I’ve always held onto baseball.  I lived in DC pre-Nationals, so I didn’t adopt a second team in my time there.  When I moved to L.A., I adopted Teresa’s Angels (after I met Teresa, that is) and continued to root for the Braves.

When I was in graduate school, I had a hard time my first summer finding a job.  I finally landed one with a company that did SAT tutoring in high school students’ homes.  I have never before (or since) had such an up-close view of affluent L.A.  Before I started the tutoring (which was mostly a late summer/fall activity, scheduled around the SAT test dates), this company hired me to answer the phone in the office.  The office was in one of the owners’ apartments down in a cool part of the city.  I wasn’t allowed to do much, just take messages.  The owner, in fact, laid me out when he heard me giving a parent a little information about what they did.  I had repeated a little bit of his spiel verbatim.  I had, after all, heard it a thousand times by that point.

He was an arrogant prick.  Very impressed with his own masculinity and Ivy League degree.  He was also a rabid fantasy baseball player.  He dismissed my curiosity about it.  Women couldn’t possibly be interested in baseball at the level fantasy required.  Certainly not mid-Atlantic educated ones, who weren’t admitted to an Ivy.  Or a seven sister.  Or…

I worked for them for one SAT season.  Never once did I ever see or experience them backing up one of their employees.  They were perfectly happy to let us line up passively in front of the bus that was angry parents of lazy student’s SAT scores.  It was a wretched experience.  If anyone wants the name of the company (they sold out to a national company, but still have the same set-up), do let me know.  I know, given the current economic situation in the U.S., there are lots of people who need jobs.  If you’d like one that will make you feel like shit, let me know and I’ll hook you up.

I left the bad company and went to work for a much more pleasant one (who did the same thing(ish) in a mini-mall east of downtown).  Company II was owned by and catered exclusively to Taiwanese immigrants.  Laying the weird meat buns I would sometimes get as gifts aside (but not those lovely red envelopes with money), it was a nice thing to do for the rest of my graduate school summers.

I held onto baseball past that.  I hoped with the Braves every year.  Felt very sad the summer of 1994.  Got back my joy with the Braves World Series of 1995.  Teresa and I went to Angels games, mixed in a Braves/Dodgers game here and there.  We also took time out to go to minor league ball in the Cal League.

My favorite experience was attending a game at the home of the Stockton Ports (now the Mudville Nine) and winning a six pack of pickled peppers.  What was not to like?

The 2002 series was unbelievable.  We breathed in and out with each pitch.  We named our new cat Halo.

Then, a few years ago, Ivy-jerk notwithstanding, I started playing fantasy baseball.  First, I played for free (with strangers) on Yahoo.  Then I joined a money league, ran the blog league and enjoyed myself (mostly).

Last year baseball started to change for me.  The money in the game has been out of control for a while.  Add the drugs.  What have I watched?  The game itself is fine.  MLB far from it.

Was Mark Lemke the last clean player?  Maybe Tim Salmon?  Bob Horner?  Bib Gibson?  Did Bart Giamatti’s untimely death ruin it for good?

When I think about my sadness around baseball–and it is surely there–some of it is tied up in fantasy.  The baseball blog league (which was terrifically fun) never attracted enough people to keep it going (unlike it’s much healthier sister blogleague football–coming soon for 09!).  The pay league, into which I was invited by my brother, has gone like this:

Year 1:  My dad and I agree to have a team.  He does nothing except pick the team name (with which I am still saddled).  I finish dead dog last.  It cost me real money.

Year 2:  I invite a blog-friend in.  I finish tied for third.  It costs me less money.  Somehow, my dad gets talked into taking a team of his own.  I try to help him on the phone.  I try to help him in person, while we’re on vacation.  It’s really frustrating.  He finishes last.

Year 3:  For some subconsciously masochistic reason, I agree to be the commissioner.  I like being the commissioner in the blogleagues.  This is not also true of the pay league.  I also switch jobs mid-summer.  Result:  I finish out of the money by 1 point, I spend a lot of time I don’t have entering changes for the league.  Mostly though, I have my integrity questioned, am accused of using my commissioner “powers” to cheat and then have a huge fight with my brother.  He tells me in the course of the fight that the guy who said I had cheated had done more for the people in the league than I would ever know.  I decide to quit.

Year 4:  I don’t quit.  I think (at the time) that I might get some love of the game back.  Be easy, enjoy yourself.  Today, again, my integrity is questioned because of a lopsided trade I agreed to.  It was lopsided trade designed to help me next year.

But today, I keep thinking about baseball.  And feeling sad. And wondering whether I should play or watch at all next year.  Or the rest of this.

