Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

Vacation dispatch

A rainy day at the beach beats any day at the office, right?

I hope it's raining like this at home. My tomato plants would appreciate it more than I am appreciating it here right now.

Gonna take two weeks one week, gonna have a fine vacation

Hope so, anyway.

First class

The sports page has been rather dismal lately, and you know how I feel about our AL baseball franchise to the north. Still, Cal Ripken's HoF induction is something to applaud.

And this makes it that much greater:

From One Iron Man To Another

Ernie Tyler first came to work for the Baltimore Orioles as the umpires' attendant on Opening Day in 1960. "If you can get up and walk, sure, you can go to work," Tyler said. "That's all I had in mind."

Tyler has not missed a single day in the 47 years since, having brought clean balls from the dugout to home plate in 3,760 consecutive Orioles home games. But he'll get day a off -- two, actually -- this weekend. Cal Ripken invited Tyler to Cooperstown, N.Y., to watch his induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Wow

I know nobody cares. But damn.

This afternoon I was pondering Michael Rasmussen, and the way that it sucks, if he indeed trained clean all year, that his Tour win will be under such a cloud of suspicion. I was sort of feeling bad for him, but, well, rules are rules...if not for some luck and a technicality, he wouldn't even be in France.

So on the one hand, I feel bad for him, but on the other: dumbass brought it on himself.

And I was thinking, why couldn't it be Cadel Evans or Alberto Contador? Cycling would actually gain some credibility if dopers were getting tossed and the guy in yellow was above reproach.

Then I sort of laughed to myself and thought, hope a piano doesn't fall on Rasmussen's head on his way back from dinner tonight...

Victor called while I was making dinner to say he saw a blurb on tv that Rasmussen had been booted from the race by his own team.

Holy shit.

It is confirmed:

Rasmussen pulled out of Tour, fired by Rabobank

Despite the controversy stirred up by Rasmussen missing four pre-tour doping tests, the Dane had seemingly weathered the storm and had won Wednesday's stage to all but seal overall victory.

However the team has learned that Rasmussen lied to them over where and what he was up to during the month of June when he was in fact in Italy and not in Mexico as he had told them.

"He broke team rules," said a team spokesman, who said that the Dane has also been fired from the team.

Now, I blame the team for a lot of this. Nobody is fooling around now, and the directors need to realize that everybody on the team better be pure as driven snow for the season.

And my question now...is Levi still gonna ride for Contador, or does he now in position for the lead himself?

Do I sound frustrated?

September 23, 2004: I makes allowances for Tyler Hamilton.

September 30, 2006: I shrug off Floyd Landis' doping results.

And I've said "It won't surprise me to find out that anybody in the peleton was doping" so many times it isn't worth searching for a specific entry.

Here's my e-mail to Victor at the end of today's stage, just after I saw the item in L'Equipe that Cristian Moreni is the third rider to test positive for a banned substance. (Now, I think they use some crappy lab practices, and I'm not comfortable with people getting suspended on the basis of unconfirmed tests, but still...)

From: Nic
Sent: Wednesday, July 25, 2007 12:14 PM
To: Victor
Subject: RE: my french is weak

and in a few years, the dopers will have killed themselves anyway.

I'll bet

...that I have more pictures of insalata caprese on my page than any other blog on the Internet.

Sunrise, sunset

When I first moved to my neighborhood, there were little kids who rode their Big Wheels in the street, and when I came home from work, they'd scurry out of the way, because their parents told them to watch for cars.

A few years later, they'd play football in the street, and when I came home they'd reluctantly sulk out of the way, because apparently for middle school boys, it is the height of cool to be hit by a car.

Now the kids have learned to drive, or at least learned how to rev the engine, squeal the tires, and blast the radio. There they go...well, they aren't in the middle of the street now.

Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze

Parking cars, dumb dumb, what else does one do in a car park?

I had a training class today, taught by a vendor who just sold us some new software. It was pretty much 85 minutes of how to use every Windows-based software released since, what, 1985? and five minutes on the peculiarities of this particular program.

To create a new file, click on File, then select New. Imagine!

And the things they do with right mouse clicks these days!

But it was all harmless until people started asking the vendor questions that had more to do with our internal policies, because the vendor said "Let's parking lot that question for someone in the company to answer later."

I thought: He did not just use parking lot as a verb.

The second time, I though: Good God, he did use parking lot as a verb.

The third and every subsequent time, I thought: I'm going to strangle him with his mouse cord.

Kids' Menu

If the children's menu lists "Spoiled Brat Platter" for $19, do you think that's a sign they'd rather you left your children at home?

(There's a restaurant down the road that's a bit more friendly, though. They don't call the kid a brat, they don't insult the young gastronome by serving fries instead of a baked potato...and what mom doesn't want espresso for the little tykes?)

In which I am still not ready to go out in public

I found myself getting pissy with somebody in public again today.

She started it (But mom, she started it!), but I should've smiled and walked away. But I didn't. I don't know what has gotten into me.

In my analysis of the situation on the way home, I did figure out why I got mad enough to engage in a confrontation. The other woman came up to me and said "You can't." So I said "Actually, I can."

Now, if she'd said "Excuse me, but I'm afraid if you do that then [dire consequences]," I would have said "Oh, no problem, because [here's why the dire consequences won't occur]. But to make you feel better, I won't."

But she spoke to me like I was her 5-year-old. To the point that, when the conversation, such as it was, should have been over, she said to me "What is that look for?"

I guess I need botox, because my facial expressions are giving me away.

I don't like arguing with people. I also don't like being trod upon, but in the long run, the fight bothers me more than letting some nitwit think they beat me. I need a much longer fuse.

Gonna get me some of that Chateau Malescot St-Exupéry

In case a gunman shows up at our next cookout.

