9 posts tagged “qotd”

Which team are you rooting for this baseball season?

Three words: New York Yankees.

(ducks as blunt objects fly her way)

Seriously, I am a Yankees fan.

I'll confess that I don't follow them as religiously as I did as a kid (okay, so I can no longer reel off the roster by number, name, stats, etc.)  I don't even watch the games terribly often, though I'll follow the scores.  And, incidentally, would y'all win a World Series already, 'cause this is getting downright embarrassing!

When I was but a small ubicaritas (and far from being a diva), my dad would tell me stories about the old-time Yankees: Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle.  He instilled in me a love of baseball.  If you ever want to see what my dad is like physically, in his manners of speech and dress, his love of the game, his wonder at the unknown, and yes, even his cap--watch Field of Dreams and, particularly, watch the James Earl Jones character in the last scene.  He is so much like my father that I'll cry whenever I watch Field of Dreams.  No, my father isn't black, but overall, they are so much alike that it's amazing.  At this last scene, James Earl Jones is playing an older man who has been disappointed for much of his life, but has seen how incredibly beautiful baseball--"the thrill of the grass"--really is.  He's no rock star; he's somewhat overweight, looks like moving is somewhat awkward and difficult, is wearing slacks and a button-down shirt and a flat cap, and is sitting on the bottom step of a set of aluminum bleachers with his legs akimbo and a thick book on his lap. 

(where was I again?  Oh, right.  The Yankees.)

Now, growing up on Yankees baseball as I did, I naturally had a few favorite players.  I watched David Cone's perfect game start-to-finish.  Ditto Roger Clemens'.  Derek Jeter was never a favorite, but he is one of the few players who has been with the Yankees ever since I can remember.  My favorite hero of all time, though he died years before I was born (heck, a few years before my dad was born), was Lou Gehrig, AKA the Iron Horse. 

I went to Yankee Stadium exactly once.  I remember that it was in June, and I was nine or ten.  I remember being in complete awe that I was actually standing in The Stadium.  My dad has always called it The Stadium, as if there were no other.  To us, there wasn't.  See, The Stadium has more history than most in the country.  It is one of the older stadiums still standing.  Imagine that as a kid, you've grown up listening to stories about the Babe, the Iron Horse, the Mick--and then you go and see the field on which they played.  Ruth would have been hovering over that home plate, and just waiting for that perfect fastball that would end up in those center field stands.

This will be the last year that anyone gets to play on the same ground on which Ruth and Gherig played.  Because, you see, George Steinbrenner has decided to tear down Yankee Stadium and rebuild it elsewhere, making it more "modern" and "family-oriented"--read, makes even more money than it does now when games at The Stadium are closer to sold out than anywhere else in the country, despite the older field and ghastly neighborhood.  (Steinbrenner, for this you will rot in hell.)  Okay, so the neighborhood is atrocious (my father swears that he once saw cannibals dancing around a large pot in an alley, but he's always been prone to slight exaggeration), and The Stadium is a bit grungy and certainly old fashioned.  But the truth is that Steinbrenner just doesn't get it.

Fans don't go to see the Yankees to be pampered in reclining box seats.  Fans don't avoid Yankee Stadium because of the neighborhood.  Those who aren't fans but go to The Stadium anyway go there because of the history.  And the fans really aren't interested in be-bopping mascots.  They want to see their Yankees play where their Yankees have always played.  And they'll fill the seats and shell out goodness-alone-knows-what for bleacher seats just for that privilege.  There's this fantastic scene in Finding Forrester (a rather obscure Sean Connery flick that isn't one of his better films) in which the cynical and depressed writer and his over-enthusiastic young protege end up standing alone on the pitcher's mound of Yankee Stadium and discussing the ghosts who must be there.

Did I mention that Shoeless Joe is one of my top ten favorite books ever?  Field of Dreams was good, but the book was a thousand times better.  Trust me.

Possibly one of my favorite pieces of history about the Yankees is the story of Lou Gehrig.  Yeah, the guy for whom Lou Gehrig's Disease was named because he had it.

