Found in the “sale” section of the Pacific Sunwear website (don’t ask why I was there - sigh, if you must know, I’ve got a thing for Vans slipons. Alright?)
Phew, it’s a good thing I’m saving that one cent! Otherwise, you know, I would have passed.
I’d give you my thoughts on the Euro final, but really it’d just be three pages of man love for Cesc Fabregas, so we can probably skip that. But I do love the man. Make him captain, Arsene!
Back to the topic at hand: the lone MLS game yesterday. Ben and I attended, and yeah, it was a thorough, well-deserved beat down by United at 4-1. The Galaxy backline looked like they would much rather be napping in the shade; it appeared as if United’s runs were beating them soundly at even half-speed. As Matt Bourque notes over at DCist, “I counted eight such instances during which a United attacker had the ball with only the keeper to beat.” It was a pretty sound whoopin’. David Beckham was marked well, and really, when he did get off a cross (and there were a couple of beauties) no one was even close to being on the end of them. For instance: Edison Buddle, when Becks is looking to pass, just run towards the net. Good things will happen.
Additionally, my firm dislike of Landon Donovan was cemented further. Will somebody tell this guy that only players that can hack it at the world class level can whine and complain like that? (See: Drogba, Didier and Ronaldo, Cristiano.) Donovan fully deserved his yellow card for dissent. And there’s no way Gallardo deserved anything more than a yellow for an incidental finger to the eye. A straight red there would have been a pretty terrible decision by the referee, who for all the heat and the national pressure, handled the game pretty well. There were a couple of incidents where I thought tackles were getting a bit too sloppy and players much too out of hand, but the game ended in relative calm. So kudos to the officials.
The argument could also be made that the MLS game was a much more exciting affair than the Euro final (as That’s On Point mentions) - but as we all know, that really has more to do with the sub par defensive quality in the American league than anything else.
Oh, yeah, and it was crazy, insane, ridiculously hot. So, about those seats at RFK - which are mostly metal, and haven’t been painted since 1864? It makes it really difficult to focus on the game when you’re worried about your ass, back, and thighs getting those griddle marks that you see on hamburgers in advertisements.
Also, will someone please remind me to start wearing sunscreen to sporting events? Thanks in advance.
This week’s edition of Transit on Thursday (authored by yours truly, as usual) is now up at DCist. This week’s main talking point: are the Red Line’s morning rush hour trains scheduled too close together? (Hint: yes.)
Discuss over there.
Aaron’s challenging all of you to click the god damn button that removes all of your friends from the mailing list of those stupid Facebook “Movies” quizzes.
No, I don’t want to take an Incredible Hulk quiz, a “Who’s Boobs?” quiz, or a quiz on 80s movies that every single person in their twenties has seen approximately three thousand, two hundred and thirty-eight times. (Oh really, Lloyd Dobler is the main character’s name in Say Anything…? And she gives him a pen as a break up gift? I was stumped there for a minute.)
Honestly, I can’t tell you how much I hate this sort of bacn.
Oh wait, I already did.
Jens Lehmann, quote master:
‘As a player I can not promise a victory, only that I will push myself and give my life.’
He added: ‘You know what I mean - my sporting life. My private life belongs to my family.’
Have I mentioned that I can’t wait to see Almunia sporting the #1 shirt next year? Lehmann seems like the kind of guy that has never really cared about club football - only playing as a way to be the top keeper for Germany (read: beating Oliver Kahn). It’s strange because it’s usually the total opposite; players usually are more loyal to the organizations that make them their living.
You know, I’ve put some serious thought into making this into a blog where I just highlight ridiculous things from the numerous listservs that I’m on, but I think it might be better to keep it as a once in a while thing. It’ll be more fresh that way.
But anyway, here’s an excerpt from an email that got sent out on the Cleveland Park listserv, which basically tells you everything you need to know about the neighborhood:
Just a quick note to report yet another mischief/criminal type
incident in the neighborhood. Two nights ago a couple of the houses
in the 3100 block of Rodman Street were pelted with eggs. As best we
can tell, it happened in the middle of the night and the eggs were
thrown at the rear of the houses and onto the rooftops. One window
was broken. Nothing was taken–more mischief than crime but a real
pain to clean and, of course, repair in the case of the window. An
empty egg carton with an unfamiliar brand (not typical of the local
grocery stores) was found nearby.
Oh noes! Egg-throwing? We should probably call Homeland Security on the double. This gets double stupidity points for actually coming on the heels of a few emails about people attempting to break into houses by asking for people that didn’t live there. (You know, it’s really almost the same level of crime.)
I mean, the last time I checked, kids get the summer off from school. But don’t ask me - I just watch a lot of Law and Order, and probably aren’t qualified to make conclusions regarding this hideous and unsolvable crime against humanity.
Hey, I’m finally on Twitter.
(Only a few months behind on that one. Oh well.)
I’m amorrissey, feel free to add. We’ll have a tweet party.
