it's really not so hard when you think about it...and have a list

i am going to print out this article from the New York Times, and carry it with me at all family functions, etc. this way, when asked to justify spending 5.50 on a gallon of organic milk for la luz, i won't have to repeat the same old speech. i can just hand it over! perfect!

incidentally, i am a bit of a nazi about a few other organic foods, esp. those fruits with thin skins: grapes, all berries, and cherries.

i am surprised not to see some mention of cage free/vegetarian fed hen/organic eggs on the list. we can now find antibiotic free/no horomone/veggie fed hen eggs at our local produce joint! which makes me think we should have eggs for dinner. mmmmmmmm.

hell hath no fury...

I've never really watched 'the sopranos', so I didn't have much to contribute to the discussion of the 'fade to black' ending. (I guess it was more 'cut to black', but i digress.)

After reading this interview, I have to say the relative disdain David Chase feels for his fans/viewers is more than palpable. And he's a fantastic example of the pot, the kettle, and the color black:

"There WAS a war going on that week, and attempted terror attacks in London," says Chase. "But these people were talking about onion rings."

'These people' is generally the classic reference one uses when the hate is boiling over and can barely be contained. (I am imagining it spilling through his teeth.) And yes, I am constantly struck by the things a country fighting two wars becomes fixated on, but at the same time--is Chase really any better than 'these people'--when he is the one putting the 'onion rings' out there? Is he going to make the argument that during war we should be viewing only patriotic/informative/homeland security videos? Because that's both freakishly totalitarian and, more importantly, would put him out of a job.

The loathing is so out of place, isn't it? He made MILLIONS of dollars, called the shots, delayed the series time and again...and now bites the hand.

I am perturbed. And glad I never committed to watching 'The Sopranos'. Who really needs to feel betrayed by the likes of David Chase?

process of elimination

this is disheartening disclaimer: i haven't been planning to vote for barack obama, or hillary, or john edwards. and due to the ridiculous stranglehold new hampshire and iowa hold on having the early, (and might i add, IMPORTANT) primaries, i won't be able to vote for the candidate i want to be the democratic candidate in the 08 election.

that said, this still makes me sad.

at any rate, i think i will be registering as a republican and voting for ron paul in the primary. j and i caught a bit of the republican debates on FOX last night, and aside from the freakish "liberal-bash" aspect and complete lack of substance (seriously, the republicans have been making about as much sense as a jerry springer guest) the real surprise of the night was ron paul, who both had a great reading of hillary as a candidate who isn't original or different, and managed to skewer his fellow candidates for not doing their own jobs well.

10 points as well to (i think it was hukabee or paul?) for pointing out that the republicans needed to embrace ending the war as over 70 precent of americans want out. (and of course, when you are elected to act on behalf of the PEOPLE, you should...when you don't abide by their wishes, it's called a dictatorship, and the Republicans have been toeing that line for quite some time.)

i am already getting nervous about the coming elections. ugggh.

quote of the day

our fearless leader was on television today as evie and i were settling in to watch "little bill". i looked and said, "ugggh, captain douchebag."

evie: "i don't like that douchebag either, mom."

i can't be angry--she's calling a spade a spade. but i will have to do a better job of controlling my venom when captain douchebag is on.

some thoughts on beerball

you read that correctly; where I live there is a "league" (over 20 years and getting stronger each season) of "beerball" players who gather every sunday night, take a beer in the field and play some highly competitive, well-officiated softball.

I'll spare you the intricacies in favor of my musings.

 

I'm the only woman who plays an actual position. that said, the other regular gals may be braver: they sometimes pitch. with a group of regular guys who look like they could walk on to the Kansas city Royals staring you down at less than 60 feet—well, I am not that insane.

except maybe I am. the first ever game of beerball I played, I was taken out (stampeded!) at second base by a fast and large woman. when I woke up, I was still holding the ball. but I was knocked out of work for two weeks with a concussion and whiplash.

fast forward—jeremy and I have been playing for most of this season. evie has become the unofficial mascot, and has a crush on a nice young man named billy. j and I are apparently both in the running for the "where have you gone joe dimaggio?" award, as we've been away from the game since 2004. (aside: I wish I were making that up—the commish keeps religious stats, and hands out wonderfully named awards!)

as of late I have played mostly second base. until this week, when I was convinced to take short stop. which I was fine with, until the third baseman asked to trade (I have a better arm…so much for throwing like a girl!). and even playing third was fine—you know how much I love to watch Brandon Inge, and barehand a few grounders during warm ups with my high knee socks on—until I remembered that I was extremely tired, the game was well into its 4^th hour, and I was three or so beers deep.

lesson learned: catching the ball with two hands is fundamentally sound baseball. when a throw from left field tails, MOVE YOUR GLOVE HAND FIRST! yes, that crack heard round the field was my hand. yes, little evie came running onto the field to kiss it (even telling all the boys "wait, wait, get away, I need to kiss my Mommy's boo-boo!"). it hurt enough that my first thought was "don't vomit". my second, "don't cry". and the third "I really hope when I look at my fingers they aren't mangled".

amazingly, my hand is sore and stiff but not much else.

next week I think I'll stick to second or short. third base is the goal for next season, but third base = sober(ish) ball and being more comfortable with diving.

 

my word, I love baseball.

even the new york times can't let this one go by without comment

sometimes, it is just too easy. and too fun. note the "air quotes". or regular quotes, i suppose, as they are in print. anyway, they're sarcastic. and we all know momma loves her some sarcasm!

new poem, part 2

LOVE LETTER POSTMARKED MICHIGAN AND TRUMBLE

    for my Detroit Tigers    

 

 

Even Abuelito, limping into the Loma

with a mistress at his hip

taught me to love the lost men

before I knew he was among them

 

to love them even more the further they went away

when one could only listen through the radio

in the driveway of the old house on Fairmont

 

losses stepping upon losses

like the bricks of the new ballpark.

 

Because I waited for you for years

 

and you couldn't even set the record

for most losses in one season

 

because that, in its own way, would be

a kind of win.

 

You have brought back high knee socks

and pants stopping just below the knee

 

and I learned to love you

the way every woman in my family

has learned to love any man

 

stumbling over the positives

("we were in almost every game")

 

waiting for next year

it could always be so much worse

as a friend says, we could all have one leg.

 

And yes, Jim Leyland is right, anyone can gauge

the prowess of a man

by the sound of the ball leaving his bat,

 

though Craig Monroe had been in the majors for years

before he found it, the sweet spot,

the spot where, my love, every pitch

is a weak ankle shattering.