Lou Gehrig was a fantastic ball player and even more fantastic human being.  He was never so famous as the Babe, but then the Babe was a world unto himself.  They played together, and, despite some differences, made up in the end.  Gehrig was the son of German immigrants who felt strongly that baseball was more of a waste of time than anything else, but who eventually permitted it because of the money he made doing so.  His stats are nothing short of impressive: a 2,130 game playing streak (despite 17 hand fractures over the years).  He batted over .300 for 12 years STRAIGHT, and, in 1927, hit 47 home runs.  This was the year that the Babe hit 60, but until September the two were about equal in their home run records.  In 1932, Gehrig became the first American League player to hit four homer in one game. 

Despite these stats, Gehrig was frequently overlooked by the media, and never really attained "star" status.  A very humble man, he was once asked about being in the "shadow" of the Babe.  His reply?  "It's a pretty big shadow, so I have room to spread myself."

1938 was the first year that Gehrig's average fell to below .300.  Doctors were uncertain what was wrong with him, but it was plain that he was growing weaker.  Indeed, a fellow team mate observed that Gehrig, when playing golf, would wear tennis shoes and slide his feet through the grass because of the effort it took to step in cleats.  In 1939, despite a lack of diagnosis, Gehrig's condition grew worse.  Manager Joe McCarthy, however, refused to take him out of the lineup until Gehrig took himself out.  After a simple play at first that he nearly flubbed in May of 1939, Gehrig was complimented by his team mates for making the save.  He never played again.  Shortly afterwards, he was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis by a team of doctors at the Mayo Clinic.

On July 4th, 1939, the Yankees held a "Lou Gehrig Appreciation Day" in his honor.  Many Yankees, former and current, spoke about his character, his talent, his humility, his courage.  When Gehrig walked out onto the field to accept the award, several things were noticed.  First, that this man who had recently been a great athlete could barely walk to the pitchers mound.  The awards and plaques (from everyone from the City of New York to fellow ballplayers to the Stadium groundskeepers) were too heavy for him to hold, and he would have dropped them had someone not helped him lower them to the ground.  Second, his eyes were full of tears.

So many men in his condition would have been angry or resentful.  All Gehrig could say was,

After he gave this speech, the entire team was sobbing openly.  Babe Ruth, who had refused to speak to Gehrig to to a remark from Gehrig's ever-outspoken mother, had tears pouring down his face as he wrapped his arms around Gehrig.

Gehrig may have quit baseball, but he remained active in the community.  He soon requested a place on the juvenile parole board of New York, in order to help kids who needed such support.  He would refuse to allow the media to watch when he visited correctional facilities and spoke with the inmates.  And he never lost his genuine joy, whether it be for himself, a friend, or someone completely unknown to him. 

An example of this is described in an article by Bob Considine, a friend of Gehrig's.

"...on June 2, 1941, Lou called me from his office...He...kept up a lively interest in research into the disease that had driven him out of baseball.  It was a note about the latter that prompted his phone call.

'I've got some good news for you,' he said.  'Looks like the boys in the labs might have come through with a real breakthrough.  They've got some new serum that they've tried on ten of us that have the same problem.  And, you know something?  It seems to be working on nine of the ten.'  He was elated.

I tried not to ask the question, but it came out anyway, after a bit.

'How about you, Lou?'

Lou said, 'Well, it didn't work on me.  But how about that for an average?--nine out of ten!  Isn't that great?'

I said yes, it was great.

So was he."

Yes, he was.

On the day that Gehrig died, the mayor of New York City ordered that all flags be flown half-mast.  Unrequested, every other major league ballpark in the country did so as well.

So yes, I'm a Yankee fan.  And yes, this man is one of my heroes.

What's your favorite thing about being sick?

I'm one of those weird people who doesn't mind too much being sick once I accept that I'm going to be sick.  Up until that point, I'll be running around with school/work/errands and either hacking up a lung, sniffling miserably, or stopping in the restroom every few minutes, and during that stage I am miserable.  I don't get sick very often at all.  If whatever the bug is won't go away after a couple of days of ignoring it, I'll go into "hibernation" for a day or two.

Hibernation means I go to the grocery store and stock up on popsicles, juice, tea and (if I don't have a batch in the freezer) chicken soup.  Prior to the grocery store, I'll stop at the used book store and grab some movies. I then go home, get into my pajamas, and spend all my time in bed.  I sleep for most of the time, and when I'm not sleeping, I'm drinking massive amounts of fluids while watching TV.  It's rare for me to watch TV (I might watch a movie every couple of weeks, but usually I'm just too busy), so this is something of a luxury.  Occasionally, I'll take a hot bath and change pajamas.  Basically, I pamper myself for a day or two.  This will usually knock out whatever is bothering me.

