My weekend just got better

Wes Welker Scores!!!
I'm going to have to find some theme music, video, something for this season.

Random Wikipedia fun

From the entry on "Ook":

Ook is the only word of the Orangutan language as spoken by orangutans in the Discworld series by Terry Pratchett — specifically, by the Librarian of the Unseen University.

The word ook can mean (via intonation) any word, meaningful or not. So, for example, Ook-ook can be a long speech, an emphatic denial, or a shout of joy. On rare occasions the Librarian has been known to expand his vocabulary to include oook, gook, and, in times of stress, the high pitched eek and eeek.

According to the Librarian, who is patiently compiling an orangutan-human dictionary, definitions include:

• Ook. Excuse me, but that's my rubber ring you're hanging in.
• Ook. Oh, I do beg your pardon, I didn't realise there was a dominant male in this group.
• Ook. I'll Just go and sit over here very quietly, shall I?
• Ook. You're out of your tree. This is my tree.
• Ook. Yes.
• Ook. No.
• Ook. Banana.
• Ook. It may be a vital oxygenating biomass to you, but it's home to me.
  

Elephant Ears Struggling

It's rather hot today ...

Quick take on Barry Bonds

In response to the comment*:

"While you were away, Barry "crybaby on roids" Bonds hit number 756.
Meaningless! Come on, let's start the debate now!"

First off:
I don't know much about sports. Oh, I guess I know a great deal about how to play football and baseball, and I can go to a game and tell you who the best players are that day and what's happening away from the ball. But the encyclopedic knowledge of every athlete, coach or jock holder involved in the sporting universe goes way beyond my interest. I have personal reasons for that fact, a subject I might tackle later.

Secondly, I don't care. I don't get the whole belief that, somehow, the lifetime home run tally is "the most prestigious record in sports." Oh really?

Yes, hitting a baseball is one of the most difficult sporting feats out there. Running 100 meters in under 10 seconds? Also hard. Beating the crap out of somebody who has done nothing but train for six months? Not easy.

I don't get the ranking of one record over the other or how it's even possible to compare.

Why this shows that Major League Baseball today is in crappy shape:
A lot of people remember the 1998 season as the wonderful year that Sammy Sosa and Mark McGuire "saved" baseball. I remember it as the year MLB stopped even pretending that people gave a damn about the game. As in, who has the best team? Who's leading their division?

Nope. Pro baseball today is about a bunch of merceneries out to get the best statistics. The main storyline this season is Bonds, and it's Bonds because MLB doesn't have enough faith that the drama of the Red Sox plowing through everyone is enough to pull in an audience.

They have so little faith that a good season by several quality teams will attract attention, that we instead get non-stop coverage of a chemically enhanced freak that no one likes.

Barry Bonds used steroids. Nyyyahhh.
Yeah. That's pretty obvious. And no one else in baseball ever did. Mark McGuire's record-breaking season out of nowhere was gift from the angel of Babe Ruth and his balls were gently blown over the fence by the ghost of Honus Wagner.

I'll be happy to put an asterisk by Bonds' record so long as we consider every record set in the last 20 years for asteriskability. And that goes for football on the pro and college level.

Barry Bonds is a jerk.
Eh. So in hell he and Ty Cobb will be bunkmates. That's his problem.

Besides, as is often the case, I can't really read if it's him or if it's the relationship he has with the media. Character and media savvy are two different things.

And it's not like this threatens the greatness that is Babe Ruth. The man could eat 30 hotdogs, gulp two pitchers of beer, and then go out and freakin' pound the ball. No one is ever going to be that cool again.

So, the actual quick take on Bonds:
I was mildly happy. Regardless of Bonds, it's an impressive thing to do. And since I work in the sports section, I no longer have to worry about it. It also made a lot dudes on TV with really nice hair and non-deserved attitudes go frothing at the mouth. And I like to see that happen.

*Kind of a random comment, I couldn't peg who that came from. I don't do a whole lot of sports, except talk about Tech and get my non-sexual crush on Wes Welker going.

It's 5 a.m.

Folks:

Thanks for stopping by. Sorry that I haven't posted in the last few days. It's been a non-stop series of obligatory social events, baby furniture assembly, and cooking the chicken before it goes bad. Hence, the poor quality of this note.

Wednesday (today) doesn't look much better for me.

I should be back soon.

I realize this is not making sense.

Gracias.

Why editors have that reputation

Was just exploring the blogs at my hometown paper, the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal.

