Thursday 13: Vacation

As I prepare to venture across the southern border with Joseph, I have decided to list 13 things to which I'm looking forward in Cancun:

1. Cab drivers who know no English until you realize you don't have enough money to pay them.
2. Blinding the others at the resort with my glow-in-the-dark white skin.
3. Sand everywhere.
   
4. The prediction that there will be scattered showers or isolated thunderstorms every day but May Day according to the Weather Channel's 10-day outlook.
5. Leaving just as the weather in Seattle becomes sunny and 70.
6. Swimming in the undertow at night with sharks and jellyfish.
7. Asking those involved in the drug war if they can't just get along.
8. Tap water, yum...
9. Reapplying SPF 75 every 15 minutes in the shade.
10. Speaking broken Spanish to natives who laugh at the funny tall white man who tries too hard.
11. Finding out the Mayan short calendar was even shorter than the Mayans expected.
12. Thinking about the 5 days of work I'll be making up when I return... over the next 6 months.
13. Flipping back and forth between CNN Mexico and Spanish voiced over episodes of Sanford and Son while recovering from Montezuma's revenge after drinking the tap water.

But honestly, this is our first real vacation in 7 years. It's about time.

That said, I have decided to take a break from all commitments during this week, including the blog (although I may post during the middle of the week to let you know how things are going). I shall therefore pick back up when I return next Monday evening for and 'It's Personal' entry.

Hasta luego!

3WW (Deceit, Indulge, Oath): Family Secrets

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. No characters are based on real people, whether living or dead. Any resemblance to a real person is pure coincidence.

My grandfather passed three days prior to his 70th birthday. I didn’t know him well. He and my mother had a falling out over something earlier in life. She never told me the reason.

My mother described her mother as a sad, helpless woman. A servant to my grandfather. But the pictures I saw of my grandmother seemed to indicate the opposite of what my mother told me. A short stocky brillo-haired figure with a stern face and strong jaw.

My grandmother died rather young. Before I was born. My father told me that they hadn’t gone to the funeral.

One Thanksgiving evening after my mother retired to her room, my father indulged my curiosity if only a tad. My grandfather had come from Germany early in his life. And he had been a war hero in World War II. My grandmother had two children, my mother and my uncle. He was about to tell me something about the issue between my grandfather and my mother, but my mother walked in and bellowed, ‘Harold’ in her gruff voice.

My mother moved to Philadelphia when she was 18. Worked in a grocery store and put herself through a community college. Then went to Penn State for her masters during the latter half of the 60s. Met my father. Settled down in northern Delaware where I was born in 1970.

I was 18 when my grandfather died. A rebellious soul, I didn’t listen to my parents. Normal for that age. My uncle called from Bismarck to tell my mother. I answered and talked to him for the first time. Strange to talk to someone I should have known better. I told my mother that her brother had called when she got home from work. And I told her that her father was dead. She winced a bit, but hid behind her stoicism. I asked her why I didn’t know more about my grandparents and my uncle. She said she didn’t want to talk about it. I forced the issue, to no avail. I then accused her of not loving anyone. Not her parents. Not her brother. Not her husband. Not her son.

I resolved to go to North Dakota. My mother reluctantly gave me my uncle’s number. She told me I shouldn’t go, that they were not ‘our’ type of people. I called and arranged to be picked up at Bismarck Municipal Airport.

My uncle was there waiting for me when I arrived. He shook my hand sternly. The same strong jaw as my grandmother. The same mannerisms as my mother. I was convinced of my mother’s deceit when I stayed with my uncle and his wife. They treated me like a king. They told me stories about my grandparents. Their struggle to get into this country, to make something of themselves. Until a friend of his from the Fatherland gave him a break and hired him.

I felt like I had found a piece of myself. I felt German.

The next day was my grandfather's funeral. It was sparsely attended. Most of his friends, my uncle admitted, had died. And my grandfather hadn’t been a particularly sociable man. But a great man nonetheless. We celebrated his life at the church and then buried him in the church’s graveyard.

We returned to my grandfather’s house. My first visit to the house where my mother had grown up. There were a few old men and women sitting in the musty living room that stank of cigars and lime. My uncle lead me around the house proudly. Showing me where his room had been. Where my mother’s room had been. My grandfather’s den.
I noticed a plaque on the wall. And a specific name on the plaque.

Diensteid der Soldaten der Wehrmacht
Ich schwöre bei Gott diesen heiligen Eid, daß ich dem Führer des Deutschen Reiches und Volkes Adolf Hitler, dem Oberbefehlshaber der Wehrmacht, unbedingten Gehorsam leisten und als tapferer Soldat bereit sein will, jederzeit für diesen Eid mein Leben einzusetzen.

There was a collage of pictures next to it. A face very much like my uncle’s except in black and white. Next to a strong jawed woman. On his shoulder, a sign I had seen only in history books. A swastika.

