The Best Laid Plans

I have this Oasis song, Whatever, which is a great song, except at the end of the live version that I have, they have the audience cheering. Only it's in like Britain or somewhere really uncivilized and they're all whooping like total freaks. It sounds awful. I cringe every time I get to the end of the song.

I promised Merry I'd mention that I saw Sarah McLachlan in concert last Saturday night. I used to like Sarah. Now I think she is like the most amazing female performer ever. Maybe that's because we were sitting in the second row, I don't know. But I just was really blown away by how good she was. Except one thing. She wasn't wearing good jeans. They were straight leg, and I really thought she should have gone with bootcut. I am very particular about the cut of my jeans. If you ever need help, let me know.

A few months back, I was on Newbury Street and I heard this street performer guy. Connor McLaughlin. Or Colin McLaughlin. I don't know. I bet you haven't heard of him, because contrary to what I originally believed, this guy isn't going anywhere anytime soon. I heard him play in about March, I would say. I made my friend turn around and walk back to hear the guy finish playing, and it was about ten degrees out. And then I even gave him a dollar and put my name on a mailing list. I never put my name on a mailing list, because my dad always told me horror stories about how people found names on mailing lists and came to the person's house and chopped them up and became them and ran up their bills and buried them. Or something close to that. The point is, I get nervous about putting names on lists. But I really was convinced I NEEDED to know if this guy was ever going to play anywhere or put out a CD. Yeah. When I tell people about how much I loved this guy at that moment, people ask me if I was drunk. The answer is no. But I went home and went to the guy's website immediately. I downloaded his entire CD and then I ran downstairs and HAD to share the music with my friends Liz and Amanda. I remember getting them all revved up for this great, amazing new musician.

And then I played the song.

They looked at me like I was nuts. I kept playing it though, still convinced that THEY were missing something. Then I must have regained my hearing, because two days later, I deleted the entire album from my computer.

You might wonder what made me think of this. Well, a week ago, I got an email from Conor or Colin McLaughlin saying something about how he's finally putting out a CD. I deleted it. Then I got another one. And another one. And now, every stupid day, I get another email from him saying that I need to go to his website and order his CD.

I'm never putting my name on another list ever again.

Do you ever do something and immediately wonder, why did I just do that? A few weeks ago, I went into work at Fenway. When you go in, this nice old guy checks your bag and ID to make sure you're not trying to blow up the place. So I kind of bumped into him, and I think his hat kinda moved a little bit, and then I don't even know what I was thinking - I like tapped his hat back on or something, on the front of it. I really can't describe this moronic movement, but all I remember is me on the inside SCREAMING at myself. Like, what was I THINKING? Is this guy like two years old? And he kinda chuckled or giggled or made some sort of sound, probably to make me feel less embarrassed, or maybe because he was thinking, "What the fuck?" and you know what, I wouldn't have blamed him one stupid bit. God, that has to be the most embarrassing moment of the summer. Really. I think it was because I was embarrassed not only by myself, but FOR myself. Like, I felt bad for myself that I had to feel that way about myself. Good lord.

I can't even write any more. I just think that was too embarrassing. At a certain point, I think you cross a line. And that hat incident crossed it. I wasn't even going to write about it, because I felt like if I didn't acknowledge it, I could pretend it didn't happen. But every time I go into Fenway, I have to go past him. The poor guy doesn't even act like he knows who I am, so it might be okay, but I just think, if I were him, every time I walked by, I'd be like, "What the fuck?" Just every time. This total bewildered look. Just total bewilderment.

As an end note, today marked the last day for my summer in Boston. When I get back from this Cape Cod excursion, I'll move to Warren and begin RA training. And the thing is, back in May, I had all these grand plans for myself. Really. I was like Columbus. I really thought I was going to freaking change my life or something this summer. I was going to be fluent in Spanish from just reading a book and talking with my co-workers. The closest I've come to learning another language this summer is developing a good Boston accent. I also thought I was going to manage my finances. Instead, I opened a Gap card and depleted my savings. And I really was set on making these paper collages for my friends, with pictures and cool paper scraps. Well, today I pasted together some garbage bags to line a blue cart, and I guess you could technically call that a collage.

OH MY GOD. I JUST HEARD THAT STUPID END OF THE OASIS SONG. Really. The whooping. And then all these people screaming for an encore. It is so bad. God. Right in the middle of my explanation of my summer, I get interrupted. I can't even finish out my intention to explain my summer plans. Classic.

Walks of Fame & Shame

I read today that Donald Duck earned his very own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. The writer felt it necessary to include that "a person dressed in a duck costume," not Donald Duck himself, was present at the ceremony.

People are morons.

The whole Walk of Fame is ridiculous anyhow, with a CARTOON getting a square - not to mention the newest additions, Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen, alongside the old stand-bys of Lassie, Rin Tin Tin, and Pat Sajak. Oh yeah, very good company.

Anyhow, the whole Hollywood walk thing got me thinking that I should make a walk of my own. My walk is the Roomus Walk of Shame. It's imaginary though because I don't own any sidewalk. Here is a preliminary draft:

Square #1: Madame La Vache (Mrs. Cow)

(The name has been altered so that if she ever actually Googles herself - which she is vain enough to do - she will never, ever, EVER reach this site. And uhh the language - French - has also been altered. I really took a different AP language.)

La Vache (LV) taught me French. Well, she didn't teach me anything, because she was just about the worst teacher you can ever imagine. She had the worst French accent, and she was annoying as all hell, but basically, she was just an awful, awful person to know. I'm sorry. It sounds horrible, but you just don't understand. She was awful.

I would have to give oral presentations. During one of them, she kept making these horrible faces, which is pretty hard to do considering that she has a pretty awful mug already. But anyhow, I kept stopping because I couldn't concentrate with all of her exasperated sighs and scrunched up cringes. So she says, "Elana, could you please not stop all the time?" And I said, "Well, I can't help it, you keep making faces at me. I can't concentrate like that." That was the beginning.

I didn't take the AP French test, just to spite the bitch. (Wow, that sounds intense, but whatever, I don't think I've ever disliked a person more than LV.) So out of ten of us in class, five took the test. Five showed up for class while the rest of the class took the AP exam. She decided to give us a mock AP test - and count it - because she thought it wasn't fair that the other kiddies had to sit through an entire 3 hour exam for $65, earning them college credit. Riiiight. So I told her I wouldn't take the test unless the others had to, or unless she didn't count it. And she said to me, "Well Elana, you can argue with me from today until next year, and it's not going to make a difference." So I said, "Well, if it's not going to make a difference to you, I'd like to keep going becasue I'm not quite done yet." She hated that. She called my house on that one.

