My friend's periodic e-mails to me about nothing spurred me to see The Store today. He said in the message that the last time he dropped by they weren't selling lottery tickets anymore. Father told me so, but being reminded of that change prompted me to find a way to head to The Store.
I was able to not only do that but to kill a second bird, namely escape My Fucking Father's exhortations to clean my room. Fuck that. And I got a reason when I finally heard back from this guy who was casting extras for a shoot over the weekend. They needed spectators for a circus this afternoon. This wasn't a paid gig, but it was an excuse to get out of the house. And since I hadn't even seen them since Friday night, I could drop by The Store, tell them I had to "go to work because they called me in," and avoid them till Monday after work.
Even though things looked largely the same as they had, The Store still felt entirely different from the last time I saw it, when I helped Father get to The Store when they had to open up for business. As I approached the front door (whose screen door was propped open) it was dark. I really could think my parents were there but just didn't open up The Store. But the lights were on -- well, one of them. The Store has three aisles, and each is lit up with six pairs of neon lights. Usually the main one, the one that leads from the front door of The Store (the left one) and the middle one are turned on; the last one, at the end, has been turned off for years just to save money. But this time only the middle row of neons were turned on, and of them, two sets were burned out. That means a lot of darkness, fitting for something about to die.
I saw Mother hanging out at the desk, just on the business side of The Store, right where the swinging door, that reliable ol' swinging door, swinging for decades when my folks or one of their employees hauled some foodstuffs out for our vendors on a two-wheeler. Ah, trusty swinging door, I'll miss you.
Mother was diligently doing something. Father was out in the back, working. He came up, sat down, wanted to talk about going back to school, which was as painless as it could go, but I quickly changed the subject to printing out a form for him to claim money from the state. He was pleasant enough, not the overbearing nag I was afraid I would face if I said no to being an extra and just decided to stay home.
The big freezer was still working, which is surprising. I guess as long as there is still stuff here, it has to remain frozen. But if things are shutting down, that thing has to shut down too. We'll see, but that whir gives me hope.
I told them I would had to go, but just not yet. I just wandered away from my folks because I wanted to take one potentially last walk around The Store. Because of my sentimentality and my OCD, I follow this pattern: I walk down one aisle, come back through the next, then go down on the third. I repeat the process, but since I am on the other side of the first aisle, by the time I'm done I would have walked through all three aisles twice, once each way. It's the least I owe The Store.
What I saw was an emptying of once full shelves, though they had been largely untouched, some parts for years. Rows upon rows of still foodstuffs and household items. Some of them had signs on them with clearance prices. There were also piles of other things my parents just put out there, in carts or on the floor. And speaking of the floor, it looked pretty dirty. My Father should start cleaning up The Store instead of yelling at me to clean up my bedroom.
When I came to the front desk, the place I had hung out at all these years, my breath was taken away. There it wasn't -- the lottery machine. It, and the previous machines it replaced, had been at the top of this desk ever since the lottery began. And it truly is gone. And so was the sign showing how many millions for each of the jackpots could be won. Behind the desk there were piles of envelopes from the lottery; now they're all gone, and the area behind the desk is as empty as I've ever seen it. The only sign that we had ever sold lottery tickets is the bag of sample scratch-offs lying on the woks in front of the desk.
It all looks the same, and yet it's all different. And there was a call time of 1:15, so even though I was overwhelmed, I had to leave. After saying so to my parents, I stopped at the bottom step of the back door, turned around and looked back, sighed at what I could be seeing for the final time, then left. And then I had to turn back to see the old lady one last time before I got in my car.
Still trying to make my peace with it.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Expenses Without Receipt
Starting from the 15th:
- We actually go to Tuesday, Tax Day. I went to the library to copy my filings, but I hit something on the copier to copy each of my filings on both sides of the copy. Goddamn. Total spent on such waste: $1.30.
- Edited to add back in: After I filed my taxes I went to both Arby's and McDonald's to cash in on special Tax Day deals. Arby's had a coupon, and the guy there gave me another set of fries! Inbetween fast food visits I'm pretty sure I hit the new coffee place I usually go to now weeknights. Coffee and tip: $2.
- On Thursday I think -- once again I only think -- that I tried the new coffeeshop at the mall closest to me. This is the one that replaced the cheap, help-yourself coffee "stand" that was there. It has a Sami theme; the Sami is the indigenous tribal peoples of Norway. Should go here more often because I can get its wi-fi. Coffee with tip is a cheap: $1.75.
- Then I went to the Howler concert at the U. later that night. But first I decided to go to the Library across the street because I would rather watch hockey than listen to opening bands. Luckily the Library had a special on Sloppy Joes. Had two. Yummy, and very cheap at two bucks. With beer and tip: $9.
- Howler is good. The Next Best Thing? I don't know, especially since they get so much hype from NME. But I don't mind paying a ticket and tossing the Varsity tip for the Pabst Blue Ribbon tallboy I bought from them. Total: $18.
- Friday I tried this place called Tony's Sandwich King. It used to be a straight sushi place, but I guess there isn't much of a sushi-eating crowd in the northern suburbs of the Twin Cities, so they expanded to All-American food. However the layout is still Japanese, and there is still sushi served. In fact, I saw two guys eating sushi right there. I got the Monster and a side of fries with hot ranch dressing. The fries were tasty, but I wouldn't've bought them if I knew the Monster came with a side of fries. Total: $12.57.
- Orange Julius, with tip: $4.
- I then went to be a tube pig. Their free parking is closed, so I had to park in the lot across the street. I was assured I could park there for free, but the parking attendant bitch said I still needed to pay. In fact, since there was an event going on, I had to pay even more inflated prices: $6.
- I was overdue for exercise. One-time gym admission: $3.
- Lovely Creatures Cabaret show. Goddamn, chicks who can dance are hot, even if pasties cover their nipples. Cover, coffee and tips: $13.50.
- I usually go home after the burlesque show. But tonight I knew was my best night to pick up a North Star Roller Girls ticket at Red's Savoy. So I decided to eat there (which I charged to my credit card) and then buy a ticket, which has to be cash only: $12.
- Saturday, coffee at the mall. With tip: $1.75.
- The concert. Went to the Depot next door between opening and main. When I bought my Hutchinson ticket I was also given a dollar off coupon for a drink there. Pabst Blue Ribbon was already three bucks, so minus a buck, plus tip: $3.
- Late-Night Coffee: $3.
- Strip club. Tips only: $8.
- Late-Night Italian: $13.50.
- This is why I love to work: I am so busy I did not crack open my wallet between Sunday (when I used my credit card) and Friday, when I finally went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) and tipped the babes and got a dance with Carissa: $30.
- Late-Night Coffee: $3.
- Saturday I wanted to work on my sports column, so after the Twins game was rained out I went to the Megamall (I'm going there a lot. I went there tonight. It's becoming a place I escape to, which is bad because it's so far). After lugging my laptop all around for an open spot while the mall is packed, I finally saw the perfect table at Caribou open. It's perfect because it's one of the two or three sitting next to a plug. I should buy a battery. Unfortunately, after I bought a big mocha and planned to be there for hours, I was told that their Internet was busted. Still had to pay for my large mocha (with tip): $5.25.
- So I had to go to another coffeeshop, on the Convention Center side of downtown, to work on my column. Except that I didn't work on my column because I forgot to blog on WAF. At least their Internet worked. And I only got cheap coffee (also with tip) for: $2.
- North Star Roller Girls. PBR with tip: $7.
- Stripclub. Did not get coffee, but I did get a dance with Cicily: $28.
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Vikings (Re-Entry!). You cannot evaluate the strength of an organization's draft picks the day after they're picked. And I have no idea who most of the people drafted after the first round are; that's kind of because I doubt the value of anybody picked after the first round. But because of the trade they made hours before the NFL Draft, and based on all the chatter pundits have spewed so far, it looks like the ViQueens are considered to be one of the winners, and Rick Spielman is considered to have made an exquisite executive masterstroke. You don't say that a whole lot about the Vikes, let alone saying that at all, so the rare universally admired work by Spielman is recognized on the WMNSS with the top bunk.
I don't know how Cleveland thought the Vikings were going to trade the third pick overall to Tampa Bay; the Buccaneers did not have the draft picks the Browns have. And then figure that Cleveland had no reason to move up. The Browns were intent on drafting Running Back Trent Richardson; the Vikes weren't going to draft an RB because they still have Adrian Peterson, and I can't believe Tampa needs an RB when they have a productive LeGarrette Blount. I can only chalk up the Browns' inexplicable swapping of adjacent first round picks, and then throwing in 4th-, 5th and 7th-round picks, to paranoia. To move down one spot and get the guy they wanted all along, USC Left Tackle Matt Kalil, they got three extra selections. Again, I am unsure if the guys they got out of this trade will amount to a hill of beans. But better to have them than not have them, and therefore Spielman is lauded as a genius right now.
And give credit where it's due; it looks like Spielman drafted correctly. Yes, Morris Claiborne and even Oklahoma St. Wide Receiver Justin Blackmon would have filled big holes. But think of the public backlash if the ViQueens instead chose either a cornerback who failed the Wonderlic or the best player at a position not considered absolutely vital to win a title. There would have been a fucking riot at the team's official draft party at the Dome. With Kalil, assuming no shocking injury happens in his career, this is a set-it-and-forget-it pick; Minnesota is now good on the blind side for seven years, at least. Those who think they should have picked Claiborne of Blackmon instead have very good points. But this team blows; they need an upgrade just about everywhere. And it's very hard to pass up on the peace of mind that comes with a superlative left tackle who does his job quietly and thus very well.
I don't know much about Notre Dame Safety Harrison Smith, whom the Vikes picked after trading up with Baltimore to get into the back of the first round. I'm skeptical that he's the second-best safety in the draft because he's white, but that's racist. Note that with the rest of their haul, the franchise selected two guys from USC (yay! -- and by the way, the second Trojan is Tight End/Fullback Rhett Ellison, who said he was shocked he was drafted at all and talked to the team over the phone in tears), two guys from Notre Dame (they're a rival, but respect for the institution), and two guys from Arkansas (no reaction). But they drafted ten new guys to replace the dregs they had on their 3-13 squad last year. Now about that stadium. ...
#-2: Swarm (Last Week: -1). You know, I feel bad for putting the Smarm second this week. They did nothing wrong; in fact, their 16-13 victory over Colorado Saturday at the Xcel Energy Center established some really important milestones. But really, if the Vikes do something notably positive, they get the advantage.
But let's nevertheless chart all the good things that happened Saturday. They have, by the hammer of Thor, momentum; has this team ever won four games in a row? They rally from below .500 to finish the season 9-7, their first winning record in four years. They have recorded the most wins at home, six, also since 2008. And, not for nothing, the number of tickets distributed topped 10,000 for the first time all season. Such are the benefits of winning.
So now they head to the NLL playoffs, seeking their first postseason win ever. They will have a rematch with the Mammoth next Saturday, this time in Colorado. But that team has none of the mo the Swarm have; not only did Minnesota finally beat the Mammoth for the first time this year, they gave them their fifth loss in a row ... and this is all after they began the season 11-0. They have to be a team in disarray, which has got to be good for the Swarm.
#-3: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -2). Ah, more home cookin'. They lost the series at Michigan St. with a ten-inning, 5-4 loss. But after beating North Dakota St. 11-7 in Fargo Wednesday, they have taken a pair of one-run games against Iowa at the Metrodome, Saturday's coming on a game-ending (I refuse to use the word "walk-off," it's stupid), bases-loaded walk. Although they're 26-19 overall and third in the Big Ten (I think) with a 9-5 record, I refuse to believe they're a serious tournament at-large candidate with a 2-6 road record.
They play the Hawkeyes Sunday afternoon for the sweep. On Tuesday there's a very special game against St. Thomas; it's the very last game at Siebert Field before it's condemned, closed down and turned into something else. They then begin playing their last home conference series against Penn St. The middle game on Saturday will be the annual Target Field game. Because my friend is from the area, we're probably going to go. The Gophers should play all their games there. They can figure it out.
#-4: Twins (Last Week: -3). You know, a part of me wants the Vikings to move, and I want one of the legislators who refuse to vote for the spending bill that gets the Vikings' new stadium built to say that they're voting no because he or she said yes to building a stadium for the Twins and they got burned because the team now sucks shit only three years after moving into Target Field. This team, the way they're playing now, deserves the universal, overreacting disgust football fans would feel because this organization failed to live up to their promise of staying competitive once Minnesota taxpayers ponied up hundreds of millions of dollars to a new building they said they needed to stay competitive.
This week, one in which they lost all five games they played, they have become Major League Baseball's slumpbuster, the fat chick out-of-luck guys on Spring Break settle on fucking just to say they fucked someone on Spring Break. The Boston Red Sox, a team in freefall whose manager, Bobby Valentine, looked weeks away from being canned in his first season on the job, came into Target Field and swept the Twinks. Two of the games were one-run games. They then started a series with the Royals at home on Friday and lost 7-6 when closer Matt Capps gave up the game-winning run, a homer. That broke the tie between them for the bottom of the American League Central. Not only is the organization the worst team in the division, they are the worst team in the A.L.
