Marriage via I-91

By my current standards of roughly one post per month, this qualifies as more frequent posting.

The next day of our vacation, the day of leaving Boston, is the perfect example of what it means to vacation as a married couple.

The plan for the day was to travel from Boston to Stamford, CT, which would be our base of operations for the next three days, via the scenic route (read, the longest way we could find). We drove to Amherst, MA, following the directions of my trusty GPS. We got there with no difficulty, but I am now of the opinion that there must have been another way to get there that was at least an hour quicker than the route we took, but not knowing Amherst, MA from a hole in the ground, I didn’t think to question it at the time.

The purpose of the Amherst trip was to visit the Emily Dickinson Museum. As an aside, as we sat in a restaurant about a block from Boston Common the night before, we were discussing Emily Dickinson. Laura started to be surprised and offended that I had not read Emily Dickinson. My contention was that, as I am male, there was no reason in the world to be surprised that I had not read her. In an effort to bolster my point, I turned to the two women who were sitting next to us. They were of college age and, as I had been eavesdropping on their conversation for the entire meal, I can say with fare amount of certainty that they were students in one of the 45,000 universities in Boston.

"Excuse me," said I, "but out of the two of us, which would you assume had read Emily Dickinson?"

"Oh, I’d say that’s more of a girl book." answered one of our news friends.

She also mentioned that she was an English Lit major.

I don’t know which of the 45,000 she attends, but she is not getting her money’s worth if she thinks Emily Dickinson is a book.

We arrived in Amherst and took the tour, where we saw something that Emily Dickinson never saw. The OUTSIDE of her house! Boom! Reclusive poet joke. DAMN!!!!

Laura loved it and, in the week hence, has read an Emily Dickinson biography and used her recipe for gingerbread to tempt me into eating sweets. Foul 19th century recluse!

We loaded up the car with our bodies and new knowledge and set off toward Stamford. As we were driving through Massachusetts, we saw a sign that said, "Basketball Hall of Fame Next Exit." It had not occurred to me to visit there, as I had no idea we would be driving past Springfield, but here we were. So we stopped.

Our excitement to disinterest ratio had inverted in the distance between Amherst and Springfield. We only had about 30 minutes to spend there before it closed, but it was worth the visit. I don’t know that I’d make a specific trip to Springfield, MA just for that, but there was a Cold Stone Creamery in the same building so that should add to the draw of Springfield a little bit.

Our check-in in Stamford was much less interesting than our previous experience in Boston had been, but it struck me that night, how perfect this day was as an example of the compromises of marriage. Each of agreed to do something we had little to no interest in doing, so that the other could do something they were extremely interested in.

For that reason alone, it was a great day.

Gang Aft Agley

I am once again making the pledge to myself (and to you, teaming masses) to blog more regularly. To that end, this is what we did on our summer vacation (part 1)

Last Wednesday we flew from Chicago to Providence, Rhode Island, primarily because I’ve always wanted to visit the city that is my Alma Mater’s namesake, but also because we got a good price on air fare. The plan for the trip was to drive up to Boston for a two night stay in whatever 3.5 star hotel Hotwire chose for us, the drive through Massachussettes, seeing the sites, only to arrive at another hotel d’Hotwire in Stamford, CT, where we would depart each of three mornings, via train, to New York City. The last day of our trip was to be sent driving through Connecticut, seeing coastal towns and houses we will never be able to afford, en route to Providence for our return flight.

Here are the highlights of Boston.

We picked up our rental car at the aiport, a Mitsubishi Eclipse, which has a tremendous combination of features. First it is incredibly low to the ground, making th process of getting into it the equivalent of sitting down into an old, fold-out lawn chair whose plastic seat-defining straps have been fatigued by countless years of being abused sat-in by your morbidly obese uncle to the point where they sag to within an inch of the ground. It also has a ceiling that is just slightly too low for a man of six feet and two inches. The proximity of the roof to my head had the same effect as rubbing a balloon against my head. The Eclipse is, however, aptly named. The car itself blocks out almost all point of visual sensory input. There are mirrors in all the normal places, but there are other parts of the car that have been strategically placed to make all of these mirrors useless, unless you want to see the spoiler.

We drove to Quincy, MA to see the museum and birthplaces of both John Adams and John Quincy Adams. This was great. The town of Quincy is small and quaintly New England and the museum was fantastic. The guide was knowledgeable and articulate and because the houses remained in the family and were the homes for 4 generations of Adams’s until the 1920’s roughly 75% of the artifacts in the house are original, not just to the period, but to the family themselves. For fans of U.S. History I can’t recommend this highly enough.

