In late June I went to the doctor's because the pimple on my ass wasn't getting any better or smaller. This despite the fact that according to my county, I have lost the low-cost health insurance I received from the state. I am currently appealing that decision because I think they got their projections wrong (specifically, they think I have a full-time job when the jobs I have are temporary and seasonal). But I had this appointment while the parents were away -- they still cannot, cannot, know about the pimple on my ass -- and I couldn't just let this sit if the diagnosis was dire.
Well, it wasn't, although the doctor's thought is that surgery is required. I should get this done soon; after all, this was almost a month ago. But I am waiting for another time when my parents are away; that's when I'll ask either my sister's best friend or one of my stripper friends to take me to the doctor's. Of course, I can't do that unless and until I get health insurance. My appeal, which I've pushed back once already, actually is tomorrow. In the meantime I hope this pimple doesn't get worse. It's getting uncomfortable to sit, however.
When I got to my appointment, the person who helped me noticed that I did not have health insurance. I explained my situation, to which she gave me a waiver form saying that if I did not get health insurance, I would have to pay on my own. Signed it hoping to stall on paying as much as possible before I got insurance. So when I did get a bill, I didn't even open it. Why give them money I can't afford to give them, especially if insurance will eventually pick up the tab?
Well, given that the appeal won't happen for awhile, a couple weeks ago, just to make sure this isn't something I had to deal with right away, I opened it. The retail cost of my visit to the doctor's, which included him sticking something up my ass, was $444. That I definitely cannot pay.
Now I'm under the gun. I have to win this appeal. I do have money to pay for this, but after the $850 I had to shell out to fix the hood that flew open on me last week, I really don't, you know? And I do have a health savings account, but I think I have only a grand there. One fucking visit just blows a hole into your whole fucking account.
I'm scared that they'll say that, even though the monthly projections are based on seasonal work, that is what the law is. In that case I don't have much of a case to make (which is over the phone), and I'm basically fucked. I don't know what else I can say besides, goddamn, it would really, really help me a lot if the county could take me in again. I wish something could go my way.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Lynx (Last Week: 0). Make it seven in a row after Wednesday's 81-69 win over Phoenix at Target Center to finish the first half of the season. Then, four of the five starters on the team made their way to Uncasville, Conn., for the WNBA All-Star Game. It gets better: Because the starting Center for the Western Conference, the Mercury's Britney Griner, still is nursing an injury and couldn't play (let alone start), the head coach of the West -- which happens to be the coach of last year's Western Conference Champion, which, of course, is Lynx Head Coach Cheryl Reeve, installed one of her players, Lynx Forward Rebekkah Brunson, as Griner's replacement. Nepotism? Yes. But since it's for our team, I don't give a shit.
Oh, and the West eked out a 102-98 win in Eastern Conference territory Saturday evening. And they still have the best record in the league. So why have I backed them back down to -1? Um ... things can only go downhill from here? The club is peaking too soon? An injury is bound to happen? Keeping them above negative numbers might give them big heads, and I don't want that? I don't know.
The begin the second half of the season by finishing out their three-game homestand against San Antonio Friday (a game I might go to) and Seattle Sunday.
Oh, and the West eked out a 102-98 win in Eastern Conference territory Saturday evening. And they still have the best record in the league. So why have I backed them back down to -1? Um ... things can only go downhill from here? The club is peaking too soon? An injury is bound to happen? Keeping them above negative numbers might give them big heads, and I don't want that? I don't know.
The begin the second half of the season by finishing out their three-game homestand against San Antonio Friday (a game I might go to) and Seattle Sunday.
#-2: Twins (Last Week: -1). Six gettable road games against two American League West squads (Anaheim and Seattle) that are not world-beaters by any stretch of the imagination ... and they go 3-3 for the week. Guess that figures from an equally mediocre team. The last game they've played, Sunday's 6-4 loss to the Mariners, was pegged on Kyle Gibson. He was considered The Great White Hope (I didn't mean that in a racial sense, it's just the name of a movie ... OK, it's kind of racial), but now that he's got a track record, and one that is far from perfect -- well, you don't hear the clamoring for his name anymore.
The non-waiver trade deadline is Wednesday. Who will be moved? On Monday Jay Jaffe of SI.com continues to say what every other writer has said: If there is a Twin to be moved, it'll be Justin Morneau. It's a fall from grace for the former Most Valuable Player whose career has been derailed, probably permanently, because of a concussion. But he's fallen so far that he has very little trade value now. Also remember that this is the last year of his contract. It would make sense to trade him, but there's not much General Manager Terry Ryan can do if no one wants him. Morneau can walk away as a free agent this offseason, which means they could wind up with nothing ... unless they offer him a contract good enough that, if he rejects it, will trigger a compensatory draft pick for the team next year. That might be the Twins' best option. That might be their only option.
If Morneau is moved off, he at least will have the dignity of being able to play in front of the team he came up with one final time: This week the club hosts Kansas City through Thursday. They then host Houston for the weekend before visiting Kansas City for a three-game series starting Monday.
The non-waiver trade deadline is Wednesday. Who will be moved? On Monday Jay Jaffe of SI.com continues to say what every other writer has said: If there is a Twin to be moved, it'll be Justin Morneau. It's a fall from grace for the former Most Valuable Player whose career has been derailed, probably permanently, because of a concussion. But he's fallen so far that he has very little trade value now. Also remember that this is the last year of his contract. It would make sense to trade him, but there's not much General Manager Terry Ryan can do if no one wants him. Morneau can walk away as a free agent this offseason, which means they could wind up with nothing ... unless they offer him a contract good enough that, if he rejects it, will trigger a compensatory draft pick for the team next year. That might be the Twins' best option. That might be their only option.
If Morneau is moved off, he at least will have the dignity of being able to play in front of the team he came up with one final time: This week the club hosts Kansas City through Thursday. They then host Houston for the weekend before visiting Kansas City for a three-game series starting Monday.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Oh, So They Didn't Fix The Hood Shocks?!
So today I finally just got the guts to open up my hood. Hey, I still need to check on the power steering level and put more oil in my engine, and if I won't open up my hood because I'm afraid it'll spring up on me and break off while I'm driving it, why in the hell am I still driving it, you know?
I get here, to the library, and pop it open -- and instead of it opening up all the way by itself, and remains heavy, really heavy, on my hands. Then I see one end of the passenger-side shock attached somewhere inside the guts of the car but otherwise laying flat and useless ... and no driver-side shock on the other side. So they did not fix it. I was under the assumption that he would.
Well, fuck, so now what? I have to have the auto body shop finish the job. And if somehow our wires were crossed and he didn't think I paid him to do that, or if he doesn't know how, I'll have to ask the mechanic. I was lucky because he decided not to charge me labor to put in those shocks back in December (just for the parts themselves) because at the time I paid him $1,200 for new, um, real shocks and struts for the car. Will he do that again? I hope so. But honestly, I don't want to call him, at least not right now, because I don't want to hear him say no.
However, I might let this slide, at least for a bit. For one thing I'm tired of seeing these guys because that means my car needs fixing, and I'm tired of that. For another: When I felt the hood weighing on my hands, I know -- well, I actually think -- that if, heaven forbid, I did not completely close the hood (which I did!) and I hit a bump or maybe railroad tracks that completely unlocked it, allowing air to tunnel underneath the hood, it wouldn't fly open. I was basically screwed once the air pushed the hood up past a certain point; the shocks gave a huge assist, even though the wind and momentum tore the hood away from the shocks. Can that happen if there are no shocks that could help lift up the hood? Honestly, I don't know. But I'll say no; the air might be able to come in underneath the hood, but it's so heavy that it would, at most, creep up only so much that I would notice it and hit the brakes, slamming the hood down under its own weight and gravity, and I'd be good to go, and none of the crap that happened to me last week could ever happen again. Maybe I'm better without the hydraulic hood shocks, at least for now.
In the meantime I pressed down on the hood a few times to make it sure it stays down. It better.
I get here, to the library, and pop it open -- and instead of it opening up all the way by itself, and remains heavy, really heavy, on my hands. Then I see one end of the passenger-side shock attached somewhere inside the guts of the car but otherwise laying flat and useless ... and no driver-side shock on the other side. So they did not fix it. I was under the assumption that he would.
Well, fuck, so now what? I have to have the auto body shop finish the job. And if somehow our wires were crossed and he didn't think I paid him to do that, or if he doesn't know how, I'll have to ask the mechanic. I was lucky because he decided not to charge me labor to put in those shocks back in December (just for the parts themselves) because at the time I paid him $1,200 for new, um, real shocks and struts for the car. Will he do that again? I hope so. But honestly, I don't want to call him, at least not right now, because I don't want to hear him say no.
However, I might let this slide, at least for a bit. For one thing I'm tired of seeing these guys because that means my car needs fixing, and I'm tired of that. For another: When I felt the hood weighing on my hands, I know -- well, I actually think -- that if, heaven forbid, I did not completely close the hood (which I did!) and I hit a bump or maybe railroad tracks that completely unlocked it, allowing air to tunnel underneath the hood, it wouldn't fly open. I was basically screwed once the air pushed the hood up past a certain point; the shocks gave a huge assist, even though the wind and momentum tore the hood away from the shocks. Can that happen if there are no shocks that could help lift up the hood? Honestly, I don't know. But I'll say no; the air might be able to come in underneath the hood, but it's so heavy that it would, at most, creep up only so much that I would notice it and hit the brakes, slamming the hood down under its own weight and gravity, and I'd be good to go, and none of the crap that happened to me last week could ever happen again. Maybe I'm better without the hydraulic hood shocks, at least for now.
In the meantime I pressed down on the hood a few times to make it sure it stays down. It better.
First Time I've Worked On My Computer From My Desk In ... Ten Days?
It's a weird feeling right now, typing away at my desk, right next to my bed, in my bedroom. I don't remember exactly the last time I have done this. Looking back on Wailing And Failing, the last blog post I remember doing here is My 2012 Playboy Playmate Review. It's possible I've surfed the Internet from here, but I can't recall. Therefore, this may be the first time in ten days I've used my actual desk.
Don't exactly know why, although I suspect it's a bunch of things. First off, I have a bunch of papers that I keep laying around with the intention of reading them some time. I don't want My Fucking Father to come into my bedroom (which he often does to snoop around) and see them lying on the floor, so I put them on my desk chair before I leave every day. I guess ten days ago I saw that pile on my chair and thought, eh, leave them there. I hadn't touched that pile until I took them off my chair and onto my bed just now.
Another factor is something that My Fucking Father keeps asking me to do: Use my former bedroom, the one he forcefully removed me from, as a study. It has the same desk that I have in my bedroom. That means that the end of my laptop hangs over the end. That's annoying, and if both desks do that to me while I'm writing, why would I use that desk? But I use it. Partially it's because to appease My Fucking Father. Part of it is that it's good to get away from my bedroom once in awhile. Another thing: I started going back there (I've used my computer there from time to time) a week after I lost my job at the testing center. Maybe it has something to do with that, I don't know.
Finally, I have come to the slowest part of the TV watching year. It's the summer doldrums, exacerbated by the fact that we do not have cable. I hear there are some very good TV series on that side, but I just cannot justify the increasing expense of cable and/or satellite. That means that I am at the mercy of over-the-air TV. And the only new show I have to look forward to is So You Think You Can Dance on Tuesdays. I see reruns of The Middle (yes, I'm the one who watches it and keeps that show on the air; I like it 'cause it's a good, modest family show, OK?) and Suburgatory on Wednesdays and the 60 Minutes/Simpsons block on Sundays (even though I fell asleep at the start of the latter's second segment tonight), but till the new season begins, that's it.
As you can imagine, I have a TV in my room. I'll always be on the Internet; funny how something 20 years ago changes your life. Anyway, if there is something I want to watch, but I know I want to surf the Web, I put my lap on my desk here in my bedroom and multi-task. But I don't do that in the summer, or at least not right now. With nothing to watch, I don't have to watch my shows and then look at the Internet during commercial breaks. For at least the past ten days, I just watch the few shows I watch, then once I'm done watching television for the night I either try to take a nap or take my computer bag to my old room and start surfing.
I used to hate that, but right now I like it a lot. And come to think of it, going to my old bedroom, which is on the other side of the upper floor of my house, could be seen as an act of rebellion. Being in there so often would be like telling My Fucking Father that I still prefer that room to this one -- and I do.
So why am I working back in my bedroom now?
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Thoughts On Kansas City, Part Two
- Another difference I see between Kansas City and St. Louis: The former's suburbs are newer and cleaner. Priceline gave me a hotel on the other side of K.C. proper, in the city of Merriam, Kan. Very modern, although in a cookie-cutter, strip mall kind of way. But what amenities they had around the cluster of hotels I was living in those three days: There was a Denny's within walking distance and, for some reason, a BMW dealership up the hill and across the busy cross-street. Up the frontage road, in fact, there was a small building that houses the, get this, visitor's center. The nondescript town of Merriam, Kan. has a visitor's center. I never went inside, but it's a very good-looking and neat building, replete with its own sitting area and, since this is Kansas City, a small fountain, both of which were kept lit throughout the night. If I had more time I might have just walked up there to sit late at night and think. It was that beautiful, and the area that safe. I did take photos.
- So that night, after taking the bus back to the airport, picking up my rental and getting to my hotel, I went to the Soundgarden concert in downtown Kansas City because I had nothing else to do and it seemed to be the perfect occasion to finally catch one of my favorite bands live for the first time. Thank Buddha this was on a Wednesday, which meant that I found parking easily, almost half a mile away from the theater but on the same street. Getting a ticket was even better -- a guy gave me a ticket for free!!! But I then realized, maybe, why he gave it to me: There was this one dude who wouldn't stop hounding him. And after I got this ticket, this fucker wouldn't stop hounding me. He apparently was homeless and was hustling to get money he didn't earn. "Hey man, hey man," he said, "Can I get at least some money for finding the ticket for you?" Finding the ticket??? The guy just gave it to me, you asshole!!! But to just leave me alone, I gave him a couple bucks. Hey, I just got a ticket to the best fucking bad on Earth for free. I was feeling good, and I could afford to give some shiftless punk a couple dollar bills I was going to spend on the ticket.
- After I got the ticket and I wanted to take a picture of the marquee with Soundgarden's name on it. After that I would have then gone into the theater to see the opening act, but I wanted to dump my camera in my rental car. When I carry my camera with me I usually keep it in a pouch that has a velcro strap so I can put it around my belt and walk around with it. But I forgot to pack a belt, and I did not want to hold a camera throughout the concert. So I went to throw the camera back in my car and walk all the way back, short of a mile, I believe. And when I go in, I hear the loud rumblings of "Rhinosaur," an ass-kicking Soundgarden song. "Wait," I said to myself, "Have they started early?" Only later did I realize that in fact there was no opening band, they just got onstage a quarter, maybe 20 minutes past 8 (according to a fan I chatted it up with as we were waiting for the crowd to leave at the end of the show). I missed ten, 15 minutes at the most, according to him. I looked up the setlist; "Searching With My Good Eye Closed" and "Jesus Christ Pose" were the first two songs in the set that I missed before I got there in the middle of "Rhinosaur." I think it was for that reason, I was late, that I didn't get a t-shirt, even though I really, really wanted to.
- Winstead's is the famous diner in Kansas City. Sat at a table underneath a part of the ceiling with water damage. No problem with that. Just something I noticed.
- Got lost getting home. No fucking surprise there. I noticed that there were a lot of similarly named streets. Specifically, there is a numbered "Street," and then, at least in the area where I got lost, there is the same-numbered "Terrace." So I would see, for example, 45th Street, then, a block or so later, 45th Terrace. I forget, but I think that numbering system was the reason why I had such a difficult finding my way back to my hotel after I realized I was lost. That's confusing as shit, and I don't know why in the hell Kansas City would name streets like that.
- The next day I drove to a "breastaurant." Had directions to the closest Hooters, but I wanted to go to Twin Peaks because I've never been there and I've heard -- and seen! -- great things about it. First of all, it took me a good half-hour to find it: Even though it's in a strip mall, it's a huge fucking strip mall, and I thought I could easily see the signage from the road, but I couldn't, so I had to drive in and around and through this gigantic, extremely busy lunchtime traffic to find Twin Peaks. Finally, well after 1, which to me is the very last time of the day to eat lunch, I found it -- a faux-log cabin which nonetheless had every space in their parking lot packed so I had to use the spillover parking from the stripmall. I was pissed as all fuck that I wasted so much goddamn time just trying to find a parking spot ... but alas, once I saw all the waitresses wearing Daisy Dukes and lumberjack-plaid tops tied tight in the middle so it shows a lot of their bellies and is pushed up so much that the cleavages there are long enough to slip dollars in the long way (and seriously, dudes, I thought I could almost see areolas there ... my evil urges were creeping up), I was OK. The food was nice and the beer was cold, but otherwise I didn't see much difference between Twin Peaks and Hooters.
