Went to the store today. Saw that Father shut off the second of the four big freezers in the back.

The end is coming.

And yet, I don't feel as sad as I was when he devastating me with the news that they're closing it. That scares me. But ever since the news, I've noticed a lot of businesses that are closing this month. August has been weird -- so many changes. ...

Today, I saw on the news that there actually was a public vigil tonight for Brookdale, the once-great and -popular shopping mall that I went to many times when I was young but has been closed for more than a year now. They are going to turn down the whole mall. It's going to be replaced with ... another shopping mall. It's going to be called Shingle Creek Crossing. Shit, if there's just going to be another mall there, why not call it Brookdale again? Well, its main tenant will be a Wal-Mart, and a Dale can't really have a Wal-Mart as an anchor. Anyway, it's changing and yet it's not changing, you know?

I'm torn. On the one hand, I feel for the guys holding the vigil. Shit, if I knew there was going to be one, there was a chance I would have gone. On the other hand, they're tearing down a shopping mall and replacing it with another shopping mall. It should be called Brookdale -- the locals might still call it Brookdale 2.0 -- but if it's not going to be paved over, well, you can't really say it's gone, can you?

Or maybe I'm missing the point. That is a Dale, one of the four shopping Dales that marked much of the retail history of the Twin Cities. It is gone, and no redevelopment, no Wal-Mart, will bring it back. Maybe that's the reality I should wake up to.

And I feel kind of depressed that I don't feel that depressed about this news, as well as all the other business closings that I noticed only after the news the store is next. I felt really shitty for about a week after Father told me, then I had to concentrate on other things, and now I'm less depressed. Maybe there's something wrong with me. You see, not only do I realize that the store could not be open forever, but business close all the time. It could be sad. Maybe it should be sad. But a part of me just figured that it's going to be really tough to go through another mourning period for every business you thought was going to be there closing up shop. But typing that makes me feel like an asshole. And I don't want to feel like an asshole.

I thought I was going to be upset by this for a long time. Now, I only think I should be upset by this for a long time. And I'm confused.

Maybe this is a coping mechanism, and I'm in the phase of denial. Or, it's going to really hit me when I finally drive past the store and see all the lights off and the doors locked for good.

It'll Have To Do

So I planned on waking up at 10 to go to the lab at 11. I went to sleep at the dangerously late time of 5:30, but I passed out from 8:45 to 9:15 so I figured that would help me wake up.

A call woke me up, at 7:15. It was my uncle. He was doing to drive to an exam, but his car wouldn't start. He helped me when my car wouldn't start a couple weeks ago, so this is quid pro quo. I had to help him, because of that, because he's my uncle, and because he needed help. But that ruined any chance of getting 4 1/2 hours of sleep, which I still consider the absolute minimum for me to operate with a modicum of normalcy and without passing out. I let out a very angry "SHIT!!!!" as I get dressed.

I figure I'd pick him up (he lives a mile away), go to this clinic (another mile) go back home and go back to sleep for the hour he says he'll need before I pick him up, stop by Wal-Mart to buy a new battery, and bring him back home. However, as I was coming home, I just so happen to see my aunt (she's my uncle's sister) walk towards home dragging her cart of dirty laundry behind her. Every Monday morning (at least these days) she comes over and does her laundry. While waiting for it to wash, she comes up to the dining room and turns on the TV -- loudly. So my heart sank when I saw her.

Fortunately, she did not wake me up because, about twenty minutes after I dropped my uncle off at the clinic and crawled into bed, he calls me again. The machine doesn't work, he'll have to come in tomorrow instead. I don't know if getting called back early is a good thing or a bad thing.

So after I pick him up and go to Wal-Mart and back to his place (and bring the battery up to the hood of his car -- his ticker's kind of weak) is over, I get back home at a little past 8:30. OK, they say that 90 minutes is the maximum amount of time you should take a nap for. I need a nap, I need shuteye, so maybe this will do.

Turns out Grandmother is awake when I get home. And if Grandmother's up, my aunt talks to her -- very loudly. She's already talking as if she has three beers in her when I ask her to quiet it down. I crawl into bed, and even though she is talking softer I could still hear her exhort. I want to send a message and I need it real damn quiet yesterday morning, so I get up out of bed, pop open the door and say, "Aunt! Please!" She's says "OK!" -- and she (and Grandmother) are pretty quiet until aunt leaves with her washed laundry.

I get one hour of sleep. It'll have to do. And I'm still kind of late leaving home for the U. I don't know why, but I no longer half-run, half-jog to the lab when I'm late. Maybe I'm tired, or maybe I just don't care to run/jog. If I don't, you figure I should get there earlier so I can walk to work, huh?

Anyway, I'm two, three minutes late to the lab. I don't see my supervisor. That's when one of his colleagues say he's not here. Family emergency. Ooh. Totally understand; he's right to blow me off. Nevertheless, I'm going to give him time this whole week. Which means I don't have any income coming in this week -- paying the speeding ticket my have to wait -- but I do have a lot of time now. I hope there won't be any miscommunication; to me, family emergencies to me mean I'll give him time and wait till he talks to me. I'm writing this four minutes before my scheduled session today, and I'm assuming he's cleared out his whole week.

(Observation: I had spent the last three days thinking about how my schedule this week is going to go. What happened this morning killed all of those plans. So much for planning, huh?)

I had two hours to kill yesterday. If you're not making money, you're spending money, because if you're not spending time working, you need to entertain yourself, and that takes money. I decide to eat at Chipotle because I haven't in months. I even splurge and get the chips and salsa. Bad idea to not specify I did not want the hot salsa. I spent about 30 minutes eating my fajita burrito and 90 minutes trying to deal with the salsa. I don't get why people want to each such spicy food. It's so overwhelming, at least to me, that you can't taste the food. It's all spice, no taste. Maybe my palette is weak, but eating too-hot food makes no sense to me.

I have to productive when my plans change, so I'm able to fill out some timesheets while I'm eating at Chipotle for two hours. But negotiating the salsa takes so long that I'm actually late for my afternoon "appointment": Helping my friend move stuff to his storage unit. So I run across campus, go into a building, take a shit (God bless Chipotle) then run to my car and call and tell my friend I'm late, so sorry. I love my friend because he doesn't mind.

I get there about 2, 30-45 minutes after I promised him I would. Fortunately, he's ready; all we have to do is get haul the stuff down to the car and take them to the storage unit. We were even able to squeeze in a quick trip to the library so he could donate some books.

I had to leave my friend to get back home in time for another appointment, this time one without quotation marks: A bi-monthly meeting with Grandmother's nurse. I told you guys in my last blog post about getting angry that Grandmother keeps forgetting to take her insulin shots and that I was going to tell the nurse that. I did so, and it took about a half-hour of her time, even though I got home at, I think, 3:26 and she was already there. Felt good venting, but I'm still sure Grandmother's going to forget to take her meds, even after we decided to pour all the bottles for each of the medications she needs to take into one bottle so as not to confuse her.

After the nurse left I still had more shit to do. You see, even though I was busy and tired, I still wanted to exercise tonight. Plus, I have to catch up on my writing. And, I needed to recharge my cellphone, and I didn't want to recharge it at home; I want my parents not to pay the electricity for it.

Which means the rest of my afternoon is set up like this: I would go to Target to buy some Gatorade. I am on this G Series kick, where I drink the "Prime" drink while going to the gym, drink the "Perform" one while exercising, then drink the "Recover" drink afterward. Five bucks at Target, total. (Oh, and I buy milk in anticipation of purchasing Sweet Martha's Cookies at the State Fair -- hmmm, cookies and milk. Oh, and I might as well buy bandages for Grandmother's blood sugar tests.) Then I go to Walgreen's to pick up medicine for Father -- and I might as well pick up alcohol wipes for Grandmother's blood sugar tests too, except they didn't have any. Finally, I go the coffeeshop to finally look at the Internet and recharge my phone. The luxury of my parents not coming home at a decent hour these days is that I can stay there as long as I like and not have to worry about them calling me about when I'm coming home. So I sit and surf while my phone recharges.

One thing I've kept in mind: I still have creamer left from when I was working as a test scorer.

They're sitting in the refrigerator at home, not used in weeks. Well, I can't bring it with me anywhere, but when am I going to use it? I figured I would buy coffee and bring it home. Today would have been a good time for it, but I wanted to recharge my phone away from home. So I compromise: I'll drink one cup (in my tall reusable mug) there, then get a refill, bring it home, then use my creamer and drink it at home, presumably while continuing to write. I might piss a storm and my heart my beat out of my chest, but hey, the creamer's getting old.

Not ten minutes after I get home and start stirring the creamer into the coffee, Father calls. They're going to be very late, again, and they want me to buy chicken at the local grocery store. There's a sale going on: You can get two 8-piece boxes for five bucks apiece. At this point it's half past 6. I want to start exercising at 8. It's going to be tight.

Little did I know that everybody was buying these chickens. There was a waiting list. I waited about a half-hour. Hate waiting at a grocery store. But I at least had this surprising run-in with a friend from high school I haven't seen since New Year's Eve. His company moved his place of work up to closer to where I live, and he was getting groceries. Good to see him, even though I had very little to say because I was waiting for chicken.

It was 7:30 when I got home with dinner. I wanted to leave, but I figure it would be too weird if I didn't eat something. Besides, the chicken's good. So I have one thing with a little bit of rice. Ten minutes later they come home and ask me to look over some things. Before I know it it's 8.