A Gate-Crasher's Change of Heart

A grand feast of marinated steaks and jumbo shrimp was winding down, and a group of friends was sitting on the back patio of a Capitol Hill home, sipping red wine. Suddenly, a hooded man slid in through an open gate and put the barrel of a handgun to the head of a 14-year-old guest.

"Give me your money, or I'll start shooting," he demanded, according to D.C. police and witness accounts.

The five other guests, including the girls' parents, froze -- and then one spoke.

"We were just finishing dinner," Cristina "Cha Cha" Rowan, 43, blurted out. "Why don't you have a glass of wine with us?"

The intruder took a sip of their Chateau Malescot St-Exupéry and said, "Damn, that's good wine."

I'd share the wine. I'm not sure how I'd feel about all the hugging.

In which I am the customer from hell

Today was not a good day. That Thing at Work I keep referring to, I thought it was done. Turns out, thanks to some shifting bureaucracy, I may need to re-do a considerable portion, and I should have started about three weeks ago.

But really, that's just background noise. I need to replace my patio door. I should have done it awhile ago, but it isn't cheap, so I left it until it's really broken. Now I realize I have a pet sitter coming in three weeks who's going to need to use that door.

I went to Lowes to get a new one (because Home Depot pissed me off for the last time with the dishwasher). The first step was having the door measured, and it was frustrating me that step two...buying the door...was being delayed because somehow the measurements weren't getting from the guy who took them to the store. So I made a giant pain in the ass of myself and called them thirty times (well, three) until the store called and got the measurements from the guy.

So today after I got off my volunteer job, I went to order the door. And I just realized that typing the whole thing is going to be really tedious, and the story isn't funny. Basically I wasted an hour of my life with the window guy, who managed to do some things very nicely and some things poorly, two clerks who didn't do anything well and never made eye contact, and a manager who did a fair but unsuccessful job trying to appease me after I tore the contract in half and told them I no longer trusted them to competently fill a hole in the side of my house.

I made a scene, and I feel really lousy about it. The only part of the story that doesn't suck is that I did tear the contract in half when I reached the breaking point. The was a time when I'd have fumed, stood in line for twelve hours, let the clerks act like it was my fault that their computer records were wrong, and still given them $900, then cried in the car.

At least I didn't give them $900. I just wish I'd handled it with more aplomb.

Tour de France preview

I have no earthly idea.

It isn't that I don't care, it's just that I've been busy. I haven't had a chance to even check up on which teams are racing, or which riders are suspended. I'll be tuning into Versus tomorrow totally clueless.

I hate to imagine what the tv ratings are going to look like now, since Lance is just a memory and every news outlet will tell you that the doping scandal has left the sport completely irrelevant to actual Americans. It'll probably make the hockey numbers look like the Super Bowl.

(I am also feeling really ashamed...I haven't even taken my bike out of storage. All spring, not a single ride. Wasn't I going to buy a new road bike and register for that century again?)

Oh, ok, in case you do care...here's a real preview from Velo News. Still a lot of names I know, I'm relieved to see. And as I am the absolute Kiss of Death, I'll avoid picking a guy or team to root for. I'm sure it will be dramatic enough even without a favorite.

Update: I think Erik Zabel, who turns 37 tomorrow, is the oldest rider this year. I haven't checked every birthday in the peloton to confirm this, though. It looks like all of these guys are younger than I am, which means I'm going to retire my "grey jersey" award for lack of available participants. I feel old enough right now as it is.

A bad iTunes habit

I just downloaded the Essential Judas Priest.

It said it was essential. Suddenly, I felt like I absolutely had to hear The Green Manalishi (With The Two-Pronged Crown).

Lighten up

Yeah, that last post was too down for a happy holiday. So here's the best of my pictures from the game today:

I can't say I "get" the racing presidents, but they are so goofy that I can't help but laugh.

July 4

Fourth of July. A tornado warning in our neighborhood put the kibosh on the bar-b-que, but at least we got the baseball game in before the rain.

This is the third year we've spent July 4 at a baseball game. I like the tradition; it seems quite appropriate. And today, I especially liked that the Nats beat the Cubs. (I have nothing against the Cubs, and their fans were way more polite than those...guys...from New York. But good Lord, the volume...after the first inning last night, my dad remarked "Wanna go to Miller's Pub after the game?" as our section sure felt like Chicagoland.)

And since we were down there already today, might as well go home via Northeast and stop by the cemetery where my aunt is buried. The tradition the last few years was to spend July 4 with her, after all...

I'm not going to dredge it all up again, but lapsing into depression was item #12 on my to-do list.

I'm not even sure why I'm compelled to visit graves. It's not like the dearly departed are looking down saying "Hey, thanks for the flowers!" Yet I go.

I go, I feel sad, and I drink the beers I would have had had we had a bar-b-que instead of a tornado (so pardon the typos.)

I used to love the Fourth of July, but it's no longer my favorite holiday.

Whattya mean, July?

Dammit. I wasn't finished with June yet. (The Lost Two Weeks from the fubared database did not help.)

To-do list for July:

• That work thing
  
• See Ratatouille
  
• That other work thing
  
• Baseball, baseball, more baseball
  
• Finish that damn work thing
  
• If the weeds are still less than or equal to the vegetables, attempt to reclaim the garden
  
• That other work thing is due first; finish it instead
  
• Tour de France
  
• Work that isn't either of those two things needs to be done, too
  
• Harry Potter
  
• Clean the house so the petsitter doesn't call the ASPCA
  
• Lapse into depression on the first anniversary of my aunt's death
  
• Wrap up those work things
  
• Get out of Dodge
  
  Posted by Nic at 02:42 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack