Month: April 2013 (Page 1 of 2)

We had a lovely, leisurely Monday, so I still need to catch you up from our busy weekend.

The highlight was M.’s First Communion. Like I’m guessing about 95% of her classmates, I don’t think the religious ramifications of the event registered with her completely. She was far more concerned with her dress, veil, tiara, and first pair of heels than getting closer to Jesus. So much for those months of preparation, I guess.

She could not have been more excited about her shoes. When we first got them a month ago, she would wear them around the house when we let her. It was still cold, so the sweatpants with white socks and white heels thing was a most excellent look.

It was a fine event. Her communion class was rather large, so it was split into two sessions. They still managed to just about fill the church for her group. There was lots of giggling and shrieking as the girls saw each other’s dresses. Meanwhile the boys all fidgeted in their suits and sports jackets. That doesn’t really change as we get older, does it?

M. got a couple necklaces from family and friends, and we gave her a pair of my mom’s (real!) diamond and gold earrings which she thought was pretty cool. She also got a carved angel she loves from our neighbors. She kept taking it out of its box then putting it back in. After about 30 minutes of that I heard her gasp and yell, “Dad! Look at this!” She handed the box to me and it was done by an artist in Kansas City.

Speaking of Kansas City (kind of), we asked her what she wanted for lunch after church and she requested pulled pork from the barbecue place that is near her school. That’s my girl!

Saturday night I took the girls over to our friends the H’s house so the girls could play while the dads hung out and drank beer. I heard Ella, who is a year older than M., quizzing her at one point. “So, tell me, what exactly is First Communion? We’re not Catholic, we’re Christian, so we don’t do Communion.” I had to laugh, not only at the way she phrased the question, but how M. couldn’t really explain the significance of event.

Both girls had their best soccer games of the year Sunday. C. scored a goal, her second of the year, but the first in which she controlled the ball through traffic and forced her way to the goal.

And M. spent her turns on the field mostly on defense or in goal, but did a great job running to the ball instead of away from it and clearing it safely most of the time. In fact, there was a girl on the other team who didn’t look like much¹ but was incredible. She whistled a shot in from about 20 yards out, could take control of the ball and keep it in traffic while moving faster than the defenders, and could change direction at will. She scored three goals in about five minutes at one stretch. When M. was on her in the fourth quarter, though, homegirl couldn’t get a shot off.

But my favorite part about it was M.’s demeanor after the game. We were praising her effusively, telling her it was her best game ever and how proud of her we were. She just shrugged her shoulders and acted like it was no big deal. Perhaps we’ve turned a corner with her and she will no longer be a shrinking violet on the field.

Finally, the referees are all high school kids. One of them is the son of good friends of ours.² He’s a great, mature kid who is completely comfortable around adults and fantastic with kids. He’s been ref for M.’s games twice and I always give him the Caddyshack “Hey, let’s keep it fair out there!” line before the game.

Anyway, a week ago we offered him a ride home after the game so his parents wouldn’t have to drive out and pick him up. At first he accepted, but as we were gathering our chairs and bags and snacks up to leave, he came over and said thanks but he would get home on his own. Then we noticed a very cute girl making googly eyes at him. Soon they were walking across the fields arm-in-arm. Nicely done!

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Ready Player One – Ernest Cline. I have a weird fascination with what I’ll call, in very broad terms, fantasy games. In that I include fantasy sports, traditional desktop role playing games, and online RPGs. I say fascination because I love the idea of creating an alternate world where we are in control of characters and teams. But when it comes to the execution of the game, I lose interest. Drafting a fantasy baseball team is fun. Dealing with the team for six months, not so much. Same goes for RPGs. I always enjoyed the rolling up of characters, deciding how to equip and align them, and then the first few games more than spending months or years playing with a group of friends as you broadened your character’s abilities and possessions. When computer RPGs developed, I was always kind of interested, but the idea of spending hours playing these online games when I could be doing other things kept me from ever checking out Warcraft.

