The Cleveland Marathon was conducted a couple weeks ago along with other races of various distances. A number of streets and highways were closed for the runners and their support personnel.
To be frank, I think that those runners who have the wherewithal to train and run 26.2 miles or 13.1 miles or 10 kilometers or 5 kilometers or whatever distance they run short of the finish line because the runners pulled up lame with pulled muscles, muscle cramps, dehydration, blisters, lacerations, skin irritations, heat stroke, bending over vomiting on the side of the road, among other things, are insane to be commended.
Among the support personnel were spectators on the sides of the roadways, many of them family of the runners, many of them planted by race organizers, who encourage the runners, yelling, "Go, go, go, Honey!" and "Run loose!" and "4:55, baby, good pace, you're good!" and "Pay your fucking child support, you loser!"
I had a particular problem with one of the people who came to see the runners. I know that he wasn't from the neighborhood because, just like in any neighborhood, people become familiar to each other, especially, because I walk my dogs several times a day and night, people with dogs become well known to each other, whether or not their dogs tend to socialize.
I took the dogs out for a short walk, their mid-day, 25-minute cruise around the neighborhood. Sheba was squatting, Bella was sitting observing all that was going on around us, and Beagle Scout was sniffing around, taking in all the odors undetectable by humans, but enjoyed by Beagles, when I noticed that coming towards us was a strange human -- strange as in stranger, rather than as in odd -- and a strange dog, a Boston Terrier. And the human male, rather thick, 60-ish- looking, held the little black-and-white dog with a gray sweater on a retractable, but unretracted leash. Retractable leashes, in my opinion, should be outlawed for dog-walking in the city because it is rare that the human knows how to work the retractable leash and lets the dog wander around at the end of the leash 20 feet away and has no control over the dog.
Now, Scout is the dog that is alert for threats to the pack and serves as the lookout. She may be pre-occupied with smelling every square inch of the downtown neighborhood, but she is always aware of others, particularly, dogs, who are approaching and may invade the pack's territory. She spotted or smelled the Boston Terrier and alerted the others by howling. I immediately told her to shut her fucking yap calm down. She did. Bella stiffened. Sheba continued to squat.
As an aside here, when dealing with strangers, I hold to the theory that I don't know who I'm dealing with; therefore, I am better off staying out of the strangers' business and being polite and respectful. And that philosophy applies to meeting strange dogs, too. One never knows what kind of person or dog one is encountering, especially in that other person's or dog's territory.
Before I go further in this narrative, I must explain something; or you may not understand the story. There is something, some characteristic, some look about Boston Terriers that causes my dogs to loathe them -- loathe is not a strong enough word to describe the uncontrollable bloodlust Bella possesses for this particular breed of dog. She once attacked a concrete Boston Terrier statue, among all the other breeds represented in the garden area outside of the groomer's building, by running toward it and grabbing the concrete head in her mouth, breaking the statue's four legs and knocking the thing to the ground, whereupon she turned to me with a puzzled look on her Boxer face, as if to ask me why her teeth did not do their jobs as designed.
The thick, 60-ish-looking stranger with his strange Boston Terrier approached; and as he and his dog came too close for my comfort, he, meaning the thick, 60-ish-looking stranger, said to Scout, who had howled upon the approach of the strangers, in an unmistakably sarcastic tone, "Yeah, you're ferocious."
The fur down the middle of Scout's back raised into a ridge; a low menacing growl arose from deep inside Bella; and Sheba, not one to become involved with other dogs, having finished her business, rose with a menacing stare. They knew sarcasm when they heard it, and they were not pleased with the strangers. The Boston Terrier's bug eyes were even more bug-eyed than before its master's voice spoke --the little dog, already humiliated by being made to wear a sweater, knew the extreme danger created by its master's voice.
And it would not have been pretty. No, the thick, 60-ish-looking stranger would have been sorry for disrespecting the Beagle Scout, returning to wherever he originated on this bright, sunny day, trying to explain to his wife or son or daughter why he returned without their little Boston Terrier, trying to explain just how violent and horrifying the downtown area was, conveniently leaving out his own culpability in the matter, and wondering if he would be able to wash blood from his hands, the dog collateral damage in the attack.
But that did not happen. Despite the feelings rising within them over the serious insult dealt by a stupid human, the three dogs did as I asked and did not attack him.
Now, his Boston Terrier knows its human's true colors; and the man better watch his back.
I don't discuss basketball (read that "LeBron James") here. I leave that to the other half of the blog, but I will point out one thing.
I guess a lot of people in the Big Apple and the Windy City think that Cleveland is a small market and that joining the Chicago Bulls or the New York Knicks or the New Jersey (soon to be Brooklyn) Nets because the markets are bigger than Cleveland would be a marketing bonanza for LeBron James.
I'm not real bright and don't know very much about anything, but Chinese businessman, Kenny Huang, owns 15% of the Cleveland Cavaliers. He's a marketing guy, recently hooking up Tsingtao Brewery, the largest Chinese beer company, with the Cavaliers and Quicken Loans Arena, the first such marketing deal for the brewery and an NBA team and its arena.
