Something I found amusing

Hilary Clinton's Top Ten on Letterman was actually quite amusing:

My favorite, though, is from 2000: Top 10 reasons that I, Hillary Clinton, finally decided to appear on 'The Late Show.':

#4 was: When they threw in a "Late Show" tote bag, I said, "Gas up the Taurus, Bill, we're goin' to Dave's."

It's the "Taurus" that does it.

My life in folders

So I know I'm anal about certain things: like the BBQ sauce needed for chicken nuggets, or the way I highlight my books (although recent evidence has shown someone is a bit more anal, using a ruler to underline passages). But what really bugs me is disorganized computer files. I have a very rigid way of identifying (and sorting) my files. I'll explain it so we can all laugh at my disability. Here's an example of my Folder Structure:
My Documents >
My Music
My Education
My Teaching
My Pictures

Now, let's take one of these a little more in depth:
My Teaching
Northeastern U
Fall 2004
Spring 2005
ENGL 111
ENGL 111 (Paper 1 – Summary)
ENGL 111 (Teaching Log)
ENGL 111 (Digital Resources)

Nothing gets saved on my computer that doesn't have some type of similar designation. Sometimes it boggles my mind how/why people don't do the same. A computer desktop is like any other desktop; A space that needs to be cleaned and organized routinely to be as efficient as possible. Would you pack your insurance papers in a folder labeled "Recipes"? No. Would you put your bills in folders with your classwork? No. Don't be ridiculous! (Balcy Bartacamous, Perfect Strangers).

In other words, I'm a freak. Label your files as you choose. Just don't ask me to track down a file for you.


Some snippets from a conversation with some officemates regarding Chick Fil-et:
-I love Chick Fil-et
-They're so nice there
-Yes, but they're uber-religious. I think last time I ordered Moses Fries
-In nomine patri at filii et chickenus sancti
-Chick Fil-Amen

Afterwards a conversation ensued about whether or not we were mocking Christians or just Christian practices. We came down on the side of practices. And Chick Fil-et.

A Brief Defense of Michael Vick

I was watching ESPN the other day at lunch and an analyst tried to make the argument that we should be a bit more sympathetic towards Vick because he was getting a harsher punishment because he was black. While I don't think that's the case, there is something to be said about this. I originally wrote a much longer version of this, but it stalled out with all the work I've had, so here's the argument in brief.

We must first acknowledge some "facts":

1. That professional athletes of any stripe, though particularly in contact sports like football, hockey, boxing, etc. are to a certain degree raised to be fierce and competitive. I speculate (fairly, I think) that no linebacker likes to think of the moral implications of clothes-lining a running back or taking someone out at the knees. This much is stripped out of them in the early years of their training.
2. That professional athletes are, in some degree, perceived by spectators as sub-human, a perception that filters down to the athletes themselves. This might be linked to the "fierce" "competitiveness" that is instilled in them, as these seem to be, in our "highly refined and cultured" society to represent our "base" instincts. Much like gladiatorial competition, we thrive off seeing others being beat to their core, simultaneously humanizing them in their mortality, but dehumanizing them in that we don't so much care for their well-being because they are somehow "less" than us.
3. This leads us to the final point: That such a training must invariably affect their conception of themselves, others, and the world around them. If they are trained not only to devalue human life but their own lives as well, is it not understandable that they would devalue all life? And can the blame rest solely on them?

For every child that worships an athlete, there is an adult who devalues them, or values them for purely selfish reasons (their success equals YOUR success). This argument, of course, neglects the racial politics involved in such a reading as well. It is not uncommon for these associations to be made in particular with black athletes because of the history of degredation and dehumanization.

Anyway, I'm not trying to say what he did was right, but we need to be a little self-reflective ourselves. Perhaps the fault lies not in the football stars, but in ourselves.

Much Ado About Nothing

It's my first week of class and I've spent most of it alone in a group study room in the library. Still getting a feel for my classes and whatnot, but I'll keep you posted as more interesting things happen. Hope all is well in the other various corners of the country.

Why I live at the PPO

As some of you may know, I've been living without health insurance for about 3 years now (which was illegal in Massachusetts for 1 of those years, but let's not tell Devall Patrick). Living without health insurance is like playing a giant game of chicken, except that you KNOW sickness doesn't blink and you KNOW eventually it will find you. Very much like death.

So, back in school, I'm required to have health insurance if I want to do things like: enroll in class, step foot on campus... that type of thing. So I have to buy into the partially subsidized health plan. So now I pay $300 for the year (a very fair price, on the surface). So I've been psuedo-sick all orientation week: my throat has been hurting and I've had a dry cough. So I wake up this morning (Saturday) and I'm feeling worse.

I enroll in my health plan which is retroactive to August 6, so for starters, I have to pay for weeks of coverage I never had. I decide that my illness now warrants a trip to a physician. I look up where I should go: Student health services. Okay, I planned for this eventuality. I figured a university plan would run through Student Health services first. So I check PUSH (Purdue Univ. Student Health) hours: they're closed on weekends. So I go back to the pamphlet for where to go "after hours." Well, I could go to another physician, but it's not an emergency, so I'd have to pay full price.

Thank god I've got this health plan.

Orientation Wrap-Up

I'm going to go out on a limb and claim that 60% of all orientation week events are useless. I'll preface this by saying (although I'm not actually prefacing it, or I would have said this first) that I really valued my time in the classroom working with my mentor and classmates and did genuinely find some of the information important, useful, and well communicated. But let me give a quick run-down of Day 5's events:

9:00am-10:00am: All Graduate students at Purdue show up for a "welcome." The speakers include three deans who welcome us, a Graduate Student Council president who asks us to join up, and the mayor of West Lafayette who tells us about all the parks that the town has to offer. Let's be honest with ourselves; how many times do I have to be welcomed to the University by people who could care less what my name is or what I'm doing. One of our welcoming speakers was the Dean of Research who, though seemingly a nice guy, proceeded to tell us about all the opportunities available to Grad students... in the sciences. At one point he made a comment about lab safety because "all of you, at some point, will be dealing with some radioactive isotope of some sort." I turned to my English peers with a paniced look and asked if that was true. Perhaps, in addition to the foreign language requirement, I was being asked to pass a lab-exam, too. Regardless, the entire event could have been summed up with a toast at the complimentary breakfast that followed.

10:00am-11:00am: Complimentary coffee and cake. This was more of an activities fair than anything else, except that half the tables were unpopulated (since most of the student body isn't back yet) and didn't really have much to offer as a result.

11:00am-12:00pm: Talk on Employee Benefits. This hour-long snooze-bomb was basically a verbal retelling of everything I'd already read in pamphlet form a week ago, or summary of information easily accessible on a website. What's worse is that the speakers knew it and kept repeating that all this information could be found on the website.

1:30-2:30: Syllabus discussion meeting. This was actually the only useful part of the day. We got to meet with other (veteran) instructors teaching the same syllabus approach as us and discuss some of the opportunities available.

