there's always next year

I can't even express how much I hate that sentence.  I remember, with excruciating detail, one night in October 2003.  I was living in my 2-room studio in Waltham, and in my mind I can still see that bedroom.  My desk was over in the corner, and my white dresser that I had owned since I was ten was at the foot of my bed.  The TV sitting on top of it.  I was over to the right of the bed, between it and the window standing, yelling.  I was on the phone with a friend of mine who lived in Buffalo for law school.  The law library had kicked them out before the game was over, it was after midnight by this point, and she needed a play-by-play.  I remember telling her in detail everything that was going on, I was yelling and screaming from the pure joy.  Until.  We all know how it ended.  And I was speechless.  I could barely get out the words to tell her what happened.  I was now crumbled onto the floor under the window of my bedroom making noises that I hoped she could decipher.  I'm not sure I ever told her the exact play - but she heard the tears and pain with which I tried to get it out, and she understood.  Soxtober was over.  And we'd have to man-up and tell ourselves "There's always next year". 

I consider myself lucky that in much the same fashion I remember in excruciating detail that next year, 2004.  I remember October 27th 2004 pretty vividly.  I remember how quiet it got right at that last play.   The chop back to Foulke, the toss to Minky, and then the impossible happened.  It was over.  The next .3 seconds lasted forever, everyone was silent as we processed what just happened.  And then, pure joy!  I had been watching with friends who live very close to fenway and we quickly flooded, with the masses, into Kenmore Square.  I saw the red full moon, I saw the riot squad, I saw the crowds.  I saw the city of Boston breath a collective sigh of relief, since we would never again have to say "There's always next year."  Because, in fact, there was finally this year!

I watched last night,  Soxtober ended early again.  Maybe it's because I live so far away now, I feel like watching the Red Sox somehow connects me to a time that I am very comfortable remembering.  But, I wanted them to win.  Bad.  And as every true Sox fan did, I sat wide-eyed, open-mouthed, clench-fists as that stupid Tampa Bay Ray jumped triumphantly on second base just before being pummeled by the rest of his team.  I watched as V-tek packed up his bag and headed out of the dug out, wondering, will there be a next year?  I watched as Coco and Pedy lingered in the dug out, starring out at the Tampa Bay celebration.  I watched for about 3 minutes after the last out was made, then I headed home, without a word.

This morning, I feel a bit differently.  I don't want to say "There's always next year.", I want to relive some of this one.  It was a long, good season.  Those boys gave us some friggin' great baseball.  And, even injured and tired and behind, they fought like dirtdogs until the end.  And, in the end, there was someone else who came out on top.  Watching them celebrate last night, I was at once both enraged and awestruck.  That team has one of the lowest salaries in the sport, they came straight from the bottom to the top, and they are about to do something for their club, for their town, that has never been done before.  So today, with Soxtober over, I can say - Damn, that's impressive.  I am excited for them, all those jumping fools who beat my team.  And I will watch the World Series.  And I will root for The Rays.  Because, there's still this year.

what the kids are reading these days

First there's this:

I gave a copy of this paper to my bus driver today, just so he can make informed decisions next time.

Then, we have this gem:

Clearly, this graph shows that people who appreciate culinary value and have only one apple require a boatload of bananas in order to be happy.


And finally, all I can say about this is:

TROGDOR!!!! Burninating the countryside...

2008 ALCS Game 2: a text message retrospective

Top of first, Jason Bay 2 out 2 RBI double.

JP (to SH, NH, CH, JK, RO'D):Manny who?

SH: Exactly!

NH: What happened? Waiting on bus to take me home.

JP (to NH): Papi walked. Youk single. Bay 2 rbi double. Lowrie walked. V tek strike out. 2-0 Sox mid first.

Top of first, Jason Varitek strikes out to end the inning.

SH: Sorry, but tek sucks when not catching

JP (to SH): Omg...i totally know!

Sometime later...

NH: Gd still no bus.

EP: Sox!

Bottom of second, Evan Longoria 2 run homer.

JP (to NH): Tb just got a two run homer. Tie game. F F F

JP (to SH): Well....CRAP!

Top of third, Dustin Pedroia hits a solo homerun.

JP (to SH): Mvp!

SH: I heart him!

CH: Pedroia!

JP (to CH): Mvp!

End of third, Tampa Bay 2-run inning.

JP(to SH): Are you kidding me?

SH: I know. But lets be positive. Still early, right? They make me nervous

JP (to SH): Still early for sure! Plenty of time :)

JP (to NH): Rays lead 4-3 2 outs bot 3. Doing replays is making me angry!

EP: WTFUuuuuuuudge?

JP (to EP): We can has better pitching?

Top of fifth, Dustin Pedroia hits a solo homerun.

NH: Sweet!

(apparently made it on a bus!)

JP (to CH): Dude, I heart pedroia!

Kevin Youkilis follows with a solo homerun.

CH: Youk!

JP (to CH): I heart him too :)

Jason Bay follows with a solo homerun.

CH: I heart bay!

SH: What was that Manny? Don't worry we don't need you! We love bay. What a nerve wracking game!

Sometime in the bottom of the fifth when Beckett was giving up runs left and right.

JP (to SH): Get him out of there!

SH: I don't like this.  Too nervous

JP (to SH): Seriously...but it seems anything can happen this game!

SH: I wish you were here and we were watching the game together!  miss you.  We can still do this.

(admittedly, this was my favorite text of the whole night!)

JP (to SH): I wish I were there too!

JK (in response to my very first text): But we do need to know who beckett is

JP (to JK): Unfortunately i think we know...not good.

Top of 8th, Papi strikes out again.

JP (to SH): What happened to mr. october?

Top of 8th, Pedroia steals home on a wild pitch.

CMP: tied!!

JP (to CMP): Ya :)  Pedroia

Sox bring in Masterson.

SH: F@#$!

And then Papelbon.

JP (to SH): why paps now?  If extra innings we need him later.

Tampa Bay wins off of Mike Timlin.

phone convo between me and RO'D at the end of the game, 12:36am:

him: I saw

me: what a waste of 6 hours

him: yup

me: TIMLIN.

him: ya

me: they wasted paps

him: ya

me: I gotta sleep.

him: yes.

me: better to go to Boston 1-1 then down 2.

him: for sure.  better.

me: f@#$!

him: f@#$!

(what I love about this is, this is how it went.  I called him.  There was no "hello" and there was no "goodbye".  Just this.)

sidewalk scenes and black limousines

I went for a run this morning, a longer run than I've ever done before.  In retrospect, I've come a long way.  I was never a runner.  If we go way back to when I was younger, I've always had some knee, foot, shin trouble.  Don't let anyone tell you that being short doesn't come with it's own special set of problems.  My knees used to hurt all the time when I was little, something about growing pains without the growth.  My ankles click all the time, something about a growth gap that never closed and air slips out.  I have fallen arches, which used to cause my feet to "get tired" really easily.  It's these arches that caused the hip pain in late April, keeping me out of the running game for a few months.

This morning I ran farther than I've ever run before, but still far short of the 13.1 I'm going to have to run in a month.  I was scared this morning, I had trouble getting out the door, I wanted to quit.  But.  I didn't.  Thanks to my Dad I have some new equipment (ohh, ahhh) and no longer have to carry my huge ancient broken mp3 player.  And thanks to the people over at RunTex and the water stations they set-up each weekend, I didn't have to carry any water.  I enjoyed the freedom of running with empty hands and tunes blasting along a Town Lake loop.  I still don't run well.  I start off too fast, and die out too soon.  I started with two 15/1's, but then I had to switch to 10/1's.  I left my right leg* somewhere around mile 5 and I was definitely doing something worse than 8/2's at that point.  By the end there were certainly some 1/4's happening.  There was a lot of 'please, just can you make it one more minute', 'please, can you make it to that bridge' and a lot more 'Oh, f@#%!' when I finally gave up and walked.