I think the whole relationship was shot to shit when she yelled at me one day. I was talking to my friend. She had been writing on the blackboard, probably fucking up the French language yet again, and she turned to me and said, "Elana! Do you know what I'm about to say?" So I answered, "No." Then she sighed a pathetic, whiny sigh and she said, "Do you think if you were paying more attention, you would know what I'm about to say?" And I said, "No. I don't think I'd know what you're ABOUT to say. I don't know what you're ABOUT to say either way. Do you even know what you're ABOUT to say? I don't know what you SAID because I was talking, but I can't be held accountable for knowing something you haven't even said yet." I think she wanted to slap me.

Anyhow, we didn't have a very good relationship at all. Donc,elle gagne la place supérieure sur ma Promenade de la Honte, que stupide, bonne à rien, porc-visage bete. (Loosely translated to mean: So, she earns the top square on my Walk of Shame, that stupid, good-for-nothing, pig-faced beast.)

Square #2: Warren Towers Dining Hall Sargeant Brad

Freshman year, I had this student teaching thing in Lexington. I'd leave at 7:05 AM. 7:05 because I waited until the dining hall opened to run in and get a pre-packed meal for breakfast/lunch. They had some moron operating the cash register area and she would swipe me in for breakfast, then she'd swipe my card again to charge me for the packed lunch. I couldn't deal with the fact that she was charging me for breakfast - $5.95 - when I wasn't eating anything, I was just walking to the back to get a brown bag. She was literally charging me for walking into the room. There's a policy that you're not supposed to take more than one item of food out with you at a time. This policy is flawed, not because you should be able to take anything, but because it catches the wrong offenders. They don't catch the people that pack away the salad bar in their backpacks. They stop the people with two bananas. Drives me insane. Anyhow, I had had enough of this crap about charging me for breakfast and lunch for just walking into the dining hall, so I decided I was going to have breakfast one day. So I didn't have time to eat breakfast, so what I did was, I took some bagels and fruit, roughly enough to be worth $5.95. I started walking out of the dining hall when Brad, who thought his position as Dining Hall Student Manager made him freaking National Employee of the Month, started following me out. I admit that I started walking faster. Then he broke out into his marathon run and caught up with me, stood in front of me and put his hand out to stop this theft from continuing. What a loser. All he needed was a freakin Gold Badge and he could have been Officer Asshole.

Anyhow, he told me that I couldn't take the stuff out. So I gave him my reasoning, and then he said that they had to charge me the two meals. He gave me some stupid excuse, and I wasn't having any of it. So he told me he was going to take the food back. So I asked him why, and told him he couldn't do that, how did he know what I had done to the food? He couldn't put it back out there. And he told me he didn't care, that he would put it back out there and assume I hadn't done anything bad to it between the dining hall door and where we were (about 100 feet). So I took out a bagel and licked it.

He didn't take the food back, but I didn't make any dining hall buddies that day. He earns Square #2.

Square #3: Jose Offerman

Read the rant in the July Archives. Piece of Junk!!!!!!

Square #4: Mario Lopez/A.C. Slater

Mario earns a spot for cheating on his wife like the night before they were married, causing her insane amounts of pain and humiliation when she had to file for divorce like a week after their wedding, before they had even opened all of their wedding gifts. Looooooooser.

A.C. Slater because his name is Albert Clifford, and because he thought he was cooler than Zack Morris (impossible) and because he did a ballet dance, and because he had Brillo-pad hair, and because he called Zack "Preppie" and thought that was owning him, and because he dated Jessie Spano and called her "Sugarlips," and lastly, and possibly most importantly, because he constantly wore sweatpants with those elastic cuffs at the bottom.

Square #5: Ting-Ting

Ting-Ting will be a graduate student at the School of Education this fall. Because she is deaf and was born one hundred years and two days after Helen Keller, she believes she is the Chinese Helen Keller. Puhleaze. She would call daily to ask the same question. Because she is deaf, she would have this AT&T relay service do the call, and we'd have to talk to her through that. The relay person would even get fed-up and say to me, "You just answered her question," but I'd have to maintain this very nice, steady tone while saying to her, "No, Ting-Ting, you must send the financial information to our office. We do not call your bank and request it," when I really wanted to say, "You fucking lazy moron, I do not give a fuck if you are Helen Keller reincarnated, if you have had a movie inspired by you, airing on the Chinese version of Lifetime television, if you have written four 'How to be a Moron Like Me' books, I don't care if you're calling from a fucking hut in China, do it yourself." Because I never got to say that to the lovely Ting-Ting and more, she earns spot number five.

Square #6: JoAnn, who apparently runs J.Crew

I placed an order with J.Crew about a month ago. I paid for standard shipping. No kidding, three weeks later, my stuff arrived. So I called up J.Crew and told them that I wanted a refund for the shipping costs. JoAnn, the person who picked up, politely told me that my request was impossible (turns out, it's not). So I asked JoAnn to speak to someone else. I was polite about it. I thanked her for her help. I said, "I appreciate your help and understand that you might not be able to do anything for me, but could I please speak to someone else or a manager?" JoAnn responded to this by saying, "No. There is no one else." Hmmm. That's funny. I didn't think J.Crew, a major national clothing company, would only employ one person. She would have to answer phones, take orders, place orders, design inventory, order inventory, staff stores, fold clothes, stock rooms, clear the registers... I mean, this is a lot for one person! So I said, "So, JoAnn, do you run J.Crew then?" And she kind of laughed and said, "Well, no..." so I said, "Well then, there MUST be someone else! Can I please speak to whoever that is?" And then she transferred me.

WITHOUT EVEN SAYING GOODBYE! For idiocy and bad phone manners, JoAnn gets spot #6.

Square #7: Joseph Lally, the guy who signed off on BU's

This guy is the guy who signed off on all of BU's elevators and said they were in working condition. He earns Square #7 for being a fraud.

Square #8: Cab Girl

Last night, I met this dad guy who was waiting for his daughter to get to the park. He needed some guidance in how to get his 19 year old daughter to Fenway. She was a student at Northeastern. He was in town for a few days, and he had gotten them (amazing) seats to the game last night. I heard his daughter scream at him from the phone that she was TRYING as hard as she could to get there, but she didn't want to take the T. She kept giving him the worst attitude ever. Anyhow, he finally says okay, she should just take a cab. So fifteen minutes later, the guy comes back. He was such a nice guy, just wanted to see the game with his daughter. I was surprised to see him back, and he said, "Yeah. She walked all the way from Northeastern to the Ritz, because she didn't realize you could just put your hand out and hail a cab. She went to the hotel where there had been a whole line of them."

And I thought Northeastern was toughening up its admissions criteria.

Square #9: Bloggers & IM addicts

People who take their blogs and IM profiles seriously deserve to be shot in the leg.

