My apologies, dear readers, for having cheated you out of a post of my Sporting Rants and Raves. I was not able to give you my humble opinion about Mr. Watson's rather remarkable charge at age 59. Nor was I able to speak to the Sounders loss to Chelsea. Nothing about the Yanks. Nothing about Mr. Vick. And nothing about Lance Armstrong's attempt to win another tour.
But I can't cheat you out of the answers to last week's Trivia of the Week...
Mr. Ron Fairly holds an interesting distinction in the history of baseball. He was the first person to have played on each of these teams. And, he was the only person named an All Star from both teams, a feat that no one else can achieve - at least for now.
Toronto Blue Jays and Montreal Expos
Now for the recap of last week's birthday celebration.
I suppose the celebration actually began on July 10th. Seven years to the day that I had arrived in Seattle. Also the day Joseph's mother arrived in anticipation of the 35th anniversary of Joseph's birth. We both took the day off. We ate at Ruth Chris. And went home to bed.
The next day, we played our last day of 2009 softball. The Thrusters lost after 3 games. The Buzz made it to the championship game and lost to the Wolves. But if you've read this blog, you already know that story.
Sunday, we did nothing. Joseph's mother made some dinner. And Joseph started coughing. Not a good sign.
Joseph woke on Monday and looked paler than I. Well, not quite. But he didn't look good. I went to work for a half day. Couldn't tell you what I did. Then made my way home to find Joseph sprawled on the couch, hacking up a lung. He medicated. His mother and I lounged.
The next day, we both went to work. I don't think Joseph felt particularly up to it, but it was his actual birthday. And he wasn't going to miss the attention. Not to mention the meal. I left work at 11. A 3.5 hour work day for me. Went home to get his mother. And then traveled back up to Fremont to get Joseph. We went to Ivar's on Lake Union. A nice spot. Great view. Had some blackened salmon on a Caesar salad. And then took Joseph home to rest more. His mother and I headed to Kohl's, Target, and J.C. Penney to do some last minute shopping. Then we returned home, wrapped the gifts, and gave them to Joseph only to see them quickly unwrapped. He liked the stuff.
But I wasn't really planning on getting him much stuff. I had other things up my sleeve.
I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you of my plan. A plan that would defy Joseph's expectation that I couldn't organize events and a party that he could enjoy. It began before I journeyed to Mexico. Yes, April. That's when Todd, Drew, Matt, Tara, Ashley, Rusty, Andy, Rusty, Fernando, and Grant all received the first email. Little did they know that it would be the first of many. From a project manager... mwahahaha...
I returned from Mexico and sent a detailed email each Friday. Highlighting in blue the changes. Telling them what they could tell Joseph. And what they couldn't.
Another interesting point - and tangent - no one can ever completely surprise Joseph. If I tried to tell him that he wasn't getting anything for his 35th, he'd organize something himself. So, I had to allow for some knowledge. Just not all...
So, back to the story.
We prepared for dinner on the evening of his birthday. He didn't know where he was going. Or even who to expect since he never received the evite. The three of us traveled to the Eastlake Bar & Grill on Lake Union. I hoped for outside seating, but it was too nice a day for us to seat such a large party.
Cookie - as he's know by many of his friends - entered the restaurant to find that all of his friends - all 15 of them that came to dinner - were wearing the same t-shirt. A t-shirt that Rusty and Andy had had created. On the front of the t-shirt were the words 'For Real?' And what did Cookie say when he saw the sight? 'For Real?' Of course. And that's why it was on the shirt.
We enjoyed the dinner. Split the check. Went to Purr. Sang karaoke badly. And journeyed home. A third of the birthday finished.
Wednesday? Uneventful. Worked a half day. Did nothing afterwards.
Thursday? Felt the tingling in my throat at approximately 10 a.m. Walked up to the parlor where Todd, Joseph, and his mother were getting tattoos. By that time, I was downing a cough drop every 10 minutes. And when I got home, I was done.
Friday I spent in bed. Dead to the world. Called into work sick. First time in a long, long time. But I had to be ready for Saturday.
By Saturday morning, I felt better. Well, at least good enough to spring the one surprise I had for Joseph.
Oh, he tried to get it out of me. He pried and pushed and pulled. To no avail. I just told him that we had to leave at 10 a.m. And we did. Then I parked in the garage where I park every day for work. He had no clue. We got a coffee. Walked towards the Space Needle. He thought it was a trip up the Space Needle. Until we walked by. Then he thought we were going to the Experience Music Project Museum. But we kept walking. Then he saw the Duck Tour place. And he guessed. And I said yes.