We proceeded to Boston, where we drove around in great looping, honking circles. I took my GPS with me and was using it, but Boston was laid out on a dare and irrascible pranksters from one or more of the local universities have stolen a number of the street signs. Even with my GPS we had tremendous difficulty finding our way to a seafood resaurant. We ate with Japanese business men to our right, expense count in full effect, and a middle aged couple to our right whose Salmon was undercooked. They mentioned this and then spent the next 30 minutes waiting for new food to be brought to them. They were pretty hot on the deal, and it seemed to me that they still had to pay a bill at the end of the meal. That doesn’t sound like to good a deal for them, then.

We ended the day by checking into our hotel. We pulled into the garage, noting the prices posted, $10 for eight hours, $2 for each additional hour, $40 for over 24 hours, $25 for hotel guests. We walked up to the front desk and were met by the least pleasant front desk worker I’ve ever encountered. We were told that we were in a twin suite (two twin beds). They had some ‘splainin’ to do.

This is apparently one of the downsides to third party booking. Not much to be done, but Ms. Rude Latvia 2008 more or less told us to suck on it and like it. She then informed us that we would be charged $25 for the garage.

I pointed out that this is not what the sign says. If we parked there over night, for roughly 10 hours and then drove around for the day, according to their sign this should only cost us $14. My attempts at logic and reading were roundly defeated by her attempts at rudeness and quoting the policy. We were told we could choose to go find parking somewhere else (her tone suggested we should look up our own asses for these parking spaces. In her defense, we were more likely to find it there than on any street nearby). The manager came out and backed up her dogmatic stance. His point was that this had always been the policy and they had just put up some new signs. Possibly the signs are to blame.

Not wanting to get into a shouting match in the hotel lobby I agreed that possibly their written notices of their price structure were in fact incorrect and I should be held to their screw job policies. We went to bed, my wallet lighter and my ass slightly sore.

As we were unwinding for the night, I turned on the news to see just how much of the city had been burned down/looted the previous night when the Celtics (who Laura insists on calling the Kel-tics) won the NBA championship. It was at this point that I learned that the celebratory parade was scheduled for  Thursday, the only day we were going to spend in Boston, and that the parade would be going from the Garden, past Boston Common and down to somewhere else. The map below will show you the route.

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The only thing we were going to do in Boston was to walk the Freedom Trail, which begins at Boston Common. Celtics fans or not, we were going to be right in the middle of the parade route, with no hope of avoiding it.

We decided to embrace it.

For all my lack of interest in a Celtics championship, the parade was a lot of fun. The city was truly taken by the whole affair. There was a dentist’s office overlooking the parade route. He stopped his procedure as the parade went by.

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The parade ended. We walked. We ate. We walked some more. I have now been to Boston. I was not overly impressed. I’m glad I went. I doubt I’ll return.

Cambridge is nice. More later.

Redactions (redacted)

I don’t know who performed the redactions on the Case Summary (redacted), here’s a suggestion. If it is your intention, by redacting names from the beginning of the document, to protect the identity of the people providing the information 1.) Don’t put them in alphabetical order and 2.) Don’t provide a description of the person.

In the interest of not publicly exposing the people that Indiana University or the Indy Star are trying to protect, I won’t reveal the answer to the world’s easiest puzzle, but if you pull up a copy of last year’s roster and use the power of the alphabet you should be able solve it yourself in under 3 minutes.

Good (redacted)

The power of the Pope

Some of you may not know this, and if so, I apologize for not having told you prior to this, but I have a Pope T-Shirt. It was purchased for me, and the rest of the faculty here at school from the money changers outside the Papal Mass in New York last month. It is without a doubt the greatest non-dude-related piece of clothing  I own.

Aside from its inherent awesomeness, it also serves as one of the greatest social experiments ever.

First, just by wearing a Pope T-Shirt you can get an instant read on people. You will get one of three reactions. 1.) The “isn’t that nice” look that my late grandmother would have given me, because it’s the Holy Father. 2.) Disgust because you are either being judged as a bible thumper, by the agnostics and atheists, or
as a Papist by the protestants, or 3) The proper reaction, which is the realization that there is nothing in the world more fantastic than  Popeshirt.

Second, this happened this morning.

I got up and put on my Pope Shirt to wear to school today for casual Friday. I was talking to Laura about the day upcoming and she was staring at my Popeshirt and not paying attention to what I was saying.

I said, “You’re looking at my Popeshirt aren’t you? Stop it.”

She looked up from the glory that I was wearing guiltily. We continued our discussion and less than a minute later she was back to staring at my Popeshirt.

