And after lunch today My Father told me to clear the driveway of snow.  I don't know if we even got half an inch.  But I cleared it anyway, even though I really, really wanted to not even step foot outside to begin the New Year.

Fuck what I said before.  I can't wait for them to leave.

Yeah, It Was A Mistake Eating Those Eggs

Before they left -- have I blog posted about this already? -- my parents left me four cartons of eggs.  And they told me to eat them.  Sure, eggs are perishable, but I've done this dance before.  Despite the expiration and best-by dates, I've eaten eggs that are supposedly "spoiled" and I came out of the other end just fine.  I'm still alive, aren't I?

I was thinking that after a month of them being gone, it was finally time to eat these eggs, and there was no better time than after exercising Sunday.  Of the four cartons, one of them only had three eggs in them, so I started there.  I eschewed the float test because 1) I thought it better to just crack them open and see if they were discolored or otherwise looked and smelled bad and 2) I had ideas of using egg whites an incorporating them into a couple cocktails I wanted to try.  The third egg I cracked open had a runny yolk, even though I accidentally drove my thumb through the egg shell when I cracked it open, so I threw that one away.  The other two looked and smelled and seemed fine, so I had them scrambled.

I knew I was in trouble a couple hours after I ate them when I felt bloated.  A bit later, I let out a noxious fart.  And then, about 90 minutes after I fell asleep, I was jolted awake by my body, which told me I needed to go to the toilet, immediately.  My excretory system was barking at me so loud that I couldn't fall back asleep, and I had to make two trips to the porcelain throne, before I left for work and during morning break at work.

That's when I looked at the Julian calendar three-digit stamp on all the cartons.  They were packed around mid-October and Halloween.  The United States Department Of Agriculture says that eggs are good to eat four-to-five weeks after the packing date -- which means the eggs were good until, well, the time my folks left for the winter.  And they told me I could eat them?  Now, like I said, I'm sure I've eaten eggs well past this threshold and was fine.  But after the episode I had yesterday/Monday morning (and I still feel slightly nauseous, which might be a sign my body is still fighting the salmonella poisoning), it would be stupid of me to even risk it.  So I'm going to find a way to dump them in an organics pile in Minneapolis.  Don't care if it's three full cartons of eggs.  What, are my parents going to know?

I Now Hate My Whole Goddamn Family Right Now

I still object to today's plans, even though, thankfully, things have kind of changed.  My sister and brother-in-law are not picking up my niece in Carver County and then going back to St. Paul.  Instead, later this afternoon they are meeting my niece and their parent(s; brother's going, sister-in-law may not be my sister-in-law for all I know) in St. Paul.  Appreciate not taking the car back down there a second straight day.  But my parents and I are still taking the minivan to meet them in downtown St. Paul just a few hours later -- in downtown St. Paul, at the same time as the Wild Game.  And just now, I helped Father load in the removable back seats.  Mother said that if they need to junk the van, they can do so with all the seats in the back.

Wait -- are they junking the car?  She now fucking springs me the news that it's leaking oil and water.  Is the minivan even going to fucking make it to St. Paul?  Is it going to not overheat while it's idling behind a dozen cars full of hockey fans?  And I don't even know if I'm going to find parking on such a busy night. 

And then my parents just told me that they need to use the van on Tuesday, so if my sister needs to fucking take my car, that I have no car on Tuesday.  Where the hell am I going to sleep?  Goddammit, I hate my whole fucking family right now, this is too goddamn much. ...

I Don't Know When To Go Out/Don't Know When To Stay In

Adding to my anxiety as my sister and brother-in-law come back home for a week and a half is that for every workday this week, I spent some time out.  With this headache coming tomorrow/Saturday morning (and I mean that in the nicest way), I could have used an evening just to myself, at home.  But I was out instead -- sometimes because I wanted to (I hit this bar in the outskirts of downtown Minneapolis Monday because it had a Halloween theme; I was going to see the Opening Round of The Big Ten Women's Soccer Tournament yesterday/Thursday), sometimes because I had to (had to go to our bar Tuesday to make sure we could watch the Game this Saturday; and I had to stash my shit because My Fucking Father threw it in the recycling bin on Wednesday).  Goddamn, I was so busy.

Today/Friday was going to be my nothing day.  But then *****y texted Wednesday that she was hosting a party, and considering all the stress I had from My Fucking Father making decisions on stuff that wasn't his and from my sister and brother-in-law coming tomorrow/Saturday, I thought a little sexual healing would be good for me.  But then yesterday's/Thursday's snow came.  It sure was no Halloween Blizzard, but it was a lot more than the trace that was forecast to fall in our area.  Because of that, the Matches that were supposed to be played yesterday/Thursday are instead going to be played today/Friday.  And because I love being an in-person neutral for big tournaments like this -- and because I don't know if I can get my money back -- instead of getting my pee-pee yanked, I'll be braving the cold of sitting at the Robbie Stadium bleachers.  And I'll be tired as hell once I get home ... after I have a late dinner and gas up my car.  My sis and bro-in-law come in at 6 in the morning Saturday.

But hey, the headlight bulbs finally came, and in time.  Maybe we won't need a rental car this weekend after all.  Unfortunately, the long line of what-ifs regarding this stupid decision to have dinner in St. Paul around the time the Wild Game starts remains.

I Have To Admit -- I'm Really Starting To Resent Them Coming Here

Yeah, it's the disruption, the (kind of) lack of privacy, and, once again, my sister's need to make things all about her.  She gets that way sometimes, but mostly on big occasions where she's the center of attention, and it pisses me off.

