Take me out to the ball game

Having only recently become enamored of the Beautiful Game, I've noticed plenty of anti-soccer sentiment on this side of the Atlantic and Rio Grande. Soccer's certainly not for everyone. I haven't thought about it myself since elementary school. But the amazing vitriol people in the states spew towards futbol ranges on the absurd.

Many of them complain that soccer is boring. But that can't be it, because plenty of good ol' American sports are boring, too. Chief among them Baseball. After all, you can say soccer is just a bunch of guys running around without scoring, but Baseball is just a bunch of guys standing in the heat waiting for something to happen. Seems to me that Lacrosse is just rich Mid Atlantic prep schoolers hitting each other with big sticks. And I'll never understand the obsession with watching people play Poker on TV.

But people can openly enjoy those games without fear of reprisal.

The problem lies, unfortunately, in the fact that Europeans love it. I mean, they Love it. Oh, and all those brown folks stealing our fruit-picking and janitorial jobs. So the equation is obvious, if you love soccer, you must hate America. And you're gay. Definitely. Gay and a democrat. A gay, Spanish-speaking democratic terrorist. Who hates America.

Or that's the impression I get online. I say we should live and let live. I mean, at least the World Cup actually involves the World, while the World Series theoretically involves two countries, but usually only one.

BTW: Go Red Sox!

Best Birthday Ever

So, I'm a big sucker.

"Let's see Clerks II on Saturday! I have to work that morning, but D&S can give you a ride."

Imagine my surprise when we got to The Senator and went upstairs, ostensibly to see an exhibit on Natty Boh, and had my picture taken like a celebrity by Dr. Huxtable.

Friends of all kinds, from baltimore and parts yonder (those delayed by an overturned dumptruck on I-95) to greet me and wish me well into my 28th year. With lots of pizza and falafel and an excellent selection of drinks.

We watched the aforementioned movie from the air conditioned comfort and splendor of our own private skybox, an experience not marred in the least by the fact that the auditorium below was practically empty. I felt like the president of BoA, or at least some small company. I enjoyed the rush of exclusivity when going in and out of the PRIVATE door from the lobby, while the common folk milled about.

The Natty Boh documentary later was the perfect ending. They were giving out free Boh in the lobby, so I was able to finally sample "The Drinking Man's Water" without paying for it. It would have been a shame to live here for 2 years and not at least try it. I didn't finish it. But at least I tasted it.

Many thanks to K for putting all of this together. I had no idea what was happening. This was a perfect weekend!

And thanks to Dr. Huxtable and Lawyergirl for all their help in making it possible, and to D&S for being such good liars.

Bush and Denny on a fieldtrip

I really don't have anything funny to say here. I think the photo speaks for itself.

Katie Couric is a harbinger of ... uh ... what?

If you're like me, you've been awating Katie Couric's impending Anchorship at CBS with more that a little trepidation. We've watched the news slide downhill into the soft, mushy world of infotainment for years now, and putting Katie C. in Ed Murrow's old seat would seal the deal, so to speak.

Or will it?

Couric herself says no. Seems she was losing patience with reporters who wanted to know how she would dress for her debut and what her hobbies are. She itched to change the subject, according to the Boston Globe, and was glad to explain how she'd been traveling the country to hear what us regular folks want from our news machines.

"They want more perspective, more stories put in historical context. They want us to go a little bit deeper," Couric said. "We also heard that the news is too depressing. Obviously, we can't sugarcoat [things] , but we can be more solution-oriented.

"Sometimes we assume that people know a lot more than they really do. So I'd like to not just do the news of today but take a broader look at the ramifications" of the news.

What could this mean? Has CBS bowed to the pressure of a thousand liberal bloggers? Or are we about to recieve in-depth, historically contextual reporting on Laura Bush's wardrobe?

It sounds like Katie wants to be remembered as Couric. We'll see what happens.

The one where you kick the ball, but can't touch it

Okay. I get it now.

After a month of World Cup madness, I finally get why people love this game the world over.

So help me, I even watched a DC United game on TV a few days ago (Turns out the undisclosed location has a bit of cable). After all those years of seeing their posters on the Metro during summer vacation.

And good news, since we'll soon be in the land of futbol.

Law School Forum

Pretty intense. Lots of fresh-out-of-college types with no idea how to dress. Guys in cargo shorts and polos, girls in tank tops. Times like these when we realize just how dumb we used to be.

K was sick the whole time, but carried herself well. I mapped out the room so we could hit all the schools she was interested in. Bang, boom, zoom. And a good thing too, since she ran out of steam suddenly and we had to leave earlier than expected.

Good talk with the folks at Wisconsin, and we loved Madison when we visited on our honeymoon. She's out of their league, LSAT wise, but she really was impressed by all their programs and the people at the table.

Hit all the NC schools, Chapel Hill, Duke and Wake. All good. UC Davis has childcare for law students -- not that I'm sayin', I'm just sayin'. U Penn is top 10 and in a big urban area, good clinics and relationship with community. I think they have housing options too. Too many brochures all around. Gonna have to take time to read up on all of them.

And Harvard. I mean, you can't not apply when you're K. It would violate the laws of nature, or something.

Where, O where is the #61 Bus?

K is stranded in Charles Village waiting for a bus. And it's about to rain.

The bus was supposed to arrive at her stop at about 3:20, she called me at 3:30 to vent, and the bus still hadn't shown up by 3:40 when she hung up.

Oh, and she has a tutoring appointment at 3:30. Or had.

So the MTA may have just cost us quite a bit of money.