Square #10: The Hollywood Walk of Fame Committee

The whole Hollywood Walk of Shame is a big farce. I should be on the committee. I did some research on it earlier today and found that although Mel Gibson does not have a star, Mary Kate and Ashley do. So does Pat Sajak. Actually, MK and Ashley were upset that they had to share a star. Well, I'm upset that they actually get a star. Really. Since when does being the "inspiration" behind a $300 million White Trash Walmart franchise get you a place on the Hollywood walk? There needs to be tougher requirements. They're giving them out too freely if you ask me. Nobody asked me, by the way, which is why Tim Allen is getting one this year. His last big hit was "The Santa Clause" and Mr. Braveheart is still waiting on an invite. This is ridiculous. I think you should need an Oscar or Grammy to get one of these. Limit it to one person per year. Before you know it, Joey Fatone will be getting a star for being the ugliest NSYNCer, right next to Marlon Brando. This just isn't right. In twenty years, if the Olsen twins haven't done anything, they will have gotten a star for playing a pig-tailed moron on "Full House." Do you understand the severity of that offense?

Top 10 Ways I Know I'm Going to Hell

1. I laugh at my Aunt Beverly, without feeling guilty. (Maybe just a little.) I laugh when she feels like a moron, like the time that my grandmother made her look like an idiot in front of the entire family at a Chinese restaurant. Here's the story: my grandmother got my aunt's husband a Christmas gift a few years back. So on Christmas, they go to open presents, and her husband tells her he wants a divorce. So, granted, that's not the best thing to say on Christmas morning, and so she's allowed some pity points. But then, she goes and STILL gives the man the present my grandmother got him for Christmas. (reason to laugh/feel bad number one) So, like a month later, we're all sitting at this Chinese restaurant and my grandmother asks about the sweater she got him. My grandmother, Miss Sensitivity, wants it back, so she can return it to probably Filene's Basement and get her $7.99 back. I'm not even joking. So she asks Bev for it, and Bev says, "I gave it to him." So in front of like ten of us, my grandmother goes, "What were you thinking?!" And Bev starts to talk, and she begins, "Well, I wasn't thinking..." and then my grandmother interrupts her and yells, "No! No you weren't thinking AT ALL!" Come on, you have to laugh at a situation like that.

I also laughed when I found out that my aunt's bird flew away on her, after she took it to the beach.

Let me say that again: She took. a bird. to the beach. Whatever happened to just taking a good book?

2. I didn't give the Anakara delivery guy a tip. I hate not giving tips, but he was ridiculous. I ordered my dinner at 10 PM, a vegetable wrap. And at 11:30, when it arrived, I said to the guy, "You know, I hate to complain, and I'm sure it's not your fault, but I ordered dinner over an hour ago." And he goes, "What do you want me to do about it?" in this totally rude tone, and so I didn't give him a tip. Well, I did, because I didn't want the change back, but a tip of like 82 cents sucks. So I felt kind of bad. Until I went upstairs, opened my wrap, and found that I had paid $6.18 for a circle of dough, some lettuce, two tomatoes, half an onion, and two cucumbers. I hate Ankara Cafe. And I hate how they answer the phone too.

3. This morning, I was walking into the bathroom and the door swung open and hit the cleaning lady, and she yelled at me. She said, "That was thoughtless," and I said, "I'm sorry, but it wasn't thoughtless," which could be taken as though I was either a. saying sorry and then adding that it was not thoughtless, or b. me just correcting her. I think she took it like b., even though I (really do think I) meant a., but I didn't say anything further. I probably shouldn't have even commented on the "thoughtless" discrepancy because English isn't her first language, but I did. And, I kind of hope she gets a bump.

4. At Sox games, the security guys and I pick out the White Trash families. On hot days, we try to locate the sweatiest person.

5. At Towers, the mailroom puts out all the magazines that weren't forwarded to summer addresses in this huge bin. As I was coming in, I saw the employee put a pile in the bin, with InStyle on top. So I walked over to the bin, and started taking the InStyle. Then I hear someone go, "Oh! I've been waiting all week for that InStyle!" And I just pretended not to hear her.

6. I told an eleven-year-old last night that Nomar is now with the Cubs. The parents explained to me that they had told their son that Nomar was coming back at some point, and I said, "Well, I guess if he still believes in Santa, he can still believe in Nomar." And the kid goes, "What about Santa?"

7. I went to a birthday party and moved a nursery school sign from the front of a store. Although I didn't handle the sign myself, I also am employing a pretty loose definition of the word "moved" in that sentence.

8. If I go to a place with a bench, and there's some mysterious looking stuff on one end of the bench, I take the good part and make my friend sit on the bad part.

9. I've never read "Uncle Tom's Cabin," even though it's been assigned like five times to me, and I won't ever read it. It's not because I'm pro-slavery or anti-Harriet Beecher Stowe. It was just that at the time it was assigned, I was pretty upset with the professor for assigning a 500 page book for two days, and I made that my "statement book," meaning that I would refuse to read it. I think everyone deserves a "statement book," but I think the fact that I picked "Uncle Tom's Cabin" as mine makes it necessary to end up on this list.

10. Last night, while working the Sox game, I was in charge of Gate A before the game started. So this guy comes over to me and he has his kid brother with him. The brother is in a heavy-duty wheelchair, with a mask over his face, braces everywhere. The kid is in rough shape. And the guy points to his brother in the wheelchair and says to me, "Hi. I have a ticket, but my brother here, he doesn't have a ticket. Can you let us in?"

And I said no.

Rules of the Road

Someone once asked me to name something I was really good at and to name something I was really bad at. I said I was great at Wheel of Fortune. Like Ken Jennings great. I stick by that. For what I was bad at, I said I was bad at crossing the street.

When I told people about this conversation, their reactions were always the same. "Really? You're really good at Wheel of Fortune?" and then, "Oh, yeah dude, you definitely suck at crossing the street."

I guess it is common knowledge among most of my friends that my street-crossing skills need work. The source of my weakness, I have discovered, is my timing. It's all off. There are three types of street-walkers: 1. the people who never cross against the light, even if there are no cars anywhere; 2. the people who cross at any time, halting traffic as they walk at the slowest, most deliberate pace ever; and then there's the third, most dangerous, most annoying group, and that's me - the people who walk up to the corner, hestitate, take a step forward, hesitate, then go at the last minute, forcing them into an awkward run/walk combo while causing the cars passing to at least slow down so as to not cause vehicular manslaughter.

Yeah, I'm in that third group.

It's pretty embarrassing. It's actually a real problem. Sometimes, I'll even look ahead to see the light and see if it's green or red. If the light is red, and I'm far enough back, I'll actually slow down a little bit. I really hate the whole awkward routine of standing at the corner, looking at the light, biting your lip, looking at the cars waiting and trying to determine if the drivers look like they're the type to step on it as soon as the red turns to green, thus mowing you down in the process, or whether they look like their foot is calmly placed on the floor - not the gas pedal - and so you are safe to wander across. I also have to consider whether crossing will put me into the walk/run/look apologetically at the impatient driver routine, because that is to be avoided at all costs.

