Missing

A week ago yesterday I took off my watch and my Livestrong bracelet at the same time, put them on the bathroom counter, shut the door and took a shower.

When I got out the Livestrong bracelet was on the floor and I couldn't find the watch. I haven't seen it since.

At first I didn't think much about it. I figured maybe I left it on my dresser or somewhere. Nope. I've searched everywhere, even in the trash cans looking for it.

I considered that one of the cats might have gotten it but I've ruled them out as culprits. For one, they're too fat to get onto the bathroom counter and two, they're too lazy to play with anything, let alone a big Ironman watch.

The only time I ever take off my watch is when I'm showering, so it isn't possible I took it off for another reason and left it somewhere. It didn't break off or I would have noticed it missing when I went to take a shower.

So where the hell is it? And why was my bracelet on the floor?

Baffling.

Behind The Seams

On Thursday there was a fashion show at Entertainment Solutions in Rookwood co-sponsored by CiN.

We girls at the office got it in our minds to attend, and of course that meant dragging our boyfriends along. (Hey, drinks and appetizers included with price of admission. What's not to love?)

And though at first I thought the location was suspect (Entertainment Solutions is a kind of posh TV store) it turned out to be the perfect place for a fashion show and miggling. Mainly because it's set up like a dozen little living rooms, only with nice furniture and plasma TVs. It was like being at a friend's house, if you have the type of friends who have giant leather coaches, monoghany entertainment centers and giant TVs. (Obviously no one I know, but you get the idea.)

My favorite Right Said Fred "I'm A Model" moment came from one of the male models, who strode down the "runway" (that'd be the main floor of ES) and upon coming to the end stuck his thumbs in the pockets of his stovepipe jeans, thrust his hips out, shifted his weight from side-to-side a few times and then scowled at everyone.

It was awesomely ridiculous, and, needless to say, we laughed uproariously. I had taken along the staff video camera for such prized moments, but somehow in all the footage I was editing, I lost him and was too sick of it by then to hunt him down. So he's not the video I made, but there are some other "hightlights," including some of my coworkers (for example, Julie here in the photo) doing their best catwalk.

Other "walk-offs" include The Tall Drink of Water, Melissa (Shana's sister), Sue, and Ronson performing what he called "Blue Indifference," where he struts, shrugs his shoulders and then walks away.

There's a model collision at the end too, which is delightful. I'd recommend watching it several times to fully appreciate the annoyance of the model who got crashed in to.

See it for yourself. (Good for IE or Firefox users only.)

Hoosiers Do All Right

Kurt Vonnegut was an Indiana boy. The first book I read of his was Cat's Cradle, and I felt pretty smug when his character, Hazel, delights in the many successes of Hoosiers. Which probably isn't the point of that exchange, but I'm a fan none the less.

So here's to Hoosiers everywhere and the great Hoosier Kurt Vonnegut.

From Cat's Cradle:

“My God,” she said, “are you a Hoosier?”I admitted I was.

“I'm a Hoosier, too,” she crowed. “Nobody has to be ashamed of being a Hoosier.”

“I'm not,” I said. “I never knew anybody who was.”

“Hoosiers do all right. Lowe and I've been around the world twice, and everywhere we went we found Hoosiers in charge of everything.

“That's reassuring.”

“You know the manager of that new hotel in Istanbul?”

“No.”

“He's a Hoosier. And the military-whatever-he-is in Tokyo . . .”

“Attaché,” said her husband.

“He's a Hoosier,” said Hazel. “And the new Ambassador to Yugoslavia . . . “

“A Hoosier?” I asked.

“Not only him, but the Hollywood Editor of Life magazine, too, And that man in Chile . . .”

“A Hoosier, too?”

“You can't go anywhere a Hoosier hasn't made his mark,” she said.

“The man who wrote Ben Hur was a Hoosier.”

“And James Whitcomb Riley.”

“Are you from Indiana, too?” I asked her husband.

“Nope. I'm a Prairie Stater. 'Land of Lincoln,' as they say.”

“As far as that goes,” said Hazel triumphantly, “Lincoln was a Hoosier, too. He grew up in Spencer County.”

“Sure,” I said.

“I don't know what it is about Hoosiers,” said Hazel, “but they've sure got something. If somebody was to make a list, they'd be amazed.”

“That's true,” I said.

She grasped me firmly by the arm. “We Hoosiers got to stick together.”

“Right”

“You call me 'Mom.”'

“What?”

“Whenever I meet a young Hoosier, I tell them, 'You call me Mom.”'

“Uh huh.”

“Let me hear you say it,” she urged.

