August 7: A Day in the Life

For those of you wondering what it would be like to go a day with one arm, I've come up with a list of daily activities that are extremely difficult to complete without the help of that extra limb.

• Making a bed
• Carrying a bowl of cereal, a spoon, and a glass of orange juice to the table
• Rearranging dumbbells to vacuum the carpet they sit on
• Vacuuming a carpet and keeping the cord out of the way
• Measuring a cup of laundry detergent
• Folding clothes
  
• Ironing a shirt
• Getting into a car
  
• Driving in reverse
• Getting out of a car
  
• Carrying a case of Mountain Dew, two cans of Cream of Mushroom soup, and two cans of tuna without a basket
  
• Taking money out of a wallet
• Putting change in a wallet
• Cutting open a bag of frozen chicken
• Cutting open a bag of pre-packaged salad
• Opening a bottle of salad dressing
• Opening a can of Mountain Dew
• Getting to the child-proof drugs
• Scrubbing a dirty plate
• Clapping after the Padres make a dramatic comeback in the top of the ninth inning
• Punching a couch after the Diamondbacks hit a walk-off home run in the bottom half of the inning
• Coming up with a decent topic to write about

So there you have it, folks. A day in the life of a disabled person. See? We're people too.

August 6: Discuss THIS

I love discussion boards. They're one more way that we isolate ourselves from society, but to read through them can always garner a laugh. Take, for example, an article I read today in regards to the television series Lost. It was an in-depth look at a particular theory that the author had about the plot of the show and he went to great lengths to get his point across. At the end of the article, one of the first comments left by a reader was, "Lost blows."

This was a pretty mild example of how entertaining a discussion board can be. When you get a chance, head over to Ain't It Cool News. There's something fascinating about the world and life of a fan boy. They get very passionate about their movies and if they read a post about a film that they don't think will be any good, they hit the boards. I have read some of the most offensive and hilarious comments on that site through the years. Every time a new season of Survivor is announced, I get a kick out of the comments that are posted. "I didn't know that show was still on." "Does anyone still watch this crap?"

What's better than pessimistic comments is when readers start arguing with each through the discussion board. Someone might say, "Survivor is gay" and someone else will counter with, "You're gay!" Before you know it four or five readers are cursing and typing in all caps at each other. As an outside reader, these are my favorite interactions.

There are a lot of great articles on the web. As more and more people discover blogging, the topics are endless. There isn't a better dessert, however, to a fine piece of writing than a good discussion board brouhaha. Fan boys hiding behind the protection of their parents' basement walls leaving tasteless comments and getting into fights with people they've never met. I love it.

August 5: Blast Laughter

We were all standing around waiting for the evening rush to begin. It was a relatively cold evening and those of us that were scheduled to work the patio didn't have anything to do other than to gripe about what a waste it was for us to be there. I, of course, was trying to make the good looking new girl laugh without looking like I was trying. I wanted to appear personable so I was including the entire group in my jokes. Little did I know that this new-hire had a sense of humor of her own.

I don't exactly remember what she said, but I know I was the only one that laughed; and I laughed hard. There weren't any guests on the patio; just the four of us which made my guffaw that much louder. I had mixed feelings of cold and nervousness and I wanted her to think I thought she was funny. I wanted her to see what a laid-back kind of guy I was so I threw my head back, closed my eyes, and bellowed out a hearty laugh that awoke the silent, winter air. When I opened my eyes the other three members of our group stared with blank faces. "It wasn't that funny," one of them said.

We've all done it. A reporter interviewing a star athlete will unintentionally laugh louder than usual at a wise-guy answer. A nervous employee trying to keep his anxiety buried until one small joke allows it to erupt in one loud, obnoxious burst. A punk waiter trying to impress the new girl at work.

One of my favorite movie scenes is from Mary Poppins when Mary is scolding Burt and the children about laughing. She begins explaining that some people laugh through their noses and follows it with an example. After Uncle Albert hisses with laughter at her imitation, she goes on to sing about people that laugh through their teeth. This stops everyone in their tracks until Burt describes people that laugh too fast and those that only blast. HAAAAA!

It's hilarious when it happens. In fact, it's a joke in and of itself! It's embarrassing and fantastic at the same time because you make an ass out of yourself when that's exactly what you were trying avoid.

August 4: It's All About Winning

In December of 1997, the San Diego Padres acquired pitcher Kevin Brown from the Florida Marlins. Brown had just helped the Marlins win a world championship and he was about to lead a Padres' club to its first World Series since 1984. Although the team ended up getting swept by the New York Yankees, their appearance in the Fall Classic sparked San Diego to vote on a proposition that led to the building of a new downtown ballpark which would keep baseball in America's Finest City for years to come.