My grandfather, a war hero. Had had difficulty coming to America. I turned my eyes back to the plaque and stared at the all too familiar name.

My uncle started proudly:
‘I swear by God this sacred oath that I shall render unconditional obedience to Adolf Hitler, the Führer of the German Reich and people, supreme commander of the armed forces, and that I shall at all times be ready, as a brave soldier, to give my life for this oath.’

My stomach lurched. I turned and made my best effort to smile. My uncle, oblivious to the impact it had on me, continued our tour.

I departed the next day, having found it rather easy to claim flu-like symptoms.

I traded a knowing glance with my mother when I entered the house. She asked only if I was okay. I said I was and made my way to my room.

Video of the Week: Kids

Joseph and I had our first of four Home Study meetings for the adoption today. I know we're moving closer, but I can't yet admit that it feels real. Nevertheless, in honor of today, I give you a video collage of kids...

A Great Laugh


Monster v. 3 Year Old


And the Youtube Sensation

It's Personal: Assassination

You might read the title and automatically think TMI. (That's 'Too Much Information' for those who don't try to abbreviate every single common English phrase known to man.) And if it was associated with anything even closely related to the act to which it refers, you'd be right. But it's not.

Instead, Assassination was - and may still be - a game in which mostly males at Lyman Hall High School participated. The game's rules were easy. Each person who chose to be an assassin received a piece of paper with another assassin's name on it. (The assassin was therefore both assassin and potential victim.) The assassin would then 'assassinate' his victim and take from him the piece of paper that the victim was trying to assassinate. Last one alive won. Much like Highlander.

There were also bodyguards. Bodyguards could protect assassins going so far as to be 'shot' themselves, which neutralized them for 24 hours. Bodyguards could also neutralize other bodyguards. But bodyguards could not assassinate.

The only limitations? Assassins could not assassinate on school grounds or in a victim's home.

The weapons of choice? Water guns.

During senior year, one of the assassins - a rather popular kid and a fellow football teammate named Jason - asked me to be his bodyguard, mostly because I owned a car and often drove him home from school. Having always been the consummate goody-goody and fearing any repercussions, I hesitated. Until one day, a guy by the name of Beau with whom I had played both football and Little League baseball - a bodyguard for another assassin - chased my car in order to get me to stop so he could forcibly carry Jason off to the assassin who would kill him. Beau broke the antenna on my Silver 1984 Toyota Celica GT Hatchback with power doors, windows, and moon roof.

Not happy. So, I joined.

Not only did I protect Jason, I also acted as an accomplice in his attempts to assassinate. I keenly remember one evening when we were following our target. We followed that target into the Wallingford Country Club parking lot. Little did we know that the assassin that had Jason's name was tailing us as well. The target and the assassin had teamed up to eliminate Jason, a common tactic. We found ourselves trapped. Just when we were convinced that we would have to make a mad dash across the course, a few men ran out to us from the country club. The target and assassin peeled away in opposite directions. The men approached the vehicle.

'Are you okay?' they asked. We answered affirmatively. 'It looks like they wanted you pretty badly,' one of them continued. 'I'm a cop, you want me to call this in?'

'Uh, no' I replied sheepishly.

It seems we had happened upon a policeman's ball or some such thing. Just our luck. We talked our way out of it without giving the game away and were on our way home.

During another instance, Jason and I were looking for his target near the section of Durham and Old Rock Hill Road (close to where the target lived). When we saw said target drive past us, Jason started yelling for me to turn around. I stopped in the middle of the street - idiot that I was - and backed up. I then put the car in drive and hit the gas harder than I intended. I also thought the Silver 1984 Toyota Celica GT Hatchback with power doors, windows, and moon roof had a better turning radius. I was wrong. And thus I slammed the right side of the car into a telephone pole.

Not the brightest thing I've ever done.

It was at that moment the consummate goody goody almost lost his lunch. First thought: the old man's gonna kill me. Second thought: how much is this gonna cost? Third thought: what the hell was I thinking?

Jason sat beside me, unusually silent.

'I guess I should go see what damage there is,' I said solemnly.

I exited the car and rounded to the right side. There in all its blackened beauty was my bumper, virtually untouched. And there was the telephone pole with a big black dent in it. I couldn't believe it. I walked back and sat down in the driver's seat and said, 'no damage.' Jason leapt from the car and surveyed it himself. He came back laughing hysterically. 'You hit a f@#$ing telephone pole,' he exclaimed.

Never lived that one down.

Then it came. That day when Jason told me he had been assassinated. Just walking out of his cousin's house, he was 'attacked' by our friend and teammate Jesse. It seems Jesse had lain in wait for nearly two hours waiting for his prey. And he let loose a blast that soaked Jason.

And thus my assassination experience had ceased. Jason made it to the top five, I think, but at the end of that game, there was only room enough for one.

