Blogshit

If you have a second, check out www.debbieclemens.com. This site belongs to Debbie Clemens, wife of Roger. Its items are tackier than the cheap clothes at Rave. Really. It takes a lot to beat Rave on tackiness, but Deb manages to do it. Deb. What a freak. She offers some standard advice on diet and exercise, and she posts her pictures from Sports Illustrated, and I give her credit for maintaing her body at age 40, but all that is used to thinly veil her real purpose for the site: selling merchandise. And what merchandise she sells! She's really smart, because what she does is, she takes baseballs and somehow finds Roger Clemens and has him sign them, and then she puts them up for $75.00. I bet a future hall-of-famer loves that his signature can get a whopping $75.00. Woohooo. Really. Don't break the bank now. But, if baseballs aren't your thing, you might prefer "butterflies" as the site advertises, "Butterflies and baseball" as its main title and theme. You would be out of luck though, because there are no butterflies anywhere, except for decorating the introduction mini-movie and homepage. Awwww. It's a lovely touch of class, really. So if you're not too disappointed, you can still peruse the site and find Astros hats for $75.00. These are not just any Astro hats though. No, they are decorated with sequins and beads! In case your five-year-old cousin is too busy to make one for you, you can buy one here - with Rog's signature! (I wonder if he could keep a straight face while signing them.) If your jean jacket has not yet had garbage glued to it, you can also find one here, but the price for shit glued onto jean is very high, I warn you. Additionally, you can have Debbie Clemens's John Hancock on a variety of equally high-quality, high-class items. I urge you to check it out.

I really think somebody should get her an easy-bake oven so she can switch careers.

Today this lady calls in to work. She says to me, "Hello, I would like to know how to bill BU for my phone bill." Yeah lady, me too.

People are real freaks.

Oh, also, the mystery of "I don't give," was solved by Drinnan (I don't know his middle intial) Thornton, who clued me into the Captain-Obvious fact that it was short for "I don't give a fuck" or "I don't give a shit" (Incidentally, I believe that was my first use of "fuck") and so kids were really ahead of themeselves when the invoked the saying. He thought it was pretty clever that all these kids were going around telling their parents, "I don't give," and the parent had to know the extended version. So I take back what I wrote earlier. Kudos to little Danny Gray who told his mother after she yelled at him to eat green beans, "I don't give!" Great job, little man.

Last night I went to Campco with my friend Kristen. She wanted a snack. I got there and Campco seduced me and I had to buy some blow pops and a bag of marshmallows. Don't ask. So while I was waiting for Kristen, I opened the bag and offered one to the girl behind the counter. She didn't get that I was offering her a marshmallow. But then she finally understood and she was very excited to take a few marshmallows. On the way home, I offered one to Annette and she also had one. So did Jen. People were like, "Yeah! I'd love a marshmallow," like they were very surprised they were being offered one. Marshmallows are a good snack sometimes, but nobody remembers that.

Ketchup

Well, I finally made it to a Red Sox game at Fenway Park on my birthday. We were four rows from the field, and all was going great, until the Moron of the Century sat two rows ahead of us, in the seat directly two in front of me. I don't use that title lightly, either - the Moron of the Century award. But if someone's going to be that, then this is the girl. She was like 13 maybe, and she was there with her moronic father. I considered giving him the title, because I'm not sure you can hold a 13-year-old accountable for her behavior. But I changed my mind. She was too annoying. She stood up and yelled for the nearby water vendor at the beginning of the game. By yelled, I mean said in a whiny, but not loud at all voice. And when I say "nearby" I mean two sections and a hundred people away. Yeah. She's thinking this guy is going to hear her. She continued her futile pursuit for about two minutes, until my father yelled "WATER!" so loud that it freaked out me and the ten others around us. But it finally got this guy's attention and he came over and she got water. Do you think the girl turned around to say thank you? Well, I wouldn't either if you'd heard my father's tone. I laughed about it, but it was a little embarrassing. The eople around us had no problem with my dad yelling though. A couple thanked him. So we figured that the girl had her water, and she was all set. Nooooo. Then she wanted a hot dog. The same thing happened, except my dad didn't yell anything this time, she just had to sit there without her hot dog. Oh, and by sit I mean stand around waving her arms at a guy who was in the bleacher section. Okay, he was a little closer than that, but whatever. He wasn't hearing her. Finally, the people in back of her told her to sit down. Whenever a foul ball came anywhere near us, as in, landed somewhere in the park, she'd get up and wave her hands asking for the ball. You'd think that her father would tell her to stop, but no. You know, on second thought, I'm giving him Asshole of the Year award. I bet he knows his daughter is wicked annoying, and he was doing nothing to help anybody out. He was just sitting there. Then again, if I had to be around this girl every second, let alone claim her as a daughter, I might get tired of telling her to shut up to. I'd never stop talking. You know, I'm not going to give the guy a nasty title. I'm just going to feel sorry for him.

I think.

The Sox lost Wednesday night. If I had written this earlier, I'd be pretty upset at them. But I'm not because they had a pretty good weekend. More on that later. But I wanted to mention that they should have some new ideas for ESPN to show. They should really do highlights from the best non-game plays of the night. The peanut vendor in our section was amazing. If the stupid girl had wanted peanuts, the guy could have thrown them to her from the back of the bleachers. Seriously, he was amazing. He'd point at someone at the back of the grandstand almost, and from the field, he'd throw the peanuts - completely accurately. It was really impressive. He missed once, and my dad actually almost booed him, until he realized that he was about to boo a peanut vendor. That's how into it everyone got. Really. ESPN could really show some good stuff. I almost wanted to be friends with that peanut guy just so I could say I had a good friend who could throw peanuts really far.

I took this MTEL exam on Saturday. It's to get my certification as a real teacher. Sadly, I didn't really make any friends at the exam. When we got there, after walking through the rain in flip flops (I'm a moron), my jeans were already soaked, and I was not in a happy or really awake mood. Also, I hadn't opened the packet that came in the mail, so the people there were already a little put off I think that I wasn't taking their test seriously. But I was. I even had some unsharpened pencils with me. So we had to turn in our cell phones, which was fine, but at 8 am, I don't really want to get into a long conversation with some gym teacher's assistant about what calling plan I have, and do I really enjoy my phone? And do I download rings? And do I really care at all that your brother just bought the best phone ever and has the best rate and I should really find out more about it? No. So I was a little grumpy already. Okay, more than a little. So I went into the cafeteria to find my friend, after dropping off our phones. When I walked in, it was dead silent. And people look up because when it's silent, you can hear a door open and close, and so there I was, just standing there like a loser looking for my friend, who was waving at me like, "I'm over here, you loser." So I went over, and I sit down and say, "Wow, nobody's talking." Which was a pretty dumb thing to say, but whatever. And a lot of people heard that. Whatever. I had a VOGUE magazine which I took out to begin reading, when I saw the dork next to me (not my friend) had brought an MTEL book. Wait, correction. TWO MTEL books. Like those SAT study books. I thought that was pretty ridiculous. I don't know why. I just wasn't really taking this whole experience too seriously, until it dawned on me that if I don't pass, I have to go through the entire thing AGAIN. Then I stopped thinking she was so stupid and I read my test packet a little. Okay, not at all. I just read the VOGUE.

So we go to the test rooms, and because of the DNC, they had to delay the start of the test. You'd think they'd allow us to have our magazines and books out until they actually begin the test, but no. At 8 am, we had to put everything at the front of the room. We could only have pencils, erasers, and our IDs on our desks. I only had a pencil and an ID. Everyone else had like twenty pencils, ten erasers, and various forms of ID, so they were already at an advantage for things to do while we waited, but I was stuck. So I turned to the person next to me, who seemed like a friendly enough person, and I asked if she wanted to play thumb wars. I was half-kidding, but I definitely would have done it if she had said yes. She didn't say yes and I didn't ask anybody else based on the look she gave me. I'd be more embarrassed about it but she had mints on her desk and every two seconds during the test, she'd unwrap a mint so painstakingly slowly and loudly that I considered wasting my sharpened number two pencil by stabbing her just as slowly in both of her eyes. But then I remembered I'd have to come back and do this all over again, so I stopped.

But the experience didn't get any better. There was a girl in there who was having some serious gastro-intestinal issues, and I was trying to be mature about it. Or not at all. I was definitely giggling. What a stupid word. But I was trying to hold in my laugh, much as she was trying to hold in her issues, but whatever. She was about as successful as I was, which is to say not at all. I wasn't laughing loudly, but if you were to look around the room, you would have seen about fifteen people shifting uncomfortably, one person with her shoulders moving up and down, and one person redfaced and muscles clenched. It would probably be a pretty weird scene. Bottom line (hahaha): I hope I don't have to take this portion of the test ever, ever again. I really do. I don't know if I passed though. They had one reading comprehension passage about computers, which I think is a little unfair to do to people like me who freak out at the word. Oh well. I'll know in a month if I have to repeat the process.

So my brother solved the issue about Full House. I really appreciated the clarity he provided. Here's how it goes, and again, a big thank you to Michael, who was self-deprecating in his hints to me, which I always love. Uncle Jesse moved to the attic, the basement became a recording studio, Joey moved into his old room upstairs, Michelle moved into Stephanie's room (into Stephanie's bed, but before things could get a little PG-13, Stephanie moved into DJ's bed), and DJ moved into Michelle's old room. I can't believe I forgot about Michelle's room - and Michelle - in my calculations. About Michelle, by the way, it used to be a big deal that she was played by twins. I was actually a dumbo about it and thought that she was played by triples: Mary, Kate, and Ashley Olsen, but no, I was just being stupid. I actually argued about it with my neighbor, who was just like, "No, Elana, you are dumb," only a little nicer than that because she was a pretty nice girl. Okay, so anyhow, now every TV child is played by a twin. I bet the Olsens claim that in some way as part of their empire.

The Red Sox, by the way, provided this girl with a great weekend. I loved that fight. Wow, what a fight. Who goes after JASON VARITEK?? I mean, really. I know Yankees fans will say that A-Rod is the nicest guy, just like Varitek, and so we can't really know what happened. I will give them that. (Ok, Paul? I gave you that.) However, if you watch the tape, A-Rod CLEARLY provokes Varitek, pointing to himself like, "Come on, try this." And uhh, Varitek does. I love that picture with Varitek's hand in A-Rod's face. You know what I love the most about it? A-Rod looks like a loser. His pants are hiked up and his gold belt looks so ridiculous. Seriously, he looks like a geek.