But once I got back to the Mopac bridge none of that mattered, because I made it and I was still standing.  For the first time I had a glimmer of hope that I can actually do this.  Which is good, because I paid for it, and I've given up beer in order to train.  And if you know me at all there are two things I hate to see wasted, money and beer.  Particularly at this time of year!!

*For those of you who are paying attention, I did say my right leg, and it had been my left hip that was ailing before.  It seems that all the attention to the left leg has made the right leg feel neglected, and now it's crying out for help.  I have a bit of pain when I run, but sometimes if I can run through it it goes away - or I learn to ignore it better.  I'm fairly certain I know what's causing it, and I've already gotten the appropriate things to try and fix it. 

kitshickers or death

Once again, I've lapsed into silence about our kickball team. Mostly because...we suck. We lost the last two games, the most recent one in embarrassing fashion (20-4). That said, I love this team. I will go down with this team. We could use some work, we need some new strategies. Perhaps we can start by avoiding things like this devastatingly embarrassing play - by yours truly.

I was up at the plate, totally completely ready to kick the ball. I mean, all my practice kicks pre-game had gone anywhere but the direction I intended, but...I was ready. I took a few steps and WHAM. I skimmed the top of the ball and it did a sad little pathetic roll about a foot in front of me. I stood, embarrassed by my lack of power, and watched as it rolled slowly over the "girl-bunt-line". Holy crap that's a fair ball, holy crap I need to be running to first. Friggin, I am worse than Manny. I start running, sure they are going to pick up the ball and throw me out, but by the grace of the kickball gods, they bobbled it or something and I made it safely to first. Phew, you're saying, right? Embarrassment over. Ha, we're just beginning 'my friends'. RO'D is the first base coach, and for the next kick he tells me to "GO GO GO", but I don't, because I could tell it would be caught. It was. I am a superhero for not listening! So the next kicker is up, LD kicks the ball, somewhere between 1st and 2nd. I'm off and running. They pick up the ball and now I am running directly towards a guy holding the ball. So, instinctively I - what?! yes! - I crouch to the ground and cover my face. So sure this guy is just going to tag me and throw LD out too. While on the ground I hear RO'D screaming something FIERCE. "Jenni, RUN!" I peek up, look around, that guy and the ball...not near me. I quickly stand up and start to run again, only to be going in somewhat the wrong direction before turning 90 degrees back towards 2nd. Where, again thanks to the kickball gods, I was safe. Now, I'm on second, and RO'D kicks a far one, I'm off and running...only to mostly miss touching 3rd base on my way by (I did get it, not gracefully as you can imagine) and made it home to score one of our 4 runs.

The point of this is not solely to display my lack of skill or bonehead moves. More so that you will understand the state of the team, because I don't lie when I say - I'm not even the worst one.

Kitchickers, Richard Moya Park field #3, this Thursday, 7pm CDT. Nowhere to go but up!

I love that dirty water

It can't go unmentioned, the excitement that was Monday night's ALDS victory. The old roomie and I discussed the state of Sox fans - new vs old, real vs. bandwagon. The new, bandwagoners, likely felt no fear on Monday. They likely sat back thinking, we'll do it, we always do it. The old, real fans. We bit our nails down to our fingers. We, of course, yelled when Masterson gave up Lester's lead. But even before that we yelled that a 2 run lead was not enough. We needed more security. We know how quickly it can all change. And it did.

I was sitting at a bar in Austin with my parents and when they brought in Manny Delcarmen (with a runner on third, the go ahead runner) I began to panic. In an attempt to lighten the mood I suggested that there be a new rule to baseball, you know to spice it up. I began proposing that the incoming pitcher could elect to remove one base-runner from a base. You know, just because. It's not always fair, the situations they have to come in to. As I was formulating my argument, it seems that V-tek was on the same wavelength as me. He managed to catch that runner on third in the sweetest pickle I've seen in a while. As the runner glanced back to watch for V-tek's throw to Youk, he realized he was much closer to Tek than he thought. he ran for third, but Tek ran faster and tagged him out - right on the bum! Awesome. Totally awesome.

And then they won. With a whole new crowd of winners. Jason Bay. Jed Lowrie. It really warms the heart of an old fan, that the new kids are so quickly and deeply entrenched in Sox history. And now we wait, the old fans, for Friday. Tampa Bay. We wait and wonder - do I have enough Tums to get through this series? Myself, I'm going to have a pre-ALCS MRI scan tomorrow, so we can monitor the development of any dangerous aneurysms. But I still say - bring it Tampa Bay. Bring it, we're totally mostly somewhat ready!

Didn't Leave Nobody But The Baby

I drove by Zilker Park today, there was a group of people playing soccer, a pretty typical scene.  Although not even a week ago that spot was where the AMD stage for this years ACL festival was located.  Looking at an empty Zilker today I was really in awe of the transformation it underwent.  

Last weekend a record-breaking crowd* poured into Zilker for three days full of music.  NH has done a better job than I will of detailing the three days.  I will say, it was a fun time.  Despite the heat, the crowds, the invasive dust-bowl, the too much beer, the not enough water, and the growing grumpiness that being hot and tired brings, I had a blast.  I was glad to spend the few days with some friends who had come in from out of town, and with some Austin friends who were totally down for hanging out (as opposed to the other crew who hid indoors for three days!)  

The natural question is to ask what my favorite show was, and it's hard to say.  I can break it down better this way...

favorite show to collect recyclables to (simultaneously saving the planet and earning a free t-shirt): Hot Chip

favorite new show that was highly recommended: The Black Keys

favorite non-stop party: Manu Chao

favorite female artist: Gillian Welch

favorite group to sit on the ground to listen to: Blues Traveler

favorite strung out on heroin goup: The Raconteurs

Although, there were so many others.  I'm tired just trying to remember them!

*I heard someone say 300,000 people, but then I'm fairly certain the had no idea what they were saying.

she feels like kicking out all the windows...

ominous
Originally uploaded by with an eye

Some days are just too full of crap for the new way of life to be feasible. It's those days that I prefer to just wallow in the atrocities and horror that I'm powerless to stop. Yesterday was one of those days.

I've been keeping up on the Ike devastation and this morning I read about this. I applied to be a Red Cross volunteer today. It hasn't made me feel any better about anything, nor did I expect it to. But maybe someday I'll do something that will make a difference somewhere, to someone. And then, I'll feel less helpless.

The Kickball Diaries: a brand new season.

Week 2. Kitshickers vs Lawn Mowing Fever
Game Time: 9/11/2008, 6:30pm
Game Conditions: hot, humid, dusty.
Result: L 3-9
Record: 0-1-1

Kitshicker's showed some dedication this week as we all rolled out to Richard Moya Park at about 5:30pm for our first ever catching practice. As coach said in his email: "PLEASE attend this practice if you suck at catching fly balls." Needless to say I was one of the first ones there. Coach starts the practice off by saying "I think first I'll just throw this ball at you" at which point he absolutely pegs me at the knees. I stand, dumbfounded, staring at him and then the other members of Team Suck. Coach says "Oh, sorry Jenni, I meant to throw that more at your head!" As if that makes it better. So I raised my hand, "Coach, exactly WHAT are we practicing?" And he looked straight into my eyes and said "Jenni, you are supposed to CATCH it". A-ha, and we're off to a fantastic start!

Coach promised that in 20 minutes we'd be pros, and dude was nearly right. I mean, I was certainly catching much better than normal. I was not using any of his helpful advice "you need to learn to know where it's going as soon as it leaves my foot and get there immediately", "use your body", "get under it", "OPEN YOUR EYES!" - each ball I caught my eyes were squinted shut, the ball was dangling dangerously away from my body, and I'd spent the last 5 seconds of it's descent running in pretty large circles trying to figure out where to be. But, I would catch it. That's what matters, right?!

