I've been a certified professional geek for six months now (six months!), and yesterday was officially my first appearance of work-related, at-home stress. Maybe the first. I'm not sure, but I definitely spent time last night thinking about today. And work. And its related stresses.

The plan was, of course, to get a full night's sleep, but that was foiled by conversation with a former baseball colleague - even a week before Opening Day, 'the next job' is always top of mind - and my desire to read the Baseball Prospectus previews of the Royals and the Rockies. Suffice to say, I've dug pretty deeply into the book. It makes me happy.

So, of course, I didn't get a full night's sleep. Lights off by 1 or so. Amazingly, I was then awake before my alarm which happens, like, never. In fact, I think it's never actually happened. The alarm goes off at 6, I get up by 6:50, usually, which is as inefficient and as silly as it sounds. No roommates anymore, after all.

Well, my first wake-up came at 5:38, I believe it was, which was just insane. I was able to turn off the various alarms - The Strokes on the reliable CD clock radio, E2V1 on the iPod, and local news on the TV - enough so that I successfully avoided waking up until 6:40. But out of the house and into the maelstrom at 7:12.

Suffice to say, of course, it went well. And I didn't really have that much of a role, when it comes down to it. Mostly an observer. Mostly sitting in the corner looking pretty, which is worth something. And I'm certainly good at it. But the conclusion was that, in this case, I'm pretty good at what I do. Then again, most everyone's pretty good at this - it's not that tough. Shh.

Cryptic, too.

- - - - - - - -

Friends, I've officially seen the last of the R/DS. Greener pastures for the R/DS. And he's bad. But he's off to greener pastures and, to be honest, I'm a bit happy for him. Presumptuously, I contacted the ballclub on someone else's behalf - I'm also not interested in getting back in that game, and I let them know.

Last year, there was a brief, fleeting moment where a Double-A 'foot in the door'-type opening came available. A lot of studio work, a little on air work, mostly grunt work for little pay. But Double-A, after all. It was about two weeks before my season in The Ring Fingernail was to start.

I pounced on it, I had a few people make calls for me, and I was one of two people considered for the job. I was pretty excited about it. In the end, though, they took the local guy, and not the guy who would've accepted the job on Sunday morning, driven 14 hours starting Sunday afternoon, and started work Monday morning. (Bonus! The route is through Canada.)

(In fact, I've just looked through my old email regarding the position. It opened on a Friday, about 3 p.m. I called my dad. He called a contact of his, a father of a player, who sent a glowing email. I called my friend in the league. I looked up possible apartments and roommate situations. I emailed my former boss in The Port. I had to work until about 11 or so that night, as we were about two weeks from opening a new ballpark. I sent an email Saturday at 12:04 a.m. I was my typical presumptuous self, though it was justified in this case. I mentioned that the club up here had 'knowledge of my intent to seek other employment if I find better opportunities,' which was kind of the truth. I sent at 12:04 a.m. on a Saturday morning. I closed with the sentence, 'I have no lease [here] and nothing tying me to the area, and I would be able to arrive [there] by Monday's off day.' I got a "No Thanks" call at the laundromat on Sunday. Sigh.)

Flash forward two months, and the individual who did the hiring regrets his decision - "Dude, I should've brought your guy in" - he says to my former colleague, his current colleague. (I learned this yesterday.)

Flash forward four months from there, and the individual who did the hiring decides he's had enough of the business - a decade-plus with the team, after all. His replacement? The guy who did the number two work last year.

Point is, had I been the guy last year, I'd be The Guy for a Double-A club this year. Amazing how it works out. In conversation about this last night, I couldn't decide whether I wished it had turned out differently, whether I wished I were preparing for a season right now. I think I kind of wish that I was getting ready to call a game eight days from now.

But then, I think about the sunset last night. And I think about the fact that there are about 180 more of them coming this beautiful, beautiful summer. And I think about the Harper Beach Bash in three months. Seriously, I thought about that. And I'm pretty excited about not having a season to get ready for.

And then I think that I'd've been two steps from the Big Leagues, and that I'd be seeing guys getting promoted directly The Show, and I'm just not sure.

Hmmm.

But, nope, no interest in the broadcasting job in The Ring Fingernail.

- - - - - -

Speaking of sitting in the corner looking pretty (earlier in the post), I've got a full beard at this point. It's some shade of badass. It was trimmed at Supercuts, or some other such location, a few weeks ago. It's an odd sensation, having a beard trimmed. I've taken to maintaining it with scissors. Less than ideal, but pretty cool. About a weekly scissors-cut. I've also decided that I'll start cutting my own hair.

I read in Newsweek a few months ago that Clooney cuts his own hair. Why not me? (My lack of motor skills.)

- - - - - - - -

Who'd've thought that Mark Prior would fail to make a big league roster in deference to Wade Miller? Pretty amazing, though unavoidable.

Are the Cubs any good this year?

I think Lilly's a good signing. Soriano'll be great, at least at the plate. DeRosa won't be great, anywhere. Nor will Theriot, if he's really the starter. Nor will Izturis. The way I see it, they're above average in center and at the infield corners. Barrett's a shade above average. The three corner outfielders are net below average, I'd say. The number one starter's an ace. I'm less-than-thrilled with Lilly as a potential number two, though kind of okay with it, and don't think Marquis should be counted on to be a number three. But Hill's a potential ace (older than Prior, by the way). Miller? Eh. Dempster's a joke, but the guys in front of him (Cotts, Howry, Eyre) aren't.

This is kind of off the top of my head, and I've not really thought about it much, but I guess the roster's good enough to be competitive in the division. St. Louis is in flux, Houston is old, Cincinnati's not much, Pittsburgh's bad (sigh, still), and Milwaukee's on the upswing. They got rid of Doug Davis, though, and I love Doug Davis.