Honestly, I'm not one who hates A-Rod. I realize that if he were with the Sox, he'd be the new hero in town. So I'm not going to start attacking his character or anything like that, and I don't think he's the only one to blame. But give me a break. Bronson Arroyo? Trying to hit Alex Rodriguez? I don't think so. Walk to first base, pal. Seriously. What a freak. And then Tanyon Sturtze? What's his deal? I love Shaughnessy saying that Kapler could bench press the tarp roll if he wanted to. But that's the thing. I've seen Kapler up close. The last person you'd ever come at is Gabe Kapler. The man will crush you. Add David Ortiz and Trot Nixon to the pile, and you're in serious trouble.

I will say that I'm pretty upset at Trot Nixon though. I really am conflicted about it though, because I really do respect him as a player so much. He's always known for toughing everything out, but why is he rushing into a pile-up that already had David Ortiz and Gabe Kapler outnumbering Taynon Sturtze? Now he's on the 15-day DL. Really. Did you see Jeter jumping into it? Absolutely not. The guy's hand is dying. This is not what the Sox need. Nixon has been great, and now look. He says it was an injury that happened before the whole fight, but if anybody believes that, they also believe that MK Olsen only has anorexia, not a drug addiction, even though the place she checked into is a drug rehab center.

I'm done with Mary Kate. Really.

So Trot is on the DL, and now Varitek's wrist hurts. At least he is honest about it and says that it happened during the fight. But I liked that he said that he would take any punishment that comes, because he will always protect a teammate. That's great. All's forgiven.

And then the Sox won two of the three, and in dramatic fashion Saturday, and so I just have to hope it continues. Although I still don't like Terry Francona.

Last night I was working at the game, and I was standing at the Gate A entrance for a minute. This guy tries to jump over the rope to get into Fenway. He does that, but he falls flat on his face and spills his beer. So he gets up right away and starts walking away, but I start calling after him. He goes outside to his friend and says to me, "I'm leaving, don't worry, I'm just getting my friend." He's definitely a litle wasted. And then his friend, Drunk #2, says "Whass the problem?" So I told him that I didn't know what the deal was, but his friend had to leave. Then he starts getting drunk close, which is the term used to describe someone who think he is really smooooth and desirable. He was good looking, but neither smooth nor desirable. So anyhow, I start walking with the guys toward the exit. I have to admit, they were both pretty funny and nice about it all, so I was trying to be serious and not laugh, and we all know how well that turns out. So the friend asks what he did again. So I get ready to tell him, once again, that I don't know what the problem is or why he left, but he can't stay because he jumped back over the turnstile rope and that's just not how it works. I start to talk and I tell him, "I'm sorry, I just really don't know why your friend left. But he left. And he jumped over -" And then the guy who came in illegally interrupts me, and says really matter-of-factly (like, that is the best use of that adverb ever), "FELL over." He said it like he was all insulted that I hadn't told his friend that he had fallen, and as though he was trying to make it known that he FELL. It aws really too much. I just started laughing and couldn't really control it. The guys left so it saved any further issues, but definitely the funniest drunk guy I've met.

I had a few weird dreams last night. I don't dream all that much. Once, the burrito lady at Warren Towers, Denise, was in my dream. Not because I wanted a burrito, but because she is such a nice lady and my friend Amanda would make fun of me for saying hi to her everyday. I don't know, but I just had to say hi when I saw that she would just be standing there, all day, making burrito after burrito while people just barked orders at her. So anyhow, she was in a dream one time. But last night, I dreamt that my sister was mad about something, like she wasn't being treated fairly and I was outraged at this. I felt like I had been shafted and I couldn't believe that she was angry, so I got really mad at her and when I woke up, I was a little mad at her, even though I don't know why. I saw "A Cinderella Story" this weekend, so I think somehow that got mixed up and I thought I was like the working Cinderella or something. I know it sounds really messed up, but I think that's where the dream came from.

Okay, yeah, that did sound really messed up.

I also dreamt that I met Bill Simmons. I keep seeing him with someone famous and I remember going up to him and telling him I loved him, but that's all I remember. I just remember Bill Simmons was there.

When I was younger and I'd wake up in the middle of the night, if I had trouble getting back to sleep I'd start to think I was seeing witches and stuff. I know, it is really messed up. Things would come in phases. First I'd think that there were bees flying around me. I knew as soon as I saw the bees, I was doomed. I'd see spiders then, and finally, for the grand finale, witches. I must have been one messed up child, to be thinking that. Boy. I don't even know why I am sharing this.

The title of this post is pretty lame, but I have to leave it. I feel compelled.

21 on 21

When I was about five, my favorite thing to eat was a jelly sandwich. I didn't really like peanut butter, so I ate grape jelly on wheat bread. My neighbors always got the Wonderbread white bread, and I would ask my mom to buy white bread. She wasn't really into the whole white bread thing, so we always had wheat. When I got older and decided peanut butter was pretty good, I would love going to my neighbor's house where she had peanut butter and jelly on Wonderbread white bread. Her mom also made the best grilled cheese sandwich ever. Sometimes if we were really good, she'd make us some grilled cheese sandwiches. Once we had ice cream that we didn't like and we tried to turn the ice cream into cookie dough. Yeah, my friend and I were really smart. We thought if we added everything her mom had on the kitchen table tray, we'd turn ice cream into cookie dough. So we added sugar, cream, salt, and pepper and we stirred it and stirred it, but no cookie dough. Her mom came in and wasn't too happy to see us messing around with all of her stuff on the table, but she was pretty sweet about the whole thing. When I was younger I used to think that she had made us eat the concotion, but I don't think that anymore.

I forget who asked this question, or who brought it up or whatever, but I've been thinking a little bit about it. How come when you blow in a dog's face, he turns around, but when the dog's in a car, he sticks his head out the window? I don't know. What's bothering me more is that I can't remember who asked me about this.

That's another thing. I hate when I can't remember something. Yesterday I was pretty tired and I couldn't remember anything to save my life. Like, it actually kind of hurt my head to think about what I was trying to remember. It was like everything was a very thick fog. I think I know some people who are like this all the time, and I feel pretty sorry for them. It's not a good state to be in.

Speaking of states, did you know that Massachusetts is not a state but a Commonwealth? You can't say, "The State of Massachusetts." You have to say "The Commonwealth." There's some trivia for you, if you ever feel like being really annoying.

Also, I have to mention that last night, I was talking to this kid who told me that Connecticut licenses are never taken at any bars. That has made me pretty nervous because how much would it suck if they were like, "Yeah, how about not" when I tried to go out? Seriously. Knowing my luck, it will happen! I talked to another friend who told me to shut up, that it would be fine, so hopefully he is right. God that would suck. I hate Connecticut. I really do.

Nah, I don't.

Maybe.

I'm a little conflicted about the whole thing to tell you the truth.

I have to talk about my friend Amanda for a few minutes. I'd already written a whole paragraph but then I deleted it. You might not realize this, but this thing goes through a draft or two (as I go) before you see the final product. Yikes!

So anyhow, Amanda and I are known for our barnyard fights. She's usually the cow and I'm usually the pig. They're known to just pop up randomly, usually when one of us is either a. stressed, 2. bored, or c. in a bad mood. Sometimes when we're hungry. I don't know why we do this, but we always have the fights for at least three minutes. What we do is, we IM each other starting off like this: oink. Or if she goes, she might write, "moo." Then it escalates, to see which person can outdo the other using AIM fonts, colors, bold, italic, underline, smileys, etc. (By the way, I don't think the "etc" really works there because that list was pretty much all that we have to work with. But whatever.) So anyhow, we'll get to things like: "MOOOOOOOOOOO" and I have to say, she always has a little advantage because you can do that with the "o" at the end and just have an unending "moooooo" but "oink" is harder because "oinkkkkkkkkkk" never really has the same effect.

It's an interesting process. I don't think I would recommend it though. You have to be pretty out of your mind to think it's a fun way to pass time.

Oh, my friend Elizabeth/Gizzabeth/Gizzer/Liz and Amanda and I also play the "Cool Game" when we are trying to procrastinate. This is a great game, and I do suggest that you play when you get the chance. We go into my room, and my window faces Comm Ave. So we sit there, and we watch the people walking around and if we see somebody we know, we get a point. You have to really know the person though, like by name. You can't be like, "oh, that girl's in my class!" because just knowing someone in your class doesn't make you cool. Having lots of friends or people you know does, however, and so that's how it works: the person who knows the most people is therefore the coolest and thus wins the game. There are several rules that you have to take into consideration: you can challenge someone. If I see somebody walking down the street and claim him/her as someone I know, you can challenge me. I have to tell you how I know the person. We really don't lie about it though, because we're honest people. But you can earn extra points by shouting out the person's name. If you shout the person's name and the person looks around, that's a point. If you shout the person's name and the person looks up and you get a wave, you basically are the coolest person automatically. If you shout out and they give you the finger, you lose a point. We always kind of change the point system, but the general rules remain the same. You can also call a person and have them wave to you. That earns you a point as well.

We've played the game many times, and once we played it where we saw our friend Dave. Dave was walking on the opposite side of the street and we yelled out "DAVE!" really loud. All three of us. It was pretty obnoxious, I have to admit. So we were screaming his name and he looked up at us, but he refused to wave. Dave hates to wave. He really hates to say hi too. I bet he'll get annoyed seeing that I wrote that, but he knows I think that's true. I'll be like three feet away from the kid and he refuses to wave. Once, when we were just hanging out, I asked him to wave, just to see if he knew how. He refused. He really hates it.

One time, Seth, Dave, Liz and I decided we were going to make a Monopoly game from scratch so we could play Monopoly. We got about as far as making the squares on the board before we remembered that we would have to make money, Chance cards, Community Chest cards, houses, and dice. What were we thinking?

I need a good theme for my floor this year at Warren. Let me know if you know any. Winner gets absolutely nothing. Let's face it. The thrill of knowing you won is basically nothing.

Still though, spend time trying to help me.

You know what kills me? This guy at Fenway, he's an Aramark guy who goes around and sweeps the ground (haha rhyme). Anyhow, what he'll do is, he'll point to the ground like there's something there that you should either pick up or watch out for, and he gets people to look. It is the most hysterical thing ever. Ever. He'll nod at someone, get their attention, and then point down to the ground. The person will look down, then back up at the guy like, "what am I missing?" and then the guy will point again at the same spot. The routine continues. The guy will point to his shoe. He'll have people turn around. Look up, look down, look left, look down again. It's hysterical, because these people can't figure out what's wrong with them. I have to tell them every time, after he just walks away - and he never says a word, it's all just silent/miming - "He's just messing with you." And then they still don't believe me. It has to be the greatest trick played.

Okay, maybe not.

I just went back and reread that whole bread dilemma. It was pretty boring to tell you the truth.

I'm kind of undecided about how I feel about an aspect of AIM. I'm a real believer in not analyzing AIM conversations or having real serious conversations online. Not that I really follow either rule, but I think they're gooe ones nonetheless. Anyhow, I always tell people that you can't take AIM personally. It's a computer. One person asked me, "What if you're talking to someone, and they're like, 'I gotta go' and then they say goodbye, but they don't sign off or put up an away message? Is that bad?" I have to say my answer right now is "Not always, but that does suck." Here's my reasoning:

I have done this before, and it's not always because I don't want to talk to the person I say goodbye to. It's probably because some other loser I'm talking to won't shut up and say goodbye, or I'm just finalizing some plans with someone. Point is, I think you need to give people a five minute grace period. If someone says they have to go and they sign off within five minutes, don't take it personally.

After five minutes, I think it's a little harder. You can't always assume the worst though. Sometimes I'm just about ready to sign off or put up an away message, and someone I haven't spoken to in a long time will IM me, or someone will ask me a question, etc. You get the idea. So it might be that. Maybe I'm having a really serious conversation, breaking one of the rules, and so I can't talk to five people at once and give the serious conversation my undivided attention. (Which is why you should never have serious conversations online in the first place - you're there telling your friend all this serious stuff, and she might be talking to ten other people about "The Real World" or something trivial like that.)

Unfortunately, if the person stays online for a very long time, and if the person does this repeatedly, I just don't think it's a good thing. I'm of the belief that if someone really likes you - as a friend or more - they will want to talk to you/spend as much time with you as possible. That doesn't mean 24/7 or every time they go online, but it should be more often than not that they want to continue a conversation until they really do have to get going, you know?

And this, by the way, this entire part of the entry, is why you should never take AIM too seriously. You sound moronic! Look at how much crap I just injected into a single AIM experience. It's really sick.

Okay, does anybody else have a problem with the realistic aspect of "Full House"? I mean, come on, how many people can you stuff into a single house? I don't care how many staircases they build, at the end of the day, it's just one house. Really. Becky should have just told Uncle Jesse that he needs to grow up and stop crying so that they don't have to live in AN ATTIC. Really. They live in like a one-room apartment. Where does Joey even live? Did he live in the basement? I thought so for a while, but I think they turned it into a studio. DJ definitely moved into Jesse's room when he left. This is really going to bother me if I can't remember where they stuffed Joey. Wow, this really is bothering me. I took about a three minute break between those two sentences, and still nothing. Where did Joey live??

Do you remember the song, "There was an old lady who swallowed a fly, I don't know why she swallowed a fly, perhaps she'll die"? Were there any more verses to that song? I can't think of any. I guess you could say, "There was an old lady who swallowed a horse I don't know why she swallowed a horse, she'll die of course" but I don't think that's a good lyric at all.

Do you now see what I'm talking about with my memory issues?

There have been a lot of questions in this entry. I must be very inquisitive today.

Nonsense

So last night our senior RA, Drinnan, left us with this air gun thing that has to be one of the coolest inventions ever.  Second to only electricity.  And possibly the internet. And the George Foreman Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine. Oh and those knives that cut vegetables into shapes and stuff, like spirals and stars. One guy basically wrote his name in carrots. I don't know if it gets cooler than that, but if it does, this air gun might be that.
 
So my fellow RA on call and I decide to take the air gun on rounds with us. Man, was that fun.  We knocked on some residents' doors, and then when they opened the door, BAM! there went the air gun. We almost killed another RA though, who basically shut the door after we smashed her with the air gun and we were pretty nervous that we gave her a heart attack or something, it was pretty scary. For about two minutes, I seriously considered the possibility that I had just committed involuntary manslaughter or something.  Luckily, she was okay with it, after she started breathing again.  So we had some fun with the whole air gun thing. We had a couple of close calls when I thought we were going to get in trouble because a few residents didn't laugh at first, but then they came around.  You really can't argue with an air gun.
 
My aim was a little off though, which kind of messed up the whole thing.
  Sometimes, I only got the top of somebody's head, rather than theif face. That really ruined the effect. For the most part though, it went well.

You know what you should never, ever wear? Socks with teva sandals. I'm not even going to go into why it's a bad idea.

So the Red Sox are getting me pretty mad. Seriously, this season sucks so far. My friend Paul wrote me an email that he signed "Go Oakland" because he thinks the Sox have already lost to the Yankees. This made me laugh for a while. I really thought that was clever. But anyway, he reminded me of the horribleness of the season. Don't even tell me horribleness isn't a word. I know. But the Sox are just dismal this year. Right now Manny Ramirez is driving me nuts. I know his average is astronomical right now, but seriously, what's with the hamstring injury? The guy didn't play the last game of the first half, then he plays in the all-star game, and since then, he's been DH-ing or not playing. And then he kids around about it and says there's no rush. Quote. "There's no rush." WHAT? Are the Sox not seven games back in the AL East? Are they not tied with Oakland for the wild card? Is Martha Stewart not contemplating how to accessorize a bright orange jumpsuit? Last I checked, things were not going along fine. The Sox basically have to concede the AL East (though I'm really not ready to), they are now talking about a wild card race between several teams (Mike Soscia will beat Terry Francona on his worst day) and Martha Stewart is headed to the big house. Big house, by the way, is her estate on Turkey Hill in Westport, Connecticut, because my guess is that if a woman can make a three-story gingerbread house from scratch while fixing the plumbing while feeding chickens while making her own straw basket, she can probably figure out a loophole in her legal case and keep herself out of jail. Bottom line: THERE IS A RUSH. It is outrageous to me that Manny doesn't think it's a big deal that he's out of a line up, especially now that freakin Rambo Ortiz is facing a suspension for throwing his bats onto the field. The umpire sucked in that situation, but why is he throwing bats onto the field? Really. Big Papi my ass.

Anyhow, I'm really not pleased with the Sox right now. Derek Lowe sucks.

I forgot to mention my favorite line of the week. Credit this weird guy on Jay Leno, doing a stint at the All Star media day. The guy goes up to Derek Jeter, who's talking to a bunch of sportswriters. He says to him, without even breaking a smile, "Would you rather be in the All Star Game or Mariah Carey?" That had to be the best line of the week. Had to.

Speaking of good lines, people have to go see the movie Napoleon Dynamite. Heck yes. The kid is such a freak. God I love it. His grandmother asks him how his day was, and he says, "It's the worst day of my LIFE." When a little kid on the bus asks him what he's going to do that day, he says with exasperation, "Whatever I want. Jeez." I'm really not communicating the pure comic genius of this movie, but I'm going to see it soon again, because I haven't laughed that much in so long. Let me know if you want to go. I will. His Uncle Rico is ridiculously funny too, and his brother Kip is so pathetic. Rico asks Kip if it's serious with his girlfriend, and Kip says, "Yes, it is pretty serious. We talk about two hours online a DAY." He also runs over some tupperware, which has to be one of the best movie moments in a while. And then there's Pedro. Oh I have to stop.

Did you know, by the way, that the entire state of Vermont is on the endangered list? I don't know if it's the endangered species list, because I don't know whether a state can be a species. But anyhow, I guess with all the commercialization of Vermont, the historical aspects are getting lost. Or endangered. So the whole state is on this list thing. That made me laugh for a long time. Not because I think endangered things are funny. Well, the dodo always got a good laugh when we were kids, but that's extinct. But I love panda bears, and they're endangered. Leave that to me. I'll always pick my favorite whatever to be on some messed up list. I love panda bears though. I will buy almost anything if it has a panda bear on it. I love panda bear stuffed animals. It's like I'm my crazy aunt with those stuffed animals. Only not even close, because she is a total whacko. But anyhow, Vermont is endangered. God that is funny. Let me tell you, I've been to Vermont (remember the post about the video?) I bet it's endangered. Nobody's going to go there anymore if they have experiences like mine. Unless they're like eight hundred years old and want to sit around a fire or something. Really. If you ever want to go to Vermont for a few days - and you're not going to ski, which is good there - just go to your basement, put some flannel blankets around the place, and bring a flashlight. For effect, you might want to bring a Bible, like they have in all hotel rooms. You should also bring a phone book, but there's no need to bring a phone because the power lines are down and no store is open past sundown. You can also have pretzels and soda, to be like the snacks from the vending machine you are forced to get after no stores are open for your late night adventures (late night = 10 pm). A TV adds to the whole experience as well. Basically, a basement with a tiny window facing your lawn plus the few extras is all you need. Save yourself the drive. You've got Vermont in your basement. I bet you didn't know that. Maybe next time Amanda and I will let you know how you can recreate New Hampshire in your attic.

I hope my disparaging remarks don't add to the endangered state of Vermont. Except the University of Vermont fans can be extinct for all I care. Really. I went to the America East basketball tournament last March to watch the whole thing, and the Vermont fans were ridiculous. Seriously. The place was packed with fans. And I'm not talking college kids. I'm not even talking senior citizens. I'm talking about 40 year olds, 50 year olds, people with no association to the school besides it being in their zipcode, and basically the entire endangered state was packed into Walter Brown Arena, all in green and yellow and acting like if their team won, it would really bring some pride to their state. Man. It's not like it's the NCAAs (Random UConn reference). And you know what the real kicker is? Vermont did win. And Vermont is STILL on the endangered list.

If I were 50 years old, I would be in love with Jay Leno.

So I read this book, the Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway. It was pretty good if you ask me. I thought it as about a totally different subject, which is pretty dumb because you can't get more straightforward than "The Old Man and the Sea."