The last time she was here she wanted all the suitcases we have stowed in her bedroom out of her bedroom, and she wanted all her bedsheets washed.  Now, I think normal family members would of course do that for her, and wouldn't need prompting.  I am not normal.  I could sleep in dusty bedsheets for all I care.  I just need a clean damn bed.  But no, she wants what she and my brother-in-law are going to sleep in all clean and fresh-smelling, even if they're only going to be here a week and a half.

And I think I touched on this before, but this dinner in St. Paul on Sunday is really grinding my gears.  First of all, my sister wants to use my car, and I'm going to give it to her.  Also, it seems really damn inconvenient for one group of people who are staying in this house to go out to St. Paul and then have the people who live in the same house go out to St. Paul later that same day.  And then my folks told me on Saturday that the minivan, the vehicle I will purportedly be using whenever my sister and brother-in-law want to use my car, had its headlights short out.  I had to buy them on Amazon; they might get here before they get here, and they might not.  And on top of all that, I realized that the Wild are playing in St. Paul on Sunday, and around the same time as the early dinner.  I am not that familiar with St. Paul, and now I have to worry about getting stuck in hockey traffic, too??

Once I realized the minivan had no night lights and I'd have to deal with Wild traffic on Sunday, I obsessed over it all day at work yesterday/Monday -- like, distractingly so.  I really do love my sister and brother-in-law, and I really want to spend some time with my niece, who is the reason my sis and bro-in-law are taking my car on Sunday.  But I hate, hate, hate these dinner plans the more I learned what I have to deal with.  I could feel my body well up with rage and anxiety and dread and helplessness because I feel forced to do something I really, really don't want to do.

And then it hit me: If I don't want to go, don't go.  At first that thought was insane.  I don't see my niece a whole lot as it is.  If I don't see her on this opportunity, I don't know when I'll see her again.  Also, has she noticed how seldomly I see her?  If I make the decision not to go, well, she has to know, and what will she think of me?  But as I kept thinking yesterday ... you know, my sister did raise the idea that I didn't have to go.  And I am such an incorrigible bastard that I might say, yeah, screw it, I'll see you guys some other time, tell my niece I say hi.  Frankly, I'm leaning that way right now.  It is selfish and self-centered of me, but once I started being more accepting of that decision, a weight was lifted off of me.  And I would do anything for peace of mind, even ditching family.

So I texted her my concerns.  I asked her if our parents wanted to go to dinner and she said yeah.  Guess I should have talked to them directly since, you know, I live with them.  Anyway, my thoughts are moot if they want to go; I can't not go if they're going.  Then again, their desire to go to dinner on Sunday may be moot if Amazon can't deliver these headlight bulbs in time.  (Yes, they can go to a store to get them, but Father did that on Saturday, and he's so goddamn cheap that when I told him we could get bulbs through Amazon for less than half the price he got them at Wal-Mart, he immediately went back and returned them.)  My sister couldn't foresee this shitshow, but in a shitshow like this, maybe this isn't a good idea, you know?  But these fucking plans are going through, and I have to be the dutiful brother/son and just fucking fall in line, no matter the stress and stupidity of the whole thing.

I'm Going To Make Myself Sick Drinking Watermelon Juice

There is still a couple of bottles of blended watermelon Mother made that we -- or I -- still have to go through.  I smelled both and ... uh, they don't seem to be too bad, but I'm drinking them now and I don't feel all that good, to be honest.  You know, I don't see why my parents can't chip in and drink these damn things.  Mother made them.  They both bought the watermelons.  And they probably will buy more of them once they see them on sale again because they don't care that they're just sitting in the fridge going to waste.  Ugh.

My Boss Can't Set My Schedule Next Week Because My Parents Might Not Be Able To Pick Airplane Seats

I'll let the cat out of the bag: My parents are going on safari starting on Thursday.  That obviously entails taking them to the airport, which I will do in the morning and for which I have already asked my boss if I could come in late.

Unfortunately there is another thing that my parents, or at least My Mother, wants me to do for them: Pick out seats.  I'm guessing that the same process applies to all airlines -- you check in before your flight online and, assuming you didn't pre-pay for a seat (and I always think that's a ripoff), that is when you select your seat.  I usually don't care all that much.  Besides, in my estimation (and this is usually through Southwest, even though I just saw that the airline is doing away with open seating, which is a stupid idea), when you check in, half of the seats are already taken by people who decided to pay to cut in line and pick their seats.  But my parents care.  Don't know if this is a new way of thinking, but at least their second flight (they technically fly from here to Canada and then to two stops in Africa) is long enough whereby they want to pick their seats to prevent getting crappy ones.  They're old, you see.

Now, I just assumed they've picked seats at online check-in before.  But for some reason -- my guess is Mother is panicking, which scares me because this is no damn reason to get anxious -- they either don't know how to do it or don't trust themselves to be able to do it.  And so they want me to do it.  This particular airline (and maybe it's because it's an international flight) allows you to check in 48 hours in advance.  Assuming I correctly accounted for the time zone difference, my parents can check in as early as a quarter to 10 on Wednesday.  I would be at least a couple hours into my shift at work.  But they still want me to help them open their computer, type out the airline's URL, punch in their confirmation number, and pick the seats for them.  Forget how people younger than boomers should be able to figure this out; this might -- might -- be a ten-minute ordeal.  But I might have to orient my entire day around this, and them.

Oh, and on top of this?  They might not even be able to pick seats.  They obviously booked their safari through a tour company, so it's possible that the tour has parcelled out seats already.  Do I know for sure?  Nope.  Mother is complaining that Father should be in contact with the tour company about whether seats are assigned.  But I have no idea if he has even talked to them, let alone whether the tour company has pre-selected seats for them.  If they have, I assume my folks can take care of the check-in process (and it's possible the tour company will check them in for them), and that means I won't have to stay home to help them.  But if the tour company is leaving tourists to do it themselves, that means I have to do this shit.  And since it's at least a couple hours into my normal workday, it's possible I might have to take the whole goddamn day off.  Just to help my parents pick fucking seats.