The best action is to make a quick decision and go with it. Even a fake-out (when you step into the street and then step right back) is better than standing there, looking all nervous about it, because with a fake-out you at least look like you are in charge and aware and still playing it safe. This entire scenario is made easier, by the way, with more people at the corner. If you have a group, you can basically go whenever you want. So sometimes at an especially difficult cross, I will try to slow down or speed up to make it to the edge of a large group so I can just avoid the whole responsibility for making my own decision dilemma and cross with the group.

If there is nobody there to save me from myself, then I have a few other tricks I use. I try to make eye contact with some driver waiting. I figure, making eye contact is like signing a silent contract: I will not kill you. Then I usually go. I still end up in my walk/run routine, but at least then... you know, I was going to write an excuse for "at least then" but really, I've got nothing. The bottom line with walk/run is that it's always a little embarrassing.

Some crosses are just difficult, even for the most advanced and experienced crossers, so you just have to deal with it. Like in Kenmore Square, there is this awful cross. It's a pretty big street, and traffic can come at you from like four different areas. No matter who has a red light, someone can turn up the street and can kill you. It's really a matter of life and death sometimes. So what I do is, I just go whenever. I don't even wait for a light, I just go when there aren't any cars coming right at me. I figure, that way, if I die, at least I gave it a good shot and I was on the hardest cross. People could be like, "Well, this is a terrible cross," rather than, say, regular old Commonwealth Avenue, when people would just shake their heads and say, "This is such an easy cross, she must be a moron." I'd rather be remembered in the other sense. So, I just go and hope for the best.

I used to think the cross to West Campus was tough, but I was out of my mind. That one's really a piece of cake.

I have also gotten to be much better since being in London last summer, where buses will come thisclose to running you over. They really will. And, I was always double-checking myself every time I crossed even a side street because some loser was always going by at 200 miles per hour down what I consider the wrong side of the street. I would have to pull people back someimes. I do that sometimes and people get really upset at me. They look at me like, "I could have MADE that. What are you DOING??" And the truth is, I can only shrug and apologize. I'm trying to be nice when I try to save people from deaths that only I imagine, but nobody seems appreciative that I pulled them back to the curb, out of the danger of a truck 300 feet away. I've tried to stop, but I always think that with my luck, the one time I don't say something, my friend will end up on a dashboard.

Sadly, the whole street-crossing issue has sometimes manifested itself to when I'm just walking on the sidewalk. I attribute this, however, to the idiocy of bikeriders, skateboarders, rollerbladers, and people in other rolly devices. Here's the thing. It is a sideWALK. Not a sidebike, sideskate, sideblade, or siderolly. It is a sideWALK. Thereore, when I am WALKING, I feel like I should be boss. I'm in charge there. I feel like it's up to the other people to move around me. It drives me nuts when I have to stop and pull over and wait while some moron teeters on his bike to go around me. Which brings me to my next point: you should need a license to ride a bike on the sidewalk. You know how you need a license to drive a car down the street? I feel like with a bike on a sidewalk, you're as much of a hazard - if not more - than a bad driver.

I hate it when I'm walking down the street and some horrible bike rider is in front of you, teetering away. It's actually even worse when I'm driving. I HATE driving by bike riders. Especially ones that suck at it. Because let's face it. If a bike rider can't control his bike and he drives into my car and then flips over and dies, I'm going to have to pay for the damage done to my car, and I'm probably going to have to pay his family millions of dollars because he was some A+ person who cared for mentally disturbed animals, and I took his life away from him when he was just on a bike ride enjoying the summer afternoon. Do you see what I'm saying? This stuff can be really dangerous.

But if you're on the sidewalk, I hate it when you meet someone in a bike, and you have this face-off thing. I've been really grumpy in the past when I don't even respect the face-off routine and I just walk ahead anyway, making the bike rider teeter around even more. I'm sorry, and I'm sure the bike rider was one of the good guys, but sometimes, you just get fed up. You just do. But if you respect the face-off, then you have to stop, make eye contact, smile at the situation, you go left, he goes left, you go right, he goes right, you smile again, then one of you stops completely and lets the other person go, in effect giving them the "right of way." And this, THIS is what kills me. I HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY. And so, when I halt, out of respect for the bike rider, if he goes, that's just showing absolutely no respect for what should be the rules of the walk. Yeah. I just shortened sidewalk. I know, not the best move.

The other issue about the right of way is when you come to a complete walkblock. This occurs when a group of morons - usually female morons - decides to stop in the middle of the sidewalk to have a marathon conversation about Absolutely Nothing. I love when they choose convenient spots, such as right at the curb or directly in front of a doorway. It's just so considerate of the other walkers around them. Love that. If it were not a sidewalk, but a road, would you see a group of cards stopped in the middle of the street, chatting about the squirrels? Actually, you might. This is notorious for people with minivans. I'm not kidding. These people will stop and talk about the weather, their kids' soccer games, the color of the bottom of their shoes - all while blocking traffic with their big minivans. It reminds me of the version when they all block sidewalk traffic with their big minivan butts. (This is yet another reason why I will never, ever drive a minivan. I will seriously strap my kid the roof or take two trips rather than drive a minivan. I know this makes me a bad person, very superficial, and I know my family has had a van. But you know, some things are just not negotiable. Minivans are one of them.)

Maybe someday I will have improved my street-crossing skills to the point where when people ask me what I'm good and bad at, I'll have to think of another answer. I'm pretty awful at throwing a football, actually, now that I think about it. The key, by the way, to the "what are you good at/what are you bad at" questions is to choose something unique. Like, not everyone can be good at it, and not everyone can be bad at it. You have to pick a very specific skill in order to really personalize the whole conversation. It's a little difficult and you might find it takes a few days to come up with a really solid answer. That's what happened with me. But it's worth the wait, because then you have two really good answers and that's very satisfying. I'm curious to know what everyone else is good/bad at, so please, by all means, send it my way.

You got like, three feet of air that time.

If you ever think that death is too good for someone, put them in Dean Dee's class. I walked by today and she's sitting across from four students, who did god knows what to end up in that classroom with her. She's actually talking n her whispery-smile-pasted-onto-my-face voice. I would want to die. Anytime that I think I'm having a bad time anywhere, I'm just going to imagine myself in that classroom and I bet I will feel better instantly.