I'm also reading "The Shining" after I lost a bet. I have to admit, I am a real scaredy cat. Really. It's pretty sad to be almost 21 and get as freaked out about things as I do. I've gotten over some of it, after living on my floor in Warren Towers or The Towers by myself. But people always reference it to the Shining, and I have to tell you, it can feel that way at times if you let it get to you. When I was staying in Warren, my dad came by and asked if it was like the Shining. So I said no, and then he was like, "Really? When you go out into the hall and nobody's there, you don't feel like the twin girls on those little bikes are going to ride right up to you? You don't feel like the elevators are going to turn to blood? Nobody's asking you to come play?" Yeah, Dad, thanks a lot. Really. After that, every time I left my room, I pictured those two psycho tikes on their stupid tricycles. Anyhow, I have to read the Shining now. And see the movie. I'll let you know how it goes. When I saw "The Ring," I almost died. That was the first movie that I actually considered leaving the theater for. Like I was sitting there, thinking about whether it would be better for me to sit in the hall and wait for my friends. God I was a freak. I watched the thing through my winter coat. I'm not even joking. I have yet to see the whole movie that the movie itself is based on. I saw the girl climb out of the TV though, and the vision of her face is enough to get me. My favorite thing though of the whole experience was when it was completely silent in the theater, this guy yelled out "Mommy!" Definitely worth the price of admission for that one.

I went to rent the movie "Field of Dreams" at Blockbuster last week. I hadn't seen it, and I figured I should. They only have VHS. Let me just say that this whole conversion thing from VHS to DVD is a lot more difficult than it seems. I bought all my favorite videos, and now I have to go back and get them on DVD. And all the videos are cheap. Like the Blockbuster Pre-viewed movies, those were the best deals going. And now I can't even take part.

I'm having a tough time at work. I am having difficulty maintaining my nice face when talking to morons on the phone. It's so bad. These people call up all timid and stuff, and I'm thinking, You are going to be a school counselor? Are they nuts? Seriously. The blind leading the blind. No offense to any blind people. And then there's this applicant who says that she is the Chinese Helen Keller. She's deaf and was born one hundred years and two days after Helen Keller, so she figures that she is HK re-incarnated. She has to be the most annoying person ever though, and she constantly calls with the most inane questions. She's not even really that close to Helen Keller because she's not blind. Maybe she should look up some details of her long-lost soulmate before she starts claiming to be the woman. I really have to resist the urge to ask her on the phone, "Do you know why Helen Keller's dog killed itself?" or "Do you know why Helen Keller was a bad driver?"

I am a horrible person.

Seriously though, people are morons. It kills me, the questions these people ask. And they go through their entire family history all the time with you, like you care that their uncle's best friend's cousin's girlfriend's nephew once also went to BU. And then they ask you if you know who he is, like he's this big man on campus. "Oh, you don't know Dave? He's real active in that chorus." OH! That chorus! RIGHT. Sorry, no clue who he is. Really? Let me say the name again, and let me give you the same exact description, because you must know him. After all, there are only 16,000 people at your school, and he's "real active" in a chorus!

Yeah.

Or how about this one:
Moron: "I'd like to find out about some of your programs at Boston College."
Me: "I'm sorry, sir, this is Boston University. If you're interested in information about BU, I'd be happy to mail you a bulletin."
Moron: "No, I'd like information about BC."
Me: "Okay. No problem, have a nice day."
Moron: "Wait, you're not going to send me information?"
Me: "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted information about BC."
Moron: "I do."
Me: "Riiight. This is BU, sir. We don't have information about BC."
Moron: "Why not?"

How do I make this clear to people? I mean really, without sounding totally rude and insulting, how do you do it?

Me: "Well, because we are Boston UNIVERSITY, not Boston COLLEGE, we only have information about BU. I'm sure that BC can provide you with a bulletin though."
Moron: "Are you telling me I have to make another phone call just to get a bulletin?"
Me: "Yes."
Moron: "Are you kidding me?"
Me: "No."
Moron: "Is this ridiculous, or is it just me?"

Is both a suitable answer to this question?

I just laughed kinda nicely and said I was sorry for the confusion, that it happens a lot, and I hoped that he had a nice day in Idiotville. Really.

When I was in elementary school, we had this award called the Good Citizen award. I got that award when I was in first grade, and I got this golden piece of paper and my mom took me to Toys R Us to get me a toy as a reward for being such a good citizen. I ended up buying this bear, and being the creative genius that I am, I named the pink bear Pinky. I've kept Pinky since. Really. It has become one of my most beloved posessions. If there were a fire, I think I might save Pinky before one of my siblings. That is a horrible horrible joke. But seriously, I'd take the bear with me. Pinky was great. Until my brother got mad at me one day and startd pulling out Pinky's stuffing through a tiny hole in her back. That was so mean to do. I was like 18 when he did it and I got really mad at him. Now you can punch Pinky's face in, because there's not that much stuffing. It's pretty sad.

Also, I have this other stuffed animal named Brownie. Yeah. He's brown. It's a Pound Puppy that my great-grandmother bought me. Those things have the saddest eyes ever. Go home and look at yours. I bet it's sad. I used to love Brownie when I was a kid. I would take that thing everywhere. This was long before Pinky came into the picture. I got Brownie when I was about two years old. I took him with me to the Westfarms mall and I left him there. Big mistake. My dad went back to get him, and they had put him in a display. When I was little, I thought that was the coolest story - my dog, famous in a display.

I was a messed up little kid.

I also had this doll, Jennifer. Jennifer was a beautiful baby doll. She looked like a real baby, only not ugly with a scrunched up face like the other realistic baby dolls were. She was like real-size, too. I really loved Jennifer. I was probably about seven. So I loved this doll. And then I saw this commercial for this other doll. Baby Wanna Walk. I became OBSESSED with getting Baby Wanna Walk. I begged my mother to buy me a Baby Wanna Walk. She told me I could trade in my Jennifer doll for Baby Wanna Walk. I had basically just bought Jennifer, so I could still return it to Toys R Us I guess. I don't remember all the details. So I said okay, great, that was fine. I probably used those words, I was such a wise-ass. So anyhow, my mom takes me to Toys R Us, and we had packed up Jennifer. My mom was so sad about it. I could tell she thought I was making the wrong decision. But I was set on having Baby Wanna Walk. She actually walked! I was so excited. So I traded her in. And I don't remember feeling bad about it at all, except I do remember my mom continuing to ask me if I was sure I wanted to do this. If there's one thing I've learned with my mother, if she keeps asking if you're sure, then you are in the middle of making a bad decision. But I kept going. So I bought Baby Wanna Walk. I brought her home. I took her out. I set her up. Got all excited to play house. Had my sister set as my neighbor. My brother was my dog. And then, SHE DIDN'T WALK. She didn't walk. It was horrible. She was some cheap stupid doll that could barely put one foot in front of the other before it fell over and made some horrible machine walk. It was a bust. I told my mom I hated Baby Wanna Walk, and, my mother being the amazing mom that she is, she took me back to Toys R Us the next day to get Jennifer back. So I walked up and down the aisles looking for Jennifer, but that doll was nowhere. They had no more Jennifers. They were surprised they took Jennifer back in the first place. I finally settled on another doll. I named her Lindsay, but I always knew that Jennifer was the best. That's how I learned the hard way to stick with what you have, because you never know what you're going to get. And just when some gizmo (decent word, no?) comes along, that doesn't mean you should give up a proven good thing, like Jennifer.

You can see that this was a serious issue of my childhood.

In fifth grade, we had this old monster of a computer. Like it was all with the black screen and green computery writing. We had a few games though that were cool. Reader Rabbit. God that was a quality game. I remember I played the hard level sometimes and lost a lot. We also had the best no-frills versions of Jeopardy and Wheel-of-Fortune. I loved those. Seriously. (By the way, I am possibly the best Wheel-of-Fortune player I know. I wish I was kidding. I can solve those things so fast. It's one of my greatest skills, and the only thing I will brag about. Really.) Now they have all these other versions of the game shows, with all these supposed extras, like Alex Trebek actually making an appearance and Vanna White actually turning the letters. Am I the only person out there who preferred the basic versions, that just allowed you to play the games? They were great. They need to go back to that. I hate all this updated stuff that freezes on you or takes ten minutes to spin the wheel with all of the extras they keep stuffing in there. Even writing this now, I get a little angry about it, I have to be honest.

People say that you should be given a test before you should be able to have children. I don't know if I agree with that, but I definitely think that people should be given a test before they are allowed to carry umbrellas. These people are morons! They walk right into you. Or they carry these huge golf umbrellas and take up the whole sidewalk. Or they just drip all over you. Really. Umbrella smarts is a tough thing to come by.

I think I've reached the bottom. Enough of this nonsense.

Roomus from Home

Today I watched a lot of TV. I haven't done that in so long, and it felt great. But it made me wonder about some things. First, I still don't agree with Jen and Dawson dating during the college seasons. Also, when Jen died on the final episode of the series, I thought it was the most hysterical moment of the TV drama. While she's crying and everything going nuts over missing her out-of-wedlock child, I'm sitting there laughing. If I wasn't watching Dawson's Creek, my reaction would have really worried me.
 
It kind of still does, I have to admit. I was more choked up over Pacey and Joey finally getting together for good. I thought of Pacey as a real person. Like, I had to know that he would end up okay. And him ending up with Joey solidified that for me. I was in a good mood all night because of that. It's really sick.
 
I also happened to see that the Game Show Network is showing episodes of "Love Connection." Aside from me automatically being pathetic for watching the Game Show Network under the age of 75, I was really surprised at how into the show I got. I would definitely put it up there with Blind Date as the greatest dating shows ever. Except for this one thing, which drove me nuts. I'm watching this guy, Roger, and he has to choose dates between Tammy, Heather, and Diane. And they show who the audience picked, and then they're like, "We'll find out who Roger picked and how their date went tomorrow, two and two." And then the show ended! I got really upset for a minute because I really wanted to see who Roger picked and how their date went, and it's Friday and I'm not going to be here Monday, so I couldn't watch it on Monday to see what happened. I was really feeling bad about the whole thing, until I saw that another Love Connection was coming on next. So I calmed down. And then the show began and there was Chuck next to some weird blonde lady, but no Roger! I was really upset. So I called my dad at work, because he obviously doesn't have anything to do, and I asked him what he knew about the Game Show Network.  He made fun of me for a few minutes and asked if I'd like to join him for an Early Bird Supper, but after that, he told me that the channel just shows re-runs, they don't run the shows in order. So I wasn't going to find out what happened to Roger, Tammy, Heather, or Diane. I'm left not knowing.  That really got me mad. And you know what else? Every time Chuck goes to commercial or ends the show, he says, "We'll be right back, two and two." What does "two and two" even MEAN?
 
