The Good News from Wednesday

So Tuesday evening (or Wednesday morning) was obviously disappointing for Obama supporters and anyone who's just downright tired of this never-ending primary.

What was lost in the predictable, "Hillary's back from the dead!" headlines (the press has a pretty funny definition of "dead"), was the news of out southeastern Vermont:

Vermont towns vote to arrest Bush and Cheney

That's right, dear B&E readers. If our soon-to-be-ex-administration members set foot in Brattleboro or Marlboro, Vermont, they could become real shitbirds.

The people of these (awesome) towns have accused them of "crimes against the constitution," and police will be expected to "extradite them" to other authorities with the power to prosecute.

I'm not sure who these other authorities are exactly. Will the BPD (Brattleboro Police Department) ship them off to Spain or Germany, where there are genuine efforts to prosecute Dubya and Dick for war crimes?

So yes, of course, the measure is mostly symbolic. But I like Vermont's brand of heavy-handed symbolism.

Another Reason Vermont Rules

bernie
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Some of you may remember May of 2001, when Vermont Senator James Jeffords defected from the Republican Party. No, he did not become a Democrat. He became an Independent. But he voted with Democrats, and for eighteen short (and feckless) months, the Democrats held onto the majority in the Senate, thanks solely to his leaving the Republican Party. In 2002, the Republican Party took the Senate back, and it's been good times ever since.

Jeffords is retiring this year, and running for his Senate seat is long-time Congressman, Bernie Sanders, also an Independent. Too left-leaning for the Democratic Party, he is nevertheless getting their backing this election.

Meanwhile, he's getting hit from the further left by Peter Diamondstone, the Liberty Union Party candidate, a one-time friend of Bernie, but who's been pissed off since 1984 when Bernie threw his support towards Fritz Mondale. Don't piss off a lefty. They don't forget.

Well, the Senate debate in Vermont was a memorable one. Diamondstone went well over his time limit and cursed at some of the students asking questions. He finally became so pissed off during the debate that he got tossed from the room and arrested.

Rumor has it there was a Republican candidate participating as well. Some guy named Tarrant. We're still awaiting confirmation on that little piece of news.

In the meantime, go Bernie!

[And thanks to Phil for the link.]

I Worked One Hell of a Walk

ball gear
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Unfortunately, that was my personal highlight of a weekend of baseball (which admittedly was a highlight in and of itself), and a weekend in which up was down, left was right, and back was pain.

When I heard we had make-up games scheduled on Saturday and Sunday this week, I (almost jokingly) asked the missus if we could go up to Vermont just for the games. To my surprise and immense pleasure, she said, simply, "Sure."

Is she not a fine woman, B&E readers? Is she not?

The McNeill's Brewers were to face the team with the best record in the league (the Saxtons River Pirates) on Saturday, and the team with the worst record in the league (and the only team the Brewers had beaten, the Brattleboro River Rats) on Sunday.

The missus and I left Queens at 4:30am to make sure I got to the game in time to stretch properly, warm up, take some fielding practice, and put on my protective cup (I've never played baseball without one since getting tagged in the nuts sliding into third at age 11 -- one never forgets his first wracking, and it alters one's behavior and attitude).

The Pirates are consistently the best team in the league, and my team, in the four or five years that we've been playing in one form or another, has never beaten them.

Two personal streaks came to an end that day against the Pirates. I hadn't struck out in two years. It took my first trip to the plate against the Pirates to end that. At least I went down swinging (and left-handed, which may have been a mistake). I had also gotten hits in five straight games dating back to last season (I don't play in that many games each year, since I commute and all). I went 0-for-3, but I reached on an error in the 7th inning, and in the 8th, down no-balls-and-two-strikes, I fought back, fouled off a few pitches, let a few out-of-the-zone pitches go by, and worked myself a walk. It was pretty satisfying, even though I knew it would mean the end of my hitting streak.

And get this: we beat the Pirates. 10-3. I scored the go-ahead run (which is a meaningless statement that sounds good) on a sacrifice fly (actually, I'm pretty sure it was the first time I've ever scored on a sac fly -- sac flies are pretty rare at age 12, and I just haven't played enough as an adult to get to third base with less than two outs).

There are many reasons (some perfectly legitimate) that the Pirates weren't at their best against us, but regardless, we beat them, and we played like a real team. Our pitcher threw a complete game. About 145 pitches. He walked a lot of guys, but he, and we, held them to three runs. It was a hell of a game. Some of their guys were pretty mad. People don't like losing to the (formerly hapless?) McNeill's Brewers.

