really?

do we seriously still need flight attendants to tell us how to buckle a seat belt?

more to come...

patriotic: read (awkward)...

so the other day a few of my friends and i went to the first game of the tigers-white sox doubleheader at comerica park in detroit. the afternoon consisted of predictable baseball game tomfoolery which included obnoxious fans booing the opposite team and me (opposite team lover), my friend inadvertently squirting taco sauce on the little boy in front of us and people going to all extremes in order to cool off in the blazing heat. eventually we switched seats and finished watching the game from the prime location of box seat level. the white sox won. hoorah.

we had so much fun, that we decided to stay for game two and immediately purchased bleacher seat tickets for the 7:00 game.

when we, with snacks in hand, arrived to our right field bleacher seats the ONLY person sitting in our section was what appeared to be a shaggy haired teenage boy in an old school tigers baseball cap reading the newspaper. the context clues alone should have led me to believe that this indeed was NOT a teenage boy. we thought nothing more of it, as we settled in and began waving down the beer and ice cream guys and socializing with others who began filtering into our section.

moments before the game began, the p.a. announcer invited the crowd to remove their hats and stand for the singing of the national anthem. we stood, turned around in all directions trying to locate the flag, completely oblivious to the turn of events that were about to change our night completely.

the music began, and suddenly, out of nowhere, we heard this ridiculously loud, off-key warbling of the national anthem from somewhere in our vacinity. not wanting to be disrespectful i lowered my head and shifted my eyes to the left only to realize that the shaggy haired teenage boy was actually an awkward middle-aged woman with pink socks, a detroit tigers lanyard and little kid sunglasses. she was singing so loudly, we couldn't even hear the ACTUAL singer. Kids and adults alike, not even trying to be subtle, were turning from every direction and staring at this woman as she belted out a version of the star spangled banner that not even francis scott key would recognize.

now i'm all for patriotism and respect, but THIS WAS AWKWARD. some of you may say, "well, i sing along to the national anthem at sporting events..." singing along, YES, but drawing attention to yourself like the pastor's wife in the third row at church with a disruptive and painful vibrato, is anything BUT, respectful.

as i stood there shifting my eyes like a mental patient at everyone looking in our direction, my first thought was "what the hell?" moments later, as the sit-com like feeling of the circumstances set in, i began thinking that the crowd might have thought that SHE was with us. as i stood there unsure of what to do, embarrassed for her and more importantly FOR ME, i couldn't help but notice the uncontrollable shaking of the shoulders of my two friends in front of me, as they appeared to be sharing my thoughts.

when it ended, it felt as if the entire stadium turned our direction. my friends were laughing uncontrollably and with no control over my own actions, i turned towards the front, looked around the crowd and began leading the dramatic clapping for section 141's american idol.

when we finally pulled ourselves together and sat back down, one of my friends leaned towards me and said, "these are the BEST seats in the house."

more to come...

the newspaper: a tragedy in mutilple acts

a couple of years ago i came to realize that i like to read the newspaper. ok, those people who know me would say it's a bit more than just that i "like" to read the newspaper, it's kind of a creepy obsession. i suppose i am kind of like an old man, in that i can't go to bed at night until i've had a scotch on the rocks and read the newspaper. ok, the scotch part isn't true, but the newspaper part is.

this behavior, i believe, is a result of a few variables. one, i grew up in a home with a cut-throat newspaper reading mom. seriously, she's the type that will have all the papers delivered after a vacation and read them ALL. in order. from front to back. yeah, she's THAT person. second, i like to know what's going on and you can only consider yourself "in the know" about current events from watching E! news daily for so long. finally, and probably most significantly, after overhearing many lunchtime conversations in which a particular co-worker would say, "did you see in the paper last night..." i began to recognize the tremendous respect i had for this co-worker because of her ability to so easily and confidently share her local news knowledge. THUS began my addiction to crack cocaine...wait, wrong blog, THUS began my addiction to reading the newspaper.

like most addicts, i have made getting my fix as easy as possible. it's delivered to my door daily. i love nothing more than to return home from a long, arduous day of educating the future leaders of our country, to find that it is waiting for me on the front step. ideally, i love to sit down right then to engage in the latest reports of afghanistan tragedies, budget cuts and lindsay lohan arrests, but lately, a recurring stick has been thrust into my wheel of idealism, convenience and newspaper enjoyment.

as is the case on occasion, for whatever reason sometimes the paper doesn't get delivered and with a simple call to the very personal and friendly automated telephone system, a replacement is quickly delivered. however, for me, the lack of paper on days when i'm expecting it followed by the the abundance of papers that appear when i'm NOT expecting them has lately reached a BP oil spill level of ridiculousness. therefore, i have found myself, in what is reaching the two week mark in a stand-off with the newspaper people waiting, along with my friends and family, to see what will happen next.

this problem first surfaced back in december when i left town for the holidays. as a frequent and responsible traveler, i always make arrangements for the newspaper and mail to be taken care of when i'm gone. in the past, i would call the newspaper and they would make note of my vacation days, stop the delivery of my paper and extend my subscription until i return. since december, however, the opposite has been happening.

i've made phone calls, i've filed complaints, i've spoken to the delivery kid, and yes, though i could very easily stop and pick up a paper on my way home AND though my neighbor has graciously offered to collect my stray papers if they appear when i'm gone, so the whole neighborhood doesn't know i'm out of town and break in and throw a rockin' party featuring my collection of late 90's c.d.'s, the point is that i'm paying for a service that i'm simply not getting.

though i haven't officially canceled my subscription although i've threatened to, consistently for the last two weeks, though i've been home, i have not received a paper. and for now, however, with spite as my motive, i refuse to go and buy one. some will say, "just read it online and get over yourself already," but part of my enjoyment of the whole ritual and what i am paying for is the smell of a fresh paper, the ink on my hands and the snap of the rubber band on the back of my hand as i unwrap it. i refuse to call and complain again. so each day, around newspaper delivery time i find myself anxiously awaiting, hiding by the front window just out of sight of the delivery kid, to see if he tosses a paper on my porch, cursing each day that he doesn't.

yesterday i woke up to find a crisp, rolled up new paper on my porch. when i stepped out to get it i quickly looked around to see if someone was playing a joke on me, an instinct i've learned from all my years of cartoon-watching, and it was no joke. i brought the paper in, read it, enjoying the headlines, the bargain corner and the jumble, confident i had won the stand-off. this morning, however, NO PAPER.

damn you local print media and the mind games you are playing with me.

more to come...