Barb’s Burblings

I went to my first professional basketball game tonight, watching the Trail Blazers lose to the Grizzlies. (But I got to wear my awesome Przybilla jersey!) The Blazers were pretty sloppy for most of the game, and at times trailed by over 20 points. (They wound up losing only by 10 points, 106-96, and at times were as close at 8 points.) They had a really, really bad first half. But anyway, it was a good time–very loud (my throat’s a bit sore), entertaining.

What got me, though, was the guy in the row in front of me. By a few minutes into the second half (after they had FLY BALL during halftime! EPIC WIN!), the guy was sitting there, head in hands, clearly unhappy. And I looked him and thought, I know that feeling. How many Orioles games have I gone to and wound up in that position? It was actually liberating to watch the game, rooting for the Blazers but not being that involved in the outcome. I could enjoy the random stuff going on, cheer the team on, and leave the arena having had a great night, even though the team lost. Sure, it would’ve been better if the Blazers had won, but ah well.

Seriously, it’s nice to just not have that pressure. Fandom can be so trying sometimes.

Way back when I was living with Carrie, Jody, and Lucy in the house in Rockville, our wacky landlord gave us a frozen turkey shortly before Thanksgiving. He frequently gave us food, so this wasn’t unusual, but we weren’t sure what to do with a turkey. So we figured that we’d do a Thanksgiving with our friends! We invited a bunch of people over, and thus began a tradition. And certain things haven’t changed much over the years.

Brent, November 21, 2004:

Brent, November 21, 2009:

It’s made it through various apartments and then, when my apartment got too small, a townhouse. This year we graduated to an actual single-family home! Quite the accomplishment. In all, it was fun, though it’s strange to think how it’s changed over the years. I mean, this year there were three children in the mix. Life. So weird.

Afterward, Katie, Brent, Steve, and I went to the Remembrance Illumination at the National Cemetery in Gettysburg, in which candles are placed on graves of the Civil War soldiers who died, while at one end of the cemetery, someone reads the names. It was lovely and moving. And very hard to take pictures of, but I tried:

In all, a lovely day.

I was feeling cranky, and you know what makes me happy? These videos:

P.S. Discovery, your building is ALSO awesome. Please invite me to the taping of the Puppy Bowl next year.

My DVR was acting weird last night. Due to season recordings, I had two shows taping at 8: Doctor Who and The Amazing Race. I didn’t need to record either, though; I’d already seen that Doctor Who, and I’d watch TAR live. So I went in and cancelled the recordings. But when I stopped one, the other would indicate that it would record. Cancel TAR? Doctor Who wants to record. Delete Who? TAR wants to record. Finally I said “Screw it,” and wound up stopping the TAR recording in the middle of the episode, and thought nothing more of it.

As is the case with many Sunday nights, I had a hard time falling asleep, but I finally dozed off. Around 2 in the morning, though, I woke up. I couldn’t figure out why, then I saw some weird lights coming from the living room. At first I thought it was a car or something in the parking lot, but then realized that no, it looked like…light from the tv? I stagger into the living room and yep, my tv is on and showing Doctor Who…and recording, naturally. The tv magicked itself on. I mean, I understand the desire to record David Tennant for posterity and show him to the world (particularly when he spends so much of the episode in a tux–yum!), but turning the tv on in the middle of the night is NOT the way to do it. TV, I just bought DVDs of the third season! It’s OK!

So the moral is that now I’m a bit scared of the tv and the DVR.

If you look at where the John Allen Muhammad and Lee Boyd Malvo did the majority of their killing in the fall of 2002, it’s like a map of where I’ve lived in the past 10 years. A mere two blocks from where I lay in bed last night, seeing confirmation that Muhammad had been executed, a woman was killed while vacuuming her minivan at a Shell station. I regularly drive by the sites of five of the other shootings. I remember the sound of the helicopters and being stopped as I drove to work to have my car searched. I recall putting groceries in my car, always in motion–harder to be a target if you’re moving around. Part of me still looks askance at white box trucks.

