?`s and ANNEswers

Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

Baseball Trivia

Posted on April 21, 2006

The baseball season is in full swing (no pun intended), and dedicated statisticians are already looking for new facts, new records, and new heroes. I have a head start on baseball’s stats this year, as someone (I have conveniently forgotten who.) gave Earl one of those 365 page calendars where you tear off today when tomorrow arrives. Each page of this particular calendar is devoted to a baseball fact, and Earl has taken it upon himself to read every single one aloud to me over our morning coffee.

I’m not much of a baseball fan, but I do enjoy an occasional game; and I’ve been to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown NY twice. But the facts in this calendar would never make it into that hallowed establishment.

I guess if they were more interesting, I would be more attentive. But what I’ve learned from four months of baseball trivia is how contrived it can be. For instance, did you that U. L. Washington hit only two home runs in the 1979 season? And that he hit them both in the same game? And he hit one by batting left handed and the other by batting right handed? I didn’t know any of this either. And frankly my life felt complete.

Some days the calendar details the miseries of managers whose pitchers can’t bat or whose other players represent missed opportunities for home runs, strikeouts, and stolen bases. Other days it reaches back the early years of baseball and draws comparisons to today’s game. Most days, it’s pretty dry.

It makes me wonder if all the really good baseball information has already been gobbled up by sport announcers, columnists, and book publishers. About the funniest thing so far is what relief pitcher Dan Quisenberry said: “I have seen the future and it’s much like the present, only longer.” But then he could have said that under a variety of circumstances.

As a courtesy, I plan to listen to the rest of the calendar, but have already alerted Earl that I pick the one we read in 2007. Currently, I am searching for a calendar about ballet terms.

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Ketchup

Posted on April 19, 2006

I frequently wear short sleeved knit shirts, both in winter and in summer; so I have a variety of colors: lavender, coral, pink, green, blue, white, etc.

It doesn’t matter what color I’m wearing on any given day, invariably I spill ketchup or mustard or some other gooey condiment on the front of it. I try to be careful; I don’t think I’m particularly sloppy, but most nights still find a food spot clinging to my cleavage.

It’s frustrating, and Earl has attempted a variety of explanations. The one I think is the most apt is that, for a short person, I’m relatively large busted, thereby creating a shelf for that last drop of mayonnaise to ooze from my sandwich or that chili sauce drip to stop a downward spiral. Always helpful, Earl’s come up with various solutions too.

I should tuck my napkin under my chin. Or maybe continue wearing the chef’s apron used for cooking and sampling. In desperation, a tablecloth with a large hole in the middle might do too. As a last resort, I could eat only items that break easily in two (like carrots), need no dressing or sauce (apples, pears, bananas), or can be cut and carried to the mouth in solid chunks (steak without the bйarnaise or asparagus without the hollandaise).

None of these ideas is particularly appealing. Instead, at home I hunker down close to my dinner plate and hope for the best. In public, I take my chances and there is a cleaners out there who is glad for it. I wonder what Anna Nicole Smith and Pamela Anderson do.

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Perkiness

Posted on April 18, 2006

Last week, Katie Couric made the announcement that she is leaving behind fifteen years on the Today Show to become the primary news anchor on a competing station. Eyebrows shot up. The media rushed to cover the story, giving it more space than Bush’s woes. Newsweek even beat a printing deadline to feature her on its cover.

Personally I’m not a Couric fan. To me, she represents the ultimate in perkiness; and, while it might play in Paducah in the morning, I would not want to see full-blown perkiness creep into the evening news. Even without her, the news is heading in that direction.

I’m old enough to remember when the news was limited to fifteen minutes. I’m old enough to remember the workhorses of that era too. And, yes, I’m also old enough to remember when perkiness (or social familiarity among anchors) was limited to a “Good night, David” and a “Good night, Chet.”

Even if I sound like Andy Rooney, I liked it that way. To me, any program that has the word ‘news’ in its title should feature the facts of the day, not the faces of the newscasters. In other words, I want my news program to distinguish itself from various other talk shows by its emphasis on fact over opinion, detail over distraction, conciseness over commentary.

I don’t care if Brian Williams likes someone else’s tie and tells that person on national TV or if Bob Schieffer wants to share his opinion when he’s interviewing someone. Schieffer has the annoying habit of asking a leading question almost every time. “But don’t you think Bush’s rating in the polls is down?” he’s apt to ask, suggesting his own bias. What ever happened to “What do you think of Bush’s rating in the polls.”

Today newscasters want to be celebrities in their own right, along with Oprah and Dr. Phil and the screaming Jim Cramer. Network management seems to encourage this as a way of making the news softer and friendlier, like a chat between neighbors across a back fence. I don’t deny that Katie Couric probably has the skills involved and that she’s certainly put in her time; but I hope she decides that the facts, just the facts ma’am, will be her approach when she takes on the other anchors. I bet there are others out there like me who would find that refreshing.

