Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

The Ice Cream Sandwich

Let's talk about ice cream sandwiches, of which there are basically two types, the high-end "premium" ice cream sandwiches, e.g., Klondike ice cream sandwiches, and the low-end sandwiches, that is, the kind made by regional companies that are longer than they are wide and are wrapped in white paper folded and sealed in a secret way known only by the machines that fold them.

For those of you who have never had an ice cream sandwich, ice cream sandwiches are, as the name implies, ice cream, classically, artificially vanilla-flavored, sandwiched between two chocolate-like cake-y wafers. Bastardizations include the artificially chocolate-flavored ice cream between two chocolate-like cake-y wafers and artificially vanilla-flavored ice cream sandwiched between two faux-chocolate-chip cookies, among other combinations.

Historically, the wafers of the low-end ice cream sandwiches have become very soft, almost soggy, which causes significant problems in removal of the paper wrapper, which must always be torn off because of the secret folding and sealing process. The wrapper sticks to the sandwich, leaving ice creamy stickiness and, at times, chocolate gooeyness, on the inside of the wrapper.

Why is this problematical? I find that there are occasions when I am asked to get someone an ice cream sandwich, usually the low-end type because that's what someone likes, from the freezer. It is expected, fairly or unfairly, which, of course, doesn't matter, that, because I got up to fetch the frozen confection, I will be at the ready to pick up and throw the spent wrapper into the trashcan. Really, I wouldn't mind picking up the unwrapped wrapper and throwing it away because I understand something about the division of labor and to shut up and do what I'm told to do; but the wrapper is never neatly folded or balled up so that the outside of the wrapper stays outside. It is invariably left so that ice creamy stickiness and, at times, chocolate gooeyness, cannot be avoided when picking up the nasty torn wrapper, and the sticky, gooey artificial stuff gets all over my hands.

So, I say something about it -- you know -- about my hands or fingers, if I'm very careful and use only my thumb and forefinger to pick up the wrapper, being sticky and, at times, gooey from the inside-out wrapper.

Reply: "Wash your hands. And then take a nap."

NO. 1! pffft.

ok, so i AM number one in a google search for "fuckin' tribe;" some of the results are even about the cleveland indians. mostly not. weirdos.

i'm PISSED about how they played. stupid. scared. way out of their league the last couple games. imho, here's what i'd consider if *i* were in charge:

1) pitching coach who knows how to call pitches (i'm WAY past thinking that a catcher should know this). i realize this may be a lost art, and that there aren't many who may know what i'm even talking about here; shame on you major league coaches who don't get it. call bill. PLEASE. PLEASE.

2) a coach who knows he should replace dh in the lineup if he isn't HITTING. duh.

3) a sports psychologist to get in their fucking HEADS. you pussy ball players walk around cleveland acting like you're hot shit and better'n anybody, but put you in boston, and you act like you play for the saint monica's girl's softball team. grrrrrr.

i'm not the type of person who has EVER held onto bad feelings about losing a sporting event (i'm from cleveland -- you have to learn early to deal with it), but this one hurt. more than pain, i feel embarrassed. ashamed.

fuckin' tribe.

At the Wedding Reception

Did you ever reach for a piece of bread in a basket wrapped in a white cloth napkin and find that the ciabatta bread wasn't sliced all the way through so you have to tear off a piece? And then, while you're trying to tear off the piece of bread without trying to draw attention to the fact that you're mangling this hunk of bread into something unrecognizable so that nobody else will want to have any bread, did you ever notice some smoke coming from the white cloth napkin because it's laying on top of the nice little votive candle, the purpose of which is unknown?

And did you know that where there's smoke, there's fire? A big blue and yellow flame?

I stuck it in my water glass to put the fire out.

Here it is:

Now we know what happened to the Shroud of Turin.

BYTHENUMBERS

1. last week, a girl took my picture with a flash camera from inside a bar as i was getting on maxine, superbarbiescooter. i was caught off guard and said nothing. if it ever happens again, i'm ready. i may have to beat the shit out of somebody.

2. bill asked me if i wanted to do this this weekend, but then quickly rescinded the invitation: "i think i have my referee training for this.

3. fuckin' tribe.

4. fuckin' tribe.

5. jax called me friday evening screaming into the phone -- it took me a couple seconds to understand him: "MY SONG'S PLAYING ON THE RADIO!!!" local non-commercial (illegal?) station giving his stuff some play. COOLNESS!

