I think I've determined that college football is my favorite sport, or, at least, the sport I get most excited about in the weeks leading up to the season. And the great thing about college football is that, with about 60 games packed into every weekend, there's always something exciting happen on a given Saturday.

Of course, the best thing about it is the fact that there is no playoff system - every weekend is single-elimination for any team hoping for a national championship. You can't stumble in September and just make up for it, and I think that's awesome.

I think I've also determined that Northwestern football is the team that I'm most passionate about - more than even the Cubs, I think it's fair to say.

Anyway, this offseason has been a tremendously sad one and, at the same time, a pretty exciting one. AD Mark Murphy muted the utter sadness of Randy Walker's tragic death by making a risky but inspired hiring of linebackers coach and NU legend Pat Fitzgerald.

And, while the program lost its greatest quarterback ever, its leading all-time tackler (both four-year starters), an All-American offensive tackle, a sometime-starter for four years who became a fantastic safety as a senior, and a creative and productive offensive coordinator (the biggest loss?), everything else is back. It's not often you can return 17 starters (Philmore's the other), and add two players who started before missing all of the previous season (Heinz and Rees) from a team that went to a bowl.

So, I think, reasons for optimism.

Position-by-position breakdown, strongest-to-weakest units:

1. Running Back
Tyrell Sutton is, quite simply, the most persistent and rugged 5-foot-9 running back I've ever seen. Two and three guys to bring him down. I'm convinced that he could start for any team in the nation - ahead of Adrian Peterson, ahead of that Lynch guy at Cal, ahead of whatever schlub OSU runs out there. I expect in the vicinity of 1,700 yards, provided he plays all 12 games. (See number 2.) He's a fantastic receiver out of the backfield as well, which NU has never had since I've been following the program. (I think he had 10 catches against MSU last year, or maybe it was Purdue.) Depth could be a problem, because 5-foot-9, 185-pound backs can get dinged up. And Roberson isn't particularly good, I don't think.

2. Offensive Line
Everyone's back, but for Strief (of course, a big loss). Keenan moves from guard to tackle, bookending with Thiry. I think Thiry's a beast. Tripodi's from the vicinity of the Ring Fingernail, or at least I met some dude that went to school with him, so he becomes my favorite lineman. I hate Belding, perhaps starting at the other guard spot, because he was awful against Michigan last year. Irrational hate. But he's just keeping the spot warm for Austin Matthews, who will hopefully be healthy for Thursday after missing time with a leg injury. Trevor Rees returns after sitting out last year to get his academics in order. An All-conference and All-American candidate.

3. Wide Receivers
So much depth. A different player can be "the guy" for just about all 12 games. Shaun Herbert is, obviously, the best of the group, and Ross Lane emerged with the key catch of the season (game-winner vs. Iowa) and was huge in the Sun Bowl. Apparently, he's had a subpar camp. Personally, I think Peterman's a fantastic talent. Sam Cheatham, Jeff Yarbrough, and Rasheed Ward also figure in here somewhere; sadly, Kim Thompson does not, for the time being, as a broken foot might keep him out anywhere from three weeks to six weeks to all season, depending on the source. Also, Brandon Horn never made it back from personal problems, which is a shame. It sounds like Fitzgerald is committed to using the tight end more than in recent years, and it seems to me like Erryn Cobb is physically gifted as a blocker and a receiver. I'm probably making that up. He is a leader, it's said, and is one of four captains.

4. Linebackers
Two two-year starters return, and I've loved Nick Roach from his first appearance. Kadela should be steady inside - he's not quick enough to play outside (translation: He's white, so that's what I'm supposed to say). Demetrius Eaton and Eddie Simpson should be adequate enough; as I recall, Simpson played in a three-point stance occasionally last year, and Eaton took that fumble back for a touchdown against Michigan State. I wish a young guy would emerge in that third spot, however; Malcolm Arrington was a beast on special teams in the Sun Bowl, and he just seems like an athlete to me. There's talk of going to a 3-4 eventually, and there's talk that we'll see it at times this season, but I don't think there's enough depth to do it yet.

5. Defensive Backfield
Three good safeties on the roster (Heinz, Brendan Smith, McPherson), and a fourth (Brad Phillips) who has gotten great reviews for his summer performance, but corner lacks depth. Marquice Cole is a player, and Deante Battle might become one (they just sound like great cornerbacks, don't they?), but it's a bit scary to have a true freshman who was basically unrecruited (Sherrick McManis) listed on the two-deep. Then again, I'm basically confident with the top five here - Heinz is a steady leader, and snagged that pick in the bowl game, and Smith was emerging as a freshman All-American candidate before his injury last October - so maybe they should jump ahead of the LBs.

6. Defensive Line
The good: Lots of guys got experience. The bad: Lots of guys allowed 5.3 yards per carry last year, and the best of that group looks to be starting for the Giants this year. The worse: Injuries have slowed anticipated starter Adam Hahn in camp, and just knocked out David Ngene (a.k.a. my guy) for at least a few weeks. Kevin Mims made some big plays in the Sun Bowl, and could turn into this group's leader as a sophomore. Say the same for John Gill, who was starting next to Cofield by midseason. Or for Corey Wooton, who's huge for a defensive end. It sounds like freshman Corbin Bryant, stolen from Northern Illinois just before signing day, and Kendal Mason could both play this season. With all those bodies getting a chance, and all of those bodies being Division One athletes, it's my hope that a top four emerges. But I'm not optimistic.

7. Kickers
Ugh. I will say that I love Joel Howells as a person. He was the front-and-center guy for the team in the wake of Walker's death, and it seems like the team, in its way, rallied around him after the awful Sun Bowl performance. It also sounds like he's a good guy - he's mowing Tammy Walker's lawn every three days, according to an article in the Daily Herald a few days ago, and that's just awesome. Punting is atrocious. I hope true freshman Stefan Demos takes both jobs - if he's as good as he's supposed to be, anyway.

8. Quarterbacks
Only due to inexperience. Bacher showed fine for himself in his opportunities last season (well, fine against Purdue, in about six snaps, and less-than-fine against Ohio U.), so I guess it says something that Mike Kafka beat him out. Love the fact that all three Chicago papers quoted Pat Fitzgerald talking about knowing he loved Kafka's arm when he saw him make a throw from right field - "It's a different ball, but he could throw it," or something. I'm more excited at the prospect of Andrew Brewer, who is reportedly a freakish athlete. He'll line up in the slot, in the backfield, and directly over center, it would seem. The only concern is that the coaching staff gets over-focused on finding ways to use him, and loses site of what it does best (i.e., run The Spread) in the interest of finding razzle-dazzle-y ways to get the ball in his hands.

In general, I expect at least one Cats game in which both teams score in the fifties, and none in which neither team gets into the thirties. I can't see that much improvement in the defense - is it good or bad to have the entirety of the 117th-ranked defense returning? - but I also don't see that much of a dropoff in the offense - an All-Big Ten runner as a freshman can only get better the following year, and our receivers are generally interchangeable and adequate parts. It'll be fun to watch.

Also, in general, it's nice to see that Northwestern has just about officially jumped from "bottom of the Big Ten" stature. It seems that the consensus is that the Cats will finish eighth in the conference, ahead of the Gophs, Indiana, and Illinois. This is a change, and a good one. It also seems that some feel the Cats can finish ahead of Purdue, and ahead of Michigan State. That's worth something, right?

Game-by-game:
at Miami, Thursday: "Trap" game is the wrong term, because Miami has historically owned Northwestern, and because everyone will be focused on winning one for coach. 35-31 Cats.

New Hampshire, September 9: They're the best team in I-AA, but they're also a I-AA team. Northwestern 55, New Hampshire 21.

Eastern Michigan, September 16: Nemo's drinking the Green Kool-Aid (or is it the Green Coffee?), but he doesn't think they can win in Evanston. Nor do I. Northwestern 38, Eastern 17.

@ Nevada, September 22: There is nothing to gain by scheduling this game but, alas, it was scheduled. A win is just a Big Ten team over a WAC team. A loss is an embarrassment. I've got a bad feeling because a) Northwestern never goes undefeated in the non-conference schedule and b) Nevada can score a lot of points. I hope I'm wrong. Wolfpack 61, Northwestern 52.

@ Penn State, September 30: This was the worst game of the 2005 season, because Penn State gave it to the Cats, and the Cats couldn't take it. Embarrassing, in its own way, because Penn State didn't have the swagger that they'd develop late in the season. (Michael Robinson still sucks, by the way.) Penn State will have two losses by this time (at Notre Dame, at Ohio State), their quarterback will be lost and confused, and their fanbase will have given up all goodwill that the program earned back in 2005. Derrick Williams and Justin King can't play on the O-line, after all. Northwestern 28, Penn State 24. (Thereby negating my "someone in the thirties in every game" prediction.)