I'll watch the box scores and listen to Pat and Ron and make my judgments by the end of April. There's not much to be excited for, but that's the case with the teams they're competing with, too. Though the Cards are coming of a World Series, so that's kind of exciting.

Remember last year, when people were excited about Juan Pierre? Juan Pierre! Ha!

- - - - - - -

Gosh, I'm listening to 69 Love Songs. It's so good.

I'd like to make this more than a once-a-week thing, as it's been lately, but sometimes you want to sleep or sometimes you unintentionally fall asleep or sometimes whatever weekend or weeknight hijinks I've been involved in don't really warrant recounting here. Sigh.

For instance, my hijinks this weekend included another "fall asleep at 9 watching hoops on the couch, and don't wake up until 5ish the next morning and then, furthermore, don't get out of bed until 10:50 or so, a total of about 14 hours of sleep" Friday night, which just doesn't feel healthy. Right? That can't be healthy.

I was better Saturday night - on the couch at about midnight, and up by 9 (in time to see Tim Russert, thankfully) - though I wound up asleep for perhaps an hour during the Florida-Oregon game.

There's a part of me that thinks this weekend schedule, in combination with an unintentional hour-long, post-run nap on Tuesday night, and in combination with an unintentional two-hour evening nap on Wednesday, is grounds for actual concern. Is it grounds for actual concern? I don't know. If it continues, it probably is.

Of course, perhaps the bigger grounds for concern is that I've got nothing to do during weeknight evenings, though that's not that much of a problem, right?

- - - - - -

Let's talk about awesome things to receive in the mail. All were received in the mail by me this past week. These are listed chronologically, not in order of preference. Cubic birthdays are awesome.

1) Cards, with a check
Received last weekend from my Grandma. And Monday from my parents. We all like checks.

2) New Shoes
These were ordered by me, the previous Friday. My confirmation email said that they'd be here in three to seven business days. However, they arrived Wednesday, which was rainy. So I got 'em out Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Friday was the best - seven miles, in shorts, at a near eight-minute pace. Shorts! Badass.

Thursday was a huge day. On Wednesday, I got the note from my mailman that there was a package in the office for me. So I called Thursday and asked them to drop it inside my door.

And then, not one, but two packages. Siblings rule, except for The Boy, who sucks.

3) TFB's effin' domestic Granola
I'll be honest, the homemade canister, featuring the above inscription in light blue against a navy background, was almost as good as its contents. Though the contents, it should be noted, were half gone by breakfast on Friday morning and completely gone by lunch on Sunday. That kid's a talent.

4) Yoko Ono's Yes, I'm a Ghost, in burned and Sharpie'd form
Granted, I've read about it, but not yet listened. So I can't vouch for its quality.

5) Homemade vegan (I'm assuming) mint chocolate cupcakes
From the entire Dave-Rud clan, as indicated by the D J B B on the return address label. I had a cupcake on Thursday, then another, then I mentioned on the phone with my brother that I'd probably bring the other four into work for people that'd appreciate them, though that might be awkward. He encouraged me to just eat them myself, so I did, two more on Thursday and two more Friday morning.

And so my gluttony was done.

Also, it should be noted that this package arrived in a Milwaukee pizza box, maintaining the smell of its previous goodness. Yum.

And then, it turned out, my gluttony was not done.

6) Gingerbread-y sugar cookies, and coconut-y chocolate chip bars
Oh, sweet Jesus, what a fantastic surprise! From my sister's roommates, and about the best in the world. So, so many cookies, and such nice plans to distribute in the break room at work on Monday. And then a "Thank You" email. And then I placed them in properly-sized airtight containers, and then I placed the properly-sized airtight containers atop the refrigerator. And then I opened and took "just one." And then I did it again. And then, a few hours later, I took "just four," and a glass of milk. And then I did that again. And then, I changed course, determining that I'd just bring them in for my departmental meeting on Wednesday afternoon. Think that worked? Nope. Yum. Almost gone, I'd say gone by Tuesday afternoon, though more likely breakfast on Monday. Sigh.

7) Mix CDs!
My favorite? Still, probably, yes. Mix CDs are the best, and these were clearly well-constructed, clearly several-hours'-work productions. One from each. (If they weren't several-hours'-worth productions, these kids certainly faked it well.) The highlights: It's always a highlight when The Go! Team makes an appearance, because they make all mixes more fun, it seems. Sunset Rubdown b-sides (I think, as I didn't recognize the song) are certainly badass as well. The other? Well, you can't boil a geographical journey into a single highlight, except to be grateful that, yes, "Crazy in Love" does appear. And there was a geographical stretch made in the interests of including Ted Leo, but we know there's no such thing as a bad reason to include Ted Leo. Also, the liners end in three consecutive one-word sentences: "Cheesy? Maybe. Whatever." Beautiful.

8) Photo booth reprints in an eight-track box
Duly placed in a position of honor atop the fridge. A well-trafficked location, to be sure.

- - - - - -

Let's talk about why it's a good thing to read books.

Let's say you're talking to your older brother and, regretfully, you don't talk that much. Due to the nature of a conversation such as this, then, with not much in the way of shared recent experiences to discuss, these conversations can hit a lag. You can only make fun of your parents so much, for instance. There are only so many ways to say that the dog smells, for instance.

Well, somehow, something triggered me to ask a question: "Have you read Freakonomics?" And he hadn't. (I know what triggered the question: We were debating whether Raul's named is spelled 'Raoul,' or 'Raul.' Something tells me that, in this case, the non-traditional spelling was chosen.)

I had, so I proceeded to tell him about the final chapter of the book, the fantastically interesting chapter about names chosen by well-off and highly-educated families, and names chosen by the poorer families or the least-educated families, and how it divides out names according to 'whiteness' or 'blackness,' and it really is quite interesting. Migration of names from the rich to the poor over a generation's time, for instance.

