I'm about to start packing in a minute. July 7th will be an evening I spend in Arlington. No, not that Arlington. The other Arlington. The Arlington I hate. The other Arlington I hate.
Tomorrow I will be going to my first major league baseball game in who knows how long. After missing all of last season being in Oklahoma and this season being disrupted by some other impending plans, I have not been able to make it to a game in forever. I'll be seeing the Rangers host the Twins. I'm neutral on the Twins, but I hate the Rangers. I really hate the Rangers. It all goes back to the sense of betrayal I feel when I think about Nolan Ryan. Yeah, he's a Texan and he loves being a Texan and all of that stuff, but his plaque in Cooperstown should feature an Angels cap. He made history with the Angels. History, dammit. What did he do with the Rangers? Play his last few games there. With the Angels, he dominated the American League. Four no-hitters. Historic strikeout numbers. He brought the Angels to the playoffs for the first time in team history in 1979 as the first of the two-headed monster of aces with Frank Tanana.
Oh, I also hate the Rangers because they dethroned the Angels from dominating the American League West. Yeah, that can probably be blamed on having an idiot running the front office for the last few seasons, but I'm still going to be mad at the Rangers. Man, I really hate the Rangers and now I'm rambling.
Anyways, it will be good to see a major league game again. I'll be rooting for the Twins and wearing either an Angels cap or an Old Dominion University cap. I am undecided right now. I'm leaning towards ODU because, while I have no shame in being an Angels fan, Rangers fans are moronic bandwagoners and I don't feel like dealing with them when I could otherwise be enjoying (hopefully) a thrashing by Minnesota.
Bacon, Lettuce, and Tobacco
I like meat. My favorite color is green. I wish tobacco was still currency in Virginia like in the early 17th century.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Father's Day
Happy Father's Day to the fathers out there. It is important, in my opinion, that all children have a positive father figure in their lives. The father is the person from whom boys learn how to be a man. The father is the person that shapes a girl's ideas of men. I have a great father and it's from him that I learned how to be a man. My dad taught me a lot about life.
Go to church every Sunday, situation permitting.
Never cross a picket line. Never.
Recycle.
The proper way to eat a steak is rare. The redder the better.
Men don't wear sandals or flip flops. The folks working at the Pittsburgh steel mills he grew up near would beat you up for wearing them.
Never leave until the last inning is over. You paid for nine innings, you watch nine innings.
The Beatles. The Who. The Rolling Stones. Bruce Springsteen. John Mellencamp. Johnny Cash.
The Red Sox weren't cursed, they just sucked for 86 years.
Never start fights, but if somebody hits you, hit them back.
Read the newspaper every day.
The Dodgers should've stayed in Brooklyn. The Giants in Manhattan.
I have a great dad.
Go to church every Sunday, situation permitting.
Never cross a picket line. Never.
Recycle.
The proper way to eat a steak is rare. The redder the better.
Men don't wear sandals or flip flops. The folks working at the Pittsburgh steel mills he grew up near would beat you up for wearing them.
Never leave until the last inning is over. You paid for nine innings, you watch nine innings.
The Beatles. The Who. The Rolling Stones. Bruce Springsteen. John Mellencamp. Johnny Cash.
The Red Sox weren't cursed, they just sucked for 86 years.
Never start fights, but if somebody hits you, hit them back.
Read the newspaper every day.
The Dodgers should've stayed in Brooklyn. The Giants in Manhattan.
I have a great dad.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
80s April
Elliott has spent the last month posting an 80s song a day on his blog, The Viaduct, and it got me thinking. So I went through my iTunes to see what have been the top 30 most played songs from the 1980s without listing the same artist twice. Here is what I found.