@ Wisconsin, October 7: The Cats seem to own the Badgers in recent years. It seems like, with Calhoun gone, there's no running game in Madison. And that Brandon Williams guy is gone, too, taking with him their big play potential. But the running game always emerges, and they seem like they can always stop you. And Northwestern isn't good enough to win at Beaver Stadium and at Camp Randall in back-to-back weeks. Since they'll have already done the first... Wisconsin 35, Northwestern 21.

Purdue, October 14: I always fear Purdue, but we've beaten them twice in a row. Two years ago was the sweetest, because it was out-of-nowhere, and wind-aided. Last year was aided by that ridiculous fumble through the end zone. This year, the Cats will just be better. Period. Northwestern 41, Purdue 31.

Michigan State, October 21: Was it 49 straight points that NU scored last year? I think it was. Michigan State's a disaster, about to drop below NU, for a long time. Northwestern 49, Michigan State 21.

@ Michigan, October 28, and @ Iowa, November 4: I don't want to think about these games. How does a mathematical scheduling rotation wind up with a team getting four of the top five teams on the road, including two back-to-backs? Both are losses, and I can't see any different.

Ohio State, November 11: They'll be so freakin' tough to stop. I was fringe-optimistic without reason last year (blowout loss), and fringe-optimistic without reason the year before (incredible, memorable, fantastic OT win), but I doubt I'll be that positive entering this one. With a national championship looming, you better believe Jim Tressel's boys won't be looking to the Michigan game. Ohio State 38, Northwestern 14.

Illinois, November 18: They'll be so bad. But, check out Illinois' media guide - you can find out what Ron Zook benches. Seriously. Illinois will be starting some freshman quarterback from Morgan Park or Dunbar or Simeon by this point; he'll suck as bad as anybody else they've run out. Northwestern 62, Illinois 21.

So, the final ledger: 7-5, 4-4. 5-1 at home, 2-4 on the road. 1-4 against teams ranked in the top 25 at the time (OSU, Michigan, Iowa, Wisconsin, Penn State), and 1-3 against teams ranked in the final top 25. (national champs OSU, disappointing-again but still Michigan Michigan, steady and getting scary Iowa, and sneaks into the top 25 Nevada.)

Am I happy with this potential ledger? Yup. Do I think I'm anywhere near correct? Probably not. Maybe though.

Your thoughts?

Go Cats. Woof.

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The DirecTV has been set up for ESPNU for Thursday night. Now, I'm relying on my coworker to properly record it. I'm nervous for Thursday, though it's a 33-33-33-01 split between the result on the field (33), whether it'll get taped (33), whether I'll find out the result before watching it (33), and whether I'll sleep though my Friday morning at at 7 a.m. flight and miss my brother's wedding (01).

I've purchased my coworker a six-pack of Leinie, though he doesn't know it. He's from Wisconsin, so he loves Leinie.

I think that, like bartenders (theoretically), waitresses at restaurants that serve breakfast all day should be well-schooled in the art of "cutting off" customers who've "had too much."

The scene:
Saturday, lunch with a coworker - I've been oddly busy of late, so we made a 2 p.m. lunch date. Due to delays (tarp pull, anyone?), it was bumped to about 2:45.

Location: About ten minutes west of the ballpark, at a place called Grandma's Restaurant & Pub (but they serve breakfast all day; the pub's in a separate room)

I kind of thought I wanted eggs when I arrived, and so did my coworker, so we each ordered coffee. A look at the menu, though, and I determined that a Super French Dip (with swiss cheese and grilled onions and mushrooms - though they substituted green peppers) was much more appealing. She got a sandwich of some sort.

As the meal arrived, we requested a second pot of coffee. As the bill came, we were finishing that second pot of coffee. I had consumed one glass of water (the waitress wasn't as diligent about refilling the water, and did not bring out a pitcher) during the meal, for the record.

So we departed the restaurant, and continued our sparkling "what've you been up to for the last week?"-related conversation and, as she's saying, well, something, I interrupt: "I think I had six cups of coffee during our hour-long lunch." "I think I did too." "My heart hurts."

Pretty much, I had a headache - a pulsing, pounding, bad one - when we returned to the ballpark four minutes later. And I was wired for most of the game (though I switched from water back to Diet Mountain Dew in about the sixth inning - the comedown had finally begun, six hours later), but made it through without (much) incident. (See: WIDiRVoFOW, eventually, though I sense I've got a long post coming.)

Point is, sure, there's some accountability and some responsibility involved on my part - I did, after all, consume 14 times my recommended daily caffeine intake in the span of an hour - but I think that waitresses should be required to switch the second pot to decaf if, as occurred here, two people request a new pot of coffee after less than a half-hour. Or maybe I should just, well, slow the hell down.

The coffee was good, friends. So was the sandwich, though it was more expensive than expected.

Grandma's officially joins the Hard Luck Cafe as destination points for visitors, though Grandma's is lower on the list. It's also about 25 minutes from my apartment, whereas the Hard Luck's closer to four.

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I spend a whole lot of money this week - more on entertainment-related stuff and going out-related stuff these last five days than at any other stretch in months. There was a goodbye dinner for a coworker's girlfriend on Tuesday. Bought lunch for a departing intern Friday. Another lunch out Saturday (see above). Went out both Friday and Saturday. Wallet's hurting a bit. Pretty dumb, really, though all five events were pretty good.

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I got a pretty amazing email from my cousin on Friday, in response to an email I had sent her. She had come to visit when The Boy was up here in August, and she left for the wild world of college at the start of the week. So, being that there had been some recent communication, I figured she'd appreciate a "check-in" email.

And so I did and, 20 minutes later, the response was incredible.

Early on, an "AMAZING!" and then a lot of the great things you like to hear ("so much fun!!!" and "my roommates are so nice and laid back" and ":)" and "so awesome") when you send an email like that.

Her email brought me back to that time eight years ago, because it's a pretty neat time. I kind of remember sending my older brother a similar response to an email from him - naming all the wonderful friends, and describing them ("he's from Knoxville, and really loves football" and "he's this big dude from Appleton who's really funny" and "there's this odd dude from Houston that creeps me out" and "I met this really friendly, not at all off-kilter, guy from El Paso" and "there's a guy from the Twin Cities who is not at all socially-awkward, and I think I'll be able to learn a lot from him about picking up chicks" and "there's this twerp from Pittsburgh that's always hanging around - maybe I'll tell him I have a highly-contagious and potentially fatal disease and he'll stay the hell away already"), and just being excited.

I'm not going to say that her email made my day, because Friday was pretty fun, but it was neat enough that I showed it to someone else in the office. She told me I had wasted her time, and I told her that that was kind of the point.

- - - - - - - - -

In other email-related stories, I spoke with my mom at around 3 this afternoon. I had sent her a series of emails (photos of Crazy Drew) on Saturday, and she had responded in kind with an email at about noon today. In the course of our conversation, she made reference to responding to my emails, and I said that I hadn't seen her response yet. (Computer hadn't been turned on yet.) I did some errands, returned to the house about 4:15. She called again at about 4:45, and told me she was headed over to see The Boy's apartment, and told me that The Boy's gas still hadn't been turned on and that he had been taking cold showers and that he stayed in Glenview on Saturday night for the purpose of having actual hot water.

I said, "Wow, I didn't know that," or something similarly intelligent.

She said, "You know, it's in the email," which was incredible for so many reasons.

Among them:
1) She sounded genuinely angry.
2) It had been not even five hours, and she was genuinely angry.
3) She can't actually operate a computer, I don't think.
4) The fantastic email (which she referred to twice in the span of two five-minute conversations, less than 90 minutes apart) was about 55 words long. When I finally read it at about 6, it didn't live up to advance billing.

Feel free to add your own here, as well.

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I was thinking that I should change the subhead at the top of this page, but I realized that I basically only write about baseball, rock music, and fantasy football, and that it's totally boring crap. So I won't change it, for now, anyway.

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After a friendly-but-firm email sent during the middle of last week, and some subsequent correspondence, I received my 2006 WNUR T-shirt in the mail on Thursday night. (See it here, and then click on the archive.)

I'll be honest, I was a bit hesitant about the look when I received it. Certainly, I thought, It doesn't compare to the Record Player model, which is pretty much unmatchable for fantastic-ness. In fact, I immediately ranked it right near the bottom of the rankings among my WNUR t-shirts (I have them starting in 2001). Wrong colors for me, maybe a bit too gaudy, and the material (100 percent cotton, I confirmed) just felt too...smooth...for my tastes.