I get dressed for working out at 8:30. Not ideal. But the reason I planned on working out tonight because I had the last of a bunch of ten tickets I purchased in bulk at this community center (not the one I usually go to) about 14 months ago, and I had my heart set on using it before the summer was over. Maybe I should've saved it for a time when I could put two hours of work in, but I was in a daze since 7:15 in the morning, so what the fuck. I did create a sweat on the elliptical; that'll have to do.

One other reason I wanted to go to this place: There's a bar nearby, and I wanted a beer after working out. It's not as racist as I thought it was a few months ago when I braved going in. In fact, the bartender told me not to be a stranger, so I figured I'd oblige him (her?) by coming in before the summer's gone. He/She wasn't there, but I had a beer anyway. So, if you can recall, this is what I drank since 5 last evening: Two large cups of coffee, a glass of water (with the chicken dinner), the three different types of Gatorade, and a beer. No wonder I had to go to the bathroom twice during my time at the gym. And no wonder why my stomach's still so big right now.

As you could tell, I was so fucking tired I fell asleep at 1. Wanted to take a shower, but was too tired.

That's it.

Follow-Up Handjob -- Not As Much Patience Needed This Time!

So she invited me to this other stripper private party exactly a month ago, this time in a western suburb. She texted me that happy endings were available, "lol!" I was so fucking there!

I now have a new modus operandi when it comes to these private parties. I no longer try and get there early in order to beat the rush of men. I go there late, in fact no earlier than a half-hour before the party's supposed to be over. I suspect the number of men won't be much higher than it would be when it began, plus I have the added effect of night, in case I need to obscure my pee-pee.

So after tooling around on my laptop I head out west. After going from Uptown and seeing how you're able to drive from this tony area to a first-ring suburb (and see how the landscape changes -- cool; it's like seeing the history of Minneapolis), I hit this condominium complex.

When I get to the address, I remembered I should have asked her which apartment number, let alone which complex. So I call her and get the number so I can buzz the right button to be let in.

When I come in, I almost fall. There's a step up, a big step up. And I'm wearing only my flip-flops -- the easier to take them off when I'm getting my impending handjob -- so I stub my big toe, really hard. Goddamn. Why in the hell isn't there a "Watch Your Step" sign anywhere?

So I limp down to the end of the hall and knock on the door. She, the one who finally gave me her vicious hand lovin' just a couple weeks before, answers. As I walk in, a girl sitting on a couch in the living room right in front of the front door notices I'm favoring my right side. Then, she notices that my substitute porno pants are riding a little low. Babe, you suspecting I'm not wearing any underwear? Well, you're right! Too bad she said it with some level of incredulity, if not disgust. Odd -- I'm thinking she's a stripper. There's no other reason for a woman to be there. Also too bad: There was a guy sitting next to her on that couch.

This place was a well-appointed apartment -- not huge, but pretty sizable for a place for what turned out to be a pair of sisters. What is also too bad is that there were four other guys there; the three others were on the kitchen table, snarfing down some pizza.

My Girl showed me a notebook. She wanted me to sign up for an e-mail waiting list. "They want this to be on the up-and-up, so if the police show up we can tell 'em this is just a party," she said. At the time I thought it was a great idea that they were trying to go legit on this. But now I realize two things: 1) Why does a party like this need to "go legit?" and 2) There's a paper trail and my e-mail address. Oh well. I don't think there's been a party planned since. Haven't gotten an e-mail on one.

Anyway, so my dream of being the only guy in a party with a bunch of girls (so I could just drop my pants and prance around an unknown apartment with my dick hanging out) got popped, so the next thing to do was pretend that no one else knew what she and I were about to do and go to the VIP, which just happens to be the bedroom of one of the two women living there. So I act nonchalantly as she and I go inside.

She was kind of scared about someone coming in, particularly the resident of the bedroom. But she was one of the strippers who organized the party, so what do I care? In fact, I wanted her to come in and see her wanking me away. Maybe she would join in! ;-) But she was steadfast; finally, she put the laundry hamper in front of it. Didn't think that would provide much of a barrier, but if it takes her mind off of that, it keeps her mind on me dick.

With that out of the way, it was time to get down to business. There was no negotiating or hesitation. She took off her clothes, I took off my shirt, and with little prompting, she untied my pants to reveal the manly treasure hidden underneath. And this time, she didn't mind taking off her undies too! There was a point in our encounter where she turned around right in front of me. I wanted to just poke that bubble butt of hers, but I didn't have the money for that.

I did have the money for the wankjob, though, and she went in with gusto. Without me asking, she just gave my main vein a squeeze and told me to sit on the bed. (Nice sheets on the bed, by the way.) She used lotion that the hosts laid out and went to town my cock. There were still issues with time; I guess I wasn't coming within a minute like she had hoped. I got there close to 11, when the party officially ended, and once again I didn't really care that it was about to be over. But, she did work me over good. I came, a lot easier than I did the first time. This handjob around she let go of my penis to grab a towel. I probably squirted all over the master bedroom carpet before she could collect it all on the spunk rag.

She told me to get dressed and leave the room quickly. Before I opened the door I heard the host saying something into her phone. I think that My Girl, at this point or during the handjob session, said that she had a kid and she was being babysat for the evening. Hmmm. I still didn't understand the rush.

I had to use the bathroom to empty any semen still trapped in my urethra. She followed me into the bathroom and actually groped while I was about to drop trou and piss! I should've had her touch me all over again!

When I came out, I didn't see any guys there. Man, if I had just gotten there 20 minutes later. ... But what I did see there was a little girl. Oh -- that's the stripper's daughter. When I saw her, I recognized her; she used to be a dancer at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition), but I hadn't seen her in a couple years. Because she seemed to have come home very shortly after I overheard the phone call with her mom, her kid was, I presume, somewhere in the apartment complex or even just down the hall for the evening. She wasn't very young but wasn't a teen, either -- maybe 10 or 11. And she was wrapped around her mom very tightly, burying her face in her stomach. I think she didn't want any foreign guys at home, especially since she knew what they were -- and I was -- there for. I kind of thought she knew because her mom blurted out, "Yeah, I remember you from (My Favorite Stripclub [Non-Cover Edition])!" I think her daughter knows. Awkward!

I didn't recognize that there was a guy there. It was an old bartender that also once worked at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition). He was a cool guy. Kind of weird to think that he might know what I was there for. Double awkward!!

My Girl and I walked out together -- fully clothed, just talking like we didn't engage in sexual activity not ten minutes ago. We hugged and said goodbye.

I was there no more than half an hour and dropped $100 but it was worth it!

Once Again Angry With Grandmother Over Her Insulin

It always seems to be a fight with her, but maybe it's me that is fighting too much.

Once again she forgot to take one of her two insulin shots. She did the usual, "But I did it this morning!" thing, but tonight there was a twist: She did eat dinner after we ate dinner, but she didn't take her shot. She's forgetful that way.

I was in my room when I heard commotion in the kitchen. I figured it was her just putzing about, so I took a nap. Later, I heard some more noise, so I went out to the kitchen. That's where I saw Grandmother washing her bowl. She just ate gruel. And I checked the fridge to see that there was still one syringe.

So I vent on her, telling her she forgot to take her medicine, again. Later this evening she approaches my door, and through it she shouts, "Can I take the shot now?" "No!" I exclaimed, "You're not supposed to take it unless you eat first!!" Was she eating, maybe you'll drink something later and you can do it then, blah-blah-blah. Bullshit that Grandmother doesn't understand or will forget later or both.

I took her stats (blood pressure and sugar) just before I showered. If she keeps forgetting her insulin, naturally I start believing she isn't taking her pills either. Right now, she's taking three medications (one twice, so four pills). She has a hell of a hard time keeping track. Grandmother gets really scared when a medicine changes pill form. Confuses her too, I believe. She had the pill bottles laid in a line, some of them stacked. To me, she's lining up all the pills she still needs to take (she told me that she takes one in the morning and the other three some time during the day, up to the last one just before bed). The stacked bottles are the ones that are the same -- to her. I look and those stacked bottles are the same medication as the first bottle in this line. I have reason to think that she's taking the same medicine twice, the medicine she's only supposed to take once. Meanwhile, this third medication she has to take is in a basket. Is she not taking this one? Has she fucked up her health because she can't tell which pills she needs to take?

I'm complaining to the nurse tomorrow. Just to vent.

Still pissed off that I got a ticket. I will be 40 goddamn years old when I can finally put that behind me; the insurance won't let me forget. Did I do it? I'm not saying I did. I wasn't intentionally going 71, like the cop said I did. I wasn't looking at my speed. But can I honestly say I was observing the speed limit? Can't say I did that, either.

Coming back home since this happened, I do see cop cars around, but I still don't feel vulnerable. I don't feel like I'm more liable to get a ticket here. Partly because I don't see as many cop cars around laying down a dragnet like I did in Missouri. (Maybe that's because Minnesota isn't so desperate/dependent on picking on speeders for revenue, which may be reflective of state political attitudes and/or intelligence.)

The main difference, however, is my car. It's a luxury car, but it's 18 years old. It can barely get above 65 if I hold the gas pedal down. In contrast, the beautiful and sporty Mazda 2 felt like I could accelerate it like a dragster if I put my foot down. I could easily do 70 without consciously doing it -- and I did on my vacation, maybe when I got my ticket.

I conclude that I really can't get a ticket because I have such an old car. I naturally speed -- I like going fast, and I don't really like holding myself back when driving. The only thing stopping me from racking up piles of tickets (with the ensuing skyrocketing of my car insurance rates, thankfully being paid [at least right now] by my parents) is the old age of my car. I could not, I believe, get a speeding ticket in this car even if I wanted to. Thank God ... ?

