eat fantastic chicken cacciatore.
9:40 - Clean up. Make lunch. Clean more.
10:30 - Talk to parents for, like, an hour. Fringe-substantive stuff is covered.
11:30 - Talk "with" just-returned R/DS. Monologue, him to me.
12:15 - Blog.

Just a satisfying few days, I guess. I really like comments, but it might be tough to draw anything from this post. Sorry.

Bullshot told me over the weekend that the terms "redhothalos" and "WIDiRViFOW" are now synonymous. That is, the content of a general post is so WIDiRViFOW-related so as to strip any meaning (render secondary?) from anything else written. I don't think it was meant as an insult (after all, the WIDiRViFOW and R/DS-related stories are pretty interesting, or incomprehensible, and always true), but, still, I sense we've gotten too R/DS-heavy here (no pun intended, until I wrote "no pun intended"). With this post, I shall attempt to rectify that.

Wish me luck.

- - - - - -

You may remember, a few months ago, when my friend Duvy (aka Dirtbag, aka Mortgage Guy, aka Tractor Guy) got married. There was an uninvited guest, and not just an uninvited guest, but an explicitly-told-she-was-not-invited guest who showed up and, basically, weirded everyone out. She also brought a gift.

So, three months (three months!) later, it's Thank You card time. (Three months!) Does she get one?

Things to consider:
She was not invited, and was explicitly told she was not invited.
She brought a gift.
Etiquette probably says that she's owed a card.
Etiquette probably dictates that you don't show up to a wedding that you are explicitly not invited to.
I do not know whether the gift sucked or not.
Further contact in the form of a Thank You card may (will?) encourage a response from the uninvited guest. This would not be a good thing.

I'd like opinions here. However, based upon Sunday's too-brief conversation with Dirtbag, I think a decision's been made. Though maybe it hasn't.

(Also, please follow the link and scroll to the bottom. It was the end of the first week of the baseball season, and I was ecstatic about the Cubs' 4-1 start and their sweep of the Cardinals. Seems like years, or at least three months, ago. Wow.)

- - - - - - - -

Interesting conversation with a coworker on Saturday. Older guy. 28 or 29, I think. His in-town-for-the-summer girlfriend is gone for the week. Sunday, she was headed to the Twin Cities to send off her younger brother, early 20's and headed to the Kuwait-Iraq border as a reservist to do whatever it is they're doing over there right now.

Obviously, she's broken up and sad and terrified, and coworker was relating to me the fact that he wasn't comfortable saying "It's going to be all right," or "I'm sure he'll make it back fine," or "It'll only be a few months," because, obviously, there's no way of knowing that those things will be true and because, therefore, statements as those ring hollow.

I didn't prod much, but I confirmed that the brother knew what he was getting into when he signed up; it's not like he enlisted in 2000 to get some college money, and wound up getting thrown into a mess he never fathomed, as I'm sure happened to so many.

Anyway, got me thinking. The brother's from a small Northern Wisconsin town. What drove him to do it? College money? Belief in the "cause"?

It's scary and sad because, well, just about nobody from the north suburbs of Chicago would make that decision. I think I know of one, and he died sometime this winter. Sigh.

- - - - - - - -

I probably pissed off my bosses this weekend. On Friday afternoon, husband boss invited me to the league all-star game. Of course, I don't want to get on a bus, head ten hours south, go to some official league dinner (free booze), go to some golf outing (free booze), go to a game (free booze), go to some after-party (free booze), and hop on a bus for ten more hours. Who would?

Anyway, knowing that I'm certainly not up to "definite invite" status in the team hierarchy, I understood that they expected me to jump at the chance. But, shoot, I appreciate the all-star break, and I was looking forward to it, so I asked a few questions and was non-commital. "I'll let you know tomorrow."