Sunday Scribblings: Linguistically Challenged American Sentences

American Sentences: They are haiku-length poems that Allen Ginsburg suggested be limited to 17 syllables, like haiku in Japanese and like the Heart Sutra in Buddhism. The following two sentences are such American Sentences of 17 syllables.

A salesman who spoke many tongues, he said nothing of note when he spoke.

Couples speak both a lexicon of love and a petty palaver.

The puppies listen for familiar words and stare blankly at the rest.

Sporting Rants and Raves: April 18, 2009

Happy 36th birthday to Mr. Haile Gebrselassie, an Ethiopian long distance track and road running athlete from Ethiopia. Considered one of the best long distance runners of all time, Gebreselassie runs the equivalent of approximately 12.5 miles per hour. Considering that it's comfortable for me to run between 7-8 miles per hour on the elliptical - not really a 'true' speed - 12.5 miles per hour seems astronomical. And how did he become a long distance runner? He used to run 10 km (approx 6.2 miles) to school each morning and from school each evening. Wow...

NFL news abounds since last I wrote.

Mr. John Earl Madden has retired from the broadcasting booth after 30 years. Not to mention his 10 years as the Oakland Raiders head coach amassing the best winning percentage in NFL history for a coach who won more than 100 games (103-32-7). And also not to mention his impact on football through his Madden series video games. As Peter King of SI admitted, it's very difficult to pigeon-hole the guy. Instead, whether you loved or hated his delivery, I think it's important to recognize his contribution to the game.

The schedule... Released this past Tuesday, we now know what next season's landscape will be. Based on the New York Football Giants' schedule, I anticipate 10 wins. The toughest part of their schedule will be at the end of the season. Dallas, Philly, @Washington, Carolina, and @Minnesota. That stretch will determine whether Dallas or the Jints will win the division.

On another New York football scheduling note, the NFL has announced that the Jets-Titans game on September 27th will be moved from 4:15 p.m. eastern to 1 p.m. eastern to honor the celebration of Yom Kippur. Do people really not look at these things?

Finally, the NFL Draft is coming. And I won't even be here to watch. I'll have to follow up after I get to Cancun.

In other news...

The new Yankee Stadium opens. The Yanks lose. Next night, Jeter sends one into the stands in the eighth and Rivera shuts down the Indians for a win in their new home. They sit at 6-5. Now, I bet you didn't think the Blue Jays and Orioles would be ahead of them with the Rays and Redsocks lagging behind. Early yet, certainly. But still.

The M's get Griffey back. The M's start winning. After 100+ losses last season, Seattle is bubbling with enthusiasm. It's not because of Griffey, mind you, but because every one of the M's mediocre pitchers has come out strong. For now. The key will be middle relief and closers down the stretch.

Gary Sheffield hits 500 home runs as a Met. Raise your hand if you care. Understood, moving on.

Trivia of the Week: Who was the first person to hit 500 home runs? Who was the youngest person to hit 500 home runs? Name the three players who reached 500 home runs prior to 1950. Name at least 1 player who reached 500 home runs in each of the last 5 decades (1960s, 1970s, 1980s, 1990s, 2000s).

Chicago defeats the Boston Celtics. Perhaps the Celts will come back to win the series, but I don't think they'll get much further with Garnett's absence.

I predict Cleveland will oust Detroit. The Magic will make the 76ers disappear. The Heat will fry the Hawks. The Lakers will drown the Jazz. The Nuggets will rock the Hornets. The Spurs will spike the Mavs. And the only Northwest team left will blaze a trail through Houston.

Mind you, I don't follow basketball and I can't choose playoff winners to save my life. So, forget everything I just said.

Rangers win! Now if only I was a Rangers fan. New York Rangers, that is. I haven't been a fan of a team since the New Haven Nighthawks.

Even so, the NHL playoffs have also begun. And thus, I will randomly call out who will win these first round contests though I know nothing of the teams.

In the east... Boston is well on its way to French frying some Canadiens. The Rangers will Capitalize. I'll root for Carolina aka the Hartford Whalers. And in the battle for Pennsylvania, I'll take the Eagles over the Steelers.

In the west... The Sharks are going to cause Anaheim to be some dead Ducks. I'd love to choose Columbus against the Octopi, but alas, methinks they'll be blue about the outcome. Speaking of the blues, I choose the northwestern Canucks to give St. Louis some of their own medicine. And finally, I think the Blackhawks have a good chance to char the Flames.

Again, I warn you of my ignorance of hockey and my abominable record choosing in the playoffs.

I leave you now at approximately 4 p.m. Pacific shaking my head as the New York Yankees are losing 20-4. Honestly, what's the deal this year with Chien-Ming Wang?