His mother had already been on a Duck, so this wasn't any really big deal. Just a fun little touristy thing, he thought. And it was. Until he saw some of his friends. Then more of his friends. Followed by more. And yet more. Thirty friends in all. For a ride on a specially reserved Duck. He just about flipped out with happiness. We had a picture taken, boarded the Duck, met our Captain - Matt Agascar (yeah I know) - and ventured through Seattle. Quite enjoyable with a very eccentric group. Joseph even drove the boat in the water. A great time...
Todd took Joseph and his mother up to the hill for a drink while I and many of Joseph's friends hurried back to the house to decorate and prepare for the BBQ. When 4 p.m. rolled around, Joseph reappeared to a house and patio filling with guests.
Still, I had this feeling that there had to be at least one disaster. I just couldn't relax otherwise. And it came at about 4:30. A friend started cooking a few hot dogs and hamburgers. Then, the grill spontaneously combusted. Flames leapt from every direction. Far too close to the dry tree above. And even closer to the propane tank below. I stood there feet from the grill thinking that this thing was going to take out our living room and the people who hadn't scattered, including me. Tara looked at me and asked if we had a fire extinguisher. No, was all I could say. But then Drew saved the day by throwing large chunks of ice onto the grill. The very cold water trickled down and stifled the flame.
We were out of ice, at that point. So I went to Fred Meyer, picked up some ice. And a fire extinguisher. As for the rest of the party, it went splendidly.
We slept on Sunday before attending the end of season softball party at 88 Keys. A good ending to a good season. And a good week.
Joseph brought his mother to the airport this morning. And I went to work. My first full day in over a week. I wonder how I'll fare having to work a full week this week.
But at least I know that Joseph had an enjoyable 35th. And that I won't have to put on a shindig like this for another 5 years...
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birthday. Show all posts
Monday, July 20, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
How I Met My Goddaughter
It can be argued that my introduction to my Goddaughter came months before her birth. Watching as my aunt's stomach grew. Feeling the faint kicks of the soon-to-be karate black belt. Though I can't remember exactly when my Uncle Mark and Aunt Ruth announced that they were pregnant, it had to be towards the end of my high school career. Some time during the latter spring or early summer of 1995.
Before she had a name, she was known in our family as 'Waldo'. A name my uncle - a bit of a joker - assigned her. Especially for the signing of my birthday and Christmas cards that year. 'Love Uncle Mark, Aunt Ruth, Spooky, and "Waldo"' it read. (Spooky was the cat.)
Around Christmas Aunt Ruth knew the time was coming sooner rather than later. Or at least she hoped so. What was the due date? I have no idea. Perhaps Uncle Mark can leave that info in the comment. But it was certainly in the midst of early winter.
The day came. January 4, 1996. I got the call and headed to the hospital. I don't remember much about the day. Except the snow on the ground.
I entered the hospital room. And I don't even remember who was there. My aunt, of course. My uncle, proud as a peacock. But, I was most interested in making the acquaintance of a beautiful little girl by the name of Julia. Her great-grandmother's name. And, of course, a beautiful Beatles song written by none other than John Lennon. My uncle's favorite.
She now sits on the cusp of turning into a teenager. She, the accomplished black belt. She, the 'A' student. She, who loves her crafts. She, who loves to help people. She, with the quick wit. And she, with the golden heart.
Julia, I am proud of you. And I love you. I thank God - and your parents - every day for the gift of allowing me to be your Godfaddah...
Before she had a name, she was known in our family as 'Waldo'. A name my uncle - a bit of a joker - assigned her. Especially for the signing of my birthday and Christmas cards that year. 'Love Uncle Mark, Aunt Ruth, Spooky, and "Waldo"' it read. (Spooky was the cat.)
Around Christmas Aunt Ruth knew the time was coming sooner rather than later. Or at least she hoped so. What was the due date? I have no idea. Perhaps Uncle Mark can leave that info in the comment. But it was certainly in the midst of early winter.
The day came. January 4, 1996. I got the call and headed to the hospital. I don't remember much about the day. Except the snow on the ground.
I entered the hospital room. And I don't even remember who was there. My aunt, of course. My uncle, proud as a peacock. But, I was most interested in making the acquaintance of a beautiful little girl by the name of Julia. Her great-grandmother's name. And, of course, a beautiful Beatles song written by none other than John Lennon. My uncle's favorite.
She now sits on the cusp of turning into a teenager. She, the accomplished black belt. She, the 'A' student. She, who loves her crafts. She, who loves to help people. She, with the quick wit. And she, with the golden heart.
Julia, I am proud of you. And I love you. I thank God - and your parents - every day for the gift of allowing me to be your Godfaddah...
Monday, October 27, 2008
Another Saturday: Bouncing
Woke up Saturday morning. Thank God for that. Putzed around a little. Watched some Yankeeography. David Cone. Derek Jeter. Joseph left to study. I putzed around some more.
