Samba nation

Six quirky things about myself...OK Elena, I'll give it my best

I. As much as I always wanted to be the lead guitarist in a band when I was growing up, I figured out quickly (and regrettably) that I have almost no musical talent.  My only possible talent with music is at least being able to reasonably recognize good from bad, but I can't explain why most of the time.  Where as, I love hearing someone like Rory explain (in most of his cases undeniably) why a certain piece of music is so good.  However, my parents still have a old cassette tape of the four of us (my parents, my brother and I) singing Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer when I was in grade school.  At the end of the song, I hit the harmony so well on the word history you'd think I was a prodigy.  Instead, that note turned out to be the highlight of my musical career.

II. I'm borderline OCD.  I'm really not, but I've been called it before because I like keeping things even.  For example, if I scratch my left arm I need to scratch my right arm in the same place (even if there is no itch there).  The funniest time to watch me is when I am playing a video game and need to do it within the 0.8 seconds between plays/levels/etc.

III. While I met some interesting and fun people in my five years at NDSU and five years at Hamline, I do not keep in touch with a single person from college.  Side note: My statement is not absolute...I see Stacy from time to time, which is nice, but it's mostly because she has kept in touch with Jon and Rory and I have just recently gotten back in touch with someone I hadn't spoken to in ten years from NDSU.

IV.  More than once in my life I have been consoled by somebody because something in my life that I loved in obsurity has become popular.  Whether it be Tenacious D, Mike Doughty or something else, most people assume that I always have to be different and that I would rather start disliking something then be part of the "in" crowd with them.  While it does typically pain me, I am usually happy for them and rarely do I jump ship (unless I have good reason).

V. I'm a baseball player by nature, so it's not surprising that I am superstitious.  However, over time I have broke many of the superstitions I once had...mostly because Gina is not a superstitious person.  My only active superstition that I can think of is I will not set the volume on a radio or TV to 13.  I'm OK if someone else does it, just not me.  The hardest superstition for me to break involved M&Ms.  I always had to eat a green M&M last.  If I got a package with no green M&Ms, I'd buy another one.  Once Gina found this out, she would eat all the green M&Ms (with or without me knowing) because she thought it was hilarious.  Yeah...real funny, kick the kid while he's down why don't you.  In the end I had to break the superstition just to survive.

VI. There are very few things in life that I have worked harder at then hiding my stutter.  Right or wrong, I consider it a weakness.  While I don't think I will ever be comfortable with certain words (in particular words starting with s or the kuhs sound..as in customer) I have been surprised in recent years how many people have not known that I have a speech impediment until it somehow comes up in conversation.

Baseball bliss and The Last Kiss

Outside of hanging out with Amy and Joe on Friday night (which is always a good time) and attending the crappie fish fry at Gina's parents on Sunday, there were two noteworthy items for Gina and I this weekend.

Saturday, we went with the Messers to Baseball as America at the Minnesota Historical Society.  The exhibit was well worth the time.  A few other exhibits open on the third floor of the building were very interesting as well.  One of the best exhibits (Open House) follows the 118 year history of a local home on the east side of .  It talks about all of the former tenants and in each room of the house it shows what the place looked like during a specific decade of its existence.

The baseball exhibit was about what I had expected.  I would have preferred to have seen a couple of different items there but overall it didn’t disappoint.  There was even a 1980’s Strat-O-Matic box among the 500+ artifacts (which got a laugh out of Gina and Ann when the box said for ages 10-13).

My favorite item was an incasing of the uniform that Henry Aaron wore when he hit home run #715 in 1974.  Within the case, there were also two pieces of mail that Aaron had received about the event (one positive and one negative).  The negative letter really put in perspective what black ballplayers had to endure even after segregation had ended.

After leaving the exhibit, we made our way to Cosetta’s.  It was wonderful.

The other event of the weekend was watching The Last Kiss.  It was not the easiest movie to watch (in particular at this point in our lives) but was very intriguing.  While Zach Braff did not write or direct the movie, I was reminded a lot of Garden State even though the overall perspective (positive vs negative) of the movies are very different.  It was good but not in the same class as Garden State (which may be my favorite movie this decade).

The movie centers on reflection (specifically on relationships).  The characters are compelling enough that you begin to reflect on your own life even after the movie is over (Zach Braff, Rachel Bilson and Tom Wilkerson were fantastic).