The draw back of practice before the game is tri-fold. One, it was hot as hell, and we all needed lots more water than we'd brought. Two, I got a little bored - honestly...catching fly balls for an hour, not the most fun I've ever had. And three, it was hot (it seems the hottest time of day in Austin is somewhere around 4-6pm and we're out in the midst of that in an open field directly in the sun....Zzzzzzz)

The game started and we were off to an ok start, until the other team scored a bajillion* runs. We spent a bunch of time in the field running after them around the infield. It was like, 3 people tried to catch the ball, then tried to throw to first. Once the ball arrived at first, the runner was on the way to second, but the throw was off...so the first baseman had to retrieve the ball and throw to second. But, the seccond baseman was assuming the throw would go to third, since thats where the runner was headed, so the ball is now back in the outfield. Lazy outfielders scramble to get the ball to third, but the runner is nearly home now. Imagine that...times 9. I recommended a fielding practice, but coach told me that if we would catch the balls there'd be no need for fielding. Coach has a point, but...a back-up plan has never hurt anyone.

The best/worst part was that the other team had no subs. What they did have, however, was one stroller-bound baby and two small dogs. In their first inning in the field the baby stayed in the stroller (unattended) and one puppy was tied to the stroller. The catcher was holding the other puppy. After two such innings the baby was NOT happy any longer, and so for the rest of the game the catcher was holding the baby and one puppy. And we still lost. Horribly.

The highlight of the game, for me, was the inning where I made all three outs. Hells ya, catching practice. The call of the game would have gone something like this:

High fly to right field, Jenni's there and makes a beautiful catch for the first out! A bunt attempt, first baseman in to field the ball, underhands to Jenni covering first, runner out! Deep fly to right field, superhero Jenni is under it and makes her signature closed-eyed catch to end the inning. And the crowd goes wild.

Or, at the very least...I went wild. Coach probably muttered something similar to "about friggin time" under his breath. After our disappointing loss, and braving the Ike traffic, we had some well deserved $2 beers at Doc's!


*estimation

a new world order

So, I woke up yesterday morning.  

Which I guess means the world didn't end.  I was surprised by how unexcited I was to find this out.  I mean, not that I'm for the destruction of the universe, but it certainly would have made some of my stressors go away (unread papers, crap-for-data, odds stacked against me for graduating anytime soon).  After another day of dealing with these issues, I decided that the non-apocalyptic state of current affairs was calling for a fresh new outlook on life.  Allow me to introduce you to the "A glass half full is better than a glass quarter full" way of life.  It goes something like this:

Finding an error in your data a week before your presentation is better than NOT finding the error.

Graduating in ten years is better than NOT graduating.

Running a crappy 2.5 miles in 30 minutes is better than NOT running 2.5 miles.

The Red Sox falling a game further out of first place is better than the Red Sox falling a game further out of wild card.

I mean, some people might call this Cognitive Restructuring, but it works!  I'm going to write a book about it, and sell it, for lots of money.  Because writing a book for money is better than not having money.

The Kickball Diaries: A brand new season

Week 1. Kitshickers vs Rehab's for Quitters
Game Time: 9/4/2008, 7:20pm
Game Conditions: not nearly as hot as it could have been, but still dang hot.
Result: T 4-4
Record: 0-0-1

We showed up with socks, not just any socks, but matching socks. And we were 100% compliant with the socks - until they began to get too hot, and started cutting off the circulation of our particularly big-calf-muscle teammates. But even then, they had the socks just pushed down. We showed up with a soundtrack, 11 songs of pure kickball inspiring rock. Unfortunately, we were unable to play our soundtrack - and thus, the beginning of our decline.

We took the field first, and I was out in my right field spot. After some pre-game catching practice from FA, the rest of the outfield (BK, and myself) were ready. "get under it" "get behind it" "use both arms" "if you can't catch it set it for yourself" "use your chest" These were the helpful tips running through my head. The other team quickly scored 3 runs. And it looked like we were off to a rough start. But, our first turn at bat, and we answered back with 3 runs. I made it on base this inning, but got thrown out while running to second. Darn.

Our second time out in the field and it was like a new ball game. Somewhere in the 5th inning I kicked the ball in my usual fashion, low and not towards first. In this instance we had the bases loaded, so I tried to aim away from third as well. I managed that, it went somewhere towards 2nd, and that runner was out. But, I was safe at first, and R'OD was safely home. And we're up, 4-3.

We took the field for the final inning, ahead, and got two quick outs. Two strikes into the third out R'OD turns to me from first and says "One strike away". R'OD being a sox diehard like myself should know better. They kicked us around a bit, we made some silly plays, and they managed another run before we got another out. So we go up to kick the last time, tied for the billionth time in our life, wanting to do nothing but NOT tie. And we came up short.

All in all, the first game of the season wasn't a total disaster - I mean, after our perfectly 500 season in the spring yet another tie is like nails on a chalkboard. But, we did not get crushed, we held our own, and lost it tragically right at the end.

Nature Neuroscience, here I come

It appears I have uncovered the network of regions responsible for making accurate, but weakly confident, source memory judgments.  And damn if it doesn't use up a lot of resources in the brain.  I'm confident this will go straight to publication...no peer review here.

put me in coach

The big day is nearly here, our first game! All the preparations have been made, the roster is set (I kick 6th, play RF), the soundtrack has been made (11 songs of pure kickball energy), the uniforms have been acquired (knee socks with black stripes, OH YES!), and the beer has been boughten (cans of Lone Star, for sure). The excitement builds...here's hoping we can all sleep tonight!

eighty-dollars later...

I'm registered for my first half marathon, and what a marathon it looks to be. We get admission to a concert after the race, and there are promised to be 70 live bands along the route - it is the San Antonio Rock n' Roll after all!

ghetto is the new green

(partial conversation that I had with a friend in the stairwell at school)

me: I ended up at the dollar store last night, and you know what I realized
her: um, what?
me: I am NEVER paying more than a dollar for cleaning supplies again.
her: ?
me: I bought some Comet, for a dollar. Some Dawn, for a dollar. And Resolve, for a dollar! This would have cost me fifteen at Target. Never again, a dollar for everything
her: well...
me: I mean, it has to be the same stuff in that bottle, and hell - the Comet totally made my bath tub sparkle.
her: well, ya, I've been trying to use all environmentally friendly cleaning products lately. I feel better about it.
me: well, I've been trying to buy groceries lately, I feel better when I eat.

What I learned on my summer vacation.

Studying for quals is:

...bad for my ego.
...bad for my diet.
...bad for my skin.
...bad for my sleep.
...bad for my brain.
...bad for my sanity.
...but somehow, good for my running. 3 times this week, two good hips.

(oh, and I learned a bit of stuff about the hippocampus, prefrontal cortex, and supposedly how my memory works. We'll see if they're right about that!)

Thanks to those of you who have put up with my whining, insanity, feelings of doom, hermit-ism, and whatever else I've been doling out! And, for all the encouragement! I feel ready to kick this thing in the rear. T minus 14 and a half hours. Then, beer.

on the road again

I went for a run tonight.

That sounds like less than earth-shattering news, but it's been about 3 months since I've been able to run. I can certainly thank the start of today's Olympic women's marathon as my inspiration (also, Michael Phelps(swoon), Aaron Peirsol, Dara Torres, Libby Trickket, Guo Jingjing, Nastia Liukin, Misti and Kerri...). Technically, I don't think I'm supposed to be running yet, and supposedly I took it slow. But, damn did it feel good to get out there again. I forgot how much I like it. I forgot how peaceful and nice my neighborhood is, and how much I need that alone time to just run and not think! Originally my goal was to just go one mile - but thanks to Sandi Thom*, Death Cab, Jeff Buckley**, City and Colour, and The Beatles - it was too hard to stop. I completed my 4 mile loop, with a considerable amount of walking, and came inside to stretch! I didn't even mind the rain that came in somewhere between miles 2 and 3. My new shoes are awesome, and I feel alright now. Tomorrow might be a different story.

