New York in Quotes

6 Adults. 1 Toddler. 10 Days. Too Many Quotes.

"It's so overwhelming. It's like a meal." -Kim, about Vitamin D milk.

"Are you missing a can of WD-40? Because I found one." -Emily


"I printed out information from Wikipedia. All of it." -Marc, regarding his tireless preparations.

"New York, you're a ripoff." -Kim

"You would draw a different kind of chick." -Emily to Todd

"That's what I asked that other guy over there." -Emily
"You mean Marc?" -Todd, reminding Emily that she knows that "other guy over there."

"I didn't see Charlton Heston coming." -Kim

"I have very good eyesight." -Our little crabbing friend, Michael. But times the quote by 100.

"That's a monster." -Repetitive Michael, x100

"The homey details make all the difference." -Kate, referring to the Mets decorating the pitching mound with their logo.

"I can't wait to watch them decorate my mound." -Kate, again referring to the Mets decorating the pitching mound with their logo. Really.

"Thomas Edison has always been a big fan of mine." -Marc

"That's where you can store your apples." -Todd, when seeing a branch of The Apple Bank.
"I was wondering what to do with all these apples." -Kate

"I'm such a ten year old boy." -Kim

"I'm older than my mom." -Kim

"I'm not drunk. I'm trying to be proper." -Sara

"I don't want to drink your butt water." -Todd

"I wouldn't mind being buried there." -Kim, upon seeing a nice cemetery.

"You need to thoroughly go away." -Emily to Marc
"Stop using the word thoroughly." -Kim

"Marc, you are not even going the speed limit." -Sara, as we drove through Greenport.
"But they go by so fast..." -Marc, referring to odd dentist chairs sitting in one yard that he didn't want to miss.

"Holy crap, you know we now have to stop at a kite store to stop Emily from pointing everyone of them out." -Kim

"A cliff is a sudden precipice." -Marc

"Oh my gosh! We're all drunk." -Kim

"There was a clown." -Kim, remembering her childhood birthday party at Ground Round.

"David Wright's a guy you could take home to mom." -Todd
"I'd take him home to MY mom." -Kim

"And now, you are on the floor for no reason." -Kim to Emily

"Speaking of dragons..." -Kate

"Now we know how to get Emily out of the car." -Kim, after learning of Emily's fondness for Chinese Firedrills.

"The bat man came in across the couch." -Emily

"According to the stick..." Marc, taking instructions from a wooden stick in the ground.

"She's being a train." -Sara, about Emily.

"I like those tight silver butts with a little turquoise on them running down the field." -Marc's mom, explaining why she likes the Miami Dolphins.

"Baseball!" -Marc and Sara's son, Alex. Multiply by about 1000.

"Well, you survived to talk about it." -Marc's Dad regarding a marathon day in the city upon seeing us dragging ourselves about the next morning.

"Ronkonkoma. Do doo do-do-doo." -Everyone.

"I hope you don't mind my bare feet in your food." -Kim

"We pretty much eat fudge." -Kim, describing her family vacations.

"Don't hit my cone!" -A Jones Beach parking lot worker.
"That man takes great ownership of his traffic cones." -Kate

"Just don't fall on your nuts." -Marc

All I Got Is Quotes

Man, I had plans today to do a big blog post about my adventures last weekend camping. But, I'm not going to get to it. The wife and I spent last night preparing for our garage sale opening today, after work I need to go do my first landlord duty of fixing a shower head and I've been putting a huge amount of time into what will be known throughout history as The Cutest Gift Ever Given for a Nephew's 1st Birthday.

But, next week: The Adventure of the Bird Safari!

Quotes of the Week:
"He hasn't exactly clothed himself in glory this year." --Pat Hughes on a Cubs broadcast. I was flipping through channels and this strange, creative way of saying "He kinda sucks" made me giggle.

"I told them to leave him in the chimney and let him die." --A Very Angry Ex, who found her ex-boyfriend drunk and stuck in her chimney.

"Adorable pets of Inpop Records and CTI are not eligible." An Edit of One of My Magazine Files. This is actually a very mysterious case. I wrote up a blurb for a contest. The other editors read it to make suggestions and edits. When I got it back, this sentence had been added. And no editor will take responsibility--or credit--for it! Was "adorable pets" cut and pasted in instead of "employees?" I don't know. I am just glad that homely pets are eligible to enter the contest.

"I love this fuzzy sweatshirt. It makes me feel like my own cuddly stuffed animal." --Pure Heart

"Lucky! It really is the year of the todd." -A Text from Jill after Thome's 500th homerun.