Trivia of the Week:
Who was the first person to hit 500 home runs? Babe Ruth
Who was the youngest person to hit 500 home runs? Alex Rodriguez
Name the three players who reached 500 home runs prior to 1950. Babe Ruth, Mel Ott, Jimmie Foxx
Name at least 1 player who reached 500 home runs in each of the last 5 decades.
1960s - Hank Aaron, Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle, Ted Williams, Eddie Matthews
1970s - Frank Robinson, Harmon Killebrew, Willie McCovey, Ernie Banks
1980s - Reggie Jackson, Mike Schmidt
1990s - Mark McGwire, Eddie Murray
2000s - Barry Bonds, Ken Griffey Jr., Sammy Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro, Alex Rodriguez, Jim Thome, Manny Ramirez, Frank Thomas, Gary Sheffield

(Quite a telling stat, don't you think?)

Until next I write, happy sporting...

Thursday 13: Movies I Won't Watch (Again)

I have decided to adopt the Thursday Thirteen as my Thursday writing.

In this installment, I take a look at a few movies I refuse to watch. Or those I refuse to watch again...

1. Waterworld (1995) - Kevin Costner in baseball movies, okay. Kevin Costner not in baseball movies, not so good.
2. Piranha (1978) - A fisherman dangles his feet into the water, fishing off a pier. His face suddenly contorts. He falls backward on the dock; the stumps that were once his legs droop bloodily into the water. Now imagine a six year old watching. Ugh...
3. Celtic Pride (1996) - Two Celtic fans kidnap an opposing player to guarantee a Celtics championship. Honestly, Dan Akroyd seems to spell flop if he's anywhere near being a main character in a movie. Well, since Blues Brother anyway.
4. From Justin to Kelly (2003) - Kelly has more than made up for this unfortunate contractual obligation with her music. Justin found his niche doing something...
5. Newsies (1992) - The old man brought home this movie one unfortunate evening. We barely made it through the opening sequence. And we've never let him forget it.
6. Catwoman (2004) - Joseph loved this movie. And I know it was just because Halle Berry was in it. Honestly, I'll take Eartha Kitt any day. Even from beyond the grave.
7. Schindler's List (1993) - Wouldn't think you'd see this one on here, huh? It put me in a funk for an entire week. I just can't fathom that a group of people would do such a thing to another group of people.
8. That Darn Cat (1965) - During the mid-1980s I attended Moses Yale Beach Elementary School in Wallingford, CT. We watched movies twice a year. That would entail herding all of the kids in the school into the gym to sit in unbelievably uncomfortable seats to watch one of two eight millimeter films the school owned. This was one.
9. The Apple Dumpling Gang (1975) - This was the other.
10. Toys (1992) - Didn't get it. Didn't want to get it. Watched it on New Years Eve of 1992 into New Years Day of 1993. Wish I had that one back. For sleep or something...
    
11. Saving Private Ryan (1998) - It is the only movie during which I closed my eyes multiple times. Like during the first 20 minutes of the film. Absolutely worth watching once. But I'd never voluntarily watch it again.
12. Gigli (2003) - Affleck and Lopez in the movie that promised to boost this Hollywood power couple to stardom. Neither have had critical successes in anything since. Nor are they still a couple. Good call.
13. The Passion of the Christ (2004) - For those who know me, this may seem an odd choice. But honestly, I've prayed the sorrowful mysteries and that's effective enough without having to see the blood splatter from the lashing Jesus took. Good to watch once? Yes. Twice, not for me.
    

3WW (Allure, Vivid, Perch): American Sentences

American Sentences: They are haiku-length poems that Allen Ginsburg suggested be limited to 17 syllables, like haiku in Japanese and like the Heart Sutra in Buddhism. The following two sentences are such American Sentences of 17 syllables.

Her vivid breast allures many lecherous males to her verdant perch.

Perched atop his vivid white throne, he hatched a scent with little allure.

I set on my perch an alluring note and burned it in vivid flame.

Video of the Week: Dueling Pianos

I had little idea about what I'd want to post this evening. Nothing really caught my fancy. And thus I took a stroll through the land of youtube and witnessed the Bucky Dent home run, U2's One, and Einstein's first trip to the future in Doc's Delorean.

And then I recalled a little known scene with two ducks. I promise you there's no reason for recalling this scene. Just that I hold a place in my heart for Donald, since I've been trying to imitate him since the ripe old age of six.

I therefore give to you the dueling pianos in Who Framed Roger Rabbit. I still think Donald wins.

It's Personal: Baseball Part I

Baseball was made for kids, and grown-ups only screw it up. ~Bob Lemon

I was born with baseball in my blood. How could I help it? My grandfather loved the game. Hank Greenburg, his favorite player. The Detroit Tigers, his favorite team. The old man loves the game. The Mick, his idol. The New York Yankees, his team.

I suppose it's no wonder I was born on a day when the New York Yankees defeated the Detroit Tigers in Yankee Stadium by a score of 8-7. Almost as if the old man and his old man were determining what my baseball fate would be.

