Isn't It Ironic? No, It Probably Isn't

Earlier this week it was cloudy and relatively cool, and I wore flip-flops. Then it got sunnier and warmer, yet I reverted to wearing socks and sneakers. I don't know why.

Disasters In Customer Service

I needed to get out of the house because 1) there are no good sports to watch on TV this time of year; 2) I needed to get away from My Fucking Father in case he sees me in my room touching my cock and decides he needs to lecture me on "doing something"; and 3) this was the penultimate day for me to use my free Subway coupon I got at the U. of M. soccer game back in the fall and I didn't want to go out tomorrow (more on that later).

I make sure I get out of the house in time to avoid my parents, and I do.  I go down to the Mall Of America.  I decide that I will finally go into the shop called As Seen On TV and get a Ped-Egg because my heels are as dry and cracked as a desert and Consumer Reports recommended it.

I look around the store before grabbing a Ped-Egg package.  I then stand in line to check out.  Meanwhile, there's this guy stocking Ped-Eggs and other product on the hooks and shelves.  He gets done with a package and walks toward me.  Apparently I'm standing in his way and he's got important things to do, because he says, "Why don't you stand over here so that you won't be anybody's way?"

YOU CONDESCENDING MOTHERFUCKER!!!  IT AIN'T MY GODDAMN FAULT YOUR STORE IS THE SIZE OF A WALK-IN CLOSET!  WHY DON'T YOU MOVE INTO A BIGGER SPACE IF YOU DON'T LIKE ME STANDING IN YOUR WAY -- OR, BETTER YET, SHUT YOUR GODDAMN MOUTH AND GO AROUND ME!!  I'M BUYING SHIT FROM YOUR STORE, ASSHOLE!!!  EVER HEARD OF NOT PISSING OFF YOUR CUSTOMERS, YOU DUMBASS?!?!

As I was buying the Ped-Egg, I kept looking for him, in "full vengeance" mode.  How can I get back at this guy, passive-aggressively of course?  After I bought the Ped-Egg, I decided I would go up from behind, pat him on the back as he was marking prices on his stuff and say goodbye.

But dammit, he was done!  He was loading all his boxes into his dolly and leaving the store!  No way is he getting away from me, so as he was out at the mall and blending into heavy weekend MOA traffic, I decided to chase after.  And I got the son-of-a-bitch; as he was dragging his boxes behind him, I get up next to him, pat him firmly on his right shoulder twice and say, "You have a nice day too, sir," then walk past and in front of him, slowly averting the slower-walking man ahead of this prick.  In my quasi-fearful way -- and I know I need to work on making eye contact when I'm trying to show someone up -- I turn my head his way without looking at his ass-face.  But I increase my distance from him by walking faster; hopefully it looks like I made my point and I'm walking confidently, though I'm afraid it looks like I don't want to get my ass kicked.

Further complication: I decide to take the escalator down to avoid him ... but dammit!  I hear the wheels of this creep's dolly trailing behind me.  Is he following me?  Or have I again made the exact wrong choice of where to go when trying to get away from an enemy?  This is the point where I needed to look up from the escalator and look straight at him, dare him, say "What?  You wanna go?  YOU WANNA FUCKING GO, MOTHERFUCKER?!?!?!" with my eyes.  But I didn't, I just did my business.  Maybe I was playing it cool, but I feel that this asshole thinks I'm a pussy.

I walked for a couple hours around the mall to try and shake myself of this unfortunate situation.  Then I realized: I bought something from this guy's store.  Why do I want to give money to a guy who disrespected me?  I really, really wanted to try this Ped-Egg out; I just tore a piece of dried skin from my heel and put it on my rapidly-growing mound of dried heel skin on table next to my bed.  But I just couldn't think that I could ever use this product without thinking of that rude bastard.  So I went back up there, girded myself in case he was back there or, worse, was checking people out, and went up to the counter to see the same guy who checked me out when I bought the Ped-Egg -- big, scruffy-bearded, too-soft-spoken, quiet in that serial killer kind of way.  I returned it without any problems on his end, got my money back, made sure the coast was clear of that ignorant asshole who no longer has my money anymore, and left the mall.

I have to admit, not walking around with that thing is like taking a load off my shoulders.  I almost always keep my negative feelings whenever I'm the victim of a run-in like that, but returning that material object made me feel a lot better.

---

But then. ...

I went to the Subway at the U. to cash in on that free coupon.  I get the new Tusssssssssssssscan Chicken Sandwich, and from the first "sandwich artist" I showed this coupon to make sure they knew I had this thing.  But when I get to check-out, the guy didn't know which buttons on his register to push.

So he calls for and gets this short, squat Hispanic guy -- like Guillermo from Jimmy Kimmel Live, but with a fatter face and a confrontational attitude.  He did some things, I don't know if they worked, but he just spat a "dollar seven" at me, which was the cost of the chips I bought.  After I gave this guy my money, the register spat out two receipts.  They stapled the first one to the coupon, but there was a second one.  I don't completely know why I did, but keeping track of my expenses was one of the things I've been thinking about recently, and so I asked if I could take the receipt.  They both stared at me blankly, so I asked again, and again, and then the Latino dude gave it to me, walked away ... and started laughing at me and shaking his head.

Well, I immediately went to red with this fucking asshole.  Was he showing me up?  It brought back bad memories of the time I was at the Indian casino while on vacation in Milwaukee.  I was the last seat at a blackjack table, and I did something that violated the Secret Blackjack Code, and I broke the table.  I leave broke, and this guy at the other end of the table from me kept looking at me, shaking his head and laughing at me.  I kept looking back at him as I was walking away.  I was bewildered as he kept looking at me.  I wanted to go up to him and pick a fight -- "You got a problem with me?"  Yet to this day I regret just walking away, like a little bitch.

And so this was history repeating itself.  Even the bane of my existence looked the same; if Subway Prick were even fatter and hadn't showered in a year, he would look like Blackjack Prick.  I learned my lesson; I wasn't going to let any perceived slight go unanswered.  So the asshole went back to the back to do Subway stuff, and I asked the first guy (the guy who tried to ring me up the first time) what was his problem: "He's shaking his head and he's laughing, he got something?"  I may have said this loud enough for the other customers in the restaurant to hear and get uncomfortable.  My bad.  But I was standing up for myself, and therefore I am proud of myself.  That little bitch either didn't hear me or didn't want to hear me.  The first guy tried to defuse the situation by saying, "It's alright."

I dined in.  I was looking at Subway Son-Of-A-Bitch the whole time, daring him to look me in the eyes.  Yeah, that makes up for the douchebag I ran into at As Seen On TV.

I tried thinking of ways to get back at this one.  All the scenarios I could come up with, though, had to have him coming out into the front of the restaurant so I could confront/lock eyes with/throw something at him.  And of course he never did.  To try and defuse the situation, I waved my hand at the First Guy on my way out after eating.  He waved back and said goodbye.  He's an alright dude.  It's good I didn't do anything stupid because of him.

Few hours later, I looked at the receipt I got from Subway.  It didn't have anything about the chips I bought.  Guess that rude d-bag couldn't figure out how to punch it into the cash register.  The dumbass.

Regardless, I think it's best I stay home Sunday.

Poor Bastard Of The Moment: John Hamilton

All previous Poor Bastards Of The Moment have been sports players, but I didn't envision making this award a sports-only one. So I'm going to pick out John Hamilton, a man who lives in Sandusky, Ohio, where apparently the budget forced them to leave a public park unmowed and trash strewn on the ground. He decided to mow the damn park, and for that he was arrested by city police (which may or may not have been affected by the budget cuts).

This isn't some nut. This is a man, a citizen, who was deeply concerned with the quality of life he saw in his neighborhood, got fed up with the city's impotence and penury, and decided to do something about it. And I doubt he was going to charge the city for mowing the foot-high grass. And he gets arrested for trying to make a little part of the place he lives a bit better?

Poor bastard.

How Come Everything I've Seen Happen Recently Happened For The First Time In Thirteen Years?

Indiana won the Big Ten Baseball Tournament and will be in the NCAA Tournament for the first time since ... 1996.

Saw Late Night With Jimmy Fallon the other night when Whoopi Goldberg was on. She said it had been a long time since she flew on an airplane. The last time? 1996.

Every issue of The Onion has a little parody weather blurb in the upper-right-hand corner. This week's? It celebrates the thirteenth anniversary of that insipid tornado movie, Twister. 2009-13= ... 1996.

There were a couple more "since 1996" instances I ran across this week, but I was floored that there were this many that I forgot the rest.

I was up late on my laptop. At 4:30 in the morning I hear rustling in the kitchen -- microwave on, stuff like that. Grandmother must be awake. No! It's My Fucking Father, for fuck's sake!! Why in the hell is he up?! He ate something and sat down in the dining room, so he must've seen the light emanating from under my sister's room, where I was at.

And now I have to gird myself against what he's gonna say when he comes home tonight. If he asks me why the hell I'm up, I'll shoot right back and ask him the same fucking thing. There might be a goddamn war tonight if he's gonna choose to be a bitch.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

Positive Numbers: University of St. Thomas baseball (New!).  Congratulations to the baseball program of my brother's alma mater for winning the Division III college baseball championship!  They had to battle in the College World Series to do it, too.  They got shut out by Wooster (they're in Ohio) Sunday night, 3-0, had to come back and beat Carthage 3-1 the following afternoon, then had to beat Wooster not once but twice on Tuesday, both cardiac-style, to win the whole enchilada.  (Like top-flight, Div. III is a double-elimination tournament.)  In the first game, St. Thomas squandered a 4-1 lead in the bottom of the eighth, but scratched out two runs in the top of the ninth to give them the final margin of their victory.  The insurance run was a squeeze bunt by senior Dan Leslie, who'd figure huge in the deciding game.  In the bottom of the 12th, Leslie punched a grounder through the hole on the left side to score junior and CWS Most Outstanding Player Matt Olson from second base to end the game and give the Tommies their second baseball championship and 13th title in school history.  Moreover, UST beat two All-American starting pitchers from Wooster in Tuesday's doubleheader, Justin McDowell and Mark Miller, the latter of whom pitched all 11 1/3 innings in the Scots' loss.  And the CWS-ending sweep was the fifth and sixth elimination games the Tommies won in the playoffs.  Coach Dennis Denning gets to add a second trophy to the one he won for UST in '01.

St. Thomas is one of a few teams that take advantage of the Metrodome, albeit in a weird way.  The Gopher baseball team hates their field, so whenever they can (but especially early in their season, when the Twins are in Spring Training) they play at the Dome to escape the March cold.  Other local teams do the same thing for the same reason, but since the Gophers have first dibs and they usually hold four-team tournaments at that time, the only times these smaller schools can play is after the Gophers are done.  (Read this article from USA Today to see what I mean.)  Check on the Tommies' second game on their schedule -- at the Dome, against Wisconsin-Whitewater, March 6, starting at 10 in the evening ... doubleheader.  A couple years ago I saw the first half of a doubleheader featuring a local school playing some school in Nebraska, I think.  During the Gophers game (the reason I went to the Dome) I saw these guys in uniforms and I didn't know what they were doing there.  After the Gophs got done and the PA announcer said things that made me realize they were playing a game, I just had to pay $5 and stick around.  It was weird; there were no player announcements, no video scoreboard, and I couldn't follow with a scorecard because I didn't know who the hell these people were.  It got done after two hours, around midnight, and after their game was over they all piled onto the field and started warming up.  They were playing a second game?!?!?!  That could last till 3 0'clock?!?!?!  I love baseball, but fuck this, and I left.

Anyway, one of those teams this year is the Div. III national champions, and my brother went to the school.  Congrats again!

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -3).  As much as they were playing like doo-doo last week, they were 180 degrees better this week; a close Memorial afternoon loss was the only thing that stopped them from going 7-0 this week.  That 20-1 beatdown of the White Sox, snapping their six-game losing streak, seems to have been the game that snapped them from their doldrums.  And if they couldn't win against Chicago, in retrospect beginning interleague play would have done the trick; from '97 (the first year of interleague play) through last year, the Twins have the third-best interleague record.  That may have improved, for they swept/beat the asses of Milwaukee over the weekend.

Seeing Joe Mauer up close (though in the Cheap Seats, like I already blogged about), it looks like he is either swinging for the fences or he's on something .  Whatever the case, his power has been nothing short of revelatory and his May (though he's quieted down against the Red Sox) has been almost historic.  And it's great he's being backed up by Justin Morneau, who hit a grand slam on Sunday and is providing great protection for Mauer.

The M&M boys are going to be really fun to watch if they keep this up over the summer.  It's good that they're picking up the slack for the starting pitching, which continues to have its ups and downs.  I need to single out Francisco Liriano, who lost Monday because he gave up five runs over four innings.  It's becoming clear that he is not Santana v.2.0.  That trade with the Mets is slowly gaining, Mine That Bird-style, on the Delmon Young-for-Matt Garza trade for worst trade in recent franchise history.  This week: Boston this afternoon, at Tampa for the weekend to close out the month, then three against Cleveland at the Dome.

#-2: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -1).  They are in the NCAA Tournament after a one-year absence, that's all that counts.  They complete the week at the Big Ten Tournament in Columbus (home of the Blue Diamond) 3-2 and a second-place finish.  Their losses come at the hands of, of all teams, third seed Indiana; the Hoosiers whipped the Gophers 12-3 to begin Minnesota's tournament and whipped them 13-2 in the title game.

