(As in "YOU-knees". As in, short for uniforms)
I've always been interested in uniforms. As some know, I've had a theory that, at the pro level, there are two factors that will prevent any team from winning a championship. Those are...stupid nicknames. And ugly uniforms. As Exhibits A and B of the latter, I bring you the Cincinnati Bengals and the mid-1980's Houston Astros. The latter, a franchise of mostly very good teams who couldn't get past the hump because their uniforms bore an uncanny resemblance to ice cream vendors.
The converse is not true. i.e. Great uniforms don't guarantee anything. But I will say that the coolest unis in sports are usually worn by successful franchises. If I had to pick one, I'd pick the Steelers. A great franchise name and a great uniform. In fact, I've always had an attraction to black and gold and Pittsburgh is the only city that has all its franchises (including U of Pittsburgh) with the same color scheme.
Traditional uniforms are fine too. Low key, stately, no major statement to make. These teams let their games do the talking. I like that.
My good friend Andy and I have a philosophical difference about unis. He's basically OK with loud uniforms. Or even multiple uniforms. Our team, the Mets, don't wear uniforms. At least not by my definition. To me, a uniform is something the viewer can visually depend on. A "look". Most teams have 2 looks. One for home, one for away. And the two are visually similar. The Mets have, seemingly, 162 looks. One for each game of the season. I can't match the Mets with a uniform. They may be the only team in professional, or even collegiate, sports with this characteristic. They haven't won a World Series since 1986. At which time, they were still in the basic home/away mode of 2 uniforms. I rest my case.
I'm also not in love with green as a sports color. It looks political, not like a school that's trying to present a winning look. Green, if it's the color, should be understated. Michigan State is one school that does "green" nicely. At the pro level, the Celtics do it well also. The Oregon Ducks are big time ugly (and green-in-your-face) and flashy, but they've been successful.
In general, I don't think college teams, unlike the pros, have to worry about unis. Unless, that is, ugliness is taken to a whole new level.
Which is the point of this blog. I bring you...Notre Dame.
First, GWCTRA and I went to see the movie Amour a few weeks ago. A very well done movie that pulls no punches about the elderly and saying goodbye to those we love. It's a gut wrenching movie. I'd like to recommend it, but it's so depressing that I just cannot do so. It took me 2 or 3 days to get it out of my head.
The reason for this digression is that it'll take me at least that long to get the Notre Dame uniforms out of my head.I've been visually assaulted. My sports sensibilities have been scrambled.
Imagine the love child of the Green Hornet and the Village People. Imagine that famous Pink Floyd green pyramid poster from Dark Side of the Moon on steroids. Imagine Joe Arpaio, that upstanding patriot who believes that the way you bring justice to Arizona is by humiliating prisoners and forcing them to wear pink lacy things. Well, Joe, your experiment has morphed over to the NCAA's, substituting green for pink.
This doesn't begin to explain how hideous these unis are. I may have been wrong but I could swear I saw green stockings on some of the players. And green boxers too. It's almost impossible to tell because you can't really get the full effect in one look. You can look above the waist and see green hi-liters and stuff on the arms. You can look midrange and see the boxers. You can look a bit lower and see green leggings, or something like that. Or you can look at the feet and see...I don't know...slippers?
It's no surprise, at least to me, that the Fighting Irish got blown out by Iowa State. And sadly, this is one of the storied schools in history.
I'm OK with the Irish. I know some don't like them in the same way that some hate the Dallas Cowboys (of which I'm definitely one). The "America's Team" thing. But the Irish are a college without a history of arrogance or thugism. Two qualities the Cowboys are loaded with.
Notre Dame doesn't deserve a fate like this. No one should be forced to parade themselves in such a great tournament in this manner. It's tough enough when you're a team of SWHIGs. (Slow White Guys). That alone usually means you're bounced by the 2nd round. But having to wear those monstrosities?
