Once The Most Overplayed Music Video On The Country Network

Does anybody have The Country Network where they live? It's one of those "sub channels" that all the local stations syndicate now that digital opens up so many frequencies for them.

Like I have said before, I hate country. But the novelty of seeing an entire channel devoted to music videos, like TCN and THECOOLTV, makes me tune in. The visual of a music video makes the song much more palatable to listen to. And I've actually started to like several songs I've seen on the channel, The Band Perry's "If I Die Young" and Toby Keith's "As Good As I Once Was" being a couple examples.

But like a Top 40 radio station, both channels disproportionately play really popular songs (and thus videos). Up until a couple months ago, every time I switched over to the channel, they would play this song by a guy named Luke Bryan named "Country Girl (Shake It For Me)." I initially liked it because it featured hot girls shaking their asses. But I got done with the video, and the cotton candy pop-country tune that goes with it, the millionth time it was played.

I was going to write about it, but then I forgot, and then it fell out of rotation. I could have blogged about it anyway, but I didn't think it would be fair to write about something that was being played incessantly when it wasn't. So I made myself a deal: I'll write about it as soon as I see it again.

Well, it took me a couple weeks of going to that channel for the sole purpose of hoping I'd stumble into see it, but this afternoon, while switching during the football games' commercials breaks, I went over to The Country Network and guess what I saw?



If you flip over to the station now, you may never see it. But I did, so here's the blog.

One other thing. The girl they get around to featuring, what I guess would be the "winner" of the audition -- do you think she's hot? She's got a very nice body, and like Mr. Bryan said, the country girl can shake it for him. But it's her eyes that kind of put me off. They're too small and beady.

Ah, whatever, I'd still fuck her.

They Say The Short-Term Memory Is The First To Go

So that explains all the repeated recollections during a conversation, the repeated questions over the course of an evening, the lights and sink left on, and why Grandmother wanted to heat up her pot of soup and then promptly ignored it as it was boiling over.

The nurse came over Friday. When I told her about how Grandmother was breaking down, she told me that that is a normal part of old age. She recounted how her grandfather would be fed, and then a half-hour later he would demand to know why he wasn't fed yet. And the forgetfulness medicine that I wanted her to keep ingesting in an effort to restore her memory has a side effect of irritability and nastiness. Maybe that's why she doesn't want to take it many nights.

So it turns out that what's happening to Grandmother isn't unique at all. In fact, a woman I was watching the USC football game tonight with (and by the way, what a stupid fucking way to lose) recounted how she couldn't understand why she was watching Notre Dame when she wanted to see the USC game last week. USC was playing Notre Dame last week.

After I told her Grandmother was being forgetful too, the woman next to me said: "It's hard, isn't it?"

Yes, it is.

The question now becomes: Should we send Grandmother to the nursing home? More on that as soon as I have the courage to blog about it without breaking down in tears.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher women's hockey (Last Week: -1). Overall, this week's survey is incredibly tepid. The only team not to experience a loss this screening week was Minnesota's female hockey squad, whose only game was a convincing 4-1 win at Bemidji St. to start a weekend series. Once again I say ho-hum, when are you going to win an NCAA Championship. The Goofs, who are currently ranked second in the country, finish their series against the Beavers (tee-hee) tonight, then begin a pair against UMD at home Friday night.

#-2: Gopher men's hockey (Last Week: -2). The first of many teams having .500 weeks lost their chances at an undefeated season Sunday afternoon by losing to what should have been overmatched Vermont 5-4 at Mariucci. This inexplicable defeat, especially at home, has plagued this program in the three years they have missed the NCAA Tournament. Sure the Catamounts have had success as a program. But they routed that team the previous Friday 6-0. What happened?

They got back on the left with a 5-0 rout of Alaska-Anchorage (a program that really shouldn't be playing hockey because it's so damn far away from everybody). They play the Seawolves again tonight in Anchorage, then travel back onto the mainland to being a two-gamer against hated rivals North Dakota Friday night.

#-3: Wild (Re-Entry!). Is this my fault? It is possible Minnesota is not the State of Hockey? Maybe I just got blinded by the Lynx. In any case, I am very, very sorry for leaving the professional hockey team out of the WMNSS for so long. They started their season on the eighth. They should have been on this list two weeks ago. Uh, oops. Maybe I'm getting to be like my Grandmother.

So let's see how they're doing ... oh, another mediocre start! The media say the Mild are currently 3-3-3. I hate that because I don't understand what that last "3" means. Shouldn't that represent ties, even though I know the NHL doesn't have ties anymore? They're shootout losses, which to me means they lost. So they are really 3-6. Their wins are against Columbus, which was the first game of the season to the team that was last in the league to win a game, and Edmonton, which they beat 2-1 twice on shootouts. So it looks like predictions they will finish last in the Western Conference are right on track.

Three games this week: home to Detroit (the second time they host the Red Wings in two weeks -- what the fuck?) tonight, at Detroit Tuesday, then back home to face Vancouver.

#-4: Gopher soccer (Last Week: -3). I was at last night's regular season, Senior Night finale against Nebraska. First of all, thank you for giving me free pizza. Second of all, I don't think I have ever attended a soccer match with so much scoring. Even though it looked extremely bleak when the Goofs gave up a cross in the first minute of the game, they eventually ruined the Cornhuskers in their first game as Big Ten opponents by a score of, get this, 6-3. The school-issued story didn't mention anything about a record, so it probably wasn't. Still, I have never seen so much offense on the pitch before, and it was refreshing. Even though four seniors were playing in front of the home crowd for the final time, the night belonged to freshman Taylor Uhl, who recorded a hat trick against Nebraska, the second in her college career.

The team clinched the fifth seed in the conference tournament beginning Tuesday in Evanston, Ill. They most assuredly have to win, maybe make the final, in order to get on the right side of .500 (8-9-2 overall, 5-4-2 in the B1G) and qualify for the tournament.

#-5: Vikings (Last Week: -5). OK, so they lost to the Pack. But first of all, the game was close. Sad as it was to see the defense yield big runs to run out the clock when Green Bay wasn't able to the rest of the game was very disappointing. But they were within a touchdown of winning. A stop there, and Christian Ponder and co. had a chance to drive for the winning score.

And the fact that Ponder, the rook, gave me hope that he even could drive down the field for the winning score was the revelation on Sunday. He didn't look lost in his first professional game, which is all I was looking for. I was afraid he would throw, like, eight interceptions against what is right now the best team in the NFL. But he didn't. He threw two, to Charles Woodson, but they were the calculated risk type, not the stupid type. Otherwise, he dinked and dunked when he had to, and was able to throw deep when he had to. His scrambling play is what some people think is the best way former starter Donovan McNabb could succeed, but I don't know if that would have helped the fact he two-hopped all his balls when his receivers needed to pull a muscle in order to haul in his inaccurate passes. Ponder is going to have some bad games. It might even come tomorrow at Carolina. But he wasn't so bad that I buried my head. This is the first time in a long time I will accept the notion of a "moral victory."

#-6: Gopher football (Re-Entry!). Once again, both Twin Cities football leagues lost. I put the Goofs under because the ViQueens had Ponder. But at the risk of damning with faint praise, their loss to Nebraska wasn't that bad. I mean, it wasn't 84-13. In fact, Minnesota beat the Blackshirts in the second half, 14-7. That must've pissed off some Las Vegas bettors who were making second half wagers.

And at the risk of sounding stupid, there's a chance they retain Floyd of Rosedale when they host Iowa for the second year in a row this afternoon. I think they're playing better, the health of Head Coach Jerry Kill is an issue behind the team, at least for now, the focus of Kirk Ferentz teams can always be questioned, and these rivalry games have a crazy way of ending in a way you didn't expect. (By the way, I think the fact that the conference no longer has Minnesota-Iowa as the last game of the regular season is an outrage. They had been meeting each other the week before Thanksgiving for decades. The fact the Big Ten thinks it'd be better that Iowa now faces Nebraska to end every year is just wrong. Who do the Goofs have now? Illinois?? Stupid realignment.)

#-7: Gopher volleyball (Last Week: -4). OK, now I'm scared of what is happening to this team. They dropped both their games this week, at Purdue and Northwestern. The Boilermakers are good, and they lost in four. Northwestern is not, and they got swept.

What the fuck is going on? They now sit 5-6 in-conference. They are 12-8 overall. They'll probably make the NCAAs on merit, but this will be the weakest team the program has had in a decade. What I suspect is Interim Head Coach Laura Bush. Is there anybody injured? If not, there's a huge problem with trust. This could be another Pam Borton situation, where a talented squad in a promising season all of a sudden goes to shit, and afterward the best players on the team quit and/or transfer. I hope this doesn't happen to this team. I love volleyball too much.

Unfortunately, short-term prospects of turning things around aren't good. Tonight they finish a four-game road trip at third-ranked Illinois. They then begin a four-game homestand Friday ... against four-time defending national champion Penn St.

Leave Joe Buck Alone!

I wanted to write about next week's LSU-Alabama game, but that World Series Game 6 ... goddamn, I know it's sacrilegious, but that may have been a better game than the Braves-Twins Game 6 20 years ago (the anniversary of which was two days ago, if I'm right), with Kirby Puckett going to the wall to catch what would have been a run-scoring hit and then ending the game with a home run.