It also discussed the 'mistake' names given by the poorly-educated, somewhat tragic, but mostly tragicomic.

Why's that?

Because of the little girl...her name was to be "sha-TEED," or perhaps "sha-THEED," and it appeared on the birth certificate as "Shithead."

I mean, that's funny. He giggled for a solid two minutes. And then two more.

It's not as funny as the "Mr. Asswipe Jones" sketch featuring Victoria Jackson and Kevin Nealon, but it's pretty funny.

- - - - -

At one point, this blog went from short, poorly-punctuated comments, to longer, poorly-punctuated stories, to longer, well-punctuated stories and comments and opinions about nothing of import. I would think that, in its current state, there's never been a post for which everything written was properly comprehended by anyone except its author. "Know your audience," which is, in this case, me. I guess.

- - - - - -

A couple of links of interest, mostly to me:

Here's the most recent blog entry from Gilbert Arenas, posted on NBA.com. It's amazing. Not because it's zany or crazy or funny, thought it's all of those things, but because it's so damn sincere. You wonder if athletes appreciate what they've got and if they appreciate the awesomeness of their lives, and most, I think, don't. (And, to be sure, hoops is still a job, with all the sometimes-suckiness that that can entail.) But Gilbert clearly does appreciate it, and this is about the most elegant thing I've ever read from an athlete. This is a guy who, in a New York Times article a few weeks ago, admitted that he changed his free throw routine this year "to give kids something to imitate," which is just awesome. And here, he simply writes about how lucky it is for him, to be a fan given the chance to play the game for a living. I don't watch the NBA at all - I don't think I've seen a game since late-January, and maybe no others since the season's opening week - but I sure like Gil.

Here's my favorite part, perhaps:
To understand me is to understand a fan.
To understand a fan is to love the sport you're watching.
I love the game of basketball.
I am a fan of the game of basketball, and that's why I enjoy it.
Growing up, it wasn't about the money. It wasn't about the cars. It wasn't about the bling-blau that it is today.
It was simple.
It was, "How did MJ feel? How did he feel right at this moment after he hit that game-winner?"
That's what I wanted to know. Like, "What's going through his mind?" Like, "How does he feel crying, kissing that trophy, with the champagne on his head?"
That's what I wanted to know about.

He writes about loving Lil' Penny, and loving his position as an entertainer, and about how, when he jumped on the trampoline and dunked at the All-Star game, it was because he'd always wondered what that felt like. Kind of like the blue duck, you know?

Here's a two-month-old link to to a Slate article whose thesis is basically "Jim Nantz and Joe Buck are boring. I sure wish they weren't the guys calling our biggest sporting events." In fact, the first paragraph ends, "Is that really the best we can do?"

It calls Buck "the definition of occupational mediocrity" and mentions his "sneering condescension that screams 'obey authority.' " As for Nantz: "No one projects an image of country-club piety and blandness quite like him."

How uncomfortable is that Circuit City commercial where they try to turn Nantz' "Hello friends" into some kind of "Hey! Look! We've got The. Jim. Nantz. in a commercial!" catchphrase. Awkward.

Give me Gus! (James Brown did a hatchet-job on every broadcast he was a part of this tournament, by the way. He clearly doesn't follow the sport, and was clearly trying to fit in stories that showed he did, and this led to an embarrassing incident in which he mistook the dying-dad backstory on Florida's Taurean Green for that of Butler's Mike Green. Also, he stumbled over just about every call. He sucked. Give me Gus!)

- - - - - - - -

Usually, you end a fantasy baseball draft totally geeked, then, upon reflection, realize that your lineup kind of sucks.

However, I left my draft disappointed, remained disappointed, then looked back an hour later and realized it was pretty good. Why? Mashers, everywhere, which is what I was going for.

We kept four from last year. We start nine position players, three starting pitchers, and two relievers. We count OBP but not batting average (explaining the mashers in my outfield), and we, inexplicably, don't count strikeouts for pitchers. Batters: OBP, Runs, RBI, TB, HR, SB. Pitchers: W, Sv, ERA, WHIP. That's it.

Here's the lineup:

C: Joe Mauer (keeper)
1B: Nick Swisher, most likely (2nd round)
2B: Howie Kendrick, who I was thrilled to get (7th round)
3B: Miguel Cabrera (keeper)
SS: Stephen Drew (9th round, the final SS starter taken)
OF: Adam Dunn (1st round)
OF: Rocco Baldelli (3rd round, overdrafted)
OF: Pat Burrell (6th round)
Util: Travis Hafner (keeper)

SP: Johan Santana (keeper)
SP: Jered Weaver (an overdraft? 5th round)
SP: Cole Hamels (8th round)
RP: Trevor Hoffman (4th round. I was on the wrong side of a run on relievers here, as he was the last good one after Huston Street and BJ Ryan went off the board. I could've taken Jenks, or F. Cordero, or Saito. The greats had just left the board, and I panicked. That said, he's awesome.)
RP: Adam Wainwright (ensuring I won't win the saves category. 10th round)

Bench:
I didn't draft another starting pitcher. So many mediocre, interchangeable ones are left - Freddy Garcia, David Bush, Derek Lowe, Tim Hudson, perhaps, Zach Duke. They're there.

RP: Mike Gonzalez (14th / last round. Could have value if Wickman's fat gets in the way for Atlanta)
SS/2B: Dustin Pedroia (13th round / high-ceiling rookie starting in a good lineup)
OF: Mike Cameron (12th round / 20/20 potential)
1B: Adrian Gonzalez (11th round / had a nice run at times with SD, and he's only 25)

Some versatility on the club - my only backupless spots are 3B and OF, and Pedroia should be good and Kendrick or Gonzalez can play first if I want to move Baldelli or Burrell out of the lineup.

I'm happy. And now I'm done.

- - - - - - -

I'm not sure I love the new Modest Mouse album, but those generally take time to seep in. I know I love "Missed the Boat" and "Fire It Up."