Random Pictures

A while back, I had my camera in the truck for a week or two and kept forgetting to take it out. The other day, I found several pictures from that period of time. It's all just random stuff that made me giggle. And so, for some reason I took pictures.

I thought I'd do something with them:

Nothing like a day at the swim pool. It's better than the bathing tub. (Man, English is complicated.)

Don't park in these parkings. They are reserveds.

Okay, so any LIQUID is forbidden to those under 16? How about milk? Ginger ale? It must be, since the sign is very adamant that it's talking about LIQUID.

That's Not Toothpaste

Since I've gotten married, I've noticed more and more the differences in how men and women think. I've always known that women multi-task better than men. But the compounding evidence fascinates me.

It's so true: Women can think about and/or do 489 things at once. Guys? One. If we (OK, maybe it's just me) try to do more than that one thing--or you bring up something for us to think about while we're still focused on our one item, errors occur.

Like the other night: I was telling the wife a story as I prepared for bed. And I was really into the story. As I talked, I grabbed my toothbrush, squirted paste on it and began brushing--all the while concentrating on whatever wonderful story I was telling. About two strokes in, I stopped. Something is wrong here, I thought. That doesn't taste like toothpaste.

It wasn't. I was so focused on my story, I squirted hair gel onto my toothbrush.

Mmm-mmm good.

Related note: I went to the dentist yesterday. Despite my troubled dental past, I am now a model of oral health!

Behold the Power of the Bobble

It may be predictable, but getting my dad a Father's Day gift every year is pretty simple: White Sox tickets. I almost always get him a ticket and arrange for the whole family to go to the game together.

With the busy summer my wife and I had this year, we knew when planning the Father's Day Sox Game that it had to be 1) On a Sunday and 2) After August. Looking at the schedule, I found a good day (for the family, for dad and for me)--September 16: Jim Thome Bobblehead Day. It was a Sunday, we'd be less busy, it should be cool weather, and best of all, I would get a new Bobblehead out of it. Score.

We scheduled the big game with family early this summer: My wife's dad and sister, my parents, brother, sister-in-law and Little Sis. Yay. I was excited (have I mentioned the bobblehead?). However, by early June, we realized the game would mean nothing. My dad even mentioned how we'd be watching the Sox Triple-A team. Bummer. But at least we'd get to tailgate, play bags and, of course, get our Bobbleheads.

And then, a new hope arose. Two or three weeks ago I was home and told my Dad, "You know, we could get very close to seeing Jim Thome hit his 500th Career Homerun." It was a long shot but when he hit 4 homers in six days, he made it more probable. And then, he got to 499.

All week, I've been nervous he'd hit it. I really had no doubt that if he didn't hit it before Sunday, we would see it. The trick was getting to Sunday with no homer. Jim's been smoking hot. Friday night, Jill called me while I was camping to notify me it didn't happen while she and the Gate 5 Gang were there. On Saturday, Pure Heart the Wife texted me at the campsite to say Jim struck out in his last at bat. It was on.

We all got to the ballpark early yesterday and got a great tailgating spot. We ate a lot and enjoyed the cool, sunny weather. It was really the perfect day to be at a ballgame. About 30 minutes before game time, I went in to make sure I got my Bobblehead (sadly my collection is packed in boxes somewhere so Jim is on his own here in my office right now.)

All 9 of us were pretty stoked. Thome was still on 499 and we really just had a feeling. My Sister-in-Laws both said they thought Thome would win the game with a homer. I felt like he'd hit a foul ball (that I would catch) and the the bomb.

The game didn't start off so well. We were down 7-1. Jim was like 0-4. I told my brother, "If he does get up again and get the 500th, that will at least make up for it." About that's when the magic happened. The Angels put in some poor reliever named Bootcheck (really) and we hammered him. Before long, a Danny Richar homerun put the icing on the cake. It was 7-7. And even better--the Sox rallies moved through the lineup enough that Big Jim would get one more at bat--in the 9th.

As the 8th inning ended, I felt like I needed to get my Bobblehead out of the box to have it out for Jim. I'm very baseball-superstitious. (In fact, I am pretty sure the Sox came back because our party all rearranged in our seat for better feng shui, a tactic I learned from The Gate 5 Gang. Thanks, peeps.) Anyway, I had this feeling that bobbling Jim during his at bat was maybe what it would take. But, I also thought maybe it was too dorky. I resisted the urge.