- The difference, at least for this day, at least for the time being, were the girls. I went to two different Hooters twice, and besides my second visit, early in the afternoon of the day I left, where I actually had a conversation with a pretty girl (not insanely hot; she had long, straight hair just like Marcia Brady but she told me all about nursing school), we're talking about stripper hot at Twin Peaks. Actually, let me put it in Washington Park terms: If the two Hooters I visited in Kansas City were C-Mowe's, Twin Peaks is Hollywood Show Club. We'll see if this keeps up.
- Sat at the bar because there was no other spot available. Sat next to a guy who apparently was a regular. He boasted that Twin Peaks is so good that they will run Hooters out of business. He said, probably in a buzzed state, that the babes here are not stuck up and that the food is better. Well, the food is just about the same, and the girls here are nicer probably because they flirt a lot more. Again, we'll see if this keeps up. He did hasten to caution that the easy-to-talk-to women doesn't mean they're whores or anything like that, but really, I think deep down he believes that he's going to be able to fuck one of them. I mean he grabbed hugs from half a dozen girls before he took off!
Saturday, July 27, 2013
It's Over Now
Well, turns out that my mechanic did not tell me whether he got the OK from his co-owner to charge what I owe the body shop onto his card reader in time. By 3:30, about 90 minutes before the auto body shop closed for the day, I caved; I told Mother that they surprised me by saying it was cash only, and I made her take me to the bank before the auto body shop. Good thing; on my way to said shop my mechanic told me that his co-owner finally got back to him and he did not have the OK.
Got there, told Mother she didn't have to stick around, she said of course she would, I got a little freaked out that she's going to notice that the total bill was $850 and not $750 like I said, and ... I got bailed out when the guy who managed the makeover of my car took me behind his shop to the street. There are, like, a dozen shops clustered in this area, so if business is good, they need overflow spots. Good thing is that we walked to my car while Mother was turning around the minivan. I don't know if she even saw me leave. Eventually she parked it out on the street and waited for me where she dropped me off -- while me and the guy were on the next street over. Helped me feel like she was out of my hair. Maybe she wouldn't have gotten into my business, but, well, being physically far away from her helped me ease my nerves.
Somewhat. I took a quick look around the body of the car. Through his thick Mexican accent, I believe he said he repainted and repolished only the left side of the car because most of the rust spots were or were about to erupt on that side. They also buffed out the scratches I think my mechanic made when replacing the power steering hose, largely. I had abandoned trying to fix scratches I put on when I scratched it against my parents' minivan three years ago, I didn't tell them about that, and it was on the other side, so I'm not sure if they removed that. In fact, I don't know if they filled in the scratches at all. Thought the mechanic told them to do that. I also noticed a big polish smell inside the car. He said the worked on the interior a little bit, too. Saw that they lacquered the hell out of a couple places, like the emergency brake.
Look, all in all, it looks good, but partly because I didn't want to dawdle before Mother sauntered our way and "found out" about us, I just gave him the money once I went around the car one time. The rust spots are gone, and that's great news. Now I just hope they don't come back. I had rust removed from the top edge of my windshield several years back. It was the result of a half-ass job done by a drive-by windshield repair company Father brought home. Right now I still don't see any rust, but that was after I paid $800 and gave these guys (another body shop, one much closer to home) an entire workweek to work on it. These guys gave me back my car after two days. That worries me. Plus it was raining off and on yesterday; is that a going to be a problem? I thought the mechanic said it took 48 hours to dry, and I don't believe they started painting until Thursday. Finally, it's raining today. Bottom line: I am not sure if these guys have done a good job, but I don't really know until a year, two years from now -- assuming that the job was bad paint starts running off the car right now.
Oh, and the hood ... yeah, that looks alright. Everything seems to be in place, and it hasn't popped open yet. The dents seemed to be banged out. In fact, there was a dent right up against the side of my left headlight that I decided not to fix, and it looked like (because it was on the driver's side, the one where I pointed out all the rust) they did their best to straighten and paint over it. That's good. But I have yet to open the hood and close it. I hope it works, I assume it will, but I'm afraid of opening it because apparently I have no fucking ability to close it. Goddamn, I still don't believe I didn't close it. I still cannot believe I made the mistake of not closing it all the way because it cost me so much money. Seriously, this damages my account for at least the next few months, and this might derail my pile of money for the rest of the year, and beyond. And all because I didn't close the hood all the way?
I had no major plans this week, but looking back, I'm astonished how the car has been my main -- my only -- concern all week. The whole week centered around my car -- how to fix it, how much, when am I going to get it back, where can I go without it, where can't I go without it, what alternative plans do I have to make in order to get back to it once it's fixed, etc. And all because the fucking hood popped up Monday morning. I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD THIS IS NOT MY FAULT!!! AND NOW I'M BROKE BECAUSE OF IT???
It's confusing, it's outrageously unfair, it still could be bullshit; if the hood pops up suddenly on the way home, then I know it's not my fault. But the thing that keeps me from totally losing my mind is that I now have this whole goddamn episode behind me. And the problems with vibrations and slow acceleration, well, those are problems I'll deal with another time. This fucking episode is over now:
Got there, told Mother she didn't have to stick around, she said of course she would, I got a little freaked out that she's going to notice that the total bill was $850 and not $750 like I said, and ... I got bailed out when the guy who managed the makeover of my car took me behind his shop to the street. There are, like, a dozen shops clustered in this area, so if business is good, they need overflow spots. Good thing is that we walked to my car while Mother was turning around the minivan. I don't know if she even saw me leave. Eventually she parked it out on the street and waited for me where she dropped me off -- while me and the guy were on the next street over. Helped me feel like she was out of my hair. Maybe she wouldn't have gotten into my business, but, well, being physically far away from her helped me ease my nerves.
Somewhat. I took a quick look around the body of the car. Through his thick Mexican accent, I believe he said he repainted and repolished only the left side of the car because most of the rust spots were or were about to erupt on that side. They also buffed out the scratches I think my mechanic made when replacing the power steering hose, largely. I had abandoned trying to fix scratches I put on when I scratched it against my parents' minivan three years ago, I didn't tell them about that, and it was on the other side, so I'm not sure if they removed that. In fact, I don't know if they filled in the scratches at all. Thought the mechanic told them to do that. I also noticed a big polish smell inside the car. He said the worked on the interior a little bit, too. Saw that they lacquered the hell out of a couple places, like the emergency brake.
Look, all in all, it looks good, but partly because I didn't want to dawdle before Mother sauntered our way and "found out" about us, I just gave him the money once I went around the car one time. The rust spots are gone, and that's great news. Now I just hope they don't come back. I had rust removed from the top edge of my windshield several years back. It was the result of a half-ass job done by a drive-by windshield repair company Father brought home. Right now I still don't see any rust, but that was after I paid $800 and gave these guys (another body shop, one much closer to home) an entire workweek to work on it. These guys gave me back my car after two days. That worries me. Plus it was raining off and on yesterday; is that a going to be a problem? I thought the mechanic said it took 48 hours to dry, and I don't believe they started painting until Thursday. Finally, it's raining today. Bottom line: I am not sure if these guys have done a good job, but I don't really know until a year, two years from now -- assuming that the job was bad paint starts running off the car right now.
Oh, and the hood ... yeah, that looks alright. Everything seems to be in place, and it hasn't popped open yet. The dents seemed to be banged out. In fact, there was a dent right up against the side of my left headlight that I decided not to fix, and it looked like (because it was on the driver's side, the one where I pointed out all the rust) they did their best to straighten and paint over it. That's good. But I have yet to open the hood and close it. I hope it works, I assume it will, but I'm afraid of opening it because apparently I have no fucking ability to close it. Goddamn, I still don't believe I didn't close it. I still cannot believe I made the mistake of not closing it all the way because it cost me so much money. Seriously, this damages my account for at least the next few months, and this might derail my pile of money for the rest of the year, and beyond. And all because I didn't close the hood all the way?
I had no major plans this week, but looking back, I'm astonished how the car has been my main -- my only -- concern all week. The whole week centered around my car -- how to fix it, how much, when am I going to get it back, where can I go without it, where can't I go without it, what alternative plans do I have to make in order to get back to it once it's fixed, etc. And all because the fucking hood popped up Monday morning. I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD THIS IS NOT MY FAULT!!! AND NOW I'M BROKE BECAUSE OF IT???
It's confusing, it's outrageously unfair, it still could be bullshit; if the hood pops up suddenly on the way home, then I know it's not my fault. But the thing that keeps me from totally losing my mind is that I now have this whole goddamn episode behind me. And the problems with vibrations and slow acceleration, well, those are problems I'll deal with another time. This fucking episode is over now:
Friday, July 26, 2013
Update On Car, And Trying To Avoid Parents Yelling At Me For It
ETA on the car is still the same: endeavoring to finish it today, possibility that it'll be done Saturday. Had a moment there where I got blindsided by the auto body shop owner saying that he only takes cash. WTF? This guy live in the seventies? But this auto body shop is in a cluster of several auto body and car repair shops, including the mechanic I now go to. I called him up under the belief that he might help me pay for this with my credit card and he can just pay him, and just as I suspected, these guys are pretty close and I believe that is how it can be done. If it's not, well, I guess I can't get back my car.
Problem now is getting it. Told my parents that it should be ready in the afternoon. Of course they volunteered to drop me off. Still scared that they'll snoop around and realize that the total cost is more than the $500 I told My Father, but I forgot that there is a power steering leak I have not told him has already been fixed. I could just say that as long as I had to bring the car in, they (meaning the car repair mechanic, not the auto body place) might as well fix that, too. That'd totally get them off my back? Why didn't I think of that earlier? Oh well, I have a feeling that having that explanation in my back pocket will work.
But let's be honest: It's a damn waste of time to go there if it's not going to be done by the end of the day. My initial plan is to take the bus down there in the morning, which is initially when I told My Father that it'd be done. I have now told him the afternoon because frankly, I could not stand being at the U. the whole damn day. Now that they insist on taking me there, I don't think it's wise to get there and just hang out. It makes too much sense to just ask them around noon if the car's going to be ready, especially since the guy who owns the body shop told me to call him around then. Yeah, to not waste anybody's time and to not act illogical, I'll just call and see when I can pick it up. That raises the issue of my folks snooping around when I pay, but that's just something I'll have to deal with.
That's the plan. For now.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
I Love The Carlos Danger Name Generator
Oh, Anthony Weiner. Your compulsion to show chicks your wiener online -- something I can relate to, by the way, I'm just not running for public office -- is the gift that keeps on giving.
Now Slate has capitalized on news of the latest woman to expose (see what I did there?) the aspiring governor of New York sending photos of his dick to her. Some of these pictures were sent on a e-mail account for a "Carlos Danger," and writer Chris Kirk thought that nom de flash so hilarious that he concocted The Carlos Danger Name Generator. Just type in your name and you can have your own sexting pseudonym (even though, to be technical and perfectly upfront, it's not confirmed if Anthony Weiner did sext this woman, or if he even has sexted anyone from these cock-showing scandals).
But do you know what might be the best thing about the article? The correction at the bottom of the piece added after the original name generator was posted:
Anyone care to share his or her sexting name?
This is Marcelo Covert, signing off.
Now Slate has capitalized on news of the latest woman to expose (see what I did there?) the aspiring governor of New York sending photos of his dick to her. Some of these pictures were sent on a e-mail account for a "Carlos Danger," and writer Chris Kirk thought that nom de flash so hilarious that he concocted The Carlos Danger Name Generator. Just type in your name and you can have your own sexting pseudonym (even though, to be technical and perfectly upfront, it's not confirmed if Anthony Weiner did sext this woman, or if he even has sexted anyone from these cock-showing scandals).
But do you know what might be the best thing about the article? The correction at the bottom of the piece added after the original name generator was posted:
An earlier version of the Carlos Danger Name Generator suggested incorrectly that the Carlos Danger Name for Anthony Weiner is Armando Catastrophe. The Carlos Danger Name for Anthony Weiner is Carlos Danger.So reductive! So space-cadetish! And yet so serious! This has to be read with a deadpan face. But I will say that Armando Catastrophe is a kick-ass name.
Anyone care to share his or her sexting name?
This is Marcelo Covert, signing off.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
SI.com Change
Just to note, if I ever am thinking about this in the future, that the online version of Sports Illustrated has changed its front page. Most notably, there are now 15 linkable headlines.
Again, just so you (mostly I) know.
Again, just so you (mostly I) know.
JUST SAY SOMETHING ALREADY!!!
I thought My Fucking Father and I were going to talk about bringing the car in to fix the hood. Well, I came back, left arm limp and heart palpitating over worrying about what is coming once I got home, and ... nothing. Literally nothing.
I come up on the driveway and see my parents' minivan, but no SUV that I thought My Fucking Father have prepared and ordered me to use from now on. When I opened the front door, he told me just to turn off the sprinkler. And as we ate dinner, me anticipating him to ask me something innocuous, like how was my day, before launching into a fight over bringing the car into the repair shop. But he didn't ask. We did talk, nicely even; for example, he asked me if Germany still has a monarchy. (I had to look it up, but once I went through the encyclopedia I should have known that they haven't for centuries.)
So I figured he would wait until the end. I hate that. I knew a talk about the car was coming, and every minute we didn't talk about it made me more and more anxious. He always says something innocent to lull me into a false sense of security before dropping the hammer. That it didn't happen immediately gave me time to think how he was going to screw me over. All I kept thinking was, "OK, he isn't saying anything over dinner, but I remember when he started yelling at me right after I wiped up the table -- that's when he's gonna get me! Get ready for it!!" That builds over time, so after I got done eating I was a goddamn nervous wreck.
Well, it finally happened when My Fucking Father came upstairs holding something with our insurance company logo on it. He talked about insurance for the car, so now he's going to ... do something bad that I can't handle. So he said ... "I need you to type a letter."
A letter? Yes, a letter. Well, actually an e-mail, to management in Las Vegas because they didn't get a monthly statement for one of their properties. Oh, and the insurance is a home insurance policy that they want me to cancel. Type a letter sending the cancellation, both of my parents said. And I immediately did. And I did it, and it was done, and ... My Father did not talk about the car at all.
OK.
On the one hand maybe this means he's maturing, or at least he's decided (possibly with the help of Mother) that this isn't something to fight over and he's just going to let me do this. But there is nothing stopping him from dropping the bomb on me tonight, when I come home via the bus. Is there a chance he would actually be surprised that the car isn't there, and then confront by saying that he thought we agreed that we would not get the hood of my car fixed? I'm not going to put it past him.
But ... well, maybe I'm paranoid and he won't confront me. So why aren't I happy that he's just letting me do what I think is best? Is he just avoiding me and/or the subject? Well, on one hand the silence is kind of killing me. But on the other hand I ... I don't know, but I wonder if he cares anymore. Is he so fed up with me not doing what he wants that he just, for lack of a better word, gave up -- fighting with me over the car, and/or talking to me? Look, I want him to leave me alone. No, no -- better yet, I want him to talk to me, plainly, calmly, supporting my decision, even if he disagrees with it. But if he's not going to talk about this, he might be so upset that he thinks it's not worth arguing over. And if that's the case, if he's disappointed instead of angry ... well, shit, I feel a bit guilty about that. I don't want him to be disappointed, I just want him to calm down and leave me alone as I get this fixed the way I want it.
I don't know. I'm typing this at the coffeeshop right next to the auto body shop. What's done is done; the car is theirs now. I hope to Buddha they do this right. And then, I hope my parents don't make a big deal out of this, and I hope Father doesn't use my decision to come down on me for something else in the future, like he's apt to do.
The big question: How am I going to answer my parents' obvious question about what am I going to do tomorrow? I thought I would just say I am taking the day off. Will they accept that? And what would I do tomorrow? I thought I'd just go to, say, the Mall of America. But maybe that brings up more questions. But, as I said, it's done. The car's in the shop, and I don't have it till they say they're done with it.