A lost weekend, but that's kind of the point, right? Lots of hoops, which is definitely the point, an uneventful-but-kind-of-beery St. Patrick's Day, a few shorter runs, and lots more sleep than planned.

Let's talk sleep just a bit.

The workweek was slightly longer than usual this past week (and again this upcoming week), with three consecutive midweek days of 7 a.m. start times. Sigh. We'll deal with it. But this means a lot to deal with, as in 6:20 departures for work, and 5:45 or so returns home. Makes for a long day.

Now, it's been determined at some point that I'm not the most disciplined when it comes to maintaining normal sleeping hours. To wit - I definitely had an extended phone conversation with my sister on, perhaps, Tuesday night, and another one with Gurs on, perhaps, Wednesday night. These conversations were deemed more worthy of my time than sleep, and they were, without a doubt. I also, 100 percent of the time when I'm not going to sleep buzzed (and about 80 percent of the time when that's the case), insist on reading a magazine article or a chapter or two of a book or whatever. Habit, I guess. Sometimes, I read an extra article or two, and sometimes I kill an extra 45 minutes writing here.

Point is, sleep is lower on the priority list than it should be.

So, this past Thursday is about my favorite day of the year, I think. (Less favorite this year because, for the first time since high school, I wasn't watching the daytime slate of games. For the first time since I was, I don't know, six years old, I really had no concept of what was going on in the games - didn't even get scores until I got in the car after work. Wow.) Impromptu drinking games, chili, hoops. Perfect. Really, I think Christmas is a better day, and that's about the only one.

So I got home from work Thursday, apparently more drained than I realized from three straight one-hour-extra days in which I had chosen to not compensate by getting to sleep before 1. After missing Wednesday and after enjoying warmer temperatures outside on Monday and Tuesday, I had planned to take a run, return home, shower, warm the chili I had cooked on Wednesday, and watch Michigan State hoops. The run was truncated - after three minutes, I realized it was cold, and I returned home. I returned my mom's phone call. I read some deadspin and The Sports Guy's not-that-good running diary of the afternoon games. I warmed the chili, decided to add a grilled cheese to the mix, and I settled in for a night of hoops. Yes.

I ate my chili, finishing dinner before Marquette had made a bucket. I pulled the burnt orange blanket across my chest, I stretched myself across the couch, and I really settled in.

At the half, Michigan State was in a commanding lead, and VCU was keeping it close with Duke, as we anticipated. Somewhere during the half, I drifted off. I woke up with about a minute left in the MSU game, and noticed in the score box that VCU and Duke were still close, inside of four minutes, as we had expected. I geared up for that finish. Then I drifted off again.

When I woke up, Gonzaga and Indiana were in the battle to determine who would get knocked off by UCLA over the weekend. I drifted off again.

When I woke up, a rerun of Becker was on my CBS affiliate, and the clock read 3:12.

So, pretty much, on my favorite day of the year, I saw less than an hour of hoops, and slept from about 8:02 until about 3:12. Then from 4 until 7. It happens, I guess.

Point is, I still haven't seen the finish of the Duke-VCU game, though that's probably pretty accessible, and it's all academic at this point, anyway.

- - - - - -

Now, I had plans to be kind-of productive on Saturday morning, maybe running and grocery shopping and purchasing some coasters before the noon start of hoops coverage. I need coasters. Alarm for 9, which isn't early, but is earlier than it had to be.

I turned off the alarm at 9. When I woke up, Xavier and Ohio State were underway. It was 12:30ish. Sigh. (I'm thinking that, actually, hoops might not have started until1, and I might have woken up at 1. Wow. Hmm.)

My Saturday struggles being what they were, I still planned to be up on Sunday. Meet the Press, because I'm a Tim Russert guy. That's a 9 a.m. start, so the alarm was set for 8:54. Then groceries in the morning, and a run before hoops coverage started at noon. I had been out Saturday, and I had done some post-beer reading and microwave popcorn-eating, and I probably didn't get to sleep until 3:30.

Alarm at 8:54. I saw Campbell Brown on Today Weekend, I heard the Meet the Press intro, and then I was out again. 11:15 wake up. Sigh.

One day, friends, I'll be a grownup. Until then, I'll continue to wake up at noon.

(All summer long, for the record, I would drink on Saturday and be up Sunday morning to do laundry, often before work at 10. I remember once drinking Saturday night, getting up by 7, and folding my laundry at home to the Wimbledon final, or perhaps the French. And, now, I can't even get up before 11:30. Sigh.)

- - - - - -

Gluttony.

I don't know how it's happened (actually, it's the hoops thing and the no-roommate-to-impress, or whatever that'd be called, thing), but I've gluttoned myself lately.

Since Wednesday evening, excluding a Thursday lunch of my leftover fajita concoction, I've basically subsisted on the following:

- Bagel with fried ham, scrambled eggs and cream cheese or American cheese, in some combination
- At least three grilled cheese sandwiches
- Chili, a pot of it, sometimes over rice, sometimes straight out of the bowl
- A Papa John's Sausage Sensation pizza, for which I got dinged for a delivery charge
- Beer
- Vodka
- Diet soda, sometimes combined with vodka
- Applesauce
- Raisins
- Burnt microwave popcorn

Granted, the cheese is of the least-awful-for-you variety, but, man, that's unimpressive. Probably my most unimpressive string of eating since I was eating macaroni and cheese and hot dogs and piles and piles of pasta my junior year at NU.

Combine this with my three late-week days off from running, and I've probably put on about 10 pounds since Tuesday morning. Now, this is a morning to an end-of-day comparison, so it's not that valid, but it's kind of valid. Better eating plans for this week, to be sure. After all, the chili's gone.