2:30-4:00: Composition Teacher Meeting. 200 of us gather for a welcome back message, a few words from the graduate student council VICE president, a few reminders about things that have already been told to us once or twice before, followed by the highly amusing "introduction of new instructors" portion. Again, valuable information that could be easily condensed rather than spread out over a very long day.

That being said, I think the program and the staff are terrific. I've never seen such enthusiasm (I'm more familiar with the bitter sarcasm or tacit compliance of other institutions), so it was a breath of fresh air. Anyway, Orientation is over now. Last weekend before school starts. Getting a bit nervous.

Week One

Many apologies for not posting recently. I've been in orientation all week and it's taking a while for me to get accustomed to this 9-5 gig. The class itself is really interesting. It's a tech-centered composition/rhetoric class. Finally some strong guidance, superb peers, and a well organized program (actually, the #1 undergrad writing program in the country). While I won't go into the specifics of the class itself yet, I'll share a story of a grading exercise:

We were asked to design a grading rubric to be passed out with our student's papers so they know exactly where they're losing points. After reading these papers, we went around the room announcing our scores. They went like this: 72, 67, 70, 65, 75... 30. Guess which one was mine...

I had a lot of problems working with a rubric. For instance, if a paper has no thesis, and a thesis is worth 15 points, then the student gets 0 points. Of course, that's not really how it works in the real world. Even an F grade is worth 50 points. So essentially, a student need only exist in order to get half credit. I'm fine with this, but that doesn't translate well to a rubric, because it then becomes an inaccurate representation of a student's value/lack of value. Imagine:

A student gets a paper back in which he's been given a 5 out of 10 on the thesis portion of his paper. A though bubble appears over his head which reads "Jinkies! I got half credit on my thesis, I'm almost there! I should go home and celebrate with a bubble bath and a Corona" Meanwhile, the teacher is thinking "That poor sack of potatoes just failed the thesis portion. I sincerely hope he improves on that the next time around or else he will fail the class and his life will grow dismal and meaningless."

Anyway, rubric aside, I'm confident in my grading practices, I just need to figure out how to work with these grading sheets so that my student average isn't lower than GW's IQ. BA DUM TSSSS!

Keeps My Feet on the Ground II

The second philosophical question came up at dinner. Erin and I went out to celebrate our new endeavors at the only Italian restaurant in town, La Scalia. While the meal wasn't bad, it wasn't very good either. Looking around, Erin asked me if I thought it was sad when people say "this is the best meal I've ever had." Having had the great fortune of eating actual Italian food in Italy, as well as spectacular Italian food in New York and Boston as well, I think I would be sad if this meal was all that I had ever encountered. But of course, this is Plato's cave. If I hadn't had those experiences, would it still be sad? I suppose not, as I wouldn't know that there was something better out there. But as an onlooker, having had more authentic Italian food, is it my place to feel sorry for someone who hasn't and probably won't have the fortune of having such a meal in their life? Or, in some warped biological game, do the taste buds on his/her tongue react to this meal in such a way as there IS no better meal that he/she could have? I know for myself, I'd like my last meal to be homemade chicken nuggets and Open Pit BBQ sauce. Anyway, to reframe the argument another way, is it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? But I abhor a cliche.

Keeps my feet on the ground

So yesterday I wound up with two philosophical questions running through my head.

The first was in a conversation with my father about whether or not it all "happens for a reason." On the religious side, if there is a God, an all powerful, all knowing, yadda yadda God, then he COULDN'T abandon us here on this cold, lonely rock. It just wouldn't make sense to create something and then "leave" it. Beyond that, if God is everywhere, he couldn't leave anyway. The absence of God would be a cruel irony about his LACK of omnipotence. And why would any being create something just to leave it? The point of creation/procreation is to pass oneself on. According to Christianity, man was made in the likeness of God, and we are often referred to as his "children." In which case, Christianity, at the very least, posits a God that wishes to see us grow. While he might not directly interact with us, he has set us down a particular path just by the very act of creation.

Read more secularly, we might say that "everything happens for a reason" because the world itself is not chaotic. It can't be. There are certain rules that govern who we are, how we grow, how we interact. Everything that happens to us has a series of events that preceded it, and a series of consequences for whatever choice we make. Therefore, everything that has happened has been that way for a particular reason.

Now none of this is to say that we can discern, predict, or understand the plan. Just that there is a plan for a reason. I suppose it's up to you to decide if plans tend towards the happy (whatever doesn't kill us, makes us stronger) or the unhappy (all life ends in death, thus life is meaningless). But at the very least it's comforting to think that there is something out there that governs us all, be it God or nature.

Employed

It's hard to keep a good woman down. After one week, interviews with three different companies (and two more scheduled), Erin found her first salaried position. She'll be working in homes to help families reconnect with one another. For more specifics, ask her.

Erin and I went to see Stardust today. It was entertaining. A lot of funny moments throughout. I don't like Claire Danes much, but she did well. A sweet, heartfelt, romantic comedy. Incredibly cheesy and not "ground-breaking" in any way, but definitely enjoyable.

I don't really have a lot to say. I start orientation on Monday. We'll see what happens.

If you wanna go 'n take a ride wit me...

So here's a humorous little ditty from about a week ago that I never got around to telling.

I should have known from the start what evil humbuggery awaited me after the phone call from Geico. I told the salesman "I come from NY where we have the DMV, then moved to MA where we had the RMV. Where to now?" To which he laughingly responded "Indiana has a BMV. B for Bureau." A light rain started to fall. The sun of my heart was setting.

I rode to the BMV with Erin in tow. Every _MV trip needs a wing(wo)man; someone with whom to kvetch about the long wait; someone with whom to mock the ex-hippie cyclist with the leather jacket and no shirt. Today was no different.

The line stretched to the horizon, or what would pass for the horizon in these parts on a rain-soaked day such as this. We rode in like Joe Pesci and Marisa Tomei in "My Cousin Vinny" ( "Oh yeah, you blend"), hair tossed to the wind, freedom in front of us, a head full of bad memories behind...

The woman at the counter, the first counter that is, asked for my identification. While the drivers license itself was high on the list of priorities, I also needed to register my car in the state, so the two different transactions seemed to stimy the poor woman who must have had a sugar deficiency in her diet, or might have benefited from one, I suppose. After a few minutes of blank staring at the documents laid out in front of her, she finally decided to tackle the drivers license first.

Now, I come from NY and MA, two of the worst trafficed states in America. Both states have declared at one point or another that I am fit to operate a vehicle in some of the worst driving conditions known to modern transportation. However, in the state of Indiana, a state who just raised their speed limit to 70 mph, a state who boasts 10 stoplights across the vast abyss of a corn field they call a state, a state who, should nuclear winter hit, would show absolutely no signs of population or teraform change, in the great state of Indiana, in order to transfer my license over from MA to IN, I need to pass an eye exam (reasonable) as well as a 50-question written exam.

Now I'll be honest with you. I'm a book smart kind of guy. I test well. Not standardized tests, but test-tests... you know, legitimate ones. But when I first got my license in the mid 90s (in fact, exactly 11 years ago from last week), I passed a 6 question exam on the back of a Long John's Silver placemat in White Plains. Now, I'm not saying New York didn't have it's act together, but I will say that it's not like I studied for the written exam back then.