1. The River by Bruce Springsteen
2. The Downeaster "Alexa" by Billy Joel
3. Burning heart by Survivor
4. The Analog Kid by Rush
5. The Fire Inside by Bob Seger
6. Somebody's Baby by Jackson Browne
7. Down Under by Men at Work
8. A Million Miles Away by The Plimsouls
9. Straight to Hell by The Clash
10. You Do Something to Me by The Kinks
11. I Won't Back Down by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
12. California Uber Alles by Dead Kennedys
13. Don't Close Your Eyes by Dokken
14. Green Hell by The Misfits
15. Do What You Want by Bad Religion
16. Atomic by Blondie
17. I'd Die for You by Bon Jovi
18. Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds
19. Amoeba by Adolescents
20. Fade to Black by Metallica
21. Orange Crush by REM
22. Could You Be Loved by Bob Marley
23. Beheaded by The Offspring
24. Superficial Love by T.S.O.L.
25. He's Back (The Man Behind the Mask) by Alice Cooper
26. Band on the Run by Paul McCartney and Wings
27. Jealous Again by Black Flag
28. (Don't Fear) The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult
29. That's Progress by D.O.A. and Jello Biafra
30. Instruments of Destruction by N.R.G
Oh, NRG. I will never forget your role in ruining the childhood of children of the 80s by playing in the background of the death of my brother's favorite Transformer, Prowl.
1. The River by Bruce Springsteen
2. The Downeaster "Alexa" by Billy Joel
3. Burning heart by Survivor
4. The Analog Kid by Rush
5. The Fire Inside by Bob Seger
6. Somebody's Baby by Jackson Browne
7. Down Under by Men at Work
8. A Million Miles Away by The Plimsouls
9. Straight to Hell by The Clash
10. You Do Something to Me by The Kinks
11. I Won't Back Down by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
12. California Uber Alles by Dead Kennedys
13. Don't Close Your Eyes by Dokken
14. Green Hell by The Misfits
15. Do What You Want by Bad Religion
16. Atomic by Blondie
17. I'd Die for You by Bon Jovi
18. Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds
19. Amoeba by Adolescents
20. Fade to Black by Metallica
21. Orange Crush by REM
22. Could You Be Loved by Bob Marley
23. Beheaded by The Offspring
24. Superficial Love by T.S.O.L.
25. He's Back (The Man Behind the Mask) by Alice Cooper
26. Band on the Run by Paul McCartney and Wings
27. Jealous Again by Black Flag
28. (Don't Fear) The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult
29. That's Progress by D.O.A. and Jello Biafra
30. Instruments of Destruction by N.R.G
Oh, NRG. I will never forget your role in ruining the childhood of children of the 80s by playing in the background of the death of my brother's favorite Transformer, Prowl.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Gary of Graniteville
I once wrote a short story about a young man named Gary who lived in Graniteville, South Carolina. It's in a notebook somewhere in Chester, Virginia, so I'm not entirely sure what I wrote at the moment. It's also been a couple years as I wrote it in my first semester of graduate school. Gary's family worked in the textile mills that once provided many working class South Carolinians a means of supporting their families, but he of course never had a chance to work in them. The big businesses closed down the factories and moved the jobs overseas.
The small mill towns had seen better days, and Gary made a living drifting between odd jobs. He had a long, complicated romance with a girl named Jessica, but that fell apart anticlimacticly when one day he just didn't call her and a week went by. Then another week went by and he ran into her at the Chicken Shack. They chatted for a minute as she was walking out the door. He gave her a kiss and never saw her again after she walked out the door.
Gary decided it was time to leave Graniteville. He had no prospects elsewhere, but knew that his time there was exhausted, like the dead industry that once drove his hometown. He didn't want to become a ghost lurking about town, like the empty hulks standing as monuments to a lost American dream. He picked Nebraska. he knew Nebraska wasn't a booming place like New York or Los Angeles, but he knew there were people there. There was nothing there, but something had to be there or else nobody would stay. He wanted to see what that was, even if it was just a cornfield. So he packed a couple bags, got in his rusty truck, and left.
The small mill towns had seen better days, and Gary made a living drifting between odd jobs. He had a long, complicated romance with a girl named Jessica, but that fell apart anticlimacticly when one day he just didn't call her and a week went by. Then another week went by and he ran into her at the Chicken Shack. They chatted for a minute as she was walking out the door. He gave her a kiss and never saw her again after she walked out the door.
Gary decided it was time to leave Graniteville. He had no prospects elsewhere, but knew that his time there was exhausted, like the dead industry that once drove his hometown. He didn't want to become a ghost lurking about town, like the empty hulks standing as monuments to a lost American dream. He picked Nebraska. he knew Nebraska wasn't a booming place like New York or Los Angeles, but he knew there were people there. There was nothing there, but something had to be there or else nobody would stay. He wanted to see what that was, even if it was just a cornfield. So he packed a couple bags, got in his rusty truck, and left.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Jayson Werth is a rightfielder
I had a dream the other night that my father and I were walking through our neighborhood park discussing the upcoming season for the Washington Nationals. My dad told me that he felt the Nats could win 90 games this season. I told him that I could see that too, but only if they had a real centerfielder playing centerfield instead of Jayson Werth. Werth is a good athlete, but he is not a centerfielder and he isn't getting younger.