I might be wrong, but Mr. Huang might be able to introduce LeBron to the balance of the 1,330,141,295 (CIA World Fact Book) Chinese who don't know him. Except for Yao Ming, LeBron is the most popular NBA player in China.
Let's see. That market is over 100 times larger than New York and Chicago put together (N.Y. - 8,274,527, Chicago - 2,836,658). Is that a good reason to re-sign with the Cavaliers?
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This is the real reason I posted. Stacey has visited something called Etsy. She directed me to splatgirl creates, who makes leather holders for my MOO mini business cards.
Splatgirl is great. I ordered two custom holders Saturday afternoon. I got them in the mail on Tuesday. Please check out her site.
George W. Bush's legacy lives on as the 1,000th U.S. soldier was killed in the war in Afghanistan. Only those policymakers in Washington, D.C., know why we continue to risk American lives there. To fight Al Qaeda? To fight the Taliban? To search for weapons of mass destruction?
Or to line the pockets of the war profiteers, the military industrial complex, at the expense of priceless American lives and the environment?
Who did I vote for?
What is happening in China? This is like some horror movie in which people catch a virus and go on crazed killing sprees, or it's like something that happens in this country.
This morning, or last night where I am, a man hacked seven kindergartners to death and chopped 11 more, then took his meat cleaver to two adults in the school, killing them. The killer committed suicide.
A week and a half ago, a farmer hammered five kindergartners and a teacher, luckily not killing anyone, before setting himself on fire while holding two children, who were yanked away from the man by teachers.
The day before that a man with a knife stabbed and slashed 29 kindergartners along with two teachers and a security guard.
And just the day before that, a man broke into a primary school and wounded 15 students and a teacher in a knife attack.
When school ended on April 12, a man with a meat cleaver killed a child, a second grader, and woman in her 80's and wounded five others.
Back in March, a man stabbed eight elementary schoolchildren to death. He was executed on April 28. I'm assuming that he exhausted all of his appeals at the time he was put to death.
This infective craziness in China is similar to what occurred there back in 2004, when on September 11, a man armed with a knife and homemade explosives attacked and maimed 28 children at a kindergarten; and then, on September 20, 2004, a bus driver injured 25 children with a kitchen knife at a Primary School. The bus driver was sentenced to death and executed.
Ten days later, a primary school teacher killed four children with a knife in a first grade class and wounded nine other children and three teachers, before taking 65 students hostage. Police coaxed him out and took him into custody.
Same as it ever was.
Michael Bernhart Beckman -- you know this guy is a deranged criminal because he is known by three names, just like Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wayne Gacy, Jack The Ripper, and so many more -- has been arrested down in Lee County, Florida. He had an argument with one of his dogs and stabbed her with a kitchen knife. Oh, yeah -- allegedly.
Beth Deaton Smith -- notice the three names -- bundled up five puppies in a duffle bag and left the bag in an alley, where it was nearly hit by a car. Luckily, the driver stopped and discovered the little puppies. The police tracked Beth Deaton Smith down, and she entered guilty pleas to five counts of cruelty to companion animals and five counts of abandoning animals and will spend the next 90 days in jail, according to the local newspaper. I couldn't find the sentence anywhere on the court's website, but I did find that Ms. Smith has become very well known to the police and the court system over the past 12 years.
And now we come to the irascible, 68- year- old Craig Deering, who shot and killed his Aurora, Colorado, neighbor's dog, according to a local TV station. He stashed the pellet gun in the trash. He admitted shooting the dog. The police arrested him. He ought to spend time in jail, solitary confinement, for as long as possible.
As I was looking at that article, I noticed that a jury convicted David Leroy Blurton of illegally discharging a firearm, among other offenses. David Leroy Blurton should be stripped of one of his three names, and he should have had a different attorney. Why? Well, he should have had a different attorney because maybe that different attorney would have made some kind of plea bargain, which would have been of absolutely no interest to the local news outlet; and we would have never known that old, drunk Dave Blurton shot himself right in his private parts.
I have never been a fan as in the "fanatic" sense of the word of any team before as I am of the Cleveland cavaliers right now. oh sure, I've followed a couple teams now and then: THE Ohio state university bucks football teams (only since matt went to grad school there), a few of the Indians teams now and then. I've even been kind of a slightly vociferous (ahem) fan while watching some games. and then there was the fact that bill played baseball through college. he was even an all-American twice. I loved watching and, ahem, cheering at his games. I LOVED baseball. past tense. I subscribed to the George-carlin view of baseball as a cerebral game. not anymore. it's all about money and steroids, monkeys could play the game as it's played today. sorry. just the way I feel. so baseball bores the shit out of me. the racing ketchup and mustard bottles on the jumbotron don't hold my interest.
when lebron was in high school and the talking heads in the sports world were orgasmic over this kid, I would make gagging sounds to bill. I had 2 boys, one lebron's age; and I thought, "this kid is fucked. in a minute and a half, he's gonna be in big trouble with drugs. or gambling. or too many women. or..." so when the cavs got him, it was a big-whoop moment for me. big fucking whoop.
then we moved downtown. bill was excited because our cable company down here showed all the games. so when I noticed the something in the air thing, bill told me the cavs were playing, and plaintively whined, "pleeeeeease, come onnnnn!. let's watch the game!" I uncharacteristically agreed. got to give the poor guy something once in a while. I was mesmerized. the kid was unbelievable. and a team player!. holy crap -- didn't he know what the press were saying about him? after the game when he was interviewed by the big network announcer, he sure didn't sound like my 20 year old. he didn't sound like any 20-year old boy I ever knew. he spoke about team work and actually made sense. no sports double talk.