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Lynx (Last Week: 0). The best team in the state swept both games this screening week, at Tulsa (which tonight [Friday night] finally won their second game of the season and broke their WNBA-record 20-game losing streak) and home against San Antonio. That is four victories in a row, a 22-6 record, a six-game lead in the Western Conference standings, and a 2 1/2 game-lead on Indiana for best record in the league.

What has been impressive, and something they didn't do last year (or in previous years for that matter) is starting the last quarter hot. In tonight's (Friday night's) win over the Silver Stars, they opened the fourth outscoring them 17-1. They've done that several times this year. It's a sign of a coach who knows what she's doing, and a team that both buys into what she's preaching and able to execute the gameplan.

God I hope they don't fuck this up.

They should be able to wrap up the conference regular-season title in one of their three games this week: Finishing the home-and-home at San Antone Sunday, home to Washington Tuesday, and beginning a home-and-home with New York Friday.

#-2: Gopher women's soccer (Last Week: -1). Routed South Dakota St. 5-0 at home Sunday, then allowed the game-winning goal in minute 84 at San Diego St. tonight (Friday night) to lose 2-1. This isn't another case where a Big Twelve school will be no match for a warm-weather college, is it? They complete their roadtrip to California Sunday afternoon at UC-Santa Barbara, then begin their Minnesota Gold Classic at Robbie Stadium Friday night hosting Georgia. Exotice interconference matchup featuring a school that may never be here again? I'm there! Hopefully they'll win.

#-3: Gopher women's volleyball (Re-Entry!). Once again I beat the drum of women's volleyball. The players are overall hot, but the main reason I like the sport is the sport itself -- really, it's true.

I'm intrigued and concerned about this year's team. Dr. Mike Hebert has retired. He's been replaced by Laura Bush, who's had experience coaching before, but she's only coach on an interim basis; Hugh McCutcheon, the man who lead the men's team to gold in the 2008 Summer Olympics, has obligations with (I think) the men's and women's Olympic teams through the 2012 Games before he officially assumes duties leading the Gophers. Weird, and I wonder if the current situation is too fluid and/or unstable for the current players to totally be in the moment and for blue-chip recruits to come to the program.

Today marked the beginning of the women's volleyball season, and the U. participated in the marquee tournament of the first of four non-conference weeks: the AVCA Showcase in State College, Penn. I didn't know they were ranked 12th in the preseason AVCA poll. They won't be after this week because they lost to my second-ranked alma mater, USC in heartbreaking, two-sets-to-none-to-three-sets-to-two fashion. The Gophers beat the Women of Troy 23 and 24, but then got blitzed, 13-21-7. To me, that shows that the team blew their wad just outlasting USC the first two sets. A more talented team would at least put up more of a fight the last three sets than they apparently did.

(By the way, ever since I moved back from L.A. I've been going to Gopher women's volleyball games, so I have two allegiances. I think this is the second time they've played each other since I went to college, and I'm always torn. On the one hand, I can't lose, but on the other hand, I can't win. I'm glad my alma mater won, but I'm also mad that the team I follow closest not only lost but choked. What's a fan to do?)

They play their other game in the Showcase tonight (Saturday night) versus Oregon (the other team, obviously, is host Penn St., who'll play USC in what should be a 1-vs.-2 matchup). Next week they host their annual Diet Coke Classic, but this year will have a very special format: a two-game series against only one opponent: fourth-ranked Texas. We should know by this time next week how good this team's gonna be.

#-Infinity: Twins (Last Week: -2). Fuck this team. No, really -- fuck this team. They don't fucking care anymore. Two years after Minnesota taxpayers gave this franchise a $545 million stadium on the promise they can finally now spend to get a good team on the field, they might have no choice but to overhaul the squad, if not totally blow this fucking team up and start from scratch. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: If they were going to suck this badly, they could've done so in the Metrodome and saved us a lot of money.

I did last week's WMNSS after Saturday's win, so they technically went winless this week -- 0-6. Good fucking God. Worse yet, they have set a franchise record of most consecutive games scoring one or fewer runs. During this week, they have batted in, in order, 0, 1, 1, 1, 1, and 1 run. After dropping three of four against the New York Yankees, they got swept, at home, by the goddamn motherfucking Baltimore Orioles. You've got to be bullshitting me. Meanwhile, the starting pitching has been stupid bad, allowing, in order, 3, 4, 8, 6, 6, and 8 runs this losing streak.

I was at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) getting ripped off on tip and lapdances tonight. I was watching the Twinks sleepwalk through tonight's (Friday night's) 8-1 dump to Detroit. My love of sports has such a hold on me that I got physically angry watching the game. Maybe that's why I felt ripped off by the strippers working tonight. I can't imagine how I would feel or what I would do if I was at Target Field. Why people aren't booing, if not throwing shit on the field, over this atrocious, non-professional effort, I don't know.

They finish their series and homestand (where they're currently 1-8 -- some home-field advantage, huh?) against the Tigers, then go on the road for a trio with Chicago and series against the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles of Anaheim Angels of ... on Friday.

Three Ways Grandmother Bugged Me In The Past 24 Hours

1. Grandmother was up late last night. I saw her bedroom light on when I went to piss. Then, around 4 o'clock, I heard commotion from the hall outside. I then looked that the hall light was on just outside my room. Of course it's Grandmother; she wanted to know if I was going to work the next day. But with her, when she's bothering me, she always starts out with an ice-breaker question before weaseling her way to what she really wants. But this was classic: She was swinging her arms around and complained about a knot on her neck, then finally got around to asking me if I could massage her neck. For fuck's sake, if you wanted me to do that, why don't you fuckin' say so? I'll still hate it, but it'd save everybody some time.
2. Woke up just before 9 this morning when Grandmother was outside my door, on the phone: "Bill ... yeah ... Bill." I stumble out of bed to open the door and answer the phone. Turns out it was our PCA nurse calling to schedule a time to come in and see her. Why didn't she have my cellphone? Because she lost it. I guess I shouldn't blame Grandmother for this; if the nurse had my cell number, she wouldn't woken me up just before 9 anyway. Question is, why the fuck would she call me so goddamn early in the morning? That's uncharacteristically uncouth of her.
3. Helped my friend move stuff to his storage space this afternoon. I made the fatal mistake of taking him to his place of work for the next 11 days, the State Fair, right at the beginning of afternoon rush. It took me a fucking hour to go from downtown Minneapolis to the Fairgrounds to home. And it didn't help that I got drowsy through my traffic-ridden ride through hell. Which I meant I was going to be woken up by Grandmother when all I wanted was to get in the house, take my clothes off and crash. And of course, because she heard commotion outside she had to get up like she's one of those voice-responding plush dolls. And of course she'll wake me up by knocking on my door because she fuckin' wanted something. This time she needed change. Fuck her.

Another day at the store, a second consecutive day where I had nothing to do except minding the store at the front. However, unlike yesterday, Father wasn't running around doing things. In fact, he was at Mother's old stoop, right next to the register. While I am once again (guiltily) relieved that I didn't have to load and unload boxes to the warehouse -- at this point, if I'm just reading papers two days in a row now, there's nothing left to send to the warehouse, I think -- this is a frightening omen for what's to come once -- gulp -- the store closes for good. Instead of being at work doing nothing he'll be at home doing nothing. He'll wake up in the morning, grab some coffee, check some stocks, and when I wake up at, oh, 11, he'll say, "Why don't you get a job? Why don't you go back to school? You know, maybe I should kick you out of the house!" I saw my future today. And I fear it.

Went to work at the store today ... but again, I stalled by walking onto the quad. There actually were a lot of people and activities there. I don't think I remember seeing them last week, so this week, I guess, either freshman are acclimating themselves to college life or returning students just want to get the shit they need done out of the way. I was content on walking past all the U. booths peddling something, and I got a brochure from the College of Continuing Education. Maybe I'll finally go back to school, for real.

At 2, I call Father and tell him I'm coming in. He hems and haws a couple seconds, then tells me he's at the warehouse; go to the store and call. Well, I did, and somehow he actually was at the store, in the back. By the way, the store was completely closed when I came in; Father opened it up about five minutes after I came.

My job was not to haul stuff to the warehouse. My job was to mind the store, keeping it open, as he went around the neighborhood doing some things. Whether it be for the warehouse or one of his properties, I don't know. But I was left solo for most of the time. It's scary, and I don't think that should ever be done, but I had no trouble. In fact, there were three people who wanted to buy lottery tickets and only one couple who wanted to get some goods from the back of the store, which meant I had to call Father so he can come back and help them. Hell, I had this sudden attack of diarrhea, just after he left on an errand. I locked the front door, shut all the lights, and took a shit for about five minutes before coming back out. I don't think anyone came.

Actually, I was there for more than three hours and the people I described above were the only people who came. Logically, I still believe my parents could make a profit out of the store. But I really can see the point-of-view that it's so goddamn boring that it's not worth keeping open the store if a person comes in an average of once an hour.

Still, when I heard that I wouldn't have to haul boxes up on a truck or unload them onto a pallet, my reaction was relief. Whew! I don't have to bust my ass and break a sweat today. Just have to sit out front and read ... even though Father is moving a lot of stuff around the front of the store ... and there are cleaning products laying around ... and the huge rice pallet is missing in the corner of the store ... and it still looks like things are being taken away. But I still feel is relief, not even the sense of foreboding I had this time last night. So, because I am relieved, I can replace it with another emotion, a familiar one: guilt.

We'll see what happens tomorrow.

I'm Still Deluding Myself

I was on vacation for a few days last week, and God, I did not miss working at the store. And yet, I did miss working at the store. Because it's closing.

