Tag Archives: Eminem

Why The Los Angeles Dodgers Must Lose

16 Oct

blog image j geils band

They took the Dodgers out of Brooklyn.

Then they took Don Mattingly.  (Doesn’t his last name sound like a delightful adverb?  “He loved her mattingly.”  Of course he did.  He’d be a fool not to.  Who is he?)

They then put Mr. Mattingly outside amid palm trees, where all sports are meant to be played, tanned him up and made him look good.  (Side note: I have seen Don Mattingly in person and that tan helps.  August 1997: Spouse, Boy and I all attended Don Mattingly Day at Yankee Stadium.  I know it was 1997 because The Boy was in utero and has had a fear of heights ever since- we didn’t exactly spring for the baseline seats.)

Also, a person can’t get to Dodger Stadium unless they need to get to the LA Costco.  Then it’s nothing but clover leafs and traffic jams until those inexpensive paper goods are a vague memory and you’re left feeling dehydrated and sore and you didn’t even do anything.  (Side side note: I once left the east coast and headed west returning later intending to save enough money to fix my car, buy a pair of Doc Martens and move to Albuquerque.  (This was well before “Breaking Bad” so not only to I get style points for the footwear, I also get premonition hipster points on the nod to Albuquerque.)  Before I could get out-of-town, love happened and here I am with Spouse, Boy, NY and all the black clothing a person could ever want in sizes ranging from “happy/thin/in love” to “winter/carbs/pale.”)  As for mass transit, Los Angeles has a system second only to Paris, London, Japan, China, India, Mexico, Chicago, Boston, DC, The Netherlands, Germany, Italy, Chile and walking in a group.

Celebrities go to LA Dodger games.  Yes, celebrities go to NY Yankee games too but they don’t wear khakis with pastel sweaters knotted around their shoulders (I mean you Dustin Hoffman, Monday, October 14).  New Yorkers wear coats and hats and mittens sometimes; and they’re cold and (often) wet and tired of spending $10 for crappy beer but at least they’re there to root and fight and WIN!  (Mostly fight!  Especially in the seats I can afford.)  New Yorkers do not attend playoff games to be entertained or distracted from the so-so reviews of their directorial debut (again, Mr. Hoffman and “Quartet“).

Finally, if Los Angeles wins, St. Louis loses.  And that would leave Missouri with only the St. Louis Rams (who last won an NFL championship in 1999) and the St. Louis Blues which is a hockey team so no one cares.

Can’t we just let St. Louis win the NLCS until the Phillies return next year?  (Additional back story: the author was born in Pennsylvania.)

Oh, the Cards can’t win The Series.  Detroit must win the championship.  The city needs our help.  Imagine waking up each day knowing that the last wonderful thing to come out of Michigan, besides Eminem (scheduled to appear on SNL on November 2), and Jack White (frequent Colbert Report guest) was The J.  Geils “Live Full House” album and I’m pretty sure that I’m the only person who bought it.  I feel you Detroit.

Won’t you help a city like Detroit and root for the Tigers?  With your help we can bring back this city where the trees are the right height.

I did my part when I bought the J.  Geils, again, on CD.

What can I say?  “First I Look at the Purse” (Robert Rogers/Smokey Robinson) is a classic.

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Over the River and through the Wood

22 Feb

To grandmother’s house we go.  Why?  Because my husband and I think it’s important for our son to maintain a relationship with his grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.  And it is.  It’s so vital, in fact, my husband says he will think all about it while the boy and I actually drive it- 500 miles in two days.  He’s a real trouper, that spouse.

In some ways it’s good that the spouse stayed home.  Like when I stress ate, for example.  With my family around, not only is stress eating a given, it is fully supported and encouraged via a cornucopia of day-old baked goods sitting on the counter waiting to sustain a person until dinner at 3:45PM.

So when I stress ate the cheese Danish, the apple pie and the sprinkles- no ice cream- just sprinkles, the last thing I needed was my husband “supporting” me with words like: “you don’t even eat candy on Halloween and now you’re in the corner scarfing down Skittles like they’re a bowl of flax seeds,” or “I’m certain that your folks have pictures of our kid somewhere in the house- did you check the closet?  That’s a pretty big closet, maybe they decided to decorate it.  With pictures.  Of our son.  Now let’s put those cream puffs away, shall we?”

His support can be so cloying, I just want a milkshake.

Also without the spouse, traveling was pleasant for most of the trip.  Almost the entire ride went well until late yesterday when, with 15 miles to go, the boy turned on me.  Tired, hungry, stiff and bored, he declared that: he was tired of being in the car, our entire iTunes playlist needed to be chucked, school was a waste of time, I was a mouth breather and he missed Dad.

Well, I missed the spouse too.  Not because I needed someone to turn down the music, defend my large adenoids, note which artists were inappropriate (Beastie Boys, Eminem) or tell me that I drive too fast, too slow, too crazily or too vengefully.  Nor because I missed having someone slam on a brake pedal that doesn’t exist, or claw at the air like the brother who lives in Verdi’s “Il Trovatore.”

I missed the spouse because, in an attempt to make me feel better about my family, I know that he would say that the three pounds I gained (in two days) ended up in all the right places.  And I needed to hear it.  He’s a real trouper, that spouse.

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