I raised this issue with my boss, and maybe I shouldn't have.  My original line of thought was to ask to come in a couple hours late both Wednesday and Thursday.  Then, after not getting a clear signal one way or the other as to the check-in/seat-selecting process for Wednesday, I had to convey that to my boss.  He then said it might be easier if I am scheduled a couple hours later than usual both dates.  That's when I had to remind him that Wednesday's still up in the air.  And I didn't receive word from him before I left for the day yesterday/Thursday.

He fills out next week's schedule by Friday because Friday's my last workday and I need to know where I am working for Monday.  But I don't know what's going on with this bullshit with picking friggin' seats online, so my Wednesday's unclear, and so I take it that my whole week is unclear.  If my boss is frustrated that he can't schedule me yet, I can't blame him.  This is absolutely ridiculous.  I cannot see how something as trivial as picking seats is hanging up my work schedule.  But dammit, it is.

Yesterday/Wednesday Was A Low-Key Not-Good Day

Despite having a relatively slow and easy day at work, it was a bad day.  Why?  Allow me to list them:

• Well, the world.  I just don't understand how a fucking demented, racist and convicted felon who has vowed to do the bidding of conservative oligarchs to implement what basically is fascism to America isn't thrown into the fucking ocean instead of being nominated for President, and, more weirdly, everybody looks at one debate, doesn't look at what Joe Biden has done, and is demanding he drop out by insinuating that everybody close to him wants him to drop out.  (Seriously, the journalism surrounding this ... for lack of a better word, "plan" is so coordinated that it seems fishy.  Really, it feels like some trick a Republican would make up.  And it sure as shit ain't journalism.)  Everywhere, no one cares the fire is spreading, and no one wants to speak about it.
• Got yelled at by a customer.  I was doing my job, making sure a test gets run, and she goes, "You are delaying testing."  Asshole, I am doing my job.  Also, you are not the one who gets to tell me how I'm doing my job.  I would rather not shunt dealing with prick customers to someone else, but I think I only do it for, like, two companies.  I think I can add a third.  I really think I need to so long as I am at this job, because I was close to saying something I should not have said.
• During the day I called the ticket rep to whom I'm coordinating this mass purchase of tickets for my alma mater's football Game here.  I still don't know what to expect, but I got some clarity, and it's bad news, too: Most of the seats some of us want to sit in are already gone.  In fact, we might have to sit in the upper deck, and I don't know if they want to sit up there.  Also, we are going to pay a hefty convenience fee.  Oh, and we don't know when we can buy them.  All those factors are really harshing my mellow.
• Saw the Loons lose.  They lost handily and awfully, to Vancouver, 3-1, and it wasn't that close.  The Whitecaps scored their first Goal when they pounced on a piss-poor slow backpass to the Goalkeeper, who is the third-string one called up from their MNUFC2 reserve team.  Add a header where the guy out-jumped our guy by a full head, then add a completely unmarked guy getting a golazo from just outside the box, and these fuckheads have now lost five in a row.  And I'm giving these guys money as a season-ticketholder!
• Ate a lot.  I ate a whole lot the day before -- a roll Mother made for me to eat at work, then dinner, then a Cheez-It Crunchwrap from Taco Bell (although I don't think I got the Cheez-It), then I ate peanuts to keep me awake for the Colombia-Brazil Copa America Match, then I ate the banana Father made for me to eat at work.  Yesterday/Wednesday I had another roll.  On the way to Allianz Field some kids were selling cookies, so I bought one.  I ate this smashburger and mac 'n' cheese at the United FC Match.  Because they lost, I went to Kwik Trip to drink a Wild Cherry Pepsi.  Then I ate a banana Father packed for me.  I was wearing a medium USWNT jersey, and I could feel it wrap around my fat stomach, and I think I getting fat around my sides, too.  God, I need to exercise again.
• Finally, my car's acting up again.  The short rattling noises when I accelerate are back.  I haven't heard them for a while, but I have been accelerating slowly when I can.  If this is something getting worse no matter how much I baby my car, I will have to bring it in sooner than I want.

But hey, it's a midweek holiday!

Fuck PWHL Minnesota

Well, there was between a smattering and an undulating river of boos when Ken Klee took to the podium -- after undermining and assuming Natalie Darwitz's role as General Manager of PWHL Minnesota.  I shouldn't talk since I had the opportunity to go there and decided to go home after watching The Fall Guy instead at the theater (by the way, it's the perfect summer movie, go watch it).  But I was hoping for a torrent of boos, and maybe someone bringing in a javelin, wrapping his or her or their PWHL Minnesota jersey around it, setting the damn thing on fire, and aiming -- not at Klee, but at the stage, somewhere near the podium, far enough from the podium that everyone could easily get away from the fiery projectile, but close enough to the podium to get everyone on there to jump.

Alas, that was not to be.  Also alas, it got worse.  In the Second Round, Klee (or Kendall Coyne Schofield, possibly the real puppetmaster) selected Britta Curl, a Forward out of the University of Wisconsin.  I did not know this until X/Twitter informed me, but apparently she has supported social media posts advocating for transphobia, promoting COVID-19 conspiracy theories, and defending police brutality against Black people.  This, mind you, coming from the Professional Women's Hockey League, a league that has many, many members of the LGBTQIA+ community playing on the ice.  And don't forget, since this is Pride Month, the PWHL itself has recast its logo in rainbow colors.

X/Twitter isn't real life.  But by God, you should see the venom coming from local fans.  Or used-to-be fans, as a lot of people are done with this team after drafting Curl.  I was done with this team after they backstabbed Darwitz.  But I am really, really done with these fuckers now.  And if we Minnesotans have any goddamn spine, the events of last/Monday night should mean everyone else is done with this shitty franchise, too.

