Yet Even More Small Things

While attending the IU-Kentucky basketball game a few weeks ago, I was blessed with the comedy of the following individual, who was trying to get the attention of a friend apparently sitting on the other side of the stadium:

This gentleman, who must have blind friends, got on his cell phone on no less than nine different occasions during the game while standing up and waving into the distance off to his right. His conversation, although I could not hear it, definitely was:
“Hey! Are you at the game? Me too! Where are you? I’m over here!”
[Waves arm frantically.]
“Over here! I’m wearing red and waving! In the stands!”
[Waves both arms momentarily, then puts cell phone back to his face.]
“Over here! No, here!”
[Hangs up phone, waits, twitching, while ten minutes pass. Makes another call, again waving non-phone arm franticly.]
“Hey! Yeah, I’m still here! Over here!”
[His wife leaps from the upper deck in embarrassment.]
“Over here!”

Let’s get this straight. There is “damn it” and there is “dammit.” These are different, as in:
Oh, damn it, I put too much balsamic vinaigrette in that marinade!
Get that moose off my truck, dammit!

Please enjoy the following artistic stacking of Lake Michigan beach-rocks as collected and constructed by my father, who puts my own stacking abilities to shame:


A gentleman at my place of employment has quite a few autographed baseballs on his desk. The other day while he was at lunch, I spent some time trying to figure out whose signatures were on all of them. Since the professional autograph is slightly less legible than a smear of pigeon poop, this was pretty challenging. These are the results of my honest efforts to discern the name on each baseball:

Whaverin Havlisch
Gloria Stinker
Bello Lewtsky
Lard Slothi
Hubris Proin
Liderica va Stadi
Si Na Parliuy
Mail Dog In Car

If you make the life choice to purchase and drive a minivan, you can not, no matter how hard you try, make it cool. This is as impossible as sampling a Yanni track on your forthcoming thugged-out hip-hop single. Don’t waste your time. Case in point:


On the other hand, there are some automotive alterations that are so absurdly over the top that the final product is just damn impressive. When I was at the semi-in-the-hood audio electronics shop getting my partially-burgled car stereo replaced, I saw this beauty in the back of the shop. Because of the enclosed space, I was only able to photograph part of it:

Those are twenty-four inch rims (I asked the owner), and the interior had been done up in immaculate white leather (or possibly vinyl, I didn’t ask the owner). A few minutes later, while I was on the opposite side of the store, the audio equipment was being installed in this lime monster was sound-tested. It consisted of approximately sixty-seven subwoofers at roughly eight million watts apiece. I have never in my life experienced such a level of bass, not even at standing three feet away from the speakers at a concert. “Experienced” is more appropriate than “heard” because my ears were only one of the many organs that were directly influenced by the levels of sound that also shook the entire store. Insanity.

Football fans, I ask you this: how hard is it to kick a field goal? The answer: very, very, very hard. NFL kickers have the job security of a lemming, and college kickers frequently can’t hit a freaking extra point! Why is kicking so hard? I have no idea. And to further the madness, consider that the hash marks on a football field, which limit the distance from the center of a field from which a field goal must be attempted, are progressively narrower in high school, college, and the pros. This means that sweaty terrified teenagers, by far the least skilled group of kickers, have the greatest likelihood of being forced to take a kick from a high angle of difficulty, while the steely-nerved pros are given a much straighter shot. True, the uprights are wider in the lower echelons of football, but still, none of this makes any sense to me.

If you are going to make holiday-colored Rice Krispy Treats and sell them at your coffee shop, please consider that while a pile of red and green Treats certainly looks like Christmas fun, a pile of only red Treats looks like ground beef:


Progressive Concepts, a division of the Department of Redundancy Department:


Oh, and the Shins are my new favorite band. Yes, two years after they were discussed in “Garden State.” I’m slow picking up on things. Give me a break. At least I’m not a slave to trends. At least not immediately.

There are a number of things that are true:
1. College students have way too much time on their hands.
2. There are a lot less pretentious poses that could have been selected here.
3. This might be going slightly overboard as far as dorm room door-art is concerned.
4. But, you have to admit that this is pretty cool:


Another gem from O’Dell’s Annals of the New York Stage: From the 1885 theatre season, a two man team of female impersonators called Our Swinging Beauties. The performers’ names? Retardo and Shaw.