During the break between innings, Pure Heart began to unpackage her Bobblehead. Hmmm, I thought. Maybe there's something to this. She feels it, too! So, we got out our Bobbleheads. As Jim came to bat with no outs and a man on, we held our Jims high and bobbled their little heads.

The count went to 3 balls. My dad and I thought they'd walk him. My brother said, "Nope. He's got to give him a cookie." And then, Jim hit a foul ball. I didn't catch it but my bro said, "There's the foul ball you predicted."

Sure enough, the next pitch came in and Jim CRUSHED it. There was really no doubt. Everything after that is a blur of yelling, hugging and crying. Jim's 500th won the game. (It's the first time that a member of the 500 club hit his 500th as a walk-off.) I remember yelling, "It actually happened! Is this real? I can't believe this is real." I was shocked and in utter jubilation.

Thome's 500th homerun in the bottom of the ninth to win the game on Jim Thome Bobblehead Day? Please. That can't happen.

As Jim pumped his fists, got carried around by Jermaine and Jenks, and the Jumbotron played a montage tribute, my dad and I both teared up. After the game ended, none of us really wanted to leave. We hung around for a long time (In fact, we eventually got yelled at by a cranky security guy). The energy, the excitement and the fact that this happened with the family all together was just too perfect.

It was the best Father's Day in September Ever.

"I'm Todd. I'll Be The Class Numbskull."

Pure Heart and I started a new Bible Study on Sunday afternoon. It's a Crown Financial class offered at our church; it teaches what the Bible says about money and gets into practical stuff like budgets, investments and debt-reduction.

The class is on Sundays from 4 to 6. Yah, that's football time, but that doesn't really bother me. I'm actually not used to watching football on Sundays because I've had Sunday youth group commitments for the last 9 years. In fact, usually I would be busy from about 2 to 9 on Sundays. I'm used to just checking scores and getting recaps. But still, this first class was smack in the middle of the Bears game. D'oh.

At about 4:45 we were at a good pausing point, and the leader asked if people needed "a bathroom break, water break, or..." and I injected, "Check the Bears Score Break..." However, I seemed to be the only one interested in that. In fact, we all decided we weren't ready for a break yet. We carried on.

At 5:20, the group was now ready for a break. We were given 5 minutes. Class would resume at 5:25. I turned to Pure Heart: "I'm running outside to check the score."

I dashed out the church to the car. I turned on the radio just as LT threw a TD pass. Chargers up 7-3. Ugh. I ran back to the church and...

The doors were locked. I checked the next set down. Locked. Apparently, after the classes get started at 4, they figure everyone is in for the afternoon and lock up the joint. I knocked a bit on the windows hoping a classmate returning from the bathroom might hear. Nope. I called Pure Heart. Of course, her phone was off because she is a considerate classmate. I texted her saying, "LOCKED OUT!" I called two more times just to be sure.

At this point, the break had been over for 5 minutes. I saw no one in the church and so I ran down to two more sets of doors. All locked. I got in the car and drove around the church checking doors. Locked. Locked. Locked. Well, at least we are safe in there, I thought.

At this point it's 5:35. I've checked every door of the church (which is a lot because the church is the size of Disneyland.) I went back to the main doors. Still locked.

I peered through windows hoping a custodian or security would be strolling by. No luck. And so I waited.

At about 5:45 (the class ends at 6), Pure Heart came looking for me. She had been concerned because it wasn't like me to just not return. I was so happy to see her approaching those doors. I thought maybe I was lost forever. (And was actually expecting a St. Bernard with a little barrel of rum.)

Although my wife had no rum, I followed her back to class sheepishly. Once there, I apologized to the class and assured them that no one was going to sneak in and get us during class.

Actually, those long minutes locked outside were kinda interesting. I think God was teaching me a little bit about humility, my attitude--and my priorities. Apparently, maybe I shouldn't be quite so concerned about the Bears during a Bible study.

Or I should bring headphones and a radio with me...

Back In the Cubicle

When I first started working at my current magazine, I worked in a cubicle that we use for student interns. The guy formerly in my job didn't leave the company--he just switched jobs--so, until they could find a new place for him, he squatted in what is now my creaky, leaky office.

I am back in that cube as I write this. I came back here to remember my roots--to never get so big and mighty that I forget where I came from. Actually, I'm here because my computer is not working. Whenever my PC goes out on me, I come work at the intern's terminal if it's free. (NOTE: This also means that I'm working on a toaster and do not have IM. So if you are bugging Emily about where I am at on IM, you can leave her alone. Now you know.)