- - - - -

Indication that readership truly is plunging:
I was talking to Harper tonight, and that was great. We mostly talked about the earliest stages of his wedding planning, particularly his ability to say "Whatever you want is great," while sounding like he meant "Whatever you want is great" rather than "I really don't give a crap what shade of pink the invitations are printed in," and about his pending work-related trip to Vegas. His life's far more interesting than mine, clearly.

Anyway, we get to me, and he asks "What's up?" and I start talking about getting settled into the new place. "You moved?"

When I've lost Harper, damn, that hurts. Badly. Crap.

- - - - - -

I sprung the 15 bucks for the MLB Radio package. I listened to Pat and Ron do Cactus League baseball today. I think that it's already paid for itself.

- - - - - - -

I'm going to venture a guess to say that this final will be of interest to just about nobody who reads, though there's a shot that Flax could be genuinely interested, and that The Boy could be kind of interested, and even that Nemo might care just a bit.

This is the second year that, through Amazon, I've ordered both Baseball America's Prospect Handbook (of interest, definitely, to none of the three mentioned above) and the Baseball Prospectus annual. About thirty bucks, and about 2500 player scouting reports, or capsules, or summaries, or blurbs. The former, of course, is exclusively about up-and-comers.

The latter is about players you know and love, or may come to know and love, and it's genuinely hilarious at times.

About a player you know and love, the great Carlos Lee (it peaks at the end - please read):
As the Lyle Lovett song says, "That's right, you're not from Texas, but Texas wants you anyway." The Rangers dealt for Lee, and not to be one-upped, the Astros signed him to a six-year, $100 million deal. Lee's home run power didn't show up quite so much in Texas, where it was assumed that the ballpark would liberate him, but he still enjoyed one of the most productive stretches of his career thanks to an uncharacteristically high batting average. Note the top PECOTA (ed: their projection system) comparison, Kevin McReynolds, another outfielder who ate himself out of a good career; originally a good defensive outfielder, McReynolds came to resemble a bleached Grimace and his career quickly faded. (ed: Big finish!)This is a danger for Lee - if at some point during the season the Astros suddenly and unexpectedly put Chris Burke on the DL, it might not be that he's hurt, but that Lee ate him.

Zing!

And, not, on Scott Tyler, a current Marlins farmhand who once played for the Twins, and whom I'm geniunely pulling for, but from a distance (this one's esoteric and downright weird):
By the time the pitching gods got to the T's, it had been a long day. They had endowed distinctive characteristics to the one they called Takatsu, and gave the Tavarezes, the Trachsels, and the Timlins some resiliency. But when there was just one name left on their list, they wanted to go home. They had no more ideas. "What is the most common young pitcher profile?" asked Walkmetheus, the God of Untranslated Walk Rates. "Why, a hard-throwing yet wild right-hander," answer Mechanicus. "Then let us make this Tyler one of those." "Shall we prepare his elbow for ruination, too?" asked Mechanicus. "No. Let's wait a while on that," said Walkmetheus on his way out the door. And lo, it was done.

So, yeah, I think that Baseball Prospectus 2007 is worth your 15 bucks.

I sit down to skim through it, and suddenly Kansas and Kentucky are midway through the second half. It's riveting, in a completely nerdy, I-can't-believe-Opening-Day-is-only-two-weeks-away way.

God, I wish there were some drama to RHH. Crap.

Let's talk productivity. I had a kind-of productive weekend, though mostly borne of just one slice of productivity, and all that productivity involved was me (barely) waking up in time to let the service guy in the door. He came at about 9:20, and by about 10:05, I was out a hundred bucks but had a functional washer and dryer. Balls. !

Upside: A functional washer and dryer!
Downside: A washer and dryer closet that won't close - the units are too big, as feared

So, how does one deal with this?

a) Don't worry about it. After all, the washer and dryer are nice-looking, and, while the stuff on the shelving above it (detergent, a toolbox, the extra hoses, things like that) isn't particularly well-organized, it's also not exactly un-organizable.

b) Sulk. The closet don't work.

c) Get creative. Get colorful.

Obviously, the option here was c), because I'm nothing if not i) creative and ii) colorful.

It should be noted that this was basically instantaneous creativity as, moments after the guy determined that the closet doors wouldn't fit, I said, "What about a shower curtain?" and he said, "I've seen it before, even at new houses, when people didn't take into account the amount of space needing to ventilate the dryer."

So, after a Saturday morning run, some breakfast, and a shower, I headed out. Errands. A stop at Borders, because that's what I do. (Arcade Fire, Albert Hammond, Jr. - more below, and Son Volt, on a total and complete impulse - yay, merchandising!) Then to Target, which was packed, and whose shower curtain selection was suspect. Then to Meijer, for groceries, and a tension rod, and some shower curtain loop things, and a navy blue shower curtain. Vinyl. Cheap. Stinky, I would learn as I set it up. It would most certainly not do. Plus, despite measuring the curtain rod-space at 59 inches and meaning to pick up the 63-inch rod, I had wound up with a 74-incher, I believe. So, two things to return. Immediately, as, again, a shower curtain-less closet certainly would not do.

So, to...Wal-Mart. Sigh. But, gosh, the shower curtain was a nice pale green, basically matching my rugs and my pillows, and, gosh, I just had to have that pale green shower curtain. ("Pale green things. Pale green things." The Mountain Goats rule, too.)

So, by Saturday night, I had a proper-looking, functional washer and dryer, stylishly obscured by a tacky shower curtain. By Sunday evening, I had done a load of whites, a load of colors, a load of jeans, a load of towels, my sheets, and my comforter. I didn't realize I had done six loads of laundry, but I definitely had. The comforter's obviously last, because post-dryer comforter is about the greatest feeling in the world.