I also saw this commercial today and it disturbe me. It showed Kevin Millar hawking KFC, making him officially the poster boy for White Trash. :(
 
As a side note, I forgot to talk about my sister and I getting in trouble for making fun of my brother's friend.  My brother had this friend, Prague or Parag. It was pronounced the second way. So anyway, Prague and his family lived near us. And we would drive by his house, and his parents/grandparents would always be sitting in lawnchairs... in their garage.  They would just be sitting there. I was going to write "outside," but I'm not even sure I can, because does being in the garage really qualify you as being outside? I don't know.  Prague's family had this huge wrap-around porch, but they wouldn't sit on that. They wouldn't sit in their chairs in the driveway. They would just sit in the garage, with the garage door open.  They didn't have anything with them, either. It was really odd. So we'd make fun of that. Never in front of Prague.  Once, when Prague was over, I did ask him how his parents/grandparents were. And he looked at me like I was nuts. I really thought my mother was going to yell at me, because she knew that my sister and I always laughed at the garage setting, but she did that "I'm mad but I'm trying not to laugh" face that she always gets when she wants to yell but can't. I really hope I have that as a mom, because I have to say, it is easily the coolest expression she has. Every time I see it, I really like her.  But, one Christmas, she didn't laugh when we started making fun of Prague's house. We were driving around looking at Christmas lights and we drove by Prague's house and I said, "Hmm...you would have thought they'd have decorated the garage, no?" And then my brother, who was probably six or seven, started to cry and get really upset tht my sister and I made fun of his friend.  It was a pretty sad scene, actually, my brother crying and all, and so my mom told us not to make fun of him anymore.  For years, we couldn't say a thing when we drove by.  It was really depressing. But then, when I came home this time, we started laughing about it again and that expression appeared, and so I think it's okay to laugh at now.
 
My sister's friend Chelsea had an issue yesterday. She would start crying randomly. It was crazy. She'd be talking normally about the weather or something, and I'd say, "Today's Thursday," or something harmless, and she'd start crying! But she'd laugh while she cried, so I wasn't sure if she was really upset or if she was laughing or what the deal was. And she was like, "What is wrong with me?" And nobody could answer her.
 
THAT was a great story.
 
My friend Amanda and I made this great video over spring break, of our trip to Vermont. Oh man, it is quality, quality work.  We filmed starting the night before we left. It's great. Her dog even makes a guest appearance.  And we filmed our drive up there. Only I messed up. My one job was to film the "Welcome to New Hampshire" and "Welcome to Vermont" signs.  I didn't get either.  It's really bad. I just missed them I guess. All I have on film is me saying, "Oh shit" and Amanda screaming at me. On the way back, I was supposed to redeem myself by at least getting the "Welcome to New Hampshire" sign on the way out of Vermont. So I got the camera all ready ahead of time, at Exit 2. And then it was on, and on, and... then it turned off! It had been on too long. So then when the sign came, I pushed record, but it didn't work, and then I pushed a bunch of random buttons. I got the damn thing to go on right as we were passing the sign. So I got this rest-stop area, which is kind of like the New Hampshire welcome area, but that really wasn't good enough. I thought Amanda was going to kill me.  When I got the "Welcome to Massachusetts" sign FINALLY, she just looked at me like, big whoop.  That is a great saying by the way. I'm going to bring it back. But anyhow, she was not happy.  Our trip to Vermont was pretty good though. If you're ever looking to go to Vermont for a few days, check out our video because it has all these great highlights from our vacation.  Like we were told that our hotel room had a mountain view. So we take the camera, and we're filming as we reveal the view from our room.  This IS reality television. Unscripted. And we open the shades, and... we're looking at a parking lot.  A parking lot that is in front of some mountains in the distance.  Basically, our mountain view was the equivalent of telling incoming BU freshmen about the BU Beach. These poor freshmen show up thinking that they have a beach right on the campus! The river is right on the campus! It says so in that crappy book of photos they send us! Yeah. Except they forgot to show Storrow Drive between you and the Charles. Similarly, the hotel forgot to mention that there is a PARKING LOT, plus almost the entire state of Vermont, between us and the moutains. Aside from that, the trip was pretty good, and the video is worth seeing. 
 
Speaking of home videos, I'm pretty upset that I can't find this video of me as a kid, where I'm like ten and dressed in those footsie pajamas and singing "Bad Boys." My father deserves some sort of credit for having the wherewithall to tape such a spectacle. 
 
You know what really gets me mad? When celebrities say, "My favorite beauty product is my $1.99 lipgloss from Target." Riiiiight. Like, if I go out and buy the $1.99 Lipsmacker lipgloss, I'll look just like Kate Hudson! Kate Hudson doesn't look like Kate Hudson with just her $1.99 lipgloss.  Really. Or when celebrities say, "I never work out. I eat whatever I want. I love doughnuts." All I'm gonna say is, Mary Kate was saying the exact same thing and look where she is now. 
 
This abuse of Mary Kate Olsen has to stop.
 
The Red Sox got off to a glowing start yesterday. I loved it when Kevin Millar, Bill Mueller, and Nomar Garciaparra all ran to make a play and then all of them just stopped short, letting the ball drop in fair territory and allowing a run to score. Second to that moment was when Derek Lowe began his meltdown on the mound and I got to start my own routine of "Two minutes to Wapner! Two minutes to Wapner!" My mother looked at me like I was nuts.
 
Oh and a note on my favorite manager. Today I read in the Globe that Francona was on a train, apparently in the "quiet car" when a woman asked him to keep it down.  When she told Francona it was the quiet car, Francona said, "It is? Well then, shut up." Here this guy is, trying to act like he is large and in charge, and he can't tell off Manny, Nomar, Pedro, Derek Lowe, or Wally the Green Monster. You have to love that.
 
 
 
 
 

Notes

1. The Red Sox:
I don't know if I'll ever love a team as much as I loved the 2003 Boston Red Sox. This team doesn't have the same heart. I miss Todd Walker. I miss the Cowboy Up attitude. Heck, I even miss hearing Grady Little's deep southern drawl during the postgame report. I just haven't really wanted to root for these guys. Well, that's not true. I really do want to be into the season like I was last year. Remember last October? Everyone was breathing baseball. It was amazing. I don't know if that can ever be recreated, but this year hasn't come close.

I've said it before, but I hate Terry Francona. I really don't like people who are supposed to be leaders, who are supposed to set some standards, and instead let people walk all over them. Francona's like that. If you're ever looking to commit a crime against someone, like slashing someone's tires, do it against Francona. I'm not even saying that so that he gets shit on, I'm just saying it because it's a sure bet that you won't get in trouble. Seriously. If you slashed his tires, he'd probably turn around and say, "Oh, you know, that's not really your fault. I really shouldn't have had tires in the first place."

What a loser.

Then there's Nomar. It hit me, while in J.P. Licks a few weeks ago, that this guy is just ridiculous. Boston has an ice cream flavor named after the guy - Cherry Garciaparra - and the guy didn't want to play here for four more years and $60 million dollars. He didn't want to play in the town that had adopted him, where kids learn "Garciaparra" as their first words and wear his number as their first t-shirt. And forget about listening to him say he likes Boston and wants to play here. Puh-leeeeze. The ice cream flavor sealed the deal for me. It was like hitting me right in the face: We don't have Williams Walnut Crap. We don't have Varitek ... there's no good V word. We don't have those. Point is, we have Garciaparra. He's been the chosen hero, and he just doesn't want the role.

And you know what really gets me? He's not even that good anymore! He's not even worth $60 million for four years. Nomar Garciaparra is like Britney Spears. At one time, both were the superstars of their professions. They were unstoppable. Nomar almost hit .400, Britney was dating Justin and on every kid's bedroom wall - both boys and girls. But look at Britney now. She's traded her crown as Queen of the Pop Scene for Soon-to-Be Queen of the Trailer Park, with her back up dancer (aka unemployed) finace, whose ex is about to have his second child. Seriously. She can't headline a sell-out tour anymore, but she could definitely be the star guest on Maury Povich or Jerry Springer, some shit cable show. She still has star power, but it's fading. People aren't investing in her in the same way they were three years ago. Nomar's the same. A few years ago, he was batting almost .400. He was the hottest guy in baseball. Then he had a wrist injury, and if you ask me, he hasn't totally recovered. Or maybe he's past his peak. I don't know. But whatever the reason, now, Nomar makes routine errors, and pitchers aren't afraid to pitch to him. He's still a good player, still one of the best in the game, but not the best.

All that said, and I still can't fathom the Sox without him. I don't know whether to cheer for him when he's at-bat, or whether I should hope he starts to stink real bad so when he finally leaves, the pain won't hurt as much. I don't know. It's kind of like having a pet goldfish that's terminally ill. Do you hope he starts to suffer, and do you abuse him by taping the glass real loud, so that you won't miss him as much when he finally dies? I don't know. I've never had a pet goldfish, and I don't really know whether goldfish can be terminally ill. And, I've never had to think about the Sox without Nomar, so the whole situation is kind of anxiety-inducing and confusing.

Another issue I have with the Sox is Derek Lowe. The guy got all mad when somebody asked him about his psychological issues, whether he adds to his pitching troubles when he basically implodes on the mound. Hmm. I wonder. If you asked a crazy person, "Excuse me, are you insane?" do you think they'd answer, "Why yes, yes I am. Thank you for asking"?? Of course not. Asking Derek Lowe if he's mentally unstable is like asking a Ku Klux Klan member if their practices are racist. Duh! But they probably don't think so! Anybody can tell Derek Lowe's mentality messes up his performance. When things start going wrong, Dustin Hoffman missing Wapner in Rainman is more stable than Lowe on the mound.

And the last piece of Red Sox business, the lingering Jose Offerman rant. I had made a joke on there that was offensive to some, but many found it amusing and asked for it to be put back. Editing these things is a real pain in the ass, so I'll just make the comparison now. I said that Jose Offerman looked more overwhelmed at second base than Mary Kate Olsen at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Ouch.

So, to wrap up the Sox notes, I hope the second half of the season is really exciting. Baseball season's supposed to be my favorite time of year, but right now it feels more like Christmas in Florida: you know it's the holiday, and the gifts are there, but the palm Christmas tree just isn't doing the trick.