So it shouldn’t be a surprise that this book appealed to me. Set twenty-plus years in the future, it focuses on an epic, online quest that will end with the control of OASIS, a virtual, online world that pretty much everyone spends all their free time plugged into, in the hands of either the hackers who promise to keep it open, or a giant corporation that views it as a source of endless monetization opportunities. The quest is full of puzzles, alliances, and battles between good guys and bad guys. In short, it has all the elements of a great fantasy game without me actually having to play it. And as a bonus, the creator of the quest was a Gen Xer. Thus all the players attempting to solve his puzzles must dig through massive amounts of 1980s pop culture to find clues. I don’t know that someone who is 55 or 25 will enjoy it as much as readers my age will.

Safe At Home – Richard Doster. I bought this ebook sometime last year, when it was on sale. And it sat in my Amazon account, untouched, ever since. I finally decided to (virtually) crack it open last week, which ended up being perfect timing. It’s a story about breaking the color line in minor league baseball, and last week was the celebration of Jackie Robinson doing exactly that in the Major Leagues.

This takes place in a small southern town, where a class C team is struggling to find a way to remain relevant in a society where TV is beginning to keep people home for their entertainment. After a chance encounter with a family from the city’s black high school, a sports reporter suggests that perhaps the team should sign the school’s budding star and lure black fans to games. This opens all kinds of cans of worms, as this particular town seems perfectly comfortable keeping the “separate but equal” lines between the races intact.

The kid is signed, there is controversy and anger and violence. The ending is not a happy, bow-tieing ending but rather an uncomfortable one where you don’t feel like anyone really learned anything.

Which is probably pretty accurate for 1950s southern America. The books draws on many famous moments in Jackie Robinson’s, and other black baseball players, early days as pros. But the context of a small town gives it an original element. I expect the scenes from the town are fairly historically accurate. I hope any reasonable person who reads this will be infuriated at how we treated fellow citizens not too long ago.

This isn’t a great book, but it is a nice little read that sucks in both baseball and the massive gears of change that were beginning to crank in America 60 years ago.

Gentlemen – Bob Gendron. This was my second crack at the 33 ⅓ series of music books, a series in which authors tackle a specific, significant album in roughly 100 pages. Previously I had read Christopher Wein’s take on Public Enemy’s It Takes A Nation Of Millions To Hold Us Back and thought it was interesting, but just ok.

Here, Gendron examines The Afghan Whig’s overlooked work of genius, Gentlemen. It’s clearly from from a fan’s perspective, and thus is a bit over-written. But it tells the story of the band and how they arrived at the recording of their fourth studio album in 1992. There’s an unevenness to the writing, though, which detracts from that story. The 33 ⅓ books force authors to hone in on a narrow focus because of their length restrictions. I didn’t think Gendron ever found that solid, central focus and instead tried to pare down what should have been a longer book into this format.

I’ve loved this album for nearly 20 years, but knew little of its back-story. So I did learn much about both the band and their masterpiece. But I felt like the story could have been told in a better way.

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I guess it’s time to write about baseball. The Royals are in first place and begin a series with division favorites Detroit tonight.¹ In years past this would be a moment for celebration and excitement. “Can they keep it going?” “Is this real?” Fun questions that present themselves as the first month of the season winds down and the standings begin to take shape.

The hopeful fan looks at this year’s team and thinks, “The pitching has been great. It’s going to normalize a bit, but I think the rotation, and bullpen, are capable of pitching well all season. Now if we can just get some hitting, and that’s bound to happen, this team will stay in contention through the summer. And then if we get Duffy and Paulino back, maybe make a move for another bat, anything can happen in September!”

But my excitement is tempered this year. I’ve finally been worn down by the 25+ years of failure and cynicism has replaced hope. I look at this team and think, “The starters can’t sustain this early success, and aside from Alex Gordon and Billy Butler, I have no confidence in any of the hitters. Hosmer and Moustakas are well on their way to being busts. Sal² Perez swings at too many pitches. Alcides Escobar and Lorenzo Cain won’t keep hitting this well all season. And Getz and Frenchy suck. Once the pitching fades, it’s going to get ugly.”

Argh.

If any sport is built for hope, it’s baseball. The long season, where any team can win any single game, turns every fan into an optimist. At least until they’re double digits back in the standings. Even when long-term success is not realistic, a good run in April should put a bounce in your step and have you dreaming of warm summer nights following games that matter.

