Merry Christmas

It's taken awhile, but it seems as if we're in good Christmas spirits. I had hoped the raising of the tree and hanging of the ornaments would trigger a month long feeling of joy. Work and stress impeded that free feeling until last night.

Christmastime is here. Hold everyone close and celebrate.

Resolved for 2005

Three L's:

Lose, laugh and love a lot.

Lose the weight: at least 50 pounds over the year: 4.17 pounds per month. A bit over a pound a week.

Laugh more with her: We've not laughed enough in the past year. Anxiety has overshadowed our happiness at times. I'll laugh at least once a night with my love.

Love her more: We've not loved enough. It should be at least once a week. Perhaps the laughter will lend itself to love.

My three L's.

May my fourth bless us on these three.

A bit of this and that...

At the request of baseballindc.com, I wrote a note to the DC Council clowns, i.e. Cropp, who have decided it's wise to screw around and challenge the MLB. I wasn't supportive of the sabotage effort and let them know about it.

There were four police cars outside our house this evening. Our next door neighbor was rear-ended by a pizza delivery guy. The rear-ender tried to flee, but our man next door wouldn't let him. Did I mention our neighbor is with the FBI?

Whoops. That pizza may not be delivered within a half hour.

I'm already hungry again, and I haven't even eaten, yet.

I have a long standing bet with my boss. The prize is a steak dinner at Morton's with our spouses. I contend that there will be no baseball in DC. He, the opposite. When the tentative deal between DC and the MLB was struck, my boss suggested I pay up. I said, "No." Evidently, so did Linda Cropp. Unbelievable.

What is one to expect when two of the more incompetent organizations on the planet try to make a deal?

I amend my first paragraph conclusion. This should have been expected. Oh, yeah. It was. By me. Hence, the bet.

Baltimore on the Hudson...don't do it!!!

The Baltimore Sun reports that Oakland is seeking the farm from the Orioles for Tim Hudson. The names include Erik Bedard, the young left hander, Brian Roberts, the reliable and healthy second baseman, and the O's top draft pick in 2003. I have three words for this possible deal:

"No friggin' way."

Hudson is a free agent after next season and Beane is not giving the O's a chance to try and reach an extension with the pitcher. Screw him! Beattie and Flanigan should not give in to Beane on this one. Why surrender youth when you have no idea if you can keep the prize?

Uh-uh. No way.

Sunday morning anticipation...

Friends will be arriving in a bit to watch some football. We've spent the past day and a half preparing with manic cleaning, sprucing and other manners of "fear of filth" activities. (Is there a difference between cleaning and sprucing? And what exactly is sprucing? Ah, yes...silly me. Dictionary.com to the rescue.)

To be fair, we're starting the massive cleanup needed for our large party next weekend. So the concept that follows may well be moot. But I've seen it before and I'll see it again.

When other friends come to visit, who we feel as close to as family, less of a concern is raised. Why is that? Why would family be of less concern in the "presentability" of one's self, domain or property? Isn't our family as deserving of our consideration? Actually, shouldn't friends be tolerant of our preparedness or lack of? Maybe it's because those we call friends without added attribution of "family like" aren't actually friends. Just like friends we consider family aren't really family.

Taken to its conclusion, this train of thought would lead one to believe that we don't often entertain friends. These visitors may be more aptly referred to as acquaintances. We will make all due effort to clean for acquaintances, as we can't trust them to understand our casual comfort in their presence. Friends, family we can relax around.

Just a thought on this Sunday a.m.

Bonds, Giambi and the Press

How is one supposed to react to the breaking steroids story? After all, it's not really "breaking", is it? The whispers and accusations have been out there for years. It seems that many fans are just sadly accepting of the statements made to the grand jury by Mssrs. Bond and Giambi.

(By the way...how the hell did that make the papers? For crying out loud...I thought grand jury testimony was supposed to be secret. <Okay, okay...I know.> I sometimes despise those who claim to bring us the news. This sanctimonious crap about the "public's right to know"? Well, I'm of the firm opinion that there are times when we, the public, have absolutely no right to know. It's just a meager excuse by the press to disdain privacy and legal rights.)

Yes, because of the drawn out periods of time, many apparently accept that it's okay to do anything to win. The public reacts with, "Tell me something I don't know." This is very disappointing. As a season ticket owner for the spanking new Washington Nationals, I am disheartened at the "so what?" attitude of the fans.

Obviously, panic in the streets is not what is needed. But a clear call for frequent testing and a lack of acceptance from the fan spending the cash should be sent. It's likely that many of our "non-star" regulars are users as well, and significant pain will be realized in calling everyone to task.

Time to hit bottom and start again, I think.

Going, going, gone?

Tom Boswell from the Washington Post really laid into Barry Bonds today. He's convinced Bonds' records since he turned 35 are now worthless. This age coincides with the time he started using Anderson as his trainer and supposed steroid supplier. The amount of home runs Bonds has hit since then has been stunning - especially at an age when his talent should be declining.

But I'm not so sure it was the 'roids. Steroids may bulk you up - but you still have to hit the ball. I don't believe hand/eye coordination is a beneficiary of the juice. His walks are amazing as well. I suppose it's tough to ignore the timing of his super human efforts, but it's also hard to explain his being able to perform that hardest feat in all of sports - hitting a round ball with a round bat - so well.

Bursts of energy

So I periodically get a surge of creativity in my journal entries. I have a 5 year journal - one of those "3 lines per day, 5 days per page" deals. I've had it since 2001 and do my three lines diligently. (That sounds a bit more nefarious than necessary.)

But, damn...sometimes it's just so hard to think of anything to write. After all, who am I writing for? Me, my wife, family? What's theraputic about writing it down? What's the reason so many go on and on with blogs, too?

Anyway, I'm off. And I don't know when I'll have anything else to say.

(I do read back in my 5 year journal. There is something fascinating about what I was doing on this day a year ago, two, three. Reading about my overwrought trivial crises through September 10, 2001 vs. the world's real troubles starting on the 11th is perspective-setting, as well.)

Where are the common manners?

In recent years, I've had many off-the-cuff conversations with friends bemoaning the lack of manners in our society. Bitch, bitch, bitch. Laugh a little. Move on with life.

But it's a real angst-inducing societal issue, I fear. (I know...late the the panic session, but what the hell.) The recent election was another example of just how far out of kilter we've skewed. The hatred and vitrol being spewed by both sides - and I'm talking the voters. My god! I don't think I've ever been challenged to rationalize my beliefs so ardently and forcefully before in my life. Whatever happened to calm, polite disagreement? Concerted, honorable argument? Certainly, tell me why you feel the way you do. Try to convince me that I may be wrong, misguided. But respect me for my beliefs once I've listened with sincere ear. I promise to do the same. Let's disagree if we must, but save me the sneer as I turn to leave.