Why Did I Look?

What I usually do during the Timberwolves' recent run is do my damndest not to check the score until I absolutely have to.  That means I usually don't get on my phone so I absolutely avoid Twitter/X and Yahoo! Sports and Apple News.  It's been a very effective way to get off my cellphone.  I don't know if the rash of naps I've taken in the evening coincides with my "rule."

I try my best to avoid the score when I turn on the radio on my way to work.  I wait until I hear the montage by Brandon Mileskie, the producer of The Common Man Progrum on KFAN at high noon the next day.  It feels like an easy way to ease into knowing the score, especially if it's bad.

For Game 1 of The Western Conference Finals, however, I did something different -- stupidly.  First thing yesterday/Wednesday morning I looked at The Athletic.  I did so because I thought I had just heard good news.  I didn't hear the score, and I didn't hear something like, "The Timberwolves won!"  But I heard enough good news that I thought they had won, so I went on the app anticipating good news.  And unfortunately there wasn't any; they lost, 108-105.

And yes, this brings up how I heard good news when I just woke up.  I guess I imagined this good news, or I was still on a high of the Wolves going into Denver and defeating the Nuggets in Game 7 of the previous series, or maybe both.  And I admit that the score on The Athletic application had to load up, and in the half-second it was I realized what was going on and so the pessimistic side of me kicked in and I told myself, "Welp, hope the news is good."  And it wasn't.

Man, why did I look?

Self-Destructive Much?

I was in a cool part of town to get my face shaved for my gig at the tournament this and next weekend.  I got out of work early, but they couldn't move up my appointment, so I was basically had to dink around the area for 90 minutes.  Went to the back bar at Young Joni, where I had a pizza and two drinks.  Hadn't been there in a long time, and I'm glad I squeezed myself back in there.

After my shave, I didn't want to go home because there was nothing there for me.  Well, I guess I could clean the house, but that ain't no fun.  But I didn't want to drive anywhere else.  I really wanted to go to Oro by Nixta; I have had their tacos at MNUFC Matches and they fantastic.  But it seemed crowded in there.  I could have gone to the 331 bar for another drink, but I was all drinked out.

So instead, I went to Anchor Fish and Chips.  I had their fish and chips once -- take-out during the pandemic.  Ah, good times.  Great food there, and it was great this time around, too.  But I had already eaten a pizza; what made me think I could eat a second meal?  But I tried, this time with the fish in a sandwich.  Unfortunately, the pizza made me too full.  Plus, the fish was huge, and the sandwich was sloppy.  I was able to drink my Coke; everything else I asked for a box (actually a tin) to take home.

And since I had been drinking, I dropped dead asleep at 9:30 and woke up at 2.  Knowing fish doesn't exactly keep as leftovers, and since I'm wide awake now, I'm heating all of this up in my oven.  And I'm washing it all down with some leftover muscato that's been in the fridge for a week.

So I ate -- and paid for -- two meals for dinner last night, and now I am eating leftovers from that second meal three hours before I have to wake up for work.  I think I can answer my own question that I put in the title: Yes, I am self-destructive much.

I Will Miss The Women's World Cup, And By The Same Token I Will Not Miss The Women's World Cup (Scheduled Post)

I should be asleep because I intend to wake up at 4 in the morning to go the Black Hart and see the England-Australia Semifinal throw-down before going to work.  I've done this twice now, and I was dragging so bad at work that I took my lunch three hours earlier than usual.  My state of mind during those mornings ... man, I wouldn't wish that on anybody.  So why am I going to do it again?

Because I'm a sports nut, that's why.

RIP, Pac-12 (Should Be -10, Formerly -8)

I'll be honest: I am getting kind of emotional over the death of the Pac-12/10/8, the final blows (Washington and Oregon getting into the Big 10, Arizona, Arizona St. and Utah getting into the Big 12) to the bruised, listing, and on-life-support body being laid last/Friday night.  I could see the signs how this could end really, really badly for the conference last week, when Colorado peaced out and returned to the Big 12, and yet I'm still shocked at the rapidity and the finality of it.  This conference has been around for more than a century.  The last remaining members of that league might have to escape to the fucking Mountain West, for God's sake.

I don't root for conferences.  I care about my team, and I don't give a flying shit about my team's rivals.  But this is different.  Hating my alma mater's rivals doesn't mean I don't want the Pac-10/12/8 to succeed, let alone live.  It really is strange, even unfair, that a region of the United States of America doesn't have its own college sports conference -- and no, sorry, the West Coast Conference doesn't count.

Instead, we now have a Big Ten Conference that, first of all, is now 18 teams big, and now stretches from coast to coast ... even though there are no teams in the Mountain Time Zone.  My alma mater and UCLA bolted a conference they were the sources of power in for an association they will have to fly at least half the country away on a regular basis to play Games -- and a couple times (depending on the sport), all the way to the East Coast.  Maybe the move was justified, even necessary in a future where money becomes even more important.  Or, maybe it's not.

I am still trying to compose my thoughts on what has been an historic day in college football and sports.  Dare I say that I feel some trauma.  What I want to do is list, in descending order, who and what are to blame for The Death Of The Pac-12/-10/-8:

The Supposed Need For Greed

All of the moves and the backstabbing have one motivation: Money.  Not that there isn't a whole lot these college football programs have already.  But they somehow believe that they are, in fact, poor, or will be poor if they don't jump to a more lucrative boat.  They get into their heads that standing still means falling behind, and so the thirst for the next big payday is relentless and leaves a wake of broken rivalries and ignored history behind them.  This permanent quest for money stains everything about what has transpired.