What they need is a rainout -- and they got that Saturday. Rain (which left the area a few hours after the game was supposed to start at noon) postponed the game till June 30, which will now be a split doubleheader. At least they didn't lose. But they'll trot their asses out Sunday afternoon against Kansas City before going out west to face the Angels and the Mariners.
#-Infinity: Timberwolves (Last Week: -4). Well, for a season that started with so much excitement and promise, and a possibility that they could entertain a spot in the postseason, the final week, where they choked away a huge lead to Golden State and then mentally checked out in the season finale against Denver (both games at home, by the way), made it feel like they were back to Square One again. That's not true; they have a bona fide star in Kevin Love, their Point Guard of the future (read: 2014) in Ricky Rubio, a competent back-up in Luke Ridnour and a promising big in Nikola Pekovic. But the fact remains that they lost 13 of their last 14 games and still have not won a home game in April since 2008. Can you fucking believe that, a home win in April last happened four goddamn years ago??
What may be most heartening about the Woofie Dogs' rise from oblivion is the Head Coach. After the embarrassing loss to the Nuggets, Rick Adelman seemed really pissed off after getting the feeling most of his players were just half-assing it Thursday. He sounded like he wanted to fix things. Moreover, it appeared that he almost relished the work in getting rid of the guys that didn't meet his standards. Since this team has been shamefully awful for so long, and seeing how this team played much better defense after he said that it was a priority, I think fans are going to side with Adelman, much more than with General Manager David Kahn.
But intention is one thing; execution is another. "I will have input," Adelman said in the final post-game press conference of the year, "I made it clear that I would when I signed here." (Maybe I shouldn't be quoting; I have no idea if this is what Adelman actually said.) While I'm sure he knows who needs to be let go and how to build this team into a winner, I don't know if Kahn is going to follow his advice. We were lucky to see Adelman and Kahn sitting together at the same table in the day-after autopsy that is the year-end press conference wrap-up; remember, when Adelman was introduced as the new coach for the franchise, Kahn wasn't even fucking there. I still don't see a line of communication between the two there, even if both want to make this club better.
So if Adelman wants someone or something and Kahn says no, won't Adelman bolt? Kahn remains Owner Glen Taylor's boy. I could totally see Adelman tell Kahn to take this job and shove it; he sounded like he liked retirement before he was courted by the Wolves. That's why he has leverage. If Adelman leaves, any feeling the populace gets that there is someone intelligent enough to point this organization in the right direction gets stomped to bits, and Kahn, already a douchebag in many eyes, will be tarred and feathered in absentia for fucking up yet again. In other words: What Adelman wants to fucking do, Kahn and Taylor, let him fucking do it.
I don't know how Cleveland thought the Vikings were going to trade the third pick overall to Tampa Bay; the Buccaneers did not have the draft picks the Browns have. And then figure that Cleveland had no reason to move up. The Browns were intent on drafting Running Back Trent Richardson; the Vikes weren't going to draft an RB because they still have Adrian Peterson, and I can't believe Tampa needs an RB when they have a productive LeGarrette Blount. I can only chalk up the Browns' inexplicable swapping of adjacent first round picks, and then throwing in 4th-, 5th and 7th-round picks, to paranoia. To move down one spot and get the guy they wanted all along, USC Left Tackle Matt Kalil, they got three extra selections. Again, I am unsure if the guys they got out of this trade will amount to a hill of beans. But better to have them than not have them, and therefore Spielman is lauded as a genius right now.
And give credit where it's due; it looks like Spielman drafted correctly. Yes, Morris Claiborne and even Oklahoma St. Wide Receiver Justin Blackmon would have filled big holes. But think of the public backlash if the ViQueens instead chose either a cornerback who failed the Wonderlic or the best player at a position not considered absolutely vital to win a title. There would have been a fucking riot at the team's official draft party at the Dome. With Kalil, assuming no shocking injury happens in his career, this is a set-it-and-forget-it pick; Minnesota is now good on the blind side for seven years, at least. Those who think they should have picked Claiborne of Blackmon instead have very good points. But this team blows; they need an upgrade just about everywhere. And it's very hard to pass up on the peace of mind that comes with a superlative left tackle who does his job quietly and thus very well.
I don't know much about Notre Dame Safety Harrison Smith, whom the Vikes picked after trading up with Baltimore to get into the back of the first round. I'm skeptical that he's the second-best safety in the draft because he's white, but that's racist. Note that with the rest of their haul, the franchise selected two guys from USC (yay! -- and by the way, the second Trojan is Tight End/Fullback Rhett Ellison, who said he was shocked he was drafted at all and talked to the team over the phone in tears), two guys from Notre Dame (they're a rival, but respect for the institution), and two guys from Arkansas (no reaction). But they drafted ten new guys to replace the dregs they had on their 3-13 squad last year. Now about that stadium. ...
#-2: Swarm (Last Week: -1). You know, I feel bad for putting the Smarm second this week. They did nothing wrong; in fact, their 16-13 victory over Colorado Saturday at the Xcel Energy Center established some really important milestones. But really, if the Vikes do something notably positive, they get the advantage.
But let's nevertheless chart all the good things that happened Saturday. They have, by the hammer of Thor, momentum; has this team ever won four games in a row? They rally from below .500 to finish the season 9-7, their first winning record in four years. They have recorded the most wins at home, six, also since 2008. And, not for nothing, the number of tickets distributed topped 10,000 for the first time all season. Such are the benefits of winning.
So now they head to the NLL playoffs, seeking their first postseason win ever. They will have a rematch with the Mammoth next Saturday, this time in Colorado. But that team has none of the mo the Swarm have; not only did Minnesota finally beat the Mammoth for the first time this year, they gave them their fifth loss in a row ... and this is all after they began the season 11-0. They have to be a team in disarray, which has got to be good for the Swarm.
#-3: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -2). Ah, more home cookin'. They lost the series at Michigan St. with a ten-inning, 5-4 loss. But after beating North Dakota St. 11-7 in Fargo Wednesday, they have taken a pair of one-run games against Iowa at the Metrodome, Saturday's coming on a game-ending (I refuse to use the word "walk-off," it's stupid), bases-loaded walk. Although they're 26-19 overall and third in the Big Ten (I think) with a 9-5 record, I refuse to believe they're a serious tournament at-large candidate with a 2-6 road record.
They play the Hawkeyes Sunday afternoon for the sweep. On Tuesday there's a very special game against St. Thomas; it's the very last game at Siebert Field before it's condemned, closed down and turned into something else. They then begin playing their last home conference series against Penn St. The middle game on Saturday will be the annual Target Field game. Because my friend is from the area, we're probably going to go. The Gophers should play all their games there. They can figure it out.
#-4: Twins (Last Week: -3). You know, a part of me wants the Vikings to move, and I want one of the legislators who refuse to vote for the spending bill that gets the Vikings' new stadium built to say that they're voting no because he or she said yes to building a stadium for the Twins and they got burned because the team now sucks shit only three years after moving into Target Field. This team, the way they're playing now, deserves the universal, overreacting disgust football fans would feel because this organization failed to live up to their promise of staying competitive once Minnesota taxpayers ponied up hundreds of millions of dollars to a new building they said they needed to stay competitive.
This week, one in which they lost all five games they played, they have become Major League Baseball's slumpbuster, the fat chick out-of-luck guys on Spring Break settle on fucking just to say they fucked someone on Spring Break. The Boston Red Sox, a team in freefall whose manager, Bobby Valentine, looked weeks away from being canned in his first season on the job, came into Target Field and swept the Twinks. Two of the games were one-run games. They then started a series with the Royals at home on Friday and lost 7-6 when closer Matt Capps gave up the game-winning run, a homer. That broke the tie between them for the bottom of the American League Central. Not only is the organization the worst team in the division, they are the worst team in the A.L.
What they need is a rainout -- and they got that Saturday. Rain (which left the area a few hours after the game was supposed to start at noon) postponed the game till June 30, which will now be a split doubleheader. At least they didn't lose. But they'll trot their asses out Sunday afternoon against Kansas City before going out west to face the Angels and the Mariners.
#-Infinity: Timberwolves (Last Week: -4). Well, for a season that started with so much excitement and promise, and a possibility that they could entertain a spot in the postseason, the final week, where they choked away a huge lead to Golden State and then mentally checked out in the season finale against Denver (both games at home, by the way), made it feel like they were back to Square One again. That's not true; they have a bona fide star in Kevin Love, their Point Guard of the future (read: 2014) in Ricky Rubio, a competent back-up in Luke Ridnour and a promising big in Nikola Pekovic. But the fact remains that they lost 13 of their last 14 games and still have not won a home game in April since 2008. Can you fucking believe that, a home win in April last happened four goddamn years ago??
What may be most heartening about the Woofie Dogs' rise from oblivion is the Head Coach. After the embarrassing loss to the Nuggets, Rick Adelman seemed really pissed off after getting the feeling most of his players were just half-assing it Thursday. He sounded like he wanted to fix things. Moreover, it appeared that he almost relished the work in getting rid of the guys that didn't meet his standards. Since this team has been shamefully awful for so long, and seeing how this team played much better defense after he said that it was a priority, I think fans are going to side with Adelman, much more than with General Manager David Kahn.
But intention is one thing; execution is another. "I will have input," Adelman said in the final post-game press conference of the year, "I made it clear that I would when I signed here." (Maybe I shouldn't be quoting; I have no idea if this is what Adelman actually said.) While I'm sure he knows who needs to be let go and how to build this team into a winner, I don't know if Kahn is going to follow his advice. We were lucky to see Adelman and Kahn sitting together at the same table in the day-after autopsy that is the year-end press conference wrap-up; remember, when Adelman was introduced as the new coach for the franchise, Kahn wasn't even fucking there. I still don't see a line of communication between the two there, even if both want to make this club better.
So if Adelman wants someone or something and Kahn says no, won't Adelman bolt? Kahn remains Owner Glen Taylor's boy. I could totally see Adelman tell Kahn to take this job and shove it; he sounded like he liked retirement before he was courted by the Wolves. That's why he has leverage. If Adelman leaves, any feeling the populace gets that there is someone intelligent enough to point this organization in the right direction gets stomped to bits, and Kahn, already a douchebag in many eyes, will be tarred and feathered in absentia for fucking up yet again. In other words: What Adelman wants to fucking do, Kahn and Taylor, let him fucking do it.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
Is Grandmother Slipping Away From Me?
I couldn't take it anymore. I had acceded to My Father's wishes and stayed away from her, but I couldn't for long. At the very least I had to know if she was doing OK.
So yesterday, after work, I called the group home. I got the on-call nurse. I asked her how she was doing. Health-wise she was OK, though the only thing Grandmother keeps saying is that she wants to go home. And then a surprise: The old people there were having dinner, and the nurse just happened to be standing next to her. So she gave the phone to her.
The only thing in our 30-second conversation she said, besides the "I'm OK" boilerplate, is whether she could go home. Once again, I told her she couldn't because Father has barred her from coming back.
But that wasn't the thing the bothers me the most. The thing that bothers me the most is that when Grandmother got the phone and said "Hello," and when I said "Grandmother?" she didn't say my name, as she always has. She just said hello and asked if she could come home.
I'm worried that she has started to forget who I am. If she doesn't remember my name, why would she remember my identity? This is what I was afraid of when My Father started to tell me to stay away from her. I don't know if he is legitimately concerned for my safety around her of he's scared I'll get swept up in any potential legal dealings her and her boyfriend are embroiled in. However, I am paranoid that this is his way of severing my ties with her, which, frankly, are much stronger than the ones with him. She was my caretaker when I was growing up when my parents were out working. They provided the home, but they weren't the ones I came home to. I'm not saying he's jealous, but I'm saying he's trying to wipe any imprint Grandmother had on this family. It doesn't help that Grandmother has memory problems; me staying away long enough for her not to remember who I am if and when I ever come back will do that.
I can't do this. I'll try and protect myself, so far as I can, but I have to see her. Soon.
So yesterday, after work, I called the group home. I got the on-call nurse. I asked her how she was doing. Health-wise she was OK, though the only thing Grandmother keeps saying is that she wants to go home. And then a surprise: The old people there were having dinner, and the nurse just happened to be standing next to her. So she gave the phone to her.
The only thing in our 30-second conversation she said, besides the "I'm OK" boilerplate, is whether she could go home. Once again, I told her she couldn't because Father has barred her from coming back.
But that wasn't the thing the bothers me the most. The thing that bothers me the most is that when Grandmother got the phone and said "Hello," and when I said "Grandmother?" she didn't say my name, as she always has. She just said hello and asked if she could come home.
