Moving on Up

Yes, the big move is happening. So if you want to keep up with me (all five of you), go here from now on:
Complete and Total Bisch, PT III

Going Back… to 2008

1) I wrote an entire post about my California adventure with Ken and Erica…and it didn’t save. So that’s coming up. However, it may not be on here because…

2)…I just realized ads are showing up on my posts here. You can get rid of them if you sign up for the pro account, but…no. So I think I’m going back to blogger. Updates as they occur…

Two Firsts, One Week

So, two interesting things happened to me this week that had never happened before:

First, I’d been nursing what I thought was tonsilitis since last week. Then, suddenly, this disgustingly gross I don’t even know what grows in my throat and I’m like, “This is a first.” So I call my doctor and…he doesn’t call me back. So I find a new doctor. And even though by the time I see him the gross disgusting whatever in my throat has shrunk, it’s still there. And he’s like “Ah, so have you ever had mono?” And I’m like “UM, no” and do not decide to tell him the story of how I was one of only a few people on my floor freshman year of college to not get it. And he’s all like “Get out.” And I’m like “No, I’ve never had it.” And he’s like “Because that thing in your throat is caused by one of two things: A food particle is caught in one of your tonsil’s pouches or mono.”

People. I’m 34 years old, and I possibly have mono for the first time in my life. Making it even more head scratching is that writing this book, along with making me MIA from blogging a lot, has kept me from being, uh, smoochy-smoochy with anyone. I don’t share drinks with people. I don’t have any contact with other people’s saliva as far as I know. It could still be the food particle thing, but I doubt I would’ve had swollen glands with that now, would I? So yes. I get mono roughly 20 years after I should’ve had it for the first time. Makes sense. I’m going to blame the air ventilation system on the PATH, which blows so harshly it dries out my contacts, so why wouldn’t it blow other people’s germs down my throat? Or maybe it’s my dungeon of an office. Who knows.

Also for the first time this week, as many of you have experienced as well: Snow in October. And not just flurries. Like, full-on ugly wet snow. Along with never having had mono, that’s never happened in my whole life before Halloween, either.

It’s like the wintry weather got jealous of the earthquake followed by a hurricane thing and decided to let loose early, to remind us it’s still the superior form of natural phenomenon or something. Weather is immature like that.

Since these things tend to happen in threes, I’m going to hope my first lotto win happens this week. Or my first book deal comes through. Or something awesome along those lines.

The Best Night Ever

Fifteen years ago today I had Yankee pot roast for dinner at Ruby Tuesday. It was Parents’ Day at the University of Delaware and after going to the football game for a little bit, my parents and I went out for a “real” dinner at the local mall and then I pushed them out quickly because the first pitch of Game 6 of the 1996 World Series was going to happen and they had two hours to get home to see it. No one should miss even a second of a possible World Series clincher, especially when their team hadn’t been in that position in, oh, 18 years.

I was lucky that year – I lived in a dorm with quite a few Yankee fans, as opposed to the year before, when I experienced Edgar Martinez-induced angst amongst many smug and gloating Orioles fans. So as the game progressed, people were in and out of my room, I was in and out of theirs. It was the strangest feeling that night, being wound up like a spring, eyes bugging out, but not really talking, not really wanting to believe what could happen lest the Braves make a comeback.

And then John Wettland came in and made things exciting. I couldn’t sit. I clung to the corner of the cinderblock wall in my dorm room like my life depended on it. Mark Lemke would NOT go quietly. And then, and then…

Here’s what I remember about the ball hitting Charlie Hayes’ glove: Screaming. Me screaming. My dormmates in my building screaming. A friend of mine said he was walking across campus when it happened, heard the collective roar and was like “Oh, the Yankees must’ve just won the World Series.” I ran around hugging and high-fiving various people on my floor. I high-fived my friend’s forehead by accident. I called my parents at the party they were at and screamed my thanks at my father for making me a Yankees fan. I sprinted up to the third floor, my feet not touching the stairs, and hugged and high-fived all the Yankees fans there. I will never forget the smell of that stairwell, either, as it now just reminds me of utter joy, where before it was just an old stairwell smell. I’m not sure there’s ever been a moment of my life where years and years of emotion added up to that one explosive moment in victory, especially since it was so unexpected, given what had happened in the first two games of the Series. There’s no replicating that kind of delight, to be sure.

Fifteen years later, it still makes me smile.