I was hooked. totally and absolutely hooked. we watched every game that we could after that. I bought a cavs hat. bill was in pig heaven. I was finally perfect in his eyes.
now, I'm a cavs season-ticket holder. we have 4 seats at center court. in the top row at the Q. I picked the seats. laugh if you want at the last-row thing; you cannot believe how great these seats are unless you've been with us. and when I say center court, I mean center court. bill sits on one side of the center court line, and I sit on the other. and we sit next to each other. we are at the top of the aisle, so no one sits in front of us. no one sits behind us. and this gimpy old lady loves it enough to not mind the trek up the steps to the seats. I hope to be making the long walk to the finals games in June. we purchased the same seats for next year.
you see, I have to believe. the cavs -- and lebron -- have become all mixed up in my love for this cool old town now. my poor Cleveland. the original rust-belt city. rusty and depressed and in a bad way. and now we are the most "miserable" city in the nation. John stossel (NEVER a favorite of mine) jumps immediately on the band wagon and does an entire series on how bad we suck. I'll admit that he may have made a good point in the obstreperousness and obstructiveness of our governmental entities here. look up "clusterfuck" in the dictionary. but. BUT. he also made no attempt to "get" Cleveland. Tony bourdain got Cleveland. if you haven't seen his piece on Cleveland and are interested enough to want to get Cleveland, you can see it online.
and I'm not just talking to out-of-towers -- I'm talking to you suburbanites. you are the biggest Cleveland haters of all. when - if ever - was the last time you went to the west-side market, a museum, or the orchestra? then shut the hell up.
by the way, the same government-supported "grocery" store John stossel derided as an example of Cleveland ridiculousness is the west side market, an amazing marketplace consisting of owner-operated and mini-shops. walk through the market on a crazy Saturday, and you'll get a big part of who we are. the market building was built in 1912, but the market operated on that site since 1840. many of the "shops" have been in the same family for generations.
we have world-class museums, major-league sports teams, the Cleveland clinic, world-class orchestra, museums, educational institutions, the second-largest theatrical district in the WORLD, and a rich and diverse population. yet, we have become the scapegoat of the nation and most of the media.
which brings us back to lebron. nobody outside of Cleveland gets how on earth CLEVELAND has the best basketball player on the planet. new yorkers can't imagine that he'll stay. "why would he WANT to," they say. of COURSE he will go to new York. or Miami. or Dallas. or Chicago. ANYWHERE but Cleveland.
my heart will break (ok, maybe not break, but it will be awfully sore) if he does leave. it will shatter all my notions of who he is. and -- he is the best thing that has happened to this city in YEARS. decades even. it will be like kicking an old gimpy lady in the face after she's fallen down the steps. I will be so, so sad for me and my city. we are trying so hard to pull ourselves up -- in spite of all the haters. this would be a terrible blow.
when we moved downtown, I said that I just want to see this city on top again before I die. for a while, I've felt like that could happen. if we lose bron, I don't know when -- and if -- that will happen.
I think even John stossel gets that.
On the microwave, when one of the numbers, 5 or less, is pushed, the microwave oven goes on for the number of minutes equal to the number pushed. Yesterday, I noticed that after I pushed the number 3, appearing on the LED thing, where the time is counted down, was the word, flashing once ... twice ... "EXPRESS." Then the 3:00 appeared and changed to 2:59, 2:58, until the machine beep-beep-beeped, flashing "READY." I never saw that before, not the "READY," but the "EXPRESS."
Then I got to thinking. In the nearly five years I have been using the microwave, I had not seen "EXPRESS" flash on that little screen. Twice it flashed. So, it is a new thing. But why did this "EXPRESS" mode simply appear when I had not noticed it in five years? And how could this happen?
There is but one rational explanation. It is an experiment, not my experiment, but someone else's experiment. And I am apparently an innocent subject in someone else's experiment.
It is an experiment involving time. The microwave is not a simple microwave oven designed to heat stuff, but a device to speed up time. You see, in "EXPRESS" mode, time is sped up by the machine.
And how am I supposed to know that time is sped up? I'm not supposed to know. I'm the subject; I'm not supposed to know.
But now that I know, what do I do? I don't know who is running the experiment or why; so, what do I do? I'll stop using the microwave like They want me to do. And then we'll see what happens. Nobody is speeding up time on me.