I won’t know the full impact of The Last Kiss for weeks.  These kinds of movies take a while for me to digest.  But, I applaud it for the affect it’s had on me so far.  My guess is that I'll blog about it more specifically down the road. 

I would suggest that if you enjoy Zack Braff and are OK with a fairly pessimistic outlook on relationshps, viewing this movie is likely worth your time.

The big smooth hypocrisy

A few years back, Jon dubbed himself big smooth.  I'm not sure why he wanted the nickname, how he came to associate it with himself or if he even uses it on occasion anymore.  All I know is that it opened the door for me to give him a hard time because I am not a supporter of self proclaimed nicknames.  My feeling is that nicknames are what they are because someone else thought of it and was compelled enough to associate it with you.  It's why names like booger and meat can become endearing.

In my lifetime I've only had a couple nicknames that have ever stuck.  Of the on-again off-again ones I have had, most have come from casual conversations with Mess.  He typically calls me some spin off of 26 but he's had a few other quality nicknames for me over the years that he's used.  I always wanted a nickname that everyone called me (i.e. popper, bob, etc.) but it just never happened.

My favorite nickname has been slick, given to me from my grandpa.  He's the only one who calls me it and has being doing so for years.  Growing up he thought I looked like Tom Slick, a short-lived cartoon character that was on during the George of the Jungle animated television series for one season in the late 60's.  Ignoring the red hair, I can see a faint resemblance to my younger self but all that really matters is that he sees one.

This leads me to my point.  There have been plenty of times over the years in my athletic career that I've been called names like hard-nosed, bulldozer, tank, etc.  While it's been implied on numerous occasions, no one has ever specifically called me dozer.  It's a self proclaimed reference to myself with limited justification.  I've personally derived other aliases before (malkatraz, etc.) but none of them were specifically referring to me unless someone else came up with it (donkey, etc.)...I just happened to like them.

Though no one calls me dozer and I never expect anyone ever to, this post is my formal apology to Jon. 
To paraphrase Doc Holliday in Tombstone, my hypocrisy knows no bounds.

Networks at work, keepin' people calm

Here we are towards the end of January 2007. 

Gina is now full term and all we can do is wait.  I have to say that it's the waiting that is the most stressful part. 

Our bags are packed and we have plans in place to get Gina to the hospital as quickly as possible depending on when and where her water breaks.  Working in downtown Minneapolis does not help matters.  I've started driving a half hour to the Ft. Snelling station in the morning just so that I can take the train in because the buses only run during the morning/afternoon rush hours.  One top of that, there's Natalie and Casey to consider as well.

Work's interesting because when I leave for the day I have no idea if I will be back tomorrow or in two weeks.  A whole different end-of-day routine is needed to make sure that I'm leaving my team in a position to be able to handle the items on my plate as painlessly as possible if I am unable to take care of them before their deadlines.

Do I need to worry about all of this as much as I do...probably not.  But, it's just me being me.

Part of it might be that it takes my mind off of what is about to happen.  I have never regretted deciding to have the second child so quickly.  Gina and I talked a lot about it and confidently decided that this is what we wanted.  Besides, the best laid plans don't always work out the way you hoped them to.  We've been blessed to have little trouble getting pregnant but plenty of couples are not as fortunate and we didn't assume that number two would be as easy as it was with Natalie so we ended up on the front end of our potential timeline.

Another stumbling block has been the name.  Gina and I have struggled with this but at least have the list down to five boy and five girl names.  I would prefer to go to the hospital with only two on each side but we'll likely walk in the door of the hospital with ten possibilities still in hand.  We are so unsure with the names that we have accepted that when the first calls go out to our parents after the baby is born we will simply be letting them know what the baby's physical characteristics are.

The next three weeks are going to be interesting and in the end I'm able to recognize that these issues pale in comparison to what really lies ahead.

I'll save those thoughts for another day. 

Johnny come lately

For whatever reason, I've recently thought back to when our pal Jon decided that he no longer wanted to be called Johnny anymore (it was sometime in high school but I don't remember when). 

I believe that I was the dinosaur (at least of the friends) who was the last to convert.

It was not an easy change for me.  He had always been and would always be Johnny to me.