I was on Twitter the whole game. Maybe I should have cooled it; instead of watching the TV and seeing David Freese run around the bases after ending the game with a homer in the 11th, I had to type on the laptop my feelings about it. Anyway, an unexpected controversy erupted on Twitter after the game was over: Announcer Joe Buck copying the "And we'll see you ... tomorrow night!!!" call his father, the legendary Jack Buck, used when Puck went yard. There are a lot of people who were not only rolling their eyes over the plagiarism, they're actually pissed off that he would appropriate a call virtually on its 20th anniversary for his own game. The most damning -- and I think ludicrous -- accusation is that he made the end of the Game 6 all about him.

Bullshit. I agree with many critics who say he sounds like he doesn't give a shit about the game he's announcing, and even announcing in general. But that people have a right to be angry that he used his father's seminal call is beyond ridiculous. First of all, Jack Buck is his old man; if anybody can use his line, it's him. I have no problems with that. And second of all, I'm pretty sure he wasn't going to take his father's line unless the circumstances were right. And if you saw that game, saying "And we'll see you ... tomorrow night" was perfectly appropriate.

Ironically, those who tweeted their objections to Joe Buck's use of that call take attention away from what may go down as The Greatest World Series Game Ever and put it on themselves. We just witnessed a team that was a strike away from losing the World Series -- twice -- and somehow won in extra innings, and this is what we're fucking talking about?! For those of you who object to the use of the line -- man, get over yourselves.

The only time I was going to work at The Store was today. First time I was coming in in the morning. Had to leave around noon for an interview, but got done at 10 after dropping off my piss and finding a place that will print out my resume from my flash drive.

However, I didn't want to get there too early, plus I was tired, so I pulled over somewhere around Dinkytown to take a quick nap. Got to The Store at 10:30. Thankfully it was still open. In fact, there were a couple guys chatting up My Father, and later a couple came to get some things.

At 11:30, about a half-hour before I planned on going, My Father asked me if I could fill up a propane ticket for him. Sure -- which means I have only worked an hour at The Store. I will be so upset if this is the -- gulp -- last week it's open.

When I come back, it's just about time for me to leave. While putting down the tank in the back (with the lights out, in order to conserve energy *shudder*), I think My Father mutters something about "he ... won't let me" or something, then he puts an open box on the tank.

What the fuck does that mean? Who's "he," and why does My Father have to hide the propane tank? Is The Store -- gulp -- already sold, and now he's disobeying orders from the new owners of The Store?

What the fuck?

As Fucked Up As It Is, A Silver Lining From The Mess I Made

So I spent the day at the clinic getting my pee collected, and so I was sent home with another jug to collect my urine overnight. Since I don't want my parents to know, I put the jug in a paper bag.

I just pissed. I opened the refrigerator and tried to put it somewhere on the bottom shelf, but I didn't seem to have any room. So I rolled down the top of the bag and tried to cram it in ... and suddenly something fell. I didn't notice that there was a pot that Grandmother laid on top of this jar at the bottom of the fridge and I knocked it over. It was soup with chunks of meat -- something she was saving for tomorrow. She should've put it on one of the upper shelves, of course, but there's still such a damn mess that that was the least of my worries.

I hate spilled liquids; there was so much soup that it went everywhere, and invariably I have no idea where and how to start. And I knew the clanging of the pot would make somebody come out of their room. It, unfortunately, was Grandmother, who I had to tell I spilled over her food, even though I couldn't because I didn't know how to say it.

But I pointed to the kitchen, and she went over, and when she saw the mess she knew what to do; she's cleaned up all of our messes when we were kids. She started getting rags and old shirts from another room and laid them down and wiped the floor with her foot to sop up the soup.

And, believe it or not, I was transported. This is the Grandmother I grew up with, taking charge, taking control, know what needs to be done and doing it with minimal fuss or guff, not pointing fingers or yelling, just telling me to get out of the way when I wanted to use the Swiffer to eliminate the odor. She was nothing like the doddling, unsteady, short term-memory-deficient old lady I've had to grow accustomed to these past several months. She was there to make things alright, like she always had.

And so, even though this sounds way cruel, I'm kind of happy how knocking over that pot of soup turned out. Like taking a nap next to her, I felt safe in the company of my patient, strong, and loving Grandmother.

My Fucking Father Is A Petty, Small-Minded Little Bitch

I have no idea if me eating the pork Grandmother made put him in a foul mood or if he was in a foul mood when he got home. He warned me about not eating the meat Grandmother prepared because ... I don't know. Maybe he doesn't like the way she seasons them, or maybe it's because she keeps them in there for days until it gets rancid. It could be that she cooks them wrong -- or he doesn't like the way she cooks them. But he told me a few times recently not to eat her meat. Which I kind of understand and kind of don't. On the one hand, her cooking has not been up to snuff for ... a while now. On the other hand, every person needs to feel useful. Without the ability or the need to cook for others, Grandmother loses her purpose, a sense that she's being productive, that she's there for a reason. I don't want to take that away from her. But then again, I need to stay in this house.

So when I was working downstairs and I came up because I had to remind her that she needed to get the hell out of the kitchen before My Fucking Father came home, and she asked me if I was hungry, and she showed me the meat she laid out, well, fuck, I didn't know what to do. I decided to tell her what My Fucking Father told me about her meat. I think Grandmother understood, but then she concluded that she should never buy meat again. I'll take that as an OK, but to make it up to her, I told her to cook two pieces of pork for me -- but make it quick, he doesn't want to see her cooking or me eating what she cooked.

So she got on it, and even though I made sure she got all the parts of the pork fried up (though it was close), the three pieces of pork she made for me turned out fine. I'm typing this 7 1/2 hours after eating and I'm not dead, so Grandmother's cooking is perfect. And to try and justify eating, I told Grandmother I would eat downstairs as I'm helping Mother out with this spreadsheet project I didn't get around till this evening.

I made sure I snarfed the pork down as fast as I could; they could come home at any minute and see the pork I'm eating, so I rotated through each piece, taking one bite, then another, before going back to the spreadsheets. When I heard the front door opening, I quickly shoved the last four pieces into my mouth.

My Fucking Father cooks at The Store nowadays, probably a combination of having nothing to do there and wanting to avoid Grandmother potentially turning the kitchen into a disaster by the way she uses the stove (at least according to him), so we were ready to eat immediately. I had a bed of rice I put underneath the pork, the better for it to sop up all the juices from the pork. Trust me, that's soooooooooo tasty.

But eating the pork before they came home didn't work. When I laid down my plate full of rice, My Fucking Father saw the burnt pieces of onion or seasoning, whatever it was that was on the pork, and started yelling at me: "I told you not to eat Grandmother's meat."

I thought about this moment, so I tried this: "I was hungry, and I wanted to eat something."

"You'll regret it later as soon as you get sick," he replied. But I'm not sick yet, am I?

And this is where he's at his worst. He's a vindictive man because he takes what he thinks are slights against him and gets back at people, most notably me, when he gets the chance. His chance came a few minutes later, when Mother came back up to eat dinner. They saw I left the car out on the driveway; I wanted to exercise after this. So she says, "You leaving after this?" And I, concerned that there now is this surprise deadline for the spreadsheet, goes: "Yeah. You need this done soon?"

Damn, I shouldn't've said that, because My Fucking Father, as he was walking to the kitchen, sassed me, "Yeah! She can't type that fast!" Luckily Mother was being a grown-up and let me go. I hope there isn't a deadline. And I hope they don't find out I was just exercising. Trust me, it seems innocuous, even beneficial. But they wouldn't like it.

I tried to make up for staring on this late by getting done eating early -- I already ate Grandmother's pork -- and get started on some more spreadsheets before Mother's ready to take over. She always acted like she wanted me to teach her instead of having me do it for her, which is smart. Anyway, I'm working and My Fucking Father comes in to get his pajamas so he can shower and change. He sets me off to do one of his chores, namely putting away the hoses and sprinklers in the front and back yards. I, trying to be the grown-up here, remind him about the little circle on the kitchen calendar indicating that I won't be eating home tomorrow because I'm doing an all-day experiment. And he replies, "Good." Of course he would; he doesn't want to see the sight of me after I disappointed him by eating Grandmother's pork. Idiot.

Ever since I've been figuring out ways to get back at him in the same passive-aggressive way he came at me tonight. When I came back from working out I started curling up the front yard hose and sprinkler because I knew I wouldn't have time to do it before I leave in the morning and I won't be back till late tomorrow night, even though I didn't have the key to the shed like I thought I did. So I just put it along the side of the house. Now that I think about, maybe I should just leave it there till, oh, spring. And maybe I'll try and get around to the back yard hose and sprinkler till, oh, spring. He now sits in front of the computer with a pillow on his chair. I took it off and threw it on the floor, and maybe I'll just forget to put it back. And now, come to think of it, he hates it when I'm working on the computer this late (I'm typing this at a bit past 3 in the morning).

But you know what's the best way to get back at my asshole dad? Not moving out. Yeah, that's why he's so perturbed. So I'll just continue to not move out.

Next Sign Of The Death Of The Store

It's very, very difficult to wake up knowing that you don't have anywhere specific to go, yet have a to-do list that needs to get around eventually. I don't have any pressing need to wake up, but there's stuff to do that needs to get done, so you have to get up and do it -- when, well, I don't know.

That kind of was the deal yesterday. I wish I had a whole day ahead of me all to myself, but the impending closing of The Store, and Grandmother's declining health, were things at the back of my mind. What I decided to do -- because Grandmother woke me up earlier in the morning -- was to help her get the laundry that I've accumulated in my room over the last two weeks downstairs. I've been avoiding it partially because I'm still afraid the dirty water cleaning the clothes will get backed up and eventually flood the laundry room; I checked late last week and there's still standing water in the standpipe.

And sure enough, I check back near the end of the wash and there's a couple inches of water in the laundry room. I open the grate and reach my hand into it to pull out what could be stopping the water; no swirl indicating a drain at all.

I had no choice. My Father always gets angry when Grandmother uses the washer and this happens. He claims that her washing half-loads is the problem; that's the other reason why I've been hoarding dirty clothes in my bedroom. But now, with me pushing the button on a full load of my laundry, this shit still happens. It shouldn't.

So I call Father. He says it's fine and just to wait half an hour. I couldn't just leave and go to The Store, which was my plan at the time (since it is the afternoon and, you know, I should do something), so I stayed at home and surfed the Internet to wait until the water goes down.

Well, after 30 minutes it still didn't, so I call My Father again. He says he might have to get something at Home Depot, but give it some more time. This is Father at his most passive. OK, whatever -- if he's not going to sweat it, I won't. He tells me the dryer now works, so I help Grandmother and may aunt put the clothes in the dryer -- avoiding the standing water as I reach around the washing machine.

At that point, I felt my work was done there, so to speak. It was the last day of the McDonald's Monopoly promotion, so I headed out at 1 (late for lunch, I think) and was told at two Mickey D's that they have no more Monopoly pieces. No reason to eat lunch then.

So at the second McD's parking lot I call Father and tell him I'm coming in. "Why?," he says, "There's no business here. Where are you right now?"

I knew that if I told My Father I was at home, he would want me to stay home. That's the out I gave him ... and myself. So I just lied: "I'm at home right now."

"Well stay home," he replied. He asked why I would come and I told him I wanted to help out, but I didn't put up that much of a fight.

So I didn't go to The Store. But I didn't go home, either. I had my excuse to drive 20 miles to get Playboy's College Girls Issue.

---

Last night Mother gave me some spreadsheet data she wants me to type into the computer. Translation: You shouldn't come to The Store. It's like they're pushing me away.

Maybe The Last Time I Sleep With Grandmother

She's been slipping a lot this week. She's been forgetting things for years, but only recently has it gotten bad, like the times she's forgotten to turn off the stove or the toaster oven or, worst of all, the sinks. And then Father went off on her last week. It seemed to have sent her into a tizzy, and it may have prompted her to finally make The Decision.

I've been concerned for her health ever since we got back from Italy. For some reason, she's gone downhill. Physically she's fine -- she can still walk, though she uses her cane more and more. And many of the things one does to survive -- known as Activities of Daily Living in the parlance of geriatric services -- she can do, including bathing and feeding, though she needs more and more help from me.

It's the forgetting that has me really worried. Starting this summer, but accelerating the past few weeks, she's been speaking as if her thoughts come at her hazily. She asks me questions, then asks them again later in the day. When she speaks to me, she repeats details several times, like after My Fucking Father yelled at her last Sunday. Increasingly she has walked over to my room several times a night to ask for help -- sometimes for the same thing. I love her, but I've become both more irritating and more bothered by her mental state. She at times remains lucid, but if she has to recall something, she is more and more lost.

She came over to my room again last night. I tried to be patient, taking a deep breath as I try to understand her ramblings, made even more unintelligible since she was speaking Chinese words I had no hope of understanding. But instead of unconnected thoughts, she repeated something to me that finally sunk in: She's having a friend take her to visit a nursing home. She told me earlier in the week -- just to look, just to look, she emphasized -- but what she said next chilled me to the bone: "If I'm going to the nursing home, you no longer will have any PCA money because you're not taking care of me anymore."

In this Season Of Drastic Change, this one hurts as much as finding out my parents are closing The Store. I do not want to see Grandmother go. She's been with me as long as I've been living at home, which of course is a long time. When I was coming home from school, because my parents were working, I came home to her. When I was upset that my brother hit me, I ran to her. She's been my rock. As I've before on this blog, she's my one true love in my life.

And yet I don't know what the future holds. What if she's no longer able to feed, dress or bathe herself? I want to stay home and help her, but PCA money doesn't pay shit, and recently I've had my hourly wage cut -- stupid fucking teabaggers. I need to go out and find money now that everything is changing here. That means I have to leave her home for most of the day. She seems fine, but these incidents may escalate; My Fucking Father blurted out once that she was going to burn the house down. And he's the main thrust of all this: I think Grandmother is so fed up with him yelling at her that she thinks it's time to leave. I understand that, but I could only feel a profound sense of loss. If she leaves, there is a gaping hole in this house and in my life.

And then, I'm afraid to admit, I felt this burn through my face. When she said that I could no longer be paid to be her PCA, that's when I got really scared. I have no income right now, besides the occasional experiment I pick up. With that money gone, meager as it is, there's nothing. Well, there's unemployment, but the teabaggers took that from me, too. I would be so fucking lost without helping Grandmother ... I don't know what I'd do.

And then I realize that I was really worried about me, and not her, and then I got more depressed over the guilt for being so self-centered and immature. Why can't things be just the way they were? It was perfect then. No fighting. No forgetting. No worrying about money, or the future. No changes whatsoever.

Grandmother then went onto stuff I couldn't understand. Already floored by the news, I started to get run down; fatigue always sets in when I'm bored with a conversation. But she stood at my doorway, not even standing down, telling me all this stuff, including My Fucking Father's threat to drive me out of the house after Grandmother.

She needed to sit down. I needed to lie down. So instead of continuing a one-sided conversation that could go on for an hour, I coaxed Grandmother to her bedroom. And then, because I was afraid of what might happen if her plan to visit a nursing home went further, I decided to curl up on her bed, take my glasses off, and lie down. I was prepared to just be there while Grandmother went on and on, nodding on and on, just being someone to talk to, even if I couldn't make out a thing she was saying. What I really wanted to do was sleep beside her.

I slept with Grandmother when I was young. My brother and I, in fact. I am typing this portion of my blog post from My Father's computer room, which way back in the day was our bedroom. My brother and I didn't think it was weird at the time, sleeping with someone fifty years our senior (let alone each other). But every night we'd pile into bed, Grandmother between both of us. I don't know why we didn't think it was sort of strange then, but we grew up doing things differently than other families, of that I'm sure.

I think that's where I got competitive over Grandmother's affections with my brother. I loved being embraced by her, whether it was having her arm across my chest or bearhugged from behind. I felt secure, loved when she enveloped me. I think that's how my bond with her was forged, a bond which, despite my frustrations over her maddening behavior through her old age, has not really been shaken.

I had to grow up; obviously it would have been fucking weird if we were sleeping in the same bed when I'm 35. But if this is The End -- and my God I hope it isn't -- I wanted to show her how much she means to me, and I also wanted to recapture those good times of my childhood.

So Grandmother started talking, and I responded with a "yep," or a nod, but then I got too tired and I just closed my eyes. I didn't want to turn my back to her, but she could see that I was about to go to sleep. So she said, "If you're tired, go to your room."

"In a bit," I said, "Turn off the light."

She knew what that meant; thankfully, in the interest of my sentimentality, she didn't care. She turned on her little nightlight, then turned off her big nightlight. She laid back on the bed and threw the end of her blanket over me. And with that I was transported back to 1984.

Grandmother didn't stop talking, however. She continued to go on about ... well, I don't remember, and I don't think it mattered in those circumstances. I think the last thing she said before I drifted off into unconsciousness was something about Father cooking something the next day. Whatever, who cares, I'm sleeping next to Grandmother. Just like old times. And for the first time in a long time, I felt safe, secure, and loved. Like nothing will happen, nothing will change, and that everything is perfect as it is and should be.

I lasted 45 minutes before I went back to my room. I'll remember that nap with Grandmother forever.

---

By the way, she seems to be doing better the past 36 hours. Still batty, but more lucid. I think it's the pain that makes her loopy and needy.

Latest Sign In The Death Of The Store

I get home at half past 12 tonight (worked the Packers game and then went to the Hooters at the Mall of America, then My Favorite Stripclub [Non-Cover Category], then to eat at My Favorite Late Night Hang-Out Place) and My Father calls for me from his computer room. He said it in a way that made me think he was pissed at me for coming home late. I called home at 9:30 and they wanted me to buy a gallon of milk, so he must have been furious that I did all this over the course of three hours, even considering I told them I was just leaving work and wanted to have dinner out (that's a lie -- I was done since 6:30).

So I was expecting a tongue-lashing. Instead, My Father asked me for one of his usual ridiculous, impossible-to-meet requests for a contraption that may or may not exist. Tonight he wanted me to find inventory software. I remember Mother asking me this several years ago; I looked at one thing that was a thousand bucks, but I never told her because I thought she would never go for it. But that was before they were shutting down The Store, of course. Maybe things are different now.

What scares me are the scant details he gave me concerning why he wants this software. Did he say some company is now buying his inventory? And what's this about San Francisco? Man, every time I go in there it's like a little piece of me is dying.

Stalking Zoe Voss Instead Of Doing Chores

I had a relatively lazy day that was backloaded for the evening. I'd be busy, but not with work, just a game to watch with other friends. But I was up at 10:30 in the morning and had a day ahead of me to fill.

I thought about the chores I have to, and could, do around the house and yard: Washing the floor, doing the laundry, trying to clean the goddamn clog in the sewer pipe, reading my papers, throwing shit out of my room, and re-painting the shed. I decided that I'll do what My Father said needed to be done this week: Raking the leaves. Since we can't sweep them out to the curb, he said I should rake them into piles and mow over them. I've decided that instead I will bag them and take them the county compost depot.

