Barb’s Burblings

Play ball, everyone!

A couple quick links.
–There was a cute entry in the DC Sports Bog about members of DC United rooming together. I just love the idea of teammates living together; it reminds me of the stories of the big baseball stars living together (I believe Mantle and Maris were roommates for a time, though I could be making it up; I’m too lazy to check it out right now). I’m also kind of blown away at the idea of Ben Olsen advertising the room on Craigslist. I’m sure it would be out of my price range, but how cool to have him for a landlord!
–Story in the Post yesterday about Converse’s 100th birthday. Yes, my last car was named “Chuck.” Yes, after the shoes. Yes, I still have a little pair hanging on my rearview mirror. I started wearing Chucks sometime in middle school, mostly because my sister wore them and therefore, I thought they were cool. I still do. And they’re crazy comfortable, and black Chucks go with everything.

Because I am totally lame on this Friday night, I have High School Musical 2 on. It’s the “dance” version, where the cast teaches you the steps to the some of the dance numbers. (Amusing, Lucas Grabeel clearly taped his bits separately; he’s acting as the DJ, and they keep throwing to him, like, “Can we get some music, Lucas?” and every now and then we’ll see him being all, “You guys got all that?”) (Also amusingly, it’s really the leads doing most of the instructions, and then they’ll be all, “Ready to dance, Casey?” Casey is the token overweight girl. It’s just so random.)
ANYWAY. I see that they’re teaching dance moves and decide to learn along. Hey, it gets me away from the desk. So I’m going along and then I realize what I’m doing. I’m already in the middle of trying to learn another routine; I don’t need random High School Musical dances confusing me more. When I tried to run the Cherry Blossom routine earlier, I forgot an entire section. Whoops!
And now I’m worked up about stupid Troy’s friend. He annoys me so much. You do dance, dude! You’ve been doing it since the beginning of this movie! And in the last one! Shut up!

I drove to work today, so I had to pay for parking. I get to the machine and put in a $5 bill to pay the $4.50 I owe. It doesn’t accept it. I try again. No go. I smooth it out on the edge of the machine. Still no. A guy comes up behind me and makes a joke about the machine being finicky. I give it one last try. Nope. Other people are lining up behind me. So I pull out a $20 that’s more crisp and shove it in the machine. That gets accepted.
But apparently the machine needed that $5 bill, because instead of the usual 3 $5 bills that I get, out comes 11 $1 bills and $3.50 in quarters. I felt like I won at slots! Plus, a ton of quarters for laundry. Sadly, the people behind me weren’t nearly as amused as I was.

There was a really good story in the Post today (on the front page!) about the relationship between Japan and American Major League Baseball. There was a lot about the more technically aspects–Japanese companies buy ad space in American stadiums, who broadcasts American games, etc. I’ve read a bit about Japanese baseball, although that was mostly in Dave Barry’s book about Japan, so it mostly makes me think of very quiet stadiums and cheerleaders doing odd cheers. Maybe Brent can check out a game when he’s over there in June. I’m tempted to read the book mentioned in that article.
But until then, I’ll have to make do with predictions for the upcoming season. I recommend checking out Deadspin’s preview for the Orioles. I don’t agree with the author about the Bedard trade, but he sure is amusing:

Remember those inspirational 2007 Colorado Rockies? How they plodded through the summer around .500, then pulled together to put on a thrilling 14-1 finishing kick, sending them sprinting to the pennant?
Well, the Baltimore Orioles do that every year. Only backwards. Beyond plain categories of optimism and pessimism live those of us who see a sparkling half-glass of water and know for sure that the Orioles are eventually going to take a crap in it.

I can’t help but be excited, though. FanFest is Saturday; Opening Day is Monday. Woo!