Prospects now, however, are not great.  They go down to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where the host, LSU, was placed as the third-overall seed in the 64-team tourney.  The good news is that the second-seed Minnesota's first opponent, Baylor, was called unqualified for inclusion in the tournament by Baseball America's Aaron Fit.  He's got a point: The Bears lost 12 of their last 14 regular season games, including being swept in their last three series, the last one being at the hands of Big 12 cellar-dweller Nebraska (although they did beat Texas and Kansas in the Big 12 baseball tournament).  The No. 4 is Southern, which is an HBCU, and although I don't want to demean HBCU's, and they are better in baseball than, say, basketball, well, they're an HBCU.  And, also unlike basketball (and like hockey and soccer), upsets are much more likely to happen in this sport.  Let's cross our fingers; they start play Friday.

#-3: Wild (Re-Entry).  To quote blowhard fatass Rush Limbaugh upon hearing John McCain picked Sarah Palin to be his vice-presidential running mate: Home fucking run.  Unlike Palin, though, Owner Craig Leipold's choice of Chuck Fletcher as new General Manager actually looks like a good choice on paper.  Fletch was apparently Leipold's #1 target, and for good reason: He's been in the NHL since 1993, and all three teams he's worked for (Florida, Anaheim, Pittsburgh) got to the Stanley Cup finals when he worked for that team.  His father is Hall Of Fame executive Cliff Fletcher.  He wants to make the Wild into a fast-breaking, offensive team, which may persuade some well-known free agents to come to Minnesota, thereby reinjecting interest in the franchise.  And maybe most importantly, he has a reputation of being a great communicator, something his predecessor, Doug Risebrough, apparently didn't think was an important responsibility.  But the reason this is a great hire is because it makes so much sense: Chuck Fletcher is a guy who has paid his dues as an Assistant General Manager, has built a track record of success, and deserves a shot to run his own team.  Contrast that with the:

#-4: Timberwolves (Last Week: -2).  What the fuck is this?  David Kahn?  A guy who hasn't been in the NBA since '04?  A guy who's been sued when he was a flop as an owner of some teams in the NBDL?  A guy whose accomplishments at Indiana were mostly on the business side?  And do you really want a President Of Basketball Operations who can put on his resume consultant for NBA Showtime for the NBA on NBC?  There is nothing about him that says he has been a lauded GM or a keen talent evaluator or a great communicator, or even a guy who is competent to lead a franchise.

Owner Glen Taylor can pooh-pooh all he wants, but Kahn is probably his fourth choice.  The other three guys either wanted the power to fire Coach Kevin McHale and Taylor didn't give it to him, or saw that the Woofie Dogs were in such terrible shape they never were serious about entertaining an offer for the position and used the team to get more money and/or a better title to stay with their own team.  Even worse, this only alienates the fanbase, and such a bad read has to be laid at Taylor's feet.  At least he finds a guy in Kahn who is friends with Commissioner David Stern and will allow McHale to do whatever the fuck he wants.  Too bad he won't know how to negotiate through three first-round picks in the worst draft in modern NBA history.  Epic.  Fucking.  Fail.

So My Fucking Father looked like he was in one of his goddamn moods again.  There is a reclining chair right next to the dining room table.  Oftentimes when he hurt himself at work or he's tired or he just wants to be a needy prick, he'll get up from his chair at the dining room table, move over three feet, sit his ass in the recliner, and close his eyes.  And he closes his eyes tightly, like he's afraid someone's going to open them an pour acid in them.  Whenever he does that I know he's copping his preening, accusatory, bullying attitude.

He did this tonight.  I don't know why, but I sure as fuck wasn't going to ask how his day was.  I do my best to avoid him regardless, but today I really had to walk on eggshells around him.  Sadly, my Mother asked me to send birthday wishes to my sister, and I haven't told my parents about the laptop I bought yet, so I went downstairs, where my dad (I thought) was sleeping.

Before I wrote an e-mail to my sis I read an e-mail from my sis asking me to tell the 'Rents that she tried to call home today (apparently she's forgiven My Fucking Father for telling her he was dead, though I still think she needs to never let him forget that stupid comment).  I chased my mom to the downstairs fridge, but it was my dad, and since she's dead to him -- or is that the other way around -- I decided not to go to the master bedroom, where my mom actually was.

I guess my father thought this was his in to talk to me, so after using the bathroom he knocked on the computer room door and asked me to mow the lawn tomorrow.  In particular, he asked me to get as much of the tall grass around the gutter:

"You can pick up the gutter and move it around so you can mow the grass around it."

"I can?"

"Yes!"

"OK."

(pause; I thought he was done)

"You know, the gutter outside with the long black thing with the hole and ..."

"I know."  And I swear to fucking Buddha I didn't say that in a snippy way.  I didn't say it like my parents do; I've learned not to.  But My Fucking Father immediately turns and walks away like I offended him or something.  He pulls this hypersensitive bullshit sometimes, too.

So I have to wonder if he's going to get back at me.  There might be rain tomorrow, but otherwise I think he expects me to mow the lawn.  I didn't tell him that I don't plan on doing it because I have a) a paid taste test and b) a master gardener clinic that will tell me how to prune a houseplant in the house to go to tomorrow.  Hell, I don't plan on doing it till the weekend.  Will he take me not doing that as willful insubordination?

And that's the thing with him.  It's been about seven hours after this incident, and I'm still thinking about it.  In fact, I think I have to smooth things over by calling him tomorrow and giving him quotes of stocks he's interested in.  If that's not manipulation, I don't know what is.

Or maybe it's me.

The One Thing I Like About The Day After Memorial Day ...

... maybe all those damn Internet ads for Southwest's new service from Minneapolis/St. Paul to Denver will stop now. Shit! Every single time I checked my Yahoo! mail the past month/month and a half, and probably some other sites as well (there were so many ads I can't remember where I saw them) there was a little box announcing that three daily flights from MSP to DEN would begin May 26. Well, it's May 26. You've started. Stop promoting it!

I will say one thing. By a combination of pure saturation, the impending death of Northwest, and the expansion of Southwest into the state, the airline's campaign has made a huge (albeit obnoxious) impression on me. In fact, this may be the first Internet advertisement I've ever paid attention to. I don't especially like it, but the promotion did its job.

Oh yeah, another place I saw Southwest advertising is on the side of buses. You can stop that too.

Bought a ticket to the Twins game. Cheap seats for $8 'cause I'm poor. Thought I'd be able to get downstairs.

Saw the stairs. There's an usher there, standing guard. I wait for someone to engage the usher so I can dart downstairs. Unfortunately, this usher has the ability to multi-task. He spoke to this guy, then raised his hand to stop me.

"I can't let you downstairs if you don't have a ticket," he said after he stopped talking to this stranger. I played slow and dumb, but he saw my ticket popping out of my shirt pocket. "Sorry, General Admission, can't let you go down there."

I didn't look at him the whole time. I just stared down at his chest, froze, then left without looking at him.

Epic goddamn fail.

Well, at least the Home Run Porch was just about full. Probably couldn't get a free spot to myself even if I did manage to get down there.