But first ... I had to go to my MySpace and bang out my college picks for this week. I was too tired to finish them up before I went to bad last night, and when I started doing them, the first wave of games were underway. Shoot.

When I got done and was still nonplussed about going outside to rake the leaves, I started procrastinating and went over to my Internet. Then I saw that a porn star I follow, Zoe Voss, is in town. She had tweeted stuff about Minnesota in the past, but I didn't know for sure if she was from the state. Apparently she is -- and in fact, she tweeted this afternoon that she was getting lunch at a Chipotle 15 minutes north of here. And on top of that, she personally replied to, I believe, two of her "admirers," inviting them to come up and see her some time. Well, shit, how 'bout me? How 'bout me?

So I tweeted Ms. Voss and waited. And she didn't reply. So what to do? It was around lunchtime, and I was going to drive out anyway to McDonald's to buy some more Monopoly pieces. I figured I might as well drive up there and see her. I didn't really have a plan other than driving by and, without parking or even stopping, see her at the window, wave my hand and drive off. But that would not be taking advantage of such a serendipitous tweetup, so I figured I'd go in and at least say, "I'm a big fan of yours, and I'm glad I saw you in person." And it'd be strange as fuck if I did that in front of the people she was having lunch with ... such as her mother, whom she told to make potato hot dish when she arrived in Minnesota.

Alas, I drove up and went into Chipotle, but I didn't see her willowy body, pale skin or pixie haircut. That was time I could have spent working on the backyard (which I did rake, if for only half an hour) or, if I remembered today, Darkness Day, where I line up at the brewery for this locally made, increasingly popular microbrew called Surly, and pick up this special bottle. (I did it two years ago and the beer was, um, distinctive). Instead, after lunch I got home, dinked around the Internet a little more, watched football, raked a bit and took a nap before I started my evening activities.

I hope My Father didn't or doesn't get mad at me for half-assing the raking. I got done with gathering the leaves away from the fence, but that was it. I could imagine him going to the back deck, see the edging done around the perimeter of the backyard and nothing else, and trying to find a way to yell at me as soon as he sees me, which, because of me working and hanging out, will be Monday.

Meanwhile ... Zoe ... Melissa ... I'm so unhappy that I missed you. Hope you have a pleasant stay back at home, and take care.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher women's hockey (Last Week: -4). What has gotten into hockey at the U.? So far, both programs have suffered only one loss, and the women avenged that loss, to #1-ranked team in the country, Wisconsin, by defeating the Badgers, 3-2, Sunday afternoon. They then followed that up by beating the shit out of MSU-Mankato at Ridder this weekend by a combined score of 10-0.

I should pump my brakes here: I expect the Minnesota women's hockey team to win every game, let alone get out of the gate as fast as they have. That one loss to Wisconsin still bothers me, even though they came back to beat the Badgers in Madison. Sadly, my expectations are so high that they can only met at the end of the season -- if they raise the trophy in March.

One game this week: they visit Bemidji St. for a two-game series starting Friday.

#-2: Gopher men's hockey (Last Week: -1). What I see from these guys has been much more surprising, and much more pleasing, too. They finished a sweep at national champion Minnesota-Duluth with another 5-4 win, then blitzed Vermont (in their first-ever meeting together, which I raise my eyebrows at) 6-0 last night at Mariucci.

This team is now 5-0. When's the last time they did that? The youngsters, most notably Nick Bjugstad and Kyle Rau, have been tremendous so far, and Kent Patterson has made the most of what has turned out to be a pretty easy start to the season by making the net off-limits to teams that don't have Minnesota's talent. I just have to hold my breath over the next 12 months to see if and when these youngsters leave for the National Hockey League.

Because of the rout-to-be at The Bank today, the Gophers and Catamounts won't complete their series until tomorrow afternoon. They then start a two-game set at Alaska-Anchorage next Friday.

#-3: Gopher soccer (Last Week: -5). It's been a good week for the survey; this squad won this week in Northwestern and at Robbie to Indiana. Unfortunately, they're still below .500 overall for the season (7-8-2). They finish the regular season this week at home: Purdue tomorrow afternoon, Nebraska to finish off the season Friday. Since I didn't see the victory over the Hoosiers, I will be there to attend the game against the Cornhuskers.

#-4: Gopher volleyball (Last Week: -2). My reasoning to not go to last Saturday's Williams match against Nebraska turned out to be the right one, even moreso by the way the Goofs lost. They actually won the first two sets. They apparently blew their wad in doing so, because they basically got crushed the next two sets, 10 and 12, before falling in the final set, 15-11.

This team is 12-6. There have been a lot of changes surrounding the roster even though the roster remains intact from last year. There is a whale that has entered the conference; Nebraska went to 8-0 with that win over Minnesota. There's a new coach who will depart in two years for another one. And it's been a hell of a schedule the team has played. Is 12-6 overall and 5-4 in the Big Ten good enough? If not, do you excuse this team or do you think this portends a slide for the program? I'm concerned.

With all the hype surrounding the Dig Pink game, I forgot that the Goofs had another match last week; they went into Madison and beat the Badgers in five. Is Wisconsin that good? They are currently on a four-game road trip. They face Purdue tomorrow evening, then visit Northwestern Friday.

#-5: Vikings (Last Week: -3). As bad as the state of U. of M. athletics have been this past half-decade, one should note that all four active sports outrank the ViQueens.

Ugh, what an ugly goddamn loss that was to Chicago Sunday night. I thought the Bears would win, but those who thought the Vikes would register the upset pointed to things that just didn't happen. The Bears offensive line is a sieve! Minnesota had one sack and gave Jay Cutler plenty of time. If you're an OL that needs healing, play the Vikings! Mike Martz will make Cutler throw 60 yards every down! He ran a lot and threw to his tight ends at will. If you have an inconsistent offensive strategy, play the Vikings!

And now Cornerback Chris Cook has been arrested this morning for domestic assault!!! They already made the switch from Donovan McNabb to Christian Ponder, so they've already punted the season. But now they have to face the Packers without Cook? I heard on the radio someone saying Vegas should have an Over/Under bet on the total number of points Nebraska and Green Bay will score against our football teams this weekend. If it were 100.5, I'd take the Over.

How In The Fuck Did I Skip A Day?

This is weird ... I did blog yesterday. I put down some more thoughts on my trip to Miami. Stuff like all the music I heard, and the cool thing I saw when I took my talent to South Beach.

No, I did blog yesterday. For some reason, however, I don't see it.

My apologies, but I put something down. Where the hell is it?

Today Was A Good Day On The Death Of The Store -- With An Asterisk

When I got there, My Father was sitting on his stool, foot without shoe propped up on the counter.

However, a couple couples came by to pick up stuff. And one of his former employees, who I guess is still an employee, was painting the outside. I guess he's spiffying up the place ... for eventual sale.

You see, My Father asked me to find the address for the milk manufacturing plant next door. He wants me to send a letter to the CEO asking -- no, begging -- him to buy The Store.

Thanks for scaring the shit out of me again, Father.

Denied A Handjob

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At The Store yesterday, I noticed that when I went to the back, there were a lot less things on top of the freezers My Fucking Father shut off.

Also, he marked down one of the items that sells a lot, from $2.99 to a buck.

Fortunately, he was still working, even though there was no one who came the hour-plus I was there. He was busy cleaning and bringing out knives to the front.

Apparently I Don't Eat Like A Man

Monday is Chicken Night because it's a dollar off at the local grocery store. I got it because my parents were going to be late getting home, as is their wont these days.

So me and My Fucking Father are at the table eating. From out of the goddamn blue, he looks at me and, with that motherfucking expression on his face that's a combination of disgust and pain, he looks at me and says, "Do you have to eat your chicken like that? Why can't you eat it like a man, and not like a baby?"

Occasionally he says that to hurt me. It works. It's usually him getting back at me for some perceived slight I did to him. Today I did none of the sort; I helped him out at The Store, where there was no tension. The only thing that happened was Grandmother did not set up a place setting for herself. After what he did to her last night, I'm shocked he would be so miffed.

What he's really getting at is that last clause: "... and not like a baby?" He's intimating that I look gay eating chicken. I think he says baby because of his limited English and the fact that he didn't really want to accuse me of being gay in front of my face. That's a line of Rubicon that you can't come back from once crossed. But if I may, I will say this again for emphasis: According to My Fucking (Insightful) Father, I look gay eating chicken. For the fucking life of me, I have absolutely no goddamn idea what he means. How in the fuck do you look gay eating chicken?

I knew where this was going, and aided by my certainty that his accusation has completely no basis in fact nor common sense, I said what I thought: "What in the hell are you talking about?"

Normally, he would further intimidate me by using that as an in to start yelling at me about other shit he thought I did to him, like hold him down by living at home. But he sensed my outrage over such a stupid comment and backed down, kind of: "OK, I see nothing," he said, before getting up and uttering, "Just know that you're a man now and not a baby." I didn't say anything because I didn't want to pick another fight. I thought I won, but I'll take a draw.

Maybe he backed down because he realized how stupid he sounded when said that. Or, maybe he just gave up trying to "teach" me something. I just hope that if he tried to cut me down with that comment, he saw that it wasn't working, and that he won't pull that shit ever again.

My Time Consoling My Rambling, Forgetful, Yet Sad And Desperate Grandmother

Boy, My Fucking Father really lit into Grandmother tonight. My parents were late coming home again, so she started cooking something. That's when they came home, and My Fucking Father started yelling at her for ... well, these days anything she does sets him off.