Then brought myself to the computer to work. I turned to the SIPOC page in the binder the size of an elephant's ear. Lean Six Sigma. I've mentioned it before. I'm in training as we speak. Monday and Tuesday for four weeks. I'm in the third week. And Clint - our trainer - had the gumption to give us homework.
The SIPOC. Reminiscent of Spock's crazy half brother (Sybok) from the worst Star Trek movie in existence (V), this SIPOC is an acronym standing for Sewage in Pots on Cars. Eww, gross. No no, it's... S... eh, I forget what S stands for. I - Inputs. P - Processes. O - Outputs. C - Customers. A bunch of bureaucratic repackaging of management methodologies. Well, there's some good too. I want to be fair. But now's not the time. Because I want to get to the bouncing...
I showered. Changed. Flossed. Mouthwashed. Brushed my teeth. And caught the bus. Fifty minutes. Reading Walden. About his furniture. Fascinating book, to be honest.
Got off at Pike and Pine. Walked briskly up Pine to Purr where Joseph was talking to the ECSA (Softball) Commissioner about Joseph's new position as Hall of Fame director. Yes, there's a Hall of Fame for the ECSA.
We got in the car and headed north. To the Rock. Not that Rock. That would have been south anyway. It's a pizza place in Lynnwood. My friend, a player I coach, and a person with whom I work (all the same person) - Tara - was celebrating a younger birthday than I. The reservation was a tad bit screwed up. But it didn't matter. We took over a corner of the bar and proceeded to wreak havoc upon the masses.
I saw my old boss - that boss that left on 8/29 - for the first time since his departure. He asked how it was going. I asked him the same. A bit awkward. He asked about work. I told him. And then he said to ride out the company and then look for a job at someplace like Microsoft.
After wreaking for a while, we were seated in the bowels of the restaurant where some of us - Steve, Erik, and I - spied the Penn State / Ohio State matchup. One piece of pizza. Two and three. Third beer. Fourth piece of pizza forced upon me by Ashley. California style I think. Okay, so she didn't force it. And then the fifth piece of pizza. And fifth beer.
We finished, stuffed. Some departed. The rest of us made our way to a huge warehousish building that, we soon discovered, contained huge bouncy edifices normally meant for kids. But Tara had the wacky idea that we should become kids again and bounce. And boy did we bounce. There was the obstacle course where Twiggy kept proceeding through backwards. There were the twin slides that Maggie's husband's friends kept trying to climb incorrectly. There was the basketball court where our young 16 year old overseers put the cushy huge fists for us to box. And then there was the King of the Hill float where we beat the living hell out of each other. Well, just me, Joseph, Tara, Ashley, and Twiggy. Bruises, scratches, sore muscles.
And that was after the first five minutes. Boy were we out of shape and exhausted. But we got ourselves back in and I destroyed my favorite jeans. Shredded them at the knees, really.
Almost whoopsed my cookies a few times. But held it in like a champ.
By the end, we were laying about like corpses, having had the best time in our respective recent memories.
And that's how I spent Saturday night...
Then brought myself to the computer to work. I turned to the SIPOC page in the binder the size of an elephant's ear. Lean Six Sigma. I've mentioned it before. I'm in training as we speak. Monday and Tuesday for four weeks. I'm in the third week. And Clint - our trainer - had the gumption to give us homework.
The SIPOC. Reminiscent of Spock's crazy half brother (Sybok) from the worst Star Trek movie in existence (V), this SIPOC is an acronym standing for Sewage in Pots on Cars. Eww, gross. No no, it's... S... eh, I forget what S stands for. I - Inputs. P - Processes. O - Outputs. C - Customers. A bunch of bureaucratic repackaging of management methodologies. Well, there's some good too. I want to be fair. But now's not the time. Because I want to get to the bouncing...
I showered. Changed. Flossed. Mouthwashed. Brushed my teeth. And caught the bus. Fifty minutes. Reading Walden. About his furniture. Fascinating book, to be honest.
Got off at Pike and Pine. Walked briskly up Pine to Purr where Joseph was talking to the ECSA (Softball) Commissioner about Joseph's new position as Hall of Fame director. Yes, there's a Hall of Fame for the ECSA.
We got in the car and headed north. To the Rock. Not that Rock. That would have been south anyway. It's a pizza place in Lynnwood. My friend, a player I coach, and a person with whom I work (all the same person) - Tara - was celebrating a younger birthday than I. The reservation was a tad bit screwed up. But it didn't matter. We took over a corner of the bar and proceeded to wreak havoc upon the masses.