And finally, please submit in the Comments area an appropriate caption for this photo:

Chronology of a Disaster

[Attention: If you watched the Colts game and were heartbroken, you don’t need to read this. You’ve already been through it. I am absolutely crushed. But I went through the trouble of writing this all down, so I might as well post it.]

Okay, here’s the situation: My parents went away on a week’s – sorry about that. It just happens. Let’s try again.

Here are the circumstances as they currently stand: I am on vacation in South Florida, where I have just made the conscious, deliberate, and calculated decision to forsake the sun-drenched poolside paradise at which I had been lounging for several hours in order to come inside at watch a football game.

And not just any football game, but the Indianapolis Colts first round playoff game against the Pittsburgh Steelers. This will be a small world of torture for me. Yes, I am on vacation in sunny wonderfulness, but I am watching a Colts playoff game in complete isolation. To explain: I am a Colts fan in the same way that Nathan Lane is gay. Even when I’m pretending not to care about the Colts, you can still tell that they matter to me. Beyond that, this is the year that the Colts SHOULD win the Super Bowl. Last year, we had a shot, but this year, we have been the clear, wire-to-wire favorite. Thus, every game has even more pressure than before. If we lose this game, I’m probably going to be in bed for the remainder of the vacation. Our hotel doesn't even have a bar.

As such, it is hard to watch these high pressure games without wanting to throw up. This is why it is necessary to watch these games with groups of similarly-minded people who will suffer as you suffer. Since my girlfriend is not one of these people, and would (strangely) prefer to enjoy the sun rather than sit in a dark hotel room with her stressball boyfriend, I am all alone here. And I cannot handle that.

So, as an attempt to avoid killing myself, I’m going to try a running journal of the game, as originated by ESPN.com’s The Sports Guy. For an example, go here for his account of this year's Rose Bowl. Yes, this is not a unique idea, but I’ve got to do something or my Colts-loving head is going to absolutely explode. The published results will be almost entirely un-edited.

1:01 p.m. Announcer Dan Dierdorf just used “not” from Wayne’s World. As in, “You could say that Peyton Manning has had a bad year, since he threw only 21 fewer touchdowns than last year. Not!” I now expect Dan to call “car!” at the first timeout.

1:07 Holy god, the Colts kickoff landed almost on the goal-line. This is the, what, third time that’s happened this season, despite the fact that we’ve had seventeen kickers on our roster.

1:08 Two completions to Heath Miller, and the Steelers are marching down the field. I do not like this at all. Has Cowher figured out that pass defense is our weakness? Suddenly we’re looking like the bend-but-not-break Colts of last year.

1:13 Umm, make that bend and break. TD Pittsburgh. Randle-El was wide wide open. That was very awful to watch. My heart rate is about eight hundred. I suspect that Dick and Dan will come back from commercial to inform us of how few times the Colts have been behind this season.

1:18 Unbelievably, nobody has used the word “rusty” to describe the Colts yet. Given that we haven’t played a meaningful game in a month, I expected to hear this approximately six hundred times this game.

1:20 And we go three-and-out on our first possession. I’m going to kill myself.

1:24 After a 20 yard completion, the Steeler run game is stuffed once again. At this point, why bother running? Go Mike Martz on us, and throw the ball 60 times.

1:24:15 Oh, right, because when you throw 60 times, your QB gets hit often, and he tends to throw more interceptionss, which Roethlisburger JUST DID! I have just picked up my girlfriend’s laptop off of the floor where it was launched when I leaped from my seat and jumped around screaming. Fortunately, it still works.

1:27 Enberg just informed us that Colts DE Dwight Freeney considers himself “a wild flower in a field of daisies.” I have no idea what this means.

1:29 Another three-and-out. Peyton looks as shaky as a heroin junkie who needs a fix. Shaky feet, shaky vision, shaky hands. Blargh.

1:30 The maid has just come in to make up the room. I am not moving. She is definitely unprepared for the “Go ahead, I’ll just sit on the bed while you work” approach. I think I’m going to mess with her, maybe unmake one of the beds after she’s already made it. Anything to distract myself from the pain of this game.

1:34 Mathis gets to Roethlisburger. Wobbly pass goes nowhere. Awesome. At least the D came to play.