Dinner was quiet. But then, after dinner, Grandmother started doing her hovering thing. She's done this for years now -- I remember a long time ago my sister complaining about it -- so maybe she's always done it. But after all the dishes were picked up but before My Fucking Father was done cleaning everything, Grandmother, I guess, went into our very small kitchen and did something either to the wastebasket or in the drawer. I didn't see what happened -- I was watching the Vikings get the shit kicked out of them -- but My Fucking Father turned around to see her bent over something, and that was fucking it.

"Leave it alone!" he screamed at her, "Go to your room!" Grandmother, in a probable combination of stunned disbelief (he yells at her all the time, but never this loudly this close to her face) and absolute indignation at the way he disrespected her, shouted "OK!" at him for the first time in a long time.

That wasn't the end, at least not for My Fucking Father. He turned away from the sink to yell at her, and even though Grandmother walked out of the kitchen, he continued to stare at her. I couldn't see his face from where I was standing (around the dinner table, where the counter and drawers separated us) but I'm sure there was an expression of "What the fuck are you doing?!" that he kept glued to his face.

For her part, that yelling seemed to throw her into very visible, awkward indecision, which I've also seen happen many times. She was in the kitchen after getting up from the table because she was also watching the game; after My Fucking Father's petulant new one-ripping, she walked back to her seat, watched a play, sensed that being in the dining room wasn't going to diffuse the tension My Fucking Father decided to add to the environment, then got up and went to the bathroom. She was there for a long time. I don't think she needed to use the bathroom; I think she wanted to hide.

Afterward, My Fucking Father complained that he had to throw away all the meat she prepared and stored in the refrigerator. And he repeated his demand that I talk to the nurse about shipping her off to the nursing home. As evidence, he pointed to the spots on our laminate table covering on where, he claims, Grandmother put hot stuff. Yeah, that's totally a reason to ship her off to a nursing home. There are a lot of things that worry me about her; his dire belief that she's going to "burn the house down" is, unfortunately, well-founded. But this is obviously a case not of her going because she needs special care but because he's tired of seeing her ass.

---

Just before halftime I hear Grandmother amble down my hall. But this time was different. This time, she didn't want money.

"I want to talk to her in your room," she said. She's never done that before. Never. This has got to be about My Fucking Father over dinner, but I was still floored.

She closed my bedroom door behind her while I took a seat at my bed. And she just vented -- why is he yelling at me, could you believe that?, stuff like that. She then conjectured about moving out. I thought she didn't have any place to go, but tonight she sounded confident that one of her friends, or even my aunt, would be able to take her in. But then she was worried about the PCA money I get from the state; if she moves out, she asked, how I would get my money?

She was really worked up over My Fucking Father yelling at her tonight. I've been that way too after My Fucking Father verbally abused me, too. Just like her, I thought about the future I thought I needed to plan for: the moving out, the asking of friends, the uncertainty. I tried to console her, but goddammit, this is one of those times where the language barrier between us -- actually the one I have with the Chinese spoken in this house -- prevents me from doing so because, in her incessant questions to me, I couldn't understand 90% of what she was saying.

What I understood was her asking me what she should do to not get My Fucking Father mad at her -- "because you see me doing nothing, and he yells at me!" That is true, although she does that hovering thing, which, if you do that over decades, can get to be very annoying. But that certainly shouldn't lead to threats of being shipped to a nursing home. I just told her that she just does busywork like picking shit up and getting in people's way ... well, actually I don't say that because I don't know how to fucking say that in Chinese. I just reassure her that she has done nothing wrong. However, I can tell this could be a case where she could go on for a long, long time, so I decide to see if I can end this conversation early by coaxing her to her bedroom. Maybe then I'll be able to catch the second half of the football game.

Along the way she's bending my ear about My Fucking Father, all the way to her bedroom, where I try and segue into getting her to take the pills she needs to take. I sit down next to her while she's seated in the bedroom, and she keeps talking my ear off. It's getting annoying because I don't know if she knows I can't understand her. But I know what she's going through, so I'm just trying to be as good of a grandson as I could by listening to her. Well, I can't listen if I can't understand, so I just sat, looked down at the bed to her side and let her talk.

The lapses in her memory erupted during the 25 minutes I was there. She kept asking me to ask Mother how she should behave -- more like obey, if you ask me -- around My Fucking Father. I nod that I will, but I won't. I think that she should just forget what happened, not move out, and just stay living here. That's what I do whenever that asshole comes after me. Grandmother can just come out of her bedroom, eat her food, then go back in, doing nothing and saying nothing. Or, she can just go out for dinner with friends every night. Because deep down, he's a pussy; he won't do anything because he's too afraid and lazy to do anything drastic until he absolutely has to.

Also in-between her unintelligible stream-of-consciousness, she regaled me a quick retort where she asked My Fucking Father what would happen to me and the money I got as her PCA if he kicked her out and he replied, "I'm trying to kick him out of the house too!!!" See, that gives me pause. That makes me begin to think of life outside of here, even though I don't want to and know I won't be able to survive. But then, out of inertia and spite, I just go back to breathing deeply, sleeping on it, then either avoiding My Fucking Father or just eating my dinner and leaving without saying a word at the dinner table. I think that's My Fucking Father being an asshole, although I don't want to be blindsided if he truly does have something devious up his sleeve. It also doesn't help Grandmother's insistence that he has designs for the both of us when she repeats this little vignette six more times while I'm just sitting there.

I truly, truly thought that I heard My Fucking Father outside at the kitchen. If he was able to hear us through the cracked-open door. ... I look towards outside and shush Grandmother, at which point she let me go. I did, partly out of relief but also I thought somebody was really outside. But when I leave, there was no one.

By the time I got back to my TV, it was halfway through the third quarter and Chicago was up by, oh, 23 points.

I feel really bad for Grandmother, and I'm worried about her. Being yelled at causes stress, and that isn't good for her body, especially since she's so old. I hope she pulls through. I also hope, even though it's impossible and isn't good when she needs to stand up for herself at a point down the road, that she forgets this and just tools around the house like nothing happened. It's passive-aggressive, but it's the best way to piss off My Fucking Father.

---

I check up on her after I take my shower and clip my nails. Her light's on, but when I open the door I see her lying face up, snoring. It's the second straight day she's passed out with her lamp on.

WATER TURN OFF

Got the mail today. One letter was from the city. On the front of the envelope, in big letters: "WATER TURN OFF."

They're turning off the water to The Store.

The end is coming very near. Too near.

I'm sad, and I am very, very scared.

I don't want to work at The Store. It now feels like walking into the valley of the shadow of death. But I must, for it is the right thing to do and it deserves a proper send-off.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Gopher men's hockey (Last Week: -2). A surprisingly strong survey this week; all five entrants won at least once and the top three teams went undefeated. I go to the XY icers at the U. for the top spot, mostly on the strength of their 5-4 overtime win at defending champion Minnesota-Duluth. Pretty exciting game; the Goofs tied it with less than a minute left in regulation and then won it with less than a minute left in the extra period. The Bulldogs are expected to have a down year because they lost so many players from last year's title team. But this yet another season of expected yet unjustified expectations at the U., so their victory -- when they coughed up an early 2-0 lead -- qualifies as a surprise. So they remain undefeated in their young year.

They finish at Duluth tonight at 7. They then host Vermont for a non-conference duo starting Friday.

#-2: Gopher volleyball (Last Week: -3). They have won three in a row, this week sweeping on the road against Michigan St. and at the Pavilion over Iowa. They are now above .500 in the B1(2)G. They face a tough test tonight, however: The 14th-ranked Goofs host conference newbie and #5 Nebraska. This is their annual game at Williams Arena, so tickets are just $1. This is also their annual breast cancer game, so maybe the team will be motivated by the cause and the big crowd and the brand-new, really good opponent.

Am I going? I'll admit that I'm having a change of heart after I just typed what I typed. And there is the novelty of seeing Nebraska as a conference opponent for the first time ever. But at the end I decided I'm going to the roller derby bout in St. Paul instead. Why? Two things: 1) I haven't seen my friend in some time, and 2) I think the team's going to lose. If they win, well, I'll slap myself silly. That's a promise.

#-3: Vikings (Last Week: -5). They won! They won!! They won!!! Er, that means that they won't be able to draft Andrew Luck. Eh, whatever, they won!

However, don't believe that everything's all hunky-dory now. The ViQueens didn't win the game because they didn't collapse in the second half. They won because the Bastard Chicago/St. Louis Cardinals are not a good team. The Vikes gave that team countless chances to come back; the Cards were just unable to capitalize. So, Adrian Peterson's three touchdowns and a hellacious offensive effort in the first quarter was enough to stand up for the other three. This team hasn't turned a corner -- not by a damn sight, not when Donovan McNabb still can't complete a pass out to the flat.

Next game: Tomorrow, at Chicago, as the Sunday night game.

#-4: Gopher women's hockey (Last Week: -1). There's a difference between St. Cloud St., whom the Goofs clobbered Saturday night 8-0, and Wisconsin, who is ranked tops in the country, surged out to a 3-0 lead and held them off, 3-2, to give the program their first loss of the season last night. The lady icers are ranked third in the nation, though they will slip in the rankings next week, but as a program that should consider themselves to be the best, this once again reinforces the perception that this big school is a step below other WCHA programs like the Badgers and UMD.

They finish their two-game series tomorrow afternoon, then host an uncommon Thursday-Friday series at Ridder against Minnesota-Duluth.