I don't know if I can declare it over, but I think it's safe to say, I see the light at the end of the perpetual funk I've been in lately!

*If I can bring along some tunes(teeny tiny mp3 player that straps to my arm is dead, and super huge mp3 player is in a word un-portable) when I run whatever portion of the San Antonio Rock and Roll I can muster, this song will be strategically placed about every 15 minutes or so. It seems impossible not to get pumped with this in your ear.

**I was unable to let myself listen to this song for a long time, and then much like everything else, by way of OSOM, it was forgotten. It popped into the playlist unexpectedly today, and at the risk of sounding like a sap, I don't think it's a coincidence that it was what pushed me up my last hill. I really love this song, it's good for the soul.



UPDATE (8/17/2008): My hip feels ok. I stretched a little after running, and then again before going to bed. This morning my hip feels fine, but my quads. Holy hard-as-rocks batman! I've already stretched them out 3 times, and they are a little better. But, dang...my PT would not be impressed, and it seemed there wasn't much about my legs he was unhappy with.

on the move

It seems that everyone I know is moving. Three of my Austin friends have just moved into new houses, JimBo has moved from NoLA to Hartford, two of my Boston friends have new digs as well. And then, of course, NH is westward ho, and MP is eastward bound (admittedly, I'm much more excited about MP's destination than I am about NH's!) It's been a full year since I made my own cross-country trek, and I find myself re-nesting. When I first got here I would come home every day with something new to hang up, decorate, or further make this place feel like home. And I did a great job. And now, a year later, knowing I'll be staying in this apartment for at least one more year - I find myself doing it again.

It started small, I redid my bed frame, I purchased a new vacuum. Then, last week, Willie Nelson followed me home. Last night I took down my wine glass racks, hung a spice rack, and re-hung the wine glass racks on the other side of the kitchen. Now today, I bought a new plant, a plastic bag organizer, a drawer for the cabinet my pots and pans are in, some storage containers for the bathroom cabinets, and canisters for flour and sugar. My grand plan still has at least two more steps to it, one more financially involved than any so far. But, I am running out of time, summer is quickly coming to an end and I will have to start thinking about school again.

The Off-Season

It's true, I gave up on posting about the KitShickers about one or two games too early. We ended out our season with a 3-2-2 record, and no hopes of making the finals. I've spent my offseason mastering the fine art of physical therapy, which I successfully graduated this week. I was "diagnosed" with IlioPsoas Tendonitis, and have been unable to run since sometime in early June. When I began PT the doc instantly pointed out my flat feet as the original cause, but indicated that my tight quads, IT band, calves, along with a significant decrease in range of motion throughout my hips and knees were keeping me in pain. He prescribed a regimen of stretching, and some combination ice/heat therapies for the iliacus tendon. This week, for the first time since I've been going, the heel from each foot was able to reach my butt - and thus, I was discharged. Only after agreeing to continue stretching for the rest of my life. Along with some new kicks and hot arch supports, I'm ready for action....sometime. Currently I'm only allowed to swim, which I've been doing as often as I can. In a few weeks I'll see the sports med doc again, who will recommend when and how I can get back to running. Since I'm now severely behind on my training.

And it looks like I've healed just in time. The Kitshickers are back, and ready for some fall-ball. We debated a name change, ROD said 'if it ain't broke don't fix it', however DI and LD and some others agreed, 'maybe it IS broke' - but we decided to stick with Kitshickers for one more season.

We've got a plan - there will be a kicking practice, and a catching practice. There will be team knee socks, and at-bat songs. There will be beer, and lots of Rudy's BBQ plastic cups. There will be winning, lots and lots of winning.

Stay tuned!

this is why i'm hot

Just to reiterate to all those of you in New England, when I said it's hot here - it's hot here. Last night I was coming back from feeding a friends cat at 11:30pm, and the thermometer on my car read an accurate 96 degrees.

ambivalent

I think most often the word ambivalent is misused or at least confused with the word indifferent. Instead of having no opinion at all, being ambivalent means that you have two conflicting opinions about one thing. I find myself packing (AGAIN!) this morning, I've been visiting my parents in Rhode Island for the last week, and am heading back to Texas this afternoon. I'm amazed by my inability to deal with the overwhelming sense of ambivalence I have. In the same breath I'm excited to return to Austin, and sad about leaving New England behind again. And why shouldn't I be.

It's been a great week, so many friends and family packed in to 7 short days. It's a little tough to deal with the rollercoaster of saying good-bye to someone again, and being excited to see someone else for the first time about 4 minutes later. It gets to the point where you're just excited for a return to your regularly scheduled life. Until plane day, when you realize you really do like these people here!

Someone very wise asked me yesterday, 'is there no middle ground?' and unfortunately, I don't always find it. Days like today it's the hardest - but (thanks AS), I've begun to look for that middle ground. So, instead of being sad to leave I'm just going to bask in the glow of all the wonderful people and things I've seen and done this week. The take home message from this trip is, I have a set of the world's greatest friends - from everywhere. I mean, seriously, does it get better than this?

Oh, and to top it off - I won't be hung over for my 2-hour layover in Newark today. It's a weird feeling to fly like this, but...I think I'll be modeling my flight nights after last night from now on.

someone's gotta clean up around here

My second job as crime-fighting superhero started a little over a week ago, in fact on my birthday. We’d finished dinner and post-dinner drinks, and everyone was heading home. We’d all parked in roughly the same spot and were still standing around the sidewalk chatting and saying goodbye. We heard a screeching crunch and I looked up just in time to witness a large black SUV sideswipe a small parked car and bumble on down the road. RO’D was already in his car, so we sent him after the SUV and he called back with the license plates and make/model of the car. A friend and I wrote a little note and left it on the parked car, hoping that the karma from this act would protect our cars on future downtown visits.

A few days later I was at the dog park with Sukka, LR, and Kibbie, when my second crime-fighting superhero opportunity arose. On our way out we saw a woman sitting on the ground crying. It was on second glance that we realized she was surrounded by luggage. LR and I hesitated a bit, unsure of what to do or say to this woman. Another man also was lingering, so we all approached her. Turns out she was from out of town, had been “dropped off” at the dog park, and was not flying out until the following evening – from Houston. We tried to calm her down a bit, offered her some suggestions as to how she could get to Houston, where she could stay, and drove her to a Starbucks so she could get some coffee and make her phone calls. It was one of the strangest interactions I’ve had in a long time.

And then, yesterday morning I stopped to get a bagel for breakfast on my way in to school and as I parked my car I noticed a woman on the ground behind her mini-van. I got out and went over to see what was wrong. I’m still unsure how she ended up on the ground, but she was handicapped and was trying to get her motorized chair into the back of the van, and had somehow made it to the ground and was having trouble getting up. This was one of those situations I hate, as I was unsure of exactly WHAT to do to help her try and get up. (Sometimes I have the same trouble when I try and help my grandmother maneuver around – where is my arm, grip, strength actually most beneficial??) I first moved her coffee cup, which seemed in the way, and then I helped get the chair into the van. By this point a rather tall man came over to offer some help, and he was much better at actually getting her up off the ground. After just a few minutes she was up and on her way, and we were headed inside to get bagels.

We’ll see what crime-fighting superhero adventures today brings, until then I’ll be designing my superhero costume – any suggestions?

we will never forget (again).

I can't believe I'm about to admit this publicly, but more so, I can't believe it happened. To me. And a friend of mine. I'm basically speechless, and horrified. And, while I know this post may disappoint some (Mom, Dad, brace yourselves) I feel that the public service announcement may help to prevent other people from falling into the same trap.

