Nothing good comes from Dallas sports teams.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Post Family Reunion, Part I

I have never been to a family reunion. In fact, I've met very few members of my family outside of my parents, brother, grandparents, aunt, and uncle. Because I see relatives so infrequently (I don't have any cousins, by the way), researching genealogy has always helped me to make up the difference. Thankfully, my great-grandfather (My father's mother's father) Willard Post did a lot of the work for me. Somehow, in the 1920s or 1930s, he managed to trace the Post family back to Peter Arnold Post, born in Amsterdam sometime in 1500.

It fascinates me how human migration has shaped people, including me specifically. While that great-grandfather's family had been in North America since Richard Post migrated to Long Island in 1640, another great-grandfather of mine Raphael Taddei (Or Taddeo depending on who you ask) was born in Casalottico, Italy between Rome and Naples (Thus one of my soccer teams is SSC Napoli). Maybe I'll touch on the story of my great-grandfather Ralph (As the authorities at Ellis Island thought he should be named) another time.

Here I want to touch on one record left by great-grandfather Post. Amongst his research, now sitting in my father's office in Virginia (As opposed to Pittsburgh, Newark, and New York City where that family's roots are, another story of migration), was an account of a Post family reunion on August 23, 1900. I found it fascinating, so I will be dividing it up into parts and posting it here over time. It will be posted as transcribed onto the computer by me based on the exact wording, grammar, and punctuation of my great-grandfather, to include how he numbered his paragraphs for some reason.


1. Seventy persons by actual count gathered at the home of Miss Mary E. Post, in South Franklin Township on August 22, for a family reunion. They came from far and near to an old homestead, to bring back the former things and former days. The oldest person present was in their ninety-first year, hale and hearty, and enjoyed the day as much as the youngest present. The Post place is one of the oldest in the county and is now owned by Miss Mary, is the original tract of land. The location of the fine brick mansion is on the top of a hill for which the surrounding country for miles is in plain view. Dinner was served in the yard, under the shade off lucusts and a very large linden tree. After this suptious repast was partaken of, the pohotographer made his pictures. Miss Ettie M. Post, of West Finley, read an interesting history of the family connections. The family history follows:

2. Munson Post, the ancestor of the Posts, in this community, was born in Essex county, N.J., and was the father of five children; Jeremiah, Joseph, David, Benjamin, and one daughter. In the year 1781, he removed in wagons with his family to Morris township, Washington county, Pennsylvania, the journey occupying several weeks.

3. Politically, Mr. Post was a Democrat, which is largely the characteristic of his descendents. Just what his religious faith was is not know, but he is supposed to have been a member of the Church of England and many of his descendents have been members of some branch of the Presbyterian church.

4. Jeremiah Post, son of Munson, was born in Essex county, N.J., September 10, 1769, so was twelve years of age when he came to Pennsylvania with his parents. His education was somewhat limited. In 1794 he married Martha, daughter of Dr. Charles Cracraft, who bore him four children, William, Deborah, Charles, and Joseph. In 1804, he married his second wife, Mary, daughter of Abraham Enlow, and their children were, Martha, Jemimie, Martin, Jesse, Luke, Sarah, Mary A., James R., and Phoebe. Jeremiah Post lived for the first few years of his married life on a small farm near Van Buren, but selling that moved to a small farm near Dr. Charles Cracraft, where he afterwards lived, and is now occupied by one of his descendents, and where our reunions are now held. He was one of the charter members of the Bethel [County Presbyterian] Church, and dying June 1, 1848, was buried in the Bethel cemetery as also was his wife in later years after her death, November 30, 1854.

5. William Post, eldest son of Jeremiah, was born November 12, 1795, and married Margaret, daughter of Benhamin Lindley, Morris township. To this unison were born six sons and three daughters, Sarah, Mary, Martha, Charles, Jeremiah, Jackson, Joseph, Clark C., and B. L. Post.

6. Charles, son of William, was a tailor by trade, married June Hays, and lived in Washington until their death. They had seven children, two of whom are deceased (Lindley and Margaret); Manda who married Will Curdy (Mc), resides in Washington, D.C.; James in Montana; Dr. Silas in Canton, Ohio; and Will and Harry are residents of Washington, Pennsylvania

I got bored.

I have decided to tell a random fact about the first ten people to show up on my newsfeed on Facebook. This will be interesting since I'm not going to name them on this blog.