6. fuckin' tribe.

Say It Enough, and It Must Be Grammatically Correct

In this state, lawyers stand in front of three-judge panels of the courts of appeals to orally present their legal arguments about why the trial court was right or wrong in its decision. Long beforehand, the lawyers have submitted written explanations to the court. These things are the legal briefs you hear and read about; and most times, they are often not very brief.

Yesterday, I appeared before a court of appeals to argue why the trial court decision was correct. An oral argument in another case was set at the same time, but was set to go first; so, I was able to sit back and listen to the 15-minute presentations by each side.

With the lawyer who lost in the trial court going first, my interest was piqued, not by the subject of the case, but by his use of language, so much so that I pulled out my pen and Levenger 3x5 cards and started to make notes.

Here are quotes:

This case is very unique.

The situation in the case was very unique.

This is a very unique nuisance.

This is a very unique case.

We have a very unique nuisance in this case.

This case is very unique in that this court has not seen a nuisance like this before.

And while he was clicking his ball point pen, he so eruditely made his final point: This case is so unique because the facts are so unique.

Red Sox v. Indians

Wow! If those three consecutive home runs last night by Youkilitz, Ortiz, and Ramirez were put end-to-end-end, I could have run up on the roof of our building and caught the last one. Wow!

The partisan Cleveland crowd was upset by the hot dog celebration and walk half way to first base by Manny Ramirez in admiration of his long blast into the darkness. Manny's antics didn't bother me. Manny is pretty cool. He's a Cheeto's-Cheese-Puffs-for-Breakfast kind of guy, who knows he's paid a lot of money he doesn't deserve for playing a game he would play even if the money wasn't there.

What bothered me was David Ortiz standing at home plate after circling the bases on his laser home run shot to right field, looking up into the night sky, motioning, apparently giving thanks to his god or praying, as if his god really cares abvout what Ortiz is doing in Manny's game.

David, next time, you're talking to him or her, put in a word with your god to end war, famine, and disease. Let's remember what's important, David; and it's not a home run in a baseball game.

SUPER BARBIE SCOOTER MAXINE

it’s official. her name is max. officially "super barbie scooter maxine." here’s bill driving her home from pride of cleveland scooters. I freaking LOVE this picture!

I wanted a scooter to enhance the quality of my life -- a scooter will open up more of the city to me. most of my brain damage winds up limiting my mobility in a big way. balance and thermostat problems make it very uncomfortable, if not impossible, to walk more than a block and a half. and bill's ALWAYS up for an adventure; adventures abound in the city. often, he feels guilty indulging himself; then I feel guilty.

once I realized a scooter would be the solution to this problem, no one could change my mind.

matt and mel and jackson weren't thrilled with the idea. my sister, diann, was particularly annoyed and concerned. especially after I fell and broke my shoulder, they worried.

I tried to impress upon them that this was more about opening up my life and improving the quality of both my and bill's life. AND, i'd/WE'D wear helmets and hold the rides to within a certain, limited radius from home. and be really, REALLY careful.

I try very hard not to be governed or limited by fear. i couldn't feel good about that that DECISION. I have enough very real physical limitations - the last thing I need are "imaginary" boundaries.

i've felt a lot of fear in the past couple weeks just THINKING about riding a scooter. "maybe the kids and diann are right."

I REALLY felt a LOT of fear riding bill's scooter last week and my little super-barbie scooter, maxine, yesterday. i'm not very good at it yet, so bill's being very patient and careful with me. there were a couple times when I felt like it might just be the right thing, even the smart thing to let fear make the decision to quit. it sure would have been the easy thing. but I can't do that. I rode 10 MILES yesterday - and i'm really proud of myself. i'll keep working at it, and they tell me i'll get better and less panicky and more confident. and then it will be all FUN (I did feel SOME fun yesterday).

i'm trying to work this through for myself here; I KNOW that I feel a lot of fear and know that I could be TOTALLY ruled by it.

bill said to me on my once-or-50- arounds in the garage, "don't quit on me, stace." I won't..

we just got back from starbucks! that was scary as freaking hell! traffic is picking up down here – the browns play at 1. we parked in front of a meter with a very macho motorcycle cop who said he wouldn’t let us get a ticket. I talked to him about my inexperience and fear. he was so cool and encouraging. super barbie scooter maxine brings out the best in everybody!