---
One other thing. As long as the car is in the shop, and as long as they are working on the outside of the car, this morning I asked one of the guys if they can remove all the rust from my car. They said they could -- for an extra $200. Don't tell my folks; I agreed to it -- to a point. The problem is that the guy I talked to said that now there's a chance I won't get the car back till Saturday. That complicates a lot of things, not least of which is my plan to tell my parents that I'm immediately driving the car to work after I pick it up Friday morning. It'd be so easy for them to insist they take me to the auto body shop to pick it up if it's on Saturday. Then they'll see how much I really paid for it and get pissed off all over again.
Is the new date because I asked them to clean up the rust? If so, I should tell them not to do it. In fact, I should do that now.
I come up on the driveway and see my parents' minivan, but no SUV that I thought My Fucking Father have prepared and ordered me to use from now on. When I opened the front door, he told me just to turn off the sprinkler. And as we ate dinner, me anticipating him to ask me something innocuous, like how was my day, before launching into a fight over bringing the car into the repair shop. But he didn't ask. We did talk, nicely even; for example, he asked me if Germany still has a monarchy. (I had to look it up, but once I went through the encyclopedia I should have known that they haven't for centuries.)
So I figured he would wait until the end. I hate that. I knew a talk about the car was coming, and every minute we didn't talk about it made me more and more anxious. He always says something innocent to lull me into a false sense of security before dropping the hammer. That it didn't happen immediately gave me time to think how he was going to screw me over. All I kept thinking was, "OK, he isn't saying anything over dinner, but I remember when he started yelling at me right after I wiped up the table -- that's when he's gonna get me! Get ready for it!!" That builds over time, so after I got done eating I was a goddamn nervous wreck.
Well, it finally happened when My Fucking Father came upstairs holding something with our insurance company logo on it. He talked about insurance for the car, so now he's going to ... do something bad that I can't handle. So he said ... "I need you to type a letter."
A letter? Yes, a letter. Well, actually an e-mail, to management in Las Vegas because they didn't get a monthly statement for one of their properties. Oh, and the insurance is a home insurance policy that they want me to cancel. Type a letter sending the cancellation, both of my parents said. And I immediately did. And I did it, and it was done, and ... My Father did not talk about the car at all.
OK.
On the one hand maybe this means he's maturing, or at least he's decided (possibly with the help of Mother) that this isn't something to fight over and he's just going to let me do this. But there is nothing stopping him from dropping the bomb on me tonight, when I come home via the bus. Is there a chance he would actually be surprised that the car isn't there, and then confront by saying that he thought we agreed that we would not get the hood of my car fixed? I'm not going to put it past him.
But ... well, maybe I'm paranoid and he won't confront me. So why aren't I happy that he's just letting me do what I think is best? Is he just avoiding me and/or the subject? Well, on one hand the silence is kind of killing me. But on the other hand I ... I don't know, but I wonder if he cares anymore. Is he so fed up with me not doing what he wants that he just, for lack of a better word, gave up -- fighting with me over the car, and/or talking to me? Look, I want him to leave me alone. No, no -- better yet, I want him to talk to me, plainly, calmly, supporting my decision, even if he disagrees with it. But if he's not going to talk about this, he might be so upset that he thinks it's not worth arguing over. And if that's the case, if he's disappointed instead of angry ... well, shit, I feel a bit guilty about that. I don't want him to be disappointed, I just want him to calm down and leave me alone as I get this fixed the way I want it.
I don't know. I'm typing this at the coffeeshop right next to the auto body shop. What's done is done; the car is theirs now. I hope to Buddha they do this right. And then, I hope my parents don't make a big deal out of this, and I hope Father doesn't use my decision to come down on me for something else in the future, like he's apt to do.
The big question: How am I going to answer my parents' obvious question about what am I going to do tomorrow? I thought I would just say I am taking the day off. Will they accept that? And what would I do tomorrow? I thought I'd just go to, say, the Mall of America. But maybe that brings up more questions. But, as I said, it's done. The car's in the shop, and I don't have it till they say they're done with it.
---
One other thing. As long as the car is in the shop, and as long as they are working on the outside of the car, this morning I asked one of the guys if they can remove all the rust from my car. They said they could -- for an extra $200. Don't tell my folks; I agreed to it -- to a point. The problem is that the guy I talked to said that now there's a chance I won't get the car back till Saturday. That complicates a lot of things, not least of which is my plan to tell my parents that I'm immediately driving the car to work after I pick it up Friday morning. It'd be so easy for them to insist they take me to the auto body shop to pick it up if it's on Saturday. Then they'll see how much I really paid for it and get pissed off all over again.
Is the new date because I asked them to clean up the rust? If so, I should tell them not to do it. In fact, I should do that now.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Predictably, My Fucking Father Saw The Car And Lost His Shit
I actually had work this morning. Well, it was an MRI session scheduled a quarter to 8, but I thought my parents wouldn't see the bent hood and tie-down wires because I would leave the house first. But, for some unknown goddamn reason, my parents left the house before 7. Fuck you, fate.
I just parked at the U. research center when the phone rang. It was My Fucking Father. Even though I told him I was in an accident last night over dinner, he blew his top over the car. He was shooting his damn mouth off about bullshit. Let me see ... he asked me what happened, then he told me about insurance, then said "That's OK," (and by the way, that's bullshit, it is definitely not OK with him) then I think he accused me of not working when I told him yesterday that I didn't work because I was trying to get the car fucking fixed. Finally, the cheap bastard insisted that I do not get this fixed. Here is My Fucking Father, being a typical hypocrite, accusing me of "having no feeling," spouting off with his verbal diarrhea while not listening to a single goddamn word I have to say.
He said we'll talk as soon as I get back. So between now and then, where I hope to work on my next sports column, watch a movie (World War Z?) and go to Barnes & Noble in order to get my mind away from thinking about my mortality, I need to work on my spiel. I told My Fucking Father that I am going to get this fixed (to a tune of $500 -- could not underestimate the damage they saw this morning for anything less, but I don't think I could even reason with him if I told him the real amount) and it's already done. I also have to convince him that I need this car, and that there is no way I can just go around with the hood tied up like that. I don't know if it'll work, and yet I feel undeservedly optimistic right now. I don't know why. Maybe it's the coffee I'm drinking. But I need to dampen my enthusiasm, and right now.
What I'm scared My Fucking Father will do, and what he probably will do, is yell at me for getting into "an accident." And then he'll somehow tie this into not going back to school, like that has any fucking thing to do with this. If he gets on that tangent, I'm fucked; he's out of control, and there's no way to reason with him. (All the while Mother won't get in the middle of this -- totally useless in these cases, as usual.) I am really, really afraid of what he'll do and threaten to do to me.
However ... while driving here to the library I thought about this car. I have complained about "The Second Sound," the vibrating coming through the shift selector, the inconsistent idling, and the resistance I feel from the car as it accelerates. Now, I'm not saying I want to let the car go. But I could see My Fucking Father deciding to take the car away from me -- officially, he owns it -- and giving me the SUV that is supposed to be my sister's which has been in storage for years now. I don't know if it has 20,000 miles on it, and it's 13 years old. I can totally imagine him getting that thing up and running right now. That would be yet another overreaction from him, but I have to be honest: If he orders me to stop using my baby, the car I've been with for the past 20 years, that means no more worrying about "The Second Sound," or the vibrations, or the idling problems or the hesitation issues. Hey, I'm trying to look on the bright side here.
I just parked at the U. research center when the phone rang. It was My Fucking Father. Even though I told him I was in an accident last night over dinner, he blew his top over the car. He was shooting his damn mouth off about bullshit. Let me see ... he asked me what happened, then he told me about insurance, then said "That's OK," (and by the way, that's bullshit, it is definitely not OK with him) then I think he accused me of not working when I told him yesterday that I didn't work because I was trying to get the car fucking fixed. Finally, the cheap bastard insisted that I do not get this fixed. Here is My Fucking Father, being a typical hypocrite, accusing me of "having no feeling," spouting off with his verbal diarrhea while not listening to a single goddamn word I have to say.
He said we'll talk as soon as I get back. So between now and then, where I hope to work on my next sports column, watch a movie (World War Z?) and go to Barnes & Noble in order to get my mind away from thinking about my mortality, I need to work on my spiel. I told My Fucking Father that I am going to get this fixed (to a tune of $500 -- could not underestimate the damage they saw this morning for anything less, but I don't think I could even reason with him if I told him the real amount) and it's already done. I also have to convince him that I need this car, and that there is no way I can just go around with the hood tied up like that. I don't know if it'll work, and yet I feel undeservedly optimistic right now. I don't know why. Maybe it's the coffee I'm drinking. But I need to dampen my enthusiasm, and right now.
What I'm scared My Fucking Father will do, and what he probably will do, is yell at me for getting into "an accident." And then he'll somehow tie this into not going back to school, like that has any fucking thing to do with this. If he gets on that tangent, I'm fucked; he's out of control, and there's no way to reason with him. (All the while Mother won't get in the middle of this -- totally useless in these cases, as usual.) I am really, really afraid of what he'll do and threaten to do to me.
However ... while driving here to the library I thought about this car. I have complained about "The Second Sound," the vibrating coming through the shift selector, the inconsistent idling, and the resistance I feel from the car as it accelerates. Now, I'm not saying I want to let the car go. But I could see My Fucking Father deciding to take the car away from me -- officially, he owns it -- and giving me the SUV that is supposed to be my sister's which has been in storage for years now. I don't know if it has 20,000 miles on it, and it's 13 years old. I can totally imagine him getting that thing up and running right now. That would be yet another overreaction from him, but I have to be honest: If he orders me to stop using my baby, the car I've been with for the past 20 years, that means no more worrying about "The Second Sound," or the vibrations, or the idling problems or the hesitation issues. Hey, I'm trying to look on the bright side here.
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#0: Lynx (Last Week: -1). Must give props to the Lynx, the best franchise in Twin Cities sport the past three years (and that includes the Gopher women's hockey team). I bump them up to 0 because the retain the best record in the Women's National Basketball Association and they have won six straight after whipping San Antonio and, more impressively, coming back from a third quarter deficit to beat Phoenix -- both games, by the way, coming on the road.
Looking at the box scores of both games, you see that they won in different ways. In crushing The Bastard Utah Starzz by 16, all 11 Lynx players saw action, but Lindsay Whalen led the way with 21 points. But by turning a five-point deficit after 30 minutes to an 82-77 win over the Phoenix Lifelock, Head Coach Cheryl Reeve shortened her rotation to eight players, and four of her starters finished with between 14 and 18 points. To me, it looks like this team just finds ways to win, and the fact that they can do it by being flexible with the number of players who play and sharing who shoulders the scoring load bodes well for the future.
Also note that the last four games they've won have all been away from Target Center. They get to play at home this week in an attempt to extend their home winning streak Wednesday against Phoenix, Friday vs. San Antonio, and Sunday versus Seattle.
#-1: Twins (Last Week: -2). 3-1 for the week that really began Friday because of the All-Star Break, and hey, they have won five of their last six games. Yeah, let's just forget the first half ever happened!
Where are you on Glen Perkins? Honestly, I don't know. He may be the best closer that should be available in the trade market. The Twinks could use the future prospects a hot Perk will bring in trade before the July 31 trading deadline. Then again, I have a bad visceral reaction to trading away possibly the best player in a Twins uniform right now. I know they aren't going anywhere (recent winning form aside), but it would be nice to continue to see someone who can do his job well. I can understand trading him, and I can understand not trading him.
They are on the road this week, but it's two games in Anaheim and four at Seattle -- these are gettable games.
#-2: Swarm (Re-Entry!). I honestly do not keep tabs on the minor league sports teams in town. So color me surprised when I hit the "College Sports" section of ESPN.com, eventually clicked onto a lacrosse story about a cheerleader for the Toronto Rock of the National Lacrosse League fostering her nascent baking career ... then saw that on July 15 the Smarm traded two of their best players, Forward Ryan Benesch and Transition Andrew Watt to the Buffalo Bandits in exchange for three draft picks: The Bandits' first-round picks in the 2015 and 2016 NLL Drafts and a third-rounder in the 2017 Draft.
My first reaction? Bullshit, although I should not have been totally surprised. Owner John Arlotta has purged the team's best players before, maybe even a year ago. Of the players I can think off the top of my head, only Captain Andrew Suitor and Callum Crawford are sticking around, at least for the upcoming season, that longtime fans can rely on to be playing on the Xcel Energy Center felt. But neither of them are Benesch, the leading scorer in franchise history, or Watt, who holds the franchise record for most shorthanded goals.
So what gives? Looking through a forum thread regarding this blockbuster trade, a few fans speculate this was spurred on partly because, unbeknownst to me and possibly many other fans, the Swarm don't get a lot of attendance, or are at least lacking compared to other teams in the NLL. Some people also think that since the league's postseason format is so generous (there are eight spots and only nine teams, and I've heard of no plans for expansion), you just have to make sure you're not the worst team in the league, then you just have to catch lightning in a bottle to win three straight games to win the championship. You don't necessarily need high-priced (for NLL) players to do that.
One other thing to consider: The Swarm have four first-round picks in this year's draft: #'s 1, 2, 5 and 7. I don't know if this is a loaded draft, like this year's NHL Draft, or totally crappy, like this year's NBA Draft. But from what I've heard on the forum and the blurb from this mock by ILIndoor.com's Stephen Stamp, Minnesota's top pick will be a scoring stud named Logan Schuss. Stamp believes the Swarm will follow that up with a Defenseman named Jason Noble and later pick up Forward Scott Jones. We'll see if the Swarm follows form in the NLL Draft a couple months from now, and it'll take some time to see if these guys amount to anything. But Arlotta has the opportunities to reload, not rebuild, with young gunners. And if they are talented, trading Benesch and Watt is the organization essentially hoping they can do two years from now what they are doing right now. I am surprised that many fans on the forum weren't up in arms over this. But I can see that the team might be able to win a title with a youth movement.
Looking at the box scores of both games, you see that they won in different ways. In crushing The Bastard Utah Starzz by 16, all 11 Lynx players saw action, but Lindsay Whalen led the way with 21 points. But by turning a five-point deficit after 30 minutes to an 82-77 win over the Phoenix Lifelock, Head Coach Cheryl Reeve shortened her rotation to eight players, and four of her starters finished with between 14 and 18 points. To me, it looks like this team just finds ways to win, and the fact that they can do it by being flexible with the number of players who play and sharing who shoulders the scoring load bodes well for the future.
Also note that the last four games they've won have all been away from Target Center. They get to play at home this week in an attempt to extend their home winning streak Wednesday against Phoenix, Friday vs. San Antonio, and Sunday versus Seattle.
#-1: Twins (Last Week: -2). 3-1 for the week that really began Friday because of the All-Star Break, and hey, they have won five of their last six games. Yeah, let's just forget the first half ever happened!
Where are you on Glen Perkins? Honestly, I don't know. He may be the best closer that should be available in the trade market. The Twinks could use the future prospects a hot Perk will bring in trade before the July 31 trading deadline. Then again, I have a bad visceral reaction to trading away possibly the best player in a Twins uniform right now. I know they aren't going anywhere (recent winning form aside), but it would be nice to continue to see someone who can do his job well. I can understand trading him, and I can understand not trading him.
They are on the road this week, but it's two games in Anaheim and four at Seattle -- these are gettable games.
#-2: Swarm (Re-Entry!). I honestly do not keep tabs on the minor league sports teams in town. So color me surprised when I hit the "College Sports" section of ESPN.com, eventually clicked onto a lacrosse story about a cheerleader for the Toronto Rock of the National Lacrosse League fostering her nascent baking career ... then saw that on July 15 the Smarm traded two of their best players, Forward Ryan Benesch and Transition Andrew Watt to the Buffalo Bandits in exchange for three draft picks: The Bandits' first-round picks in the 2015 and 2016 NLL Drafts and a third-rounder in the 2017 Draft.
My first reaction? Bullshit, although I should not have been totally surprised. Owner John Arlotta has purged the team's best players before, maybe even a year ago. Of the players I can think off the top of my head, only Captain Andrew Suitor and Callum Crawford are sticking around, at least for the upcoming season, that longtime fans can rely on to be playing on the Xcel Energy Center felt. But neither of them are Benesch, the leading scorer in franchise history, or Watt, who holds the franchise record for most shorthanded goals.
So what gives? Looking through a forum thread regarding this blockbuster trade, a few fans speculate this was spurred on partly because, unbeknownst to me and possibly many other fans, the Swarm don't get a lot of attendance, or are at least lacking compared to other teams in the NLL. Some people also think that since the league's postseason format is so generous (there are eight spots and only nine teams, and I've heard of no plans for expansion), you just have to make sure you're not the worst team in the league, then you just have to catch lightning in a bottle to win three straight games to win the championship. You don't necessarily need high-priced (for NLL) players to do that.