The sky overhead rumbled with thunder and the pitter patter of rain on the roof of the shack they called a "bureau" was palpable. So I sit down in the dank asylum, pencil in hand, and rummage through the questions. I give you a sample question, paraphrased, but as close to the actual question I can get:

What do you do when a school bus stops in front of you:

1. Zoom past like you would any car that stops in front of you
2. Ignore it, the stop sign on the side of the bus is not for you
3. Come to a complete stop and wait for the bus to turn off it's flashers and proceed.
4. All of the above

While the absurdity of such a simplistic question is apparent, I just want to know one thing: who chooses answer 4?

Long story short, I failed. I got all the questions right in the first part, but missed a number of "signs" questions. Apparently I didn't know the difference between a "regulatory" sign and an "informational" sign, and as such, I am unqualified to get a license in the state of Indiana. So they handed me back my paperwork, told me i could retake the test tomorrow, and gave me back my MA driver's license.

I got back in my car and drove home.

Anyone else see the flaw in the system here? Also, there was no rain. It was a metaphor for the raging storm within my soul. It works on a few levels. Think about it.

He grows up... one mp3 at a time

About a year ago when I got my new computer, I decided that it was high time for me, a working man, to start paying for his anti-virus software rather than finding freeware copies whenever he could. While this worked in college and Grad school, I thought I should grow up and start paying for the services I use.

In the same vein, about two months ago, I decided I would start paying for music downloads. Today, however, marks the first day I actually want to download a song. I have since met a problem: I don't know where to go to legally download music.

Here's what I'm looking for:

• A pay site, not a pay software (like Limewire)
• A LEGAL site
• Something with no restrictions on how/where I use the songs i.e. the computer, an mp3 player etc. (unlike iTunes that doesn't give "mp3" files)
• Preferably a place where I can listen to clips of the songs before I download them
• And finally, a site with an extensive library of songs, both of modern rock as well as standards, classical, classic rock, etc.

I ask for your suggestions. Thanks.

Hail to the Chief

So for those new around these parts, I’ll tell a quick story. Erin and I adopted a kitten back in October. She was sick when we got her, and we named her Squints (or Echo, on her official documentation). She was a delightful kitten, very social, always friendly, she liked to put on a show whenever we had visitors. Unfortunately, she was too sick and wound up succumbing to her illnesses a few months later.

After moving to Indiana, we decided we still needed that fuzzy presence in our lives. We found a cute little “squidge” at the humane society in Indianapolis and adopted her. She’s a bit crazy (she nips toes), and also a little sick (she has a cold), but she’s quite cute.

Erin and I are having a debate about what to call her. She likes to sit on her hind legs with her front legs up, so Erin wants to call her Roo. However, she also swings from the couch cushions, so I wanted to call her Coco (like the monkey). Although, with her cold, I have started calling her Wheezer lately. So we can take votes on the better name in the comment section.

To conclude today’s post, I will share a story from Jason regarding his move with Available Movers, scheduled for tomorrow. Available Movers apparently called Jason and cancelled his move tomorrow. A day before the move. This is after they had already asked to postpone his move. How is this company still running?

Dust in the Wind (or Cardboard in Brooklyn)

So Erin and I walk up the steps to our new apartment taking bets on whether or not our stuff was delivered. We resign ourselves to the idea we’ll be on the air mattress again. It’s 11:00pm when we walk in the door to be greeted by: OUR STUFF!!!

I’m not really the type to sleep when there’s a job to do, so I quickly set to work unpacking what I could. The movers did not put together all the stuff that they had taken apart, despite the fact they were obligated to. It seems they took their tip, drank our Gatorade, and left. Around 2am, Erin tells me it’s time to stop. We head into the bedroom and Erin plops down on the bed. We start to move it and here a pop. All four bed leg screws have been bent and the bed is now unstable. I can’t take them out of their plates because the screws are slightly stripped and completely bent. Erin and I take about 30 minutes unscrewing the plates from the frame, assuming we’ll just rest the frame on the floor and deal with it in the morning. When we get the plates off and lay the frame down, the cross beam that runs up the center of the bed is about 2 inches lower than the rest of the frame, and the bed rocks back and forth. Once again, we throw the mattress on the floor, prop the frame on the wall, and go to bed.

The next day, Erin and I finished unpacking the boxes and I get the suspicion we’re missing things. Sure enough, we’re missing between one and three boxes. And of course every box of books makes it, but the one “important” box, is MIA. Contents of said box:
All knick knacks sitting around the apartment (decorative)
Coasters
A number of toiletries including my razor
All of our framed pictures
Bucknell Diplomas
Erin’s engagement ring certification
Aunt Doris’s hand-made quilt
And of course, Erin’s jewelry box…

After another phone call to the movers, I’m fairly certain we’ll never see that stuff again.

So here’s our Visa commercial:

Miles Traveled by land: 4880 miles
Cost of moving: $2500
Cost of lost/damaged objects: $2000
Miles traveled by air: 1800 miles
Times someone mentioned the similarity of our names: 31
Phone calls placed to the mover: 27
Days living on the kindness of family/friends: 20
Number of total pages of blog posting describing the trip: 14
Number of states: 10
Wedding sites visited: 7
Number of shark attacks: 0 (despite it being shark week on the discovery channel!)
Sharing this experience with the love of my life: Priceless

Tune in tomorrow for our new friend.

Welcome to the family

So Erin and I made it to NY on time and were met by my smiling mother, fresh from Fed-Ex/Kinkos where she had acquired the materials for our “project”: putting together the bulletins for the wedding. Tony did a remarkable job and they came out looking quite elegant. Highlights of the endeavor were poor Uncle Mike pricking his fingers trying to curl the bows and Aunt Doris nagging my father to keep helping.

We hopped in the car on Thursday to head up to Rene’s home town of Brooklyn, CT, birthplace of Vanilla Coke (no joke: The Vanilla Bean Café). Erin and I drove with Mike and Doris and I’m proud to note that, in spite of their best efforts to get to me, I outlasted Uncle Mike in listening to Yanni on the ride up. When we finally got into town and filled our gullets, we went to go try on our tuxedos. Of course, we had to pull off on some side roads for the annual “Wild West” party that Brooklyn, CT seems to throw. Lots of chaps and cowboy boots in rural Connecticut. I think my grandmother summed it up best when she said “you could put the whole lot of them together and have enough teeth for a single person.” I kid, of course, they weren’t “hicks.” But some reeeealllly bad singing made us long for the days when Spears and Aguilera crooned their ways into our hearts.

The rehearsal was delightful and the rehearsal dinner was also a blast, capped by Tony, Eric and Tim taking golf drives in the moonlight. The next morning, we woke up bright and early and I played my first nine holes of golf. On the first hole, I hit par… of course, every hole after that I hit between 8-15 shots. I think I hit par once more on the 9th hole, but by then I had embarrassed myself sufficiently enough. Tony and I met up with the family for lunch where we had a 30-minute photo shoot with Tom, the owner of the Vanilla Bean Café.

