Dealing With Too Much E-Mail

I tried.  OK, I kind of didn't.  I had the occasional impulse to go through my e-mails and see which ones I wanted to read and which ones I could delete.  But once that urge went, it didn't, or hasn't come back for months, if not years.

At its worst, I had 100,000 unread e-mails unread in my main inbox.  Nearly all of them are political donation e-mails, and goddammit, I totally regret ever donating to those campaigns, though I'm mad mostly because my side lost.  But the donation e-mails haven't stopped.  There was a time I could go through every single e-mail that I got each and every day.  But once those donation e-mails hit my inbox, I couldn't.  So I thought I could let it go for one day ... except one day became two, and then it became a week, then a month, and then 100,000 unread e-mails.

What finally forced my hand several months ago was that Yahoo! Mail said I was bumping up against my storage limit.  Though theoretically I would eventually have to worry about the limit with all the non-political e-mails I still have in my inbox since Day One, it's all those fucking donation e-mails that have taken up all my storage space.  So, with the proverbial gun cocked and aimed at my head, I finally had the excuse to say fuck it, I'll just delete e-mails without looking at them.

But how to do that?  Going through individual e-mails to make sure they were political ones defeats the purpose of a mass delete, so I went with deleting by keyword.  But which one?  I wasn't feeling a sense of urgency.  But I knew, deep down, that I wanted to just get under this limit as quickly as possible, so I just wanted to find one keyword, zap all the e-mails with that keyword even if some innocent and non-political ones get swept up, and be done with it.

I profess I didn't think too long and hard over the one word I decided to use -- "donate."  It seemed to be the one word in every political e-mail I had.  After all, the point of those e-mails is to ask for money.  So I searched for "donate," clicked the all e-mails box, and deleted away.  Yahoo! Mail gives you a box with a final warning.  In this case, it told me that I was going to delete, say, 100 e-mails -- and then gives me the option of deleting, like, 10,000 more e-mails that also have the word "donate" somewhere in the body.  And I'm all, OK!  And Yahoo! Mail actually had to take a few minutes, but those 10,000 e-mails were gone ... and yet there were more even more e-mails in my inbox that had the keyword "donate" but weren't deleted yet.  So I had to go through this cycle two or three more times before it apparently found and killed off all the e-mails with "donate."

Got to be honest: I'm happy.  I was never going to go through the e-mails in the way my ideal self wanted to because I simply didn't have the time nor the inclination.  This massive kill-off is untidy and inaccurate, but it quickly got me down below the limit.  And I had bumped up against that limit a couple more times not too long after this first time, but I guess I had more e-mails with "donate," so zap! they went.  Finally, I'm under, and hopefully for good (so long as I get rid of the political e-mails that will infect my inbox after I die).  I know that I will be sentimental for e-mails that I really, really wanted to keep but unfortunately had "donate" somewhere in the body of that e-mail ... that is if and when I ever realize they're gone.  But I finally dealt with too much e-mail in a way that, if I were telling the truth to myself, I really like and wanted to do.

Oh, I Went Back To Work On Thursday

My luck finally ran out, sadly.  Thursday morning, as I was checking my phone after my alarm went off, my boss told me a shipment was in and that we had to go in.  And it looked like the courier was well on its way to getting things up and running; Thursday we got three times the number of forms we usually get, which makes me think that got back on track on Thursday.

On Thursday I worked overtime to get all the stuff I think I needed to get done done.  Stayed longer yesterday/Friday because I was pulled from my work in The Fourth Department to do data entry.  That meant some of the stuff I could have done yesterday/Friday got pushed to today/Saturday.  And yes, I am coming in on a Saturday to work -- partly to help the department catch up, partly to take back all the paid time off I gave because I didn't work Monday through Wednesday.  I am suddenly getting close to going under with that.  I think I can actually "go into debt" and borrow up to 40 hours of paid time off in advance, but I would rather save that up for a time I need it, like a couple days in February and March.

Still, like I said, I was kind of sad Thursday morning when I didn't get the message that I could stay home.  I like not working.  It reminds me of the fallow periods inbetween temp jobs, where I was actually happy.  But since such happiness always ends, and because that feeling of everything crashing down is so hard for me, I would rather not enjoy happiness.  I want my vacations permanent, not temporary.

The Death Of Summer

Went to The Minnesota State Fair yesterday/Sunday -- for some peace and quiet.  It might sound paradoxical to say that since, well, everybody's at the State Fair.  But honestly, seeing everybody so happy (well, besides the kids crying because of something or other) gave me a serenity that's sorely lacking at home now.

They made me go through all my stuff even though it didn't hurt anyone.  They fucking rearranged my room.  They even got into the locked goddamn compartment in my desk.  They took everything.  They found everything that was in here ... which means, thank Buddha, that they didn't see my porn because I moved it all out to my storage space.  But I am looking at my bedroom, what is supposed to be my safe place, my fortress, and it is completely unrecognizable to me because both My Fucking Parents moved everything around to something they like even though I'm the one who has to live in it.

I have always been wistful on my last visit to the Fair.  I've always associated it with the end/death of summer, and so when I walk out of the Fairgrounds for the last time, to me it feels like I'm leaving summer behind me.  But I'm more sentimental and sad about summer this time around because of how shitty I feel because of the trauma My Fucking Parents inflicted on me.  It was so happy there, and because of that I was happy, and I could feel as though I could forget my worries for a few hours.  But while I tried to put it out of my mind, I still remembered that, at some point, the joy I felt had to end, and I had to return to a place where, frankly, I don't feel secure right now.  I leave the happiness of summer behind and enter a fall (the season I like the most, ironically) with two people who fucking torment me when they should be my champions.  And so it feels as though it's all crashing down.

Goodbye, Car

Over the weekend, Father and I finally untarped my old car.  It looks as good/bad as it did when we stored it, which was, at least according to the tabs, before the winter of 2021-2.  But three of the four tires are severely deflated and the front passenger side is completely deflated.  Plus, the moonroof is cracked and enough, uh, stuff penetrated the cracks that there is mold or mildew in it.  It may run, for all I know, but the tires probably need to be changed and the moonroof is a disaster, so I don't think it's wise for us to put money into spiffing it up.  Yeah, it's time to say goodbye to the car.