One other thing to consider: The Swarm have four first-round picks in this year's draft: #'s 1, 2, 5 and 7. I don't know if this is a loaded draft, like this year's NHL Draft, or totally crappy, like this year's NBA Draft. But from what I've heard on the forum and the blurb from this mock by ILIndoor.com's Stephen Stamp, Minnesota's top pick will be a scoring stud named Logan Schuss. Stamp believes the Swarm will follow that up with a Defenseman named Jason Noble and later pick up Forward Scott Jones. We'll see if the Swarm follows form in the NLL Draft a couple months from now, and it'll take some time to see if these guys amount to anything. But Arlotta has the opportunities to reload, not rebuild, with young gunners. And if they are talented, trading Benesch and Watt is the organization essentially hoping they can do two years from now what they are doing right now. I am surprised that many fans on the forum weren't up in arms over this. But I can see that the team might be able to win a title with a youth movement.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Guess It's My Fucking Fault, Again
You know, it would be pretty funny if I wasn't so goddamn pissed off and depressed over it.
I'm driving to McDonald's, looking forward to a day of exercising and working on the Internet. And by fucking God, all of a sudden, the fucking hood comes up and onto my windshield. I still can't fucking believe that fucking shit happened to me. That shit happens in a movie, not in Real Life.
I was able to drive it, slowly, to the nearest gas station. I didn't have the ability to freak out because, what the FUCK!!!!!!!!!, the fucking hood of my fucking car just popped up on me while I was driving!!! I called AAA and I called my mechanic -- you know, the one I was going to see on Friday, telling him I couldn't wait to see him so I was just gonna come in today.
Surveyed the damage. The hood is all bent. One of the hood shocks, which the mechanic put in in December, is gone. There are braces where the hood connects to the body of the car, around the side mirrors, that are bent and/or broken off. Pieces of the body itself are twisted. It's an absolute fucking disaster.
I finally got someone from the mechanic's a bit after 10, then called AAA to arrange a tow. They said 45 minutes, and I couldn't just sit there, so I went back to the accident to see if I can find missing pieces, like the missing hood shock, or the piece of the latch that had to have broken off. Don't know what I could do, but I had to do something to make this better, to keep costs of the repair down.
About 15 minutes later I got a call saying that the tower is coming. Half-hour early? Cool; they're usually not that early. I couldn't find anything, so I just walked back, only to see a AAA truck already there.
Thought he would call as soon as he arrived, but I apologized to him anyway. Saw that there were twist ties at the corners of the hood. It apparently is now secured to the car. Then the AAA man said, "I latched it."
He latched it? I looked at the latch and thought a part of it must've broken off. But the latch, the whole latch is there. Then he asked me if I opened up the hood recently. In fact, I did -- yesterday, because I was afraid that the transmission wasn't working.
So it's my fault, right? It's my fault that I didn't shut the hood properly, like everybody else in this goddamn world can do without a second thought. I thought I was one of those people, but apparently I'm not. Apparently, pushing down the hood is beyond me. What do you mean I didn't latch it??? I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD I CLOSED THE LID, BUT THEY SAY I DIDN'T, WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! And the worst thing is is that I am paranoid when it comes to my car. I checked my transmission level twice this week, and nothing has been different. I make sure my doors are locked every single time I think I lock it -- and sometimes I check again. But I guess I missed the hood. I opened it, and I thought I closed it, but no, I didn't make sure. Why? Because I didn't think I had to. Well, that was a fucking goddamn mistake, because it just about broke off this morning. All because "they say" I didn't close it tightly enough. GODDAMMIT, IT WAS JUST ONE FUCKING MISTAKE AND IT'S GOING TO WIPE OUT MY ENTIRE CHECKING ACCOUNT!!! THIS ISN'T FAIR!!!
So now I wait for the estimate, with jangled nerves that are exacerbated with this large cup of coffee I'm nursing. I don't know if I can pay this. I don't know how long this will take. I don't even know if I even should fix this. But I probably will. The difference between something like this and, say, whatever might be happening to the engine or the transmission is that, assuming they they are right and I am wrong, this damage was of my own making, and not the car. If it's the car acting up, and if it's going to take a lot of money to fix, maybe then I could see it as time for me to just let it go. But in this case, assuming that I didn't secure it EVEN THOUGH I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD I DID, SHIT, HOW WOULD I MISS SUCH A THING?!?!?! it's my responsibility to fix it. I can't trash something because of something I did; it works just fine, it's just my fault.
It's always my fault. I'm just trying to move ahead in life, and then this shit happens. It always fucking happens. I'm so fucking tired. Of all of this.
I'm driving to McDonald's, looking forward to a day of exercising and working on the Internet. And by fucking God, all of a sudden, the fucking hood comes up and onto my windshield. I still can't fucking believe that fucking shit happened to me. That shit happens in a movie, not in Real Life.
I was able to drive it, slowly, to the nearest gas station. I didn't have the ability to freak out because, what the FUCK!!!!!!!!!, the fucking hood of my fucking car just popped up on me while I was driving!!! I called AAA and I called my mechanic -- you know, the one I was going to see on Friday, telling him I couldn't wait to see him so I was just gonna come in today.
Surveyed the damage. The hood is all bent. One of the hood shocks, which the mechanic put in in December, is gone. There are braces where the hood connects to the body of the car, around the side mirrors, that are bent and/or broken off. Pieces of the body itself are twisted. It's an absolute fucking disaster.
I finally got someone from the mechanic's a bit after 10, then called AAA to arrange a tow. They said 45 minutes, and I couldn't just sit there, so I went back to the accident to see if I can find missing pieces, like the missing hood shock, or the piece of the latch that had to have broken off. Don't know what I could do, but I had to do something to make this better, to keep costs of the repair down.
About 15 minutes later I got a call saying that the tower is coming. Half-hour early? Cool; they're usually not that early. I couldn't find anything, so I just walked back, only to see a AAA truck already there.
Thought he would call as soon as he arrived, but I apologized to him anyway. Saw that there were twist ties at the corners of the hood. It apparently is now secured to the car. Then the AAA man said, "I latched it."
He latched it? I looked at the latch and thought a part of it must've broken off. But the latch, the whole latch is there. Then he asked me if I opened up the hood recently. In fact, I did -- yesterday, because I was afraid that the transmission wasn't working.
So it's my fault, right? It's my fault that I didn't shut the hood properly, like everybody else in this goddamn world can do without a second thought. I thought I was one of those people, but apparently I'm not. Apparently, pushing down the hood is beyond me. What do you mean I didn't latch it??? I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD I CLOSED THE LID, BUT THEY SAY I DIDN'T, WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! And the worst thing is is that I am paranoid when it comes to my car. I checked my transmission level twice this week, and nothing has been different. I make sure my doors are locked every single time I think I lock it -- and sometimes I check again. But I guess I missed the hood. I opened it, and I thought I closed it, but no, I didn't make sure. Why? Because I didn't think I had to. Well, that was a fucking goddamn mistake, because it just about broke off this morning. All because "they say" I didn't close it tightly enough. GODDAMMIT, IT WAS JUST ONE FUCKING MISTAKE AND IT'S GOING TO WIPE OUT MY ENTIRE CHECKING ACCOUNT!!! THIS ISN'T FAIR!!!
So now I wait for the estimate, with jangled nerves that are exacerbated with this large cup of coffee I'm nursing. I don't know if I can pay this. I don't know how long this will take. I don't even know if I even should fix this. But I probably will. The difference between something like this and, say, whatever might be happening to the engine or the transmission is that, assuming they they are right and I am wrong, this damage was of my own making, and not the car. If it's the car acting up, and if it's going to take a lot of money to fix, maybe then I could see it as time for me to just let it go. But in this case, assuming that I didn't secure it EVEN THOUGH I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD I DID, SHIT, HOW WOULD I MISS SUCH A THING?!?!?! it's my responsibility to fix it. I can't trash something because of something I did; it works just fine, it's just my fault.
It's always my fault. I'm just trying to move ahead in life, and then this shit happens. It always fucking happens. I'm so fucking tired. Of all of this.
The Plants, The Fucking Plants
It's obvious now that My Fucking Father is using the vegetable plants that are growing in the backyard to humiliate me.
A week or so ago my parents were outside watering and tending to them when I came outside too. The tomato plants are growing nicely, as are the others; the other vegetables they're growing escape my mind. Walking back inside the house, My Father had to say, "If you put your mind to something, you can do it," obviously referring to his wish for me to go back to school.
Then either Saturday or Friday, after I woke up and was heading to my old bedroom to fetch my laptop, My Fucking Father was standing on the threshold of the door to the back deck. I assume he was looking at the garden to make sure that, oh, a rabbit didn't come and eat the plants. "You should come see the plants, they're getting big now," I think he said, although I could have remembered it wrong because I just woke up. But as I was about to go see for myself, My Fucking Father tsk-tsked like he does by pursing his lips together and scolded me: "Why don't you put your glasses on first!" I fucking just got of bed, asshole! You want me to look at your tomatoes, but then you don't want me to look at your tomatoes! What the fuck's a matter with you? (I should add a disclaimer: I don't really know for sure what he said.)
Then there was yesterday. Unlike what I thought they would do, my parents did not ask for me to sit down with them for lunch. Instead, they were outside. Well, Mother was doing something on the back deck. I planned on eating lunch with them, but since they didn't plan anything, Plan B -- eating at Burger King -- was put into effect. So I just packed up my computer and said goodbye to her. Turns out My Fucking Father was downstairs. Instead of going downstairs to say goodbye to him, I just went to my car. I know better now.
I had to dump a City Pages in the recycling bin. Thought I'd look at the plants back there, too. After I tossed the paper I walked to the backyard. Just then, I heard My Fucking Father talking with Mother on the deck. Did he just bolt up from downstairs like The Flash? Did he go upstairs because I left? Most importantly of all: Should I look at the plants now that My Fucking Father is there?
Seriously, I was at the crossroads. I really thought it'd be best if I avoided My Fucking Father by doing a 180 and walking back to my car. But no, I thought, what's the worst that could happen?
So I did what I intended to do: March up to the tomato plants and admire how big they're getting. And they are getting big, though they haven't turned red yet. My Fucking Father obviously saw me: "They're getting big now, aren't they?" he said. "Yep," I replied, and I headed back out.
But then that fucking son-of-a-bitch had to get one last dig in. "Maybe next year you can water the plants, huh?" He knew that I either can't and wouldn't; he just wants to throw his disappointment back in my face again. That piece of shit had dreams for me, big dreams, and he wanted to remind me of how far he feels I've fallen short of that -- and how miserable he feels about that -- by making me miserable. Mother laughing didn't really help quell the anger rising in me. I left in a huff. I couldn't contain my anger, so that's why I gunned the car when I didn't think it was accelerating as fast as it should, as I said in my previous blog post.
Do my fucking parents know why none of us have kids? Hurtful shit like that. We all grew up under those passive-aggressive insults. Do those two idiots think we're going to pass that abuse down to a next generation? At the very least, the very least, we'll wait until both of you are dead.
Whatever, My Fucking Father didn't want to have us kids in the first place.
A week or so ago my parents were outside watering and tending to them when I came outside too. The tomato plants are growing nicely, as are the others; the other vegetables they're growing escape my mind. Walking back inside the house, My Father had to say, "If you put your mind to something, you can do it," obviously referring to his wish for me to go back to school.
Then either Saturday or Friday, after I woke up and was heading to my old bedroom to fetch my laptop, My Fucking Father was standing on the threshold of the door to the back deck. I assume he was looking at the garden to make sure that, oh, a rabbit didn't come and eat the plants. "You should come see the plants, they're getting big now," I think he said, although I could have remembered it wrong because I just woke up. But as I was about to go see for myself, My Fucking Father tsk-tsked like he does by pursing his lips together and scolded me: "Why don't you put your glasses on first!" I fucking just got of bed, asshole! You want me to look at your tomatoes, but then you don't want me to look at your tomatoes! What the fuck's a matter with you? (I should add a disclaimer: I don't really know for sure what he said.)
Then there was yesterday. Unlike what I thought they would do, my parents did not ask for me to sit down with them for lunch. Instead, they were outside. Well, Mother was doing something on the back deck. I planned on eating lunch with them, but since they didn't plan anything, Plan B -- eating at Burger King -- was put into effect. So I just packed up my computer and said goodbye to her. Turns out My Fucking Father was downstairs. Instead of going downstairs to say goodbye to him, I just went to my car. I know better now.
I had to dump a City Pages in the recycling bin. Thought I'd look at the plants back there, too. After I tossed the paper I walked to the backyard. Just then, I heard My Fucking Father talking with Mother on the deck. Did he just bolt up from downstairs like The Flash? Did he go upstairs because I left? Most importantly of all: Should I look at the plants now that My Fucking Father is there?
Seriously, I was at the crossroads. I really thought it'd be best if I avoided My Fucking Father by doing a 180 and walking back to my car. But no, I thought, what's the worst that could happen?
So I did what I intended to do: March up to the tomato plants and admire how big they're getting. And they are getting big, though they haven't turned red yet. My Fucking Father obviously saw me: "They're getting big now, aren't they?" he said. "Yep," I replied, and I headed back out.
But then that fucking son-of-a-bitch had to get one last dig in. "Maybe next year you can water the plants, huh?" He knew that I either can't and wouldn't; he just wants to throw his disappointment back in my face again. That piece of shit had dreams for me, big dreams, and he wanted to remind me of how far he feels I've fallen short of that -- and how miserable he feels about that -- by making me miserable. Mother laughing didn't really help quell the anger rising in me. I left in a huff. I couldn't contain my anger, so that's why I gunned the car when I didn't think it was accelerating as fast as it should, as I said in my previous blog post.
Do my fucking parents know why none of us have kids? Hurtful shit like that. We all grew up under those passive-aggressive insults. Do those two idiots think we're going to pass that abuse down to a next generation? At the very least, the very least, we'll wait until both of you are dead.
Whatever, My Fucking Father didn't want to have us kids in the first place.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
How To Ask The Mechanic About The Car's Problems Without Coming Off Paranoid
I've been thinking the past several days about what to say to the mechanic when I bring it in on Friday. I'm already bringing it in for the scratches on the car that I think they made when they were fixing my power steering (return?) hose, as well as the radio volume knob that they didn't get to. But I haven't told the guy that I want him to check the hesitation and vibration and "The Second Sound" too. At least not yet, because I don't know how to explain it to him.
I've felt anxious about my car ever since the 5th, when that goddamn "Second Sound" came back. It's gotten to the point where I'm afraid of driving my car now. For example, there wasn't a single fucking thing I had to do at home last night, so it would have been the perfect time to go out and enjoy myself. But I didn't go out because I didn't want to deal with any problems, recurring or new, coming from the car. (Well, that and the fact that I thought I should save money because I lost out on $110 from the experiment Friday.)
So I've got to nip this in the bud. I cannot do so any closer than Friday because Friday begins a new cycle for my credit card, and I've already racked up $700 on it for this month; anything I get charged for bringing the car in before Friday, I think, will only add to that when it's easier to just push it to next month. Hopefully my car can hold on till then. I think it will, but I've driven this car for almost 20 years; I know this car, and it's not driving as good as it can.
The problem is I can't quite articulate what I'm worried about. "The Second Sound" is a whinier sound that accompanies the acceleration from my car, and I'm afraid that the mechanic won't think there's anything wrong with that. The vibration comes mostly through the stick shift. I don't think that's normal, but it's not as if I drive with my hand on the shift selector while I drive, so I'm scared that he won't have any idea what I'm talking about and believe I'm hearing things. I swear, I'm not hearing things!!! Finally, I'm going to try and convince him to either test-drive it with me or allow me to take him around the area to illustrate how hard it is to accelerate with so much resistance, especially at low gears at the beginning of the day. But I'm scared that he'll either be at the wheel or the passenger seat and the car will just drive fine, like it has a mind of its own and wants to torment me. Or, worse, the car does drive as unsteadily and hard as it always has, but he doesn't think there's anything wrong.
My anxiety grew driving it today. My Fucking Father humiliated me just before I headed off to the library, where I'm typing this right now, and exercising (will talk about fucking him soon). As I was driving to Burger King, I felt the car not accelerating as smoothly as I wanted it to. So my temper got the best of me, and I felt this need to "fight through" my car's hesitation, so I just gunned the gas. And maybe this is obvious, but the transmission started to slip; in other words, I spiked the tachometer in order to try get the gas to accelerate faster, and all I did was switch gears at speeds it normally doesn't switch at. I think that's bad for the transmission.