But I can’t do it. It’s not that I’m not interested, I am. I’m listening to just about every Royals game. I want them to be good. I want the young guys to develop into stars. I want the reclamation projects (Santana, Guthrie) to continue to turn back the clock. But the part of my brain that bought into hot starts in 2003 and 2009 just can’t get going this year.

If they can keep it going two, maybe three more weeks, I’ll be ready to hop on board. But I’m remaining dubious and cranky until then.

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<p>It is not often I post to Facebook, but last Friday I did. And my post elicited some questions. So, for those of you who are Facebook friends, saw the post, and wondered what was up, here&apos;s the explanation.</p>

<p>First, my post:</p>

<blockquote>
Nothing says &apos;Thanks for having us over&apos; like your kid puking on the dinner table.
</blockquote>

<p>So what happened was, after our weekly soccer practices, we went to our neighbors&apos; home for dinner. M. was kind of dragging, but I didn&apos;t think much of it. While the other kids played, she sat quietly on the couch watching them. I should have known something was wrong, since she never stops talking. I asked if she was ok and she said she was just tired. When it came time to start loading plates up, the other kids crowded into the kitchen and she remained in the dining room. I went out to ask what she wanted to eat and <strong>BAM!</strong> here comes the puke. All over the table. Lots of it.</p>

<p>Fortunately the other kids had yet to seat themselves, otherwise we might have had a <em>Stand By Me</em> situation where all the kids were hurling in response. </p>

<p>Turned out about half of her class was sick that day or night, so something potent was going around. She had the worst of it in our stomach flu episode two weeks ago, and got nailed again. Poor thing.</p>

<p>By the way, L. did finally get sick at the tail end of our first round. In her bed at night, of course. S. avoided all that, somehow, but apparently ate something bad Sunday night and has been fighting a messed-up stomach ever since.</p>

<p>And with that, I think I’ve hit my quote of posts about the B’s; digestive issues for the year. I’m sure you’re relieved.</p>

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I can finally share the news I’ve been alluding to for over a month.

I mentioned last week that something was changing in our house. And when we went to Florida for spring break I said we had a series of circumstances that made it seem like it was the perfect year to go. Well, here’s why.

S. starts a new job today.¹

After ten years as a pediatric hospitalist at St. V’s, she is moving to another local healtcare network and going to the out-patient world. She’ll be in a suburban office doing regular pediatrician stuff. Hours will be regular, with no more nights, holidays, and only weekend call once-per-month. And she will be working with a very good friend, who was a partner at St. V’s when S. started there.

It’s going to be totally different, and hopefully totally great.

It was a long, and sometimes difficult process to get here. She very much enjoyed her old job and the challenges that came with it. But those night shifts weren’t as easy to recover from as they were ten years ago. The annoyance of always having to adjust the extended family’s schedule around hers at the holidays was something we could live with, but it sure makes it easier to not have to worry about it. As the girls become more active outside of school, it is easier for all of us to know what days, and generally hours, S. will be working when we’re trying to figure out how to get to this practice and that rehearsal, etc. And at some point I will begin working more regular hours, and her set schedule will make that easier on me, as well.

So it’s an exciting time here in La Casa de B. It’s also a little nerve wracking. Change, even when it is good, always comes with some tension and surprises. But I’m sure S. will settle in quickly and be everyone’s favorite pediatrician in no time. Speaking of, if your kid needs a doc, I can direct you to the perfect one!

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Zazen – Vanessa V. File this under books I’ve wanted to read for several years, and when I finally did, was disappointed.

Zazen takes place in the near future, with the world on the verge of a mysterious war. People are fleeing the United States as war approaches and energy and individual liberties are severely rationed. Those who remain face daily bombings by various groups looking to either destabilize the existing power structure, or just scare the crap out of people. I liked the idea of a society in chaos and people struggling to figure out which path to take.

In execution, though, it was a bit too arty for me. Or poetic, perhaps, is the better term. Odd phrasings and random, oblique sentences thrown in. Metaphors that were a little too obtuse for me to find meaning in. And the characters weren’t terribly interesting. It’s hard to connect with a story when none of the main players are appealing.

Lots of people liked Zazen. It even won some awards. It just wasn’t for me.

Idiot America – Charles P. Pierce. File under political books that are written just how I like.