Yes, This Still Bothers Me 28 Years Later

So I’m suffering with some kind of throat infection right now, in which each gland is swollen on different days and today is hurting the absolute s*** out of my left ear. And of course this is probably one of the last nice weekends for a long time. But that is not what I want to post about. No, I want to share the fever-induced realization I came to on Friday at work, when I was struggling to power through the day. At one point, there were a lot of different conversations going on around my cubicle, none of them particularly loud but I just couldn’t handle the sound of all of them at once. This is something that wouldn’t bother me on a normal day, but throw in a fever, chills (with the building AC still cranking) and the inability to swallow without pain and I just wanted to be anywhere but there.

Anyway, this took me back to a time when I was in the first grade and at one point during the school day, I started to feel really, really crappy. Same symptoms as above but I think I was nursing a higher fever at that point because I could barely focus. I was miserable and finally went up to ask if I could go to the nurse. We had a substitute that day, one I really liked because I think she’d read us Dr. Seuss books when I was in kindergarten and she was a nice older woman – except in this instance, she wouldn’t let me go to the nurse. I can’t remember her reasoning: it was either she didn’t believe that I was sick or it was later in the day and she figured I could suck it up and tough it out or whatever. But I was genuinely sick and I needed to lie down. That’s all I knew. I guess I wasn’t much of a hellraiser back then, because I went back to my desk and sat down and continued to feel crappy in silence.

Finally, our release was drawing near, and there was still some time left before dismissal, but what does our substitute want us to do for fun? Start drilling us with math problems for fun. And not just any math problems: multiplication. Which we hadn’t learned yet. She kept grilling us about this stuff and my classmates were like “Huh?” and I remember thinking “I DON’T KNOW I JUST WANT TO GO HOME.” At some point, my friend Kimberly, who was in second grade, came down to our classroom like she always did before dismissal because she walked home with my friend Brian and me. The teacher starts grilling her about multiplication and of course she understands it because she’s in second grade and she’s learned it, so she kind of saved us there, but still. I had to sit through god knows how many more minutes at my desk, feeling awful, because of math – and not even math that was helping me learn. It was math for the sake of torture.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where my realization comes in: it’s probably half the reason I was terrible at the subject from there on in. Because if I can’t handle minor things like people talking when I’m sick at 34, I can imagine I was probably scarred for effing life over that little “game” of multiplication when I was 6. So there.

Now I’m going to go suck on a lozenge and try not to be bitter about any of this.

Now, If Only MST3K and Freaks and Geeks Would Come Back…

You know what I’m so, so psyched about right now? Like, even though it’s the World Series and the Yankees aren’t in it? Well, it could be that Pop Up Video – quite possibly my favorite TV show of the 90s…well, next to Mystery Science Theater 3000 — is now back on TV. I’ve powered through these last few playoffless weeks by catching up on the videos that I haven’t seen since the show went off the air in 2002. And that’s pretty much every video made in the last nine years, so they’re all new to me.

Anyhow, it’s made me realize that recent songs are 1) really long (the show starts two-three minutes earlier than my DVR is set for – I’m guessing to accommodate for the fact that every song is like five minutes long now) and 2) really repetitive. Or maybe I’m just more sensitive to that since I’m turning into a crotchety old bag. Still, there are some videos that are just ripe with awesome factoids and snark – “In Da Club” might be my new favorite, if only because I learned the average human “poops 420 pounds a year” (think about that) AND there was a reference to The Babysitter’s Club. Also: Suge Knight coming to the video set and everyone running and hiding. That one isn’t on the Vh1 site, but this one is, and I sort of love the “Yes, that’s Kenny G.” bubble. Also: Shot at Bo Duke’s house. Who knew?

So glad you’re back, old friend!

It Makes the Off-Season a Little Easier to Swallow

I know, I know, I’ve got to stop gushing about seeing the Yankees on Twitter. But you have to understand that after years of following this team, it’s nice that all of a sudden you get a little bit of insight into the guy’s playing for it. For instance, this week, Dave Robertson had this really sad Tweet about the season being over and not knowing what to do with himself. I was all feeling Sad Clown for him, but today saw him cheering the Giants on via a Tweet and realized he’ll be fine.

Then this happened (Hughes is a Tampa Bay Lightning supporter, for those not in the Twitterverse:

The season’s over and yet I can still be delighted by Yankee doings. Technology rules, man.