My buddy Dan and I have a pretty good time together, when we lived in Warren Towers. He lived directly above me, so whenever we'd want to play cards or avoid work, he would just stomp on the floor and pieces of my ceiling would fall down, and I'd know that it was game time. I beat him a few times at cards. I think he might have beaten me once or twice. I don't really remember. Anyhow, one night, it had been snowing like crazy and he decided he was hungry. Or bored. Possibly both. I was just looking to avoid James Joyce. So we went to Campco, in the snow. He was wearing these slide things without socks. In the snow. The DRIVING snow. (What's up with that phrase?) We get to Campco, and it's around 10:30. So he decides he wants to make a pizza. One of those Celeste numbers. But he needs an oven, so he decides to call Kim Santo, our hall director. Great idea. 10:30, she's got work tomorrow, normal people are going to bed soon and winding down, and Dan and I are in Campco, figuring out how to make him a gourmet meal. We decide to just call Kim. She answers, and I didn't talk to her, so I have no idea what she said, but Dan just kept saying, "Are you sure?" And then he said it was a go. So we decided to get the pizza. And then I thought, you know, we are going to her house at 10:30 at night (ok, her large dorm room/apartment) and we should bring her something to say thank you. How about... an Entenmann's cake? So then we decided that it was a good idea, because Dan could then have pizza and cake, and Kim could have cake, and we could all have cake and be happy.

That was the plan. Then we got a little sidetracked talking to people in Warren when we got back, and we finally made it to Kim's at 10:50. She opens the door, half asleep. I am not even exaggerating when I say that she was rubbing her eyes open when she greeted us. Dan, oblivious, walks in and starts heading towards the kitchen. I look at Kim and decide this is not a good idea, and we have to leave like five minutes ago in order to avoid any further embarrassment. Kim's in her pajamas, she's already been asleep. This all says to me: go back, or die. Well, sort of. So Kim is really reluctant at this point, but she wants to be all nice. Dan's setting the oven. He is in there. He can smell his frozen pizza and taste the cake. And then I do it. I can't stand the awkwardness in the room, the feeling that we HAVE TO LEAVE NOW. So I blurt out, "Sorry Kim, we're leaving, we are going now, it is time to go, you go to bed, sorry, we are losers, dinosaurs!, oh my god, I can't believe we're interrupting you, we are so sorry, we are losers, here is cake, bye." And with that, I shove the cake into Kim's hands, and she kinda nods at me, looking at me like I am a FREAK and Dan and I leave. We get into the stairwell, and Dan has a frozen pizza with him. He looks at me and shakes his head and yelps, in that bewildered tone he has,"What are you DOING?" He was not very happy with me, and I'm pretty sure he thinks I cost him his pizza. We're in the stairwell, not moving for a second, not sure what to do next, and then it hits him, and I think his anger level skyrocketed at that point. "You gave her the cake, too!" Silence on my part. "You MORON!" The thing is, Dan, like me, cannot keep a straight face when yelling. So he's yelling in the stairwell, and he's half laughing at the same time, so it wasn't that scary. He just started walking downstairs, mumbling to himself about how much of a freak I am and how much of a moron I was to just hand off the cake, his one shot at food for the night. So it's now around 11:00, and we decide the only way to fix the situation is to go buy another cake for him. So we do. We go back to Campco, and we buy another replica cake, and the cashier looks at us like we are freaks (which, at that point, one of us admittedly was) and then we go back upstairs, play some cards, and eat like two bites of the stupid thing. I took the cake back to my room with me and gave it to my residents to finish. I thought that was okay until the next night when we were playing cards and Dan asked, "Hey, where's that cake?"

To this day, I cannot look at an Entenmann's cake without laughing. And the thing is, "to this day" really isn't appropriate there because it only happened a few months ago. Maybe in a year, I'll look at an Entenmann's cake and not laugh at all. Although that would kind of make me sad, because it is one of the funnier memories I have.

I got in trouble a couple times when I was an RA. Not real trouble. Fake trouble. When we did move-in last fall, I was put on ID card duty. That meant that I would distribute the student IDs to the kids as they came in. It was a pretty boring task until I started to have some fun with it. It seemed like every single person who came by would say, "Ugh... my ID. I look like shit in that picture." And they all really looked fine. Except for a couple. But what I decided to do was, after the kid would say that, I would take the ID out, hold it up, squint at it, and go, "Ugh. You're right" and hand it to them. Then I would just start laughing and say I was totally joking, that the picture was fine. I was having a great time with this. Until one of the supervisors pulled me off that duty, because my sense of humor didn't really mesh. But even he was laughing. And, for the most part, the kids found it pertty funny too. Ironically, the only ones who didn't laugh were the girls who were the prettiest, and who looked the best in their picture. People are strange.

Also, I feel like this is a good spot to bring up some of the funnier ideas we've had this past summer. Dan, John, Stef and I were coming back from Napoleon Dynamite and we were coming up with some hum-DINGERS (say it, with the accent, all emphatic, and you have a winner there) for what to say to kids. Say your kid is fat.

You say to him, (and yell this, please), "Listen, you load, you are WALKING home from the restaurant tonight. Do you hear me? Your skinny brother can ride in the fron seat."

Or, on a hundred degree day, "Get outside! I don't care that you are in a sweatsuit! Jog in place. NOW! Faster. Sweat off a few pounds, porky!"

Some staples:
"No dessert for you!"
"Your brother can eat that, but you can't!"
"Walk FASTER!"
"Go throw that back up!"

At a baseball game: "How could you have missed that ball? What are you, blind?" (Screaming in the middle of the field)
"You better get a hit! You better get a hit! You better get a hit!"
"We love your brother better because he got a hit."
"What are you, handicapped?!"

In general: "Life was so much better before we had you."
"Yeah, you were pretty much an accident."
"RUN!"
"Man, we really hate you."

The list goes on. Credit to John Innes, Dan Reverri, and Stefanie Rydstrom for coming up with the above list. If you ever talk to Dan or John, get them to start on their rants. You seriously will fall out of your chair. If you're standing, you'll have to stop walking because you'll just die. Umm okay, I don't really know about that, but ask anyhow. Genius stuff there. Or, as Dan said, "I might just punch my kid randomly, just to confuse them." Can you imagine the kid? You'd walk up to him and he'd immediately be like, "Don't hit me!" "Make it stop!" "I didn't eat the donuts!" Oh man. I'm kind of thinking that if I find this funny, it's not a good thing.

I think I might be a disgrace to anybody who writes one of these things and takes them seriously with all of their deepest inner thoughts.

I talked about "Passions" yesterday. That has to be the worst acting on TV, aside from Jerry Springer. Seriously. Those folks are horrible. And you know, Luis has been after Sheridan for at least five years, and she's had ten billion comas. After a while, wouldn't the doctor just be like, "Ehh, just forget it" and give up? Maybe this is why I'm not going into medicine. Oh, and then there's Eve and Julian. Julian gives me the creeps, but at least that's one story line that got going finally. Oh, and one day, after not watching for like a year, I turned it on and Ivy was in a wheelchair. That made me burst out laughing for a good ten minutes. Not because wheelchairs are funny matters. Also, I don't know what happened to Grace and Sam, who told each other in every other sentence how much they loved the other. And Charity and Miguel, they had issues because Charity had these supernatural powers and she was a freak. And then there's Antonio, Miguel and Luis's older brother who stole Sheridan. I really think it's a bad show when the three hispanic guys are named Antonio, Miguel, and Luis. Really. What did they, go to Taco Bell and ask for suggestions? Anyhow, I also love the trademark Spanish accent that their mother has. I can't remember her name. Oh, they also have a sister Teresa. Anyhow, the mother was like some maid, and now she's rich and one of them, somehow, I don't really remember. Anyway, she'll talk without an accent and then suddenly she'll say Luis and she'll sound like she's in Mexico. Quality proramming. QUAL-ITY.