And I must say, that the spending-two-days-in-bed feels absolutely wonderful!  I'm on the go almost all the time, so just saying "no" and not going and doing for that amount of time feels like total rest--which, I suppose, it is.  Honestly, I kind of enjoy it.  I wouldn't like to do that all the time, but once in a while it is delightful!

What's the one thing you're most neurotic about?

A picture speaks a thousand words:

I hate snakes.  Hate 'em, hate 'em, hate 'em.  One of my all-time favorite movie lines:  "I HATE snakes, Jock.  Hate 'em."  (Look, if a big, tough, and damn good looking adenturing archaeologist can hate snakes, I don't feel so bad.)

They are perhaps the one flaw in this (to me) otherwise near-perfect state.  Too damn many snakes.

I won't go anywhere near a lake during the spring or summer.  I do NOT go hiking or near rocks during those times, either.  As far as tall grass, there is no. way. in. hell.  I have a path where I run that goes over a waterway.  Frankly, I give myself another few weeks before I stop running there. 

I would add (and now I'm jinxing myself) that I have yet to see a snake in Texas after living here for almost three years.  If I did, you'd find me either on the top of the nearest building or breaking my PR for a mile.  Or two.

I'm really afraid of very little else.  Oceans?  Heh.  I'd take a shark any day over something that slithers.  Big dogs?  Never met one yet that scared me.  Horses, including unbroken stallions?  Even better.  They might be edgy, but if they see a snake you'll be picking bits of snake off their hooves.  Horses will stomp a snake to death.  Even crazy humans I'd take over snakes.

TheMaureenCorps tells stories of meeting up with some sort of venomous snakes frequently while growing up.  Can't remember if they were cottonmouths or copperheads or what, but they apparently liked south Texas.  She, her sister, and her mother would drop large rocks on them in order to kill them.  Their dad would be running in the opposite direction and screaming.  To me, he sounds like the only sensible one of the bunch. :P 

So, if you hear a piercing screech from my neighborhood some summer day, you'll know why!

I. Don't. Do. Snakes.

If you had one month to live, what five things would you do?
Suggested by Acerebel.

Since I'm unable to make up my mind, I'll make two lists:

1) I'd continue doing exactly what I am doing now: singing, learning to sing better, and learning about music. 

2) While doing the above, I would try to live every day to the fullest in small ways: I would take care to notice the feel of a breeze on my face, the smell of the daffodils, the warmth of the sun on my skin, etc.  I would make sure to take the time to stop and say hello to all my favorite people at school each day.  I'd give more hugs--and just revel in each moment.

3) I would get a very pricy ticket to the symphony for something by Beethoven.  Or Mozart.  Afterwards, I would go across the street and get some sort of extremely chocolatey something with no worries about calories.

4) Call everyone not in the cowtown area, and tell them I love 'em without being depressing and without telling them why.

5) Spend as much time as possible with all the dear people around me.

Alternatively, I'd empty my bank accounts and spend the entire month in Italy (ROME!  FLORENCE!  VENICE! ROME ROME ROME!), looking at incredible art, listening to even more incredible music, and singing some of the aforementioned incredible music anywhere I pleased.  (impertinent grin here)

And is it just me or is this topic a little morbid? :D

Off to work.  And yes, I have pics of the show(many), and yes, I will post pics (ditto), and no, it won't happen until tomorrow or Friday at the earliest.  That will be a looooooooong post!

If you had one month to live, what five things would you do?
Suggested by Acerebel.

Since I'm unable to make up my mind, I'll make two lists:

1) I'd continue doing exactly what I am doing now: singing, learning to sing better, and learning about music. 

2) While doing the above, I would try to live every day to the fullest in small ways: I would take care to notice the feel of a breeze on my face, the smell of the daffodils, the warmth of the sun on my skin, etc.  I would make sure to take the time to stop and say hello to all my favorite people at school each day.  I'd give more hugs--and just revel in each moment.

3) I would get a very pricy ticket to the symphony for something by Beethoven.  Or Mozart.  Afterwards, I would go across the street and get some sort of extremely chocolatey something with no worries about calories.

4) Call everyone not in the cowtown area, and tell them I love 'em without being depressing and without telling them why.