Life just ain't fair sometimes.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
Chutes and ladders
The numbers 24 and 87 were etched into my brain back in elementary school. They signify life. That is, if you remember the game Chutes and Ladders.
I do. The object of the game was to get from space #1 to space #100. Along the way were various ladders, in which of course you ascended. And a series of chutes, which of course did the opposite. Very simple game, really. But I remember being fascinated with the numbers, what they signified, and all the luck involved. 24 was the longest ladder, and if your piece landed on it, you climbed all the way up to, I think, #83. At that point, if you spun a 4, you'd hit #87, which was the longest chute. And that dropped you all the way back to, I think, #19.
That was my day Thursday. I woke up, checked my bank account, and saw that my state refund got direct deposited into my checking account. A little later, I got an email from my local university, SCSU (Southern CT State Univ) telling me that I was recommended for acceptance by the social work faculty committee. Technically, I'm not in yet, but I'm told it's proforma at this point.
A little later, my good friend Pat and I got together for lunch and she made me this incredible West African peanut soup. This incredible soup, which contains only a few ingredients, brought some rare joy to my otherwise joy-free diet.
A little later, I got a call from a temp agency asking if I was available for a part time job. The job didn't materialize, but that was OK. I was still buzzing from the earlier news. Even the international news wasn't as bleak as normal. The economy is picking up steam...other not-so-terrible news.
Then...then...while I'm at the library, GWCTRA (Girlfriend who chooses to remain anonymous) texts me. "I've got 3 inches of water in my basement." I switch gears, haul out of there and head over. On the way there, I stop at a local discount place to pick up some wading boots. I pick out a size 12 and arrive at her house. Indeed, the basement is flooded. Her son is already baling the basement, along with her. I try on the boots and I can't even come close to getting them to fit. I look underneath and see the size...it's a 7. I drive all the way back and swap them for the correct size.
Won't go into all the details but I've been getting a crash course in sump pumps, sheet rock, insulation, and every other component of basement repair and maintenance. For the last 4 days, I've done that and sleep, and very little else. School, financial aid, everything else that was a top priority in my life has taken a back seat.
I am most definitely not complaining. In fact, it's fascinating. Priorities and focus switched in an instant. This isn't Katrina here. Everyone is safe. The house is fine, for the most part. The biggest loss has been her dryer, which is too expensive to fix.
For me, I've gone from 24 to 83 to 87 to 19 in a matter of hours. GWCTRA and I have worked quite well together in this. Given the financial gravity of the situation, which unfortunately, affects her, the homeowner, it's been a lesson for me in so many ways.
One is that we make a pretty damn good team. We've done great at picking each other up, and allowing ourselves to be stressed and difficult without the other one freaking out.
Another lesson is that I keep learning, over and over again, that the more I try to order my life, the more it gets thrown into disarray. Not only that, the more I look at the scope of my "stuff", the more miniscule it appears when nature and/or God conspire to rearrange things.
It's melodramatic to introduce another game to my life..."52 card pickup". It's more like, maybe, "10 card pickup". But it still involves sudden reshuffling. GWCTRA's cards that are in disarray are more in the 20's. But that's par for her neighborhood, which seems to be subject to the vagaries of the local water tables.
In the meantime, I'm going to wake up tomorrow to find, I suspect, more water in the basement. And we'll go back to the wet vacs. And checking the sump pumps. And making sure the water is going away from the house, not toward it. And I'll get pissed and stressed at some point. As will my girlfriend. And we'll be grimy and filthy. We'll clean up. And then, we'll cook dinner together and clean up afterwards. And at the end of the day, we'll hold each other as we fall asleep.
And we'll wake up the next day to another game of Chutes and Ladders.
...gp
I do. The object of the game was to get from space #1 to space #100. Along the way were various ladders, in which of course you ascended. And a series of chutes, which of course did the opposite. Very simple game, really. But I remember being fascinated with the numbers, what they signified, and all the luck involved. 24 was the longest ladder, and if your piece landed on it, you climbed all the way up to, I think, #83. At that point, if you spun a 4, you'd hit #87, which was the longest chute. And that dropped you all the way back to, I think, #19.