Does anybody remember the show "Sisters"? When I was little, I loved that show. I would watch it religiously. They showed reruns on lifetime. I remember that's when I first loved George Clooney, who ended up marrying Teddy and then getting blown up in his car. That was so sad. They had these stupid flashbacks that ruined the show though, when they'd have these little kids remember what it was like back in their childhood. Who needs that sentimental crap? At one point, Ashley Judd was on there. That had to be a low point for her. But the show was pretty popular. I remember one season though when John Whitsig, Georgie's husband, decided not to work and he just sat around in his bathrobe and became a popular singer. Yeah, that was realistic.

I don't know why I watch so much crap on TV, but I do. And I did. And it's been great. You know which show I could never get into though, was "Perfect Strangers." I hated that stupid show with Balki and Larry and Jennifer and Jennifer's stupid sister. What a dumb show. I hated all of them. I also never liked "Family Matters." Except for this one episode, when Carl feels guilty about not being able to save this guy who went to the convenience store for some ice cream and wound up dying. It is a very moving episode, at the end, when Carl goes to the grave and the widow comes over and talks to him. And Carl says he's sorry, and he kinda breaks down and the widow tells him that it's not his fault, that she feels guilty too because she was the one who wanted him to go get ice cream, and he did, and he died, and so it's really nobody's fault. Well, actually, it's both of their faults, but for an 8:30 PM show, it's nobody's fault, shit happens. Regardless of blame, it was a very good episode. But in general, I didn't like it. I hated Urkel. And when he became Stephan Urkell or whatever he became, I was like, "riiiight." And Laura wasn't that great, he should have given up. Didn't he have a girlfriend, Janine? And also, a major flaw of the show was that Carl and the wife (what was her name?) originally had three kids: Eddie, Laura, and Jeannie (Name?) and then suddenly, Jeannie or whoever disappeared. That was a pretty nice touch. And also, Aunt Rachel or whoever thought she was pretty great, but how great can you be when you have that stupid little brat Ricky running around, no husband, and you're living in your sister's basement?

You've heard my rant on Full House. TV is the only place where it can even be considered cool to live with your ENTIRE family and have only one bathroom. PS, sad as it is, it JUST hit me that was the meaning of "Full House," the title of the show. God that is embarrassing. It is tough to be embarrassed in front of yourself. I said that before, and the truth remains.

The other day, one of my bosses her got tired of dealing with this student who was driving everyone insane with all of her phone calls to the office. So we were looking at her file, and she started to draw a mustache on the girl's picture sent from the testing site. Not obvious, so it was perfect. It looks like the testing center messed up and she has a line or mark right above her lip. Awesome. It really made my afternoon.

A few epilogue notes on Nomar:
- Read Bill Simmons. He brought up a good point: not one teammate has come to the defense of Nomar. Not one teammate has said he'll miss Nomar. Interesting.
- Read Bob Ryan. He says you'll never know, the truth is somewhere between what Nomar says and what management says.
- I think the question is: Was Nomar's future in Boston doomed after he would not accept the $60 million offer, or was Nomar's future in Boston doomed after Epstein went after A-Rod, in "response" to Nomar's rejection? As Bob Ryan says, you'll never know. And maybe that hurts the most, but I think the only way to move on is to just do it. The end.

The Change of Heart

My favorite Nomar epithet: "Lying Boston Backstabber," courtesy of Boston Dirt Dogs.

Yeah, if you read yesterday, I changed my mind. Or rather, I began actually using it.

On July 24, Nomar met with his agent, Dr. Evil, and Theo Epstein, John Henry and Larry Lucchino. Nomar's version: "We talked about the season." Theo and Co.'s version: "We talked about Nomar." I think I'll go with... Theo. Seriously. Give me a break. "They asked me what I thought about the season so far," said Nomar. How about not. They talked about: a. your general unhappiness, b. your mysterious injury that continues to reappear, and c. whether you would be willing to sign with the Sox come this winter. And my guess is that your answers were: a. I hate you, b. I hate you, and c. I really hate you! And, going on that, Theo had no choice but to say, "Fuck you, Nomah," and ship you off. And to that, I say, It's about time.

My entry yesterday was bittersweet. I felt bad for the guy. And then I got over it. Waaaaaaaaaaay over it. OVA. O-V-A. OVA it.

Where should I begin?

I guess what really started getting me is when I faced the reality that Nomar was unhappy and was causing everyone else around him to be unhappy. I guess what they say is really true about girls: no girl wants to believe a guy doesn't like her. It's hard to understand how the feeling can't be mutual; you have so much love for the guy and he's just got nothing in return. I kind of feel that way about Mr. Garciaparra, though as I acknowledged yesterday, the circumstances are complicated.

I go back and forth. Sometimes I feel like the management is to blame for trying to trade Nomar. I feel like last December was the end. When Nomar made that fateful phone call to WEEI from his honeymoon in Hawaii (I mean really, when you're on your honeymoon, in Hawaii, are you going to be listening to talk radio? I sure hope not.), that sealed the end of the Nomar Era, if you ask me. After that, it was done. Here was a guy who always respected his owners, GM, and manager. He never publicly held an argument with a teammate or official. Except once, when the official scorer gave him an error. And when that was reported, people used Nomar's outrage to add to the credibility of his claim: Nomar never got angry, never argued. He was always, above all, respectful. And now, here he was, calling out his bosses on national (well, national to Red Sox "Nation") radio. Just taking a guess, but I think that signaled the beginning of the end for everyone.

And so, when the Sox began the season, it becaming increasingly obvious that Nomar wasn't happy and Nomar wasn't gonna be Nomah for much longer. And what really kills me is that Nomar didn't maintain his respectful attitude that had become his trademark. Byung-Hyung Kim was more respectful of the fans than Nomar was at the end. Let him talk all he wants about how he respected the uniform, how he respected the tradition, how he respected the fans. You know what I say to that? Bullllllsheeeeeet, Nomah. Bullshit!

Maybe I'm mistaken, but, oh, I don't know, I figure that to be respectful of a team and its tradition, you need to do everything in your power to play every day and help the team win. And, again, I might be wrong here, but I think that to do that, you have to be supportive of your team and sincere in your efforts. Again, I don't really know if I'm on the right track here. I'm just taking a stab in the dark.

