Another great day of baseball. The Red Sox and Yankees continued their heavyweight battle in the late afternoon and early evening, each team taking and losing leads, trading punches like Ali and Frazier. A couple wind-blown balls by the Red Sox and one massive, George Brett-like homerun from Trot Nixon, and we’ve got game seven: Pedro Martinez vs. Roger Clemens. Exactly what everyone was hoping for. I didn’t think the Sox had a shot yesterday.
Sixteen Candles 16 years later? No thanks, especially if you make it for TV rather than the big screens and lose the PG-13/R rating option. Let’s count the ways this is bad: No politically incorrect references to Orientals, a Chinaman named after a duck’s dork, retarded kids wearing red sweaters and tan trousers, alien breasts, public urination, shots of women nude in the shower, or oily-type beau-hunks. I bet you can’t even put Joan Cusack it the halo and make her try to use the drinking fountain these days.
Utterly incredible. That’s the only way to sum up what happened at Wrigley Field in the eighth inning last night. If you missed it, the Cubs were up 3-0, five outs from their first World Series since 1945, and ace Mark Prior was destroying the Marlins. A pop-up down the left field line is grabbed by a Cubs fan just before Moises Alou could catch it, Alex Gonzalez commits his first error in months, and next thing you know, the Fish have scored eight runs in the inning.
Didn’t I promise to do one of these each week? And now this is my first entry in a month. It’s not for a lack of effort, I promise. I’ve started probably ten of these in the last month. Apparently I’m starting the wrong ones, though, because I can’t seem to finish any. As I said back in the beginning, music often elicits very specific memories for me. Play a song; I lock into a distinct time and place.
Finally back home for a stretch, sitting in front of the TV preparing for my firs extensive use of picture-in-picture this year (Red Sox-Yankees in the main frame, Monday Night Football in the PIP frame). I didn’t do my Purdue friends justice with a full accounting of my trip to West Lafayette two weeks ago as I had done for my trip to South Bend. It was a beautiful day, the Boilermakers pounded Illinois, we spent the entire second half in the parking lot tailgating, and I ended the evening puking on the side of I-65 on the way back to Indy.
A few more notes to wrap up my Bay Area trip. I want to go on record as being extremely thankful the good folks at the Starbucks at DFW gave me a fully leaded coffee last night, rather than the decaf I asked for. Thanks to them, I was still awake at 3:00 this morning. That’s the way you want to end a trip in which you’ve been sleep deprived to begin with.
I was all prepared to write about the key to Saturday’s KU-MU game being the MU offensive line. On their two scoring drives, they looked like monsters, pushing the much smaller KU d-line around at will. Not sure if it was adjustments by KU, or failure to stick to what worked by MU, but that dominance wasn’t evident the rest of the game. Bill Whittemore was more able than Brad Smith to adjust to what the defense was giving him, and that pretty much was the game.
Let’s make this very clear to start: tomorrow’s Kansas-Missouri football game should be played the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Always. Without exception. I know, I know, when played in November, the game meant something to both teams other than just being a rivalry game exactly once in the past 20 years: 1981, when both teams entered the game 7-3. By moving the game to an earlier point in the season, the argument goes, hopefully both teams are still playing for something other than pride.
As a reminder to my faithful readers (and those who may bounce in here by accident) you can either comment on any topic by hitting the comment link under each entry. Or, for a more private comment, you can send me an e-mail by using the link to the right. With that in mind, I wanted to share some thoughts based on recent comments and e-mails I have received. I hope everyone either watched or taped Oprah and saw today’s episode with the Queer Eye guys.
I love to write. That’s the whole point of having the blog. However, the down side is the pressure to write on certain subjects. For example, someone who I’ll refer to as “Feldman” has all but demanded that I compare the Fab Five of Michigan to the Fab Five of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. “Feldman” really knows how to put me in a spot. One of the most dynamic college basketball teams of all-time compared and contrasted with my current favorite TV show.