But, nonetheless, I rocked it at work on Friday, and received an immediate compliment. And, at that point, I decided I liked it.

Bullshot warned me to be wary of t-shirt compliments - "Maybe she saw that you saw her look at your shirt, and she felt she had to say something," she told me - and I tucked away the advice. But, with nothing to do, I confronted the person who gave the compliment (I do these things), and she confirmed that, "No, it's a really nice shirt. Well-designed, and I can definitely read what it says."

The color's still not great for me, but it'll make it into the t-shirt rotation.

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My sister got back in town from the Czech Republic on Thursday. She was the first to hear about the WNUR t-shirt. I don't think we covered anything else of substance, but it was nice to hear her voice again.

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WIDiRVoFOW
As of Saturday afternoon, I was considering suspending the WIDiRVoFOW. To be honest, the R/DS and I have reached an unspoken agreement - we don't particularly enjoy each other's company, but we stay out of each other's way. We've been a lot less sarcastic (we were mean-sarcastic, not friendly- and funny-sarcastic) with each other and, while his insistence on keeping our office and apartment meat freezer-cold still gets to me, it's been pretty not-bad of late.

I was even considering acknowledging things like "Maybe I didn't give him a fair shake" and "Maybe he's not that bad of a guy" and "I guess I should feel bad for him sometimes, and I'm an ass for not being more sympathetic."

But then, I made an innocent mistake, and he unloaded on me, and then he piled on. (And he's fat, like, really fat, like, orca fat, so when he piles on, even metaphorically, it freakin' hurts.)

My mistake:
After the game on Saturday, I was getting ready to leave the booth. I noticed a tupperware container and a fork on the countertop. Because I make my lunch on an almost-daily basis, I assumed that I had accidentally left them there earlier in the week or on the previous homestand. I smelled the container, and it stunk of some sort of food. So I turned on the sink and started to rinse it out.

As I'm rinsing, he interjects: "Great. Now it's not even dry. I've been drying it there since I ate this afternoon."

Me: "Oh, I'm sorry. I figured it was mine, and I had left it. Hope it's not too much of a problem."
R/DS: "Not as much of a problem as how you kept trying to ruin the broadcast by bringing up all those stupid topics during the late innings tonight."

Seriously. That's what he said. After I put water on a meal-sized tupperware container.

The "stupid topics" I brought up, in a game the home team was losing, 7-1, in the eighth inning:

1) The stadium that our club was headed to for their next series.
(His thought: Stupid. My thought: Well, the fans might want to know what it looks like. After all, it's three hours away - maybe they're thinking about going to the game.)

2) The various versions of the rally cap, and what was his favorite.
(His thought: Stupid. My thought: Rally caps are fun, and they're everywhere in the crowd tonight. Maybe people would like to hear about them.)

3) Whether our trainer - wearing slacks and a collared shirt every game - was the best-dressed trainer in the league. After all, the visiting team's trainer was in baggy cargo shorts and a team sweatshirt.
(His thought: Stupid. My thought: Well, kind of stupid, but funny to me.)

So, therefore,
This Week's Reason: He sucks on just about every level.

- - - - - - - - - - -

For the record, the rally cap thing featured this on-air exchange.
"R/DS, when you were playing Little League, what was your - "
"I didn't play Little League."
"Oh. Well, what's your favorite..."

After the game, I asked for clarification:
"You didn't play Little League?"
"No, I didn't play baseball until I was 13. I was a gymnast before then. I didn't want to discuss that on the air."
"Well, for the sake of the flow of the broadcast, couldn't you have pretended?"
"I never played Little League. Little League goes until the age of 12, and I never participated in it."
"I never played in Little League either. Technically, I played Bronco baseball and Pony League and things like that."
"Well, then you shouldn't have brought it up."

He's so odd.

Another reason I'm getting old: My parents, today, celebrated their 30th - that's 30 years, folks - wedding anniversary. Thirty years! Wow.

Odd fact about this:

- They were only married 1 1/2 years before my older brother was born. That's pretty quick, I think.

What's amazing, to me, is that I vividly remember their tenth anniversary. Vividly, anyway, in the way that six-year-olds vividly remember anything.

The memory involves wood stolen from nearby construction sites, one hammer and lots of nails (operated by a six-year-old [me], an eight-year-old [my older brother], and a seven and 11-year-old [our neighbors]), a crudely-constructed wooden model, some red paint, and some white paint. And, on August 22, 1986, "The Love Plane" was presented to my parents.

I would say that The Love Plane is the best anniversary gift I've ever given my parents. I don't think that there is a second-best gift, unless two-days-late phone calls count.

Now, I wouldn't have remembered the anniversary were it not for my older brother, who called this afternoon. He also said, "But don't call them tonight - they're going to some spa or something." Now, had I not ignored my dad's call a half-hour earlier - "Remember to call your mother because, I'm not sure you know, but it's our anniversary." I ignored my dad's call because I was eating lunch, and because I was interested in the Sports Illustrated college football preview. I probably should've picked up.

This definitely is not as good as a phone call, but it's something. Congratulations, Mom and Dad. Pretty freakin' cool.

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Another reason I'm getting old: The Boy (three years younger than me) officially began adult work on Monday. Adult work. I think he has to wear a shirt with a collar, and he takes public transportation (from his own apartment) to a large building, and I think he even has his own banking account now. Amazing.

I was supposed to call him on Sunday night, but I forgot. (After all, a long day of golf-watching.) Then I figured I should call him on Monday night, but I got wrapped up in watching Singles on Cinemax On-Demand. (I enjoyed it more now than as a sixth-grader. The allure of Alice in Chains on the soundtrack induced me to see it in the theater as a sixth-grader. It merely qualifies, however, as "cute.") I would have called tonight, but I got wrapped up in watching Dirty Jobs at a coworker's house. His girlfriend leaves town Thursday, so it was "final hangout" night. Perhaps I'll remember to call him Wednesday.

I think the worst part is that he actually works during the day. This means no phone calls from me to him for no other reason than the fact that I'm bored at work and know he's unemployed and, therefore, probably unoccupied.

Anyway, pretty neat, I think, and he's to be congratulated.

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Job-related: On Sunday, I made reference to that resume I sent out to that local insurance company. Probably the biggest employer in the area.

Well, they called back on Monday. I didn't pick up, because I didn't recognize the number. I listened to the message, and called about an hour later. Voicemail. So I hung up, waited 15 minutes, and called back again. Voicemail. So I hung up, waited 15 minutes, and called back again. Answer.

"Your cover letter was really, really good. You really hit the right angle there."
"Thanks."

8 minutes of small talk. Successful.

"So, what is it about our company that interests you?"
"Uh. Um. Huh. I don't know. Argh."

15 minutes of her talking about the company.

"So, do you have any questions about the job, or what we do, or the company in general?"
"[Can't think of anything.]"

"Well, okay, then. Our timetable was to hire by the middle of September but, where we are now, it probably won't be until the end of the month. We're talking with a handful of people, and we'll try to get back to everyone about bringing you in for an interview by Friday."

Basically, small talk was good, real good. Everything else - bad. I don't expect to hear anything but "thanks for your interest," though I've been surprised before.

- - - - - - - -

Related, I got a call from another radio guy who was a colleague last year, the guy I went to visit when I had a few days off last month. Well, last month, he was in the process of setting up an interview for a Division One college basketball-baseball radio position. Earlier this month, I sent him a text wishing him luck when he was interviewing for the job. Monday night, he called to tell me that he got the gig. Awesome, and he starts in October.

Well, the main reason he called (other than to thank me for remembering when he was headed to interview) was to encourage me to contact his club about their soon-to-be open play-by-play gig. (His team's moving, and they're under new ownership, but he had a good relationship and was the frontrunner for the new ownership's radio position.) He'd put in a good word for me and everything, he said.

"Well," I responded, "thanks for the nice idea, but I'm not sure I'm cut out for the business anyway."

He told me that I was too good to stop and, suddenly, I'm thinking in different terms again. So the goal now becomes to reproduce a broadcasting-oriented resume and send it along on Monday. There's also a new team beginning operation in our league next year, and I'll probably send something their way as well.

I guess it's called "Exploring your options," or something. Gets frustrating at times, I guess.

Make a decision and go with it, pal.

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So, I think that I can officially be called a "sucker." A few months ago, while using my Discover card-related gift card, I accepted an offer to become a member of the Borders Rewards Program. While I didn't go as far as to keep the mini-membership card on my keychain, I definitely placed the full-sized version in my wallet (same pocket as the local library card and the Blockbuster card. The Blockbuster card hasn't been used since last November, but it's good to have, I think.).