Remember when Nomar first got his injury? In March, Garciaparra had this little "tweak" in his Achilles. "A couple days' rest," said happyman Terry Francona. Maybe Francona was speaking about a couple of days in the Biblical sense, because as far as I know, no two days last two months - not even on "Passions." (By the way, "Passions" did have a New Year's Eve cruise that lasted two weeks. When the cruise finally docked, we had seen about five almost-fights, three almost-found-out-that-your-mom-is-my-daughter, and three midget takedowns, all of which amounted to nothing so that they could play back the exact same storyline with all the teasers on the next big event, like the Passions prom, when all the adults dress up and go too. Who the hell invents this shit?) So anyway, Nomar's minor "day-to-day" injury sidelined him until JUNE. JUNE. JUNE! And while the Sox played the Yankees, Nomar sat with Larry Bird and watched the Celtics. He watched the Bruins. He went around town. He went to California. He went everywhere but Fenway Park, everywhere but his living room couch, where he should have been, RESTING his foot. Not walking around everywhere. So, when he says now that he knew the injury would take him the season to recover, and when he says that he knew only rest would really help, and he could rest in the offseason, I'm sorry, I have to ask, WHY WEREN'T YOU RESTING IT WHILE YOU SAT OUT FOR TWO FREAKIN MONTHS? Am I the only one here? Hello? Anybody? Bueller?

And then what really got me is that after playing for a month, he told management that he'd need considerable time off. You asshole. You already GOT time off. Nomar thought his M.D. in Bullshit was more significant than the MRI, and so he deemed himself unable to play. Nobody puts up with this crap when Manny pulls it, and I don't think anybody should when Nomar does. But, Nomar would not be deterred. He threatened a trip to the DL. When Nomar signaled he wouldn't be available reliably for the rest of the season, that's when I think Epstein had had enough. And thank god for that.

I love this exchange between Lucchino and Nomar: "I called him in his hotel room just to wish him luck and thank him for all he did for the franchise," Sox CEO Larry Lucchino said last night. "Then I asked him, 'How's the heel?' He said, 'It's great.'" "(I said,) 'Great? How can it be great? Two days ago, you thought you were going to have to go on the DL.' He said, 'Yeah, well, it's great now.'"

If that doesn't sound like an asshole, I really don't know what qualifies.

Oh, wait, this might too:

"[The Cubs] didn’t have the concerns physically for Nomar that the Red Sox had. They have no doubt that he’ll give 100% here. (Gerry Callahan: Really, it can’t be both... if he gives 100% and doesn’t go on the DL for the Cubs, then he was tanking it for the Red Sox) I know, well that’s my conclusion frankly. If he doesn’t miss a substantial number of games, then yes, I believe so. The conditions that existed in Boston, do not exist here." (Chicago Tribune reporter giving information.)

Maybe his Achilles tendon is particularly susceptible in the Boston area.

OR MAYBE HE IS AN ASSHOLE!

Gerry Callahan's reply to the reporter's comments, I believe, is the best: "He's (Nomar's) a complete disgrace, he's a fraud, he's a phony."

I don't believe there would be this much resentment if Nomar had played faithfully and had been sincere. I really believe if he had played every game he could, if he hadn't played up his injury, he would have been remembered with such great affection regardless of the outcome. Nobody hates Mo Vaughn (...right?) Nobody hates Dennis Eckersley or Carlton Fisk. These guys, they played elsewhere, but while in Boston, they embodied the uniform, no holding anything back. Nomar didn't. Nomar became a whiny superstar who refused to get over himself. He couldn't get over his personal grievance for the good of the team. He wouldn't do it. And that's unforgiveable. And he was a phony, and he was a fake, and he was an asshole. And he wasn't respectful. Nobody can say they respect a team and a city and a fanbase when they aren't working to achieve the common goal. And he wasn't.

If Nomar really wanted to respect his team and his city and his fans, he would have looked to some of his teammates. Three other big names are up for free agency this falL: Varitek, Lowe, and Pedro. Two of the three have whined about it, about the lack of respect the club showed them. Now I bet Derek Lowe wished he had shut up and taken his money. Pedro won't take anything unless it's given to him on a golden plate. But look at Jason Varitek. Here's a guy who is without question the leader on the team. He prepares for a game with detailed charts and videos. He holds team meetings. He steals bases, for godsake. I haven't heard about Varitek ONCE complaining about the team. Or about any injury. Or about any management. Not once. And out of the four, he's the most valuable to them! Maybe Nomar should have taken a page from Varitek's book. Or how about Trot Nixon, who signed a contract extension this spring, for considerably less than he's worth (questionable now with a lingering injury, but still)? How about David Ortiz, who did the same? And yes, I will throw Brian Daubach in the group, as a guy who has been embarrassed by management more times than he's struck out (a difficult feat for the Dauber): first he's not even offered a contract and plays with the White Sox in 2003, then he comes back for a measly (I know, measly!) $500,000 this year, and, in opening weekend at Fenway Park, he's sent down to Pawtucket. He's recalled, only to be sent back down while Andy Dominique - ANDY DOMINIQUE! - takes his locker. Really! And he does it all. And he goes to Pawtucket, sucks it up, and bangs it up. That's some respect. How about Pokey Reese? How about Kevin Millar, who has had real trouble swinging, but is out there defending and supporting and cheering on every one of his teammates? I didn't see Nomar once cheer for anybody but himself and his stupid multimillion dollar contract. Giv me a break.

I wrote this whole sentimental thing yesterday about how Boston loved Nomar and Boston should remember the love. And yeah, it should. But it should also remember that it wasn't reciprocated. Nomar didn't love Boston. If he had, it would have been a no-brainer: sign for the $60 million, finish out your career in Boston, get your number retired, own the city. Really, it was a pretty easy decision. ... IF you liked where you were. And clearly, Nomar didn't. So fuck him. That's what I say. Ultimately, that's my stand on it. So I guess when Nomar comes back to Fenway Park, I hope the Sox fans show Nomar the same respect he showed us all season.

Boo the hell out of him.

The Nomar Entry

I was never a great fan of Nomar Garciaparra, but Boston was. The city of Boston loved Nomar, perhaps more than they loved the Red Sox themselves. Maybe it was Ted Williams who began the decade-long love affair, when he bestowed Nomar with his blessing to be the greatest player - even better than himself - for the Sox. I don't know what started it; maybe it was just his raw talent. When he won the Rookie of the Year in 1997, he could beat the other team at hitting, fielding, running, strength, mentality, you name it, he was better at it.

He won the batting title twice, he shattered so many records held by former Red Sox players, he flirted with .400. He held batting clinics in Boston during the off-season, he held the Nomar Bowl, he set up charity funds, he had the Dunkin' Donuts dugout. Every kid in New England owned a Nomar jersey. Girls who didn't know the difference between a baseball and Tiffany's diamond at least knew enough to get a tiny pink Nomar t-shirt. The infamous J.P. Licks' Cherry Garciaparra. They were practically ready to leave a space between retired numbers 4 and 8, ready for Nomar's 5 when the day would come. Somewhere, between his rookie of the year season and last October, Boston adopted Nomah as their treasured icon.