I said, “Stop It!!” And I pulled my jacket closed.

A look of shocked realization spread across my face and I said, “Oh, My God! This is what it’s like being a woman!!!”

Thanks to the glory that is Popeshirt, I was able to experience first hand, without expensive prosthetics, or Marilyn Manson androgy-suit the experience of the opposite sex. And conversely, Laura got to experience the male perspective. Hopefully now she knows that we can’t help it either. Just as she could not avert her gaze from Popeshirt, men are equally without control.

If more people would wear Popeshirt there would be a greater understanding between the sexes.

Two Things I’ll Never Do

I can say with a relative amount of certainty that I will never develop any of my senses to the point that it would be considered almost supernatural.

I can say with nearly the same level of certainty that I will never bowl a 300 game.

The Blind 2. Me 0

They say it was a heart attack, but

the cause of death was most likely revenge.

Let’s examine the facts.

First, he was involved in business with at best unscrupulous characters (one of his associates, while meeting with a young movie producer about financing the film held said producer out of the open door of a cable car hanging hundreds of feet over a mountain side).

Second, he was widely suspected of planting a car bomb that detonated, killing the man inside the car(seemingly).

Third, he was so threatened by reprisals from many unnamed sources that he hired a full time body guard to protect his daughter.

Fourth, while having dinner with his daughter’s new boyfriend, who coincidentally (?) was the son of the man in the car cited in the second point above, he pulled a gun under the table, and get this, the boyfriend wasn’t a bit goddamn surpised by the whole thing, as he had a gun of his own.

Fifth, when his daughter defied his wishes and decided to marry the boyfriend after no more than three months dating, he arranged for a hit on his new son-in-law.

Sixth, it backfired and he ended up having his own daughter killed, sending the grieving widower off on his motor cycle to parts unknown, only to have him return years later seeking revenge. (The widower later found out that is was all a big misunderstanding, as his dad never died in that car and was, in fact, in witness protection with a new life and family.)

But, even knowing that, the widower must have still been pretty pissed off about his wife being shot like that. Plus he had a long history of drug addiction, so who knows what he might do when hopped up and feeling really depressed and angry one dark lonely night.

So, while his publicist is saying he died of a heart attack, I’m thinking that Dylan finally got to Tony Marchette.

It’s all very, very sad.

OH, OH It’s third grade

Last week one of my third graders was busted by his teacher for selling something to his classmates that he should not be selling on school grounds. Magic Potions.

It seems that for weeks now he has been charging $10, $20, and in this case $30 per potion. Now, before you think that this is one twisted kid you is taking advantage of his classmates naiveté, let me add this little wrinkle. He believes that they work.

He sold one potion that, according to him, contained the three rings of light. I don’t know what this potion was supposed to do, but it looked very much like olive oil with some seasoning in it.

This all reminds me of a, I believe, Damon Wayan’s bit where he’s talking about the rules he has for his kids. The rule is “you’re in trouble. Unless it’s funny.” His son super glued his daughter to the toilet. That’s funny.

So is a 3rd grader getting other kids to buy magic potions.

During gym class a couple of days later, this little Harry Potter accidentally hit another kid in the head with a dodgeball. As I was telling him he needed to be more careful when he threw the ball, he got inappropriately defensive, and said, “I can’t control where the ball his going once I throw it. I’m not using magic.”

I replied, “I know you aren’t using magic. You don’t have any magic powers.”

“Yes I do.” He said. “I’ll prove it.”

“Really? How?”

“I’ll make you a bet. Next Winter. I’ll turn myself into a wolf. If I can’t I’ll give up. If I can, you owe me $100 dollars.”

“DONE.”

“Now remember, it’s next winter.” He said.

“I know. If you do it before then, it doesn’t count.”

In recounting this tale to one of my colleagues later that day, he pointed out that even if he does turn himself into a wolf, he would have no use for the money. This hadn’t occurred to me. So, it looks like I get to keep my $100 either way. I may however, need to go out and buy some bunnies for next winter.

This may be as good as it gets

In the interest of full disclosure, Adam beat me to this, but I put a lot of that on the fact that I was in the hospital visiting my sick father. (See what I did there? I gave Adam credit while putting that sick father thing in there to garner your sympathy) He pointed this out to me in an e-mail this afternoon.

In Memphis’s last game vs. Mississippi State, Memphis was 15-32 from the free throw line for a whopping 46.9%

In their opening round game vs. Texas -Arlington, Memphis was 22-35, for an impressive 62.9%.