Before the wedding, my hard drive had this bad habit of freezing or going to a blue screen that said "Beginning Physical Memory Dump." I am no technician, but that doesn't sound good at all. But while I was away from work for 3 weeks, the good people in Computer Services fixed my dumping problem.

Until Tuesday. It dumped on me again. And so I alerted Computer Services. They responded that instead of trying any more fixes, they would be giving me a newer harddrive. Yay!

And it couldn't have been soon enough. This morning, I was 5 minutes into work when it did it's physical memory dump and then...went black. The screen said, "Unable to find hard drive." I am no technician, but that doesn't sound good at all.

So, I am in the cube and the good people in Computer Services are preparing my New Super Computer. Hopefully this one won't hate me. Or be able to smell my fear.

UPDATE: I have my new Super Computer and I'm out of the cubicle. Life is good. If my fantasy team will score ANY points this week!

Those Who Seek

I know I pledged not to talk about Fantasy Football this week for Lil Sis's birthday, but man... Drew Brees actually COST me points last night. You know, with Brees being in the negative, I could have started a guy not playing this week and gotten more points.

Next week, I start Jim McMahon.

So, I am depressed. I guess I will go watch that "Ticking Noise" puppet show. Also what makes me giggle is to look at the Google Analytics page that tracks my blog traffic to see what people search for that brings them here. Here are my top five favorite searches that brought peopel to PTOIT:

5. "blogs about tricoci university" Someone was very specific here and found exactly what they were looking for. I wonder if it was the little girl who weaved fiber into my head or the one who cut my hair for 2 hours.

4. "sweet valley soda" Who wouldn't be searching this. It is Great Tasting!

3. "neal cotts" I bet this is Neal Cotts himself. I mean, who else would be Googling him? Except for my sister, but she knows where to find my blog ...

2. "i love baseball excitement" This one makes me giggle. Not even sure why. But I too love baseball excitement.

1. "nipple looks odd" I feel bad giggling because this person possibly has a serious medical condition and I doubt my blog could help.

"My Name is Todd. I like to do Drawrings"

I found something in the pocket of a pair of shorts the other day. I thought I'd share it. (Don't worry, it's not lint or a used Kleenex.)

It's a page of stellar drawings I did on a placemat at Steak N' Shake:

I drew these doodles while out to eat with Pure Heart and her Grandma a few weekends ago. I had my pen out because I am back on Weight Watchers (I once lost 60 pounds on it a few years ago--and have now gained 25 back). I needed the pen to scribble down how many points I used. (A side note: It turns out that this Devil Sandwich from Hades was 22 points! To put it into perspective: I have a daily allowance of 31. 22 out of 31? Dang you, Steak 'N Shake!)

But at the time, I knew not of the evil of this Cursed Chicken Melt. So I giddily doodled while the wife and her grandma chatted. Turns out this small sheet of drawings has actually become a bit scandelous. Granny has said since that I'm a bit childish because of my doodles.

Well, let me tell you this: there's nothing childish about that evil robot. Thats a very adultish drawing. Let any 6-year-old try to top THAT!

Sox Surprise!

At lunch on Tuesday I went over to our East Estate, the unrented, unsold condo from my bachelor days. I needed to vacuum and grab a few things. While there, I decided to take home my nice wooden end table that used to belong to my grandparents.

The table is hard to describe but it's pretty tall and about 3-feet wide with one drawer. There are markings on it that make us believe that it may be an old Communion table from a church (which makes sense because many of my ancestors were clergymen.)

I took the drawer out to carry the table downstairs. When I got outside, I turned the table and something fell out of the drawer slot. I looked down and saw it was some booklet. All I could notice was an ad on the back so I assumed it was a mailer of some sort. I bent down and picked it up and was very surprised by it: It's a 1970 Official White Sox Program and Scorecard.

Apparently, I've never taken that drawer out before.

It's pretty bent up from being jammed back behind the drawer for who knows how many years and it's discolored, but it's in decent condition. There's a feature on the young up-and-comer Bill Melton in his second year. An ad advertises a White Sox jacket for $8.45 (plus $.25 for shipping.) The team slogan is apparently "Angry Young Men." The program sold for 25 cents and the highest ticket price was $3.50. The bleachers were only $1.

Since yesterday, I've gotten to read about the Sox's "Mainstay on the Mound" Joel Horlen, the "husky little outfielder" Walter Williams, "star lefthander" Tommy John, and "Baseball's Premier Shortstop" Luis Aparicio. It's a neat time-capsule.

I can't wait to give it back to my dad, who I am assuming it belongs to.