I called in on Sunday, the day after I flew back, to ask Father if he needed help. But I was passive-aggressive about it: I called at around 2, kind of late to be helping out with loading and unloading stuff. I was kind of tired, I just wanted to putz around the house after flying the day before, and there was an article I wanted to file. But the main reason I called so late was because I didn't really want to go in. I could've called when I woke up around 10:30, but I knew that there was little chance he would want me to come in at 2.

I swore, I swear I swore, that I would make it up by coming in to help after my lab work at the U. Monday. But Sunday night Father asked me to go to this place I've never been to, never even heard of, and buy this coil for a stove. That was my ready-made excuse to not work at the store Monday. It was further buttressed Monday morning, when he called and asked if I've gotten the park yet, even though I was actually going to work. No chance I was doing anything but going to this place right after the U., and when I called him from the parking lot to say that I bought the part, he told me to just stay home. Of course, there was a little trickeration there, too: Even though I was let go early, I decided to walk to the campus bookstore to buy a discount ticket to the State Fair (my third one), and along the way I decided to stop and take a 15-minute study outside on campus grounds for a quick five bucks. It was 2:30 by the time I called; again, it was too late to load stuff.

Tuesday I wasn't going to come in at all. It's $2 popcorn Tuesdays at the local Regal. I felt a little guilty ... nah, I really didn't.

And that's why I hate myself. I still feel incredible shock when my parents decided to kill off the store. But if I really cared about it, I'd at the very least help bring it to a dignified end. I'm not. I'm staying away, as far away as possible. And even though I think I want to feel bad about it, I have to admit, I don't really feel that bad at all.

But I do feel bad about not genuinely feeling bad. Go beyond the fact that I'm not backing up my words and feelings with ironclad, substantial action. The store was (it's still viscerally very hard for me to think of the store in the past tense) our family's lifeblood. Giving to it led us to the lifestyle that we have -- solidly middle class, but not living check to check, and having very few problems in getting what we need. It is, like I've said before, the American Dream. If it's going to be brought to an end -- and even though business has been slow, I really think Father wants to retire, or at least do something else -- it should be sent off with as much support as possible.

So what I am doing running away from it? I've worked there on Saturdays and over summers when I was a kid, and I had been filling in for my parents when they vacationed in Vegas. But now when the rubber meets the road, where am I? Sitting in a movie theater, glad I'm not getting dirty and sweaty from hauling shit back and forth. I don't like it. But I am not happy with my attitude about it. It feels wrong. It is wrong.

But ... shit, I don't wanna do this!!! It's hard, it's boring, it takes too long. And ... yes, again it comes back to me. Visiting the store these days is like visiting a dying family member. I remember seeing both of my grandmothers in the hospital. Father's mom, I was not being solemn -- I was more interested in getting cups of pudding from the refrigerator down the hall. And I couldn't wait to get out of the room where Mother's mom was. My instinct is to avoid death at all costs. I think about my own mortality too often already; seeing someone so close to death's door is even more of an unescapable nightmare to me.

And that's how I consider the store these days. I'm going in tomorrow, if Father will let me. I don't like it, but it's been nine days since I last helped out. I know I am not going to like what is different since the last time I was there. What pallets have been removed? What boxes are no longer there? What else has he shut down? I have already seen the closed sign at the store's front door in the middle of the day. If it's shutting down, more pieces will follow. I am not going to take seeing things at the store change well, and if it looks radically different, I swear I think I am going to fucking lose it.

You know, these past few days I've been able to not totally think about the store. Worse, when I do think of it, I'm trying to think of it in the best possible light. For example, I keep breathing a sigh of relief because it hasn't closed yet. Father gave me $60 for the part I bought on Monday; to me, that means that he still has a lot of money coming in, so the store can't be closing. In fact, a part of me still think that the store will still be open -- that I somehow didn't understand Father when he told me the store would close, or maybe Mother changed her mind and decided she didn't want to work for anybody else.

I know -- wishful thinking. I'm lying to myself just so I can believe that everything is staying the same and that my little world is exactly what I think it is and should be. A part of me, the one that cannot change because he knows he would die because he can't adjust, is about to get a very, very rude awakening -- if not in a couple months, when all this is supposed to be over, then tomorrow.

And I, for one, can wait. Because this all sucks.

Once Again, I Just Blogged In The Past

Finally got around to finishing a blog post I started a month ago, "Handjob After Years Of Patience." I think it's Pulitzer-worthy. You just have to scroll back to July 19 to read it.

I may have announced it like this before, but there are two other posts that I began on that date that I finished days, even weeks later, "Two Ways I Missed On Saturday" and "Chronicles Of My Trip V: Milan Crossroads." Peruse them, and I hope you like them.

Just wanted to say that I was able to bring and read some very old newspapers to my vacation in St. Louis this past week. I managed to finish reading a USA Today news section from 2006 on my flight back home. In fact, that USA Today was a weekend edition which encompassed August 20. I got done reading it on Saturday -- August 20.

I finally finished reading a part of a newspaper just about exactly five years ago to the day.

Fuck You, St. Louis

I have to deal with the closing of the store, our family's financial security blanket. And now one day, one fucking day! ruins what was up to that point a fairly relaxing vacation:

• I go to the Show-Me's in St. Charles, across the Missouri River. First I can't find because it's on the longest goddamn service road in the world. And then I get indifferent service from Christy, who's hot but doesn't show barebelly like Rachel at the Brick House in Chesterfield did. I told her she gave me the wrong check and asked for the right one -- which was three dollars more.
• Then I got my ticket. God, if this is what I get for being honest, maybe I should've just paid the bill Christy gave me. Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.
• I was on my way to the strip club when I got my ticket. I thought about not going; not only did I feel the need to begin conserving money for the ticket I'd have to pay immediately, but I wasn't in the mood. Maybe it was a sign I shouldn't spend money on a handjob. I did decide to drive on because that's why I was going to St. Louis. But when I got there, my All-Time Favorite, Autumn, wasn't there. What the fuck? She wasn't there Friday afternoon either. She's taking weekends off now?
• I thought, with some temperament, to try and make the money I'll have to spend on the ticket at the casino, and since I have all this time on my hands now, maybe this was the sign, maybe I should do this instead, and I'll win so much money I'll be able to pay it off. Fat fucking chance. In five minutes playing at a craps table with only four other people (in the middle of a Saturday afternoon -- I thought St. Louisans spent their sunny summer afternoons at the casinos instead of outside) I lost $25. With that loss, I think I finally realized the real sign: That I should just go the airport now. While fucking obeying the speed limit, of course.

One day ruined the three before it -- and I wasn't in that good of a mood in the first place, St. Louis. I treat you so good, shower you with tourist money and time, visiting East St. Louis (that's where the strip clubs are), and vacationing in a city where not even locals would vacation in. And this is how you treat me? Like shit?! Taking more money from me than I can give, money I have to give you or else I'll be in jail? Fuck you!

My other ATF, Ivy, told me she was leaving The Life in six months. Another goddamn change in my life. I still can't deal. However, not visiting St. Louis again after the way you've disrespected me -- well, if this is the pain you want to inflict on me every time I want to enjoy your city, that's change I can believe in. If I'm not able to see Autumn again -- and I hope to Buddha that's not going to happen -- then I have no reason to come back to St. Louis. And then I just might not visit your once-fair city again.

That's what you get for treating me like shit.

Got A Goddamn Ticket Yesterday!

I GOT A GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING SPEEDING TICKET YESTERDAY!!! I WAS JUST MINDING MY OWN FUCKING BUSINESS, PLAYING WITH THE RADIO AND TRYING TO GET TO THE STRIP CLUB, WHEN ALL OF A SUDDEN I SEE THIS COP CAR -- AND HE'S CHASING ME DOWN!!! I SAW A LOT OF COP CARS IN ST. LOUS THIS WEEKEND, SO I KNEW THEY WERE OUT IN FORCE, BUT GODDAMN, I DIDN'T THINK THEY'D GO AFTER ME!!!

TEN YEARS!!! MY FIRST SPEEDING TICKET IN TEN FUCKING YEARS!!! AND IT DIDN'T MATTER TO THIS FUCKING ASSHOLE. OF COURSE I WAS DOING A 71 IN A 60 -- EVERYBODY ELSE WAS DOING 71 IN A S 60, BUT YOU DIDN'T STOP THEM, DID YOU?

NOW MY CAR INSURANCE IS SHOT. I DON'T PAY FOR IT, BUT YOU NEVER KNOW; THEY ARE CLOSING THE STORE, SO THEY MIGHT FORCE ME TO PAY THE INSURANCE. AND WHAT ABOUT RENTING A CAR WHEN I GO TO MIAMI NEXT MONTH. WILL THEY LET ME? WILL I HAVE TO PAY INSURNACE?

THE WORST THING ABOUT THIS BULLSHIT? $200! TWO HUNDRED GODDAMN DOLLARS!! I DON'T HAVE THAT MONEY!!! I'M LOOKING FOR WORK, CAN'T FIND IT, AND NOW YOU'RE TAKING TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS FROM ME, YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH???

I CAN'T DEAL. I ... I JUST CAN'T DEAL. ...

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

(I didn't plan on doing a WMNSS, and I announced that I wouldn't. But a confluence of things -- including what happened to me today, which I will blog about in several hours -- kind of made me think, "What the fuck," and I'll do one now.)

