Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Pr0n

Usually when 2 o'clock rolls around, I know I can get a quick laugh just by checking my e-mail. Oberlin's spam filter sends its report to both my account and the Lanes' account at about that time and there is quite a bit of stuff that gets reported. Recently, though, the ones sent to the bowling account have gotten somewhat bizarre. Granted, I only have the subject lines to work from but there's some "target demo" issues that I think need exploring.

"After taking this and putting on 3 inches, your girlfriend will not be able to take her hands off you."

"Change your tiny tool into a POWER DRILL"

"If your girlfriend doesn't come EVERYTIME you have sex, you need a larger schlong for sure."

"Be longer, bigger, thicker and be INVINCIBLE - wome love it."

Spelling errors aside, I can't help but imagine a bowling center with a massive piece. A building with balls; an erection that is well-endowed (monetarily speaking); I'm sure there are plenty more puns that will make you cringe and giggle.

A couple of questions do come up. First, are women size queens to the level that these ads suggest? My understanding is that things get kind of painful in a "putting toothpaste back in the tube" sort of way if there is too much of a size disparity. Moreover, gay men do not appear to be a marketing target either, despite the size queening that goes on in that community. Again, there's the same camel through the eye of a needle issue but, y'know. Have I made this awkward enough? Good.

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Monday, February 18, 2008

Hoosier Daddy

This past weekend was the 39th annual Hoosier Classic bowling tournament in Indianapolis and the Oberlin College team was in attendance. Surprisingly, the level of drama was significantly lower than the high-water mark established in years past. I'll try to make this post interesting.

We only sent five bowlers this time around which made logistics and budgeting significantly easier. Since there were only 6 people traveling we decided to rent a minivan from the College. Advantage 1 of being the coach: I get to be a control freak when it comes to transportation. I didn't think I would like driving a minivan but I really liked our car -- a Toyota Sienna. The part I liked was that the back row of seats can fold into the floor (as they were when I picked up the van), but when they were pulled out there was a sunken in storage area that was perfect for bowling equipment. It was also a very comfortable ride and really user friendly.

The drive down was not that bad. James volunteered to navigate and took his role almost too seriously (which is actually pretty helpful when you need assistance opening a Nalgene or regulating the temperature). Brad brought a DVD player for himself, so he was pacified and out of my hair. Everyone else was quiet for the most part -- not that I demanded that but I think I was able to make better time since I wasn't overly chatty. Of course, Tom was nice enough to let me include travel time on my timecard, so I guess that worked against me in a sense.

We got to the hotel at about quarter to eleven. I was pleased with the accommodations. The first time we went to the Hoosier, we stayed in these ridiculous suites that, while very comfortable, must have cost a fortune. The second time around, we went the cheap route and stayed at the Knight's Inn (one step above paying-by-the-hour lodging). While that one was cheap, there was significant travel involved in that location. If you look at a map of Indianapolis, I-465 circumnavigates the city. I-70, the road we come in on, is at 3 o'clock, the bowling center is at 12, and the Knight's Inn is at 6. The Days Inn we stayed at was at 1 o'clock, so it was quite convenient and not all that expensive. Considering how late we made our reservations I'm surprised they still had space for us. As I checked in, there was a complicated series of Rock, Paper, Scissors to determine room assignments. For some reason, Brad wanted to room with Avi and would not budge from that position. James and Max didn't seem all that invested in where they slept though Ra'Mar seemed to have a strong preference as he kept pushing more RPS matches. Once I got the keys, I took one set for my room and gave Ra'Mar the other set. This seemed to bring about a much quicker resolution than the "best 14 out of 27" situation that was developing.

The rooms were quite nice, especially considering the price. There was a mini-kitchenette (kitchenetteette?) with a sink, but there was also a sink and counter space in the bathroom. I know it's not that big a deal, but I so prefer to do all of my morning ablutions in private, not just the nudey ones. The only downside that we, well Max, found was that the beds didn't have bottom sheets -- only the top sheets just sort of laying on top of the mattress. Kind of weird, but certainly not the weirdest thing I've encountered in bowling team travels. After everyone got settled, we had a mini-powwow to go over what would be happening in the tournament, looking over printouts of the oil patterns and answering any lingering questions.