Larry Scott, Former Commissioner

It's probably not fair to pin all this bullshit on one man, but if there is one person responsible for the league's demise, it's those fucker.  Turns out he is a snake oil salesman.  He came in holding the most lucrative conference contract in college sports and proceeded to piss it all away.  Establishing the Pac-12 Network and refusing to partner with a media conglomerate to cut costs and to get into more cable households still is not a bad strategy, and I probably will die on this hill; if the network(s) were a success, they would be making money hand over fist.  But the network was headquartered in the heart of San Francisco, where rent was so, so high.  Meanwhile, he was paid an obscene salary, much more than the Commissioners of the more powerful B1G and SEC.  And apparently he spent lavishly on the conference's dime, too.  When he finally was told to scram, he got away with a carload of gold, and he left a raft of problems that the rest of the league had to clean up -- and, turns out, failed to clean up.

The Failure Of The Conference In Football

Overlooked in all the cloak-and-dagger stuff is the simple fact that if the football teams in the Pac-12 were any good, or at least as good as those in the SEC, I think the network would make money, and subsequently the conference would survive.  However, the league got into the College Football Playoff only twice -- Oregon in the first Year and Washington.  My alma mater, supposedly the Big Man On Campus, has been in the wilderness for the past 15 Years.  The Pac-12 has been largely a joke when it comes to football, and that wiped away any currency the league had to be considered seriously.

The Decision By The Two Los Angeles Schools To Leave

And still, if my alma mater and UCLA decided to stay, I'm not going to say they couldn't command the money they think they need to go on.  They could set the terms of revenue distribution, saying they are entitled to more than the others based on brand.  As easy as it may be to see the demise of the Pac-12 coming now, remember that they stole Colorado and Utah.  The two schools jetting for the Midwest was the first time in modern history they lost schools, and that made it easier for others to follow suit.

George Kliavkoff, Current Commissioner

He will get more blame for this than he should.  I think Larry Scott fucked up so much that there wasn't a whole lot Kliavkoff could have done to save his league.  But he was holding, like, a pair of queens and busted out.  His dithering in getting a media deal done made association members nervous.  Moreover, he tried to be patient and wait out the hysteria in order to get a bigger deal -- a move many writers lauded, it has to be said.  But it is his fault he couldn't broker a contract better than a streaming service, Apple TV+, which offered a bigger per-school payday only if the contract hit certain subscriber marks.  Many of the schools waited patiently and pledged loyalty until they heard about this new media deal; when they finally saw the details on August 1, many of the remaining schools were so disappointed that Colorado left in due haste.  And the dominoes just fell soon thereafter.

This guy is a commissioner of a Power 5 Conference.  Honestly, he might as well hold a liquidation sale now.

I am letting school presidents and athletic directors off the hook, although Arizona St. President Michael Crow has emerged as either a sucker or a tragic hero.  He stands as the last defender of the association as it was, although he was also Larry Scott's biggest champion.  Reports say he left for the Big 12 reluctantly.  He leaves as a defeated man, and I wonder how long he will head ASU after this humiliation.

---

I am sad.  Sad to the point of buying Pac-12-branded gear because I think there's zero chance the league will be around a Year from now.  Bought a couple of discounted socks and a couple of t-shirts with the logo on it.  I'll wear one of each and save one of each, in case they become collectibles.

No one should come out as a hero after this.  And no one besides the now-Pac-4 (Stanford, Cal, Washington St. and Oregon St.) should be given sympathies for thinking, "Hey, we had to do what we had to do," or, "We had to make the best of a bad situation," or, worst of all, "This is not my fault."  The Pac-12 is just about dead because a lot of people helped kill it.

It's the duplicity about it all that really pisses me off.  Nothing happens, and then all this shit happens at once.  Conferences say they're not looking to add teams, then they add them.  What I really fucking hate is the speed at which teams are accepted into new leagues.  Conferences say they do their "due diligence" in assessing whether they'll accept schools, but then the process of vetting and then accepting these schools happen over a matter of hours, and probably through Zoom.  Schools leave conferences they've been in for Decades over hastily-called meetings that last a long lunch.

And it doesn't make any goddamn sense.  This is totally a football move, but while I am guessing men's basketball will be OK (although I think even that sport would be better off separating from football and reverting to conferences as we knew them way back when), the women's tennis or men's golf teams that have to travel half a country away to face a team they have no history with is going to take a toll on their schooling in a way football players don't have to face.  And it's an added burden athletic directors, conference commissioners and university presidents will just chalk up as collateral damage.

And will these teams that move really be better where they will be?  The Big Ten now has 18 fucking teams, and they might as well add Stanford and Cal -- and if and when the ACC breaks up, Virginia and North Carolina.  That will be a crowd of football powers that my alma mater will now have to climb over.  Do they really think that's better than having a conference all its own, in a region of the country all its own, and a paved road to a postseason and football success and riches?  (Of course, they haven't taken advantage of that road even up till now, but that road was still there with the Pac-12.)  They could say they did it for the money, but they could still be stuck in football oblivion like they are now.

Speaking of oblivion ... well, that's what the Pacific-12/-8/-10 is now facing.  People were spitballing that the death of a Power 5 Conference could happen, but still: How did this happen?  How did a proud association of West Coast and Western schools completely fall apart in a matter of a week?  It's unbelievable, and it's fucking ridiculous.

Rest In Peace, Pac-10/-8/-12.

I Got Free Food, And Now I Might Die Of Rabies

Weird things happened last night.  After the early show for Booker T. Jones at the Dakota passed, I finally mustered up the energy to do what I planned to do, which was work out at the community center for the first time in weeks.  I got out of the house a little late, but I still thought I would get in a good period of exercise.