The Blaaaame Gaaaaame

Maybe it was A-Rod’s fault. Maybe it was CC’s. Maybe it was Thumper’s. Maybe it was the entire lineup in Games 2, 3 and 5 (20 runners left on base? I mean…). Maybe it was the rainout. Maybe it was the consistently WTF? strike zone. Maybe it was the Tigers’ consistent pitching. Maybe it was that uber-annoying TBS song (I’m on my waaaaahayyyy). But still. Whatever it was, bitching and moaning about it isn’t going to put the Yankees in the ALCS. We have no control over the outcome and that’s frustrating as all get-out but… For me, this ain’t nowhhhhheeeeeere near 2001, so I’m glad for that.

Also, what she said. (Because, seriously, I know I’ve been an A-Rod defender in the past, but it was nothing to do with actually liking the guy. More like, using him as a lighting rod of angst makes people not see the bigger picture — TWENTY RUNNERS LEFT ON BASE. Of which A-Rod was responsible for three — which also has its issues. But I digress.)

Pitchers and Catchers is in like 130 days. Let’s be grateful we had an extra (pretty exciting) month of summer over lots of other people who don’t give a crap about the game. And an extra week over Red Sox fans, who, may I remind you, were supposed to be in the playoffs when the Yankees weren’t supposed to be at all. Let’s look forward to what happens next instead of scapegoating the entire scenario and actually enjoy our offseason instead of being bitter about it.

I Am No Artiste But I Keep My Word

Two things about TBS’ coverage of the playoffs: 1) The first season of My Boys is the only thing keeping me from writing to TBS to complain about that song that they keep playing over highlights (both new and vintage) between innings and whenever during the games. It’s to the point where I mute it every time it comes on now. 2) Also, when will the networks learn that the fans at home do not care about seeing fans looking stressed out/praying/whatever in the stands. Chances are, if it’s a stressful situation, the fans at home are dealing with their own angst. This isn’t like a commiserating/misery loves company thing, either. Just knock it off. That said, TBS still isn’t quite up to the annoying standards Fox has set, so that’s working in its favor.

Anyway. AJ. Woot! I wasn’t quite so certain he was going to implode like everyone else seemed to be – I mean, I’ve seen him pitch two quality games in person: that 15-inning game against the Red Sox and Game 2 in the 2009 World Series. Plus, it’s baseball, and you never know what’s going to happen. Still, I told my dad that if AJ got the win, I’d paint his picture on my cubicle wall (long story). Since I’m an editor and not a painter, I did the next best thing, and while it’s not a painting per se, it’s still honoring my commitment:

One Game, Two Days. Yes, That Happened

Man, I wish more games could be like that one — and not even for just the end result (which was pretty awesome, by the way). The crowd – both nights – was incredible. I worried that the intensity and loudness and out-and-out boisterousness of Friday night would be diminished slightly by Saturday night, but, lo, it was all there again, even though it looked as if a few seats were empty in Game 1 2.0 (sidebar: You can’t give those seats away? Just sayin’). What was great was everyone returning to our section and exchanging greetings, all, “Hey, back again?” Two solid innings and a seemingly out-of-nowhere downpour had somehow bonded all of us. (Well, not the girl who claimed to be a Tigers fan behind us – I think she was more a Detroit fan than a fan of the actual team, considering at one point she said “I’m sitting near the big yellow pole” and also only seemed to cheer for the team as if to get herself attention and look “anti New York even though I live here” or “Look, I’m a girl and a baseball fan, aren’t I great!” Everyone seemed to catch onto her right away and didn’t pay her much attention, though.)

Anyway, the Granderson to Jeter to Martin relay just about made the place explode and set the tone for the night. Cano’s near-home run review had everyone standing on their feet till the result came down. Swisher’s catch led to one of the most ferocious cheers I’ve ever heard. So, when Sad Clown came to bat with the bases loaded, Steph’s all “Grandslam Saturdays?” as is our custom. The dude next to me, a bit of a salty fan, is all “It’s going to be a grandslam” – and man does he freak the hell out when it happens. As does everyone else, for that matter.

But I just love that the crowd was so involved. I’ve been to Game 1′s in the past that were… not so dripping in the enthusiasm, usually because it’s a bunch of corporate types or bandwagoners. For example, it was the most I’d ever heard a crowd sing along to God Bless America. Like, really singing and not just mumbling along. And then hanging on to every pitch the entirety of the game, not just getting into it when a rally started.By the time the game was over, people were singing “New York, New York” in the elevator (one, uh, enthusiastic guy in particular). I don’t know how all these real fans, or people who at least SOUNDED like real fans, managed to score tickets, but please let this always be the case. I mean, the “Super Nova” chant started up in the upperdeck… and not the wave, for once.