The alarm went off at 6 the next morning. I usually don't feel so good if I wake up after a reduced amount of sleep, but Saturday I felt more like I was exhibiting symptoms rather than general fatigue. We met down in the lobby for breakfast where I choked down half a bowl of raisin bran and thanked my lucky stars that I didn't have to bowl today. The team seemed to be in much better shape than me, so that was a promising sign. We headed over to the center and promptly checked in. One of the things I love about this tournament, besides its Top Notch status, is how well organized the event is. I have never felt confused about what was going on at any point and even if I did I knew I would get a quick and clear answer from the tournament staff. As I waited in the arcade for the coaches meeting, a person a few feet away looked at the lane assignment list and said "Oh, Oberlin is here." It's an awkward situation because I could say something, but the way he said it could have been followed with "It'll be nice to see them" or "What the hell?" I'll just assume that it would be the first one and smile quietly. We have arrived.

Another plus of this particular tournament: Since we had only one team going, they would get my undivided attention. With other tournaments, I would often find myself running back and forth checking in on teams and trying to address the most pressing issues but in ways that never really seemed to instill confidence in the bowler. In this situation, I could provide significantly better advice since I could watch every shot made by our team and by the other team on the pair.

Unfortunately, there were difficulties. First off, the patterns were extremely challenging. This wasn't a surprise, but I think the level of difficulty was probably at 9 when we were anticipating maybe 7 and a half. In these situations, breakpoint theory is the way to go. Basically, the breakpoint is the spot on the lane where the ball will break out of its skid and start to hook. If you find the optimal breakpoint, your ball should go into the pocket. If you don't get a strike, you have a strong chance of leaving a makable spare. Although it may sound easy in that explanation, it is incredibly challenging to execute effectively. Although a couple of the bowlers have been lightly exposed to breakpoint theory through the Bowling II class, this was a crash course in the concept for all five members of the team. I will say that I am impressed with how well they rose to the challenge in terms of executing shots and making adjustments to help play to the proper breakpoint.

Despite this, the scores for our team were quite low. The two problems that kept coming up was a lack of momentum and what I consider to be poor spare shooting. The momentum aspect really kind of baffled me. For some reason the energy was lacking for most of the day, though it didn't seem to be caused by fatigue or bad chemistry. There were sparks here and there, but we just couldn't get the fire started. Though maybe the spare shooting is to blame. Most bowling matches are won when all spares are picked up and all splits are maximized. There were far too many spares left uncovered during the first day and I think our overall score was a few hundred pins lower than it should have been. That's not to say there was no effort -- in fact there were many splits converted when all we ask in that situation is that the bowler tries to get as many pins as reasonably possible. Of course, when you as the coach realize that the spare shooting is one of the main problems, telling a bowler to pick up their spares is 1) ineffective and 2) just adding to the disappointment/frustrated feeling that the bowler is already experiencing. You just have to add it to the "Things to work on" list and move on.

At the end of Saturday we were all feeling pretty tired. However, the head of the coaches' association wanted to have a meeting after the last game and I had to stay for that. It was actually a pretty interesting meeting, though it devolved into people talking about all of the second- and third-order decisions which of course made the meeting that much longer. So long, in fact, that Avi called me during the meeting to make sure that I didn't leave the bowling center without the team. I clocked in a 7am on Saturday, clocked out at 7pm. And then we had to figure out dinner. It didn't help that everyone was extremely tired, I was feeling really gross and the only people who had real opinions on the subject were throwing out suggestions that made me feel even worse than I already did. We eventually decided on Fazoli's. When we went inside, the fluorescent-lit menus and the red trays caused a majority of us to say "can we go somewhere else?" I was experiencing Killer Fatigue at this point which is never a happy place and causes you to say things like "I just want to eat somewhere where I don't have to bus my own table." Although others agreed with me, there's really no way to say that without sounding petulant. Avi, James, Max and I ended up at this sushi restaurant while Brad and Ra'Mar went to Steak N Shake (I'll spare you the really obnoxious things I said about that). It's a shame I wasn't feeling better because it sounds like everyone had some tasty dishes. I just got soup which was good but it would have been nicer to have something more extravagant.

When we got back to the hotel, we ended up splitting into our rooms -- Max, James and me in one; Ra'Mar, Brad and Avi in the other. I don't know how they passed the time in the other room, but we spent the night talking about some heavy duty stuff. Max and I accidentally grilled James on libertarian fiscal policy, which...no. Granted, I'm in favor of the idealized impractical economic theory at the other end of the spectrum (socialism) but I'm not as passionate about it. I've accepted that my preferred theory would never work and I've moved on and perhaps someday James will do the same. Based on the conversation I've pretty much concluded that a libertarian economic system would essentially be a form of neo-feudalism which would totally suck because I would so end up being a serf. I DON'T WANT TO TOIL IN THE MUD! Eventually the topic got around to gay rights and how Dale v. BSA is the most awesome Supreme Court case ever. That's right -- we know how to party in Indianapolis on a Saturday night.