And I gotta tell you, the compilation blog for all the editors is ON FIRE.

Behold the stupendous amount of mind-blowing data put out in one month's time.

Eh.

When I say "on fire", I mean whatever device they were blogging with must have actually caught on fire, and they couldn't use it, thus preventing a great deal of blogging.

Get it? Ha ha!

:)

My wife looks like ...

While we're on the subject of pregnancy, today my wife was one of the subjects in a Star-Telegram picture on pregnant fashion.

Meredith is the one in the center, later referred to as the "Working mother-to-be." Note the shoes: She's the only one in flats, a point in which she took much pride. I'll admit I'm slightly creeped out by the cutting off of the head, but they did that because no one in the shoot is a working model.

I don't know if you can tell much about Meredith from the picture. I can tell you that she liked the pants, but "There's no way, NO WAY I'm paying $90 for something I'm only going to wear two months," darn it all*.

Or something. My wife's exclamations tend to confuse me.

We're having a baby*

Several times over the past few months, I've been in an idle conversation** with somebody and would mention the upcoming arrival of my betrothered. And it would come as a shock to the person I was talking to that I'm about to make my contribution to the next generation of Segrists.

I'm no longer sure who I've told and who I haven't. So, just to put out the notice with a larger bit of volume:

Me and my wife are pregnant.

When: Late September or thereabouts.
What: A boy -- or a girl who is going to have some serious identity issues.
Who: Sam (Tho he won't be a junior).

No, we're not ready. We're not even kidding ourselves about seeing "ready" somewhere over the horizon.

*By which I mean, as per usual, my wife is doing all the work and I'm contributing the sarcasm.
**E-mailing. Like I get into conversations.

A small truth

"He Stopped Loving Her Today" is an overrated song. Really kind of silly, if you think about it.

Yeah, we've all been through those times, usually in our late teens and early 20s, where we swear that we are so broken by rejection, our hearts will never work again. Then we go out and get drunk and stupid with the next one. This is the natural order. We wouldn't want to live in a world where it wasn't. (I'd like to proudly state for the record that alcohol did not play a part in my happy little marriage.)

And yet -- according to "He stopped Loving Her Today" -- any time Bob's friends suggested beer and dominos (or beer and fishing, or fishing and dominos), he'd say no, because "my heart's too dern beat up." Even when he was 50.

To which I say: What a royal pain in the ass. They probably could not get Bob in the ground fast enough. That funeral would have turned into one wild freakin' conga line to the gravesite.

*I don't know why I've been attacking old country songs lately. I'll move on.

Need book

Anybody got any decent books to read?

It needs to be fiction. I've been watching too many movies and reading too many blogs lately and I can feel the brain rot starting to set in.

Two things: I'm not in the mood for Harry Potter. I have nothing against Harry, but I'm not in the mood. And don't tell me "Da Vinci Code." If you tell me "Da Vinci Code," I'm going to spend the rest of my days trying to figure out how to send a kick-in-the-crotch via e-mail.

Are you there God? It's me, Seagraves

Dear God:

Thanks for the lesson in humility. One week after I badmouth some of the players on my softball team, you visit upon my person great pain and embarrassment.

First, You reminded me that I can no longer take 205-plus pounds of flesh from standing still to a dead sprint. You reminded me that I should probably go through about two more phases of increasing speed -- by ripping something in my thigh muscle, causing me to walk with a limp for the foreseeable future.

Second, you showed me that I can't criticize anyone's talents, not when the best I can do with two outs and the game on the line is hit an infield fly. I think the guy at second just held out his hand to catch it and looked bored by the time the ball got there.

Ho! Ha! You really showed me! Very funny God, very funny.

And since we're gabbering, I'd also like to take the time to say thanks for the rain. Yes, many people have lifted up their throats and sometimes their fists -- self-righteously shaking their tall boys -- against the Water That Fell From The Sky And Would Not Stop. And I wish the best for those who were flooded out or those who thought a Ford Escort could make it across water two feet deep and moving at thirty feet per second.

But how easily we forget we've been griping about a drought for ten years now. The lakes are full, and we're midway through the summer and we haven't had a single 100-degree day yet.

Yay, God, for the levels of sweat I emit are not yet overpowering my deodorant, which really helps, let me tell you.

Let me end with the usual stuff: Please look after my wife, please help her to forgive me for whatever I do wrong in the next three hours, watch over our soldiers in Iraq, and please keep Mike Leach from getting lost on the way to Jones Stadium. Again.