I'm not sure about the perks of the Rewards program at Borders. There's something about getting some sort of cash back towards holiday season purchases. And I get a weekly email with a ridiculous title, promoting whatever major new releases are on sale. And finally, and most importantly, every time I spend fifty dollars in a month, I get a "Personal Shopping Day" that can be used in something like the next six weeks. On my "Personal Shopping Day," I get 10 percent off everything, no matter how many times I shop that day, they proudly trumpet.

A few weeks ago, I documented my three-CD, one-book Borders binge. I'll say that, honestly, I just wanted to buy some new music that day. My membership in the Rewards Program was not a factor. But, shortly thereafter, I received an email reminding me that, by virtue of the fact that I had spent 55 bucks that day, I had "earned" a Personal Shopping Day.

But, today, another three-CD binge. And, yes, I used my Personal Shopping Day. And, yes, I only wanted to actually buy one of the CDs. (The new Mountain Goats record, Get Lonely. He's my favorite.) Another (Band of Horses, Everything All the Time) had been on the "Well, maybe that's interesting to me, I guess" list for a few months, while the other (Belle & Sebastian, The Boy With the Arab Strap) has been on the "Everyone who loves indie pop seems to love this record, so eventually I should get it to raise my credibility" list for several years.

Point is, without the carrot of a ten percent discount, I wouldn't have purchased either. But, here it is, I've got three new CDs, two I didn't want that much, but I saved four bucks. Four bucks.

Borders, you win.

(More depressingly, I was pissed at myself when I realized that I had spent 39 bucks during the month of August. August, dammit, a month for which I've already earned my Personal Shopping Day. Should've held off until September, and then I'd need only 11 additional bucks for that month. Sick, friends, sick.)

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I really like buying the coffee at the local Shell gas stations. They've got those flavored creams (Hazelnut, Southern Pralines and Cream, Irish Creme, French Vanilla, yum), plus something called The Cream Machine. Pretty much, I've started using three sweeteners and three creams in a 20-ounce cup of mid-afternoon coffee to create the sweetest, most wonderful cup of coffee in the world. I do it about once a week, I'd say, and it makes my teeth hurt.

I strongly, strongly considered joining the Shell gas rewards program today. Buy ten coffees, get the 11th free, I think. Buy five car washes, get the sixth free. I don't know if there are gas-related perks. I then considered better of it, because it seems like the possibility of saving a buck every 3 months (coffee), or five bucks every 19 years (car washes) isn't worth aligning myself with one brand of gasoline via a keychain-sized membership card.

But maybe, just maybe, I'm missing out on some members-only sweepstakes. I'm not quite sure.

- - - - - - - - - - -

When I purchased a half-tank of Shell gasoline at about 1:05 on Tuesday afternoon, it was priced at $2.98 per gallon. When I drove by at 6:05, it was down to $2.93 per gallon. I was pretty pissed. Had I earned rewards on the extra five cents per gallon, I would've been a lot less pissed.

- - - - - - - - -

I was flipping through one of those direct mail coupon packets this afternoon, looking for a Buy One Get One (has anyone noticed that "BOGO" has entered the lexicon, at least in the ring fingernail?) to the restaurant that several coworkers and I were meeting at for dinner tonight. About midway through, there's a full-sized page that says, "Surveys show... Affluent Households Clip Coupons!"

Turns out, it was a business-to-business advertisement, essentially. "Rich folks look through this, and your company needs rich customers."

Makes a lot of sense, I guess, though I like it better as, "Hey, poor folks. Clip coupons and act like the rich."

I swear, I'll come up with something interesting next time. I swear. God, I hope so.

Let's see if there's anything of interest to write about here. I'm not sure there is, though you can be the judge.

- - - - - -

I took the plunge (and thus stopped violating laws) this week and officially registered the yellow car in the state of Michigan. The pretty version cost me five bucks more than the original recipe, but I decided it was worth it.

I also, while at the counter, made the decision to officially become licensed driver in the state, therefore allowing me to register to vote. Because I hadn't planned to get a license (after all, there's a fee, and my Iowa license didn't expire until '09...I can wait), I didn't have everything needed with me. But the Secretary of State's office is three minutes from my residence, and the lady at the counter gave me the Secretary of State's equivalent of a hall pass, and I headed back to the apartment for my never-used passport and, when I returned, no waiting in line, owing to the hall pass. Basically, it was an incredibly efficient trip.

Plate went on the car Saturday. It looks nice.

- - - - - - - - -

While driving from the Secretary of State's office to work Tuesday morning, I lamented the loss of my front license plate. I've never been in a state that didn't require a front license plate.

So I studied what people did with the front - mostly nothing, just a vacancy. A few college football plates, lots of dealership plates, and a few out-of-state plates (presumably, matching the out-of-state plate on the back, though that is not the case with a coworker of mine.)

I kind of like Northwestern football a lot, and Northwestern in general, so I decided that I'd buy one of those college football plates. Purple and white goes well with yellow, after all.

So upon arrival to work, Priority One was the nusports.com merchandise store. Sadly, I couldn't find one. A few different license plate frames, but no full-sized plate.

At that point, though, I made a decision: I've operated for the last five years of my Northwestern fandom with my 1996 Darnell Autry-Rashad Morton-Hard Hittin' Herschel Henderson-Sherrick McManis black home jersey, purchased on clearance in the summer of 2000 at the Norris Center bookstore for five (or maybe 15) bucks, as the gameday gear of choice.

I decided I was ready to step up my level of fandom. Being that he's a superstar, and being that he's got at least two (I'd think three) years left, it was time to purchase an official Tyrell Sutton replica jersey. I think that white is probably a better-looking option, but I feel like, if one is purchasing a Cats jersey, purple is the option of choice.

I also, for the first time in my life, purchased an NU media guide from the online store. Worth the 15 bucks? Maybe. It's neat to have, and I think I'll make it an annual purchase.

Note: They have finally updated the famous alumni list. Stephen Colbert is now on the list. Zach Braff is now on the list. Luke Donald is on the list. Luis Castillo, interstingly, is not.

Notable omission: Judy Baar Topinka and Rod Blagojevich.

Notable deletion: William Jennings Bryan, who was my favorite on the old list. Also, Adlai Stevenson and Harold Washington.

Notable individual still "famous" enough to remain on the list despite the fact that media guides are now restricted in length: Kate Shindle, Miss America 1998, also credited as an "actress." Also still there, the girl from Father of the Bride.

Point is, good purchases, both.

We're only 11 days from the opener at Miami (Ohio). If DirecTV has ESPNU, and I think it does, I'll come up with a way to tape the game. (I'm working that night.) If not, I'm not sure what I'll do. I sure don't want to miss it.

- - - - - - - - - -

So, I'm generally happy here, as I'm sure you've gleaned. It's a great area, the coworkers are generally great people, and the team is a great success. But I'm also tired. A lot. Long hours (and irresponsible decisions, too) probably contribute to this.

So I updated my resume last week, with the help of Dirtbag, and sent one out to a local company on Tuesday. Insurance. I figure I've had an interesting-to-others job for four years, might as well commit to an incredibly boring one the rest of the way.

Actually, I just flipped through the classifieds, and found things that included "Professional" or "College degree required" or, most importantly, "We'll pay you more than the poverty line." I found one, and haven't heard anything back. (By the time I emailed my resume, the ad had been removed from the paper, so I figure they probably filled it.)

This is more exploratory than "I need out. Now," and I think it will be an interesting learning experience. I know I'd miss baseball if I no longer were employed in the "industry," and I'm pretty sure that other jobs are less interesting that this one. But we'll let it play out. The Ring Fingernail rules.

- - - - - - - - - -

Last night at about 7, when I saw the end of CBS' coverage, I decided that I'd watch the entirety of the PGA Championship Final Round today. Luke Freakin' Donald, paired with Tiger! Awesome.

I've worked about every summer Sunday for the past four years, so I think the last day of golf coverage I've really watched - I mean, paid attention to, and everything - was the 2001 Masters, when Tiger ran away from the field while I was spending the spring in Austin.

I fought the urge to take advantage of the beautiful day outside, and I watched the first 12 holes. At that point, Luke's fate was as sealed as it could be, so I headed out for a career-long run. Tiger's incredible, and Luke kinda cracked under the pressure. Three early putts go down, and I think it's a different day. That is, I think he's got a chance. But, pretty much, you knew it was Tiger's day when he rolled in that long putt on, I think, the third hole.

Anyway, a fun afternoon watching golf. I love - love - hearing Northwestern talked about a lot.