- - - - -

It was a beautiful, fantastic, sunny weekend, and I no longer have any qualms about the early start to Daylight Savings time. I never really had any qualms about it anyway, but now, despite the pitch black drive to work this morning, I'm quite happy with it. The sun wasn't down here until, like, 7:45, friends. 7:45! In March! (With snow on the ground. But afternoon temps in the 50s)

But I got two morning runs in this weekend - long, lightweight pants, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a stocking cap - and a great post-work run in tonight. The local, well-used public track is about a 2 1/2 mile run from home, and it's about a mile around the track, so a round-trip with a lap is about a perfect six-mile distance. In today's case, it was enough to hear the best of GbV from their final three albums. Who remembers how good "Apology in Advance" really is? Not you, for sure.

- - - - -

I made about the stinkiest dinner I've ever made tonight. Stinky, not as in 'bad,' but as in 'stinky.' But quite good. Sauerkraut, apples, pork chops, frying pan. Also, some salt and pepper. And some caraway seed. Caraway seed's quite good, friends, and I think I'll use it again. It's rye-ish, but perhaps you already knew that. I'd never used caraway seed before, but I'm happy I was able to find it in the spice aisle on Saturday. It'll also be in the spice aisle at your local grocer, and I'd recommend it.

The downside about this meal is, at least, threefold:
1) Sauerkraut is stinky. And a bit embarrassing. I can't bring the leftover chop, plus potatoes, to work for lunch. Who wants to be responsible for stinking up the lunchroom, especially due to sauerkraut?

2) I fear that the apples will get brown (not cinnamon-y brown, but "cut apple one day later" brown) by the time I have the leftovers for dinner on Tuesday.

3) Heeding my recipe, I bought the refrigerated sauerkraut, rather than the canned stuff. There's a lot of freakin' kraut in the refrigerated bag. What does one do with the leftover kraut? How long does it keep? Right now, it's airtight, and I'm considering adding at least a bit to my NCAA Tournament chili. But that'd probably be disgusting. Perhaps some sausages this weekend, I'm not sure. In The 'Port, amazingly, pizza with kraut and Canadian bacon is quite popular. Perhaps I'll do that, homemade like. Or perhaps I'll accept the fact that the bag was $1.29, and that I used about $.25 worth, and throw the rest away. Or perhaps I'll just keep it in the back of the refrigerator for a month, then use the leftovers for another pork chop and sauerkraut and apples meal, this time one that'll make me sick, owing to use of bad sauerkraut.

Why I've not purchased peanut butter in about ten years: I purchased it on Saturday, the regular-sized jar. I've had probably two sandwiches, two half-sandwiches (with applesauce and raisins, because I like applesauce and raisins), about two spoonfuls, and about three or four index finger's worth.

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I hate cats.

(I once saw a bumper sticker that said, "I Love Cats. Dead Ones." I was offended by it, for the record, though I also kind of laughed. I was about 11 at the time, and was more impressed by the "Don't Like My Driving? Call 1-800-EAT-SHIT" sticker on the same car. But I also liked the one about the cats. I don't think I understood the sex-related one, though I remember now that it existed.)

There's this cat that's been showing up on my patio. I hate this cat quite a bit, because sometimes he/she tries to look pouty and all "let me in to your home"-like, and sometimes he bares his teeth like he's threatening me.

The bastard makes direct eye contact, and makes me feel guilty, so I close the blinds (always after dark - he doesn't show up in the daylight). So I guess that proves I have a soul, what with me not wanting to look at the creature that I'm not helping.

But anyway, if he's threatening me, certainly action should be taken. Especially considering that, with the weather warming and spring on the way, I'd like that patio for myself. So, I think I'll just dump water on the little bastard next time. Thoughts?

- - - - - -

Two music thoughts:

1) Albert Hammond, Jr., of The Strokes, put out an album in Europe last October. It came out in the United States a week ago. (A&R guy for the record? Former Smashing Pumpkins guitarist James Iha, who put out a solo album while the Pumpkins were beginning their downhill slide. Coincidental, though not ironic.)

For the most part, it's nothing like a Strokes album (though closer "It's Hard to Live in the City" kind of is, even though the sentiment is certifiably non-Strokesian). In some places, it's downright Brian Wilson-y. Opener "Cartoon Music for Superheroes" features Hammond on "Vocals / Toy Piano" and it's lush and fun. The guy can actually sing, and the songs are well-constructed, and I'm really happy that I bought it.

Also, there's a bonus track cover of GbV's "Postal Blowfish," in which his voice is somehow treated and he sounds downright Pollardian. It's kind of cool.

2) Maybe I've written about it here before, but we've been listening to this adult pop station lately. WXRT mixed with one of those damn "Best of the 80's, 90's and Today! / Your At-Work Choice" stations. Cool adult pop, plus mom-rock. Eminently listenable, certainly more-listenable than the days we've had Linkin Park (but less listenable than the days when we get Beyonce's "Irreplaceable," which is probably like four months old by now).

For some reason, Old 97s get played to death on this station, and it's been determined that singer Rhett Miller has about the shiniest, poppiest voice in the history of the world, and that he writes fantastically catchy songs. (I was espousing his talent, and used the word 'catchy,' and my coworker said, "Catchy? Catchy like herpes!" which I found funnier than it actually is.)

Among the songs in regular rotation:
From Old 97s Fight Songs
"Oppenheimer"
"Nineteen" (I thought this was their 'hit' - it was all over The Mix in Chicago, to the point where I wrote a paper about it - but it never charted anywhere. Further research indicates that Old 97s have never had a single chart, so perhaps it was their biggest hit)
"Lonely Holiday"
"Indefinitely"

From Old 97s Satellite Rides
"King of All the World"

From Old 97s Drag It Up
Nothing. That's not a song title. But nothing.

From Rhett Miller's The Instigator
Ditto.