I was going to take the trash out before I went.  I open the front and then the screen door, and then I see Domino's on my stoop.  Two boxes: The bigger being a pizza, the smaller, rectangular one being those "Loaded Tots" I think the company recently introduced.  They were cold, which means the delivery driver delivered them to me, obviously by mistake, after I got home a bit past 4 but before I was out the door at 7.  But I didn't hear the doorbell ring or a knock on the door, so even though there may have been a no-contact policy the driver followed, there's a non-zero chance some stranger just laid that food at my front door.

Still, the overwhelming probability is that this was just a driver dropping food off at the wrong address.  In which case -- hell yeah, free food!  But then I thought I shouldn't jump to that conclusion so fast.  I thought that if this was a mistaken address, the house that made the order probably is a neighbor.  If that's the case, maybe I shouldn't be so hasty in taking the food.  It isn't mine; I didn't order it.  So after a quick thought or two, I decided that I was going to leave the pizza and Loaded Tots out on the stoop.  If Domino's came back to pick it up, or if this neighbor to whom those rightfully belong went out on a search, the food would be there for them to retrieve.  And if I came back and saw those boxes still there -- well, that would be proof my neighborhood is still relatively safe and neighborly, and it would also mean I can take the food.

I didn't think about any other living creatures getting to the food first until it was way too late and I was sweating through my clothes.  At work on Friday I saw a line of ants savaging some crumb of food on the floor -- why in the hell wouldn't they go after the pizza and the tots??  I felt so stupid.  So, after changing back and using a discount for gasoline on my app that was going to expire at midnight, I got home and saw the boxes still there.  But then I noticed a chunk of the cold, gloopy Loaded Tots on the walkway, and then another.  And then I saw the small, rectangular box not exactly in the position I left it at.  And it was ajar.  I opened it and I saw, like, four or five cold tots with the now solid cheese and maybe it was bacon attached to them.  So maybe ants didn't get to it, but a squirrel did, and even though I don't think squirrels have opposable thumbs, the squirrel knocked it over and/or pushed it open to get into it.  And judging by the food that was spilled all over my pavement, it probably took a couple bites and recoiled at the coldness of the Loaded Tots, how rich in calories it was, or both, and said it had enough.

And you know what my thought was?  Damn, I wish I could have tried those Loaded Tots!  But there were four or five of them left in the box.  That meant the squirrel ate all the ones it tossed out of the box and left these alone -- right?  So I -- and don't judge me -- ate those Loaded Tots left in the box.  And they were ... cold.  And like all the loaded tots I've eaten from other places before.  And then I had this image of the squirrel eating and touching the tots I just ate as well as the tots touching those tots.  And then I thought about whether I can get sick from food with the saliva from a squirrel -- or, even more viscerally, from food that got in contact with a squirrel.  Can you get rabies from that?

And so ever since I ate those tots I've felt a bit ... queasy.  It might be from eating those cold, or it might be because that food was left out for more than two hours before refrigeration.  But if I wake up in the morning running a fever or suffering from seizures, it has to be squirrel rabies.  And in that case, regard me as a cautionary tale: Don't ever eat food that was ransacked by a squirrel.

Expenses Without Receipt

OK, starting from Sunday, January 8, 2023, and hope to Buddha I'm right because it's been almost a month and a huge two-week trip happened inbetween:

• I actually need to go back ... all the way back to Thursday, December 22, 2022, when we were on The Big Island.  My brother really wanted to take a tour of Kona Brewing Co.  I didn't even think to go do a brewery tour, but it's not bad.  I'm not a huge of Kona -- I'm not a huge fan of beer in general -- but their (I think) previous commercial tag line -- "One life, right?" -- is an existential epistle that basically sums up my outlook on life and the outlook all people should take to.  We had to pay for the tour, but at the end of it, we went to its little bar/merchandise shop called The Thirsty Gecko.  Yes, I was compelled to be a tourist and buy a couple things (and charge it on my credit card).  I also "donated" to the tour guide: $5.
• Later that day we all went to the Safeway on The Big Island -- I swear I didn't think there would be a giant grocery store chain on The Big Island -- because we all wanted to buy food, some of which we didn't eat and had to throw away.  My parents paid for everything, but because I shelled out money at Kona, I threw in a donation in one of those tiny plastic jars you see at the checkout line.  I don't remember what the charity organization was.  Left: $1.
• On Monday the 19th, back when we were in Honolulu, we spent most of the day at the Polynesian Cultural Center.  Think Disney World.  It's a very interesting and entertaining place to learn about cultures of the South Pacific.  It is somewhat concerting however, to learn two facts: The vast majority of entertainers and workers there are students at nearby BYU-Hawai'i; and this place is founded and run by The Church of Jesus Christ Latter-Day Saints, aka Mormons.  Anyway, we wound up the long (and mostly rainy) day eating at the giant buffet.  Great buffet; lots of food, some of which is geographically and culturally representative of the PCC.  There was musical entertainment: A duo that waited a long time between songs so someone in the crowd could ask for a dedication for their loved one's birthday or graduation, etc.  Whenever they sang "Happy Birthday" -- and they did it more than twice -- they would go, "Happy Birthday to you/Woo!/Happy Birthday to you/Woo!"  That got annoying.  I went over to their stage; they looked old and thus probably are not students.  But I threw in some money anyway: $1.
• On Saturday the 17th we went to this famous steakhouse in Honolulu called Hy's.  The steaks are smoked in Hawaiian wood; other than that, it's a steakhouse.  They graciously took a photo of us; unfortunately, it was on their 2000's camera, we all posed terribly, and the picture they gave us consequently looked, uh, ghastly.  But there was also a musician playing music to enliven the environment.  Nice guy.  Wanted him to play something jazzy, like "'Round Midnight" or even "Skylark."  He knew "Fly Me To The Moon."  I took it, and once he was done and went on break, I went back over to his line of sight and gave him a double thumb's-up.  Oh, and I also tipped him: $1.
• Friday, December 16: I accompanied my parents to Chinatown.  Whenever they go anywhere, they go to that place's Chinatown.  It's their happy place, their oasis of familiarity in a foreign land.  (Me, I go to secret bars.)  Instead of troubling my sister and brother-in-law, they learned how to get there on the bus -- or, rather, The Bus, the actual official name of public transportation in Honolulu.  Neat name, and I hear it's one of the best systems in the country.  But it is expensive: Three bucks per ride.  Getting to Chinatown and back was thus: $6.
• Finally, very early on Wednesday the 14th I got a ride from **y, who a few days before sucked my dick with a condom on.  After our session I nonchalantly told her I was going to Hawai'i and asked if she could pay her for a ride; she had said she takes gig jobs to supplement her income.  And she said she could.  Buddha bless her, it was sleeting that overnight/early morning, but she got there early and got me to the airport well in time.  So yes, it was worth paying her: $50.
• I hopscotched from MSP to SEA to LAX to HNL.  That was not my decision; I bought a two-legged one-way trip, but my airline (which, by the way, would not give me miles for this ticket because I went Basic Economy -- oh, fuck you) added a third leg, the one from SEA to LAX.  I was running on red and getting quite tirangry, but this apparently local favorite coffeeshop called Alfred Coffee hit the spot.  They say they are known for their iced vanilla latte.  Sure, I could go for that.  I don't know if it was the best iced vanilla latte I've ever had, but it kept me both going and sane.  With tip it cost me: $10.