No 18-hour football watching session yesterday. My step-dad was visiting, so we took him down to Bloomington for the day. You will be relieved to hear the Colts sold out in time for their thrashing of the Titans. Since they missed the blackout deadline, though, the only highlights available here were those shot by local stations from the sidelines. That’s how hard core the NFL is: if you can’t sell your game out at least 72 hours in advance, you can’t expect to see network highlights on local stations either.
(Year two. The first anniversary is always hardest. You know it’s coming, you keep thinking about it, and you long to get it over with. The second is easier. You’ve hopefully started to put things into perspective. Perhaps found ways to begin moving on. The pain is still there, but it’s a different pain than it was a year ago…) In the weeks and months following the attacks of September 11, 2001, there were countless musical tributes to the victims and relief workers.
First of a two-part summary of the first full weekend of football. Two years ago, I put together a list of things I wanted to do in my life. I included running a marathon (check), work from home (yep), kayak in the Pacific (some day), see live penguins, and a long list of places I wanted to see sporting events. Fenway Park, Yankee Stadium, Cameron Indoor Stadium, Neyland Stadium, and Michigan Stadium were all on there.
Some notes from the coast (well, Ontario at least) while watching the NFL opener and letting my In ‘N Out Double-Double settle happily in my belly. My favorite thing about In ‘N Out Burger isn’t the food or the name or the Fletch reference. It’s the fact I ALWAYS get some sauce on my shirt when I eat there. I love that little reminder the next time I wear the shirt (In ‘n Out sauce is a bitch to get out of cotton.
Labor Day weekend, the traditional end of summer. I don’t need a weatherman or astronomer to tell me when summer is over. I know it always came the week the pools close and we had to go back to school (How about these poor kids that have to go back in mid-August now? Add in a general lack of air-conditioning in public schools, and I think you’ve got two grounds for cruel and unusual punishment.
It was a big weekend here in Indy. First, it was absolutely gorgeous both days. 80 Saturday, 85 yesterday. Low humidity. Nary a cloud in the sky. Second, there were many, many things going on downtown. There was the Taste of Indiana, which we took in yesterday. A local version of Taste of Chicago on a much smaller scale, we were able to sample some pretty good beef brisket (no where near the league of Smokin’ Jim Epps, of course), some mediocre Mongolian food, and some extremely tasty ice cream.
Some unfinished business from last week. This was my original selection for entry 1.2. However, after trying to tie “True Faith” and “Under the Milky Way” together, I thought it better to tackle the songs separately, in chronological order. You should thank me. I think I was on page 48 of my comparison when I finally stopped myself and changed focus. Hopefully this isn’t too disjointed. I’m attempting to write about one song while I watch I Am Trying to Break Your Heart, the great documentary about the making of Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot album.
A few D’s notes to wrap the week up. Poor Reggie Miller. He signed his two year contract with the Pacers yesterday, and boldly proclaimed that even when he was injured last year, he was better than 2/3 of the shooting guards in the league. There are 29 teams in the NBA. I’m feeling charitable today (And Reggie is old) so I’ll round up and say that means he needs to be in the top ten of shooting guards to back that up.
If someone asked me what kind of music I listen to, I would struggle to give an answer. I’m not sure if there are any hard and fast definitions for music today. I listen to some pop music, but nothing that’s in the league of Britney and Justina. Is there really such a thing as alternative anymore? And when does something cross from alternative and become mainstream? Is it defined by sales?
As I mentioned Friday, I’ve never been in a domed stadium. Nor have I ever been to an NFL preseason game. In fact, I haven’t been to an NFL game period in nine years. Courtesy of a friend who fell into some free tickets, I was able to attend the Colts-Seahawks game at the RCA Dome Friday night. Since I was paying exactly $0 of the $55 face value of the tickets, I was more than happy to tag along.