1:36 Colts cornerback Nick Harper is down. Apparently he was injured in a “domestic dispute” yesterday and has three stitches in his thigh. This would be funny except for the fact that we’re absolutely getting killed. Oh, and its his non-stabbed leg that is hurt. Fantastic.

1:39 Touchdown, Pittsburgh. 14-0. Oh god oh god oh god oh god…

1:45 False Start, Tarik Glenn. Well, at least we got that one out of the way early. Only two more to go and Tarik will have is requisite three per game.

1:47 3rd and 24. We don’t get it. And there’s a penalty. I am living my absolute nightmare.

1:48 End of the first quarter. Manning is 2-6, has been sacked twice, and has happy feet worse than Steve Martin. Is it bad when you say “Our defense is keeping us in this game” and your team is down 14-0? Yes. At this point, this game is over.

1:52 The defense holds, and Pittsburgh punts. The NFL should mandate an obligatory “block in the back” penalty on every kickoff and punt return, because they throw that flag every time anyway.

1:57 Another three-and-out. Manning is pressured on every snap. I am seriously going to turn this game off if Pittsburgh scores another TD before we score at all. I cannot tolerate sitting in here alone and watching one of the most amazing seasons in the history of my love of the NFL go to shit in an hour.

2:07 Maybe if I eat some lunch life will look a little better.

2:10 Three Colt first downs in a row. Manning getting some protection. Edge running well. Glint of hope. I attribute this all to my decision to have lunch. I will now eat lunch for the rest of the game.

2:!4 Edge fakes the holy crap out of two Steelers and makes a loss of two into a gain of five. Suddenly, I kind of like life again. I’m yelling at the TV, which is a sure sign of a fan’s belief that his team can win.

2:17 3rd and goal from the 1. False start Tarik Glenn. That’s two. Man, Tarik, I hate you. To his credit, Dan Dierdorf has only used the word “rust” twice thus far in this game, and both times it has been completely accurate. It is hard to find a sportscaster who doesn’t overuse the obvious. Mr. Dierdorf, I tip my hat to you.

2:20 My girlfriend just came up from the pool to get something and then went back down to the pool. I’m not sure that I actually acknowledged her presence while she was in the room. Okay, just kidding. We had a conversation.

2:21 On 4th and 3 from the 3, the Colts kick a field goal. Good call. Great drive, fizzed out at the end. Got to put points on the board. And we get the ball back after halftime.

2:24 Strange: the Colts kickoff lands in the blue area at the far end of the field. I’m not familiar with this, but it appears that the opposing team will down the ball in the blue area and get the ball on the 20 yard line. I have heard tales of this legendary “touchback, but have never actually seen one in person.

2:29 Halftime, 14-3. Okay, the score is not good, true, but the momentum is shifting. The rust (yes, I’ll say it too) flaking off of the offense, and we’re getting things rolling. The Steeler offense hasn’t done too much since that second TD. We’re getting to Roethlisburger, and still shutting down the running game. I wish that it were 14-7, but I feel okay enough to go sit down by the pool for ten minutes.

2:55 Blaaaaaagh! I stayed at the pool too long and missed half of the third quarter! I have no idea what has happened. A total failure on my part. This is why you always watch football in groups. Steelers are driving. We have not scored. If they go up 21-3, I will hate life again.

2:58 The Steelers punt. I have calmed down. Coming back late from the pool really rattled me. Unforgivable error. Never should have left. Was confused by lure of tropical sun.

3:03 Well, three and out and almost a safety. Punt, and the Steelers will start on the Colts 30. Just great. You can see why this is so stressful. Good lord.

3:06 Suddenly, the Steelers have a run game and are looking like they’re going to score. Again, 21-3 is not a score that I think I can emotionally tolerate.

3:09 First and goal from the 3, Steelers. I hate life.

3:11 Touchdown, Steelers. 21-3. I am beyond words here.

3:16 Okay, while Steelers defensive back Cheety Eye Woma (I have no idea how this is spelled, but I swear that’s what they said his name was) is being helped off the field, let’s assess: The Colts are down three scores and they are playing against a very good D that can now just sit back in coverage and wait for the passes. The Steelers running game is clicking, suddenly. Bottom line: If we don’t score a touchdown on this drive, the game is probably over. At the very least, my ability to tolerate the game is probably over.