Amen.

The project

Phase 1:

Our pomegranate bush actually has a fruit. Unusual.

Phase 1: Complete.

Next time: Phase 2.

Tick-Tock

So, while being overwhelmed at the magnanimous, yet overwhelming, future job of parenting, it hit us the other day: Perhaps we should actually do something to get ready for our child's arrival.


Sure, we've cleared a room, bought some diapers, registered for people to give us stuff, and ... well, it feels like we haven't done nearly enough. I'm not the most organized of people. And the most surprising aspect to me about pregnancy is that my wife -- an organizational phenom --hasn't really done much organizing either. So, as we walked into the Frisco Ikea on Sunday, I felt a little behind that we were just now buying the bed.

Here's what we picked:

Like most products at Ikea, don't ask me to pronounce the name.

It is a pretty handy thing, in that the crib converts to a cot, shown here:

It does not, unfortunately, convert to the color and style pictured, which is what we wanted in the first place, but Ikea discontinued the line and no longer has the matching furniture ... I really could care less about matching furniture and that diaper changing table looks like it'd work but God knows I'm not the one making the furniture-matching decisions, etc. etc., ad infinitum.

I'd like to say the piece we bought was now standing in the cleared room, but we didn't buy it. Ikea has it on display, but it's a new line and is therefore not actually for sale until they get a shipment in -- probably around the first of August -- so call this number on the fifth, ask for Jorge, and this specific item number, etc., etc., ad infinitum.

And the countdown to birth goes on. The kid seems to be taking it easy lately, just wants to go square-dancing every now and then.

A headline that uses "Sooner" as a pun

From Dallas MN:

Calling the case "significant and serious," the NCAA's Division I infractions committee said Wednesday that Oklahoma must vacate its eight football victories during the 2005 season, including a bowl win, because of major violations involving players working at a Norman auto dealership.

My basic reaction here: It's wrong to take away the wins of a team because some bonehead who just had to, just couldn't keep himself away from, whose ego just couldn't stop him from meddling just so he could brag about it to his mechanics, who probably can't stand him as it as, freakin' jerk.

Anyway... It's a shame that the entire organization has to forfeit two-year-old wins* because one dumb guy gave money to two even dumber players. And really, it only makes sense in a metaphysical way that the vast majority of football players aren't going to get. (Though this will probably lead to the biggest on-campus football celebration Baylor has ever had.)

On the other hand, I hope that this will allow me and my Oklahoma buddies to put behind us a certain "blown" call at the end of the season in question.

UPDATE: Well, apparently not...

"Don't kid yourself dude -- the pain of being cornholed in Lubbock shall never fade. That's OK, it took Tech's best team under Leach, OU's worst team under Stoops and bunch of blind referees from the South Plains for Tech to finally sneak out a win this century!"

That'd be from one of the Oklahomans.

* Pending appeal, blah, blah, blah.

Softball

Back in college, I ran around with a group of people, who – collectively – had the skills of a decent softball team.

None of us were great all-around players, but some of us could hit, some of us could field and most of us could manage a mildly successful imitation of both. Hence, we always stood a decent chance of winning.

I was thinking about this as I drove home from a 25-zip massacre at the hands of a very average team in the lowest division the city of Denton offers. We had one player who ran towards a pop-up, yelling, “I don’t got it! Someone else get it!” Yet she continued running toward it -- and into the crowd trying to catch it. (A very likable person, by the way, but I had to use an example.)

So I was thinking about college, and the thought hit me: It’s been more than a freakin’ decade since I won a softball game. Twelve years. Bill Clinton was frolicking through his first term. The Internet was this place where people went to “alt” sites to compare text on the grunge movement.

Children have started and completed their educational careers in the time since I last made it across home plate.

It’s not that I haven’t played, it’s that I haven’t played seriously, or with anyone else who took it that seriously. I’ve just been on company teams – newspaper teams at that -- where the emphasis is on fun. As in “You're outside so shut the hell up.”

So, as Wednesday was the first game of our season, here we go again. I feel like the Charlie Brown of softball, only with less hair.

A small truth

"To All the Girls I've Loved Before" is a horrendous song.

Reminded of this when it came over the grocery store intercom:

• Music: Bland.
• Singing: Not near the strengths of either musicians.
• Lyrics: An abomination.

"The winds of change continue blowing.
And every time I tried to stay,
The winds of change continued blowing
And they just carried me away."