Cleveland, White Sox, San Francisco-Seattle Under, Dodgers-Angels Under, Minnesota-Milwaukee Over

Those were five bets I texted to my parents, who are in Vegas, to make -- if they so choose. My Father doesn't always take my advice. These bets are a way we communicate when we don't fight.

Guess how I did on those bets on Sunday? 0-5.

I spoke to my Mother: "Did he make those bets?"

"Yes."

I am an epic failure. Why the hell am I giving them picks like I know what the fuck I'm doing? What gives me the right? Why am I making my family more financially unstable through my idiocy?

And why the hell am I researching stats so that I can give them bets for Monday?

My Friend Yelled At Me Today

This guy, I used to work with him some time ago. I like him, but, to be honest with you, if we didn't work with each other and share the same passion for sports, we would not be friends. He's a nice guy and all, but circumstances brought us together, and sentiment keeps us together. Guess that's the way things usually work in life.

Anyway, I've known him for years, and he's ... uh, he's kind of slow. I think. It's hard to describe, but from the way he talks and the relatively, um, measured way he does things, you might think he's mentally challenged. And he could be. But the good thing about him is he seems to take things easy. Until today.

I was helping out at my parents' place when he walks in to get some lottery tickets. He always does this; in fact, he may be one of a half-dozen regulars to my parents' store. Well, what happened was is that he wanted to fill out a form because he wanted the same numbers drawn over four consecutive drawings. I told him I knew what he was talking about, so he didn't have to fill out a sheet. But I fucked up. When he saw it -- and I still can't believe this -- he pounded his fists on the counter. Pounded his fists on the counter!!! Not only had I never seen him that angry, I had never seen him angry, period. And was pissed off at me, probably because he thought that he now had to pay money for tickets that weren't in the form that he wanted.

After I told him that I would either cancel or eat the tickets, he calmed down. In fact, he apologized for his ... well, wait a second, he really didn't. He said, "I'm sorry that I ..." and he trailed off before saying something to the effect of, "... yeah, that, whatever." (I'm paraphrasing because he was speaking very quietly.) During his pause, one would usually interject and say, "Nah, don't worry about it." But I wanted to test my friend. I wanted him to apologize like a grown-up, with actual words. But he couldn't. Either he was too ashamed -- or he isn't man enough.

He was very nice to me after his meltdown. Profusely even. But I just can't help but feel that our relationship has been irrevocably altered for the worse. Yes, my friends have the right to their frustration and anger. But I'm a sensitive guy, and I'm not completely exaggerating when I saw I'll be scarred and haunted by this for the rest of my life. Plus, when I can't forget something bad that happened to me, however unintentional, I'm slowly come around to not being able to forgive. How can I think of this man the same way after the events of today?

And fucking up all of this is that although he is a friend, he is an important customer for the store. If I somehow let on that I can't forgive him for what he did to me, he just might get so pissed off he never comes around ever again, and there goes some of our business. If I even act differently from now on, I'm afraid he'll stop taking the bus to the store.

So now I'm fucked. What can I do?

After Actually Seeing The Movie, I Can Sadly Summarize Terminator: Salvation In Five Words:

Christian Bale yelling a lot.

So I was going to "work" at the U. the day before today and I see a guy on the side of the entrance ramp with a sign. He is, obviously, one of those beggars that you see every day when idling at a red light. There are occasionally guys like that around the U. But I haven't seen any of them with a cellphone.

My God, I couldn't believe it. This guy, sign in hand, was walking back and forth on his corner talking into his cellphone, like he's just enjoying the day and having a long talk with his friend. Obviously I can't give money to beggars anymore after seeing one of them with a goddamn cellphone -- that, moreover, is probably better and more expensive than the one I have.

Yesterday I was picking up dry cleaning and eating at Subway. I got out of my car and saw two ducks on that island with all the rocks that you park your car next to, you know? One of the ducks was lying on those rocks, obviously dead. The other was slowly wandering back and forth on the pavement next to this duck.

It may be dangerous to anthropomorphize an animal, but I looked at it for a minute before going out my business. That duck looked so helpless as it walked in a circle. What could I do, call 411? But my heart went out to that duck. I should do something, I thought to myself. What if that were me and all the strangers I saw around me didn't stop and ask me what they could do or even what's wrong? I'd be screaming out in anger and rage: Why won't someone help me?! My mother/friend/fellow duck I love is dead! Does no one hear my cries!!

After I got done with lunch I went back to my car. The alive duck was gone, nowhere to be seen. After I got to "work" at the U., I just had to call 411. Since this was on strip mall property, it is the responsibility of management to take care of the deceased duck.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -2). Finished the regular season going 2-1 at Penn State. Unfortunately for the Gophs, Ohio State swept bottom-feeder Iowa, giving them the regular season championship instead. That 10-8, twice-rain delayed game Sunday was the dealbreaker. Oh well, at least they hung onto the 2-seed and got the first day (Wednesday) off. On the bright side, the Gophers are ranked 20, 21 and 24 in three college baseball polls (though they are inexplicably left off of the poll conducted by USA Today). Congratulations to 2B Derek McCallum for being the first Gopher in six years to be named First-Team All-Big Ten. And Jeremy Mills of ESPN.com still projects the team in the tournament as a 2-seed. They draw Indiana Thursday. I've heard people say the Gophers are in regardless. I say, at least get to the championship game. If you're in a BCS conference which is really a mid-major when it comes to baseball, I don't know if you want to finish your conference tournament in third place.

#-2: Timberwolves (Re-Entry!). Get fucked in the ass again as they still have never leapt above their place by record in the lottery. Once again, in fact, they slide -- this year down a spot, to 6th. Oh, great. (This might be karma for being such a shitty team for so long.) Instead of getting lucky and getting to draft Blake Griffin or at least Ricky Rubio, they now have to choose between projects and enigmas like Hasheem Thabeet, Jordan Hill, and Demar DeRozan. Good news: The Woofie Dogs have three first-round picks this year. Bad news: Many people believe this is one of the weakest drafts in recent memory. McFail, why in the hell did you hoard draft picks in a year when all the newbies suck?

What may be more dispiriting is the protracted, agonizing search for a new General Manager, a search that may be just as long as the "race" for Minnesota Senator. (And man, what a clusterfuck that's become; we Minnesotans must look like a bunch of bumbling idiots now.) On Monday, Trail Blazers Assistant General Manager Tom Penn joins Spurs Assistant General Manager Dennis Lindsey and ex-Heat General Manager Randy Pfund in withdrawing themselves from consideration. Three candidates who explicitly said they don't want the job. Shit, man, they're not beating around the bush: Wolves GM is a sucky job to take. Looks like Owner Glen Taylor refused to give any of the prospects the control they wanted to run the team, including the final say in whether McFail stays as Coach (if he wants to) or who to draft (which they will pick some time next month, so there should be a tad more urgency into getting this job filled, but I could be wrong). This is getting embarrassing. After spending all this time supposedly vetting candidates thoroughly for this position, it's looking more and more like Taylor will let Jim Stack keep the job or have Fred Hoiberg take it. And that makes it much easier to let McFail decide on his own whether he wants to get up in the morning to go to the airport and make the 3-game, 8-day road trip out west once or twice a season. Pathetic.