The New York Yankees, having acquired 'Mr. October', won their first World Series in 15 years in that year. The decision had certainly been made.

One year later - exactly one year later - I was no doubt trying to speak some of my first words on George Street for the women in my family while the men sat in front of the TV watching Louisiana Lightning pitch a hell of a game. You know, that game in which Sweet Lou lost the ball in the sun in right field but juked just enough to keep Burleson from going to third. And good thing too since Rice's fly ball to right would have been a sac fly.

Oh, and some guy named Bucky hit a homerun.

The Yankees won that year too.

So, you see, it was destiny. I had to love baseball. There was no question.

Ironically, I began my own career on the Mets. That horrifically tacky mix of Dodger Blue and Giant Orange on a three dollar t-shirt. I don't even remember if we were good. What, I was like five.

I remember my next team better. Dressed in a ridiculously pale yellow with black cursive writing. Servicemaster was the name of the team. We referred to ourselves in those days as some odd local corporation. Valentino's. Milici's. A lot of Italian names in the Wallingford area.

That year, the Wallingford Little League - at least for the level in which I played - decided to split the league into an 'A' and 'B' division. The 'A' division was unfairly better than the 'B' division. I was in 'B'.

The old man was the coach. A good coach, mind you, he took the likes of the Bad News Bears - we even had similar uniforms - and molded us into the 'B' division champions. I was a pitcher in those days. Not a great one. I suppose I did well enough. Playing over on those fields near Pond Hill Road. Jimmy Greenwood. That brother and sister combo whose names I can't now recall. What a memory jog.

We were supposed to play the 'A' division champions - Valentino Oil - in some kind of lopsided Wallingford Little League World Series. In which we would have been utterly decimated. The old man said, no thanks. A good thing, in my mind. We all received trophies that year, most likely from our parents' pockets.

It was during that time that the old man introduced us to Yankee Stadium. I remember those treks. Always a little freaked out when I was in New York City. I remember we went with Uncle Mark once. My brother falling asleep in the back seat of the car, his head tilting back and forth as we laughed hysterically. Some dingbat radio personality saying, 'We have a wiener here.' So many things are funny at that age.

I soon graduated from Servicemaster into a higher level of the Little League. When baseball became the only outdoor activity in which I would partake. The years after the divorce until high school.

But that's for another time. Baseball Part II, as it were...

Sunday Scribblings: Scary Haiku

From Sunday Scribblings: I can't recall if we've done this prompt before, but I'm curious: what scares you?

The white outer shell
Glistens with the morning’s dew.
Another dropped ball.

Prepped for the meeting.
I excitedly enter
Thirty minutes late.

‘I have the money,’
I say uncomfortably
‘In my other coat.’

I swore it was here.
But I searched the entire house.
Now my wallet’s gone.

‘Feign is not a word.’
‘Yes it is,’ he said to me,
Student to teacher.

At the pearly gates,
He says I made a mistake.
The wrong discernment.

We learn from mistakes.
Unless we are utterly
Paralyzed by them.

Sporting Rants and Raves: April 11, 2009

Happy 29th birthday to Yankees first baseman Mark Texeira. Although off to a slow start in pinstripes - okay, I know, I can't really say that after four games - I have to respect this man of Portuguese descent who declined to be chosen by the Red Sux straight out of high school, choosing instead to play baseball at Georgia Tech.

The Masters. Who will take the green jacket at Augusta this year? Will it be Kenny Perry or Chad Campbell who are currently tied in a fragile lead? Will it be a struggling Tiger Woods? Will Lefty leave them all behind?

We certainly know who it won't be. No Sharks. Sorry Retief. Freddy, maybe next time. And the only Fuzz you'll see on the greens are policemen.

But there is just one more story that comes from Georgia this second weekend in April. Mr. Gary Player - the Black Knight - has played his last Masters. A three-time winner of the Masters, Player was one of the 'The Big Three' golfers of his era. Not only one of the greatest golfers of all time, Player has designed more than 300 golf architect design projects throughout the world.

Trivia of the Week: Gary Player was one of 'The Big Three'. Who were the other two?

Baseball has returned! America's game had its opening day this past Monday. In the air, you can smell fresh cut grass, treated baseball glove leather, and grilled dogs and burgers. That is, if you don't have spring allergies that cause you to sneeze incessantly.

Speaking of baseball, I have been talked into partaking in a daily fantasy baseball league. First of all, daily is crazy. Second of all, I don't have a clue about most players now a days. Third of all, I don't even know the rules. We'll see how this turns out.

Rest in peace Mr. Nick Adenhart.

I don't follow the NBA. It just doesn't excite me. That said, can someone please explain to me why 16 of 30 teams make the playoffs? They have to play a whole new season. Oy!

Same goes for NHL.