I can think of a few things that might help me feel better–the Ken Burns doc, some Roger Angell, some Stephen J. Gould.  I’d say that I could go to a Rancho Cucamonga Quakes game, but we’ve had two actual earthquakes in the last three days and somehow I don’t want to go to a stadium called the epicenter.  Plus there’s that whole–I don’t like the Inland Empire much problem.  My university’s team is done for the year, so the *pling* of the aluminum bats can be no comfort now.

That’s Bronson Arroyo, one of the guys I got in the lopsided trade.  He’s curently 6-5 with an ERA of 6.56.  He’s 6’5″ and goes 195.  I don’t think he uses steroids.  That’s good, at least.

It’s a beautiful game, baseball.  I need to find out how to get back to its beauty.

The dirt’s pretty.  So’s the ball.  It’s everything around it that’s suspect.

Cue outro…

“Where have you gone Joe DiMaggio [or insert alt player, as needed]…?”  I’d like some of the joy in Mudville back but am afraid there are too many strikes now.

Below is this image:

Um, no. Na-uh. Nope.

T-shirt people, you’re going to need to try harder. My co-worker, to her credit, seemed sanguine about the state mix-up on her shirt, when I pointed it out. (She was, no doubt, thrilled to have me, her boss, point out the error on her shirt. Thrilled all day long.)

Had I not just gotten back from Hawai’i, I wouldn’t have known what the Hawai’i state flag looks like. I still would have known that the image was all kinds of wrong. Last time I checked tweren’t any palmetto trees to be found in our fiftieth state.

How colonial of you, Hawai’i.

The palmetto one is South Carolina. There are palmettos there. It’s a thing.

It all reminded me of the moment on Miss America: Reality Check where Miss Pennsylvania couldn’t find her state flag.

Look! I found it for her. (To be fair, she did have the good grace to be chagrined afterward).

The Hawai’i/South Carolina t-shirt is what we get for outsourcing. How is someone in a third world country to know that the palm looking tree is a palmetto and has nothing to do with Hawai’i? Maybe it’s because of how my mind works, but I like knowing random stuff. Not all the random stuff. Just enough that the world makes a little sense sometimes.

Knowing my state flag and noting the ones of states I visit seems the least I can do.

My honey, as a child, participated in a school performance in which a piece called “Fifty Nifty United States” was featured.

A lyrical interlude…

50 Nifty United States
from the 13 original colonies
50 nifty stars on the flag
that billow so beautifully in the breeze

Each individual state
contributes a quality that is great!
Each individual state
deserves a bow
Let’s salute them now!

In alphabetical order, the kids were to shout the name of the state whose flag they were holding and raise the flag in the air. She was to be holding New Jersey. She left the flag in the cloakroom. Quoting Honey directly, “…[W]hen New Jersey’s turn came, I remained quiet rather than drawing attention to the fact that I had no flag, hoping no one would notice the omission.” In other words, they just went straight from New Hampshire to New Mexico. Here’s my compensatory raising of the New Jersey flag:

In case you’re interested, and even if you’re not, here are the states I have not yet visited. My criteria for a visit? I must have at least stopped to see something somewhere in the state other than the airport. I’m on a roll, having gotten to Colorado in ’07 and Hawai’i in 08.

The missing ones are: Idaho (scheduled for ’09–Gem State, here I come!), Iowa, Kansas, Maine, Massachusetts, Minnesota, Nebraska, New Hampshire, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Rhode Island, South Dakota, and Washington. I should note about that last one, that in addition to my strong support of this year’s Miss Washington, I regularly have dreams (like while asleep, not figurative “I-wish-I-had-been-an-astronaut” kind of aspirations) about going to the top of the Space Needle. I have NO idea why. Feel free to share out in comments how many missing states you have and/or your interpretation of my Space Needle dream.

I’ll be learning the flags as I go.

Lots of hits lately on Miss Washington, her gay dads, and other related things and lots of hits on Sleep Number beds. I call things I don’t like the taste of “wangy” and I’ve used it in a post and thusly I get hits on it.

By far the thing people seek me out most for from Google is the title of this post. I’ve had dozens of hits on variations of how to pronounce mirounga angustirostris (which is the Latin name of elephant seals). It hits my blog because I referenced elephant seals (and their Latin name, as I like a semi-formal blog) in a post last winter and in a separate post said something about Brett Favre not pronouncing his name right. Both of those posts are in my “trips” category. The average time on my blog for people searching for this guidance is over eight minutes. These folks WANT to know. For all I know, it’s one person who really wants to know and keeps trying to find out.

