soapbox

So with K in the lab this evening, I turned on the TV while doing dishes and what do I find but the Expos-Padres game in which Tony Gwynn got his 3,000th hit. I didn’t expect to watch that much (Tony got his hit in the 1st inning, and on the road, so no big deal) but I ended up getting sucked in.

Oddly enough, this random game reminded me of how much I love baseball. I got to watch a young Vladimir Guerrero golf a homer, crushing a pitch that was ~2 inches off the dirt, way way way outside, well over the straightaway centerfield fence. Michael Barrett, then a young thirdbaseman with good wheels and not yet a reputation for alienating teammates and opposing players alike, got a triple as the Padres promptly blew a 4-0 lead, Rondell White was patrolling center for the Expos, and Phil Nevin went 2-5 with a homer and 4 RBIs.

None of this is remotely interesting, and yet it was like catching up with an old friend – the conversation was a little rough around the edges, but it was still familiar and comfortable.

This, of course, is where AAS meetings get interesting.

Andrea and I gathered together a random group of people, including one girl who I’m pretty sure was the tallest woman at the conference. (Note: still not taller than me, although astronomers have a very very strange height distribution. It’s like being in the Netherlands.) Dinner was tasty, but nothing to write much about, just a faux-Irish American place. My general plan was to create some new friends so I’d have someone to talk to at the party rather than being bored and alone.

Then Andrea bailed on me.

And the tall girl asked if they were going to card at the door since she was only 20. (Note: YIKES!)

So, that left two people from UC Davis and one of my friends from NMSU that I was going to meet up with.

Yadda yadda yadda, people going to hotels to change, things taking longer than expected, we get to the party… the drink special is a Galileo and seems to have no redeeming characteristics other than being strong. I decide to start my drinking slightly later. Since we were late, that puts me a good three drinks behind everyone else.

The good stuff starts below.
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This could really be just a comment on Nathaniel’s post, but such an important public service message deserves its own post.

Jules, you will be pleased to know that there are not one but two BBQ joints at your disposal: Curtis’ in Putney, VT (about half an hour South on I-91), and Big Fatty’s just across the river in WRJ. I may have a slight preference for Curtis’ place just based on fond memories of summertime laziness, but Big Fatty’s does a good job too, and the convenience is pretty good for rural NH. They are both more of a wet sauce, more southern than western BBQ, so don’t go expecting Oklahoma/Texas-style dry rub, but Curtis’ ribs are great, as is the brisket esp later in the summer, and Big Fatty’s pulled pork sandwich is not a ripoff.

Since links are fun, I’ll save you the 7.2 seconds of Google-time:
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I has come to my attention that there is a family stage at Lollapalooza. WTF? Or in the words of Tony Kornheiser, when did that happen? They’re calling it Kidsapalooza, but I like my title better.

I discovered this fact while reading an article on the neverending-and-stomach-churning-saga-of-stupid-Brett-Fah-vrah: the thesis was that both Slash and Favre are above the law, but I have to salute the creative opening and the laugh-out-loud story, which I will quote directly b/c I’m lazy.

We have Slash to thank. He and Perry Farrell were the headliners at the kid’s stage on Sunday. Slash walked out wearing a hat that said “(expletive)” in large, black letters. He lit a cigarette, then flicked it into the crowd of children at the conclusion of “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.” A young boy caught it, dropped it when it singed his hand, then picked it up again and screamed excitedly.

Slash was awesome. And the kids seemed to fully appreciate his awesomeness, even though most of them were not yet 10. He just stood there, rocking, smoking, wearing the obscene hat, and a bunch of very small children loved him.

After the set, it seemed necessary to have a brief evils-of-smoking discussion with my daughter, since we’d both just lunged for a discarded cigarette. But she cut me off.

“Duh, he’s a rock star. He can do whatever.”

There are certain lessons that only Slash can teach your kid, and that’s one of them. The rules are very different for rock stars.

We continue our series of belated postings with what-happened-to-me-last-saturday.

I went here.

Now in fairness, K said that I didn’t have to go if I didn’t want to, that she could go with just her sister-in-law and they’d wander about, but I ended up going along with my soon to be brother-in-law.

whoa.

The Bridal Expo that we went to was held in the SD convention center, and in hindsight it had a lot in common with one of the poster sessions at a big APS (March Meeting, etc, or AAAS I guess?)… imagine a huge airplane hanger filled with row upon row of different vendor booths. That sounds innocent enough, right?

For starters you have to pay $10 or $15 bucks to get in the door (they do have door prizes, so maybe that’s fair), and they greet you with “are you a bride or groom”? which is actually a funny question if you think about it, but the fallout of your answer is that they give you a nametag with “Groom” or “Bride” on it, and you’re supposed to put slap it on somewhere. Then you play plinko and other little games to win little (and demeaning) prizes before being sent off to wander up and down the rows of Photography people, Cake people, Honeymoon people, three different Mary Kay booths, Floral/decorations people, etc. In one corner of the hanger, I mean, convention center they had a stage and seating – this was the site of a bridal fashion show. It was pretty much what you might think; models strutting up and down with various outfits, girls swooning, guys sneaking off to buy a beer and rest their tired eardrums, etc.

All in all, I’m glad I went if for no other reason than I am more certain now than ever that K and I are a good match and that I’m very glad she’s not like a lot of her fellow brides that I saw there. That said gentlemen, when you are faced with such a situation, make sure to (a) stay hydrated, (b) get a good night’s sleep beforehand, and (b) bring lots of $5 bills and a few ones for tips to the beleaguered barman at the beer booth.

Best $5 I ever spent was on that lukewarm Bud Light.

So, yesterday was the first time that I didn’t go to work on Memorial Day in a long long time, if ever.  In fact, I wasn’t allowed to go to work (well, not go and get paid for it).  While I appreciate the taking of a day to honor those who have served our country and paid with their lives, I’m not entirely comfortable with how the “day off” has turned into a day of beer and grilling and baseball, much as I like those things.

This NYT article echoes this sentiment and provides a bit of history of the holiday, for those interested.

Having not served in the Armed Forces, I feel like I need to be careful, but my personal feeling about Memorial Day is that I’m not comfortable just not showing up for work, hosting a party, getting misty-eyed during the national anthem shown on TV before the game, but that’s about it.  We as a nation do a shitty enough job taking care of those veterans who make it back with a heartbeat – I think those that don’t deserve a bit more remembrance, y’know?  On the East Coast I would always try to make it down to DC to visit the Vietnam Wall for Remembrance/Memorial Day; somehow that seems more appropriate.

That said, were I to number among the fallen, I would want my kids, wife, family and friends to have the day off and have a good time, maybe place some flowers on my grave while on their way to take in a minor league baseball game.  Hmm, that sounded a bit morbid, but I think the sentiment is clear.

Well, it’s that time again, to waste most of this coming week poring over articles and different sites’ analysis, trying to figure out which 5-12 upset to go with, flipping coins on 8-9s, and so on.

Mostly, winning a pool is just dumb luck.  Both times that I’ve won (in almost 20 years of playing, hmmm, that’s worse than the Florida Marlins, ugh) it has been a case of knowing who my competition liked and going a different way, then lucking into those guys winning.

My buddy Joe* has found the most reliable solution – asking his very ditzy girlfriend about each pairing and going with that.  Seriously, oftentimes that bracket beats his carefully-crafted one.

*not his real name.

Anyway, for more analysis on the detrimental effects of sports knowledge on March Madness brackets, check out this entertaining read.  I really like the Mascot Fight Club method, although that’s also the most difficult to clearly define.