I play trivia on Tuesdays with some friends. This week there was a baseball question: Who hit a three run home run on the opening game at Yankee Stadium. Our guess was Babe Ruth, but I was unsure. I wasn't sure what year Yankee Stadium was built, I was thinking it was before the Babe was a Yank. As I was trying to put out this argument (to my very NON-baseball teammates) *it* happened. I said:

When was Yankee Stadium opened, because Babe was traded in 1908.

As soon as I said it, it didn't sound right. I couldn't believe it. I could no longer remember that dreaded year - the last time the Sox won the series (I mean, the last time before two times ago). I sat there searching my brain for that year, killing myself to try and remember. One of my teammates even looked over to ask if i was ok. No, definitely not ok.

I instantly texted 3 of my red sox loving friends and admitted my forgetfulness:

OMG! I can't remember the year the Sox won the Series before 2004!

I decided that I could figure it out, and quickly calculated 2004 minus 86, and came to the correct answer. As soon as I figured it out, I got an answer back from RO'D and all it said was:

1927?

As a devoted member of Red Sox Nation, I am thoroughly disappointed in the ease with which we have forgotten those horrid chants, those damn yankee fans that thought they could taunt us with our curse, that 86 years before 2004 the Boston Red Sox were the 1918 World Series Champions!

we're gonna sip bacardi...

If I had to break things down, I think 26 was my favorite year, although 17 is up there. And 21 was pretty alright too. 23 was definitely the worst. And, where does 27 fit in? Somehow, I think it doesn't. It was a year not like any others. It was marked with change and resistance and growth. A combination I'm not sure I've been able to muster in the past. Instead of marveling over myself though (I do that enough I think), I'd like to take this moment to thank everyone. My family, and my friends - both new and old - for going through this transitional year with me. I feel so incredibly lucky and special today. Before noon this morning I'd heard from friends from high school, college, and grad school. People from Rhode Island, Boston, DC, and Austin. I've heard from people who've known me since I was 12, and people who just met me last month. It's really eye-opening and heart warming to have so many wonderful people share my life with me. So thank you! Here's to 28!

my dad

While I may have missed Fathers Day by a few weeks, I’d like to take a moment to discuss my dad – he’s one of the greatest dads I know, and he deserves a little discussing. Mainly, I’d like to discuss what I do when I fly on planes, and I’d like to relate it directly to my father, who taught me everything I know. It starts when I’m allowed to select my seat. Dad, do you know where I always sit? Of course you do, same place you would if you could. Window seat above the wing. Why? So I can look out and see the wing work as we take off and land. The intricacies of the flaps and rudders still amaze me, and seeing the air rush over the aerodynamically optimized structure as we zoom in for landing, well – let’s just say I know all a girl should know about the Bernoulli Principle of lift. But, my fascination goes further than that. While waiting at the gate I check out for the size of the plane as it approaches the jetway, I watch as the various carts fill it with gas, food, load the luggage. Of course, as I board the plane I always check out whatever I can see of the cockpit. As we live in a post 9/11 world it becomes impossible to ask to SEE the cockpit, but sometimes you can get a glimpse of all those controls. Millions of controls. Heck, I even check out all the flight attendants storage spaces – where the carts go, the coffee pots, their purses. Everything has a space, everything has a function (or three), it’s amazing. As we pull away from the gate I’m aware of the little truck that’s pushing the plane (because these big things can not maneuver in reverse themselves), I’m watching the grounds crew as they signal which way the plane should go. I wait to feel the landing gear raise and lower. As we come in for landing, I understand all the various banks and rolls and speed changes that happen. It’s these details that my dad and I used to pay attention to and talk about when we flew. And, I still do. And I know, whenever he flies, these are the things my dad is looking at and thinking about too! Given that I've taken a total of 10 flights in the last 2 weeks, I've really noticed this fascination of mine.

While in Cairns last week I was lucky enough to get on to a boat tour where we boarded a sailing vessel and headed out to the reef. If planes make me think of my dad, boats certainly make me remember every summer I ever had. My family had a 30 foot Pearson sailboat, Pax, for about as long as I can remember – supposedly our first sailboat was a 24(am I close?) sailboat, Windward, but I was quite young when they got rid of that one. I think I remember it’s blue and red plaid cushions, but perhaps only from a picture. It’s Pax that I can still see if I close my eyes tight enough. She was teal, and had teal and grey cushions inside. The red table folded up and out of sight when we were underway, and the stairs were removable and revealed the shiny red engine underneath. While on the boat in Cairns, Falla, I couldn’t help but remember all the wonderful trips we took while I was growing up. And of course – all of the nautical information that was still in my head. Dad, do they drive on the left side of the channel in thiat part of the world too? I’d imagine so. When we were pulling back up to the dock at the end of the day, Skipper Doug was having a bit of trouble. It was very windy, and it kept blowing us out of the slip. He backed on out and tried a second time. One other man on board, who clearly knew a thing or two about boats, was along the port side ready to help. I noticed him there, so I said to him quietly “Hey, Fred, if you jump off with the spring line, just throw me the stern line quick and I’ll get it back there.” Literally, these words just came out of my mouth without much thought. Fred looked up at me, quite shocked I must say, and was unsure of what to do. Much to my dismay, and that of young looking females everywhere, Fred jumped off with the spring line and quickly threw the stern line up to an already busy Skipper Doug. I guess I can’t blame him, who am I to think that they’d have faith in me to know what to do with anything when it came to a boat. But, I know – and my dad does too – that I could have caught that stern line, and even could have tied it to a cleat.

Thanks Dad, all those times you sat me down to teach me about ridiculously useless things (like units conversion), well…maybe you knew what you were talking about.

cultural similarities

I hadn't considered that me saying "y'all" does for the Aussies what their saying "Good'ay Mate!" does for me.

Paradise

On Friday morning I flew to Cairns, pronounced Cannes, which is a beautiful city with access to the Great Barrier Reef, among other things. In stark contrast to Melbourne, this place feels like paradise. It’s quite hot, and the scenery is gorgeous. After a tiring morning of flying we were able to lounge by the pool for a bit, and then ventured over to the esplanade for some shopping. Didgeridoos, boomerangs, rhythm sticks, and other gorgeous wood creations abound – there were a few didgeridoos that really seemed to want to come home with me, but I left them behind.

On Saturday we joined up with some friends from UCLA and boarded a two-masted ship, the Falla, for a day of sailing and snorkeling. Captain Doug and (what we hope to be his girlfriend, otherwise he was overly snippy with her) Jacqueline took us out to Fitzroy Island. It was a very wet and mostly bumpy ride out to the island. I contemplated an introductory dive, and listened to the introductory dive lecture, but in all honesty the need to “equalize” the pressure on the way down by popping my ears freaked me out. As well as the claustrophobic feeling I was sure I’d feel once hooked up to a tank. But, luckily for me, my flight the following day was the actual reason I could not dive – and not because I was too chicken to try it. Instead, I spent about a total of an hour and a half snorkeling in and around a portion of the Great Barrier Reef that was absolutely beautiful. (I did have a crappy underwater camera, and so once those pictures are developed I’ll post some good ones.) It was a little windy that day, and so the water wasn’t as clear or brilliant as I’d imagined. But, once I got in the water and calmed down a bit – the wildlife was everywhere. I spent some time swimming with a large school of small blue fish, poking into large hunks of coral, and chasing after the poor sea turtle that only made himself known to us briefly. For lunch Doug and Jacqueline had prepared a picnic on the beach. By beach, however, I mean pile of small dead coral “rocks”. As we learned from talking to Doug, the coral we can see is just the top living layer that grows on the underlying dead layers. In fact, the entire Fitzroy Island is “growing” out of piles of dead coral, just so happened to grow up in to a few trees and all. The party started when we headed back, and they broke out the complimentary wine and cheese and fruit. We’ll just say, I slept well that night. Good thing, I was up the next morning at 4am in order to go back to the airport.

