Robots Took My Medicine

It Gets Better

2011-09-26T12:39:00.000-07:00

Sure, the title of this post could also be a message we send back in time to Dodger fans in the first half of this year: "No, we won't make the playoffs, and McCourt still won't sell the team, but trust us, it gets better. We'll win some games! Matt Kemp will be vying for the Triple Crown!"

But the title is there for an even better reason. The Dodgers have stepped up to the plate (baseball metaphor!) and created a video for the "It Gets Better" project.

I normally can't watch these videos without tearing up just a little, and this one is no exception. Way to go, Dodgers.

God Particle

2011-02-04T09:53:00.000-08:00

Sure, I don't post over here anymore. But Watching Oprah is a hotbed of activity, so you might feel like wandering over there one day.

Baseball is starting relatively soon? Yeah, I know. Maybe I'll write about it one day. I've got a job now, people. Give me a break.

In the meantime, I give you a clip from my new favorite website, xkcd (click to enlarge):

Awesome, no? I've spent way too much time going through the strips (800+), and I'm still not even halfway through. And I only understand about 75% of them, but I don't care. I've been looking stuff up, and actually learning from a comic strip. Crazy, huh?

For instance, thanks to this site, I now (sort of) know what the Higgs Boson is.

Seriously, though, go read Watching Oprah if you miss me. And if you don't, well, why did you stop by to see if this page had been updated?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Another Year Older

2010-12-13T18:17:00.000-08:00

Last night, I suddenly had a desire to hear "A Long December," by Counting Crows. We were driving, but Katie happened to have it on her iPhone, and she played it.

I don't know what made me want to hear the song. I could remember parts of the chorus, but definitely not all of the words. Now two specific parts of the lyrics just keep rattling around in my brain. It's not like a song that's annoyingly stuck in my head; they're words that I think I was supposed to hear, even though I didn't know it when I requested the song.

It's like how Katie and I listened to "Jagged Little Pill" (the album, not just the song) recently, and realized that we are finally old enough to at least partially understand the angst and anger that went in to those songs. When we were teenagers, we only thought we got it. But now we've lived some (albeit only 30 years), and we've been hurt and hurt others, so some of that anger Alanis exhibited in those songs is a little more credible for us these days.

The lyrics from "A Long December" that I keep coming back to wouldn't have meant a damn thing to me years ago when the song first came out, or even earlier this year. But events in the last six or eight months have made it so that I hear the song a little bit differently than I once did. These lines have been playing in my head in a different order than they appear in the song, but I guess there's a reason for that.

It's December 13. I spent most of my day doing a little work and then researching different ways I might be able to better my life through education. Not too long ago, I'm sure I would have had different plans for this day. But things change. And the person who needs to hear these words that I can't get out of my head probably won't even read them. No matter. I'll just put the vibe out there anyway.

I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,

Makes you talk a little lower

About the things you could not show her.

And it's one more day up in the canyons.

And it's one more night in Hollywood.

If you think that I could be forgiven,

I wish you would.

Getting By

2010-11-01T16:05:00.000-07:00

Today is not my favorite anniversary. On this day one year ago, I lost a member of my family. And today, in order to honor Lindsay Weiss, her parents suggested we make this a day to remember Lindsay. Family and friends from all across the country (and even the world) are spending today doing things that honor Lindsay in some way. Right now, her parents are probably sitting in their backyard, welcoming local friends and family who flocked there to remember Lindsay. Earlier, Jon, her father, did a workout at a place where Lindsay used to run cross country. Her brother Matt swam, to celebrate how Lindsay used to love triathlons. And her mother Alicia created, making a diorama and some soup.

Lindsay loved projects. One of her last was to make a nursery for my nephew, Wilson. "Make" isn't even the proper word there. This was a project the way building the Hoover Dam was a project. Lindsay created an amazing room, complete with everything a baby would need, including books and furniture and toys and enough clothing to get him through his third birthday. And though Lindsay passed away three months before Wilson's birth, I'd like to think he at least feels her presence in that room every time he's in there. He'll never meet her, but she will always be a part of his life.

On November 2, 2009, I got the news that Lindsay had left us the night before. I spent that day crying more than I ever have in my life. And I haven't gotten through today (or this post) without my fair share of tears. But I am trying to make this day about celebrating the life Lindsay had, instead of the one she'll never know.

My contribution to this day of celebrating Lindsay is minimal. I couldn't come up with any plan. I don't think I'm quite the lover of projects that Lindsay was, though I do believe that she would think Watching Oprah is a pretty funny--and demanding--project. So maybe I would get her approval on that one. I guess all I have to offer are words. They're not much, but they'll have to do for now. When Wilson gets old enough to understand, I'll tell him about his Aunt Lindsay. And though Merritt never had any connection to Lindsay (other than me), I'll tell him about her, too.

She was taken from us far too soon; she should be reading those books in Wilson's room to him, and she should be meeting Merritt and deciding what cute outfit she wants to buy or make for him next. But since she can't do those things, I'll have to do my best. It won't be easy. She was tiny--I had at least six inches on that girl--but I still don't know if I'm a big enough person to fill the shoes she left behind.

Suck It, Yankees

2010-10-22T20:39:00.001-07:00

You know what baseball does to me, even in a season in which my two teams sucked it up and didn't reach the playoffs?

I'm sitting here choking back tears. Over the damn Rangers, for god's sake. The Rangers. As in the team previously owned--and still supported--by George W. Bush. The team that features Josh Hamilton, whose comeback story is sort of marred by the whole "born-again" aspect, not to mention the fact that it's hard to believe he would have gotten a second chance if he were a black or Hispanic player.

But they were underdogs. And they beat the Yankees. I certainly thought they were done in game one, after they blew a five-run lead in the eighth inning. But they did it. And thank god, because I seriously would not have been able to handle another season in which the Yankees ended up in the World Series. And can you imagine how the media would wet themselves over a Giants/Yankees matchup? That would have been devastating.

In the National League, it's been hard for me to know who to root for, since the Giants are the Dodgers' natural rival, but the Phillies have been the ones to end the Dodgers' playoff run twice in the last three seasons. If it had been the Yankees versus either one of those teams, I doubt I would have watched a second of the World Series. But now that the Rangers are in it, the baseball season will continue for me for just a little bit longer.

Crap. Except Josh Hamilton just started his ALCS MVP acceptance speech by saying, "First of all, all the glory goes to god and Jesus Christ." And the crowd went wild.

Yep. Jesus loves baseball, dudes. I hear he was the MVP in the inaugural All-Star game between the Jews and the Romans, way back in 33 A.D.

Which means Josh Hamilton had better be careful, because you know how well Pontius Pilate took it when his team lost that game.

UPDATE: Something was messed up on this one when it was first posted, so some readers might not have seen the above picture. I swear it was part of the original post, though.

Dear Merritt,

2010-10-13T18:25:00.000-07:00

I'm taking a page from your momma's book. She's been writing these letters to you, and they're always so heartfelt and funny and amazing, and one day you're going to learn how to read and you'll realize how much she's loved you from the very beginning.

Of course, you can only learn how to read if we can figure out how to keep you interested in the book learnin' for longer than ten seconds at a time. You don't exactly love having stories read to you, so mostly what happens is that your momma and I read the stories aloud to one another, while you expend your energy destroying the room. We all have our gifts, Merritt. Destruction is clearly yours. Teaching is clearly not mine, but I have faith that someday you'll progress past the point of just yelling because you like the sound of your voice. We're looking for words, dude. Yes, I know you have "Momma" down, but we're gonna need a little bit more one of these days.

This is not the letter in which I will tell you exactly how it is that I came to be in your life, but we can give the short story. I "met" you when you were about six months old, though I only saw you on a computer screen for a while there. Just before you hit the nine-month mark, I saw you in person for the first time. You were adorable. And considerably less mobile than you are now. I should really have counted my blessings. But you sleep through the night now, which you certainly didn't then, so you take what you can get. And I'd much rather chase you around the house during waking hours than deal with you screaming every hour during the night. So, thanks for choosing mobility.

I'll need you to remind me that I said that when you figure out how to put more than a step or two together at a time, and you're into even more than you are now. I keep getting proud every time you take one of your little steps, and then I remember what a walking baby will mean for this house.

The good news is, I'll always be a part of your life. You won't remember a time when I wasn't there, so you will never need to adjust to me. You've already done your adjusting. I can tell because you can't wait to see me in the morning, just so you can lean one of your cheeks against mine, or even go for the full head-on-the-shoulder hug, which you seem to have mastered just this week.

You need to know that I never wanted a boy. I thought if I ever decided to have a child, I would do whatever possible to ensure that I would birth a girl. I just didn't know what I would do with a boy. I still don't, I guess, but you're not as scary as I had always assumed you would be. I'm still certain that I'm not going to love it when you officially discover what's between your legs, but I've got your momma by my side, so I think I'll be okay.

I don't know yet what you'll call me. Your momma refers to me as "Mom" when she talks to you, and sometimes it really seems like you take the second syllable off of her name when you're looking at me. You'll go with whatever is comfortable once you get old enough to decide, so we'll just have to wait and see.

Your momma asked me once if I would love you like you were my own. I don't have one of my own, so I can't answer that question officially. But there are those nights when you're sick and crying, and my heart is breaking for you; or those days when you smile and thrash your hands about just because I walk into a room, and then you do your patented alligator crawl to get to me; or those moments where I see you give your momma a slobbery kiss on her cheek, and I know what my family looks like.

In those moments, I'm certain that I know what it's like to be a mom. I've already thanked your momma for making me one, but the real credit goes to you, buddy. Falling in love with your momma and moving in with the two of you didn't make me a mom. You did that all on your own, since you somehow knew immediately that I will do anything for you, and that I'm so excited to be your mom. I only hope I can live up to the task.

I might need you to cut me a little slack.

Happy birthday, munchkin.

Love,

TBD

P.S. If I decide to write you another letter in the future, I promise it will be better than this. This was only my first try.

This New Life

2010-09-27T14:24:00.000-07:00

It wasn't supposed to be this hard.

Sure, I knew leaving my life in Los Angeles, then moving to Portland without any hint of a job, or even a place to live, was a risk. And I knew it would probably present its challenges. But this is getting ridiculous.

Last week, I applied to be a part-time custodian, because the job was located within walking distance of my apartment. But I guess I don't know enough about sawdust to fill that position, so mark another one off the list. And I have responded to dozens of different "office assistant needed" ads, all to no avail. Typing ~100 wpm is of no value to anyone? Really?

The real problem is likely my résumé. I suppose when one receives a million different responses to one open position, there's a weeding process that must occur right away. And I would imagine that if one is looking to fill a management position at, say, Target, one doesn't look at a résumé, see a job history of "Costume Production Assistant on The Last Samurai" and immediately assume the applicant is Target material.

So I write cover letters. Lots and lots of cover letters. Heartfelt, poignant, desperate (but not too desperate) cover letters. I explain myself and my situation. I list myriad reasons I'd be perfectly suited for the position.

And still nothing. I was not joking when I said that the only response I'd gotten so far was for a position at Home Depot, for part-time work at $8.80/hour. That was about a month ago. I suppose I should have taken it, huh? At least it would have been something.

This is a far cry from hanging out for six weeks in Venice. My life is so incredibly different than it was this time last year, or even six months ago. I have never been this stressed for this long. It is absolute torture.

But don't be confused -- I know I made the right decision. I didn't do everything the way I should have, and that part I regret. But despite all the crap that's raining down on me at the moment, I know this is where I'm supposed to be. I just need to get an employer to agree with me on that one, and start paying me to be here.

*********************

And just to add to the stress and make this all the more fun, the boy decided to get sick last week. Really sick. Like, Friday afternoon I took his temperature and the thermometer read 106. Katie and I haven't slept through the night since in almost a week. At urgent care last Thursday, the doctor said it was just some sort of virus, and the good news was that Merritt's ears looked fine. No antibiotics necessary. Just a regimen of Tylenol to keep the fever down. He said 100 mg every four hours, and I wrote it down; he also wrote it down on a card for us to take with us.

Later, after purchasing the Tylenol, I was a little confused, since a liquid medication is not measured in milligrams (now I know that there are 80 mg for ever ml of children's Tylenol). So I pulled out the card to see if the doctor had written down the same thing I had.

Katie looked over and said, "Oh, no. You were wrong. The dosage is '100 years every Thursday.'"

*********************

I miss my dog. It is a painful, awful feeling, because it's like she's dead, but I know she's not. I just don't get to see her ever again. So at some point I'm bound to forget what her belly feels like, or how it sounded when she really got going on the wood floor. But for now, even almost three months after I last saw her, I still expect to hear her following me every time I stand up to walk from one room to the other. When there is a loud noise, I brace myself for her bark. But it's not coming. She's well taken care of, but I'm just not the one doing it. And it sucks. This is not a face one gets over easily:

Oh well. I guess the depressed and the unemployed make up a large part of Oprah's audience, right? So it works out perfectly.

Four Days in October

2010-09-20T15:17:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to lie -- I teared up.

Good/Bad

2010-09-17T12:28:00.000-07:00

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
UPDATE: It's official.
From the Dodger press release that just came to my inbox:

The Los Angeles Dodgers announced today that former American League MVP Don Mattingly has been named the Dodger manager for the 2011 season and that Joe Torre has stepped aside from the position. Mattingly becomes the ninth manager in Los Angeles Dodger history and 27^th in franchise history while Torre is expected to take time to determine his plans for 2011.

Mattingly probably had his soundbite ready for when he got the job in New York, but someone was kind enough to replace "New York Yankees" with "Los Angeles Dodgers."

“The opportunity to manage the Los Angeles Dodgers is truly an honor,” said Mattingly. “There are few organizations in the world with the history, tradition and track record of success as the Dodgers. I’m looking forward to continuing what I came here to accomplish with Joe and that’s to win a World Championship.”

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

Now I can go back to hating Joe Torre, since he was the man at the helm of that late-90s Yankees dynasty.

Don Mattingly to Replace Joe Torre

Of course, this just means another former Yankee in charge of the Dodgers, so I can't win for losing.

It just gets harder and harder to be a Dodger fan.

If you think I've broken my word about posting every day, you're wrong. You're just in the wrong place. Watching Oprah is up and running, and Jon Weisman of Dodger Thoughts was even kind enough to give me a plug on his Variety television blog.

And I promise -- if you think you could not be less interested in Oprah, my new site is exactly where you want to be. I'm not pulling any punches over there, and I think you all might enjoy it.

If not, tell your wives.

Some Lifting Required

2010-09-14T19:07:00.000-07:00

There are times -- rarely, but it happens -- when job hunting can be pretty damn entertaining. Mostly it's just depressing, like when you see the same Netflix call center job posted day after day, even though you've applied to it (twice!), but are apparently not good enough to answer phones and tell people that the movie they're looking for is C.H.U.D. II: Bud the C.H.U.D., which was directed by the guy who was Chairman of the NYU film department when I attended.

What you should take away from that above paragraph is that I went to the best frickin' film school in the country, and I can't get a job at a Netflix call center.

Oh, and don't get your hopes up. C.H.U.D. II is not available on Netflix.

Back to the point. The job search is not always devastating to one's self-esteem. Sometimes it's just funny. Like when you find the listing for "Crematory Operator."

Training wage starts at $15/hour! No experience required!

But that's not the best part. No, the best part is what you'll find listed under the "Physical Demands" portion of the listing:

This job will require active movement around the facility including the operation of electric lifts and handling deceased individuals. Some lifting required.

Emphasis mine. Because, really? At a crematory, where dead bodies are returned to ashes and dust (from whence they came, biblically speaking), you're telling me that the zombies (because, come on, if you're working at a crematory, all you're thinking about all day is the god damned dead returning to life to murder you and yours) don't just hop into the incinerator under their own power?

Okay, wait. I just went back and looked at the listing, and I found something even worse (or better), under the "Duties" heading:

"Light cleaning and facility maintenance."

Sure, I suppose the cremated remains of loved ones aren't all that heavy, so I guess that cleaning would be "light." But the day the crematory breaks down in the midst of its one and only job is the day I quit. And never look back.

Um, yeah. So I've submitted my application.

Wish me luck!

New Directions

2010-09-13T19:00:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I forgot to post so soon into my "I'm going to post every day" promise. I'm sure you expected it; I had just hoped to defy those expectations.

I might be able to make up for it, though. Because I've had an idea.

You ever watched Oprah? I have, but never regularly. I think it's impossible to be of a certain generation in this country and be able to claim you've avoided the woman altogether. But I think for most women under the age of 40, Oprah is more useful as the butt of jokes than as an entertaining, enjoyable talk show host.

When Katie (more about her another time) turned the channel to Oprah the other day to see what was happening (the answer: a repeat with some dude -- Nate, maybe -- who decorates houses or something for Oprah), I made a joke that I would watch every episode of the final season of the show. Oh, you haven't heard? Yeah, Oprah is returing after this season, never to be heard from again.

Except she's starting her own network. Literally. It's called OWN, as in Oprah Winfrey Network. Or, as in, "one day I will OWN the world."

So today I was flipping channels while hanging out with the boy, and I happened to notice that the premiere of the final season airs today. I quickly set a season pass on the DVR, and then I started thinking. Maybe I actually can watch every episode of this final season. Maybe it's important that I witness every moment of this pop culture phenomenon before she rides off into the sunset.

And then I wondered why the hell I would do that to myself, unless I also chose to write about it. Instantly, the blog title "Watching Oprah" popped into my head. After that, I remembered I had heard something about a woman who dedicated a year of her life to ~~worshipping Oprah~~ living the Oprah Winfrey way. She blogged about it, too, at Living Oprah. That's cool and all, but I'm not interested in following Oprah's advice. I'm mostly just intrigued: Can one human as sarcastic and skeptical as I am actually get through an entire season of this self-righteous billionaire's advice and condescension?

Which is not to say I'm going into this with any bias.

I'm annoyed that I may be perceived as stealing this Living Oprah woman's idea. After all, she got a book deal, so maybe I'm just looking for that level of fame, right? Well, I'm not. I'm just looking for something mildly entertain to write five times a week. I know this may be regarded as a dumb idea. I'm willing to accept that. I also know that most of my readers are men, so it's possible you won't all feel like following me, thinking you'll be getting Erin's version of The Vagina Monologues or something. All I can do is ask you to trust me about that, and give me a chance.

The gist of all this is that I'm treating it as a writing exercise. At some point, Oprah is bound to do something not completely annoying, and I won't be afraid to admit it. But I also won't be afraid to take on the media giant and her terrible, awful, no-good interviewing skills.

Listen up, Oprah. I have maybe nine readers, and we are a formidable lot.

Watching Oprah (the layout is a work in progress, so please don't hold that against me)

Go Rangers??

2010-09-11T19:18:00.000-07:00

Mathematically speaking, the Dodgers and Red Sox are not yet out of the race. But let's be realistic. They're both done. The Red Sox have just been decimated by injuries all year, and it's hard to climb out of that hole. And the Dodgers have just sucked. So now I'll have to spend October doing nothing but rooting against the Yankees, or picking a temporary favorite team. I hate it when I spend the postseason doing that, but that's what happens when your teams blow it.

Is this what it feels like to be a Pittsburgh Pirates' fan? I guess the good news for me is that my teams at least waited until halfway (or more) through the season to show that they weren't going anywhere; in Pittsburgh, they have a pretty good idea by spring training. Or the season before.

I'm just trying to look on the bright side here.

In other news, Merritt and I had a day that I feel I should carefully document, lest I ever forget. But this isn't turning into a "mommy and me" blog. Don't worry.

This afternoon, there was a nap (for him), some bathroom cleaning (for me), and some dancing and hugging (for both of us). Seriously, the hugs were ridiculous. He snuggled up and even made the happy "mmm-mm" sound while he hugged me. And his dancing resembled head-banging more than anything else, but I got the point.

The kid and I fell even more in love in the last few hours. I didn't think it was possible, but it happened. I spent time just staring at him while he was happy and smiling, and I tried to memorize his face as best I could. It seemed like the right thing to do in those moments. I hear they grow up fast.

He likes to play in the bathroom cabinet. This morning we watched as he dumped all the makeup out on to the floor. Then he picked up the eyelash curler and stared at in his hand for a few seconds. And then he just threw it down on the floor, like he had about as much use for it as I do. Maybe it doesn't sound all that funny, but we couldn't breathe, we were laughing so hard.

My one concern is that his favorite toy seems to be tampons. Unused ones, of course. It's not that I'm worried that somehow this means the kid will turn out gay; I just think it's a little early for him to be starting his period.

Meet Merritt

2010-09-10T19:00:00.000-07:00

There's a new man in my life. It's a long story, but the gist of it is that I'm now helping to raise a child. And while I've always wanted children, I certainly never wanted a boy. But now I've got one, and he is eleven months old, and he is a handful. Only in the best sense. Most of the time.

Now I figure, if I've got a boy, I might as well make the most of it. So we're working on some things. Eleven months old is a good time to start teaching him the fundamentals, right?

Give me 21 years (he's going to college; no drafting straight out of high school for this kid), and we'll see what happens.

First step: Work on getting him to pick this thing up with his other hand. I'm looking for a lefty with a 95-mph fastball and a devastating curve. Cha-ching!

It Hasn't Rotted My Brain (Yet)

2010-09-09T17:20:00.000-07:00

When I was about seven years old, I was watching an episode of I Love Lucy when my dad told me I had to turn off the television because we were going to dinner, or I had to go to bed, or whatever. I happily agreed and told him, "That's okay. I'll just watch the rest later." After a few questions, my dad had to sit me down and explain to me that the television keeps going even after we turn it off, so Lucy would not, in fact, be there waiting for me when I turned the thing on again. I was, needless to say, both devastated and confused.

Today, I'm just pissed. My tiny seven-year old brain invented TiVo, damn it!

My love affair with television goes way, way back. My granddad likes to tell me that I was the only one of his grandkids who, as a baby, would just sit with him in his chair and watch television. Of course, this is the same man who tells me my parents found me under a rock and felt enough pity to take me home with them, so maybe I should take his stories with a grain of salt.

1980. Possible proof that the old man hasn't been lying to me all my life.

2003. I clearly no longer fit with him in his chair, but there is a couch just outside the frame of the picture, and I've been known to watch some television from there.

The man has nineteen grandkids, and he could only find one willing to sit and enjoy some fine programming with him. I was just born to love television, apparently.

Three years ago, I gave you my all-time top ten list (be advised that several of the links in that post are broken; one of the perils of including YouTube clips), and though I don't love the writing style of that piece, I think I pretty much stand by those shows today. The only thing that sort of feels like an odd man out is The Amazing Race, but it's such a quality show that I don't think I can remove it from the list. I will say that as much as I loved the first four seasons of The West Wing, it wouldn't take much to convince me to replace it with something else. But at the moment I can't think of a replacement, so it will stay.