So, in the spirit of Mardi Gras, rather than showing my boobs or throwing beads, I thought why not give something away of value? I took Latin in high school. I DO know the answer. Can I get a little help?

It’s pronounced:

meer•onga ahn•goo•steer•oh•stris

or, you could just go with

ell•ee•fant seel

They’re ok either way. I’d say that I hope things go well for your candidate today, but since everyone can’t win, I’ll simply say that now you know something new and that way everyone wins.

The United States has never issued a one million dollar bill, just for the blog record.

The two largest bills ever offered by the Bureau of Engraving and Printing were the hundred thousand dollar bill and the ten thousand dollar bill. The B.E.P. should not, by the by, not be confused with the Mint. The Mint does the coins. And has a lame gift shop.

Here’s a picture of the 10K bill:

Know who’s on that bill? What, you don’t recognize him? Come on! Salmon P. Chase is a household name. Still not ringing a bell? He was one of the leaders of the Free Soil movement, Lincoln’s Secretary of the Treasury, and later Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. While I’m sure you’re now all thinking, “oh, right HIM” here’s another factoid. Chase Bank. Hokay.

You may do better with the 100K:

Wilson. As in Woodrow. It wasn’t really a circulating bill, so much as it was a gold certificate, though William Jennings Bryan would have me note that it was issued (in 1934) after the gold standard was repealed. It was used for interagency exchanges of money and was orange on the reverse. Roosevelt (as in Franklin) was the man behind the 100K bill.

The 10k, really, was the biggest bill ever in circulation and featured pilgrims disembarking from the Mayflower on the reverse. The 5K bill featured James Madison and Washington resigning his Army commission. History on the money!

Nixon did away with all bills larger that $100 in 1969 to try to better control organized crime. That worked out really well for him (and us). I’ve long been a proponent of doing away with the $1 bill. We should use $1 coins. Oh and we should also eliminate the penny. I should stop mixing Mint issues and Engraving and Printing issues. Still, those are my money opinions and I’m standing by them. Also, we should go back to the silver standard.

Ok, maybe not, but I do like the idea of being able to go and demand silver somewhere. Hey–here’s a five, gimme some silver!

When I was in college, I was friends with a number of economics majors. They contended, usually when a little drunk, that the great tragedy of my life would be not taking economics in college. (My dad sometimes contends I should have taken HOME economics in middle school. I wish I had taken typing.) My usual counter argument to the econ majors was that the tragedy of their lives was not taking philosophy. I still think I’m right, but I do wish I knew a little more about economics. Oh and there have been other tragedies more significant than my lack of economic understanding. Plus, I’ve read Marx and Engels. Doesn’t that count for something?

I’ll settle, for the moment, I guess, with knowing that there is no such thing as a million dollar bill. I wish I had a real one so I could but people I love the things they want. Lately, I’ve been wanting to exchange bills for another metal. Why wasn’t there ever a titanium standard? I’d love to trade a slip of paper for two of these (one for me and one for my honey):

The problem is, people who sell the above want those plastic card things. I learned about that once, but have forgotten most of what I know. I seem to recall you have to use the regular money to pay back what you spent on the plastic dohickeys at some point. Like in graduate school, when I took out student loans, and was required to go to a meeting wherein the main message was “YOU HAVE TO PAY BACK YOUR LOANS.” I sometimes misunderstand messages. For example, Honey and I went to see No Country for Old Men this weekend. As we were walking out of the theater, she said, “so the message of that movie is that everything is going to be ok.” It was not the message I got. Maybe my college friends were right. I just reread the “Cross of Gold” speech and Bryan says nothing about titanium. I’m going to have to think on this. In the meantime, if anyone has any deep thoughts on economics or moving toward a titanium standard, please let me know.

Some years ago, my immediate family created the presidential death bet. We each picked the order the living presidents would die and then put $20 down on our order. Three of us were out almost immediately, as we had gone Reagan before Nixon. The two Nixon folks are still in the running, having gotten the first three right. The outcome rides on George H.W. Bush going before Jimmy Carter or vice versa. I have to say that I am glad the bet was conceived before the current idiot stole the 2000 election.

Anywho, some years after its inception (I believe on the occasion of Jacqueline Kennedy’s death, though Pat Nixon had gone before), I said that we should have included the first ladies.

My mother, a great fan of the Kennedy legacy, allowed as that was “NOT funny.” I didn’t think it was, actually. I just thought it would have made things more interesting. So, for that matter, would Nixon have, had he had the decency to live longer than that actor people thought played president so well.