Really? Why couldn't they have just sent a nice greeting card with a kitten hanging from a rope or a dog looking startled and wrote on the inside: "Thanks for the sex" or "Gracias pour l'amore"?

Much easier. I'm sure they all left addresses. Somewhere.

Actual flooding in Hico

Hico makes the wire. Thanks to Todd.

Associated Press

... "We have really got some major flooding," Hico MayorLavern Tooley said Sunday evening.

The rains beganabout 4:45 p.m.

"It just did not let up," she said.

Some homes in low-lying areas were flooded. No injuries were reported. Tooley said water rose up to the bottom of the windows on one police sergeant's home. Some major roads were closed into the town about100 miles southwest of Dallas.

Quick review: 'Spamalot'

With all the usual qualifications that musical theater is not my thing and I'd rather be changing channels between a boxing match and football game with a nice mug of beer while climbing the highest mountain in Oklahoma. ... Actually, screw that. This is Monty Python. I should have gone in drag.

Me and Meredith went to the show Sunday night, the last one in Dallas, so I'm sure this'll do everyone a world of good. Especially in Tulsa, where it looks like they're going next.

Basically, Spamalot is the best time I've had a show pretty much since I was kid and much more easily impressed. That being said, I haven't been to a lot of shows, and even as a kid was just pretty much dragged to the Nutcracker once a year, so I guess this all depends on your perspective.

The great part of the show is that it's based on one of the classic film comedies of all time -- Monty Python's Holy Grail -- with a lot of other snippets of Python stuff thown in.

The bad part of the show is that based on one of the most-watched comedies of all time. You find yourself finishing the jokes before they do or feeling mildly annoyed when they do something different than what you were expecting.

There's also a sense that Eric Idle (writer, original Python) has lost some of the edge, some of the anger, since his Python days. When Finnish dancers pop up on the stage and start singing and hitting each other with fish, the joke goes on too long and doesn't end until the "historian" politely says, "No, this is England."

Back in the series days, the Fins would have smashed with a giant hammer or chased away by vikings hurling cans of Spam or something.

But, really, what else did you expect? Musical theater by its nature requires actual dances and songs -- subjects that were used only to short, comic effect on the television series and the movies. A theatrical show has to be based around that stuff.

So, the first act isn't really enthralling, but you know what's going on, and "The Song That Goes Like This," is the high point. The show doesn't really do anything all that surprising, but there are funny moments and it ends rather well, with the confrontation of the French.

Things took off early in the second act with the song "You won't succeed on Broadway (If you don't have any jews)". The piece was original, edgy and hillarious. This was the kind of Python I was hoping to see.

After that things picked up, the plot wondered through some rather Simpsonesque kinds of turns, and ended with everyone singing "Always look on the Bright Side of Life."

A good time was had by all. Except maybe the 12-year-old boy sitting in front of me, who kept a "This is Stoopid" look on his face the whole time.

UPDATE: My wife points out that this review comes across as too negative. She also points out the fact that I have almost no hair on my head.

Mainly she said I didn't get across the fun that the show was. So, let me add, the effects were great, and I really enjoyed the choreography, mainly done by women who were not wearing authentic wear for the middle ages. I really even considered buying a souvenier program for bit.

It's fun, trust me.

Bad ways to begin a job application cover letter

(As if it’s been on my mind lately or something)

• "AWESOME!" That’s what you will say when you read my experience summary.

  Let me begin by referring to my favorite Dukes of Hazard episode ...

  Dear Mr(s). XXXXXX, I am interested in the position of (whatever) that I found while going through several thousand web sites during commercials breaks of "Tyra." She’s really looking good, lately.

  Sorry about the jelly stain.

  Orange flavored spots of tiny dynamite! Boom! Leprechaun aliens in blue space suits -- Duck little monkeys! Swim!

  Please insert accompanying DVD for a video introduction to me.

Pictures of dogs swimming in Hico

Kind of sad, because I was trying to get some shots that illustrated the flood.

But our farm hasn't been hit too hard. Obviously, everything's soaked, the Bosque is way up, and the tanks are overflowing. Still, no big damage.

The Paddling Ginger, with Jimbo in Repose

A bullet Jimbo, or perhaps a swimming vermin

Ginger sees wildlife to mangle

Those were the best I could do with flood shots. Basically, all those places where you see water don't usually have water.

Here's one more disaster shot. Tho I think it collapsed during a thunderstorm in 1974.