I’m a big proponent of the idea that basic human nature is blind to pretty much all outside circumstances. I’m not really a philosophy scholar, so there’s probably an actual theory that states this, but I’ll call it the “sibling theory.” As in, no matter the actual parameters of any situation, people will want whatever other people around them receive - whether that would be a material good, a service, or something immeasurable, like love or praise. It’s the same as when you were a little kid and your brother or sister got a treat - you aren’t probably sure why they earned that treat - only that they got it, and you didn’t.
Case in point: I’m standing in line at the bank this afternoon to make a $30 deposit. Nothing fancy. One check, and a two-second process. I’m standing behind four or five people, who look like they have serious business to conduct with the lone teller that is manning the branch. (For instance, the man that occupied the window at this point didn’t really understand the phrase “I can’t do this at this branch.”) A kindly woman must have saw me holding one check and a deposit slip, so she walked up to me and kindly offered to take the check and deposit it herself, without me having to wait in the line. That was very nice. But the woman in front of me saw this happen, and proceeded to pull out a humongous zip-lock bag of bills and change. Of course, the lady couldn’t take this, because a check is much easier to just pop in a box and deposit at the end of the day than $3,000 in random bills and change. She didn’t like the fact that I got to leave before she did.
I’m not saying her reaction was wrong - I wouldn’t be pleased about standing in line for a while. But she had to understand that she wasn’t going to be able to deposit that cash with that woman (and frankly, I wouldn’t really trust having that much money just floating around unsecured). Just an example of that “sibling theory” that I notice, almost all the time.
It seems pretty umm, socially odd, now that I’m writing this, but here goes.
Everyday, when I come out of the underground tunnel that we call the Van Ness-UDC Metro station, I have to cross this small street on my piddly little walk back to the apartment building. It’s really a pretty small obstacle to getting back and planting myself on the couch for some serious QT with a Kirin Ichiban and my good friend Google Reader. But the intersection is one of many on Connecticut Avenue that includes a left-hand turn signal for people that are attempting to get back to their apartments and, well, do the same thing I want to do.
I understand and empathize with these left hand turners. Frankly, I almost pity them in a way. These are people that obviously have to commute somewhere around the Beltway during rush hour - which would probably be hellish enough - but not only that, on my walk home, they are coming southbound. Which means they probably work at some firm in la-la suburb land. Plus, they have to pay for gas. (I’ll cut them some slack on the whole killing the environment thing, because, honestly, I’m not sure how much more they could take before offing themselves.)
The lights are a small concession for these poor people that spent a third of their lives in their cars.
Where was I? Right, crossing the street. So, as I’m walking up, just minding my own p’s and q’s, I always have to stop at this light - since during rush hour, it’s just not a very long light. Fine. I don’t mind waiting for cars - as I’ve already described in way too much detail. However, when other pedestrians get to the crosswalk, they usually simply just walk across whenever the light for Connecticut Avenue should turn green. Oh, if only it were that simple! The light for that left-hand turn always comes on. And you know what happens here - people try to cross in that whole “if we cross together as six people, no one can hit us!” logic.
I do not buy this logic. I wouldn’t accept this logic as a gift, and frankly, I kind of want to boycott this logic’s manufacturer. I find this logic insulting and I want it off my television.
I’ve seen the video footage of those poor women getting hit by that Metrobus. I know what drivers are like around here.
The hardest part to comprehend is that it’s not even possible to tell when someone is actually turning or not at the intersection. Every time I stop there, there is someone that I will brandish “the Leader of the Pack.” This is the same person that feels the need to budge in front of everyone else at other busy crosswalks (Farragut Square comes to mind), when a Metro train arrives at the platform, and other situations. This jackass decides the level of certainty that the people that want to cross the street have of making it. I mean, it’s always 100% according to this person, so it really doesn’t involve much work. As far as I can tell, it mainly involves just sticking your head out - usually with a cigarette in your hand blowing smoke into people faces - and seeing if there is a car with a turn signal on at the front of the line. If not, everyone go! If so, you wait, and the Leader then turns into another one of my favorite roles, the Stink Eye Giver. Basically, if a car is actually turning and making use of the light, this person will give it the stink eye whilst walking in front of it. For what reason, I’m not really sure.
This just furthers my dazed outlook on the whole damn situation.
So I don’t participate. I vote with my conscience on this one. I kindly wait until the little, white, illuminated man tells me that it’s my turn to walk, and also informs me of exactly how many seconds I have left on my journey across Yeazey.
But part of me knows that this Brotherhood of Preemptive Crossers is always looking at me like some sort of outsider, a rebel who isn’t joining in their little game, their union. I swear to god, I’ve gotten the stink eye before.
But you know what? I don’t care. Because someday, when I’m walking home from work, and some idiot steps in front of a 1998 Ford Taurus trying to get back to Van Ness East for some relaxing on the couch, someone is going to need to call an ambulance.
I will attempt to not give the stink eye as they’re loading him or her onto the gurney. But I make no promises.
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