From Rhett Miller's The Believer
"Singular Girl" (which features the awful line, "Lovin' you, girl, is like long division, yeah!" which I still can't figure out)
I'm pretty sure there's another one, but I can't figure out which title it is

Anyway, I just think Rhett Miller and Murry Hammond write good songs. I only have Fight Songs, though I think I'll try to find other Old 97s albums and the Rhett Miller solo records used. Somewhere, where they have used records. Or perhaps I'll download them.

I'd recommend you do the same, especially with Fight Songs.

Also, this music-related portion is the lowest this blog has ever sunk. Old Fucking 97s. Sweet Jesus, shoot me.

I also like The Arcade Fire. And Of Montreal. And Tom Waits. And I love The Beach Boys, but only when Brian Wilson was on hallucinogens. And I love The Hold Steady. Have I redeemed my coolness factor? No? Shit.

- - - - -

I gotta tell you, friends, I've not looked over the NCAA Tournament bracket really, yet. And my check's not yet in the mail for Flax, though he knows I'm good for it. I've also got the high school friends bracket, and my dad has yet to report on the Rud family pool. The wedding has really shaken things up in terms of our buy-ins, perhaps.

I wish ND got a higher seed, because Winthrop's tough. But ND probably wasn't deserving of better than a 5. I watched Texas-Kansas on Sunday, the first time I saw either (I had planned to watch Wisconsin-Ohio State, but two of the top five teams in the country played an unwatchable game) club this season, and it was awesome. So I'll pick Durant as my favorite player in the tournament, and the guy I want to win it. Wisconsin, meanwhile, won't make it out of the second round, though I can't figure out who their opponent is in the second round.

Michigan State has a chance to be the first team to knock out a number one, though I can't remember who their number one is. Neitzel's that good. Purdue does not have the same chance, though I'm really happy they got in.

I hate the term "mid-major." Can't we use "non-BCS?" Or "minor." Also, I hate griping about who didn't get in. Because you won't remember that by, well, now, I hope.

I'm rooting for Texas to beat Florida, if that matchup is possible in the championship game. Or, for Ohio State to win it, because Mike Conley's the best player in the nation. And I kind of mean that.

Tom Cream-Tom Izzo is a neat matchup. So is Drew Neitzel-Dominic/que James. My favorite post player in the tourney, outside of G'town's Roy Hibbert, is Marquette's Ousmane Barro. He's one of those long-armed, skill-less African post players, but he's actually not skill-less. I watched a fair amount of the first half of a lot of Big East games this year, so it's the conference I know best after the Big Ten. The Big Ten stinks. The Big East does not.

Sports Illustrated has had back-to-back cover pieces, rather than stories. This week: Global warming and sports - a stretch, and not particularly well-done, but a nice effort. The week before: The Program - Ohio State, a profile of how a major, major, major athletic department operates.

It was mostly complimentary, of course, because that's what articles do, and it fawned over Oden, who is by all accounts a good guy and a hard worker.

But, in an article about Oden and in a package of stories espousing the school's commitment to academics, they glossed over two things:

1) He had intended to be a Finance major, but was dissuaded from this by his academic advisors. Because we don't want an athlete taking anything too rigorous - can't take them away from their sports, after all. Officially, he's now Undecided.

2) He's taking two classes this quarter: Sociology 101, and The History of Rock and Roll. He's also getting credit for playing basketball, one of two quarters he's offered this option.

I don't know how major athletic programs actually work, but I was really insulted by point 1, and mildly offended by point 2. I wish the NCAA would call them athletes, and not "student-athletes," and pay them over the table. A lot less hypocrisy that way.

- - - - -

Gotta go, that cat's making noise. No joke. Crap.

I won't be able to properly put into words how productive and tiring and fantastically fun this weekend was, but I'll explain it like this: My parents left Chicago at 4 a.m. on Saturday morning, drove through whiteout conditions, then basically worked uninterrupted from 1:30 p.m. Saturday afternoon through 1 a.m. Monday morning. Uninterrupted? Seriously. We had about an hour worth of dinner on Saturday night, and about two hours' worth with a coworker on Sunday night, and that was it. They slept from about 10:45 (at which point I, in a way, 'snuck out'...ha!) until probably 6 on Sunday, and then from about 1:30 until about 6:30 on Monday, and probably put an additional three hours of work in Monday morning before brightening up the office for a half-hour, then departing.

Seriously. It was, like, three hours of leisure for them in a 63-hour period.

And they brought some seriously fantastic stuff up. Yes, the chairs are pink. (No, seriously, they're pink. But they're sweet.) Yes, the couch is kind of flowery, but it also kind of works. And we've covered it with a less flowery 'throw,' which is a word that I can't properly use as a noun. And they just kind of threw the plant in the corner of the living room, and it absolutely fits perfectly.

My living room, friends, is genuinely nice. Or, rather, it was when I returned from work on Monday evening. Now, instead, there are about seven white t-shirts on the couch, some clean underwear strewn on the floor, and unread junk mail and a plastic grocery bag on the coffee table. And I think one of the pink armrest-covers is on the floor. And the mirror that I was supposed to hang hasn't been hung, nor has the small painting that'll look perfect at the primary access point to the kitchen. My CDs, however, have been put away. There are more of them than I even realized, though I lost count at about 180. I'm thinking maybe 400, which is about the most stupid thing in the world. (400 includes free promos or mixes that have been burned for me, but those represent a fairly insignificant percentage. And I can't find The White Stripes' Elephant, ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead's Source Tags and Codes, The Wrens' The Meadowlands, or GbV's Bee Thousand and Alien Lanes, which I lent to an intern in the summer of 2004 - days before he quit. Please return them if you have them. And I never should have forced 69 Love Songs on The Boy, because it's so, so good, and so, so pretty, and now in his hands.)

