Barb's Burblings

But I thought Jones was...

Play ball, everyone!

Soccer and Chucks

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.

No, I don't think Zac Efron is dreamy

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!

Jackpot!

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.

From Japan to Baltimore

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!

Signs can be trustworthy

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.

Let's hear it for another 40!

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.

She has really nice hair, too

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.

Yet more about Booth and baseball

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!

I guess I'm Sporty Spice, not Dairy Spice

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.

The joys of vacations

The thing that's really nice about being on vacation is that you aren't pressured by things you should do. At home, even if I don't have plans for something or a work project, I still think about how I should go to the gym, or I should vacuum or dust, or I should clean the litter boxes, etc.

I guess that's what makes vacations so relaxing. I spent the weekend in Florida, and when I wasn't at a baseball game or visiting the zoo, I was lounging around house--reading, playing with my cousin's son, playing with the dogs. No guilt. No thoughts of the things that needed to be done. It was awesome.

Also awesome (and happily still an Oriole, at least at the moment)?

Oh, and this:

Sure, I wound up sunburnt on my face and arms because of it, but it was SO worth it. When I was driving down the highway Friday night, top down, I don't think I could've been happier. I love driving and that was just ideal. Seriously, I was lighter than I have been in a long time. It was just a fantastic feeling.

Never trust the dairy aisle

I just got back from a lovely long weekend in Florida where I got to see my boys play. I'll have a wrap-up, but to tide you over, I suggest the following for your viewing pleasure:

Such problems

One of the challenges of packing for a trip to a warmer climate in mid-winter is that I have absolutely no recollection of what, say, 80 degrees feels like. I can check weather.com and see what the temperature is going to be, but I'm like, "Should I bring shorts? Would capris work?" Plus, it doesn't help that all of my summer clothes are packed away in my closet.

And of course there's the delayed realization that I'll be wearing sandals, which means nail polish.

One cannot live on Mexican alone

I'm going through one of those phases where the mere thought of having some sort of microwave meal--my typical lunch fare--turns my stomach. Which makes figuring out what exactly to have for lunch a bit of a challenge, particularly since I don't really have anything else at home that would work. I suppose I could go to the grocery store. Anyway, so today I was debating where to get lunch. Very little was appealing to me, and I wound up at Chipotle.

Then I realized my error. I had been thinking about making Mexican for dinner tonight. And now...not at all appealing. Which means I need to figure out dinner, which has also been a pain. (I just went grocery shopping, and I still hate all the food I have in the apartment.) I suppose I could make mac and cheese or spaghetti with clam sauce, both of which I've had the ingredients for for, oh, probably a month now. I probably should not do McDonald's, which is what I had last night.

On the positive side, the bubble gum ice cream I got is AWESOME.

...or that way, sure

The other day, I was walking from my office to the Metro station, where I catch the bus home. A guy stopped me to ask directions. The conversation went something like this:

Guy: How do I get to Walter Reed hospital?
Me: Walter Reed?
Guy: Yeah, the hospital.
Me: I'm not sure that's within walking distance, so you might want to take--*
Guy: I'm pretty sure it is.
Me: Um, OK. I'm not sure. I think it's that way.** (gestures)
Guy: I don't think it is.
Me: Really? I thought it was on 16th Street, which is over there. (gestures again)
Guy: No, I think it's that way. (gestures in the opposite direction)
Me: Um. Well. OK. (shrugs) Sorry!
Guy: (walks off in direction he gestured)

Bizarre. I guess he wanted confirmation? But we were near the Metro station, where he easily could've asked. But it's like, Why bother?

* Turns out we were about 1.2 miles from Walter Reed, so I guess that's walkable.
** We were actually both right. Walter Reed is pretty much directly due south from our location. To get there, you could've gone either the way I had gestured or the way he went. Still. Weird.

Signs of spring

I was driving to Bethesda this afternoon, flipping through radio stations. About two blocks from my destination, I hear a familiar voice on the radio--Fred Manfra. I didn't realize they were doing radio broadcasts of the spring training games, so I got a bit overly excited. As in, there may have been some jumping around in my seat (as much as one can do whilst strapped in). Yay!

And to make the day even better, when I stopped at the grocery store later, I saw that they had bubble gum ice cream. I don't think I've ever seen it in a grocery store before; I usually get it at Baskin Robbins. Because I'm 10 years old, bubble gum is my favorite ice cream flavor. It'll be interesting to see how store-bought compares to having it in cone form. Hurrah for a new experiment!

Or I could call it a "power nap"

The other day at work, I spent the entire afternoon just completely dragging. After lunch, I was forcing myself through the day...and this is hardly a rare occurrence. I finally perked up and got some energy around 4. So I'm going to officially come out in favor of siestas. I feel like my productivity would skyrocket if I worked, say, from 8:30 to 1, then 4 to 7. Nap for a little while, maybe play with the cats. It would be great! Seriously, I think I spend more energy in a typical afternoon trying to keep myself awake than I do actually working.

Of course, this arrangement would really only work for people like me, who live close to their offices. Maybe they could add siesta rooms to office buildings...