The fall 2010 television season is upon us, which I know because Entertainment Weekly's fall preview issue comes out tomorrow. This issue used to be my bible. I first subscribed to EW in 1997, but let my subscription lapse last year. Sorry to be yet another consumer accepting the death of the print media, but I mostly just got annoyed with the changes the magazine went through over the years. But I digress. I will most likely be buying this single issue because it really is the best resource for planning one's television schedule. I used to build spreadsheets based on the information provided by this issue. I was intense about my television. In college and for several years after, I had two VCRs dedicated to my primetime programming. When I got DVRs, I had two televisions working, each with two separate signals. And sometimes that still wasn't enough.

That said, you wouldn't be wrong if you guessed that I'm less excited about the new season than I have been in years past. Maybe I'm growing up (though I've always resented the implication that one has to be immature and/or ignorant to enjoy good television), or maybe I've just got other things on my mind (not having a job, suddenly having a baby to support, getting used to a new city, etc.). Or maybe it's just a matter of there not being all that much out there that seems interesting to me, especially when it comes to the new shows. I say this most years, and then I get the EW issue, and I read more about some new show, and I realize that I'm dying to watch it and I can't live without it. And then, of course, that show inevitably gets canceled.

So I guess what I'm saying is, television creates a perpetual cycle of heartbreak. But I'm a Red Sox fan. We know how to handle it.

I'm not even going to bother with a spreadsheet this year. It doesn't seem necessary, so I'll just use a standard list. And I'll share it with you now, as long as you understand that it is absolutely subject to change at any moment. I'm a woman; it's my prerogative.

Sunday-

The Amazing Race. The one show that never lets me down, except for that time it did. Family edition, anyone? (Premieres September 26)

Dexter. Seriously, what the hell is going to happen in season five? I ask, but I haven't even watched a single promo for it yet, so don't mention anything in the comments section; I want to be genuinely surprised. (Premieres September 26)

Monday-

Chuck. That's it. Mondays are sort of useless. (Premieres September 20)

Tuesday-

Glee. Please, please, do not have a sophomore slump. (Premieres September 21)

The Biggest Loser. My super, extreme guilty pleasure. I hate the two-hour format, since it talks down to the audience and also means that half the show ends up being a commercial for Extra gum or Jennie-O turkey or Ziploc, or whatever the hell else they can shove in there. (Premieres September 21)

Wednesday-

Modern Family. Ditto on my Glee plea. (Premieres September 22)

Cougar Town. I gave this show a chance halfway through the season, and I laughed a lot, so I'm sticking with it. (Premieres September 22)

Undercovers. It's a new show from J.J. Abrams, which means I'm contractually obligated -- through my fanhood -- to at least give it a shot. (Premieres September 22)

Thursday-

Community (Premieres September 23)

30 Rock (Premieres September 23)

The Office (Premieres September 23)

Outsourced. On the fence about this one, since it's pushed my beloved Parks and Rec to mid-season replacement land, but I'll try it. (Premieres September 23)

(There's a chance I will at least attempt to watch Grey's Anatomy, but that show has been driving me crazy for at least three seasons, so I'm not really rushing to program the season pass on my DVR)

Friday-

Ha. Nothing good comes on television on Friday nights.

Saturday-

Cops. Just kidding. Who watches that show?

Wow. That's it? Twelve shows? Ten hours of television a week? I am seriously slacking.

Obviously I'm going to have some time on my hands, so I'm considering writing recaps of a few shows. Would anyone actually be interested in reading those? I can promise hilarity.

I Want to Dance!

2010-09-08T19:00:00.000-07:00

During my senior year of high school, I was supposed to read Jude the Obscure in AP English, and then, with my group, teach the book to the rest of the class. Two days before this lesson, I realized I hadn't read the book yet, and didn't even know the plot. Oh, and I had to write a 1500-word paper to boot. So I found my friend CliffsNotes, did a little skimming, wrote the paper, and then taught the shit out of that book.

I will tell you right now that I have no idea what Jude the Obscure is about. Not a clue. And that's not just the fog of time; I literally had no idea what I was talking about even while I was telling my fellow APers how to write about the book should it show up on the big test. Sorry, Mrs. Aycock. But thanks for giving me an "A" on that paper.

I could once bullshit my way through anything. In high school and (to some extent) college, I did it with my writing. I could throw together a paper in a heartbeat, or write an admissions essay without thinking twice, or write an email that got me in or out of trouble with a friend (depending on what I preferred at the time), or maybe even got me out of an assignment or a class.

It seems there's a chance I have, somewhere along the way, lost this gift. Because no matter how many amazingly clever or poignant cover letters I write, I can't find a job. Beyond that, I can't even get someone to acknowledge I exist. I have applied to positions for which I am perfectly qualified, and I have applied to positions that a one-armed monkey could accomplish with his eyes closed. I have poured my heart out about starting my life over, and I have made jokes about attaching résumés written in invisible ink. I have filled out cookie cutter applications for Starbucks, Apple, Target, Barnes and Noble, Netflix, and countless others. I have applied to small companies in this area. I have applied to bigger corporations based in this area.

And still nothing.

I need to work. That much is obvious. And the longer I go without work, the more desperate my situation becomes. But I've proven that I can't just walk in anywhere and get work. The work is not there.

And, maybe not more importantly for my pocketbook, but certainly for my soul, the work I actually want to do is nowhere to be found. Because what I want to do is write. You read my blog; you know I'm a capable writer. Or maybe you just come here to laugh and point at the dumb girl who thinks she could maybe be somebody. But I think I'm a decent writer. And I think I could get paid to do this.

For at least half my life now, I have been convinced that I am supposed to be someone big. Someone important or influential. When I got my position at The Ellen DeGeneres Show, I was certain that was how I was going to become the person I thought I was supposed to be. But then I got fired for reasons still unknown, and I've spent five years wondering exactly how I'm supposed to ever get back to that level again.

What I should have been doing is spending that time writing as much as I could. Granted, I started a blog in 2006, and really got it going in 2007. So I've done some writing. But this is post #633 in almost exactly four years. That's 158 posts a year, which doesn't sound too terrible, except when you take into account that for several months there I was writing at least two posts a day in my effort to cover two MLB teams. Here we are in September 2010, and I've written 37 posts for the year. So you see what I mean.

I don't know what I intended when I started this post, but I think I've just found my point. And that is that I need to write. A lot of words, with a lot of frequency. In an attempt to not go entirely insane, I have to write. I have to do what I know, and I have to believe that it will get me somewhere one day.

I won't publish every little thing I write, but I will share a lot of it with you. In fact, I'll just go ahead and make a promise right now -- you will get at least one post a day for the rest of this month. I'm starting small, so 22 more posts seems like a pretty good beginning.

Tell your friends! I'd like to try to get over that coveted hump of fifteen hits per day. And if any of your friends happen to be publishers, please note the contact info in the sidebar on the right side of the page.

Manny, the McCourts and Me

2010-08-30T12:34:00.000-07:00

I suppose that since this site once masqueraded as a Dodgers blog, you're all expecting me to say something about Manny going to the White Sox.

The thing is, I just don't care. The Dodgers have played terribly this year, led by an overrated manager who wouldn't know how to manage a bullpen even if he were handed a script written by MSTI and Sons of Steve Garvey (maybe I'd throw in an opinion or two as well, since it is my idea), and the ownership (whoever that might be) is making it virtually impossible to feel anything but outrage (mixed in with a lot of apathy -- trust me, it's possible) when it comes to being a Dodger fan.

Mr. and Mrs. McCourt, I do not care about how many gobs of money you have, and how much each of you wants to make sure that the other has just maybe one fewer gob than the other. You're disgusting. I'm spending every hour of my days looking for a job, and despite applying for virtually everything for which I am even remotely qualified, so far my one and only response has come from Home Depot, where I was offered a part-time position (ten hours a week) as a cashier for -- wait for it -- $8.80 per hour. And Jamie, your lawyers asked for $1,000,000 per month in support so you can continue to live in the lifestyle to which you have grown accustomed.

Fuck you.

I'm not living in Los Angeles anymore, but if I were, I don't think I'd pay money to go see the Dodgers play this season. Or maybe even next. I'm not trying to become the leader of some sort of uprising, but I just don't understand the point of giving money to an organization that has proven more than once over the past few years that it just does not give a crap about the fans. Maybe it's time for the franchise to be reminded that the fans are the ones paying the bills around there, and that perhaps we think it's a little silly to give up the best player we've had in years, and get absolutely nothing in return except the privilege of not having to pay his salary anymore. I know things work differently in baseball, but in the real world when an employee stops working for a company, that company stops paying the employee a salary. So forgive me if this waiver deal with the White Sox seems like less of a "deal" and more of a "normal thing that happens every day when people quit, resign, or are fired from their jobs."

I liked cheering for Manny as a Dodger, but given how I feel about the team in general right now, I can't blame the guy for getting the hell out of town.

I can, however, blame the McCourts and Colletti and anyone else in charge, since they've decided to do nothing but run my team into the ground, and make a mockery of a storied franchise in the process.

Hey, what do you know? Turns out I do care a little bit. In order to help you understand, I've created a pie chart to indicate what's on my mind these days. I hope it helps.

And if you want to learn more about Dodger bloggers' opinions on Manny's exit (click around the sites to find opinions on the McCourts' divorce as well), here's your reading list:

Au Revoir, Manuel Aristedes Onelcida

Saying Goodbye to Mannywood

Waking Up from Manny

Thanks for the Memories Manny!

Explore the Meaning of Life

2010-08-28T19:24:00.000-07:00

Driving in Beaverton today, on my way to Dairy Queen (for my last Blizzard before I once again give up sugar for a while, which I originally did for Lent), I passed a billboard for something called "The Alpha Course." There was a picture of some mountain man kind of dude (the website tells me it was Bear Grylls), and this question: If God did exist, what you would ask?

I presume God has a pretty good view from wherever he is, so I think I'd just point down at Pakistani flood victims. And Prop 8 protestors. And the hole in the ozone layer. And the melting glaciers. And American soldiers in Afghanistan. And Glenn Beck.

Not a comprehensive list, but you get the picture. And if there is a God and he speaks English and lets me ask him a question, I won't hesitate. Because one Miss Sarah Silverman has given me the perfect line should I ever find myself meeting up with the Lord himself. Sure, she's talking about the craziness of Jewish people buying German cars, but the point remains the same.

God, what the cock is that shit?

Sarah Silverman - "Jewish People Driving German Cars"

...crystal... | MySpace Video

Come On. He's Not Stephen Hawking.

2010-08-23T16:55:00.000-07:00

Editors at ESPN.com need to maybe consider reading headlines out loud to themselves before going ahead and publishing this kind of stuff.

I had to take a screen shot, since I'm pretty sure someone is bound to notice the weirdness and end up changing it.

Thank [Insert Your Higher Power Here]

2010-08-22T09:42:00.000-07:00

Vin Scully Will Be Back!

It's Getting Old

2010-08-19T13:35:00.000-07:00

Dear West Monroe, Louisiana:

If you provide me with your email address, I will gladly send you a notification when I have updated my blog. That way, you don't have to spend valuable minutes of your life visiting the site at least once a day. Trust me: I'm not that interesting.

To the rest of my readers: I will be back soon. Probably.

Yankees @ Dodgers

2010-06-26T15:50:00.000-07:00

Let's just get this part over with right off the top: The Dodgers lost last night. And it sucked. They were lifeless, despite a sold-out crowd making enough noise to make you feel like it was October instead of June. It started off promising enough, with a run off Sabathia in the first, but then the boys did basically nothing for the next eight innings. Punctuated by James Loney taking a ball, then staring at three Rivera strikes for the final out of the game. Thanks for taking the bat off your shoulder, Loney. That was fun.

Have I ever told you guys that I hate the Yankees? Because I really, really do. And until last night I had never seen them play. Now that I have, I can say that the hatred is stronger than ever. But it was one game. And the second game of the series is fewer than two hours away. So let's talk about how awesome it was for me to be back at Dodger Stadium for the first time since the greatest ninth inning I've ever seen live.

I would pepper this post with pictures (alliteration!), but I just decided to upload the photos to Flickr instead. So read the post, then look at the pictures. Or reverse that. I don't care. But it's probably not a bad idea to get the visuals that go along with the text. I'll embed the slideshow at the end of the post.

Walking up to the stadium from our free parking space on the street (we are geniuses who will thwart your efforts to take our $15, McCourt), we passed far too many Yankee fans. It was two hours before game time, but things were already starting to feel rowdy. I could tell that I had the potential to get angry, thanks to my (possibly) irrational hatred of all things related to the Yankees. Christine was ready for the anger, and already pumped up for the crowd energy. That led to this memorable quote: "It's going to be crazy tonight. There are going to be so many fights. I'd love to see some Yankee fans get knifed."

You don't know her, but I'll tell you right now she's as docile as a brainwashed Mormon sister-wife. So her longing for violence was surprising. For the record, we did not see anyone get knifed. (Christine's response when I read this part out loud to her: "Sadly.")

As we walked through the gates, a UPS truck passed us, heading out of the stadium. I made Christine groan when I said, "I hope that UPS guy just delivered us a win." He obviously didn't, so I'm sticking with FedEx from now on.

We got up to the stadium and decided to head to the centerfield area, where fans can catch BP balls. I wasn't all that interested in hanging out there, but it was nice to get that particular view of the field again. And Christine got the opportunity to display her dislike for one particular Yankee (see the Flickr slideshow for details).

Walking around the outside of the stadium meant that I got to hear the pre-recorded Vin Scully welcome that they play. When I heard his voice, I literally gasped out loud. Vin Scully is love defined. I worship that man. And every single person who listens to him call a baseball game should feel exactly the same way. If you don't, then I don't want anything to do with you. This season the Dodgers are showing a nice little video package before the game. I managed to get my camera out to record the second half of it for you. You're welcome.

We got our tickets on ebay, and we had to pick them up from the seller in the parking lot. Christine went by herself, and came back saying the dude was decked out in full Yankees gear, drinking beers in the parking lot. I told her she should have taken her tickets, then found security and ratted the guy out. But then you all know how I feel about Dodger security.

Do you even know how much I missed Dodger Stadium? How could you? I didn't even know until I got there last night, after being away for 260 days. But it is really the only non-human thing in Los Angeles that keeps me from entirely hating this god forsaken place. And I love it. Someone recently told me about a BBC documentary called Married to the Eiffel Tower (ooh, and here's a clip!), about women who have strong fetishes for inanimate objects. Of course my first response to this idea was revulsion. But then I got to Chavez Ravine, and I immediately understood those crazy ladies. I expressed to Christine that I didn't really understand how the women have a physical relationship with these objects, and Christine suggested that I hump the foul pole. I didn't. But I thought about it.

Incidentally, the woman in the beginning of that documentary clip made me instantly need to find this Liz Lemon moment. I should make that my ringtone.

But I digress. I've written a million words and I haven't even gotten to the actual game yet. And I'm still not there. Other than the Scully video, there are a lot of other mini documentaries that play on Dodger Vision before the game. Some of them, like the ones about the Yankees/Dodgers rivalry, are probably only up there for this series. But there are a couple about the Giants/Dodgers rivalry, too. I have no idea if those are played before every game this season, but they certainly do help to get the blood boiling and make one feel a little protective of the Dodgers. I believe the intent of the front office is to get the exact reaction they got from me, which was essentially: Fuck the Giants. Fuck the Yankees. Bleed blue. Go Dodgers.

Or something like that.

It's going to get choppy from here on out, so just think of this like reading my notes from the game. I'm not bothering with trying to make it flow. What am I, a real writer?

Flea and another guy--not named Anthony Kiedis--from Red Hot Chili Peppers played the national anthem. And it was rousing. I am by no means an especially patriotic person, particularly (more alliteration!) in recent years, but play me the national anthem at a baseball game and I just might consider killing for my country.

Pau Gasol threw out the first pitch. I didn't watch. Maybe I haven't mentioned this enough here before, but I hate the Lakers. Almost as much as I hate the Yankees.

We're finally almost to game time, but first we have to deal with the last little video that happens before things really get started. It's a good one, and it gets the crowd hyped, but it is also set to Randy Newman's "I Love L.A." Sorry, but that song is meant to be played only after a Dodger win, both on the field, and then in my car over and over again on the way home from the game. Hearing it before the game is weird. Over at Sons of Steve Garvey, they told me this has been going on all season. I think it just confuses our boys and makes them think they've already won before the contest has even begun.

My first Dodger game was in 2006. Every season since then, I have seen the same old man selling pizza, walking (hobbling) up and down the aisles and giving a plaintive wail of "pizza!" I don't even know how to write it the way he says it, but it's heartbreaking. Every season, I am convinced I won't see him again because he will have passed away. But sure enough, he was there last night. He looked a little worse for the wear, but still alive. And now selling peanuts. I took a picture of him, which Christine proclaimed good because he had a "glow" behind him. I said, "Like he's going to be an angel soon?" Poor old guy.

Padilla pitched well, and his 52-mph curveballs were really a sight to behold. They got a moan from the crowd every time. I love to hear people reacting to a specific pitch like that.

When A-Rod hit his homer and a fan threw it back for Manny to pick up off the field, the woman sitting behind me summed up the situation perfectly: "Manny was ready for that shit. Don't fucking keep it." Yeah, that's right. Unless it's going to net you a bunch of money because it's some special ball, you throw back an opposing team's home run. You just do. Deal with it.

Other notes from the game: Mark Teixiera looks like a doofus, Jorge Posada has no chin, giving out rally towels at a non-playoff game is stupid, and playing baseball-themed America's Funniest Home Videos style bloopers in between innings is ridiculous. Only idiots like AFHV. Don't disrespect me like that, Dodgers.

Remember this guy? He's still doing his thing. Maybe I'm supposed to be annoyed, but I'm not. He's funny. And good for him for having some staying power. The people still love him. But he does wear a t-shirt that appears to be anti-himself. It's a picture of him with a red line through it, and it reads "Stop Don't Stop Believin'," which is very odd.

Oh, and I do think the Yankees suck. But I really hate to chant about it. It sounds petty and childish, particularly when we're losing. Because if the team that's beating ours sucks, what does that say about us? Let's try to get creative, people. Please.

I don't know when my next game will be this season, so I sure wish the Dodgers had managed to show a little spark and get the win last night. But I'll live with it, because I still got to eat a Dodger Dog and some nachos, and boo Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez and Mariano Rivera, and scream my ass off for the Dodgers, and watch some baseball. Not a bad way to spend an evening.

Jack

2010-06-26T14:08:00.000-07:00

This has nothing to do with anything, but don't I have the cutest dog in the world? My goodness.

First Dodger Dog of the Season

2010-06-25T18:39:00.000-07:00

An attempt at posting from the game.

No joke, you guys. This dog was gone about 90 seconds after Christine snapped this picture of me taking the first bite. I think I'll be going back for another. And some nachos. And ice cream. I have eaten very little over the last two weeks (you'll see how skinny I look when I post full-body shots in the next post. Not naked shots. Please don't get your hopes up), but Dodger Stadium can sure bring out the appetite in a girl.

Boredom and Damn Yankees

2010-06-24T18:09:00.000-07:00

There's a girl you know. Here are your hints about her. See if you can guess.

1. She doesn't feel like writing travel memoirs anymore.

2. She's going to the Yankees/Dodgers game on Friday night.

Give up?

Yes, it's me. Sorry, but the travel section of this blog was boring me, as evidenced by the fact that I couldn't work up the desire to bother writing anything else on the subject. I hope I haven't disappointed you.

But, hey, not a bad choice for my first Dodgers game of the season, huh? I've never seen the Yankees play, and I can't wait to scream my lungs out at them. Particularly at whoever is playing left field, since my seats are on the third base side. Who is their left fielder anyway? Brett Gardner? Lord. I have no idea if I can work up enough anger for Brett Gardner. But I suppose as long as he's wearing pinstripes (metaphorically, of course, since the away jersey is not pinstriped), I'm sure I'll manage to find the rage.

I'll take some pictures and consider doing a write-up, but I'm leaving town in the next few days, so I wouldn't hold your breath. See how I tease you?

Capri Fun

2010-06-10T15:03:00.000-07:00

Remember how a week ago I was in Paris? Yeah, not anymore. And Denver isn't even the Paris of the United States. But I'm here with Christine, baby Wilson, my sister and her fiancé, and my parents. And the two dogs, Jack and Aspen (both girls), collectively known--perhaps just in my brain--as JackAs(s).

But you don't want to hear about any of that, right? I last left you wondering what I did on the other two days I spent on Capri. So we'll start there.

Christine's friend Bea (pronounced "BAY-AH") joined us on our second day on the island, so we had an Italian speaker with us most of the time. That's really the best way to enjoy a foreign country if you don't know the language yourself. So I encourage you to make friends with foreigners. That's Travel lesson #1.

Sunday night (our first night there), Christine and I wandered around the town and eventually began looking for a place to eat dinner. Capri is not a big town, but it does have large number of restaurants, so we had several options. Or at least we thought so. But I guess Sunday night also means a lot of places are closed. We found ourselves in a little alley in front of a restaurant called Michel'angelo. Let me just tell that if you ever go to Capri, you should avoid this restaurant at all cost. It is terrible. Absolutely awful. Just a really bad food experience. I should have trusted Christine's instincts when she pointed out that we were the only people dining in the restaurant. Really, though, I'm sort of glad we ended up eating there because it gives me the chance to use this awesome picture again:

Bea arrived on Monday, and after we had some lunch and walked around Capri a bit, we decided to take the bus over to Anacapri. The bus was jam-packed and smelled exactly the way you think it would, if you knew that it was a bus in Europe, that it was at least 80 degrees outside, and that there was no air conditioning on the bus. But that was hardly the memorable part of this trip. To get from Capri to Anacapri only takes about 15 minutes, during which one covers a distance of roughly two miles. But it is a harrowing two-mile journey. I don't know how high the cliffs are on Capri, but once you get to the bit marked by an arrow in the below picture, it is terrifying to look out the bus window and down at the water. We would have taken a picture, but we were all too frightened to move.

You notice the part marked by an arrow doesn't look exactly straight, yes? That's because it's just a series of switchbacks on the side of a sheer rock cliff that overlooks the water. I realize it does not look so nauseating on that little Google map, but I assure you it was. But these busses make that journey dozens of times a day, and I'm sure they only drive off a cliff and into the Gulf of Naples once or twice a year, so the odds were in our favor. Travel lesson #2: Sometimes you just have to grin and bear it.

Obviously we made it to Anacapri, and we spent a few hours walking around the streets. It was mid-afternoon, which meant most shops were closed and the streets were extra quiet. So it was very nice and relaxing. We walked down the main road, and then wandered into some neighborhoods to look at all the perfect little houses with their perfect views. By the time we finished that bit of roaming, the shops had begun to open, so we had a coffee (well, Bea and Christine did since I don't touch the stuff), and then did a little shopping. Christine bought three bracelets--two coral and one turquoise. Bea just browsed.