That was my day Thursday. I woke up, checked my bank account, and saw that my state refund got direct deposited into my checking account. A little later, I got an email from my local university, SCSU (Southern CT State Univ) telling me that I was recommended for acceptance by the social work faculty committee. Technically, I'm not in yet, but I'm told it's proforma at this point.
A little later, my good friend Pat and I got together for lunch and she made me this incredible West African peanut soup. This incredible soup, which contains only a few ingredients, brought some rare joy to my otherwise joy-free diet.
A little later, I got a call from a temp agency asking if I was available for a part time job. The job didn't materialize, but that was OK. I was still buzzing from the earlier news. Even the international news wasn't as bleak as normal. The economy is picking up steam...other not-so-terrible news.
Then...then...while I'm at the library, GWCTRA (Girlfriend who chooses to remain anonymous) texts me. "I've got 3 inches of water in my basement." I switch gears, haul out of there and head over. On the way there, I stop at a local discount place to pick up some wading boots. I pick out a size 12 and arrive at her house. Indeed, the basement is flooded. Her son is already baling the basement, along with her. I try on the boots and I can't even come close to getting them to fit. I look underneath and see the size...it's a 7. I drive all the way back and swap them for the correct size.
Won't go into all the details but I've been getting a crash course in sump pumps, sheet rock, insulation, and every other component of basement repair and maintenance. For the last 4 days, I've done that and sleep, and very little else. School, financial aid, everything else that was a top priority in my life has taken a back seat.
I am most definitely not complaining. In fact, it's fascinating. Priorities and focus switched in an instant. This isn't Katrina here. Everyone is safe. The house is fine, for the most part. The biggest loss has been her dryer, which is too expensive to fix.
For me, I've gone from 24 to 83 to 87 to 19 in a matter of hours. GWCTRA and I have worked quite well together in this. Given the financial gravity of the situation, which unfortunately, affects her, the homeowner, it's been a lesson for me in so many ways.
One is that we make a pretty damn good team. We've done great at picking each other up, and allowing ourselves to be stressed and difficult without the other one freaking out.
Another lesson is that I keep learning, over and over again, that the more I try to order my life, the more it gets thrown into disarray. Not only that, the more I look at the scope of my "stuff", the more miniscule it appears when nature and/or God conspire to rearrange things.
It's melodramatic to introduce another game to my life..."52 card pickup". It's more like, maybe, "10 card pickup". But it still involves sudden reshuffling. GWCTRA's cards that are in disarray are more in the 20's. But that's par for her neighborhood, which seems to be subject to the vagaries of the local water tables.
In the meantime, I'm going to wake up tomorrow to find, I suspect, more water in the basement. And we'll go back to the wet vacs. And checking the sump pumps. And making sure the water is going away from the house, not toward it. And I'll get pissed and stressed at some point. As will my girlfriend. And we'll be grimy and filthy. We'll clean up. And then, we'll cook dinner together and clean up afterwards. And at the end of the day, we'll hold each other as we fall asleep.
And we'll wake up the next day to another game of Chutes and Ladders.
...gp
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Spring fever
Before I begin, I posted something in last week's blog, since deleted, which caused some hard feelings for 2 good friends of mine. In short...they were right. I was wrong. Apologies already made and accepted. I wrote like the very jerks I was writing about. Education through irony.
Now, on to one of my favorite obsessions...the weather. Today begins the last full week of winter. Other than 2011, when we had another brutal winter, this is the first time I've counted the days until spring. I'm trying to break up the remainder of winter into smaller pieces much like a prisoner breaks up the remaining time until he's freed. 11 days. 264 hours. 15,840 minutes. 950,400 seconds. (give or take) And yeah, I know we can still get some nasty weather in the first 3-4 weeks of spring. But that doesn't affect me the same way. It's like the psychopath making his last attack before he finally dies. You know he'll be dead before long.