(In case you are keeping track, that Sunday morning flight is individual flight number five, in seven days!)

I am in Melbourne

Sadly, NH stole my favorite picture of Melbourne for his post, so we’ll have to struggle along with this one.
After my long-ass flight, and seemingly days of travel, I arrived in the land down under. First stop, Melbourne. Science is what brings me here, but I'll save you from those details. It's cold in Melbourne, and I am not prepared. Having lived all but the last 9 months in New England it amazes me how inflexible I am with the weather now. I am unable to determine appropriate outfits for a climate based solely on the temperature I can find online. Needless to say, I did not pack well. I was cold much of the time, and wore the same grey sweater every night.

As a city, I did not fall in love with Melbourne. It was a generic looking city – I’d easily believe that I was somewhere in the middle of Ohio, maybe Michigan – and the weather was crap. Also, we had the damnedest time finding food. Everything closed around 9pm, and we rarely could make up our minds on what our plan was in time to get anywhere before they kicked us out. It made for a lot of walking. We did find this sweet arcade, with the drum game, and air hockey. We had a tournament, the results of which are inconclusive and require a rematch, but I could have been the winner.

Wednesday, mid morning, was my moment – it went well, but it was during a very crucial beantown moment. I did manage to sneak away during lunch, even convinced a few friends to run across the street to the casino with me, to watch the end on the big screen. We got there with about 6 minutes left in the 4th quarter. And, all I can say is – WOW! Amazing. What a year for Boston, what a season for the Celtics. It was nice to be so far away and still be with a crowd, pumped for the game. It was nothing like watching it at Little Woodrow’s with a mish-mash of displaced Boston and LA natives, but for being in Australia, I guess it will do!

On Thursday morning a few of us decided to venture out for breakfast; we found this place and headed off. It was the cutest little place, with the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time. That afternoon, while it poured buckets outside, we spend a few hours at the Melbourne Museum of Moving Images, mainly at the Game On exhibit, playing loads of video games. (btw, Austinites – I am ready for Rock Band, BRING IT!)

Thursday night we found a band playing at the Ding Dong Lounge in Chinatown. And when that place was closing the very nice bar tender wearing a Celtics jersey drew a map for me, to the Pony Bar, which didn’t close until 7am. This sounded like the place for us. We headed there, and found a group of native Aussies to hang with. We hung, and drank, with them for far too long, until far too late, and made it back with far too little time before our VERY early morning flight to Cairns. The end of that story is, I did make it on the plane – with little to no assistance from anyone – and that was a major feat.

How to deal with a thirteen and a half hour plane ride and a sixteen hour time difference

It can really be summarized by two things: Fight Club. Ambien. But, allow me to elaborate.

I've been wanting to rewatch the movie Fight Club for a while now. I know I saw it in college, maybe my junior year, when we had that ridiculous projector and a wall sized canvas as our TV. It was great, in that it was BIGGER than anything you could imagine, but the picture quality was pretty awful, and if there was any amount of light coming in that common room, forget it - you couldn't see shit. And that's how I watched some supposedly great movies like Fight Club, Snatch, and The Big Lebowski. And I missed a lot.

I was sitting at the gate in LA, two hours into my 4 hour lay-over and no hours into my 13.5 hour flight, already bored out of my mind. A gut next to me reached into his bag and pulled out a brand new copy of Fight Club. I was quickly thinking, I could ask him if maybe we could share...he could watch, then I could watch, we'd have enough time. As I went over this in my mind, however, he had put the movie away, put on headphones, and fallen asleep. Damn!

Once we boarded the plane and I got settled I looked to my right and thought, 'this kid in the aisle looks familiar'. He was visibly nervous about the length of the flight and kept pointing out how long it would be. I thought this would be a disaster. He got up at one point to scope out a new seat with more room and the woman to my left and I discussed how we hoped he'd leave so we could also have more room. He came back, unable to find a seat, and opened his bag. He looked at me and said 'Hey, have you seen Fight Club? I have it, on my laptop, wanna watch it?' Score! I said yes, and moments later we were sharing a set of headphones and huddled (cuddled, maybe!) over his laptop watching Fight Club. I feel like I've never been so happy.

After the movie was over, and we'd eaten our meal, I resorted to my second measure of coping - Ambien. I popped one in and was out, for nearly seven hours. It was great. I'm not sure that Fight Club Dude agrees, as the arm rest was still up and I'm pretty sure that I rolled over at one point and used him as a pillow. But, you do what you have to, right?!

I woke up refreshed and ready to eat the continental breakfast!

One more Ambien on my first full night here, and I'm totally in the zone (the Australian time zone that is!)

Also, I'd like to thank Qantas Airlines - seriously, one of the best I've flown. I don't think I'd have been nearly as comfortable and happy if it had not been for their attention to detail (clean airplane bathrooms with marble floors), ever ready snacks (including an endless supply of apples, water, M&Ms, and mints), and superb customer service (I received an express pass through customs, even though I had already MISSED my connection, and then was rebooked on a flight that required me to only wait an extra 25 minutes). So I guess that's three things: Fight Club. Ambien. and Qantas!

the land down under

It's been a while, and there's been a lot going on.

There's been kickball

There's been cake

And, there's been two-steppin'

But today, there's going to be flying. And lots of it. My ride is showing up (thanks RO'D) in 15 minutes, and then I'm off to the airport. Some thirty hours later I should arrive on the other side of the world, ready for anything!

Until then...

the dingo ate my baby!

Two weeks from tomorrow I'll be hustling to the Austin-Bergstrom International Airport - heading on a 2 week trip for to Australia. Normally, I'm very ahead of the game for things like this. This time, I am not.

Here are the things I have done:
* booked a flight from here to Melbourne
* booked a flight from Melbourne to Cairns
* booked a flight from Cairns to Brisbane
* booked a flight from Brisbane back to Austin
* booked a hotel in Melbourne, Cairns, and Brisbane
* gotten an Australian visa
* found friends to watch Mia

Here are the things I have not done:
* looked at a map
* know the climate
* get appropriate converters for the outlets
* make the poster about the work I am supposed to present
* consolidate all my flight/hotel information so I know where I'm going when
* bought a carry-on bag
* gotten an oil change, haircut, bought food for Mia, stopped the mail, finished some work for school
* this list is so much longer that I'm overwhelmed and have to stop now.

The Kickball Diaries, volume 4.

Week 5. Kitshickers vs Sandy Clams.
Game time: 5/8/2008, 8:10pm
Game Conditions: day after the tornado, dryer than you'd have though.
Result: T 3-3
Record: 1-1-2

Let me start of this week's Kickball Diaries with an excerpt from the Austin Sports and Social Clubs webpage:

Good news for the Sandy Clams, who look to make it four wins in a row versus the Kitschickers (1-1-1).

The Sandy Clams are the only undefeated team, with a 3-0 record, and apparently we are the underdogs who are assumed to lie down and let them walk right into 4-0. Well, I wasn't having it. We tried some positive thinking before the game, just because they are undefeated does not mean they are perfect, it simply means that they haven't lost yet. They also haven't played us yet.

The game was unremarkable. We were up, we were down, we were tied, we were back up, we were tied. The ump was a dipshit, he was grumpy and yelling and he tried to end our game early. We nearly had a two-team bench clearing brawl versus the ump just to get him to let us play one more inning - the FIFTH inning.

I contributed next to nothing, and I honestly don't remember many plays of the game. I remember that I played a variety of positions and hardly knew what I was doing out there. I also know that now, thanks to us, the Sandy Clams will not have a perfect season.