We walked past the monkey bars, but they weren't the current monkey bars. Sometime well over ten years ago, the community association tore down the original playground equipment and installed a new slide, a new set of monkey bars, and some other stuff. But the equipment in my dream was the original stuff, one was yellow, one was kinda bluish. The slide, which was not in my dream, was a brown structure. The swingset, I believe is still the same one from when we first moved there in 1989.
Another thing I remembered in the dream was walking on top of the drainage tunnell for when the creek would flood. My dad didn't climb up on it like I did, instead continuing our discussion from the nearest basketball hoop. When I was a kid, we used to play around that creek all the time. When it was dry, we'd do stuff in the creek bed, like execute marine landings with our G. I. Joes. When water was flowing, somebody would usually fall in it. We'd also climb on and in that tunnell all the time. Walking across it was actually the cool way to walk up the hill, as opposed to walking on the road like a normal person.
I'll be coming home in July. It'll be my first trip home since September and I can't wait. I look forward to talking to my dad about the Nationals, though we probably won't make it to a game. I don't foresee any reason for me to visit the park, but I'll drive past it almost daily.
We walked past the monkey bars, but they weren't the current monkey bars. Sometime well over ten years ago, the community association tore down the original playground equipment and installed a new slide, a new set of monkey bars, and some other stuff. But the equipment in my dream was the original stuff, one was yellow, one was kinda bluish. The slide, which was not in my dream, was a brown structure. The swingset, I believe is still the same one from when we first moved there in 1989.
Another thing I remembered in the dream was walking on top of the drainage tunnell for when the creek would flood. My dad didn't climb up on it like I did, instead continuing our discussion from the nearest basketball hoop. When I was a kid, we used to play around that creek all the time. When it was dry, we'd do stuff in the creek bed, like execute marine landings with our G. I. Joes. When water was flowing, somebody would usually fall in it. We'd also climb on and in that tunnell all the time. Walking across it was actually the cool way to walk up the hill, as opposed to walking on the road like a normal person.
I'll be coming home in July. It'll be my first trip home since September and I can't wait. I look forward to talking to my dad about the Nationals, though we probably won't make it to a game. I don't foresee any reason for me to visit the park, but I'll drive past it almost daily.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Red Trucks
This afternoon, I put an Angels decal on the rear window of my red Silverado. I figured I would name this vehicle because several of my friends have named their cars. So I named it Kingfish, not after Huey Long (Though I am a fan of that Kingfish as well), but Tim Salmon. Part of the reason I bought it was because it was red, like the Angels. That's the one I've told most people.
I've also always liked red pick-ups because it's what my late grandfather drove. I never got to know Papa (Pronounced "Paw-paw" and not "Pop-uh") that well because he died when I was five-years-old. Because I was so young, I don't have many memories of him, but I remember sitting in his truck when he would pick me up from pre-school in Hopewell. I don't like raisins, but he'd alway make me raisin bread toast with apple butter, cut up into four squares. I love apple butter, and I think of my grandfather whenever I eat it. At least a quarter of the times I eat apple butter, I tell anyone that will listen about my post-pre-school snack.
My grandfather was in the Army. The marker where he is buried lists his service during World War II and the Korean War. He was stationed in Minnesota, Virginia, and Puerto Rico. I believe he retired as a Sergeant First Class.
I always wonder how differently my life would have been if I had a few more years to develop with him in my life. Unfortunately, he was a smoker and died from cancer, so I'll never know, but I think I get my appreciation for red trucks from him.
I've also always liked red pick-ups because it's what my late grandfather drove. I never got to know Papa (Pronounced "Paw-paw" and not "Pop-uh") that well because he died when I was five-years-old. Because I was so young, I don't have many memories of him, but I remember sitting in his truck when he would pick me up from pre-school in Hopewell. I don't like raisins, but he'd alway make me raisin bread toast with apple butter, cut up into four squares. I love apple butter, and I think of my grandfather whenever I eat it. At least a quarter of the times I eat apple butter, I tell anyone that will listen about my post-pre-school snack.