---

I remember seeing it for the first time.  It was evening, I was hanging out or sleeping in or doing homework or just moping about my senior year in high school when my parents told me to come out.  I, at the top of the stairs, saw Mother, at the bottom of the stairs, jangle a key in front of her.  It was the car, and they got it for me.  And I remember being visibly frustrated.  I was a couple years removed from finally getting my driver's license on the third try, and the second time I got rejected by this truly deplorable bitch of a driving tester traumatized me.  This new car would be an upgrade over the car I had been using around that time, a Jeep that first had vapor lock issues and then overheated.  I should have been overjoyed that I actually got a fucking car that fucking worked, but I think my thinking at the time was that I was over driving as a concept.  It was so much work to worry about a car, and I realized there was pain even when owning a car that did work -- gasoline, maintenance, worries about repairs, let alone insurance.  I had taken a bus to school all my life, and if I wanted to do something fun, I could either walk there or hop a ride on one of my friends' cars.  No, driving a new car was too much adulting for me, and I gave the impression that they shouldn't have bought one for me.

Well, I did need to drive a car, if only for getting to the U. for classes.  And then the damndest thing happened: Instead of junking the Jeep and letting me drive the new car, they stored the new car and made me drive the Jeep several more years.  In fact, if I recall correctly, I want to say it took about nine or ten years before Father finally relented and let me drive the car as my main car.  Up until his decision to stash it, I had one summer to drive it all over the place.  And I remember driving it a lot very, very early in my journey with it, albeit inadvertently.  I was going to go to my friend's graduation party at his mom's house.  He drew up a map on how to get there from our high school, but it was wrong and I got lost.  And it took me at least an hour and stopping into one or maybe even two gas stations (remember that we didn't have the Internet, let along a map app, at the time) to finally fucking get to the party.  I expressly remember reading the part of the owner's manual where it said to drive the car gently for the first 1,000 miles.  I swear I drove about 100 of it just trying to find this goddamn party.

So after I was finally able to drive it, I, well, drove it.  Everywhere.  It was a stylish low-luxury car.  It was great.  I hate not remembering all the good times I drove it because when the car drives well, it drives unremarkably.  No, I remember when it started breaking down.  My first repair was for a ball bearing in the passenger-side rear tire; the car was making a noise that wasn't going away.  The transmission died on me as I drove to my overnight temp job in downtown Minneapolis; Father had to step in and found someone in the neighborhood to finally, after maybe a month out of service, fix the transmission for almost two grand, oy.  In the winter, when I drove it to the dealership for maintenance, I took the off-ramp curve way too quickly.  There was slight damage to the car, but the moonroof cracked to where it is today.

All in all, the make, model and year of the car is a good one, I think, and I believe I got what I could out of it, maybe even moreso.  But, maybe because it was stored too long or because of those 100 miles getting to the fucking grad party or maybe just general wear-and-tear, the problems started to pile up -- the oil level light wouldn't turn off; had to re-do the wiring a couple times, 18 months apart; it started leaking oil bad; the passenger-side rear power window broke, and I had to tape it closed until I could get it fixed; the sway bar on the passenger side broke so I heard a loud "clang" every time I steered.  One time I drove over a railroad track and the goddamn hood flipped open.  The fuckin' thing rolled up like a tuna can.  (Come to think of it, I think the hood is totally fixed.  Didn't see any misalignment at all as I checked it out over the weekend.)

Finally, when I was driving to my test scoring job (I may have blogged posted about this a long time ago), the car started to overheat.  I had to leave for the day to go to this shop I trusted out in Carver County (close by where a stripper who gave me a HJ lived), who said it would be fine.  These were the days where I had a second test scoring job at night; the fucking car overheated on my way home from that job.  I spent two hours turning my car on and off to see if the thermostat would be low enough for me to limp it home before AAA finally got around to me and towed it to the mechanic close to me.

The culprit: The gasket blew.  I thought that when it comes to major engine repairs like that, that's when it was no longer worth it to fix the car.  The mechanic said exactly that when he told me in his voicemail what the problem was.  But Father got it home and, weeks later (I don't remember what car I was using in the meantime), he got it fixed.  And really, the car was driving fine.  You had to be careful and the radio was doing this thing where it get really loud and then really quiet and then really loud.  Didn't help that the radio button was busted.  You couldn't even push it to turn it off or on, it just did that itself.  But, it was drivable.  And then Father made the decision, at least several years after he got the gasket fixed and probably near the tail end of the pandemic where people could finally go out and travel again, to stash the old car, put the tarp and the cinder blocks on it, and, well, forget it.  And forget it we did.

---

I got into the car for the first time in years Saturday, but it was to clean it out.  I stepped back in it yesterday/Sunday to reminisce, to remember, and to say goodbye.  I can't remember them, but there were so many good times driving that car, and it was, for a long time, a trusted, capable, and even stylish soldier.  I made an effort to open and sit in the four big seats of the sedan, if only for a minute.  I looked at the owner's manual one more time, then realized that, after all these years, there are two features on the car that I did not use at all: The driver's seat lumbar support bar and the bag chute that comes out from the toddler seat in the middle of the backseat and has the shape of a long piece of wood.  It is used to store long objects without messing up the interior of the car.  Well, we never had to carry big long things in the sedan.  And even though I have a bad back now, I didn't back then, so I didn't have the need to shape my back to its proper driving posture.  Still, I cranked the bar a few times, just to feel it in my back.  Can't believe it's the first time I ever used it, ironically the last week (or so) it'll be in the family's possession.

Yes, it's a car.  But it's my car.  And I used it for a formative period in my life.  Moreover, I saw it "born," and now I'm going to see it "die" as it gets towed and probably stripped for parts.  It's a hell of a thing to witness the entire life cycle of something, even something inanimate like a car.

This is the logical thing to do.  Yet, I know I should be sad about this.  But I'm not crying.

I'm still trying to figure out how best to donate the car.  That might give me a good reason to procrastinate.  But hell, it's best to let go of the car.  And yet ... I can't.

Goodbye, car.

We're Finally Saying Goodbye To My Old Car (Maybe)

So I got home from work late, so I was eating by myself.  My parents got home from their post-dinner walk, and Father came up to me about a commercial he saw from a non-profit that takes cars (could be Kars 4 Kids, but you know what I mean).  He thinks it's time to say goodbye to my old car.  And I agree with him.

It'll take some time to process this.  Thinking about all the good times I had with it makes me tear up one way, and then thinking about all the stress and pain (and money) to fix it in its last years makes me tear up in another way.  I am getting sentimental about my old car now, but I have to admit I go days without thinking about it, and when I do it's usually thinking about how it is right now, underneath torn tarps and cinder blocks, with lord knows what is crawling inside of it.  It's a 30+-year-old car now.  I think it was fine to drive when we stashed it, but it certainly isn't in the (two, three ... seven?) years since, and it's so old now it doesn't have any safety features that would keep us from danger on the road.

I told him I would do research and get back to him.  There are several non-profits beyond the one he saw on TV that probably take old cars like ours.  But I might procrastinate because I can't quite say goodbye to it, even though we're not going to do anything with it.

Ugh, Work/Oh, Those Ducks!!!