It wasn't until this weekend that I realized something. In past winters, we've always had little tastes of spring. The January thaw, occasional temperature spikes, etc. We haven't had a single one this winter. Not one. We also haven't had any bitter cold days, but those never bother me. It's been a relatively narrow temperature range since November. Not surprisingly, we've had, it seems, more overcast days this season than I can remember.
And, not surprisingly, it's been the most depressing winter in my memory. If not for GWCTRA, I may be residing in one of our state's many fine residences for those with mental illnesses.
Which is why this past weekend has me on something of a high. All weekend, I've felt like Mr. Rogers on nitrous oxide.
And I'm picking up the same thing in others. Yesterday and today...blue skies, and highs in the low 50's. We walked along the beach. Everyone was smiling. Kids skimming stones and throwing very slushy snowballs. (None directed at me, I think) Older couples walking hand in hand with a grace that, I suspect, I wouldn't have seen just a week ago, when we were hit with yet another freak storm. This one like a drunken guest that wouldn't leave the house. It staggered, spun, went in reverse, did the meteorological moves of an Olympic gold medal gymnast. All it needed was a horse and parallel bars.
I don't know what, if any, research has been done on spring fever. Maybe it's not a fever. Maybe nothing really happens to the body. But for me, it's almost intoxicating.
I went to school undergraduate in a little town called Plattsburgh, NY. 17 miles south of the border, tucked just north of the Adirondack Mountains, and on Lake Champlain. Beautiful area. Bitter cold in the winter. We hit -24F (without wind chill) on 2 occasions. We'd spend the last 2-3 weeks of the semester alternately studying for finals and finding some tire tubes, tying them together, and heading into the Saranac River, taking it a bit short of its mouth at the lake. We'd dock at Filion's, one of our local watering holes.
I have many fond memories of school, with this one on my short list of favorite things to do.
As a kid, I had similar feelings. Just this sense of connection with something greater, based on living in an area with 4 distinct seasons.
Not only that, baseball is less than 3 weeks away. All the cliches we associate with the beginning of spring.
I feel like a survivor of sorts. Along with my fellow northeasterners. There's been no shortage of real tragedy and misery here. Sandy, the December shootings, the February blizzard. It's been something of a nightmare. And one that has only tangentially affected me, at least in comparison to so many others. So, perhaps for those of us incredibly lucky enough not to have lost anything, the greater the adversity, the greater the sense of joy.
Ah, I can smell the baseball leather. I can hear the snow melting, like the Wicked Witch. I can see the smiles coming back. Hello spring.
Thanks for reading...gp
Now, on to one of my favorite obsessions...the weather. Today begins the last full week of winter. Other than 2011, when we had another brutal winter, this is the first time I've counted the days until spring. I'm trying to break up the remainder of winter into smaller pieces much like a prisoner breaks up the remaining time until he's freed. 11 days. 264 hours. 15,840 minutes. 950,400 seconds. (give or take) And yeah, I know we can still get some nasty weather in the first 3-4 weeks of spring. But that doesn't affect me the same way. It's like the psychopath making his last attack before he finally dies. You know he'll be dead before long.
It wasn't until this weekend that I realized something. In past winters, we've always had little tastes of spring. The January thaw, occasional temperature spikes, etc. We haven't had a single one this winter. Not one. We also haven't had any bitter cold days, but those never bother me. It's been a relatively narrow temperature range since November. Not surprisingly, we've had, it seems, more overcast days this season than I can remember.
And, not surprisingly, it's been the most depressing winter in my memory. If not for GWCTRA, I may be residing in one of our state's many fine residences for those with mental illnesses.
Which is why this past weekend has me on something of a high. All weekend, I've felt like Mr. Rogers on nitrous oxide.
