|Utterly random and...football? Me?
||[Jan. 23rd, 2012|04:51 pm]
So, this past weekend I spent time cleaning out old files and paperwork. Struggling with a little tristesse at throwing out Percy & Willow's medical records. Their dentist (go ahead, begin mocking) took a “mug shot” of each of them and that appears on all of their bills, test results and paperwork, which I think is a brilliant idea. But golly, when I opened up that folder and came face to face with Willow’s attitudinal close up – a true “what you are YOU looking at” look…well, let’s just say I had a “Bambi, your mother can’t be with you anymore” moment. Although I half-assedly added up the dollar amounts on some of the bills and think ounce for ounce, Willow was probably the most expensive thing I ever...WILL ever own. Even more alarming, I keep way better records on my pets than I do myself. Evidence: My last mammogram results filed right there in the Greyhound Section of the Pets, Medical file.
Football. Really, I’m actually going to have to CARE? Damn it. I was really, really hoping that the Ravens would beat the Patriots – I mean, c’mon, it’s the Patriots…I grew up with them sucking, and with the Red Sox continually throwing away their chance at the bigtime. So unlike fans who may have come to the teams more recently, I have very low expectations. And it’s more fun to watch the Superbowl with people who are agitated about it. I mean, let’s face it, I could give a rat’s patoot about watching the game, but at least if other people are excited, then hey, there’s theater for me!
But Giants vs. Patriots? I am helpless in the face of this match-up. I HAVE to care. See, my home town is the geographic center point between each team’s stadium. Literally. We’re just south of Middletown, which is not a very original town name, but in this case is actually located halfway between New York and Boston. So when you grow up there, at some point, you have to choose…are you a Boston fan or New York fan? No, no, don’t even try it. There’s no NOT choosing. I’m all about the contrary – having chosen Boston, because my parents were New York – but you HAVE to choose. It’s just not worth talking about why you don’t care. And once you’ve chosen, everyone pretty much leaves you alone about it, as long as you’ve picked one. If you’re not cheering in a bar that is. And that’s the thing, why it’s so relentless – because most places in the country, either there’s no team, so you get a vague mix of the nearest team with varying outliers. Or, there’s a rabid fan base with little pockets of people “from somewhere else”. In that town, you can bet that about HALF the bar is rooting for one team, the other half for the other. You get that a little bit in this area, the DC-Balt corridor, but let’s face it, how often do the Ravens and Redskins wind up in the same stadium? Nationals and the Orioles? But the Red Sox and the Yankees? Seemed like all the freaking time, growing up.
(Please note there are probably certain errors and erroneous assumptions in the previous paragraph. What I DON’T know about sports would fill a football field. Hell, I drew a blank on who the Washington baseball team was. The preceding paragraphs had triggered baseball, Yankees, and suddenly my brain is humming “whatever Lola wants, Lola gets…” and I knew the Senators wasn’t right.)
So, anyway, I’m very disturbed that some vestigial piece of my mind is going to actually give an expletive who wins the Superbowl. This is going to totally ruin my enjoyment of the commercials. And yes, I’m sorry, very sorry, that the Ravens didn’t win. Although, let’s all be thankful that whatever team Tebow is on, didn’t win because while I’m a little tired of the “hey dude, how about asking Jesus to save all those kids dying of malaria in Africa, instead of you know, wasting divine intervention on a football game” meme…I probably would have to be sedated to not go there throughout the entire game.
Despite the fact that it’s freezing here by the window, today I’m so glad to have it. Actually, I’m not freezing. Rather, there’s warm air blowing down my back, but my fingers, toes and nose are all chilly from the cold radiating from the window. But it’s looked awesomely foggy and creepy all day and now, late in the afternoon, the fog has lifted to just below tree height, and I’m about eye-level with the fogline as it hits the trees. And the crows are flying en masse back to their rookery right now, so they are all flapping in and out of the fog, becoming visible and then not as they hit one level of fog or another. And they’re almost all flying directly away from me, so it’s very much like a stream of giant marionettes. My only regret is my lack of time and brainpower to do justice to the image. But I put in some cello music by Zoe Keating, just to have an appropriate soundtrack. A murder of crows in the fog, sixteen cellos...yes.