3:19 4th and 2 from midfield. Dungy sends out the punt team, Manning sends them back. Fantastic. Now the quarterback and the coach are fighting. This has happened before, but not in such dire circumstances. And….we complete the pass for a first down. Great call. Fighting is not a concern. Who cares.

3:22 And now we’re going to the southeast corner of the RCA Dome to congratulate the winners of the NFL’s “Punt, Pass, and Kick” program. Note that this is not a competition, but a program. Whatever. Any momentum the Colts gained from the 4th and 2 completion is now as dead as 13-year-old “Punt Pass and Kick” champion Katie Bloom’s chances of getting a date in the next five years.

3:24 Touchdown, Dalls Clark! I obviously have no idea what I’m talking about. 21-10. There is hope. Please, oh please dear football gods, let this not be the kind of hope that merely keeps you clinging on when really you should just let go and admit gut-wrenching defeat. Please let this be real hope. Please? Hello? Are you there football gods? It’s me…oh, never mind. This is good, but we’re still going to have to score a TD on probably every possession we get.

3:32 Steelers, facing 4th and inches and midfield, will go for it. And, not to be pessimistic, but I say they will get it. If you’re a rushing oriented team with the guts to go for it in this situation, you find a way to make the yardage.

3:35 After some shenanigans by the refs, Roethlisburger QB sneaks up the middle and…gets a very generous spot…and…they’re measuring it…and…they got it by a foot. Dammit.

3:40 4th and a yard. Steelers go for it again, and get it. I hate hate hate my life. In order to not turn off this game I am going to have to change the channel for a minute or two. My apologies, but I simply cannot deal with this. I know, I’m a complete coward. Fortunately, “Perfect World” is now playing on hotel Showtime. Kevin Costner in one of his few good performances (usually some sort of run-down redneck rather than a self-absorbed post-apocalyptic weirdo).

3:45 I tune back in and the Steelers are punting. This means that good things will happen when I don’t watch. Fortunately, I’m not superstitious. Oh, wait, yes I am. Dammit. Back to “Perfect World.”

3:48 And I turn back to the game just in time to see Peyton throw an interception. See? I was right. Superstition is right. The world does revolve around me. The Colts pretty much have to challenge this, so I’m going back to Showtime while it happens to improve their chances of winning the challenge.

3:55 Back to the game just in time to learn that the interception was overturned and the Colts still have the ball. And now they’re driving.

3:57 Touchdown Colts! There is life! There is hope! Just cruised right down the field. And I got to watch all of it. Besides, I know how “Perfect World” ends. Superstition all gone.

3:59 After a false start (curiously, not Tarik Glenn), the Colts convert the two pointer and are now only down three, 21-18. Holy God. 4:20 left. There is hope.

4:05 3rd and 6 Steelers, INCOMPLETE! We’re getting the ball back! We’re getting the ball back! I’m calling the front desk to have one of those portable defibrillators brought up to my room.

4:06 Troy Walters tries to kill me by muffing the punt return, but he hangs on to the ball. We’ve got 2:30 left and must get into field goal range.

4:10 Coming out of the 2-minute warning timeout, the sideline cameraman gets caught being zoomed waaaay to far in on a Colts cheerleader. The director quickly changes cameras to show Peyton getting crushed on a blitz. After a long incompletion, it’s 4th and 16. And they blitz. And get him. And game over. And season over. And another year. I am absolutely sick.

4:12 My dad calls me, presumably to commiserate, but he’s actually calling me to make sure I haven’t turned the game off, which I have. Somehow we got the ball back (Bettis fumbled) and marched down the field, and I have turned back to the game just in time to see Vanderjagt shank what would have been a game-tying 47 yard field goal. Colts lose. Oh how I hate my life.

The Mourning Dove: Nature’s Moron

I am lucky and wise enough to live in an apartment that has two large windows overlooking a small, mildly wooded area. The trees and little stream (okay, it’s a semi-naturally-occurring drainage culvert) provide a nice aesthetic distraction from typing endlessly about 19th century theatre. And just in case the stationary nature isn’t sufficient to divert my mind from the development of opera parody in New York City as it relates to the Panic of 1837 (Woo Hoo! Party Tyme!), I have a bird feeder hanging outside of each window for additional amusement.