Assuming I'm right, I'm good through December January 8.

I ordered new glasses at Warby Parker last week and I already regret it.  After I made a hash out of remembering the last time I got an eye exam at the place where I got my most recent eye exam, I finally got the updated prescription with astigmatism rating so that I can get progressive lenses/bifocals so I can see both near and far.  Unfortunately, I didn't think to notice that the total power has now changed, and with that, they recommend going to a thinner lens than the one I bought.  Great -- I think I'll have to change lenses again.  Well, at least they have a 30-day free exchange.

Oh, and I bought the frames sight unseen.  It wasn't at the store, so I took it on faith that 1) the length of the frames will match the width of my face and 2) it'll look good on me.  This could be a total mistake, where I buy glasses that pinch my temples to the point of fainting due to a lack of blood to the head, and oh, by the way, those glasses are ugly.  But like I said, I have a month to send it back.  I'll probably send it back as soon as I get them.  But next time around, I will know what to look for.

The Miffiness Tuesday Increased To Annoyance Yesterday

So, this bullshit happened yesterday:

• I went to McDonald's before I headed into work.  For a moment, as I sat down to eat my biscuit, I thought I should drive and park at work instead of eating at Mickey D's.  Nah, I thought, I want to stay as far away from work as much as possible.  So I ate for a few minutes.  I walk out to see an SUV park between me and the car on the other side.  "Lord, don't let that driver hit my car," I thought, but goddamn shit hit it.  Now, I circled around to the passenger side, but I couldn't see anything that made me think she put a serious dent in my car.  Honestly, even if she did I couldn't tell because there are a few dings on that side; I've had the car for a while now.  But I fucking hate it when someone is that fucking careless.  And I hate myself that I decided to relax a bit at a fast food restaurant when skedaddling turns out to be the right choice in retrospect.  By the way, the driver works at this McDonald's.  Gawd -- can't go back there ever again.  (Kidding.)
• My supervisor who I thought was miffed at me on Tuesday?  Yeah, she's absolutely annoyed as fuck with me.  Didn't talk to me at all unless I had questions to ask her; that's why I was on my best behavior, or at least I hoped I was.  Her?  Don't know.  See, I asked her a question that apparently I asked her last week, and she meant into condescending/mom mode and reminded me, "We talked about this last week, you should've written down notes."  Turns out she was right; I did go through all of this last week, and I should have written this shit down.  I'm still swimming in a bunch of bullshit when I'm working back there, and it looks like she's come to the conclusion that I should be up to speed on things by now.  As fucking if.  Like I said in my previous blog post, I need to stay in good graces with her because I'll need her.  But fucking God, man, I don't like her fucking attitude towards me right now.
• To cap it all off, ***u**, the stripper girlfriend, was supposed to come clean the house and then suck my dick last/Wednesday night.  Just as I got home, she texted me that she had a family emergency and had to go to the hospital.  OK, but on Snapchat around, oh, the 9 o'clock hour I see her in her jammies; that photo is timestamped around 7:30.  I asked her to get here around 7.  Things that make you say "Hmmm."  Hey, she was the one who asked me if she could come over and make some money.  I'm not saying she lied.  Yet.  I just don't fucking get it.

So glad I can talk to my psychotherapist this afternoon.  I just hope annoyance doesn't boil over to full-blown anger today.  It's a bad trend.

She Contacted Me! My ATF Contacted Me!

OK, so about my ATF, ******a, whom I had missed the past couple times I wanted to see her at My Favorite Stripclub (Cover Version).  The last time I had spoken to her I had broached the subject, we I had from time to time in visits prior, about letting her know when I could see her work again.  She responded by ... inviting me to give her my contact information.  Yes!  My big break!

I wrote down my name, number, e-mail address and Facebook on a Post-It note.  I folded it up then, worried that a bouncer might see digits on that piece of paper, I folded it around so that all the information was on the inside.  Midway through our series of table dances, I took out the piece of paper and whispered in her ear about what we talked about last time.  She remembered, thank God, and she was open to taking the slip of paper.  The one slip-up I had involved me freaking out that she would either forget or misplace the piece of paper, which I surreptitiously put to the side next to her purse.  I was just moving my hands around the seat while ******a was dancing in front of me, and I pulled it out from under her purse.  Later, she told me she slid it under her purse because she didn't want anyone to see that there was a crumpled-up piece of paper that just so happens to be next to her purse.  Well, duh, that makes total sense.  Stupid me.