My grandfather was in the Army. The marker where he is buried lists his service during World War II and the Korean War. He was stationed in Minnesota, Virginia, and Puerto Rico. I believe he retired as a Sergeant First Class.
I always wonder how differently my life would have been if I had a few more years to develop with him in my life. Unfortunately, he was a smoker and died from cancer, so I'll never know, but I think I get my appreciation for red trucks from him.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
My First Outdoor Entry
I type this as I sit on the balcony of Karen’s apartment. Currently, “When the Land Belonged to God” by Jack Gladstone is playing in my ear and I spent the previous few minutes eating a sandwich and admiring the trees blowing in a slight breeze with the hills of the Conejo Valley in the distance. Southern California is a beautiful place. The other day it was drizzling, or as Karen tells me Californians might say, the other day was a catastrophic storm. Even on a slightly gloomy day, I found much of the area to be quite pretty.
I often like to think about where I would like to live. I like to think about where I would like to raise a family or retire. I never think about where I would like to be buried, though. I will be buried in Virginia, without question. I’ll be dead, so it doesn’t matter too much to me where in Virginia, just as long as it’s in the beautiful, sacred soil of my country. If my next of kin chooses cremation instead, the ashes better be spread behind home plate or in the outfield.
Back to living, as I do not plan on dying for at least another half-century. I often think about where I would like to live. For the most part, I do not find Southern California to be ideal for me. I would not mind living anywhere in the Los Angeles area, but there are only a few places where I would actively seek to plant myself. I would like to live in Orange County, somewhere near Angel Stadium, for reasons obvious to all who know me (See the previous paragraph’s closing sentence about cremation for a hint). The Topanga Canyon would also be a nice place, though I am told it is quite the hippy region. Even so, it’s pretty, rural, and still close to many attractions of the metropolitan area.
Where I would really enjoy living in the region is Santa Monica. I spent less than 24 hours there, but I was impressed by it. It had been ten months since I lost saw a beach, interestingly enough, it was my last visit to Virginia Beach, also with Karen. I much prefer rural areas to urban areas, but Santa Monica is different. It is a beach town. Santa Monica fits in with many of the other top locations on my “Where-to-Live List” for that reason. Walking along the street nearest the beach reminded me of walking along Atlantic Avenue in Virginia Beach. Walking along the pier reminded me of the boardwalks of different southern New Jersey beach towns (Yes, I would live in New Jersey, but only if my house is within two miles of the ocean.) It doesn’t compare to the number one city outside of the Virginia I would like to live, St. Augustine, Florida, but I enjoyed Santa Monica. I hope to go back to it soon.
I often like to think about where I would like to live. I like to think about where I would like to raise a family or retire. I never think about where I would like to be buried, though. I will be buried in Virginia, without question. I’ll be dead, so it doesn’t matter too much to me where in Virginia, just as long as it’s in the beautiful, sacred soil of my country. If my next of kin chooses cremation instead, the ashes better be spread behind home plate or in the outfield.
Back to living, as I do not plan on dying for at least another half-century. I often think about where I would like to live. For the most part, I do not find Southern California to be ideal for me. I would not mind living anywhere in the Los Angeles area, but there are only a few places where I would actively seek to plant myself. I would like to live in Orange County, somewhere near Angel Stadium, for reasons obvious to all who know me (See the previous paragraph’s closing sentence about cremation for a hint). The Topanga Canyon would also be a nice place, though I am told it is quite the hippy region. Even so, it’s pretty, rural, and still close to many attractions of the metropolitan area.
Where I would really enjoy living in the region is Santa Monica. I spent less than 24 hours there, but I was impressed by it. It had been ten months since I lost saw a beach, interestingly enough, it was my last visit to Virginia Beach, also with Karen. I much prefer rural areas to urban areas, but Santa Monica is different. It is a beach town. Santa Monica fits in with many of the other top locations on my “Where-to-Live List” for that reason. Walking along the street nearest the beach reminded me of walking along Atlantic Avenue in Virginia Beach. Walking along the pier reminded me of the boardwalks of different southern New Jersey beach towns (Yes, I would live in New Jersey, but only if my house is within two miles of the ocean.) It doesn’t compare to the number one city outside of the Virginia I would like to live, St. Augustine, Florida, but I enjoyed Santa Monica. I hope to go back to it soon.
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