#0: Lynx (Last Week: -1). They lost this week. They lost badly, actually -- a 108-79 dick-smack at Connecticut Tuesday. Head coach Cheryl Reeve responded by breaking with convention. Usually the team doesn't practice if there's a day between road games. But Reeve wanted to make sure her players didn't lose focus after a 29-point loss, so she brought them in for practice. And they responded with an 81-62 winning statement at Washington.

Then tonight the Lynx crushed Los Angeles 87-68. That is important because they clinched a playoff spot for only the third time in franchise history and the first time in seven years. They have broken the Lynx record for wins in a season, currently lead second-place Phoenix by five games for the Western Conference lead, and are two games up on Indiana for best record in the WNBA. Things are lining up for this team -- which makes me scared that they'll come up short.

The team has eight games left. When do you let go of the throttle and start resting your players for the postseason? This week: at Tulsa Tuesday and a Friday night showdown against San Antonio at Target Center.

#-1: Gopher women's soccer (Re-Entry!). University of Minnesota sports are already starting? I remember being surprised when a team started their season in mid-August. I'm glad I checked the Gophers athletics website.

Anyway, the U. distaff footballers started their year Friday with a one-off game -- which turned out to be a one-off, 1-0 loss, at Maryland, which is ranked either 5th or 6th, depending on which poll you look at. The game was delayed 2 1/2 hours due to lightning, and 20 minutes in someone named Danielle Hubka scored for the Terrapins.

Is there a season preview for college women's soccer? Is there a poll by the coaches and media predicting who will win the Big Twelve? Just wondering. ...

Anyhoo, the team has two games this week. They have their home opener tomorrow afternoon against South Dakota St. Then they begin a weekend jaunt through California when they visit San Diego St. on Friday.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2). A 3-4 week, capped by -- finally! -- a comfortable win over the fucking Yankees, only their fourth in their past 25 games against the Evil Empire. But yeah, they're done. Winning a series at division-leading Detroit won't change that.

The trade of Delmon Young to those Tigers -- funny how they traded him the first day of their series on Monday, the easier it was for him to switch teams by merely walking across the stadium -- was more than overdue. He could hit, sometimes. I also heard when I ate at the downtown Hooters (when it was open) from of the waitresses that he just came in one night and ate at the bar. But he was such a liability in the outfield that whatever potential he had with his bat was more than offset with his all-thumbs defense. At least it clears the budget and the logjam in the outfield.

They continue their season-long, 11-game homestand (it may be tied with one or two others) hosting Baltimore for four games, then Detroit for the weekend.

Still Can't Get Away

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Able To Blog On Vacation

Here I am in St. Louis. I few things:

• One of the reliefs I currently feel is being able to walk around my hotel room naked. Not like I really want to do it at home, but I have had to because it's been so hot lately. Here, not only can I jack up the air conditioning, but I can prance around without any possibility any member of family will see me.


• The night before I have this idea of bringing my satellite radio with me. I have to change headphones anyway because my old ones are shot. I thought I had everything. But when I unpacked last night, I forgot to pack the battery. So all this heavy electronic stuff I have with me for nothing. Goddammit.


• My plan was going to Alton, Ill. to see bartenders that'll show their tits for money. But on the way back from the Chuck Berry concert I got lost. After about, oh, 20 miles, I gave up. But it was still not my bedtime -- it was before 2 -- so I took a detour to Harrah's casino ... where I played craps and won $59. Even considering the gas I wasted just spacing out and driving around, not a bad Plan B.


• And I still dread coming home and seeing the death of the store. Cannot get away from my problems. At. ALL.

OK, Fine, Here's The Secret I've Been Hiding:

The store, my parents' business for about 35 years, is closing.

I am still devastated. And I am still numb.

I was told this Thursday, August 4, a couple days after I learned that Mother was working for a competing company. I was told to come in and help deliver something to somewhere.

When I came in it was empty, totally quiet. I stumble in and look to my left, where I see My Father sitting in repose on a chair in total darkness. I hate it when he gets all weird and dark and shit like that.

"What's going on?" I ask, making sure I don't take any shit from him. These are the times he likes to insult me. Instead, he decks me with bad news.

"OK," My Father says, and then words that have changed my life forever: "We are closing the store. It'll take a couple months, but we will close. I'm older than 65 years now, right? Uncle can't work anymore because of his heart. It's been 35 years, we stop now."

I had my hands on my hips, girding myself for what bullshit was going to come out of his mouth. Instead, I froze where I stood. And I could stammer out was an, "Oh."

In his juvenile, stupid way of breaking the ice, he then asks me: "So, do you want to exercise?"

"Huh?"

"If you want, you help me move the rice to the warehouse."

I didn't have time; I was going to a dental appointment after dropping the stuff off. But his "joke" gave me a way of going off on him: "No, I can't! I have to go to the dentist!!" And I left.

I was in a daze when I had my teeth cleaned. I wish they knocked me out.

That's why I've been helping him out at the store. We are moving things that the company that Mother now works for has agreed to take off our hands. My parents will then sell the warehouse. Afterwards, they are going to do all they can to empty the store, then sell the building, possibly to the milk factory across the parking lot from us. Their business is growing, and they've been looking to expand for a long time. I guess my parents decided this was that time.

Every trip to the store is now fraught with fear and personal anguish. What's going to be missing this time around? How is the store going to look different now? And when is it finally going to be shut down for good? My folks don't tell us shit like that. Fuck, I don't even think my brother and sister know, although they should have known when My Fucking Father told me.

I grew up hating the store. It was grimy. My parents worked at a place no other kids' parents worked at. It was in a dangerous part of the city, especially when I was young. Many things were stolen from us, including some guy who wouldn't return the hat I let him look at (Mother tried to get it back, then started yelling at me for giving him my hat -- wow, I just acted out upon remembering that, I don't think I've ever completely loved her after that) and so much money out of the register that they moved it from the front door of the store to the middle.

The worst incident was in the summer when I was home. I remember playing on my brother's Sega when my Grandmother came in and said that the store was robbed. Two guys were just walking around the aisles of the store, and when the customers all left, they whipped out their guns, told my parents and brother to get down on the floor, and took all the money. My folks were never the same after that.

They took my brother and I to the store to work on Saturdays for a good, oh, six or seven years, and working there was our summer job up to our teens. We despised that. I mean, other kids were out having fun, and we're stuck working for you guys? But about halfway through I started realizing two things. First of all, I began to understand the concept of work. It didn't instill in me a work ethic (I'm still lazy). But it opened my eyes to what my future held, and what it would take to get by in the world. And, paradoxically, it didn't make me feel confident about finding a job when I grew up. It made me fearful. I now understood that any business, especially one of your own, takes a fucking lot of work. And I knew, even as a kid, I didn't have what it took. I'm pretty sure that wasn't a lesson my parents wanted to teach me.

But about that last thing, understanding you have to work. It ties into the other thing I learned while doing time at the store on Saturdays: It taught me how important the store was to the family. My parents ran a theater for a short while before they had to close it, and they ran a restaurant for a little while before they had to close that. That meant that the store was the only thing providing income for this family. All my life I knew that my parents were working at the store. I don't remember a day without the store. But that's gone now. Shit, it's possible that the store is already closed and I don't even know it.

I want to be wrapped up in an identity. I want to be a part of something that's meaningful to me. The best kind of work is work I can be passionate about; then, as the bromide goes, you don't have to work a day in your life. But I need some permanence, too. I love my alma mater because I know that, through thick and thin, good times and shitty, it's going to be there. USC is going to outlive me, but that's OK, because as an institution it was here before me and it'll be here when I'm gone.

I thought the same way about the store. The family was the store. And growing up I went from being ashamed of it to being proud. OK, I did very little in running the store, and I don't think I could have taken over the family business, and I really doubt they would have let me if I tried. But our identity -- or at least mine -- was integrated to this little grocery store and food delivery business. It was fucking hard work, but all of the spoils my parents earned and gave to the family. Like I said, they were their own bosses, and that sense of independence is something they instilled in me. I don't think I'm succeeding, but I learned from them the principal freedom in being your own boss. Maybe that's why I tolerate being a temp.

I realized something today: If, Buddha willing, I live a long life, I will look back on the store, and its closing, as merely a footnote, something that shaped only the first half of my life. I never thought of that way, and honestly, I'm still not prepared for that new way of thinking. Maybe it was because I grew up assuming the fundamental presence of the store, but I thought it was going to be around forever, in some fashion. In the big picture, maybe it isn't supposed to be this way. But right now, knowing how the store sustained this family and pushed three kids through college, it feels like it should be honored in a better way than to be slowly forgotten over the decades.

I could look on the bright side. Unlike the theater and restaurant, it looks like this was a decision to end the store's life. I have not and will not ask, but I think it could've continued operating. They just didn't want to anymore (or at least Father; I still don't quite understand the thinking behind it, although he told me they decided right around the time we went to see my sister get "married again). My folks have earned the right to call it quits. And hey, a family-run business for 35 years is a hell of an accomplishment.

But yet I still feel like this is a fatal blow to me personally. Not only does this change the dynamic at home (Father's retired now, which means he'll be -- gulp -- home more often), but this new phase in their lives spurs me, possibly to a new phase in mine. I don't like to change, but I do so oftentimes as a reaction to other things. I rarely change on my own. It's a result of other things being different, other things letting me down. This looks like one of those times, and yet I am scared. Scared of what's to come, scared of the decisions I'll have to make, scared of the mistakes I will make as a result, and, most importantly, scared that the living, breathing old lady on the North Side of Minneapolis no longer exists, not only as a brick-and-mortar store but as an essential part of this family's legacy.

Change sucks.