I was scared of going back into my car after eating at BK, but there were a lot less problems driving from there to here. It's still slow to accelerate and it's not idling steadily, but hey, at least I didn't slip the tranny. Now I just have to survive till Friday. And in the meantime, I have to convince the mechanic there are problems with my car, I just don't know how the hell to say it.
I've felt anxious about my car ever since the 5th, when that goddamn "Second Sound" came back. It's gotten to the point where I'm afraid of driving my car now. For example, there wasn't a single fucking thing I had to do at home last night, so it would have been the perfect time to go out and enjoy myself. But I didn't go out because I didn't want to deal with any problems, recurring or new, coming from the car. (Well, that and the fact that I thought I should save money because I lost out on $110 from the experiment Friday.)
So I've got to nip this in the bud. I cannot do so any closer than Friday because Friday begins a new cycle for my credit card, and I've already racked up $700 on it for this month; anything I get charged for bringing the car in before Friday, I think, will only add to that when it's easier to just push it to next month. Hopefully my car can hold on till then. I think it will, but I've driven this car for almost 20 years; I know this car, and it's not driving as good as it can.
The problem is I can't quite articulate what I'm worried about. "The Second Sound" is a whinier sound that accompanies the acceleration from my car, and I'm afraid that the mechanic won't think there's anything wrong with that. The vibration comes mostly through the stick shift. I don't think that's normal, but it's not as if I drive with my hand on the shift selector while I drive, so I'm scared that he won't have any idea what I'm talking about and believe I'm hearing things. I swear, I'm not hearing things!!! Finally, I'm going to try and convince him to either test-drive it with me or allow me to take him around the area to illustrate how hard it is to accelerate with so much resistance, especially at low gears at the beginning of the day. But I'm scared that he'll either be at the wheel or the passenger seat and the car will just drive fine, like it has a mind of its own and wants to torment me. Or, worse, the car does drive as unsteadily and hard as it always has, but he doesn't think there's anything wrong.
My anxiety grew driving it today. My Fucking Father humiliated me just before I headed off to the library, where I'm typing this right now, and exercising (will talk about fucking him soon). As I was driving to Burger King, I felt the car not accelerating as smoothly as I wanted it to. So my temper got the best of me, and I felt this need to "fight through" my car's hesitation, so I just gunned the gas. And maybe this is obvious, but the transmission started to slip; in other words, I spiked the tachometer in order to try get the gas to accelerate faster, and all I did was switch gears at speeds it normally doesn't switch at. I think that's bad for the transmission.
I was scared of going back into my car after eating at BK, but there were a lot less problems driving from there to here. It's still slow to accelerate and it's not idling steadily, but hey, at least I didn't slip the tranny. Now I just have to survive till Friday. And in the meantime, I have to convince the mechanic there are problems with my car, I just don't know how the hell to say it.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Did I Talk My Way Out Of An Experiment?
So one of the experiments I finally lined up was this thing at the Veteran's Administration Hospital. It was one that I had planned more than a month ago, but rescheduled once, then twice, because of test grading projects. But I was able to pin down a time just after the second project started, yesterday afternoon.
So after spending my mornings at a McDonald's then going to the Hooters at the Mall of America, where I swigged a big mug of beer and felt a bit tipsy, I got to the VA complex. (There are a couple buildings there; I wen to the auxiliary one.) I was a tad late, but hey, good enough. After getting lost for a couple minutes, I found the room and the guy I was supposed to meet with. We got done with acquaintances, moved over to the sound room (which, just like the ante room, was old and cramped and could use a renovation ... well, actually, the whole building could be razed for a new one) and I started with the tests.
These were fill-in-the-blank tests about how my state of mind is. And I answered the same way I usually answer: Brutally honest at how irritated and depressed I often am. Well, I exaggerate a bit to make sure I get to do the experiment. Have done it for years, and even though it's been a long time since I filled out so many papers, I didn't see a problem.
Next there was an interview. Again I kind of fudged a bit, but I was nevertheless candid about what he was seeking: Was there ever a time you've been depressed? If so, how do you feel? Shit like that. Thought it was going well. With this research study paying me $150, I understand how thorough he needed to be.
But then, right in the middle of me describing the time I got rejected from all the colleges I wanted to go to back when I was 18, he shut his book. This right after I suggested that he use the desk to write on instead of the back of his hand because he looked so uncomfortable. "That's OK," he said, "I prefer writing like this. Actually I'm going to stop right there, because you are not qualified to continue this study."
WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! What do you mean I'm not good enough to do this study?!?!?! I was absolutely shocked. Things were going swimmingly, I was pouring my heart out to this guy, and he just fucking shuts me down?! That's never happened before! I need this money; why are you rejecting me?
Paraphrasing: "You seem to have depressive episodes, and that may skew the results of the experiment -- we are looking for healthy controls."
Wait, healthy controls? Were you serious about that? I remember him talking about me being a healthy control at the beginning of the session, but I didn't think I had to worry about disqualifying myself. Having a session screech to a halt and then being dismissed is a first. Frankly, I feel ambushed.
And from what I can tell, this guy was pissed off about it, too. I went to the bathroom while he called the person who screened me, as well as the professor overseeing this experiment. But when I came back, nothing changed; I had to go. I got paid $40, he continually said, "Sorry to waste your time," and he let me go. He was cordial, but he looked very frustrated. It felt as if he was getting me to leave as soon as he could because there was nothing else for me to do there. I think he felt blindsided, maybe even misled by me. Looking back on his attitude, I'm getting angrier at him. Does he believe I screwed him over? Does he think I, in fact, wasted his time? I think so. In which case, screw you, dude.
I'm confused by all this. My initial concern is not getting $150, like I thought I would receive for, basically, work. I was wrong to think I was entitled to it, but the bottom line is I lost $110 in income, and I have this urge to save my money in other ways to make up for it. How do I do that? I have no goddamn clue right now, and that pisses me off. I feel like I lost money.
But maybe I only have myself to blame? Both the screener and this guy did say "healthy control." Maybe I should have rethought my strategy. Maybe I didn't have to exaggerate. Maybe I should have not told him about my parents throwing out Grandmother, or the time I failed my driver's license for the second time, and how I felt. If I actually did pay attention to "healthy control," instead of letting it go through one ear and out the other, he wouldn't have rejected me for being too depressed to do the study, and maybe then I would have gotten the $150. Just didn't think I had to think about it, though, you know?
But that opportunity is gone now. And I am ... well, I'm depressed. How fucking ironic.
So after spending my mornings at a McDonald's then going to the Hooters at the Mall of America, where I swigged a big mug of beer and felt a bit tipsy, I got to the VA complex. (There are a couple buildings there; I wen to the auxiliary one.) I was a tad late, but hey, good enough. After getting lost for a couple minutes, I found the room and the guy I was supposed to meet with. We got done with acquaintances, moved over to the sound room (which, just like the ante room, was old and cramped and could use a renovation ... well, actually, the whole building could be razed for a new one) and I started with the tests.
These were fill-in-the-blank tests about how my state of mind is. And I answered the same way I usually answer: Brutally honest at how irritated and depressed I often am. Well, I exaggerate a bit to make sure I get to do the experiment. Have done it for years, and even though it's been a long time since I filled out so many papers, I didn't see a problem.
Next there was an interview. Again I kind of fudged a bit, but I was nevertheless candid about what he was seeking: Was there ever a time you've been depressed? If so, how do you feel? Shit like that. Thought it was going well. With this research study paying me $150, I understand how thorough he needed to be.
But then, right in the middle of me describing the time I got rejected from all the colleges I wanted to go to back when I was 18, he shut his book. This right after I suggested that he use the desk to write on instead of the back of his hand because he looked so uncomfortable. "That's OK," he said, "I prefer writing like this. Actually I'm going to stop right there, because you are not qualified to continue this study."
WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! What do you mean I'm not good enough to do this study?!?!?! I was absolutely shocked. Things were going swimmingly, I was pouring my heart out to this guy, and he just fucking shuts me down?! That's never happened before! I need this money; why are you rejecting me?
Paraphrasing: "You seem to have depressive episodes, and that may skew the results of the experiment -- we are looking for healthy controls."
Wait, healthy controls? Were you serious about that? I remember him talking about me being a healthy control at the beginning of the session, but I didn't think I had to worry about disqualifying myself. Having a session screech to a halt and then being dismissed is a first. Frankly, I feel ambushed.
And from what I can tell, this guy was pissed off about it, too. I went to the bathroom while he called the person who screened me, as well as the professor overseeing this experiment. But when I came back, nothing changed; I had to go. I got paid $40, he continually said, "Sorry to waste your time," and he let me go. He was cordial, but he looked very frustrated. It felt as if he was getting me to leave as soon as he could because there was nothing else for me to do there. I think he felt blindsided, maybe even misled by me. Looking back on his attitude, I'm getting angrier at him. Does he believe I screwed him over? Does he think I, in fact, wasted his time? I think so. In which case, screw you, dude.
I'm confused by all this. My initial concern is not getting $150, like I thought I would receive for, basically, work. I was wrong to think I was entitled to it, but the bottom line is I lost $110 in income, and I have this urge to save my money in other ways to make up for it. How do I do that? I have no goddamn clue right now, and that pisses me off. I feel like I lost money.
But maybe I only have myself to blame? Both the screener and this guy did say "healthy control." Maybe I should have rethought my strategy. Maybe I didn't have to exaggerate. Maybe I should have not told him about my parents throwing out Grandmother, or the time I failed my driver's license for the second time, and how I felt. If I actually did pay attention to "healthy control," instead of letting it go through one ear and out the other, he wouldn't have rejected me for being too depressed to do the study, and maybe then I would have gotten the $150. Just didn't think I had to think about it, though, you know?
But that opportunity is gone now. And I am ... well, I'm depressed. How fucking ironic.
Friday, July 19, 2013
My 2012 Playboy Playmate Review
Yeah, this is very late in coming, especially after the Playmate Of The Year was announced two months ago. Many of my blog posts are weeks late. That won't stop me from talking about it now, however, mostly because I am horny.
According to a survey of commenters on chat boards I frequent, the PMOY should have been Pamela Horton, Miss October. I can see the appeal, and make sure you focus on this: She looks like the Girl Next Door, the ideal Playboy founder Hugh Hefner says he always looks for in a centerfold, yet she does not look like the Girl Next Door. Horton has small, natural breasts, pale skin, and wears glasses -- stuff I think is sexy (well, shit, I think a pulse is sexy), but that certainly does not fit the mold of what Playmates usually look like. However, she does a lot of things that are PMOY-worthy. She is very outgoing, has a huge social presence (I believe that the magazine, or at least Hef, is looking for models who will advance Brand Playboy), and in a trend that has come quick but is now inexorable, she is one of many Playmates who confesses to playing video games. So why wasn't Horton picked? Even though people cannot vote for PMOY, general consensus more often than not get the choice right. I don't know why she wasn't picked.
Not to say Raquel Pomplun (April) was considered so heinous she shouldn't have qualified. It's just that I don't remember her pictorial. She's gorgeous as fuck, she is very active on social media (though I notice she's much more active since she won) and it's possible that her ethnicity (she's Latina in some way) may be something the magazine is trying to capitalize on as Latinos are burgeoning as a demographic. For those reasons, Pomplun makes a great case for being PMOY. But again, she did not make an impression on me. Plus, I believe she is married, which is a big fucking downer.
Two things influence my decision for PMOY. First, obviously, are her pictures. But the other thing is gaining more importance: Her use of social media. You may not have noticed this, but some time in the past few months Playboy has started giving out a centerfold's Twitter, facebook and Instagram. And it appears that each girl's Twitter address starts with "Miss," which leads me to believe that the magazine is mandating the feed and, I believe, her use of it. Now, it'd be nice if the Playmate would naturally use it without being ordered; it be even better if she used it as any person would use it, and not just for Playboy-related stuff. But I have seen other women use it, be on it, then suddenly disappear on my feed. (Of course I friend Playmates as soon as I find them!) To me, it's obvious they were only on social media for the publicity, and once it subsided -- or once they learned they would not be Playmate Of The Year and maybe not do any promotional stuff for them -- they decided to quit working for the magazine and go back to their normal lives, one without facebook or Twitter.
Those that use and still use it are aces in my book. In that sense it's actually a good thing for me to have waited till now to announce my PMOY. Those who still use social media are the "real" girls, not the ones doing it to become Playmate Of The Year. And at the very least I am aware of who they are. Those that do aren't automatically my favorites. However, those that don't I can quickly dismiss. Therefore, although I again assert that they are all beautiful, I can eliminate Heather Knox (January), who has not been on any social media I've seen for the past few months, and Amanda Streich (December), who hasn't used her Twitter in over two years and whose facebook is studded with shots of her and other models posing. The Alpha and the Omega of 2012; not a bad way to start culling the field.
And now that I'm researching some more, I don't see too much of Leola Bell, Miss February. She has a Twitter she uses, but she hasn't used it since the 13th, and a Facebook on which she has never posted a message and whose photos are all modeling shots. Yeah, I'm taking her out, too. And after taking another go-round, Shelby Chesnes (July) isn't on as much as the others. She's cute as a button, and I appreciate her using her really last name (c'mon, you don't think someone would use the name "Chesnes" as a stage name, do you?), but I'll have to cut her out as well.
I'm one of those doddering folks who still use facebook a lot. I've read somewhere that teenagers, those cool kids, are fleeing facebook en masse because their parents are on it. They use shit like Twitter and Instagram to communicate with their friends. Facebook is now the social media for old farts. I'll adjust to the times whenever I feel like it. Till then, I filter my choices and order through facebook first, at least from a social media aspect. That means I have to say goodbye to three Playmates who use Twitter a lot more than facebook: Lisa Seiffert (Miss March), Beth Williams (Miss August), and Britany Nola (Miss November).
In a very sad coincidence, these are the three women who I thought had the sexiest pictorials of the year. Each of them have a striking physical feature that helped their spread stand out. Seiffert, who is Australian, is a tall, very tall, drink of water. Nola showed as much vaginal hair as any PM I've seen in quite some time, even if it was just a landing strip. Moreover, it is dark, compared to the blonde hair she's sporting on her head. Sure, the carpets don't match the drapes. Britany Nola don't give a fuck, and that's what so sexy about her. (Oh, and I appreciate her retweeting tweets outraged at the George Zimmerman acquittal.)
In my opinion, Beth Williams turned in the hottest Playmate spread in 2012. She's damn sexy, but hers appears to be the only one that used peekaboo shots -- you know, clothes that are unbuttoned that show a breast, or a breeze lifting up the end of a blouse to reveal her twat. Well, you see a flash of gash here, and Williams pulling down her chaps to show that she ain't wearin' nuthin' underneath them in the upper photo here. But the best shots of her, in fact the best shots of any PM in many years, are the two where she's wearing an off-green plaid shirt that is tied at the midriff but unbuttoned, and it's loose enough that the sides of the shirt are pulled off to the side justenough to show her breasts, here and especially here. I can picture being outside and seeing a woman wearing a shirt just like that, and if I was lucky enough she would walk in such a way where the side of her body would constrict and boop! a nipple would pop out, just like in those two photos, and I would be such a happy man. Playmate pictorials ages ago were mostly shots of that, teases where you caught a glimpse of the Playmate's nakedness. I don't remember when and I don't know why they got away from hide-and-seek nudity, so I take Beth Williams's fucking wankable spread as a throwback to the magazine's glory days.
I have accounted for nine of the 12. I excuse Amelia Talon (June) next. She updates frequently on both facebook and Twitter (updates appear on both, so she uses them interchangeably), and she too is tall, sexy, and on the right side of the injustice that happened to Trayvon Martin, albeit less stridently than Nola. However, she, like Pamela Horton, is a gamer, and I have not played video games since my brother took his system (was it the Nintendo 64?) with him to college, so I cannot relate. Also, in my time looking through my facebook feeds Talon updates much less than the other two. Don't quite understand it; she updates as much as I do. Guess the times she looks through facebook are not the times I look through it.
So which of the other two would I have as Playmate of the Year? The runner-up is ... Alana Campos, Miss September. If I recall correctly, her pictorial took the place of Danielle Burt, a model who was teased in Playboy's "Next Month" back-of-the-magazine preview. Now I see Burt's facebook updates from time to time and she's hot as hell, and I think she got jerked around by Playboy, who now will not say the names of the models who are next up to be centerfolds. Not to say that Campos is ugly. She is ... well, she has a face that is kind of squat, more horizontal than vertical. I'll just say that. Meanwhile her social media usually is fresh, and I do like the fact that she is a Playmate with actual opinions. As of press time, her last update she uses the word "shit" -- well, "s***," but it's close enough. She complains about traffic, thinks the latest Rolling Stone cover is "disgusting," and hates old people driving. Now that I think about it, I think she's a closet Republican.