#-3: Twins (Last Week: -1). The Twins and Timberwolves could've switched places, but I told myself Wednesday's game against the White Sox will be the deciding factor. And it looks like, once again, the starting pitching shit themselves. Francisco Liriano takes the 7-4 loss by giving up all the White Sox's runs in one inning (that happened to some other pitcher last week, if I recall -- strange) and blowing yet another lead. The losing streak is at 6. Ron Gardenhire responded to this funk by shitcanning tossing machine Craig Breslow today. (He was almost immediately picked up on waivers by Oakland. Does Mr. Moneyball think he sees something in Breslow, or are the Athletics just as hard-up for competent middle relief as we are?) They called up Pitcher Anthony Swarzak to start Saturday. Swarzak's been long-touted, but only by the local media. I did some recent scamming of baseball magazines and blogs and whatnot, and I came to a startling conclusion: The Twinkies, long hailed for "doing it the right way" and "making the most of their limited payroll" and "pouring all their energies into finding diamonds in the rough" and "promoting from within," don't have a nationally anticipated prospect in the short- or intermediate-term. The perception that the Twins always have a stacked minor league system is a complete lie if your best hope for pitching relief is Anthony Swarzak.

They try to avoid getting swept for the second series in a row in Comiskey this afternoon. Then it's back Dome for the start of interleague play against Milwaukee over Memorial Weekend for three (I'm thinking of checking them out for the first time all season Sunday because it's a night game) and Boston for four.

Oh, by the way, I got so pissed off that I went back on facebook to play poker. Decided to do one of the 25/50 tables. Got a lot of action early against some aggressive motherfuckers, but I laid back, didn't do any dumb mistakes, and didn't lose any money. In fact, in my last hand I was given pocket 3's and the board gave a pair of 5's. I slow-played the most active player by checking and tossing in $50. She or he (the profile showed a picture of a girl, but who knows?) raised me $650, and I had to call. Thankfully she had no steak behind the sizzle, and the winnings I got allowed me to make back all the money I lost from the sojourn before. So basically I broke even.

OK, I'm not so pissed off anymore.

Poor Bastard Of The Moment: Ryan Church

He's the Met who was coming around third and heading home to score the go-ahead run against the Dodgers in the top half of the 11th inning of their game Monday night. Except that the guy, according to the Dodgers and the third base umpire, did not touch third. Church was out. That kept the score tied until the bottom of the 11th, when the Bastard Brooklyn Dodgers won it. (Because we're talking about Major League Baseball here, I can't embed any video because MLB pulled down the YouTube video. You'll have to click on this post's title to go to the Mets' website to see the embarrassing blunder.)

I could excoriate Church for such a fuck-up, but geez, it happens. When you're running face to beat the throw home, you don't actually look down to make sure you touch third when you know you automatically touch third every single time you round the corner. Everybody should allow you a mistake like that, say, once a season.

But are Mets fans reasonable? Hell no.

Poor bastard.

So I just played poker on facebook right now and I am so pissed off. I got sucked out on a guy who pushed all-in when he had A-9 and I had pocket queens. The flop showed A-9. Sure it did.

And then a third guy jumped in and I thought he was bluffing when I called his $200. I didn't see that the cards on the board gave him a straight.

And then, with $150 left, I was dealt a 3-4. I wasn't on a blind, so there was no money for me to defend and/or chase, but I've been burned with folding before the flop and missing out on something big. Should I do it?

No, I didn't. I folded.

What was the flop? 5-6-7.

Fuck you, facebook.

My Contact At Work Left Me

I'm a guinea pig at the U. -- y'all remember, no?  Well, the woman who was the person I said hi to, the person who made me sign all the forms at the end of my shift and gave me my money ... well, she's gone.  Today when I came in I was told by her boss (the woman who was my contact until she got her Ph. D., I think) told me she's no longer there because she graduated.

Shame.  I didn't know her a whole lot -- she's from Wisconsin and is married -- but that's OK.  She seemed friendly enough, and we didn't talk to the point where we talked about something about her I decided I didn't like about her.  Don't discount the easy, artificial relationship I have with my contact.  If her former boss finds another person who's kind of a prick, it makes it a little more difficult to find a reason come in three days a week.

Thing is, the last time I saw her was Friday.  I thought something was brewing when I overheard her saying she needed to pack, but I didn't want to say goodbye to her if she wasn't leaving the department.  Turns out that was her last day.  Not even a farewell?

My Eyes Water Everytime I Lie On My Bed

I thought it was allergies, and it still could be, but I don't feel my eyes get all itchy and stuff in most other places around the house or outside.  Is there something in my room that I'm allergic too?  Is my bedroom out to get me?

Saw that my checking account fell below $5,000 for a period this last month. That's the minimum for this account, therefore I've been assessed a fee of ... gulp ... twelve dollars. This is an interest-bearing account, though I don't get shit in interest. In fact, the $12 probably wiped out all the interest I've made since getting the account.

I know it's my fault, but my relationship with Wells Fargo is ruined now. I think I'll need to find a new bank.

I Never Should've Eaten At The Head Of The Table

My Grandmother went to the casino, so there were only three of us, and that usually means I set the table so that one's at the head of it, facing the TV. I refused to eat at the head anymore after My Fucking Father yelled at me for some shit. To me it's a symbol that there is no true head of the family.

Tonight, my mother did a nasty trick on me. When there's just the three of us eating, she takes the head of the table. But for some goddamn reason she took my spot, opposite My Fucking Father. I should've protested. Or I could've just moved to another spot on the table. But no, I decided to not make waves and just at the head of the table. And as soon as I sat down the berating -- from both my parents -- began. Why can't you find a girlfriend? Why can't you find a job? Why don't you go back to school? Who is this girl you're seeing tomorrow? Does she have a child? Why are you seeing a woman who has a child? She's divorced?! But the most ridiculous thing I heard over dinner was when My Fucking Father said the engine sounds old and that I shouldn't drive it as much now. I'm glad that one of things he didn't ask me was where I was going tomorrow to see my friend, otherwise I would have had to lie instead of saying I was driving 40 miles there and back.

I'm not going to be tricked by my mom again. Serves me right for sitting at the head of the table.

So I went to Subway this afternoon. Didn't plan on it, but it was in the same strip mall of the dry cleaner I went to for the first time, and I wanted to eat for lunch.

I saw that they had a fridge of bottled drinks. Looked at the menu: Small drink (which actually is the size of a medium, y'all know what I mean) was $1.40. The bottled Coke was $1.60.