Snubbed Again

I can't tell you how irritated I am about the unmitigated gall they have to deliberately snub me once again in all of the categories.

I will admit that I wasn't nominated for the Nobel Prize in Economics; so, I am not expecting the phone call on my birthday Monday -- I barely got out of Econ 101 alive in college. I'm just pleased that the university did away with the Pass-Fail grading system for electives the following year; otherwise, my GPA would have taken a major hit, which would have probably meant some kind of macro-economic loss at some point. Thank you, Professor Goldberg, wherever you are.

As you may or may not know, I was nominated for awards in several categories (Peace, Physics, Chemistry, Medicine, and Literature); and I was the only person nominated in more than one category. Now, I assume that my nomination by e-mail was an okay thing to do. Nobody said I couldn't do that.

Here's my complaint about the whole process. I have been sitting by the fucking phone all week long anxiously waiting for the call. If nobody was going to make the call to me, someone should have had the courtesy to call me to tell me that.

So, no Nobel Prize this year.

Television

The building manager cut a deal with a new cable TV company for the building. Whereas we had maybe 50 channels before, we now have at least 75,000 channels. You want movie channels, there are movie channels galore. I think there's a channel called "Galore." Or maybe it's the "Gore Galore" channel, considering that Halloween is creeping up on us.

There are sports channels for everyone, anywhere -- and any sport. Music? Do you want music videos or do you want just the music. There is any kind of music you want. There is a even classical music video station.

Polish TV? That's the nationality, not the stuff you put on shoes -- channels 56271 through 56275. Vietnamese TV? It's like days of old -- only three channels. And no sub-titles. But it's in color.

I chanced across a channel called "Westerns." "The Rifleman" was on. Now, once upon a time, I loved "The Rifleman." I had a Rifleman Winchester repeater rifle -- it was just a toy; but it looked real, not like today's plastic things with the orange stoppers on the barrels. This was realistic -- real wooden stock and with a roll of 50 caps in the holder, I could get off 50 shots, even better than Lucas McCain, in rapid-fire action.

It was a good rifle to have in a gunfight. Of course, back in those days, we were playing -- it was not like it is today with real guns, real bullets, real blood, real death.

So much for the "Westerns" channel.

INTRODUCING: !

this is the only baby i'll be seeing for a while (thanks anyway, anji!). ordered her today. chopped that bitch as much as i could. turns out the 50cc is the best fit for me (lighter, shorter, slower). she's only a 2-stroke, the sweetheart. and they don't make the whitewalls for her pretty little size. but i did get her a wicker basket! she'll be at the dealers before the weekend!

what should i name her? i'm thinking something not real girly, cuz that might be a bit much. but, she IS a girl, doncha think?

TITLE

i'll try to focus on only a few things here -- it's been so long -- AGAIN -- since i posted; and i don't want this to be a christmas newsletter.

mea culpa on the not-posting thing. i'm crazy busy on a really big, big project -- one that will keep me pretty much hog-tied for at least the next couple of years. very big -- extremely rewarding. when we're past a big part of this first planning and organizing stage, i'll let you in on it. i don't think i'm done with this blogging thing, just even more sporadic (if you can imagine such a thing).

jax doing great, matt and mel fab.

the scooter thing: ok. i will identify scooters by their color and cc, k?

first, bill purchased a NEON green 50cc a couple years ago. it hasn't been running. we made a big push at beginning of summer to get parts and the service necessary to get it on the road. in the meantime, bill purchased me a red 150(!)cc for my birthday. scared the crap out of me it did. too heavy, too fast. and definitely NOT the orange color i requested. NEON green 50cc STILL waiting for parts.

so i told bill to ride the big, fast red 150cc, and i'd take the NEON green 50cc when it was fixed. i knew i could handle a 50cc -- i'd ridden one before.

i insisted we get the motorcycle learner's permits and helmets before we sat on a bike again so we headed to bmv to get the packets and take the written test. bill passed. i didn't. go ahead -- laugh. i'd prefer you didn't, but how would i find out? besides, i live with BILL. you think i haven't heard it before?