Whatever. You get the idea.

2. Story
Sometimes, I hear a great story about how couples got together. Have you ever seen "When Harry Met Sally"? The director interviewed all these couples and taped them telling their own love stories. It was really touching. Anyhow, I think everyone has some version of a great story like that, and when I hear a cool one, I really love it. If you know any, please tell me.

But here's one for now. This lady was a World War Two widow, and she hated her mother-in-law. She was a real bitch. So anyhow, her husband went to war and sadly, he died. A war buddy of his had to go home when his mother died, and when he got back to the States, he looked up the widow. He called her and said, "My mother died, so I'm back from the war, and I had to look you up. You've come to me with excellent recommendations." She said to him, "You don't have a mother? Then you're for me." And the two lived happily ever after.

I like that story.

3. Family Matters
I can't believe I haven't discussed my extended family. They're real winners. My dad has two sisters. They are kooks. And his niece is a real smartie. She's the worst kind of dumb person. She thinks she's wicked smart. Wicked. She is a nurse, which frightens me when I think about the future of the profession. But anyhow, she was trying to do this complicated deal with her house in Massachusetts, and she asked my dad about it since he's a lawyer. So my dad tried to answer her question, but he said, "You should really contact a lawyer in Massachusetts, because Connecticut law and Massachusetts law are different on that subject, so the lawyer needs to be familiar with the state's particular rules." Something along those lines. Basic point: she needed to consult a different lawyer, because this lawyer didn't know because it was a complicated issue. And in response, she goes, "Nah. I'll just get a book on it." OH! Okay, Rache, you and your Bunker Hill education can definitely figure out Massachusetts Real Estate Law by going to Borders. Yeah, law school? Only losers go there. Complicated law? No such thing. You can just pick up the book, "Law for Dummies." Rachel. Genius Extraordinaire. What an asshole.

You can find anything for dummies. My dad got my brother the book "Acting for Dummies" this past Christmas. My brother's been in like ten school plays and gets the lead in most of them. He's a good little actor. I fell off my chair when I saw my dad got him that book. My brother just looked at it blankly. I mean, can you really get those books as gifts? Next year, I'm buying my dad "The Idiot's Guide to Gift-Buying," a book in another genius line. But I really like the dummies books. I love that word. dummies. Great word. My real favorite is "Etiquette for Dummies." Do you get the irony in that?

But back to the family. My Aunt Diane is like a purple stringbean on crack. She loves purple. It's weird. She wears purple pants, purple shirts. It's really whacked. But the thing my aunt is known for is giving the absolute worst gifts ever. EVER. She bought this tin bear pocketbook for me one year. I was sixteen. Ridicccculous. Really. She bought my sister some looney toons shit when she turned fourteen. You can't even return this stuff because it's too embarrassing to bring back into the store.

My aunt also has processed her hair about a million times too many, and once my sister was blowdrying it and it started sparking and smoking. I wish I was kidding. It was easily the funniest part of Thanksgiving.

Well, maybe aside from the time my aunt Beverly decided to bake. She brought these Cranberry Shit Squares. Nobody would touch them. So she started feeling kind of bad about it, and she just kept offering them to everyone. Over and over again. She was horrible about it. "Do you want a cranberry square? I made it myself." She sounded like those people in mall food courts. The only thing she was missing was a toothpick and Asian accent. God I am offensive. But anyway, she got all bent out of shape that nobody would eat one of her stupid squares. So I tried to make her feel better. I told her, "Maybe people just don't like cranberries." I think I crushed her dream of achieving world peace through these cranberry squares, because she shut up immediately and threw away the plastic plate of cranberry crap in this dramatic swooping action. Then she gave me a lecture on being thankful for people's thoughtfulness. That might beat out the hair dryer story as funniest moment of family Thanksgiving.

Wait, wait. Not quite. Two years ago, my mom put me in charge of placecards. So I decided to have some fun with it. I drew pictures on each person's card. My aunt got a picture of a bird, my grandmother got a picture of a cat, my sister got a picture o a little girl, and my brother got a picture of a toilet. So everyone came up to dinner and saw their placecards. My sister looked at me weirdly, and my brother just started to get mad. My aunt walked around the table, admiring the placecards. When she got to hers, of the bird, she asked me if there was a theme to the cards. "Yeah," I said. "Things people like." My grandmother, clueless as ever, just looked down at my sister's card. "How come Stephie has a little girl on her placecard?" Yeah, Grandma, real quick on the uptake.

4. Don't be this guy
Today there was a long line in Barnes and Noble. Oh. By the way. It's Barnes and Noble, not Barnes and Nobles. Great. Moving on. It's lunch hour, so there's a long line of professional-looking people, waiting to pay for their items, and then there's only one girl ringing everything up. So this guy ahead of me buys a greeting card. One greeting card. And he proceeds to pay for it WITH A CREDIT CARD. People like that suck.

5. I love this line in Curb Your Enthusiasm, when Larry David asks a doctor, who just finished a round of golf, to check a mole on his back. The doctor's like, you know, I'm busy, sorry, and Larry, of course, pushes the issue. So the doc goes, "What do you do for a living?" And Larry says, "I'm a writer." And the doctor says, "Well, next time you're in a big hurry, how bout I ask you to write me a bunch of shit for free." Pure genius there.

6. Diary?
This thing really isn't a diary because other people read it. In my diaries, I would always write about other people. Oh man. I always had these nightmares aout people finding my stupid diary and actually reading it. And then hating me forever and everyone finding out what I wrote. Like Harriet the Spy. That book, by the way, was way better than the Rosie O'Donnell movie. Anyway. I used to get real nervous about that. I had to convince myself that someone reading my diary trumped anything I would ever say about anybody. For instance, if someone read my diary and was like, "Hey, you wrote that I am the worst person ever," I could just say, "You READ my DIARY!" And yeah, that would be it. Reading somebody's diary officially makes you a bad person. Once, when I was in like third grade, I read someone's diary. I'm ashamed about it, to this day. It's a really horrible thing to do.

The other thing though that always got me nervous about diaries was if I was writing anything incriminating. Don't ask. But I didn't like this girl, so I had written that I hoped something bad happened to her. And then I thought, what if she ends up dead somewhere and then they come find me and ask to read my diary and see that I had written that I wanted something bad to happen to her? I'd be serving a life sentence! So I started panicking and I changed the sentence to read, "I hope something bad happens to her dog." She doesn't even have a dog, so I figured I was definitely safe. Should the girl ever die. Should anybody think, "Oh! We should check Elana's DIARY."

Yeah. Just in case.

Sell Crazy Somewhere Else

I was all set to write my 90210 thoughts when I was reading Bill Simmons and saw that he also has written 90210 columns, or has an obsession with the show, or something like that. And so I decided there is absolutely nothing I can write that would even be fair to call a comparison to the great Sports Guy himself, so forget it. I just have to say that when my sister and I were bored when we were little (ok, like last year) we'd have 90210 trivia contests. Those were always useful when trying to get through long car rides, or boring dinner conversations.

My sister and I also had this whole thing going one night when we talked in rhyme. Man that drove my mother nuts. She got so angry at us, but she couldn't really yell at us because she was trying so hard not to laugh. She'd say, "I'm not kidding guys, cut it out." And one of us would reply, "It's okay Mom, you don't have to shout." Then at the dinner table, we'd do the same thing. And when we tried to stop, we really couldn't, because everything we were saying had this sing-song rhythm to it. I really thought we were going to be kicked out from the dinner table. We used to have some real funny conversations at our family dinners, but whenever we'd get on a real roll or things would suddenly start to be interesting, my dad would put a stop to it. He once said - no lie - "don't laugh at the dinner table," claiming that we would choke on our food and die. He told us this story about a woman he knew at work who went to an anniversary party and choked on steak and died. I have no idea if she was laughing or not at the time, but since then, I really am obsessive-compulsive about having people cut up steak, and I get real nervous when I'm laughing and trying to swallow.

My dad would often put a stop to my fun. My sister and I would also play this awful game. I know it's bad now, but at the time, we found it to be the most fun game ever. Well, aside from the "Smoker Game" and "Make Me Laugh." This game was called "Crappy Cars." The point of the game was, while we were on car trips, to point out the crappy cars we passed. We knew of this one woman who had the crappiest car of all, and we'd yell out if one even came close to that car. Sometimes we'd debate it. Like if a nice car just had a smashed in door, that wouldn't always qualify as a crappy car. It was a complicated system, and we were having fun with it until my dad heard us laughing too loudly in the back, and he wondered what we were pointing at and why we kept yelling, "Crappy car!" So we told him, kinda sheepishly, and he yelled at us and told us never to do that again. I'm not sure why the game was so much fun, but it was kind of addicting. And I hate to say it, but sometimes when we're driving now, my sister and I will see a real shitbox and point it out to the other. I'm a little embarrassed to admit that.

The other game we would play is "Smoker." We went out to eat as a family most Sunday nights, and we'd sometimes go to this restaurant that gave out free lollipops to kids. So my sister and I would take lollipops and eat them and then use the sticks to act as cigarettes. One of us would be a high-class person who knew how to smoke and the other would be a low-class person with no manners. We'd basically act-out how the two people would interact. Yeah. We found this to be a whole lot of fun. The Surgeon General would have hated us.

The "Make Me Laugh" game is self-explanatory. We'd take turns trying to make each other laugh, which usually wasn't too hard. Only I have this issue that I still have: I can never say anything funny without laughing myself. It's ridiculous. I can never get through anything without bursting out laughing and being completely incomprehensible. So that would happen a lot. Sometimes, my sister would just stare at me and that would make me laugh because her eyes would go a little nutso after a while. We had our old standbys, like the Constipation Song that we made up. I really thought this was an amazing piece of musical genius at the time. My mom didn't think so. But my sister would usually laugh, only I would continually use it to crack her which she figured out, and as good as the song was, it didn't always work. Bummer.

I do have a brother, too. The thing is, my sister and I spent a lot of time agonizing the poor kid. We told him he was adopted, which basically is a right for all older children to tell the baby of the family. My brother fell for it of course and cried for a while. You'd think it would be enough to tell a five-year-old that he was adopted, but no, we would tell him that his former family called and wanted him back, so that's where we were driving to right then. We were driving him back to his original family. God, that sounds so mean. And you know, my brother would never do anything to provoke this. It wasn't like he was being a little asshole so we decided to make him cry. It was more like, "Hey, Steph, you want to try and make Michael cry?" Awful. We were pretty awful to him.