Brown was a hero in '98. He was a leader in the clubhouse and a mentor to the entire pitching staff. San Diego loved him. The city loved him, however, until December 12 of the same year when he bolted up the I-5 to accept the first ever 100-plus million dollar contract for a pitcher by signing with the Los Angeles Dodgers; the Padres' biggest rivals. Kevin Brown instantly became the most hated man in San Diego.

This afternoon I was sitting in my air-conditioned apartment watching a Giants/Rockies game when I had an epiphany. The Giants started the day off with just as many wins as the Padres, but with two more losses which put them at a full game behind the Friars for first place in the National League West. With the season crawling by, I've been watching the other teams in the Padres' division and keeping an eye on the standings at all times. I need the Padres to win every game and the other four teams to lose.

But why? Why am I so obsessed with baseball? Why do I care if the Padres win? What will change for me? As I sat watching and praying that the Rockies held their lead, I thought about my predicament. I thought about how insane it was to root for a team and how I continue to let my emotions get tied up by something that is completely out of my control. I still can't forget game 163 in 2007 when the same Rockies that I was reluctantly cheering for today beat my beloved Padres to claim the last remaining postseason berth. I thought about how an entire city could view Kevin Brown as a god and then hate his guts when he pulls on a different team's jersey.

It's no secret that I love the Padres. I want them to win every game. I hate how they've never won a World Series and that they are one of two teams that has never had a player throw a no-hitter or hit for the cycle. But how is my life going to be any different if they win it all? If the night ever comes when I witness them make that final out and celebrate on the infield, I will be jumping and screaming. I will be beside myself with joy, but how will the next day be any different? It won't. It would be one thing if I gambled, but I don't.

A doctor heals the sick. A veterinarian takes care of our pets. A mailman is responsible for delivering bills and letters to expecting people. But athletes? They make millions of dollars to throw a ball around as millions of people cheer for them. I can't comprehend it but if you'll excuse me, the game is about to start.

August 3: Please Pass the Vulgarity

As a waiter, I witness guests with looks of frustration at neighboring tables all the time. I've had to apologize for loud and inconsiderate groups that may have had one too many margaritas and I've even taken the liberty of telling junior high kids that they weren't the only patrons of the restaurant.

I can remember times when I was growing up that my family was the aggravated group that had to deal with hyper, disobedient tykes. I'm sure I was a part of an irritating table or two in high school, but rarely can I remember sitting in a booth and being cognitively embarrassed to be a part of the group I was with.

After spending the day floating the river, I found myself tired, hungry, and slightly inebriated as I slid into a booth with three people whom I had never met before the day had started. The conversation started casually enough with topics ranging from places of origin to vegetarianism. The orders were taken and the food was delivered as an elder couple was seated directly behind us in the neighboring booth. The woman and I made eye contact for a brief second as she sat facing our table and (who I presume to be) her husband sat with his back to us.

As if on cue, my table's conversation immediately shifted into the always-popular topic of sex. (On a side note, why am I the only person in the world that doesn't have any interest in sharing my experiences with peers? What I do with a girl is her and my business only. I've never had any desire to run to my male friends and describe in detail what I've been doing.) Words that included rape, anal, and foreplay were tossed around and were delivered with that extra pop that all provocative words and phrases possess. Expletives, stories of the loss of innocence and the spread of sexual corruption were traded like baseball cards on a playground.

The image of those aged blue eyes and soft smile kept replaying in my memory as the stories grew more and more promiscuous and vulgar. I remained silent and included the complimentary nod so as not to be seen as antisocial, but I was nevertheless embarrassed to be seen as a part of this group. To our booth neighbors, I was still guilty by association.

Did they say anything to us? No. Did they say anything to each other? I don't know. They never gave any indication that they were annoyed by our conversation and I didn't notice them shaking their heads in disgust at our low-brow topic. For all I know, our conversation never even made it to their table, but it doesn't change the way I feel about being in a group like that.

I may be aging myself here, but there's a time and a place for that kind of talk and a restaurant is not one of those places. Each of the four members at our table had a college education, so why couldn't we choose a more appropriate topic? I've always felt bad for people that can't have a good time without being interrupted by a rowdy group and today I was a part of one of those groups. I just hope that our conversation today didn't interfere with the couple's meal.