Yeah, work yesterday/Wednesday was as rough and shitty as I feared it would be.  I had to wake up at 5:30, I was kind of lost remembering what I had to do once I got to work at 6:30, and then I spent 3 1/2 hours in the lab.  I have never spent that much time in the lab, and that sucks because I was cutting opening packages and getting my hands in piss the whole goddamn time.  One package actually squirted piss in my face.  My face!  I had to take some time to wash my face after I escaped the lab.  I think I said this before, but I am not the same person I was when I started this job, and it's completely because I have been in contact with other peoples' urine.  It is fucking gross, and I don't even want it (at work).

But oh my God, those ducks!  As I drove to work, I slowed down because I saw a mama duck and two baby ducks crossing the road.  Remembering these small, vulnerable creatures try to reach safe ground hurts my heart because they are so cute and yet I was so scared for them.  If I were in a different mindset, I would have probably overlooked them, and then ... Buddha, I don't even want to think about what could have been.  But you should have seen them.  Buddha, I hope they're OK.

It's Her Last Day Today, And I Am Going To Miss Her Like Hell

My co-worker ... well, she's more like a mentor because I continue to this day to ask her questions along the lines of, "How do you do this?" -- well, today/Friday is her last day.  I haven't quite confronted and dealt with it, partly because these forms from this recently-closed-down lab have been kicking my ass ever since she put in her two weeks' retirement notice (I did the maximum ten hours yesterday/Thursday, and I was lucky I got everything done within that time), but also partly because I really, really don't know how to do my job when I'm in The Third Department without her.

She's been at this company forever.  She knows everything.  That's why I always felt good when asking her a question about what to do because she's seen everything before.  That's a hell of a lot of institutional knowledge that's walking out the door.  (Also, her co-worker was the guy who I think got fired in the summer.  Those were the two full-timers manning The Third Department, and they spent decades with the company.  Now they're both gone.)  Also, she was funny, and I could talk to her about my frustrations with the job and the company.  She was the ideal co-worker, and someone I could look up to.  Yes, I'm glad she could leave when she wants to.  But dammit, I will miss the hell out of her.  Because the job back there won't be the same without her.  And really, I will not be as good of a worker without her.  Believe it.

A Tribute To The WNBA As It Is (Until This Evening)

So The Golden State Valkyries will have life breathed into it with The WNBA Expansion Draft tonight/Friday not, where the team will have the opportunity to pluck one player from each of the 12 existing teams (although the Valks won't have to).  That's great, seriously; I am really happy that women's basketball has reached a new plateau of popularity to the point that another professional b-ball franchise will be born and, presumably, will flourish.

In fact, it's about time.  Did you know that there has been a dozen, and only a dozen, Women's National Basketball Association teams since charter franchise The Sacramento Monarchs went out of business before the 2010 season?  Between then and the just-completed 2024 season, women's pro basketball in the country -- and, because America remains the best country for basketball players, the world -- has been survived with only 12 franchises.  Now, two of them were taken from cities during this period (and ironically, both The Las Vegas Aces and The Dallas Wings were taken from the second city both franchises have technically been in -- San Antonio and Tulsa, respectively), but for 15 Years (a majority of the 28 Years of the WNBA itself, by the way), it's been The Dozen.

I think, as a general rule, league expansion is overblown.  It's just a money grab, and a somewhat insecure nod to the notion that if you're not growing, you're dying.  The Big Three North American Sports Leagues have had the same number of teams for a while, and they seem to be doing just fine.  But I have to confess that I felt the WNBA was different because it was breaking ground in professionalizing women's sports.  An embryonic league needs to prove that it is growing in order to survive.  Besides, the WNBA tried an early explosion of expansion, adding two teams to the original eight in the league's second, third (this is when The Minnesota Lynx was born), and fourth seasons, then added four more in its fifth.  But three years after that, two teams in The Class Of 2000 (Portland and Miami) died.  The next year, original franchise Cleveland closed up shop.  The WNBA then yo-yoed between 14 and 13 teams in a pair of de facto trades: Chicago was born in 2006, but charter club Charlotte died at the end of that Year; Atlanta rose and the dynasty Houston Comets set in the 2008 season.  The Monarchs were done the Year after that ... and the league just stayed there, at twelve.

After all the risky expansion and potentially-fatal contraction, the WNBA at this point was just, you know, there.  It wasn't growing, but it wasn't shrinking, either.  It was, however, stable, and maybe that is exactly what the league, and women's sports, needed then.  To be honest, the American sports world considered the WNBA at the time to be a boutique sport at best, an afterthought at worst, even though a generation of world-class female athletes left their marks on the league.  They didn't make as much money as their NBA counterparts, of course, and they still don't.  They had to share practice facilities with commoners working out at the gym.  Up until last Year, most teams had to take commercial flights to get to Games.  But yet, those dozen franchises just kept soldiering on, putting out a damn good product too few people appreciated.

And that's why I feel compelled to blog post about this.  Beyond the misogynistic ridicule that was heaped on it (and, let's be honest, is still being heaped on it), the WNBA probably had to face numerous obstacles that threatened to bankrupt and end the league, issues that won't be disclosed until memoirs are published decades from now.  But these twelve teams held it down, showcasing as much and as well as they could the best female athletes in the world until the world woke up and realized what was under its nose the whole time.  And now, with Golden State coming in in 2025 and Toronto and a rekindled Portland (going back to a once-failed market, I think, is a sure sign of growth) coming in 2026, I am very happy to see the WNBA expand, and I think this time, the going will be sustainable.

So just before the WNBA welcomes its 13th team, I want to give praise and thanks to The Dozen, the ones that kept the flame of pro women's b-ball in the United States alive despite inattention and disrespect.  There would be no Golden State without the twelve mothers that are, through its players, essentially birthing this new team.  May the league go and grow onward!

I Want To Just Lie In My Bed All Day

Have to admit that my anxiety is getting the better of me now.  It's the car, and then this thing with this guy I know after we mixed it up about Trump.  But work is getting very precarious right now.

Yesterday/Monday morning the first thing everybody in the back room was talking about was our new attendance policy.  It's tightening up.  I don't really know how it's going to affect me, but the cushion for being late is just about gone, especially if something comes up and you don't call in well, well ahead of time.  One of my co-workers just had a baby, and she has had to call in "sick" because her son was.  Under these new rules, she figures that if she does that a few more times, she's fired.

I may adjust like I always do.  But things are different, much different, than when I started there.  The other three people in the back yesterday morning have been at this company longer than I have, and they were reminiscing about how fun it once was to come to work.  It's not fun anymore to work there.  If it's not the rules and policies getting more draconian, it's (at least for me) the lack of work that makes me wonder how long am I going to be there.  One of my other co-workers has noticed the drying up of work and the shrinking workforce going along with it.  And by the way, there were only four of us back there.  There were days not too long ago when there were seven, eight people back there, and we all had work to do.  And I think we got through all the work we had, just the four of us, yesterday.