I look at him now and no longer see Johnny.  Furthermore, at this point he's never been anything other then Jon when I think back.  I don't even remember if he spelled it Jonny or Johnny.

Memories are a funny thing.

Gettin' jiggy wit it

Gina, Natalie and I spent the weekend at the cabin with Gina's family.  Besides being a nice get away in general, it was particularly enjoyable because Gina and I could take a step back from the madness that is our lives right now.  For whatever reason, the baby (as I am sure you will hear about in some post in the near future) is taking quite a toll on both Gina (physically) and I (mentally).

Gina spent the weekend in the cabin.  It bummed her out not to be out on the ice with us but it was not being able to ride on a snowmobile that really saddened her.  She can take or leave fishing.  Sarah stayed in with Hailey though so Gina still had a lot of fun.

Beth and Luke did some fishing and Rick was out there a lot, but it was Chris and I that spent the vast majority of Saturday (7am - 1am besides meals) fishing.  As a group we caught about 25 crappies.  That's an average weekend.  I caught six (I typically catch eight to ten keepers).

The highlight of the weekend was when Natalie came out to the ice house with Rick, Chris and I.  She spent three hours with us smiling and having fun, never asking to go back to the cabin.  I was surprised she enjoyed it as much as she did.

She played with the minnows and held the bigger fish when we caught them.  Rick even got Natalie to try and induce the crappies out of the water.  After he would jig the line, Natalie would sternly say "bobber down, bobber down" while shaking her finger at the ice hole.  It was hilarious.

Natalie was out with us when the most eventful fishing event of the weekend took place as well. 

Occasionally, northern pikes strike our crappie bait (even though they are very small minnows).  In my six years on the ice I have never had it happen to me.  Saturday, three northerns went after my minnows.  The first time Rick tried to talk me through it but I failed miserably.  Battles with northerns can last up to 30 minutes, mine lasted maybe three before it snapped my line.

Keep in mind it's a small hook, a small pole and extremely small hole you're dealing with so it's not an easy task.

The second time was a lot better.  I lasted 10-15 minutes and only a fluke issue with my bobber stopper caused the line to break.  Something else could have still happened further along the way but I caught on to what Rick was saying and did a decent job all and all.

By the third time it was old hat (not really but it sounds better to say that).  The first two times, the northerns hit while the minnows were at our normal fishing height (about 25 feet).  This time, it struck three feet below the ice.  I was even able to watch it hit the line as I was sending the minnow down.  If I didn't know what I was watching, it would have been a bit spine-chilling to see something that big slide past the hole.

Taking the bait where it did helped a lot because I was twenty feet closer to the hole then the others were. 

Even when it would drag my line it never got more then my normal fishing depth away from me.  Twenty minutes later I was able to get its head through the eight-inch hole and Rick hooked its gills with the top of an ice scoop.

The northern was 30 inches long and seven pounds. 

After a few pictures, I let it go.

A Trot down memory lane

While my heart will forever be in Minnesota first, it's hard to deny the fact that I have a special place for the town of Boston.

One of the biggest reasons for my love is the Red Sox (though it really is much deeper then that).  In my two trips there (1998 & 1999), I was fortunate enough to attend five BoSox games (two vs the Yankees).  I even strongly considered moving there for the summer of 2000.

Since 1986, when I first started following the BoSox, I've had two favorite players.  For about a decade each, those players were Mike Greenwell and Trot Nixon.  Both were mid-level talents on teams filled with superstars.  Neither are your prototypical favorite player.  But, I don't think anyone is surprised by my choices either.  To paraphrase Secondhand Lions, both players always went out with their boots on (i.e my kind of player).  Trot's nickname is even Dirtdog and he is as old school as any player today with his high stirrups and by being the only player I know of who still puts his ball cap in his back right pants pocket during his at-bats.  I LOVE IT.

 

It has recently hit me that Trot's thirteen years (he was drafted by Boston in 1993) with the team are now over.  The oddest part of all this is that I am going to have to see him in a different uniform for the first time in his career.

 

I'm saddened by this for two major reasons: Trot will always be a Red Sox to me and I now have no one on the team that I am personally attached to any longer.  Not only that, but the team as a whole is no longer a group of players I am overly excited to follow...as it has been in years past.