I also saw the shootings from afar. I was in New York City just after the first round of killings. My mom was nervous; it was my first solo business trip, and to New York! (Brooklyn, to be specific, which made me a bit nervous as well; midtown Manhattan I could handle, but Brooklyn’s a different story!) I don’t know how much it helped when I pointed out that I was apparently safer there than in Montgomery County, Maryland. I stood in Times Square and watched the news ticker tell me of shootings at home. Then, weeks later, seeing updates on CNN while at Homecoming at Gettysburg about a shooting that happened not far from where my parents had lived just a year before.

I’m not in favor of the death penalty in general, but in this case, I can’t get upset. The more I read about what the two had planned, the more satisfied I am that Muhammad is gone. Because, as this good article in the Post points out:

It might have been anyone in the cross hairs of that .223-caliber Bushmaster in those 22 days and nights when millions cowered from a roving, unseen menace — when ballfields and school yards fell still; jittery motorists squatted like baseball catchers to fill their gas tanks; ubiquitous white box trucks loomed suspicious; and the dour visage of Charles A. Moose, the tight-lipped Montgomery County police chief, filled the news.

The stalkers were elusive; the attacks, indiscriminate. And death came for the unfortunate ones in otherwise mundane moments, without warning: in gas stations and parking lots, on a bench in front of a restaurant, on the lawn of an auto dealership.

I was lucky. I still am.

I didn’t plan it, but 5 years ago, on the 15th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, I found myself at the Imperial War Museum in London, where I took this picture of a piece of the Wall. I don’t remember much from 9 November 1989 (I was 11 and in the 6th grade), other than my German teacher being very excited, and I can still see the poster she had hanging in her room for the next 3 years. But watching specials about it and reading about it…it’s so moving. And crazy to think that I’ve lived through such turbulent times. That’s a decent-sized part of why I want to visit Berlin and Moscow. In my lifetime, I’ve seen them change. Which is just crazy.

Anyway, cheers Frau Venus.

Setting: Grocery store. I’m at the register, swiping my membership card.

/swipe/ Machine: Error.
/swipe/ Machine: Error.
/swipe/ Machine: Error.
Me: The machine’s not taking the card.
Clerk: This is a Giant card.
Me /thinking/: …Aren’t I at a Giant?
Me /out loud/: Right! This is Safeway!
Clerk and buddy: /laughter/

Thought process? Nonexistent. This is why I’m not trying to do anything that requires actual brainpower tonight.

2004
I’m in London; beginning of a week’s vacation. I spend the day in Leicester Square and Covent Garden and catch a show that night…though I can’t remember which one. It’s glorious. I take advantage of traveling alone and hit Liverpool to do Beatles stuff, Bath for Jane Austen, and World War II museums.

1999
It’s my 21st birthday. My birthday is a Thursday, so naturally, Brent, Steve, and Becca take me to the Pub after finishing the Burgian on Wednesday night. When dropping Becca off at Lamp Post, I infamously reply “Happy birthday, Becca!” when Becca tells me “Happy birthday.” At that point, I had just had three shots in, like, a half hour.

1994
For my sweet 16, I’m in Montana. We just moved that summer. The big football game against my high school’s crosstown rival is that night. “Your birthday is the Bison-Russell game?” I’m repeatedly asked. I point out that it’s actually the other way around, but don’t really get anywhere with that. I’m pretty sure my parents go out this night. I want to say that I see a movie with my friend Traci, but can’t swear to that.

1989
I’m in 6th grade, which means I’m probably doing something with my best friend Andrea, though it’s kind of weird, because we’re in different “houses” in our middle school after 2 years in the same elementary school homeroom. Probably a sleepover.

1984
We’re living in New Jersey. This may have been the year of the Halloween-themed birthday party, though I think that came later. What does one do for a 6th birthday party?

1979
I turn 1. The Iranian hostage crisis begins. Happy birthday!

2009
For those of us born on November 4:
After a year of chaos everything will start to come together and make sense around the time of your birthday. Don’t rush it, because all of the disconnected parts that make up your life need to be tied together for this transition to make complete sense. Becoming aware may seem like a magical thing that happens in a moment, but in truth, it has taken your entire life to get to the place where you can make this monumental change. Over the years you have woven the strands that are your life and now they are ready to become one rope stronger then any individual strand. Be proud of yourself, you have had the patience and tenacity to continue looking when others would have taken the easy way out a long time ago.