I started to really, really look for other jobs tonight.  It may have been this new attendance policy or the talk amongst us about the company's future, but I very, very scared that they are going to leave the area -- or, at the very least, my boss will use my Internet surfing to fire me, maybe as soon as tomorrow.  Happened to my other co-worker, bless his soul.  Right now, with the way work is (or actually is not), I think the company will get along just fine without me.

And with the lack of work comes the lack of money.  I've seen my bills and I've seen my checking account; dammit, it's as low as it's ever been.  And with a potentially huge car repair bill coming up -- I am trying to bring it this week and not next -- I am getting tired of spending money.  It's no fun seeing my funds dry up because I'm eating out.  So that's another reason I just want to stay not just home but in my bed.  Won't spend money lying in bed.  Don't have to worry about my job or losing my job.  Don't have to worry about the car making funny noises while I drive it.  Don't have to worry about this dude potentially coming to my house to kill me, or getting me cancelled by my current employer (my goodness, he could do that, couldn't he?).  Nope, it's just me, having shelter and safety and sleep ... and maybe not worrying about my parents one day dying.

The Clothes I Am Giving To Goodwill

• The green Joe Boxer thermal underwear top.  I bought this from the K-Mart that used to be close by before it closed.  God, the memories there when I was young.  Anyway, there are big holes in both armpits, the left elbow is pretty shredded, and the right elbow is starting to be.
• A patterned pillowcase, one with a series of concentric diamonds, each side of which is a different color from the other sides of its diamond but the same color as the side that is radiating out, if that makes any sense.  This is so old I remember Grandmother using it.  (Miss her.)  It has a hole at the closed end, so of course that end isn't closed anymore.
• Khaki-colored GAP khakis, loose boot fit, 29x30.  It fit me once, but no more.
• A brand of jeans from Outdoor Life, a brand I've never heard of, so my parents got me this when they went to, like K-Mart or Kohl's.  Regular fit, 32x30.  Also fit me once, but no more.
• My green thermal underwear pants from Duluth Trading Co.  The elastic is no longer elastic.
• Lee khakis, 32x30, the ones you don't iron.  Don't fit me anymore.  By the condition of the khakis, I wonder how many times I worn these.
• Blue and beige square-patterned shorts from Canyon River Blues.  The pockets in the back had Velcro to shut it.  I remember Mother and I going to the Sears in Brookdale right from work at The Store because she wanted to buy something, and she encouraged me to buy something, and I needed shorts, so I got these that came with its own belt.  I do not know where the belt is.  They were good, roomy, and in my opinion stylish shorts.  Unfortunately I got fat enough to where the button popped out.  Also, these shorts were so thin that there is a huge horizontal rip on the back right side, right around where the bottom of my ass would be.
• Black or dark navy Gap khaki shorts, relaxed fit.  Only says 31; guess there is no need for an inseam measurement when it comes to shorts.  No longer fit in it.  The button has popped loose and is literally hanging by a thread.
• Brown Dockers, D3 (?), classic fit, 30x30.  These are some professional-looking khakis.  Unfortunately, my belly outgrew it.
• Mustard yellow khakis from Hunt Club, another label I've never heard, which is more evidence that my parents bought it for me, even though the purple label on the inside of the waist gives the pants some panache.  Measures 32x30, but as I can see from the lack of a button, I have gotten too damn fat for this one as well.

Ten pieces of clothing, all of which I will be donating after work today, January 23, 2024.

The Snowstorm That Wasn't

So there was supposed to be the first snowstorm of the season on Friday.  It's been unseasonably warm and dry so far; we may have had a couple clippers drop up to two inches a couple times, but that's it.  It's also been way above average ... until now.

Winter is supposed to have finally come over the weekend, starting with a storm that was going to dump snow.  At first it was 1-3", then 3-5", then 4-9".  Because of the increasing snowfall projections, I scuttled my dream of going out to a speakeasy Friday and decided to stay close to home.

The snow was supposed to start in the afternoon, but it didn't.  There were flurries coming home from work Friday evening, and I thought they would worsen, but it didn't.  And then I saw that the projections of snow radically changed -- maybe 1-3", maybe.  And once it was all over yesterday/Saturday morning, we got maybe a dusting.

From up to nine inches to basically nothing?  This explainer/confession from Minnesota Public Radio Weather explains what happened, or didn't happen.  TL;DR, meteorologists did not see that a rush of dry air would in fact drive through and settle over the Twin Cities.  They all wildly overestimated the dew point of the air over MSP -- 16 degrees when it turned out to be 0.  And with no moisture in the air, there was no ability for any precipitation to fall.

I am one of those people who couldn't give less of a damn if there wasn't a blizzard.  I hate the snow -- driving in it, shoveling or plowing it, dealing with it.  I have enough crap I have to deal with in my life.  And I remember we got hit with a lot of snow last winter.  Much of it fell after Christmas, and I will accept snow on Christmas only because of the nostalgic tableau of a White Christmas.  Dealing with a foot of snow in March?  To hell with that.  So I disagree with snow lovers and, more importantly, people who get upset with weather forecasters who get forecasts wrong, especially when bad things don't happen.  We didn't get socked with half a foot of snow and you're angry?!  What the hell is wrong with you?!

Now the cold ... I'll take the cold over the snow, but that doesn't mean I like it.  And the forecast for bone-chilling temperatures is true.  That's bad for me, because I'm now thinking I should bring my car back to the mechanic again, and that means I need to drop off my car and take the bus back, and that means I need to wait out in the cold.  But hey, at least I don't have to deal with snow!

Do you remember the "WALK" and "DONT WALK" signs on stoplights?  They've been replaced a long time ago by pictures of a walking person and ... shoot, I don't remember the last time paid attention, a hand, right?  Well, coming back from my second taste test last Sunday (and yes, I used the minivan, and yes, I got home just fine), I was waiting on the intersection of Carlson Pkwy. and Cheshire Ln. and I noticed those old "WALK and "DONT WALK" signs, and my goodness, it took me way, way back.

I was going to blog post about this earlier than now, but my fucking car blew up on me.  But I have time now to blog post, so I'm going to just slide this one in.