I woke up on Sunday feeling worse. First, I have a tendency to wake up in anticipation of alarm clocks because I hate being startled by loud noises. I think I went to sleep a little after 12:30 and it felt like 5:45. I look over at the clock: 2:30. Ugh. All in all, not a good night's sleep. The routine was essentially a repeat of Saturday, only instead of raisin bran I barely choked down a third of a piece of toast and we had to check out of the hotel. Apparently I missed Tony Reyes checking in. The PBA World Championship is this week and will be bowling in the same center that our tournament was at.

We eventually made our way to the center for the last three games of the tournament. My Killer Fatigue had not completely worn off yet and people were tap dancing on my nerves. The first game seemed to be a continuation of the problems from the day before. I soon realized that part of the problem involved how we practice back at Oberlin. Before tournaments, we play a game called +1/-1. On the first ball of a frame, if you get the ball in play (hitting the ballside of the head pin) you get +1. If you are out of play you get -1. If you strike you also get +1, so an in play strike is +2, an out of play strike is 0. If you leave pins, you get +1 if you make the spare or -1 if you miss it (if it is a split and you maximize, you get 0). Here is the problem: If you get an out of play strike, you get 0 but it is a wash since you have the strike helping out your score. In the current structure, If you get an in play hit that leaves a corner pin, you have +1. If you miss your spare (a bowler really shouldn't be missing a corner pin spare) that is -1, making a total of 0. However, this is not a wash since you do not get a score boost in terms of regular scoring. If anything missing a spare (that isn't a split) should be -2. So for the second game, I started keeping track of the team's +1/-2 scores and the results were eye-opening. As I explained to the individuals on the team as they saw what I was doing I was hoping to raise the standard that bowlers should be holding themselves to. I heard at least twice that "it sucks to lose 3 points in a single frame." This was not stated as a gripe but more as a realization. I think I made a breakthrough.

Game 9 started against UNLV and Oberlin was still in next-to-last place (thanks Notre Dame!). The UNLV team seemed extremely frustrated and were having slide issues that no one on the Oberlin team seemed to experience. Both teams had a somewhat rough start, though Oberlin was slightly ahead. As I stood towards the back of the settee area, I felt someone tap my shoulder. It was Chris Loschetter, the PBA bowler who practices in our center. You know, there's something truly magnificent when the 14th best bowler in the world (according to the current rankings) is not only hanging out with one of the least impressive teams at a tournament, but that he was actually looking for us so he could say hi. Even better, he could totally commiserate with the team, telling us why he dislikes sport shots and how he doesn't really like team bowling. He was only on our pair for about ten minutes, but that was enough to get our fire going. Max bowled the high game for Oberlin with a 196 and we ended up beating UNLV (who were ranked 29 prior to that match). So awesome.

The drive back was a bit of a challenge, given my fatigued state, but we made it back safe and in good time. Although there was a great deal of frustration in terms of the conditions and Oberlin's performance, I think we did a good job and I'm optimistic that we have figured out areas that we need to work on. And although it was a challenging weekend, I think I did a good job.

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Thursday, February 14, 2008

VD

This is my attempt to not be bitter about the holiday celebrated on February 14. That sound you hear is an attempted smile through gritted teeth. I actually don't have anything against Valentines/Singles Awareness/Whatevs Day -- I'm more resentful of the way my mind feels the need to analyze and deconstruct every aspect and nuance generated by the presence of this Hallmark holiday.

I could rehash previous posts on the subject of relationships, but that's not really where I won't to go with this. Basically, I can count on a shop teacher's hand the number of romantic relationships I have had and none of them overlapped with V Day. This, I fear, may have serious consequences. The first one that jumps to mind is the fact that I have no clue as to what I'm doing. Take the crush for example. Do you know how long it took me to get up the courage to say something? Four months. That's...bad pacing. And even then it was somewhat clumsy -- I'd give it a B+ performance. The concern here is that I feel like I've missed a critical learning window for how to establish relationships and the mores of dating. I could blame society, or the gay thing, or some voodoo curse, but besides not actually addressing the problem, it avoids the fact that the common denominator is me.