5) Spend as much time as possible with all the dear people around me.

Alternatively, I'd empty my bank accounts and spend the entire month in Italy (ROME!  FLORENCE!  VENICE! ROME ROME ROME!), looking at incredible art, listening to even more incredible music, and singing some of the aforementioned incredible music anywhere I pleased.  (impertinent grin here)

And is it just me or is this topic a little morbid? :D

Off to work.  And yes, I have pics of the show(many), and yes, I will post pics (ditto), and no, it won't happen until tomorrow or Friday at the earliest.  That will be a looooooooong post!

Book, magazine, catalog, nutritional information, billboard, website, newspaper... What are you currently reading and would you recommend it to others?

I really have no time to read right now.  The only reading time I'm getting is over breakfast, or about 10 minutes each morning.  I'm currently reading Hans Christian Anderson's fairytales, as annotated by Maria Tatar.  Sadly, this is not a complete edition, but it is true to the style, has all the old language and beauty, and is just full of gorgeous word images.  Everyone--adults and children--should read these.

What is a "charmed life"?

(snort, giggle)

This is the QOTD after yesterday's post?

Timing is everything.

If you really want to know the answer, read yesterday's post, 'cause I'm living one!

When was the last time you surprised someone else?

Now that I'm looking at that question, I've decided it's been way too long since I surprised someone.  Hmm.

My sister started college last fall.  She decided to decorate her dorm room in electric pink and and equally electric orange.  (No, those weren't her college colors and no, I don't know why.  Just go with it.)

She goes to school at a small college in an equally small town (first college town I ever saw that didn't even have a Starbucks or any other type of coffeeshop) in Michigan.  It gets FREEZING up there.  Actually, let me rephrase that: it is freezing up there and it just warms up to the 60s for a few weeks a year.  Maybe it isn't that bad, but I've never been there when the weather hasn't been just plain nasty.  I went up in June (June!) last year, and about caught pneumonia.  It was pouring rain most of the time and I don't think the thermometer went over 60.  Ugh.

Anyhow, when I heard what her color choices were, I went into action.  I found electric orange fleece easily enough; the electric pink was surprisingly difficult to find.  I eventually found it somewhere on clearance.  With these two, I made one of those tie-blankets that were really "in" when I was in high school.  But it wasn't the standard 5'x6'ish size; I made it more like 8'x5'.  This sucker was BIG.  And warm.

I folded the blanket with layers of tissue paper throughout.  Inside the folds, I put various college "necessities": study food (trail mix, dried fruit, chocolate), tea, gift card to the local drug store, funkily fuzzy socks, etc.  I then wrapped the whole shebang up in yet more tissue paper and mailed it.

Today is Martin Luther King Jr. Day.  What's your strongest memory or impression of King's contributions?

 

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves, who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity. But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacle of segregation and the chains of discrimination.

One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languish in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land So we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we've come to our Nation's Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.

This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds."

But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice.

We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism.

Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy.

Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice.

Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.

Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual.

There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds.

Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality.

We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities.

We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one.

We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "for white only."

We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote.

No, no we are not satisfied and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of your trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecutions and staggered by the winds of police brutality.

You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.

Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow. I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up... live out the true meaning of its creed. We hold these truths to be self-evident that all men are created equal.

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will they be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right down in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plains and the crooked places will be made straight and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope.

With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.

With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day, this will be the day when all of God's children be able to sing with new meaning "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!"

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.

Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.

Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.

But not only that, let freedom, ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tenneessee.

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi, from every mountainside.

Let freedom ring,

And when this happens,and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old negro spiritual, "Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last."

Obviously, the message here is vastly important, but as a side note: this is a truly oratorical speech.  This man knew how to speak to people.  It speaks of equality: not preference for one race over another (whether it be white or black) but true racial blindness, thus the content of character rather than color of skin bit. 

Do I agree with all of King's political views or actions?  Not by a long shot.  His speeches during and about the Vietnam War were sometimes innacurate, if not just innapropriate.  And yes, I am most unquestionably a capitalist, while he was far left of that.  However, he did much for the civil rights movements and--very important--did so peacefully. 

On a final note, here is Mahalia Jackson (what a gorgeous voice) singing "Take My Hand, Precious Lord," which she sang at the funeral of Martin Luther King Jr.