• Tween time

    I am stuck in that moment between getting home late and the time when you feel like going to bed.

    We decided to go to a Devil Rays away game this evening, and we’re just getting back. They were at Tropicana Field, where they occasionally play home games, so we didn’t have to travel too far. Tonight’s benefactor of the ice cold Rays’ bats were the Indians from Cleveland; and there were a lot of Indians from Cleveland there this evening. It was so bad there was this old Midwestern fella who pointed to the Rays’ base runner on first and arrogantly proclaimed, “I’ll bet that guy hasn’t stolen a base in HIS short career.” He was, no doubt, playfully taunting the Rays’ fans about all the youth being served on the field. It was almost too bad that the guy he was pointing out was Carl Crawford.

    It sucks when you can’t get a taunt right… on the player’s home field no less.

    In the middle innings, Beth got into a grudge match with a couple of Indians sitting around us (we were surrounded).
    Beth: “Why are you rooting for the Indians?”
    Indian: “Because I was born in Ohio.”
    Beth: “But where do you live now?”
    Indian: “I live here.”
    Beth: “Have you lived here a long time?”
    Indian: “Longer than you have kid.”
    Beth: “Then you should be rooting for the Rays.”
    Indian: “We can’t help where we’re born kid.”
    Beth: “My dad was born in Boston, and he roots for the Rays.”
    Indian: “I think I might have left my lights on.”

    Then there was the drunken Indian incident.
    Beth: (Screaming at the top of her nine year old lungs) “GO RAYS GOOOOOOOOOO AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
    Drunken Indian: “Way to go kid, gimme five.”
    Beth: “Why should I give you five? You’re an Indian’s fan.”
    Drunken Indian number two: “HA HA HA! She showed you!”
    Indian chorus: “HOO HOO HOO! You tell him!”
    Dad: sits quietly in his seat, not sure whether to be proud or afraid for his daughter’s life.

    Capping the evening off, Beth gets in the extended, post game bathroom line.
    Woman leaving the bathroom, walking past, talking to someone else: “There was this little girl in there trying to talk one of us into letting her cut in line….”
    Beth’s grandfather: “I wonder who they could have been talking about.”
    Beth’s dad: “Yeah, I can’t imagine.”

    There are times when I can see a lot of myself in my daughter, but not one of those times came up this evening.

  • Lost in shadow

    I saw a newish Caddy yesterday when I was driving home with Adam from Meh-may’s house (insert standard French disclaimer here). It was one of those STS jobs that’s all the rage these days. It had a silver hood, chrome grill… and no bumper. I thought to myself, “that’s a damn shame, wasting a perfectly good Caddy like that.” As we drew closer and passed each other I saw the two-tone paint job: silver on top (possibly gray) and black from the door handles down. It was then that I noticed the bumper… it was there after all, painted black like the bottom half of the car.

    From the side, the two-tone looked tres chic. It’s too bad the color scheme makes it look like the car belongs up on blocks in front of a mobile home (from the front). That particular shade of black looked like a perfect shadow, making the bumper virtually disappear (from a distance).

    It kinda makes you want to go out and get onyx caps for your front teeth, for that “I’ve taken one too many shots to the face” look.

  • A new word for the new year

    I’ve got a New Year’s Resolution that can’t wait for the New Year. I’m positively giddy with anticipation. I resolve to make the word “rhinorrhea” part of my regular vocabulary. I’m not convinced it’s a real word (it’s just too good to be true), but that hasn’t stopped me before and it isn’t going to stop me now.

    I can’t wait until that first time, when I unleash my secret weapon. Picture my co-workers’ reactions that first time I say, “Man! I’ve got a BAD case of rhinorrhea.”

    I’ll bet I could charge admission.