Getting an Earful of Christmas

No, this isn't another rant about how early they start the Christmas music (I heard some in October around here), or why certain songs -- especially those you only hear a month (or two) year can become such infectious earworms (I Want A Hippopatamus for Christmas .... ).

Around here, at least, radio plays have become big. Recently a local theatre presented a world premiere play as a teleconference done as a radio drama. Prometheus Radio Theatre did a live show for Halloween (with my faves The Boogie Knights providing music).

It's hard to believe, but we're really only a generation away from those who studied radio instead of television. This article and picture are evidence of that.

So why bring this up in relation to Christmas? Just over 36 years ago, my father (who had a radio degree) died. Thanks to Lou Scalley (a radio man himself), I have a CD made from an old reel-to-reel tape of my father's sports announcing highlights.

Radio.

(Oh, and if you go back to that picture from K-State, my parents are the first two on the left.)

It's not often you get family history for Christmas -- but it's the best kind of gift to get!

Miscellany Miss' Don't Miss

Some things I have to share ... in no particular order and with no particular tie.

What Do You Mean There's No Dragon in Them? -- In the silly news item of the day (courtesy of The Times), "A SPICY sausage known as the Welsh Dragon will have to be renamed after trading standards’ officers warned the manufacturers that they could face prosecution because it does not contain dragon." The full text is here.

Decisions, Decisions -- Because sometimes we all need a little cute in our lives ... Puppy War.

Because Age Brings Wisdom -- One of the most fascinating blogs I've ever read ... written by a 92 year old, no less. Don To Earth features the insights and thoughts of a former broadcaster. Fascinating stuff.

Yet Another Reason To Love Curling

The Rochester Curling Club is hosting (I kid you not) the Death By Chocolate Bonspiel (bonspiel is curler for tournament) for women's teams.

This is a quote from their flier: "Featuring “The Famous Chocolate-tinis”, Chocolate at every meal, and other surprises. Our goal is for all participants to not want to see another piece of chocolate for at least a week."

Come on, what's not to love about that?

For The Pseudo Technogeek

My true technogeek friends out there will roll their eyes as they scan down this list, a derisive "you're just now finding out about that" on their lips.

Well nyeh!

Many of my friends aren't all out technogeeks, so to them I offer the following. I find some neat things in the course of my work. My intention had been to post these in batches of one or two as I find them.

Ooops!

Well, I'll try to do better next time.

Netvibes -- I have already told you about Netvibes, which I still think is too neat for words. Especially for those out there who use more than one computer (work/home or laptop/desktop), it's a nice way to keep all the links from one to the other, as well as being able to make a note on one and having it available on the other. (Plus, the various news feeds are really good, especially if you're into tech stuff.)

Paint.net -- For those who might like to muck about with photos from time to time, but don't want the expense of PhotoShop, you might like Paint.net. I'm not enough of a graphic artist to comment too much on its functionality, etc., but it has a heckuva lot more features than I will ever use, and does what I want it to in a way I find intuitive.

ShotSpotter -- I don't know how long this Washington Post article link will stay active, but the story is about a computer program that "listens" for gunshots and can alert the police the instant they go off. (And no, I don't expect any of you to rush out and buy this, but I think it's cool.) The system is called ShotSpotter and is apparently accurate and could make a huge difference in particularly crime ridden areas. Of course, I'm also waiting for someone to sue saying that the system violates their privacy by alerting the police to their gunfire. *sigh*

AngelKey -- (And you do wonder if eventually all product names will be one word with capital letters instead of spaces delineating the actual words.) Again, it's not ready, but one day it could be amazing. AngelKey is a USB drive that stores your medical information, as well as emergency contacts, etc. The article in the link clearly is written by a guy who hasn't been to a doctor's office lately when he asks how it will be updated. At my doctor's office, each nurse and doctor has a tablet computer that is connected to a network. All that would happen is that at the end of the exam, you'd hand over your AngelKey, they'd plug it into the USB port and the info would be updated. They then would hand it back to you. No big deal. Since I am now on a medication that (apparently) should be noted on a Medic-Alert bracelet, and since I have no real desire to wear one, this would solve a lot of problems.

Zamzar -- Free online file conversion is all Zamzar does, but it does it well, and simply. Upload your file, tell it what you want it converted to, then it e-mails you the new file. Have some Apple iTunes songs you want to convert to mp3? You can search for software, or you can go to Zamzar. Have an avi you want to play on the iPod? Here you go!

Arcamax -- Save a trip to the library ... and give yourself a chance to read great literature in a few minutes each day. Arcamax does just that. Go to their site, search through their thousands of books and plays, give them your e-mail address. Each day, you will receive a chapter (or a scene) of the book (or play). Take a few minutes, scan your e-mail, and you're one chapter closer to reading that work of great literature you promised yourself you would read one day. (Plus, it's a great way to read while your boss thinks you are working.)

Mpire -- Doing some online shopping? Wanna know if eBay (or another auction site) has what you're looking for below retail? Or maybe you have a prized collectible that you're looking to sell and want to know whether the price is going up or down. Welcome to the Mpire Price Comparison Site. Retail and auction prices, as well as a price history.

Pandora -- Looking for some new music, but have no idea how to go about it? Why not let the Music Genome Project help you out? After dissecting song after song, these kind people came up with Pandora. Put in the name of a song or a group you like, and it goes to work. I just gave it the name of a song I like and it immediately went to town creating a radio station just for me. First it plays another song by that artist with similar musical attributes. Then it ventures further afield. You can comment on each song and it will refine the station farther. Before too long, you're discovering new music that matches your mood. It also allows you to create multiple stations, just in case you like different music for different moods. (I have to admit that this is a real favorite of mine.)

MeeVee -- What Pandora does for music, MeeVee does for television. Input your zipcode and cable/satellite provider, tell it what you like, and it will both track the shows you like, as well as suggest other shows you might enjoy. Can't remember which shows are on when and tired of flipping through TV Guide? Put in your shows, hit the "week" button, print it off and you have a handy dandy guide to your favorite shows so you know if House is a repeat or not. (It also has connections to various online television stations, although not CurlTV.)

Blinkx -- Tired of You Tube? Know that there are other things out there, but don't know where? Blinkx pulls together video from all over the web (with attribution, I might add). You can search You Tube, Yahoo Video, plus tens of thousands of television newscasts, etc. with just a few keystrokes.

Innertube -- CBS Television offers up some of its most popular television shows on Innertube. Missed your favorite ep and forgot to set the TiVo? Here's your chance to get caught up.

That's all for now. Enjoy!!!

The Sophomore Slump ... or No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

I curled Thursday ... if you use the term loosely. It's very hard to curl when the back of your thigh is throbbing with pain.

I did really well ... for one end. After that, I don't think I got a single stone over the hog line (meaning it's still in play). I am holding out hope that it was merely the sore leg, and not a sign that my one night of not being obnoxiously horrible was a complete and utter fluke.

That would be really bad since I paid my membership fee for the first half of the season on Thursday.

So how did my leg get so sore? Why the title of this post?

Wednesday night, as I pulled out of the Boston Market drive thru and as I was about to merge into the heavy traffic on the road, I saw a woman dashing around the parking lot.

And then I saw the black dog that kept coming perilously close to dashing out into the aforementioned heavy traffic.

My heart went into my throat. I did not want to see the doggie get mushed. There was no one behind me, so I set my flashers and grabbed my newly purchased chicken dinner. I dashed to that section of the parking lot and put down the dinner. The dog headed for it, and I prepared to pounce.

The dog got closer, and I lunged ... but the peat moss under me gave way, meaning that my left leg gave way and the muscle at the back of my thigh pulled.

Of course, I missed the dog, but at least she was now moving farther away from the traffic. The woman's daughter pulled a car up, opened the door, and the doggie dashed around a bit more, then leaped into the car -- safe and sound. Heck, my dinner even survived the excitement (well, the cornbread made the ultimate sacrifice, but I'm not a huge cornbread person anyway).

I limped home, stretched, and went into my curling lunge. Nope. No problem at all. The muscle I tore didn't seem to affect my curling. Yay!

Well, not so yay.

I was fine the first end, but during the second end, I bent down to move a recalcitrant stone into delivery position. Bad move. Really bad move. I could feel that pulled muscle become something much, much worse. And from that point forward, I could get no strength pushing off from the hack.

End of the night -- or at least it should I have been. I stupidly kept playing.

I had fun, though. My team lost (again), but it was closer (9-4, I think, and we went all eight ends).

I'm taking it easy this weekend, and not doing a lot of exercising this week. That's something else I did too much of, I suspect -- stretching and exercising. My old body just can't take it. I'm going to stretch a bit, but probably won't get to do much else. So maybe, by Thursday, I'll be in better shape to curl.

Now, if I can just avoid dogs with death wishes, I'll be in great shape.

Sometimes Bad Is Good

In curling, 9-1 is bad. Not "too many cats, too few litter boxes" stinking ... no, it's more like "a skunk got in the car and now the doors won't open" stinking.

But I don't care. You know why I don't care?

'Cause I played in that game.

Not only did I play in that game, see that number "one" up there? The lower half of 9-1?

That was my stone. And, at that point, that made the score 1-1 after three ends.

Yes, my team fell apart after that. Yes, we didn't score another point. Yes, we conceded after seven ends.

But I played a curling match, and I was bad.

Trust me, bad is an improvement. I was mind blowingly, jaw droppingly, heart-stoppingly horrible before Thursday.

Thursday at the Potomac Curlng Club is one of their two drop-in leagues. Before the league, they have a 45-minute lesson along the lines of the Open House session. ("This is the ice, that is TEFLON, watch us try not to laugh as you bring the two together.") But during that time, FL (pronounced eff ell) was kind enough to work with a couple of us who were having trouble delivering the stone.

Under her tutelage, I actually got the stone over the hog line (curler for "you got the stone far enough we won't laugh at you and push the rock out of play"). Once, I even got the stone into the house (curler for "red and blue rings where you actually score points").

I was excited. If I wasn't wearing TEFLON on one foot or standing on the ice, I would have jumped up and down. Instead, I high fived FL.

Then the game started. In this league you play eight ends (curler for "inning"). Normally curling rinks (curling for "team") have four members and each member throws two stones per end. We were short-handed Thursday night, so we had three-person rinks ... which meant I had to throw three stones each end.

Rick and Russ were the unfortunate individuals stuck with me on their team. They were both very supportive and offered some great tips.

Scott, David and Sarah were fortunate enough to play against us. To be honest, Sarah and I were about evenly matched. Rick, though, had an off night and David was on. Our two skips (curler for "the guys who scream all the orders and throw the stones last") were pretty evenly matched.

After one end, it was scoreless. They scored one in the second end, and then came the third end. Somewhere in my three stones, I tucked one behind a guard on the left side of the house which no one got rid of. Thus, 1-1 after three.

From then on, we couldn't really get anything going. I could not find a consistent weight (curler for "how hard you throw the stone") and Rick couldn't find his handle (curler for "which way the rock turns"). They scored every end after that.

My best shot didn't score. It wasn't the shot the skip had called for. No skip even slightly sane ... oh hell, no skip not wearing a straightjacket in a rubber room ... would ask me for a shot beyond the "try to put it in play" variety.

I may never be good enough to ever try for this shot if given the opportunity.

But I made it.

In the fourth end, the skip called for me to put up a guard (curling for "a stone not in the rings, but directly in line with a stone that is"). I didn't. I threw the stone too hard and too far to the right to be a guard.

My rock hit off one of the other team's rocks, knocking their stone out of scoring position. (This is a good thing.) Then my rock rolled to the left, winding up behind another stone. (This is an even better thing.)

Yeah, yeah, I know. It wasn't what the skip asked for, so it wasn't a good shot, but even he was smiling when I finished.

Even the most veteran curler can appreciate beginner's luck when he sees it.

Sure, the other team wound up scoring that end, but not by getting rid of my rock (which was really well protected), but by making a couple of very good shots that left their stones closer to the center.

It wasn't what the skip asked for, it wound up not scoring, but I will remember that shot for the rest of my life ... and I still can't tell you about the shot that actually counted for the point.

We conceded early (curler for "we gave up after only seven ends"), then they got to buy us drinks. There's something to be said for losing in curling -- the winners have to clean the ice and buy the losers drink.

So I have now actually curled. And I am getting better.

But Debbie McCormick had nothing to worry about.

Traumas Adventures in Curling

To those who have wondered: No, I have not repressed the curling lesson as some sort of life-altering trauma and thus not blogged about it. I just got busy. Really busy.

Okay, I spent part of two days at a curling tournament. But that's busy, isn't it?

To be honest, the Saturday Learn to Curl session, while embarrassing, was not traumatic. At least not to me. I think the glazed look on Michael's face at the bonspiel (which is curler for "tournament") on Saturday morning was probably a vestige of trying to teach me on the previous Saturday. The poor man (dubbed, by me, Michael of the Superhuman Patience) may never recover.

As a recap, I spent Saturday, October 14 flailing around an ice surface trying desperately to prove the people who named it Learn to Curl liars. I did many things that day. I'm not sure how much of it was learning ... or curling.

To be fair, all of the instructors did a very good job.

The day started with the obligatory "watch as we put TEFLON on one foot and try desperately not to laugh at you" segment. While I have not attended the Instructor Clinics offered by the Club (through the auspices of The United State Curling Association, I am convinced that the first test you must pass before they let you torment instruct beginning curlers is not to laugh as people stand on one leg while the other performs some complicated sliding maneuver that has nothing to do with curling (or grace, or balance, or anything other than providing entertainment to those who have managed, somehow, to conquer this utter cancellation of friction).

My great fear at this point was that the Learn to Curl would turn out to be nothing more than an extended version of the Open House session from two days before.

Hah! If only.

On the good side, they did give a great explanation on how to make the rock curl (in case your curiosity is getting the better of you, you point the handle at the rock to either "2" or "10" o'clock and move it to noon in a gradual motion as you release it -- there, don't you feel better knowing that?). This made me happy.