Who knows, maybe I'll get excited about the Greek God of Walks or someone else that I am not expecting to.  But on the surface, it appears to have the makings of a blah season in Beantown for me.

File under...the magical email

Welcome to the first installment of my "file under" series of moments.  Occasionally, one of my blog entries will begin with these words.  More times then not, these entries are going to be about the times in my life when common sense did not prevail.

When you look back on college, what's the very first memory you think of?  My guess is that a decent amount of people think back to a drinking story (as I do), but how many of you have undeniable proof that the event did occur and that the result of the moment was as unspectacular as you remember.

Enter the magical email. 

To this point I have only shared it with a chosen few.

The email itself is a response I received from Natalie, one of my closest friends at college my freshman year.  Within the response is the email that I (Doc Holliday) sent to her.

Whenever I read it, I unknowingly start shaking my head in disapproval.

Enjoy...

---------------------------------------

Date: Sun, 4 Feb 1996 19:06:59 -0600 (CST)
From: Natalie Grace
To: Doc Holliday
Subject: Callin all Beck fans, come in Beck fan.
Hello?  Could you please explain a certain message I got.  Just keep
reading, there ya go...

On Fri, 2 Feb 1996, Doc Holliday wrote:
Somrthinf rong wihh the world roday I don't know what it is somwethnig
romg in my ewyes.  I'm bleeped up my nosril, heklp me snooze like a
peartkitre dalcon.  Please call me tomorropwe when you wake upQ!  Why
did I leo lett msself get moster madfished.  Love yiu like Mr T's
Pineapple juuse!

Well, wasn't that special!  I'm expecting a speedy delivery!!!
                                        Natalie
----------------------------------------------------

On a side note, I figure I should tell my second favorite story about Natalie as well.  Later on our freshmen year I was able to gain some dirt of my own on her when word leaked that the RA from my floor found her and a guy who lived a couple doors down from me in the guest bathroom of our dorm at 5am one morning drunkenly singing their very own rock ballad "Tinkle, Tinkle, Little Toilet" to the porcelain god residing there.  Why that tune never made it to the airwaves I'll never know.

Comma chameleon

All and all, I'd guess I'd call myself an educated man.  I have a Master's degree so just by default alone I've had to spend my share of time confined within the walls of learning establishments.

While my vocabulary may not quite match my degree (and I need to thank Rory as much as anyone for at least being able to hold my own at this point), I've always been told by teachers/professors/others that I'm a good writer.

I'd probably disagree and I have a laundry list of reasons why.  Most notably...my comma use is atrocious.
I write as I speak.  In conversation, I have a tendancy to pause more often then most and those pauses are easily accomplished with commas.  Call it my wonder drug.

However, I'm not overly fond of it.  In fact, I'd go so far as to say that I am an addict and need help.

Luckily, I have a plethora of what I would consider high-end English speaking/writing friends.
Can anyone save me?

Heck, does anyone at least know of some kind of twelve-step program I can join?

For the nature lovers out there

My friend Angie is a veterinarian.

That being said, it's probably not far fetched to guess she loves animals.

Last night she shared with me a website which shows a live webcam of a watering hole in Africa. Most of the time it's pretty quiet. However, just a few minutes ago I was there and the camera turned and showed a large wildebeest herd just to the right of the water.  Angie has mentioned seeing a handful of elephants and a bunch of lions.

For those interested a chance to see some natural wildlife (or as natural as it can get considering there is a webcam monitored by humans nearby), the site is:

Africam

One or many?

As I sit here at lunch contemplating my first entry to this blog, I am thinking about one thought in particular.
When I get to know someone, a facet of their life I pay particular attention to is whether or not they have a lot of items "cookin' in the oven." 

I've recently recognized that this is a character trait I am strongly drawn to (i.e. the vigilance to grow and learn as a person whenever possible).  To me, it's less about what and more about why, less about follow-through (depending on the situation) and more about desire. 

The reason I am saying all this is because my life is constantly about biting off more then I can chew.  I am always surprised at how many things I can get myself into before I take time to reflect and wonder what I was thinking.

This blog is yet another example of my vigilance.  I honestly have no idea if this will be the first of many more entries to come over time or the only one I ever post. 

We'll know the answer soon, but until then it's anyone's guess.