- - - - - - - - - -

Pretty interesting, though not incredibly drop-what-you're-doing-and-read-it-now interesting, cover story about making school lunches healthier in today's New York Times Magazine.

Probably the best part, related to some healthy-eating assembly for K-6 kids at the elementary school:

"Then she introduced Peri Stolic, a smiling, animated bit of intestine. 'She likes to be big and fluffy and filled with fruits and vegetables,' she said, 'because she’s like a tube of toothpaste, and when she’s fluffy, it’s easier to squeeze the garbage out.'"

Think the kids realized that she was talking about poop?

- - - - - - - - - - -

Talked to my older brother on Thursday night. As you know, I don't talk to him much. (Not since the season started.) (That's not a bad thing, though it's not a good thing, and I think we just kind of accept it. Not much in the way of common interests, so not much to talk about. It's okay, though sometimes I wish we talked more. Generally, after we talk.) As you might also know, he's getting married next month.

So I'll be an usher in a few weeks. I don't think that it's very difficult to be an usher. The Boy is very smart, and he'll be an usher as well, so I think I'll follow his lead.

I confirmed with my older brother that there will be a full open bar (no shots, however) at the reception. I did not ask if he'd mind if I performed my ushering duties hammered. (I probably wouldn't, even if he said I could. I'd have to pay for the booze in that case, because I figure the bar's not open until after they're married. Seems pretty standard.)

- - - - - -

A few weeks ago, Gurs and I (mostly I) were lamenting the fact that pitchfork doesn't have an Upcoming Release Dates page any more. Of course, the page wasn't updated regularly, and was generally unhelpful. It always ended with "Guns 'N Roses - Chinese Democracy - 20??", which is pretty funny, in all cases.

Anyway, I've found a good replacement, finally, here. It confirms that The Mountain Goats record is out Tuesday, and gives September 12 as the U.S. release for the TV on the Radio CD (I've not heard it, and I'll probably buy it), and does not list Lupe Fiasco.

Also, metacritic, in general, is a pretty good site. I enjoy it a lot.

- - - - - - -

Also, I should comment that The Gurs Blog has been absolutely fantastic lately. Again. Please read it. He's one talented dude. I can't wait for a report on his return visit to the St. Paul Saints game, or for a story about hiking. All good, friends, all good.

- - - - - - -

Gurs' last post makes reference the Twins. I was really happy this week to see that Sports Illustrated published an article on the greatness of the American League Central division. A road trip article, it was to be, recounting how awesome the Tigers, Twins, and White Sox are. And, more importantly, how awesome their fans are.

Anyway, I was looking forward to it, but the article sucked. Hardcore. Too bad, too, because it's a great, great topic. But poorly done. (I know that an interesting divisional/wild card race doesn't justify a "Gary Smith follows McGwire, Sosa, and Griffey in 1998"-style article, but it sure should have been better than a four-page piece. But, then again, most writers aren't Gary Smith.)

- - - - - - - - - -

WIDiRVOFoW

This Week's Reason: Again, he doesn't understand baseball.

I'm listening to the game tonight, and he's going around the league with scores, and he mentions that a home team won in 12 innings. One-run game. And he says "So we know it's a walk-off home run, but we don't know who it it." And that's flat wrong, of course, because it could have been a single, or a wild pitch, or a bases-loaded walk, or any number of things. To assume it's a walk-off homer is just wrong, dumbass.

Again, I'm stretching on this week's WIDiRVOFoW. I think I've stopped looking for things, or maybe I've just come to appreciate his awfulness for what it is. That is, I've finally come to terms with his awfulness, and I'm living with it, and I'm focusing on coexistence rather than realzing every single reason he sucks. Also, his chronic curtness and natural arrogance and rudeness are things that I'm used to by this point; they don't stick out, and the WIDiRVOFoW suffers. Sigh.

Finishing the facial hair story: On Wednesday night, it was time to shave. Friday was a home game, and I needed to do something ridiculous for Thursday - cheap laughs are the best kind, and facial hair-related laughs are the best kind of cheap laughs, right?

So, I kept the 'stache, a golden brown, down to where the top lip meets the bottom lip. Some might call it a "porn 'stache," though I'm not sure there's any 'stache which does not qualify as a "porn 'stache." (Maybe the Hitler 'stache? The bushy Saddam 'stache? I don't know.)

But what else? Well, I kept the sideburns. Down to the the bottom of the 'stache. And steadily widening, so that there was about two inches of cleanly-shaven flesh between the end of the 'burns and the start of the 'stache. Basically, I looked ridiculous. There's photographic proof, though it's just cell phone photographic proof. I won't be deleting it any time soon.

Thursday morning, I walked into the office and initiated conversation with our merchandise guy. His girlfriend wanted to burn the Gnarls Barkley CD, so I brought it to his desk. He didn't really look at me when I brought the CD in - shuffling papers, confirming orders, things like that - and he initiated Gnarls-related conversation. So I sat at his computer and started poking around for some Gnarls photos, trying to explain that it wasn't just one dude. I'm talking, explaining, poking around, and then he looked at me, and I at him, and he did a double-take, and then we both laughed for a solid 30 seconds. Stopped. Made eye contact again. Laughed again. Belly laughter, too. It was fantastic.

After I shaved on Wednesday, I had the urge to go CD shopping. It had been a while, and there were a few things on the list - nothing specific, but I wanted to see if Borders had the JaMC reissues, and Band of Horses, and Beirut, and I thought maybe I'd look for Loveless and Belle and Sebastian. I rarely go to browse, but I had the urge to browse.

In this case, I was browsing while looking completely ridiculous, of course. And, amazingly, I needed help. The Islands CD, Return to the Sea, was on a listening post. Sadly, the listening post was busted but, happily, I wanted to hear the music. So I asked a clerk if there was any way they could play it for me. While asking for this help, I made direct eye contact; she kept a straight face. The entire time. Amazing. I emphasize, again, that I looked ridiculous.

I made my biggest music splurge in a long time, partially due to her help (once she went through the extra effort, I had to buy as a gesture of gratitude, yes?).

The haul:
Islands - Return to the Sea
Beirut - Gulag Orkestar
My Bloody Valentine - Loveless
Haruki Murakami - The Elephant Vanishes (short stories, not at the library)

- - - - - - - - -

I really, really love the Islands CD. The opener, "Swans (Life and Death)" is this 9 1/2-minute epic that just towers over the entire record. Lots of other songs are pretty great, and they're all mostly catchy, but I don't know if anything can match the forward-moving, piano-tinkling, two dude-harmonizing beauty of the opener.

Other album-openers that are so long, and beautiful, and epic that the rest of the album can't quite ever live up to them:

Wilco - "I Am Trying to Break Your Heart" - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
The Secret Machines - "Alone, Jealous and Stoned" - Ten Silver Drops
East River Pipe - "Shiny, Shiny Pimpmobile" - The Gasoline Age

Those are the only three I can think of, and I don't think the East River Pipe song is that long, but it does tower. Are there others? I'm sure. Let me know.

- - - - - - - - -

Related, somewhat, to the Gnarls Barkley CD. On Saturday, I had about the most fun I've had at a baseball game in a long time. Because our usual guy (son of the owners) was out of town on Saturday night, I was wrangled into the duties of on-field host. On-field host? Yeah, the annoying guy who carries a wireless mic and says things like, "Fans, it's time for Oversized Boxing! I've got Neil and Bullshot with me! It's three rounds. Ready, set, go!"

Usually, the PA guy introduces the host, and he comes out to some sort of game show theme music. Good intro music, that is. I think it's from Wheel of Fortune. Anyway, for days were had been struggling to come up with my stage name...stage names are important, after all. Finally, at about 6:12 (38 minutes to showtime!), we settled on "Crazy Drew." Not really catchy, but it sure is crazy, yes?

The highlight here is that, as I was being introduced by our PA guy, they definitely played "Crazy." Badass.