Congratulations to the University of North Carolina Tar Heels for their shellacking of the hometown Michigan State Spartans. As with the economy, something in Michigan showed some signs of life but was subsequently flushed down the toilet. Sounds a little like the American auto industry. Except for the part about it showing signs of life.

And a hearty congratulations to the undefeated University of Connecticut Lady Huskies who took yet another championship, their fifth since 2000 and sixth overall. They achieved a feat that no other NCAA basketball team has achieved in defeating every opponent by double digits.

What are they feeding them up in Buffalo? Marshawn Lynch has been suspended for the first three games of the season for his indiscretions. Bills DB Donte Whitner has been shocked by a stun gun and subsequently arrested after trying to break through a police line outside a night club. And Ko Simpson was arrested earlier this year for disorderly conduct.

Is this somehow related to T.O.'s signing? I wouldn't be surprised.

I and my teams are about to embark on an opening day of our own. The Thrusters and Buzz are scheduled to play their first games tomorrow. We'll see if the rain forecasted interrupts our opening day.

Trivia of the Week: Gary Player was one of 'The Big Three'. Who were the other two?

Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus

Potluck: Thursday 13

I've recently added a new site to the list of blogs I read; it is called Thursday 13. The idea is to write a list of 13 things about anything. The list is usually a personal 13 things, like my 13 top favorite movies or 13 places I've visited. If this proves to suit my fancy, I may very well replace Potluck Thursdays with the Thursday 13.

Without further ado, I give you 13 things on my desk at work.

1. Post-its with varied notes like 'agenda for AIS call' and 'technical dox Claims tracking' written on them.
2. A jade plant
3. Two rather large monitors.
4. A tea-stained Starbucks cup with two Earl Grey tea bags in it
5. A picture of me and Joseph from the first time we visited the Puyallup Fair
6. A New York Giants calendar with the following trivia question: 'Tackle Adam Koets was a second-team All-Pac-10 choice as a senior in 2006. At what school did he earn that honor?'
7. The book: Implementing the IT Balanced Scorecard by Jessica Keyes
8. The book: Six Sigma for Everyone by George Eckes
9. A picture of Buddy
10. A picture of Cleo
11. A paperweight brought back from Egypt by our Senior Accountant, who is from Egypt
12. Three copies of Technology Road Map Meeting Minutes for a follow up meeting tomorrow
13. A Trick or Treat pencil from God knows which Fall Carnival (not allowed to call it Halloween) social event

3WW: American Sentences (Flirt, Ploy, Stunning)

American Sentences: They are haiku-length poems that Allen Ginsburg suggested be limited to 17 syllables, like haiku in Japanese and like the Heart Sutra in Buddhism. The following two sentences are such American Sentences of 17 syllables.

His ploy to flirt with the stunning gal backfired because she was a he.

His stunning ploy to flirt with a bear ended with him being dinner.

The bad cop’s ploy, by stunning the good crook, was to flirt with the crook’s girl.

Video of the Week: Pater Noster

It is Holy Week. The holiest week of the year for Western Christians. Although a sad and spiritually challenging week, I always enjoyed heading home to St. Joseph's Cathedral to partake in Tuesday's Chrism mass which many of the Archdiocese's priests attend. It made me feel connected to a tradition that spanned millennia.

And when I think of the Church and of Holy Week, I remember a hero of mine, John Paul II. I therefore pay tribute here with his rendition of the Pater Noster, which I must admit, kept me sane and faithful during those days at the seminary when my faith was most challenged.

It's Personal: Dogs

I was 2 years old. We had a Boxer named Clancy. I sat in his dog house with him for hours on end. I've heard tell a story about some family member attempting to extract me from said dog house unsuccessfully; Clancy took offense and nipped. The old man tells another story about me walking down the sidewalk in front of that house on George St. It seems a stray cat was stalking me as I strolled about. The cat slowed, readying to pounce on me. But that cat never had a chance. Clancy had been tracking the mangy feline and struck before it could make its move.

Clancy was later put to sleep because he had cancer. I can't say I remember him very well.

I was about 6 years old. The neighbors - the Carrs as I remember - brought a mutt puppy to our front door. How could my parents say no with a 6 and 3 year old roaming the house? We named him Clancy the Second. Clancy for short. A black and brown mixed mutt, he was good-natured and frightened of his shadow. I remember seeing him run away from a rabbit in our back yard on Jeffrey Dr. We couldn't keep anything on the coffee table. Or even the end tables for that matter. He had a tail that swept from any surface every last thing on top. I have pictures. Thank God for that because I don't now recall him as well as I'd like.

When my parents divorced, we could not keep the dog. I was told he went to a family who would love him. In all honesty, I think that was - for me - the most difficult part of the divorce.