In another awful event, we would have spinning contests where we'd just spin around to make ourselves dizzy. Yeah, that was smart. So my sister and I are in my room, and we're spinning, and then my brother comes in and wants to spin around too. So we tell him okay, but he's real nervous about the whole thing, like freaking out about falling down or crashing into something. He made us promise to tell him if he got anywhere near a door or my closet or a shelf. You can see where this is going. So we promised, and then he starts spinning, and then he gets kinda close to the closet, but we don't really think anything. And then boom! He falls right into the closet, on top of all the clothes, the shoes, everything. That wasn't real nice of us.

I also typed up this letter from his teacher, saying that he couldn't wear a tutu in the classroom anymore and that this was a serious concern to her. I showed him the letter, all typed up and forged, and he looks at it, starting to tear up, saying, "Oh no, oh no, OH NO!" And he's shaking his head and almost crying. He's in third grade. I can't believe I terrorized him like this.

When we would play house, my sister and I would make my brother be the dog.

When I was little, I had this insane fear of witches. I really thought witches were real. I don't know, but I was sure that a witch was coming to get me. And for some reason, I was also certain that I was vulnerable to these witches if I was the person on the lowest floor of my house. So I would never be downstairs alone. I also thought I saw a witch hiding behind a tree in my front yard. I really did. In fact, when I remember the event, I can also see the face of the witch in my mind: I can picture the "witch" that I was afraid of. That's pretty messed up if you ask me. Anyhow, to this day, when I am alone on my floor, if I start thinking about scary things (which I do to freak myself out, which is also pretty messed up), I always come back to this ugly face of a witch, all dressed in black, with that green Wizard of Oz face. Man, that still gives me the spooks.

I also remember watching this movie, The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. It's a musical with Dolly Parton. My aunt, who is as cooked as they come, showed it to me when I was like five. Anyhow, I didn't know what a whorehouse was, so I didn't really get the whole concept behind Miss Mona (Dolly Parton) and her thirty housemates (whores). So I would watch it and we would talk about which Miss Mona "dress" we liked best (they dressed up in fancy dresses and then basically took them off for these lingerie get-ups) and we'd watch the musical parts and I thought it was the greatest thing ever. Well, one night, I was in this movie store called Magic Video with my dad. Magic Video was not a chain, and my dad loved that about it. It had good movie deals too, so we went there. Yeah that was vital to the story. So anyhow, we're in the store and my dad asks me, age 7, what I want to rent. I yell out, "Best Little Whorehouse in Texas!" And then we got some shit Ramona movie and left.

One time though my dad took me to see the movie Chuck and Buck. Judging by the title, I don't know why he didn't think twice, but whatever. We had seen the previews in another movie, and it showed these two childhood friends who grow apart. Chuck becomes a successful grown-up, while Buck remains moronic and childlike. Then Buck decides to go out to visit Chuck in LA, and he kinda ruins the lifestyle that Chuck had all set up. Yeah, that was the premise of the movie. So we go to see it, me and my dad. I'm like 12. And we're watching it, and Buck is a real creepo freak, and then Buck makes a pass at Chuck, and suddenly, I am watching some weird homosexual porno flick and my dad is dying. Yeah we left that movie.

My dad also thought up this great system for dealing with tantrums. I have to say that I was really a champion tantrum-thrower, which I'm not real proud of. I've been realizing there's a lot I'm not real proud of, which kind of worries me. Anyhow, when I was throwing a tantrum or being a brat, my dad would get the video camera. Yeah. He had this dinosaur of a video camera that was huge and he'd put it on his shoulder and film it, all calm and quiet. I'd be ranting about something dumb, looking like a total loser, and he'd have it all on tape. It wasn't bad at the time, I don't think, because I'm making fun of him for most of the tape. I also have him taping me doing things I'm not allowed to do. For example, on one tape, I'm drinking directly from the Diet Coke bottle. Man, that was a no-no in my house. And then my sister sticks up for my parents and tells me to behvae, and I tell her to "pin a rose on [her] little nose" which just about kills me every time I watch the stupid video. The point is, my dad was pretty wise to do it because now I am embarrassed as all hell about it whenever he wants to show the video.

I really was just going to write about 90210, but then I started reminiscing about the whole trivia contest with my sister. Family memories are so weird like that. What's great is if you have a bunch of your friends around, I bet every single one of them has funny family stories. Really. In the words of my great brother (thanks to another stellar family home video), "if you ever want to go looking for memories, just go look in your basement."

Yeah, don't ask. We're all stocked up here.

Friday Afternoon Bullshit

I had to edit some stuff in the old blog. First, people complained about the Jose Offerman Rant. They said it wasn't quite up to par with the rest of my stellar entries, and plus, I got a lot of complaints about the Mary-Kate Olsen joke. So I had to go back. I was going to edit all of it, but then I thought, I need to assert some control in the situation and earn some respect, so I didn't edit the entry, I just finished it. I also didn't earn any respect in the process, but I feel better about the whole thing.

Second, I erased an entry entitled, "The Worst Story Ever," for obvious reasons. Some people like my stories, but for the most part, they're better in person, when you really feel like you just wasted your time and lowered your IQ within ten minutes. I really have to give credit to my buddy Dave, who, sophomore year, would sit in my room endlessly listening to the dumbest stories ever. And this kid kept coming back and asking for more! I can't tell you how many times I would just tell him things like, "So I went to the classroom, and the teacher wasn't there. The end." And he would listen to me. Or at least he would kind of look like he was listening. He wasn't moving or anything though, so I'm not sure if he was an amazing listener or especially adept at sleeping with his eyes open. Regardless (OH, and as a note to all morons: irregardless is not a word), the entry = gone. You're welcome.

On another note, there is this strange phenomenon with the mail at BU. Something happens where it magically disappears. The administration claims that mail always disappears, it's just part of the US Mail System, but that is bulllllshit. Yes. Bullllsheeeeet. I spent sophomore year researching this issue for the Student Union. I prepared a whole 20 page document, set up meetings with the US Postal Service, etc. and for what?! It all went to waste because NOTHING HAS BEEN DONE. Well, take that back. The Towers mailboxes now have to have "s" next to "box" which does help I guess, but they're about as qualified as a blind cow is to distribute the mail. How would you like a blind cow delivering your mail? Exactly.

They just suck. They read the magazines, their attempts to sort through the mail are just feckless at best. How many times have you walked by the mailroom and actually seen an employee WORKING? Every time I walk by - EVERY TIME! - I always see someone reading something or sitting there doing nothing. And of course, if you should stop and ask when the mail's delivered, you're being completely rude and presumptuous. How dare you ask a question of a BU employee and - GASP - expect that they should want to help you! OH MY GOD! A WORK STUDY STUDENT HAVING TO DO ACTUAL WORK! (This is not meant to disparage good work study students who do good work. I know the few that do that. And "the" is used on purpose.)

So yeah. It's laughable to me that administrators say that mail gets lost. Isn't it funny that only my cards get lost? I haven't lost any of those BU letters, only Halloween and Valentine's Day cards. Don't even get me started on stealing someone's VALENTINE'S DAY card. That automatically qualifies you for going to hell.

I am getting grumpy I think. I love that word, grumpy. Do they still make the seven dwarf stuffed animals? I want a grumpy one I think. Only dwarfs are kind of ugly. Okay, really ugly.

Anyhow, I was at Fenway and people were being jerks and a lot of stuff was going on. So at one point, I had to tell this guy to stop smoking. These smokers think they're so smart. As I'm telling them they have to go to Yawkey Way, behind homeplate, they're like, "Oh yeah? [Puff] Where's [puff] homeplate? Is that where [puff] the batter [puff] stands?" You get the idea. So normally I'm okay about it, because I don't really care all that much as long as they're not smoking in my face. I hate smoking, but I don't like regulating it or anything. So anyhow, last night was not the night to mess with me. (Doesn't that sound tough?) The guy starts smoking, and I tell him, "If you take one more drag, you will be watching the game from a tv at the local bar." And so he doesn't. And then I turned around, and he lit up ANOTHER CIGARETTE. I thought I was going to kill him. So I go over to the guy, and in my nicest "I'm laughing but dead serious" voice I start yelling, "Sir! Did I NOT just tell you not to smoke? And did I NOT just tell you where you could smoke? And I'm sorry, but I could have SWORN that I told you that if you took one more drag of a cigarette that you would be removed from Fenway Park? Does any of that sound familiar? BECAUSE IT ALL SHOULD. PUT IT OUT OR GET OUT." It sounds like I was really in charge there, but not quite, because I was trying really hard not to smile or laugh while yelling this at this red-faced guy who was puffing away like a freak. So it was half-yell half-smile/laugh, which really wasn't that impressive at all. I can't do anything with a straight face anymore.

I need to write an entry about Beverly Hills 90210. I can't believe I haven't done it already. Next time.

The Jose Offerman Rant - Completed

I had been feeling for a little while that this blog bullshit would not be complete without a Jose Offerman rant. I was waiting for a good opportunity to write such an entry when I read this morning's Boston Globe Sports Section and saw that Bob Ryan had written, "One man's trash is another man's treasure," in reference to former Sox back-up catcher, Scott Hatteberg.

Finally! I could talk about Jose Offerman.

Offerman is, quite possibly, the person I hate the most in the entire UNIVERSE. You know how little kids say that crap all the time about the universe, just to make their point? Yeah. Like that.

When I would watch baseball games - if you can even call them that when good ole Jose was playing - I would DIE every time that loser came up to bat. He was so bad! So bad! Hold on, I am going to check some statistics and stories to boost my argument and check my gag reflex.

So that took longer than expected. I got a little sidetracked by this amazing site, "Cracksmokers of Major League Baseball." Check out the deal on Carl Everett: www.cracksmoker.com/MLB/MLB%20EverettC.htm ... That guy is a madman!