When I woke up this morning, I came up with the following analogy to better illustrate my point. Imagine you are in a gym class playing dodgeball. Now, let's say you didn't know the rules of the game and you are the first one out. You are standing on the sidelines waiting for the next game to start. You are watching the game, but still no one has explained the rules to you. The next game starts and you are first out again, and the cycle repeats. You are able to pick up aspects here and there, but strategy or how to last more than 5 seconds aren't picked up.

So this analogy is a little tortured, but hopefully you get what I'm saying. I don't even know why I want someone special in my life: I seem to be quite capable of feeling sorry for myself. Thank you for indulging.

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Sunday, February 10, 2008

Buff

Back in the day, I used to be quite the athlete. Did I mention that "the day" was back in 1989? This weekend has really made me regret whatever caused me to not play outside that one day oh so many years ago, resulting in the very tired blogger before you.

Saturday I started off by practicing with the new bowling ball I got a couple days prior: The Black Widow Bite. I. Love. This. Ball. Mercedes was working the desk on Thursday when I got the ball and again on Saturday when I came in to practice. I think she described it best when I was coming off of a shot that had spectacular results that I looked like a kid in a candy store on Christmas Day. A bit of an understatement, but whatever. However, it had been a while since I had an extended practice session and I felt kind of gross afterwards.

I debated whether or not I should play some DDR during the afternoon and decided against it. Good call on my part. Last night was the first session of the Ice Hockey ExCo. I decided to take the class so I could learn to ice skate and it is a lot more work than I realized. Besides keeping your balance you also have to propel yourself forward. And then some wiseguy decided that hitting a small disc with a stick would be a good idea on top of everything else. Curse you French Canadia! Actually, I was impressed on how quickly I picked up the skating part -- I only had one spectacular fall and a few less glamorous mishaps. The hockey skills portion was a little more challenging, particularly since while we learned how to skate, we haven't fully covered the concept of stopping. All in all, I'm very excited about this class, despite my body protesting Sunday morning. "What did you DO?" I could hear my legs ask.

No rest for the weary though. I had a bowling tournament this afternoon. When we submitted our entry, our secret weapon was Avi. His average last year was a 159 -- he is currently bowling a 178 average in Classic. It's not my fault they waived the 10-pins-over-average rule. The other secret weapon, which didn't even become a possibility until Thursday, was my new ball. Just to give you an idea of how things went, here is everyone's Average/High Game/Total Series from today:

Avi: 159/223/594 (+117)
Brian: 203/268/642 (+33)
Mike: 181/227/612 (+69)
Bryan: 197/260/636 (+45)
Dan: 185/173/498 (-57)

Team: 925/1050/2982 (+207)
With Handicap: 3400

If those numbers don't mean much to you, here's a better breakdown. We averaged 198.8 per bowler per game. Also, we cashed last year with a score of 3242 (with handicap). Our low team game of 958 was still 33 pins over average. We. Kicked. ASS. I am so pumped right now. Pumped...and exhausted.

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Thursday, February 7, 2008

Suggestion

Dear "Parenting: The Anti-Drug Campaign",

Perhaps your mission will be more effective if your current commercials didn't tell kids looking for a buzz that the medicine cabinet is a good place to look. Dumbasses.

That is all.

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Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Errands

About once a month I get to leave the office to run errands downtown. Exciting, I know. I do get to leave the office pretty much whenever I please (sometimes it's even work related), but occasionally I have to pick up supplies at Ben Franklin and exchange some money for coins. I'm still waiting to hear from Syracuse.

Anyway, today was one of those days when I got to journey into town. The MO is consistent: Go to Ben Franklin first, pick up the supplies (usually four or five boxes of tissues), head to the post office (if necessary), then make the bank the last stop. The lanes go through tissues at about the same rate we go through quarters, which I think is kind of funny since the two are otherwise unrelated. I got the tissues, four boxes neatly placed in a plastic bag, and headed to the bank.

I go to First Merit to exchange the money since it is closer and I can hit the ATM if I need to check my personal accounts. As I reached the door, there was a sign that read "You are entering an irritant-free zone." Given the starkness of the sign and the choice of font, my first instinct was to check for hazmat crews entering or exiting. When I realized that this was actually a new promotion, I couldn't help but laugh. Even hazmat crews couldn't make First Merit irritant-free and I consider myself a satisfied customer.