Now, I was hoping that my dumb decision didn't rat her out.  I was hoping that a bouncer did not go up to ******a and say, "I saw that piece of paper that customer gave you.  Throw it out or I'll have you fired."

Guess what?

She texted me last night!  Woo-hoo!  It worked!!  And she wants to keep in touch with me!!!  All these years of earning a hot stripper's trust, and it finally worked!!!!  This is the culmination of a dream, one I achieved with hard work and a lot of persistence.  This ... man, yesterday was a great day, man!

Wrong About Mowing The Lawn

Last night I decided I was going to mow the lawn.  I have my Independence Weekend planned out.  In reverse chronological order: Monday I'm staying in all day and making spaghetti.  Tomorrow/Sunday I will try and go through my papers, but I am going out to eat lunch in the afternoon and then going out to the MNUFC Match in the evening.  Today, I planned on going out and enjoying this gorgeous weather ... but first, the lawn.

I decided that I wouldn't have time to do it next weekend, or the weekend after.  Moreover, since this is a long weekend, I "had time" to do it now (I put it in quotes because, really, I can carve out a couple hours any time to do it, but I don't want to unless I have a lot of other free time around it so I don't feel cheated).

But then my wishy-washiness began.  First, I noticed that the grass wasn't all that high.  It could have waited a week or two.  (Much of the grass is getting yellow too, and that bothers me.)  Also, the weather was gray -- perfect because I would feel like I wouldn't have to put on sunscreen, but it looked like it could rain.  So I looked on both AccuWeather on my laptop and the Weather app on my phone and said that there was a chance of rain for the next couple hours.

But I didn't want to wait a couple hours.  I wanted to do it now.  Besides, it didn't look like it was going to be a torrential rain.  And even if it were, it would have only lasted a few minutes -- half-hour at most.  But I wouldn't have to worry about that if I just mowed now because I could probably get the mowing in before the raindrops start ... maybe ... ?

After some procrastination, I went for it.  I usually take my time because mowing the lawn is sometimes a pain in the ass, and I want to put on sunscreen and bug spray before I start, plus I want to clean both yards of branches and stuff.  But this time, knowing that rain could be coming, I actually jogged -- jogged -- around the yards to pick up debris.  Put gas in the mower and off I went.

I thought I was going to beat any storm that could be coming.  But then I felt a few drops.  I did a quick re-calculating.  I can mow during a drizzle, right?  I won't mind, and the mower won't blow up if a few raindrops get into the top, uh, opening thing, right?  So I still mowed.  And I got through the frontyard even though it was still misting.

The backyard was another story, I'm afraid.  I was, oh, less than halfway through it when the drops got heavier and more frequent.  I was afraid that the sky would open up and I would be caught in a deluge.  At that point, the closer I got to the end, the more rain I would have tolerated in order to finish.  But I was hoping that the drizzle wouldn't worsen, and it did, and so I stopped.

I sort of regret deciding to mow in the afternoon.  But I then compounded that mistake with a worse decision: Putting the lawnmower underneath the deck.  I was going to go out to eat for lunch and to pick up groceries, and I was hoping that, even though the rain was hard enough for me to stop, it would be so brief that I could immediately go back to mowing.  That was a mistake, for two reasons.  One, it didn't stop when I got back.  And two, I realized on my way to Raising Cane's that you really should mow wet grass.  Whoops.  So now I was going to leave my mower underneath the deck for a couple or few hours?  And while I was thinking it would be covered, the deck has slats, and water is tiny, and it could slip through and malfunction the mower.

So once I got back home I dodged the rain and properly put the mower, which was drenched, back in the shed.  I was hoping I would get all done, shower, trim my nails and sleep all afternoon, but all I could do was conk off my sweaty, smelly, bug repellant-covered body in my bed.  (I now have to change the sheets, too.)

By the time I woke up, around 4, the sun was out.  The grass didn't look wet, but even if it were, I made the decision, poor as it might be, to just take out the mower and finish the backyard.  The mower worked, by the way.  And to justify doing it in the afternoon instead of the evening, I stuck to my plan of going out and having fun in the evening.  I am eating and drinking my way through the Wedge -- a chicken sandwich at Bebe Zito, iced tea at Caffetto, then ice cream after a nice long walk at Milkjam.  That totally justifies pausing inbetween mows in the early afternoon because of a rainstrom, right?  Right???

Fuckin' MNUFC Sucks

Man, I'm so fucking pissed off at the Loons.  They blew a 1-0 lead for the second Match in a row and lost, 2-1, last/Saturday night at Inter Miami.  I was at the gym when Inter tied it, and I thought, "Well, might as well not watch ... just in case."  And I checked my phone once I knew it was over and, goddamn, it sure was over.

It's looking increasingly more tone deaf that the organization gave Adrian Heath a contract extension.  The powers that be thought that the worst slump in this side's history (I think the team has now won once in its last seven Games) means they should keep Heath here through 2024?!  Not if they keep allowing Goals after the 85th Minute and giving away Points once the final whistle blows.  Fuck that shit.

As I said in The Weekly Minnesota Sports Survey, the timing of the announcement could not have gone worse.  Not only was it made during a bad losing slump, it was made the day (give or take a day) of the announcement of season ticket renewals.  Anecdotally, some STHs took the opportunity to yell at their season ticket reps before telling them they're not renewing.  I'm not there ... yet.  But they keep fucking choking on leads like this, and I won't want to piss away money on a loser team like this.