And for some reason I got the bottled Coke. I think I wanted to buy it because I'd never done it before. But as soon as I sat down I mentally made a list of why it was wrong: It cost 20 cents more; the size of both were about equal, and if they weren't the fountain drink was bigger; I could actually get more from my small drink because I could drink some and then top off my drink, thus I'd get more for my money, which cost me 20 cents less in the first place; and I could put ice in it to keep it colder for longer (the bottle was up to room temperature halfway through). I made the wrong choice, and I regret it.

OK, So This Is What My Fucking Father Said

My Fucking Father likes to walk away from things, literally. Being nice about it, he's shy. Really, though, he's an asshole who makes his unhappiness known by leaving a situation he doesn't want to physicall be in, no matter the embarrassment he brings on himself or the people with him. I remember him walking away after the end of my college graduation ceremony once he found out that I indeed got a degree in journalism. He walked away and kept to himself when my sister brought over her guy friends to visit and crash at home. And he walked away and back into his room when my Grandmother had an episode and the paramedics came to my house.

I was certain he was going to continue his juvenile behavior when my sister's boyfriend came over to visit. He already expressed his disapproval (read: yelled at her over the phone) when she broke the news that she planned to live with him in Europe. There could be many typical father reasons for hating this idea: She's his daughter, she's going to be a continent away, he doesn't know how this guy is, he's white, etc. My Dad, no, he's different. In fact, deep down, I don't know the real reason why he's so upset. And one of the most infuriating about being under his thumb is that he never tells anybody why he's so upset. Being pissed off is fine. But it's important -- and, you know, responsible -- if you would tell someone why you're so pissed off with him. My Father has rarely done that. So I'm left guessing what he's thinking -- typical passive-aggressive bullshit I need to stop doing. (Just for you readers: I'll posit the theory that he is angry with my sister because her plans were not the plans he envisioned for her. What they were ... again, that's something he failed to articulate to her.)

I was right -- he was the asshole I expected him to be. After an obligatory (and, I'm guessing, limp) handshake when the boyfriend wanted to meet him for the first time, he immediately went to open the front door to start the car because we were eating dinner. I had to coax him back up -- nicely, of course; my God, we have guests in our house! -- so the boyfriend could show him the greeting gifts he gave our parents. (He was owed that. Shit, he was paying for dinner.) And naturally he avoided talking to him directly.

Nonetheless, my sister's boyfriend, who was told about the possibility of being frozen out, pressed on anyway because they believed it was the right thing to do. The night before they were to leave and never come back again, he cornered my father and asked his blessing for his daughter's hand in marriage. Most fathers would give that blessing. If you don't really want to, I say tell him straight to his face that you're not going to get it. But not My Fucking Father. No, in his imminently destructive, pissy, wishy-washy way, he said something to the effect of, "Well, you're an adult, she's an adult, I can't tell you what you can do, you know?" And he smiled that shit-eating grin, like he always does in telling someone off. Father, you're not fooling anybody. I had to force him to shake his hand.

We were so scared about our parents' reaction to him that he didn't stay at our house the whole weekend. Once we knew he locked himself in his room in a house far, far away, my sister wanted to talk to our dad. He conspicuously was using the house desktop with the door closed, something he never does unless he wants to avoid something. But the coast was clear of anyone not foreign, so he made a beeline to the master bed, where my sister was waiting. She called out to him: "Dad?"

Before he shut the door on us, he said, "Your dad's dead."

My sister ran upstairs crying the last of her dozen cries that weekend.

God, My Fucking Father is such a cruel, pathetic prick.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Twins (Last Week: -3). In a two-man race for the top spot this week, both baseball clubs acquitted themselves quite well. Without either team having a glaring bad spot or doing something amazing, I'm going by record here and giving the week's crown to our Twinkies, who just completed a sweep of Detroit to go 5-2 (including Thursday's loss to Baltimore). A wild last two may exemplify the change in this year's roster. On Wednesday, starter Glen Perkins (who started off really hot) and the bullpen kept giving Tigers runs (and the lead) like they had a deal on Tic-Tacs. Yet it was the offense, capped off by Joe Crede's two-out, two-strike grand slam in the 13th inning just before the stroke of midnight, that finally decided this back-and-forth in the Twins' favor, 14-10. This afternoon's game was much more orderly. Scott Baker gave the Tigers all of its five runs in the top of the 6th, then the lineup (led once again by Crede) got all of its six runs in the bottom of the 7th. (Geez, the Tigers' bullpen is just as crappy as ours.) In other words: It looks like, for this year at least, the offense will have to carry the pitching, not the other way around. They're on the road this week: At the Yankees Friday through Monday, then at Comiskey Tuesday till Thursday.

#-2: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -1). Winning two out of three ain't bad, especially if you're playing on the road against a Michigan squad trying to make the Big 10 tournament. Sunday's 10-4 loss ended a six-game winning streak for the Gophers, but they still remain on top of the conference by a half-game (due to a cancellation). Better yet, they got back on the polls, including a season-best 21 on Baseball America. (The Gophers are ranked #24 by Collegiate Baseball Magazine and Rivals.com, the latter of which I did not know even had a baseball poll.) And congrats to closer Scott Matyas for being named Big Ten Pitcher Of The Week and matching the school record for saves in a season on Friday. Baseball America still places the team in the tournament as the second-best team in its regional. They finish the season with three at Penn State (note that the first game actually is tonight and ends on Saturday), a team that has very faint hopes of clinching the sixth and final spot for the Big 10 tourney. I say: Because the tournament is being played in the minor league ballpark in Columbus, does it matter that the Gophers are the 1-seed? Ohio State and Illinois are a half-game behind, and Indiana is a half-game behind them, plus only the two best teams get that first-day bye. But if someone's injured, sit him. Tournament time's comin', and there's no use in overworking your best players when the end of the regular season is in sight.

Just Based On The Trailer, I Can Sadly Summarize Terminator: Salvation In Five Words:

Christian Bale yelling a lot.

A guy from high school that I didn't hate turned me onto Poker Palace on facebook. I got addicted, but I don't play until I get an update telling me I got two grand from facebook.

I have other (weird) rules. I find a table that says there is only one other person, as if that person is just waiting for someone else to play against and they're all overjoyed to see me walking up to a virtual seat. (By the way, they're usually never right; once I see the table there either is a game going on or there's no one there.) I sometimes wait to see if others want to play. And, most important (even though the money we're playing with is fake), I play until I win a big hand. Then I stop and leave and don't play until facebook gives me another 2 grand free.

Did that earlier today. Then I saw Poker After Dark and I got the jones to play again. Did that just now. Lost all my money. Figures.

Oh my fucking God, you won't believe what happened to at our house tonight. It is amusing in the most pathetic way, and I'm still processing what went down. I just have to say that My Fucking Father, who is a small, bitter tool of a man, continues to amaze me with the cruel and stupid things he says. Right now -- although I doubt my fortitude in this attitude -- my sole goal in life is to act, to behave, and to believe directly the opposite from My Fucking Father as possible. Which scares me, because I know there is a lot of me that comes from him.