My mom made sure that there were a lot of bird feeders around our house when I was growing up. This provides a kid with a lot of close-up experiences with nature, and that can be pretty fascinating, especially when the nature is a ten-inch Pileated Woodpecker that is chowing down on the suet cake just on the other side of the glass window, and you’ve got to move very slowly to see how close you can get before he flies away. Parents, it’s this simple: wildlife is cool. Get your kid a bird feeder. So yes, I’m still living my childhood through bird feeders, but if you’re not still living your childhood in several different ways, there’s something wrong with you. I offer no apologies.

One of my feeders is the standard variety plastic tray deal that sticks to the outside of the window and has a handy roof so that the grub doesn’t get rained on. The grub is the normal mix of sunflower seeds (which all birds love) and those little beige seeds (which birds will eat, but not if there are any sunflower seeds around). The other one is a hanging bag of thistle with a little wooden roof over it. The plastic tray gets a lot of traffic and is by far the most entertaining of the two eateries. A wide variety of birds are constantly battling for a bite to eat, from brilliant red Cardinals and their under-dressed wives to nasty little gangs of Dirt-Brown Sparrows, who spend as much time trying to peck each other’s eyes out as they do actually eating birdseed. The thistle feeder caters strictly to Finches who, for some reason, eat thistle and nothing else. All other birds eat the mix and no thistle, and each group knows not to bother with the other group’s food, which apparently tastes like crap to them.

It is easy to apply human personality characteristics to some of these birds. The Dirt-Brown Sparrows are backstabbing bastards who spend as much time trying to peck out each other’s eyes as they do actually eating birdseed. The Cardinal is clearly arrogant, and always eats before his wife. The Finches are trembling neurotics, scattering in terror at the slightest movement of anything, including themselves. And then there is the Mourning Dove, Nature’s Moron. Very few birds could accurately be described as intelligent, but the Mourning Dove goes to extremes at the other end of the spectrum. Consider his appearance:

Clearly, this bird is an idiot. If the wide, empty eyes and expressionless look weren’t convincing enough, let me explain Mourning Dove’s eating habits. They can not, for the life of them, figure out where the bird seed is or how to eat it. God love them, they do try. Several of them will sit on the tree about twenty yards from the bird feeder, watching intently as countless customers come and go. If one of them had a little pad and pencil, I think he would be taking notes on what the other birds do:

1. Land on feeder.
2. Locate food.
3. Eat food.
4. Leave.

Since they don’t have any means of writing down this complex sequence, one of them eventually decides that he probably has it correctly memorized, and makes a run at the food. More often than not, the first attempt completely fails to make contact with the feeder. The dazed dove flaps wildly around the window, scaring the living bejeezus out of the other birds, and then lurches back to the branch where he asks his buddies what just happened. Clearly they have no idea, because they usually follow suit with similarly fruitless attempts. Eventually, one of them actually lands on the feeder, but nine times out of ten it comes to rest on feeder's roof rather than down below on the seed tray. There is no bird seed on the roof. There never is. At this point the baffled bird sits on the roof for upwards of three minutes, looking around and thinking, “Hey, I thought there was food around here. Everyone else was eating, where’s the food? Maybe it’s behind me. Nope. Maybe it’s behind me now. Nope. Maybe if I sit here long enough the food will come to me. I wonder what...uhhhhhhhh...” This extreme effort lulls the dove into a stupor from which it can be roused only by a particularly nasty group of Dirt-Brown Sparrows (or me banging on the window), at which point it launches itself haphazardly back towards the tree branch to report its adventures to its friends: “I have no idea what just happened. Did I eat anything?”

It baffles me that these birds weren’t weeded out of the food chain hundreds of years ago. How do they eat? If you can’t figure out how to consume food that is being served to you, how can you possibly manage to get naturally selected? The Mourning Doves are in serious need of a short bus to take them to remedial eating classes at the special-needs bird academy. I suppose that all animals have their roles to play, but I am unclear as to exactly how Nature’s Moron fits into the grand circle of life.

Yes, I have just written 950 words about the birds at my windows. There are two distinct possibilities here: Uno: I need very badly to get away from the dissertation and go do more interesting things with my life so that I can write about them. Dos: The world is absolutely filled to the brim with small moments of the hilarious and amazing, and if you’re not seeing them every single day, you’re just not paying attention. So go buy a bird feeder.