I was driving up 95 to my grandmother’s yesterday when I was distracted by the mileage sign. It listed New York as being 212 miles away. I spent the next few minutes contemplating whether it meant 212 miles if you drove on 95, or whether it was 212 if you took the most direct route (the New Jersey Turnpike; 95 takes you through Philadelphia, which is a bit of a detour).
Turns out it does mean by the most direct route; Google Maps tells me that from Laurel (which is about where I was), it’s 210 miles. At least, it’s 210 miles from 5th Street in Laurel to Chambers St. in New York.
Ah, the things we contemplate when driving on a Sunday morning.

Happy 40th anniversary, Mom and Dad!

Here’s a story to show how perpetually dumb I can be. Every time I think about how long my parents have been married, my thought process is something like, “Wow, they’ve been married a long time! 40 years. Geez, that’s longer than I’ve been alive!” Which, duh. Particularly since I’m the younger child.

I was on the phone with my mom the other night, complaining about how I have to get yet more dental work done. Two more crowns. I have, quite possibly, the weakest teeth in the world. She said that I must’ve gotten that from her, as she’s had to get a bunch of work done, too; my dad hasn’t had much at all. Then she said that my sister must’ve gotten her stronger teeth from our dad.
I guess to cheer me up, she said that at least my hair is curlier than my sister’s, with “curly” most definitely being relative. My hair has a slight wave. As for how it compares to my sister’s? Let’s just say that she was visiting once, and when we were on the Metro, someone sitting behind us asked whether we were sisters. She could tell because we have, essentially, the same hair. My hair might have a bit more body, but not much.
My mother, however, has very, very straight hair. (Or, slightly less wave than what my sister has.) I said that if I could have the money back that I’ve spent on dental work, I’d happily have straighter hair. And apparently my mom really wishes she had a bit more wave in her hair, because she seemed to find that odd.
Hello? A choice between having both better teeth AND at least $2500 or having slightly straighter hair? Yeah. I’m going with the strong teeth and cash.

Two quick things:
Police have found a booking log from the night Lincoln was assassinated. “The assassin or assassins were at the time unknown. At a later hour it became currently reported J.W. Booth was the person who shot the president. The excitement was great throughout the precinct,” the book states. “The gloom that overshadows the nation by this sad occurrence deeply affects the whole force and brings forth many heartfelt sympathies for the nation’s loss.” Fingers crossed that it goes on public display!
Turns out Nick Markakis (the O’s right fielder and probably team face of the future) is a lot wackier than most of us knew. Heelies? Balancing chairs on his chin? Compulsive bowling? Intriguing!

We got a new person in my department today, and to welcome her, we had some bagels and sat around chatting for a while. One person suggested we go around and have every person provide a word or two to describe each other. What did they come up for me?
Neat. Precise. Consistent. Sporty. Soft-spoken. And, after a bit of a pause, a hidden, wicked sense of humor.
It’s interesting, because those are probably not words that I’d use to describe myself. Well, maybe consistent. Consistent and precise probably come from my being an editor–that’s my job, and these are coworkers, so that makes sense. Neat is because for some reason, everyone at work is fixated on how tidy my desk is. I admit it. We’re actually having a clean-up day in a couple of weeks, and people were scoffing that I needed to clean at all. As my apartment proves, a place can be neat, but not clean. (I desperately need to clean my apartment–vacuum, dust, the works.) I just happen to keep things nicely in piles. That’s how I work. Otherwise, everything’s confused and I can’t concentrate.
But sporty? Really? I guess it’s because I like baseball, but that hardly makes me “sporty.” That makes me “a sports fan.” And really, “a baseball fan.” (Though I do like other sports.) I haven’t actively played a sport since…volleyball. In the tenth grade.
I think soft-spoken and hidden, wicked sense of humor go together. I am pretty quiet at work. I stay in my cube. I pop out and talk every now and then, but I’m probably not as social as the others in my department. And when you have a more sarcastic sense of humor, you try to watch it at the office–it’s hard to know how people react, and annoying people you work with isn’t a good idea. It does creep out, though.
It is always interesting to get a glimpse into how other people see you.