Which leaves me (although I don't want to say "leave" because it sounds like I was left with no other choice when in fact there are many affirmative reasons she's my selection) with Nikki Leigh, Miss May. I'll be honest: I don't remember her Playmate spread. But she is sexy as fuck, even though she bares a striking resemblance to a PM from the previous year who is also very active on social media, Ciara Price. I like her best because she gives us a peek into what her life is like -- not just the modeling photos and shoots, although there's a lot of that, but also the stuff she likes to buy and the food she loves to eat. Right now she's in the middle of a Minions kick; you know, the cute yellow drones from Despicable Me. Maybe she's not as deep as I would like, but the candid photos of her, many of them showing off her body (though not her lady parts) more than make up for that. So thank you, Nikki "Leigh," you are Unforgivable Wetness's choice for 2012 Playmate Of The Year!
But, of course, I'd fuck all of them.
According to a survey of commenters on chat boards I frequent, the PMOY should have been Pamela Horton, Miss October. I can see the appeal, and make sure you focus on this: She looks like the Girl Next Door, the ideal Playboy founder Hugh Hefner says he always looks for in a centerfold, yet she does not look like the Girl Next Door. Horton has small, natural breasts, pale skin, and wears glasses -- stuff I think is sexy (well, shit, I think a pulse is sexy), but that certainly does not fit the mold of what Playmates usually look like. However, she does a lot of things that are PMOY-worthy. She is very outgoing, has a huge social presence (I believe that the magazine, or at least Hef, is looking for models who will advance Brand Playboy), and in a trend that has come quick but is now inexorable, she is one of many Playmates who confesses to playing video games. So why wasn't Horton picked? Even though people cannot vote for PMOY, general consensus more often than not get the choice right. I don't know why she wasn't picked.
Not to say Raquel Pomplun (April) was considered so heinous she shouldn't have qualified. It's just that I don't remember her pictorial. She's gorgeous as fuck, she is very active on social media (though I notice she's much more active since she won) and it's possible that her ethnicity (she's Latina in some way) may be something the magazine is trying to capitalize on as Latinos are burgeoning as a demographic. For those reasons, Pomplun makes a great case for being PMOY. But again, she did not make an impression on me. Plus, I believe she is married, which is a big fucking downer.
Two things influence my decision for PMOY. First, obviously, are her pictures. But the other thing is gaining more importance: Her use of social media. You may not have noticed this, but some time in the past few months Playboy has started giving out a centerfold's Twitter, facebook and Instagram. And it appears that each girl's Twitter address starts with "Miss," which leads me to believe that the magazine is mandating the feed and, I believe, her use of it. Now, it'd be nice if the Playmate would naturally use it without being ordered; it be even better if she used it as any person would use it, and not just for Playboy-related stuff. But I have seen other women use it, be on it, then suddenly disappear on my feed. (Of course I friend Playmates as soon as I find them!) To me, it's obvious they were only on social media for the publicity, and once it subsided -- or once they learned they would not be Playmate Of The Year and maybe not do any promotional stuff for them -- they decided to quit working for the magazine and go back to their normal lives, one without facebook or Twitter.
Those that use and still use it are aces in my book. In that sense it's actually a good thing for me to have waited till now to announce my PMOY. Those who still use social media are the "real" girls, not the ones doing it to become Playmate Of The Year. And at the very least I am aware of who they are. Those that do aren't automatically my favorites. However, those that don't I can quickly dismiss. Therefore, although I again assert that they are all beautiful, I can eliminate Heather Knox (January), who has not been on any social media I've seen for the past few months, and Amanda Streich (December), who hasn't used her Twitter in over two years and whose facebook is studded with shots of her and other models posing. The Alpha and the Omega of 2012; not a bad way to start culling the field.
And now that I'm researching some more, I don't see too much of Leola Bell, Miss February. She has a Twitter she uses, but she hasn't used it since the 13th, and a Facebook on which she has never posted a message and whose photos are all modeling shots. Yeah, I'm taking her out, too. And after taking another go-round, Shelby Chesnes (July) isn't on as much as the others. She's cute as a button, and I appreciate her using her really last name (c'mon, you don't think someone would use the name "Chesnes" as a stage name, do you?), but I'll have to cut her out as well.
I'm one of those doddering folks who still use facebook a lot. I've read somewhere that teenagers, those cool kids, are fleeing facebook en masse because their parents are on it. They use shit like Twitter and Instagram to communicate with their friends. Facebook is now the social media for old farts. I'll adjust to the times whenever I feel like it. Till then, I filter my choices and order through facebook first, at least from a social media aspect. That means I have to say goodbye to three Playmates who use Twitter a lot more than facebook: Lisa Seiffert (Miss March), Beth Williams (Miss August), and Britany Nola (Miss November).
In a very sad coincidence, these are the three women who I thought had the sexiest pictorials of the year. Each of them have a striking physical feature that helped their spread stand out. Seiffert, who is Australian, is a tall, very tall, drink of water. Nola showed as much vaginal hair as any PM I've seen in quite some time, even if it was just a landing strip. Moreover, it is dark, compared to the blonde hair she's sporting on her head. Sure, the carpets don't match the drapes. Britany Nola don't give a fuck, and that's what so sexy about her. (Oh, and I appreciate her retweeting tweets outraged at the George Zimmerman acquittal.)
In my opinion, Beth Williams turned in the hottest Playmate spread in 2012. She's damn sexy, but hers appears to be the only one that used peekaboo shots -- you know, clothes that are unbuttoned that show a breast, or a breeze lifting up the end of a blouse to reveal her twat. Well, you see a flash of gash here, and Williams pulling down her chaps to show that she ain't wearin' nuthin' underneath them in the upper photo here. But the best shots of her, in fact the best shots of any PM in many years, are the two where she's wearing an off-green plaid shirt that is tied at the midriff but unbuttoned, and it's loose enough that the sides of the shirt are pulled off to the side justenough to show her breasts, here and especially here. I can picture being outside and seeing a woman wearing a shirt just like that, and if I was lucky enough she would walk in such a way where the side of her body would constrict and boop! a nipple would pop out, just like in those two photos, and I would be such a happy man. Playmate pictorials ages ago were mostly shots of that, teases where you caught a glimpse of the Playmate's nakedness. I don't remember when and I don't know why they got away from hide-and-seek nudity, so I take Beth Williams's fucking wankable spread as a throwback to the magazine's glory days.
I have accounted for nine of the 12. I excuse Amelia Talon (June) next. She updates frequently on both facebook and Twitter (updates appear on both, so she uses them interchangeably), and she too is tall, sexy, and on the right side of the injustice that happened to Trayvon Martin, albeit less stridently than Nola. However, she, like Pamela Horton, is a gamer, and I have not played video games since my brother took his system (was it the Nintendo 64?) with him to college, so I cannot relate. Also, in my time looking through my facebook feeds Talon updates much less than the other two. Don't quite understand it; she updates as much as I do. Guess the times she looks through facebook are not the times I look through it.
So which of the other two would I have as Playmate of the Year? The runner-up is ... Alana Campos, Miss September. If I recall correctly, her pictorial took the place of Danielle Burt, a model who was teased in Playboy's "Next Month" back-of-the-magazine preview. Now I see Burt's facebook updates from time to time and she's hot as hell, and I think she got jerked around by Playboy, who now will not say the names of the models who are next up to be centerfolds. Not to say that Campos is ugly. She is ... well, she has a face that is kind of squat, more horizontal than vertical. I'll just say that. Meanwhile her social media usually is fresh, and I do like the fact that she is a Playmate with actual opinions. As of press time, her last update she uses the word "shit" -- well, "s***," but it's close enough. She complains about traffic, thinks the latest Rolling Stone cover is "disgusting," and hates old people driving. Now that I think about it, I think she's a closet Republican.
Which leaves me (although I don't want to say "leave" because it sounds like I was left with no other choice when in fact there are many affirmative reasons she's my selection) with Nikki Leigh, Miss May. I'll be honest: I don't remember her Playmate spread. But she is sexy as fuck, even though she bares a striking resemblance to a PM from the previous year who is also very active on social media, Ciara Price. I like her best because she gives us a peek into what her life is like -- not just the modeling photos and shoots, although there's a lot of that, but also the stuff she likes to buy and the food she loves to eat. Right now she's in the middle of a Minions kick; you know, the cute yellow drones from Despicable Me. Maybe she's not as deep as I would like, but the candid photos of her, many of them showing off her body (though not her lady parts) more than make up for that. So thank you, Nikki "Leigh," you are Unforgivable Wetness's choice for 2012 Playmate Of The Year!
But, of course, I'd fuck all of them.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Can't Eat Like I Used To
I exercised this afternoon. Winded as fuck, hopefully because I haven't worked out in so long, possibly because of the hot and humid weather, frightened it's because I'm getting old. But it felt good to work off the McDonald's I had.
Went home and had not the worst dinner in the world: pork, rice and a tomato-based soup. That usually sustains me. But I had wanted for the past several days to drink a Pepsi. It is one of those baby, 100-calorie Pepsi cans, essentially a pop version of portion control. Always wanted to try it because, hey, I drink to many soft drinks. I think, however, that the eight-pack of baby Pepsis, even with the coupon I bought it with, is much less per ounce than a six-pack of regular-sized Pepsis.
Moreover, I wanted that Pepsi to chase the rest of the cashews I have left over. Also bought those with a coupon. Wanted to snack on them, and I thought Father would want to snack on them, too, since he likes peanuts a lot and I thought hey, what are cashews if not peanuts with a curve to them? But it looks like I was the only one eating from the small, squat can of cashews. Binge-eating them, actually; the salt on those damn things were so addicting I couldn't help but snarf down half the can the first time I opened it up.
I've been a good boy since; there was just that final layer of cashews at the bottom of the can, and it had been at least ten days since I ate cashews. But something compelled me to finally do that cashews-chased-with-Pepsi deal not too long after I finished dinner. It was probably a combination of the metabolism I revved up from exercise and fooling myself into thinking that I needed to drink pop because of the hot weather outside, even though I had been inside for more than an hour with the air conditioning cooling me off. No matter; I followed through with my plan as Father was taking a shower and Mother was outside tending to the vegetable garden in the backyard, so no one could ask me what I was doing or see me not being satisfied with what I ate for dinner.
My God, what happened to me? I had eaten a lot more cashews in the past than I did this evening, and like I said, the can of Pepsi alleges that it's only 100 calories. But I got so damn fat as soon as I ate that first nut and drank my first sip! And those cashews are so addicting, and I wanted to finish off the can, that I couldn't stop! Plus I had just opened a can of pop, so I had to drink it all! And so I'm right back where I started from, before I exercised this afternoon. Actually, I feel worse than before this afternoon. In fact, I feel fatter than right after eating at McDonald's. And all because of cashews and pop?!
Man, if I was the man I was 20 or even ten years ago I would've eaten all that crap and kept right on eating and not expand my waistline an inch. Now. ...
Went home and had not the worst dinner in the world: pork, rice and a tomato-based soup. That usually sustains me. But I had wanted for the past several days to drink a Pepsi. It is one of those baby, 100-calorie Pepsi cans, essentially a pop version of portion control. Always wanted to try it because, hey, I drink to many soft drinks. I think, however, that the eight-pack of baby Pepsis, even with the coupon I bought it with, is much less per ounce than a six-pack of regular-sized Pepsis.
Moreover, I wanted that Pepsi to chase the rest of the cashews I have left over. Also bought those with a coupon. Wanted to snack on them, and I thought Father would want to snack on them, too, since he likes peanuts a lot and I thought hey, what are cashews if not peanuts with a curve to them? But it looks like I was the only one eating from the small, squat can of cashews. Binge-eating them, actually; the salt on those damn things were so addicting I couldn't help but snarf down half the can the first time I opened it up.
I've been a good boy since; there was just that final layer of cashews at the bottom of the can, and it had been at least ten days since I ate cashews. But something compelled me to finally do that cashews-chased-with-Pepsi deal not too long after I finished dinner. It was probably a combination of the metabolism I revved up from exercise and fooling myself into thinking that I needed to drink pop because of the hot weather outside, even though I had been inside for more than an hour with the air conditioning cooling me off. No matter; I followed through with my plan as Father was taking a shower and Mother was outside tending to the vegetable garden in the backyard, so no one could ask me what I was doing or see me not being satisfied with what I ate for dinner.
My God, what happened to me? I had eaten a lot more cashews in the past than I did this evening, and like I said, the can of Pepsi alleges that it's only 100 calories. But I got so damn fat as soon as I ate that first nut and drank my first sip! And those cashews are so addicting, and I wanted to finish off the can, that I couldn't stop! Plus I had just opened a can of pop, so I had to drink it all! And so I'm right back where I started from, before I exercised this afternoon. Actually, I feel worse than before this afternoon. In fact, I feel fatter than right after eating at McDonald's. And all because of cashews and pop?!
Man, if I was the man I was 20 or even ten years ago I would've eaten all that crap and kept right on eating and not expand my waistline an inch. Now. ...
Addendum To: "Woke up to see a lot of cars ..."
The people whose cars surrounded my neighbor's house on the 27th were working on my neighbor's roof. This is the neighbor who has been living there for as long as I can remember but has never spoken to us, yet Father absolutely adores her. Nothing to see here, keep moving.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Passing Me By
I had some plans once I knew my project was ending. It was going to stop around the 15th, and I knew online classes at the University of Minnesota start around the 15th. (They last nine months; I don't know how this online thing works, but that's a long frickin' time, you know?) So it would make sense that I would immediately go from one thing to the other, even if the first thing ended around 10 in the morning.
So what am I doing, doing research studies at the U. on Monday, then doing my first movie double-bill in 15 years Tuesday, then blogging right now? Should I not be researching an accounting class I could take, the first week of which is now?
Yeah, I guess I should. Shouldn't I?
My feelings about life right now are perfectly summed up by The Pharcyde, whose two biggest hits, "Runnin'" and the video below, "Passing Me By," have been running through my head a lot these days. You know, their songs just keep getting better and better. Their rhythms are classic and their lyrics are timeless:
So what am I doing, doing research studies at the U. on Monday, then doing my first movie double-bill in 15 years Tuesday, then blogging right now? Should I not be researching an accounting class I could take, the first week of which is now?
Yeah, I guess I should. Shouldn't I?
My feelings about life right now are perfectly summed up by The Pharcyde, whose two biggest hits, "Runnin'" and the video below, "Passing Me By," have been running through my head a lot these days. You know, their songs just keep getting better and better. Their rhythms are classic and their lyrics are timeless:
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -1). You know, I thought the Fox Sports ticker said they lost to Tulsa Saturday. Turns out they did not; they beat the Shock in Tulsa by 11, preceded by victories at home vs. the best team in the Women's National Basketball Association, the Atlanta Dream, by 22 Tuesday and on the road against the defending WNBA Champions Indiana Fever (which the Lynx lost to in the Finals) by seven Thursday. They have won four in a row and now own, by percentage points over the Dream, the best record in the league.
Good. I thought the addition of Janel McCarville was holding this team back, especially in two defeats in Los Angeles. But I have also noticed that in this extremely impressive 3-0 week, Seimone Augustus did not play, presumably to make sure her ankle is rested. I'm not saying that the Lynx play better without her -- necessarily. But they sure haven't skipped a beat, and even if McCarville routinely plays ten minutes less than the other starters (which now includes Monica Wright, who's playing awesome right now), I nor the organization cannot be too unhappy with how they're playing at the moment.
This would be a great time for the league to flood the schedule with games. The four days surrounding Major League Baseball's All-Star Game are the quietest in the sports year. Give sports fans something! But odd and wasteful an opportunity it is, there are only three games in that span: None yesterday, only one today, two tomorrow (one of those apparently being Seattle's annual afternoon basketball day camp) and two Thursday (one of being a camp held in the afternoon for New York's camp, supposedly). Minnesota's off until Friday, when they resume their four-game roadtrip at San Antonio and finish it in Phoenix Sunday.
#-2: Twins (Last Week: -4). It's bad. 2-4 for the week, including a gag-inducing sweep at the Tampa Bay Rays, and they have gone 3-12 in their last 15. Many times I have been visibly upset at how the Twinks have done. And I knew that firing Ron Gardenhire would have solved nothing, but it was beyond time to do something in reaction to this team's shitty play.