And I'm picking up the same thing in others. Yesterday and today...blue skies, and highs in the low 50's. We walked along the beach. Everyone was smiling. Kids skimming stones and throwing very slushy snowballs. (None directed at me, I think) Older couples walking hand in hand with a grace that, I suspect, I wouldn't have seen just a week ago, when we were hit with yet another freak storm. This one like a drunken guest that wouldn't leave the house. It staggered, spun, went in reverse, did the meteorological moves of an Olympic gold medal gymnast. All it needed was a horse and parallel bars.
I don't know what, if any, research has been done on spring fever. Maybe it's not a fever. Maybe nothing really happens to the body. But for me, it's almost intoxicating.
I went to school undergraduate in a little town called Plattsburgh, NY. 17 miles south of the border, tucked just north of the Adirondack Mountains, and on Lake Champlain. Beautiful area. Bitter cold in the winter. We hit -24F (without wind chill) on 2 occasions. We'd spend the last 2-3 weeks of the semester alternately studying for finals and finding some tire tubes, tying them together, and heading into the Saranac River, taking it a bit short of its mouth at the lake. We'd dock at Filion's, one of our local watering holes.
I have many fond memories of school, with this one on my short list of favorite things to do.
As a kid, I had similar feelings. Just this sense of connection with something greater, based on living in an area with 4 distinct seasons.
Not only that, baseball is less than 3 weeks away. All the cliches we associate with the beginning of spring.
I feel like a survivor of sorts. Along with my fellow northeasterners. There's been no shortage of real tragedy and misery here. Sandy, the December shootings, the February blizzard. It's been something of a nightmare. And one that has only tangentially affected me, at least in comparison to so many others. So, perhaps for those of us incredibly lucky enough not to have lost anything, the greater the adversity, the greater the sense of joy.
Ah, I can smell the baseball leather. I can hear the snow melting, like the Wicked Witch. I can see the smiles coming back. Hello spring.
Thanks for reading...gp
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Jerkism
I take a course on diversity. In it, I've become aware of various "ism"s. Most of them you already know. The areas of race, sex, age, sexual orientation, etc.
I'm not perfect in these areas. Like all of us, I'm a work in progress. I like to think I'm reasonably good at seeing someone and not forming stereotypes based on whatever the prefix is. That's because I've found that every time I think I know someone, I'm always wrong. I can't count how many potentially meaningful friendships I've lost because I've put someone in a mental box and then walked away.
But I do have one area where I'm a neanderthal.
I'm guilty of jerkism. I'm a raging jerkist. I don't like jerks. I just don't. I have zero tolerance for them.
If I was president, I'd pass a law making being a jerk a crime. There's be misdemeanor jerkism and felony jerkism. For the latter, the defendant would be tried by jury and if found guilty, would go to jerk jail and be kept among other guilty jerks. This might be the best form of rehab. Having to deal with other jerks.
I try to avoid labels but when it comes to jerks, I just cannot see past this one dimension. No one is "jerk-y". They're either a jerk or they're not.
I don't think liberals have yet made us feel uncomfortable or guilty in this area. So I can explore my jerkism on my own, free of being castigated for it.Virtually everyone I know is more tolerant of jerks than I am.
Jerks, almost by definition, are men. I suppose there are the female equivalents, but I find I almost never use the "b" word. Even now, I can't bring myself to type it, although everyone knows what it is. Women, most in fact, can be that way at times. But I can't think of a single woman I've met in my entire life who I'd label that way. The closest is a co-worker, who really was (that word) on the job. But away from the job, she was really nice.
Maybe I'm jealous of jerks. I'm one of those guys who, when I was younger, would see hot girls going out with jerks and me, being the proverbial "nice guy", would be home alone. I never understood it. There have been studies about why girls seemingly prefer jerks over nice guys. None of them ever made sense to me. So maybe this is some teenage issue that's carried over into middle age.