Come Back to This Whenever Grumpy

On Friday, I found a video on YouTube that I've been obsessed with all weekend. I've watched it almost 10 times. It has been stuck in my head 98% of the weekend. It's not new so maybe you've seen it. I heard about it from some Harry Potter fans at work during our Potter Discussion Lunch last week. And I was mucho impressed.

If you are in a bad mood or feeling cranky, here's your cure:

In Dedication to the Birthday Girl

Today is my sister's birthday. (Any comments and you're banned for life, Derfman.) I love her to death, but I am afraid she's getting mean and surley in her old age.

I saw her on Sunday to celebrate her big day and all I got was grief. It started with criticism about the blog. Apparently, she doesn't care about fantasy football (it starts this week!) or monster movies (what's wrong with her?). Thus, she's been bored with me for the last week or so. I'm just not operating at a standard level for her.

So, as a birthday gift, I commit to not blog about football or geeky movies all week. I considered gearing PTOIT towards her interest areas this week, but I don't think I could handle a week of blogging about purses, brownies and cute boys who used to be effective bullpen pitchers. (Just kidding. Well, not about Cotts no longer being an effective pitcher.)

I could actually blog for awhile about brownies, I spose. That's an interest of mine too. At my parents' house this weekend, we had many deserts for the celebration. Someone asked me before I left for home if we'd have cake for the birthday party. Nope. Little Sis, like me, is anti-cake. Our birthdays are all about Big Cookies. And... Grandma also made TWO pies. One I think was made especially for me because it was Lemon Merinque. (I love when I get presents for others' birthdays...)

We also found some brownies in the fridge and pulled them out for the party. We know they were made by Little Sis because all that was left were the outside crust peices around the edge of the pan. A 5-inch block out of the center was gone. That's her trademark. If she was a criminal, the police would identify her as the culprit by finding baked goods with the gooey centers eaten out.

Like I said, the big centerpoint of any birthday in our family is usually the Big Cookie. When Pure Heart and I arrived Sunday, the Big Cookie was ready--but not decorated. I decided, out of my extreme and giving love for my sister, that I would decorate it. This is when Little Sis got on a roll. Apparently, I don't decorate the way she'd like. The enitre process of icing the cookie was one long beratement and barrage of criticism. "Aren't you gonna put any words on it?" "If you make the H that big, how's everything else gonna fit?" "Blah blah mean comment blah."

I reminded those present that I do hold a minor in art from my college that fully qualifies me for expert cookie decoration. But reminding them of my credentials only brought upon me more resentment. Apparently, my education is no good since I did not specifically take a class in "Cookie Arts," which I must have opted out of.

In my defense, I think it was a beautiful cookie. Which is fitting because it was for a beautiful young lady who I love--despite all the abuse I take and am nothing but charming and sweet in return. Or something like that.

Movie Geek Freakout

Since Pure Heart has Masters classes on Tuesday, it's my movie night. This week, I went to Blockbuster with a list of films that have alrady been nominated for the ChristianityTodayMovies.com end-of-year best movies list. I was shocked when I saw someone had nominated a monster movie I'd never heard of called The Host.

Turns out that it's from South Korea and is currently getting a 92% rating on RottenTomatoes.com. I really loved watching it. It was just fun, enjoyable, quirky entertainment. It's not perfect, but it's just a good time. Some people have compared it to Jaws (it is about a water-bourne killing creature) but really it's more like a well-made, beautifully-shot Tremors because it's not really scary but more of a goofy, off-beat adventure. It's not for everyone (the only person who's seen it on my recommendation so far didn't like it...) but I think it's a gem.

I'm a sucker, though, for the creative takes on monster thrillers. I've been really excited about a yet-untitled movie I saw a preview for a few months ago. Here it is:

The movie's getting a lot of buzz (you've probbaly seen the trailer already). There's still no name released, but it's produced by J.J. Abrams (Alias, Lost, M:I 3). I love J.J. but am especially interested because I discovered it's written by Drew Goddard. Any non-geek won't know that name. But luckily, I am a geek.

Drew was a whizkid writer for the final seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. After his amazing first ep, the Anya-centric Selfless, I knew an ep would rock if his name was on it. And they did. He's very, very good--creative and witty. Since Buffy, he's written some great eps of Lost (some of the bigger eps of last year, for instance). So, knowing what he's capable of, I recommend keeping an eye on this movie....