So we came into Sunday's game optimistic. Confident, but not cocky (you have to have a record better than 2-8 to be cocky). And sore. Well, I was sore, anyway. I woke up with typical day-after-game soreness, including being a little stiffer in the lower back than normal. But again, I got to the field early, and did some stretching and was feeling pretty good.

Then, during fielding practice, my lower back completely clenched up. I could barely pick up the ball that I'd been attempting to chase down. I stayed in the lineup for the game (for some reason swinging the bat didn't aggravate it), but I couldn't run for shit and I couldn't bend over.

The River Rats played solid baseball, and we didn't. I handed out a lot of ibuprofen to my teammates before the game, but we just couldn't get our act together. In my first at-bat, I swung at a bad pitch and grounded sharply back to the pitcher. He made a nice play, and on the first step out of the box, my back clenched up again. So I couldn't even run it out. Man, I'm getting fucking old.

I ended up 0-for-3 again, and in my last attempt I popped out, pretty much straight up. I'd gotten a fat pitch to hit and I'd missed it. I only ever get angry at myself in these games (I'm much more self-competitive than outwardly so), and this was the angriest I'd gotten all season. I let out a primal scream, threw my helmet, then gave out a "Fuck!" for good measure. A few of the guys had their wives and kids at the game, so really, I should watch my mouth. I didn't even remember dropping the F-bomb, until the missus accused me of being a potty mouth.

The River Rats seem like a fine bunch of guys, and they were thrilled with their first victory. I think they felt very much on Sunday how we felt on Saturday. So as I gimped off the field, nearly paralyzed by back pain, I walked by their dugout, which was all smiles, and thanked them for a good, well-played game. I think every single one of them thanked me back, extra-enthusiastically, a fair amount of post-game adrenaline coursing through their veins.

I'm sitting on my couch in Queens again now, barely able to move. My batting average dropped over two hundred points, and I can't put on socks. But goddamn if it wasn't worth it.

Man, I fucking love playing baseball.

And there goes that potty mouth again.

A Very Special Shout-Out

cotton
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I'd like to give props to the missus, who, as of today, has officially survived two years of marriage with me. For the cotton anniversary, she gave me the hankies pictured and embroidered a special message just for me.

The missus won't actually see this here posting for another week, as she's in New Mexico working on the Don Imus ranch for kids with cancer and blood disorders. She has expressly forbidden me to write about her ranch experiences at B&E. Too bad.

Anyway, we celebrated before she left. The missus is a fine and thoughtful gift-giver, by the way. 100%-cotton sweat mops for my head is more than a little appreciated. I also had the opportunity to take my birthday present for its first official spin yesterday. She bought me a bamboo bat for my baseball league up in Vermont, and yesterday I took some batting practice with it. Boy, it's a work of beauty, the bat, and I hit some nice line drives with it. I take it for a real test run on Saturday, as we play the Ludlow Cops.

Actually, I don't know that they're called the Cops, but they are a bunch of cops. And we're playing at a ball field in Ludlow, which is situated among the Green Mountains. It's a great location for baseball, and I hope to use my new bamboo bat to hook one around the foul pole in the short porch in left.

Oh, missus, you are a fine woman. Happy anniversary.

Might Be Spotty

pretty farm
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Dear B&E Readers,

I'm currently at Hall Farm, conveniently pictured for your enjoyment. Although rather than looking like the picture, it's raining like a banshee (yes, banshees rain), and the place is in utter chaos.

You see, it's less than a week before their artist residency season begins, so it's time to finish the beautifying. At the moment, it's mostly just a mess.

I say this because I don't anticipate having much time for regular posting this week. If I did, I might say something about these items...

-- As Phil pointed out, Lastings Milledge (the Mets top prospect) is being called up to join the team because Xavier "Who?" Nady had to get his appendix removed. Looks like I was a bit hasty with the Xady Watch this week. Ah, well. So Who's on the DL, and now we'll get a chance to see if the prospect is all his prospectus says he is. Boy, if he is, I'll gladly retire the weekly Xady Watch. Although it might be fun to have reports from the recovery room... Hey, Who! A guy on the McNeill's Brewers was pitching less than a week after an appendectamy. And he's not getting your salary. I'm not calling you a pussy or anything, Who, but if you're not back on that field by Monday, I'll be considering it.

-- Dickhead of the Week would almost certainly be Senator Bill "Frisky" Frist. Frisky's about to introduce a constitutional amendment based on discrimination. Discrimination against whom, you ask? Well, the queers of course. For when the Right fails at everything else, they need to distract the masses by reiterating their hatred for the queers. Fuck you, Frisky. That's not what our constitution is for. What a Dickhead.