My bedroom, friends, is similarly nice. Better than nice. A beaten-up old desk given to me by my company's HR director was a piece of trash when we picked it up on Saturday afternoon. An antique piece of trash, but still a piece of trash. My mom inhaled toxic fumes for three hours doing it, but it's somehow clean and beautiful and serving as both nightstand and desk. Though mostly nightstand. Then there's some other thing with a drawer and some cabinets that's on the other side of the bed - apparently, my sister stole it from somewhere. The dresser fits, and we'll have a beautiful reupholstered and repaired rocking chair in the corner, under a reading lamp, within the next two weeks or so. And some bitchin' lampshades, too, are already there.

The bedroom's colorful, with some orange and some navy and some yellow to go along with the already-there green. Wal-Mart plush washcloths, too. And a metallic soap dispenser, for reasons I cannot understand. It'll be colorful-er when the boy-fishing-in-the-toilet painting is placed in its rightful location. I'm not going to say it's better than "Bare Bottoms Welcome," or whatever, but...well, actually, it's totally better than that tacky thing.

The best part of the kitchen is the chrome countertop utensil holder that was purchased for me (nearing 27 years old, and still no shame, let's be honest) Sunday afternoon, I think. It sits perfectly next to the stove. (I think one of the burners doesn't completely work, however.)

The only thing I purchased this weekend was the dining room table and matching chairs. It works perfectly.

Point is, friends, I'm so excited about this place that I want to invite people over. To my place! That's never happened before, even though my place in The 'Port was quite the pad. (Actually, it was dirty.)

Of course, there's cleaning to do, though mostly just tidying and finding places for things and perhaps putting up those things that need to be hung. But I think a coworker is coming over for The Office on Thursday night, so I guess I need to do it between now and then.

I'm definitely entertaining, at least two, on Friday night. Then we're going to karaoke, which will be trashy-fun, and my first time back since August or September. And then I'll say goodbye to one of my favorite Ring Fingernailians, who is headed down to San Antonio with her boyfriend. Sigh.

- - - - - - - -

Weekend highlight: Seeing the U-Haul out front, the elderly-er upstairs neighbor came down to introduce herself. Later, my parents looked at her living room arrangement. Then at how her dryer was installed. Then, Sunday, she came down with free soup and blueberry banana bread. I haven't repaid her yet, but I think I'll do it with this fantastic, flavorful chicken and leek soup that I've made successfully a few times. And I think I'll bring it to her Saturday late afternoon, but I'll need to cook Saturday afternoon, then.

On the washer and dryer: My parents finagled a free matched set from the neighbors. Then I found out it wouldn't work. So they finagled another free matched set from the other neighbors. But I think they paid the contractors some cash to bring it over. Then we had to buy some piping to ventilate the dryer. (Me to the office person: "Do you have a handyman or something that can hook up our dryer properly?" Her to me: "You can't install a dryer?" Me, later, but not to her: "Nope.") Then we tried to hook them up Sunday morning. Then we realized we probably needed different piping. So we returned to Home Depot. Then we installed the ventilation tubing stuff. (I'm not good with a screwdriver, honestly.) Then we got ready to plug it in, and realized that our power cord didn't match the unit's outlet. New code, we later heard. So we returned to Home Depot. They gave us a new plug ("this one's ground, this one's neutral, and these two are hot") to install. After popping off the back of the dryer and staring quizzically at the way the cord was hooked up to the thing, it was determined that we'd be better off paying someone. So he's coming Saturday, which is why I've got (relatively) fresh-from-the-laundromat clothing on my floor right now.

On the chairs: They're pink. We brought them to the upholstery guy, recommended by a coworker. We flipped through some fabrics. And some more fabrics. For an hour or so, on Sunday morning. Then some more fabrics. Then we kind of maybe kind of settled on something. Then he talked price. "Well, it's $425 for the labor for one of these. And then the cost of material...and this is probably seven yards' worth." It was at this point that I realized the pink wasn't really that bad, and actually worked kind of nicely. But we left the rocker there out of sympathy, kind of, and then my mom hit the jackpot. And we wound up dropping off an old office chair Sunday night, only because it wouldn't fit in my parents' car for the drive home.

- - - - - - -

My mom on Saturday: "Every time I say something, I'm afraid it's going to wind up in your blog!" Only when you say something particularly memorable, Mom.

- - - - -

I'm not yet completely moved in, but it feels like home. It will actually be home come Sunday afternoon, I think. We're expecting 40-plus degree temperatures over the weekend, which means I'll try to get in my first run by the lake. And on Sunday night, we got a fantastic sunset. How awesome.

- - - - - - - -

By the time you read this, Northwestern will have probably been eliminated from the Big Ten Tournament by Michigan State. I'd just like to write that this has been the season I've enjoyed following the Wildcats the least since I've been a fan. Even less than the 0-16 season, though that would've been the worst had I not been a student at the time. But there was absolutely no chance this season of the postseason, though we tried to convince ourselves of that. But the worst part is that our (arguably) best player, Timmy D., is a joke. Can't jump. He works hard, but he's a joke, and it sucks when your best player pretty clearly wouldn't be on the top eight on any other team in the conference. I honestly believe that to be the case, except for maybe Penn State and the Gophs.

Coble is fantastic, but he's such a dork. I just wish we had cool players with cool names who didn't look like dorks. Doyle's a dork. Coble's a dork. Ryan's a pale, pale, creepy dork, though I think he's got the potential to be All-Conference. Okrezik has piercing but dorky eyes, and can't shoot. Scott's an oafish dork, though my favorite.

The Cats have some ins on a few Chicago Public League players for the upcoming spring signing period. You have no idea how badly I want them to bring in a guy named Isiah, or Demond. A Wildcat named Demond? How sweet it could be.

I just wish that NU could be good one day. Some day, some day soon. ("Soon" being a relative term.)

- - - - - - -

In the last few days, I've determined that The Princess Bride is one of my three favorite movies. With Fargo and Billy Madison. I think The Princess Bride might even be worth owning, even if only for the "so it obviously cannot be the glass in front of me!" scene.