For the next 16 years, I did not have a dog. There are many reasons for it. There were those around me who professed not to be dog people. And then I went away to college. I met many frat guys whom I'd call dogs, but that would be insulting dogs. Moved from college to the seminary. Didn't meet many priests with dogs. Perhaps because it would be too difficult to fumigate rectories after a dog has lived there. Moved to Seattle and into an apartment. Adopted a couple cats. Had pets again. But no dogs.

Not until 2005. Only a little more than a month after we purchased the house. Cleo first. Then Buddy in February 2006. Two of the best dogs I could ever imagine. Each with their unique personalities.

Cleo, who will neither walk in wet grass nor walk in grass that is too long. Who hates hardwood floors. Who sucks on ice and drops it, repeating the cycle until it is thin enough to bite. Who rips apart dryer sheets. Who lays on her side on the bed and starts flailing her front paws in a running motion thus tearing comforters - three to this point - to shreds.

Buddy who runs at full speed, jumps onto the front porch, and slams head first into the front door - when it's closed. Who uses his nose and paws to force people to pet him. Who sits between the front seats in the car and stares out the window as if he's going to give directions to our next stop. Who eats wool blankets and carpet. Who then has serious BM problems about 2 days later.

Why all this dog talk?

I watched Marley & Me on Friday night. Joseph and I decided to watch that movie because we thought it would be less sad and depressing than Seven Pounds. We watched as the unsuspecting couple adopted a puppy. And subsequently watched as the dog terrorized them through thunderstorms and constant furniture destruction. We watched as they had children. We watched as Marley grew older. And then, the inevitable. I cried. Like cried the day I knew I'd never see Clancy the Second again. Or like I do when I watch the last scene in Field of Dreams.

I don't know that I can watch that movie again. But for those of you who love dogs, it's well worth the couple hours you'll spend. At least once.

Sunday Scribblings: Celebrate Good Times

The past week had been particularly challenging for me. Between work, home, and softball I was struggling to keep up. A friend of mine reminded me that it happens sometimes. And though I understand that, I - as a perfectionist - don't take any kind of failure well, I must admit that today's topic has given me a chance to pause and count the grains of sand on the beach. I step back and recognize all that I have to celebrate. I thus combine the Thursday 13 and Sunday Scribblings to give you 13 things I celebrate.

I celebrate Joseph for his humor, his desire, and his kind heart.

I celebrate all of my family. The old man. My mother. Uncle Mark, Ruth, Julia. The older white folks. My brother, sister-in-law, and little Madison. My other mother. My sister and niece. My brother and other two nieces. And all the rest. (I know that's cheating, but they would have taken up 13 all by themselves.)

I celebrate my friends. The ones on the least coast, the left coast, and everywhere between. (If any of you happen to be traveling to the outer reaches of the globe, I celebrate you too.)

I celebrate my health. Sure, I have a few bumps and bruises. A few things out of place and such. But for the most part, I have no complaints.

I celebrate the menagerie. Cleo and Buddy on one side. Hemingway and Macavity on the other.

I celebrate my job. Just the fact that I have one is a blessing. The fact that it is a challenge, all the better.

I celebrate living in Seattle. Mountains. Oceans. Lakes. Hills. Trees aplenty. You really should come and see Mt. Rainier on a clear day.

I celebrate good reads. A story that keeps me on edge. The twist. The sad moment. The happy ending.

I celebrate football. I love the sport. It taught me how to be a man.

I celebrate baseball and softball. Genetically introduced at birth, the game is as mind-provoking as chess for those who know how to play. I celebrate the Thrusters and Buzz especially - the team on which I play and the team I coach respectively. I think we'll have a couple good seasons.

I belatedly celebrate my 31.5 birthday. It was 4/2.

I celebrate my 203rd blog entry.

And I celebrate my faith in God.

I leave you with these 13 and suggest you take a moment and think about what you celebrate. It's an eye opener.

Sporting Rants and Raves: April 4, 2009

Happy 26th birthday to Mr. Benjamin Gordon, a shooting and point guard for the Chicago Bulls. Formerly of the University of Connecticut Huskies, he was an integral part of their 2004 NCAA National Championship team. On December 27th of last year, he surpassed Scotty Pippen as the Chicago Bulls’ leader in made three pointers.

Speaking of the University of Connecticut, their run at the 2009 national title has ended. Kalin Lucas and Raymar Morgan of the Michigan State Spartoons lead a second half charge that sunk the Dyson-less Huskies. We shall now see if this marked Calhoun’s last stand.

Tangentially, I must ask anyone out there if they’ve ever heard the names Kalin and Raymar used. What first came to mind was C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia only because I could imagine the character Prince Kalin of the land of Raymar.

Next up, we have the Villanova Wildcats up against the University of North Carolina Tar Heels. The Tar Heels took it to ‘em as I feared they would. And thus the Big East has faltered in one fell swoop. Does anyone think that Michigan State has a chance? Perhaps not the way UNC has been playing. But they do have home court.

