18 October 2006
15 October 2006
The Whining Stranger on Sport: World Series Bound!
World Series Bound!
The ball goes sailing from Magglio Ordonez's bat into the left field seats at Comerica Park and I am somewhere between ten years old and thirty-two. More than two decades I have waited, ever faithful about baseball, but cynical about so many other things. I've grown weary with age about politics, about religion, but baseball. Sweet baseball. Those heartbreaking Detroit Tigers, in whom I put so much faith and hope every April.
Finally.
The World Fucking Series.
Finally.
Amen.
The ball goes sailing from Magglio Ordonez's bat into the left field seats at Comerica Park and I am somewhere between ten years old and thirty-two. More than two decades I have waited, ever faithful about baseball, but cynical about so many other things. I've grown weary with age about politics, about religion, but baseball. Sweet baseball. Those heartbreaking Detroit Tigers, in whom I put so much faith and hope every April.
Finally.
The World Fucking Series.
Finally.
Amen.
10 October 2006
Musings: Real Men Use Umbrellas
Last night, at a bar with a couple of friends to commemorate Monday Night Football with ultra-manly activities (read: drinking beer, eating pizza), one compadre began to tease me for having an umbrella with me. (It was rainy; I walked!) Apparently, he'd been listening just yesterday to two morning radio louts go on and on about the potential unmanliness of using an umbrella. (Their reasoning had something to do with not being able to work a barbecue, hold a beer and carry an umbrella all at the same time. To which I say, unironically, I've got big hands. And you know what they say about men with-- Er.)
Anyway, is this--dear Mary Poppins--the face of umbrelladom? Is this the popular image of the umbrella post-Neville Chamberlain?
Need I remind people that one of the scariest, most mysterious figures in twentieth-century American history is the so-called Umbrella Man in Dealey Plaza the day John Kennedy was killed? This is a spooky figure who carried an umbrella--and had it open as Kennedy's motorcade passed--even though it was sunny and warm that day. He's an insidious villain who may or may not have fired a poison dart from said umbrella and thereby paralyzed Kennedy so he couldn't react to the incoming hail of gunfire.
That example, noted, though, I will of course point out that not every man with an umbrella qualifies for real man status. Look at the unreal man pictured below. He's--dare I say it?--all wet, umbrella or not.
Anyway, is this--dear Mary Poppins--the face of umbrelladom? Is this the popular image of the umbrella post-Neville Chamberlain?
Need I remind people that one of the scariest, most mysterious figures in twentieth-century American history is the so-called Umbrella Man in Dealey Plaza the day John Kennedy was killed? This is a spooky figure who carried an umbrella--and had it open as Kennedy's motorcade passed--even though it was sunny and warm that day. He's an insidious villain who may or may not have fired a poison dart from said umbrella and thereby paralyzed Kennedy so he couldn't react to the incoming hail of gunfire.
That example, noted, though, I will of course point out that not every man with an umbrella qualifies for real man status. Look at the unreal man pictured below. He's--dare I say it?--all wet, umbrella or not.
08 October 2006
The Whining Stranger on Sport: Hasta la vista, New York Yankees!
Sweet jubilation! Unbound joy!
I thought this series was basically over after Game 1 in the Bronx? How many times did we have to hear about this New York team possibly sporting the greatest line-up ever assembled? And wasn't Kenny Rogers supposed to be a playoff dud?
No, all around. Of course.
Just as the Detroit faithful knew it would be.
05 October 2006
The Whining Stranger on Sport: My Hero!
God bless you, Zoom-Zoom. And how do you like them apples, Jeet?
02 October 2006
Musings: On Headphones and Dark Sunglasses and Monday Mornings
A brief procrastinatory meditation as I try to kill ten minutes of would-be work time before I justify more non-work time with a noontime lunch break...
I like busy weekends with much socializing, for the most part, but they make me exhausted come Monday morning. Not a good way to start the week. I need to sleep more, perhaps. Saturday morning, for instance, I ran a 5k race on just under three hours sleep after too much beer and good fun the night before. My time was good given the obvious fatigue and dehydration, but I have to admit I'm not a kid anymore. ("I admit I'm not a kid anymore.") Sunday followed a long birthday party for a friend on Saturday night. I was slow moving till dinner time. Then it was about time to go to bed and call it a weekend. This morning's 9am meeting was unwelcome in turn.
In other news, I'm loving the mobile private bubble of my mp3 player and dark sunglasses combination on walks to campus each morning. The new shades that I got (black, Marcello-ish) for a dollar-fifty at a thrift store last week are clearly the darkest sunglasses I've ever owned. I won't even wear them for driving because they impede visibility so much. But that's good when I have to pass Casa Barbarian next door, and for general, "Don't get in my consciousness" ambulation time before meetings and classes.
Still reeling from the Tigers' collapse against KC this weekend. I am soliciting a general abundance of pro-Detroit, anti-Yankees vibes from anybody who reads this. Boo Yankees!
OK, there. I look at the clock. It's just about midday. By the time I post this it'll be time to get my lunch out and ignore the stacks of books on the desk for a little bit more.
I like busy weekends with much socializing, for the most part, but they make me exhausted come Monday morning. Not a good way to start the week. I need to sleep more, perhaps. Saturday morning, for instance, I ran a 5k race on just under three hours sleep after too much beer and good fun the night before. My time was good given the obvious fatigue and dehydration, but I have to admit I'm not a kid anymore. ("I admit I'm not a kid anymore.") Sunday followed a long birthday party for a friend on Saturday night. I was slow moving till dinner time. Then it was about time to go to bed and call it a weekend. This morning's 9am meeting was unwelcome in turn.
In other news, I'm loving the mobile private bubble of my mp3 player and dark sunglasses combination on walks to campus each morning. The new shades that I got (black, Marcello-ish) for a dollar-fifty at a thrift store last week are clearly the darkest sunglasses I've ever owned. I won't even wear them for driving because they impede visibility so much. But that's good when I have to pass Casa Barbarian next door, and for general, "Don't get in my consciousness" ambulation time before meetings and classes.
Still reeling from the Tigers' collapse against KC this weekend. I am soliciting a general abundance of pro-Detroit, anti-Yankees vibes from anybody who reads this. Boo Yankees!
OK, there. I look at the clock. It's just about midday. By the time I post this it'll be time to get my lunch out and ignore the stacks of books on the desk for a little bit more.
The Whining Stranger's Song of the Day: 2 October 2006
"God Must Be a Boogie Man" by Joni Mitchell (from the album Mingus, 1979)
A charming bit of swinging theology from one of the great songwriting masters. This tune opens Joni's tribute album to the great Charles Mingus and was inspired by the first few pages of his autobiography, Beneath the Underdog. (Never read it? You should. He turns the expectations of genius-artist this-is-my-life writing on its head so thoroughly that you'll either laugh or cry or throw the book across the room or all three, but you won't be unstimulated for one second.) While I don't like to think too much about the nature of God for the unavoidable vertigo that follows (I'd rather just assume there is a big master-blaster up there and that s/he loves me and that there are no floods or turns-into-salt coming my way), I can't help but think that Joni's refrain about the cosmos adhering to "a cock-eyed plan" is spot-on.
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