We separated for dinner, then met again on Tuesday morning. On Monday Christine and I had met a guy named Gennaro, who does boat tours around the island. So we called him on Tuesday and met him at noon, ready for our adventure. Here's the number one thing you need to know about Capri: If you are there for any period of time greater than or equal to two hours, you need to do a boat tour. Gennaro charged €100, and took the three of us on a private, awesome boat in a circle around Capri. You'll think the place is beautiful as you approach it on the boat from the mainland, but you really have no idea until you've gone around the whole thing. It is completely stunning. This is the image of Capri I had in my head before I arrived, and it always made me think of Goonies:

That's looking out behind our amazing boat, after we had gone through the arch (that you can't really see very well) in the middle rock. My last Capri post sort of had a picture of the boat, but this should give you a better idea of the kind of awesomeness we experienced:

That's Gennaro back there steering. He was super-cute, and he's picked a pretty great way to earn a living.

Near the end of the tour, before arriving back at Marina Grande, we pass an area called Grotto Azurra, or the Blue Grotto. It costs an additional €11.50 to go in for your five-minute "tour," but it's totally worth it. Your boat driver pulls up to the area, and guys in rowboats come to your boat and pick you up to take you into the grotto. It's a narrow opening, and there is a chain on the wall so that the rowboat guy can grab it and pull the whole boat inside. The place is aptly named, because as soon as you go inside you are practically blinded by the neon blue color of the water. It is simply unbelievable. Our boat went around in a circle inside, and there were two other boats in at the same time, both of which featured rowers who were singing. They each sang a different song, and they echoed all around the grotto. It made for a pretty surreal moment. The craziest part was the coral that you couldn't even see until you took a picture with a flash and looked at your camera.

This first picture shows the opening to the cave as one boat starts to leave while another waits outside to come in:

And here's a shot of the coral:

There was one part of the grotto that had once been a private swimming area for the Romans, because there was a tunnel that went inside the mountain all the way up and out onto the land. Tourists used to be able to go in to that area, but falling rocks have made that impossible these days. Still, just one more bit of proof that at times it was probably good to be a rich Roman.

We were devastated when the boat tour was over, but that must be what Nelly Furtado meant when she said all good things must come to an end.

After a nap, the last big thing we did on Capri was climb up the giant hill to the ruins of the home Tiberius lived in early in the first century. There weren't a lot of tourists heading up that way, which makes me think that perhaps it's not a usual excursion. But Bea found out about it, and then we talked to the man who owns our hotel, who told us the way to go and even gave us the inside scoop about which wall to jump to get into a closed-off area.

The view from the ruins was the most impressive thing, and definitely made the hour-long hike up a seemingly 90-degree grade worth every sweaty minute. Travel lesson #3: Don't be afraid to do a little work to find the best locations.

I'll put those pictures up on Flickr instead of here, so you'll have to wait for that.

After looking at the ruins, we walked a little bit back toward town and hopped the wall into a national park that is apparently always closed. There are more ruins up there, and Christine found an old piece of brick that had writing on it. We couldn't really read it, but it was clear that the thing had been there for a really long time. Like, perhaps a millennium or more. Christine wanted to keep it, but I convinced her that it belonged there. So she dropped it into a bush on the side of a cliff, just to make sure someone who wasn't as interested in respecting history would never find it.

We kept walking back and found several other viewpoints. Every stopping point had a new, gorgeous view to enjoy. In the distance in this picture below you might barely notice the Goonies-like rocks from the boat tour picture above, though this is from the opposite side than the picture we took from the boat:

The hike was exhausting, and after a nice dinner, we all went back to our hotel and fell asleep nice and early, ready to wake up on Wednesday morning and get on a boat to head back to the mainland.

We went back to Rome on the train with Bea to hang out a little while before catching our plane to Berlin. Despite only being in Rome for about five hours, we still managed to have a minor adventure. But guess what? That will have to wait for the next post, suckas.

Real Men Wear Pink

2010-06-07T15:03:00.000-07:00

And can suck on their own toes.

I know he's not really doing much in that video, but he's so damn cute that I had to post it.

Lesson learned for the day: Do not wear your hot jeans (the ones that didn't fit before Europe, but now fit like a glove, thank you very much) on a day when you are babysitting a five-month old who spends most of his day vomiting.

Travel memoirs are forthcoming.

Why Yes, I Am In Paris

2010-06-02T09:45:00.000-07:00

Thanks for asking.

Actual post coming soon. Meaning at least within a week.

And don't worry, Orel. I will be wearing a Dodger hat when I actually go up to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I won't let you down.

Slacking Off in Europe

2010-05-29T01:48:00.000-07:00

Germany is proving to be more of a distraction than I thought it would be. Hence the lack of "Capri: Part Two."

We leave Monday morning for Paris. Sunday night for most of you. We'll spend the week in Paris, then be back in the states on Saturday. I'll try to write before then, but I'm not sure it will be possible. But I'm alive and well in Berlin and I'll post again as soon as I can.

Capri Sun

2010-05-27T02:09:00.000-07:00

I'm tempted to tell you that all you need to know about Capri is that it is beautiful, because I don't know if any words I write will give you the proper impression. Much like how I felt about Pompeii. Clearly I'm not as gifted a writer as I'd like to believe. I'll work on that.

I actually should say that Capri is not just beautiful; it's probably the most beautiful place I've ever seen. Maybe I'm only saying that now because it's also the most recent place I've seen, but I don't think so. It's high on the list. Let's give you an overview: Capri is an island off the Sorrentine Peninsula. The Gulf of Naples is to the north, and the Tyrrhenian Sea (part of the Mediterranean) is to the south. The island itself is not that big. There are essentially two parts to it: Capri and Anacapri. I guess they're just little towns on the rock named Capri. A woman in a shop in Anacapri told us that the city of Capri has a population of 7,000, while Anacapri has 5,000 residents. During tourist season, I'm sure those numbers at least double.

After we got back from Pompeii on Sunday afternoon, we took a cab to our hotel, got our bags, then got a cab to the ferry terminal. Our ferry left Naples at 2:40 pm, scheduled to take 45 minutes. It took closer to an hour, but it doesn't matter. The ship was pretty big, but not in the least bit crowded. Looked a lot like this:

One thing you may have learned about me by now is that I am a worrywart from way back. I am scared of everything. Here is just a partial list:

Boats
The ocean
Elevators
Airplanes
Disneyland's Haunted Mansion
Crowds
Spiders
Bats/Rabies (a partial explanation can be found here)
Normal human emotion

It would seem that a trip to Italy is good way to broaden one's horizons. I'm not saying I've conquered all those fears in the last six weeks, and I'm not even saying which of those fears I've had to face; but I've at least managed to face some of them, and perhaps that puts me on the road to recovery.

(That said, I started this post while sitting in the Rome airport, freaking out about my two-hour flight to Berlin)

The point is, though I started the boat trip across the Gulf of Naples with a fair amount of trepidation, eventually I just sat back and enjoyed the ride. It was a clear day, and we all know how far you can see on one of those days.

When we were approaching Capri, we were too shocked to be able to get out the camera and take some pictures. The first thing we noticed was the color of the water. I've never seen anything like it. Not in the Pacific or Atlantic, not in the Gulf of Mexico, and not even in the Caribbean. The water surrounding Capri is just an insane blue/green that almost seems fake.

This should give you an idea of the water color. But it's more amazing in person.

It was a little after 3:45 when we arrived on the island, and all we knew for sure was that we had to get up a big hill to where our hotel (and most of the city) is. The first option that presented itself was a taxi, so we climbed on board. The guy literally drove us up a windy road for about three minutes, then dropped us in a little square. No normal cars (more on that in a minute) were allowed past that point, so we would have to walk to our hotel. We handed him an unbelievable €17.50 for his troubles, and headed in the direction he said we needed to go.

An hour later, we found our hotel. But not before walking back and forth three or four times with our heavy luggage, learning that it would have cost us €1.40 each to take the funicular instead of the taxi, and having Christine go off ahead while I stood with the luggage and waited, hoping she would actually find her way back to me with knowledge of where this place was.

I won't bore you with the details of all the wrong turns and backtracking, but let's just say that the taxi driver could have been a little more clear when he pointed to the right and said, "Go that way."

While we were lost and waiting and wandering around, we kept seeing these little motorized carts going around town. Sort of like mini trucks. Not covered, just with a seat for a driver and maybe one passenger, and then a flatbed in the back. Turns out you could pay these guys €10 and they'd take your luggage anywhere you want in town. They are the only vehicles allowed in the main square and surrounding streets of Capri. So you live and learn, I guess.

Our hotel was beautiful. It was on the south side of the island, looking out over the water, but still a ways from the water itself. We had a terrace, which we didn't use much because we were always out and about. But I used it long enough to write the Pompeii post, so I guess it was worth it.

The hotel.

The first day we just used up the sunlight for as long as we could, walking around town, staring at the view over and over again, and remarking constantly that we couldn't believe we were there. Here's some of what we saw the first day:

Looking west. Anacapri is on the other side of that peak.

Looking west again, from a slightly different angle, at sunset.

Looking east. Faint in the distance you can see Vesuvius.

That giant thing is Octopus, owned by Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen. In Venice we saw his other super yacht, Tatoosh. In Puerto Rico, we saw Bill Gates's super yacht. These dudes are following us.

Regarding that last one, if you think it's bad, you're lucky I didn't take a picture of what I saw when we walked past this guy and he squatted with his back to us. You think those things don't offer enough coverage when the wearer is standing up? I've got an image seared into my brain that will always remind me exactly how little fabric that man is wearing.

I realize I've written a lot and still not gotten past the first day in Capri. I'm in Berlin now, and I'm off to go see the sights, so I'm going to do you a favor and break the Capri posts up into several parts. That way you can get your "Erin fix" now and look forward to reading more later.

Here's just a little hint of what's to come:

Pompeii

2010-05-25T07:37:00.000-07:00

Turns out, there is internet everywhere. Which means I can not only check baseball scores, but even watch a game, like I did Sunday night. I saw the Red Sox win, then turned off the Dodgers game in the seventh inning. It was late; I was tired. Give me a break.

I had good reason to be tired, so I hope you (and the Dodgers) will forgive me for bowing out early. I've had a busy few days. Saturday morning I got up to catch the train to Naples. I don't have a whole lot to say about Naples, except that the pizza is phenomenal. We walked around the city for a few hours, and it was okay, but nothing spectacular. But we had dinner at this place called Sorbillo, and it was amazing. I went with just the standard margherita, because I am a ridiculously picky eater. Christine had the nonna carolina, which involved pesto. I don't know. I had a bite and thought it tasted like hot dogs. So I'm not the person you want describing ingredients to you.

We left Naples early Sunday morning to catch the train to Pompeii. The cab driver who took us to the train station tried to get us to hire him to take us to Pompeii. Only €90 roundtrip. Since I happened to know that the train costs €2.40 each way, we declined his offer.

The train from Naples to Pompeii is called the "Circumvesuviana." Turns out this is quite the clever name, since the train does, in fact, circle Mount Vesuvius. It's sort of a city train, not like the ones we took from Venice to Florence, Rome and Naples. Rickety and noisy, but not as slow as you might think. We were on the express, which took only 27 minutes (advertised as taking 23), as compared to the 36 minutes that the local train takes. Either ride is fine, since you get a nice view of Vesuvius pretty much the whole way. This makes it easier to accept all the graffiti and the layer of dirt that seems to cover the whole train.

The thing about Vesuvius is that it's big. Bigger than I thought it would be. I guess I've seen pictures, but that's not the same thing. I suppose I just thought that if a big volcano exploded and buried a thriving town, maybe there wouldn't be so much of that volcano left. Vesuvius in my mind was not nearly as imposing as it is in real life.

I happen to know that at least one of my readers is planning a trip to Italy for next March. He wanted to know if it's worth it to go to Pompeii. My short answer is absolutely, without a doubt, yes. The long answer is after the jump.

I'll tell you one thing, those Pompeiians had one hell of a view of Vesuvius. Must have been nice, right up until the moment the thing blew its lid and slaughtered them all. There's a tradeoff with every nice property, I guess. Sometimes the apartment you can afford only comes with one parking space, and sometimes the only square footage you've ever known on earth just happens to be located on the side of an exploding volcano.

A t-shirt we found on Capri. I can't look at it without laughing.

I like to give Vesuvius Grover's voice.

We got to Pompeii at about 8:45, which is fifteen minutes after it opened. It was a Sunday, and we thought we'd have a shot at getting in and out before the big crowds came. Turns out we were right. For the first two hours we were there, we barely saw a soul. We wandered in, declined the offer of a private tour for €100, and headed off on our own, guidebook and map in hand. The self-guided tour is a little more difficult, if only because you have to fold out the map, look at a number next to a building, then open the guidebook to find the explanation. But if you're like me, and just want to look around and only hear about the things that catch your eye, don't bother with a guide. Especially if you have to do a tour with a large group. I can't imagine the pain of standing in front of a building while some architecture freak peppers the guide with questions about the specific mud used in the brick. Or whatever.

Christine started the Pompeii adventure by stopping in the middle of an ancient street, pointing out at the view of Vesuvius, and saying, "Why does everything here have to be so ugly?"

A shot that should help you understand that Christine was only being sarcastic.

Pompeii blew up in 79 A.D. A whole lot of people died there. Now, every year millions of tourists go and walk on the gravesite. Part of me has a big issue with this, and I hesitated at first to take smiling pictures all over this massive tomb. I got over it, though, when I realized people die everywhere, and I smiled for pictures at the Colosseum. Also, no one wants to read a blog full of pictures of me scowling at the camera.

Me, sitting on one of the most ancient parts of Pompeii.

I don't know what I can say about the place itself, except that it's endlessly fascinating. It was so well preserved, and you can tell that before the explosion it was such a modern, organized place. I guess we can thank the Romans for that. It is amazing to think of what life in a thriving Pompeii would have been like. The streets are straight and there are houses and restaurants and open areas and amphitheaters. And because it was so nicely preserved by all that ash, it doesn't feel like you're visiting a ruin. I thought the Roman Colosseum was impressive in that regard, but Pompeii just blows that away. Pun intended. Pompeii is the kind of place where you can almost see the people who lived there. Like, if one of them just walked out of one of the buildings and said hi, you wouldn't be surprised. Well, you might be surprised at seeing a 2000-year old person. But other than that, it would not seem out of the ordinary.

The weather was perfect, but since I'm acting as a travel guide at the moment, I think it's important that I tell you to not go to Pompeii in the summer. I cannot imagine the heat in, say, July. We had a nice breeze going, but the sun was hot. Ten or fifteen degrees warmer, and my entire perspective on Pompeii would be dramatically different, I'm sure.

I realize I'm not doing this place enough justice. I can only think in fragments, probably largely due to the fact that I took notes in my Moleskine the whole time I was there. That's not too queer, right? Also, I'm currently in Capri, looking out over the water, so I'm a bit distracted. Soon I will post a full album of photos, and I'll let the images do the talking.

The bottom line is, Pompeii is awesome. And worth a day trip out there. We spent about three hours there, and though we felt like we got a big enough overview, I'm certain you can spend six hours or eight hours or more and still not get too bored with looking at crumbling, ancient buildings. The people who lived here were around before Jesus! And you can see where they lived and look at plaster casts of their dead bodies! If that sort of thing doesn't get your juices flowing, then I can't help you.

Next up: Capri.

Ciao Venezia

2010-05-21T09:50:00.000-07:00

Last day in Venice. It feels like we are heading out just in time, as the number of voices speaking English has increased dramatically in the last two weeks. Now it seems as though there are almost more native English speakers than there are native Italian speakers. And that just ain't right. I should be the only one speaking English here. I didn't travel thousands of miles to listen to a bunch of Americans blather about trivial crap; if I wanted that, I would have stayed home.

I've experienced quite a few unexpected pleasures during my stay in Venice. I wanted to come, and was excited about it, but in some ways that was only because I like lists and accomplishments; checking Italy off a "places I've been" list had a certain appeal to a headcase like me. But it turns out I love this place, and I am truly going to miss it when I'm gone. My memories of pushy, smelly Italians will fade, and I will be left with the gorgeous images of life on the Grand Canal. Not a bad way to spend six weeks, for sure.

We have just a little more than twelve hours to go, but we've been saying goodbye to Venice all week. Today we went to the Ponte degli Scalzi, which is one of the four bridges that span the Grand Canal. This one is near Ferrovia, the train station. If you ever see this bridge, and look closely, you'll notice that all along the hand rails, there are lots and lots of padlocks. I guess the story is that "lovers" (I hate that word) place the locks on the bridge as a symbol of the strength and longevity of their love. So, of course Christine and I added ours to the mix. I don't know what it says about the metaphor that the locks are periodically snapped off and thrown away, but I'll just ignore that part of it. Here is the result (I was just a supervisor, and Christine did the actual artwork):

One side of our lock.

The other side of the lock, as it looked after we put it on the bridge.

I don't know if/when I'll be able to write during the next two weeks, as I travel through Napoli, Pompeii, Capri, Roma, Berlin and Paris. I will have internet, and you can be certain I will be checking baseball scores as often as I possibly can, but writing a post might prove to be difficult. I hope you'll understand.

The gondoliers who go by our window sing various songs to their passengers. I love them all, but I have a favorite. And since "ciao" means both "hello" and "goodbye," it is only fitting to leave you, and Venice, with this (I did not take this video):

Dear Christine

2010-05-14T02:03:00.000-07:00

I have about seven days left in Venice. Well, six if you take out Sunday, because I'll be spending that day in Milan. Did you know you have to book your tickets to see The Last Supper in advance? Like, three months in advance? No? Well, neither did we. So barring a lucky turn of events, I guess we won't be seeing that particular fresco. Anyone have other suggestions for Milan? This will just be a day trip, so I'm looking for quick, interesting sights that will allow me to later say, "Milan? Yeah, I've seen it," and then be able to back up that comment with some knowledge.

So, we will be leaving Venice on the morning of Saturday, May 22. We will be spending Saturday night in Naples, and getting up the next morning to head to Pompeii. I don't know how much time Pompeii takes, but we are banking on not more than a few hours, because then we are heading to Sorrento to catch a boat to Capri. Three nights on Capri ought to be at least a little bit relaxing. Then on May 26 it's back to Naples by boat to catch a train to Rome, where we catch a flight to Berlin. Five nights in Rome, followed by five nights in Paris. Then back to Denver.

Denver just doesn't have quite the same ring to it, does it? But my pup and my nephew are there, so it's paradise as far as I'm concerned.

Oh, but the fun doesn't end there, because once we get back to Denver and unwind for about a week, we'll be off on a road trip. Probably to New Orleans first, then back west to Marfa for a few days, followed by a day or two in Scottsdale (where we will try to not spend any money, as we are definitely part of any boycott) to see Lindsay's family, and then finally back home. We're thinking late June or early July as an ETA in Los Angeles. That adds up to a total of five months away from the City of Angels. What's changed, Angelenos?

The other day, Christine teared up at the idea of leaving Italy. These are her people, ancestrally speaking, so she hates to leave them. I can only partially understand that, since I don't even have a real hometown, let alone an entire heritage. But I do like the Italian people. They're incredibly nice and they have a beautiful country. So what's not to like?

That actually wasn't a rhetorical question. I have a list. Composed as a letter to Christine. Honey, just read this when you get sad, and you'll be reminded of a few reasons to be happy you're leaving.

Dear Christine,

Yes, the people in Italy are incredibly nice. But some of them are also incredibly smelly. I'm talking about the menfolk. Why are they so against deodorant? Maybe it's because I'm not into the dudes, but I don't think that particular "musk" is what attracts the ladies. I realize they are all virile Italian stallions, but there are manly smelling deodorants out there that would not detract from their overall masculinity. Even unscented might help. And please don't tell me they object to plugging their pores with aluminum; I use a natural deodorant, and I smell like sunshine and gumdrops. So there are options. We probably couldn't get them to wear deodorant, but do you think we could get them to stop raising their arms when we're they're pushed up against us on a vaporetto ride?

Try to remember the way the Italians are about money. They (particularly the Venetians) have a thing about change. As in coins. What, you don't recall? Let me remind you. If you went into a store to buy food, you had to be prepared to have exact change. Or else be prepared to get an incredibly dirty look from the cashier. Seriously, your total could have been €4.96, and the cashier would have demanded that you give him/her 96 cents. And it was not always just with coins. More than once I went in to pay for something that was, say, €13. I handed the cashier €20. She asked for three more, just so she could give me back an even ten. It was insane. The worst example I saw was at the grocery store, where all the cashiers sit in chairs as they scan your items. And they don't bag. So why would you expect them to have to count change for you? They're busy! Leave them alone!

And while we're on the subject of change, I know you remember that many cashiers had a tendency to pretend that they couldn't see your hand when it was outstretched and ready to accept money. Your change was €0.70. You stuck out your hand, waiting. The cashier would inevitably place the change onto the counter in front of him/her, mere inches from your hand. If you were holding a bunch of bags and found that prying change off a counter was a little difficult in that position, too bad. You will take your change off the counter, and you will like it.

Remember how our friend Piper, who spent time in Italy during college, told me before we left that "the Italians don't know how to stand in line"? Remember how I didn't know what to make of this information? Well, now we know. You know me, Christine. I'm a rule-following kind of girl. I like rules. I believe in them. I don't speed. I always use my blinker. I have never even tried any illegal drug. And to me, the most basic rule in a polite society seems to be that if a particular place allows entry on a first-come, first-served basis, then whoever is at this location first is the person who gets to go in (or be served, or whatever) first. It's a pretty self-explanatory thing.

We've learned by now that the Italians didn't get the memo. I don't know what they are taught at a young age, but I doubt there's a translation for "single file" in the language. At a vaporetto stop, you could be standing at the front, right before the yellow lines that signify an area you were not to enter. People would literally shove you out of the way to stand in front of you. Or they would come around through the exit only part of the bus stop, just so they could stand on that side and start to get on the bus while others were still getting off. In any sort of store where there was a counter at which you must pay for your goods, you better have made damn sure that you noted who was there before and after you. And you needed to be willing to fight for your right to pay and get the hell out of there. Because no one else cares.

Before I got there, you were pushed out of line at a vaporetto stop. You missed your bus because you couldn't get past in time, and the woman who shoved you out of the way wasn't even trying to get on that bus. No. The woman pushed you because she wanted to be at the head of the line for the next bus.

If you need more examples to sour you on Italy, think back to Rome. We were standing outside a museum, waiting to go into the Hopper exhibit, and there was a woman standing behind us who absolutely refused to acknowledge that we were ahead of her. Every time we shuffled forward, this woman would swing out wider and wider. I, being the polite person that I am, was unable to keep up with her because I was not willing to block the sidewalk entirely for pedestrian use. I tried. Oh, did I try. I stopped short of actually touching this woman, but it would have been obvious to every other non-Italian in the world that I was attempting to block her. But eventually this woman won the battle, and she ended up in front of us. We won the war when we chose the right line at the ticket booth and ended up ahead of her after all. But that's not the point.