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Easter

Posted on April 17, 2006

Yesterday was Easter Sunday and maybe it was Passover too; I’m not sure anymore. Time was when I spent not only Easter Sunday but also much of the previous week in church. But that time is as long gone as Latin is in the Catholic mass. There was another time when I celebrated Passover, as well as the Christian holydays, but that too is relegated to my religious past. So how do I celebrate now? Or maybe more importantly, do I celebrate at all?

I do.

I currently don’t attend church on a regular basis, but holidays/holydays such as Christmas or Easter still hold great sway in my memory. I didn’t attend Catholic schools for sixteen years without having many of the liturgical prayers I learned in my youth still waiting patiently in the back of my mind. And should I decide to participate in Easter services some time in the future, the words of that youth would come back to me automatically. Like riding the proverbial bicycle.

When I was little, my Mother, a devout Catholic, made sure the first thing we did on Easter Sunday was to attend Mass. She always had a new outfit for each of us to wear, down to a Spring hat and white gloves. She always had an Easter basket that she’d fashioned herself with colored eggs, marshmallow chicks, and jellybeans, not unlike the fancier fare of today. But I could not have any of the candy until our religious obligation was met. Sometimes we’d splurge for brunch at the Chase-Park Plaza Hotel in St. Louis, where we lived; and I can still smell that restaurant’s French toast if I close my eyes.

In mid-life, I married a man of the Jewish faith and spent those years celebrating his holydays. Hanukah frequently coincided with Christmas; and Passover did the same at Easter time. I found the traditions that family honored complimented Catholicism rather than competed with it; and I am grateful for that broadening of my religious experience. Easter Sunday brings those celebrations to mind too.

These days our Easters are less religion-based and more family-based. Usually Earl’s side of the family comes together for brunch and baskets, just as my Mother and I did. We pause in the rush that is ever-accelerating in today’s life. And maybe the others, like me, silently remember past Easters while enjoying the present one.

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Sprung

Posted on April 15, 2006

Spring has sprung. I noticed it for the first time a couple days ago as I roamed my property without a jacket, saw weeds taunting me, and smiled at the growth on my rose bushes.

I’m always grateful in the fall when the last mow is mowed, the patio furniture is stored, and the hoses are folded away. By then, I’ve had enough of yard work. But I’m equally grateful the following spring when the tulips sprout, the lilacs bud, and the rose cone protectors disappear. It’s the beginning of a new season.

This year, I hope to keep up on the weeds personally, while others mow my lawn and cut my shrubs and fertilize all green things. I actually like weeding; it seems to satisfy the compulsive personality in me. By which I mean, it makes me feel good that I’m ridding my land of unsavory plants, keeping the flower beds neat and clean, challenging nature to stop sending weeds my way.

I look forward to the emergence of my tulips, day lilies, lilacs, and hydrangeas — in that order. They make me feel that the effort on their behalf is worth it throughout the summer season. I also look forward to my geraniums, petunias, peonies, astilbes, and sedum; because without them the season would not be complete.

Then, in late October, I will look forward equally as much to shutting down the yard and lawn . . . only to wait until the following spring for the feeling of sprung once more.

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Lincoln

Posted on April 14, 2006

One hundred forty-one years ago today, Abraham Lincoln, then President of the United States of America, succumbed to an assassin’s bullet. There is nobody alive now who remembers that ignominious event. Yet, historians still recall the drama of it. Book publishers still court Lincoln writers. The oversized Mt. Rushmore and the humble penny still bear his likeness.

I recall reading Jim Bishop’s book, The Day Lincoln Was Shot, which was originally published in the nineteen-fifties. I was in my teens and American History was part of my daily school life. I don’t remember if our class was assigned this reading or if I found it on my own; but I do remember being held literary captive by the hour-by-hour presentation of Lincoln’s last day. It was much more entertaining and informative than the dry text that featured dates and places, which Sister Mary Ita taught from. And, when it came to explaining further the political context or the state of our country, Bishop had a way with words that Sister Ita didn’t.

I found the The Day Lincoln Was Shot online last night and read a synopsis for old time’s sake. It held my attention just as it had in high school, so I highly recommend that anyone looking for a good non-fiction read consider Bishop’s work in honor of the day. Failing that, then how about renting that old Alfred Hitchcock favorite, “North by Northwest”? The climax of the story plays out across Mount Rushmore with Lincoln’s likeness being the focal point.

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Bird Bodyguards

Posted on April 13, 2006

This morning I was driving home from purchasing a much-needed Starbucks®, that oh-so-necessary-coffee-break as the business world pummels you, when I heard an interesting thing on the radio. It seems that birds which are migrating north from their winter habitats become confused around the Chicago metropolitan area. They are not anticipating tall buildings in their radar, and consequently many of them ram into the John Hancock and the Sears Tower. The impact stuns them and they fall to the ground.

But, believe it or not, they are not dead. Rather they are temporarily unconscious. And, with human guidance, they can be nursed back to enough health to allow them to continue their migration.

Who does the nursing? It is the Chicago Bird Collision Monitors, an organization that claims to have helped 900 birds last season and which is seeking volunteers for this season. I’m not sure what monitors actually do — there wasn’t enough time in a thirty second commercial to delve into details — but it struck me that in all the stress and strife of daily life the well-being of a bird probably isn’t considered by most people.