The wedding itself was beautiful. Mom had carefully planned a “dummy version” of the ceremony program for Rene with the wrong color ribbon and pages out of order and upside down. Dad looked stunning in his frock as he helped pass out communion. And Tony was cool as a cucumber in his Mandarin tux. Of course, Rene stole the show… but what else is new.

I couldn’t tell you much about the reception. We spent about 3 hours taking photos. I think all told, 1000 pictures were taken and the photographer said she had run out of film. The introductions were a blast, my speech was crappy but heartfelt, and dinner was deeeelish. In fact, the only downside for the evening was the drunk DJ who apparently had been left by his wife a week earlier, so Rene said she got a strong “Wedding Singer” vibe off him. This was accentuated by the fact that the microphone had a high bass to it, so that his voice was very Darth DJ-like. But of course, that couldn’t stop mom from dancing on the tables.

The next day, Erin and I got a ride home from Rob and Tati and went on a scenic tour of Connecticut with Rob’s parents. We revisited their old stomping grounds: Shanigans. Apparently, Uncle Rich has been going to Shanigans every year for the past half century. Literally. It makes you think. Is there something special that YOU do once a year for an extended period of time? The closest I have is 8 years straight of going to LBI. Post YOUR hit streaks in the comments section!

When we got home, Erin and I had dinner with the family and then we met up with Mark, Patrick and Matt for a birthday beer before heading back to Indiana the next day.

Tune in tomorrow for the end of the moving debacle and the arrival of a new member to the family whose NOT Rene.

pocket full o' posies

I’ll begin today’s post with a quick word of warning: Do NOT use Available Movers. Under no circumstances is this acceptable. I will offer a brief chronology of events:

June 15 – Place the order over the phone for the movers, and while they can’t guarantee a move-in date, they CAN guarantee that, after our stuff is put in storage that you can set a specific date for delivery. I set up the delivery date for 7/14, and the Lion family plans around this date, taking off work so that they can help us unpack.


July 3 – Movers show up two hours late. Sketchiness regarding the tip.


July 11 – I email to confirm the delivery date, receive a response saying “there are no guaranteed delivery dates.


July 12 – I send a strongly worded email stating that I was guaranteed I could set a specific date for delivery after my furniture has been stored. Later that day, I call the dispatcher and plead my case. He calls me a liar, tells me I didn’t read my contract well enough and “tough cookies” to put it nicely. I state that it’s a shady business that guarantees something over the phone, doesn’t put it in the contract as per our conversation, and then claims that the error is entirely on the consumer’s part. After an hour long fight over the phone, I’m told that the furniture will show up not on Saturday as originally stated, but Monday or Tuesday. This is, of course, distressing considering the Lions took off Monday to help us move and that if it takes longer, Erin and I have to leave Indiana on Wednesday for Tony and Rene’s wedding.


July 13 – a package arrives in the mail at the Lion’s house from my family with some “essentials” including Ziploc bags, paper plates, plastic utensils, garbage bags, etc. Now I know how Moses felt when mana fell from heaven. And everyone knows how much I like Moses.


July 14 – move in to our new apartment in Indiana. The Lions arrive later in the day to “rough it” with us. We have two air mattresses and an odd assortment of objects. We go food shopping and get some food essentials. SAMs club doesn’t accept Visa. But the best moment of the night is: 9pm, it’s starting to get dark in the apartment. I flip on the light switch, pause, look up, and notice: there are no overhead lights in the apartment. Walmart yields us 4 lamps for $50, but by the time we get home, Pete and Lynn are reading Chinese Food menus by the light of a laptop. Charlie, Erin and I huddle in the kitchen and put together the lamps. Charlie then takes the Styrofoam and cardboard boxes, lashes them together with tape, and fashions a fantastic card table for us.


July 15 – a phone call to the movers reveals that they won’t be showing until Thursday. The Lions and I head out to the historic “Battle of Tippecanoe” grounds and check out the place where the last hope for a Native American Confederacy died at the hands of president-to-be William Henry Harrison. From the beginning of the day, Charlie has stated he wants to visit “Hobby Lobby.” However, Hobby Lobby is the closest store to our apartment, so we decide we’ll save it for last. So every step of the way, we say “alright, Hobby Lobby next. Oh wait! Can we go to that discount furniture store?” And each time, Charlie gets pissed, wondering why we can’t go to Hobby Lobby. “How about Barnes and Noble? Hobby Lobby next!” By the end of the day, Charlie is just randomly shouting “HOBBY LOBBY!” at the top of his lungs. So its 5:30 and we finally make it to Hobby Lobby… to find it closed. Fortunately for us, as we would have felt awful if this wasn’t the case, but they were closed on Sundays.


July 16 – The Lion family takes off, leaving Erin and I with our plastic dishware, our blowup mattress, and our laptop. We spend most of the day running errands. We have a delightful meal at IHOP, Erin’s favorite pancake house, we also get cable/internet (though we don’t have a TV).


July 17 – As I said, Erin and I have been a little strapped for cash, and most of our DVDs are boxed. We can’t purchase anything new and we’ve been watching the same episodes of The Office, season 2 and NewsRadio season 1 for the past two weeks. I swear to Erin that if our furniture hasn’t arrived by the time we get back from Tony’s wedding, that I’m buying us Scrubs, season 1. We’ve been holding on to two Netflix movies for the past month, so each night, Erin and I watch one of them: Monday night it was “The Godfather.” Tuesday night it was “The Godfather Part II.” A phone call to the movers yields no response. I briefly considered rethinking my life choices and joining the mafia, but thought better of it.


Tune in tomorrow for: Anton and Rene’s wedding, our return to Indiana, and more moving disasters.

Celebrate good times... for a price!

Our quest for wedding locations continued in Deep Creek, MD. Erin and I were at that point in Day 6 of our interstate sojourn. While the car is packed, it is not really packed with “useful” things at the moment. We’ve got a bag of clothes, a laundry basket of shoes, a desktop computer, two laptops, Erin’s paintings, three potted plants, wedding information and magazines, file crates, an inflatable mattress, and a desk organizer/paper rack. In other words, anything that didn’t fit in a box, plus a snack bag and a cooler. Also, the expense of the move had kept Erin and I on a tight budget, so we’d been living off of stolen gatorade’s from my parent’s house and whatever stale chips we still had left from our last trip to BJ’s wholesale club a month prior.

The wedding search has been entertaining, but trying. The locations we found were all nice, but nothing was “perfect.” Maryland ultimately proved to be too expensive and too far away to be practical. While some of them were marvelously beautiful, others were just simply not what we were looking for.

