Odds, Even More Odds & Ends

I have been a neglectful (is that a word?) correspondent as of late. I have no adequate excuse, and I am not sure that this post will even begin to make up for my having been so remiss as of late.

Some random thoughts:

* The Rally Monkey is Dead, Long Live The Ralley Monkey: M. Scioscia has cried his last crocodile tear; F. Rod (as I refuse to call him K. Rod, as that is not his name) has made his last monkey face and ridiculous gesticulation at the sky, Chone Figgins has had his last situation this year where announcers acknowledged his sadly misspelled name as "Shawn" as opposed to "Chone" as it is spelled; the L.A. Times will go back to acknowledging the true L.A. team (the Dodgers, NL West member as they may be).... Congrats White Sox! Though, I think I may have to root NL, if the Astros manage to follow through. I am not sure why. Maybe it is b/c each member of the team has enough facial hair that they all look alike and I feel I must root along with the most fraternal bond. Maybe it is because they have never been to the biggest dance of all. Maybe it is just the "Field of Dreams" factor (as apparently R. Clemens' mom uttered "Shoeless Joe Jackson" 3 separate times on her deathbed... it is destiny, what can I say?). Or maybe it is because I have such a twisted obsession w/ Brad Lidge. Dunno, not sure. Will have to reassess, reconvene and reassert after the season, I think. Till then, just doing my best to revel in the buoyancy of Oct baseball, even when I have no real emotional stake in the participants at this point.

* AJ Pyrzienski: What a fantastic hero/villain - it couldn't have been scripted any better! (NOTE: He looks very much like a doughy Bill Murray, yes?)

* TomKat: I have been silent as to the TomKitten, and for this I profusely apologize. In my absence however, Mallory of Media Gadfly has captured the moment better than I ever could, check it out. One note, not funny and/or amusing, just true - I have now entirely forgotten when I thought Tom Cruise was hot. This belief rounded out the foundation of most of my adolescence and yet, I can't even imagine even vaguely believeing it to be true. At least not now. My how things change. Hope that sperm donor of KH's was short, or else there will be lots of 'splaining to do to the general public once the baby is (silently! ha!) birthed.

* Orlando Bloom: He looks like a woman - he is not sexy! 'Nuff said.

* Huston Street: Love him. Just had my attention turned to his "Hot 10" pic in ESPN,mag. OMG. Desperately wishing I was 6 years younger. Yummy....

* Non-Baseball Fans To Whom Many of The Above References Mean Nothing: You are missing out on a fulfilling sport, poetry in motion, action that bespeaks the intractable beliefs of the soul. Or if nothing else, a whole lot of eye candy. Either way, there is a hole in your consciousness you are unaware of. If you want a tutorial on America's Pastime, I am more than happy to help...

* While There May Be No Crying In Bsaeball, There Is Crying In Law Firms: There has been much made as of late in number of major publications about women crying in the workplace: some say good (a revolution of the new millenium); some say bad (it betrays instability, weakness, and a general air of being pathetic). My take: Fuck'em. I have cried in my office more times than I can count. I have teared up, welled up, silently sobbed in front of the powers that be in my life, more than I care to mention. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it. Was a fact of life. And so, much like the unavoidable spring rains, the tears came, And they went. And I am still here. And I would do it again. The job sucks. It is stressful. It is distressing. It is tiring. I had to cry. Apparently, they haven't, even in the face of a discharge of saltwater, seen fit to fire me yet. And so it goes. I do not know of any other woman who is working who had *not* cried in the workplace. It is just the way it is. And I resent any article that tries to make any of these fine women feel less than for feeling the way they feel or acting the way they must act.

* And the other stuff: I have had a hard time writing lately because I have been in a position where I am not feeling a lot one way or the other. Not in a pleasantly numb way, but rather in a "I can't muster the energy to get fired up about this one way or another" way. Inside of me somewhere, I am hopeful that a smart, funny, interesting, not painful to be around person lurks, but for the past year, that person has not readily made themselves available. And as such, in the quiet moments, I begin to doubt that she exists, and thus all that is left is a bundle of nerves and a disconcertingly negative outlook on life. Nothing anyone of decent values wants to be around. And I worry that I will never be normal, that I will never approximate normal, and that the rest of my life will me marked by the pain that it is to be broken, irrevocably. How does this person contribute to a life where it is of the utmost importance to be sensitive and to be on one's best behavior? The answer: She doesn't. The favor she does is to be as low profile and unobtrusive as possible.