And she's had to deal with a particularly rude driver more than once on this route, when she's actually able to catch the bus.

The #61 bus is one of those lines the MTA wants to terminate. They say there aren't enough passengers to justify running it. Is it possible there aren't enough passengers because of the terrible service? After all, the bus only runs about every 20 to 30 minutes, except during rush hour, and it can't even stick to that already inconvenient schedule.

It's almost as if the MTA wants to alienate riders and potential riders so they can shut it down. It's really too bad, because the buses are actually nice enough once you get on.

Well, I guess it won't be our problem for much longer ...

Watching the World Cup in Little Italy.

"Yeah, baby. We already got the flag up and everything!"

And we were lucky to get reservations at Ciao Bella to see the Cup, since the trickle of people became a torrent just before the game began. K and I felt like impostors, a pollack and an Irish-English hybrid with just a smidgen of (gasp!) French Canadian in her blood. Fortunately, no one asked to see our papers, and we had our own Italian American along to vouch for us.

Fact is, most folks there probably don't speak a lick of Italian beyond what they learned on The Sopranos, although we did have a real, honest-to-god Italian couple sitting at the table in front of us. And were they happy when that last Penalty Kick flew in. Most folks there seemed happy to be there, but a few guys, one already sporting a black eye, kept shouting at the French players.

The whole place erupted in cheers and ecstatic shouting, flags flew into the air from bags and purses, and we got the hell out before anything could happen. Not that anything did. As soon as we hit the street, a couple of guys on a Vespa sped past, honking their horn and waving a big Italian tricolor. Horns honked, people cheered in the streets. High fives for all, whether real Italian or just Italian for a day.

No better place in the US to watch Italy beat France, except maybe Boston or New York. But hey, we finally found something to like about Baltimore.

As for me, it was great to finally pick the right team. After a month of watching more soccer than I've ever watched before, of sitting helpless as the US, Polish and Mexican teams all went down in flames, finally that GOOOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLLL!!!!! went in the right net. And it doesn't hurt the US team that they actually managed to keep the eventual World Cup winners to a tie.

So, you mean I have to wait another 4 years for more?

Viva Italia!

I'm not one of those Freedom Fries types, the kind who boycotted all things Francophile after Chirac opposed the Iraq war. In fact, not only were the French right ot oppose the war, but I'd love to visit Paris one day. It is one of the centers of Western culture, after all.

But I still wanted them to lose yesterday. I mean, seriously. The French annoy me. They think of themselves as the pinnacle of Western Civilization, just like we do. Yeah, thanks for the help during the Revolution and all, and for designing Washington, DC. But seriously. the attitude is a little much.

Of course, the Italians probably think they're better than us too. But they aren't such jerks about it.

So, viva Italia. Word.

Lime Time in Baltimore

Check out Lime in "Lower Federal Hill" (formerly Locust Point). Tiny place, and the lime-green decor can get a little old, but never been to a place where they bring out free tequila shots in place of chips and salsa. It's basically a bar with limited table seating. The wide selection of tequilas makes it hard to choose, but the margaritas are excellent -- or so K says. Danged designated-driverness.

We had second thoughts when we saw the tiny menu, about the size of the bar itself, had no vegetarian entrees. But the waitress cheerfully announced that we could have non-meat versions of the quesadilla and burrito. The tiny kitchen, essentially the back bar, had us a little worried we were about to re-hash our Tomate experience in Barcelona, where the kitchen was a microwave behind a partition near the cash register.

But surprise! The food was excellent. Probably the best Mexican food we've had in Baltimore since Blue Agave went to shit. Although, that's not a fair comparison, since Blue Agave at its peak served a kind of gourmet Mexican food. Lime makes no pretenses in that direction. And I just remembered the good food at Arcos in Upper Fell's Point, or whatever they're calling it nowadays. Either way, Lime's food was shockingly good.

The only real quibble is that our waitress just ... disappeared for a while. Not that we were in a hurry, and it was certainly better than a hovering waitress who won't leave you alone. But, we kinda like to pay when we want to pay. Y'know?

Post-Fourth Ruminations

The lack of a computer over the last 5 days of vacation put this blog to a griding halt, and now I'm back at work, so this will just be a quick blast of commentary for my own sake more than yours.

Supposedly, Sam Walton's wife told him years ago to never open a store in a big city. She couldn't stand the idea of living in a town of more than 10,000 people -- at the most. I've come to realize than I possess the opposite desire. The idea of living in a tiny little town, or spending more than a few days in one, creates a creeping sense of dread and impending boredom in me. Of course, having friends nearby helps. And I guess I can see the alure to some folks, but as for me, I think I'd prefer never to live in a city smaller than Asheville. About 74,000 people, I think. No wonder I hate Wal-Mart.

Baltimore's public transit sucks. I mean, really. And this is from a guy who avidly supports transit. The buses run 40 minutes apart, the light rail closes up shop far too early, and the Web site is absolutely terrible and uninformative.

Went to the Roland Park 4th of July parade. Got there a little late and found the grandstand empty while John Phillip Souza blasted from the loud speakers. The parade had already moved one, looking as if the rich white folks had finally decided to take back the streets in a lolling blaze of red white and blue glory. The mass of children, dogs, bikes, small cars and stollers wound down the Avenue to one of the churches, where bomb pops and water bottles were handed out for free, like a bunch of America-hating socialists. I have never done drugs in my life, but if ever there was a time when chemicals could have enhanced an event ... at elast there was a dog wearing a flag bandana.