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.
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.
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