Now, I’m now fancy big city lawyer (gasp!) but that seems to add up to 37-67, or 55.2%, which is roughly 14.8% worse than Billy Packer’s shockingly inaccurate prediction that was based on nothing.

When asked how he wrote Billy Packer so well, Melvin Udall said, "I think of a man, and I take away reason and accountability."

You are 100% wrong. I mean nothing you’ve said has been right.

I saw something yesterday that brought together a number of things I view as universal constants in one fantastic 30 second soundbite. Here are those three things

1.) John Calipari is a douche bag.
2.) Billy Packer makes predictions that rarely, if ever, come true.
3.) The Packer Method

As anyone who follows college basketball knows, the Memphis Tigers, coached by one John Calipari, are a number one seed in the NCAA and have had a very successful season. They are also a typical Calipari team, in that they are very athletic and very undisciplined. Oh, and they shoot free throws like retarded middle school children. They are considered by a plurality of people in the country (48% of respondents to the cbssports.com poll when I took it a few hours ago) to be the number one seed most likely to go out first. That assumption is based largely on their free throw shooting ability, and the fact that they are from a horrible conference made up of teams that couldn’t get into a decent conference. Conference USA is like the group of kids in high school who didn’t get invited to the big kegger at the captain of the football team’s house and decided to have their own party and then tell everyone how awesome their party was, while putting a picture of the hottest girl at their party on a facebook page dedicated to their party, which they called Captain Awesome’s Super Party, and claimed that she was the hottest girl in school. For a while everyone kind of agreed, because she was WAY hotter than any girl anyone thought would go Captain Awesome’s Super Party. I mean, as much as they thought about it to begin with, which wasn’t often cause their party was a lot better, plus the girls at the football party putout. And then one day the really cute, but elusive Dylan McKay type had to choose between the popular, Kelly Taylor type and the CASP girl. A lot of people thought he would choose the CASP girl, but he chose the popular girl, adn for a while everyone thought that made her the hottest girl in school, but the next week he dumped her to go out with a girl who was empirically attractive. At that point everyone agreed that neither of those other girls were the hottest. They were both attractive, no argument there, but they weren’t the hottest girl in school. That’s Memphis, in Conference USA.

I think they have an excellent chance of being the first number one seed to lose to a 16. It’s going to happen eventually, and I would love to see it happen to Memphis.

Yesterday on Pardon the Interruption, Mr. Tony and Wilbon asked Calipari if he thought their abysmal freethrow shooting was going to raise up and bite them in the ass. I, of course, am paraphrasing here. Calipari, while giving his answer about making free throw shooting fun for his team did something I never thought I’d hear anyone do. He used someone else’s Packer Method to make his point for him. Which is like citing Wikipedia in your doctoral thesis.

He said, Billy Packer was doing one of our games and said that we (Memphis) will shoot 70% from the free throw line in the tournament because our form is really good, the problem is just between the ears.

Now I will elucidate why that statement is insane.

1.) I didn’t think it was possible to take the Packer Method to new heights, but Calipari did it. He used Billy Packer’s made up numbers to prove his point. He didn’t make up his own numbers. He went right to the Oracle for his made up crazy.

2.) Not only is he sold on Billy Packer’s numbers, but he also believes his prediction. Remember two years ago when Billy Packer made himself look like the biggest horses ass on the planet when he went off on the selection committee for letting in so many mid-majors and the George Mason got to the Final Four? That’s just one example of how when Packer predicts the opposite happens.

3.) The assumption that it is better to have a mental problem shooting free throws than it is a physical one is insane. To assume that kids who have trouble shooting free throws during the course of a regular season game will find calm and comfort on the free throw line in the middle of a close NCAA tournament game is mind bogglingly dumb. That’s the point where mental cracks turn into opening fault lines of doubt that swallow Lois Lane’s car whole.

So, to recap, Billy Packer makes a prediction (a skill he has demonstrated he does not possess) based on a horribly flawed premise, and attaches a made up percentage to it. John Calipari goes on national television and uses this prediction as the basis for his confidence in his team’s ability to make free throws when it matters.

Somedays you eat the bear.

If you see Kelvin Sampson on the street…

Please punch him right in the mouth.

I hold Kelvin Sampson personally responsible for the disastrous end to this season. This is what happens when you break the rules. You stupid cheating son of a bitch. Fuck you. Fuck you right in your stupid cheating mouth.

If you never get another job coaching anything I don’t think that will be enough. You and your children should remain unemployed for all of eternity. Also your children should be sterile and your line should end so that future generations should not have to suffer the consequences of your rule breaking, lying, deceitful ways.

You have done more damage to this University and this program than any other person in the history of Indiana.

Fuck you.

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