#-5: Gopher soccer (Last Week: -4). Beat Iowa in Iowa City, then lost at Illinois. They stand 2-3-2 in-conference, 5-8-2 overall. This week they finish their three-game road trip against Northwestern tomorrow afternoon, then begin their regular season-ending three-game homestand against Indiana Friday. I might go to that game ... or save that visit for the season-ender the following Friday, where they face ... new conference sister Nebraska. That might make up for not going to the volleyball match tonight.

By the way, congratulations to Midfielder/Defender Becca Roberts, for being named conference Co-Freshman Of The Week.

Two Nightmares Yesterday

I slept early Wednesday night because the modem was buggin'. I was awake at 9, heard Grandmother, got her levels, then went back to sleep for another 90 minutes.

Before waking up again at 11, I had two nightmares. The one I barely remember had something to do with moving out *shudders*.

The other had something to do with a car, a hot girl, taking out my dick, and Delmon Young.

What the fuck is Delmon Young doing in my wet dream? More importantly, goddamn, why in the hell couldn't he fuckin' hit home runs with the Twinks the way he's doing with Detroit now? Asshole.

When To Kill

Read a facebook update from a high school friend ... well, she's not a friend, she was more like a crush who barely had time for me who has totally changed from the last time I saw her. She has a dog who is on her last legs. She said it greeted her as warmly -- as normally -- as any day today. And it broke her heart because this was the last time her pet would be with her. Apparently, she has made the decision to put down her 14-year-old dog tomorrow.

I couldn't say what I really wanted to say to her through facebook, namely that she shouldn't do it. I mean, if her dog can still come up to her, wag her tail and greet her with a warm bark, why kill her?

She's been through a lot, however, including a bad episode just a few days ago where she was in nothing but pain. See, this is the conundrum a lot of owners go through when going through end-of-life decisions for their pets. I couldn't bare seeing her suffer so much. But then she has a good day, and I think that I should keep her around. That's what I feel about my classmate's pet right now -- keep her alive, she has a lot of life left in her. But of course this is not my dog. I don't know how she really is. I can't make an informed opinion about her dog. And yet ... I can't help thinking she's killing her prematurely.

I tie this in with Grandmother. She's old. She's been forgetful for a long time. But, and I think this started to happen when we got back from my sister's wedding in Tuscany, things have gotten worse. She has started to forget to turn the stove and toaster oven off, especially when someone calls her after she's begun to cook something. Grandmother has started this nasty habit of not turning off the water at the kitchen and bathroom sinks; according to Father, she left it on for hours and flooded the basement to the point where he had to rip up the carpet in Mother's office. She has repeated questions she asked me minutes before. Worst of all, she continues to both make and buy food she doesn't eat.

It came to a head Wednesday. Grandmother laid out some pork cutlets she prepared -- disgustingly, according to Father. She put some seasoning on it, then put a plastic wrap over it and put the cutlets, which were on a used-up pie tin, in the fridge, except that the wrap didn't cover the entire tin. (I saw the tin in the fridge and I admit that I didn't care to fix it, I just left it as I saw it.) After he got home, Father motioned to me, while I was standing up behind Grandmother, who was sitting at the dinner table, enraptured by the news on the television set, not to eat it. She frequently lays out stuff that my parents could prepare or eat; almost always do they either put it away or throw it away.

I go back to my room; Father has constantly yelled at Grandmother, and I could tell that another of his eruptions was coming, and so I run to the safety of my bedroom. When I come out (because I have too) he tells me that Grandmother tried to microwave some leftover pieces of chicken in a metal tin. That seemed to push him over the edge, but instead of going off on Grandmother, he just asked me, with Grandmother still at the dining table, to ask the social worker to look into nursing homes for her when she visits home again.

I think that's harsh. Father has had it in for her for a long time. Maybe she is slipping. But I can rationalize most of the things that have made him mad. I've forgotten to turn things off from time to time; I remember once that I left the house without closing the door to the garage. Shit happens. To be honest with you, My Fucking Father has a history of embellishing, if not all-out lying, in order to get what he wants. I wasn't there the times when he accuses Grandmother of not turning off the water or the stove, but I wouldn't put it past him to exaggerate the effects or the number of times it happens. And all the stuff that she does while he's around I can attribute to nerves. I'm afraid of what somebody says or how he or she will react, and so I do stuff that doesn't make sense, or forget that I did something else. I can see Grandmother being that same way. That doesn't necessarily make her old or demented, it just shows she's scared of a bully like Father.

And yet there are some things I can't explain away. The forgetting of things that I told her mere minutes ago is the thing that worries me the most. I think it's happening to the pills she needs to take. Moreover, when I press the issue with her and ask if she is taking the medications she's supposed to take, she says yes in an absentminded and/or defiant way. I don't think she's taking them; worse, I don't know if she knows if she has taken them.

I read one website where there are three conditions under which you should send somebody to a nursing home: Dementia, sleeplessness and bed-wetting. The interviewee of this webpage (I should link to it, but I so disapprove of her recommendations that I won't) thinks it's OK if someone is shipped off to a home as soon as he wets himself for the first time.

There really is only one condition in which I'd throw Grandmother into a home: If her health got so bad that me trying to take care of her would hurt her. I don't have a life right now. Pretty soon, she is going to be my life. I'm prepared for that -- well, I think I'm prepared for that. She was the one I came home to after school when I had a bad day, when my parents were off tending to The Store. She was the one in this family who was there for me, who took care of me, who loved me. I don't know if I have the fortitude or the willingness to, but I know I have the duty to take care of her. To be honest, she has been the great love of my life.

And now, Father wants to get rid of her. How sick and disgusting. We're fucking Chinese, for God's sake. We have a culture where generations live under the same roof. That he would resort to such mean and ... Western ways of dealing with old age shocks me -- until I remember that this is Father we're talking about.

Then again ... could he be right? What if she really is slipping? She has her good days, although they're fewer and farther between, moreso now that many of her friends are getting old and don't visit that often. And do we have the luxury of waiting until she takes a real turn for the worst? The house could be flooded or burned down by then, all because she forgot to turn something off?

These end-of-life issues are things I hate and want to avoid at all costs. When do you pack it all in? When do you decide your pet should die? When do you decide your loved one needs to be taken care of by complete strangers? The options are all dreadful and beyond the control of those it affects the most, and the choices have consequences I can't face. And yet, because I'm hurtling through life, I must. I just hope that this shit with Father blows like it usually does after he threatens to throw me out of the house. Better yet, I need Grandmother to get her shit together and turn things off. Otherwise, there will be more change in my life that I won't be able to handle.

---

One other note: I came home late and helped Father fix the modem. Later this evening I started to eat a sandwich on the dining room table. I saw Father turn on the lights and heard him start to go up the stairs. Instinctively, as a defense mechanism, I got up and took my sandwich to my room.

I was scared he was going to ask me questions I could not answer. But now I feel guilty for running away from him. He may not get back at me.

Today In The Death Of The Store

Well, first of all, I should say that I decided not to go to The Store yesterday when initially I planned on going. I called Father when I was at the porno place where I was looking through porn because I felt guilty, and he said he was OK holding down The Store because there is, gulp, "no business." I thought the rain most of the afternoon ensured that.

There was no business today, either, even though it wasn't rainy, just very, very cloudy. Well, there were two people at The Store today. One of them is Father's best friend, who still is a good sport and hangs out there from time to time (I've seen him once before after Father announced they're closing The Store). The other was someone who was sent by Mother to get some stuff. Weird.

Father had to do some work in the basement in the back. But he was done, so he turned off all the lights in the back. All of them. I hate that. It's spooky. That's a sign in my face that The Store is closing.

I do my usual thing at The Store: Listen to my satellite radio and catch up on the really old newspapers and magazines I've kept for years. Father, now not having anything to do, just sits in his stool in the middle of The Store, where the cash register is. He makes a couple calls, fields a couple calls, but otherwise paces and sits, paces and sits. The epitome of boredom. That too creeps me out. Partly because it's a reflection of how his time could be better served that tending to a business no one goes to, but mostly because it's normally a time where he would ask out of the blue what my future is.

From his stoop Father shouted to me. He reminded me that of something he asked me to do over the weekend: Change the address of correspondence from his real estate properties in Las Vegas and here -- "because we will close soon, and we need this to come home." Now, he's not saying that I don't already know, let alone what he's already told me. But ... just ... just don't tell me, OK? I'm still very, very sad and anxious over the death of The Store, which I thought was going to happen early this month and, therefore, I think will happen suddenly any time now.

News flash: Just finished a blog I started on the 5th about meaning to use my credit card and forgetting and using cash instead. Read to be informed.

The Latest Sign On The Death Of The Store

After attending the Lynx celebration at Target Center, I went to The Store. When I jogged in and down the front steps, I saw the freezer, the new freezer, the one out at the front of the store, empty. It used to have frozen foods; now, it has a few items that were probably stored at room temperature.

Father turned off the freezer because he didn't need to use it anymore.

The Store is starting to really, really die. It's getting so sad in there that I don't want to work there anymore. But I must. And I will tomorrow and Thursday. Because I owe it to it.

Getting Grandmother To The Hospital

Woke up around noon-ish yesterday. Had to stay home and not work at The Store (BTW, I'm not working at the U. for the week and maybe longer, was essentially furloughed) because I planned on taking Grandmother to the doctor's. This was an appointment she cancelled two times already because she had pain in her stomach and/or legs but then didn't, therefore she didn't think she needed to go. This was a case where I wanted her to go. She hadn't seen her doctor in a long time and I was concerned. Besides, it's the fall and she needed her flu shot.

So I walk around to find her, but she wasn't in her room nor downstairs. Shit. Now, she could be with her friend and he could have been taking her to the doctor's. Grandmother is now not specific about stuff like that, and it pisses me off that I planned on taking her to the point of moving my schedule around for her, but as long as she goes to the doctor's I'm OK. The other thing that could be happening is, well, she just blew it off. Or maybe she forgot. Either way, she'd be skipping what would be her third appointment with the physician, and that's not good at all.

So I wait. I tool around on my laptop, I listen to the Wild game on the radio, I think about doing the laundry for her (my clothes don't smell right, so I want to know if she's doing anything wrong by doing it myself this one time) and I masturbate to while away the anxiety. One o'clock becomes 1:30 which becomes 2; I give myself till about 2:10 to see if she comes home, then I call the clinic. If she reports there, great. If not, I ask for a delay -- or a cancellation, depending on the circumstances.

I'm downstairs about to put my clothes into the washer when I hear the door open. It's about ten after 2. I race upstairs to tell that bitch she needs to go to the doctor's. "You're going to the doctor's?" she stupidly asks. "NO, YOU'RE GOING TO THE DOCTOR'S -- NOW!!!" I reply. And she responds with her typical, sing-songy, "OK. ..." (Father doesn' t know he says "OK" exactly like Grandmother -- and they're both quite obnoxious.) I change and get the car out of the garage while she pees. Later I would see that she forgot to turn off the bathroom light when we left. Idiot; more wasted energy.

Now in retrospect I understand her lack of urgency; after all, she thinks she's fine. What turned out to be a case where I believe she didn't get her shit together turned into an afternoon of tension spurred mostly by my actions.

First of all, as I was sitting in my idled car, I called to the clinic and apologized profusely because, and I think I emphasized this, Grandmother was late. After the nurse checked, she said it was OK to be 10-5 minutes late, which is beyond the now 10-5 minutes we were already late.

Then we head off to the clinic, a place I had been to once or twice before, but because it was so close I thought one quick look-up online would give me the only thing I need: a street to turn into. So I get there and find the street and quickly jerk the car from the left lane to the right turn lane. And that's where I hit not the clinic but the marketplace, a shopping district designed to look like a condominium. I've been here a couple times before to eat at the Smashburger (hmmm ... Smashburger), but I don't remember coming here to drop off my Grandmother. This is where her clinic is?

At an intersection in this area, Grandmother pointed to the left, as if to turn that way. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt; after all, she's been her way more times than I have. All that did was take me across the front of the Wal-Mart and towards a dead end. My Grandmother's a blinding idiot now, and I never should have listened to her. I turn around towards that intersection again. The only option I didn't explore was straight ahead, and again, Grandmother she'd be helpful by pointing straight ahead. Grandmother, do you know where the fuck you're going? What was that pointing to the left for then? Anyway, that's when I saw the clinic. It looked familiar; getting there through this shopping district definitely was not.

So I drop Grandmother off at the front, park mere feet away, then come in to help her check in. I was waiting to, yes, profusely apologize on Grandmother's behalf, but when I told the receptionist she was there for her two o'clock, she told me some really shitty news: We were at the wrong clinic. Fuck. I made that goddamn mistake.

The receptionist called over to the other clinic, which was about five miles away. She said that we could still see him, but we had to go over there. Now, usually in cases like this, I would rather just go home and hide in a shell for the whole day in shame. But with the work they had done, I felt like I was being pushed to doing it. Plus, this would have been the third time my Grandmother was scheduled to see her PCP and failed to. And there was a flu shot she had to take. I imagined her getting sick because she didn't get her shot this autumn. So I just went along with it.

That's when Grandmother really started getting on my fucking nerves. Another receptionist started drawing what turned out to be a fairly elaborate and messy map of directions to get from the clinic we were at now to the other one, and Grandmother responded with what I can only describe as lazy wonder: She said "Whaaaaaaaaa!" as the other receptionist retraced her map and went back to label parts of it she thought she could skip over. Then, my Grandmother started muttering, "We should cancel," which soon became just, "Cancel," while she was drawing the map and talking to me. I hate when Grandmother's rude like that, talking over people who were helping us.

But that anger stemming from her nattering on and never shutting up may have played a part in my overreaction. When we were about to leave she said we should cancel -- or, in her advanced age, she just muttered to no one in particular, "Cancel" -- and I touched her shoulder with the intention of slapping her across the face. I've been closing to hitting her a few times; it's a product of both the hatred I think I was born with and the violent way I was raised, both by my parents and, ironically enough, by Grandmother. Fortunately, propriety stopped me, and instead I yelled at her to leave with me.

She continued stammering out "Cancel" on the drive to the other clinic. I wasn't talking to her, yet she still kept blabbing on and on. She does that more often these days, spitting out words into the ether, even when they're not solicited nor reciprocated. But I drove on.

At this point, though, I have to admit that I was going less because I thought it was the right thing to do for Grandmother but more that I wanted to get this particular task done, to accomplish something, to ensure that I don't have to worry about this again. This was something for me to get out of the way, something to check off my to-do list. It stopped being about her when we got back in our car to go to the other clinic. It's sad, and I don't like that about me, but I have to admit the truth.

We got there about a quarter to 3. The receptionist there had an idea of who we were. And I saw that the translator that we asked to be there was still there, so I profusely apologized to her for being a full 45 minutes late. The rest of the day went well; she got her shot and had her blood drawn for other overdue tests, then her doc looked at the pain and, because Grandmother said she's feeling fine now, he let it go.

She should come back in December for a diabetes test.

Whew. Another task complete. Even if it took two fucking hours.

---

My day, and my tussling with Grandmother, weren't done yet.

Driving home she was hungry. This despite her leaving half a Vietnamese sandwich in the toaster oven. She wanted McDonald's. I was craving McDonald's too, plus they have the Monopoly going on now, so I thought, yeah, so long as she's paying, I could go for some Mickey D's.

When I turned into the parking lot (when my Grandmother wants something I want to make sure the order's right, so now drive-thru) all she wanted was a chicken sandwich -- which is always what she wants because it's the only thing she knows how to order. I wanted the large fries because it's the easiest thing with Monopoly pieces to eat.

When I got back inside and started driving off, she reached into the bag and started eating the fries. No big deal, everybody does that. Well, everybody except me. She offered me the fries; I told her no fucking way, I'm driving right now. She continued eating the fries.

When she got home, I showed her the sandwich sitting in the toaster oven. She said nothing beyond an, "Oh." Either she's getting really slow and she doesn't give a fuck, either way I hate that. But then she repeated something I thought I heard her say under her breath while getting into the house: "You eat chicken sandwich. I'll eat the fries."

I just blew up at her. "YOU CAN'T DO THAT! YOU EAT THE CHICKEN SANDWICH!! I BOUGHT IT FOR YOU!!!"

And then she said, "OK, OK, OK ..." like a little mouse. Later, I left her some of the fries and, knowing that she would just throw it away, I ate about half the chicken sandwich.

Goddamn, I hate that she changes her mind. And I hate that I get angry with her so easily, too.

OK, I usually like the job that I do on Sundays. But when I get shouted down and told to shut up because I'm confusing people, they make me not like the job anymore.

Thing is, people shout at this job all the time. Moreover, people shout at other people all the time; there's no reason I shouldn't be included. Plus I've worked with these guys, for this company, for six years. If they really didn't like me, they would not have hired me back.

But still, you never know. It's not like I'm part of a union; I can be fired, or not hired for the day, at any time. And I had never been yelled at like that before. Plus, I think the person who actually makes the hires is someone I've worked with only one time before. If he didn't like me, my work or my attitude, I'm done.

But do I care? Should I care? I've been thinking all along that because it's about sports, it's the best job I have. I told my acquaintance friend that I helped get a job today the same thing. But now, after getting unfairly yelled at, I don't feel that same way now. I usually can just let this roll off my back. But not now. If I don't get hired back, do I even want to come back?

Tonight Father wanted me to type a letter to his Vegas association changing the address for correspondence from the store to home. Another sign that the store's dying. Didn't need that.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

Positive Numbers: Lynx (Two Weeks Ago: -1).

This state has not had a professional team win a world championship since the Twins in 1991, so I don't know how to commemorate it on The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey. The best thing I could do is to put their name in team colors, blow it up as big as Blogger allows me to, and just bolden and italicize and center the hell out of it. Whatever I do, it's not going to come close to rightly giving this team the congratulations, thanks and respect it deserves.

My friend got me tickets to Game 1 of the WNBA Finals. He didn't have enough money for Game 2, so I thought I wouldn't go. Besides, I was scared the Lynx would lose because the Atlanta Dream was getting back Erick da Souza, the Center that had been playing for the Brazilian National Team. With her back in the pivot, the rebounding edge the Lynx enjoyed on their way to a runaway victory in Game 1 Sunday would have been gone.

But my parents, for some inexplicable reason, came home very early that day. I took that as a sign that I should go. I was done for dinner well in time to drive down to Target Center and scalp a ticket below face (ten bucks!). What I feared would happen did happen: The Dream more than held their own in the paint, at the end of the game they had a few more rebounds than the Lynx.

They were trailing the whole game. Once it reached the fourth quarter, I had to get down from my seat and stand at the vomitorium so I could pace back and forth. My heart was in my throat the whole quarter.

I could only relax in the last minute, but I remember the one play that turned the tide in Game 2. With time running out, Lindsay Whalen danced from the three-point line to just outside of the lane. She threw up the ball, laid it in, and somehow drew a foul. That made a tight three-point lead into a less-tight six-point one, but this was in the middle of a 10-0 run and the Dream were in no danger of coming back.