And yet ... the first series win in the Bronx against the hated New York Yankees in a dozen years, featuring the first defeat of Pitcher C.C. Sabathia for the first time since 2007, may very well be an illusion; I have no doubt that this team could go 3-12 again. But as a fan who remembers a level of success and since has tasted the bile of back-to-back 90-losses seasons, swear to God, winning two-of-three in New York seems to be a light at the end of the tunnel. Moreover, I really, really think that that series saved Gardy from losing his job. It looked like they were going to lose nine-of-ten in this impossible roadtrip, and with the ASG Break coming up, it was the perfect time to make a change at Manager and start tearing down the whole team. Upon reflection of the end of this road trip, it's possible that such a thought is rash. With the team winning two in a row on the road in a tough place (even though the Yankees are nowhere close to the juggernaut they were when they whipped the Twinks routinely in the playoffs, the franchise definitely has an inferiority complex when it comes to the Bronx Bombers) it's possible Gardenhire still has influence in the locker room.
A sign that he definitely does comes in Star Tribune beat writer Phil Miller's 6-4-3 blog breaking down the team's moves, made seemingly as soon as the team recorded the final out in their 10-4 win over the Yanks Sunday, where they sent down Chris Parmalee, Oswaldo Arcia and Eduardo Escobar to AAA Rochester and called up Shortstop Doug Bernier, Catcher Chris Herrmann and a player to be announced later, although it's likely it's First Baseman Chris Colabello; the team has not promoted him yet because they want him to play in the AAA All-Star Game, which is going to be played in Reno, Nev., Wednesday. Note that Miller says near the end of his self-Q&A that "[Twins General Manager] Terry Ryan and Ron Gardenhire are sending a message." If Gardy were about to be fired, Ryan would not let him help send a message. Unless this shit continues to nosedive -- a distinct possibility -- he at least lasts the season.
Meanwhile, that message is another of those put-up-or-shut-up moves. The club is telling Parmalee, Arcia and Escobar that they haven't been good enough to stay with the big-league and want them to work and focus in Rochester so they can give them another chance. Like Miller said, neither Bernier, Hermmann nor Colabello are considered long-term or even intermediate-term options for the team. They want to see if the true pieces of the future are going to take their lumps and continue to learn, or if they'll just fold up like once-highly-touted prospect Joe Benson and get himself released from the team.
After the four-game ASG Break, the second half of the season begins with three at home against Cleveland. They will then head back out on the road to begin a four-game series in Anaheim against the Angels Monday. For the month of July, the Twins play only nine games at Target Field.
Good. I thought the addition of Janel McCarville was holding this team back, especially in two defeats in Los Angeles. But I have also noticed that in this extremely impressive 3-0 week, Seimone Augustus did not play, presumably to make sure her ankle is rested. I'm not saying that the Lynx play better without her -- necessarily. But they sure haven't skipped a beat, and even if McCarville routinely plays ten minutes less than the other starters (which now includes Monica Wright, who's playing awesome right now), I nor the organization cannot be too unhappy with how they're playing at the moment.
This would be a great time for the league to flood the schedule with games. The four days surrounding Major League Baseball's All-Star Game are the quietest in the sports year. Give sports fans something! But odd and wasteful an opportunity it is, there are only three games in that span: None yesterday, only one today, two tomorrow (one of those apparently being Seattle's annual afternoon basketball day camp) and two Thursday (one of being a camp held in the afternoon for New York's camp, supposedly). Minnesota's off until Friday, when they resume their four-game roadtrip at San Antonio and finish it in Phoenix Sunday.
#-2: Twins (Last Week: -4). It's bad. 2-4 for the week, including a gag-inducing sweep at the Tampa Bay Rays, and they have gone 3-12 in their last 15. Many times I have been visibly upset at how the Twinks have done. And I knew that firing Ron Gardenhire would have solved nothing, but it was beyond time to do something in reaction to this team's shitty play.
And yet ... the first series win in the Bronx against the hated New York Yankees in a dozen years, featuring the first defeat of Pitcher C.C. Sabathia for the first time since 2007, may very well be an illusion; I have no doubt that this team could go 3-12 again. But as a fan who remembers a level of success and since has tasted the bile of back-to-back 90-losses seasons, swear to God, winning two-of-three in New York seems to be a light at the end of the tunnel. Moreover, I really, really think that that series saved Gardy from losing his job. It looked like they were going to lose nine-of-ten in this impossible roadtrip, and with the ASG Break coming up, it was the perfect time to make a change at Manager and start tearing down the whole team. Upon reflection of the end of this road trip, it's possible that such a thought is rash. With the team winning two in a row on the road in a tough place (even though the Yankees are nowhere close to the juggernaut they were when they whipped the Twinks routinely in the playoffs, the franchise definitely has an inferiority complex when it comes to the Bronx Bombers) it's possible Gardenhire still has influence in the locker room.
A sign that he definitely does comes in Star Tribune beat writer Phil Miller's 6-4-3 blog breaking down the team's moves, made seemingly as soon as the team recorded the final out in their 10-4 win over the Yanks Sunday, where they sent down Chris Parmalee, Oswaldo Arcia and Eduardo Escobar to AAA Rochester and called up Shortstop Doug Bernier, Catcher Chris Herrmann and a player to be announced later, although it's likely it's First Baseman Chris Colabello; the team has not promoted him yet because they want him to play in the AAA All-Star Game, which is going to be played in Reno, Nev., Wednesday. Note that Miller says near the end of his self-Q&A that "[Twins General Manager] Terry Ryan and Ron Gardenhire are sending a message." If Gardy were about to be fired, Ryan would not let him help send a message. Unless this shit continues to nosedive -- a distinct possibility -- he at least lasts the season.
Meanwhile, that message is another of those put-up-or-shut-up moves. The club is telling Parmalee, Arcia and Escobar that they haven't been good enough to stay with the big-league and want them to work and focus in Rochester so they can give them another chance. Like Miller said, neither Bernier, Hermmann nor Colabello are considered long-term or even intermediate-term options for the team. They want to see if the true pieces of the future are going to take their lumps and continue to learn, or if they'll just fold up like once-highly-touted prospect Joe Benson and get himself released from the team.
After the four-game ASG Break, the second half of the season begins with three at home against Cleveland. They will then head back out on the road to begin a four-game series in Anaheim against the Angels Monday. For the month of July, the Twins play only nine games at Target Field.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Addendum To: The Second Sound Is Back
It's not just the sound anymore. I now feel some vibration coming from the accelerator. It starting happening last week, I think, driving to work, where I could gun my car up to 70 but I felt some resistance while doing so. I felt my pulse quicken and my forehead sweat cold sweat. But I had to go to work, and it was kind of windy outside, so I just chalked it up to that.
I've been saying that excuse to myself ever since, the last time being coming home from Rosedale late this afternoon. But I know it can't have been that windy the past nine days.
Before coming home I spent some time in the library finishing up and uploading my column reviewing the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it came out in February and hasn't been available for sale in stores since Memorial Day. Just get the fuck off me, will ya? Here it is, by the way. While waiting for my computer to shut down I perused through the aisles and, lo and behold, the car maintenance guides were the second row of books over from my desk. Curious about any new insight into my car's current troubles, I went through the big book on foreign transmissions.
There is a series of tests that a technician should do to pinpoint what's going on with the transmission. At one point on the page I saw this, and I'm paraphrasing: "If you feel or hear noise or vibration when accelerating, it's the drive belt or a bolt or something else."
Shit, it's one of those things, isn't it?
I think the mechanics scratched my car when I took it in to fix a power steering leak Friday. The guy asked me to bring it in so he could take a look. I also asked him to look at the radio volume knob. Might as well bring it in for this shit, too.
I've been saying that excuse to myself ever since, the last time being coming home from Rosedale late this afternoon. But I know it can't have been that windy the past nine days.
Before coming home I spent some time in the library finishing up and uploading my column reviewing the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it came out in February and hasn't been available for sale in stores since Memorial Day. Just get the fuck off me, will ya? Here it is, by the way. While waiting for my computer to shut down I perused through the aisles and, lo and behold, the car maintenance guides were the second row of books over from my desk. Curious about any new insight into my car's current troubles, I went through the big book on foreign transmissions.
There is a series of tests that a technician should do to pinpoint what's going on with the transmission. At one point on the page I saw this, and I'm paraphrasing: "If you feel or hear noise or vibration when accelerating, it's the drive belt or a bolt or something else."
Shit, it's one of those things, isn't it?
I think the mechanics scratched my car when I took it in to fix a power steering leak Friday. The guy asked me to bring it in so he could take a look. I also asked him to look at the radio volume knob. Might as well bring it in for this shit, too.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
You Know One Of The Things I Miss About The Old MySpace?
I won't be able to use their status update feature to mark pithy things in my life I want to note even though I know that they're so unimportant that if I update my facebook status with that, I'd probably be unfriended. (And by the way, shouldn't it be "defriended?" "Unfriended" is a state where the decision to no longer be a friend has already passed, and your current state is non-friendedness. But when you want to describe an action of turning a friend into a non-friend, you use the prefix "de-," right?) No one uses MySpace, so the only person who would see my stupid thoughts and conditions would be me.
With that gone, Wailing And Failing is my back-up. So here is what amounts to a status update: I regret eating two full plates of spaghetti for dinner tonight. My parents make great spaghetti, but they always make me two plates assuming I'll eat both of them in one sitting. I have stayed away from that because I'm getting older and fatter. Today, though, maybe because it was hot outside and I did a fair amount of walking, I thought I could eat both. I did, but dammit, I'm feeling the affects of it right now. That walk across both banks of the University of Minnesota tomorrow morning for a research study cannot come soon enough.
With that gone, Wailing And Failing is my back-up. So here is what amounts to a status update: I regret eating two full plates of spaghetti for dinner tonight. My parents make great spaghetti, but they always make me two plates assuming I'll eat both of them in one sitting. I have stayed away from that because I'm getting older and fatter. Today, though, maybe because it was hot outside and I did a fair amount of walking, I thought I could eat both. I did, but dammit, I'm feeling the affects of it right now. That walk across both banks of the University of Minnesota tomorrow morning for a research study cannot come soon enough.
List Of Clothes I Donated To Goodwill Today
I wrote these items down on my Franklin Quest, but I'll jot them down here as well:
- White pajama bottoms (lost its drawstring, plus the seat is getting so thin it's getting down to the threads; there are no holes, but it's just about there);
- Red Chinese pajama bottoms, ones I probably got from parents from The Store (the waistband had been replaced with an elastic one a long time ago, and it no longer is elastic);
- Blue Croft & Barrow pajama bottoms (the area before the crotch area, just to the left, is completely torn; guess these would be great porno pants, but even I couldn't pull off wearing pajama bottoms around);
- Blue Gap boxers with red-and-white-stars (elastic is all stretched out);
- Gold-and-gunmetal-gray-checkered Gap socks (holes at heels);
- Old, very old (like either my parents or Grandmother got me then when I was in high school; I never got around to using them until, like, my thirties) white athletic socks (holes at heels).
Saturday, July 13, 2013
That Fucking Bigoted Gun Nut George Zimmerman Got Away With It
And by the way, I decided to see part of the defense attorney's press conference/gloat session after the acquittal. If you know me, if you truly know me, don't ever, ever, EVER try to set me up on a date with a defense attorney. Well, don't set me up ever. But if you're going to ignore that, then please, by the love of Buddha, God, Allah, and every diety above, don't ever, ever, EVER set me up with a defense attorney. The most tolerable ones don't have the self-respect to walk away from people with shady reputations and morals. The worst get off on parsing the law and walking through loopholes and technicalities to get the guilty to go free, as if it's a sport to them, then talk shit afterwards, like this truly evil asshole Don West. You're the disgrace, you craven piece of shit.
Shut Up About The Fucking Laundry!!!
So hey, I thought I'd be a good son and wish Father a good day as I go out and exercise. So I do while he's in the computer room.
"Why don't I just do it tomorrow ... "
"You have so many dirty clothes. You need another hamper for your dirty clothes and one for your clean clothes. Otherwise your clean clothes get dirty."
And ... fuck. Of course I fall into his fucking trap. So as I kind of walk away from this bumming bad scene, I stammer out a reply -- "But I separate all my clothes" -- My Fucking Father, once again, gives me that, "Oooookaaaaaaaay" -- his way of saying that he's not listening to me. I have to listen to him, but like a brat, he won't listen to me, just so he can get the last word in.
Please fucking die.
Till then, I'll just do nothing and piss him off some more.
"Why don't I just do it tomorrow ... "
"You have so many dirty clothes. You need another hamper for your dirty clothes and one for your clean clothes. Otherwise your clean clothes get dirty."
And ... fuck. Of course I fall into his fucking trap. So as I kind of walk away from this bumming bad scene, I stammer out a reply -- "But I separate all my clothes" -- My Fucking Father, once again, gives me that, "Oooookaaaaaaaay" -- his way of saying that he's not listening to me. I have to listen to him, but like a brat, he won't listen to me, just so he can get the last word in.
Please fucking die.
Till then, I'll just do nothing and piss him off some more.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Nightmare
Fell asleep around a quarter to midnight, watching Jimmy Kimmel Live but before I could see Capital Cities at the end of his show. Woke up around right at 3:30, just as the final half-hour of World News Now. Dinked around the Internet, wanted to work on my column, didn't, looked at porn and jerked off instead, tried going back asleep at around 6.
I couldn't fall back to sleep, so I gave myself an hour; if I still didn't pass out by then I'd wake up and change where I get my coffee, from this place where the barista knows me to the one very close to the mechanic where I will (and, as I write this, am) getting my car fixed. (Hope it's not worse than $500.)
But I did. And as often happens, if I follow up sleep of some length with another nap of much shorter length, the entirety of that second phase of unconsciousness is taken up with a nightmare. Here's mine:
I come home from ... something. My brother, who is still living with me (us?), yells at me that we have to go to Georgia in a couple/few hours. From the way I felt panicky, I had totally forgotten. We were going there at the behest of Father, and I think it was related to the Minnesota State Lottery. That's it.
Georgia popped into this nightmare because I remember watching the very end of the end credits of The American Baking Competition of the Georgia Film and TV Board/Commission. The state offers a bunch of tax breaks for productions to shoot within their borders, The Walking Dead probably being the most notable. What the other things mean? No effin' clue.
I couldn't fall back to sleep, so I gave myself an hour; if I still didn't pass out by then I'd wake up and change where I get my coffee, from this place where the barista knows me to the one very close to the mechanic where I will (and, as I write this, am) getting my car fixed. (Hope it's not worse than $500.)
But I did. And as often happens, if I follow up sleep of some length with another nap of much shorter length, the entirety of that second phase of unconsciousness is taken up with a nightmare. Here's mine:
I come home from ... something. My brother, who is still living with me (us?), yells at me that we have to go to Georgia in a couple/few hours. From the way I felt panicky, I had totally forgotten. We were going there at the behest of Father, and I think it was related to the Minnesota State Lottery. That's it.
Georgia popped into this nightmare because I remember watching the very end of the end credits of The American Baking Competition of the Georgia Film and TV Board/Commission. The state offers a bunch of tax breaks for productions to shoot within their borders, The Walking Dead probably being the most notable. What the other things mean? No effin' clue.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Addendum To: And Now The Volume Knob In My Car Is Broken
I was able to cope with changing the volume. I don't know if there's a slip or a notch or ... something that catches behind that thing, but somehow I can turn up or down the volume.
Till yesterday driving home from work. The reggae station on satellite radio was a bit too loud, so I thought I would turn it down, so I reach over and turn the knob counter-clockwise -- and it doesn't move. It can go the other way, louder, but if I dial it back it hits ... something. The loudness of the song was still bothering me, so I turned that off and turned on National Public Radio instead. Except now NPR was a bit too loud, and so I try again and still I hit some sort of wall.
I probably was OK with the volume of my radio as it is now, say, ten years ago. But my middle-aged ears wants this turned down, and now I can't control it. I tried adjusting the satellite radio receiver but it's still too loud. Maybe it hit something on the road, I don't know. Again, there are no easy fixes. You apparently can't replace the volume knob; you have to replace the whole goddamn radio. I'm not going to do that.
Bringing it into the mechanic for the power steering leak, and now I have one other thing to ask him about. If he can't fix it, I might just have to pull the fucking fuse on it.