So, to sum up:

Italian pros: Nice people, beautiful country, Colosseum, Sistine Chapel, Piazza San Marco, Santa Maria Novella, David, Capri, food.

Italian cons: Inability to stand in line, nasty public restrooms, a reliance on religious art, the Vatican.

Let's compare that to America--your home, your love, where you have your roots.

American pros: Excellent line-standing ability, beautiful parts of the country, clean public restrooms, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, baseball, apple pie.

American cons: People aren't really that nice, most of them are fat, and America literally has no art to speak of, at all. Also, offshore drilling, George W. Bush, Sarah Palin, Westboro Baptist Church, Arizona immigration laws.

Hmm. Maybe you have a point.

Love,

Erin

Pictures Florentine

2010-05-11T09:18:00.000-07:00

I'm annoyed with Picasa, as it seems to be stripping the colors of my uploaded photos. So here you get a post comprised entirely of photos.

(I know there is a slight weirdness with the centering here, but I have no idea what the hell to do about it. Blogger tells me the photos are all centered, even though they're clearly not in line with one another. It's not really that noticeable, so let's all just deal with it, shall we?)

Two girls on a bridge.

The dome of Santa Maria Fiore (I think).

Santa Maria Fiore (I think).

The front of Santa Maria Fiore.

The square where a copy of David stands.

Christine looking at Ponte Vecchio.

Ponte Vecchio.

Christine on a bridge.

Two girls on a different bridge.

Piazza Santa Maria Novella.

Santa Maria Novella train station, at 7:27 pm.

A Little Pretty, A Little Ugly

2010-05-10T08:54:00.000-07:00

Christine and I went to Florence this weekend. Well, really just on Saturday. Got up early, caught a train, and got to Florence at about 10:30 in the morning. The number one thing we were there to see was Michelangelo's David. Everything else was just a bonus.

We caught a cab to the Gallerie dell'Accademia, where David is displayed. I suppose we probably stood in line outside for about an hour, during which it started to rain. But I had come prepared with an umbrella, so we were good to go. We got inside, paid the admission price, and headed into the first room.

You'll remember that when we went to see the Sistine Chapel, we had to walk for a mile before we even got to the big attraction. I fully expected this to be the case for David as well. So imagine my surprise when I walked into a room and started looking at one of Michelangelo's practice pieces, and Christine said, "there he is," and I turned to my right and looked down the hall and there was the man himself.

I should note here that I'm not what you'd call a huge fan of a lot of the art in Italy. I might be crazy, but while I find it impressive that people could create that sort of thing in that era, I'm also of the opinion that one can only see so many paintings of Jesus and the saints and Mary without thinking they all pretty much look the same. It's been a bit of sensory overload, and I'm sure that the "religious art" section of my brain is filled to the brim.

Now, while I realize that Michelangelo's David is technically religious, in that it's found in the bible, I'm not going to remember it as religious art. I'm going to remember it as awesome. But not in the way the word "awesome" is overused these days (especially by me). No, David is awesome in the original meaning of the word. The thing truly inspires awe.

We walked around and looked it from every angle. We got up close, then went further down the hall to see it from a distance, which I think is the best view. It looks bigger that way somehow. It's all alone underneath a domed skylight. It's about seventeen feet high, and sits on a pedestal that must be about six feet tall. So it's an imposing figure in the room. But it's not just about the size. It's just how completely perfect it is. This was once a giant chunk of marble and Michelangelo made something that looks like it could come alive at any moment. David's muscles ripple the way they would in life, the veins in his arms pop, and his face tells you everything you need to know about what he's thinking in that moment.

I'm sure I'm not doing a decent enough job explaining this. I guess you can't really "explain" art anyway. One just has to see to believe. I was not expecting to think much of David. Hell, I had always assumed (when I thought of him at all) that he was a life-size sculpture. He's definitely not. He is larger than life in every sense of that term, and it's something all of you should see if you haven't already.

Christine took an illegal picture while we were in there. They don't want you snapping photos because they want to make sure you'll buy postcards and posters in the gift shop afterward. We did both.

And now for the "ugly" portion of the trip.

We left the room with the David, bought a few things in the gift shop, then went looking for bathrooms. We were about to head down the stairs when I noticed that you could still see David by looking through the crack in the door. We both had another look, then went into the bathroom.

I will spare you the details, for the most part. Let's just say that I've learned over the last month that Italy is not exactly known for its clean public restrooms. This is the case even when one has to pay to get into the bathroom in the first place. I've been told this is the way it is all over Europe, and I'm sure I'll (unfortunately) have to do some research when I'm in Germany and France.

The point is, the bathroom was gross. There were maybe six or seven stalls, and there was a long line. Christine got into her stall first, and I got into mine maybe a minute later. I held my breath, did what I needed to do, and got the hell out of there. But not before giving a look to the person who went in after me. Hopefully that look said, "I didn't do what you're about to see in there."

I came out and headed for the sinks, and saw an old lady standing in line. She did not look well. I didn't see Christine anywhere around, so I went to a sink closer to the door. Christine stepped in briefly to tell me that the second one was the one that worked, then she went back to waiting in the hall (it was an open door, though, so she could see in to the sink area). I glanced up at the mirror as I was washing my hands, and that's when I saw something no one should ever have to see.

I turned around to head for the hand dryer, and caught Christine's eye. I made a face and she said, "I know." I dried my hands quickly and we walked up the stairs. I was about to look through the crack in the door to see David again, but Christine stopped me.

Christine: Let's each tell our stories of how gross the bathroom was, and then we'll forget about it by looking at David. You go first.

Me: Okay. [here's where I told her what was in my bathroom, but I won't tell you]

Christine: [here's where she told me what was in her bathroom, but, again, I'll spare you]

Christine took a deep breath.

Christine: Okay. Let's look at David.

Me: Wait! But then there was that woman vomiting in the sink.

Christine: What?!??!

That's right. The old lady I had seen standing in line, looking a little green, had been unable to wait any longer before releasing the contents of her stomach. So when I was washing my hands, I happened to look up to witness that very moment. And since Christine was standing right outside the door, looking in, and she had nodded and told me she knew, I assumed she had seen all that. But she had missed the entire thing. She thought I was giving her the look with regard to the general state of the bathroom. I was, sort of, but my real look was the kind that can only come after seeing an old lady vomit.

I pray you never know what that facial expression looks like. I think the whole thing can best be summed up by the picture I took while inside my stall. Believe me, I did not want to take anything out of my bag, but I had to do it. Whoever did this must have just known what I would see that day.

Yeah, thanks Michelangelo.

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

Finally, one more thing that falls somewhere between pretty and ugly. After David, Christine and I found our way to a restaurant she had found online, Il Latini. It had a nice feel, with lots of people inside, eating lunch and talking loudly. The waiter came to our table and started to talk, half in Italian and half in English, offering us some sort of appetizer that was a mix of some of their specialties. I heard virtually nothing he said, but Christine wasn't really making any grossed-out faces, so I thought it wouldn't be such a bad thing to try what this guy was offering. So I said we could try it. Christine didn't express nearly as much shock as she should have, given what was about to happen, and she agreed to what this guy was selling.

Then the food came. We had thought that since it was a mixed plate of appetizers, it would come out as one plate with a few samples on it. You know, like when you go to an American chain restaurant and get potato skins, chicken wings and mozzarella sticks on the same plate. This did not happen in Florence.

First, we each got a plate of prosciutto placed in front of us. Then came a little salad with barley, cucumber and I don't know what else. These two were by far the least objectionable dishes presented to us for this course. The salad was actually good, in fact. Then the guy put down a hunk of salami that took up its own plate, then two crostini with chicken liver pate on top, then a plate with five sardines soaked in oil.

I nearly cried. I am a picky eater. But I am generally willing to try new things. This was outside my abilities. The chicken liver pate looked exactly like (and I swear to god I'm not exaggerating) what my dog pukes up when she vomits right after she eats. The sardines just looked icky, and the salami was at least a quarter-inch thick and not the right consistency. It certainly didn't look like any salami I'd ever seen.

This was not the kind of place where you tell them you hate everything they've just put in front of you. The language barrier makes it difficult, for one thing. But then there's also the idea of offending the sensibilities of these people who actually like the food they're serving. So we weren't entirely sure what we should do. Christine doesn't hate prosciutto, so she got to work on her plate. I couldn't do it. I tried half a piece and knew that was all I could handle. I realize that's a pretty innocuous dish, but it is just not my bag, baby.

One of the waiters came by and saw that my prosciutto was untouched. He took it away and said it was no problem, that we would only pay for one. But I knew we couldn't do that for everything on the table. And then I remembered that when we were in the art gallery, we had gotten a clear plastic bag for our wet umbrella.

I took the umbrella out, then basically lined Christine's purse with the plastic bag. Christine couldn't believe I was even going to attempt what I was about to do, but she served as the "lookout" anyway. When I was sure no one was really looking, I picked up one of the chicken liver crostini and dumped it into the purse. I waited an appropriate amount of time, then dropped the other one in there, too. I made sure to leave a few dollops on the plate so it looked like someone had actually been eating it. Now we were getting somewhere.

Christine thought she might be able to try the salami, but changed her mind the instant she tried to cut into it. She just dropped the knife and fork and said, "forget it." But she cut it up and put a little piece on her plate and a little piece of mine, just so it would look normal. She handed the salami plate back to me, and in one motion I picked up the slab with my bare hand and dumped it in the bag.

There was still the matter of the sardines, which Christine did not want in her purse. Instead, she shuffled them around on the plate and then just decided to bite the bullet and eat one. So in case you were wondering what love looks like, I think it's something like a girl eating an oily fish so you don't have to. Not that she was happy about it.

I tied up the bag, and we had our actual meal (steak for her, ravioli for me), which was very good. We paid our tab and left the restaurant to go to another museum. And of course we had to get rid of the bag of offensive food. But not before a picture.

Adorable, Defined

2010-05-07T02:08:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned that I'm missing my dog, but it would be silly of me not to mention that I'm missing this guy, too:

Wilson sits on his grandma's lap as he watches "Grandma" Alicia cook steaks.

That's Wilson in Scottsdale on Thursday afternoon. The boy is almost four months old and he's already taken two big trips (the other one was to Idaho). He's a jet-setter. Look out, world!

Something From My Past

2010-05-06T03:26:00.000-07:00

I was cleaning up my computer the other day when I ran across this beauty. Five and a half years ago I decided to try to be a little (emphasis on "little") creative with my parents' 25th anniversary. So I came up with this video. I realize many of you do not know the people in the video (though you might recognize me a few times), but I think it's worth sticking with it until the end. Or I suppose you could skip to 3:14 if you're that bored and/or you hate it that much. And then stay for the cheesy credits for the one "outtake" I threw on the end. I'll explain it after the video. Oh, and if you like surprises, I'd suggest not reading anything below the video until you've watched the thing.

I was just going to get Ellen to sign a card, but then I thought, "Hell, I am, among other things, the 'B' camera operator for field shoots on this show. Why don't I get her on tape?" So I did. All I did was show her two pictures of my parents, tell her their names and what anniversary it was, and she was off. You can occasionally see me in the mirror, holding the camera. I'm actually surprised the shot is so steady, since I was rather nervous. It's not like I hadn't talked to Ellen before, but there were about a dozen other people in the room, all watching this little moment.

I really miss being able to like Ellen. I explained here why I can't like her (there's a little more to the story, but I'm not writing about it now), so go read it if you must. I guess I take comfort in the fact that I have this one bit of proof that she could be a decent human being at times.

The "outtake" at the end actually happened when I first started shooting, which is why it ends with me handing Ellen the pictures. Ellen knew about the one talent I have, which is to immediately tell you how many letters are in any word you give me. This trick never failed to amaze and impress Ellen, which of course always made me proud. Anyway, in the outtake she is getting her mom (Betty) to quiz me on a word. Betty says, "constellation," and I say, "thirteen." Then Ellen says, "ridiculous" and I say, "ten." If you ever meet me in person, try this game with me. It's fun.

After I shut off the camera, Ellen said, "I don't know why I said bastard. Is that okay? Do your parents curse?"

I said, "Like sailors."**

And Ellen said, "Oh, well then I should have said 'fucker.'"

**This is not true. I must point this out because if I don't, it will be the first thing my mother mentions the next time we talk. So, Mom, now my readers know that you don't actually have a potty mouth. You're welcome. Happy Mother's Day!

Another Italian Weekend

2010-05-03T08:41:00.000-07:00

This past weekend was all about Tuscany. I learned the name of the place we stayed, but I still can't tell you, because it's a celebrity's private residence. We were, in fact, the guests of said celebrity. Am I bragging? You're damn right. All weekend I had meals--amazing, extraordinary meals--prepared for me by the nicest, most talented people. I had free reign over a huge amount of property, and I had a freakin' blast. Here are a few pictures to give you an idea (for some reason uploading to Picasa changed the pictures just enough that you don't get the richness of the colors; I don't know why, so just imagine everything looking more brilliant):

Tuscany

Meanwhile, my ability to keep track of what's happening in the baseball world gets worse by the day. At this point it's all I can do to remember to check scores and try to maintain a general sense of the season thus far, but it's difficult. My knowledge at this point breaks down to: Dodgers can score a lot of runs, but can't really pitch that well, and they've been a little bit streaky (currently on a three-game winning streak after losing a bunch, for instance); and the Red Sox suck (no analysis necessary on that one, as all I need is to see that they keep losing to the Orioles). I'm looking forward to getting back to the states and maybe being able to watch a game or two (the internet issue we've had for the last two weeks hasn't made it easy for me to even attempt to catch an MLB.tv game, but I'll be trying this week), but for now I hope you'll forgive me for not making this much of a baseball blog.

Also, I miss my dog. A lot. For those who don't know or remember what she looks like:

On the left is the first picture taken of Jack when she arrived at the Pasadena Humane Society in February 2006. On the right is what Christine calls Jack's "school picture," taken when Christine decided to do a photo shoot in the costume department of "Public Enemies" back in June 2008. My heart seriously hurts every time I look at that first picture.

And a more recent shot, with baby Wilson:

Pictures

2010-04-30T06:38:00.000-07:00

You want to see a few Rome pictures? Sure you do. Nothing is more fun than looking at other people's vacation photos.

Roma!

I'm going to some place outside Florence this weekend. I don't even officially know what the place is called yet, and I probably couldn't tell you even if I did. It's a secret location. Let's just say a friend of a friend is hooking us up with some sweet accommodations in the Tuscany countryside. For free. As Orel said recently in the comments section, sometimes life really is good.

Roma (continued)

2010-04-27T13:03:00.001-07:00

NOTE: This is the second part of the previous post, which was written on Monday evening Venice time.

When we got to the line for the Vatican Museum and Sistine Chapel, we were told it was at least a three-hour wait to get in (Christine heard five hours), and that the place was closing in two hours. That math didn't work for us, so we listened to one of the hucksters selling us a guided tour that would bypass the line, and paid her our 25 Euros each. We were told the company did tours in English, Italian and Spanish. We were told that the guide would have a little microphone, and all the tourists would have little earpieces through which the guide's voice would broadcast.

We were not told that it would be one guide doing the tour in all three languages, so that after she finished with one language, the people who didn't speak the other two just had to stand there and wait for it to end. We were also not told that the guide would spend the first half hour standing outside the walls of the Vatican, waiting for more people to show up and pay, and repeating over and over again (in all three languages) that this was the wall of the Vatican, which is a nation unto itself. This was one of three things we learned (even though I guess it doesn't count because we already knew it) from the guide that day.

We were also not told that the guide's English would be essentially indecipherable. I appreciate anyone who can speak more than one language, but if you're advertising yourself as being able to guide a tour in English, then the English speakers in the group should not have to guess when you've switched from a foreign language to our own.

We were not told our guide was crazy. She spent a lot of time arguing with several people in the group who spoke Spanish, and who apparently wanted their money back because they were tired of standing and there and waiting for the tour to actually start. After these arguments ended, no one knew why we were still waiting at all, and eventually it came out that we were waiting for some other employee of the company to bring the disgruntled tourists their refunds. Yes, the entire group had to wait for that.

To make a long story only a little bit shorter, eventually we got into the museum. After Christine confirmed with one of the gift shop employees that we could get into the Sistine Chapel easily from where we were, we turned in our headsets to the guide, got our deposit back, and raced for the chapel. I don't think it's a coincidence that the other three people who turned in their headsets at the same time were all English speakers.

And now just an aside to the rant from above. Walking through the endless corridors one has to traverse to get from the entrance to the museum over to the Sistine Chapel (seriously, it's insane; we must have walked a mile, indoors, through extravagant hallways and rooms, just to get to the Vatican's most famous room), I was struck again by the sheer audacity of the Catholic church. They put all this on display, some of which has to be the spoils of a war fought long ago (why else does the Vatican have a super impressive collection of Egyptian relics?), and everyone comes to see it (and pay a pretty penny to get in most days), but we're still talking about a church. A church that believes in Christ and the ideas that he embodied, most of which were about helping your fellow man. It doesn't help anyone to know that the Vatican has billions of dollars worth of history inside its walls, and that's just the part they let the public see. Can you imagine what the Vatican storage room must look like? There's a reason the church has been able to pay off many, many victims of sexual abuse over the years, and yet not really take a hit financially. And it's all kind of gross, if you ask me.

There was so much to see in there, but we were worried we wouldn't make it to the Sistine Chapel before everything closed, so we rushed. We stopped in the Egyptian room because that stuff was awesome, and for some reason the Vatican has a mummy, as well as other artifacts from those non-Christian heathens we calls the Egyptians. We looked up at the ceilings and over at the walls as we walked through as quickly as the crowds would allow. We spotted a Dali in the "modern religious art" section, so we stopped for a second to look at that one. But our singular goal was the Sistine Chapel. And we eventually got there, and the place is as awesome as one would think. It was super crowded, of course, and you weren't allowed to take pictures (though Christine surreptitiously did anyway, and I'll post it later), and there is no way I saw every detail of everything thing that's in there. But I can now say that I've seen the Sistine Chapel. And perhaps I'm a better person for it.

Back in Venice, on my walk to the market today, I passed through a nearly empty square. In the center, near a well that was covered up long ago, were two little boys,--one brunette, one blonde--who couldn't have been more than three years old. Despite their age, they were having quite the profound disagreement, and I recognized it as one I've had many times over the years. And it made me think of the way the Catholic church approaches the modern world.

Brunette: Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!

Blonde: Nooooooooo!

Hilarious.

Roma

2010-04-27T13:00:00.000-07:00

NOTE: I wrote this post more than 24 hours ago (in other words, on Monday evening in Venice), but my internet problems have continued, so it's only posting late Tuesday night in Venice.

We took 389 pictures in the roughly 30 hours that we spent in Rome over the weekend. I have yet to put one of them on my computer, so you'll have to wait a bit to see photographic evidence of our shenanigans in the City of Seven Hills.

We crammed a lot in during our short stay (that's what she said), and we had a great time. We saw the Colosseum, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain, St. Peter's Basilica, the Sistine Chapel, and a bunch of other stuff I'm forgetting right now.

Sunday morning we got up early and headed to the Vatican because we heard it was free on Sundays from 9:00-12:30, so we thought it would be crowded. We could not have been more wrong. We got there and almost had the place to ourselves. The plaza in front of St. Peter's was mostly empty, and after we took a few shots, we walked right in through the security without having to wait in line. More people started to show up as we walked around the basilica, and there was a bit of a line as we left to head toward the museum and Sistine Chapel, so we definitely lucked out there.

Here's what I have to say about St. Peter's: as I walked in, I was understandably impressed by the scale and detail of the place. A lot of work went into making that building, not to mention a lot of money. But let's mention the money, shall we? Because while I can look at a mosaic tile rendering of some biblical story and think it is pretty, or see some statue carved out of marble and be impressed by the craftsmanship, the more I look at this stuff, the more I wonder what the point is. How many paintings/statues/mosaic pieces of Jesus can you really have before it starts to be obscene? How much of the money used for these purposes would have been better used in aiding the poor and/or diseased?

I was raised Catholic. I've been baptized and confirmed. I've obviously gone astray in the last decade or so, but there is a part of me that still really misses the tradition. I went to mass once in Los Angeles because, more than anything else, I missed the structure. I like knowing that I will always have to kneel and sit and rise at exactly the same points during any given mass. I like knowing the Lord's Prayer and the Nicene Creed, and I like reciting them with large groups of people. This is still true about me, even if I find myself because more and more agnostic as the years go by. So part of me felt kind of nostalgic in St. Peter's, even if the service that was going on was being recited in Italian.

And then I remembered. Those priests that just walked by? Yeah, they hate me. The entire system of the Catholic church is based on the premise that there are certain ways of doing things, and if you veer off the path even a little bit, you're screwed. So don't use a condom, don't have premarital sex, and above all, don't find yourself attracted to a member of your own gender. Christine likes to say that the individual people within the church don't hate gay people, but that doesn't actually matter to me. If you're part of a system that truly believes that gay people are going to hell, or that it's a sin to practice safe sex, even if you don't personally believes those things, you're just as guilty as those who do believe. You're perpetuating the system. And you're making life miserable for a lot of people in this world.

The point is, the longer I was in St. Peter's, the more I felt this oppressive weight on me. I could actually feel the hate that this church (both the actual building, and the entirety of the religion) has supported and/or caused over the years. It made me ill.

Christine and I talked about the way the church clings to tradition, even when that tradition makes no sense in the present day. Priests were originally forbidden to marry so that they would have no heirs or spouses, and the priests' assets could be returned to the church upon their deaths. That system is more than a little screwed up. Then there's the idea of women not being allowed to have a role in the church, or the belief that even married couples shouldn't practice safe sex. If the church wants to be seen as relevant in today's age, it wouldn't hurt for it to be a little more flexible. Enough with the secrets and the lies. Come clean about the sex scandal, and maybe do something about it, other than lying to the public and paying off the victims. Embrace a more accepting version of Christ and his teachings. And consider getting rid of the Nazi pope. Just some suggestions.

Bet you didn't think a post about my trip to Rome was going to turn out like this, huh? Me neither.

Of course, this is not to say that I didn't enjoy myself in Rome, because I certainly did. A lot of the stuff I liked the best was pre-Christianity, though, which probably goes without saying. So don't worry; there will be another post with pictures and plenty of happy stories about Rome, without the ranting.

But next, the story of our trip to the Sistine Chapel (in a separate post).

Cut Off

2010-04-23T03:52:00.000-07:00

Monday night, the internet went out in my apartment. Tuesday, I wrote my last post, and since then I've barely had any access to the internet at all. I only get online when I'm at Christine's office, and I don't like to hang out there for very long. So I suffer.