Not only that. Jerks are generally wealthy. I've never met a poor jerk. I'm not saying that wealthy people are jerks. Not true. I know many wealthy people who seem humble and down to earth. And I wish I was like that.
I'd like to be a jerk, truth be told. Maybe I am. Although I suspect I've never been labelled that way. I've been called some names over the years, but "jerk" has never been one of them.Maybe I've always been too poor. I haven't met the minimum wealth level to be a jerk.
I seem to be quick to label someone as a jerk too. Particularly when my head is in a bad neighborhood. I'm not proud of this. Again, I've probably lost some good relationships this way. I've found on occasion that when you get to know the jerk, he's often someone who's just insecure, or lacks confidence, or any number of other areas that I can totally relate to, as I'm often the same way. I can see him three dimensionally and I'm the better for it. But these are exceptions. More often, I find myself wondering how anyone can stand to be in their company. How do they have friends? Yet, they do.Who would marry them? Yet, they are.
That's it...no more Mr. Nice Guy. I'm going down the Jerk Highway. Just as soon as I let that Beamer in ahead of me.
I'm not perfect in these areas. Like all of us, I'm a work in progress. I like to think I'm reasonably good at seeing someone and not forming stereotypes based on whatever the prefix is. That's because I've found that every time I think I know someone, I'm always wrong. I can't count how many potentially meaningful friendships I've lost because I've put someone in a mental box and then walked away.
But I do have one area where I'm a neanderthal.
I'm guilty of jerkism. I'm a raging jerkist. I don't like jerks. I just don't. I have zero tolerance for them.
If I was president, I'd pass a law making being a jerk a crime. There's be misdemeanor jerkism and felony jerkism. For the latter, the defendant would be tried by jury and if found guilty, would go to jerk jail and be kept among other guilty jerks. This might be the best form of rehab. Having to deal with other jerks.
I try to avoid labels but when it comes to jerks, I just cannot see past this one dimension. No one is "jerk-y". They're either a jerk or they're not.
I don't think liberals have yet made us feel uncomfortable or guilty in this area. So I can explore my jerkism on my own, free of being castigated for it.Virtually everyone I know is more tolerant of jerks than I am.
Jerks, almost by definition, are men. I suppose there are the female equivalents, but I find I almost never use the "b" word. Even now, I can't bring myself to type it, although everyone knows what it is. Women, most in fact, can be that way at times. But I can't think of a single woman I've met in my entire life who I'd label that way. The closest is a co-worker, who really was (that word) on the job. But away from the job, she was really nice.
Maybe I'm jealous of jerks. I'm one of those guys who, when I was younger, would see hot girls going out with jerks and me, being the proverbial "nice guy", would be home alone. I never understood it. There have been studies about why girls seemingly prefer jerks over nice guys. None of them ever made sense to me. So maybe this is some teenage issue that's carried over into middle age.
Not only that. Jerks are generally wealthy. I've never met a poor jerk. I'm not saying that wealthy people are jerks. Not true. I know many wealthy people who seem humble and down to earth. And I wish I was like that.
I'd like to be a jerk, truth be told. Maybe I am. Although I suspect I've never been labelled that way. I've been called some names over the years, but "jerk" has never been one of them.Maybe I've always been too poor. I haven't met the minimum wealth level to be a jerk.
I seem to be quick to label someone as a jerk too. Particularly when my head is in a bad neighborhood. I'm not proud of this. Again, I've probably lost some good relationships this way. I've found on occasion that when you get to know the jerk, he's often someone who's just insecure, or lacks confidence, or any number of other areas that I can totally relate to, as I'm often the same way. I can see him three dimensionally and I'm the better for it. But these are exceptions. More often, I find myself wondering how anyone can stand to be in their company. How do they have friends? Yet, they do.Who would marry them? Yet, they are.
That's it...no more Mr. Nice Guy. I'm going down the Jerk Highway. Just as soon as I let that Beamer in ahead of me.
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