Quote of the Week
"I wish my apartment building was a retirement villiage for retired mafia men." -Camerin

The Haircut Extravaganza

Marc has updated his blog with a great chronicle of "The Haircut Extravaganza," as Charissa referred to it earlier this week when she offered us cookies if we held the event at her house.

In the end, those fresh-baked cookies made it worth it to hold the haircut in public. But there's a lot of pressure when it comes to cutting another man's hair in front of people. This video, borrowed from Marc's blog, illustrates:

As you can tell in the video, few haircuts in the history of mankind have commanded such a crowd as this one did. Samson's maybe beats us out. I guess there's something about a man cutting another's man's hair in the kitchen of entirely unrelated people that elicits attention and, well, criticism. We felt like an oddity in a circus sideshow and I think Marc secretly felt like outcast for liking his hair so incredibly short. Charissa commented as we swept up the cut hair: "I sweep up more loose hair off this floor every day!"

I like the way that Marc explained how, really, this isn't that weird: "This is normal for this group. We used to tailgate breakfast in the parking lot before work. We’ve pulled multiple pranks for many birthdays. Todd and I nearly drove to Milwaukee [in a snowstorm] to watch two baseball teams that neither of us root for."

These are just the things we do. However, when I told Camerin I would be cutting Marc's hair, she questioned whether we'd be eating red meat and talking about football during the process to help increase the testosterone levels. But you know, I think it's mainly for a guy to allow a friend to put sharp objects near his head. That's macho.

Welcome Home, Drew

For the second straight year, I landed Drew Brees to head up my mighty fantasy football team (which is this year called IGNITE YOUR FACE). I am pretty happy with that. I didn't set out to get Drew again because I have a bad history with two-years-in-a-row QBs.

I once took Rich Gannon onto my team not knowing much about him at all. He blew up that season and scored approx. 9,000 TDs. He led my team to the post-season for the first time in my fantasy career. And so, the next season, I deliberately took him again. I think he actually played without both arms that season. It was that bad.

But I have faith in Drew. And I drafted a pretty stellar backup: Donovan McNabb. He was still available in the 5th round and I couldn't pass him up. He was injured last year but still scored 200 fantasy points in 10 games.

The rest of the team is OK although hard to evaluate right now. My WRs may be weak, several players too old or fragile, and if one RB goes down, I could be thin quick.

Non-Football Stuff Starts Here:
So far, this post has been way geeky. Well, it's only gonna get worse. In fact, I may have had The Geekiest Day Ever yesterday. And I loved it.

It all started with a lunch group to discuss the final Harry Potter book. Nothing says "geekboy" like discussing wizards and house elfs. After work was the 2-hour draft and then, I went to Emily and Charissa's house to cut Marc's hair. Yah, really. (There should be video eventually.)

The whole night was kinda surreal. We went over to E and C's for the haircut because 1) We needed a place to host this shearing, and 2) we wanted to hang out with them (Marc doesn't work here now and so doesn't get to see me and E as much.)

Let me note here that I've come to see E and C's house as pretty much a Campus Coffeehouse, or maybe a university union. Folks just come and go as they please. And I'm convinced that there's always someone in the house who doesn't live there but an outsider might assume they do because they're lounging about or making food.

So anyway, when Marc and I arrived to the C&E Clubhouse, their new roommate and two other guests hadn't eaten dinner yet. So, as they ate, Marc and I literally sat in lawn chairs about 3 feet away and watched. It was as if their dinner was a spectator sport. And let's just say that E is a far better salad tong wielder than C. If C hopes to get anywhere in competitive salad scooping, she needs some practice.

If she improves, I would consider drafting her late in my Fantasy Eaters League.

I'm not Patricia Arquette

On Sunday night, I watched the movie Zodiac. It's a very good procedural film about the cops, journalists and a cartoonist (really...) who attempted to track down the Zodiac killer.

Well, that night I had several vivid dreams about doing investigations and crime-fighting. But the dreams aren't the funny part. The best part was that in the middle of the night I somewhat awoke in a sleepy haze and thought, "Man, I need to call the police. I could help them solve crimes with my dreams."

When I woke up more I realized that I'm not a pyschic. Or in this TV show.

A Tale of Two Sox

Before Friday night, I'd never left a Chicago White Sox game early. But as the 8th inning began, I just didn't care anymore. I didn't want anymore to do with this 10-1 loss and I couldn't bear listening to Red Sox fans anymore. And I'd had enough of my White Sox. It wasn't fun anymore.