And the internet has not yet been fixed in the apartment, despite many promises. So, I'm at Christine's office once again, where I arrived after a two-mile run around Venice. I started off having a general idea of where I wanted to go, and then I just changed my mind somewhere in the middle. I tried to map it, but there's a good chance that in the middle there I took different little side streets or alleys. But the distance is roughly the same, and the path is close to what I actually did.

At that little "2" I hopped on a traghetto and crossed the canal, then walked the few hundred feet to Christine's office. I believe this will be considered my Venice adventure for the day, especially since I almost bonked my head on a boat as the traghetto backed out of its space. I might be unconscious right now, if not for the quick reflexes of a man riding with me.

Yesterday's adventure was my attempt to get proof that I am sort of a local here in Venice. I walked to Piazzale Roma, which is the bus station on the west side of town (you can see it on the top left of the map up there), in order to obtain my IMOB Venezia travel card. You see, riding the vaporetto here can be an expensive proposition if you don't get one of these cards. Each little ride costs €6.50, which is really annoying if you're only going one or two stops. But if you get a card, which cost €40, you only have to pay €1 for each ride. Or you can add another €28 and get unlimited rides for a month. Obviously a much better deal.

So, I headed over to the ticket office (after first thinking that I had to get on another boat from Piazzale Roma, but realizing that I was standing in front of the place I needed to be), where a man sold me a form for €40. It was all in Italian, and though I could get a general sense of what it wanted (name, address, etc.), I wasn't sure about all of it. Also, I didn't have a pen. And when I went to a different window to ask a guy if I could borrow a pen, he reacted in a not-so-pleasant manner. So then I went looking for where I could buy a pen. It's a tourist area, so surely a kiosk would have some stupid souvenir, right?

Wrong. At least not that I could see. So I went to a grocery story down the street and spent €3.24 on two erasable pens, which were the only ones I could find. I had spoken to Christine to find out about translating the form and she had told me she knew of a site that would tell her everything I needed, so she would call back. After I purchased the pens, I took the phone out of my pocket and stared at a blank screen.

The thing with this phone with a prepaid SIM card is that if it turns off, you have to re-enter the PIN to make it work again. I could not for the life of me remember this number, and this is when I nearly cried. But I made a stiff upper lip, went back to the ticket office, sat down, and stared at the form. I figured out name and address and date of birth (though I did it backward, American style, even though I knew they wanted it European style; it wasn't spiteful, just a mistake). And I even figured out that something on there meant "city of birth," though for some reason I forgot to fill that in. I was pretty damn proud of myself, even though I left several boxes empty. I decided to chance it and walk up to the window, praying that they wouldn't yell at me in Italian and send me on my way.

Turns out I did a lot of worrying for nothing. I handed a woman the form and my passport, and after she laughed at me for messing up my date of birth, she proceeded to put all the information in the computer. She took the photo I had brought with me and used her little webcam to take a photo of that photo. Then she handed it back to me. I almost laughed. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. She never said a word, but by glancing at the screen I could see that her computer was not doing what she wanted it to. She printed out my card, but apparently needed to validate it or something, and it took her about twenty minutes to just take it over to her neighbor's computer and spend five seconds doing it there. Then she handed me my card, and voila, Erin [surname redacted, even though most of you know it] had something that almost made it seem like she truly belongs in Italy.

In case you're wondering, that picture on the card is one of me in Scottsdale, holding up two adult beverages. It's hard to tell, but it's a good picture. And only makes me look like a bit of a drunk.

This weekend, we're going to Rome. 6:30 am train on Saturday morning, returning Sunday evening.

Making My Way

2010-04-20T09:04:00.000-07:00

Sunday night, I got home from a not-so-busy day of visiting the Peggy Guggenheim Museum and hanging out with Christine and other friends, and I realized the Dodger game started relatively early (I think it was 10 pm here). So I thought I would watch at least part of it. Great game, right? Pitcher's duel the whole way, with only a combined three runs scored between the two teams. I saw Uribe's homer off Kershaw in the seventh, and decided I could probably make it until the end of the game, though I was seriously fading fast.

I was curled up in bed, lying on my side with my computer in front of me. In the bottom of the eighth, I saw Reed Johnson fly out. I saw Garret Anderson walk, and during that at-bat I saw Manny come on deck to pinch-hit. And the next thing I know, it's 1:47 am, my computer screen is black, and I'm waking up from one of the most ill-timed naps ever. I woke the computer up and discovered that, mere seconds after I had fallen asleep, Manny had hit the go-ahead home run that gave the Dodgers the win. It was a four-pitch at-bat! Why couldn't I keep my eyes open for five more minutes?

Oh well. I'm choosing to focus on the fact that the Dodgers won the game. And also that I'm in Italy.

Standing on a bridge on the island of Torcello.

Today I finished reading Moneyball, which I'm not going to review because you've probably already read it, and it's not like anything I say about it hasn't already been said a thousand times since the book's publication. But I will say that I recommend it, and that even casual baseball fans should get enjoyment out of it. I put down that book and immediately picked up another, 2666, by Roberto Bolano, which I love so much thus far that I can't even stand that I've stopped reading it to write this blog. The book is 898 pages and I'm on page 114. So there's always a chance it could take a drastic turn for the worse in the next 784 pages, but I'm hoping against it.

I took a break from the book earlier to walk to a part of town that I had never ventured into before. Even armed with a map, I managed to get sort of lost, mostly because I was inept enough to continue to look at the map upside down. So I didn't understand why the signs pointing me to the Rialto Bridge wanted me to go right, when clearly the bridge was to my left. Yeah. I'm dumb. I've got another map on which I've been marking all the streets I've already walked on, just so I can get an understanding of where I've yet to go in town. Today when I get home to mark this afternoon's journey, I don't think I'm going to be able to figure out exactly where I was. I have a good sense of direction, but that becomes compromised when I spend an hour thoroughly convinced I'm heading one way, when I've actually been going completely the opposite way.

Looking tough outside the police station on Murano.

That said, if you come to Venice, I can show you around. I've learned some stuff in my nine days here, and I could show you some things. There are many cities in the United States about which this is true, and last year I added San Juan, Puerto Rico, to that list. I think I'm happiest about knowing Venice, though. And since I still have about a month left here, I'll be a regular pro at this city when all is said and done.

I'm still a little afraid of the traghettos, which are the gondolas that take (according to the sign) a maximum of fourteen people across the Grand Canal. There are only four bridges crossing the Grand Canal, so the traghettos are necessary so you don't have to walk all over just to cross from one side to the other. I'm not so afraid of them that I won't ride one, and in fact I did take one today, but there is still a bit of fear. A lot of people stand up in them, which I'm not sure I can do yet. There's just a general sort of unsteadiness about them, and there are a lot of boats traveling this waterway, so sometimes the path looks a little dicey. But I'm willing to bet not too many of these things have capsized over the years, so the wariness is going away and I'm sure I'll be over it soon.

I've got upcoming trips to Rome and Florence and Milan, though I don't know exactly when those will happen. More news as it breaks.

My "model" pose next to a sculpture at the Peggy Guggenheim.

Day of Silence

2010-04-16T05:54:00.000-07:00

Opening Day Shenanigans

2010-04-15T15:57:00.000-07:00

This video is definitely NSFW:

Note the following:

1) Security tries to stop the guy from recording at the beginning of the video ("don't have that recording, please"), as if that is in any way something a Dodger Stadium security guy armed with a walkie talkie and pencil can actually enforce. Thankfully, the guy behind the camera knows his rights.

2) The guy who gets shoved and kicked is not moving or in any way making a threatening gesture when the security guy shoves him through the door. I don't care what the dude was saying at that point; the security guard has no standing here. So he talked about your momma? Suck it up, and escort him out. The tendency to resort to physical violence because someone says something insulting should be a red flag for the Dodgers when it comes to hiring these guys. It shouldn't be considered an asset in this line of work.

I don't like violence. And I like it even less when it comes from those who are given some semblance of power, and then asked to use that power to protect the 56,000+ people at the stadium from the few bad eggs. Maybe this guy in the video deserved to get thrown out of the game. But based on what we see in the video, he didn't deserve to get shoved through the door. And as far as I'm concerned, he was well within his rights to lift his arms and attempt to defend himself once he was physically attacked.

Remember this? Yeah, not exactly convincing me that we've worked on the problem here, Dodgers. I realize that the fans tend to get violent, and if security is in the act of defending itself, that's one thing. But people at baseball games, particularly drunk Dodger fans, are known for making some noise and hurling some insults. If that's all they're doing, keep your hands to yourself.

So far, according to the LA Times, all we've gotten from Dodgers' spokesman (and friend of this blog) Josh Rawitch is that the Dodgers are aware of the video and are looking into it. The evidence is pretty glaring, so I would think that the obvious course of action is to fire the main culprit in the video, and then perhaps to look into some more effective training for the security hired to patrol the stadium.

Lagging

2010-04-15T09:56:00.000-07:00

It is truly weird to wake up at 7:45 and find that the Dodgers are still playing baseball on the other side of the world. It is truly sad to lie in bed and watch the Dodgers tie the game in the bottom of the ninth, then leave the house while the game is still tied, only to confirm (while eating a croissant in a cafe) that they blew it and lost, 9-7. It's even weirder that the Red Sox game was over by the time I went to sleep. You might understand that I never really know what the hell day it is, or when any particular sporting event occurs.

The above paragraph might imply that I am sleeping at night while these games happen in my homeland. But alas, this is just not so. Because I can't sleep. At least not at night. Last night I was up until 3:00am, and though I did fall asleep then, I also probably woke up four times between then and the alarm at 7:45. This is brutal, especially when you consider that yesterday I walked all over the damn place, and was ridiculously tired. I couldn't help but fall asleep for an hour at 6pm, but it's absurd that a little nap like that might cost me an entire night's sleep. And if it did, then I'm in trouble again tonight, because I couldn't keep my eyes open this afternoon and I just slept for two hours.

The point is, I'm tired. Yesterday I visited Basilica di San Marco, the Rialto Bridge, the Ponte dell'Accademia, Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute, the Punte della Dogana, and probably more that I just can't think of right now. I ate some delicious ravioli for lunch, and had gelato (again). And I downloaded and watched the newest episode of Glee with Christine to cap off the day. You might wonder if I took pictures. Why, yes I did, but I am too lazy to deal with uploading right now, so that will be a treat for another day.

Today I went back to Piazza San Marco and visited the Palazzo Ducale di Venezia, which is a tour I just can't recommend. The place is huge, and if you purchase the audio guide, you'll spend the first few minutes confused as to where you're supposed to go. Then you'll finally find a room that matches up with what the guy on the guide is saying, and there will be no turning back. It is a long tour. And I don't know about you, but I can only handle craning my neck so many times to look at paintings of Neptune giving Venus the power over the Adriatic, or Jesus dying on the cross, or St. Mark doing something or other. It was a dizzying morning trying to take all that in, so that by the time we (Christine's friend Deborah is in town visiting, so I've been doing all this touring with her while Christine works) finally got to something I'd heard of, the Bridge of Sighs, I didn't even really know I was there until it was over.

I also visited the Fortuny Museum today, which has quite the eclectic mix of exhibits. There was a modern art exhibit, some sort of exhibit of old clothes and old paintings, and then a collection of samurai war garments. I'd say the problem with this museum was the lack of explanation, particularly in the clothing part that apparently belonged to the Fortuny family or something. I don't know, because there was barely a single placard explaining anything in the entire exhibit. The samurai exhibition had a lot of explanation, but none that seemed to really answer the questions people would have (like, why does this guy have a crab as his ornamental headpiece, or why was this dude's hat so much bigger than anyone else's?). I need a little more in my museum, if you please. This was the same problem in a lot of the doge palace, though I won't complain about that because the damn thing already took so much time (I'd say we were in there for two hours or so) that the last thing I wanted was further explanation.

I'm writing more details about today because it's fresher in my mind, but yesterday was definitely the more productive day, simply because I liked most of what I saw and wasn't really disappointed in anything. And today my disappointment only comes as a result of extremely high expectations, so life isn't all that bad. I mean, I'm lying on a couch and typing my blog as a guy sings and plays an accordion on a gondola passing by my window. And the Red Sox game is starting in fifteen minutes, which means I'll be able to watch it before I go to sleep (fingers crossed) tonight. So what do I have to complain about, really?

Ciao

2010-04-12T10:08:00.000-07:00

Um, I'm in Italy. This is weird. Perhaps you haven't noticed, but I am a bit of an American. Not in all the ways that I consider that a bad thing (backwards conservative thinking, love of NASCAR, for instance), but in the sense that I am used to following the isolationist doctrine (which, actually, is also a bad thing, so forget it; I'm American in almost every sense of the word). I like a lot of America. I've seen a lot of America on various road trips. But I've never left the country until now. And, no, Puerto Rico doesn't count, since it is an American territory, and despite the Spanish speaking, it definitely feels American.

Venice does not feel American. It feels Italian. I've been here just over 24 hours, and I already feel Italian, for god's sake. It's just strange to me that I'm even here. It still feels like a dream. I mean, I have Euros in my pocket and I'm typing this blog from my dock on the Grand Canal of Venice. This is what I see when I look straight ahead:

And look at the view when I turn to the left:

My brain doesn't even know how to process those images yet.

I went to sleep last night at around 11pm (it was a struggle to stay awake that long), after watching the Red Sox win and the Dodgers blow a lead again. I didn't wake up today until 2:45pm. And I only woke up then because Christine came crashing through the front door, convinced I was dead because I hadn't responded to any of her emails (I didn't have an Italian phone yet) all day. I haven't slept like that since I was teenager (if even then), but I guess that's what jet lag does to you. So, I sort of wasted my first full day in town. But I walked Christine back to work, all the while trying to pay attention to the landmarks so that I wouldn't get lost when I had to make it back to the apartment on my own. And guess what? I didn't get lost. I walked back to the Piazza San Angelo, got some gelato, and took it back to the apartment. No wrong turns, and no need to pull out the map. Yes, I was proud of myself.

Tomorrow, I will wake up at a reasonable hour, and I will go for a jog. I will bring a map with me, but I fully intend to get lost because that's what I think one should do in a new city. I'll get lost, and then I'll find my way home again. And after the jog, I'll watch the archived footage of the Red Sox game, since I can't bring myself to wake up in the middle of the night to watch it live. At least not until I get used to the time change.

Right. Did I mention that I'm in Italy?

Modern Technology

2010-04-10T09:01:00.000-07:00

This is weird. As I type, I am sitting in a Boeing 737, operated by Delta, that has just reached its cruising altitude. And yet I am on the internet, talking to you people. This is different from that time I "live blogged" my flight to Seattle, in that this is actually live.

The boys at Sons of Steve Garvey will be happy to know that I got to watch the video of "Deltalina" explaining the safety features of this particular plane. However, since I have a pesky superstition that requires I never once look up during any safety demonstration on an airplane, I actually only really heard Deltalina give her spiel. I looked up once to confirm it was her, then immediately went back to my pre-flight ritual of texting/making phone calls up until the last possible minute, making sure my seatbelt was fastened for about the tenth time, and in this case--a rarity indeed--attempting to stop myself from choking up and full-on bawling every few seconds. If I spoke to Christine, I cried. If I thought about getting on the airplane, I cried. I cried before I left the house when I had to say goodbye to my dog, and I cried at the airport thinking about how I left her behind. And, in case you're wondering, yes, I am a bit teary now.

But it's okay. I'm heading back to New York for the first time since The Ellen DeGeneres Show took me to shoot some promos five years ago. That was for 24 hours. This will be for about four hours (and of course I lived there for three years for college). Doesn't leave much time for socialization. But I have a friend who is flying from the states back to Berlin, and it turns out her flight takes off, on the same airline, ten minutes before mine. So we will, in all likelihood, at least get to say hi for a few minutes before chasing each other across the Atlantic.

I've started "A Serious Man" on my own little TV screen here, so that should kill some time. The next flight is twice as long as this one, so it should be interesting. I'm still frightfully nervous, of course, but I'm making do. The medication has definitely kicked in. But if you feel the need to be sarcastic or mocking to a poor girl like me, save it for when I'm not several miles above terra firma. I'm sensitive.

As long as the JFK terminal has wi-fi (and since I'm flying First Class and get access to the "Sky Club" or whatever, I think I'll be able to find a signal), I should be able to use MLB.tv to catch a few minutes of the Dodgers and Red Sox games. That'll be nice. I don't think the international portion of the flight will have wi-fi, which is rather unfortunate.

Anyway, I'll get back to you from JFK.

Paging Dr. Freud

2010-04-07T22:39:00.000-07:00

I woke up this morning and realized that in my dream last night, both Curt Schilling and this douche called me, one right after the other. And the conversations were pleasant. And Schilling offered to link to me on his blog. I think I was in a car driving with my parents, and they weren't nearly as excited as they should have been. They didn't seem to understand that Curt Schilling gets many, many more readers than I do, so getting a link on his blog might really help me crack that elusive milestone of twenty hits a day. The best part is that Schilling's name showed up on my phone, like I had his number saved in there and maybe this wasn't the first time he had called me.

In real life, I think we all know I would not answer the phone for either of those two men. Yes, yes, I'm a Red Sox fan, and there's the bloody sock and all that. But still. I've made my feelings about Schilling pretty clear.

The question is, why now with that dream? Some latent guilt over not posting even though the season is now three games old? Well, I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to be writing about thus far. The Dodgers have lost twice to the Pirates, and the Red Sox have lost two of three to the Yankees. I'm trying not to get too worked up over the Red Sox, even though I really, really hate losing to the Yankees. I can just hear Yankee bloggers getting themselves all worked up over the two wins, and it makes me want to scream. Of course, I probably feel this way only because I know I would be the same way had the Red Sox won two of the three. But that's me, and that makes it okay. Double standards are allowed when it comes to fanaticism.

As for the Dodgers, who knows. I need to get into it more, start reading SoSG more often, and become the obsessed person you've all come to know and love. But I'm leaving for Italy in just over 48 hours, and my mind can't seem to stop dealing with that fact long enough for me to focus on much else. The good news is that MLB.tv will work in Italy, and I've got my subscription set up and ready to go. Once I get over the jet lag, I'm sure I'll be back to my old ranting, anxious self.

The flight is Denver to JFK, then nine hours from JFK direct to Venice, all in first class (or "business elite," as Delta calls it, since they only have two classes on international flights). That's right, I'm living the dream. I've got plenty of DVDs, my new Kindle (plus a couple of "real" books for good measure), some crosswords, my noise-canceling headphones, and my anxiety medication. Ideally, I'd like to sleep most of the way, but I don't think this will be happening. So, does the above list sound like enough to keep me occupied? Anyone have any further suggestions?

Oh, and I want to point out a relatively new addition to the sidebar. I joined a site called "Good Reads" (or perhaps "goodreads," though I can't really bring myself to write it that way, particularly since it's the name of a site devoted to reading), which allows me to keep track of books I've read, or want to read, or am currently reading. It also allows me to "friend" people (like Facebook), and see what they're up to, literature wise. Anyway, in the sidebar I've got a little widget showing you what I'm currently reading. I do this not to brag about how much I read (but, really, you should feel inferior), but just to keep you informed and maybe even inspire you to join the site (it's free) and get motivated about reading. Think of me like that "Book It!" program some of you may have done in elementary school (wow, and apparently it's still around), only without the incentive of a free Personal Pan Pizza from Pizza Hut at the end. All I can offer you is a virtual pat on the back. I hope that's enough.

The "Backlash"

2010-03-26T15:02:00.000-07:00

I'm fully willing to admit that there was nothing in my previous post that could be regarded as the "smoking gun" against Matt Gaetz and his detestable personality and politics. But I didn't lie. I had an opinion, and I chose to express it. The simple fact is that the thought of Matt Gaetz having any sort of political power makes my stomach turn. I regrettably never chose to record my conversations with him, but I do have a pretty good memory. So when I write of my experiences with the man, I'm being as honest as that memory will allow.

More than a few people have expressed their support with what I wrote. There's no question that a lot of people Matt Gaetz went to high school with could see the sort of man he would become, perhaps in part because of the kind of man his father already was. And that's fine. I suppose the world needs those sorts of people, to remind us now and then what a good person looks like. There are people out there, on both sides of the aisle, who choose to get into politics for all the right reasons. It just so happens that Matt Gaetz is not one of those people. There will obviously be some who disagree with me. 42.5% of the people who voted in the Republican primary in District 4, for instance. But I have no problem with what I wrote, and I certainly don't regret it for a second. Someone needed to say it.

Now, we all know that Gaetz himself can't get into a feud with me over this, because he's got to be the consummate politician. Apparently, though, he can get his sister to fight his battles. So, what follows is the email exchange I had just moments ago with Gaetz's younger sister, who coincidentally is also named Erin.

Erin,

I hope that using your blog to personally and falsely attack my brother helped you deal with whatever issues you've been harboring for the past 10 years.

Good luck,
Erin Gaetz

And my response to her:

For the record, I haven't been harboring issues against your brother at all. If this were simply a matter of disagreeing with him politically, I wouldn't have written anything. But this is more about the kind of person I believe your brother to be, and how I'm not interested in letting him get his political start without at least putting it out there that I don't think he has the best interests of his potential constituents in mind.

I'd love you to tell me one thing I wrote that could somehow be defined as "false." It's a personal opinion, based on over a decade of knowing him. I believe I'm still entitled to a personal opinion in this country. And my opinion is that your brother is smarmy, disrespectful to women, and not interesting in anything but advancing his own career. That's not the kind of person I want representing my friends and my hometown.

Glad you're reading the blog, though!

And her (presumably final) response to me:

You are definitely entitled to your opinion. It just so happens, in this case, that your opinion is not rooted in fact. It's alright. These things happen.

We as a family learned long ago that people are going to say what they want to say. All we can do is keep our side of the street clean. That is what Matt has done, and that is why he has such a bright future ahead of him.

That's the last you'll hear from me. I'm not interested in discussing this further with you.

Well, sure. People who don't have a leg to stand on never want to discuss things further. It's the easiest way to claim the win in a debate. I, for one, am still interested in knowing exactly what in my original post could be described as "false," but oh well. If you know anyone from the Northwest Florida area, go ahead and ask them about the Gaetz Family's attempts to "keep [their] side of the street clean." I'm more than certain you'll receive a few chuckles, mixed in with a few rants.

Really, I'm just laughing at this point. This is a staunchly Republican area, and I definitely knew that a post on a robot blog wasn't exactly going to rock the vote. But it is nice to see that a few people have read it, and that some even felt the need to respond. Thanks for giving me legitimacy, Ms. Gaetz!