1. I met this guy in Newark, New Jersey. He was completely guidoed-out and gave me a shot.

2. Steve tried to hook me up with this girl in middle school. I never found her to be very intelligent.

3. Due to this gentleman's distinct birthmark and Dorian's inability to remember his name, this guy was referred to as Harvey Dent behind his back. Or in one Doriantastic instance, to his face.

4. I met this girl at a party that Garris brought me to. It was a highlighter party. When she ran out of room on her shirt, she took it off and let everyone start over.

5. This guy came down from New Jersey when his chapter decided to hold their crossover in our house. Thankfully, I did not see him naked that night as it was the night of the most imfamous naked attic party.

6. I still don't know why this guy was called Stumpy throughout high school, but it always seemed appropriate.

7. Based on the one TauDelt this girl dated and later the former roommate of mine that she also dated, I question this girl's taste in men.

8. This girl once let Mullin stay on her couch when he came down to visit from New York. She had to go out of town 14 hours before his bus left, so Elliott and I spent the rest of the day keeping him entertained. Were it not for her, I never would have seen the movie Donkey Punch. God bless her for that alone.

9. This girl was a central character in one of the most epic nights of drinking in my life. Bad pictures were taken and I woke up the next morning to find my bathtub covered in blood.

10. HA! Holy crap! I'm the tenth person! I didn't even plan that!

An Explanation of My Sports Cheering Patterns

First and foremost, my team will always come first. I love an underdog and a feel good story, but when it looked like the Cleveland Indians were going to be the 2011 surprise success story, I was ecstatic when the Angels were the only team to demolish them in the first month or so of the season.

Second, if my team is not playing, the team from the South will generally have my support. If the team has a Richmond or Louisiana connection, they will have my support over other Southern teams. Richmond, because I am obssessed with myself, and Louisiana or Quebec because I am a proud of my French heritage.

In baseball, it is Angels first, all the way. When the Angels are not playing, I support the Yankees, Nationals, and Braves. I come from a Yankee family going back to the 1920s with ties to New York City, but due to my growing up outside of a territory, I became an Angels fan in my youth and offer them my rabid support. I support the Nationals because the Montreal Expos were my National League team due to the French connection, and when they moved to both a city below the Mason-Dixon Line (Yes, Washington is technically a Southern city) and became the nearest MLB franchise to my home, my support followed them. The Braves are a no-brainer based both on them being THE Southern baseball team and my grandparents becoming Braves fans upon their migration to Atlanta territory.

Next, I will cheer for Houston, Miami, Pittsburgh, San Francisco, and Tampa Bay. Houston, Miami, and Tampa Bay are Southern cities, though Miami tends not to fit in culturally. Even so, Miami is in a Southern state and I appreciate them just the same. Pittsburgh has my support due to both of my paternal grandparents and my father being born in Pittsburgh and my love of awful/underdog teams. I have started supporting San Francisco recently for more than just my admiration of Brian Wilson's insanity. My grandfather, living in the Augusta, Georgia area gives me a tie to San Francisco's rookie league team, the Augusta Green Jackets. Also, the Giant's Triple A team is the Richmond Flying Squirrels. Both of those teams cause me to cheer for the Giants from time to time because I hear about their prospects regularly.

Next, I will root for Baltimore, but not too strongly. Baltimore is a Southern city, but being the historical rival of the Yankees and the intra-beltway rival of the Nationals, they don't have my strongest support. I don't hate Kansas City or St. Louis, and my support for them usually depends on whether or not I feel like Missouri is a Southern state that day or not.

The teams I will never root for are Boston, Oakland, Seattle, Texas, the Dodgers, and the Mets. Boston is just the worst city in the world. Oakland, Seattle, and Texas are rivals of the Angels (And starting in 2013, Houston will probably be added to this list as they are moving to the American League West). The Dodgers are the Angels cross-town rivals and the historical rivals of the Giants and Yankees.

In football, it is, of course, Broncos all the way.

After the Broncos, I root for the New York Jets and New Orleans. My father is a Jets fan and New Orleans is the capital of French culture in American (Sorry Quebec border).

Next is Baltimore and Washington. I have always kinda liked the Ravens due to being a Southern team and the nearest AFC team to my home. Support for Washington has really been a recent development due to me being so far removed from them and seeing them reminds me of home, and I'm dating a Redskins fan, so that solves that.

After the Ravens and Redskins, I support Atlanta, Carolina, Houston, Jacksonville, Miami, Tampa Bay, Tennesee as they are Southern teams. I will never root for Dallas, Kansas City, New England, Oakland, and San Diego.

My thoughts on basketball, hockey, soccer, and college sports shall follow soon.