Cubs and Sox

I'm going to see my first Cubs vs. Sox game this weekend. An old friend had an extra ticket available, so I jumped at the chance. But after witnessing their meltdown against the Brewers yesterday, and so many others this season, I think Sunday's game will basically be a chance to sit in the shade and glower at White Sox fans. And to pretend that witnessing the best rivalry in baseball is consolation having the worst minor league team in MLB.
The Cubs stink so bad this year that I've realized that 2003 will be the cursed year for fans of my generation, just like so many generations who have gone before us. They had 1929, 1969, 1989. For us, 2003 will be the one real chance we had, never to come again, and we'll re-live it and gnash our teeth and lament, just like the losers we were destined to be.
It's sad and pathetic, but we don't get to chose our Chicago team.
It chooses us.

Today's coffee

After several days of drinking garbage coffee from the company's Bunn brewer, I'm finally drinking a decent cup from an actual coffee shop. A dark roast dubbed "Black Thunder." You can't go wrong with that name. But just to make sure lightning strikes in the right spot, I added a shot of espresso to this gathering storm.
Oh yeah.
Maybe I should've added two.

TV time again

For those of you in TV Land who missed my debut on televised news, well, here's your next big chance. Friday night on the six o'clock news I'll be telling Eric and Dani all about our business section. Tune in to Rockford's News Leader, WREX-Channel 13 (that's channel 3 for you Insight customers). I might even screw up, who knows?

What I should be doing

This is the pile of dirty dishes sitting in my sink. Yes, I should wash them. But instead, I am showing the world how gross my kitchen sink is.
Kinda silly, huh?
Guess I better get scrubbing. Or I could just wash a few bowls for breakfast tomorrow and leave the rest for later...
Just think, I've been married for five years and I still act like a single man.

Coffee: import me a cup

Yesterday I spoke to a source who runs a coffee-importing business here in Rockford. She and her husband buy green coffee straight from growers in Africa, then sell it to wholesale and retail roasters here, in Canada and in Taiwan. She's trying to get a foot into Japan, where the tea-drinking masses are just beginning to turn their taste buds toward the black bean.
I was salivating at the thought of real fresh-roasted coffee, which sophisticated drinkers tell me has no comparison to what we drink. I've never had just-roasted coffee. Apparently, roasted coffee goes stale on the shelf rather quickly, in a matter of days. Ground coffee goes in a matter of hours and brewed coffee in a matter of minutes.
But green coffee stays fresh for months. A neighbor up the street tells me he buys it green and roasts it himself to enjoy the freshness. Apparently there is another type of coffee consumption I have yet to enjoy. (I've never had Turkish coffee either.)
Here's something else I learned: Coffee is the second largest imported commodity to the United States. Guess what's the largest?
Oil.

Things most men won't admit

A commenter noticed that my entries have tapered off. Sorry. There's something so dark, so frightening, so utterly dismaying that I've been unable to post for a few days. It happened at the baseball game, but I was too troubled to report it. It started when I noticed an old friend from high school in the stands, Susan Bry. We chatted on the concourse where I met her 3-year-old daughter; she said there's another baby on the way.
Then I went off to use the can. Like most places, the women's restroom was on the right, the men's on the left. So I went in the left door and walked to the back. There were two rows of stalls, but no urinals. I figured they must have been in a different part. (You know where this is going). An adult was busy at the end of the row putting the pants back on a potty-trained toddler.
And no, the clues hadn't registered with me yet.
I did my business while admiring the ambiance, thinking about how upscale this brand-new Riverhawks stadium was compared to Wrigley, where males are only afforded a long trough in which to empty their used Old Style. Finally, I walked back to the sinks to wash my hands. By now I was curious to find where they hid the urinals in this classy bathroom. I walked around a likely corner and found -- wait for it -- a second exit. There were two doors to enter this bathroom -- one on the right and one on the left.
I got out fast.
I have to wonder if Susan noticed how nonchalantly I walked into the women's restroom.

Even more on men: Baseball

Tonight I went to see the newly reborn local minor league franchise, The Riverhawks, with my dad and our friend David. The team played the Chillicothe Paints. Much discussion ensued on where the heck Chillicothe was... perhaps Indiana or Iowa? Finally, we settled on Kentucky or Tennessee after learning that the Paints mascot was a horse and not a can of Sherwin-Williams.
Chillicothe is in southern Ohio, however.
Huh.
A Riverhawk, in case you're wondering, is a fuzzy blue bird-man named Rocko. It has an oversized head, its native habitat is the ballfield and its mating rituals involved T-shirt giveaways and strange promotional contests. Riverhawks no longer exist in the wild, apparently.
Anyway, it rained most of the game and the Riverhawks went down 3-0, managing one measly hit in all 9 innings of water-soaked play. Perhaps rain delays are against the rules in the minors.
But baseball is more than just hits and pitches. Tonight, it also included a hot dog, a large lemonade, an order of nachos, a super pretzel and a polish sausage.
And lots of yelling in an attempt to win the strange promotional items.