Strange Bedfellows

2010-03-22T18:31:00.000-07:00

If you happen to be voting in the Florida District 4 State Representative special election primary tomorrow, this might be something worth reading. I realize that very few of my readers are a part of that demographic, but I need this to be on the internet. So it goes on my blog.

I have known Matt Gaetz for over ten years, and I'm here to paint a very different portrait than Gaetz and his supporters would like you to see. I no longer live in Florida, so I am not afraid of the supposed mighty power of the Gaetz family name. I also have nothing to gain by making this information known. I really just want to make sure that people know what they're getting into when they mark "Matt Gaetz" on their ballot in this election.

A lot of the qualities Gaetz currently possesses were a lot of fun when we were teenagers, and even when we were in our early 20s. Drinking, gambling, talking about women; all of this is a good time when you're young and don't really have too many cares in the world. But Gaetz never got past that mindset. While the rest of us grew up, Gaetz stayed the same. He may have gotten his law degree and put on a suit and tie, but behind all that he's still the same guy who takes out his cell phone to show friends naked pictures of the women he's recently bedded.

From a political standpoint, voters could not make a worse choice in voting for Gaetz. I may no longer live in Florida, but I still care about what happens to my home state, and particularly my hometown of Niceville, and I would fear for District 4 if Gaetz is elected. Five months after Proposition 2, which banned gay marriage in Florida, Gaetz told me personally that he had voted against the proposition because he thought it was absurd. But that tune changed when he announced his intention to run for office. The district had overwhelmingly voted for the proposition, and Gaetz apparently saw the writing on the wall. So when he first created his political website, he told voters that he knew "marriage is between one man and one woman." That part on his website has since been removed, for reasons unknown. Regardless of your stance on that particular issue, it should at least give you pause that a candidate is so willing to lie about his position.

Voters in America these days claim to be looking for change. Republican voters, in particular, have voiced the idea that the country is moving in the wrong direction, and that those in government need to be held accountable for their actions. I can promise you that if you vote for Matt Gaetz, all you will get is more of the same. He is not interested in change. He does not have your best interests in mind. His only impetus for getting into politics is to get more money and power. He is a consummate politician, having been groomed as such from an early age. When he tells you he wants to be a state representative so he can be "on your side" in fighting against special interests, he is lying. And you can bet he'll take money from those special interests the first chance he gets, if he hasn't done so already.

Matt Gaetz, to put it simply, is not a good person. He can come and knock on your doors, smile for your photo ops, and hold all the babies he wants, but the fact of the matter is that Gaetz is a smarmy womanizer with no intention of doing anything for the district that doesn't first and foremost advance his political career. A vote for Matt Gaetz is a vote for more of the same. Please don't let his money and fame sway you. Any other candidate is a vast improvement over Gaetz, and you'll be doing District 4 a big favor by making sure Gaetz doesn't get his political start because of your vote.

Miscellaneous

2010-03-17T09:41:00.000-07:00

Remember way back when I switched from Beantown West to Robots Took My Medicine, and all the controversy that caused the change? Well, it's been about a year and a half, but I finally succeeded in getting all my old posts (except the ones that created the controversy in the first place) archived on this site. It was a tedious process, since I had to do it one post at a time, but I finally got around to completing the last few months of the 2007 season. So if you feel like reading a recap of a Dodger or Red Sox game from August 2007, say, now you can.

Also, a reminder: you can become my friend on Facebook, or "follow" me with Google. Just look for the appropriate links in the sidebar, and help to make me look popular.

Have you done your March Madness brackets yet? Three years ago, when I first turned my blog into one that would cover sports, I had a pretty good run in the ESPN game. At one point I was in 37th place. While I wouldn't expect that kind of success again this year, a girl can dream. So far I've filled out eight brackets in the ESPN game. Two more to go. I'm also a part of my family's pool over at CBS Sports. Between the two sites, I'll have eleven brackets, so we'll see if any of them come anywhere close to predicting the outcome of the tournament.

Tomorrow I leave for Idaho for the weekend. My sister and I are taking the baby to go meet his great-grandparents and the rest of the extended family. It will be a quick trip, but definitely worth it. I've never flown with a baby before, so that should be something of an adventure.

Oh, and today is my sixth anniversary with Christine. At times it feels like it's only been five minutes, and other times it feels like it's been forever (in a good way). She's in Venice and I'm spending the day with my nephew. Not all bad on my end, but obviously not the ideal way to celebrate an anniversary. But only 24 more days until I get on a plane bound for Venice, so the countdown is on!

That Old Funny Feeling

2010-03-11T08:31:00.000-08:00

I was convinced that this year I just wasn't going to care about baseball. I wasn't going to get all worked up before the season began, counting the days to spring training and planning my entire life around the start times of two teams on opposite coasts.

Lindsay's death hit me hard. And after writing my post about her, I couldn't see a way of getting back into writing about baseball. And then not long after that, my nephew, Wilson Sawyer, came into the world. He was born January 10, 2010. That's 01-10-10, which makes him a binary baby, something I know the guys over at Sons of Steve Garvey will appreciate. And despite the fact that Wilson's mother (my sister) is a Cardinals fan (she went to high school in St. Louis; I, thankfully, did not), he already has several Dodger outfits. Some of you may remember last season when I made some Dodgers buttons with various sayings, player numbers, etc., mostly as a tribute to the SoSG boys. Well, Wilson doesn't know anything about anything yet, but luckily his aunts know good t-shirt material when they see it. So, I present to you Wilson Sawyer Peterson, Dodger fan:

Also, Wilson Sawyer Peterson, fan of his two aunts:

I've been in Denver since Wilson was three weeks old, hanging out. And despite what the Rockies want you to believe, Denver is not exactly a baseball town. Oh sure, there are billboards counting down to the Rockies home opener, but snow and freezing temperatures doesn't really conjure up images of green grass, Dodger Dogs, and sweating your ass off at a day game in July. I suppose I could drive over to Coors Field and just look at it, get a feel for the game again, but that's not exactly the same thing as taking a jaunt over to Dodger Stadium and sitting at the Top of the Park, watching players warm up in the outfield.

The point is, I've been having trouble getting into the season so far this year. But as they do every year (and as Jon Weisman so eloquently pointed out in his own post on the matter), things changed. Don't ask me what did it. Maybe I just needed a little more time this year. But whatever the reason, I'm ready for baseball. I like the break, because it makes me appreciate the beauty of seeing a hitter make contact with the ball and even just shoot a single between shortstop and third. I like the break because I will appreciate Kershaw's twelve-to-six curveball all the more as a result. And this year, unlike in years past, I like the break because I actually needed it. Not just because I was burned out on the season and the disappointing way in which it ended, but because I needed to be able to wind down and focus on more important matters. I needed baseball to go away so that I could miss it.

There's good news and bad news to go with this need for the game, though. The good news is, I'm going to Europe for two months. Christine is doing a movie in Venice right now, and on April 10 I'm flying over there to join her. After Venice, we'll head to Berlin for a few days, then to Paris. We'll fly back to the states from Paris on, tentatively, June 5 (which coincidentally is the same date I flew back from Puerto Rico last year). So, the bad news is that for the second year in a row I'll miss the first two months of the season. Luckily I've discovered that I can access my MLB.tv account in Europe, so I can watch Red Sox and Dodger games as long as I'm willing to wake up at 1 am and 4 am, respectively, to catch them live. And I gotta say, I think most of the time I will, in fact, be willing to do just that.

So, I'm back into this. I've been lurking at Sons of Steve Garvey and Mike Scioscia's Tragic Illness and Surviving Grady, but I'm ready to be a more active member of this blogging community once again. I've had my offseason, I'm getting back in shape right now (not just a metaphor, thanks to Biggest Loser for the Wii and my grandmother's old treadmill), and come April 4, I'll be completely ready to get in the game.

For Lindsay

2009-11-28T18:35:00.000-08:00

Lindsay Weiss was something else. I remember her as a toddler at Edwards Air Force Base, though my family has known hers since she was a baby. She was seven years younger than me, which, for children, might as well be a lifetime. Our families moved around to different places over the years, thanks in large part to the Air Force, but we never lost touch. In 2001, when my parents moved to Arizona, where the Weisses had lived for quite a while by then, my parents bought a house one block over from the Weiss household. By then, I had graduated college, but I lived with my parents for six months in that house before moving over to Los Angeles. L.A. was a six-hour drive away, so after I moved away, I still drove back quite often to visit.

My family had (and still has) a connection with the Weiss family that is hard to explain, though those who grew up Air Force brats like me might have some idea. When you live on an Air Force base, particularly Edwards, which is isolated in the middle of the desert, you form a bond with people that doesn't go away just because one family or the other moves.

I won't pretend Lindsay and I were best friends or anything. We weren't. When I lived in Arizona, and even when I moved out to California, Lindsay was a teenager, and she was doing what teenagers do, what they should do. She was hanging out with her friends and being a kid. But we were friends. And over the last few years, I spent a little more time with Lindsay, making fun of our crazy moms and talking about television shows and movies we enjoyed. I sent her copies of Felicity and Freaks and Geeks; she encouraged me to watch We Can Be Heroes and Young @ Heart.

Lindsay was an energetic, happy girl, and also stubborn and confident in what she wanted out of life. This was obvious even when she was just in high school, and these qualities drew people to her wherever she went. She spent the last six months or so working on ideas for my sister Noelle's nursery. In July, Christine and I went to Arizona, along with my parents and Noelle, and worked on making Lindsay's ideas a reality. In October, Lindsay drove with her mother, Alicia, up to Denver to see those ideas put together, and the result is just plain awesome.

The world lost a good one on November 1, 2009. Lindsay Weiss was eight days past her 22nd birthday, and almost three years into her fight with Hodgkin's Lymphona when her body finally gave out and she got to rest. She was with her family, and she went peacefully, which is all any of us can hope for, I suppose.

I've felt empty since my mom called to tell me the news on the morning of November 2, and I don't know when or if that emptiness will ever leave me. But I'm getting through by reminding myself of the love Lindsay left behind, and the lives she touched while she was here. On December 5, well over 100 of those lives will gather in Arizona to remember Lindsay and celebrate her. It will be a time for happiness, but that doesn't mean it won't be sad. Lindsay could best be described as a force, and when something like that is suddenly gone from your life, it's not something you get over quickly.

I want to embed this video, but I can't find a version that will allow it, so I hope you'll take four minutes to follow the link and watch the video, which is a clip from one of Lindsay's favorite movies:

I Will Fix You

A Home Away from Home

2009-10-21T10:49:00.001-07:00

I spend a lot of games chatting in the game threads over at Sons of Steve Garvey. That place has turned into a nice little online community. Sort of like a virtual Cheers, in which everyone knows your (pseudo)name. Well, in my case, it's my real name, but still. You want to have a good time and talk Dodger baseball with a bunch of real fans who also happen to be knowledgeable? SoSG is the place for you.

I started reading shortly before I met a couple of the Sons at the Dodger Blogger Night last season, and I have been a regular reader/commenter ever since. I'm not going to on and on about how great it is over there, or how privileged I feel to know the true identities of three of the Sons. That would be boring. Instead, I'll tell you a little bit about what we do over there, and end with a visual representation.

When you spend a ton of time talking (writing) with the same people virtually every night for six straight months, trends start to develop. Certain phrases catch on, and one might even begin to call them catchphrases.

One such phrase is "Rancho Ardiendo," brought to the Sons by Venezuelan reader--and eternal optimist--Karina. It essentially translates to "burning house" in Spanish, and is a term used (I assume in Venezuela, but maybe all over the Spanish-speaking baseball world) when the bases are loaded. Karina taught it to us, and we all use it constantly whenever the occasion arises.

Sometimes, as a baseball fan, you need to keep your expectations low. So, when the bases are loaded, for instance, one might just hope that a team's weak-hitting catcher can work the walk to drive in a run. Or hit a ball that should be a double play to end the inning, but instead results in an error that scores a run and/or keeps the inning alive. Often on SoSG, the commenters respond the same way: "I'll take it." As in, "it wasn't really the best outcome, but I will deal with the results anyway." The other night, Orel deemed it the SoSG catchphrase, and I'd have to say that it certainly is, at least for the 2009 playoffs.

Finally, you've probably seen that Juan Pierre wears a shirt that reads "Beast Mode." The readers at SoSG took this term and ran with it, using the "[noun] Mode" format for other players. I don't know when it started with Casey Blake, but I do know that for most of the season, the Dodger third baseman has been referred to most often as "Beard Mode." Simple, yet genius.

You may recall that I told you a few posts ago that I have a button maker. When life presents one with catchphrases, what else can one do but put those catchphrases on some buttons? So, conceived by me, designed by Christine, and handmade by both of us, I present you with the next wave of Robots Are Everywhere Dodger Buttons (mixed in with some of the old ones):

Also, just to remind the Dodgers what they're playing for tonight:

One game at a time. Just bring it back to L.A. and go from there.

Surviving Broxton

2009-10-20T10:56:00.001-07:00

I spent my morning reading stories from various Dodger blog writers, all of whom are--rightfully--heartbroken and confused. How could it be? We were one out from tying it, one out from showing the Phillies that we aren't the same team they kicked around last year.

And then Broxton showed he was afraid of Matt Stairs, all because last year Matt Stairs hit a home run that changed last year's series. I don't want to be Bill Plaschke, talking about the ghosts of years past or whatever, but why was Broxton afraid? Matt Stairs has a below-.200 average, and he hit all of five home runs this year. With no one on base, even if Stairs did knock one out, the game would only be tied. And I'm sorry, but Stairs was not hitting it out of that park last night. So you pitch to him, and you get him out. Then there are two outs and maybe Broxton isn't so nervous that he hits Ruiz with the pitch, putting the winning run on base.

I can't not blame Broxton here. I'm sorry. I know he was a great closer all year, and that some people were too soon to jump on him when he had a couple of bad games. I don't care about all that. What I care about is him coming into a must-win game in the playoffs and not being chickenshit about a 40-year old who can count his home runs this year on one hand. And if he's going to be chickenshit about that, then I care that he better be damn sure he can get the next two outs with a runner on base. And if he can't, and he instead hits a batter, then manages a line drive out, I care about him not grooving a fastball over the heart of the plate to a leadoff hitter who is just looking for a pitch to drive.

This is not a matter of Broxton making just one mistake. A home run to tie the game would have been one mistake. An "unintentional" walk, followed by a hit batter, then followed by a ball scorched to the gap, those are a lot of damn mistakes. You blew it, big boy. And it's totally on you.

I don't really want to talk about the strike zone, which absolutely, positively sucked. But I will encourage you to go look at this image. Look how many pitches right in the middle of the plate were called balls. Now, sure, there are a few from Phillies' pitchers in there, but the majority are pitches thrown by a Dodger pitcher for strikes, but for whatever reason called balls. I don't want to be the one who whines about bad umps, but there are moments in games when those calls matter. And in a close game like this, it matters that the ump is not calling strike three on obvious strikes. The guy was a joke, and if he is behind the plate again in these playoffs, MLB has some explaining to do.

So, I spent my morning reading what the Sons have to say about this, along with Dodger Thoughts and Mike Scioscia's Tragic Illness. And then I thought some more about how I felt last night, about how Christine went into the kitchen to heat us up some spaghetti (we had been afraid to eat during the game), and had to ask me to stop ranting because she was sick of crying. I wanted to cry. I felt like sobbing. But it just wouldn't come. I seethed with anger instead, and that continued into this morning, especially the more I read about how everyone else felt.

Then I went over to Surviving Grady, just to get away from the outright sadness everywhere in the Dodger world. That's when I read this, and I felt just a little bit better. Now, I realize that most of my readers are not Red Sox fans. But that's not really the point here. Just think back to 2004. Think back to game three of that ALCS, and how the Red Sox had their asses handed to them in a 19-8 romp. Then remember game four, where they were down going into the ninth against Rivera. But then came the walk from Millar, the steal by pinch runner Roberts, and the tying hit from Bill Mueller. And a little while later, the win. Just one game, but the Sox were back in it. And they came all the way back, shocking the Yankees and moving on to the World Series.

I know that these Dodgers are not the 2004 Red Sox. But do you really think the 2009 Phillies are the 2004 Yankees? No way. Look, I'm not saying I fully believe the Dodgers can come back from this. And if they win tomorrow night, we might just be setting ourselves up for seeing the Phillies celebrate on our field. But do we want to root against our own team tomorrow night just so we don't have to have see a Phillies celebration? Do we want to really see the baseball season end so badly that we're willing to ignore any possibility of a miracle?

Yes, I know we'll have to see Cliff Lee in a game seven, should it get there. But if we force a game seven after going down 3-1, don't you think we'll have the Phillies against the ropes a little bit? And wouldn't you like to see the boys in blue at least try to make that happen?

I'll tell you right now, I do not give a flying fig about a Phillies/anyone World Series. So the season will be over for me the second the Dodgers are out of this. That means that I just have to keep reminding myself that the Dodgers are not out of this. Sure, I'm going to go through some moments in the next 30 hours during which I will be completely convinced that the Dodgers are toast. But I'm going to push through those, and the subsequent nausea, and I'm going to tell myself to believe.

Because just remember--if we take this back to Dodger Stadium, we'll get a little of this:

And as corny as we've all thought the "Don't Stop Believin'" song has been all year, it's pretty much the most important message we, as Dodger fans, can hear right now. If the Dodgers lose this series, you can be negative and angry and sad and all of that, and you can bet I'll be right there with you.

But for now, let's just try to focus on how good it will feel if we can make the Phillies sweat this one a little bit. Send those positive vibes out into the world and see what comes back to us. It can't hurt, right?

Onward

2009-10-19T11:15:00.001-07:00

If I were a Philly phan, I would probably be writing about last night's shellacking of the Dodgers as though it were an obvious sign that the better team finally showed up and proved itself. After all, 11-0 is about as one-sided as you can get, so I'd be pretty proud of my team and ready to say this series is over. Of course, I'd write that the Phillies haven't won yet, and that they still have games to play, perhaps try to act a little humble; but in my heart of hearts I would know how this will all end.

As you know, I am not a Phillies' phan. And that sense of complacency might be exactly where I want those phanatics to be right now. I was seriously depressed last night, from the first inning on, and I was watching my team feeling like there really was a chance that this was the best they could do: a slugfest in game one, a "gift" win in game two, and a beatdown in game three. But there are, as they say, two sides to every story, and after I got over (well, okay, not quite over it yet, but I'm getting there) the game, I realized there's another way to look at this.

Game one, Clayton Kershaw was off, but so was Cole Hamels. The Dodgers won the battle of the bullpens (just subtract Sherrill from that conclusion), and showed a lot of heart in coming back from a 5-1 (and an 8-4) deficit to actually make it a close game in the end. Game two, sure, the Chase Utley error helped us. But, Vicente Padilla had only given up one run, and the bullpen took care of the rest of the game. Utley might be the goat of that game, but it wouldn't have hurt if his team could have scored some more runs so that error could have been meaningless. And yeah, okay, we got our asses handed to us in game three. There's no question about it. But, as many commenters on Sons of Steve Garvey pointed out last night, that beating couldn't have come at a better time. Kuroda was going to suck, so why not let it happen in a game we sort of expected to lose anyway, considering the Phillies' ace was on the mound? Any Phillies' pitcher could have beaten the Dodgers last night with the way Kuroda pitched, so now we just have to forget about it and move on to games we can expect to at least make interesting. Besides, as commenter "rbnlaw" on SoSG pointed out this morning, "losing 11-0 is better than losing 2-1 when you've led most of the game...right Fillies?"

So, yeah, momentum (whatever that means) is on the Phillies' side for a few hours. But I believe in Randy Wolf's ability to come out and shut down Philadelphia's offense while our boys go to town on Joe Blanton. We win tonight, and it's 2-2. That makes it a best of three, and two of those remaining three will be played at beautiful Chavez Ravine. Of course, winning tonight and Wednesday makes it less likely that we'll have to see Cliff Lee in a game seven with the World Series on the line, so I wouldn't hate that outcome.

As for what I'm doing to help the team, I've yet to decide on tonight's wardrobe. Last night, I wore my blue Dodgers jersey over my "not right now. I'm watching the game" shirt, and look what happened. That jersey is what I was wearing when the Dodgers clinched the West, so I thought it would work, but it's retired now, at least for tonight. So now I'm thinking I'll wear the Dodger pajama bottoms from game one (since they obviously helped to spark the offense), and my Dodger hat, but no Dodger top. Just a normal shirt of some kind. Perhaps that will be the right combination to get things heading in the right direction.

GO DODGERS!!!

That Old Blue Magic

2009-10-16T12:08:00.001-07:00

I did not like last night's game, but I don't really want to talk about it, either. It was a game of blown opportunities, to say the least, and if you'd like to read a compelling recap, Dodger Thoughts has got you covered.

On Wednesday, Christine and I pulled out my button maker (that's right, I have one) to make something for a friend, and we decided to make some Dodger buttons, too. So, we made a bunch. I wore four of them on my Dodger shirt last night, and completed the outfit

with my hat and Dodger pajama bottoms. Even my socks had some blue on them. I have only just realized that I own no Dodger blue underwear, but I'll get that fixed soon enough. The point is, none of that mojo worked. So, right now I'm wearing some normal old shorts and flip flops (because it's effing hot out again), along with my Dodger hat (because I always wear that), and my 1959 All-Star Game t-shirt (which features this image). Gotta switch it up in the hopes that my clothing choices can have an effect on the outcome of a game in which I am not a participant.

The Dodgers showed some fight last night, but the agony still felt all too familiar, since this is what happened in last year's NLCS. The question now is how the Dodgers will come out today. Only about sixteen hours separate the end of game one from the beginning of game two, which means the Dodgers need to forget about last night and concentrate on today. Vicente Padilla is on the mound today, and no matter how good he's been for the team this season, there is still reason to be concerned. So the Dodgers need to get to Pedro Martinez (not exactly used to rooting against him in the postseason) early and often.

Christine once predicted that Vicente Padilla would do something big for the Dodgers in the playoffs. She thought perhaps game three against St. Louis was that big thing. But if he pitches well today, that could be even bigger, and maybe Christine's prediction really meant that Padilla would be a hero throughout the postseason.

Here's hoping.

P.S. There's a chance the picture of the buttons won't open larger in a new window if you click on it. I don't know why that's happening, but hopefully you get the gist with the smaller photo.

Before We Begin, A Look Back

2009-10-15T10:39:00.000-07:00

The Dodgers begin NLCS play in just under seven hours, and I'm just sick with anticipation. Christine is worse off, and is insisting we go out to the stadium today before the game, just to take a picture and walk around. So, that's where we're headed in a few minutes.

But first, the long-awaited pictures and videos. Christine and I were at almost all the last home games of the season, and at all three on the final weekend. So we got to see the clinching of the N.L. West on Saturday, October 3. But enough of my words. I'll let the pictures (moving or otherwise) do the talking.

