No-No? Yes, Yes!

Two years ago, Jon Lester was a promising young pitcher for the Boston Red Sox. But late in the season, he was diagnosed with a rare form of non-hodgkin's lymphoma.

Just six months later, after several rounds of chemo, I saw him at spring training, working out with the minor leaguers... and he looked great. Only a little more than a year after his diagnosis, he pitched the World Series clincher for the Red Sox.

Tonight, I caught something even cooler-- flipping to ESPN just in time to see him cap off a no-hitter for the BoSox at Fenway Park. Yeah, no-hitters are always pretty special... but this one definitely felt a little more significant.

Grapes!

For the first time since Dan Patrick and Keith Olbermann stopped doing "The Big Show" more than a decade ago, there's finally another reason to watch Sportscenter on ESPN: Don Cherry.


I was convinced that ESPN had completely given up on hockey after the lockout. They Dropped "NHL 2Nite," and they showed more Major League Soccer highlights than NHL video during the regular season. This, however, is promising.

By the way... I don't want to name names... but guess who Don Cherry is predicting to win the Stanley Cup?

Buggin'

It seems way too early for the "love bugs" to be out... but last week, I saw one, and today, I saw my first small swarm of the amourous little buggers.

If you've never had the joy of experiencing "love bugs," (and if you've never lived in the Southeastern US, you probably haven't), let me explain.

First of all, they're completely harmless. No, they're not the result of some bizarre scientific experiement gone bad, though that rumor runs rampant through the Sunshine State.

A "love bug" is a flying insect, bigger than a mosquito, but smaller than a housefly. And in the spring, they mate-- which, for most insects, is none of my business. "Love bugs" make it your business.

See, once they mate, they're stuck together. Not metaphorically, like "I got knocked up, so I guess I'm stuck with this loser." Literally stuck at their little buggy genitals.

Now, once again, none of my business, right? Wrong. Imagine, if you will, attempting to walk around and go about your daily business while stuck to your partner at the groin. Not a pretty picture, right? Kind of like a perverted three-legged race? You'd be bumping into things, tripping over one another, stumbling around like a drunken ox. Now, imagine trying to fly whilst stuck together in a similar fashion.

That's the problem with the "love bug." They fly. And because of their unusual situation, they don't fly particularly well. They seem to hover at right about car level. And their bug juices can strip the paint right off of your bumper. The picture to the right is not an exaggeration.

Even worse, by mid-May, the air is thick with aerial orgies of the little buggers, in clumsy flight. They get stuck in your hair, stuck to your clothes, and stuck in your food if you eat outside.

So, forgive my love-bug complaints. I don't mind their lewd and lascivious behavior-- really. I'd just prefer that they don't do it on my car, or in my hair, or on my hot dog. That's not too much to ask, right?

Blogger's Block

It's funny-- during the week, I always think of things to blog about: Our first anniversary, Darren McCarty's return to the Red Wings, the absolute pain-in-the-arse that writing an annual report has become, seeing "Run, Fat Boy, Run," bad drivers, my trip to the world's largest trailer park... the list goes on and on.

Then, I have a little free time-- and I've lost my inspiration.

I did take a trip to the World's largest trailer park last week... it's actually just a mile from where I work. And while there are some "nice" manufactured homes in our area-- you won't find any of the nice ones there.

And here's what makes it particularly lovely. Because it's not close to any schools-- 1 in 10 residents of this happy little hamlet is a sex offender (I've actually heard that it's more than that... but I'm being generous).

Anyway, I had to take a trip out there for work this week. And my boss acted as if I was going into a war zone. "If you're not back in half an hour, you'd better call me."

Here's the funny thing. Nobody there was going to mess with me. For one thing... I only saw two cars crappier than mine... and neither of them were up on blocks.

Kicking the Bucket

Seriously, how long ago did the movie "The Bucket List" come out? Every week, when Cory and I are looking for a Sunday morning matinee to go to, I see "The Bucket List" on the showtimes, and I usually say loudly, "That's still in the theaters???"

Ok... I just checked... and it came out on Christmas. That's damn near four months ago.

I get it. We live in Florida... "God's waiting room." A lot of our neighbors are nearing Death's door and trying to fulfill their own 'bucket lists.' It's probably a pretty popular flick in our neck of the woods.