My God, I should get a blood test to see if he's my real father.

Poor Bastard Of The Moment: David Steele

Fired sports columnist of the Baltimore Sun.  Was shitcanned April 29.  Let go in the middle of his job while at an Orioles game.

And I thought people were cold when I was fired by my temp agency hours after I wished all my co-workers a happy holiday season.  That shit is fucked up.

So I go downstairs to grab a Pepsi.  I peer down; no light from the computer room, so I figure My Fucking Father isn't on the computer.  So I go down and see light coming from under the bathroom door.  Ah, so that's where he is!

Get my Pepsi from the fridge and head to the stairs.  Don't come out while I'm about to cross your path, please?  Well, goddammit, I hear the door open just as I get to the landing and head up the second set of stairs.  I play this passive-aggressive game of avoidance and disgust, he plays the passive-aggressive game of confrontation and intimidation.  I know it, he knows it, I know he knows, he knows I know.  So I continue to play and loudly bound up the stairs two at a time.

Later tonight I hear him come up to the kitchen twice, but not knock on my door to give me food or yell at me for some shit or something.  Did he want me to come out so he can ambush me?  I wanted to put the house phone back, but I didn't.  Did I embarrass him?

Fuck it, I just remembered all the bad shit he's done to me in the past, so now I don't feel so guilty anymore.

Went through my receipts on my desk thingy next to my bed. Saw receipts for half off coffee at Dunn Bros. Expired on the 30th. Also saw a coupon for 10 cents off per gallon at a nearby gas station. Expires Sunday. Sister filled the tank already.

A Sign Of Spring: My Topless Neighbor

Remember the Naked Guy on Friends? We have someone sort of similar. A few houses down from us, but the neighbor next door to my sister's best friend, lives an old man. Never talked to him, don't know him. In fact, the only time I ever see him is when I'm driving back home and he's outside watering his lawn.

Without a shirt on. And with jean shorts. Short jean shorts.

You have to check this dude out. He has gray hair, so I assume he's at least in his late 50's. He's not fat, but he's definitely not skinny. He has back hair and a little bit of bitch tits. Over the course of the warm months he develops this ruddy, uncomfortable-looking, European tan. And he wears his white socks as high up the shin as they go. Yet he's still out there, carefully focused on watering his lawn, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he looks like a damn gay porn star.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -2). Swept Iowa and took a Tuesday one-off against North Dakota State. That makes the Gophers 4-0 for the week and, even more impressive, 9-1 currently (with one cancellation). Why don't people get off the Twins teat and start paying attention to the college boys? They're primed to return to the postseason after a one-year absence. And Jeremy Mills of ESPN projects them to be a 2-seed (albeit in the same regional as LSU, which he deems the fifth-best team in the nation). Despite the hot streak, the Gophers are nowhere even close to any of the polls this week. Odd. This week they have only a three-game series at Michigan, who's fighting with Purude to get the sixth and last slot for the Big 10 tournament.

#-2: Vikings (Last Week: -3). Let me say this: Seeing and hearing all these reports and talk show chatter about Brett Favre coming here is very flattering. While flyover country is a nice place to live because we get to live anonymously, there is something about feeling like the entire sports world is concentrating on your team, your state, and therefore you. It's kind of like the surge in confidence I think the state of Minnesota received when we heard Tubby Smith was going to be the new coach of the Gopher men's basketball team. We were like, "Woo-hoo! Eat it, coasts! A world-famous coach wants to come to Minnesota! Here! Minnesota! Us!! You betcha, bitches!!!" But this is much, much bigger because you're talking about a legend (who, ironically enough, made his legend in, of all places, Green Bay, Wisconsin) wanting to stick it to the team he'll be inextricably linked with by joining the most popular pro sports team in the state. The NFL is fast becoming a year-round obsession in this country, and so we are taking full advantage of being the object of gossip. We Minnesotans kind of feel like Paris Hilton now.

But back to reality. Brett Farve still has a torn right arm and he hasn't gotten it fixed yet because he's "retired." He looked awful that last month when he helped the Jets piss away a sure playoff spot. And who cares how good his arm looks if he's still throwing interceptions like the gunslinging warrior he will always be? I saw ESPN draw up a graphic comparing Favre with Tavaris Jackson, and Jackson's numbers were better across the board, including wins. I don't know why and how T-Jack became everybody's whipping boy. He just doesn't look the part of a leader, I guess, because he's demonstrated some level of competence by the stats in that graphic. And to reiterate, T-Jack could've pulled out a win against the Eagles in last year's playoffs, but he didn't lose it (the defense played more of a part than he). Favre could be the difference if the Vikes get into such a situation again ... or he could have throw four picks and lead them to a 20-point loss. The publicity is great, but I don't know he's a much better QB than what we have, which is three quarterbacks, one of which we traded for this offseason.

One other point: This is football, where rosters are so interchangable the whole NFL is just one big pick-up game. But shouldn't there be some continuity in the most important position in the sport? And why can't management just fuckin' decide on a QB? Couldn't they see far enough ahead that Favre wasn't going to be a Jet after one year, and that he's going to change his mind because Brett Favre's word is no good?

#-3: Twins (Last Week: -1). Pending tonight's game against Baltimore, they are 2-4 for the week. They're lucky they're not in the AL East, or else we'd be writing off the season. But the way they've played this past week is just not acceptable. I heard a lot of Saturday's game against Kansas City, where Craig Breslow and R. A. Dickey choked and gave up three runs in the 11th inning. I saw some of the back half of Sunday's game against the Royals, where Scott Baker was throwing a no-hitter and then lost that, the shutout and the game in quick order in the seventh. And I read on TV about the three errors in their 9-0 beating at Detroit Tuesday. So Alexi Casilla pays the price for their stagnation and got sent down to Rochester yesterday in favor of another light-hitting infielder, Matt Tolbert. Yeah, he'll turn this ship around. After tonight, the Twinks come home to the Dome for six: this weekend vs. Seattle, and then a mid-week series against Detroit.

So I went to 7th St. Entry Tuesday night to get away from My Fuckin' Father. He was busting my balls because he wanted me to call the garage door company in the morning, before I had woken up. He wasn't pissed when he came home and say it fixed -- he actually had this hand-dog, kind of stupid attitude he cops sometimes -- but I wasn't going to fall for that in case he wanted to start in on me for sleeping late or some shit.

Besides, it was a good excuse to see the Vivian Girls, a Brooklyn trio of chicks whose song, "Who Do You Run To" I really dug after I tripped across it on satellite radio. Well, color me disappointed. Not only did they (and the two opening acts) play what basically was a fast garage rock song over and over again, they didn't even play "Who Do You Run To." Why the fuck wouldn't you play the song that's being spun on satellite radio?