I saw my old boss - that boss that left on 8/29 - for the first time since his departure. He asked how it was going. I asked him the same. A bit awkward. He asked about work. I told him. And then he said to ride out the company and then look for a job at someplace like Microsoft.
After wreaking for a while, we were seated in the bowels of the restaurant where some of us - Steve, Erik, and I - spied the Penn State / Ohio State matchup. One piece of pizza. Two and three. Third beer. Fourth piece of pizza forced upon me by Ashley. California style I think. Okay, so she didn't force it. And then the fifth piece of pizza. And fifth beer.
We finished, stuffed. Some departed. The rest of us made our way to a huge warehousish building that, we soon discovered, contained huge bouncy edifices normally meant for kids. But Tara had the wacky idea that we should become kids again and bounce. And boy did we bounce. There was the obstacle course where Twiggy kept proceeding through backwards. There were the twin slides that Maggie's husband's friends kept trying to climb incorrectly. There was the basketball court where our young 16 year old overseers put the cushy huge fists for us to box. And then there was the King of the Hill float where we beat the living hell out of each other. Well, just me, Joseph, Tara, Ashley, and Twiggy. Bruises, scratches, sore muscles.
And that was after the first five minutes. Boy were we out of shape and exhausted. But we got ourselves back in and I destroyed my favorite jeans. Shredded them at the knees, really.
Almost whoopsed my cookies a few times. But held it in like a champ.
By the end, we were laying about like corpses, having had the best time in our respective recent memories.
And that's how I spent Saturday night...
Sunday, October 5, 2008
The Birthday Party
We had a busy day. Woke up. Got our haircuts up north. Headed into the city to wash our five big comforter blankets in a laundromat. (I had no idea laundromats had become so expensive.) Went to K&G (a clothing store) to pick out shirts for the night. Came back home. I blogged and then got myself ready. Out the door by 6:40. Arrived at Purr at 7:05.
Purr Cocktail Lounge. It's the bar that sponsors my softball team. A cozy hangout spot, it attracts men and women of every ilk.
We parked in front of the bar, a rarity. As we exited, Chris walked up and greeted us. An actor/singer/dancer, he had a show at 8 but wanted to stop for some food and drink prior to his performance. Rock, a bartender at Purr and fierce competitor on the softball field, offered to buy me my first drink. Beer, I said, Bud Light's fine. I wasn't going to make the mistake of drinking too much too fast. Beer would be just fine.
Matt walked in. One of the Buzz -the team I coached - pitchers this past year. A big Cubs and Jaguars fan. He said hello and immediately turned his attention to the large widescreen television to see if his Cubs could at least win one game against the Dodgers. Drew entered next. A pitcher for another team in the league. A Coug through and through.
Dodge and Vicki came next. I mentored with Dodge in the Community for Youth program last year and grew to respect him a great deal. In fact, I'd say our entire community - mentors and students alike - looked to him as a guide along the windy road of life. He brought with him a friend named Vicki. A conservative Christian from Idaho, the atmosphere obviously challenged her. But she engaged in conversation and stepped far enough outside of her box to enjoy herself, I think.
Tara and Ashley, my two good friends, entered next. I greeted them and talked briefly about fantasy football. How Tara got beat by a team that had four players on bye last week. But I didn't talk to them long before Keren and Harry walked through the door. Keren, the best developer with whom I've had the pleasure of being associated, purchased for me a small flan-like pastry on my birthday proper. But she and her husband still did me the honor of making an appearance at Purr.
Then came a rapid fire of friends. Gabe and Fernando. Fernando, yet another pitcher on the Buzz this past year, I laugh at the fact that he will not refer to me in any other way than 'Coach'. Gabe, his more reserved counterpart, smiled his beautiful smile. They made their way into the fray.
Tony next. The Green Bay kinda from D.C., North Carolina, and L.A. all at the same time. And a writer/producer/editor/director to boot. Contemplating his future at WAMU. A very good friend of mine in the Seattle area. My first best friend in Seattle. Said he'd never step into Purr even though I told him never to judge the book by its cover, and I think he might have enjoyed himself. The horror...
Steven. The fastest person on the Thrusters - the team on which I played - this past season. A good-natured talkative sort who can be counted on to talk to anyone and everyone.
JB and Eric. A couple who moved from San Fran a couple years ago. I played with JB on the Dragons for two years. JB could always lighten the mood while also telling it how it is. We agree on many things, but none more so than the greatness of Reggie.
Todd and Shanan. Shanan I met last night for the first time. Good guy, he seems, but I make no judgment, at least not so early. Todd on the other hand, a Red Sox fan. We shall always entertain an adversarial relationship. Just the way it is. Other than the whole Red Sox thing, he's a good guy who's rebuilding his life at the moment. I've no doubt he'll pull himself up by the proverbial bootstraps...