I hate the Yankees. I hate their uniforms, their dirty stadium, their pompous owner, their arrogant players, their boorish bandwagoning fans, their money, their tradition. I hate the Yankees. Beating the Yankees is good. What memories! Royals-Yankees, full house, mid-season series. Was this 1980 all over? Flip the venue, and last night’s result reminded me of when the R’s went to Yankee Stadium in June 1980 and scored NFL-like numbers of runs.
Any writer worth his or her salt (and most who are worthless too) knows the power of the random musings column. It’s a way to crank out some work without having to fully develop each idea. The thoughts may grow into a lengthier piece down the road, but the tidbits format allows us to cross things out of our notebook, clear our heads, and move on to bigger, better things (like hog semen, for example).
Warning: some slightly graphic, suggestive language below. All meant in fun, of course. The final wedding of Summer Matrimony Fest 2003 is finally out of the way. Another grand occasion highlighted by impressing the locals with consuming large quantities of fine scotch (Glen Fiddich, 18 year old model). However, I did have to miss the Indiana State Fair to attend the wedding. Normally, I’m not much of a state fair guy.
I read a great book by one of my favorite authors recently, Songbook by Nick Hornby. Hornby is the author of High Fidelity, About a Boy, and Fever Pitch among others. At times, I think Hornby is writing about my life. If you took Fever Pitch, set it in Kansas City, and adjusted KU basketball for Arsenal soccer, the book is about me. Anyway, Songbook is a quick little number that Hornby wrote as both a tribute to his love for music and to raise money for charities including the school that helps his autistic son lead a somewhat normal life.
Like there hasn’t been enough talk about Kobe Bryant already, and now I’m going to jump in and say some words. I’m commenting more on the media attention than the alleged act or Kobe himself. It’s utterly ridiculous. MSNBC pretty much stopped all programming yesterday to spend a couple hours covering Kobe’s appearance in Eagle, CO yesterday. They continually showed a 20 second clip of Kobe walking from his Suburban to the courtroom while waiting for the session to start.
(Finally) Watching the Royals from Indianapolis. Despite being the best story in baseball, this is the first chance I’ve had to watch them on national TV this year. They’ve just made their second comeback against the second place White Sox and now lead 7-6. (The home plate umpire is a complete idiot. He warns both teams after two batters are hit by wild, not purpose pitches, then proceeds to toss a White Sox pitcher and their manager when the ball got away and plunked Carlos Beltran.
One quick note, before I unload some pile-up that’s in my head. If any of you use AOL’s Instant Messenger, I now have a screen name: DDBinIndy. Shoot me a message sometime if you’re online. Things on my mind: In addition to being all whacked out about time here, I think there’s some kind of suspension of normal physics laws in Indiana. I’m only exaggerating in the slightest when I say that everyday a large truck flips over on one of the local highways, snarling rush hour traffic for hours.
I’ve finally had a chance to sit down and compile the details of our honeymoon last week. My reward for spending a week in St. Lucia was hopping on a plane to Phoenix followed by a 2 ½ hour drive to Prescott, Arizona on Monday. A quick meeting with a client Tuesday morning, followed by the return trip which had me home at about 11:30 PM. All this after we arrived home from the airport at 9:30 Sunday night.
The whole point of Weblogs (for those new to the concept) is to give people forums for instantly commenting on events. There are political blogs, where professional and amateur writers comment on events as they happen, often updating throughout the day. There are blogs that are used as diaries by regular people. If I see a really cool sunset, I’m supposed to run inside and let you know all about it.
I’ve got some good local color to share, but it will have to wait for now (One story so rich, so perfect, so needing being told, that I’m frankly disturbed that I have yet to publish my thoughts on it). Allow me to slip on my sports writing hat and talk about the Williams sisters for a while. I watched probably 2/3 of today’s Wimbledon (there’s no T in there, Stuart Scott) Ladies Final match between Venus and Serena Williams.