I complained earlier this year that Rachel Maddow’s book Drift suffered from how Americans want their political books written so they can be bought, read, and filed away quickly. No need for deep explorations of issues. Just throw out some anecdotes, pithy reactions, and move on to the next issue.

Pierce, on the other hand, isn’t afraid to explore a subject in depth. Here he looks at how Americans of all political stripes have cast aside the idea of true political debate that the Founding Fathers were interested in for a dumbed-down, commoditized form of debate. Facts, evidence, and reasoning are no longer the most important elements of a political discussions. Instead, a sexy theory is valued more than experience and evidence and quality of presentation trumps truth. Imagined conspiracies (Who shot JFK) are given more consideration and legitimacy than real conspiracies (Watergate, Iran/Contra) which are dismissed as too complex to understand or not important to regular folks.

He presents a three-fold argument on how issues enter the mainstream of political discussion. 1) A theory is valid if it sells, 2) anything can be true if someone says it loud enough, 3) and fact is that which enough people believe. Truth is measure by how fervently those people believe.

It sounds cynical, but as he lays out over and over again, it is sadly an accurate description of our culture.

It has never been easy to be an informed citizen. It takes work to do research instead of just listening to people who share your worldview and adopting their opinions. That task is even more difficult in our society, where we live in a flood of information. It’s easier to view politics and government as just another form of entertainment and sit back and watch the show instead of taking the time and effort to dig through the mess and find out where the real, boring truth lies.

But, as Pierce points out, giving in to the temptations of our entertainment-political media is what gives the cranks that used to be shunned, or viewed as momentary diversions from reality, control of our dialogue. And that’s how we end up fighting about either issues of absolute zero importance (who wore a flag pin on their lapel) or about manufactured controversies not based in truth (He shares a long list of ginned up controversies by various right wing talk show hosts that were built on lies that, when repeated often enough, were treated as reasonable arguments by the mainstream media). Which does two things: turns people off of political debate and pushes those who remain engaged further apart.

And that’s how you get elected officials, even those in the political minority, who refuse to even talk to their counterparts opposite them in ideology and a citizenry that refuses to hold those officials accountable for ruining the country.

In other, shorter, words, this is a real up-lifter.

Summer Of 68 – Tim Wendel. File this under great idea that could have been executed just a little better.

1968 was a momentous year in baseball, culminating in the fantastic World Series between St. Louis and Detroit. It was the “Year of the Pitcher”, when Don Drysdale, Bob Gibson, Denny McLain, and Luis Tiant all turned in historical performances. It was the last year before the second round of expansion, which split each league into divisions and birthed the League Championship series before the World Series. And, in response to the insane pitching numbers, the mound was lowered and strike zone reduced before the 1969 season.

Meanwhile MLK and RFK were murdered, Americans fought each other in the streets of Chicago as the party of the incumbent president tried to select its candidate for the fall election, and the Vietnam war continued to take the lives of young Americans in Southeast Asia. While baseball seemed as popular as ever, Joe Namath’s New York Jets were about to win the Super Bowl, forcing the NFL and AFL to merge, and completing football’s ascent as the nation’s most popular sport.

There’s a lot going on there, and much can be said about the shifts taking place in the US in 1968. But Wendel keeps it fairly light. There are no deep dives to find out what it all means. It’s just a chance to take a look at a great baseball season and connect it to some other important events in the country’s history.

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So, it’s been a while. Stuff has happened. Good and bad. Interesting and banal. Personal and global. So let’s get caught up.

First, Boston. Ugh. I’ll just restate a terrific thing I read on Twitter Monday afternoon: never forget that there are far more people in this world like those who ran to the explosion sites to help than there are people who do things like this. That doesn’t mean if we all hold hands and think positive thoughts bad things won’t happen. But it does mean that, on balance, most of us are there for each other.

Now, less important things.

As I mentioned in my Friday Vid post that came up over the weekend, the stomach flu does indeed suck. I got it in a different way than M. and C. did, but got it nonetheless. I didn’t throw up, but there were several moments when I really wished I could. I had the aches, pains, fever, chills, severe stomach cramps, and other assorted symptoms. I chugged Pepto, popped Ibuprofen, and took my shift moaning on the same couches M. and C. had moaned on earlier in the week. It wasn’t until Monday morning when I finally felt completely normal again. Good riddance. And hopefully L. and S. remain immune and we don’t see another wave this week.