i finally figured out that one of my problems with the test -- for me -- AND ONE OF THE GREATEST DELIGHTS OF BILL'S LIFE (when i spoke to him about this issue, he took out a pen and paper and wrote down word for word my rant on this, just to stop his LAUGHING) is the fact that "they" call the handle accelerator a "throttle." now this might just seem like a duh moment to you, but i'm not an engine person. especially not a motorcycle engine. so i had no fricking clue what they were talking about. i mean -- this is a MOTORCYCLE test, and they got me all flustered with talk of gears and clutches (i KNOW THAT SOME CARS HAVE GEARS AND CLUTCHES, AND I EVEN KNOW HOW TO USE THEM), but i knew my scooter didn't have gears and clutches, so... and then "they" ask me about what to do with the throttle in such and such situations. i throw my hands up in the air -- "WTF??? MOTORCYCLES HAVE GEARS, CLUTCHES, HAND BRAKES, THE ACCELERATOR THINGY -- AND A THROTTLE?????" HOW MANY HANDS DO THEY THINK I HAVE? AND HOW DO I KNOW WHAT A THROTTLE DOES???" you can imagine bill's reaction; and if you don't get it either, i love you. really, i love you.

in the meantime, the NEON green 50cc guy told us that he just could not get the parts -- junk the bitch, he said. so we did. and then he sold us a beautiful silver 150cc (bigger tires for stability). so we finally have 2 scooters.

so bill taught me about the throttle -- he said, "the throttle IS the accelerator thingy." after he clued me in, i took the test and kicked its ass. it was revenge time, baby. and you'll get yours too, bill. just wait.

then i picked up my new donald-duck-bill helmet, ready to roll, i was.

bedecked in my helmet, i got on the scooter and proceeded to scare myself shitless. i drove around and around in our building parking garage for over an hour until i had a panic moment in a turn and stopped the bike -- and me, thank god -- right up against a huge beam in the garage. threw my RIGHT arm and wrist into the mother fucker. it was either that or "lay the bike down." that's what we bikers say. it means fall the fuck down. i'm not hurt. not really. just black and blue. and humbled. i stood there for about a half hour crying like a little girl (cuz that's what i do) while bill's telling me how great i did (pfffft). i'm getting a 50cc cute little italian thing and i'm gonna chop that bitch (it seems like i should put a preposition at the end there like "up" or "out"?). once again, for you non-bikers it means, "make it all pretty." or maybe not. now i'm not sure.

here's what i'm thinking. from "pride of cleveland scooters" website.

see the white walls? that bitch is CHOPPED. i also have my eyes on a cute little wicker basket for the front.

but don't worry about me. i can handle a 50cc like a pro. and i'm not getting a pussy TWO-STROKE -- I'M GOING FOR THE GOLD -- THE FOUR-STROKE, BABY. if they make a 4-stroke 50CC. don't ask me what that means -- ask bill. i just know the lingo. he's the detail guy.

if you want to see a picture of me in my helmet, leave a comment; and IF I TRUST YOU (and you send back the signed and notarized non-disclosure agreement) i'll e-mail it to you. fine. whatever. here it is.

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Bread Winner

Apparently, I have not been doing a very good job slicing loaves of bread. I suppose that there is some kind of technique taught somewhere. But the problem is that one person's perpendicular cut through a loaf of bread might not be the same as another's; so, I slice the bread what I think is perpendicular to the cutting board. I'm pretty careful about it.

Careful in slicing perpendicular, that is; but I have, of late, also successfully avoided cutting off my fingers, for the most part. But you know how it is -- I end up eventually slicing at like an angle so that the slices come out even and then the rest of the loaf looks like this:

So, I was looking at some websites. All the advice mentions that the cutter must be sure the blade of the knife is perpendicular to the cutting surface. Gee, who knew?? Fucking amazing. So, I tried to make sure about the perpendicularity of the situation; and here's what I got:

Perpendiculous.

It's Pork

Have you noticed the barriers being erected along the interstate highways over the past several years? Or maybe we are behind the times, and there are graffiti-covered walls along the highways all over the country. In any event, our state highway department is putting up faux red brick walls with faux sandstone caps along a stretch of highway heading west out of town. It's kind of like watching the kids with their Legos building things -- or not.

At one point, for about a quarter mile, the top third of the wall is transparent. It could be glass or plexiglass or transparent aluminum; but whatever it is, I'm trying to figure out why it was installed.

There are no houses or buildings in the area. And if there were, are the windows put in the wall so that the incredibly beautiful vista, which includes a 10-lane highway, wouldn't be impaired?

Here’s the real reason the windows were installed: to provide long-term job security for someone, someone whose job it will be to clean the windows.