-- And then, out of the darkness, a reasonable Republican comes forth. I'd probably give a special Anti-Dickhead of the Week award to Mayor of NYC, Michael Bloomberg. I've got my issues with the mayor -- millions in contributions to Dubya and bringing the Republican National Convention to our fine city are but two shining examples -- but in his radio address this week, Mayor Mike said he's ready to let gay couples marry. If the court says it's OK, he'll go right ahead and have City Hall get on it. He spoke clearly and eloquently about why he thinks Frisky's move is nothing but assholery (my paraphrase), and believes that the government is in no position to say who can marry and who cannot. Good for you, Mayor Mike.

I'm sure there'd be more, and maybe I'll have some time to touch on those mores, but in the meantime, I'm sanding and painting, sanding and painting, sanding and painting...

I hope you, my fine B&E readers, will understand a brief absence.

Report From Vermont

sterling_weed
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

The Green Mountain State mourns the passing of the oldest (formerly) living band leader, Sterling Weed, who died this past Sunday at his home in St. Albans. A spry 104, Sterling gave Strom Thurmond the proverbial finger not only by out-living the old racist coot, but by staying just as active to the end. Participating in his last gig less than a month ago (although a bladder infection kept him from playing his sax), locals partied like it was 1940, swinging to the classic tunes of Weed's Imperial Orchestra. Vermonters everywhere wonder: who can take Weed's place? Who can wail on that saxophone and strum the music in our hearts? Who the hell can live that freakin' long? The man was bald. The man was effective. And we honor him.

Report From Vermont

vtexpos
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

A decades-old moniker gets its final hurrah, when the mighty Expos of Vermont play their last game of the season this evening. Like most teams called Expos, the Class A independent league affiliate finds itself at the bottom of the standings, but firmly entrenched in the hearts of Green Mountaineers across the state. A name-the-team contest has been raging throughout the season, which is more than can be said for the competition on the field. Vermonters everywhere ponder the possibilities. A few nicknames in the running include nods to the political-mindedness of the crowd (The Independents, The Howlin' Howards), the state's rich history (The Green Mountain Boys), its fear of outsiders (The Locals), even regional jargon (The Jeezum Crows). Whatever the name, the team's owner aspires toward greatness in merchandising, if not in baseball prowess. Instead of expressing brotherhood with their neighbors to the north, the team's new goal is to be like Ben & Jerry's or maple syrup or ski slopes -- that is, to be a symbol of the Green Mountain state on an elysian national playing field.

Guilford Country Fair

basset
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Vermont has mastered the art of the country fair. If you need proof, make sure you're in Guilford next Labor Day weekend. I attended today in the hopes of witnessing the annual ox pull competition. But alas, the ox pull happened on Day 1 of the fair.

So instead I was entertained by the dog agility competition. You know, dogs running through obstacle courses. Most of them are energetic breeds -- the shepherds, the spaniels, the collies.

Then there was the basset hound. One trainer fought and lost the battle against centuries of breeding. The low-riding pooch would run through the tunnel, then walk in circles, sniffing the ground where the other dogs had been. He'd run over the see-saw, then walk in circles, sniffing the ground where the other dogs had been. He'd jump the hurdles, then walk in circles, sniffing the ground where the other dogs had been. The trainer would have to get his attention after every obstacle.

Pure genius!

Vermont's State Bird

mosquito
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I've returned from Vermont all chomped up by mosquitos. I have reason to believe they're breeding a killer super-mosquito in New England, as these guys really seem to know what they're doing. I have the usual bites on my arms and legs, but there were a few mosquitos going for something a little more.

A couple bastards attempted to suck the fluid out of my brain, and my scalp is now covered in welts. One fucker went right to the source, but between my shirt and chest hair, he couldn't reach my actual heart. He did, however, manage to break the skin, which is disconcerting enough. The most disturbing, perhaps, is the bite on my jugular. Considering how forcefully blood flows through the jugular, I can't imagine that the little guy didn't explode, but I'm frankly surprised I've survived to tell the tale.

I Like Your Boots

L-Word
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

I came up to Vermont today to help get "the farm" ready for its artist residency season, and this evening, I watched an episode of The L-Word with the organization's director, another straight man.

One character's storyline essentially consisted of her complimenting a love/sex interest's boots, first from afar and finally to her face, when they commenced the macking.

At some point, while watching, it became clear to my that my friend was hearing her say, "I like your boobs." When I corrected him, he was quite insistent, to the tune of rewinding and re-listening.

Boy, we straight men, when it comes to lesbians, well, we just really wanna hear what we wanna hear. And in this case, my friend's lesbian fantasy world was even sillier than the fictional lesbian world we were watching.