I also know that our team is in trouble. Here is our latest injury report:
one player is out with a busted knee, likely needing surgery
one player went home with an ankle three times the size it was when he arrived
one player recently had surgery on her kicking-toe
one player is going to play through her injured hip, for the sake of the team

We're in some sore shape, but damn it if we aren't playing a perfect .500 ballgame, kids!

another one bites the dust...

Somehow I find myself celebrating the end of yet another semester. It seems surreal to me that two semesters here are over. But that rush of feeling DONE, it's escaped me this semester. I find that people who are unused to a life in academia don't really understand what I do all day. Do I "go to class", "work in an office", "sleep on the couch and watch soaps"? I mean, it's a valid question. I, in fact, do two of the three. When there are classes, I go. Otherwise I'm getting "work" done in my office. In fact, my life this semester has been very similar to my life the last 3 years. Data analysis, data collection, subject scheduling, answering questions, hiding behind my door. (Oh, the door, that's actually a welcome new addition!) And now that I'm done, in the sense that all the work has been turned in for all of my classes, what's left right? I'm faced with the never ending question "What are you doing for the summer?"

Summer starts today, and I'm sitting in my office, waiting for a subject to arrive. I'll test them, then I'll hope to modify one of my experiments, because I have another subject coming at 2:30pm. After that I hope to be able to make some changes to a paper I'm writing and send out another draft for comments. I've also got to call the subjects we've got lined up for tomorrow - and a few new subjects who need to be scheduled. So, in the end, I'm not really "done", I'll never really be "done".

But the semester is over, and hell if that doesn't deserve some celebratin'.

The Kickball Diaries, volume 3.

Week 4. Kitshickers vs Kick Cheney.
Game time: 5/8/2008, 9:00pm
Game Conditions: dark, but still hot.
Result: T 1-1
Record: 1-1-1

Did you think I forgot? Dropped out? Got kicked off? No! Last week, week 3, was our bye week - but we were back in action on Thursday. The game started off slow, it was a pitchers duel, 3-up 3-down save for the very first inning where Kick Cheney scored a run. It was essentially a fielder's choice, a choice CH probably would remake if he had the chance - throw home, NOT to first!

The most exciting part of the middle of the game were the round-offs that were happening in right field. Yours truly started the trend, RO'D joined in at first. I even managed one Round-off out of the CF, and the LF.

My highlight came sometime in the middle, amongst the round-offs, when RO'D moved closer to home from first, because a girl was at bat (we know how I feel about this mentality - as I said loudly, 'She could be a powerhouse!') She wasn't. RO'D ran up to get the ball, and I slid in to first base, yelling "I'm here!" RO'D grabbed the ball and lobbed it back to the bag, where I was waiting, arms open. I caught the ball and made the inning ending out! It was AWESOME! I felt like hero. I had no idea what to do with the ball that was still in my hands.

It was the ninth inning (ok, really the 7th, we only play 7 - so it's the same sentiment as the 9th) and we were down 1-0. 2 outs. CH, who has pitched a tight tight game, but also responsible for the only run scored so far, is up. He wails one - and we all start jumping. RO'D runs over to be third base coach, I run up the first base line along side CH screaming, GO GO GO! RO'D is yelling, we're all jumping. CH rounds second, rounds third. He seemed to stop and hesitate - but we were all just yelling. So, he turned it up. Play at the plate....SAFE! It's a 1-1 ball game kids. Our stand-in ringer DL was up next, and he made it on base, to 3rd I think. It was within reach, it was doable. One of our lovely ladies was the next up, and no one had the heart to remind her that if she did NOT get out we might win right here. We just let her be. Sadly, she was thrown out at 1st, and the inning was over.

But, we forced an extra inning. We took the field, and kept them off base. Round-offs ensued. And then, the last inning, we almost had it, another heroic dash for home, play at the plate....OUT! Game over, all tied up. But, what a rush. I've never been so excited to not win. Best of all, in the end, CH told me "Dude, your enthusiasm, it's just about as great as Papi coming out of his slump!" Right back atcha CH, right back atcha!

wanna be starting something

It's my blog. It's my prerogative to not disclose everything. But know this - something's starting right now. You don't even need to know what it is, the fact that it's starting is certainly enough.

So here's to something! Starting now....

geography lesson

I was watching the weather yesterday morning as I was getting ready for school - trying to decide what to wear. There are some weather patterns I still haven't figured out what to do with, like when it's dark and stormy but 85 degrees...what IS the appropriate outfit?

I had caught the tail end of the map of the entire country's temperatures and was looking for the one I wanted. But, the map went by too quickly for me to see. It was seconds later that I realized I had focused my search in the upper right corner of the map. Stupid, I live in Texas, down on the 3rd coast! Thank God for TiVO, I was able to simply rewind the weather and try again!

The Kickball Diaries, volume 2.

Week 2. Kitshickers vs The Hustlerz.
Game time: 4/24/2008, 6:30pm
Game Conditions: sunny, warm, windy.
Result: W 10-0
Record: 1-1

I told you I could smell a win. Ok, I wrote that last one already knowing the outcome. We were totally awesome - if the score doesn't suggest as much. I had some choice plays, as per usual. Here's the favorite. I made it to first, in fact the way I made it to first on this play escapes me, since I made it to first on two occasions. Perhaps this was when I walked? Oh yes, that was it. I struck out the first time, and this second time I was up I asked the ref to draw the "batters box" on the ground so I knew where it was. Which helped, as I then walked! The guy behind me, BMc, kicked it real far, and I was off. Rounded second, and third. A quick look back told me I could probably make it to home. RO'D was the first base coach, and he was telling me to run. Our "manager" was the third base coach, he was even telling me to run. CH, another fellow bostonian and die-hard was closer to home, also telling me to go. I glanced back again as I was running, knowing full well I could make it, but depending on how hard they threw it, there may be a play. I was ready. Now, I will blame something on the ground. But on one step half way between 3rd and home my foot went in a direction I was not expecting. Perhaps a little further down, or slightly inclined in a ditch, it's hard to say. But, it didn't do what I thought, and my entire right leg wobbled. But - I was running at lightning speed, it was tough to recover. There was some stumbling, and a whole lot of arm waving, windmill style, trying to keep myself upright. At this point all I'm thinking is, 'they'll never believe there was something on the ground'. To my right, our "manager" has visibly given up on me. To my far left RO'D may be unable to breath through fits of laughter. Between him and CH I see the team, in hysterics. And I hear CH's booming voice "STAY UP UNTIL YOU CROSS THE PLATE!" I run hard, arms flailing, and I cross the plate - never once falling over. I stopped and turned, to witness BMc doing the same exact thing I just did. It was something on the ground, and about 5 steps behind me he also was flailing and windmilling trying to stay up. Hysterics warranted.

On a second choice play, I decided to kick the ball (although I think it would have been a ball had I left it alone), it was outside to the left of the box. Now, what I decided t do with this pitch was to run a few steps up and kick it with my left foot (I'm a righty). This shocked me as it happened, and the fact the the ball sailed over towards third shocked me even more. Now, what confused me was that I had the weight on the wrong foot and was a little stuck trying to run out of the box. I made it to first seconds too late, and CH - the first base coach now - said to me "Hey, Jenni, next time just don't stop when you kick it". Thanks coach, I'll work on that!

Also, a highlight of the day was the birthday celebration for RO'D himself. Happy Birthday little buddy. I take credit for the win, it was definitely the birthday cupcakes that I brought! For sure!

The Kickball Diaries, volume 1.