Lady Bird (who hated her nickname, as I read in her L.A. Times obit) would have lost me the bet. I would have guessed she’d go before Pat Nixon certainly. She got me to thinking about ladies and ladies who have died and I realized that I had meant to note the passing of a lady who I wish were still in the world. She died back in April and I miss her.

Not every day, mind you. I didn’t know her but I liked knowing she was in the world.

Who am I talking about? Why, you know, of course, Miss Kitty Carlisle! Or Mrs. Kitty Carlisle Hart if you prefer. She would have known I was talking about her. Kitty KNEW things.

She was smart, elegant, and, really, a bit of a know-it-all. She most always knew the answer on To Tell the Truth. (That is, when she didn’t have to recuse herself because she had met the unusual person before). She seemed to know everyone from Hollywood and Broadway and also seemed to have done some learning of other things along the way. My favorite bit of her To Tell the Truth appearances, though, were her entrances. She entered with what can only be described panache. Try to catch it sometime on late night teevee. No one could make an entrance like Kitty could. From what I gather, her exit at 96 had as much grace as her life. We should all be so lucky.

When she died in April, that were lots of lovely tributes to her, so I won’t try my hand at a tribute to someone who I only saw on television. I will say this, though: on the occasion of an unfunny death of an interesting woman and first lady, let’s also pause to remember the other ladies in our lives who stood out for being a little different, a little smart, and a little (or maybe a lot) independent.

Happy journeys to them all.

eb over at Emerald Pillows posted her version of the seven wonders of the world. Go look at it, but come back. I’ll wait…

So who doesn’t like a little meta-blogging? eb got me to thinking and thinking got me to writing. See how this happens? It explains memes for sure. Anyway, when I was a child, I thought I should learn the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. And I did. My grandmother and I even talked once about going to see where they were (for one) or had been (for six). It would be a grand adventure. We should have gone and never did.

Just to be clear, the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World are:

The Pyramids at Giza
The Colossus at Rhodes
The Temple of Artemis at Ephesus
The Statue of Zeus at Olympus
The Lighthouse at Alexandria
The Hanging Gardens of Babylon
The Mausoleum at Halicarnassus

And, no I didn’t have to look them up, but I did spell all the words that aren’t “at” or “the” in the last one wrong and had to look up the spelling. Blogger didn’t have Halicarnassus loaded into its database. Go figure.

I don’t know why I committed these to memory as a child. I just did. It’s probably the same reason I am often asked about random stuff I should know nothing about and sometimes know anyway.

When I met Honey, the seven wonders came up and she referred to them (jokingly) as the seven natural, material, wonders of the ancient and modern world (or something like that). I’ve always thought she was more bemused then anything that I knew them. It certainly wasn’t high on my “let’s be Honies” point total. Like, “ok, she gets +500 points for knowing all seven wonders, but -800 for having a nightmare destructive dog.”

The list is very old and appears partially in a book published by Antipar of Sidon which dates to 130 B.C.E. He didn’t come up with the list, as there are references to it appearing in older texts. Only the oldest sturcture on the list still stands. The pyramids are older by 2000+ years than the others. GO pyramids!

The Artemis Temple, Hanging Gardens, and Colossus were destroyed before the Common Era began. The Mausoleum survived into the 15th century as did the lighthouse. The Zeus probably made it to the 5th century in the common era.

None of this really matters. It won’t get you the girl. The good news is; it won’t keep you from getting her either.

My grandmother has been gone (that’s a Southern expression meaning dead) for a while now. But I still remember, as if it were yesterday, her helping me find each of the ancient places in her atlas. We planned our trip and talked about all the marvelous things we’d see. So, I think I’ll keep remembering them. Someday I may see some of the places they stood. If I do, I will be glad I learned them all and still remember.

Do you know about Sun Dogs? They’re false suns, usually directly west or east in the sky of the actual sun. They’re caused by hexagonal ice in the atmosphere.

They’re also pretty. The phenomenon is related to rainbows. I would like to suggest that we lesbian/gay types adopt sun dogs as our symbol of pride from now on.

I also learned that if you skydive from high enough up, you can’t tell that you’re falling because there’s so little air above a certain point that there’s no wind. I’m not going to try it. Good to know, though.

The fire talk didn’t learn me much about fire, so I can’t pass it on. One factoid I did learn is that even in really wet environments, things can catch fire. Wet things can catch fire. Who knew?

The fire talk was complicated and sophisticated and there were some pictures, but lots of it dealt with satellite image mapping and various coefficients for understanding maps. Ah well. My fog knowledge will serve me well. I don’t know how, but I have it wield as needed.

