Ichiro Watch

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Thanks, Brian

Went to hear “Over the Rhine” at Moonlight Gardens last night. I’d never been to a concert there before and it was wonderful. We watched the sky over the stage change from blue to purple to lavender to pink to black as the sun set on a day that made me feel like it was all going to be okay. It’s been so hot here the past week or so that a drop down toward sixty degrees reminded me how pleasant life can be. Sitting there barefoot with my wife, watching geese fly low overhead, working on a cheap Merlot while Karin Bergquist (what a voice!) sang about life “where the river bends”--definitely one of those moments worth showing up for. Reminded me how good it is to be alive--like maybe it’s all been okay all along...

Ichiro Watch

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I Can't Make this Stuff Up

So the phone on my desk rings today at 10:58 AM, and its Kris calling to tell me that we’re still cool to go eat burritos at 11:00, except that by “cool to go eat burritos,” what he meant (and said) was, “I have to go rescue a turtle before we can eat.” Hmm. It seems that yesterday Kris spotted a turtle in the road and, because he’s a softhearted guy, he stopped and put it in the passenger seat of his Volkswagen. Which is bizarre enough without mentioning that it was the second largest snapping turtle I’ve ever seen. (Ask me about the largest sometime.) He then drove the turtle (which at some point he named Rutherford) to his cousin’s house, where there was some sort of containment unit in the backyard. We now know what sort of containment unit it was—inadequate, because Kris’s cousin’s wife called him at work today, right before lunch, in a near panic because Rutherford had escaped and was working his way from backyard to backyard, presumably seeking someone to devour.

So off we went, Kris and I—he driving and I in the turtle’s seat. We got to the cousin’s house and were directed toward the appropriate backyard. Kris is among the least bashful people I know, so without hesitating he let himself in through the gate in the fence and began to call for this dragon-looking turtle—whistling and patting his thigh as if he were calling his dog. Before long he spotted the thing in the back corner of the yard (just past the small child’s swing-set). Stepping lightly Kris approached it and tried to pick it up. Of course it hissed and snapped and acted generally pissy until we (by which I mean Kris) were able to get it into a cardboard box and into the back of the VW hatchback. (I’d called shotgun for the return ride, though Kris seemed genuinely surprised that I wouldn’t ride with the damn thing on my lap.) Meanwhile Kris is telling me, “He thinks I’m his mom.”

Kris drives faster than I do, especially when he’s trying to salvage some lunchtime, so my nervous attentions were divided between watching the wet, curvy, hilly, rapidly approaching road in front of us, and looking backward over my shoulder just to make sure all the right boxes were still full of turtle. After several minutes of driving randomly around a couple residential subdivisions looking for “a creek or something,” Kris decided to take it back where he’d picked it up because, “there’s water there.” Good call. For obvious reasons, he didn’t want to leave it in the middle of the road where he found it, so he took it to a nearby bridge and let it fall fifteen feet into the water below. I almost think I spotted a tear in his eye as he shouted, “Swim away little fella.”

Made it to Chipotle in time to eat and were just minutes late back to work.

And to think that I nearly told him to just go on without me…

My friend Eric was telling me about something called a ganglion cyst, which he apparently gets from time to time. I mentioned that I'd heard that you can bust them, "with a hammer or something."

And he said, "I usually use a Bible."

And I said, "King James?"

And he said, "Oh, just whatever."

Ichiro Watch

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Crazy, But That’s How it Goes

Did you see Ozzy do “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the Cubs game this week? It was funny--very, very funny. He got off on the wrong foot by beginning, “Let’s go out to the ballgame,” and then mumbled his way through it ‘til he got to the part of the song where it says, “I don’t remember what I have to do.” Must be from a verse I’ve never heard before. Dude is fifty-something years old and, while we don’t know how bright he was at, say, fifteen, he’s clearly spent the balance of his life drinking himself into oblivion. He walks like Mr. Burns and seems to struggle with day-to-day functions. (I nearly wet myself the first time I saw the Superbowl Pepsi commercial where he couldn’t put the trash bag in the trash can.) I’m not sure when I’ve seen something so truly sad and yet so genuinely funny at the same time—got to be something wrong with me. Still it’s amusing that the guy they tried to convince us was Satan himself when we were kids is now a benign, even loveable, television personality selling us soft-drinks and popping up at afternoon baseball games. I can’t wait to see Marilyn Manson in 35 years…