First up is the video of the dude who sits in the loge section along the third base line, and sings along to "Don't Stop Believin'" in the eighth inning. He's pretty funny, and I saw him at almost every game I went to this season, except for game two of the NLDS (the Dodgers couldn't get this guy to the game? He's a crowd pleaser). Here he is, for your amusement:

As you surely now by now, the Dodgers won the game. And the celebration afterward was pretty awesome. Christine and I made it down to the front row near the left field foul pole, and watched on DodgerVision as the players sprayed champagne in the clubhouse. Then they came out to party with the fans. This video is raw, but in it you will see Clayton Kershaw, Juan Castro, and Andre Ethier, all giving me and Christine high-fives (while Matt Kemp snubs us):

Then Manny took to the microphone to speak to the fans, thanking them for supporting him and promising to bring the championship to L.A., before handing the mic off to Belliard:

Just two more pics from that night:

And then, there was game two. I've already done my write-up of that game, so here's your photo essay. Please note that the excitement level of this game was turned up to eleven, and the lack of focus on some of these pictures is just a byproduct of that. I hope you'll forgive Christine her sins.

Slash performs the national anthem.

Slash performs "God Bless America."

Skipping right ahead to the good stuff. Bottom of the ninth, Blake at third, two outs, Mark Loretta at the plate.

The face of a calm, cool veteran.

Loretta steps into the box. Blake stands at third.

The ball drops in the outfield. Blake scores. Pandemonium.

Aaaaahhhh!!!!

(more indecipherable screams)

Hail the conquering hero.

Loretta in the spotlight.

GO DODGERS!!!!!

WTF ESPN?

2009-10-11T14:45:00.001-07:00

I believe I've mentioned this before, but I really hate the Angels. Thanks for showing up, Red Sox. That was a blast.

A few days ago, Sons of Steve Garvey noted an ESPN poll about Joe Torre and Tony La Russa, and how their color choices for that poll were totally unintuitive. Today, I happened by ESPN and found an entirely different poll, but with the exact same problem:

I'm not lying about giving you pictures and video from the NL West clinching game (which I attended, and neglected to mention) and from game two of the NLDS. Soon.

The Story of A Crazy Girl

2009-10-10T16:00:00.000-07:00

In August 2006, when Mark Loretta was playing with the Red Sox, he tossed Christine a ball after the pre-game warmups in Anaheim. She marked the ball with an "ML" (which made it more complicated when Mike Lowell tossed her one the next year) and kept it with our other autographed balls and assorted souvenirs. After Mark Loretta's game-winning hit on Thursday, she pulled the ball out and insisted that we sleep with it (no jokes, please). And so, Thursday and Friday night, that ball was between our pillows in the bed. Today, Christine put it in her purse and took it with her on our errands. As we watch the Dodgers play in game three in St. Louis right now, the ball is sitting on the coffee table, positioned so that the "ML" is facing the television, with one of our "This Is My Town" towels from Thursday night placed in front.

This, my friends, is what we call obsession.

I know I promised pictures (and I've got videos, too), and you'll get them soon, but right now I'm watching the game (ignore the part of that song that mentions the Cardinals; apparently Billy Bob Thornton is a St. Louis fan).

You've Got to Be Kidding Me

2009-10-08T22:56:00.001-07:00

When Matt Kemp grounded out with the bases loaded to end the eighth inning, I thought the Dodgers were done. Sure, Ethier and Ramirez were coming up in the ninth, but it just felt like that moment in the eighth had been our shot, and we weren't going to get another one.

And when Ethier and Ramirez made two quick outs in the ninth, it really felt like the end. We were on our feet when Loney got to a 2-2 count. The rally towels were out (more on that later), Vin was talking to us indecipherably on the helmet radio, and though we wanted to believe, it just all seemed so unlikely.

Then the ball left Loney's bat, and it looked like Matt Holliday would have an easy catch. It looked like the game was over, the Dodgers had lost game two, and they would have a long flight to St. Louis for game three. Looking back now, I feel like the stadium went completely silent when that ball was in the air. But that's probably not what happened; it's probably that what happened next caused some hearing loss, and I'm still recovering.

Because Holliday dropped the ball. He appeared to lose sight of it, and before we knew it, the ball had bounced off of him and Loney was standing on second. Holliday's teammate, and tonight's starting pitcher, Adam Wainwright, blamed the drop on the white rally towels that the Dodgers handed out, calling it "unfair" that the Dodgers give them to the fans. There are a number of things wrong with that statement, the first of which being that it defines the idea of a "sore loser." Secondly, it's not as though fans were only waving those towels when the Dodgers were batting. I was there; there wasn't some big conspiracy to distract Cardinal players. I waved my towel while hoping for a strikeout of a Cardinal batter more than once. Third, the Dodgers aren't the first to use white towels, and they won't be the last. Fourth, as Jon Weisman points out, fans weren't waving their towels when the ball was in the air. I know I wasn't. I dropped my towel in disgust and despair, and almost started the long walk to my car before the ball even got to Holliday. But to put in another--and more succinct--way: shut up, Wainwright.

I've lost the point here, which is that Loney was standing on second base with two outs and the Dodgers down by a run. I won't lie; I still didn't think we had a shot to win this game. I thought this would be the one little bit of false hope that the Dodgers would give us before the game ended. But Blake came up and had one hell of an at-bat, walking on nine pitches. That at-bat might be lost in the rest of the story, but it kept us alive and it was nerve-racking as all get-out, but so fun to watch. And then came Belliard. In stark contrast to Blake's patience, Belliard swung at the first pitch and knocked a ball up the middle. Pierre, who was pinch running, came around to score.

I don't know that the word "pandemonium" can accurately describe the stands at Dodger Stadium at that moment. I thought we couldn't get louder or crazier. I would turn out to be wrong about that, but at the time it just felt impossible that things could get any more extreme. I hugged Christine, we high-fived strangers, we waved our towels, and at that point I might have started to believe that we were actually going to win this game.

Russell Martin walked, and then Loretta came up to pinch-hit. And I knew he would do it. I just knew that the veteran Loretta would know what was necessary to get the job done. Now, maybe it was just lucky that he hit a bloop that landed in short center field, but I think he knew what he was doing. Put the bat on the ball, and see what happens. That's what Loretta did, and that's what won the damn game.

That ball took forever to finally drop in the outfield, and even though I could tell it was going to drop long before it did, I couldn't go crazy until I saw it hit the grass. And when it landed and Blake came around to score, it made the previous craziness that had followed the Belliard single seem like high tea at Buckingham Palace. I went nuts. More hugging, more high fives. I screamed forever. I sang "I Love L.A." then stopped singing when they stopped the audio so we could hear Mark Loretta speak to TBS (though I don't know who in that stadium could hear a word Loretta said). The crowd didn't start filing for the exits. We stayed, and we watched the celebration, and we cheered some more. When we finally started to make our way out, the "Let's Go Dodgers!" chant was ringing down the concourse. Guys were standing in the middle and high-fiving anyone who walked past. Strangers screamed at each other as they walked by. In cars all across the parking lot, people were playing "I Love L.A." on their stereos. I did the same when I got to my car and drove past hordes of people walking to theirs.

I went to lot of Dodger games this year, and a lot last year and the year before. I was there when the Dodgers clinched last year, and when they finished off the Cubs in game three of the NLDS. But I have never been a part of something like this game. And I wasn't even going to get to a playoff game this year, but some tickets fell into my lap at the last moment. And so now, when this game gets played in highlight packages about the Dodgers over and over again for years to come, I can say I was there.

Want to feel like you were there? Watch this video of the ninth inning (starting with Loney's at-bat), combined with Vin Scully's call, courtesy of MLB. I'll post some pictures tomorrow.

Living the Life One Last Time

2009-09-18T18:00:00.000-07:00

So, here I am, my last night in the press box. I arrived two hours later than I normally do. I got here just about twenty minutes before the gates opened for the common folk, which means I pretty much missed anything worth seeing. But it's cool. I brought Christine with me, as she got herself a single ticket this afternoon, so that part made being late worth it. I don't like driving to and from games without her. I really don't even like watching them without her, but I deal with that when it means I have press box access.

The last two times I've been in the clubhouse before batting practice, I felt like a moron who didn't belong, so even though I missed my chance for the pre-game clubhouse hijinks, I probably just would have felt out of place again anyway. I don't necessarily have official questions for the players; I prefer to observe and comment when it suits me. I'll consider going back down to the clubhouse after the game, but I might not do that either, as it's fireworks night, and I think I'll probably head down to the field to watch them with Christine. But we'll see. The night is young.

I did go down to the field to watch a bit of the Dodgers' batting practice, but I either missed the big guns or they didn't take any BP today. The only players I saw were Castro, Pierre, Mienkiewicz, and Ausmus. Not exactly a murderers' row. It was nice to see that Mattingly takes his time to watch the "B" squad take BP, though.

On the way to the field, I passed through a security "debriefing" with about ten or twelve guys. I don't know exactly what they were talking about, but I do know that the guy leading the meeting mentioned "forming a line" to block something from happening. I think they were discussing protocol for protecting players from something, as the guy also said something like, "if one of our stars gets into trouble..." Something tells me there might be extra security for the Giants series, and these were the new guys learning the ropes.

The signs on the way into the stadium indicate tonight's game is sold out, but I searched the Dodgers website and could still find at least two tickets available. Hard to say what's bringing people out tonight. The baseball fan in me wants to believe that people are genuinely excited about seeing the Dodgers destroy the Giants' playoff hopes. The skeptic in me knows it's more likely that people like to see fireworks, which means fewer people leaving in the seventh inning. Unfortunate, because those people exiting does help--ever so slightly--to ease the horrible traffic on the way out of the lots. Soon, but maybe not until the season is over, I'm going to have to write a post about the parking situation at this ballpark. One of the first posts I ever wrote on this blog was about the new parking protocols here, and I'm sorry to say that nothing has really changed since that post. But more on that later.

I should say that no part of me believes the capacity crowd tonight has anything to do with Vicente Padilla taking the mound. The guy has done a nice job, and I'm happy to have an autographed ball from him, but he's not exactly a star. Christine is convinced that before the season is over, Padilla is going to do something really special for this team. I note this not because I believe it to be true, but because I feel like I should put it on record for Christine, just in case it happens.

In actual Dodger notes, Ben Maller of FoxSports.com actually went to Torre's pre-game conference, and passes along the information that Kershaw will pitch out of the bullpen next week, and Billingsley is going to start in the series against the Nationals.

One more thing before the game starts. Before the game, they play a lot of different videos on DodgerVision. Often, it's the real video interspersed with Dodger highlights. The ones I've seen the last few days include "Hole Hearted," by Extreme; "That's Not My Name," by The Ting Tings; and something from Chris Daughtry. But nothing--and I do mean nothing--can come close to the video I'm embedding below. I have all sorts of things to say about it, and I say them, loudly, when I'm at the stadium, but I'll refrain from putting those in print, and allow you to come to your own conclusions about one Mr. Zac Efron. Enjoy.

The Home Stretch

2009-09-18T10:06:00.000-07:00

Tonight I venture into the press box for the last time this season. I hope Josh Rawitch will continue this practice of reserving a spot for Dodger bloggers, but even if he doesn't, I think I can speak for all of those lucky enough to take advantage of it when I say it's been a blast. Many thanks to Rawitch and the whole Dodgers PR staff for accommodating a girl whose blog name is based on the presumption that robots will one day completely take over the world. Let's hope Rawitch doesn't come to his senses in the off-season.

I've been to Dodger Stadium twice this week already, on Monday and Wednesday. Both times, the Dodgers won. I missed Andre Ethier's walk-off on Tuesday night, but that's okay.

Seeing two of the three games of the sweep was nice, and I have tickets to all the remaining home games this season (though I'm skipping Saturday), so I think I'll see a few more home runs before it's all said and done. And speaking of my tickets, if you're interested in going to Saturday's game against the Giants, I'm selling my seats at face value on eBay. So check them out. I'll be sweating my butt off at Sunday's day game, so I don't think I can do it two days in a row. Buy my tickets!

Going to a few games recently has given me and Christine the opportunity to get some baseballs signed by the pitchers in the bullpen. We sit in the section right next to the bullpen (until we're kicked out) and wait for the players to come to the fence and sign. Many of them do, and it's nice to see. We got Kershaw last week (that's him signing our ball in the picture), and Padilla

and Haeger this week. I want Wolf or Weaver, but I've never seen either of them sign. And Broxton completely ignores the fans who ask for his autograph, so there you go.

On a side note, I know a lot of guys only want to sign for kids, and/or are worried about those who would just sell the balls on eBay. And to them I say this: growing up, I didn't have the chance to go to baseball games. The closest I lived to a Major League team was when I lived at Edwards AFB for four years as a kid, and my parents weren't able to drive two+ hours to take three kids to a game. I went to a few Kings games because my soccer coach took us, but that's the extent of my live sports event experience as a child. So, it's nice that you want to give autographs only to kids, but just remember that some of us are trying to live that childhood experience right now. So cut us a break. And besides, you can usually pinpoint the guys/girls who only want your autograph so they can sell it, and I certainly don't fit that mold. Neither does Christine. So, come on!

Walking into the stadium a few games ago, Christine and I passed a car that I only noticed because it had both Angels and Dodgers stickers on the back window. I was appalled that anyone could split his/her allegiance that way (it's a little different than being, say, a Dodgers and Red Sox fan), and I wanted to take a picture. Then one of us noticed the license plate holder, and suddenly the stickers made sense. So I took a picture of that instead.

Don't worry--their license plate numbers don't really look like that. I just messed them up in Photoshop because I wouldn't want someone broadcasting my license plate on the interwebs.

On Sunday, September 6, the Dodgers played the Padres on the ESPN Sunday Night game. I was at the game, which meant I was lucky because I didn't have to listen to Jon Miller and Joe Morgan. What was also cool about being there was that I got to see the Goodyear Blimp over the stadium during the whole game. It looks so cool up there, and my iPhone doesn't do it justice, but here's a shot nonetheless:

Tonight, I will once again hang out with Steve Sax from Sons of Steve Garvey for a few innings. I'll gladly leave my perch in the press box to meet Sax's wife and watch a little baseball with him, as it's likely his last regular season game of the season this year.

And finally, in case you've ever wondered whether Christine and I have fun at all these games we go to, here's a shot of us at Wednesday's game:

We look pretty happy, wouldn't you say?

Oh, and the Angels are a bunch of douches. I'm sorry; I know it's blasphemous because I am a Dodger fan, but I hate Mike Scioscia. Hate. And it's all because of that face he seems to be making for 90% of every damn game. He's the Mike D'Antoni of Major League Baseball, and it's hard to watch.

Joe Wilson: 2012 Republican Presidential Nominee?

2009-09-11T11:17:00.000-07:00

Joe Wilson, in his attempt to disrupt a presidential address, has made himself both a hero and a villain. He's a hero to the right-wing fringe who believe that he was right when he said the president lies, and he's a villain to the rest of the sane people in this country.

The fact of the matter is, Joe Wilson is allowed to disagree with the president. Since the incident, several outlets have claimed that this is just like what happens all the time in Parliament in Great Britain, so what's the big deal? The first argument against that is that this isn't the House of Lords, and we're not in Great Britain. We follow parliamentary procedure to a point, but if you've ever seen video of what goes on over there, you know we're not quite the same.

But even if you believe we should be more like Great Britain in that regard, please be aware that Joe Wilson would still not have been following the rules had he yelled, "You lie!" in the House of Lords. In virtually every country that follows parliamentary procedure, calling a speaker a liar is considered a violation of that procedure. Wikipedia has the list of countries and what the various offenses are in each of those countries.

With that in mind, the only way to describe what Joe Wilson did is to call it disrespectful. Even if he is actually certain that the president was lying, that was not the time or place to let that fact be known. Republicans clamored for years that the president's office is deserving of respect, and that no one should criticize the president during a time of war. Well, let's all try to play by the same rules, okay? No matter how Democrats responded to George W. Bush during his years in office, not one ever called him a liar in the middle of a speech to both houses of Congress.

And for the record, the House bill specifically prohibits illegal immigrants from being covered. The problem is that there is not a system in place to identify illegal immigrants. But that's the case right now, and taxpayers are paying for illegal immigrants' emergency room visits anyway. So why the uproar now, when this bill is at least attempting to work on that problem? Is that really worth yelling, "You lie!" at the president during his speech?

Of course, Wilson has become something of a celebrity because of this. CNN.com has as its lead story the fact that Wilson has raised around $200,000 since the incident. In paragraph seven (of nine) of that story, the writer notes that Rob Miller, Wilson's opponent in 2010, has raised more than $750,000. As I write this, Rob Miller's number is actually $816,097, and rising every hour (when I first went to that site just moments after Wilson's outburst, it showed that Miller had raised roughly $3500 in his campaign up to that point). I donated $25, and that link in the previous sentence will allow you to do the same if you like. My point is, why is Wilson's fundraising the story here? The story, in my eyes, is that people who oppose what Wilson did, who consider it unbecoming of a Congressman, have rallied behind the man's opponent. Money talks in politics, and the bigger story is that the majority of those talking with their pocketbooks are doing so against Wilson, not for him.

Many have noted that this is just a product of the kind of "debate" Republicans want to have. The "facts" are out there, mostly being presented by radio and talk show hosts who want to rally their base with scare tactics. Congressmen (and women) should be above such tactics, but they're clearly not (note Chuck Grassley's speeches in which he told people that they should be afraid of the government killing Grandma), and it's pretty disgusting. Wilson apologized after the outburst, but is now claiming that he will "not be muzzled," and is refusing to apologize to the House for his actions. We shouldn't be surprised by this behavior when the de facto leaders of the Republican Party are currently Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck.

I, for the record, do not care what Joe Wilson wants to say. If he wants to hop on the scare tactic bandwagon of the extreme right, and win elections by lying to his own constituents, that's their problem, not mine. I do care about when he chooses to make those statements, though. Like it or not, a presidential address is only for the president. Afterward, the opposing party gets to counter the president (and what an amazing representative they chose, huh?). If Joe Wilson had wanted to be that guy, he should have petitioned his party for the privilege. Otherwise, sit down and shut up until it's your turn.

Dodgers, Marines, Racism and My Brother

2009-09-08T13:15:00.000-07:00

The Dodgers continue to be anything but consistent, particularly when it comes to playing the crappy teams. They split a four-game series with Arizona, then lost a three-game series with San Diego, both of whom are tied for last place in the division, 21 games behind the Dodgers (obviously they were further back before the series started). That's not how you maintain a division lead, and since the Rockies have been winning this whole time, we now find ourselves with only a 3.5-game lead over that Colorado team. Too close. So how about we win some?

I was at the game three times over the weekend, starting with Thursday night's game. You'll recall that I took my brother to this one, and I was absolutely right about his response to "Marine Appreciation Night." The Dodgers themselves did not nothing objectionable;

a Marine sang the National Anthem and God Bless America, and the Marine Color Guard was there with the flags. My brother's problem was with the fans in attendance. Several had Marine flags hanging over the railings, and judging from their age and/or facial hair, it was clear they were no longer active duty. My brother groaned when he saw them and said, "Let it go!"

It's hard not to disagree with that. After all, nobody likes a guy who practically demands to be thanked or congratulated for something. Yes, it was Marine Appreciation Night, but still. Just come and be appreciated. You don't have to make a big deal about it.

My brother also questioned whether baseball might not be as interested in racial equality as we all think. Noting the sign that indicates Jackie Robinson's retired number, my brother mused, "Isn't it a bit racist to make Robinson's number a different color from all the rest?"

Hard to disagree with that one, ladies and gentlemen.

It was a good night for a game, and we had a fun time hanging out and watching the Dodgers win one. I even had a beer, which, unless I'm visiting with Steve Sax, is a rarity for me at a game. My brother bought a Dodgers hat, which surprised me but also made me quite happy. And then I made him take about twenty pictures with me. Here's my favorite:

The Dodgers only have nine home games left this season, and I have tickets to seven of them (including the last three). Seems that I was thinking ahead when I bought the tickets, and thought the end of the season might be important. What a smart cookie I am. It's a little too close in the division for my tastes, because I don't like to be too nervous about these things. But I guess that's part of the fun, so I'm going to try to roll with it.

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

Christine found this while checking her Twitter page for Onion updates. I suppose this article might be parody of L.A.'s somewhat laid-back fans, or perhaps a reference to the N.L. West not getting any respect. Either way, it's pretty funny:

Area Man Has Heard of Andre Ethier

Dodgers: Bringing Families Closer Since 1958

2009-09-03T12:18:00.000-07:00

Let's take a break from the healthcare debate (or, technically, the debate about the healthcare debate) for a moment, shall we?

Okay, I feel better. Tonight I'm going to Dodger Stadium to see the Dodgers try to salvage a split with the awful Diamondbacks. To say the Dodgers should have at least won this series is a vast understatement. Instead, after being nearly shutout last night, the boys find themselves on the verge of possibly losing three of four to the worst team (by a lot) in the division. Not exactly how you erase any doubt in the playoff race, you know?

I'll be sitting in loge tonight, because I didn't have tickets in my season plan for this game. But my brother came back from Afghanistan last Sunday, and he wanted to go to a game, so I figured the best choice would be Marine Appreciation Night at Dodger Stadium. He is, after all, a Marine. Christine found a pack of four tickets in the front row of Loge 165, which is the very last section, and right above Mannywood. I actually like the view from over there, though since I doubt this game is a sellout, I'm sure we'll be moving to choicer seats at some point during the night.

So, yes, I am choosing to go on a night celebrating the military, my pacifist tendencies notwithstanding. I am, after all, an Air Force brat, so my ties to the military run pretty deep. And besides, despite what many conservative pundits would have you believe, being against the war(s) does not mean that one is against the troops. In fact, there's a pretty solid argument to be made that wanting the wars to end means that one is supporting the troops more than the other side; I mean, at least our opinion keeps the troops out of unnecessary harm, right?

But I digress. Frankly, my brother probably doesn't care that it's Marine Appreciation Night. I, in fact, expect an eye roll or two, depending on just what this "appreciation" entails. He just wants to go to a game. He is, like me, a Red Sox fan, but he has not split his allegiance to include any National League team. He does not care about the Dodgers one bit, but I don't think he hates them, either. In other words, I think Christine and I (and our friend Tangi, who will be joining us) will have a pretty good cheering partner for the evening.

Unless the Dodgers suck (again), and then that's all I'll hear about all night. So, please, Dodgers, for my sake, could you win this game?

This Makes Me Want to Barf

2009-09-02T16:04:00.001-07:00

Curt Schilling Interested in Kennedy's Senate Seat

I suppose I should be grateful that I live in a country where anyone (and I do mean anyone) has the possibility of holding a public office. But when it comes to that pompous ass, all bets are off; I no longer have to tolerate him when he's on the mound for my team so I'd really rather not deal with him in the Senate, thank you very much.

Who Wants It?