---

My Father was inordinately happy today. He called me in early because he needed me to grab something at a competitor's warehouse. He turned on the lights but kept the front door locked; seriously, is the store closed now? But he was grinning as he gave me the credit slip and check to buy the things. He was alone and presumably moving things around in the back, but he was happy as a clam.

Moreover, tonight my parents beat me home. I was out buying some water and the cheapest price in town. I needed a break (didn't help Father out at the store today -- it's $6 movie day at the local Regal) and wanted to work on my laptop over coffee, and then this hellacious storm hit the area. I decided to try and wait it out.

At a bit past 6:30 I called home. Grandmother answered, then handed off the phone to My Father. But instead of being angry, he told me, "Take your time." Take my time?? He's never been this cheerful when I was late getting home.

I couldn't wait any longer. It was pouring buckets at 7, but I had to brave the rain, so I left. I got a fucking lot more wet than I thought I would. And when I came home, my parents had already eaten. Like it wasn't a big deal that I hadn't come home yet.

And that's another thing that scares me about The Death Of The Store: Their newfound levity is something I'm not used to. And I don't like it because it's ... different.

Oh, and one more thing: My Father's good nature feels like the behavior of someone just before he commits suicide. They say that a tell-tale sign of a person who has decided to kill himself is to act as happy as possible and to give away things. There is no more conflict within the person, and he knows that he will not have any more use of the material things he owns.

Just a thought, although a paranoid one.

---

I am taking a vacation starting this afternoon and lasting till Saturday night. I actually made all the plans just before this bomb was dropped on me, but now I think I need this trip to St. Louis because I need to get away and clear my head. Don't know what good it'll do me; I'll still have to come back to this shit.

So I may or may not be blogging Thursday and Friday. I might, if I just have to check my e-mail and facebook. I do know that the Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey will take a rest for the week. Geez, why can't the store take a rest for the week too. ...

And Kerri Kendall Can Suck My Dick ... No, Really, Can She Suck My Dick?

So when I established my alter ego facebook profile a month or so ago, I did so with my real intention: To friend, hunt, and hopefully fuck beautiful women. I knew it probably wouldn't happen, but yet the vitriol leveled against me for my oh-so-innocent friend request to a certain Playboy Playmate still angers and hurts me.

Kerri Kendall, aka Miss September 1990, is very active on facebook. Funny, too. But when I requested her, she rejected me outright. Not only that, she made a point of embarrassing me on fb when she used my request as her status.

I paraphrase here: "So there's this one person who requested me. He has no photo whatsoever. He has only 11 friends, all of whom are nude models. And his name is 'Unforgivable Wetness.' Should I accept his request? Um, let me think -- HELL NO."

Well. Actually I should have seen this coming. She has a very acidic tongue, and she's quite protective of her son. I guess I could understand where she's coming from. But I don't think she gives a shit about where I'm coming from. It's not as if I want to destroy her family, far from it.

In fact, come to think of it, I think she's going overboard here. All I wanted was a friend request. I'd write, but if you don't want to write back, it's not like I'm going to talk shit about you. Just because I don't have a profile pic doesn't mean I'm a creep. Some of the worst creeps on facebook have profile pics. And yet you judge me? How dare you?! You're hot, and you reject me like this?!?! I don't need this, not now, not in this time of my life!!!

Whatever, I'll still jerk off to you. Besides, you don't know it, but I'm already your friend, Ms. Kendall ;-)

But now that I think about it, why does Father want me to buy water as cheaply as possible? Are they in trouble money-wise?

Last night, my parents stayed out. I was helping Father at the store, and when we got down at around 6, Mother was there. She got done at a normal hour, rare right now for her. So do they go home? No. I look into buying some things and I still beat them home. When I call, Father said they're out with customers. Saying goodbye?

After exercise I immediately go home, get naked, watch a little Kimmel, and fall asleep. I am wide awake and ready to go after 7 in the morning. I don't like that about me. I am not a morning person. I don't remember the last time I woke up at noon, let alone 2:30. I miss those days. And I don't know if I'm ever getting them back.

So many goddamn changes. So many goddamn changes. I can't take it.

The Damage Of Things Unsaid

For the second Sunday in a row, I get a call while I'm hanging out at My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) from My Fucking Father speculating on when I'll get home. I'll get home when I fucking want to, Father!

I don't know why he's all of a sudden calling me. I've been able to find work the past two weekends. That's it. And now he's scared of my safety? I've been out way later other days for reasons more frivolous than work. I think it's because of The Secret/The Change.

Anyway, I got to see booby, then I went home, just like I did last Sunday. The only difference is is that when I called My Fucking Father tonight, I had to make up a reason I was so "late." I told him I was working all this time and I just got done getting chewed out by my supervisor. My Fucking acted surprised, then said "oh-oh-oh," like he was going to yell at me for something, but quickly realized that there was a good reason I wasn't home late (either the made-up chewing out or the working). What really happened was I got done early, dropped somebody off at MSP, ate at the Hooters at MOA, had coffee and worked on some paperwork at Uptown, then worked out for about an hour before heading to the titty bar.

When I came home I made sure I came home hurried. I saw My Fucking Father downstairs, shrouded in darkness because the light at the bottom of the stairway is never turned on. This is usually an image he wants to conjure up before he lays into me, yelling at me for doing this or not doing that. But coming in all pissy girded me for an aggressive stance to blunt any verbal fusillade he wanted to deploy against me.

So after closing the front door behind me, I look at him -- well, his shadow -- and I ask, "What do you want?" I made myself big enough, in animal terms, because My Fucking Father slowly walked away to the computer room.

"Father?" I continued, just in case. He whispered something, and when I said "Uh?" he said, "Nothing."

I was ironing out all the wrinkles now: "Are you sure?" I said, to which he replied, "Yes." But of course it wasn't over; I was gathering my things when I saw him circle back. What was a pair of legs retreating had turned around and reformed back into a body coming back into my line of view. "Buy some water," he said, "And find it where it's cheapest."

I could not believe that is the thing he wanted to really say to me, but I had to play it off, so I scratched my head for a few seconds longer than I should before saying okay. And that was it.

But water? No. My Fucking Father wanted to insult me about coming home late, or The Change/Secret he still needed help with. It isn't water. And that's one of the big things I hate about this family: We don't tell each other, calmly and civilly, what we really need from each other. I do not like to be blindsided with important information, and yet what's worse is people in this family hiding that information from me because they think I'll get mad. It's going to come out anyway, whether it's something that needs to be done or feelings that will be blurted at a much more inopportune time.

So this conversation isn't over. I don't want the conversation, but it's something I'm going to have to have anyway. I just want to see whether it's My Fucking Father insulting me, or more news that I can't handle.

By the way, I should end this and buy some water.

I Am Beginning To Be Able To Articulate What I'm Feeling About "The Change"

Ever since last week, I've been dreading waking up. I usually dread waking up, but at least there were days where I had nothing to do so I could wake up any damn time I wanted to, and if I wanted to try and loll myself back to sleep, I could do that.

No matter. Not right now, and a good possibility not ever again.

This is the time where The Secret I Have To Keep Secret haunts me the most. I'm wakening from what usually is a peaceful slumber only to be hit with the realization of The Secret. And its effects, as well as what I have to do now, is intense and inescapable.

I remember, at that point of waking up, whether I have time to help Father. Whether I want to help Father or blow him off. And, most importantly of all, how I'm helping bring the store's destruction. I don't want to do that, and yet I can't just abandon My Father, who not only could throw me out of the house, but needs help. And that is where I hurt the most. I am so conflicted.

There's another irony here. When I decide to work at the store, I get a little hyped up. I need to because it's hard work. Manual labor sucks. Father always harped on that, and my parents never wanted -- well, at least I don't think wanted -- to ever follow in their footsteps. I think Mother virtually forbade us to do what they did. And yeah, it is too hard work. But you know what? I feel kind of good when it's all done. The endorphins are coursing through my body. It's exercise, sucky exercise, and yet my body needs it. That's why I kind of feel good -- even though those very actions precipitate the very result I dread every morning.

But what can I do? I can't stop this. I just have to ... help it along. Slouching towards Gomorrah.

And I get to face this tomorrow morning. And the next morning. And every morning after that, probably for the rest of my life, which is changing with every letter I type and every breath I take.

I am so, so sad.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Lynx (Last Week: Positive Numbers!). Their franchise-best winning streak ended at nine on Tuesday with a loss at Phoenix. However it was only a five-point defeat, which means they hung tough and didn't give up, a characteristic I like to see in a championship squad.

As in all things in life, the good is often mixed in with the bad; Seimone Augustus and Lindsay Whalen both reached the 3,000-point milestone in the loss. It's the second WNBA game in history where two players reached the mark, but the first one where teammates did; on July 20, 2007, DeLisha Milton-Jones and Tamecka Dixon eclipsed 3,000 when Los Angeles played Houston.

There are even more phenomenal statistics associated with Augustus's and Whalen's records. Augustus ties the Mercury's Diana Taurasi for reaching that scoring plateau in the smallest number of games (151). And Whalen became only the sixth player in WNBA history to get at least 3,000 points, 1,000 assists, and 1,000 rebounds. Such a feat seems, dare I say it, Hall of Fame-worthy.

However, the Lynx did pull out wins from the other two games on this screening week road trip, over L.A. by six points and Chicago by three. They have a record of 17-5, ten out of their last 11 games, lead second-place San Antonio in the Western Conference by four whole games, and still have the best record in the WNBA. And you know what? That loss could prove to be a blessing in disguise. With them not losing in such a long time, a team can get spoiled and forget what a defeat tastes like. That loss will refocus this team (especially considering that if the playoffs were to begin right now, the Lynx would draw Phoenix as their first-round opponent) and give them something that'll make them want to avoid experiencing again.