Then it all went wrong.

There are two sides to every story, but this one seems especially complicated. Did the Sox get too greedy? Suddenly, when Alex Rodriguez became "available," Nomar no longer mattered. I had an analogy a while back, comparing Nomar to a guy not interested in a desperate girl. Someone commented on that. "You make it seem like the girl was totally devoted to the guy in that scenario, that she just wasn't picking up the clues. But it's not like that. To be a true comparison, the girl would have to be seriously contemplating on cheating on her boyfriend, and her boyfriend would have to find out in the school newspaper or something cheesy like that." And aside from the fact that only in Saved by the Bell were these gossip items actually published in a newspaper (actually on that shitty radio program hosted by none other than Zack and company - did you notice, by the way, how in every high school show, the characters run everything? Zack ran the school store, the radio station, the yearbook, etc. and David Silver ran the radio station on 90210... I'm getting distracted.) Bottom line: The Sox were ready to ship off Nomar last December. It wasn't a change of heart that had Theo keeping Nomar around. It was, as it always is in baseball, about money: the deal with A-Rod fell through. So, to revise, in a way, it's as though the girl said, "I like the guy I'm with, but you know, I really like Steve. So I'll go after Steve. Please Steve, date me. PLEASE. No? Umm, okay. I'll go back to Mike. Mike, I love you buddy, you are the best. You just hadn't been paying much attention to me, but now I'm back, so love me again." So I suppose the Sox, being the girl in the scenario, take some responsibility. Not surprisingly, Nomar wasn't that quick to forgive the Sox, and I doubt Mike would be all that crazy about picking up with that girl again. (The names Mike and Steve have no significance, and I'm a little worried about the detail of the analogy.)

There's the other side, that says Nomar rejected a 4-year, $60 million dollar contract back in the winter, after the 2003 season, when even Angry Bill was optimistic and excited about the upcoming season. Kevin Millar maybe said it best: "He turned down $60 million dollars. That's a lot of money each season. That says something about happiness." Okay, so maybe that wasn't saying it BEST, but coming from a teammate, even one as outspoken and candid as Millar, you have to assume that it's at some level being more polite than honest. In other words, Millar was really saying, "Nomah's not gonna feel like cowboyin up for us anytime soon." The press depicted Nomar as miserable, his departure after the 2004 season inevitable. Dan Shaughnessy wrote that Michael Moore would be happier to attend a Bush family reunion than Nomar was playing with the Sox.

I don't know. Part of me wants to believe that Nomar would have signed with the Sox after 2004, that he would have seen how much love Boston has shown him, how much they want to give to him. But the realistic part of me knows that was impossible: Nomar wasn't coming back. Nomar was never very outgoing with the media, but this season, he's barely been quoted in any reporter's column. He's rarely smiled while in the dugout, or while at-bat. When the team beat the Yankees last Saturday in dramatic fashion, it might have been the first time I'd seen Nomar excited this season.

Does that make him a bad guy? Shaughnessy seems to think so. In his column Sunday, he wrote, "He can say whatever he wants in front of the camera and he can flash that insincere smile, but make no mistake: he hates Boston and he hates the Red Sox and you should be glad that he's gone. If you are a Red Sox fan, he is not your friend." I hate to believe it, but it feels better. It makes the pain of having Nomar gone a little less intense when I can think that he hated Boston, that he didn't want anything to do with the people who loved him so much.

But I can't convince myself of that. I believe that Nomar hated the Red Sox organization for trying to trade him. But who wouldn't? The Sox and Nomar (okay, Nomah) are synonymous. He helps the popularity of the team, no doubt. Change that. He helped. It's tough. I can't imagine a Sox team without Nomar. I was sure he was going to end his career - many, many years from now, and with a ring to show for it - with the Red Sox.

Instead, he leaves. Shaughnessy was so quick to condemn the guy, to bring up his pessimism, his isolation in the clubhouse, his extended injury. But a month ago, he was writing a different column. Nomar had a grand slam for the Sox, but Shaughnessy was more impressed by Nomar's contribution off the field: Nomar had bought a widescreen tv for a homeless shelter, where four men gathered religiously to watch their Red Sox. Say what you will about the guy, but my guess is that the four men will miss watching number 5 on the TV he provided for them, when they next gather to watch the Sox.

I don't think the Sox will miss Nomar as a hitter or a shortstop. After the 2001 season, he went from being the best to being one of the best. The Jeter-Nomar argument got tired, because someone could just shout "A-Rod!" and that was that. When Nomar sat on the bench and watched the now-infamous Jeter dive into the stands, it became clear to everyone that Nomar Garciaparra, the baseball player, was fading. Whether it was his attitude or his injury or his general skill that had taninted him, it seemed like it wasn't going away. Now, not surprisingly, nobody's all that shocked at the Nomar trade. You have to get something for him, everyone says. He was leaving, they say. Better to get Doug Mientkiewicz (good luck to the people learning to spell that) and Orlando Cabrera than nothing in the fall. And I have to agree.

But at the same time, I can't imagine the Sox without Nomar. Perhaps more precisely, I can't imagine Nomar without the Sox. I went to the Cubs website today and saw Nomar in a Cubs uniform and hat. The catcher already wore Number 5, so Nomar had to settle for Number 8. It wasn't right. He's not home, it seems. Boston was his home. Maybe your home isn't perfect, maybe you hate some of the rules, maybe you hate some of the chores, maybe some days you want to go anywhere but there, but at some point, at some deep level, it's your home. Something draws you back. I like to think that Boston is a home for Nomar. It's not perfect, and he has had some rough days, but when it was all over, Boston loved him. Even at the height of the trade rumors, people weren't ready to give up their icon. Even then, when the management dangled A-Rod in front of us, we weren't biting. Not all of us. You can't trade Nomar, people said. He is the Red Sox. You can't change that, not even if you write bad stories about him, not even if you ship him to Chicago and convince the fans that he would have walked anyhow. It doesn't matter. There was love for Nomar in Boston - pure, untainted, overwhelming love.

I hope that when Nomar returns to Boston, as a player from any major league team, that Boston remembers this love. And when Nomar comes back to Fenway Park, whether as a part of the Cubs, Dodgers, Angels, or, yes, even the Yankees, I hope that Boston welcomes him back home. It's not as cut-and-dry or black-and-white as the Sox management and Boston media want you to believe. The Nomar story is tied with all sorts of mitigating factors, some of which cloud good judgment and rationale. But, in the end, I hope that Red Sox fans don't forget the parts of the story that made Nomar become Nomah, that made him become the face of the Red Sox, and that ultimately made him an irreplaceable part of Boston's heart.

Sometimes, hearts choose to love money-hungry assholes. That's just how it is.