I got up to the counter, placed my bag of tissues on the floor, opened the canvas deposit bag from the lanes and asked the teller for 13 rolls of quarters. "Wowwww," she said, as if I made a poopy all by myself. I think the fact that I pulled the money out of a bag and not my wallet is a sign that this isn't laundry money. She then went into this extended narration as she processed the transaction, including going through every detail of how she had to get an additional rack of quarters. See, NOT irritant-free.

After I gathered the quarters, I put them in the canvas bag and placed that in my Bomp messenger bag. Quarters are heavy, and as a result of being in a messenger bag I was walking a bit lopsided. Having the bag of tissues didn't help in the lopsidedness. Nor did the flash of realization that the only time I deal with the tellers in First Merit directly is when I am doing the quarter exchanges. With a bag full of kleenex boxes in my possession. Maybe it was because I was feeling a bit frumpy today but...I can't help but feel that I am projecting a really weird image. "Look, it's the kleenex guy who asks for lots of quarters." Eww, I just thought of the implications of that. Gross!

Maybe I'll switch up the order from now on.

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Sunday, January 27, 2008

World's Tallest Midget

Back in second grade my class had a reading reward system. For every book you read and talked with the teacher about, you would earn a sticker on your name line. Once you fill your line, you would win a prize. If you read an extra long book, you would get bonus stickers so that you could fill your line faster. Being the competitive sort, and having finished the Boxcar Children books, I decided to take on the biggest book in the school's library: The Guinness Book of World Records. My teacher was a bit remiss on letting that count, given how the book is a little light on plot, but if I was able to talk intelligently about it she would give me the stickers.

You would think an experience like that would ingrain a sense of wonderment at the accomplishments of humanity. Perhaps if those accomplishments were things that should be celebrated I would agree with you. Way to go 1200 pound lady! Hip hip hooray guy with 23 foot long fingernails! You are my lucky star kid with 1001 tattoos! I know that the point of the book was a way to settle bar bets and, in some cases, generate them. But times have changed since second grade. While hyper-obesity is now less special as it is now our national pastime, I don't recall the records of yore involving how many cobras one can dangle from one's tongue or the greatest distance on can shoot milk from one's eyeball (you think I'm joking?).

As I turned on the news I caught the end of some Guinness World Record special. They were certifying a new record: LIVE!! Thing is, I can't tell you really what record is being attempted. Some British lady (who is not Cat Deeley, not by a long shot) checking in with Sir Robin from Spamalot about whether the conditions are safe. He's confident, although conditions aren't 100%. NotCat starts talking about the final preparations as the camera gets into position. A guy on a motorbike, whose name is Clint, is staring down what looks like a tunnel of fire? His pit crew is kind of standing around not doing much and Clint is just sitting on his idling bike. EXCITING! A world record is about to be made/broken? I mean, made/broken! Clint gets the go, revs the engine and starts moving. Then he goes through the tunnel of some length, and upon exiting does an intentional wipeout on his bike so that he slides away from the gas tank that is about to be engulfed in flames. Then the crew with the fire extinguishers ruin what would have been the more interesting part of this stunt. Clint tries to stand up while the triumphant theme music starts to play. NotCat starts to interview the disgustingly sweaty Clint. She informs him that he succeeded at...whatever it was he was attempting. Someone hands him a certificate. NotCat: "Just before you were there, did you feel like you could do it?" Clint: "Yeah, it took a lot" NotCat pulls the mic away as he starts his answer so she can quickly put in a plug for American Gladiators (last round before the Final 8, y'all!).

So congrats Clint! You are tonight's World's Tallest Midget!

Oh, and the big news story: Kitty Porn. Gross.

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Thursday, January 24, 2008

Suckerpunch

I've been perusing my resume quite a bit recently and have noticed a few things. Specifically, items that are missing. I don't know how many words per minute I can type and I don't think future employers need to know that I can say "Je m'appelle poisson gateau" with a straight face. The biggest item that is currently absent is my ability to blindside people at a moment's notice. It is quite fantastic the knack I have for confounding others when I say something with absolute sincerity and conviction, causing a general feeling of panic when I say that "no, I'm not joking".

There was the time I went to visit my sister Mary to discuss colleges and other post high school plans. When I returned home from my visit and told my mom that my choices did not include Henry Ford Community College (think LCCC, without the charming "LoCo CoCo" nickname) but did include places like Oberlin and Vassar, we almost swerved off the interstate.