Also awesome: A Paul McCartney stakeout. Steph singing “Better Man” whenever Wilson Betemit came to bat (shout out to 2007-2008). And, when the usual “Empire State of Mind” montage is shown, complete with Jay-Z and Alicia Keys footage from Game 2 in 2009 (to which we always say, “Oh, hey, we were there”) we start changing the lyrics around to reflect the awesomeness of our luxury box experience that night – let’s see Jay-Z shoehorn in mentions of heat lamps and free cookies and carrots into HIS next song.

As I was riding home on the PATH, this older man started chatting up these two 20somethings who’d been at the game. Turns out he was born in Colombia, but is a huge Yankees fan. Their conversation was so giddy and delightful, and the guy mentioned that he worked tonight, but heard about Cano’s grandslam and freaked out, and that he was excited to watch it “on tape” in the morning. There was a slight pause in their conversation and the guy goes, “Oh, man, I love the Yankees.”

That about sums it up, doesn’t it?

I Mean…

This year has really set the bar high in terms of what constitutes “suckage” for my Friday night games. Let’s go back to July 8, when Tonya was in town and Jeter was on the cusp of getting 3,000 hits. What happens? Oh, right, they don’t even open the doors due to the rain. We do go the next day, but still, that was one sucky Friday.

My second sucky Friday was Aug. 12, when both the B/D and the 4 lines decide to cease working properly and I can’t get to the game.

Then there’s Friday, Sept. 2, which I ended up working till 9:30. Yeah.

Then there was last Friday, the 23rd, which involved Steph and I getting to the Stadium a little after 7, and the second we hit the upperdeck, it’s announced that the game is canceled because of rain, rescheduled for Sunday (the Yanks lose in 14th).

And then, oh, then there’s this evening, which actually starts out quite lovely and ends up… a total craptacular mess. I mean, I’ve been to rainy games they’ve called after the 5th, but one that gets called in the 2nd inning? And rescheduled to resume the next evening? Not only is it frustrating/deflating/any other ING-ending word of your choosing, IT’S FOUR FRIDAYS IN A ROW I’M SOMEHOW SCREWED OUT OF A GAME.

Oh yes, and it’s supposed to rain tomorrow too, and, as of now, there is no plan in place should this happen again, except MLB ruling out a double header. That’s so helpful!

Is there some kind of weather god I have to bake a sacrificial zucchini bread for or something? Because I’ll do it if it means 9 innings of dry, uninterrupted play…

Quote of the Day

“We still have to forgive him.” – My father, after I tell him Aaron Boone, like almost everyone else associated with ESPN, isn’t picking the Yankees to get out of the first round.

See How Well Regarded He Is?

Real IM conversation with my co-worker:

Yes, friends, The Yankee Chicken turns TWELVE the day the playoffs start. Coincidence?

Also, I don’t think I ever remember the regular season ending on a non-Sunday before. While it’s nice that the World Series won’t be stretching into November this year, it’s a little strange…

Dancing In September. With Champagne Bottles, Beer Cans and Lurking Relief Pitchers

Things making me smile all giddy-like right now:
* The replay of Posada’s hit and his little fist pump upon running to first. Thinking back to that vexing game back in May, who knew what would happen?
* Mo sneaking behind Kim Jones and dumping champagne on her. He’s such a stoic, that to see him engaging in any shenanigans is beyond awesome.
* Dave Robertson warning Kim Jones that Mo is lurking.
* The MLBJesus Twitter. MLB Jesus likes ALL teams, but this was pretty great:

* Swisher’s diabolical laugh after dumping a can of beer on Russell Martin… then sipping the remains of said can and wandering off.
* The fact that I’m staying up just to see Swish’s interview. Because I’m sure it will NOT disappoint.
* The fact that ALL 45 of ESPN’s experts picked the Red Sox to win the East back in March. I mean…

This season has been kind of all over the place, but their abysmal Friday night record might have be influencing me in thinking that. Like, it’s crazy to me that they have 95 wins when they are 3-7 on home Fridays. Though, to be fair, I think they won every NON-Friday game I went to this year, so woo!

Anyway, here’s to at least three more late nights in October, and preferably lots more after that. W00t! Do you remember the 21st night of September, indeed.

Quote of the Night

“Each peanut is hand-crafted by old Italian women.” – response from the dude behind me at tonight’s game when his friend questioned the price of a bag of Stadium peanuts.