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On Thanksgiving morning, the Minnesota Twins cut ties with our beloved Torii Hunter.

By this point it was basically an inevitability, with the Twins' phones going quiet after being rebuffed for their relative pittance of an offer back in September. But the action taken here speaks loudly to the notion that the Twins' front office just doesn't care what the team's fans want. And with the Santana trade rumors swirling like gnats around a greasy Aruban mullet, the doomsayers are starting to look like they've got it right: The Minnesota Twins are going to be disassembled and, by the time that beautiful stadium opens on the western edge of downtown, will look nothing like it does today. Personally, I doubt if even Morneau or Cuddyer remain. Liriano will have either ballooned to unkeepable, or dwindled to Silva-esque inconsistency (or maybe just get re-injured). Mauer, well... he'll stick around for more money than he deserves, and continue to be his usual, anti-clutch self, but a hometown favorite and the face of the organization, with a batting average that belies his mediocrity.

Expect more Ponsons and Batistas. Guys no one else wants, and from whom we'll get one month of nothing before cutting our losses. This approach—let's call it "Dummyball"—has failed time and again—Nevin, Boone, Cirillo, Sierra, to name a few of the more spectacular failures—and put the Twins out at least the difference between 3/45 and 5/90. And yet, we continue our downward spiral.

The 2008 Twins home opener is against Hunter's Halos on March 31. The question, now, is: Who will he step up into the box against?

At this point, your guess is as good as mine.

Labels: baseball, Twins

The custom goes like this. We make some food and take it to where we want to eat it. We then sit around watching football while the food is organized on a table and the bird is carved with an electric knife. People filter into the room, sit down around the table, and watch the food as drinks are dispensed.

All that, however, is merely lead-up. A prelude to the real act of giving thanks— the "Thanksgiving," if you will.

In the privileged, the idea of being thankful is not always the first that comes to mind. This is why we need the ceremony and the pomp and the circumstance. Americans pretty much relegate one day a year to gratefulness, and we can feel whatever we want on the other 364.

Of course I'm being hyperbolic. I guess what I mean, though, is that too often I find myself forgetting the cornucopia. Like... you know... the cornucopia of modern American privilege, or... just forget the metaphor, I'll get to the point.

Yesterday, I realized that my favorite part of Thanksgiving is not the meal, or even the people I'm there with enjoying it. It's taking that one moment to pause and reflect on everything out there that's great about life, admiring status quo.

Of course it doesn't hurt to then dig in to the greatest dinner of the year with your family and all your oldest friends.

Labels: life, Thanksgiving

Moments ago, I officially began my twenty-fourth year on this earth. I'm looking for people who want to help me make this one the best ever. Any takers?

Labels: birthday, life

Hey gang. Just a few quick things:

1. I moved to Minneapolis. After finding a pleasant IT job with the College of Design, I betrayed my small(ish) town roots and crossed the river. I live with Charlie, Paige, and Peter—three of my best good friends, and recurring characters from the archives. We take up the top two floors of a duplex in Powderhorn Park. Life there has been relaxing and good. We live blocks from Matt's Bar, and the original Jucy Lucy. This proximity—like the burger itself—is either a blessing, or a molten disaster waiting to happen, depending on how one looks at it.

2. I made a movie. It's called Murphy's Law. It's about Look Down. The premiere is on Friday, and you should come. If you're not around, it's available now on DVD.

3. A lot's happened. It's been 652 days since my last post. That's creeping on two years. Hit me up. We'll drink beers.

Labels: life, murphy