ZOOM IN: The Wisps. Erin’s parents, Erin, and myself stroll in at 10:45 for our 11:00 appointment. Keep in mind that we have another appointment at 1:00, so we only have an hour before we need to pick up Charlie and get back on the road. One old lady at the front desk making nice with a pair of customers. I’m fine with that, except that she completely ignored us for 20 minutes before someone else finally showed up and called the office to find Wendy or whoever. 15 minutes later, no one shows. So I start pacing. 11:30 rolls around and I decide I’m just going to walk back into the office and find someone. I interrupt a wedding coordinator whose on the phone, who personally goes on a quest for this person. 50 minutes after our appointment was supposed to start, a woman comes out, guffaws at me as the groom, then proceeds to show us the equivalent of an airplane hanger. “How many people do you have?” she asks. “We’re not sure, anywhere from 60 to 100.” “Okay, well we can set up some partitions. The cost of the room is about $2000.” “Do we only pay 1/8 of that if that’s how much of the room we’re going to use?”

Anyway, this whole process has been mildly disconcerting and I’m not sure if it’s just me. The $25k to $35k for a single day gives me a queasy feeling. I’m not one to go all conspiracy theory, but is there a reason that it costs so much? I mean, if I took all these people out to dinner and put it on my credit card, it wouldn’t cost nearly that much. But there are so many hidden fees and nothing is the same from one venue to another so it’s impossible to know what you’re getting into. For example: venue A costs $2000 to walk in the door, but they include tables and chairs, but no linens. Venue B costs $500 to walk in, but doesn’t include service fees which is 25% of your total bill. However, they provide linens (but only for 8-man round tables) but charges a tax. Venue C requires your second born (the more likely of your children to be “planned”) and a minimum of $6k spent. But that’s only on Sundays. On Saturdays they need three locks of hair from a vestal virgin and a $9k minimum.

So someone please explain to me when weddings became so commercialized. This has been eating at me for a while because it seems ridiculous that a young couple who can’t have much money to begin with could be saddled with such immense debt for a single ceremony/party. As I understood it, finances are one of the top reasons people get divorced. So why put so much financial pressure on a pair of newlyweds. Or rather, why do vendors seem to think its okay to gouge those which need to be gouged least. $25k could pay for couples therapy for at LEAST five years.

And if the general rule of thumb is to purchase a gift that equals the amount the couple spent on you for you to be there, do people realize that their gift should cost around $250? It’s just ridiculous all the way around.

However, through this whole wedding debacle, I think I’ve brainstormed a solution to the “gay marriage” debate. Much like the argument for legalization of marijuana, the solution is so simple: tax marriages. This way, if people have a moral problem with it (shame on you… judge not) they can at least make money off it. And not only gay couples, because that’s stupid. All couples get taxed! Honestly, they’re charging you for it one way or another. And people get over moral scruples REAL quick when there’s money involved (see: prohibition, the drug trade, oil, dog fighting). So let’s make this happen! MORE TAXES!!! FREEDOM FOR ALL! Let there be peace in our time!

Tune in tomorrow for: The moving debacle, “Throwdown” with Aaron “Bobby Flay” D, and how to see in the dark.

Jersey

After bidding farewell to Casa DeRosa, Erin and I headed south to the fabled land of sour milk and rancid honey: New Jersey. As you might expect, we hit traffic. I know you all expect me to rant about New Jersey right now, but I won’t because it’s too easy. I will say only this: New Jersey traffic has got to be the worst variety of traffic I’ve ever encountered. In most states, you get traffic from bad drivers, rubbernecking, volume, etc. In Jersey, you get traffic for exits. In no other state could getting OFF the highway cause so much backup. It’s the only place where people swerve across 8 lines of oncoming traffic to find the nearest exit off this urine-soaked hell hole of a highway. It’s like the hallway to the bathroom at a Chinese Buffet. Elbows flyin’, horrible smells, oil spills….

Anyway, we reach the Pennsylvania Turnpike and, I kid you not, the overcast sky clears, and there are five cars on the road. When we finally arrive, we are greeted with the smiling faces of Jon, Audrey, Lauren, Sean, Greg, and his new girlfriend Jen. We got some drinks, had some burgers. A great time was had by all. When we got back to Jon and Audrey’s, Sean somehow conned us into some type of karaoke video game. I think we were drugged.

The next morning, Greg, Jen, Erin and I dragged our sorry asses out of bed at 8am for the annual Long Beach Island trip. So we arrive, put our stuff done and head over to the water to test the temperature. To our right are a bunch of pre-teen wake-boarders. I put my feet in the water and about 10 seconds later, a boarder wipes out. His board comes shooting up the shore and I think to myself “it’s just a piece of foam, how bad can it hurt.” So I stand there and it hits me in the feet, giving me two gashes and a few bruises. The punk didn’t even apologize. Anyway, Matt and Addison arrived and we had a good time. Unfortunately, the four of us had to leave early to meet with others for dinner back in PA.

So we meet up with “the crew” (Jon-Aud, Laur-Sean, Bri-Joan, Bates-Laurie, Greg-Jen) and stake out an entire dining room in this random german restaurant. We’re being asses, of course, and then Bates and Laurie offer a “toast” of sorts where they announce… “THEY’RE PREGNANT”!! So we’re all jovial and so forth, then the jokes start flying about the child being an “accident” or a “surprise” or whatever euphemism you want to use. So continuing the trend where somehow my comments are more “insidious” than others, seem to cross the line, for which Bates finds the need to give me a dead arm. Not that I didn’t deserve it, I’m simply pointing out the overall trend where I get blamed for something everyone else is doing. More examples of this to come.

We headed back to Greg’s place, where Sean and Jon proceeded to fire nerf missiles at everyone. At one point, Sean hit Lauren and I was fairly certain his head was about to explode with the hate rays emanating from L-Mac. However, but by the grace of God, he was spared. And of course, hilarity ensued.

Tune in tomorrow for: “CSI Maryland: Wedding Reception Sites,” the return to Kentucky, and the first part of the mover mini-series.

Manifest Destiny

Alright, so it's been a month and a half. You might be asking yourselves "where did Aaron and Erin go? I thought he was blogging?" And that would be a fair question. To quote Johnny Cash, "I've been everywhere, man..." I'm going to have to tell this story in installments over the next few days, so bear with me. The shorthand: Erin and I have moved to Lafayette, IN so I can pursue my PhD at Purdue U. It's exciting, but it's also probably been one of the, let's just say "oddest" months of my life. So let's get started.

Packing and the initial move:
So no one in Boston seems too keen on giving away used boxes. After begging about 7 different stores for their garbage, I finally conned a Barnes & Noble into coughing some up, pulling the "I used to work for BN" card. I must say that the packing process was phenomenal. While Erin is not known for her spatial recognition skills, she did AMAZINGLY well in packing her crap. I was, how shall I put it, stunned.

The weekend prior to the move, we headed out to Martha's Vineyard for Howie and Keffie's wedding. We hop in the car at 5am to make the 9am ferry. We get about 10 minutes out and stop for gas. Unfortunately, our water bottle of gatorade broke and spilled over Erin's white sweater. We made it with about 3 minutes to spare. The wedding itself was, how do you say, GORGEOUS. So was Keffie. Howie was moderately attractive, but only because he was dressed to the nines. The ceremony was under the shadow of a lighthouse looking out over the ocean. Literally 10 feet from Howie and Keffie, there was a 20 story dropoff to the sea.