Expenses Without Receipts

Starting from Monday, December 4:

• *****y came over.  She has gotten a bit chunky, but when My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) was still open, she was one of the fucking bangingiest bodies that worked there.  And I was honored as hell that she would drop by my house to touch my pee-pee.  Unfortunately, as hard as she was yankin', my penis wasn't responding.  Goddamn old age!  Like I have to do often now, I need to jerk myself off to completion.  *****y was great; I, again, was not.  Oh, well.  I paid her: $150.
• Back on Saturday the 2nd I was lucky enough to enter ****e without a condom again.  She's been very loving and affectionate ever since we were able to resume our trysts.  I have also noticed that she has a lot less prescription pills lying around the house.  And, she seems both lucid and happier.  Those three things are not coincidental.  I was able to cum with ease.  Why?  Easy: Unlike with *****y, ****e both sucked my dick and, like I said, let me inside her.  Plus (and this is no shade to *****y), ****e costs less for more perks: $120.
• Friday, December 1 ... after having lunch on Eat Street I went to Glam Doll where I ran into this rude, stupid worker.  I do not want to re-hash my interaction with that prick because I'll just spiral into anger again, so I hope you don't mind me not linking.  With tip I paid: $15.12.
• After going home and then seeing the podiatrist (my second doctor's visit of the day; I went to get my check-up before eating lunch on Eat Street), I went to Moler to get a shave.  I like when the person shaving me is meticulous; that's why I gave a dollar extra in tip.  Total: $14.
• OK, all the way back to Friday, November 17 -- I fucked ****e for: $120.
• That evening I was back on Eat Street, seeing friends from my social group at Christos for some Greek food.  Never been there before, and let's just say I had some bowel movements after I left.  Nonetheless I liked the food and enjoyed the company, even though I was buried in my phone most of the time.  With tip: $43.
• I then went down the street to have an Old Fashioned at Eat Street Crossing.  This is one of those food halls that have popped up around town over the past several years.  I understand the idea of having a lot of different restaurants under one roof; it doesn't scream "mind-blowing concept" to me, however.  I thought I had noted how much the drink was on my phone, but it turns out I didn't, so I am going to pull an amount out of my butt and say, with tip, I paid: $17.
• To Thursday the 16th where, after seeing the Minnesota Golden Gopher men's basketball team blow a huge lead and lose to Missouri, I stopped by Mesa, a seeming dive reminiscent of the old Dinkytown even though they took root when Dinkytown first started gentrifying, for a pepperoni & salami slice.  Oh, Mesa and their Frankenstein pizzas!  With a can of Pepsi and tip: $8.
• Going back to Saturday, November 11: Got my car washed at Central.  I don't know if I have the receipt, but I will assume I don't so I can note here that, with tip, the wash cost me: $30.46.
• I then went to Diamonds next door for ... was this the time where I saw those two gorgeous babes working there?  Probably!  Wanted to veg out and work on my receipts, but nearly every damn table there was taken, so that plan went by the wayside.  Had a bowl of chili, though, that hit the spot.  I was glad to see that they sold individual bottles of ginger beer.  I bought one so I can do some Dark 'n' Stormies.  Those two items plus a fruited drink and tip: $15.25.
• On Tuesday the 7th I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Version) to see my ATF, ******a, for the first time in a long time.  Cover, tips, drinks for me and her and, oh, 20 table dances from her equals: $230.
• Back to Friday, November 3, where I stopped by my alma mater football-watching spot to make sure everything was good to watch our Game the next night there.  And as a token of my appreciation to continue to house our group, I ate dinner there.  With tip: $27.
• On Saturday, October 28, I woke up a tad early to travel down to south Minneapolis to get double-teamed by ***e* and ******e, the former of whom was crashing at the latter for some reason.  I think they both are going to move in together in Wisconsin at the beginning of the new year.  Till then, ***e* was in town to crash at ******e's place, and make some money off of me.  I was told to come in through the back door, so I did ... with my dick out!  ***e* finally noticed and I sheepishly tucked myself back in, but no, it was too late!  She went up, opened up my open fly even further, thrust her hand in there, pulled my cock out, and started masturbating me right then and there!  The combination of being naughty (especially in public) with ***e* and later ******e being aggressive in wanking me ... well, it was very easy for me to cum after what they did to me.  Maybe I need to be a tad more ... reckless in order to get off easy.  Although, to be fair, I never fail to cum easily when I'm being touched by those two.  Total: $240.
• After that "workout" I went to Pineda Tacos, another critically-lauded restaurant in the neighborhood that I had to go to because I was in the area.  Unlike the other Mexican restaurant I went to after I got jacked off by ******e solo, Taqueria El Primo 2, the hot sauces I received at Pineda, for some reason, weren't as hot.  I want to authentically try all foods, but El Primo's sauces were so hot that I literally could not enjoy the tacos.  I could at Pineda, at least somewhat.  Have the receipt, so this EWR is only for the tip, which, because those two girls wiped me out financially, I had only: $1.

Good through December 4.

Time To Port

I thought I talked about this, but I don't see it in my cursory Blogger search.  If I have talked about it before, I apologize for talking about it again.  But it's what I want to blog post about now.

As a sign that either time stretches and contracts in a way it hadn't before COVID or that I am getting very, very old, I am only pretty sure that this happened this year and when my parents were home.  Nor do I remember the circumstances behind how they figured it out.  But one morning, my parents told me that the home phone, the landline, wasn't working -- again.  And, for some reason, they asked me to test out the alarm.  When it's set off, it's supposed to trigger a call to the alarm company.  My folks figured out that didn't happen, presumably because the call is supposed to come from the phone line the alarm company has on file -- the landline.

So, to test it, I was told by the alarm company to put the alarm on test and then to trip it, to see whether or not the landline indeed is not sending that call to the alarm company.  When you trip an alarm, you hear some moderately-timed beeping, and then you hear more frequent beeping, and then finally it goes BEEEEEEP!!!!-BEEEEEEEP!!!!-BEEEEEEP!!!!, and I could barely stomach the bile coming from inside me as my fight-or-flight instinct kicked in in anticipation of the escalating warning from the alarm.  I hate that sound.  I truly do.

Anyway, once the alarm is fully triggered, we had to call the alarm company to see if they got a call.  They didn't.  Tried it again.  They didn't.  So the home phone number doesn't work.

Last time it went dead, my parents asked me to call the phone company and get it fixed.  Not this time.  Nope, those unsentimental motherfuckers (Mother in particular) went gung-ho on this idea they heard of that an alarm could be set up through wi-fi.  It'll be an obviously better connection, plus it'll save money.  All I have to do is say the word ... and abandon the home phone number we have ever had, and I have ever known.

I could see the writing on the wall.  It wasn't working.  It's supposed to work, but once again, after about two years (I think), it was on the fritz again.  And how can I argue against saving money?  But ... this was our phone number.  We have had it for almost a half-century.  It's become a part of us.  Well, they don't give a shit, but it's become a part of me.  I don't care how ridiculous this sounds, but I am defined by that phone number -- a phone number that I haven't used in decades, a phone number that apparently hadn't worked in months, but it's a part of me.  And I sure as fuck won't let a piece of myself die just because it makes sense.  (Yeah, that sentence sounds crazy.  I mean it.)