Yet here are the Monitors who help birds on their way. In a way, it’s like the Underground Railroad of the Civil War or the smuggling of Jewish children from Europe during World War II. It’s a small intention, but so meaningful in its outcome. It almost makes me wish I still lived in Chicago and could join the organization.

Forsaking that, I think I’ll take extra care of birds that fly into our full-length windows that grace the back of our house. I’ve experienced firsthand the thud that a small winged wonder makes. I’ve seen it lie listless on our deck; and, amazingly, I’ve seen it perk up and fly off a couple hours later. I think this is what the Chicago Bird Collision Monitors have in mind.

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The Three Hundred Pound Envelope

Posted on April 12, 2006

We received a bill from FedEx a couple days ago for an envelope we sent recently to a Realtor® in Chicago. The envelope contained a set of four keys and nothing else. It was a standard FedEx issue envelope too, usually reserved for items of half a pound or less. I believe the keys met the criteria.

But the bill that arrived was for $300, something that made Earl’s eyebrows rise in shock. Made my temperature boil too. The explanation on the bill was that the contents of the envelope weighed 300 pounds, and Earl was charged accordingly.

So I spent part of today on the telephone with FedEx, informing the particular associate who fielded my call that I had no intention of paying this bill and that I expected a full study of the discrepancy. I described the situation and the keys in great detail; and, in the end, our account was credited for over $290. It seems that someone tampered with our Airbill along the way, resulting in the extra charges and the extra work for me.

I’m happy with the outcome of the problem, but it reminds me of how vigilant consumers must be these days. And how the burden of proof seems to fall on them, even when it is not their fault.

This is only the latest in reminders. A month or so ago, someone used my VISA fraudulently to purchase penile implants and charge me for the pleasure. I argued and argued with my credit card company about this; after all, why would a middle-aged woman like myself purchase penile implants? In the end, it turned out that the person who had used my credit card without authorization had done so over the Internet and her IP address was not the same as mine. Therein lay the solution to the problem, and I was eventually credited the money that was originally debited against me.

All these situations take time to resolve. And usually it is the time of the unsuspecting victim that is at stake. I value my time and resent having to spend it unraveling the Gordian knots that accompany today’s credit card and charge card society. At the same time, I am resolved to becoming a vigilante force of one in these situations. And maybe I can write the time off at my hourly consultant rate on my next tax return. In terms of lost time and income, it’s worth a try.

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Aaarrrggghhh!

Posted on April 11, 2006

The title for this essay simulates the sound of primal frustration, that feeling that occurs when one absolutely throws up one’s hands in exasperation at a given situation. When one runs out of reasons or excuses or possible explanations. I reached that point today regarding the South Shore Health and Racquet Club!

Granted, I originally joined this local establishment in search of a shower, when Earl and I remodeled our two bathrooms last fall and were without bathing alternatives. Back then, when my expectations were lower, I thought the showers were a fine alternative to smelling up the neighborhood as our bathrooms were out of commission for eight weeks.

Now that I can shower in the seclusion of my own master bathroom, I’ve rethought that position. And I’m tired of remaining quiet about it in the fear of insulting local residents about their club. The South Shore Health and Racquet Club needs help.

Some of the things are obvious. Like providing towels that are more than threadbare. Like cleaning the water fountain’s surface that is so dirty the only way I can drink from it is to close my eyes. Like installing a blood pressure machine if the facility is going to be billed as a health club. Like fixing the shower heads in the various locker rooms. One in particular in the swimming pool area looks as if it’s falling off the wall.

Then there are the more subtle improvements. Like removing the sign that honors the club for twenty-five years of service to the community. That occurred in 2001; this is 2006. How about an updated banner that recognizes thirty years of service? It’s April already, but nobody seems to have thought of it. And what about considering offering light refreshments, if not full meals as an enticement to linger?

I realize I’m biased, since I once belonged to the most prestigious health club in the country. I’ve tried not to bring this up, not to compare a club in southwestern Michigan with one in Chicago. But I can no longer remain quiet. I’m not suggesting South Shore emulates the East Bank Club; but it wouldn’t take much for it to impress local residents and gain a greater following. The water fountain is an inexpensive place to start.

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News Outlets

Posted on April 10, 2006

We stopped at the gas station on our way to breakfast yesterday morning to buy the Sunday Chicago Tribune.Trib certainly suggested that point of view. This is the weekend before the Easter holiday, and I imagined a thick paper, full of spring features and bunny-related ideas. Possibly gardening and clean-up suggestions too. Some of that was included, but the meatier sections — like Perspective, Metro, and even Sports — were noticeably thin. In fact, the largest sections were Automotive and Real Estate, which are really all about selling something rather than informing.

I wonder why newspapers are declining, but I think I already know some of the reasons. They are expensive to produce and, with streaming videos on your computer, are often out-of-date before they hit the evening newsstands. Print advertising is down, readership is down. In general, criticism of media is up and newspapers have not been spared any of the vitriol. Regardless, I plan to stick to reading my news and admiring the editors, columnists, and stringers who bring it to me.

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