When we got back Monday night, Erin and I finished packing our last odds and ends. Tuesday, the movers arrived 2 hours late. They carted out our boxes and cornered Erin at one point to get a feel for how much we paid for the apartment. Afterwards, they cornered me and asked for their tip in cash...

Ultimately, we wound up in NY for the first leg of our cross-country trek where we were greeted by the famed hospitality of the DeRosa family.

That is where I leave you for today. Tune in tomorrow for: The annual LBI trip, New Jersey traffic, Greg and the gang, Lauren disowning Sean for shooting her with a nerf gun, and surprise news from Bates and Laurie that somehow earned me a dead arm.

Fen-tastic

Erin and I went to what appears to be our final Red Sox game last week. While we both made our orders separately and without knowledge of the other, Mick and Jason also wound up with tickets to the same game only 3 rows in front of us. We sat together as long as we could before we were supplanted by a rowdy group of pre-teens with piercing voices and pierced whatevers... The highlight of the game was probably some random people a few rows behind us actually shooshing this one girl. I mean, who shooshes someone at a baseball game? In all honesty though, she was probably one of the top 7 most annoying people I've ever come across.

Tale of the Hat

If you know me, you should know that for the past 10 years of my life, I have always worn a hat of some sort to all manor of occasions, including the borderline inappropriate ones such as weddings and bar mitzvahs. Regardless, I find it important to talk about the evolution of my headwear for a few reasons which will become apparent.

"Fitty" (Not pictured): Fitty was the first hat I wore for any considerable amount of time. Logging about 2 years atop my scalp, Fitty was a faded fitted Yankees cap. While it wasn't replaced by any direct hat descendant, I gave up the hat because of my growing distaste for the Yankees at the time who were growing more and more successful and I have always been a sucker for the underdog. Regardless, Fitty laid the groundwork for many hats to come.

"Blue": Blue was my second major hat. Purchased at the Susquehanna Valley Mall near Bucknell University in the first week or so of class in freshman year, this hat wound up defining my personality. I was known as "the kid in the blue hat" through most of my education. As you can see, it's a bit torn from overuse. There are literally no seams on this hat that are intact. The brim detaches from the cap and the cap is detaching from itself. I brought the hat on a recent trip to the beach in an effort to keep the sun off my face as I lay down... but all i got was sunlight pouring through threadbare cloth and the innumerable holes that were worn into the top beyond the normal air holes pre-sewn in. For those who would ask, the two ribbons that adorn the hat are green and blue; the green is for organ donors and the blue is a September 11 ribbon.

"Orangey": Orangey, pictured left, was the hat I wore when I got to Massachusetts. A fixture for about two years, this hat was worn only while attending Northeastern University for my Master's degree. The second-most worn in hat my repertoire, the pin above the left brim is my graduation pin, symbolic of the fact that I haven't worn it since graduation (as you can't wear a baseball cap with a pin sticking in it.

"Failure": Pictured right, the black cap is more symbolic than anything else. Worn for the period after my graduation when I couldn't get into a PhD program and where I was working as a freelance teacher, it was a bit of a misnomer. While I wasn't a "failure" in the sense that my life was headed nowhere as I had great jobs, I felt crappy about being rejected from Boston colleges. Of course, I didn't where this hat all that much for obviously depressing reasons and I wasn't sad to see it get buried in the closet. As you may notice, it is completely unadorned by ribbons, pins, fraying edges, etc. In the words of my mother, "it is what it is." A chapter best left forgotten, despite its worth.

"Newbie": The impetus for this post is the recent acquisition of my new hat. Pictured right, the white symbolizes hope and faith amidst the tumult of the blue ocean. No it doesn't, but it could. Anyway, I'm not sure I like the white as it gets dirty easily and shows wrinkles, much like my pasty, alabaster skin. But I do like it. I will wear this cap for the duration of my PhD program. Hopefully by the time I get out, I'll be able to pull off the fedora look. Until then, newbie here will set the tone for the next chapter in my life.

Beach Mad Libs

It's been a while since my last post for one simple reason: not much happens when you're unemployed for the summer. With no day-to-day routine, there's little to comment on. However, Erin and I have been busy with little odds and ends-type things around the house that have been keeping us busy. Erin has taken to painting again, and I'm... blogging. But here goes with a few fun tidbits.

Last Tuesday, Erin and I took a trip to Crane Beach just north of Boston. A beautiful day trip complete with naked toddlers throwing sand at one another and high school seniors cutting class and playing volleyball poorly.


We did, however, have a great time despite the temperature of the water being a balmy -30 degrees fahrenheit. Here we see Erin going as far in as her toes could handle. I, on the other hand, decided to go all out and see what all the skeptics of hypothermia have been talking about. It took Erin a good 7 minutes to take this photo, so after 30 minutes in the E.R., I was good to drive back home.


While there were many eaves-dropped conversations, probably the least interesting of them was the one closest to us where two chatty cathy's regaled each other with stories of public drunkeness. Of course, Erin and I were fairly convinced that none of them had taken place. Or at the very least, the story happened once, and the author decided to retell the story, but change the events. This is humorous because, as you may or may not know, public drunkeness stories are essentially just a mad libs and are thus easily multiplied even if they never happened.


Okay so __(relative distinction of time)__ I got so wasted. Me and my friends went to ____(name of bar)____ and we totally were like "whatever," but we got so ___(synonym of "wasted")__ that we didn't care. __(Name)__ got his foot stuck in the __(noun)__ and we laughed so hard that I spit up __(beverage)__ all over the floor. Then we went dancing and we were so ___(synonym of "wasted")__ that we were CRAZY! We were so ___(synonym of "wasted")__! Anyway, I didn't get home until ___(early hour in the morning)___ and then had to go to work at __(fast food chain)__.

Of course, the most offensive of their stories had to do with some girl who was "banging" two different guys. While we were put out by the situation, I think we were more upset by the use of the term "banging" being used repeatedly.

Netflix Pix

So for our anniversary, Erin got me a subscription to Netflix. I have since been on a movie-watching kick. While they have an extensive library of Mystery Science Theater 3k movies, I've been catching up on movies that Blockbuster never seems to have. Speaking of which, let me rant about Blockbuster for a minute. Where the hell do they get off charging $5.50 for a new release? It costs me $15 to buy that movie. Since when was a rental worth 1/3 of the cost of the film. And $5 for old releases? Are you SH*TT*NG me?! I can purchase most of these movies on VHS for $0.35 on Amazon. While the challenging of Netflix's system with their own "in-store" exchange/mail-order system is interesting, I'm just tired of getting ripped off by them, and thus, they make the boycott list. Join me.

Anyway, so two movies in a row I'm left scratching my head. First The Good Shepherd then Syriana. What the hell? Is Matt Damon responsible for whats-her-face's death in TGS? Why does George Clooney go up to the Prince at the end of Syriana? I just don't understand it. Good thing tonight is Hitchcock night.