2009-09-01T23:55:00.001-07:00

What better way to spend the last few weeks of summer than with a slightly used Playstation 2 and 31 games, all for a low, low price?

Yes, yes, I know that the PS3 is all the rage, but since most of them aren't backwards compatible, those games you love on the PS2 could be gone forever, unless you act now.

This is just my infomercial way of letting you know that my PS2 is now up on eBay. Christine put it up today, with a complete list of all 31 games. Also included are two controllers and two guitars for Guitar Hero I, II and III (the games, of course, are included as well).

So, if you know anyone who might be interested, head to this link and get to bidding. It starts at $50, and there's no reserve, which means you might get the whole haul for half a c-note.

Dodgers Make Big Moves at Trade Deadline

2009-08-31T21:46:00.000-07:00

Surprisingly, today's trade deadline (not to be mistake for the other one a month ago) brought big changes for the Dodgers.

They had been in the rumors about Jon Garland all day, and Jon Heyman of Sports Illustrated confirmed on his Twitter page that the Dodgers had won that sweepstakes, over the Yankees and Rockies, who were also rumored to be involved.

But the first announcement the Dodgers made was that Jim Thome of the White Sox had been traded for a player to be named later. That's a big bat to help protect Manny Ramirez, but it's also a guy who has apparently only played 28 innings in the field since 2005. I think we'll take the offense from our first baseman, though, and deal with whatever defense we get. Sorry, Loney. Ladies love the long ball.

Garland was announced later (also traded for a player to be named later), and during the Dodgers broadcast they showed footage of Garland apparently saying goodbye to his Diamondback teammates. It should be noted that the Diamondbacks are playing the Dodgers, so you have to wonder if Garland starting rooting for the L.A. team some time during the seventh inning of the game. He's probably changing uniforms as I write and just walking across the hall to his new clubhouse.

I had actually completely forgotten that Garland is a Diamondback and not a member of the White Sox anymore. His WHIP is pretty high at 1.431, but who's to say a change of scenery won't do him some good?

Meanwhile, it would be nice if Thome could get here from Minnesota (where the White Sox are playing tonight) immediately, as James McDonald has just given up the go-ahead run on a solo homer in the top of the tenth. The Dodgers like to forget to show up for the games they're supposed to win. I hope Garland and Thome know that about their new team.

One of My Favorite People Provides One of the Best Quotes Ever

2009-08-31T18:12:00.000-07:00

On Facebook today, a friend wrote a status update about how she is truly terrified for this nation under its current president. On television, at many town hall meetings, news cameras have captured people (largely women) crying for the future of this country they love, dismayed over what it is becoming (ostensibly Socialist, according to them).

I'm incredibly annoyed by people who are choosing now to be angry. Now is not when a president has used political capital after a heinous attack to get us into a war with an "enemy" who had nothing to do with said attack. Now is not when a president is abusing his power by expanding the executive branch of the government more than any time in generations. Now is not when a president is backing a constitutional amendment to ban gay marriage. Now is not when a president is refusing to admit mistakes committed by either himself or his country, all in the name of American perfection (the best quote from Obama on that subject, sort of: "I believe in American exceptionalism, just as I suspect that the Brits believe in British exceptionalism and the Greeks believe in Greek exceptionalism").

Instead, now is a time when a president is seeing that there is a big problem with our nation being the only developed one that treats healthcare as a business. There is something wrong with the system in this country, and whatever you think the solution is, acting as though those who would act to solve the problem are Nazi-esque is insulting and ignorant. The idea that the status quo is just perfect is something only a blind man would believe, though he probably went blind when he was unable to get treatment for his glaucoma or cataracts or whatever.

I honestly do not know the solution, but I'm man enough to admit it. Where is that humility among those at the town hall meetings, weeping for their "lost America"? You can't be a member of a party that decries "big government" when it comes to healthcare, but then advocates it when it comes to laws that legislate morality (gay marriage and adoption, for instance); or laws that take control over certain citizens' bodies (abortion rights); or military expenses topping $12 billion in wars on two fronts.

But thinking that healthcare means big government is a fallacy as well. I don't want to hear that the government can't run anything else well, so why should we let them run healthcare. We're all still here in this nation, and though it has its problems, if we couldn't rely on the government for anything, this nation likely would have crumbled years ago. I'm not even saying that I believe that government will do a bang-up job; I don't know how it will do, but I'm willing to at least hear some options before yelling and screaming about Socialism and welfare crack whores and pulling the plug on grandma.

In short, I don't care if you don't want "socialized medicine." That's a fair view to have, I guess, but it's not what this "debate" has been about, by any means. You want to argue healthcare, do so, but don't pretend that everything is just hunky dory the way it is.

My friend Piper wrote a response to my Facebook status (after a few other people had weighed in), and she had this to say, which I found entirely necessary to pass on to all of you:

those crying protesters think "i did nothing wrong, why should i have to pay to help others?" but it's not that they did nothing wrong. it's that they did nothing. every day they do Nothing about a whole host of injustices so regular they're mundane. these people should weep because the country Is changing. when someone says so&so is running for president, you don't even know what the person looks like! they might not be white or male or christian (or straight, some day i hope). this is a hardship for people who've never given a single thought to how the country could be better for everyone else. they wrap themselves up in the warm & fuzzy disconnect between american promise and american reality. they've done nothing wrong by this blanket which shelters them from the unknown. how dare we take it away. it's just not fair.

Emphasis mine, because that's my favorite part.

Guess We Can Count the Giants Out of the Playoff Race

2009-08-31T12:35:00.000-07:00

Brad Penny, Giants close to deal

I had also heard the Yankees were interested, so I guess all my most hated teams are vying for the opportunity to see whose pitching staff can suck the most. Either of those scenarios can only benefit me and my teams, so I guess I shouldn't be harping on the Giants too much. So...

Great work, San Francisco! Ooh, Dodger fans everywhere are trembling in anticipation of facing Mr. Penny during the stretch run! You've got us now!

Of course, if the John Smoltz story is any indication, Penny will go to the Giants and pitch like Nolan Ryan, with shutout after shutout, culminating in a no-hitter that knocks the Dodgers out of the playoffs.

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Oh, and I'm on Twitter, but only for the sake of my blog. Christine convinced me it would be a good way to get more readers. So, if you're on Twitter and you would like to follow this blog, I heartily encourage you to go to this link. Thank you.

Does Someone Not Like Billy Wagner...

2009-08-30T14:20:00.001-07:00

...or is it just an innocent typo?

From the mlb.com article about Paul Byrd's win over the Blue Jays today...

"There was more good news on the pitching front as lefty reliever Billy Wanger, making his first appearance since being acquired from the Mets on Tuesday, struck out the side in the eighth, working around a one-out double from Adam Lind."

Emphasis mine, of course.

L.A. Is On Fire and I Know Who to Blame

2009-08-29T15:48:00.000-07:00

Things That Make Me Mad

2009-08-29T09:12:00.000-07:00

Happiness is taking two out of three games in Colorado. Happiness is not watching Manny Ramirez take strike three with two outs in the bottom of the ninth, with the bases loaded and his team down by two runs. Swing at the pitch, Manny. I don't care if you miss it (well, I do, but not as much), but you can't be "frozen" on strike three with two outs in the bottom of the ninth.

Ugh. This team has been unable to get on a roll for a while now, and it's a bit frustrating. They need to beat the teams they're suppose to beat, and that means the Reds. The Dodgers' entire month of September will be spent facing sub-.500 teams, with the exception of two series with the Giants. They've won the games against the harder teams to get themselves into first place, so now how about taking care of business against the dregs of the league? If we don't win this series in Cincinnati, it will be very difficult to understand just what this team is made of, and certainly even more difficult to see them going very far into the playoffs.

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My father sent me an article from the Idaho Statesman last week. It's long, but the gist of it is that an Air Force pilot is in the midst of being thrown out of the Air Force under the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy, all because a dude he had consensual sex with accused him of rape. Turns out the guy who accused him is a bit of whack-job, but the Air Force lieutenant colonel had to admit to the sex or else face all kinds of other troubles.

Let's ignore the fact that "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" is inherently discriminatory and unconstitutional. Even under that ridiculous policy, this story seems insane. The point of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" is that military personnel are not allowed to live openly gay, and their colleagues in the military aren't supposed to directly ask them about it. Of course, the law favors the military, not the gay people, so any sort of "suspicious behavior" can be cause for an investigation. Seems like "asking" to me, but what do I know?

The point is, the man in this article, Victor Fehrenbach, did not act openly gay in the military world. He did not exhibit any "suspicious behavior" that his superiors noticed. It was a civilian case that caused his problems, all because the Air Force found out, through the police investigation, that he was accused of rape. So now, it would appear, the "don't tell" part applies to any other human being in the life of someone in the military, and the "don't ask" part is entirely pervasive because the military can get its information from any source. Including a third party who is bent on revenge, and may have done it solely for the purpose of outing an individual and getting him/her discharged. This means that someone could just go around guessing that a soldier, airman, Marine, whatever, is gay, and the military would be obligated to investigate. Odds are, they'll find someone gay amongst them, but at what cost?

If you want just one more example of the complete insanity that this policy creates, consider this: last year, many sources reported that the U.S. Army would begin offering bonuses of up to $150,000 to Arabic linguists who chose to "re-up" and remain in the military. They were (are) having such trouble retaining these linguists, at a time when we're busy fighting a war in a land where people speak Arabic, that they were willing to give them a six-figure bonus to stick around. Meanwhile, men like Lieutenant Dan Choi, who is a West Point educated Arabic linguist who finally outed himself to the Army, has been discharged. And Choi is just one of dozens of Arabic linguists who have met the same fate.

When you try to tell yourselves that this doesn't matter to your life, try to remember the huge power this gives the military to destroy lives and careers, all based on discrimination. Discrimination from, essentially, the federal government. If that doesn't get you, remember that the bonuses are being paid by that same government, which gets its money from you. Your government is wasting money investigating and flushing out these dangerous gays, then turning around and offering more money to the moral, upstanding, straight linguists, all in an attempt to get them to stay put in the military. Because they're needed. Sounds logical, right?

Making Friends Wherever I Go

2009-08-25T18:23:00.001-07:00

On Sunday, I took in my fourth Dodger game in five days. If you think I would get sick of Dodger Stadium after that much time spent there, well, you haven't been reading this blog for long, have you?

It was the second day game in a row, which, admittedly, can be a little uncomfortable. On Saturday, I was lucky enough to steal some seats in the shade, and the rightful owners never showed up, so I was golden. Sunday, I was fully prepared to sit in my own seats, which are in full sun for the whole game, but I knew I would be meeting up with Steve Sax of Sons of Steve Garvey, so I was preparing to be flexible.

When I got to the game, I (along with Christine) found some seats in a section close to the Dodger dugout, field level on the third base side. I was sitting in the shade in this section when Sax emailed me to tell me that he was sitting in the section next to me, and only a few rows closer to the field (which meant in the sun). So, I went up and tapped him on the shoulder, met his Cub friend, and sat down behind him.

Thus began my game of musical chairs, as people owning the seats kept showing up, and I kept moving to unoccupied ones. Eventually, Christine and I found seats in the front row of the section, and stayed there for a couple of innings. That is, until four girls showed up in the top of the fifth to claim their seats. We moved back a little bit, but by the sixth the two guys and two kids who had been sitting in front of Sax were ready to call it a day, so we took their seats and stayed there for the rest of the game.

Sax has already written a glowing post about hanging out with me at the game, but I was fully intending to write one of my own, so now I'll just shorten it. As Sax said, I certainly never expected to make friends, online or otherwise, by starting this blog. But writing this blog meant I got invited to Blogger Night last season, which means I was introduced to several of the Sons, and that I could develop a bit of a relationship with them by commenting on their blog (and vice versa) over the last year and a half. I was lucky enough to meet some guys who are pretty cool, knowledgeable about baseball, and kind enough to give respect to another blog that gets maybe one-tenth of the hits they get (I'm referring to myself there, of course).

To make this long story short, I had a great time at the game, giving shit (and getting it back) from Sax's Cub fan friend, and discussing the team and our lives with Sax. It's certainly true that you can't trust every person you meet online, but I somehow managed to find a few good ones, and it's worked out quite nicely for me. Oh, and I finally bought Sax that beer I've owed him since last April.

Sax said it all much better (and I didn't know about the Spider-Man/Human Torch friendship, but I like the reference anyway, because it makes me a superhero), so let me just see if this will do as a response to his post: ditto.

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When I was in the press box on Thursday night, Christine watched the game by herself in the stands, and ended up meeting a woman, Emma, who writes her own Dodgers blog. I stopped by today just to check it out, and I found this video, which is just plain awesome:

I Woke Up Early, So Here You Go

2009-08-23T07:37:00.000-07:00

So, I didn't write yesterday. But to be fair, that's only because I had a busy day of actually being at a baseball game, and I'd rather be at the game than at home writing about it. That makes sense, right?

I also spent my evening seeing "Inglourious Basterds." I really enjoyed it, which is surprising because I didn't want to see it in the first place. I'm not a fan of movies that are violent for no reason. As a result, I have sort of held a grudge against Tarantino films. But "IB" was funny, well-paced, and even poignant. I had a good time watching the movie, and I highly recommend it.

As for Saturday's game, well, it was a good one. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, I missed the first four innings of the game. This was the first time something like that has ever happened to me, and it felt very strange to just show up in the fifth inning. I know the knock against L.A. fans is that they arrive in the third and leave in the seventh, but I'm not one of those, so there was sort of a surreal quality to the game. I missed all the scoring, which came on solo home runs from Kemp in the second and Blake in the fourth, though I did hear the crowd's reaction to Blake's home run as I was walking up to the gate.

No matter. I still got to see three innings of work from Charlie Haeger, the knuckleballer who continued to impress. Yes, he lost his first start, but he was still good. Two home runs shouldn't have been his downfall, but his team could only muster up two runs. Saturday, his team still only gave him two runs, but he (and Broxton and Sherrill) managed to hold the Cubs to zero. There is some talk about Torre using Broxton in the eighth and Sherrill in the ninth, but I agree with the "stat-heads" or whatever out there who feel like a manager should use his best reliever when he really needs him, no matter the inning. The heart of the order was up in the eighth, and the Dodgers had a two-run lead. The mainstream media will likely make this out to be a case of Torre sending Broxton a message that he doesn't trust JB for the ninth, but from my viewpoint, this was a compliment. Torre really needed Broxton in the eighth, so he used him.

Today the boys face Ryan Dempster (or Ryan "Dumpster," as Christine calls him), who hasn't been too spectacular for the Cubs this season. In theory, the Dodgers can score some runs. But I'm a little worried because the Cubs have only scored three runs in the three games this series, so I'm hoping this won't be a breakout day for them offensively.

I will be at the game again today, and this time I'm meeting up with Steve Sax from Sons of Steve Garvey. We have not seen each other since last season when we (along with another Son, Alex Cora) sat together for an inning or two while the Dodgers played the Astros. I owe Sax a beer, so I'll be paying up today. Hopefully we'll get to see the Dodgers complete the four-game sweep.

Oh, and the Red Sox and Yankees are playing quite a series as well, huh? The Sox got pummeled on Friday night, losing 20-11. So how did they respond? By coming out on Saturday and beating down A.J. Burnett and the Yanks to the tune of 14-1. Not too shabby. Today is Sabathia vs. Beckett, which is likely to be a low-scoring affair. I don't know if the Sox will win, but I am glad to see that they didn't just roll over after the shellacking on Friday night. And if they can pull out a win today, they guarantee themselves the season series victory over the Yankees, with one more series to go, in Yankee Stadium, at the end of September. Doesn't mean much, but every little bit counts in this feud.

Photos from Dodger Stadium--08/20/2009

2009-08-21T20:54:00.000-07:00

Just a few pictures from Thursday night. I took some on the field before the game, and Christine took a few more from her (stolen) seat during the game.

Joe Torre holds court with the press before the game.

Matt Kemp waits for his turn during batting practice.

Andre Ethier does an interview with that guy from PrimeTicket.

Andre Ethier in the on-deck circle.

Matt Kemp at the plate.

Manny Ramirez bats.

It's time for the "Think Cure" RadioTeleWebethon (yes, they're calling it that), which raises money for the Dodgers' cancer charity. The sign normally reads "Think Blue," except during this time of the year. They've also painted the field with the "Think Cure" logo. It got me thinking that I know of a surefire way for Frank McCourt to get every Dodger fan to donate $15 to the charity. What if, on one night during this big charity weekend, McCourt put all parking proceeds toward Think Cure? We all know that parking money is pure profit anyway, so why not put it toward a good cause? It's just one night, and asking for donations from a fan base that's already spending a fortune just to go to a game--and almost making them feel guilty by plastering the logo all over the field and in the hills behind the stadium--seems a little uncool.

Quotes from Torre's Pre-Game Conference

2009-08-20T19:06:00.000-07:00

I'll just do this sort of the way Orel at Sons of Steve Garvey does, because it seems to be the best way. I didn't record the conference because I was too far away to pick anything up, so these are the short quotes I could write down.

On the Dodgers forgetting their recent troubles:

"You can't live off what you did yesterday in this game"

On Martin's poor throw to second on the Pujols steal in the ninth:

Martin didn't have "much hope" to throw out Pujols. His poor throws could be "all tied to the not hitting."

When asked if his team, which holds the best record in the NL, feels like the best team:

"Not right now."

On whether Manny affects the whole game:

"Last year we played our game around where he was in the lineup. This year that's not the case. I don't think we count on him as much as we did last year."

On the guys maybe trying too hard:

"It's natural to press a little bit when you have to win games."

On whether he's sensing any panic from the team:

"No."

On whether the guys are just tired:

"I don't think it's fatigue. If you're in a race, you're not tired."

On Furcal's struggles:

He "gets frustrated because he's an emotional guy."

On what this team can handle:

The "pressure cooker" in San Francisco didn't bother them. "That part of the team's demeanor makes me feel good."

Broxton isn't available tonight, and McDonald probably isn't, either. Sherrill will be the closer.

Matt Kemp Loves Me

2009-08-20T17:46:00.000-07:00

Once again, I find it hard to see why I need to walk all the way into the clubhouse and mill around the center, though several people told me that I can. I know I can; I just don't know why I would. I feel like an intruder as it is, and I don't have a specific reason to be standing in the middle of it all. So I'll just hang out by the door, thank you very much.

That just happens to be where Matt Kemp's locker is, and if I hadn't been standing there, could we have had several conversations that centered around him believing me to be a liar? I think not.

It started with Kemp talking to the clubhouse attendants about parental discipline, and how he sees parents leading kids around with monkey backpacks that are essentially leashes. He thinks they're crazy. He looked at me after this little rant and said, "you probably have a cousin or something who has one, right?" I told him no, but that I'd probably consider getting one if I ever have a kid. He said his parents never would have needed one because he knew to listen when they told him to stick close. I agreed, and said the same was true for my parents.

Later, Kemp was getting on Josh Rawitch (my gracious host) about the fact that Kemp's walk-up song only played during his first at-bat last night. Rawitch kept saying he was "working on it," which Kemp took to mean that Rawitch was just placating him. I asked Kemp what his ideal walk-up song would be, one that didn't include curse words. He said, "What makes you think I like music that has curse words?"

And it's funny, because I was actually just telling Christine the other day how I love songs that have curse words in them. I love to sing and curse. I don't know why. I just love it. So my ideal walk-up song in a perfect world would probably be something vulgar. And I wouldn't doubt it if Kemp is the same way. But I felt like a douche for phrasing my question that way anyway. I told him that I like music with cursing, and he said, "Like what kind of music?" And when I told him I listen to rap, he did not believe me and demanded I name who I listen to that qualifies as rap.

Here's where I froze. I couldn't think of a single artist I listen to in the rap genre. Not one. So I looked like the stupid girl who was just trying to get on his good side, which is just not true! I worship at the feet of Tupac, T.I., Lil' Wayne, and a bunch of others. But I couldn't think of any of those damn names. So I said Kanye. Now, it's true that I like Kanye, but I also know that he's a bit of a bubblegum rapper. Which instantly obliterated any credibility I might have had. Kemp groaned when I said Kanye, and then I told him about the new song by Kid Cudi (which I pronounced "Cutie" until he corrected me and told me it was "Cutty." Embarrassing? You bet.) called "Make Her Say," which is a current obsession of mine. Here is the link to the YouTube video, but I'm telling you right now, Dad, that you better not watch. You won't enjoy it. Oh, and it's definitely not safe for work.

Kemp got into a mini interview with a reporter, but after he was done with that, he sat for a moment and then sang a little: "I make her say, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-oh-oh..." And I jumped in with, "when I..." He chose not to continue the song, but I believe we bonded in that moment.

During this conversation, Christine was busy finding her way to Dodger Stadium via a Los Angeles city bus. I was telling her that I was standing in the clubhouse and Kemp was talking to me, and she said, "Oh, well, I'm on public transit. For the other end of the spectrum."

The Kemp story ends on the field during batting practice, when I walked past him and said, "I listen to T.I. and Lil' Wayne, too." It was going to kill me if I couldn't redeem myself a little. But Kemp refused to believe that I listen to those two. I told him I would show him on my iPod, but it was in the car. He, ever doubtful, said, "Just because it's on your iPod doesn't mean you listen to 'em." And I said, "Well, I have 16,000 songs on my iPod, so I don't listen every day." He was impressed with that number, but then Jim Hill came up and interrupted, without saying "excuse me," I might add.

In non-Erin-related Matt Kemp news, he seems to have a fun feud going on with T.J. Simers, the L.A. Times reporter. James McDonald was getting Kemp to sign a bobblehead for McDonald's mom (I think), and Simers asked to see it and asked what Kemp was doing in the pose. Kemp told him he had just hit a home run, and Simers said, "Oh really? When was that?" Kemp took it all in stride, and when they went out on the field he asked Simers if Simers had ever written anything bad about him. Simers said that he had, and when Kemp asked what, Simers said he called Kemp lazy at some point. Kemp walked out to go do stretching as an ABC reporter tried to ask him a question. Kemp joked that he was now "avoiding the media," but then yelled back to the dugout, "that's my boy," purportedly referring to Simers.

Kemp also wasn't happy when a reporter (seemingly of Japanese descent, since she said, "konnichiwa" to Manny when he walked up to hug her) informed him that Vicente Padilla had swine flu a few weeks ago. He was joking (sort of) when he asked someone to move Padilla's locker somewhere else.

And finally, when Casey Blake came in, Matt Kemp went to greet him, saying, "Casey Blake, I'm back. I am back." We'll see how that translates on the field tonight.

So, to wrap up: Matt Kemp doesn't like monkey backpacks or swine flu, knows how to pronounce "Kid Cudi," tolerates T.J. Simers, and doesn't think I look like the type to listen to any gangsta rap. Oh, and he plays a mean center field.