Highlights of the night:
- One of my responsibilities was to throw a t-shirt over the netting behind the plate. I got it there.
- I had a great conversation with trivia contest winner Jim, an old guy from Branson, Missouri. He was impressed that I knew Silver Dollar City. He nailed the trivia question ("Which of these players is not currently on our roster?" "D. Al Kaline"). He got an Applebee's gift certificate for his trouble.
- We've got a taco race. Kids dress up in taco suits and sprint around the bases. It's pretty funny. Cute, too. I introduced the contestants, a 7-year-old boy and his 6-year-old cousin, as "Senor Joey" and "Senor Austin." It was pretty funny.
- Tyler - an eight-year-old boy who dressed up as a dog for another race, tripped between second and third, and was nearly trampled by his 11-year-old sister (dressed as a cat, of course) - told me that he was at the game on Friday night. I responded, "I know. You told me I stunk at the 'YMCA.'" (I was right. He was wearing the same jacket. He was stunned I remembered. He was also right.)
- I signed three autographs. "Crazy Drew" is what I wrote. I added a crudely-drawn happy face. Crazy Drew's signature looks a lot like our mascots'.
- I had to hang out by our club's bullpen in the ninth inning. Security. Make sure kids running the bases enter on the proper side of the field. Anyway, some kids yelled down to me: "Hey, Crazy Drew." "Yeah?" "What's your real name?" "Andrew." (dejected) "Oh, that's cool." What'd they expect?
- I like to think that I was better than my old friend Pork Chop, and better than the woman that used to yell a lot in the 'Port. My usher friends were highly complimentary, it should be noted.
- There was lots of running around. Lots of Hurry Up and Wait, too. It was exhausting, though.

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

As you know, girls are awful people. They stop liking each other. This has been the case at our office, where, of the two promotions leaders (call them, for the moment, M and N) and the three interns (for the moment, D, A, and S), there has been a severe splintering. N, S, and A don't talk to M and D, despite the fact that they're on the same team. Same goals, theoretically, but they avoid each other and complain - to me - about how much they hate each other. I encourage this by listening to them. Not much else to do, especially when the team's on the road.

Despite way different personalities, M and N were pretty much best friends when I arrived here. (Circumstance, not because they're a fit. Like your freshman year dorm friends.) Now, they basically don't speak, though they've apparently cleared some things up lately. A long lunch - a talk-it-out lunch - when the team was on the road over earlier this week.

Anyway, on Saturday night, D and I (that is, D and yours truly) were sitting in one row, preparing to throw t-shirts into the crowd or something, and M and N were sitting in front of us. And, between the two of them, there was laughter, and poking fun at fans, and general happiness. And I tapped D on the shoulder, and I said, "Isn't that great? Friends again, kind of." She agreed.

A nice moment. I felt obliged to relay this moment to S and A, and I had my chance at the redneck bar after the game.

I set the scene, gave them the time of game, and told them what happened. And then I made about the most inappropriate joke I've ever made. I shall detail it here.

Me: "Isn't that awesome?"
A: "Yeah, it is."
S: "Sure. Neat."
Me: "It's like the good old days. Before Daddy started hitting Mommy."

And then we laughed a lot. I felt guilty, but not that guilty, but pretty guilty. Domestic violence is not a laughing matter, friends.

- - - - - - - - - -

(Note: This part included for Rico's benefit. Though there's a woman involved, it's not a date. No cuddling. But it is about what I ate for dinner. Chick's engaged.)

I had a pretty fun Thursday night. Team returned from a near two-week road trip on Friday, so Thursday was our last free night until the end of the weekend. (Off on Monday before a three-game series starting Tuesday.) M is one of my top five people here, because she's a goof. And we were doing some menial office task and talking about nothing really, and then I started asking about where she lived for some reason, and she said, "Hey, Pinks, you wanna come over for dinner tonight?" (Wear a ridiculous salmon-colored shirt your fourth day in an office and, voila, a nickname is born.) Well, of course I did.

I had been thawing some chicken during the day, so I needed to cook it that night. I suggested that I buy some more chicken, and we move my Operation: Chicken Cacciatore to her house. And so it was. I bought a pepper and some onions and some wine on the way over, and I brought some pasta and the chicken and some cans of tomatoes. We simmered the chicken for about 90 minutes, and then we made some garlic bread, and it was fantastic.

Nothing really interesting happened, though it was a chance to get to know someone better. We got to talk about our coworkers and our families and The Future and things like that, so it was pretty good.

And there were lots of leftovers; I ate half for lunch today, and plan to eat the rest for lunch tomorrow. I'll be making a CD to give her when I return her tupperware. She'll probably never listen to it, because people don't listen to CDs foisted upon them.

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

On the way home from dinner, I got to talk to Dirtbag. You'll recall that Dirtbag got married in April, and you'll also recall that he sent a thank-you card to his wedding impostor.

Dirtbag and I probably talk on about a monthly basis, 20 or 25 minutes at a time. I learned on Wednesday that Dirtbag and I never talk about anything of substance. (Though he's appearing as a reference on my on-the-verge-of-being-retooled resume, which is substantial, I think.) But nothing of real substance.

How did I determine this? Well, on Wednesday, I was talking to The Boy. And Dirtbag rang, so I said a brief hello and promised to call that night or Thursday. And I flipped back to talk to The Boy. "You were talking to Dirtbag?" "Yeah." "Tell him 'Congratulations' about his baby." "What?" "Grandma read in the paper that his wife just had a baby. She told Mom, who told me." "Really?" "That's what she said." "Wow."

So, I mentioned it to Dirtbag on Thursday night. Except, instead of saying, "Congratulations," I said, "Hey man, what the fuck is that?" But in a friendly way. He called it "the worst-kept secret at the wedding," but I guess it was kept pretty well, from me, anyway. Or maybe I was just pretty drunk. Which I was.

Tate Robert. Pretty badass, especially for a two-week old, I think.

- - - - - - - - -

Nemo and Carrie celebrated a one-year anniversary today. I called Nemo to congratulate him. I've made some gay phone calls in my life, but my two-minute "I was just remembering that today is your anniversary" is probably the gayest. Was it the only one he got? Maybe.

- - - - - - - - -

In the R/DS' game story regarding our Saturday night game (the one in which I appeared as Crazy Drew), he referred to a "homerun" that curled "just inside the fair pole." At that point, I wanted to shoot myself.

- - - - - - - - -

Tonight, our second baseman shot a perfect hit-and-run single through the hole on the left side. I remarked that it was a perfectly executed hit-and-run. His comment was, "If I could execute the hit-and-run that well in my MLB 2005 video game, I'd be a lot more successful." At that point, I also wanted to shoot myself.

- - - - - - - - -

WIDiRVoFOW

This Week's Reason: He openly flaunts the fact that he does not properly prepare for broadcasts. Or, rather, when seeing me scribble lots of numbers in my scorebook and large bits of biographical information on my rosters, he's far more comfortable writing down nothing. Like, not even a defensive alignment. He's not particularly good at the whole play-by-play thing anyway, and his desire to not prepare exacerbates the problem.

What's Most Frustrating: I take my preparation fairly seriously. These players all have goofy back stories - some are DI college players, some were drafted out of high school, many played at obscure NAIA schools and require lots of research. I think that's a big part of what makes these players interesting, but he never knows what organization a guy played for or where a visiting player went to school.

So, I'll be in the booth preparing. And he'll be in the booth watching the Tigers. Loudly. (I like the Tigers - a lot - but it's also time to work.) Or he'll be on myspace, and he'll start asking me myspace survey questions. (I don't know how myspace works, for the record.) Or he'll start talking to me about nothing. And it's frustrating as hell, because I just want to do a good job and he just wants to be a lazy slob.

Three more weeks, friends, three more weeks.

That's all.

First half of the day off Tuesday. (Second half of the day off Wednesday. A bit odd, but I've got one more off day to use, and I decided to split it thusly. Team's back on Friday, so I'll have things to do on Thursday. So there that is.)

Being an off day, and being in-season, there were obviously things that needed getting done.

On the list:
- Sign up for auto insurance.
- Change oil.
- Patch front right tire.
- Get tires rotated.
- Get remeasured for suit, in anticipation of brother's wedding.

The plan had been to line up my destinations for these accomplishments (theoretically, three) on Monday night but, alas, I fell asleep watching the Tigers-Twins Monday at 9:30 and didn't wake up until 5. At 5, then, I lined up the locations.

Or, anyway, I located insurance guy (appointment: 10 a.m.) on the map, and located downtown men's clothier/tailor (in the yellow pages). I also tried on the suit, which was purchased 30 pounds ago, and felt slightly like a nine-year-old trying on his dad's suit. Prognosis: Not rosy.

Auto-related locations would have to wait for the morning.

- - - - - - - -

Up and out for a run, and ready for the insurance guy. But, first, a call to the auto place down the street. "Oil change?" "We can do that." "Tire rotation?" "We can do that." "Patch the tire?" "Can't do that." "Who can do that?" "A tire place." So I set an oil change appointment, 11:30. He wouldn't have time to rotate today. Lift's occupied all day.

So I call the tire place. "Rotation? Patch?" "We can do that. Won't be too long." "When can I stop in?" "Anytime. No problem."

So, from three to four locations. Goal is to hit the insurance guy, hit the tailor, make the 11:30 oil change, eat some lunch, get to the tire place by 1, get to work's half-day (10-6 road game workday) by two.