I couldn't beat back this situation and my parents' mental momentum.  Once they decide something needed to be done, they want it done.  They wanted my permission to do this (and they needed me to call the person who installed the alarm to come over and convert the trip line from phone to wi-fi), and like a complicit motherfucker, I said yes.  They then told me to call the phone company and cancel the line.  I refused to do that.  But I told them I did.

And I still have the landline.  Yes, and I'm still paying for it, even though the line is still dead.  Have to say, the phone company has no damn clue it's not working, and I kind of think it's on them to know that it isn't, and that it isn't incumbent upon us to tell the company.  So I'm not sentimental for the phone company.  I still am sentimental for the phone number.

In the past, I have wondered whether I could take the home phone number and use it as a cellphone number.  I don't know when it was possible, but it is now.  It's called "porting."  Now, of course, I have a cellphone number that I've had -- and has also become a part of me -- for a long, long time, and I don't think changing cell numbers will make a lot of sense now.  But I want to keep it, and I think I can use the old home number as something else: My Google Voice number.  I have a phone number to which calls can be forwarded, and I may have had that for about a year or so, but I am not sentimental for that number.  I can give it up.  And I will.

The thing is is that one cannot port a house number into a Google Voice number.  No, you have to convert the landline to a cellphone number, then port that number onto Google Voice.  There will be one-time fees for doing this port twice, but I will do it.  I'm just scared that, for some reason, it doesn't work and I'll lose the landline for good.

And that is what I am going to do today as soon as I am done blog posting this.  I hope to find my carrier's store, find someone who's genuine and competent and not on the make, get him to call the landline company and then give me a SIM card to which the landline can be imprinted.  In the meantime I will need to put this new SIM card in my phone because apparently either the phone company or Google will "call" me on this new SIM and I have to answer.  I cannot do this double port thing without answering this "call."  I then have to ask Google to port the number from the SIM, and maybe in a week or two (?) this will all be done.

I found instructions on doing this double port thing online, and I have no idea if this is going to work.  But for the sake of keeping my home phone number -- and in the name of saving money I am otherwise wasting -- I need to do this, and now's the time to do it.  Wish me luck.

No Home To Go Home To ... And I'm Sorry

So my sister left early this morning.  It really was nice to see her, even if we don't talk online and, of course, I saw her over Christmastime.  I had to orient my week around her even though I had plans, but that's what you do for family, good, upstanding family.  And while she left a pile of clothes and dishes to clean, it made the house less empty and lonely.

One of the only things I didn't like, to be honest, is all the gossip she soaked up and spewed in my direction when she was visiting family members.  I hate hearing how so-and-so secretly hates so-and-so; it may be true, but I don't want to hear it, you know?  But more concerning is hearing how certain family members are in trouble.  Health is one thing; I have many elderly relatives and they're getting up there, and any sad information about them is something that I have to know, no doubt.

However, shelter is another thing.  I have a couple of people who live in an apartment and the new landlord is jacking up rates.  They've been there for a long time, but it looks as though they might move.  I have never known them living in another place, and it's jarring for me to think about them living somewhere else.  So it must be terrifying for them.  As far as I know, the apartment they've been living in has been safe all these years.  There is no guarantee they'll find another spot in a good place.

And yet ... I heard, through my sister, that these family members have asked other family members if they can take them in.  And I would love to, but ... there's also that damn "but," isn't there?  As empty and lonely as this house may be, I cannot even imagine a scenario where they would live with me.  I have the run of the place and I want the run of the place.  I can throw my mail on the dining room table, and my clothes on my bedroom floor.  And masturbating?  Can't do that with them in the house.  That would be awkward as hell.

And yet ... if they have nowhere to go but an area that is so dangerous, I have no choice -- do I?  Father and I have talked about this, and as long as my parents are alive and have any say in who stays in this house, they aren't moving in.  I think; Father is as sentimental when it comes to family as I am, and he might eventually give in and take them in if need be.  If it were up to me, well ... I would hate to see them fend for themselves, and yet I hate losing my privacy.

It is heartbreaking and frightening to not know where you can rest your head day after day.  Will I do anything about it if someone in my family faces that possibility?  Possibly not, and that may be my failure of moral character.

The Suddenly Popular Classic Theater

This theater says it's the longest continuously-running theater in the Twin Cities.  I thought a long time ago it was shuttered and re-opened and refurbished under new ownership.  Regardless, I tried to take in a movie there once a year.  It's a beautiful place -- small with red paint and carpet, it's a throwback theater that harkens back to an age where the theater was one of the great social gathering spots in the country.  And I was able to just park right next to it, walk on up, and get a ticket to, like, Philomena or A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood.  The ticket is way more expensive than, say, at a first-run, modern theater with all the bells and whistles (provided you go on a Discount Tuesday) and you get to sit in an uncomfortable seat.  But the atmosphere of being in a theater that starting showing movies in the 1920's more than makes up for it.  And, again, I only go there once a year, so an annual treat is a small way to live a little.

Like I said, I never had trouble getting a ticket to a show.  With one exception: I tried to go to a special screening of ... well, the name of the movie escapes me, but it's a Leslie Nielsen slapstick comedy that is not from The Naked Gun series.  I believe one of the writers is from this area, and he had a special screening as part of, I believe, a fundraiser.  I wanted to go, but I was floored that all the parking spots were taken.  I don't know if I knew for sure that the place was sold out, but I decided that I couldn't get a ticket.  That, at the time, was the only time I saw this theater packed.

Now, fast-forward to, oh, a year ago.  I know that for the past several years this place has shown special retrospective series on weekdays.  Never participated, but on this day they were showing The Seventh Seal, that Ingmar Bergman classic movie that I always wanted to watch.  I was surprised that a whole bunch of other people wanted to see it as well, as the parking lot was packed.  I scrambled to find a spot on the street and inadvertently parked right next to a fire hydrant.  Pleased as punch that I didn't get ticketed for it.

Now, a few weeks ago, this theater was screening The Sting.  That's another flick I've always wanted to see.  It was a Monday, there was nothing on TV, and I didn't want to work out, so I went back to the theater.  Also surprised that everybody seemed to be there, but this time I knew I could park at the strip mall half a block away.  It was even worse for Rebecca, being shown as part of an Alfred Hitchcock retrospective; unlike with The Sting, I was told I had to put my name on a waitlist and wait to see if I could get in.  I did get in, thankfully, but it was even more packed than it was for The Sting, which in turn was more packed than it was for The Seventh Seal.

Now I am glad that this theater is getting the house for these special screenings.  There apparently is a lot of upkeep for a movie house this grand and opulent, and there were many times when I saw a first-run movie there and noticed I was one of only a half-dozen people in the theater and I wondered how in the heck they were going to say in business.  But at least I got in.  It felt more and more likely that I couldn't get in to see these special screenings.  It's like that Yogi Berra saying: No one goes there anymore because it's too crowded.