Other sports? Ah yes, there are other happenings in the sporting world. And they are…

Welcome to the Windy City Mr. Jay Christopher Cutler. After much ado about something, the Denver ‘Great, We Got Kyle Orton’ Broncos parted ways with their Pro-Bowl quarterback. Will this make da Bears a prime time contender? Perhaps. And what of the Orange Crush. Time for the return of him who made ‘The Drive’ a reality?

In other NFL news, the New York Football Giants finally offloaded the troubled Plaxico Burress. I sincerely hope that he can straighten himself out. In the meantime, anyone have a premiere down-field threat lying around?

New York has now debuted its updated baseball venues.

CITI Field hearkens back to the Brooklyn Dodgers’ Ebbets Field in its look and feel. Although we are doomed to see everything in our midst reduced to a corporate logo, the edifice itself is a keen reminder of old New York national league baseball.

Trivia of the Week: There was another National League team in New York as well; name the team. Finally, there was a famous game between these two New York national league franchises in 1951 – and for those who love baseball, that’s all I need to say. In that game, a player hit a walk off home run in the bottom of the 9th to propel his team to victory. Name the man and the ‘hit’ for which he is known.

Did I say we’re doomed to see everything reduced to a corporate logo? I suppose there are exceptions, among them Yankee Stadium. Don’t get me wrong; I still think it’s a travesty that the original – or updated, as it were – Yankee Stadium is becoming a parking lot. But, for a new stadium, I don’t think they did half bad.

For a look at both, I give you a link to the New York Times. Click on the Multimedia Interactive Graphic on the left.

The NBA and NHL are rounding out their respective playoff contenders. Let’s see how the cities fare. The NBA will thus far send Boston, Cleveland, Orlando, Atlanta, Miami, San Antonio, Houston, Denver, and Los Angeles. The NHL will thus far send New Jersey, Boston, Washington, Carolina, Detroit, Chicago, Vancouver, Calgary, and San Jose. This proves one thing, and one thing only. Boston has bartered its soul to the devil for winning franchises. Where’s Daniel Webster when you need him?

The Steve Sarkisian era has begun in the Seattle area. Dawgs fans have something to bark happily about it by the looks of it. Well, the Huskies have nowhere to go but up.

Speaking of Huskies yet again, there still exists a team in Connecticut that can win the national championship. And not just a title, but perhaps a perfect season. Good luck to them as they take on Stanford next. And congratulations to player of the year Ms. Maya Moore and coach of the year Mr. Geno Auriemma. Both well deserved.

I can’t say that I root for Tiger Woods any more than I rooted for the likes of Michael Jordan. But when Tiger steps out on Augusta National, I’ll hold my breath to see if he is, in fact, back.

I’ll never ‘get’ boxing. I love watching movies about it. But in real life, it just doesn’t makes sense to me.

The Seattle Sounders sit at 3-0 and have allowed no goals against them as of their 2-0 win over Toronto earlier today. I can’t claim to be a soccer – sorry, futbol – fan, but I’m curious. Perhaps I’ll attend a game or two to see about the hype.

Instead of a question about questionable decisions and the like this year, I would like to recognize and applaud an NFL player. Though there exist the Plaxicos and Dontes of football, there also exists a class act like Brian Dawkins. When Dawkins was traded to the Denver Broncos earlier this year, there was an urban outcry from Philly. And Philly’s not a place that generally loves a player. One man – who happened to work the Philly home games each year – made a rather public denouncement of the Eagles. Nothing in bad taste, mind you, but public nonetheless. He was subsequently fired. Now, Dawkins has given to the man the two tickets Dawkins was allotted for their 2009 contest. I suppose I do have a question after all: What were the Eagles thinking?

Trivia of the Week: There was another National League team in New York as well; name the team. Finally, there was a famous game between these two New York national league franchises in 1951 – and for those who love baseball, that’s all I need to say. In that game, a player hit a walk off home run in the bottom of the 9th to propel his team to victory. Name the man and the ‘hit’ for which he is known.

Bobby Thompson. The Shot Heard Round the World.

Potluck: Haiku

The red sun ascends.
The ship’s captain says a prayer.
Sailors take warning.

A night cold and brusque,
Frigid rain falls in rhythm
Softly on the roof.

Broken shard of glass
Once used to slice a man’s throat
Dulls in the ocean.

Dandelions weep.
Their cotton flits through the air.
One lands on my tongue.

3WW: American Sentences (Varied, Knack, Crush)

American Sentences: They are haiku-length poems that Allen Ginsburg suggested be limited to 17 syllables, like haiku in Japanese and like the Heart Sutra in Buddhism. The following two sentences are such American Sentences of 17 syllables.

He crushes knick-knacks – the lumberjack – with varied types of tamarack.

The crushed man felt varied emotions; he didn’t have a knack for love.

She had an odd knack for using orange crush to make delicious drinks.