Twiggy with Katrina. So, Twiggy isn't his real name; it's just one of his many aliases. A good shortstop; a better batter. And rather opinionated as well. Everyone should always have a Twiggy around. Then there's Katrina with her own strong beliefs. She says what she think needs to be said when she thinks it needs be said. It aided her in directing the outfield as the Buzz captain this past year.
I watched as the Cubs successfully choked. 100 years and counting. Then the Brewers. Not nearly as long for them, but still. Here we go Dodgers - Phillies.
CB. It was his actual birthday yesterday (we celebrated together). He's an Animal. No, really, he plays for the softball team named the Animals. The sweetest guy you'll ever want to meet. Just don't piss him off; army ranger, just wouldn't be pretty.
Brett, the Goldschlager and water downing skinny as a rail guy who was deemed the most improved player on the Buzz... by the Buzz. Dawn, the smiling first baseman - or should I say first basewoman - who still surprises people with her hitting even after six years in the league. Chao, the new-to-softball athletic stand-out who has proven to be an intelligent and wise man with whom I have much in common. Randy, the Nebraska-born softball guru who assists in coaching the Thrusters.
CB and I shared a shot in the first hour we were there. It was some kinda peachish-tasting concoction. We liked it enough to have another in the next hour. Oh, right, the whole hour thing. So, as I said, I wasn't going to be in a position to go home at 10. So, I paced. I told everyone that I would drink beer. And that I could handle one shot per hour. It worked.
Another Gabe came in later. Played with him on the Dragons during the Dragons' second year. A good, good player. He started his own team this past year and asked me to be the first baseman. I didn't take him up on the offer for a multitude of reasons. But he's still trying to get me for next year. When he bought my third shot - something with whiskey - he toasted to his new first baseman. I chuckled.
The final guests of the night. Chris and Rico. I had played two years with Chris on the Dragons before we went our separate ways onto different softball teams this past year. A great guy, he has weathered the Starbucks storm - he works in the Seattle headquarters as part of the IT team - rather effectively.
We closed out at Purr. Most of my guests decided to head home. A few tagged along to the Cuff. An interesting place, the Cuff. Big. A bit grimy. Reminded me of the Blue Oyster from Police Academy the first time I stepped inside. Not nearly as bad. Strong drinks. It's the place to go on Capital Hill between the hours of 10 p.m. - 2 a.m. We got ourselves some beer. Fraternized a little. Took some pictures. They bought me a 24 ounce can of Miller Lite. Shout out to Grandpa Murray. Haha. I chuckled some more.
When are you going to dance? they asked me. Uh, not this year. Sorry. Joseph had promised it in the invitation. I disappointed. It just isn't my kind of music at the Cuff. That techno/electronic/hip hop/remix crap. Ick. Blows out my eardrums.
I'm such an old man. And not because I just had a birthday.
We departed around 1:30 and made our way to Jack in the Box. Why does crappy takeout food taste good after a night of drinking? Mystery of modern life.
A shout out to all of those who do read this blog and who did attend the party. Thanks!
To all of those who couldn't come. Maybe next year...
Purr Cocktail Lounge. It's the bar that sponsors my softball team. A cozy hangout spot, it attracts men and women of every ilk.
We parked in front of the bar, a rarity. As we exited, Chris walked up and greeted us. An actor/singer/dancer, he had a show at 8 but wanted to stop for some food and drink prior to his performance. Rock, a bartender at Purr and fierce competitor on the softball field, offered to buy me my first drink. Beer, I said, Bud Light's fine. I wasn't going to make the mistake of drinking too much too fast. Beer would be just fine.
Matt walked in. One of the Buzz -the team I coached - pitchers this past year. A big Cubs and Jaguars fan. He said hello and immediately turned his attention to the large widescreen television to see if his Cubs could at least win one game against the Dodgers. Drew entered next. A pitcher for another team in the league. A Coug through and through.
Dodge and Vicki came next. I mentored with Dodge in the Community for Youth program last year and grew to respect him a great deal. In fact, I'd say our entire community - mentors and students alike - looked to him as a guide along the windy road of life. He brought with him a friend named Vicki. A conservative Christian from Idaho, the atmosphere obviously challenged her. But she engaged in conversation and stepped far enough outside of her box to enjoy herself, I think.
Tara and Ashley, my two good friends, entered next. I greeted them and talked briefly about fantasy football. How Tara got beat by a team that had four players on bye last week. But I didn't talk to them long before Keren and Harry walked through the door. Keren, the best developer with whom I've had the pleasure of being associated, purchased for me a small flan-like pastry on my birthday proper. But she and her husband still did me the honor of making an appearance at Purr.