I'm worried that she has started to forget who I am. If she doesn't remember my name, why would she remember my identity? This is what I was afraid of when My Father started to tell me to stay away from her. I don't know if he is legitimately concerned for my safety around her of he's scared I'll get swept up in any potential legal dealings her and her boyfriend are embroiled in. However, I am paranoid that this is his way of severing my ties with her, which, frankly, are much stronger than the ones with him. She was my caretaker when I was growing up when my parents were out working. They provided the home, but they weren't the ones I came home to. I'm not saying he's jealous, but I'm saying he's trying to wipe any imprint Grandmother had on this family. It doesn't help that Grandmother has memory problems; me staying away long enough for her not to remember who I am if and when I ever come back will do that.
I can't do this. I'll try and protect myself, so far as I can, but I have to see her. Soon.
Friday, April 27, 2012
My Fucking Father just came in here, his computer room, and harped on me again to get my important stuff out of the house. That's bad enough, but he had to remind me that, "Pretty soon, The Store no more."
STOP TALKING ABOUT THE STORE CLOSING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND STOP GETTING ON MY ASS ABOUT MY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
STOP TALKING ABOUT THE STORE CLOSING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND STOP GETTING ON MY ASS ABOUT MY SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Plastic Garbage Receptacle ... Thingy Rocks My World
Got home from watching the NFL Draft at Hooters MOA. As I turn to go to the front door, I am confronted by something so ominous I still don't know how to process its very existence.
Right there, right in front of the master bedroom, was a green garbage plastic ... receptacle thingy. You know, when you have plastic bags of trash, and you don't have room in the house for them any more, so you take them outside? Yeah, and you put them in here. Whatever you call that thing.
I don't know what it's really called because we've never had to use them before. Any garbage we've had, as far as I can remember, was taken to The Store. There was a huge dumpster there and so they just threw it in there. We never had to worry about putting out the trash because The Store took care of it.
And so that's why seeing this huge fucking thing has knocked me for a loop. Not only is it another chore to do -- another change in the household that I will never be prepared for, let alone accept -- this is yet another goddamn sign that The Store is indeed closing. It's been on borrowed time since August, but now that we need it (or at least my parents think we need it -- I could just throw the trash somewhere in the gas station receptacle, can't I?), I come face-to-face with its impending death. And it's a loss on a dependence that worked, and one that made us unique. I felt a small sense of superiority that we didn't have to take out the trash. But now we are just like every one of our goddamn neighbors.
And I won't talk about how My Fucking Father washed my clothes, redid my bed and picked up my sister's bedroom while I was gone all day. He has nothing to do so he starts messing around with my shit? Grandmother did this and he threw her into a nursing home because of it.
I'm so depressed. My All-Time Favorite has another house party tomorrow. I called her this afternoon to tell I didn't have money for her handjob. But maybe now I should, just to get my spirits up.
Right there, right in front of the master bedroom, was a green garbage plastic ... receptacle thingy. You know, when you have plastic bags of trash, and you don't have room in the house for them any more, so you take them outside? Yeah, and you put them in here. Whatever you call that thing.
I don't know what it's really called because we've never had to use them before. Any garbage we've had, as far as I can remember, was taken to The Store. There was a huge dumpster there and so they just threw it in there. We never had to worry about putting out the trash because The Store took care of it.
And so that's why seeing this huge fucking thing has knocked me for a loop. Not only is it another chore to do -- another change in the household that I will never be prepared for, let alone accept -- this is yet another goddamn sign that The Store is indeed closing. It's been on borrowed time since August, but now that we need it (or at least my parents think we need it -- I could just throw the trash somewhere in the gas station receptacle, can't I?), I come face-to-face with its impending death. And it's a loss on a dependence that worked, and one that made us unique. I felt a small sense of superiority that we didn't have to take out the trash. But now we are just like every one of our goddamn neighbors.
And I won't talk about how My Fucking Father washed my clothes, redid my bed and picked up my sister's bedroom while I was gone all day. He has nothing to do so he starts messing around with my shit? Grandmother did this and he threw her into a nursing home because of it.
I'm so depressed. My All-Time Favorite has another house party tomorrow. I called her this afternoon to tell I didn't have money for her handjob. But maybe now I should, just to get my spirits up.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Crossroads At 6:57 PM
Wednesday nights may be the most variegated TV watching night of the week for me. I have become a fast fan of ABC's Wednesday night comedies, specifically the family-friendly The Middle and Suburgatory. I used to take a break for a half-hour, (for some reason, even though I know Modern Family is a quality show, I can't get into it. I tried once a couple months ago, but it was the episode where the father learned that his oldest daughter, played by Sarah Hyland, is sexually active. Now it's reality, but it kind of ruined the image of what I think the show should be. Then again, it gives me an excuse to look at bikini photos of Hyland [as well as Ashley Tisdale, both of whom are the new spokesmodels for Ocean Pacific, a brand name that's a blast from the past but I guess is still doing swimwear] and masturbate, but that too reinforces the fact that Modern Family is not the wholesome show it sets out to be) before going on to the arch yet funny Happy Endings, but that was before America's Next Top Model came on. I finish that with the last standing iteration of Law & Order, namely SVU, then I continue on with the news, then late-night, then Internet, then overnight news, then I'm done.
That was the plan last night, getting some hardcore TV watching in, which is something I don't do a lot anymore, so those statistics saying that Americans watch, like, 50 hours of TV a week doesn't apply to me, even though I'm trying. But today I was tired after coming home from work. For the past week my parents would harp on me to shower before eating, but for some reason Father was talking to the local utility -- are they selling the house? -- and Mother was busy cooking. Moreover, I had a bowel movement, a long one. So after he got done with his conversation, it was time to eat; Father called me while I was still in the bathroom. Thanks for the privacy, pop. At least neither paid attention to the fact I took a shit instead of a shower.
After eating I felt I had to go again. So not while was I tired, I was exhausted from all the excreting I did. I was afraid I was on the throne so long I missed the beginning of The Middle. But today I had impeccable timing: My watch said 6:57.
And then I thought, Well. ... Man, I was really, really tired. As much as I wanted to watch TV, the prospect of sitting on my chair that isn't long enough in the back to rest my head for three hours didn't appeal to me at that moment. But I wanted to watch TV. So I made myself a deal; I was going to rest my head for about 30 minutes and, unfortunately, punt The Middle. If I'm still up, that means I don't need to rest and I'll watch TV. But if I pass out, well, hey, I need to sleep.
Well, despite hearing Father yell at Mother from the hallway outside, I did manage to fall asleep. I got up at a quarter past midnight, totally missing all my shows as well as the Washington Capitals' overtime win and series upset over the Boston Bruins. I'm particularly bummed I missed hearing that online, as well as all the shows. But, hey, I need to sleep.
Now to finish this blog post up and try and go to sleep. No use getting five hours of sleep if I last slept at midnight. I'll be dragging all fucking day.
That was the plan last night, getting some hardcore TV watching in, which is something I don't do a lot anymore, so those statistics saying that Americans watch, like, 50 hours of TV a week doesn't apply to me, even though I'm trying. But today I was tired after coming home from work. For the past week my parents would harp on me to shower before eating, but for some reason Father was talking to the local utility -- are they selling the house? -- and Mother was busy cooking. Moreover, I had a bowel movement, a long one. So after he got done with his conversation, it was time to eat; Father called me while I was still in the bathroom. Thanks for the privacy, pop. At least neither paid attention to the fact I took a shit instead of a shower.
After eating I felt I had to go again. So not while was I tired, I was exhausted from all the excreting I did. I was afraid I was on the throne so long I missed the beginning of The Middle. But today I had impeccable timing: My watch said 6:57.
And then I thought, Well. ... Man, I was really, really tired. As much as I wanted to watch TV, the prospect of sitting on my chair that isn't long enough in the back to rest my head for three hours didn't appeal to me at that moment. But I wanted to watch TV. So I made myself a deal; I was going to rest my head for about 30 minutes and, unfortunately, punt The Middle. If I'm still up, that means I don't need to rest and I'll watch TV. But if I pass out, well, hey, I need to sleep.
Well, despite hearing Father yell at Mother from the hallway outside, I did manage to fall asleep. I got up at a quarter past midnight, totally missing all my shows as well as the Washington Capitals' overtime win and series upset over the Boston Bruins. I'm particularly bummed I missed hearing that online, as well as all the shows. But, hey, I need to sleep.
Now to finish this blog post up and try and go to sleep. No use getting five hours of sleep if I last slept at midnight. I'll be dragging all fucking day.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
The Following, Following Week At The Same Party
Didn't get two strippers to handle my cock like the week before, but I got some intimate hand lovin' from my ATV, ***e*, for free!
Before the party she called me to tell me that she would be at the party. "Make sure you wear those pants that I like!" she screamed, referring to one of the two porno pants I always wear because a) they're made out of soft fabric and b) their flies are not zippers but those buttons you snap, so I can slip my dick in and out with ease.
I had to make sure that I got a little sumpin' sumpin' from her request (though asking her to touch my pee-pee is something I would've asked for anyway), so I said back to her, "As long as you reach into them, if you know what I mean!" I was trying to be clever, but why did I need to say, "If you know what I mean" if reaching into my pants is exactly what I meant? I have to work on being deft of phrase. And by the way, at least she did understand what I meant: "Oh, I'll take a ya!" How could I not go into debt after hearing a promise of sexual shenanigans like that?
My God, ***e* was at her horniest that night. It was a bit of a buzzkill that there were other guys there (for a party like this it was pretty busy), but at least there was a window where there was no one else up at the landing where the living room was and the lapdances take place. I whisked her up there with the quickness, as MILF Hunter v.1.0 would occasionally say!
She immediately threw me down on the couch, opened up my legs, sized up my crotch area and the situation with my pants (I think she was hoping I would be wearing my brown ones, but they now have a huge tear in it [maybe I'll blog about that later] so I was sporting my trusty green ones now), and I think -- I think -- she untied the string holding them up. ***e* then turned around, laid down on the couch but laid her right leg on top of my left leg (she laid her head to the left of me), and thrust her right hand down my pants! And then she said, "Oh, someone's done a little manscaping!" as she grabbed my swelling joystick!!! I continue to think manscaping is gross and unnecessary if I pay for all the sexual activity I get, like from her. But even though I whispered a quick no, she nonetheless gently squeezed my penis. I wonder how far she would have gone, how far I could have gone in response, and if she would have charged me more if I spewed all over the couch. But just as it was about to get real good, up came another stripper doing the party and a willing participant, so quickly ***e* took her out of my pants, sat up, and danced me proper. Sad face :(
But I couldn't stop there. I had this ingenious plan facilitated by the most fortuitous things that have happened to me in a long time. The partygoers' bathroom is down the hall from the living room/LD area. It has two doors: One from the hallway, and one connected to the master bedroom ... which also serves as the strippers' dressing room for these house parties. I always had dreams that ***e* or someone else who has seen my dick might want to play extracurricular on the sly. And it just so happens that ***e* had to run home after my dance. Time to put it into action!
I made sure she went to the master bed well ahead of me so as not to raise suspicion from the guys. I make it a habit of going to the bathroom frequently, so I went again it didn't seem out of place. I locked the main door and, as quietly as possible so the others couldn't hear, I knocked on the other door and whispered her real name. I knew ***e* wouldn't freak; she replied, "Who is it?"
It's me ... and since I couldn't help that my plan was about to work, I took out my cock. She asked me to wait a second, and when she unlocked and opened the door, the first thing she saw her old familiar friend, my main vein, waiting for her touch!!!
The funniest thing was, she was on the phone, presumably talking to her father when she saw me exposed!! Her car broke down and she was using his to get to the party. Wow, that's fucked up and awesome! She was shocked by my cock and closed the door for a second, but she opened it again. And God bless her, she knew what I wanted and gave it to me; she switched hands and used her right hand to squeeze my penis one, two, three times!!! I don't often see my dick squeezed, but with virtually complete privacy, great lighting and me finally having the foresight to see my little brain get what he deserves, trust me, it's a memory I will have for a lifetime. I could feel my penis swelling with blood the same it did after ***e* got done with it!! I recommend you all try it.
I left the bathroom and she the master bedroom with no one the wiser, or if no one giving a shit. ***e* repeatedly said she had to get her dad's car home, and yet she stayed, and so she sported a little more exhibitionism, this time in the kitchen. Don't know how, but she unbuttoned her top and took out her petite tits. I started playing with the left one while the guy on the other side of her took care of her right one. I should've started biting it; I don't think any of the half-dozen people in the kitchen at the time would've minded. She even groped a guy in front of me as well as me. Man, come to think of it, what would've happened if I just took myself out again?
And the best part was, after all the extra play she gave me, she only wanted twenty bucks!!! God I love her.
Because of the privacy and the overall great time, I went back the following week, one final time.
Before the party she called me to tell me that she would be at the party. "Make sure you wear those pants that I like!" she screamed, referring to one of the two porno pants I always wear because a) they're made out of soft fabric and b) their flies are not zippers but those buttons you snap, so I can slip my dick in and out with ease.
I had to make sure that I got a little sumpin' sumpin' from her request (though asking her to touch my pee-pee is something I would've asked for anyway), so I said back to her, "As long as you reach into them, if you know what I mean!" I was trying to be clever, but why did I need to say, "If you know what I mean" if reaching into my pants is exactly what I meant? I have to work on being deft of phrase. And by the way, at least she did understand what I meant: "Oh, I'll take a ya!" How could I not go into debt after hearing a promise of sexual shenanigans like that?
My God, ***e* was at her horniest that night. It was a bit of a buzzkill that there were other guys there (for a party like this it was pretty busy), but at least there was a window where there was no one else up at the landing where the living room was and the lapdances take place. I whisked her up there with the quickness, as MILF Hunter v.1.0 would occasionally say!
She immediately threw me down on the couch, opened up my legs, sized up my crotch area and the situation with my pants (I think she was hoping I would be wearing my brown ones, but they now have a huge tear in it [maybe I'll blog about that later] so I was sporting my trusty green ones now), and I think -- I think -- she untied the string holding them up. ***e* then turned around, laid down on the couch but laid her right leg on top of my left leg (she laid her head to the left of me), and thrust her right hand down my pants! And then she said, "Oh, someone's done a little manscaping!" as she grabbed my swelling joystick!!! I continue to think manscaping is gross and unnecessary if I pay for all the sexual activity I get, like from her. But even though I whispered a quick no, she nonetheless gently squeezed my penis. I wonder how far she would have gone, how far I could have gone in response, and if she would have charged me more if I spewed all over the couch. But just as it was about to get real good, up came another stripper doing the party and a willing participant, so quickly ***e* took her out of my pants, sat up, and danced me proper. Sad face :(
But I couldn't stop there. I had this ingenious plan facilitated by the most fortuitous things that have happened to me in a long time. The partygoers' bathroom is down the hall from the living room/LD area. It has two doors: One from the hallway, and one connected to the master bedroom ... which also serves as the strippers' dressing room for these house parties. I always had dreams that ***e* or someone else who has seen my dick might want to play extracurricular on the sly. And it just so happens that ***e* had to run home after my dance. Time to put it into action!
I made sure she went to the master bed well ahead of me so as not to raise suspicion from the guys. I make it a habit of going to the bathroom frequently, so I went again it didn't seem out of place. I locked the main door and, as quietly as possible so the others couldn't hear, I knocked on the other door and whispered her real name. I knew ***e* wouldn't freak; she replied, "Who is it?"
It's me ... and since I couldn't help that my plan was about to work, I took out my cock. She asked me to wait a second, and when she unlocked and opened the door, the first thing she saw her old familiar friend, my main vein, waiting for her touch!!!
The funniest thing was, she was on the phone, presumably talking to her father when she saw me exposed!! Her car broke down and she was using his to get to the party. Wow, that's fucked up and awesome! She was shocked by my cock and closed the door for a second, but she opened it again. And God bless her, she knew what I wanted and gave it to me; she switched hands and used her right hand to squeeze my penis one, two, three times!!! I don't often see my dick squeezed, but with virtually complete privacy, great lighting and me finally having the foresight to see my little brain get what he deserves, trust me, it's a memory I will have for a lifetime. I could feel my penis swelling with blood the same it did after ***e* got done with it!! I recommend you all try it.
I left the bathroom and she the master bedroom with no one the wiser, or if no one giving a shit. ***e* repeatedly said she had to get her dad's car home, and yet she stayed, and so she sported a little more exhibitionism, this time in the kitchen. Don't know how, but she unbuttoned her top and took out her petite tits. I started playing with the left one while the guy on the other side of her took care of her right one. I should've started biting it; I don't think any of the half-dozen people in the kitchen at the time would've minded. She even groped a guy in front of me as well as me. Man, come to think of it, what would've happened if I just took myself out again?
And the best part was, after all the extra play she gave me, she only wanted twenty bucks!!! God I love her.
Because of the privacy and the overall great time, I went back the following week, one final time.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
No More Lottery
Good news is The Store hasn't closed -- yet. The bad news is that over dinner Father asked me how to find the latest winning lottery numbers ... because they have ended their contract with the Minnesota State Lottery.
I remember the first day of the lottery, April 17, 1990. We're Chinese, so it was natural that The Store would sell lottery tickets, which started off only with scratch-offs. (The first actual lottery game, Powerball, began in April 1992.) I remember my parents coming home and dumping this huge bag of used-up lottery tickets (the first scratch-off game had the Minnesota State Lottery loon logo, which they use to this day) right in front of my brother, Grandmother and I while my brother and I were playing. I was blown away. I thought, This legalized form of gambling is popular!
And now it's gone.
I remember the first day of the lottery, April 17, 1990. We're Chinese, so it was natural that The Store would sell lottery tickets, which started off only with scratch-offs. (The first actual lottery game, Powerball, began in April 1992.) I remember my parents coming home and dumping this huge bag of used-up lottery tickets (the first scratch-off game had the Minnesota State Lottery loon logo, which they use to this day) right in front of my brother, Grandmother and I while my brother and I were playing. I was blown away. I thought, This legalized form of gambling is popular!
And now it's gone.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Expenses Without Receipts
Since Wednesday the 11th:
ETA: No I'm not caught up through the 15th. I'm not even done with the 14th. What the hell was I thinking?
- I think we go to Friday, where I wanted to go to a concert by a group called The Jelly Project, who had a CD release party concert at the West Bank. I had heard of these guys only through a stripper at My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Division), who is a huge fan of these guys. She ain't the only one, because when I tried to buy a ticket, they said they were sold out. So I walked to the Seven Corners to a place called the Corner Bar, where I bought a beer, snacked on some popcorn and peanuts, and watched playoff hockey. With tip: $4.
- Later I went to My Favorite Coffeeshop (Late-Night Edition). I drink coffee there now because the whip cream with the mocha I used to get, uh, sucks. With tip: $3.
- Saturday late afternoon, after the Twinks game, I went to the Depot, restaurant connected to First Avenue, to get a ticket to the Eric Hutchinson concert (quick review: I still think that "Watching You Watch Him" is an incredibly catchy tune, but I didn't foresee him being a white-boy soul singer), which, as I blogged about, unexpectedly cost: $20.
- That night I went to the Swarm game. Ticket, hot dog, and beer -- God, I should have written this down -- was: $24.25. Maybe?
ETA: No I'm not caught up through the 15th. I'm not even done with the 14th. What the hell was I thinking?
- Between the Twins and the Swarm I went down to the Mall of America to kill time. I think -- though I don't remember anymore -- I went to the Stone Cold Creamery for some ice cream. With tip: $4.50.
- With this being Saturday I know that I went to My Favorite Stripclub after the Swarm. Felt frisky, got a dance from Kyan. Total: $28.
- Then My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place, with tip: $12.50.
I Need To Whore Myself More
Have I plugged my writing on here, ever? I should, shouldn't I? Well, I just published a review of the 2012 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue on another website I contribute (very occasionally) for, Sports Alert. Read it and tell me what you think!
Sunday, April 22, 2012
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Swarm (Last Week: 0). Has this team ever won three in a row? They have now, after a 15-10 defeat of Philadelphia at the X Saturday night. They have won both games against the Wings, go above .500 for the season (8-7), and locked up the third seed in the Western Conference.
I think the five-goal win is the most impressive thing to take away from the game. The team may have been inspired by Defenseman Joe Wasson, who was recently diagnosed with cancer. Saturday's game, coincidentally, was their annual fundraising effort against cancer.
The Swarm know that they will visit Colorado to begin the National Lacrosse League playoffs in two weeks. They also know that they will face the Mammoth next Saturday to end the regular season, this time at the Xcel Energy Center. This has the makings of a hell of a home-and-home.
(Oh, by the way, I brought the Swarm down a notch only because they clinched a playoff spot last week and thought they deserved a break from negative numbers. It's a one-time thing only, so I pushed them down to -1 this week, even though they still top the survey. Hey, if they make hay in the postseason they'll rise above -1.)
#-2: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -1). Nothin' like home cookin'. On Sunday they finished a home sweep of Northwestern, then took both games of a midweek series against Nebraska-Omaha also at the Metrodome. This weekend they are at Michigan St., where Friday's opener was postponed and the teams split Saturday's doubleheader. So a 4-1 week with a 23-18 record overall and a 7-4 record in the B1G. They finish up against the Spartans, have a one-off at North Dakota St. Wednesday, then begin a series at home against Iowa.
#-3: Twins (Last Week: -2). I really, really thought the Twinks would go winless this screening week. I mean, they looked like shit against Texas, and then they had to go on the road to face the Yankees, who has this franchise by the balls, and Tampa.
So getting out 3-4 exceeds my wildest expectations. Sure they got swept by the Rangers; right now they're the best team in Major League Baseball. But MLB gave the club four games against the Yanks and they managed to split. They managed to split! Yes, it's only 2-2, but knowing how this squad pisses down their legs in the face of the Evil Empire, and with them coming off a 99-loss season, this actually is progress!
And by the way, thank God for Josh Willingham. He has hit in every single game so far this season, which might have surpassed Kirby Puckett as the Twin with the longest hitting streak to start a year. He is the steady offensive punch that the team used to be able to rely on Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau for. This free agent pick-up might represent a new way of approaching the game, a grit that oftentimes was missing from previous Twins regimes.
They come back home after finishing up with the Bay Rays Sunday. First it's the reeling Red Sox, then after Thursday off they host Kansas City. I should be working the Saturday game against those Royals.
#-4: Timberwolves (Last Week: -3). Did this team lose 11 in a row last year? In any year? The Woofie Dogs did that after dropping games at Indiana (did you know the Pacers are the team with the third-best record in the East???) and home to Memphis. But luckily we won't have to say how this team lost every single game for the rest of the season. Thank the hapless Detroit Pistons for that; on Thursday the team went to Auburn Hills and broke their losing streak with a 91-80 win. At least they can finish the season having faint memories of what it felt like to win.
And finish the season they soon will. This is the last week of the regular season. The Timberwolves have two games left, both at Target Center: Golden State this evening, Denver on Thursday to end the year. Wait, do they have four days off between games? I think this is the first time they have such a long break between contests. And of course it happens at the very end of the season.
#-5: Wild (Re-Entry!). The Mild don't reappear on the WMNSS because of anything they did. Nothing happened with this team, at least nothing important. I just wanted to put this club on because Nashville won their first-round playoff series over Detroit Friday. How does that relate to the Mild? Remember that the Mild and the Predators comprised the four teams (along with the Columbus Blue Jackets and the Atlanta Thrashers, now known as the Winnipeg Jets v.2.0) of the Last Expansion in the NHL. It's been an underwhelming lot when it comes to playoff success -- no Stanley Cup wins, no Stanley Cup Finals appearances.
But the Wild did make the conference finals, and they so far are the only one of the four teams to accomplish that feat. They used to be the only one of the four to have one a postseason series period, but that was matched by Nashville last year. Now, the Predators have done the Mild one better: By defeating the Red Wings, they have advanced in the playoffs for the second straight year. Not only have the Mild not done that, they have only advanced in the playoffs once in franchise history altogether. That means, in my book, that the Nashville Predators have surpassed the Mild as The Best Latest Expansion Franchise. Again we're not talking about world-beaters here, but being the best of a sorry group was the only thing this organization had. And now it's gone.
I think the five-goal win is the most impressive thing to take away from the game. The team may have been inspired by Defenseman Joe Wasson, who was recently diagnosed with cancer. Saturday's game, coincidentally, was their annual fundraising effort against cancer.
The Swarm know that they will visit Colorado to begin the National Lacrosse League playoffs in two weeks. They also know that they will face the Mammoth next Saturday to end the regular season, this time at the Xcel Energy Center. This has the makings of a hell of a home-and-home.
(Oh, by the way, I brought the Swarm down a notch only because they clinched a playoff spot last week and thought they deserved a break from negative numbers. It's a one-time thing only, so I pushed them down to -1 this week, even though they still top the survey. Hey, if they make hay in the postseason they'll rise above -1.)
#-2: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -1). Nothin' like home cookin'. On Sunday they finished a home sweep of Northwestern, then took both games of a midweek series against Nebraska-Omaha also at the Metrodome. This weekend they are at Michigan St., where Friday's opener was postponed and the teams split Saturday's doubleheader. So a 4-1 week with a 23-18 record overall and a 7-4 record in the B1G. They finish up against the Spartans, have a one-off at North Dakota St. Wednesday, then begin a series at home against Iowa.
#-3: Twins (Last Week: -2). I really, really thought the Twinks would go winless this screening week. I mean, they looked like shit against Texas, and then they had to go on the road to face the Yankees, who has this franchise by the balls, and Tampa.
So getting out 3-4 exceeds my wildest expectations. Sure they got swept by the Rangers; right now they're the best team in Major League Baseball. But MLB gave the club four games against the Yanks and they managed to split. They managed to split! Yes, it's only 2-2, but knowing how this squad pisses down their legs in the face of the Evil Empire, and with them coming off a 99-loss season, this actually is progress!
And by the way, thank God for Josh Willingham. He has hit in every single game so far this season, which might have surpassed Kirby Puckett as the Twin with the longest hitting streak to start a year. He is the steady offensive punch that the team used to be able to rely on Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau for. This free agent pick-up might represent a new way of approaching the game, a grit that oftentimes was missing from previous Twins regimes.
They come back home after finishing up with the Bay Rays Sunday. First it's the reeling Red Sox, then after Thursday off they host Kansas City. I should be working the Saturday game against those Royals.
#-4: Timberwolves (Last Week: -3). Did this team lose 11 in a row last year? In any year? The Woofie Dogs did that after dropping games at Indiana (did you know the Pacers are the team with the third-best record in the East???) and home to Memphis. But luckily we won't have to say how this team lost every single game for the rest of the season. Thank the hapless Detroit Pistons for that; on Thursday the team went to Auburn Hills and broke their losing streak with a 91-80 win. At least they can finish the season having faint memories of what it felt like to win.
And finish the season they soon will. This is the last week of the regular season. The Timberwolves have two games left, both at Target Center: Golden State this evening, Denver on Thursday to end the year. Wait, do they have four days off between games? I think this is the first time they have such a long break between contests. And of course it happens at the very end of the season.
#-5: Wild (Re-Entry!). The Mild don't reappear on the WMNSS because of anything they did. Nothing happened with this team, at least nothing important. I just wanted to put this club on because Nashville won their first-round playoff series over Detroit Friday. How does that relate to the Mild? Remember that the Mild and the Predators comprised the four teams (along with the Columbus Blue Jackets and the Atlanta Thrashers, now known as the Winnipeg Jets v.2.0) of the Last Expansion in the NHL. It's been an underwhelming lot when it comes to playoff success -- no Stanley Cup wins, no Stanley Cup Finals appearances.
But the Wild did make the conference finals, and they so far are the only one of the four teams to accomplish that feat. They used to be the only one of the four to have one a postseason series period, but that was matched by Nashville last year. Now, the Predators have done the Mild one better: By defeating the Red Wings, they have advanced in the playoffs for the second straight year. Not only have the Mild not done that, they have only advanced in the playoffs once in franchise history altogether. That means, in my book, that the Nashville Predators have surpassed the Mild as The Best Latest Expansion Franchise. Again we're not talking about world-beaters here, but being the best of a sorry group was the only thing this organization had. And now it's gone.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Grandmother Goes To The Alzheimer's Wing
Sunday I receive a frantic call from Grandmother's "boyfriend." He's with her. It was good to hear from her, but she sounded frantic, again. From what I could gather, she just went to the physician, received a clean bill of health, and wanted to go back home. Now.
I told her that that can't happen. It's hard to reassure someone when you can't fully speak the language, so the best I could do was to tell her I would see her the next day, when Dancing With The Stars is on.
I asked Grandmother to put her boy back on the phone. I forgot everything he said, but he did say that "she crazy." He says that so often we he talks about her while or after visiting her that either he really believes that or he's just saying that so he could keep her all to himself.
---
Forgot how it happened on Monday, but My Father told me to in fact not visit Grandmother on Monday. There was an incident. Don't know if he told me, don't know if he said it well, but whatever it was, I didn't go. Hey, if I did I could get thrown out of the house.
---
Tuesday I asked My Father if I could go. No, he said, he doesn't recommend it. I think he said that he had go to the nursing home himself that morning, take Grandmother to the bank and get a statement or something. This might have something to do with the money she took out of her checking account before the nursing home could. Again, I don't think that makes her crazy, just crafty.
I did not go. I made myself busy doing taxes, but I had to heed My Father's wishes. And you know, if what he says is true, maybe I should stay away.
---
Then I get a call Thursday after I finish with an experiment. It's Grandmother's boyfriend again. This time he had just visited Grandmother. She has been moved to the secured/isolated/dementia wing of the home. He said that she had tried to hail a taxi and/or borrow $50 to get back home, so I guess that was the reason she's been moved. She currently is very upset.
And now I am alarmed. However, I will continue insist this, she is not crazy, despite the fact that her boy again said "she crazy." Man, if you think she's crazy, why the fuck do you keep seeing her? I want to see her and I don't want to think she's crazy. Just confused as to why she was told she was fine and yet can't come home. Yeah, I've told her repeatedly that it doesn't matter if she's healthy or sick, my parents wanted her gone. She forgets that, but I can understand the anxiety behind being in a foreign place and seeing no one you're familiar with. And now a huge part of the nursing home is locked from her because she's an escape risk.
I need to know what the doctor said. Maybe she wasn't given a clean bill of health. Can the nursing home lock her in the Alzheimer's wing because they're just afraid she'll take off? Did My Fucking Father give the OK to put her there? Was it his idea to throw her in there?
Goddammit, I need to know.
I told her that that can't happen. It's hard to reassure someone when you can't fully speak the language, so the best I could do was to tell her I would see her the next day, when Dancing With The Stars is on.
I asked Grandmother to put her boy back on the phone. I forgot everything he said, but he did say that "she crazy." He says that so often we he talks about her while or after visiting her that either he really believes that or he's just saying that so he could keep her all to himself.
---
Forgot how it happened on Monday, but My Father told me to in fact not visit Grandmother on Monday. There was an incident. Don't know if he told me, don't know if he said it well, but whatever it was, I didn't go. Hey, if I did I could get thrown out of the house.
---
Tuesday I asked My Father if I could go. No, he said, he doesn't recommend it. I think he said that he had go to the nursing home himself that morning, take Grandmother to the bank and get a statement or something. This might have something to do with the money she took out of her checking account before the nursing home could. Again, I don't think that makes her crazy, just crafty.
I did not go. I made myself busy doing taxes, but I had to heed My Father's wishes. And you know, if what he says is true, maybe I should stay away.
---
Then I get a call Thursday after I finish with an experiment. It's Grandmother's boyfriend again. This time he had just visited Grandmother. She has been moved to the secured/isolated/dementia wing of the home. He said that she had tried to hail a taxi and/or borrow $50 to get back home, so I guess that was the reason she's been moved. She currently is very upset.
And now I am alarmed. However, I will continue insist this, she is not crazy, despite the fact that her boy again said "she crazy." Man, if you think she's crazy, why the fuck do you keep seeing her? I want to see her and I don't want to think she's crazy. Just confused as to why she was told she was fine and yet can't come home. Yeah, I've told her repeatedly that it doesn't matter if she's healthy or sick, my parents wanted her gone. She forgets that, but I can understand the anxiety behind being in a foreign place and seeing no one you're familiar with. And now a huge part of the nursing home is locked from her because she's an escape risk.
I need to know what the doctor said. Maybe she wasn't given a clean bill of health. Can the nursing home lock her in the Alzheimer's wing because they're just afraid she'll take off? Did My Fucking Father give the OK to put her there? Was it his idea to throw her in there?
Goddammit, I need to know.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Apparently The Store Is Not Closed, At Least Not Yet, Thank Buddha
Fell asleep shortly after Gabby Sidibe on Kimmel. I've been out every single night this week and I was tired, so fuck taking a shower.
I think I was unconscious for nine hours. Late in the sleep, I think, I had this nightmare where, somehow, my sister was back living at home. She directed me outside to the garage, where my parents are.
Now that I'm trying to remember, I kind of forgot most of it. Except the last part, where Mother said, "The Store? Oh, it closed."
That's scary, and yet I'm still confused. You see, ever since I thought they were closed for good, they have ... gone out. I think it's to The Store, but I've never found out, although my friend texted that he went to The Store last weekend and, thankfully, not only were they open but they were still selling lottery tickets.
I was afraid that my parents would wake me up when I wanted to sleep late on the weekends, but so far, that hasn't happened. And I didn't know what was going to happen when my test scorer told me I was furloughed for the week, but I hear them leave the house every morning (albeit a little later than they used to, like 9:30 or 10).
I would say that The Store is open for good, but I really should know better. I'm just thankful that The Store remains open for now.
I think I was unconscious for nine hours. Late in the sleep, I think, I had this nightmare where, somehow, my sister was back living at home. She directed me outside to the garage, where my parents are.
Now that I'm trying to remember, I kind of forgot most of it. Except the last part, where Mother said, "The Store? Oh, it closed."
That's scary, and yet I'm still confused. You see, ever since I thought they were closed for good, they have ... gone out. I think it's to The Store, but I've never found out, although my friend texted that he went to The Store last weekend and, thankfully, not only were they open but they were still selling lottery tickets.
I was afraid that my parents would wake me up when I wanted to sleep late on the weekends, but so far, that hasn't happened. And I didn't know what was going to happen when my test scorer told me I was furloughed for the week, but I hear them leave the house every morning (albeit a little later than they used to, like 9:30 or 10).
I would say that The Store is open for good, but I really should know better. I'm just thankful that The Store remains open for now.
Thursday, April 19, 2012
A Shower? I Take Umbrage!
I didn't plan on going out tonight. I've been out the past two days dealing with taxes and My Fucking Father telling me I need to take a shower. But, stupid me, I totally forgot he would tell me again.
I lied to my parents when I said I needed to work in the afternoon. Instead I got up at 11:30, debated with myself awhile about whether I should go to a movie or eat, and if the latter what. I then concluded that e-mailing experiments for work was the top priority, so I went down to the U. and tore as many phone numbers for experiments ... but not before getting lunch at Maverick's, this place that purportedly has the best roast beef in town. But I didn't get lunch because when I walked up to the door there was a note taped on the front door that said its credit card machine wasn't working, and today was a day I decided I was not going to use cash. Best laid plans. ...
Anyway, after going to the U. and then this library that's close to me that I've wanted to go to for a long time and has very weird hours, and then My Favorite Coffeeshop (Afternoon Edition) because I haven't been there in a while and I felt hot and I wanted their cold drink, I went home. I heard the voicemail My Fucking Father left me, but this time I didn't answer.
I was greeted by him at the dining room table. "Do you have to work tonight?"
"Uh," and I should have pondered this for a couple moments, even if I looked stupid in his eyes, "No."
"Good," he said, "Let's eat. Take a shower."
Oh, fuck, you're going to make me take a fucking shower? I should have realized this, but I've been able to avoid being told to take a shower because I've made myself scarce.
A combination of embarrassment and anger fueled my heart. I hate being infantilized like this, and I hate that I have to go along doing what I don't want to do for fear of sleeping in the street tonight.
So I made up a lie. Well, a quasi-lie. See, when I was getting this coffee-based cold drink I was sitting down and reading the sports section. The Stanley Cup playoffs continue, and Game 4 between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh was tonight, with the lower-seeded Flyers going for a sweep. It's been enhanced/marred by fights throughout the first three contests. A lot of people have gotten pissed off over all the brawls in this series to the point where it's damaging their interest in the game. However, columnist Michael Rand highlighted this game tonight and said it is the best first round series in NHL history.
Well, I've got to see it now. Unfortunately I don't have cable, which pries open the opportunity that I would indeed, say, exercise as an excuse to watch the game. I was tossing it around in my head. My Fucking Father's passive-aggressive threat -- shower and then you can eat -- just struck a nerve with me. This is him once again trying to get his way with me over something that doesn't matter. Why in the fuck do I have to shower before I eat? I generally don't, and he hasn't given a shit most of my 36 years here on earth.
That did it. Even though I didn't plan on it, even though there is a ton of stuff on TV for me to see, even though it'd be wasting gas and I haven't seen a paycheck in at least two weeks, fuck this. I'm going to tell My Fucking Father that even though I'm not working tonight, I wanted to work out tonight, so why don't I just shower at night, well after we eat? And they got off my back and said yes.
And then Suburgatory came on. And then Mother needed help watching movies on her small laptop. By the time I got into my car there was only 100 minutes left before the gym closed. It takes a good half-hour to go from starting the car at home to being at in the fitness room ready to work out, plus I wanted to take a detour to the grocery store to pick up some more Gatorade. In short, even though I would be able to watch, it would make no sense for me to exercise for such a small amount of time.
So now my top priority is finding a place where I can watch the hockey game, and somewhere I won't need to pay cash. Obviously my answer is a bar. I decided to go to this rib place not too far from where I live, but I wanted to make sure they were showing hockey. So without stepping out of my car, I drove around the restaurant and peering in to see what the TVs were showing ... and as far as I could tell there was no hockey, only the Twins and maybe some other baseball.
That meant that I meandered down a side street for a while before going to the Buffalo Wild Wings in Roseville. I was so desperate to be outside that I went down that far. And then, when I got there, it wasn't there. Luckily they posted a sheet with a map of their new place, which is right across the street from Rosedale, which is where I was earlier in the day, which makes me going to the area again very, very redundant. But I didn't care; I knew BWW would be showing hockey.
And that's how I wound up charging $13.50 to my credit card, $13.50 I didn't think I would be charging. Man, my credit card bill has cleared two grand, I swear. Plus I ate a huge plate of nachos even though I had dinner.
All of this because I was offended that My Fucking Father told me to go shower. I have to, at the very least, remember that he'll pull this shit tomorrow. That way I can at least control my feelings.
I lied to my parents when I said I needed to work in the afternoon. Instead I got up at 11:30, debated with myself awhile about whether I should go to a movie or eat, and if the latter what. I then concluded that e-mailing experiments for work was the top priority, so I went down to the U. and tore as many phone numbers for experiments ... but not before getting lunch at Maverick's, this place that purportedly has the best roast beef in town. But I didn't get lunch because when I walked up to the door there was a note taped on the front door that said its credit card machine wasn't working, and today was a day I decided I was not going to use cash. Best laid plans. ...
Anyway, after going to the U. and then this library that's close to me that I've wanted to go to for a long time and has very weird hours, and then My Favorite Coffeeshop (Afternoon Edition) because I haven't been there in a while and I felt hot and I wanted their cold drink, I went home. I heard the voicemail My Fucking Father left me, but this time I didn't answer.
I was greeted by him at the dining room table. "Do you have to work tonight?"
"Uh," and I should have pondered this for a couple moments, even if I looked stupid in his eyes, "No."
"Good," he said, "Let's eat. Take a shower."
Oh, fuck, you're going to make me take a fucking shower? I should have realized this, but I've been able to avoid being told to take a shower because I've made myself scarce.
A combination of embarrassment and anger fueled my heart. I hate being infantilized like this, and I hate that I have to go along doing what I don't want to do for fear of sleeping in the street tonight.
So I made up a lie. Well, a quasi-lie. See, when I was getting this coffee-based cold drink I was sitting down and reading the sports section. The Stanley Cup playoffs continue, and Game 4 between Philadelphia and Pittsburgh was tonight, with the lower-seeded Flyers going for a sweep. It's been enhanced/marred by fights throughout the first three contests. A lot of people have gotten pissed off over all the brawls in this series to the point where it's damaging their interest in the game. However, columnist Michael Rand highlighted this game tonight and said it is the best first round series in NHL history.
Well, I've got to see it now. Unfortunately I don't have cable, which pries open the opportunity that I would indeed, say, exercise as an excuse to watch the game. I was tossing it around in my head. My Fucking Father's passive-aggressive threat -- shower and then you can eat -- just struck a nerve with me. This is him once again trying to get his way with me over something that doesn't matter. Why in the fuck do I have to shower before I eat? I generally don't, and he hasn't given a shit most of my 36 years here on earth.
That did it. Even though I didn't plan on it, even though there is a ton of stuff on TV for me to see, even though it'd be wasting gas and I haven't seen a paycheck in at least two weeks, fuck this. I'm going to tell My Fucking Father that even though I'm not working tonight, I wanted to work out tonight, so why don't I just shower at night, well after we eat? And they got off my back and said yes.
And then Suburgatory came on. And then Mother needed help watching movies on her small laptop. By the time I got into my car there was only 100 minutes left before the gym closed. It takes a good half-hour to go from starting the car at home to being at in the fitness room ready to work out, plus I wanted to take a detour to the grocery store to pick up some more Gatorade. In short, even though I would be able to watch, it would make no sense for me to exercise for such a small amount of time.
So now my top priority is finding a place where I can watch the hockey game, and somewhere I won't need to pay cash. Obviously my answer is a bar. I decided to go to this rib place not too far from where I live, but I wanted to make sure they were showing hockey. So without stepping out of my car, I drove around the restaurant and peering in to see what the TVs were showing ... and as far as I could tell there was no hockey, only the Twins and maybe some other baseball.
That meant that I meandered down a side street for a while before going to the Buffalo Wild Wings in Roseville. I was so desperate to be outside that I went down that far. And then, when I got there, it wasn't there. Luckily they posted a sheet with a map of their new place, which is right across the street from Rosedale, which is where I was earlier in the day, which makes me going to the area again very, very redundant. But I didn't care; I knew BWW would be showing hockey.
And that's how I wound up charging $13.50 to my credit card, $13.50 I didn't think I would be charging. Man, my credit card bill has cleared two grand, I swear. Plus I ate a huge plate of nachos even though I had dinner.
All of this because I was offended that My Fucking Father told me to go shower. I have to, at the very least, remember that he'll pull this shit tomorrow. That way I can at least control my feelings.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
All My Entertainment Weeklys Ruined
Went to storage last weekend because my folks continue to get on my ass to clean my room in a reaction to throwing Grandmother out of the house late last month. The more shit they don't see at the house, apparently, the better. My God, clutter is the scourge of modern times.
I did have a second reason: To find last year's taxes. I was damned if I have to pay a grand this year. I actually was given money last year and I was in a similar position, or at least I thought I was. So I wanted to find last year's taxes to see what it was. (I couldn't find it; later, like I said, I went to the library because there were people there offering tax advice and reminded me that last year was a credit that is gone for this year.)
I have at least a dozen bags full of papers and magazines in this storage room. It's one of the many things that are in this spot, so I took about an hour to dig and dig through. Couldn't find last year's tax copies. But unfortunately I found something worse.
One final thing that sets up the body of this story: When I moved my things in there for the first time, the owner/operator of the storage facility recommended I take one of their pallets because moisture often seeps up from the concrete floor. But the pallet doesn't cover the entire square footage of the bottom of the room, and I have so much shit, that I have shoved bags inbetween the edge of the pallet and the storage room walls.
I did have a second reason: To find last year's taxes. I was damned if I have to pay a grand this year. I actually was given money last year and I was in a similar position, or at least I thought I was. So I wanted to find last year's taxes to see what it was. (I couldn't find it; later, like I said, I went to the library because there were people there offering tax advice and reminded me that last year was a credit that is gone for this year.)
I have at least a dozen bags full of papers and magazines in this storage room. It's one of the many things that are in this spot, so I took about an hour to dig and dig through. Couldn't find last year's tax copies. But unfortunately I found something worse.
Rummaging through the bags I started to notice that some of the mags and papers felt sort of soggy and looked wavy. This is an outdoor storage unit; it's not air-conditioned, therefore it's susceptible to the weather outside of the door. Didn't like it, but hey, what can you do, and besides, it was just papers.
But then I got down to the bottom-rightmost bag, the one where, if you open up the door, you'll see on the ground to your right. I leafed through the copies. They weren't soggy, they were soaked. And as I went from one to the next, I could see that they were so wet the ink ran and copies stuck to one another. Fuck.
These weren't newspapers because I knew I had so much shit I was going to throw into the unit that I needed something strong at the bottom. However, I apparently threw enough Entertainment Weeklys in there that it was a sturdy bottom that filled the entire bag. I put that down first, then put a couple of bags on top of it.
One final thing that sets up the body of this story: When I moved my things in there for the first time, the owner/operator of the storage facility recommended I take one of their pallets because moisture often seeps up from the concrete floor. But the pallet doesn't cover the entire square footage of the bottom of the room, and I have so much shit, that I have shoved bags inbetween the edge of the pallet and the storage room walls.
So, when I was at the point of stowing my EWs away, I was faced with the possibility that they would draw moisture from the floor. I guess I took the chance because, hey, where the hell in the storage unit can I throw a heavy bag of magazines? So I set the bag down on the floor and if something happens, it happens.
I honestly did not foresee that the mags would be so heavily and thoroughly soaked. Worst of all, these aren't just any run-of-the-mill EWs, these are the first ones I got when My Father subscribed to them as a way to get into Publisher's Clearinghouse's sweepstakes. With a month-long break excepted, we have been a subscriber to Entertainment Weekly since Issue #11, and with the exception of several copies that I forgot to pack away during my years at USC, I still have every single one.
But these, I'm afraid, are ruined. I looked at that Issue #11, the one that promoted a TV biopic about Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker. (She was played by Bernadette Peters; he was played -- and I did not know this until I inspected the magazine -- by none other than Kevin Spacey.) The cover is bled through and I can't open up the pages. Some other editions have it worse. When I took them out (pretty easy when the bag they were in was so unusable it immediately broke apart when I pulled on the paper handle), put them in bags that I got from the trunk of my car, and tried to separate them so some wind can go though them, I tore the covers, and the printed front halves of covers, from the next EW they were stored next to. These copies were still so wet it was like pulling down a blanket so you could get out of bed.
I have these grand plans to seal every single issue I have in a plastic bag (backed by cardboard) and store them in these boxes. Why the fuck should I do that for these? But I am. I'm trying to air them out now in two paper bags that right now reside in my trunk. They're still stacked one on top of the other, so I try and turn the bags over once a day. Sometimes I try and separate the magazines, but they are still so wet I might make things worse.
What I plan on doing is keeping them there for the month. For Memorial Weekend, when the 'Rents are out in Vegas, I'm going to lay all of them out in the back deck and let the sun bake them dry. Maybe -- of course this may be wishful thinking -- I can dry them to the point where I can go from one page to the next, even if the pages are now permanently wavy and are now all smudged. And I can see myself storing them anyway. Hope that works.
Two other things. First, I only think these got wet from the floor up. When I first saw my ruined EWs I thought that the rainstorm the previous evening somehow got through the door and onto the mags. But then I realized that the bag on top of it, also filled with Entertainment Weekly issues, had some moisture but was nowhere near as waterlogged as the ones in the bag below. If rainwater was penetrating through the door, wouldn't the top bag be wetter than the bottom?
Second, I blame My Fucking Father for this. Mother too. Yes, I could have been more careful, and I had at least a passing thought that the owner/operator did warn me about setting things on the floor. But I wouldn't have even had to worry about getting my Entertainment Weeklys wet if they didn't continue to fucking harp on me to clean out my room. If I was able to keep them in the house I wouldn't have this problem. Now the best and most valuable copies of a magazine I've read since 1990 is just about unsalvagable. It's all their goddamn fault.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
I Need Sleep More Than I Need Food
You know, there are fewer things more fucking humiliating than being late to return to a meeting and walking in when the person presiding over the meeting is right in the middle of something, and you have to walk right in front of her to get back to your seat. But that's what happened to me today at my job.
I had finished a qualifying test. I'm usually one of the first people to finish, so what I usually do is excuse myself and either go the bathroom or look through the reading material in the break room or get something to eat at the snack table or sit at my work station and read the newspapers it's taken me six years to finally read. This time the director said that the entire room will take about 20 or 25 minutes to finish this test. It took me less than five.
So what to do? Well, for the past week or so Mother has prepared lunch for me. Aw. She never did this for me when I was in elementary school, but that was because 1) she was busy working and 2) I probably wouldn't have wanted yucky home food anyway; I preferred the five-star lunch at the cafeteria!!! But this probably is her way of saying she loves me, so even though I never eat lunch at work because I'm rarely hungry at noontime, I just take it. It is good, by the way -- rice, noodles, sometimes she cuts up slices of pork or chicken from the grocery store. Tasty, just unnecessary with all the coffee, water and snacks I usually scorf down to get through the day.
We have a regimented lunch break at 12. It's only half an hour, very little time for me to eat and relax, in my humble opinion. When we get lunch I crawl into my car, listen to "The Common Man Progrum" on KFAN and pass out. (I do the same thing for both my morning and afternoon breaks, both also done at the same time.) I usually don't get as much sleep as I should the night before, but an eight-hour day is a long one, and I need a nap to get through the day. (The European notion of a siesta seemed to get a toehold in the American workplace several years ago, but The Great Recession probably erased any belief that sleeping during the day makes you a more productive worker, which is bullshit.) I've been able to pass out most of the breaks and lunches, so I am rarely dragging through my day at work. I think I'm doing the professional thing, and I therefore will continue to do that.
So I'm at a crossroads. I'm not going to eat lunch at my lunch break, I'm going to try and take a nap. And yet I can't just not eat the lunch Mother makes for me because she'll be all, "Why didn't you want to eat it? You don't love me?? Well then, fuck you!!!" and she'll order My Father to throw me out of the house. I can't tell her the truth, that I need to use my lunch break to go to sleep, because then both Mother and My Father will go, "Well why don't you go to sleep earlier in the night?! You're not normal, son!!" and I will either take it like a submissive bitch or lash out and say, "You don't fucking understand me, goddammit!!!" -- at which point both of my parents will throw me out of the house.
So you see the box I'm in, yeah? So what I have done is eat Mother's food later in the afternoon. I don't want to eat early in the day because I'm just not hungry, and the afternoon is the latest time to eat this before I have to go home. At the other center I felt alright to bring this steaming plastic tray of lunch to my computer to eat while scoring. This one, uh, not so much. I like the place -- love the leaders, really love the close proximity to my home, and I really, really love the pay -- but there is a certain, uh, regimentation that dissuades me from thinking I can just eat at my desk.
So for the past two days I've been at this place, I've stolen away to the break room to heat up the lunch and eat it as fast as possible. We are in training anyway, so there is no reason to hurry back if I'm fast and the others are taking their time; I hate scarfing down food and coming back to the room to see that people are still taking the test. On top of that for today, the director said that she'd give everybody till 3:40 or 3:45 to finish this test. Since I got done at 3:20, I thought I had plenty of time to eat. So I took my time. I actually read a magazine while eating, not too slow but not too fast either.
I got done a little before 3:40, and when I came in everybody was sitting down and listening to the director. Not only that, she was almost done. Whatever happened to waiting? I know everybody wanted to live since it was close to the end of the day, but you said 3:40, maybe even 3:45!! Everybody must have been thinking, "Geez, that arrogant fucker thinks he can go and come whenever he wants because he gets everything right and he's fast!" Which is true, but that doesn't get me jack shit because now everybody thinks I'm an asshole.
Neither the director nor the leader said anything after we broke for the day. Maybe they'll think this is an aberration. Maybe. But I obviously cannot do this again. But I have to eat Mother's fucking food! Goddamn, what am I supposed to do???
I think that, unless Mother gets tired of preparing lunch for me, I'll just have to bring it in with me to my desk and eat it there. And if that's not allowed ... uh, I'm fucked.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Taxes Reaming Up The Butt
Tomorrow is Tax Day. After working out tonight (as a bid to avoid my overbearing parents) I will put the finishing touches on both my federal and state -- which I owe, combined, a grand.
I made less than $30,000 last year over nine companies. Yes, I withheld little because, I have been told, if I did increase my withholding in an effort to mete or even neutralize any tax I owe this time of year, I would in effect be giving the government my money. (The way I'm doing it now I am basically borrowing the cash I owe the country and state to do what I want, preferably investing it so I can keep it for myself.) But this still hurts, a lot.
I am in no way middle-class. Shit, I think I'm closer to poverty than gainful employment, and getting to stay with my folks is the only reason I can even stay afloat. And now I'm not doing even that: The cellphone and telephone bills are eating me alive, and even after I cut back on stripclubbing, what money I do earn is taken by this fucking wallop of a tax charge.
It wasn't this bad last year; in fact, I think I made a profit. Partly that was because I didn't work for nine companies in 2010, but also because I was able to take advantage of, I think, the Making Work Pay Credit. I have been trying to find last year's tax copies because I knew there was a deduction I made last year, and someone from the library when I visited yesterday reminded me of it. The Making Work Pay Credit lopped off, I think, $400 for those making under a certain amount, of which I was one. Without that, I think I needed to give the government $600.
But now that's gone -- thank you, teabagger Republicans in Congress. And I have to give 1/30th of what I made in 2011 while people making two, ten, a thousand times what I make get away with a tax rate lower than mine. Fuck all this.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#0: Swarm (Last Week: -1). Despite paying money for a ticket I thought I had a coupon for instead, I am glad I went to last night's game. They defeated Washington 14-9. They sewed up a playoff spot with that win, which is really nice because, if I'm right, they have usually backed into getting a postseason berth, and besides, I think eight of the nine teams in the National Lacrosse League make it to the postseason anyway.
Beyond the fact they got in affirmatively (that is they got in on their own), I was impressed by a few other things. I think this is the first blowout, the first time the Swarm have won comfortably, I have witnessed. And this also is the first time I've seen outsized brawn coming from this team. It was surprising to see the Stealth trainer come out onto the field to tend to not one, not two, but three Stealth players. (The Swarm trainer came out to help up two of her guys as well.) Finally, congratulations to Ryan Benesch, who scored the 100th goal of his career -- all with the Swarm. Such a long history ensures he'll be inshrined in the Swarm Hall of Fame ... if the franchise lives long enough to have one.
The two teams ahead of the team are way ahead, so the key now is to get and stay healthy. Their next game is against Philadelphia next Saturday at the Xcel Energy Center.
#-1: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -2). This is so not good. They lost their final game in Ohio St. and thus were just swept. Then then went to South Dakota St. and lost to them as well. They have come home to win a pair of 2-1 games over Northwestern (Saturday's game via comeback; they went into the bottom of the ninth down to the Wildcats 1-0), but the 0-fer still looms: They are officially 0-4 in authentic road games. How in the hell can they call themselves a decent team if they can't win a game on the road? After they finish their series against Northwestern, they host Nebraska-Omaha at the Metrodome Tuesday and Wednesday, but then play at Michigan St. over the weekend.
#-2: Twins (Last Week: -3). At least they won a game, so the once-imaginable nightmare that they could go 0-162 can no longer happen. However, they only went 2-4 this screening week. Weird fact: Reliever Jeff Gray won both games, and he did so throwing only three pitches.
This below-average week was capped by Saturday afternoon's loss to Texas, which I worked in-person. It probably encapsulates everything I am afraid the Twinks probably are: A squad with a mediocre starting rotation with little offensive pop, especially with runners in scoring position. Twice the club had the bases loaded and failed to bring a single run in. Also, there was Ryan Doumit getting gunned down at home after Rangers Catcher Mike Napoli was able to retrieve his wild pitch and throw to Pitcher Yu Darvish, who beat Doumit to home plate. They had their chances to win, but seeing them lose the close ones is a sad song I've heard too many times before.
Any week would be a challenging one for this bad team. But this one will probably be one of the worst. After finishing up this afternoon against Texas (for Jackie Robinson Day; Sunday marks 65 years since he broke the color barrier and made an appearance for the Brooklyn Dodgers), they travel to the Bronx for their annual one (and early) series at the Yankees, then they'll go down to Tampa to face the Bay Rays.
#-3: Timberwolves (Last Week: -4). As I've said before, I'm not saying they should have won the NBA championship this year. Any sense of improvement should be considered a good sign for the future of the Woofie Dogs. Still, the way they've been playing reminds me of the squads of recent vintage, and that sucks.
Thursday's loss at Target Center to the Los Angeles Clippers was the final nail in the coffin: They were officially eliminated from this year's playoffs with that defeat. It was only the third of their four losses for the week, balanced against exactly zero wins. And they are now in the middle of a nine-game losing streak. It's like Mark Madsen is still with the club.
And the injury bug, one of the reasons for the Timberwolves' recent collapse, continues to strike this team. Kevin Love is next, elbowed in the head by Denver's Javale McGee on Wednesday. He had concussion-like symptoms, and since they can't make the playoffs anymore, you might as well shut down Love for the rest of the year.
Luckily the end of the regular season is very, very near. Three games this week: at Indiana and home to Memphis in a Monday-Tuesday back-to-back, then at Detroit Thursday.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
It Costs How Much?!?!
Two ways I spent more than I thought I would today:
- I plan on going to the Eric Hutchinson concert at First Ave. next Saturday. He is the guy who sings "Watching You Watch Him," which probably is the most infectious song I've heard in a long time. Here are both official videos for it:
So I go to the restaurant next door to buy a ticket. The bartender tells me $20. Before I could say, "$20?" I see myself giving her my Andrew Jackson and then walk away. I swear I thought the Hutchinson ticket was only $15.
- I then went to the Swarm game tonight. This would be my last opportunity to see them in the regular season; even though they're home the next two Saturdays, next Saturday is the concert I talked about above, and the next Saturday I have a North Star Roller Girls bout I need to go to. I was amped, however, because I remembered where I put a Swarm coupon that essentially gave me a free ticket. I got this during freshman orientation/the first week of classes at the U. in the fall, and I was really happy with myself that I remembered that I wanted to save this coupon for when I could use it, eight months later. But when I went up to the box office booth, she waited for me to give her $17. No, that's not a voucher worth $17, that's a coupon that says tickets are now worth $17. They sell at $20, so the slip of paper I thought was a voucher was only a coupon worth $3 off. So I spent a total of $22 more than I thought I would.
Friday, April 13, 2012
My Father, The Bully
I thought that one of the few perks of my parents being retired is that if and when I have a day job they won't be up. Avoiding the folks is usually a good thing and something I usually prefer. Why I believe that has cropped up the past couple days.
Thursday I was going to work as usual. For some reason, however, My Fucking Father was up. This is the second time -- the second Thursday, actually -- that he was up. They went to the minivan as if they were going to work. I won't say they were going to The Store because, I assume, it's closed now.
The first Thursday I ran into them as I was leaving they said nothing. This past Thursday, while I was heading through the front door, My Fucking Father said, "Did you wash your face?" Goddamn ... he's always been on my case about washing my face or brushing my teeth. This has gone on as long as I can remember. And I usually don't groom myself, OK? I'd rather get up and go straight to school or work. Why? Because my appearance won't mean a fucking thing if I can't get to school or work on time and if I can't do the school work or work work in a professional, cogent manner. What the fuck does straightening my hair have anything to do with it?
So I sigh and get my ass to work. But no, My Fucking Father isn't going to let this go. That night, we were having dinner. He was leaning back in his chair, which is a sign that he's going to say something to me, something I won't like to hear, something he knows I won't like to hear, but is going to say anyway.
I won't paraphrase. I can't paraphrase, but the insulting, bullying things he said would break me to tears. He said that I have to -- I'm 36 years old, but I have to -- brush my teeth and wash my face at night and shower every day. How condescending, how hurtful. Goddamn you. I'm a grown-ass man and here you are making ultimatums on me? Goddamn you!
The fucker tested me the next day, this morning. I didn't think he'd wake up; I thought he was bluffing, blowing smoke up my ass. But as I was getting dressed (without washing my face or brushing my teeth) I hear My Fucking Father come upstairs. Shit. Worse off, while I was in my bedroom (the one that no longer has my bed because My Fucking Father took it and gave it to Grandmother) he actually knocked on the wall, like he usually does when he calls me out for dinner, and asks me, "Did you wash your face yet?"
I am offended by his belittling comment. And then I was mad at myself for not being quick on my feet and lying. Instead, I said, "No." Fuck! "Well go and wash your face then!" My Fucking Father replied. And then he warned me, "And you didn't shower last night, either." Were you listening upstairs, asshole? I didn't shower last night because I fell asleep last night. Because I work like a dog now. Something I learned from you, you musty asshole.
It got worse when I got back from work. I was taking a shit when the fucker knocked on my door and said something about taking a shower. Goddamn him. I thought my brother needed help taking out the Porsche, but now I have to take a shower?
I walk out to see what the fuck is going on with the Porsche. I ask Mother what My Fucking Father said and she tells me I have to shower because she's mad. And then My Fucking Father comes inside and tells me to take a shower. And pitiful, scared old me, I take a goddamn shower, even though I don't want one.
How long is this going to go on? Is My Fucking Father going to bully me like this from now on?
You know, ever since my parents threw Grandmother out, I had a growing fear that I would have to leave the house because they would be riding my ass. My worst fears have come true.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Kate Upton Naked!
Nah, I'm just kidding! I just wanted you guys to come to my site because I need the pageviews. However, Kate Upton is a babe, and I do wake to her from time to time, and at the very least I should give you something about the buxom babe.
So, even though you might have seen this already, here's Upton in the one-minute "Director's Cut" of her Carl's Jr. video:
And then here's her "Peter Cottontail" video. I don't know what this is for or promoting. She might have wanted to do this for free, for us -- for me!!!
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Expenses Without Receipt
Starting from April Fool's Day:
- Sunday, the only non-receipted thing I did -- I think -- was at the memorial benefit for the stripper who killed herself. Donation, beer, and tip: $14.
- Thank Buddha for work; it prevents me from spending money. Fast-forward all the way to Friday, where I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division). Tips, no coffee, I believe: $8
- Then My Favorite Coffeehouse (Late-Night Division). Mocha with tip: $5.25.
- Saturday I went to season-opening game of the Minnesota Stars, the soccer team that won the NASL (is that the name of the league?) title last year. They played it at the Dome and they had a good crowd, over 8,500, if they're being accurate. Tie score, by the way. Cost for ticket, hot dog and beer: $16.25.
- Then stripclub, where I think I got a dance from Haley, but didn't have coffee: $28.
- Coffee place, but something different this night. Didn't get the mocha because the barista informed me the whip cream sucked that night. Thanks for letting me know. Large coffee, with tip: $3.
- Then, finally, My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place. Soup and salad with Coke and tip: $9.50.
- Monday, well, I told you about the disaster at Mickey's. I promised you then I would write these down, so I am. Tip only because I charged my meal: $2.
- Then I stored those two quarters (actually I put them in a cup that's on top of the desk I'm writing on right now): 50 cents.
Couldn't See The "-not" From The Diner Window
I've told you a few times about my, uh, thing. Not my dick, but my, uh, thing, my obsession, my OCD thing. I try not to use cash for any expenses at least once a week. The thinking is that would be a way not to spend any money once a week, but usually I skirt around that requirement by charging everything I spend that day to my credit card. Nasty habit, but hey, I'm a hypocrite, and hey, who isn't?
Working days have been somewhat of a good time to be genuine about this hang-up of mine. Whenever I don't have a job I spend my hours doing something, and doing something usually means spending money. But whenever I'm not spending money, I'm making it, and only making it. I don't have time to spend money when I've got a 9-to-5 job. In fact, my lunch breaks at this job is only 30, too little time to have a proper meal. What I usually do instead is take a nap -- then and my other two breaks of 15 minutes. I need sleep more than I need nourishment, and so far this test season, I've been able to go unconscious every break, thus feeling a lot more alert to do my job. If that's the benefit from catnaps, I'll take that over meals. I subsist on coffee provided by the job, candies provided by my supervisors, and diabetes shakes from home that Grandmother no longer uses.
I had a bit of a quandary on Monday, however. My plan after work was to eat dinner at home, then visit Grandmother to see Dancing With The Stars with her. I would then go home and hit the hay at a decent hour. However, I was in St. Paul about ten days ago for the Minnesota North Stars Reunion Weekend. I entered a raffle at a bar downtown, and a week ago I received a voicemail saying I won.
Now, Grandmother lives in St. Paul. DWTS is on Monday and Tuesday. It would make sense to drive the few miles east after visiting her to pick up this prize, then go home. But which day?
Furthermore, my mind jumped into an opportunity, for lack of a better word. I try to eat at the world-famous Mickey's Diner, the greasy spoon just north of the Xcel Energy Center and probably the most famous diner in the Twin Cities. The last times I've been in St. Paul, and thus had the chance to eat at Mickey's, it was the weekend and I wanted to eat at My Favorite Late-Night Italian Place instead. I probably would feel the same way for the foreseeable future. I don't know if the chance for me to eat at Mickey's would be better than if I go there after picking up this raffle prize. But again, which day?
Well, the signs kind of fell for me to hit downtown St. Paul on Monday because my parents weren't home in time to eat dinner. This would be perfect, then, to eat Mickey's as dinner.
But there was one stipulation I gave myself: Do not try to pay cash on Monday, just because. This is a diner, not a fancy restaurant, and it's been so long since I ate there (I think the last time was the 2011 Frozen Four semifinals, so just about a year ago -- in fact, maybe exactly a year ago!) that I don't remember if they even take credit cards. I thought it was cash only. Or maybe that's another diner. Anyway, I told myself to just check to see if they take credit cards. If they don't, I would be using straight cash homey for the first time all day, and I don't want to do that. So even though it's a waste of gas, don't eat there. Just walk away, back to the car, and drive home. No, don't even pick up the prize. I pick up the prize when I eat at Mickey's.
So Monday night I drive to St. Paul. By the way, I love St. Paul because there are many free spots if you're looking for a parking meter. Nearly all the time I go to a Minnesota RollerGirls bout or a Swarm or Wild game or even a concert, I can find parking -- and since it's the nighttime and the hours of enforcement aren't all day and all through the night like it is now in Minneapolis, it's free. Anyway, I find a meter that's virtually equidistant between the bar where the prize is and Mickey's.
I walk up the steps to the dining car (after telling a guy asking for money I had no change to spare). I couldn't see anything about taking cash only through the signs until I saw one that said that they don't take checks. I could have gone in, but I feel like it'd be bad form if I went in, realized they only take cash, then leave, so I was reduced to just peeping in from the chilly outside.
Finally, I see a sign taped to the cash register. "Attention: If you are using a credit card, we can only take tips through the credit card." Perfect! So I went to the bar, got my prize (which was a mirror with the Corona Light logo on it -- shouldn't a mirror have nothing but your reflection on it??), then went into Mickey's and got me some Mulligan Stew. I followed that up with a slice of pie in one of the display cases. I always had a sense of foreboding about those pies. I mean, how do you know if they've been in that case for months? But yet it's a diner, and having pie kind of makes sense. Besides, some other table asked for two of them, so it couldn't be all that bad. And it wasn't, especially since I wanted a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top of the apple pie.
When I went up to pay, I looked at the sign in front of the cash register again. Oh, fuck me. It actually said, and I'm paraphrasing: "Attention: If you are using a credit card, we cannot take tips through the credit card." How the fuck did I miss that? Couldn't I pay more attention to what words actually say? How do I confuse "cannot" with "can only?" And in retrospect, how can a dining establishment only take tips through credit cards? Tips in the form of legal tender is something illegal, or something Mickey's can't process?
Obviously I couldn't dine-and-dash because of my, uh, "thing." So I reluctantly paid with my credit card (I didn't have money for the full meal) and luckily had the two bucks that paid for the tip. Now I had to resort to Plan B of this "no cash" thing: If I was going to spend currency on one thing, I had to make sure there was at least another transaction using money. Two transactions at least, or none. And thankfully there are these two new and relatively pristine quarters (one with the Northern Mariana Islands, the other featuring the Chickasaw National Recreation Area -- are they now going to put national parks on the tail side of quarters?) I had planned to put away at "storage." Now is a good time to put them away. Voila, a second cash transaction ... even though I wouldn't have to put down any for Monday if I just looked a little closer. ...
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Fuck You, Bank!
Mother had asked me on occasion to cash a check from one of her restaurants. It's at a small local bank, so what she usually does is tell me that the check is at the sill of the counter just outside the master bedroom, call the bank to see if there's money to cash the check, drive the ten or so miles up to the nearest branch, and cash it.
Simple, right? Well, at the start it wasn't. I have never been really sure how to cash a check. The main problem is that even though the restaurant leaves the "Payable To" line blank, I can't necessarily cash it. I'm vague on the details, but there had been one or two times where this particular bank would not let me cash it because I wrote my own name on the "Payable To" line, or I endorsed it in the back before I gave the check to the teller. Or something, I don't remember, because it's been a long time since I've run into a problem like that. In fact, there was a period where I came in so often that the tellers finally learned my name.
I had not done that in a long time, however, till Sunday, when Mother said she needed me to cash another check. Although I'm working all day, I had assumed that I would never do this again because of The Store ... well, you know. So even though it was hard to shoehorn a time to cash the check today, I was just glad that The Store is still taking in money.
A positive sign for cashing the check (though not a good sign for me necessarily) was that my project finished up early today, thereby giving me time to cash the check personally instead of through the drive-thru, which is open one hour longer than the lobby. Furthermore, there is a branch very close to my current place of work, thereby sparing me the, oh, 20 miles of gas it'll take for the side trip up north. So it looked like the heavens made it easy for me to cash this check, so I got into my car and put my name in the front of the check.
After a five-minute drive I pull up and walk in. I slide the check to the teller ... and after a minute of quizzically staring at the check, she has the goddamn nerve to ask me, "Can you tell me why the name is written in a different colored pen than the rest of the check?"
The restaurant person who signed the check signed it in black. My black pen is running out of ink, so I used my trusty blue pen to write my name down. And now they're going to say I can't cash the fucking check?! Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?!
With a tone of, well, "Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?!" I basically tell her the truth about cashing it for my folks' business. I would've made up a lie, but I didn't think I had to lie. I've done this several times before and not been asked questions. I'm pretty sure that I've written my name down in a different color than the rest of the check and they still cashed it, so I have no fucking clue why it became a problem. Besides, I have a checking account with these people; I'm legit, so what's the fucking matter?
The truth didn't jive with this chick. She even had to call over to her supervisor for advice. After that, about five minutes later, she says she couldn't cover the check because it was "altered." Fuck altered! I've done this many times before and this time she raises a goddamn stink?! I was so pissed off I rudely snatched the check and left. I stuck my hand up behind me as she wished me a nice day, thank you. Well, at least I think I stuck up my hand and not my finger. Fucking Lord knows I might have to come back to this nunnery again.
What to do? Mother gets pissed when I don't get cash her checks. This fucking family has such an tight-fisted relationship with money, yet we seem to never have it. Maybe that goes hand in hand. Anyway, my only recourse was to go to the same bank, the reliable bank, the one where everybody knows my name. It'll be past 5 so it'll have to go through the drive-thru, but I'll be able to cash it, no problem, right? Right?!
Wrong!!! The teller through the window recognized me, but mere seconds after the automatic tray to the check she told me she couldn't cash it because it was "altered," even though I fucking know she has taken my checks, written in different colors, written to my name, before. Worst of all is that she said, "You were just at Plymouth, weren't you?" Oh, you sewing circle bitches gossip about me, too??? Yes, I know it's a bank, but goddamn I feel picked on. I wanted to swear at her, too, but I really couldn't because I'm sure I'll run into her again.
I am not trying to rationalize my use of a blue pen instead of a black pen, but I am not, repeat not, being paranoid when I say I thought a "mix-up" like this was behind me. So I spent the last hour and, oh, 40 miles driving to two banks, both of which think I'm trying to steal money from them, and I end up not getting the money Mother expected me to get. I'm scared, I'm humiliated, and I have no idea what to do next.
Ever since I drove away from the bank in Plymouth I could feel my face flush and the heart side of my chest tighten. I think it's the cortisol that was injected into my bloodstream, the fight-or-flight chemical that I felt when I got picked on in junior high. I sure wanted to get rid of this feeling. I learned that exercise can wear away the cortisol, but I couldn't go to a gym this late in the day; there was Dancing With the Stars with Grandmother in St. Paul. But I had to do something, so I just went to the local mall and walked around a bit. That way I could think of an excuse to tell Mother when she inevitably asks me why I didn't cash the check. The best plan I could think of, by the way, was basically hew to the truth: For some fucking reason, this time they wouldn't take the check.
I puffed out my chest in preparation of seeing her at home. But once I saw my house, I didn't see the minivan. They weren't home at 6 in the evening when I thought they'd have been home for at least three hours. That kind of makes the decision to leave early for St. Paul and Grandmother easy (otherwise I would be rushing through dinner and inevitably eating more than I should eat, and fast); also, I dodge any face-to-face confrontation with Mother, who can really lose her temper in a situation like this.
If I was going to leave without eating, the least I can do is call. I remembered my excuse and called Mother to tell her I was not going to eat since they weren't home (they were still at The Store, as a matter of fact; shit, if it's still open, I might as well stop by this weekend). But of course she immediately set that aside and asked me if I cashed the check yet.
I had already established my breathless, exasperated tone when I called her up, so I went with my excuse, which was essentially, "I have no fucking clue why they did it!" And Mother has this amazingly belittling way of thinking everything that isn't done the way she wants them is somehow my fault. This usually comes in the form of continually asking me why I didn't ask the person why I can't do something, so in this case she said, "Well, why didn't you ask why you couldn't cash the check?!" Which is a stupid question because a) I already lied/told her this denial was totally different from what has happened in the past and b) this was just her passive-aggressive way of blaming me. Fuck that and fuck her.
I kept up my aggressive tone -- "I don't know why they rejected the check! I have done this many times before; this is the first time they wouldn't cash the check!!!" And either because she believed me or she was just too busy doing other shit, she quickly backed off and thought of a solution: Just put it downstairs and she'll cash it at her bank. Phew, I guess. We'll see if Mother picks a fight over this tomorrow or the next several days, but I think -- I hope -- I dodged a bullet.
Meanwhile I am still fucking puzzled as to how fucking arduous it is to cash a goddamn check. It's as if I was aiming a gun at them demanding all their money, such is the way I feel they treated me, no matter how legal. Maybe it's a good thing checks have largely gone the way of the gold standard.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Poor Bastard Of The Moment (Well, When He Was Fired): Chris Lowery
It's been a long time since I trotted out Poor Bastard Of The Moment, but I need to dust off the "poor bastard" label occasionally. And this truly is a Poor Bastard, someone I haven't seen a whole lot of in many months.
Do you remember Gonzaga starting from 1999, when they became the mid-major darlings of the men's basketball tournament by making deep runs every year? There was a natural clamor of thinking which would be the next program to do that. And for a long time that program was going to be Southern Illinois.
Three years after the Zags erupted out of nowhere to reach the Sweet 16, SIU, under then-coach Bruce Weber, duplicated that feat. The Salukis then went to the next five Big Dances under Weber (who later took the job in Illinois), Matt Painter (who then went to Purdue), and Lowery, who took them to the tourneys from 2005 to 2007, reaching the Sweet 16 in that year before falling to 1-seed Kansas by 3.
Lowery probably was the hottest head coach prospect for any BcS program looking for someone new. He had to have offers to move up to higher-profile positions for more money than he ever could get at Southern Illinois. But I'm pretty sure he faced a crossroads: Does he abandon his alma mater he played point guard for just for personal ambition?
No. He didn't do that. I guess all he wanted to do was make his own Gonzaga in Carbondale, Ill., and be to the program what Mark Few currently is with the Bulldogs (even though Few went to Oregon, not Gonzaga). It's a brave move and a noble gesture in a world where you're expected to leave your non-BcS school as soon as you win a tournament game, or even make a big splash making it into the tournament. But Lowery resisted that conventional thinking, choosing instead to grow the next great mid-major from the school whose most famous alumni is Walt "Clyde" Frazier.
Instead, it all went south. That Sweet 16 run in 2007 was the last time the Salukis made the tournament. They went to the NIT the following year but haven't been to any of the four post-season tourneys since. His teams haven't finished above .500 since 2008. He has suffered a litany of transfers.
Finally, this year's team finished 8-23, the most losses Southern Illinois has ever had in a season. Administrators felt they needed to make a change, and so they canned Lowery, who is now assisting Weber, who's now head coach at Kansas St. A sad, frustrating end to a man who did not do what everyone else did and stayed, trying to create something out of nothing, and ended up not only failing the school he loves but permanently damaging the trajectory of a coaching career that was once his to create. Lowery is a case study in the perils of staying too long.
Poor Bastard.
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