Saturday morning, I arrive in the office. Email from wife boss. "Sorry I didn't see you when you left yesterday. Husband and I would really like you to take advantage [prepare for most hilarious phrase you'll ever read] or our offer of an all expenses paid trip to Evansville to watch the all-star..." (Odder "All-expenses paid trip" locations? Scranton? Peoria? Joliet? Evansville's pretty odd.)

She emphasized that, while I would definitely have a hotel roommate if I went, it would not be the R/DS. The bulk of the email was devoted to this fact.

What to do? Piss them off.

After reading the email, I hatched a plan. I'd been wanting to stop by and see some of the more-local colleagues from my previous gig anyway, and this seemed like a good opportunity. So, a few phone calls are placed, a few connections are made, and I've got plans to see two of the top five fellow radio guys I've met Wednesday afternoon. A quick explanation to wife boss, a disappointed look from her, a guilty and apologetic look from me, and I was officially out.

Coolest part: As I was leaving the office Monday afternoon, she said, "Try to come in one of the next three days." Upshot: Bonus off day, though I'll probably turn it into half-days on both Tuesday and Thursday, with a completely out of the office Wednesday. Woof.

- - - - - - - - -

Pretty good purchase this week: Sufjan Stevens' Greetings from Michigan because, after all, it is his Michigan-themed record. I don't love Illinois like a lot of people do, though I enjoy it, and I sense that I'll have similar feelings towards this one. But it's probably something that I, as a hip, youngish Michigander, should own.

Of note:
- The record was at least partially recorded about 45 minutes from my spot on the ring fingernail.
- One song specifically references the fantastic beach where I spent my Memorial Day. Woof.

- - - - - - - - -

I was a bit disappointed on Saturday night when skeletal going-out plans among several staff members dissipated into nothing. My disappointment quickly dissipated when I got to talk to Gurs for about 90 minutes. Long overdue, and it was awesome. Also awesome is the fact that relocated Gurs is writing again, hopefully.

- - - - - - - - - -

Got out of the ballpark Sunday night at 12:40. 2:25 in rain delays, then lots of vacuuming. After that, a beer with some coworkers, not because it was good for our health, but because vacuuming until past midnight with an 8 a.m. call to work coming the next morning sometimes necessitates some staff-wide venting. So we got it done.

Then I returned home and "watched" France-Italy. Quotes indicate that I fell asleep quite a few times, and had to rewind several times, and that I didn't actually see the Zizou headbutt until this morning. (I write "Zizou" to make me seem more knowledgable than I am.) Point is, I saw the PKs and saw the finish and I was sort of happy to see the Italians win. Slightly validates the U.S.'s performance, is what I'm taking from the win.

Anyway, it's good that I watched last night because, even if I had been super-careful (i.e., avoiding ESPN, and conversation), the unlikeliest of sources would have ruined the surprise. If you're not reading Waiter Rant, you should. It's pretty fun, and quite well-written.

- - - - - - - - - -

WIDiRVoFOW

This Week's Reason: He's so damn formal. As above-referenced coworker said to me last week, "I just don't think you could ever just 'shoot the shit' with him. You could never talk to him as a buddy." I responded, "Right on, dude," or something ridiculous.

My only definite example refers to the "dustup" (Nemo says it was more than a dustup, and it was intense, and the effects linger, but I won't go beyond "dustup") of last week.

If I wanted to apologize (and I didn't) for anything said or done, I would have probably said, "Hey, dude, I'm sorry about being such a dick earlier today." (Would have been untrue on both fronts.)

If he wanted to apologize (and he did) for any part of the dustup, he would have actually said, "I just wanted to apologize for what happened earlier." [I'm assuming he was referring to the actual argument, and not to the good stuff - "don't like" ... "mutual"] Me: "Don't worry about it. It's over." He: "Yes, but I just wanted to tell you that I shouldn't have come on strong like that. It was wrong of me." Me: "That's cool."

I don't know if this is WIDiRVoFOW-worthy, or if it even makes sense. But, dammit, I just wish he'd speak like a human once in a while.