They should tie the franchise record for most wins in a season Sunday against 1-21 Tulsa (they've lost 16 games in a row!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). They then have their final multi-game road trip of the season, a twofer at Connecticut and Washington, to close out the week.

#-2: Twins (Last Week: -2). Twinks fans are usually over-optimistic. But after their 1-5 week, I think most of them have come to the conclusion that this team just doesn't have what it takes, and that they won't be making the postseason.

I think the home sweep last weekend by the White Sox, a team the Twins usually dominate, will be seen in retrospectives as the coup de grace. What has been unsettling is that in their last three losses, the squad has lost by just 2, 1, and 1 run. (Of course, they were blown out in their last two defeats to the Pale Hose by a combined score of 13-1.) Nevertheless, like my glassy-eyed, passive-aggressive advanced math teacher in high school was fond of saying, close only counts in horseshoes, grenades and dancing. They now have a record of 52-66 and are 11 games in back of first place in the American League Central.

Justin Morneau is now back from his gimpy neck. Alexi Casilla is back, too. That means, presumably, that this is the lineup Ron Gardenhire wanted all season. Is the result what he wanted -- a come-from-ahead collapse at Cleveland by Glen Perkins, a guy who looked sharp enough these past few weeks to be a legitimate closer? Whatever, we got the Lynx, and football season is coming up!

This week: Finishing at Cleveland, then three at Detroit, then immediately coming home and starting a four-game set against the Yankees on Thursday. Shit. Before this season I'd be looking at this week as quite possibly the most important one on the schedule. Now I look at it and think the team could lose all seven games.

One Of The Biggest Changes In My Life And I Am So Goddamn Conflicted

So I went to the store today. Just My Father and his friend, the one who looks like a cockroach.

That tableau alone, the loneliness I once again entered, got me all depressed anew. It was like walking into death. I don't want to be here!

But you have to. You owe it to the store.

I do not want to participate in its destruction!

Or, you can say that it's given 35 years to this family, as well as the American Dream everybody wants. See it through.

My God, I can't. Manual labor sucks! I did it for 3 1/2 hours and I am smelly and tired and cranky!

Well, shit, I guess that's the point, isn't it?

I never questioned my parents' dignity in running this place! I question just about everything else about them, but not the store, I never took it for granted. I just don't need to be reminded. So what the fuck is he going to do now? And what the fuck am I going to do now?

I don't know what he'll do. As for you ... guess you'll just have to find work outside to get away from him.

Or move out so I don't kill him. I haven't even thought of that shit yet. Growing up? How?

It's time. Things change.

Why? Why do things have to change?!?! Why can't things be the way they are?!?!?!

Because they just can't.

That's not a good reason!!

Then ... I don't know.

And that's where I am. I. Don't. Know. Never have.

And yet I harken back to that snapshot: A store, empty except for three people, none of them customers. And yet there was an elderly couple who stopped in to buy stuff later on. It's all understandable and hopeful and noble and sad.

My Fucking Father Up To His Goddamn Passive-Aggressive Tricks Again

Parents' minivan was in an accident, so My Fucking Father asked me use the car today in order to take it in for an estimate. I assumed that since it's a 2000 Sienna, they'll pay for the damage out-of-pocket and keep the insurance company out of it, so when the guy performing the estimate asked if I wanted aftermarket parts only, I said yes. Fixing the headlight and bumper would cost over two grand.

Told My Fucking Father this over dinner. He asked if these are with new parts. No, I said. "Nooooooooooooooo!" My Fucking Father whined. Crap.

"You want new parts?" I asked, innocently enough, as if I assumed I would get a civilized response in'well, return. It is My Fucking Father, but I'm an optimist that way.

Shouldn't've done that. "Well, we're giving this to insurance, aren't we?" he cried. Man, I fucking hate it when he asks me a question he knows the answer to. Is there any way I could know more about this situation than you do, especially when you didn't fucking tell me you wanted insurance t0 pay for this? Asshole. Turns out that Mother didn't get into an accident; she was parked and some woman, for some unknown reason, drove across grass and plowed right into the car. Geez, if I would've known that, I would have at least asked my folks if this woman's insurance was going to pay. Such logic seems beyond My Fucking Father's comprehension, however.

I wasn't going to put up with his puerile, condescending verbal barrage. Not today, not now, not during this. So I stopped his moaning with, "I want to get this right!" I saw his face change from one of complaining to one of anger. And I was glad, so fucking glad.

I also did the thing he always does, where he gets a verbal shot at me, and before I can say anything back to him, he asks me a question that moves the conversation from finger-pointing to problem-solving. It's a way of controlling the dialogue as well as a rather sleazy way of saying you're above it all when in fact he's not. So after I yelled, "I want to get this right!" and before he could say his stupid thing back, I asked him a question about the estimate he wants redone in order to make it right. God, I love that. I need to do that more often. I'm working on it. I'm trying.

But leave it to the passive-aggressive master, the man I learned all those tricks from, My Fucking Father, to let loose his arsenal. When I gave back to Mother money for the PCA work because I was short, My Fucking Father asked me for a toothpick that was on the sill. To re-establish dominance, of course. The last time he asked me for a toothpick I was six, I think. Shit, I don't remember him using a toothpick this millennium.

And then, while they were washing dishes but I was still eating, My Fucking Father went downstairs, grabbed the clothes hanging where the water heater is (our dryer no longer works -- maybe that should be a blog post) and put them on the living room sofa, clothes hangers still attached. "You're a big boy now, you have to take care of yourself," he sniped. What does leaving them downstairs have anything to do with any perception of my immaturity, you dick? My Fucking Father has never brought up my clothes for me. He only brought those clothes up to say that and get back to me.

And this is what scares me about ... this secret I'm still keeping, as tenuously as I am. Am I going to face more of this bullshit from My Fucking Father now that he'll have more time to tool around the house? I am facing the possibility of being around this asshole more soon, and if this is the way things are trending ... I'll have to leave. I just can't stand to be around this man, even if he is (allegedly) my biological father.

In the meantime, I'll have to passive-aggressively get back at him. I didn't go to the store this afternoon (after the estimate) because I wanted to finally mow the lawn. I was going to make it up to him by helping out tomorrow. I still will ... maybe ... but first I might hit the Borders in Rosedale. See, they're liquidating, so maybe there are some deals to be had. And then I want to cash in on my free chocolate at Godiva; you get one each month if you're a part of their frequent-buyers club. And then I need to pick up that estimate for all-new parts! Instead of 1:30, I'll get there around, oh, 3:30. And I won't call ahead of time. I'll just show up and, with a defiant tone, say, "Well, let's work, for fuck's sake!"

People Who Should Be Fired: That Bitch At That Other Coffeehouse

Oh, while I'm in the middle of The Worst Fucking Time Of My Life, I needed to take a break, post my Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey and breathe. I wanted to try a new coffeehouse this past Saturday, but I didn't have the foresight to check for addresses, so I found the Spyhouse on Nicollet, I place I've never been to, though I know where it was because I went to a party close by once.

I've commented before on the newer Spyhouse location, the one on Hennepin. In case you need a refresher, I hated the bitches who were condescending towards me, and I don't think I've been back there again. Assuming coffee prices don't change too much at the shops I frequent, I'll be able to keep my promise.

Anyway, so I went there and got as snotty a coffee cunt as I got over at Hennepin. No "hi," no "thanks," she didn't announce my change because I guess I can count, she just took my money and said, "I'll get that for ya." And when I asked for whip cream for my mocha, she said, "We don't have whip cream." Because Spyhouse is sophisticated like that. Shit, even the Hennepin location had it, even though I was warned I had to ask for it beforehand next time.

The kicker was when I had to get the security code for the place. There were three people standing in line, and so I decided to hold my temper and wait, and sidle up just as the first one was getting his order in. This bitch took a quick glance at me as she opened up her register and asked, nonchalantly, "Do you have a question?"

"I need the code," I said with, oh, 5% attitude. OK, 50%.

The code is, get this, "settledown." This fucker said it in such a way that she knew the irony of the code. It's as if she had the ability to mentally conjure up the code depending on how she felt about the customer. Why don't you settle down, bitch?

And this place was voted the best coffeehouse in the Twin Cities? Anyone care about customer service???

Last night I Blogged On July 19

Man, I don't get this. I thought this wouldn't happen, and now it did.

I have a post entitled "Two Ways I Missed On This Particular Saturday" that I had been working on for a few weeks. I saved it to go back to it later, and only last night was I able to finally put it to bed.

I posted it. It was supposed to be yesterday's second post, and I was going to blog about something now. But when I looked through my Dashboard, it seems as if my post, the one I started about three weeks ago, posted with the date of July 19. How can I post something three weeks ago?

I thought Blogger had this thing where you can save your posts, and then when you're ready to publish them, they'll be time-stamped with the date it's published, not when it, apparently, was first created. Either I was wrong or the hiccups Blogger has had in recent months led to this.

Fuck, whatever. The post is here. Please read if you can. Thank you.

So many goddamn changes. ...

Again, I Run To The Safety Of My Delusions

I don't like helping my parents out at the store, especially in this particular case. But he is My Father, and he can't watch it alone. So, upon him asking me over the weekend what hours he can help out, and after hours upon hours of hating it, I sucked it up today and, after my two hours at the hearing lab at the U., went over to the store to see what was going on. I told Father that I told them to let me go, and that I would be doing so for the foreseeable future.