Insurance. No problem.

Tailor. Problem. The thing's swimming on me, as I knew from the wee hours. So she starts safety-pinning things on the pants, then moves to the jacket, then stops. "You've got flaps on the jacket. If we angle the jacket properly, the flaps will basically be next to each other. They'll be way too close together. And that just won't look right." The other chimes in: "And by the time you pay for this - $22 for the waist, $22 for the thighs, $10 to shorten the pants, $22 for the shoulders - you basically are paying for a new suit. Go check the clearance rack."

Crap. No time for the clearance rack, but it's okay because the parents brought up a relatively well-fitting suit last month. Hand-me-downs, yes!

Oil change without incident, and cheap.

A lunch of shredded wheat, and quite good. Plus a half-pitcher of water.

Tire place: Not good.

I arrive, request my needed services. "How long?" "45 minutes or an hour." So I settle into a chair, pop on the iPod, and start reading. (Still It's All Right Now, by Charles Chadwick; it's incredibly long, but also incredibly funny and really quite heartbreaking/heartwarming. I think you'd like it, but only if you have the patience for nearly 700 pithy but oddly-punctuated pages. Fascinating, truly.)

So, 25 minutes later, a tire guy comes to the waiting room. "Yellow car?" "Yup." "Tire's shot. You probably need a new one. And if you need one, you should probably get at least two." "Crap." [Walk to the desk with him.] "And the alignment's off. Way off." "So what am I looking at?" "Probably 300 bucks or so."

"Sigh. Sure. Go for it. Crap." But in the friendliest, least frustrated way I could muster.

"So how long am I looking at?" "Not too long."

So, back to the headphones and the book and the chair.

25 minutes later, a tire guy to the waiting room. "So, your brakes are just about shot. I wrote up an estimate. You want to take care of them now?" "What's the estimate?" "About 300 dollars." "Let's hold off. By the way, how long am I looking at?" "Oh, about 45 minutes or an hour." [Stunned.]

And so it was. 300 bucks dropped. 300 more on the way. (Don't drive in front of me, friends.) Maybe I shouldn't get too frustrated but, God, it was frustrating.

- - - - - - - - - - -

So I got to the office. Immediately, a fringe-hilarious conversation with a coworker. An intern joined in. Boss' wife joined in as well. I was on fire.

I went back to my office for a moment, and I kinda-sorta had "The shakes." That is, I was twitching quite a bit. Drumming on the desk. Knocking my water cup back and forth. You've seen me that way before. It's a problem.

So, out of my office, and back to the coworker's. I needed to explain myself, not because anybody asked or noticed, but because I thought it would be entertaining: "Here's my problem: Whenever I get offered a free cup of coffee, I take it. And then I get another one. And another one." To wit: Two cups of coffee at my 20-minute oil change, three more at the two-hour tire-change.

Downside: The shakes. Upside: When boss' wife talked about which shirt she wanted to get from the team store, I threw on my Rico voice: "Oooooh, look at me! I'm sooooo important! I can get annnnnnny shirt I want! I'm so special!" She laughed, I laughed, and I was reminded of Rico. Yes.

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Did some grocery shopping tonight. Late night. 10:30ish. For the third time in three weeks, my late night shopping found the store without bananas. Without bananas? Without bananas. Instead of bananas, then, I purchased blueberries. Not generally "substitutes in consumption," but when I'm simply seeking "fruit to eat on my shredded wheat," it works. Blueberries are far more expensive, however.

Went out for dinner directly after work with three coworkers. I've got at least one serving of Rud-jitas still waiting to be consumed, and three meals' worth of taco soup. (Note: Garbanzo beans are a good substitute if your local grocer does not carry hominy.) But they might just get thrown out. That'd be a shame, though, but I just don't think I'll want them at any point the rest of the week.

Dinner wasn't particularly good, but the company was. Also, I got pretty good cellphone pictures of them.

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Goal for tomorrow's off-afternoon: Beach. Book. Nothing more. Well, actually, I'll probably shave the beard. Not full (read: presentable) enough to justify the itchiness. However, it shows enough upside that I'll definitely [possibly] pursue it in the winter. Or early fall.

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Update on the WIDiRVoFOW:

Another cliche that he'll assign to me: "We always say, home runs can be rally killers." This is something I never believe in. Home runs are, without fail, good. Stupid.

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This is probably the dryest, most boring post I've had since the move to the Ring Fingernail brought on the Golden Era of RedHotHalos. Could this be my Bread and Circuses? I hope not.

I'd like to respond to The Boy's particularly pithy comment, in response to Friday's post.

First of all, it's a fantastic comment, because
a) It uses the phrase "Whoa whoa whoa Miss Lippy."
b) It calls attention to an embarassing moment that I had left out of my recap (i.e. "nights you're planning on losing your wallet and cell phone")
c) Because of b), it insults me. Or, pokes fun at me, anyway.

So, basically, it was a real nice gesture on the part of The Boy to leave money on the table before he left on Thursday morning. I can be forgiven, I think, for assuming that the money was from my dad, and not from The Boy; after all, my dad generally leaves with a 20-dollar handshake when I see him. Combine it with the fact that the twenty bucks were left under a CD of my older brother's that I had expressly asked for from my dad, and I figured both items came from him. They didn't, apparently.

Also, I never meant that The Boy "stole" the wine because, after all, I suggested that he do it. Kid's gotta stop being so defensive, eh?

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Further disclosure from ASGADOAPBN, which was an epic-ly great time for me, I think:

a) There exists cell phone video footage of me belting out, and I mean belting out, "Since U Been Gone." It's low-quality footage, but it's definitely me. I do not remember this portion of the festivities.
b) I went swimming before leaving. I only vaguely remember swimming.
c) I lost my wallet, though it was found the next morning. It slid out of my shorts and onto the chair I was using as we sat around the on-beach bonfire. (Sweet.) It was returned to me at work immediately the next morning.
d) I also lost my cell phone, which is a scary, scary thing. The cell phone turned up the next afternoon, underneath the passenger seat of the yellow car. It is apparently undamaged and fully-functional.
e) I stopped by the host's home after work on Thursday to let her know that I had found the cell phone. (She had left work early Thursday, and resolved to check through the boats and the house for it.) I also stopped by to pick up the cooler that The Boy and I had brought over. As I was leaving the house, her dad came out with the shirt I had worn to their house for ASGADOAPBN: "Is this your shirt?" he asked. "I guess so." No, I do not remember leaving my shirt there.
f) It was a pretty great time.
g) Had Rico been there, I probably would have said "I exist to entertain you" a whole lot.

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I was making some phone calls earlier this week, because I'm in need of auto insurance. (I've been driving with expired out-of-state license plates since I arrived here, and my out-of-state auto insurance officially expired on Tuesday.) Sadly, I can't register my car here without proof of insurance, so this prolonged the car registration process. (It also, however, forces me to comply with the law, which is probably a good thing.)

So I filled out an online thing to get a whole bunch of quotes from area insurers, and then started to call some local brokers who are also sponsors of the team. I then called a few non-sponsors. All told, I probably made six or eight or ten inquiries, which I think means that I'm being a pretty responsible consumer.

About the fourth call, I was going through my information with the agent - name, local address, driver's license number, vehicle identification number, and the like. So, we're going through the process, and she stops, and says, "Hey, do you work for the ballclub?" "Yeah, I do." "I thought I recognized your name." "How'd you know?" "Oh, I like to listen to the games when I'm not at the ballpark." "Wow! Well, gee, thanks, that's so nice."

And we go on and on and on from there, and it was pretty neat.

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I got to talk to Didi for about an hour last night. It was fantastic. Less than a year to D-Day, or M-Day, or W-Day. Woof!

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One of the frustrating aspects of working for this club is that so few of the players have actual futures in baseball, outside of continuing to toil in this league. Compare this to my time in A-Ball, where, in four years, I probably saw 50 or more players that have already played in the big leagues.

Dontrelle Willis is obviously a star at this point, and Joe Blanton and Danny Haren are on the way, it seems. Brent Clevlen had an incredibly awesome first week in the bigs for Detroit, and Shin-Soo Choo has done the same, now with Cleveland. It seems like the entire Cubs rotation - Juan Mateo, Carlos Marmol, Rich Hill, Angel Guzman, Sean Marshall - overlapped with me while they were in Lansing, as did the guys they traded for Juan Pierre - Ricky Nolasco, Sergio Mitre, and Renyel Pinto. I saw six of the eight pitch between 2002 and 2004. (Guzman and Marshall were early-season promotions, so I don't think I ever saw them.)