Or the first time I went to a gay bar, tagging along with Emily, Brad, and one of Brad's friends. Emily made a joke about how the drag queens love the straight boys, causing Brad's friend to bluntly ask "Oh, are you straight?" "No." I responded, about as bluntly. Emily and Brad were not anticipating that.

Or the time that I finally told the crush about said crushing. I'm still processing that one -- did I suckerpunch him or myself? Like with most suckerpunches, the feeling of surprise and "the hell?" lingers a lot more than any pain or injury actually caused. The pain here being that nonrequited thing I was babbling about a couple months ago (which, really, I SOOOOOO called that). I'm still surprised that I actually went through with saying anything as that is usually not my style. Like, at ALL. As with my other gobsmacks, this one really is for the best and I see nothing but good things coming about as a result. Although the surprise trumps the pain, you do feel the hurt and tingling for a little bit but eventually you will forget how it hurts. (Aside: As far as I can tell, everything is completely cool between the crush and I, so no ill feelings. Just nonrequitedness.)

At the same time, a veil has been lifted and I'm starting to see things that I need to change. Such as how to present myself with more subtlety than a sledgehammer. Or, failing that, a way to make my blindsiding ability marketable.

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Friday, January 18, 2008

Silver

Back in my day, gasoline was only 89 cents, postage was only a quarter and uh, uh, uh, oh dear, how my mind does wander. I just can't remember things like I used to.

Where was I? Oh yes, I am now 25. A quarter century. "Can you believe it?! Finally old enough to rent a car! AHHHHH! AHHHHHHHHHHH! Oh, it's good to laugh." (Thanks, 30 Rock). Anyway, I had the day off from work and not a lot going on (yay). The plan for dinner was to go into Cleveland, meet Sarah, and gorge ourselves on meat at this Brazilian steakhouse called Brasa.

Oh. My. GOD. Okay, so you show up and after getting seated you are invited to peruse the salad bar. You are also given instructions on how to use the red/green coaster at your table. When you are ready for meat you flip the coaster to the green side. When you need to take a breather (the maitre d' strongly insinuated that the experience is a marathon and not a sprint) you flip the coaster to the red side. As Sarah and I headed to the salad bar, a large basket with very tiny pieces of bread was placed on our table. Okay?

The salad bar had an amazing assortment of veggie and flavor combinations. I felt the need to sample as much as I could, but not too much because of the main meal to come. As we ate our veggies, we both tried the bread bits. Those things were little bombs of buttery bready deliciousness. After the salad sampling, we were ready to flip the coaster.

So the way this works is servers walk around with swords of meat, 16 different cuts in all. They will stop at your table and ask if you want a slice of whatever is on their particular blade. I'm not a real meat connoisseur; I couldn't tell you the difference between a tenderloin and prime rib and flank steak. As a result, you just have to try everything. If there is something you don't want, you can just pass and they will cycle back again eventually. My two favorites: Turkey wrapped in Bacon (!!!) and the Parmesan encrusted Filet Mignon. The whole experience was mindblowing, though it is not really a good deal for those of the vegetarian persuasion. Oh geez, I'm drooling all over the keyboard just thinking about it.

After Sarah and I rolled ourselves back to the train station, we started planning the rest of the evening. You see, I invited the friends who are in Oberlin to take part in the Silver Anniversary Soiree at the Feve. I included in the Facebook invite the following: "Optional theme: Dress as your favourite Spice Girl or UN Ambassador". Truth be told, I only included that as a joke...and to see how much influence I have over people. I wasn't even really planning on participating until Brian started asking me for my opinion on various costume ideas. Meghan also offered suggestions for any potential costume I might wear. Oh dear.

We stopped at Sarah's so she could change into a Posh type dress and to give me a track suit that belonged to her grandfather so I could channel Sporty. We eventually got to the Feve at about 10 and the place was much more hopping than I would have expected. When Brian, Meghan, Sarah, and James (all in costume) arrived, it was scandalous. First off, the huge group sitting in the center of the upstairs portion were all the Voice majors
on campus for Winter Term...a group that Meghan and James knew all too well. Although the two of them were wearing clothes more revealing than they are accustomed to (though not at all obscene or sleazy), Brian's dress certainly drew a lot of attention. Understandable.