Then came a rapid fire of friends. Gabe and Fernando. Fernando, yet another pitcher on the Buzz this past year, I laugh at the fact that he will not refer to me in any other way than 'Coach'. Gabe, his more reserved counterpart, smiled his beautiful smile. They made their way into the fray.
Tony next. The Green Bay kinda from D.C., North Carolina, and L.A. all at the same time. And a writer/producer/editor/director to boot. Contemplating his future at WAMU. A very good friend of mine in the Seattle area. My first best friend in Seattle. Said he'd never step into Purr even though I told him never to judge the book by its cover, and I think he might have enjoyed himself. The horror...
Steven. The fastest person on the Thrusters - the team on which I played - this past season. A good-natured talkative sort who can be counted on to talk to anyone and everyone.
JB and Eric. A couple who moved from San Fran a couple years ago. I played with JB on the Dragons for two years. JB could always lighten the mood while also telling it how it is. We agree on many things, but none more so than the greatness of Reggie.
Todd and Shanan. Shanan I met last night for the first time. Good guy, he seems, but I make no judgment, at least not so early. Todd on the other hand, a Red Sox fan. We shall always entertain an adversarial relationship. Just the way it is. Other than the whole Red Sox thing, he's a good guy who's rebuilding his life at the moment. I've no doubt he'll pull himself up by the proverbial bootstraps...
Twiggy with Katrina. So, Twiggy isn't his real name; it's just one of his many aliases. A good shortstop; a better batter. And rather opinionated as well. Everyone should always have a Twiggy around. Then there's Katrina with her own strong beliefs. She says what she think needs to be said when she thinks it needs be said. It aided her in directing the outfield as the Buzz captain this past year.
I watched as the Cubs successfully choked. 100 years and counting. Then the Brewers. Not nearly as long for them, but still. Here we go Dodgers - Phillies.
CB. It was his actual birthday yesterday (we celebrated together). He's an Animal. No, really, he plays for the softball team named the Animals. The sweetest guy you'll ever want to meet. Just don't piss him off; army ranger, just wouldn't be pretty.
Brett, the Goldschlager and water downing skinny as a rail guy who was deemed the most improved player on the Buzz... by the Buzz. Dawn, the smiling first baseman - or should I say first basewoman - who still surprises people with her hitting even after six years in the league. Chao, the new-to-softball athletic stand-out who has proven to be an intelligent and wise man with whom I have much in common. Randy, the Nebraska-born softball guru who assists in coaching the Thrusters.
CB and I shared a shot in the first hour we were there. It was some kinda peachish-tasting concoction. We liked it enough to have another in the next hour. Oh, right, the whole hour thing. So, as I said, I wasn't going to be in a position to go home at 10. So, I paced. I told everyone that I would drink beer. And that I could handle one shot per hour. It worked.
Another Gabe came in later. Played with him on the Dragons during the Dragons' second year. A good, good player. He started his own team this past year and asked me to be the first baseman. I didn't take him up on the offer for a multitude of reasons. But he's still trying to get me for next year. When he bought my third shot - something with whiskey - he toasted to his new first baseman. I chuckled.
The final guests of the night. Chris and Rico. I had played two years with Chris on the Dragons before we went our separate ways onto different softball teams this past year. A great guy, he has weathered the Starbucks storm - he works in the Seattle headquarters as part of the IT team - rather effectively.
We closed out at Purr. Most of my guests decided to head home. A few tagged along to the Cuff. An interesting place, the Cuff. Big. A bit grimy. Reminded me of the Blue Oyster from Police Academy the first time I stepped inside. Not nearly as bad. Strong drinks. It's the place to go on Capital Hill between the hours of 10 p.m. - 2 a.m. We got ourselves some beer. Fraternized a little. Took some pictures. They bought me a 24 ounce can of Miller Lite. Shout out to Grandpa Murray. Haha. I chuckled some more.
When are you going to dance? they asked me. Uh, not this year. Sorry. Joseph had promised it in the invitation. I disappointed. It just isn't my kind of music at the Cuff. That techno/electronic/hip hop/remix crap. Ick. Blows out my eardrums.
I'm such an old man. And not because I just had a birthday.
We departed around 1:30 and made our way to Jack in the Box. Why does crappy takeout food taste good after a night of drinking? Mystery of modern life.
A shout out to all of those who do read this blog and who did attend the party. Thanks!
To all of those who couldn't come. Maybe next year...
Friday, October 3, 2008
Taste of Germany
I didn't write yesterday. Why?
Thirty-one years ago yesterday, I was born.
Thirty years ago yesterday, Louisiana Lightning, Sweet Lou, the Goose, and Bucky brought home an improbable pennant and then won the World Series to boot.
Twenty-Nine years ago yesterday, John Paul II said mass at Yankee Stadium.