Wednesday, just as I was beginning to feel the effects of the virus, we had our first big storm of the spring. It was brief but intense and in the midst there was 3-4 minutes of hail. We still have the original roof on our home, but perhaps for not much longer. We’ve had it checked a couple times in the past, but never got approved to have it replaced. The insurance company might finally be ready to cave.

I watched more of the Master’s than I expected to, although some of it was simply because I was stuck on the couch Friday and Saturday. As much as I don’t want to be interested in Tiger anymore, I’ll admit it was hard not to get caught up in his story.

Kobe. Damn. Horrible way for one of the all-time greats to potentially end his career. I was never a big fan, but like most people in my shoes, I came to respect him immensely over the past several years. And his social media explosion this year has been fantastic. His epic trash talking battles with several of the NBA’s young pups have been terrific as well. I’ve just really enjoyed him as a person and player recently, and it’s a shame that this could be it. His career was absolutely amazing. The sports media hungered for The Next Jordan, and he damn near got there.

I don’t think there was doubt about it, but this means it is officially, 100% LeBron’s time.

Sunday we had two more soccer games. C.’s team cruised, and she nearly scored her first goal of the season. M.’s team, after looking great a week ago, got hammered pretty soundly this time. I really like her coach. I think he’s going to be good for her. I’m not sure what his playing background is, but he clearly knows the game. And he has a good touch with both the kids who have more athletic ability or who already have a feel for the game and the kids who are not as advanced yet. M. loves pleasing authority figures, so I’m hoping his encouragement and some extra practice will improve her performance. She did have one nice run of possession Sunday.

I mowed the lawn for the first time this year on Monday! Some people think mowing the lawn is a hassle. I’ve always enjoyed it. It’s the trimming and blowing of debris that bugs me, especially in the heat of July and August. But doing that first cut, getting the dead tops off, and leaving a gorgeous green lawn behind is a good feeling. It’s amazing how our yard was still half winter dead brown a week ago and now it’s thick and green.

Finally, there has been a big change in our house. Or actually Monday was step one in a two-step process that will really alter the landscape of our home soon. I’ll just give you that tease now.¹ I promise I’ll share more soon.

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I’m sure you’re all wondering, so here’s your daily B. Girl health update.

M. got sick in bed again last night. Fortunately, since she ate almost nothing yesterday, it was a quick clean-up. She stayed home again and has been alternately snoozing and moaning on the couch.

C. went back to school yesterday, and acted fine when she got home. But she seemed to hit a wall around dinner time and claimed a spot on the couch she barely moved from until bedtime. All seemed will this morning, though. Then we got a call from the school right after lunch saying she had deposited her lunch on the playground.

When I got to St. P’s, she was doing the sad “lying on the nurse’s couch and staring at the ceiling” thing I remember all too well from my elementary school days.

So right now M. is one one couch, C. on the other, both laying on towels with large bowls next to them. Meanwhile L. bounces around as healthy as can be and disappointed her sisters can’t enjoy this summer-like day with her.

My stomach has rumbled a few times today. I hope I’m not next, although I’m willing to take one for the team to keep L. and S. healthy.

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No, I’m not talking about the state of Kentucky claiming its second-straight national title last night. I didn’t watch the game. Basketball is a stupid sport.¹

Rather, I’m talking about M. making it two-straight nights that a B. girl puked. She kept it in her bed, thankfully, so I won’t spend the day cleaning the carpet. I, somehow, slept through it all,² and didn’t know until S. told me this morning. For a minute I wondered if M. was just faking it to get a day out of school, as S. said she didn’t throw up very much and like C. the night before, seemed fine shortly after. Then I checked her sheets this morning, which S. had tossed into our bathtub. I don’t think S. completely woke up last night because there was more than a little.

Which I’m sure is exactly what you want to read about this morning.

So that’s two girls in two nights. I’m thinking we should put L. to bed on top of some plastic sheets tonight, because it seems like it’s going to be her turn.

