Random Thoughts

Since I've been a little busy lately (just spent the last two days in pre-birth classes, and now know more about placentas than I ever cared to), thought I'd take a moment to pop in while I wait for sleep to consume me. I have a thought or two about many things. Buckle up.

Oregon Ducks get their asses handed to them
It had to happen, of course. Oregon, my favorite college football team, had their first crack at USC since the Pete Carroll era began, and the results were predictable. A 45-13 romp that wasn't anywhere as close as it looked.

I didn't expect to see any of it. I was stuck, as I mentioned, in birthing classes all day, and as the game started at 4:00, I expected to miss all the fun.

When I got home, I had resigned myself to the fact that I'd be missing the game, and as such took the opportunity to get some nappy time in. Man, if I'm this tired pre-baby, how am I gonna be in a month and a week when she's due?

Anyhow, got up at 6 to get ready for dinner with my peeps, and went downstairs to see the score. Imagine my surprise to find the game still on, and in fact the second half just starting.

Imagine my surprise more when I saw the score: Oregon 13, USC 10.

I watched for a couple of minutes, but knew that doing so would jinx my team, so I went back to my Tivo'd copy of Sleepless in Seattle, because I love the part where Tom Hanks and the uber-queer Victor Garber butch it up and mock Tommy's real-life wife, Rita Wilson, as she tries to pretend that An Affair to Remember really has that much impact on the ladies.

I fast-forwarded to the end, wondering when Meg Ryan went from being this cute, funny, innocent lady to the skank she became after she dumped Dennis Quaid for Russell Crowe while making Proof of Life (by the way, her last two good movies were Addicted to Love with Ferris Bueller and French Kiss with President Dave, the sadistic fish-eater from A Fish Called Wanda...I swear, everything Kevin Klein has done other than Just Out or whatever that flick was called has been art).

Turned on the game just in time to see the rout of Oregon getting back on track, as USC had rallied off 14 unanswered points in 10 minutes. At that point, I decided to accept fate and just go to dinner.

On the way, I turned on the radio long enough to hear the end of the third, and Oregon losing by an additional 7.

What is it with the true sports fan, that in the face of the impossible, we still hold out hope? I've been calling this game a rout for the last week. Although Oregon showed some flashes against Fresno State, it was obvious that they were not showing anything that would contain Matt Leinhart and Reggie Bush. As an experienced Oregon fan, I have learned that the season is all about getting our hopes up just enough that it really hurts when they're dashed. That's carried over, of course, to anyone who's still following Joey Harrington, the hard-luck Oregon alum who looked so promising in the NFL pre-season, then threw 6 picks last Sunday. Ugh.

Anyway, all this to say I just got back from taking my dog on a late night walk (I'm much happier when I don't have to try to reign her in on the leash) and saw the final score. Sadly, the only thing that would surprise me more than the margin of victory (which was way over the spread, by the way) would be if Oregon had in fact scored again.

Too bad, so sad. Maybe next year, when Oregon has an O line with some experience and a new quarterback who can finish the drives. And, perhaps, a defense. Just a couple small details...

Status symbols
Me and my friend JLowe used to count up status symbols. We'd decided who was cooler based on the number of accoutrements we carried. Cell phone, 1 point. Laptop, 1 point. Palm Pilot, 1 point.

I've lost track of who's winning. JLowe was at the point he bought a house, but then we caught up. He beat us to the pet world, but he's also proven to me, through his rapid accumulation of four-legged friends, that less is absolutely more, so his 4-1 pet advantage over me actually, in my opinion, puts me ahead. We're preggers first, but he's still got a certain level of freedom I'll not know again for 20 years or so.

So, we went for the tie-breaker and hired a housecleaning service. That's right, folks, I'm becoming everything I never thought I'd have the money to be.

Of course, I still don't have the money. Now that I'm resigned to a life in debt, though, I'm trying to find new and creative ways to owe people money.

The method we chose was Maid Brigade, a local establishment which, if I understand correctly, is actually a franchise of a national brand.

Monday I met with Greg, the owner of the local Maid Brigade establishment. There were many reasons for making this choice. First, my wife is pregnant and is even less prone to housecleaning as she was when she was other-wise able-bodied. Second, despite my feeble attempts to clean up, our constant mess-making outstrips my ability to keep up, and our house regularly turns into a sty. Third, even when I do get some tidying done, I'm not particularly good at stuff like dusting, mopping, or anything that actually might make my home more sanitary. My version of cleaning is just throwing everything into a drawer and figuring that, someday, I'll have a chance to figure it out. Finally, my friend Joe was theoretically coming this weekend (more on that later).