August 2: Superstitious Turk

For Christmas last year, my parents gave to me a San Diego Padres beer bottle koozie. It's great because it's in the shape of a little jersey complete with the number 0 on the back. After failing to have it in my possession any time I went somewhere where I ended up with a bottled beer, I started leaving it in my truck. It was such a cool little accessory and I really wanted to show it off so I thought by having it on the backseat of my vehicle I would be more likely to use it. I was, however, still forgetting all about it. It wasn't until recently that I saw it back there and decided to bring it up front with me where it just happens to be the perfect size to comfortably fit over my gear shift.

I keep it on the shifter every time I park; always adjusted to face outward and always gently pressed as low as possible on the handle. Since I've introduced the koozie to the front of the truck's cabin, it has become somewhat of a superstitious object for me. In my mind, the way I place it upon the shifter can determine the success the Padres will have in that day's game. If I can place it there without it getting caught on an edge and I can flawlessly slide it down, I believe the Padres will win. I can't knock it off center or I will be the cause for a Padres' loss.

This is hardly my first voyage into superstition. When I was a kid, I used to spend hours shooting free throws in increments of ten. I would then ask a question like, "On a scale of one through ten, what are the chances of my little league team making the playoffs?" If I made six free throws out of ten, I convinced myself that we would have a sixty percent chance.

Athletes are some of the most superstitious people around and no one had has many obscurities as professional pitcher Turk Wendell. According to The Bleacher Report, Wendell:

• Insisted that the umpire roll the ball to the mound rather than simply throw it to him. (If an umpire would ignorantly throw the ball to him, Wendell was known to let it go past him, or even to let it bounce off his chest, after which he would retrieve it from the ground.)
• Would turn and wave to the center fielder and wait for him to wave back before proceeding with each new inning.
  
• Would reportedly draw three crosses in the dirt of the pitcher's mound before each inning.
• Would crouch down whenever his catcher would stand.
• Would always take a colossal leap over the baseline at the end of each inning.
• Often brushed his teeth between innings (some claim that he brushed between every inning). While brushing, he often hid in the dugout, either by ducking behind objects or by facing the wall.
• Wore jersey number 99, in honor of Rick "Wild Thing" Vaughn, the main character in the movie Major League (played by Charlie Sheen). In addition, in 2000, he signed a contract worth $9,999,999.99.
• Wore a necklace made from the claws and teeth of various animals he had hunted and killed.
• Sometimes threw his glove into the stands when leaving a game.

I don't know how accurate the entirety of this list is, but the teeth brushing part definitely is. Any baseball fan will be able to tell you that they've heard about Wendell's oral habit. It's funny how we let a small act like being careful to place a koozie just right over a gear shift control our daily routines.

August 1: Veggie Tales

You shouldn't be surprised to know that while growing up, my family ate every possible meal together. During the week, my mom had to get ready for work so it was just my dad, sister, and me eating a bowl of cereal. But every night, Mom would cook dinner and the four of us would sit down together and talk about our days. On the weekends, we did the same, but with breakfast thrown into the mix.

Without the distraction of cell phones, books, or hand-held video games, we would always sit in the same seats at the table. Dad would be at the head with Mom to his left, Lindsay across from him, and me to his right. There would be meals filled with tear-causing laughter and meals of bad-mood silence. There would be times where I would orchestrate ridiculous games of nonsense such as Mom and me leaning into the table and Dad and Lindsay leaning away and then vice versa. Each game would end with uncontrollable laughter which inevitably turned into us laughing at Dad's high-pitched laughs.

I treasure those memories. Not only were these family times responsible for molding my personality and views on life, but I'm starting to believe that the meals we were eating were just as important. There was at least one serving of fruit or vegetables with every meal. We ate most of our meals at home and rarely ordered take-out.

As I witness parents feeding gobs of queso and grease to their kids on a daily basis, I often find myself wondering what these kids will look like when they move away from Mom and Dad and begin deciding what to eat on their own. I strongly believe that if it weren't for the years of healthy and steady diet while growing up, I would be a pudgy mess. Because I ate my fruits and veggies during my crucial years of development, I feel like my metabolism fully established itself which in turn has allowed me to eat as poorly as I currently do.

Although I don't eat like I used to, I'm still extremely cautious with what I eat which is more than I can say about the future of these young fatties. Queso and grease is just the tip of the iceberg, I'm sure. A parent that allows that kind of diet is a parent that brings home a bucket of KFC for a Friday night in front of the tube. A parent like that doesn't pay attention to the hours and hours a child will spend playing video games or surfing the net instead of playing little league or riding bikes around the neighborhood.

There have been documentaries upon documentaries of how America is becoming increasingly obese and lethargic, but I see it in person every day. These kids aren't eating right. Their ideas of exercise is playing Wii fit; a video game. What's wrong with being outside? What's wrong with ringing the neighbors' doorbell and asking if Jimmy can come out and play? Why do I care?