Oh yeah, one other note from yesterday. St. P’s has an attendance line where you can send an email to if your child will be absent. I sent a message for C. yesterday, but did so by memory rather than pulling up the correct address in my contacts list. It didn’t bounce back, so I assumed I guessed right.

Then at 10 I got a call from the school asking if C. was indeed supposed to be absent today. Apparently I misremembered because my email did not make it to them.

A few hours later I got an email from St. P’s high school in Atlanta, saying there was no C. B. enrolled there. Whoops! A subtle difference in domain name can lead to interesting and amusing results.

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It was an eventful weekend for the B. family.

Fridays and Sundays will be taken up by soccer for the next two months. Both girls have their practices on Friday evenings, and the league they’re in this year¹ plays games on Sundays only, and this was the first week of games. C. is in the Under-8 league, and her team features three friends from school. Also, I am serving as an assistant coach this year, which could make it extra interesting. There are three really good players on her team, and C. and her pal E are both high-energy kids, so they kind of overwhelmed their opponent this week. We don’t keep score, but the margin was in the range of 10-1. C. didn’t score but was in the mix and took a shot in the stomach which sent her to the sideline for a few minutes. After the game, C. and her three classmates saw another classmate on an adjoining field and ran over to greet her when her game ended. I think they scared the crap out of the poor girl as they ran up screaming at her.

M.’s game was about 30 minutes later, so we headed to her field with the two families who also have kids on C.’s team. M. is in the Under-10 league, and likely the youngest kid on the squad. It seems to be mostly third graders, and since it is co-ed, some of the boys are beginning to sprout. The team’s coach also knows his shit, and while he coaches so the kids are having fun, he also gives them clear directions on how to play properly. It’s going to be a big switch for M., who played on more casual, all-girl teams the past two years.

She started and took a shot in the nose pretty early. There was joking amongst the parents about how the B. girls weren’t afraid to sacrifice their bodies for the game. She sat out for a few minutes and when she came back in, did her best to avoid the ball. If it sailed by her she stopped, put her hands up, and ducked her head. We were filled with parental pride.

If you’ve followed her soccer exploits over the years, you know M. isn’t the most talented player, but loves being on the field and being social with other kids. I’ll admit after I saw her team for the first time, I was a little worried about how she would fit in. Her skill level is well below most of the other players, she’s smaller and younger, and she’s kind of goofy. I wasn’t sure the older girls would be as receptive to her personality as girls her age had been in the past.

She tends to follow E’s big sister K around. They’re only six months apart in age, but K is a third grader and just had a big growth spurt, so she looks two years older than M.. Fortunately K doesn’t seem to mind M. talking to her all the time and each time I saw them on the bench together, K was chatting right back at M..

She settled down in the second half and had a few good moments. K scored a goal after M. did some good work in midfield. And the rest of their team rolled. Again, it was probably a 10-1 game.

My favorite moment came late in the game when one of the coach’s twin daughters had possession at midfield and no defenders close. A male teammate on the wing was calling for the ball and, without losing her dribble, she yelled at him, &quot;Mikey, there’s no one on me!&quot; and kept right on going. All the parents cracked up and about ten second later she slotted a goal home and turned and glared at Mikey who had the nerve to try to take away her scoring chance.

It’s that kind of attitude I hope M. picks up this year. I’m going to work with her to get her raw skills better. But being so young I think it’s tough to expect too much from her in terms of performance this season. I want to see her being confident and comfortable on the field. Sports for kids is ultimately about having fun and building self-esteem for the rest of their lives. M. doesn’t lack for confidence in most situations, but I think part of her problem on the field is a confidence thing.

A couple weeks ago I was rather pleased when I realized we had just about made it through a cold and flu season without having to strip any beds in the middle of the night and clean puke off the floor. I should have known I was jinxing myself.

About midnight last night C. came out of her room, wandered around looking for us, and unloaded in the hallway. Then she cruised around looking for us, tracking her mess up and down the stairs, around the hallway, and into our room. Cue 30 minutes of checking for wet spots and cleaning the carpet. I think it was just all the excitement from the day, and probably too many treats at soccer, that caught up with her. Or maybe delayed effects of that shot to the stomach. Because while we were cleaning her messes up, she sat in our bed acting normal and reading a book.

I guess it was inevitable.

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