(As I write this list, off the top of my head, I see that the number to at least make the big leagues is far more than 50. I've just named six Cubs pitchers, for chrissakes.)

Even guys who stunk in the Midwest League are suddenly big league contributors - check out the numbers of Seattle reliever Mark Lowe, whose ERA in A-ball last season was greater than five.

Meanwhile, my league has sent 12 or 13 or 14 players to the big leagues in a decade.

That's frustrating.

Why does this come up? Because Joe Mauer is on the freakin' cover of Sports Illustrated this week. And because Twins reliever Pat Neshek has the greatest blog of all time. (Of particular awesomeness is his post from July 8th, because that's when he got the Big League call.) Point is, I watched both of these guys in their first full pro seasons. I do miss that.

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It's been far too long, so I've updated some of the songs at right. I've been listening to a lot of music lately, owing to the fact that I've been running a lot. I realized that I really, really love the first two Strokes albums. (The third one isn't bad, either.) Listening today, I also realized that I'd really love Spoon if I listened more. I guess that's it.

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WIDiRVoFOW
(A bit of a stretch, really, because it's less "why he sucks" and more "why he sucks at broadcasting," which is also significant because he's also my boss)

This Week's Reason:
His ridiculous use of bad baseball cliches.

Examples:
- "He just always seems to be coming to the plate with runners on base."
- "How often does a guy make a great defensive play, then lead off the next inning?" (And he said it with tongue firmly not-planted in cheek.)

I can't think of any other ones he uses.

What Makes It Worse:
Sometimes he ropes me into his ridiculous cliches. "How often do we say it: 'It's not how hard you hit it, it's where you put it that matters.'" My [unspoken] response: "I've never said it, jackass."

I swear, I'll come up with a good one next week. After all, he's back in town on Friday, and I'm sure there'll be a new bout of whininess.

I think that, by writing on a Friday night, I'm taking a pretty big risk. You see, with Sunday being an off-day, I feel like I should probably write then. My plan had been to write on Thursday night, thereby giving myself three days worth of material for Sunday's post, but I watched Garden State (revelation: I'm in love with Natalie Portman) on-demand and then fell asleep during the credits. Or maybe during Baseball Tonight. In fact, definitely during Baseball Tonight, because I remember waking up at 3:00 a.m. to the intro to that night's Red Sox-Indians telecast on ESPN. The replay, you see.

And truly, there's not much that's that pressing that I feel like I should write. But, alas, it shall be.

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The Cubs traded Greg Maddux for Cesar Izturis on Monday. Or, rather, they traded a washed-up, soft-tossing righty on the wrong side or 30 (and, of course, the wrong side of 40) for an up-and-coming 26-year-old shortstop who has already won a Gold Glove and made an All-Star team.

Or, they became the first team in history to trade a 327-game winner...and they got a no-hit infielder for him, on a team filled with no-hit players at everywhere but first base, third base, and catcher.

There was Chicago media-elation over the deal, or at least elation in the Tribune... the infield defense up the middle has the potential to be the best in the game, after all. But something stinks about the deal. Seems like bad karma to trade one of the ten best righties ever, right?

Baseball-wise, I guess it's okay. Karma-wise, terrible.

(And, as The Boy wisely pointed out, Maddux wanted to be in a pennant race. So he was traded from a fifth-place team to a last place team. Ha!)

Maybe Maddux wanted the deal and, if he did, good for him. But my sense is that he wasn't that happy to be leaving. Six no-hit innings is pretty effin' awesome, though, isn't it?

(For analysis on the trade involving my current favorite team, or at least the one I've got the most emotional investment in [though it's tough to say that, what with the Twins being so, so good], head here. The new guy just had a huge hit, for the record. Awesome.)

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I'd say The Boy's visit was a rousing success. We had four-dollar burger-and-a-beer specials on Tuesday night, then drank a fair amount, then talked about lots of things, then slathered barbeque sauce on our eggs at the Hard Luck Cafe (I did, anyway) on Wednesday, then waited...and waited...and waited...for the aunt, uncle and cousins, then wandered through downtown Ring Fingernail with them, then arrived fashionably late to ASGADOAPBN, then drank more than a fair amount, then he left Thursday at 7 a.m. I believe he stole the wine my parents bought for me last week, because, after all, he needs an appropriate gift for his friend who is a girl and the FIBs. I also think I told him to steal the wine, but warned him that it was wonderful but, perhaps, prohibitively sweet.

I'd say that The Boy was a hit with the rest of the staff that matters, mostly due to his ability to catch thrown fruit in his mouth. Definitely, definitely, a bigger hit than yours truly.

The aunt, uncle, and three cousins' visit was delayed, but wound up working out just about right. Rain in the area cancelled scheduled beach time on the Ring Finertip (slightly north and west of the Nail, as it were), and the decision was made to come our way. However, the time between decision and execution of decision was far longer than anticipated.

So, we met at the beach. Boy and I brought our "gear," but they were overcast-ed out. So, we wandered downtown, talked about family things and update-y things, and walked for about three hours. Well, walked for about an hour and a half, then sat in a sandwich place for another hour-and-a-half. I was highly-satisfied with the visit, and happy it happened. Good people.

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I'd like to, again, all your attention to this recent gurs post, for two reasons:

1) It's got a really nice compliment.
2) It's got a great beard-related story.

This is interesting because I've got a beard-related story. Or, rather, a decision. Sometimes, you see, I like to not-shave. "Sometimes," in the past, has meant "when I'm unemployed," or "when I've got a long weekend," or "when I'm taking time off of work." Well, we've got a far more slovenly office here than in The 'Port. T-shirts are standard office attire (though I always wear a collar on gamedays), and stubble is more than acceptable.

So, with the team on a ten-day road trip, I've made the decision to let it go. Or, rather, let it grow.

I've took my first step towards actual beard maintenance on Wednesday night, when I shaved off the neck-beard. I've shaped the bottom portion of the neck-beard again this evening, in advance of tonight's goings-out.

Now, I should mention that the beard is by no means a permanent thing; when the team returns home on Friday, I'll assess whether or not the beard is full enough to be kept in the more-formal home-game environment. (This is particularly important because, on Saturday, I'll be the dork on the field with a microphone. Gotta look my best, after all.)

Stay tuned to RedHotHalos for more on this developing story.

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I'm strongly considering opting out of my fantasy football league. I've been in the same league since 1996. This is year 11. I've been in it every year. Of the 14 in the league this season, six have been in it every year. For me, this is the only way I stay in contact with these people. For them, they're in contact, like, every week.

So, the reasons for remaining in the league:
1) Continuity
2) The Neat (Complete Dork) Factor: 11 years is a long time, and that's kind of cool
3) Staying in contact with these people
4) If I opt out, a lot of people will be pissed (though someone's brother is a willing replacement, I think, though Nemo would probably opt out also)

The reasons for opting out of the league:
1) League commissioner is infuriatingly idiotic
2) Seriously
3) He can't spell, or punctuate, except in 13-year-old girl instant message language
4) It's a keeper league which, on the surface, is pretty fun; however, we're up to five freakin' keepers.
5) Normally, this would be fine, I guess (though drafting is the most fun part of fantasy football, right?). But my team stunk last year. And I'll stink again this year. I hate stinking at things, especially when they don't involve actual athletics (I've realized that I suck at athletics; I shouldn't suck at watching and projecting the NFL).

Nemo convinced me to re-join the league on Tuesday. His team is stacked and, for all the idiocy, the league always has active participants and always has a winner at the end. On Tuesday, I found out about the five keepers thing. On Wednesday, Nemo attempted to stage a coup, though it only led to one ridiculous message board response.

My main reason for re-joining the league is to stay in contact with these high school folks. It's worth it, and pretty neat, I think. But maybe not.

Here's the irony, or something: Towards the end of the workday on Thursday, an intern who just graduated and is spending the summer in her hometown for the first time in three years was lamenting a social activity scheduled for the night. Her high school friends realized that she had the night off, and wanted to have a barbeque. The intern didn't want to go, and felt bad.

My advice to her: Dude, you were friends four years ago. You've changed a lot since then. They might have a lot to talk about, and it might be fun for them, but if you don't want to go, don't go. No guilt necessary.

The way I see it, it's the same decision for me. Except that I last saw these people regularly eight years ago.

So what do I do? I don't know. Probably stop carrying out internal monologues about what fantasy football league I'll join here on RedHotHalos.

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Anybody want to start a fantasy football league? Show up for the (online, through Yahoo!) draft, actively participate in message board trash talk, and do your best to never start an injured player, and you're good.

I figure a RedHotHalos-reader fantasy football league could be pretty good.