- - - - - - - -

For the record, he ate a tray of Pizza Hut buffalo wings at about midnight on Saturday. I saw a pint of Ben and Jerry's in the garbage when I threw out my microwave popcorn on Sunday night. There's a 98 percent-consumed pint of Ben and Jerry's in the freezer tonight. He purchased and consumed the 98 percent, presumably, in one sitting.

It makes me ill. It makes me want to say, not as an inferior, and not as an adversary, and definitely not as a friend, but just as a human who doesn't like to see people dying, "Dude, eat a piece of fruit or something. That's disgusting. Eww."

- - - - - - - -

Pretty un-WIDiRVoFOW-y, I think.

Recapping recent events, some less interesting than others:

- Nemo's visit was fantastic. Too short, because they always are, but a good combination of one-on-one hanging out, group hanging out, game-watching, and roommate-meeting. R/DS comment from Nemo: "The first thing I noticed, is that he's really, really fat." He was also awkward, and pretty much encapsulated much of the awful stuff I've written in the 24 minutes of Nemo/R/DS interaction.

After the visit, Nemo wrote that, "collectively, [my coworkers] are a homerun." I laughed out loud.

After the visit, a coworker said to me, "I liked Nemo a lot. A whole lot. And that ring on his finger made him a whole lot hotter." I didn't know how to react, so I stayed quiet and resumed folding t-shirts, or something.

- I had an amazing and awkward experience with the R/DS on Monday night. We were both leaving the house, me to meet coworkers out (I extended the invitation to him), and he to get fast food. (Three dinners a night, after all.) We followed the same route towards downtown. We took lefts at the same light, with me using the inner lane and using the outer lane. We progressed to a stoplight, with me one car ahead of him. The car ahead of him took a right on red. He pulled up - I turned his way, started to smile, moved my arm into "friendly wave" formation - and he didn't acknowledge me. Just an immediate right. Seemed excessive, and definitely intentional. Over the top.

- Tuesday was definitely our first dustup. We were discussing a lineup change for the club, and I said that I didn't like the move, and he explained why the manager was making the move, and I said that it still didn't make sense to me, and he said, "Why don't you go ask the coaching staff about it? They don't bite, you know." This set me off - completely. I go hard all day - doing stupid stats crap, helping out in every department at the ballpark, generally acting as an extra set of hands to anybody who needs it - and never show up in the booth until two hours until game time. He, meanwhile, heads to the booth within two hours of getting to the office (so, like, five hours before I do), and openly watches DVDs and takes naps and is generally disagreeable. He does conduct a manager's interview at about 3:30.

So when he dropped in the "they don't bite," my response was immediate: "Are you questioning my effort, [R/DS]?" And I said it angrily. And it was on.

Never personal attacks, but nothing nice was said. I stated my frustrations that the daily stats pages that I produce (and that I told him - gently, very early in the season - were probably more work than they were worth) hadn't been printed by him since the beginning of June. He said that I take joy in pointing out his mistakes. I said, "Well, I didn't say a thing last night when you misidentified the catcher at least once an inning." It was intense (and, yes, that happened).

So, I'm next door, venting to the coworkers who operate the scoreboard and public address system. And I'm giving a play-by-play of the altercation, and as I'm saying, "Basically, I don't like him, and I'm pretty sure it's mutual," he's coming in the room. It was pretty apparent to everyone involved who "he" is.

I think it's probably for the better. No facade of friendship; coexist for now, and see what happens. Still, I don't like conflict, and this was definitely conflict. Interestingly, he said (inaccurately) that the top of the first inning that night was the best half-inning we'd done all year.

- A coworker offered the inside information Monday night that I was definitely getting an invitation to her wedding in September. I didn't think we were at that level, but I'm certainly happy at the opportunity, I think. It's local, so no cost to be incurred, and that's important. She's calligraphing (word?) all the invitations herself, and they're pretty awesome. I'm imagining her hand hurts.