“Mom?”


I'm glad Kurt was able to goof around in Indiana.

Scruffy Sexy At Bat

Watching the Royals play the Blue Jays. (On the free preview of MLB Extra Innings, says The Tall Drink of Water.)

Being that the Royals are my new "team" since I like one player, I thought I should watch my boy have one at bat.

Yep. Smokin' hot, as usual.

He looks good in blue, but he looked better in Red.

Another Golden Moment

I had to go to the laundromat yesterday.

I washed three loads of clothes in my apartment complex's laundry room only find them in pools of water when I went back downstairs to put them into the dryer. Seething, I called the maintence guy who had me pry into the workroom with a butter knife (the room is "locked") and flip the curcuit, which has apparently been going out whenever anyone does laundry.

Now, it seems to me it would be easy enough to put a sign up in the laundry room saying something to the effect of, "Hey, if you do more than one load, it might trip the circuit and leave your clothes in a pool of water. You might want to wait until we get it fixed."

But no. There was no such sign or directions on what to do if that happens. Rather than wash them again and not know if they'd actually rinse and spin, I just dragged them all the Oakely laundromat. Being that they were all wet still, my two baskets weighed about 900 pounds and I liked to killed myself dragging them in there.

And let me tell ya, the Oakley laundromat on Saturday was packed. Misery loves company.

But there was a bit of sweetness in the suffering.

Everyone's baskets were too heavy, so someone would hold the door. The washers were all full, so everyone took care to move their stuff as soon as possible.

It was pitiful really. The Oakley Laundromat is like any laundromat in Anywhere, USA for the most part. Dirty and sagging and sad, with washers that remind people not to put their kids in them.

There was a sign that said "No Pets," but a ridiculously small dog shook and skipped behind its owner who was walking around with a bucket collecting all the coins from the machines.

Lucky bastard. The place is a gold mine.

I called the worthless but genial rental girl and let loose a string of obscenities on her voice mail venting my frustration with having to piss away an entire Saturday doing laundry - twice. I feel kind of bad about it now. Sort of. This is the same girl who knowingly rented me an apartment that floods and never bothered to do much to fix it.

That's their thing. They know when things are broken, they just don't bother to mention it. So like I said, I feel a little bad, but not much.

Adorable Donkey Alert - Try Not To Melt

I watch too much TV. Mainly too much American's Funniest Home Videos and When Animals Kick Your Ass. Or whatever those shows are called.

This morning I went to Gorman Farm in Evendale for a story about eating locally grown foods. I hadn't been to a farm since I was a little kid.

My dad grew up on a tobacco farm and when I was little we'd go visit my papaw (who still raised tobacco) and there were always cows and mules around. Though mostly all I remember were chickens running around in the yard.

Thinking about that makes me laugh... There were chickens in the front yard.

And I went to a farm in grade school of course, during one of those programs where they drag you to a farm and make you milk a cow. If I recall, I was none too pleased about that. Anyway, that was a long time ago.

So today David (our photographer) and I traipsed around Gorman Farm in the cold, and it was pretty fun. There were baby chicks and chickens, a big steer, a calf, an enormous pig, a field of lambs and goats and a couple miniature horses.

I'm sure the woman leading us around could tell we hadn't been to a farm or seen farm animals in years because we kept oohing and ahhing like little kids and saying, "Oh! It's sooo cute!"

But this donkey was the most adorable thing I've ever seen. I practically melted at the sight of it. And it was very friendly. To David anyway. I wouldn't actually touch any of the animals, even though I wanted to, because in my mind I was convinced they'd unleash a fury of animal anger on me.

David was petting a very cute goat and the whole time I kept waiting for him to get pushed over or head butted. Then he was shooting photos of a turkey, which the woman said saw David as a threat because it was positioning itself between David and its hen and was getting kind of bent out of shape over the experience. Though I can't blame the turkey. David was getting right in its face (though through the fence) and I was certain he was about to get done in its by its huge feet.

He never did.

Which brings me back to why I think I watch too many of those TV shows where people get attacked by animals. The whole time I wanted to pet the donkey but didn't because I envisioned it kicking me in the chest, just like on that show, When Animals Kick You In The Chest.

I guess sometimes you just have to risk it.

There was an adorable farm cat there that I petted though. It was all black except for a white spot on it's chest, just like Cassady. Only this cat was about 15 pounds lighter and wouldn't be afraid to tussle with a mouse. I'm not sure I can say that about Cassady.

The Video You've Been Waiting For

My dad's (formerly) totalled truck is actually a geyser of windshield wiper fluid. You can see it better from the front view.