So, Monday Greg and I took a walk-through (admittedly, a pretty short one) of the house so I could point out what we hoped for, and then he made various assurances to me to try to convince me that they were right for the job, despite the fact that my wife is firmly driving this bus and I'm just doing what I'm told. Actually, he figured that out at one point. He actually said "you don't care, you're just going through the motions, right?" To which I responded "how dare you impugn my mascalinity. I wear the pants in this house. Um, please don't tell my wife I said that."

Wednesday, the crew came over. I got home shortly after they left (actually, immediately after they left, as I sat outside, a half a block away, watching to see if they could obviously be seen removing any of my furniture or, more importantly, my beer). Overall, a job well done. If you can afford one, I highly recommend it*.

So now I'm a snooty land-baron with a maid service. Top that, JLowe. Oh, wait, he just got back from France. Bastard!

Doggy school
So, baby is fast-approaching, and one pre-requisite was that I get my puppy into puppy school. Thankfully, Petco had one starting at the beginning of this month, which closely coincided with a payday and guaranteed my ability to cover the cost.

So far, puppy school is a mixed bag. On the one hand, my dog is learning some new stuff. "Stay," "Watch me," "Heel." All well and good.

But my dog is a moron in public, so I take her to class and she acts like an imbecile. My wife thinks this is because she's distracted and excitable. I'm convinced it's because my dog hates me and wants me to look bad in public.

Either answer is likely right. But I personally feel that mine rings more true as the teacher looks at me like a neglectful bastard who's just throwing away $75 bucks and wasting her semi-valuable time.

Whatever. As long as the dog doesn't eat the baby, I'll deem it a success. Unfortunately, it's already too late for my couch.

Joe versus the Clock
I love my friend Joe. On my old blog, I wrote extensively of him. If you missed out, that's too F'ing bad, because a brother's gotta move on.

Joe is my personal bit of proof that some hispanics actually do follow some sort of latino time. On-time to him is completely different from the on-time that most of us know and understand. Leaving "now" means leaving in about 20 minutes, when whatever he's doing to waste time (checking out the Dodgers' score, pooping, looking at himself in the mirror, or taking a last-minute nap being the most likely culprits).

I say all of this to give context to my new-found reason for mocking Joe.

Question: how many of you have actually missed your plane? Like, you know, you got to the airport too late, and it took off without you?

Joe missed a plane out of town about 2 years ago when he came to visit. He got a good ribbing from all of us for that classic, and I figured he'd be done doing that.

Apparently not. Joe was supposed to fly in Thursday night. I say supposed to, as he texted (suppose he was too embarassed to call) to tell me he'd missed his flight and wasn't coming.

I showed appropriate restraint. No need to pile on a brother when he's down, after all. I called him and we mulled it over, and he said he'd be flying in on the early-morning flight Friday morning.

Friday morning comes, and I wake up to a message from Joe saying that he wasn't able to get to the airport, and he wasn't coming. This, of course, left a few minutes after a logical person would have already been at least on the road trying to get to long-term to park and catch a shuttle, or would've hired a taxi.

Again, I was kind. Joe's my friend, after all, and I'm sure he feels dumb enough.

And he reads this blog, so he'll be appropriately embarassed and offended that I've publicly outed him.

But Joe, seriously, when you complain that I always try to get you to the airport an hour before your flight takes off, do you understand why now? Good.

Hurricane Blues
So Katrina blew through, and destroyed most of 3 states. The only city everyone's talking about is New Orleans, of course, but there's greater devastation in Missippi and other areas.

Whatever.

Surprisingly, people were starting to trickle back to the Big Easy. It might be glib coming from someone who's never even been there, but had my town just been submerged by the lake on the other side of the wall, that was still there and still higher off the ground than my former roof had been, I'd probably decide to move to higher ground. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Anyway, imagine my surprise this morning to open the paper to the predictable story that Rita had, with relatively little effort, re-commenced the flooding of the Bayou.

This is, of course, tragic. But I hope it reinforces what I personally believe, which is that, while New Orleans should be re-built, it should be put somewhere that doesn't live in the fear that a good stiff wind and a large tumbler of water could send the town into oblivion. Your thoughts?

This is an hour's worth of writing? Lame. However, after a couple of gin and tonics and a couple of brewskies, it's what you get.

Seacrest Out!

*Quote from Ferris Bueller's Day Off provided at no charge.