Till yesterday driving home from work. The reggae station on satellite radio was a bit too loud, so I thought I would turn it down, so I reach over and turn the knob counter-clockwise -- and it doesn't move. It can go the other way, louder, but if I dial it back it hits ... something. The loudness of the song was still bothering me, so I turned that off and turned on National Public Radio instead. Except now NPR was a bit too loud, and so I try again and still I hit some sort of wall.
I probably was OK with the volume of my radio as it is now, say, ten years ago. But my middle-aged ears wants this turned down, and now I can't control it. I tried adjusting the satellite radio receiver but it's still too loud. Maybe it hit something on the road, I don't know. Again, there are no easy fixes. You apparently can't replace the volume knob; you have to replace the whole goddamn radio. I'm not going to do that.
Bringing it into the mechanic for the power steering leak, and now I have one other thing to ask him about. If he can't fix it, I might just have to pull the fucking fuse on it.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
OK, It's Time To Fix This Power Steering Leak
As much as I freaked out about the power steering level being so low after I drove to the Mall of America, I have had to fill it up twice since, Sunday after driving it only to downtown and today after taking it to work. Neither time was it dead dry like it was after MOA, but I've been concerned enough to pop open my trunk and checking the level at least once a day, and oftentimes every time before I start my car. The combination of needing to top off the tank before driving home today and seeing more and larger puddles on the driveway (which has elicited more notices from Mother) convinced me that I have to do something about this.
I called the mechanic I now trust and am bringing it in Saturday morning. Hoping it makes it by then. Maybe I'm paranoid, but the puddles of power steering fluid are getting to be so numerous even I can't ignore them. And although I don't think it's going to completely pour out of the car on me at the worst time, such as on the highway, I have noticed puddles of the fluid at work. Home is one thing, but when it's leaking at work, the problem has gotten worse.
Worried about how much this will cost to fix. Was told by these mechanics that it's probably the return. Don't know what that is, but hopefully it's just a hose, and hopefully hoses aren't that expensive. If it is, at least I have a paycheck to pay for it. Then again, that paycheck was supposed to cover my credit card bill. My life sucks.
I called the mechanic I now trust and am bringing it in Saturday morning. Hoping it makes it by then. Maybe I'm paranoid, but the puddles of power steering fluid are getting to be so numerous even I can't ignore them. And although I don't think it's going to completely pour out of the car on me at the worst time, such as on the highway, I have noticed puddles of the fluid at work. Home is one thing, but when it's leaking at work, the problem has gotten worse.
Worried about how much this will cost to fix. Was told by these mechanics that it's probably the return. Don't know what that is, but hopefully it's just a hose, and hopefully hoses aren't that expensive. If it is, at least I have a paycheck to pay for it. Then again, that paycheck was supposed to cover my credit card bill. My life sucks.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey
#-1: Lynx (Last Week: -1). All four teams in this week's survey are trending downward this week. In a war of attrition, the local WNBA team treads water the best, mostly due to a 91-59 shit-kicking of Phoenix Sunday in a battle over who would take first place in the Western Conference. That this team can still kick it into overdrive and run roughshod over a really good Lifelock club is good. Seeing Maya Moore shake off her scoring funk and be virtually unstoppable for most of the rest of that game is also heartening.
Now for the bad news. Moore had to step up because Seimone Augustus had to leave that game against the Mercury after she rolled her ankle. An MRI reveals a sprained ankle -- not the worst thing in the world because it's one of those day-to-day injuries, but with Augustus's injury history, this could be one of those nagging pains that she might never shake the rest of the season, and this squad can ill afford her less than 100% percent. Also, don't forget that last Tuesday the Jynx summarily got the shit kicked out of them by the Los Angeles Farmers at Staples, 96-66. But hey, at least they're in first for now. And also hey, Sixth Man Monica Wright got engaged to Kevin Durant, the second-best player in the NBA. Congratulations to her!
This week is gut-check time: Three games, all of them quality opponents being staged in less-than-advantageous situations. Sunday was the Lynx's 14th straight win at home, a franchise record, but that will face a stern test when the Atlanta Dream, the team with the best record in the league and have suffered only one loss all year, come to town tonight. They then hit the road to face defending champion Indiana Thursday in the Fever's annual weekday matinee camp game. Finally, the team goes to Tulsa Saturday.
#-2: Timberwolves (Last Week: -4). Compared to what I consider a disastrous week the week prior, the transactions the Woofie Dogs made this past screening week was akin to the Houston Rockets getting Dwight Howard.
What President Of Basketball Operations Flip Saunders did not get, the one big weakness on the Woofs, was wing scoring. Well, this screening week he was able to sign and re-sign two people who should help that tremendously. The name fans are familiar with is Chase Bundinger, a guy who was only rumored to be on this team because he, like Kevin Love, was injured for most of the year. The new player is Kevin Martin, acquired by The Bastard Seattle SuperSonics when they had to part ways with James Harden whom they hoped would be a poor man's Harden, just much cheaper. He was good off the bench, which means he will in all likelihood be the starting Shooting Guard for the Timberwolves next season. While both Martin and Budinger can both stroke the rock, neither can play the defense. Neither can the rest of the team, so, as one columnist said after the signings, expect a lot of high-scoring losses.
Now the focus is on re-signing Center Nikola Pekovic, who is a restricted free agent and may be the best on the market now that Howard has finally settled on Houston. Pek would be the only starter (well, maybe besides Ricky Rubio) who will play defense, so it's imperative that he stays. Then again, that may be why Flip drafted Gorgui Dieng. At any rate, I take back my verdict in last week's WMNSS that the Wolves have less of a chance of reaching the playoffs after the NBA Draft; I feel a little better about the team's chances now, although that has a lot to do with Howard leaving the Lakers a shell of its former Showtime self and trying to mesh with a Rockets club that barely made it into the playoffs last year.
#-3: Wild (Last Week: -2). I feel as better about the Timberwolves' off-season as I now feel bad, even disgusted, by the Mild's off-season this week. I understand that the team has to shave six million off its cap for next season. But most of the moves General Manager Chuck Fletcher is making puzzle me, and one, honestly, outright pisses me off.
In the past week (or so), the team has done the following:
Mild fans have seen this story play out before. Fletch's predecessor, Doug Risebrough, out of nowhere also brought in a thug/enforcer because he thought the team needed some muscle. So Risebrough brought in Chris Simon, who was Matt Cooke before Matt Cooke was Matt Cooke. And all he did (whenever he managed to get on the ice, he was so damn unproductive) was stink up the joint, get into fights, lose those fights, and gum up the gameplan for his teammates.
The Star Tribune's Jim Souhan agrees with me: This is Fletcher's astonishing Chris Simon move. To trowel the depths of the league in order to find a goon to fill out your roster will destroy any future planning this franchise has to win the Stanley Cup. I have no idea how this asshole Cooke is going to help the Mild. This is dumbfounding. And for a fanbase (well, any fanbase) to turn on a team because they hate a player on their favorite team is some feat. Souhan touched on it; it doesn't matter if Cooke is on "our" side now, many fans are downright embarrassed by this move.
The young guys on this club (Brodin, Charlie Coyle, Jason Zucker and especially Mikael Granlund) had better step up. Otherwise, Cooke and all these warm bodies Fletcher brings in will be the last moves he makes as GM.
#-4: Twins (Last Week: -3). Oh, fucking Lord, this team blows.
A 1-6 week, and that solitary win, in Toronto on Saturday (where they managed to shut out the Blue Jays, in fact; R.A. Dickey was pitching and his knuckleballs were more like slow-pitch softball tosses) stopped a Twinks losing streak at six. Caleb Thielbar was the last Twins pitcher untouched with a bad outing. But while I was dealing with my phone company over blocking this crazy woman who keeps calling us (probably wants to talk to Grandmother) I was listening to the game on satellite radio. In a one-run game Thielbar was pitching with a man on third with one (?) out. And when the batter, Ben Zobrist, shot one deep to left (?) to make it a three-run game, I had heard enough. Minnesota went on to lose to the Tampa Bay Rays 7-4. At least I have Zobrist on my fantasy team.
This week was the first of two against American League East clubs, and right now the team is in the midst of its longest road trip of the season. So far it's going horribly ... as expected. Still, I took umbrage of the Strib's Michael Rand, who, on his Page 2 blurbs chastised us fans. Instead of shaking our fists at the Yankees after sweeping the Twinks at home last week -- oh, did I mention that the Twins allowed the Yankees to rape them again, at home again? -- we should be thanking them because now, without a doubt, we can trade some of our best players for prospects that will lay the groundwork for the organization's rebirth down the road. First of all, I ain't never going to thank the fucking Yankees for fuckin' anything. And second, why the hell should we be thankful for certainty? Yeah, maybe it would make sense to trade Justin Morneau, especially now that the team's playing as bad as any in Major League Baseball. But a little kvetching is in order -- for seeing yet another season burn to ash, for not being able to see the light at the end of the tunnel once again, for letting go a former American League Most Valuable Player who was once seen as a cornerstone of the franchise. Mr. Rand, I know of one type of people who react to its own impending destruction with equanimity: People who commit suicide. I ain't one of those goddamn people. I may want to commit suicide after hearing the Twinks lose yet another game, but I'm not sending out thank you e-mails for making the option of self-immolation the clear one. A third consecutive season of failure should invite the same feelings I had about the first two: Anger at the club and demands to know what the fuck they're going to do to stop embarrassing themselves and this state.
Showing good face may be a long time coming, however. They have three more at the Bay Rays, then finish the road trip, and the first half of the regular season, with three in the Bronx against those fucking Yanks.
Now for the bad news. Moore had to step up because Seimone Augustus had to leave that game against the Mercury after she rolled her ankle. An MRI reveals a sprained ankle -- not the worst thing in the world because it's one of those day-to-day injuries, but with Augustus's injury history, this could be one of those nagging pains that she might never shake the rest of the season, and this squad can ill afford her less than 100% percent. Also, don't forget that last Tuesday the Jynx summarily got the shit kicked out of them by the Los Angeles Farmers at Staples, 96-66. But hey, at least they're in first for now. And also hey, Sixth Man Monica Wright got engaged to Kevin Durant, the second-best player in the NBA. Congratulations to her!
This week is gut-check time: Three games, all of them quality opponents being staged in less-than-advantageous situations. Sunday was the Lynx's 14th straight win at home, a franchise record, but that will face a stern test when the Atlanta Dream, the team with the best record in the league and have suffered only one loss all year, come to town tonight. They then hit the road to face defending champion Indiana Thursday in the Fever's annual weekday matinee camp game. Finally, the team goes to Tulsa Saturday.
#-2: Timberwolves (Last Week: -4). Compared to what I consider a disastrous week the week prior, the transactions the Woofie Dogs made this past screening week was akin to the Houston Rockets getting Dwight Howard.
What President Of Basketball Operations Flip Saunders did not get, the one big weakness on the Woofs, was wing scoring. Well, this screening week he was able to sign and re-sign two people who should help that tremendously. The name fans are familiar with is Chase Bundinger, a guy who was only rumored to be on this team because he, like Kevin Love, was injured for most of the year. The new player is Kevin Martin, acquired by The Bastard Seattle SuperSonics when they had to part ways with James Harden whom they hoped would be a poor man's Harden, just much cheaper. He was good off the bench, which means he will in all likelihood be the starting Shooting Guard for the Timberwolves next season. While both Martin and Budinger can both stroke the rock, neither can play the defense. Neither can the rest of the team, so, as one columnist said after the signings, expect a lot of high-scoring losses.
Now the focus is on re-signing Center Nikola Pekovic, who is a restricted free agent and may be the best on the market now that Howard has finally settled on Houston. Pek would be the only starter (well, maybe besides Ricky Rubio) who will play defense, so it's imperative that he stays. Then again, that may be why Flip drafted Gorgui Dieng. At any rate, I take back my verdict in last week's WMNSS that the Wolves have less of a chance of reaching the playoffs after the NBA Draft; I feel a little better about the team's chances now, although that has a lot to do with Howard leaving the Lakers a shell of its former Showtime self and trying to mesh with a Rockets club that barely made it into the playoffs last year.
#-3: Wild (Last Week: -2). I feel as better about the Timberwolves' off-season as I now feel bad, even disgusted, by the Mild's off-season this week. I understand that the team has to shave six million off its cap for next season. But most of the moves General Manager Chuck Fletcher is making puzzle me, and one, honestly, outright pisses me off.
In the past week (or so), the team has done the following:
- Said goodbye to oft-injured stalwart Pierre-Marc Bouchard, who is now with the Islanders after being with the team for eleven years;
- Placed little-used (and native Minnesotan) Defenseman Tom Gilbert on waivers;
- Officially said goodbye to retaining the services of Matt Cullen, who had a bounceback year this year;
- Re-signed D-Man Jared Spurgeon to a three-year deal, even though he is with several other young defensemen on the other side of a wide chasm of talent from Ryan Suter and Jonas Brodin;
- Signed Defenseman (and Minnesota Golden Gopher and native Minnesotan as well, I think) Keith Ballard away from Vancouver, even though he's been injured a lot lately;
- Traded away Forward Devin Setoguchi, a guy they acquired at the NHL Draft just two years ago, to The Bastard Atlanta Thrashers in exchange for only a second-round draft pick;
- And, worst of all, signed Forward Matt Cooke.
Mild fans have seen this story play out before. Fletch's predecessor, Doug Risebrough, out of nowhere also brought in a thug/enforcer because he thought the team needed some muscle. So Risebrough brought in Chris Simon, who was Matt Cooke before Matt Cooke was Matt Cooke. And all he did (whenever he managed to get on the ice, he was so damn unproductive) was stink up the joint, get into fights, lose those fights, and gum up the gameplan for his teammates.
The Star Tribune's Jim Souhan agrees with me: This is Fletcher's astonishing Chris Simon move. To trowel the depths of the league in order to find a goon to fill out your roster will destroy any future planning this franchise has to win the Stanley Cup. I have no idea how this asshole Cooke is going to help the Mild. This is dumbfounding. And for a fanbase (well, any fanbase) to turn on a team because they hate a player on their favorite team is some feat. Souhan touched on it; it doesn't matter if Cooke is on "our" side now, many fans are downright embarrassed by this move.
The young guys on this club (Brodin, Charlie Coyle, Jason Zucker and especially Mikael Granlund) had better step up. Otherwise, Cooke and all these warm bodies Fletcher brings in will be the last moves he makes as GM.
#-4: Twins (Last Week: -3). Oh, fucking Lord, this team blows.
A 1-6 week, and that solitary win, in Toronto on Saturday (where they managed to shut out the Blue Jays, in fact; R.A. Dickey was pitching and his knuckleballs were more like slow-pitch softball tosses) stopped a Twinks losing streak at six. Caleb Thielbar was the last Twins pitcher untouched with a bad outing. But while I was dealing with my phone company over blocking this crazy woman who keeps calling us (probably wants to talk to Grandmother) I was listening to the game on satellite radio. In a one-run game Thielbar was pitching with a man on third with one (?) out. And when the batter, Ben Zobrist, shot one deep to left (?) to make it a three-run game, I had heard enough. Minnesota went on to lose to the Tampa Bay Rays 7-4. At least I have Zobrist on my fantasy team.
This week was the first of two against American League East clubs, and right now the team is in the midst of its longest road trip of the season. So far it's going horribly ... as expected. Still, I took umbrage of the Strib's Michael Rand, who, on his Page 2 blurbs chastised us fans. Instead of shaking our fists at the Yankees after sweeping the Twinks at home last week -- oh, did I mention that the Twins allowed the Yankees to rape them again, at home again? -- we should be thanking them because now, without a doubt, we can trade some of our best players for prospects that will lay the groundwork for the organization's rebirth down the road. First of all, I ain't never going to thank the fucking Yankees for fuckin' anything. And second, why the hell should we be thankful for certainty? Yeah, maybe it would make sense to trade Justin Morneau, especially now that the team's playing as bad as any in Major League Baseball. But a little kvetching is in order -- for seeing yet another season burn to ash, for not being able to see the light at the end of the tunnel once again, for letting go a former American League Most Valuable Player who was once seen as a cornerstone of the franchise. Mr. Rand, I know of one type of people who react to its own impending destruction with equanimity: People who commit suicide. I ain't one of those goddamn people. I may want to commit suicide after hearing the Twinks lose yet another game, but I'm not sending out thank you e-mails for making the option of self-immolation the clear one. A third consecutive season of failure should invite the same feelings I had about the first two: Anger at the club and demands to know what the fuck they're going to do to stop embarrassing themselves and this state.
Showing good face may be a long time coming, however. They have three more at the Bay Rays, then finish the road trip, and the first half of the regular season, with three in the Bronx against those fucking Yanks.
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