What he wanted to do was not go to the warehouse, which I was anticipating. No, he wanted me to be the lookout as he did some stuff in the back. And to be honest, even though it was three-plus hours of standing around and catching up on my reading, the true part of me, deep inside me, was kind of relieved.

I say relieved because I was worried that I would have to do was the carrying, moving over, back-breaking, tiring process of transferring shit from where it is to where it needs to be. That's why I did Friday, and I was gritting my teeth over what I thought was the probability of doing that again Monday afternoon, and most afternoons until ... this is all over. But I didn't. Maybe it's because Father thought he needed to stay at the store. Look, it wasn't busy, and it hasn't been for more than a decade. But there was one person who needed something in the back, and there were three people who got retail stuff at the front, including a regular who got tickets. Anyway, no arduous real labor today. Maybe we'd only do that if Mother's working at the store. Or maybe he got done with all of that shit already without me.

But this is where I need to step back and slap myself. My depression has temporarily lifted -- It's not so bad, I thought to myself, this is kind of like the holidays where I'm up front and reading something while somebody who actually knows what he's doing is doing all the work! And then I overheard Father saying that he's going retail. So we're going to do this more often, Father!!

No. Can't be true. The truth is (and I think I'm starting to reveal the secret) is that I looked in the back, and one of the four giant freezers have been turned off. I also see some garbage cans lying about, as well as a pail of dirty water. If I think everything's going to be the same, I need to fucking wake up.

I always do this. I am such a weak man that I can turn any little phrase I overhear, or even a sign that my twisted mind can misconstrue, into something positive. That way I can dream -- generally, and precisely in this case, that things are going to be the same. Mother and Father would be working at the same place they always have, I won't have to worry about who's paying for the food we're going to eat or next month's electric bill, and everything (save the fighting) will be hunky dory, and we'll all live happily ever after, amen. I am a bitter man, but deep down inside, I am a hopeless optimist because otherwise I would die.

But I can't hide it. Even though I might not have to go to the warehouse (and I'm sure I will at some point), that doesn't mean ... well, it's a secret. Back to reality, U-Dub; I should be as depressed as I was when he broke the news to me on Thursday, or Sunday night at the gym, when I couldn't help but think about it no matter how hard I ran or how much I laughed at The Marriage Ref (and I did, sincerely, believe it or not).

I'm using my daydreaming to be keep me sane. Which means it's going to be that much harder to adjust when I can no longer avoid reality. It's what I'm doing now. I hate that about myself, but I can't think of any other way I can deal with this.

I'm sorry to bore you guys about this, but this will be the main topic of W&F for the intermediate term. It's the only way I can get my feelings out. It's ironic that I'll be talking so much about something that's supposed to be a secret. Again, I am very, truly, deeply sorry. Please bear with me.

At my job yesterday, there was catering. I was in charge of cleaning the food up. But there was a lot of it left.

I thought that the best thing to do was to box it up and give it to a shelter. Sharing and Caring Hands, across the way from Target Field, to be specific. Better than for it to go to waste.

So after the game got done, I starting foiling them up and putting them to one side. Then I got called to take someone to the airport. After coming back, I ran into my supervisor just outside the stadium gate. She told me thanks, I was done.

I didn't think about the food I left in the press box, but even if I did when she released me from my duties, it would feel kind of weird to not do the natural thing, which is the thing I did do, which is just go to my car and drive away. If I just went through her and the other people on the crew because, "Heh, there's leftover food upstairs, I don't want to waste it," I wonder if they would think I was a square, or a space cadet. Maybe they'd think I was doing the right thing, but the bottom line is I need employment, and I'm paranoid, and anything out of the ordinary that could make anybody question my aptitude and jeopardize further work with them is something I have to take most seriously of all.

When I realized that I left the food in the press area, I tried to rationalize it by thinking that maybe Sharing and Caring Hands didn't accept just anybody's leftover food from outside. But I just checked their website now: Turns out they do. Fuck.

Maybe some young student from the U. working the game took the food. Hope so. Otherwise I just left perfectly good food.

Still can't help but think that my world's ending. I'm sworn to secrecy, but it's really starting to be hard to keep it quiet.

It's been everything to us. It's our family identity. I knew that one day it was going to end. But it still comes as a thundering shock. This ruins everything I've relied upon, everything I know.

And now Father wants me to help him out? I don't want to. Can't he understand this is destroying me?

Grandmother Ruined The House

I came home late tonight. I saw pails of shit and tools just outside the door.

Father told me Grandmother let the hot water run, possibly for hours. She turned on the faucet as hot as possible, then left it on as she left for the casino. It got so bad that Father said he took several hours to rip up the carpet in Mother's office, the second-to-last remaining place that had carpet. Our shrine to my other Grandmother (Father's mother) fell. And you could still smell the stale water when you walk outside my hall here.

Father talked about putting her in a home.

And then he asks me if I'm busy this week. I am; lined up work at the hearing lab at the U. all week. He's busy, too. That's what you get when you set it up so that you're the last person working at The Store. I need to help him, but I can't ... I've been sworn to secrecy.

Checked out Grandmother. She is woozy and unsteady on her feet. Frankly, the last time I saw her this vulnerable, she was having an attack.

And I have a vacation I lined up, too.

My fucking God, why is all this shit happening at once? Things are breaking down and falling apart all around me. I cannot deal with one of these things, let alone all of them.

Goddammit, I hate life.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

Positive Numbers!: Lynx (Two Weeks Ago: Positive Numbers). I saw this team their two home games this week. I didn't plan on it, but I wanted to forget my troubles for a couple evenings. And boy, did they ever help me; they beat fellow Western Conference rivals Phoenix and San Antonio. Couple those with a buzzer-beating win at the Silver Stars and the squad went 3-0 this screening week. However, since I couldn't fucking post my blogs on Blogger through Internet Explorer last week, I'll have to combine this week's 3-0 record with the previous week's 4-0 record. Add a ten-point win at Indiana on the 15th, and the Lynx have won eight games in a row. Their record now stands at a gaudy 15-4. Which is the best record in the WNBA. Ladies, take a bow.

Many players are contributing to this winning streak, but the league singled out two: Seimone Augustus was named Player Of The Month for July, and Maya Moore was given Rookie Of The Months honors for the same month. And the thing is, neither of them were the sole reason they won the two games I saw at Target Center. This past-banishing good play starts from the down low -- Taj McWilliams-Franklin and Rebekkah Brunson have given the Lynx an oomph they had little of in the past -- but everybody seems to be contributing something positive. Also note that they blew the doors off the Mercury on Tuesday and got the game-winning score from the TMF in Thursday's win over the Silver Stars. Winning going away and winning in the clutch;that shows that this team can win any way. That's the mentality of a championship team. Now hopefully they won't collapse in the first round of the WNBA playoffs.

Go watch these ladies, Minnesota fans, if you want to see a winner. But don't go rushing out to the arena this week. They have a three-game road trip, at Los Angeles, Phoenix, and Chicago. Could they come back to the Bullseye winners of 11 in a row??

#-1: Vikings (Re-Entry!). The good news is is that the lockout was over as of several days ago. The bad news is Vikes fans get to see what shit team they're going to have this year.

Just look at this column of one writer's take of the 100 best free agents of this offseason. There are two Vikes players on this list. Both of them signed elsewhere, Sidney Rice (to Seattle) and Ray Edwards (to Atlanta). Not to say that they were our two best players; they both have serious drawbacks (injury issues for Rice, an inability to back up his promise that he'll break Michael Strahan's sack record for Edwards). But they didn't suck. And now they're gone.

Who did we sign instead? Remi Ayodele? More like Remi Ayodele-He-Hoo! (See what I did there? Clever, huh?) Oh, and we traded for Donovan McNabb, he of the mechanics and conditioning so bad Washington Head Coach Mike Shanahan benched him in favor of Rex Goddamn Grossman.

As bad as this team was, especially at the end of the season, we didn't have the churning of the roster that we have now. Largely due to the salary cap, but partly because the players the Vikes needed to come through for a Super Bowl season failed to pan out, the talent level this year compared to last is definitely questionable. Questionable enough that I forsee a major meltdown from this franchise, one eclipsing the 6-10 2010 record that cost Brad Childress his job. Seriously; look at this squad the way it's comprised now and convince me it can win five games. They sure as shit won't.

This is what we have to look forward to. Well, that and a late-season announcement Zygi Wilf has sold the team to some guy in L.A. Bye-bye, ViQueens!

#-2: Twins (Two Weeks Ago: -1). That's the bad thing about West Coast swings. They are out of sight, out of mind, because not only can you not see the team at home, the games don't end till after you go to bed.

Don't know if you've noticed, but during their current long road trip, the Twinks were, for all intents and purposes, eliminated from the playoffs.

They are 5-8 during the past two screening weeks, and 4-6 against the three American League West teams they visited. For a team that's now, what, ten games under .500, chopping records won't cut it. We're entering the second week in August, and they just got beat at home by Chicago. They have had recent trouble against A.L. Central teams. Are people really thinking they have a patented second-half surge in them?

What I've noticed the past couple games is the shitty infield defense. The past two games I've seen, like, five blown double play opportunities. Tsyoshi Nishioka's handling the ball like he's all thumbs, but how is Joe Mauer flubbing catches like that? If you can't catch an errant throw because your foot's on the bag, then just step off it and catch the fucking ball. Better a baserunner at first than one at second. But no, these Twins can't execute twin killings. And they're getting killed as a result.

They finish their series against the ChiSox, then host Boston for three (oh, fuck, that'll be fun to see them get their heads beaten in), then at Cleveland, who are finally good again.