But four months? For a movie that was number-one for maybe a week or two? Really?

I don't get it. I guess you could say that seeing the movie "The Bucket List" isn't on my personal "bucket list."

But then again, I'm only 38. Ask me again when I'm 70,Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman's age. And by the way, Morgan is little more than a month younger than Jack. And Jack's birthday is next week. And I still don't want to see his movie. Especially four months after its release.

So there.

How to Waste Time: a primer

1) You Have to Burn the Rope (the theme song is fantastic)
2) Dance, Dance, Dance (I heart dancing vikings)

You're welcome.

Flying Fish, Part II

(By the way, I'm not sure what's wrong with my blog at the moment. I'm assuming it looks as peculiar to you as it does to me. Sigh.)

So, we get to Matlacha, and the fish-flinging has already begun. The kids competition was underway, which was pretty funny. A lot of really little kids picking up dead fish and trying to chuck them... then wiping their hands on the emcee's pants.

Once the adult competition began, I kept trying to convince Cory to give it a whirl. After all, it's just five bucks a pop. It goes to a good cause. And I get to laugh at him.

He won't do it. At first, it's because he says he doesn't know the right technique. We got a good kick out of watching this guy and his friend debate whether to throw the mullet overhand or underhand (photo courtesy of the News-Press). One guy even threw his discus-style.

Later, when push came to shove, Cory admitted that he doesn't want to get embarrassed. It's not the fish-flinging that he's worried about. It's that he's a big dude-- and he feels that people would have expectations when they saw a 6'5" guy walk up there. If he wasn't good at mullet-tossing, the crowd would be dissappointed-- and he'd be embarrassed.

So, we settle for drinking beer and watching instead. It was a hot, sunny day, and we'd brought some folding lawn chairs with us. We found a spot under a tent (one of those tall tents like they have at art fairs-- you know-- with the pointy roof and no sides), ended up sitting next to some people from Clarkston and Troy, Michigan (very close to where I grew up), and watched the fish-flinging commence.


By the way, the Matlacha Mariners aren't wasteful. I guess a mullet isn't a one-toss fish. The same several fish would get tossed over and over again, so on occasion, a fish would hit the ground and spatter from one too many uses. Sometimes, you could actually see fish guts spray while the mullet was in midair. Gross, huh? Once a fish gets "retired" from circulation, the Mariners give it to crabbers, who use it as bait in their traps.

Gutty fish made for good entertainment. One of the most amusing parts of the mullet toss was watching people dodge those flying fish. See, not everyone there had the ability to throw fish with accuracy, and a lot of out-of-bounds tosses went into the crowd. We sat and laughed, relatively secure in the knowledge that we were under a tent, with more tents in front of and behind ours. A fish could hit the roof of the tent, but the odds of one sliding into the gap between the tents, hitting the ground, and bouncing five feet into one of our laps was pretty slim.

But lets face it-- I'm the type of girl that likes to defy the odds.

So, we'd been there for a couple hours-- enjoyed a few beers, had a few laughs, and were trying to decide when to leave. We agreed to stay until the next "intermission" and then go off to our next adventure. Shortly after we make the decision, I see a fish flying towards us, and even say, "Wow. That one's coming straight at us." But the loft of the throw goes over the tent, and out of our view. We hear a plop. And then the fish slips between the tent roofs, hits the ground, and bounces 4 1/2 feet in my direction until it slaps against my shin.

Yuck.

Cory, not paying attention, looks down, sees a gutty dead fish at my feet, and thinks I dodged a bullet. I, on the other hand, know better. I can feel cold fish blood trickling down my leg. I looked down, and my shin was red and streaked with silver scales. The spatter got on my pants and even on my shirt.

A very nice man brought me some napkins to wipe off the fish guts, and I did the rest I could, but I stunk for the rest of the day. I had some "moist towelettes" in my purse courtesy of a chicken-wing dinner a few nights earlier, and that helped,too, but even after we got home and I took a shower, I could still smell it.

So I guess it's a good thing that Cory didn't want to be embarrassed. I took care of that for him.

That said, I'll go back next year. And knowing my luck, I'll probably get hit by a stray fish again.