Finally, the ability to stare into a camera and shout, "HI MOM!" is within everyone's grasp. For too long, this honor was the sole right of the ball player in the dugout. If you click on the TV link ...
it's right over
you will see just how ugly and boring I really am.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Thank you, pitchers and catchers for having reported. I'm either on another Nats site or away at a game. Please leave a message and I'll get back with you in late October. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial ... well just hang up. Or you could speak with The Nationals Post Customer Service Department.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
later adding, "between 40 to 50 percent of
baseball players are on steroids ... in 2000
Bud Selig knew John Rocker was taking the juice."
Nothing about this morning's voting experience felt Federal. A light dusting of snow on the windshield whisped away with the first breeze from forward motion, as exhalations overpowered the hypothermic defroster in the cabin of the F150.
At the elementary school gym where neighborhood kids play four-square and crab race, four kindly older folks were sporting quilted winter coats as they settled in to the places where they would stay for the next thirteen hours. The women had hair that had been teased so much that it was pondering violent revenge.
It was 5:59 am, and they were all business. Upon entering the gym, one gave orders to stand on the painted basketball sideline as she rearranged papers on a folding table. The woman beside her was nervously prattling-on that she had missed the orientation and oh my gracious the reality of it all might be too much. The third woman announced that the polls were not yet open. She then asked the time. Someone said, "uhhh six o'clock". At this, she marched out the gym doors and into the gelid pre-dawn snow and declared to the emptiness, "THE POLLS ARE NOW OFFICIALLY OPEN." Clearly, she was the Alpha.
At the table, Miss Orientation took charge. "Will you be voting Democratic or Republican?"
In Virginia, one does not have to vote according to one's declared party."It doesn't seem terribly secret-ballot-like to have to tell you and then stand in one line or the other. What if the neighbors see? They love to talk."
Alpha was now standing beside the table, simultaneously looking unamused and laughing forcibly, like a professor who had just been called-out by a student on a historical inconsistency. She started to cite Virginia voting procedural law just as Missed Orientation chimed in with, "Don't get me started on that! I said to Nancy that I couldn't believe how they decided to do that ... "
Having barged-in too early and now confronting The System, they all knew that they were dealing with a rabble rouser; a gadfly; a ne'er do-well; what my fifth grade teacher used to call a "comodian who needed to be flushed".
Miss Orientation took my ID and found my name listed on the roster. She penned the number 1 in the right hand column. Number one customer.
"FIRST! w00t!" My exclamation was as pertinent as wingtips at a swimming pool. A change of topic was desperately needed. "Where is your coffee? How are you going to get through this without coffee?" Miss Orientation smiled politely and handed over a slip of paper that said "DEMOCRATIC". They might as well singe it on peoples' foreheads.
Next came a kindly gentleman who took the slip of paper and directed me to one of three booths. The electronic touchscreen had a list of names:
Dennis J. Kucinich
One poke of the finger: Barack Obama. A second poke of the finger on the lit-up, 3D, red button, "VOTE", and it was done. The kindly gentleman said, "They don't give us any stickers for primary elections, but thanks for coming," and he extended a handshake to a neighbor patriot.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Thursday, February 07, 2008
These are troubled times. All of us have been forced to make sacrifices and dig a little deeper to find the will to stick together during these dark days in America's history. We've had to do things that, in other times, would have been totally unacceptable, like watching DVDs of older television shows during prime time. But fear not; this terrible writer's strike won't last forever.
Last night we settled in to re-watch the first episode of season six of 24. You remember, don't you? Of course you do. Jack Bauer, a man shattered by two years in a Chinese prison, is brought back to the US to be sacrificed in a negotiation with terrorists with whom we do not negotiate.
While they're torturing him, he manages to kick his guard in the prunes. Then he lurches forward and bites the guy - right in the trachea. After much ripping and tearing, face fervent and covered in O.P.C. (other people's corpuscles), he spits the guy's adams apple across the blue-filtered room.
It was at this late moment that the thought came that perhaps this was not the appropriate content for an 11 year old to be watching. I did what any excellent parent would do. I glanced in my daughter's direction. Sensing my gaze, she spoke without averting her eyes from the screen.
"He's Jackula." Thank the stars for desensitization.