Back up a minute: My afternoon started with heading downtown on the train for a screening of a new Brad Pitt western about Jesse James. (It's an interesting and artistic--but ultimately too plodding--character study.) Afterwards, I grabbed the Green Line to U.S. Cellular. The second game of Friday's double-header didn't start until 7:11 and I arrived at about 5:30.

The Green Line is a few blocks East of the ballpark in the ITT campus. As I walked west through the streets, I was reminded of the last time I was on those sidewalks: October 4, 2005. It was Game One of the playoffs. My friend Mike and I had to park about 4 miles east of the ballpark (maybe not 4 miles. That'd be in the water, I think...). As we got to the ITT campus walking along 35th Street, we could hear the roar of the crowd--even across busy 90/94. It was as if there was so much energy and excitement that the park could barely hold it in. Approaching that stadium that day was the first time I really got a glimpse of what was happening: We had hope.

Two years later, I was walking the same path to the stadium. We were again playing the Red Sox. But with no hope. In fact, by the end of the weekend, we'd be beaten 46-7 in four games. During that walk, two strikingly contrasted but connected moments as a fan came together. I remembered the high as I now experience the low. In fact, mid-way through the game I told Pure Heart that I needed to go home and watch my 2005 DVDs to remember what winning feels like. Losing stinks, especially when you are a fan through thick and thin.

It's even harder to make it through a hopeless and embarrassing season when you have to sit in your home stadium surrounded by more Red Sox fans than those of the White Sox. How does this happen? I've noticed it since 2004: Red Sox fans outnumber us at games. They are everywhere. Is it because they are now becoming America's team? Or because many East Coasters move to the Chicago-area? Or is it because their fans travel to support their team? How can White Sox fans allow this? Why aren't we at the games? Well, maybe it's the same reason why I left early. It's just sad to be there.

And while I'm embarrassed about our year, mad about Kenny William's incorrect guesses about our bullpen, and letdown about being in August with nothing to play for, I am still a fan. They are still my team. I root for the White Sox because they are the White Sox. Not becuase they win. That's why there are Royals fans or Devil Ray fans. Because being a fan is about love. Not results.If it wasnt, I'd be a Yankees fan. Or a Red Sox fan. (shutter)

People have asked me this season (and my Dad reported this happening too) why I'd still cheer for a team doing poorly when a team on the other side of town is worth cheering for this year. The thing is: my love for the Sox isn't about success. It's unconditional. I'm a White Sox fan the same as I am a member of my family. I can't change that. It's just the way it is. I may be mad at family members or embarrassed of mistakes, but I can't change that I'm one of them. It's just who I am. And this is my team--good or bad.

During my two hours alone at the stadium before game time and before Pure Heart made it through traffic, I enjoyed just soaking in the scene outside the stadium and in. I had a pretzal, listened to music, watched other fans explore the park. As I stood at one fence overlooking the field I realized, I love it here. Even in the bad times, this is my home. I watched the grounds team prepare the field. I talked to a merch vendor. I saw kids taking grounders in the Fundamentals area and daydreamed of taking my kids and introducing them to this love. I felt good in that stadium, watching my old faves and new prospects, and sharing memories of the White Sox with my wife.

But then the Red Sox kept scoring. And kept scoring. Unfortunately, I had no recourse on Boston. One White Sox fan kept chanting "Red Sox sucks..." but, ummm, they don't. We do. All we can do is look forward to a time when our team can get their own revenge on the Red Sox and other teams. We can only bleed, cry and root for our team until the good times come again.

And remember 2005 when we whipped Boston 14-2 in a playoff game. And in 2004 when two Boston fans left and my friend Paul and I ate their peanuts. That taught them.

Crisis!

In one key way, my worklife is like being a pirate. When I told Camerin this yesterday, she asked if it was because I get to run people through with my scabbard or because I have to walk the plank all the time. She also made some reference to a parrot. But I wasn't quite thinking of those things. Instead, living in my office is like being in the underbelly of a damp, creaky ship with leaks ready to spring at any time.

When the rains started yesterday, I kept my eye on the Southwest corner of my office. This is where my infamous leak is. I was told earlier this week that the roofers thought they'd finally solved that leak, but I knew yesterday's Armageddon rains would be the proving grounds. During the first minutes of the storm, no water streamed down the brick. All was well.

I went to look at the dark skies out the window. Next door to the office is a testing plant of some kind with a whole back area full of barrels. (Perhaps they test barrels?) When I saw a wind gust throw one of the barrels out of a pile int he warehouse, I thought maybe this was gonna be kinda bad. The sirens started and we all rushed to the basement.