Ichiro Watch

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from A Prayer for Owen Meany, by John Irving

“JUST BECAUSE A BUNCH OF ATHIESTS ARE BETTER WRITERS THAN THE GUYS WHO WROTE THE BIBLE DOESN’T NECESSARILY MAKE THEM RIGHT!” he said crossly. “LOOK AT ALL THOSE WIERDO TV MIRACLE-WORKERS—THEY’RE TRYING TO GET PEOPLE TO BELIEVE IN MAGIC! BUT THE REAL MIRACLES AREN’T ANYTHING YOU CAN SEE—THEY’RE THINGS YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE WITHOUT SEEING. IF SOME PREACHER’S AN ASSHOLE, THAT’S NOT PROOF THAT GOD DOESN’T EXIST!”

“Yes, but let’s not say ‘asshole’ in class, Owen,” Pastor Merrill said.

And in our Scripture class, Owen said, “IT’S TRUE THAT THE DISCIPLES ARE STUPID—THEY NEVER UNDERSTAND WHAT JESUS MEANS, THEY’RE A BUNCH OF BUNGLERS, THEY DON’T BELIEVE IN GOD AS MUCH AS THEY WANT TO BELIEVE, AND THEY EVEN BETRAY JESUS. THE POINT IS, GOD DOESN’T LOVE US BECAUSE WE’RE SMART OR BECAUSE WE’RE GOOD. WE’RE STUPID AND WE’RE BAD AND GOD LOVES US ANYWAY—JESUS ALREADY TOLD THE DUMB-SHIT DISCIPLES WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN. ‘THE SON OF MAN WILL BE DELIVERED INTO THE HANDS OF MEN, AND THEY WILL KILL HIM…’ REMEMBER? THAT WAS IN MARK—RIGHT?”

“Yes, but let’s not say ‘dumb-shit disciples’ in class, Owen,” Mr. Merrill said…

Ichiro Watch

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"And Maybe I'll Find Some Peace Tonight"

I got to give “The Talk” at this morning’s meeting, and thought I’d use Sarah McLachlen’s “Angel” before I started, more to set a mood than for exegetical purposes. I wasn’t sure how many of those who were there would be familiar with the song (hey, you never know) so I had the lyrics projected up onto the screen that we sing from so folk could follow along, which they did. They also did something that I hadn’t anticipated—they started to sing along. The lyrics up there looked just like any other song we might have sung together and there wasn’t any more or less introduction than any other song gets, so they just started to sing along. From where I was sitting it sounded like more people were singing than weren’t and it felt like a prayer. I can’t quite describe how unexpected and moving the whole four minute experience was and I don’t know why I hit me so hard. What I do know is that we sang Sarah McLachlen in church today and that I could’ve died right there in my seat believing I had accomplished everything I was put on this Earth to do.

Ichiro Watch

.341

1918

Vacation was great and we’re back now. What a trip. Went to Baltimore first, where they open up crabs with little wooden mallets. They also have a beautiful ballpark there and the Orioles beat the Angels. Then it was on to New York City (for the first time since I was a little kid). Once Ruthie figured out how to work the subway and I got used to the bigness of the whole thing, we had a good time. Got to see the Yanks twice (vs. Cleveland and Toronto) and tour The Stadium. Wow. Saw Derek Jeter leave after the game in a black Benz that looked like it had been washed during the game. We also got to see Man of LaMancha on Broadway—very nice (more on that at a later date). And the top of the Empire State Building.

From NYC to Cooperstown, NY, population 1800. What a nifty little town. We hadn’t been there for a half an hour when I found myself talking to Clete Boyer! Got the impression from the locals that that’s not an uncommon kind of thing. Okay. Hall of Fame was as good as I had hoped, but it doesn’t take long and by our third day in Cooperstown all that was left to do was tour a local microbrewery and read all day. (Which are both pleasant things). Then on to Boston…

…Which sucked. Hard town to navigate, but we were just there long enough to check in to the hotel, catch the Yanks @ Fenway, sleep, check out and head for home (by way of Pittsburgh). Fenway was the best ballpark we saw, though the fans there are so preoccupied with hating on the Yankees that they have to remember to actually cheer for the Red Sox.

Stopped overnight in Pittsburgh on the way home and stayed with our friends the Gills. They’re way toward the top of the list of people we don’t see enough and it was good to visit, even briefly. Then the five hour drive home, where the world had continued to turn in my absence (that always disappoints me a little).

More later.