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.

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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.)

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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."

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Pretty un-WIDiRVoFOW-y, I think.