When I came back up, the old leak was nowhere to be seen. Whew. I went back to work. That's when I heard a dripping. Drip. Drip. Drip. I checked the Southwest corner. Dry. Drip. Drip. Drip. And then I realized that what I heard the drips on was the head of my R2-D2 Pepsi cooler. In the SouthEAST corner.

Now, here's the thing: Because the Southwest corner is like a waterfall, I don't keep anything over there. But just this week I redecorated and put new pictures on the corner of the opposite wall and left all my Star Wars stuff on the shelf right under the corner. Why not? It's dry.

Well, this creaky old ship of an office mounted a surprise attack. She hit me where I wasn't expecting it. Water started as three different drips and then turned into a good flow--out of the tiles, over posters and pictures and onto my beloved Star Wars toys. She hit me where it hurt.

To get to the problem, I had to move R2 out. He became a refugee from his home. I moved all my stuff from that corner. Nothing was ruined but some old posters that I really don't care about.

Now, the entire corner is bare. Buckets and trashcans are standing watch. But the good news is that we survived. The old ship is still intact. In fact, the storms turned out to be worse than I thought they were yesterday. Lots of downed trees, electricity outage and damage in the area. My commute home last night took 2 hours but it was mainly because of rain-slowed traffic and not actual storm issues. (Though I did have to caulk up the wagon and ford one river/road.)

I hope the rain stays away today--not just for the sake of my creaky office but also because I'm going downtown for a movie screening (The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford) and then to the Sox game.

Quotes of the Week

"The dog has more street cred than me. It's had the cops called on it twice!" -Mario

"There's heat coming from inside my shirt!" -The Sister-In-Law.

"I'm damn proud of that veggie tray." -Pure Heart

Did We Find my Voice Twin?

Today in the lunchroom, a co-worker asked me if I've done any moonlighting work with any insurance companies. I really wasn't expecting that question and wasn't too sure what freelance work for an insurance company would look like. Spying on people to make sure they are really injured?

At any rate, I was pretty certain the answer was no. She said that when she called her agency today, the phone system's automated voice sounded just like me. I've had people tell me that they've seen people who look like me, but I've never heard about having a voice twin before.

Of course, whenever someone says they've seen (or heard) someone "just like me," I am always curious. Would I think they look (or sound) like me? Would seeing (or hearing) that person give me a glimpse into how others see me?

It also makes me wonder: Maybe that was me. Maybe I did once record the voice prompts for Blue Cross/Blue Shield. Or maybe they kidnapped me and hyponotied me into it. Who knows. When Kim once asked me if I was at Cardinal Fitness the night before because she saw a guy who "looked just like me," I thought, Maybe I was there. I don't know what I even did last night! Am I working out in my sleep again?

After all, apparentely I do a lot of things and don't realize it. It seems that I'm an NFL player, too. I got this envelope in the mail not long ago:

I didn't even know I was in the draft. Or that I played football. But apparently, they can just draft anyone these days. Hmmm. I guess that explains Rex Grossman. And the Cleveland Browns.

iPod? iPod? Who's got the iPod?

WEDDING WEDNESDAY

(OK, I've said it before, but I am pretty sure this is really the final Wedding Wednesday.)

Much of the wedding reception is a blur. Lots of people. Much dancing. Many conversations. More dancing. Happy. Happy Happy.

What made most of it run so smoothly is that we delegated jobs to people. Shawn was the charming and in-control emcee. The caterer handled all the decorations and food. Youth Group Steve ran the iPod of music for the dance. And my sister was going to get the iPod at the end of the night from Steve since we wanted to leave early.

Well, we didn’t get out of the reception quite as early as we thought. We're talkers. There were just so many people to talk to and too much fun to have. So, when we were finally leaving, we realized that the party was pretty much over. The dancing was done and pretty much only family remained clustered around tables chatting.

We called an audible and grabbed the iPod. Might as well take it with us for the ride to Galena, we thought.

The morning after the wedding, I gave my tux to The Father-In-Law. We stayed at the same hotel and he offered to return it to the rental store with his own tux. Then, he met us back at the house for some lunch before he left for home and we drove to Galena.

Not long later, Pure Heart and I were opening a few gifts and packing for the honeymoon. I thought, Where’s that iPod? After looking around and replaying the blurry night in my head, I remembered I’d grabbed it from the reception hall…and stuck it into my tux coat pocket.

Ruh-roh, Raggy.

Luckily, everything worked out well. I called the rental place and the guy checked the pocket: still there. And then, The Father-In-Law offered to go back to the place to pick it up.

And so, we are still rockin’ today.