More on men: Fire

Fire is male territory. The light of the flame, the crackle, the heat, it all speaks deep to the man, awakening the Cro-Magnon urges within him. Men want to start fires. Ugh-a. We do. Grr.
But the sanitized, emasculated world around us does not give chance for building fire. Turning a dial on the stovetop does not satiate. Igniting a hiss of propane on the gas grill is more gratifying, while lighting a pile of oversoaked charcoal briquets brings cheer.
But the most satisfying of all is starting a wood fire from scratch, a skill unappreciated in the world of accountants, machinists, insurance agents and lawyers where most of us live during the week.
But ah, a skill without which our precious civilization would be nothing.
Have we somehow lost our way?
Unga.
Never.
On Saturday, my friend Rich and I rekindled the lost art once again, lighting a small blaze in a backyard firepit for a another friend's party.
Two former Boy Scouts. We crumpled newspaper. We stacked twigs. We blew and blew and blew on the coals until we nearly passed out, a feat that prompted much ribbing from the assembled.
Let them laugh. They not touch fire. They not fire handlers.
We have power of fire. It is ours. Uhh.

Party politics

Last night I went to a party at Adam's new house. Actually it was a baby shower for Sybil. Here was the best present, although this one was good too. About five minutes after we got there, the men congregated outside around the grill despite a steady drizzle, while the women sat around the dining room table and talked about whatever it is women talk about together. Of course, most of my friends are young enough that someone remarked about how weird it was that the sexes separated. I think by the time you're 40, this arrangement is as natural as the rain.
Funny how when you're young, single and on the prowl, you mingle with the opposite sex at parties. But once you're paired up and things are settled, even Americans segregate worse than Islamic worshippers in a mosque.
But like most married men, I don't mind this unspoken social arrangement.

What I did when I wasn't blogging

Well, I didn't post all weekend, and man, did I get a lot done. I mowed the lawn, cut up this giant locust limb that fell into my yard (with a hand saw, yo), planted my petunias, visited a neighbors' garden, went to a party and attended a minor league baseball game.
So I guess blogging is a huge time waster.
Huh.

Din-din

This is what I'm waiting for on the grill. Right now. I mean, I'm sitting next to it, listening to the sizzle. The sweet sweet sizzle.
And no, you can't have any.

Welcome to the television age

Take a look at a video of me on Thursday's 5 o'clock news. The clip is near the bottom of the page. Kinda freaky, huh?

But I'm not jealous

Today I was on the job site of a $49-million medical campus; the general contractor was just beginning to pour the footings. When I was talking to the site superintendent, he said his laborers were making about $40 an hour.
Yeah.
So why did I borrow money to go to college again?

I take back all the mean things I said...

....about TV journalists. Because today I was on the television news. And I don't mean because my neighbor's house burned down or the fugitive ran through my yard. I was ON the news. Yes. I was. Here's the deal: My new newspaper has a cooperative agreement with a local television station to promo articles on the air. I did a big story and they wanted me to go on live and talk about it. Yeah. It was scary. About three minutes before go time I felt a stabbing pain on the left side of my chest above my heart. I think that must be what a panic attack is. Or at least, it's what happens when you don't take a breath for 90 seconds. Anyway, I'll post a link tomorrow morning to the video when it goes up.

By the way...

I think I got the hang of this so-called "blog" thing.

Caffeine depletion

Caffeine....wearing...off...Must....go...to...bed.

Makes ya wonder

Why is does the model's hair in Victoria Secret commercials always blow around? Is it windy in Lingerie Land? 'Cuz I bet it's awful cold to run around there in your draaws. I mean, seriously, people.
Oh, and I only caught the tail end of that commercial. I mean it.

The rabbit holes on the internets

Okay, last night I spent at least two hours discovering YouTube. I mean, have you seen this place? Sheesh. It was hih-larious. But after watching image after image of lipsynched song spoofs, stop motion animation and sweet dance moves, I concluded that much of cyberspace is a colossal waste of time. While I was busy watching videos created by other people with too much time on their hands, my petunias didn't get planted and my dishes didn't get done. I also didn't get enough sleep, thus forcing me to consume well over a pot of coffee at work today. Hmmm... well, it is the sweet sweet nectar of the gods.

How blogs facilitate writer's block

So now I'm invigorated to post. So here goes. Yup, any minute now, great ideas are going to flow forth. Insightful thoughts, snappy turns of phrase, helpful revelations. Here they come.
Okay, maybe just check back later...

First comment!

Yes! I haven't even told my friends about the existence of this blog and it already has a comment. I thought I was just talking to myself. I still am, but at least someone overheard.
Wait a minute... You know, this blog could quickly devolve into a deconstruction of the blog narrative.
Oh. I guess it already has.

Whew!

Okay, I just put Nicholas to bed. After a full day at work and then an evening of taking him on a walk, feeding him (okay Meegan did that), bathing him and reading stories, I'm pooped out. Maybe I'll just veg out and try to think of something worthwhile to blog about.

Small victories

Okay, now I figured out how to link to other people's blogs. I'm really sailing along here.

Lunch perks

I'm on my lunch break. My new job allows me to come home for lunch because the office is a mile and a half away. It's like living before the age of automobiles. Except I have wireless internet and 15 other electronic gadgets.

I'm an expert

Okay, now I've got my photo up. That's me without coffee...
See what happens?

Everyone else is doing it, so why can't I?

Well, it's the first entry. I'm sitting in my bathroom watching my son splash water out of the tub. I have no grand plans for this blog, I'm just trying it out.