There's gotta be a connection.
In any case, I spent the day yesterday trying desperately to discern a problem with the application known as bMatch. In the midst of that I received calls from my grandparents, father, mother, brother, uncle, and friends. A co-worker and friend gave me a torte. My supervisor - whose birthday is today - popped his head into my cubicle and said Happy Birthday. All in all, I've no complaints.
Then came dinner...
Just me and Joseph. Joseph had eaten there before. An upscale German restaurant in the Magnolia neighborhood of Seattle. Upscale German makes everyone laugh. 'What, upscale sausage?' No, not upscale sausage... The restaurant's name? Szmania's. Szmania is the last name of the chef, Ludger Szmania of Dusseldorf.
We stepped inside the restaurant and immediately saw a woman dressed as if she were living somewhere in the Bavarian Alps. A lot of people. We looked around and saw flags aplenty. Yellow, red, and black. We understood pretty quickly. And it had never dawned on me before. Oktoberfest.
The Bavarian clothes wearing hostess adeptly carrying three glasses of white wine, grabbed two menus and lead us to our two-person table. By the window. Away from all the people. A nice spot. We sat and looked at our menus. Titles in German. I don't know why it seemed strange to me, but it did. I had only ever seen Italian, French, and Chinese menus I couldn't understand...
A happy waitress approached the table. But we needed some time to peruse the menu. We perused. She returned.
We ordered a cheese tart with caramelized onion (Kase und something or other). And then we made decisions on the beer. I chose the Spaten Optimator. Joseph, the Spaten Pilsner. When she returned with the beer and the glass steins, we poured. Joseph commented that mine looked like root beer. It did, and when I tasted it, the beer had a sweet, full taste. Awesome. Joseph liked his too.
The appetizer came. Delicious. Almost like pizza. German food, where have you been all my life?
We ordered. We weren't ambitious enough to try Hasenpfeffer. No, we decided on meals that we could trust. It was our first time, after all. And I was more and more convinced it wouldn't be our last. Joseph chose the Jager Schnitzl (glorified pork chops) and I chose the Sauerbraten (glorified pot roast). In addition, I found on my plate spatzl. Still no idea, to be honest. Red cabbage, which I told Joseph tasted like Christmas. (No, I'm not sure what that means.) And finally, there were root vegetables. Carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, and some off-white looking thing that didn't have much taste.
Oh, and then I had to try another beer. Which one, I wondered. I perused the list and struggled mightily. The Franzikaner Hefe-Weisse? Or the Paulaner Salvatore Double Bock? No, I decided not to be cheap. I'm chose the Ayinger Ur-Weisse. Old-fashioned Wheat Dunkel – dark & complex, dry in palate, very fruity, bursting with flavor of apple & soft clove (Szmania's description). Very tasty.
We finished and they cleared our plates. Dessert? Well, of course. What would a birthday be without dessert? I ask Joseph if he'll have something. No, he said, I'm full and I'd like to go home. Home? I said to myself. No, I had to have some kind of German dessert. Chocolate cake was on the menu, but I couldn't do it. It would have been too much. Instead, I settled on the Pavlova. Merengue covered in sherbet and berries. Light, sweet. The perfect ending to the meal. Yes, we would return.
We entered our house and had the dogs assault us with tongues and tails. So happy to see us. I made my way into the bedroom and found atop the bed a gift and a card. A gift? Joseph... He had told me that my only gift was the Neil Diamond concert. I opened the card and read the sweet nothings. Then I carefully undid the wrapping paper. A Kohl's box. I opened it. And inside I saw electric blue. That's for all you civilians. For everyone else - that's you Uncle Mark - it was Giant blue. I pulled the jersey from the box and saw number 27. Brandon Jacobs. The first professional jersey I've ever owned. Awesome. And on the week that they're playing the Seachickens. Perfect timing.
Then we readied ourself to watch the recorded VP debate. Can you get me some cranberry juice, Joseph asked? Uh, sure. But we don't have any more. Yes, we do, he said. Okay, I said. Since I have memory issues, I decided to oblige. I opened the refrigerator to find a box from Borrachino's. A cake making store in Seattle. So, that's why he didn't want to have dessert at the restaurant, I realized. He just smiled. Fudge marble, my favorite. We ate as we watched Sarah Palin ask Joe Biden if she could call him Joe.
No, I'm not going to give my opinion on the VP debate. Except that I'm all for answering the moderator's questions. And not using the word maverick unless it pertains to Mel Gibson, Jodie Foster, or James Garner. Ever again...
A good birthday. And the party's still to come...
Thirty-one years ago yesterday, I was born.
Thirty years ago yesterday, Louisiana Lightning, Sweet Lou, the Goose, and Bucky brought home an improbable pennant and then won the World Series to boot.