After a couple of drinks, the group had one last thing they wanted to do and it required a performance space. Eep. The Feve was not going cooperative with their requests, and though the bandstand in Tappan was suggested it was far too cold, so we ended up going to Brian/Meghan/Sarah's place. I'm not sure how to describe this part, so I'll let this video do the work:



So yeah. Happy Birthday.

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Monday, January 14, 2008

Ghoul Pool

Dear Ann Landers,

I work in an office where at least once a week someone approaches me about joining a pool. If it isn't the Rose bowl , a professional football fame or the Kentucky Derby, it's the All-Star Game or the World Series.
Gambling is against my principles but I have never criticized those who do it. I just say "No" and let it go. Something new has come up, however, and I wonder if I should say something.
Five of my co-workers have formed a pool in which each of them has listed the names of 100 famous people who may during 1964. When one of these people dies, the ones who had his name add points to their scores by deducting the age of the deceased from 100.
Recently a well-known American died. Mr. X came bounding into the office all smiles and announced triumphantly, "He was on my list."
Under the rules it says, "If the player himself dies, 10 points should be added to his score. If at the end of the year he is the winner, the proceeds of the pool should be spent for flowers for his grave, unless the surviving players should vote to have a party."
What do you think of this?

D. F. (1964)

Dear D. F.,

What you describe is a rehashed version of the old ghoul pool.

Anyone who would make a game out of death is a tasteless clod.

Back in the early sixties there was a news report about an Irish actor or dancer or something who was hit by a car. He didn't die at the scene, but his odds were grim. My dad and a co-worker talked about the story --- and made a wager on whether the guy would make it to the end of the week. My dad, K. M. (aka "D.F.") eventually turned this into the Ghoul Pool.

I didn't know about the Ann Landers correspondence until this weekend. We had the memorial service for my dad back in Dearborn. It was essentially an Irish wake, with this game playing far more of a centerpiece than I would have expected. Despite all of the visitors, relatives, and well-wishers, it is a trifle odd that this game was such a focal point. The guy lived for 74 years, had 7 kids, but this is apparently his legacy. Whatevs, I guess.

The Ghoul Pool wasn't the only game he devised. There was the Personality Pool, which involved guessing how often a preselected list of celebs would end up in the news and for what. News items included marriages, divorces, babies, vehicle accidents, hospitalization, death, and if they appeared on the cover of Time, People, or Newsweek. Some points issues required a bit of research. Time had a cover once with 5 celebrity caricatures. The drawings weren't very good, thereby requiring a letter to the magazine to figure out who 3 of the caricatures were supposed to represent. There was also one week where Walter Cronkite needed the week off to rest his voice. Dad wrote a letter to CBS to find out if Cronkite required hospitalization that week (he did not, but thank you for your concern). Many of the players were intrigued by how they were now reading the newspaper in a completely different way. Missing a two line, space-filling squib about Liz Taylor getting hospitalized for pneumonia could mean missing out on some points.

Another game was the Predictions Pool (which I wouldn't mind trying to revive). 25 predictions for the year were offered and players had to guess whether they would come true. Each prediction was "Yes" or "No" (to avoid being subject to interpretation) and were designed to be determined every couple of weeks to keep people interested.

For example:
  • "Hillary Clinton will win the New Hampshire Primary by at least 4 percentage points."
  • "The combined score of both teams in the Super Bowl will be equal to or greater than 35."
  • "The winner of American Idol will be male."
  • "The price of oil will reach $150/barrel by September 1st."
  • "Paris Hilton will announce that she is pregnant on or before October 15."
It is so weird hearing all these stories. First off, it is interesting to find out where a number of my innate interests, such as propaganda letter-writing and intricate games, come from. Also, all of these games took place before the internet. The news came from newspapers or the evening newscasts, all communication took place via snail mail. The only technological devices used were an electric typewriter and a mimeograph machine. And people from all over the country were playing.

I'm just bothered by how this was the only aspect that people talked about. It wasn't until 2 a.m., when Pat and Eileen and I were sitting in Kathy's kitchen, that the discussion of the Ken McComb we knew began. Although we have developed our own coping mechanisms, a product of trying to survive our respective childhoods, it is troubling that the first two-thirds of this sentence exist. The fact that "survive" is the word that best describes seven childhoods is insane. Stranger still, my experience was vastly different than my siblings'. They got more of the rage-filled-psychotic-break flavor while I got the improperly-medicated-fully-descended-into-depression variety. None of this came up at the party.

This whole weekend I have felt...conflicted. Perhaps the ghost of Ann Landers can offer some advice.

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