Worse yet was this idiot who stood by me for the main act. The entry has an open pit in front of the stage, but then there's this stand-up rail where you can lean on and lay your drinks on. From the beginning of the show I had staked my claim at this particular spot so I can gain a couple inches in front of anyone who wanted to stand in front of me. (Thank Buddha no one 6' 8" was there.) And I was leaning my right side on this rail and sticking out my right hand. I was listening to the Vivian Girls drone on when suddenly I feel something pressing on my hand, hard. I look over to see this short chick press herself, and her purse, onto the rail right next to me. She didn't look like she noticed that she was invading my space since she didn't say excuse me or move her purse or anything. This bitch just leaned there as she was choking off circulation to my hand.

Yes, I could've moved. I swear I would've gotten bored standing at that position and shifted; if she wouldn've waited, like, two more minutes she would've had that space all to herself. But no, she just thrusted herself right there, with no regard for hand. But I'll tell you what: What finally did it for me, what eventually made me decide to stand my ground, is that this stupid bitch was on her fucking Blackberry texting someone half the time. And the other time she rested her head on hand, like she was bored and wanted everyone there that she was bored. So fuck her, I ain't movin'.

She was shifting positions from time to time, adjusting to check her texts or to switch resting hands. But my fist was still there, not relenting one inch from her onslaught. And yet she didn't move either. This oblivious fool didn't look down to see my hand, or look up and see me. No, she kept swinging either my purse or her body against my hand. For a good five minutes my balled fist was wedged between her purse and the rail. I tried unballing my fist and making her notice my fingers jabbing into her. Some points I tried shaking my fingers to the beat. Shit, I even coughed in her direction a few times. But this self-absorbed dumbass kept choking the circulation to my right hand all the way through to the end of the show.

I feel like I failed for not making her move, and yet I'm proud of myself for not moving myself. A wash. ...

So we just had to be the only two people in the hallway. I come out of my room, he comes out of his room, and we're walking toward each other. I need a drink of water from the fountain ... but does he? Should I race him to it? If I beat him and he's going somewhere else though, I look like an ass.

So I just walk straight ahead. And sure enough, he wanted to drink from the fountain. Damn it! So now I have to act like I was meaning to do something else. So I walk right past him and the fountain and down the steps I go to the bathroom on the floor below. Like I meant to. Nyah!

Passed Out The Last Two Days ...

... and I missed some things I wanted to see on TV because of it: the Kentucky Derby on Saturday, The Amazing Race on Sunday. Maybe it's because I went running with my sister the past two days, something I haven't done ... ever. Maybe it's the season. Whatever: I missed out on a thrilling come-from-behind victory by the second-greatest upset in Derby history, and the ouster of two women's college basketball players, one of whom had an intense case of hydrophobia last week.

My Grandmother Owes Me $1,100

Just want to put that out there, to let people know. I say this because I woke up from my late-afternoon, run-induced nap by my Mother's screaming in the kitchen. My sister told me she was yelling at my Grandmother. I think it's either over all the food she constantly buys -- seriously, she fucking buys food just because, more than we could ever eat, and so a lot of it has to be thrown away -- or money.

Just between you and me, I don't mind if she never pays me back. I think that's an amount she's more than owed for taking care of me and my two siblings when we were younger and my parents had to work 12 hours each day. But it'd be nice if she paid me back. Again, for posterity, she owes me over a grand.

I Feel Fat

Didn't have lunch, but around the afternoon I consumed: McDonald's fries my Grandmother and sister couldn't finish; popcorn and Pepsi while watching Observe And Report with my friend that flew in from New York City (verdict on the movie: too cynical, didn't make sense, less a story than a series of jokes, most of which fell flat); two steaks, four pieces of bread and a salad for dinner; another Pepsi; and some Chinese cough medicine that doesn't work, but tastes good and will appease my family.

I haven't felt as fat as this in a long time.

Tonight I felt like I had to exercise, at least walk around the neighborhood like my sister did, but instead I watched PBS and fell asleep.

Adventures In Getting Gas -- For My Car

Today, I needed to get gas. I found a gas coupon (ten cents off per gallon) that expired today. It was on my way to work this afternoon, but the trouble is I was running late, so I decided to do my other errands -- OK, I was going to look at porn -- then loop around.

One of those errands was going to the library, but I forgot that from the way I was going, I couldn't get to the library, and I found myself going to get a custard from Culver's. On the way to the loop-around, I saw that there was a gas station kitty-corner; it was selling gas for $1.89. Not bad, I thought, but unless the place I'm going to was really out of whack with all the gas stations in the Twin Cities, I'm getting a deal. It's worth it to go!

Even though it was 3:30, I didn't think there was going to be much traffic on the way to the gas station. Wrong. Took me a half-hour to drive 15 miles to get there. Their price: $1.96. Good ... except that I was thinking of another coupon when I used that to get ten cents off. Actually, I clipped a coupon that saved me only five cents per gallon. So instead of just going from Culver's to a gas station that was right there, I drove 15 miles in 30 minutes of stop-and-go traffic just so I could pay two cents more per gallon to fill up my car? Fuck me.

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My travail today reminded me that to blog about something I teased some time ago.

The last time I tried getting a fill-up I had to try and do it twice. I was approaching this other gas station where I had a coupon. There's a four-way stop just before I take my left onto a very small footprint; there are only four pumps available (one big island with two pumps on each side), and not much asphalt to park or maneuver around.

I don't know how it's done anywhere else, but in Minnesota, if you get to a four-way stop before somebody else, you're the first to leave the stop. None of this "turners yield to cars going straight" crap the rulebook says we have to follow, pish. Anyway, I lost this battle, yielding to a domestic truck to my left making a left, and driving right in front of me. No, no, she's making a left. And she's pulling up to the first of two empty pumps on one side of the gas island. Doesn't this fucker even see me pulling up behind her? Why in the fuck doesn't she drive up to the next empty pump? Not only does it free up the one behind her, it makes it easier to drive away once you're done. But no, this idiot gets to the first pump and just stops. I honk my horn; a little old lady weakly crawls out of her All-American truck and hobbles to the gas nozzle. I don't think she heard me at all. And she made another mistake: From where she was driving from before she got to the intersection, she could've made a left to get to the gas station, too. But for some fucking reason I still can't understand she passed it up and went into the station the long way.

What the fuck could I do? I could barely get around her to take the pump in front of her. But I don't need any confrontation with a little old lady who could, like, whip out a cane and kick my ass. Besides, after I honked my horn at her, sticking around just to get gas would be too fucking awkward. So I just left. I decided to rearrange my schedule that day and just go later.

And I did go later. And a guy with another domestic truck did the same damn thing. The only reasons why I didn't just say fuck it and just get my gas the next day are 1) This guy was far enough ahead of me that I feel it is reasonable to believe that he didn't think I'd be going to the same place as he; and 2) I needed to goddamn fill up my car.