Also, a random rant about oil companies. I read in the NYTimes that oil companies are blaming Bush and the push towards "bio-fuel" alternatives for the rising cost of gasoline. Their reasoning: with a push towards bio-fuels, they have no reason to expand their refining capacity, so the cost will rise. While I understand this economically, you'd think that they'd get ahead of the curve. Oil can't continue to be our main fuel source in the long run. It's just not possible. So lead the next charge. But no, why push for future success when you can line your pockets right now. Of course, it's this type of thinking that leaves "the hard questions" like environmental issues, social security, etc. to the next generation. Smart thinking, people.

Nothin' Doin'

So on Wednesday, Erin and I took a drive down to Cape Cod to visit with her grandparents, Betty and Buster. A great time was had by all. While the details are unnecessary, suffice it to say we played 6-man pinnochle, Boys vs. Girls, and the men wiped the floor with them by about 200 points. Betty was none-too-pleased by our success. She's quite the competitive card player and cursed me out in ways I hadn't heard since high school. They then took us out to dinner where the dinner du jour was "steak tips" where I wound up getting two meals... my own hamburger, and two half-helpings of steak tips that went unfinished by the others. So, much love to them.


Mum was the word on any talk of politics as they are all highly conservative and I've been labeled "the liberal one." At one point in the conversation, Buster asked Erin directly who she was voting for and it was "game on" from then on out. Of course, I must tread lightly as I do enjoy their company. But yet another comment was made about Barack Obama being an atheist (false: his mother was an atheist and he converted to Christianity in college) and I had to lay the smack down. A number of comments were made in jest about voting for Bush again, but when I showed my knife, that talk calmed down.


Buster stated he was leaning towards Guiliani and surprising discontent towards McCain whose pro-war stance has been problematic for them. I also skimmed an article in Time magazine about Mitt Romney, but I must say that this guy is a hack who couldn't get his act together in Massachusetts and I'd sooner vote for John "Death Seeker" McCain or Guiliani over him any day. Also, surprising animosity towards these "dark-horse" candidates like Obama and Romney. It's interesting considering the level of distrust for those currently in power. I suppose the devil you know is better than the devil you don't know.

Around the House, May 22, 2007

Today I'd like to start a new segment I call "Around the House" where I take everyday objects around my "pad" and talk about them for a little bit.

Pictured to the right is my exercise bike. Used extensively from 2002-2003 as well as intermittently throughout 2005-07, this piece of machinery has revolutionized how I read. Now, 25 pages yields about 100 calories. While my fondest memories of the exercise bike involve my Harvard rejection and cranking it up to 45 rpm (as opposed to the typical 15-18), it has given me years of riding enjoyment.

Of course, as you can see, it periodically degrades into towel-dryer, CD-holder, and coat-rack. Nonetheless, it is an essential piece of my home exercise routine.

M.S.W., Master Super Woman

After two years in an intensive, grueling social work program, Erin has finally earned her Masters in Social Work degree. Working anywhere from a 40 to 50 hour work week between her field placement, part time position, and classes, Erin worked with everyone from underpriviledged children to overpriviledged college students needing help with their resumes.

Because she's modest and won't say any of this, I'd like to give people a brief glimpse of Erin's life over the past two years. From Monday to Wednesday, Erin would wake up around 6:30am to get out to the bus in time for the 1-1.5 hour commute to her field placement. During the day, she would be bounced from desk to desk without a computer essential for her job. She would make phone calls to those in dire need of help, either in receiving social services or just a crib for a poor working mother with a newborn. In the afternoons, she would go on house calls to all areas of the greater Massachusetts area to assess people's living environments, the types of services that might be useful and so forth. She would routinely get home around 6:30, just in time for dinner. Having travelled all day either on the mass transit system or within the office itself, Erin would crash for an hour to psych herself up to start her homework. She would then work until bed time (or until Project Runway was on). On Thursdays, Erin would wake up around 7:00am to get to her early morning classes, after which she would head to the Career Development Center where she pretty much ran the office. Around 4, she would head back out for her final class of the day and get home around 6:30 once again. Fridays offered a brief reprieve from all this, as she got out early at 4:00.

All the while, she had to deal with me whining and being a brat. I'm extremely proud of everything that Erin has accomplished, the people she has helped along the way, and the challenges she's accepted for her professional career. I love her very much and I'm very proud.

HOUSE PARTY!

Another "Silly Erin" moment:



After a long day of errands and galavanting about Boston, Erin and I return to our abode. Erin begins fiddling with the zipper of her sweater (pictured right). She seems to be struggling. I look over at her and watch for a full 20 seconds during which she can't seem to understand why the zipper won't go down any farther than her chest. I calmly point to the fact she's zipping the pocket zipper up and down. We laughed a hearty laugh.



Anyway, Lynn, Erin's mom, came up for Erin's graduation yesterday. They've been giggling like school girls non-stop and it's quite adorable if I do say so myself. As Erin puts it, she has a disposition that makes one want to "pinch her cheeks."

In true 'Impatient Aaron' fashion, I felt compelled to give Erin her graduation gift early. Pictures to come.


Random notes: Mets beat the Yankees again. Yankee fans don't worry, they'll turn it around. Mets fans, join me in laughing at the Yankee's misfortune. I hear that the Yankees are trying, once again, to void Jason Giambi's contract because of his past steroid use. This actually makes me want to vomit. The idea that "we want a clean image, just so long as the dirty players aren't producing" is just reprehensible. You were fine with Sheffield when he was producing, and he was implicated with Giambi and Bonds, too. Giambi did well for you last year and we didn't hear a peep about contract-voiding. You either stand for something or you don't. You made a mistake in signing him and you should live with it. Much like the Giants are now living with the most expensive dud in pitching history (that's a jab leveled at Mark, Addison, and Matt who all tried to convince me that Barry Zito was worth every penny).


Beyond that, though, let's explore the issue in another light. If steroid use is as widespread as most people seem to claim, shouldn't there be an assumption of guilt rather than an assumption of innocence? If you enter into a contract with a player, you enter into it knowing there's a percent chance they are using steroids. And since this was prior to the days where steroid use was in the public lime-light, can we really judge these people so harshly? It's not as if the team made the deal contingent on passing a drug test. I'm not saying they should skirt any repercussions, but if 70% of players are juiced, what exactly are we going to do? Void the contracts of 70% of the league? Or just void the contracts of those players that aren't doing well? Sounds bogus to me. If a team wants to legally protect themselves from steroid use AND clean up the game of baseball, they should add a line into ANY contract signed that the deal is contingent on a player passing a drug test. Obviously the Player's Union won't be happy by this, but then it's the right of the player not to sign to such a contract.

Note: I have absolutely no understanding of privacy laws as proved by this post. Nonetheless, it's like Universal Health Care. It just seems logical.

Incident 1: Erin walks into the bathroom. Five minutes later she walks out holding a single sock.
"Aaron? Something odd just happened. I walked into the bathroom and took off my socks, but I can't find the other sock."
"Are you sure you didn't take them off before you went in?"
"Yes."
Nervous searching yields nothing. Five minutes later, Erin sits down. I turn to her.
"Are you serious?" I ask.
"Yes!"
"It's tucked in your pants."