Academic job searches are tough and easy all at the same time. You send off some stuff. People read it. There may be a phone interview. The big thing is the campus visit. You get flown to the area, put up in a hotel and then spend a day on campus. There are tours. Lunches. Interviews with the relevant Dean. Teaching demos. The pre-dinner culmination (denouement?) of the day is the “research presentation” sometimes also called the job talk.

So, I’m on a committee. My program is doing a joint hire with one of our “friend” departments. The program I run is interdisciplinary which means I work with units from all over campus. Some are fun. Some are not. This one is fine. They like me and my program and I like them. It’s one of those academic departments that has both social sciencey people and sciencey people. When we first talked about a joint position, I thought we’d do something social sciencey. For lots of complicated reasons, we’re doing a sciencey hire instead.

I’ve now listened to two job talks and know more about areas of knowledge that I had never even contemplated at all before. A little knowledge can be dangerous. I could say something stupid at a gathering about which I really know nothing.

For example, here’s something I learned…

Most marine invertebrates (or so I hear) do something called “broadcast spawning.” That means that they shoot their eggs and sperm out into the water. The eggs and sperm mix out in the ocean and produce baby marine invertebrates, who never even know mom or dad invertebrate. I was going to say “see” mom and dad but I don’t think they have eyes.

It’s a fun, if exhausting process. I’m mostly glad to be on this side of it. But I’m also glad to be learning new things about science.

Go ahead, ask me about the seasons. Or fog. Later in the week, I get to learn about fire. I can hardly wait. Really.

The Chester zoo in Northwest England has a female Komodo dragon named Flora who laid fertile eggs just before the first of the year. Here’s the thing about Flora. She’s a virgin. And they checked and she’s the sole parent of the eggs. It’s not the first time it’s happened in England, either. Sungai, of the London zoo, had babies all by herself last April. Sister dragons are doing it for themselves, I guess.

That’s Flora.

In other news out of England, if you’re feeling low and bleak, I would not recommend you go to Children of Men. It doesn’t matter if you have good Mexican food before you go to see it. It will still be bleak and depressing. It’s a good movie, just not an uplifting one. Someone in Children of Men should have talked to those two Komodos or to the rabbit people. The “no babies” premise/problem would have been shot all to hell.

On this side of the world, 12 baseball writers didn’t vote for Tony Gwynn to go into the Hall of Fame. Um, why? What about T.G. makes him anything other than a HOFer?

I like the Hall of Fame announcements because it always makes me feel like baseball is coming.

Speaking of sports and the U.K. Posh Beckham is coming to L.A. to play soccer err football err soccer for the Galaxy. It may now be time to move to San Francisco.

In a positive move, the first female Beefeater to guard the Tower of London will start in July. She doesn’t have her uniform yet, but when she does, she’ll look like a woman wearing this:

So, to outline this for you:

Rabbit babies
Virgin dragon babies
Bleak movie–no babies
Baseball
Beckham
Uniforms

Follow all that?

Cheers!

Some other thoughts about 100s and centuries:

My Honey calls 100 Kilometers a “pussy century” on a bike (since it’s less than 100 miles). The day I can ride 100K, I’ll be one happy pussy.

100 is old for people. Sentinel the tree must think people are pussies.

(Aside: I should stop using “pussy” in this post).

The Roman emperor Agrippa died in the year 100 (C.E./A.D. depending on how anti-Jesus you want to be).

(Aside 2: Agrippa reminds me of the game my friend Rachel and I played while we lived in Rome in college where we did the ancient Rome soap opera. Think heavy Southern accents here, “Agrippina, you get your butt over here. Have you been sleeping with Claudius again? That boy is NO Good.”)

Imayavaramban Nedun-Cheralatan was King of the Chera in the year 100. Whoever in the hell he is and wherever in the hell that is.

(Aside 3: Is “hell” better than “pussy”? I think so.)

Ty Pennington is #100 on the Forbes list of Top 100 celebrities. Now that’s good to know (not).

There is no #100 on the U.S. News and World Report college ranking because 7 Universities are tied at 97. Then four more are tied at #104.

Caitlin S. on her Yahoo page would like to know what she should buy with $100. I think she should get herself 79 euros. They’re prettier.

France bought 100 million half-Euro coins from Spain in 2001. They must be worth something. Caitlin could actually get 158 of those. 158 half-Euros! A girl can dream.

100 leagues (as in under the sea) is 555.6 kilometers. So 100 leagues is really pussy. Of course if I were riding my bike under the sea…
1. the steel would rust, and
2. it would be harder, which might make it less pussy.

I should stop this post. It’s beginning to not bode well for the next century.

Watch for me soon on an unaffiliated channel near you. I’ll be the spork with the Euros.