Nonetheless, I was determined to not be put on the waitlist for the next movie I wanted to see, Hitchcock's To Catch A Thief.  I bought a ticket online that morning.  And I gave myself plenty of time to get there an find parking.  But I could not go to that strip mall close by like I did before; between Rebecca and To Catch A Thief, the manager of the strip mall as well as the restaurant at the end of the mall closest to the theater put up no trespassing signs.  I'm guessing I'm not the only moviegoer who thought he could just park there for movies.  I would take the people managing the mall more seriously if they didn't say, "Trespasser's (sic) will be towed," but I didn't want to take that chance; I parked on the street -- and I avoided the fire hydrant.  There was street parking to be had, but the theater was still packed for the flick.  I sat on one of the chairs close to the screen and off to the side, and I didn't know that the seats over there are not level because the floor rises up.

I enjoyed myself.  But between the demand for tickets, the craps game that is parking, and the new restrictions on parking at the strip mall across the street, it gives me pause as to whether I can go see a movie there ever again.  Sure, I guess that if it's a newly-released film I would have no trouble parking right beside the theater.  But for the classics?  I don't know if it's worth it anymore.  It's sad.  But while I admire people loving this theater so much, it prevents me from enjoying it the way I want to enjoy it: Alone.

Getting Fit To Getting Fat

I planned on working out last/Tuesday night, then eating a smoothie once I got back home, then showering, then going to bed.  It was supposed to be a "get fit" day.

But on Monday night I saw that The Zombies were going to be at First Avenue.  I'm single, have no kids, have disposable income, and want to see musical acts whose songs I've enjoyed and sung to my entire life before it's too late.

So, I went and bought a ticket.  Had a beer, too.  Good show, although the keyboardist was talking a tad too long.  (Aside: He was telling stories when The Zombies were young.  And I notice that many musical artists, especially ones who grew into prominence before the Soundscan era, go on and on and on about how their songs reached the top of the charts.  No act who grew up, say, since the turn of the millennium talk and thus care about such things.  But this keyboardist did.  It was the way music groups back then measured success.  When their song hit #1, I guess that was the surest sign to them that they made it.)  

And I guess I was so hyped after the show -- I thought the two remaining original members of the band did one final song just for us, but it turns out they always close their show with "The Way I Feel Inside," and I guess I just didn't scroll down the setlist, which they don't change up, enough -- that I said "nah!" to my health and popped into Pizza Luce for a slice of pizza.  Didn't get a pop or a root beer, though, which is my custom.

Neverthless, I went from trying to get fit to drinking beer and eating pizza ... although, I must say, I did have that smoothie; I just followed that up with an unhealthy piece of pizza.  So not only did I not eat well, I ate a lot as well -- which was something I didn't plan on doing going into yesterday/Tuesday.

I'll hate myself in the morning.

Man, Remember Paper Tickets?

I'm going to a concert in a few hours.  It was scheduled for March 2020 -- right at the start of the pandemic.  Twenty-six months later, I finally get to see these guys.  Man, this delay has to be some sort of record.

When I was looking for my ticket to the show online, I couldn't find it.  But I bought this before the pandemic, so there was a possibility that instead of an online ticket, I was sent a ticket that I could print out.  Checked my e-mail from way back and, yep, I am supposed to print it out.  Or, maybe there's a possibility that the ticket transferred to my online account, and that I can use my phone, but I have the app of AXS, the company through which I bought this ticket, and I don't see it on there.  Maybe I'm looking at the wrong place, but I'm going to assume that because they initially sold tickets for this concert before the pandemic, if you didn't have the app when you bought it (and I didn't), you can only print a ticket now.

Printing tickets ... man, that's a relic from only two years ago, huh?  I do not see any printed tickets anymore anywhere.  They're gone.  Venues tried to get people to switch to online ticketing before the pandemic to save on money.  But the pandemic and the ensuing lockdown gave those venues both the excuse of forbidding paper tickets because of the fear (largely debunked since) that the coronavirus could spread on surfaces and the time to fully implement mobile-only ticket systems.  And that is where we are.

However, if this concert that was supposed to take place back in March of 2020 issued paper tickets, and there are other people like me who don't have or couldn't find their ticket through the app, there are going to be a bunch of people, like me, whipping out these full sheets of paper with barcodes printed on them.  That would be a sight to behold.  Seeing that might even bring a tear to my eye because it would make me nostalgic for a simpler time when a virus wasn't trying to wipe out all of humanity.  And I might also weep because it may (probably?) be the last time I will ever see a concert whereby I and other concertgoers need to hand over a tangible object in order to get in.  Have to remind myself to not blink or else the moment will be gone, forever.

The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey

#-1: Wild (Last Week: 0).  This screening Week-long road trip started off so well.  The team began out east, against two Eastern Conference playoff squads (The Bastard Hartford Whalers and Washington) and beat them, respectively, 3-1 and 5-1.  But then they came back to their conference to face two playoff clubs (Nashville and St. Louis) and lost both, hitting the twin posts of agonizing defeat: They got tripled up by the Predators, 6-2, and then choked on a two-Goal lead (The Most Dangerous Lead In Hockey!!!) and got beat in Overtime by the Blues.

I was listening to the Game on the radio at work, and when STL tied it up at 3, I had to turn it off because I knew what was going to happen.  It was a brutal Week for all Twin Cities sports, especially yesterday/Friday when the Mild, the Twinks, the Goofer softball and the Goofer baseball squads all lost.  So I'm putting on top the team that appears to be on its way to locking up a playoff birth.

However, it's looking more and more like St. Louis will be the Wild's first opponent.  And the Mild don't match up well against the Blues at all, and now they're tied with The Loo in Points to see who gets home-ice advantage.  It might mean little in hockey, but still.

This Week: Home to Los Angeles and Edmonton, then visiting The Team That Was Stolen From Us.

#-2: Timberwolves (Last Week: -1).  I wouldn't call them rolling or anything.  They got by a Houston outfit that has long mailed it on the road only by seven, then outlasted fellow Play-In participant San Antonio at Target Center by six.  However, as a glass-half-empty guy, I have to look at the Loss inbetween the two contests, a 132-114 head-scratcher of a defeat, at home, to Washington, a club that is not making the playoffs.  Escaping the Play-In might have been a tough climb, but the Timberwolves had to do all they can to climb it.  They had three eminently winnable Games; at least demonstrate to your fans, and to sixth-place Denver, that you mean business.  But they fuck the pooch versus the Wizards and now their fate as the seventh Seed, and whose first Game in Play-In is versus a Clippers team that has its main pieces back together, is sealed.