Columbus sailed the ocean blue while Erin and I went to their Zoo

In true NewsRadio fashion, Erin and I took a break from our searching for a "zoo day" in Columbus, OH (in episode 95,"Freaky Friday," Matthew asks for a day off to go to the zoo to clear his head which prompts him and Jimmy to switch jobs for the day... and hilarity ensues). While Erin's quirky, inexplicable yet virulent animosity towards Ohio waned briefly in our stay, it peaked when she learned they had no giraffes at their zoo. Regardless, a great time was had by all.








Much like Squints in her prime, La Tigre here is quite content to chase away the afternoon blues lounging in his hovel. He's a Virgo, enjoys long walks on the beach, and reaking animal carcass for dinner.






This here is the oldest ape in captivity munching on some grass. I can't help but feel that's how I'll look after 65 years of marriage. Just kidding. Oh god. Make her stop hitting me! Of course, after writing that joke, I realized it's not the oldest ape in captivity, its the oldest ape BORN in captivity. And yet, the joke remains.




This here is perhaps the most interesting thing Erin and I saw. You'll notice it's just like any normal koala bear except that it has recently given birth. If you look closely, there is a face sticking out of this koala's belly. That is it's child whom the mother was feeding moments before this shot was taken.












Here's Erin making her best elephant impression.




Here's me doing every Anderson proud. Be nice to me or a lifesize cardboard cut-out of this picture may wind up on your doorstep this Christmas. For more information on flamingoes and Anderson's, please see Ruth.

The Great American Dew-Park

In a brief stop in Cincinnati, Erin and I had the good fortune of catching a Reds-Astros game at The Great American Ballpark. While the name conjours up images of bald eagles and Valley Forge, there is nothing particularly "Great" or "American" about the park. A beautiful park to be sure, but "Great"? I think not.


Thankfully, no one important pitched, nor played, as both Cincinnati and Houston and utterly devoid of interesting players. I honestly racked my brain about which member of the starting lineup I could conceivably take an interest in and found absolutely none. Fortunately, the company was stupendous.


Directly in front of us was a man with his nine year-old daughter and one of her friends. He seems to have been shafted since all of HIS friends were in the upper deck seats, drinking and laughing while he quietly cussed to himself about the ill luck of Brandon Phillips. The two young girls bounced up and down like crazed monkeys through most of the game which was fun enough, until the Cincinnati Red "cheerleader party patrol" remiscent of the "Mike Piazza dancers" envisioned of old, decided to make their row the "winning row" in the entire stadium. As winners, they were all entitled to a free bottle of Mountain Dew Livewire which does much as its name suggests. I don't know if the beverage itself was blood red, but within a few minutes of these nine-year olds engorging themselves on the sweet satanic nectar, their mouths were rimmed with crimson and their eyes grew bloodshot. Thankfully, the father didn't seem too concerned with the girls who leaned over the railing, shook their carbonated beverages at one another and screamed with unearthly glee.


Of course, I can't tell if they were worse than the 82 sorority girls/fraternity boys that decided to wear matching outfits to spell something out in the bleachers. Through snippets of drunken conversation I heard tell that they were trying to spell 'Cinncinnati Reds' but Erin swears to high heaven she saw a "K/" While I was unable to confirm this, not once in the entire game did they ever sit in order nor organize a cheer of some sort. So suffice it to say, it was just 82 college kids wearing undershirts emblazoned with their favorite letters of the alphabet. Thank god for "Hooked On Phonics." At one point, "N" got up and excused herself. WHen she returned, she said she was given a warning for smoking in the bathroom. 30 minutes later, she went back out to smoke again.


Please to enjoy:








Shameless Advertising for our Corporate Sponsors. Erin asked me to pose, and this is what I came up with.



I'm not sure what happened here, but rest assured, it will probably happen again. In fact, it's happening right now.

More Mid-West fun

The sun loomed overhead like a vulture swooping around its prey, waiting for the last gasp. Our heads hung in the heat like laundry on a wire, left to dry too long. Traffic choked the interstate, threatening the freedom that only the horizon could promise. Erin (played by Catherine Zeta Jones) turns to me. "We gotta get off this road," she croaks, her voice and lips cracking. "Make it happen, Number One," I respond.


Unfolding the creased contours of our map, contours that had no right to exist in a land so flat, Erin navigated our way off the highway and on to the less congested streets of Bum-wad County, IN. Armed with her wits and the setting sun, she set our course and I followed direction. Miles passed behind us. Schools and trailer homes, villas and farms, fields and natural, unblemished, fresh-water aquatic environments waved us on.

The sky was angry that day, my friends. Like an old man, trying to send back soup at a deli. (Seinfeld, The Marine Biologist). Then, in the distance, it rose up to meet us. Like a finger of god reaching out from the crust of the earth itself........

The world's largest rocking chair

I tell you, it was a hundred feet tall if it was an inch. The wood thick and dark like a fine maple syrup. I walked up to the giant chair as it creaked in the wind. I said "EASY big fella!"


Anyway, Erin and I got some pictures with it. Please to enjoy:

Gary Indiana Gary Indiana Gary Indiana

Some pictures from our recent trip to Indiana


Welcome to Lafayette, home of... Purdue students.

Also, home to the "Fish Snacker." I must admit, I took this picture for the amusement of Matt Cook.

My new speed limit.

Some classic gems from our last trip. More recent stuff to come:
Me: Are you thirsty?
Erin: No.
Me: You want a Sprite?
Erin: No, I'll wait
Me: Okay, I'm going to get one.
Erin: Ooooo, I'll have some.

-or-

Erin: Do you want anything?
Me: Yeah, some gummy bears.
Erin: Eww, I hate gummy bears.
Me: But they're from the Black Forest
Erin: Are they German?
Me: Sure
Erin: Eww
Me: Fine, you can't have any.
Erin: Fine
Me: Not even the red ones.
Erin: IT'S MY RIGHT!!!

Inaugural Post

Erin and I (mostly myself, Erin is under duress) will be posting our thoughts, musings, and photos as we begin an extensive journey into the Heart of Darkness. Just to get the ball rolling and to catch everyone up, Erin graduates from BC (Boston College) with her MSW (Master of Social Work) in 3 days. She is VE (Very Excited). She's also been ILL for the past week (ill, I just wanted to accentuate how sick she was), but is now on the mend. I was accepted into a PhD (Doctor of Philosophy) program at Purdue University for English Literature, so we'll be moving out to Lafayette, Indiana in mid-July.

Things happening right now that you'll be kept abreast of:

1. My brother's wedding
2. Our move
3. My new program and classes
4. Erin's new job
5. The progress of my fantasy baseball team
6. The political unrest in Iraq
7. Why kittens are cute

Anyway, more to come.

Note: The title of this blog, though subject to change, is taken from an episode of "The Office" in which Michael writes a thriller novel called Threat Level Midnight starring himself as "Michael Scarn" and Catherine Zeta Jones as the lovely secretary. Erin and I are still trying to decide who gets to play CZJ.