Week 1. Kitshickers vs 99 Problems but a Pitch ain't one.
Game time: 4/17/2008, 7:20pm
Game Conditions: It's hard to remember, but I'm sure it was hot, and dusk.
Result: L 4-1
Record: 0-1

Our league is a coed league, and there are inevitably rules about how many girls must play, a separate bunt line for the girls, and just a general feeling of how we can "even things" out to make up for the girls being crap players. It's a mindset that I hate. It implies that merely because I am a girl I will be one of the worst players, or worse that merely because someone else is a guy he will be a force. Just, untrue. Maybe. We began going over the rules, and our "manager" was explaining some things, pointing out the bunt line for the girls, telling me that as the center fielder I should come in when a girl was kicking, and informing me that my only strategy when at bat was to just try and kick it on the ground towards 3rd so I'd have a shot at getting on base. Well, I launched in to a diatribe about how girls can be good players too - how these rules were crap, how I could try and aim to kick a gosh-darn homerun if I felt compelled. He shrugged me off, and I took the field. RO'D was sitting out first, and watched the following transpire from the sidelines.

It was the first play I was going to make as a kickball-er, and let me just preface with...that ball is HUGE. It's about 3 times bigger than you are picturing in your head right now. It is red, similar to the one you probably used in elementary school - but bigger. Some guy kicks the ball to the outfield, it's totally mine, I'm all over it. And then....then this happened. I looked up, and this enormous ball was falling towards my face and I quickly realized I had NO IDEA what to do about it, not a clue. So, I closed my eyes, screamed a bit, and swatted erratically at the air. I shouldn't have to add (but I will) that I didn't even touch the ball at all, it went behind me. I turned and ran to it, picked it up, and half rolled, half overhanded it somewhere towards the in-field. Not nearly close enough to do anything reasonable. I think that guy was standing on third picking his nose by the time I finished with the ball. After that I brushed my shoulder off, and patted myself on the back for single-handedly undermining the integrity of female kickball-ers everywhere. When the inning was over RO'D slyly said to me, "Um, did you close your eyes?!" By the end of the game I was feeling it a little better - I knocked a few down, held some people from scoring, although I never once made a catch.

Behind the plate, the entire team was dead. It was my first at bat, and I walked over to home plate - instantly scared crapless - what would happen here, any one's guess. There was a radio nearby blastin' out some tunes, and while it was not my original theme song the new Madonna song, 4 minutes, came on. (Quick interruption - I've been obsessed with this song lately, listening to it maybe 6 times a day while dancing in my office) So as soon as I heard this I screamed over to RO'D - "This is the song I've been dancing to in my office all week", forgetting that I work in the same building as everyone else on the team. They all begin to laugh at me, as I danced my way into my first out. I finished the day 0 for 2 behind the plate.

But damn it all if I didn't have a ton of fun while doing it! Go Kitshickers, I smell a win soon....

apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur

Let me take you back a bit, to a simpler time, about 4 weeks ago. This is when I joined a kickball team. It's a team that has played together before - with some new additions this time around, namely me and RO'D. We call ourselves The Kitshickers, and we wear navy blue shirts, and drink beers as we run the bases and cause general mayhem. As per usual, I don't get out of this experience without doing something completely absurd, so I've decided to institute a weekly series, an account of sorts, of exactly what embarrassing thing I've done to keep my entire team laughing at me for another week!

Introducing...The Kickball Diaries. The first order of business was to select an "at bat" song, which questionably worked out for me.

A healthy dose of crazy!

If you've been keeping up with my life as of late (unblogged, of course) you know there has been an unhealthy dose of crazy infiltrating the scene. But, Monday - we had the healthy kind, and it was refreshing, albeit endangering at some points. I left my office and headed to my car, on my way the phone rang. It was LR, and she was at Spiderhouse. Since my car was parked right by there, I stopped by to hang for a bit. We were seated in this back area, that's up on a little stage, and under a roof. The roof is actually sheets of metal siding, or something like that. We were talking and I kept being distracted by this guy who was tugging and hanging on the structure holding up the roof. It was very shaky - I thought maybe he was inspecting it. Then, he climbed on this rusty table and I gasped. (SIDE NOTE: It's the mismatchy, rusted, outdoor furniture that gives spiderhouse it's charm) He assured me he was ok, and I warned him that the table was rotting out from under his feet.

So, he climbed down and went away. Story over. Or, not quite.

This back stage area is, well, at the back of Spiderhouse's outdoor area, and behind it there is a house (maybe its a business in a house, I don't actually know) with a 2nd story deck. This guy is now scaling the deck, and hoisting himself up onto the railing. LR and I are staring, as are the two girls at the one other table under the roof. He stood around for a bit, and so we carried on our conversation. Until.

The whole structure we were sitting under began shaking, VIOLENTLY. And then you just heard a bunch of cracking and metal flexing. As I glanced up, I could see the roof bending under the guy who was now crawling over it. I began to laugh, and the two girls at the other table quickly fled the scene. He crawled across the whole roof, leaving full-grown-man-sized dents on his way. He stopped when he was directly above my head. At this point everyone in the patio is staring at him, and us. He peeks down from above and smiles and says "Don't worry, I'll be ok!" I refrained from telling him I was actually worried about myself.

There was another round of shaking and crunching, and I can only imagine that this is when he decided to stand up. Next thing you know, he is in the palm tree that is adjacent to the roof. He spends some time shaking the tree a bit, and climbs back to the roof. Again peeking down at me, "Don't worry I won't fall". He laid down on the roof, bending it worse, and put his arms into the tree. This complicated little dance went on for what seemed like an eternity - mostly because no one was able to do anything but stare in disbelief. It was probably something like 8 minutes.

When he was done, he crawled back across the roof, more dents, and dismounted onto the railing of the porch. In his hand, a foot and a half piece of palm frond, his hard-earned treasure. He held it proudly, showed it to us, and grinned. So much work, for what?! A palm frond, not even a full one. A piece of a tree, which he also could have ripped off the lower portions of the tree from the ground, in fact I could have ripped off a matching piece without even moving from my chair.

He walked over to an empty table, prize in hand, smiling to everyone. He sat down, still clutching the leaf, for a while. Then, he placed it on the table and walked away. I'll never understand what happened, and I will forever notice the dents in the roof at Spiderhouse. But, somehow, in light of everything else - this man's crazy, was something I could totally get on board with. Palm fronds for everyone!

my allegiance

Some people were curious to know how I was feeling going into tonight's big game, perhaps rightly so. Let me start with, living down here, my allegiance has quickly grown to be almost solely to two things, the Red Sox (ALWAYS) and Bevo. So, needless to say, I'm still sad that UT couldn't cut it. But, I was happy to see our Big 12 companions KU doing so great. And, I will always be a fan of great games. The Jayhawks had some of the best games this whole madness, tonight certainly tops them all. Rockchalk Jayhawks everywhere. But watch out - football's around the corner, Punks!

(...it's no Eyes of Texas!)

cry for help

Mia hit rock bottom one night last week. I mean, she had literally been crying for help for a few days, "mmmrrrrrewwww. mmmmmmrrrrrreeeeewwwww! mmmew mmmew mmmmmreeeeewww!" And I do what I can to entertain her, but sweetie - mama's busy. I know you feel ignored, I know you're lonely, but...

That night, I didn't have the heart to stop her, I just let her throw her kitty tantrum. She climbed up on a bookshelf in my room and pushed all the books off. She climbed on to the shelf above, and pushed the random piles of stuff off (Dallas DVDs, notecards, piles of receipts, the like...). It woke me up, of course. I wished she wasn't doing it. But...I didn't stop her. I let her freak out. When she was done, I got up and dragged her onto my bed. I tried to stay awake to pet her, I did. But it was 4am, and I was sleepy. So the petting faded quickly, and she became more angry.

Up on top of my dresser, and down go my glasses, some candles, my cell phone. So again, I pulled her on to the bed. This time, everything fell asleep except for my hand, which made a perpetual petting motion - and seemed to help.

She's been ok since. Although, she's scratching the hell out of my couch. I mean, there are holes in it now. So, that's great. I tried cutting her nails, and she punctured my thigh with a back claw. Tonight I'll try and pull out some old toys that have been in hiding and see if this helps. But really, it's been a battle - and I'm losing.