But back to Jose. His numbers are misleading, because it says that his career average is .273. At some point, Offerman was actually an All-Star in 1999, which makes me think we really have to redefine what qualifies for the accolade, and it also makes me wonder where the 250,000 people are who voted him into the game and whether I can have them shipped off to some remote cell and have them be forced to watch footage repeatedly of the junior-varsity level baseball player they wanted to represent the American League. (As an aside, those prisoners should also be shot in the leg. I think that's a good punishment for the most moronic people, because it lets them know, "You are a moron," but nobody dies in the process. They just get a valuable lesson. Every time they want to be moronic and, for example, praise Jose Offerman, they can look at the wound in their leg and be reminded of their stupidity. Then they would stop being stupid. You could also tell who was moron by asking them if they had ever been shot in the leg. The concept really is innovative.)

Back to Jose. That All-Star factoid, in case you were wondering, was the first statistic that really gave the gag reflex a good test. Then I found out that the Sox were paying him $6.5 million. After going back over all of the baserunning erros, all of the failed double plays, all of his OWN double plays, I can only imagine that the Sox were paying him to stand out there at second base and physically look good. And the only reason they could even be doing that is because the only alternative was Mike Lansing, possibly the only Sox player who could give Rod Beck a run for his money in the "Who's the Ugliest Red Sox Player Ever" contest.

Basically, I hate Jose Offerman. If I hate a player, I refuse to root for them. EVER. It's a steadfast rule, one that my dad hates. When Jeremy "Please Let Genetics Work" Giambi replaced Brian Daubach, I decided to hate him. And I never, ever rooted for him. That turned out not to be very difficult, because he rarely played, and even more rarely gave me anything to have to question cheering about. Jose Offerman was basically the same, only he always played. Which drove me nuts.

I figure in the summer of 2002, I spent a good 15 minutes per Red Sox game carping about Jose Offerman to somebody. At some point, I remember hearing that Jose Offerman is an anagram for "Major Offense" which made me majorly laugh because that is about as close as Jose Offerman is ever going to get to actually being labeled that.

When the Sox finally let the old bag go, nobody was surprised or disappointed. I bet a lot of the teammates were even happy to see him go. Seriously. Having him on the team was an insult to the bat boys. Yeah. The bat boys.

I wish I had thought of this genius comparison: "Remember the scene in The Godfather, Part II, where Robert Deniro travels back to Sicily to avenge his father's murder?  When he gets there, he finds a brokendown old man, confined to a chair, barely able to hear Vito say his name and the name of his father, Antonio Andolini.  Vito is unmoved by Don Ciccio's condition and runs him through with a knife. This, thank God, is basically the course the Red Sox took with Jose Offerman today."

Dan Shaughnessy took a different approach. Unlike the sympathetic Godfather comparison, in which you have to acknowledge somebody's beleagured state, Shaughnessy had no pity. Possibly my favorite line from any sports article, ever:

"Let us consider for a moment the piece of junk that is Offerman."

Read it again.

When I first read it, even I was taken aback. I almost started defending Offerman, but then I remembered every stupid time I had to watch that stupid jerk go up to bat. And honestly, "stupid" and "jerk" are just replacements for other words that, for some reason, I can't bring myself to write in this blog. Blog is a stupid word by the way.

Anyway, Shaughnessy did take some heat for his statement. Anybody who drives a dump truck should be offended, because the cargo they carry is definitely more precious than Jose Offerman, and I think that anybody who works in a junkyard would have claim for their outrage, because after all, sometimes trash can be useful. According to Bob Ryan, Scott Hatteberg is just like good trash: he can be recycled and refurbished. Hatteberg left the Sox as a back-up catcher and returned to Fenway as a starting first baseman for the Oakland A's, batting third. Other common trash items potentially more useful than Jose Offerman: old clothes, leftover food, broken machinery, toothpicks, Gigli, gum wrappers. The list goes on. Basically, anything is more useful than Jose Offerman.

I was just about to end the rant on Jose Offerman when I realized I forgot to include the most imprtant part! The story that made me really feel that I needed to rant in the first place.

The Sox played in California, near Jose Offerman's million dollar beach front estate courtesy of the Red Sox, and then traveled to Texas. During that roadtrip, the Sox got Cliff Floyd and Bob Howry. So, Mike Port, the interim GM after Dan Duquette FINALLY got fired, came down to Texas to get rid of Duquette's $26 million dollar error (Jose Offerman). When he told Offerman he was designated for assignment (i.e. Triple A or home), Offerman not only chose option B, but he punctuated his choice with a profanity-laced tantrum that sealed his already-inevitable fate as the top spot on my list of all-time most hated Red Sox players, as well as on the much more elusive "most likely to have my shoe thrown at them while on the TV screen" list.

Offerman slammed his bat and his glove on the ground, probably the most action either saw during the season, and then he feebly tried to kick over a water cooler and went up against the clubhouse equipment (Jose 0, Clubhouse 2). But worse than his sorry excuse for a tantrum (please see the "cracksmokers" link to read about much better rages), he started screaming about how ridiculous and thoughtless it was of the Red Sox not to let him go when he was back in California, when he was already at home. He didn't want to have to travel to Texas, then go through the hassel of opening his $26 million dollar checkbook to book a first-class flight back to Loserville.

Well well well. Jose didn't want to be inconvenienced! He thought the Sox should have just let him go in California, saving him an extra plane ride. Let me tell you, I'd rather the Sox have let him go then too. Every game that he played in was an embarrassment to the team, so if it were up to me, and up to anybody with a working brain, Jose would have been gone long before California. We had to watch that guy mess up countless plays and opportunities, and so for him to have to sit an extra six hours on a plane, in first class, en route to his mansion estate, I really don't care! (PS - does anybody remember the saying "I don't give"? It was just left at that. Nobody said what they don't "give" but it was really popular when I was about twelve... or ten? I have this image of my neighbor's brother sitting at the dinner table, and his mom told him that he had to eat his green beans, or no dessert. And the kid went, "I don't give." And then his mom got all mad and said, "Daniel, do not speak to me like that." Looking back, the kid looked ridiculous. "I don't give." You don't give what? Ridiculous.)

But I digress. Jose was being ridiculous. I still have difficulty putting into words the outrage I felt over his outburst. Here's a guy who was universally LOATHED by everyone, and nobody - NOBODY - started crying after he was packing his bags, and yet he thought he deserved a more ceremonious send-off. If I were there, I would definitely have given him one of those. What an asshole. Really. And you know what really gets me? Where was he running to? I don't recall Steinbrenner knocking down Jose's door to bring him to New York. In fact, I believe he played in the Independent League (i.e. Washed Up Old Guys Unqualified for Real Jobs) before the Twins took pity on him this year. I mean, I hate to say it, but the only place Jose really needed to get to after Texas was his local unemployment office, and I'm pretty sure they're open 9-5, Monday through Friday.

I had written this entry a few days ago, but I got too many negative comments about comparing Jose Offerman to Mary-Kate Olsen. People were really - and perhaps rightfully - offended that I would make fun of an eating disorder. Plus, I was so disgusted with myself for even coming up with a joke about anorexia that I ended my rant prematurely. After this edit, however, I can say that I am satisfied.

I'm done now.

Saturday Morning Thoughts

1. Cesar Crespo's "Dress Up and Pretend I'm a Major Leaguer" Career Ends (.165 with no homers, two RBIs in 79 plate appearances, 0 walks, 1 for 20 with runners in scoring position.)

For some reason, when I think of Cesar, I always think of those crazy black and white movies where the music is going really fast and folksy, and you see these fast-forwarded images of people waving to the cameras. I seriously picture little Cesar in Mexico going over to his dad, who's sitting in an armchair, his dad turning Cesar around to face the camera and wave and show his new baseball bat, a hockey stick. Then it switches to a backyard with kids hitting a pinata and adults drinking punch and the Dad roasting a pig or flipping hotdogs and then finally focuses on little five-year old Cesar trying to swing the hockey stick in the backyard at a frisbee thrown by his brother.

That's seriously, no lie, what I picture when I think of Cesar Crespo.

The only thing in major league baseball that makes me laugh more than a Cesar Crespo at-bat is when I think about Coco Crisp's family. In my mind, he's got a sister named Froot Loop and a wife named Rice.


2. Get U2's version of Everlasting Love or ask me to send it to you. I have been dancing around like a complete moron ever since I found this song.


3. You know what makes me really sad? Seeing people eating by themselves. It really ruins my meal when I see somebody looking miserable eating alone. These people usually don't even have a book or a magazine, which kinda makes me annoyed though. It would be better if they had a book or magazine so I wouldn't feel so compelled to feel so bad for them. But usually they just sit there and look miserable and eat macaroni and cheese.

The worst is when you go to Disneyworld and see a really heavy person eating by himself at a restaurant. Oh my god, if I ever saw that, I might die.


4. You know what is pretty messed up? In that last one, I couldn't even bring myself to write "fat" as the person eating by himself at Disneyworld, even though that's what I really meant. I just felt too mean even writing it!


5. Still dancing like a moron to that U2 song. Only I'm sitting down, so I'm only moving my shoulders and my feet, so I really look like Nomar Garciaparra trying to make a double-play.


6. Speaking of Nomar Garciaparra, Dan Shaughnessy's got it right


7. I still laugh when I think about Napoleon Dynamite. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, try to see the movie. Heck yes!

8. One entry I'll write about the genius that is Curb Your Enthusiasm.

9. I am having a wallet issue. I can't decide how to carry my money and keys. I hate carrying everything all the time, but I need my keys and ID and stuff all the time, so I need to figure this out. It is really causing me some concern, which in itself kinda worries me.

10. When I was younger, I did these flower drawings. I thought they were really talented. I was all set to call the freakin Museum of Fine Arts and tell them to move over the Monets. And I also did a picture of a panda bear, which I thought was just out of this world.

The sad thing is, I was like 15.

So anyhow, I went home a few weeks ago and decided it would be productive for me to bring all my drawing stuff back with me, because I had this weird image of myself at the Commons drawing the ducks or some shit like that. I just grabbed my notebook and some craypas and pencils. I have to tell you, even writing "craypas" makes me cringe because it makes me seem like some sort of artist. God, it is so rough when you are embarrassed in front of yourself.

Well I get back to Boston, and I unpack my stuff. I look through the notebook.

Yeah, that was the end of THAT idea.

11. I have to get on with my life. Happy Birthday to my sister, who is a pretty funny kid when she wants to be. One time, she was tap dancing and she fell flat on her face. That was pretty funny to watch. She also thought she was really great at the violin, but she kinda sucked.

I might really mess up my kids, when I re-read stuff like that.