And check out that sweet wood bumper.

Rooftop grilling.

Awesome. Kickin' it King's Island style.

And this one belongs to the Reds.

Mmm.

Nice.

New hat. Paul says it's not "old school" enough.

Bumped into an old friend!

Dunn homers!

Super fan.

Juuust a bit outside. Hilarious.

Nerd alert.

One row from the top. It's breezy up here.

First of many trips.

Paper tickets. Boo.

Suckers.

Weird.

Parade!

Skyline time.

View from the skywalk.

Waiting for the 12:12.

Season Opener

Happy Opening Day everyone!

Hope you were able to call in sick with a hilariously absurd excuse (I won't be in today, I have the gout) that no one believes but doesn't care anyway because you got tickets.

I'll be hitching a ride on Metro at 12:12 to get downtown and into the anarchy. Last year was my first Opening Day at the ballpark and it was miserably cold, so this year's predicted 75 and sunny is glorious good news.

Tonight I am dusting off the (ginormous) LaRue jersey The Tall Drink of Water got me at Reds Fest, debating if I can pull it off tomorrow at Great American Ball Park. It's one of those terrific polyester numbers Super Fans wear, and I really want to wear it, it's just that it's about four sizes too big. It's so long I can't even tuck it in. If it were a nightgown it'd be perfect. (And if I were seven and still wore nightgowns.)

I feel like I'm about travel some great distance, even though I make this trek five days a week to work. But it's different.

I'm packing my jersey, double and triple checking that I have the tickets, chilling bottled water (sealed, of course), setting out my clothing options (all weather considered: Cool and breezy; cool in the shade, hot in the sun; warm; baking in the heat, etc.) and charging my phone for some mobile blogging from the game.

Please. You don't expect me to watch the game, do you?

Here's how I fared in my Reds stats last year while the Reds were finishing... er, however they finished.

• Out of 16 total games last season, I ate a helmet sundae at all of them but two. (Once it was too cold, the other time it was too hot.)

• I asked for extra sprinkles on those helmet sundaes 90 percent of the time, but there was a only a 10 percent chance I'd get as many as I wanted.

• I attended one out of town game (road swing!) in Tampa and got a regular sundae (they can keep their helmets) and also had a footlong corndog. A footlong corndog?! YES!

• Number of regular hotdogs I ate at GABP: 2

• Average number of hours I spent sick after eating them: 4

• Number of times I proclaimed never to eat another hotdog at GABP: 2

• Number of vege dogs I bought, took one bite of and threw away: 1

• I will eat nachos with double cheese by the fifth inning 90 percent of the time

• The other 10 percent of the time I will get cheese and salsa, just to mix it up (and depending on how watery the salsa looks)

• I will get jalapenos on those nachos 100 percent of the time

• There is a 1 in 15 chance that TDW and I will get into an argument at the ballpark; during that argument, there is a 100 percent chance I will take that opportunity to fly up out of my seat, make a scene in front of everyone and then stomp off to the consession stand to get a helmet sundae

• Depending on the situation, inning and who is up to bat, there is a 75 percent chance TDW will come looking for me and apologize for everything under the sun (grassy knoll gunman, global warming, etc) so he can hurry up and get back to the game

• There is a 30 percent chance after making up that he will say, "You're 100 percent Irish, aren't you?"

• Newspaper TDW most commonly tries to lure me to games with (i.e. "If you come to the game with me today, I'll stop and get newspapers for you"): New York Times

• Number of newspapers and magazines I read during those 16 games I attended: Countless

• Favorite thing to read at games: US Weekly New York Times

Here's to summertime and homeruns and Marty and now Thom (still love ya, Joe) and bright afternoons and warm nights and time standing still.

Play ball!

Back Home Again

Jen and Pat came to town for the first time since they left for their new jobs in Detroit, so I took it upon myself to bogart all their time.

I feel pretty pleased about that.

We mostly did what we would have done if they still lived here - ate at La Mexicana, sat outside and enjoyed the nice weather and good company over drinks, went to see a play.

I begged them not to go back, but apparently having a job is important to them. Whatever.



Speaking of Pure Detriot.



Just what you've always wanted.



Filled with Precinct steak and potatoes.



Sidetracked by the game.



My hood.



Jen and Pat.



Lion King - waaaay better than Les Miserables.

Talk about meow. The actor who played Simba was cut from marble.

"Whenever I see some jacked guy at the gym I'm going to think, NFL? Nah. Theater guy," Pat said.



When he's not at his day job, TDW moonlights as a comedian.

More photos from the weekend here.

Don't go!