That Play-In is late Tuesday night; it'll overlap with the Twins' Game.  If they win, they truly are the seventh Seed and play The Bastard Vancouver Grizzles.  Lose?  Well, they have one more chance to be the eighth Seed, and that will probably be played on Thursday, but let's not believe the Woofie Dogs can fall down this hole, shall we?

#-3: Gopher softball (Last Week: -3).  Nominally, I have to put the Gopher softballers up here because they won a Game: Saturday at Cowles over Illinois, 14-6 in five Innings.  But their next two tilts ... woof.  They got tripled up in the rubber match Sunday, 15-5.  And yesterday/Friday afternoon at Iowa, they fucking blew a six-Run lead and lost in regulation, 9-8.  Oh, and they didn't have the luxury of beating up on a smaller local school because their scheduled Doubleheader vs. South Dakota St. on Wednesday was postponed due to weather.

Yeah, I have a feeling this program is retreating from its height of reaching the NCAA Tournament on a regular basis.  After finishing up in Iowa City, they have another three-Game set at Nebraska.

#-4: Twins (Re-Entry!).  I have to admit that I was looking forward to this Opening Day.  I am quite sentimental over any Opening Day in Major League Baseball (Spring Training, by the way, does nothing for me).  It wasn't that I felt any fear that this season would be in jeopardy or anything like that.  It's just that, when yesterday/Friday afternoon rolled around, the alarm on my cellphone woke me up from the nap I took in my car, and I drove to the gas station to get some pop just before I started work, it was great to hear the first pitch of this Twins' season, against Seattle at Target Field, not too far away.  It felt as though the country has found its heartbeat again.

Alas and alack, the man who threw that first pitch, Joe Ryan, later in the Inning gave up a two-Run Home Run which was the Game-winning Hit.  Much as they tried (I guess), the Twinks got only one Run (courtesy of ex-Yankee Gio Urshela's solo shot), the rest of the lineup was dead quiet:

• Byron Buxton: 0-for-4;
• Carlos Correa: 1-for-4; harder to hit when a trash can bang isn't telling you which pitch is being thrown, huh?;
• Jorge Polanco: 0-for-3 with a Walk;
• Miguel Sano: 0-for-3 with a Walk;
• Alex Kiriloff: 0-for-4 with three Strikeouts, God;
• and Gary Sanchez: 0-for-4.

Sure, the season's only one Game old.  I still predict a sub-.500 season.  And Correa will be traded mid-season.  They finish the weekend against the Mariners, then host the Dodgers for three (damn, I should go -- nah, I don't feel like it), then play their first road Game of the season Friday afternoon vs. Boston.

#-5: United FC (Re-Entry!).  The Seattle Sounders, both as a squad and as an organization, scare me.  That simply has all the tools that the Loons want to have, but don't.  And that talent advantage was on full display last Saturday night, when MNUFC looked thoroughly outclassed by the Sounders, winning 2-1.  It wasn't that close; United FC drew a Penalty in the Second Half, which Bebelo Reynoso was able to slow-foot to get on the board, but Brent Kallman's Own Goal -- aw, Brent! -- proved to be the difference, and the Loons suffered their first Loss of the season.

FiveThirtyEight still has this XI in the playoffs.  A Win Sunday at Austin would make me feel a bit better about that prediction.

#-6: Gopher baseball (Last Week: -4).  That sound you hear is the Gopher baseball ballclub -- and program -- nosediving from the sky at a height that ain't so high.  They got swept at Rutgers over the weekend, and they weren't competitive in either contest, losing 11-2 and 9-2.  They put up more of a fight yesterday/Friday afternoon at Siebert Field versus Maryland, but they still lost, 11-7.  Oh, and they didn't have the luxury of beating up on a smaller local school because their scheduled tilt vs. North Dakota St. on Tuesday was cancelled due to weather.

So they've now lost four in a row, are 0-4 to start B1G play, and sit at 8-19 overall.  This can't be as bad as last season, can it?  After finishing up against the Terrapins, they're supposed to host St. Thomas on Wednesday, then visit Iowa for a three-Game series starting on Friday.

#-Infinity: Gopher men's hockey (Last Week: Positive Numbers).  You know, I should be OK that these guys reached the Frozen Four, finally, for the first time in eight Years.  And really, Head Coach Bob Motzko has been through a lot this past year.

But still: 5-1?!  Really?!  To Minnesota State-Mankato, aka Little Brother ... for the second consecutive tournament?  And it was an ass-kicking last season, too -- 4-0.  This still gives some evidence that the big and bad flagship U. remains too fat to deal with the smaller, more nimble schools out in the hinterlands of The State Of Hockey.  But hey, at least they got back to the national Semifinals.

Now that Minnesota has been eliminated, do I root for the Mavericks?  I don't want to cheer on the squad that beat my team.  But goddamn, I remember last year that three participants in the Frozen Four were from Minnesota (said Mavs, Minnesota-Duluth and title Game loser St. Cloud St.) and of course none of them fucking won.  (UMass did.)  Plus, the other club is Denver.  What the fuck kind of affinity do I have with the University of Denver?  If anything, I hate them more because they were part of the old WCHA with my Gophs.  So fuck the Pioneers.  Go Mavericks!  Maybe.  And maybe I'll watch tonight/Saturday night.  Or listen.  Or neither.

Sorry I Forgot You, Souvenir Cup

Went to the Girls' State High School Hockey Championships last night.  (A sucked, AA was a classic, and I'm glad I went.)  Bought myself a souvenir Coke because I collect souvenir cups and it didn't look like I had this one.

I remember looking at it after the Game but before seeing *****a working at her bar, thinking that maybe I should stop by the parking ramp to drop it off because it looks nerdy walking around with a souvenir cup.  But nah! and I went straight to the bar.

And I forgot the damn thing.  Hugged *****a and promptly left, and I left my souvenir cup.  When I came in with it, *****a asked why I had it, and I told her I collect souvenir cups, and I do.  And then I forget the souvenir cup.

I Messengered *****a if she somehow kept it.  Nope, she replied, and her manager threw it away.

I am so stupid.  I bought the large Coke to keep the cup, I had a chance to keep it in a safe place but decided against it, and then I promptly left the damn thing I had committed to buying and keeping after an hour of eating, drinking and gazing into the eyes of a lovely Amazon.

Well, at least I'm going to the Wild Game in a couple Weeks.  Guess I'll have to buy a Coke then instead of a beer.  (Why not both?)  But still, I hate myself for devoting so much mental energy and telling myself, "KEEP THIS CUP!!!" and then I flat-out forget it.

You know, I probably have forgotten other plastic cups before.  I just have forgotten that I have forgotten about those cups, if that makes any sense.