- Office tensions are definitely starting to emerge. It's good to know that it happens everywhere. Interns don't get along with other interns, interns resent supervisors (check!), full-timers harbor bitterness towards better-paid colleagues, and everyone hates - or at least resents - the bosses. It's good to know that, in a baseball season, nobody's ever completely, or mildly, happy. Still, far more comfortable here than last year.

- I did leave work angry today for the first time since about the first two weeks that I arrived. I had been working in our store from the time I returned from lunch until leaving time, at 6. New shirts came in, and I did hours and hours of folding. So, 6:05 rolls around, and I'm heading out the door satisfied with my effort and looking forward to a beautiful night off, and my boss calls to the store. Am I down there, she asks. And the phone's handed to me. And she's wondering if I can write a press release, now. And I'm thinking, This information wasn't available four hours ago? You couldn't have asked for it then? But I grudgingly, without a smile, acquiesce. It was a pretty poorly-done release, I'm not proud to admit, because I was pretty pissed. I did not stick around to make small talk with the boss after finishing.

- Count me among those who love the Bulls' acquisition of Ben Wallace. I also love Tyson Chandler, but I understand the reason for the impending trade: Given the chance to sign three among the group of Gordon, Nocioni, Deng, or Chandler to go with Hinrich, Chandler's the last selection. Now, the money's there to get the other three. (If I'm not mistaken, J.R. Smith was considered a great shooter out of high school; maybe he'll bring it to Chicago.)

Hinrich-Gordon-Deng-P.J. Brown-Wallace with Nocioni, Duhon, that Swiss dude, Tyrus Thomas and, if he can shoot, J.R. Smith, off the bench is pretty darn good. And can probably do a bit of running. They'll score 104 a game next year, and it'll be awesome to watch.

- I really wish that I could be at Randy Walker's funeral on Thursday. I am not afraid to admit that I cried several times on Friday, when I found out about his heart attack. Had to leave work for a half-hour early in the day to collect myself. The outpouring of condolences from around the country on the Cats message board I read was pretty remarkable.

For the record, I think Pat Fitzgerald should be named head coach. Not interim coach, but head coach. Jerry Brown should stick around, remaining as assistant head coach until he dies. Why risk losing Fitz, whose charisma is the future of the program?

- - - - - - -

Both Sports Illustrated and Newsweek published double issues last week. I hate double issues, because I don't get a single issue this week. Sucks.

- - - - - - -

WIDiRVoFOW

This Week's Reason: During broadcasts, he dwells on the absolutely most unimportant stuff. He sacrifices description for minutiae, and it sucks.

Examples: We've got a guy with a 14-game hitting streak. The R/DS acts like it's important - real important. Says things like, "You really hope that the team can rally here so that he gets another chance to extend that streak." It seems like you could tell people what the ballpark looks like instead, particularly in a blowout. A hitting streak warrants a mention or two, but not an obsession.

He doesn't know the rules about unearned runs, suggesting on air that a single to left-center, on which the baserunner scored standing up from second base, should be an unearned run because the centerfielder committed an error that allowed the batter to advance to second and because, "On a hit plus an error, you can only assume that the runner would have advanced as far as the batter went." This is wrong. Scorer's discretion rules here.

So I disagree on air, because I can't justify giving flat wrong information to listeners (though I'd rather not dwell on the earned- or unearned-ness or runs, anyway).

And the inning ends, and I hand him the rule book.

As I'm calling a batter in the next half-inning, he tells me (and the listeners) that, according to the rule book, I am correct; the run is earned. Then he stares down at the book, and starts to read the pertinent rules - the one he thought he should follow, and the one that overruled it. He started talking fast immediately after the first pitch, and continued right on until I interrupted - Curveball for a strike - then he went right back to reading the rule book over the air.

Just seems that he's dwelling on the unimportant. Could've just read the pitcher's line at the end of his outing, right?