blog.big-woop.com

On Tuesday night, I went to the Twins game. We lost. While cheering on my team (by mocking and debasing the Orioles' Brian Roberts. 2-5-3: Pierzynski fired to third then Gomez hurled it across the diamond to Mientkiewicz, doubling off Roberts, who had not run to first, choosing instead to argue with the home plate umpire), some morbidly obese asshole sitting in front of me, and whom I'm almost positive must own a comic book store, who surely must find happiness in the bottom of a bag of Cheetos, whose cellulite was spilling out over all confines of the unfortunate and ususpecting seat upon which he'd chosen to rest his big bones, prompted by both the amount of noise I was making and by his macho instincts, which at the same time must have been urging him to impress his lady friend, told me to "shut the fuck up." I snorted sarcastically, then told him that as much as he may have thought that he was at home, and watching golf, or tennis, or fucking rhythmic gymnastics, we were, in fact, at a baseball game, implying that I was going to make as much fucking noise as I wanted to. And I did. We lost.

After the game, though, we (John, Ben, Jeremy and I) got to meet Bert Blyleven. The Dutchman signed our "Circle Bert for HoF" sign, dedicating it to my dad, then shook our hands, and we were ushered out of the pressbox, with a prompt to "bring better luck tomorrow."

On Wednesday night, I went to the Twins game. We (John, the boy and I) got tickets for three dollars, sat in the cheap seats, and enjoyed a stunning performance by Brad Radke and the Twins, ultimately winning 5-1. We didn't meet Bert Blyleven again, but it was still pretty cool, and there were no morbidly obese comic book store owners in sight.

I also went to a naked party. For those of you who have never been to a naked party, it's just like any other party, but everyone is naked.

You:	Oh, like an orgy?
Me:	Fuck no! We just sat around and watched movies and ate pizza.
[ Pause ]
Me:	...fucking pervert.

It was pretty funny, though. I mean... I'm not sure if I'd recommend or condone doing it frequently, but the experience itself was probably a good one.

You:	So did you...
Me:	Goddammit! It wasn't a fucking orgy! Leave me the fuck alone! Jesus!

I came home and watched The Quiet American. It was really good. I want to read the book now, I think.

Peace.
-Todd

I got back from Cleveland O-fucking-hio yesterday. There, I went to all three of the Twins-Indians games, as well as the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame, for something like the fourth time. They have a really cool and really inclusive exhibit on U2 going on there. It was an alright trip, but after only five days there (we spent one night in Chicago, where we ate at the Laguardia Cafe, which was really, really good), I was definitely ready to go home. Cleveland is even less than it's cracked up to be (which really isn't much of a start).

Coming home through the last few miles of road (we drove, by the way), I realized that I like recognizing people on the streets as I drive down them. You know, instead of not recognizing them... on the streets... as I drive down them.

Peace.
-Todd

I've been awake a lot recently, doing things and not doing things, and have seen 7:00 am three of the past four days, I suppose as an attempt at savoring what little time I have left before the twenty-third of August, but have also decided that this is where my gradually-later-since-the-beginning-of-the-summer bedtime was headed in the first place. Unfortunately, I've also been waking up earlier since the beginning of the summer and have totalled something like ten hours of sleep since my last post.

You:	Got a lot on your mind?
Me:	Yeah.

The breakup has thrown into sharp relief that for which I have thus far failed to prepare myself: College. Wow. I have to move in one (1) month. Wow. That's just... wow.

And earlier today, when driving from the river road to Perkin's -- where Joe and I (who had pulled the all-nighter together, watching Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas, the new-wave-banned-in-Czecholslovakia Daisies and the Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, Jack Nicholson classicEasy Rider) had decided to eat breakfast -- I realized that I am really going to miss this town.

You:	Why?
Me:	I just am. Shut the fuck up.

Popular belief is that I will "have a blast" -- or "an amazing time" if you prefer -- at Grinnell next year, and that may be so, but I don't know why -- now -- I was so against the notion of going to school here for four more years. It's a great place. I love it here.

Yesterday, The Gypsy Mafia and Yacht Club rumbled. We squared off in a big water fight at Hillcrest. The winner, I have decided, was definitely Yacht Club, and I am basing this solely on the fact that we got our collective ass handed to us. They also beat us in the preceeding, a game of ultimate frisbee. Final score, 7-4. We had to go home because it was dark and the mosquitoes had, by then, collected a Red Cross-sized portion of our blood. It was quite a bit of fun.

I didn't go see Pirates Of The Caribbean for a sixth time, though I probably should have.

Savvy?
-Todd

I got dumped. And it hurts. A lot. But I'll be okay. I think.

It was on Thursday, but I've been busy coaching my baseball team through three tough losses, which is why I hadn't mentioned it. That, and I don't think I knew how to blog it. I probably still don't.

She said a lot of things. Generic, cliché things, like, "I need some space" and "I don't want a 'long-term thing.'" (Oh. That kind of sounded bitter and sarcastic. Sorry. Really. No hard feelings?)

I didn't react very well; I really wasn't prepared for it; I started saying things that I didn't mean and that were actually kind of harsh. She, of course, understood and forgave me.

So, there was All That, plus I'm leaving for college in a month and she's staying here. She thinks it wouldn't work.

It sucks a lot, too, because she's probably right, and I really wish she wasn't.

I probably oughtn't've written all this, as it's kind of personal and fervent (the kind of things I usually avoid writing about on here), and I know she's read my website in the past (*heh*), but I think, maybe, it's making me feel better. That's what I'm supposed to want right now, right?

Peace.
-Todd

I updated the archive. Now, it spans all the way back to last January. Wow. That's something like 235 entries in all.

It's 2:10 in the morning, so I kept it brief. I'm going to fucking bed.

Peace.
-Todd

My family took off about as quickly as they arrived. I'll miss them, but it's still pretty nice to sleep in my own bed for a change. Now I have to readjust to spending time with other people again.

There's really not a whole lot to talk about right now, which is bizarre, because I've been reading a lot recently, and usually I find that, when reading a lot, I have more to write about and am, generally, more lucid with my words. Instead, I'm coming up dry.

The Twins suck. That sucks. I'm glad to see that Mays got dumped to the bullpen, though, and that Santana came up from it. He looks strong. Of course, I have been fooled before. I think.

Tonight (last night), I went bowling with Tom, John, Geoff and Charlie (Ascending according to how well each faired.) at Sun Ray because the lanes were being redone at Midway. After that we went to the house at which Jacob is sitting.

Earlier, we watched bad movies and ate good food at my house. We also went to Dairy Queen.

Before that, I played frisbee with Charlie and Cale at Ramsey, across from Eclipse Records, where I had already purchased Mirah's You Think It's Like This But Really It's Like This, to which I am currently listening. It's good.

First of all, though, I woke up in my own bed, to a much more peaceful -- and empty -- house.

Peace.
-Todd