Twenty-Nine years ago yesterday, John Paul II said mass at Yankee Stadium.
There's gotta be a connection.
In any case, I spent the day yesterday trying desperately to discern a problem with the application known as bMatch. In the midst of that I received calls from my grandparents, father, mother, brother, uncle, and friends. A co-worker and friend gave me a torte. My supervisor - whose birthday is today - popped his head into my cubicle and said Happy Birthday. All in all, I've no complaints.
Then came dinner...
Just me and Joseph. Joseph had eaten there before. An upscale German restaurant in the Magnolia neighborhood of Seattle. Upscale German makes everyone laugh. 'What, upscale sausage?' No, not upscale sausage... The restaurant's name? Szmania's. Szmania is the last name of the chef, Ludger Szmania of Dusseldorf.
We stepped inside the restaurant and immediately saw a woman dressed as if she were living somewhere in the Bavarian Alps. A lot of people. We looked around and saw flags aplenty. Yellow, red, and black. We understood pretty quickly. And it had never dawned on me before. Oktoberfest.
The Bavarian clothes wearing hostess adeptly carrying three glasses of white wine, grabbed two menus and lead us to our two-person table. By the window. Away from all the people. A nice spot. We sat and looked at our menus. Titles in German. I don't know why it seemed strange to me, but it did. I had only ever seen Italian, French, and Chinese menus I couldn't understand...
A happy waitress approached the table. But we needed some time to peruse the menu. We perused. She returned.
We ordered a cheese tart with caramelized onion (Kase und something or other). And then we made decisions on the beer. I chose the Spaten Optimator. Joseph, the Spaten Pilsner. When she returned with the beer and the glass steins, we poured. Joseph commented that mine looked like root beer. It did, and when I tasted it, the beer had a sweet, full taste. Awesome. Joseph liked his too.
The appetizer came. Delicious. Almost like pizza. German food, where have you been all my life?
We ordered. We weren't ambitious enough to try Hasenpfeffer. No, we decided on meals that we could trust. It was our first time, after all. And I was more and more convinced it wouldn't be our last. Joseph chose the Jager Schnitzl (glorified pork chops) and I chose the Sauerbraten (glorified pot roast). In addition, I found on my plate spatzl. Still no idea, to be honest. Red cabbage, which I told Joseph tasted like Christmas. (No, I'm not sure what that means.) And finally, there were root vegetables. Carrots, cauliflower, broccoli, and some off-white looking thing that didn't have much taste.
Oh, and then I had to try another beer. Which one, I wondered. I perused the list and struggled mightily. The Franzikaner Hefe-Weisse? Or the Paulaner Salvatore Double Bock? No, I decided not to be cheap. I'm chose the Ayinger Ur-Weisse. Old-fashioned Wheat Dunkel – dark & complex, dry in palate, very fruity, bursting with flavor of apple & soft clove (Szmania's description). Very tasty.
We finished and they cleared our plates. Dessert? Well, of course. What would a birthday be without dessert? I ask Joseph if he'll have something. No, he said, I'm full and I'd like to go home. Home? I said to myself. No, I had to have some kind of German dessert. Chocolate cake was on the menu, but I couldn't do it. It would have been too much. Instead, I settled on the Pavlova. Merengue covered in sherbet and berries. Light, sweet. The perfect ending to the meal. Yes, we would return.
We entered our house and had the dogs assault us with tongues and tails. So happy to see us. I made my way into the bedroom and found atop the bed a gift and a card. A gift? Joseph... He had told me that my only gift was the Neil Diamond concert. I opened the card and read the sweet nothings. Then I carefully undid the wrapping paper. A Kohl's box. I opened it. And inside I saw electric blue. That's for all you civilians. For everyone else - that's you Uncle Mark - it was Giant blue. I pulled the jersey from the box and saw number 27. Brandon Jacobs. The first professional jersey I've ever owned. Awesome. And on the week that they're playing the Seachickens. Perfect timing.
Then we readied ourself to watch the recorded VP debate. Can you get me some cranberry juice, Joseph asked? Uh, sure. But we don't have any more. Yes, we do, he said. Okay, I said. Since I have memory issues, I decided to oblige. I opened the refrigerator to find a box from Borrachino's. A cake making store in Seattle. So, that's why he didn't want to have dessert at the restaurant, I realized. He just smiled. Fudge marble, my favorite. We ate as we watched Sarah Palin ask Joe Biden if she could call him Joe.
No, I'm not going to give my opinion on the VP debate. Except that I'm all for answering the moderator's questions. And not using the word maverick unless it pertains to Mel Gibson, Jodie Foster, or James Garner. Ever again...
A good birthday. And the party's still to come...
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