I was supposed to meet my friend, this same friend, at Hubert's last night to catch the second half of Game 3. I got there late because Mother was fighting with me, and when I got there about halfway through the fourth quarter, I saw his roommate but not him; apparently he didn't see me and just left. Well. ...

Atlanta had played well enough Sunday and Wednesday for me to believe they'd just blow the doors off the Lynx. But I saw Minnesota fight hard -- a key component to this team -- and that grit served them well in Game 3. They managed to overcome a halftime deficit -- they were behind at the half all three games -- to take the lead midway through the third.

The Lynx hung tough in a sludgy, low-scoring game for both teams. I thought that Maya Moore's desperation three-pointer to beat the shot clock, which made the score 64-56 with two-and-a-half minutes left, was very important. But then the Dream put on the press and the Lynx did not respond well. Atlanta actually cut it to a single point with 1:17 left.

But the Dream then fouled the Lynx, and the team salted the game, and the title, away from the charity stripe. Five straight free throws expanded the lead back to six. And when Angel McCoughtry missed yet another shot, in a game where she uncharacteristically could not find the bottom of the net (9-for-25 from the field), the Lynx got the rebound and Atlanta chose not to foul with about eight seconds left, everybody in Hubert's went electric. It's the first time any team in the Twin Cities area has won a championship since the University of Minnesota wrestling team won the NCAAs in 2007, and of course, it's the first pro team to win a title since the Twinks two decades ago.

Yes, it's the WNBA. It's either this or rooting for two underachieving teams last in their divisions or two teams starting over with new coaches this year. I will accept the Lynx, and if you were smart you would, too.

Overall, this is a great story -- and a good lesson for other teams in the state, too. Remember that the Lynx were the Jynx just a year ago. Man, they were terrible. But they put all the pieces together, they found a coach in Cheryl Reeve who instilled defense and late-game toughness (stat: Atlanta outscored the Lynx 66-53 in the first quarter of all three games, but the Lynx outscored the Dream in the second half by a combined score of 143-102), and most important of all, they remained injury-free (the only starter to miss a start was Taj McWilliams-Franklin, and she wound up playing 25+ minutes that one game). A team that should have made the playoffs two years ago finally reversed its sorry postseason history (two playoff appearances, one playoff win, zero series victories) to win it all. Thank God.

For that, I can now institute a rule I've had in my mind for some time: Any team that wins a championship will be exempted from the WMNSS for ... oh ... three years. It really doesn't matter if the Lynx lose every game the next three seasons. How can I be mad now that they have given this state a championship? So that's what you get for winning the WNBA title, ladies: You don't have to show up on my survey till 2015. Congratulations!

---

And now onto the other losers in the area:

#-1: Gopher women's hockey (Re-Entry!). Kind of surprised that college hockey season starts in mid-October. Maybe I'm surprised because the weather continues to be so hot outside. Anyway, they have blitzed through their first three opponents (Union, Syracuse and St. Cloud St.) by a combined score of 16-1. Great start ... but of course they should off to a great start because they're Minnesota. Now how about a championship? Are they going to bring home an NCAA title that they're so often deficient of earning? Let's see them beat UMD, or Wisconsin, or Boston College, or even Mercyhurst. Till then, same old, same old. The Lady Goofs finish their home series against the Huskies this afternoon, then begin a two-game set at Wisconsin Friday.

#-2: Gopher men's hockey (Re-Entry!). They no longer can beat the Michigans and North Dakotas of top-flight men's hockey, so they began their season last (Friday) night with a game against low-major Sacred Heart. At least they won, although they beat the living shit out of the Pioneers 9-0.

In other news, Head Coach Don Lucia's son, Mario Lucia, second-round draftee of the Minnesota Wild, decided he will go to Notre Dame. Mario said he wanted to get out from under his dad's shadow -- which is totally understandable, but since Don Lucia's alma mater is Notre Dame, how far out from under his shadow can he go? Wouldn't you want to go to, say, Michigan instead?

Anyway, after they finish their home series against Sacred Heart the team immediately gets a tough test: They begin a two-game set at defending national champion Minnesota-Duluth.

#-3: Gopher women's volleyball (Two Weeks Ago: -4). What I'm afraid was going to happen to this program I have a soft spot for seems to be happening: They seem lost now that Dr. Mike Hebert is no longer the coach of the team. Two-Year Interim Coach Laura Bush has returned most of the talent that went to the Sweet Sixteen last year and the Final Four two years ago, but they finished 2-2 these past two screening weeks. They won in four sets over Northwestern before embarking on a four-game, two-week road trip. They still can't win at Penn St. (getting swept there), but the surprising thing is also getting swept at Ohio St.

However, in their last game, the Goofs came back from two sets down to defeat Michigan in five sets. It's the first time they've won in Ann Arbor since 2005. Maybe this is will be the game that turns their season around; they are now 2-3 in the B-1-G and 9-5 overall. They finish their road trip at Michigan St. tonight (Saturday night), then host Iowa Friday.

#-4: Gopher women's soccer (Two Weeks Ago: -2). This team will not repeat their tournament appearance. Not after their 0-2-1 weeks. Worst of all: They begin a three-game road trip tonight at Iowa. They then visit Illinois Friday.

#-5: Vikings (Two Weeks Ago: -5). It was very difficult to decide between the Gopher football team and the ViQueens. There's a lot of evidence to put the Purple below: Another come-from-ahead defeat followed by a turgid loss at Kansas City, a game against a team they could have won. But now they stand at 0-4, with ever-growing chances that they'll go winless this season. They are fighting with Seattle for worst team in the National Football Conference.

Donovan McNabb no longer has an arm. It's not only his fault that they're losing; the offensive line is getting mighty old, and the defense just does not have the talent to compete. But in today's National Football League, you need a Quarterback that can lead a team down the field and score some points. He can't do that. He can't even throw 30 yards unless he two-hops it. It's sad, but it's the truth.

What is maddening is that Head Coach Leslie Frazier is resolute in keeping McNabb as his starter. Why? What the fuck is the point? Do you think he can turn it around? Do you think there's nobody else on the Vikes who can turn around the season?? He doesn't have it anymore, and all you're doing sticking by him is putting your credibility in doubt. How many losses does it take before you realize a) the season's lost and b) McNabb should retire? I liked Frazier; now, I doubt his competence and leadership. (And by the way, everybody keeps talking about Christian Ponder. I say, why not give the ball to Joe Webb? He directed the team to a win at Philadelphia last year.) Can they beat the visiting Bastard Chicago/St. Louis Cardinals tomorrow (Sunday) afternoon?

#-6: Gopher football (Two Weeks Ago: -3). In the end, I made the Goof Gridironers catchers because of three things: 1) Since I am completing this Saturday afternoon and just after their loss to Purdue, they have lost three games since the last WMNSS compared to the Vikes' two; 2) they suffered their third-worst margin of defeat at Michigan; and 3) they lost to second-division North Dakota St. -- and it wasn't even that close. Today (Saturday) the Boilermakers scored 28 points in the first quarter with the help of three Goof turnovers. And I thought they had a good chance of winning this game.

Meanwhile, Head Coach Jerry Kill is still suffering from seizures. Is he still coaching from the sideline, or is one of his assistants heading the team for the time being?

Doesn't matter, I guess. Thing is, I was going to give this team a pass this year. New coach, new system, they're trying to pick up the pieces of the Tim Brewster Era -- how can anybody expect even a medicore season? But if this is the way of clearing out the bad mojo from this program, shit, maybe they should just gas this team. And what's with TCF Bank Stadium? I thought it was going to be a game-changer and that it would equalize the recruiting wars. We suck. They could suck at the Dome and they would've saved us Minnesotans so much money.

They host Nebraska on the 22nd. They are 10 1/2-point underdogs against the bye next week.

#-Infinity: Twins (Two Weeks Ago: -6). Well, they avoided losing 100 games for the second time in franchise history. Yet it was touch-and-go there; they had to wait until the bottom of the ninth in the last game of the season on Wednesday to score for a 1-0 victory over Kansas City, the second of two consecutive games they had to win to avoid the century mark. How sad that Twinks fans were reduced to losing their shit over a team losing only 99 games. I hope they were being sarcastic.

Sadly, the joke's now on us. This franchise promised that if we built and bought them a stadium, they would compete. Well, we taxpayers footed two-thirds of a $545 million ballpark, and now we have a team that finished 63-99 in a season most of us believed they would be in the playoffs again. And what a difference a season makes: What was once a team chock full of potential now looks like a bunch of sad sacks so untalented that it might take a decade to clear them all out. (Like the Gopher football team, they could suck this bad at the Dome and save us taxpayers money we could use somewhere else.)

The injuries this team suffered through this year has exposed us fans to a series of AAA schmucks that have no business of being in the bigs. If this is the next generation, we might as well call them the lost generation.

The players that will put the Twinks back to baseball contention may not even be a part of the organization yet. Hell, they might be 15 years old right now. And this is baseball, where a very slow development cycle means there could be a decade before good players show up in Minnesota. And since there is no salary cap, there is no guarantee that the players General Manager Bill Smith -- or his replacement -- will be any good.

The good luck this franchise picked up a decade ago, with drafting Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau and Michael Cuddyer (the last of which will be gone, sadly, even though he should be resigned because he's the only character guy this team has and they'll need guys like him to keep fan interest), is now gone. If the Twinks select the wrong players, they could join the Kansas City Royals and Oakland Athletics as teams continually at the bottom of the league, fucking up what little control they have to change their fate in a system stacked against teams with limited funds.