Happy. Remember happy. Happy is a good place. Remember getting the rock to curl "just so."

Then we started the whole delivery process.

As a refresher, the delivery is done by placing your one stable (aka, foot without TEFLON) into a rubber starting block type of device and pushing off from there, while your other foot (the one with TEFLON on the bottom) slides down the ice. Oh, and you're crouching at this point. It should look like this. *sigh* Mine doesn't. Mine doesn't even look close. I have no balance over my right foot (I'm a leftie, so reverse the image I just showed you -- the right foot is the slippy one for me). I don't have a lot of balance over my right foot while crouching just on bare floor and with no TEFLON. You can imagine just how little ice and TEFLON improve matters.

During the open house, we got to practice the push off using two stones and without letting go.

Remember when I said the Learn to Curl was different than the Open House? We didn't do the two stones bit. We didn't even do the one stone and the broom without letting go of the rock.

We just did the "see that bull's eye 90 feet from here? do what Michael just did and aim the stone for those rings" bit instead.

Yeah. It worked just about as well as you think it did. In fact, it probably failed even more spectacularly than your well-developed imagination can picture.

The fall I took on Thursday an act of grace that would have earned 6.0s from the judges (except the Russian judge, who would have given me a 4.3) compared to what I did on Saturday. I teetered to the left. I teetered to the right. I managed to get my left foot in front of me. (Go back and read my description of what the delivery is. If you can figure out how I got my left leg in front of me, please comment immediately because I still don't know.)

A few throws in, a number of people (including me) wondered aloud and in Michael's general direction about the efficacy of my using a stabilizer. It helps. Perhaps it helps more than sponge helps in drying up Niagara Falls. Perhaps not.

No, to be honest, through the constant encouragement of Michael, Steph and Jeff (who were a couple and every bit as cute as the rhyming names suggest) and Pat (a high schooler with more patience than someone of his tender years should have), I persevered. I even curled in the short game at the end.

You know, I could leave it there and let you think that I actually made a contribution to the team by placing some rocks in useful positions. My contribution to the team was giving the guys sweeping practice (not that sweeping would help ... sweeping -- by the best in the business -- only adds five to ten feet). They swear I was getting better. Jeff even swore that I got one stone past West Germany. (It's complicated ... there are a number of flags along one wall of the club. West Germany's flag is a bit more than halfway down the ice.)

Oh, I swept well. Well, if the rock wasn't travelling too fast. If the rock was travelling too fast, I put safety first (which is what they teach you) and waved bye-bye.

So, have I given up? No.

I attended the bonspiel last weekend as a spectator (but then I knew I could watch curling ... I've been doing that for quite awhile now). But I'm going back. Tomorrow. To play in an actual game.

Oh, there is a lesson beforehand, too. Something tells me Michael will be as far as he possibly can be from the club tomorrow night. I don't blame him.

For Those With Short Attention Spans, Or Senses of Humour

Wired Magazine asked famous authors to create six-word science fiction stories. Some are just too funny for words.

Some of my favorites:

Gown removed carelessly. Head, less so.- Joss Whedon

Machine. Unexpectedly, I’d invented a time- Alan Moore

Longed for him. Got him. Shit.- Margaret Atwood (I don't know ... this could be a romance, a biography, a mystery ... the possibilities with this one are endless.)

Lie detector eyeglasses perfected: Civilization collapses.- Richard Powers

The baby’s blood type? Human, mostly.- Orson Scott Card

A Life Lived Fully

I have already touted the amazingness that is The Tuesday Morning Quarterback, but there is a section in today's column that blew me away, and I wanted to make sure the non-sports fans here have a chance to read it.

Below is an obituary that appeared in The Washington Post. While I wish no one the type of travails Mr. Lindes faced in his early years, I do wish each and every one of you a life lived this fully.

-=-=-=-=-

Harald Lindes, 85, former editor of the U.S. Information Agency's Russian-language magazine Amerika, died Oct. 11 at the Deer's Head Hospital Center in Salisbury, Md. Mr. Lindes worked for the USIA for 21 years, starting under broadcaster Edward R. Murrow during the Kennedy administration. Mr. Lindes retired in 1980, then worked for about five years as a personal assistant to cellist Mstislav Rostropovich, former director of the National Symphony Orchestra.

Mr. Lindes was born in St. Petersburg, Russia. When he was 15, his father was arrested and executed, and his family was exiled to Siberia. In 1939, he returned to study in his native city but in 1942 was arrested by the Stalin regime, sentenced to a labor camp and sent to the Finnish front, where he was captured by the Finns. Because of his German name, he was handed over to the Germans, where he was drafted into the German army.

After World War II, he left Europe and moved to New York and then Monterey, Calif. He became a master sergeant in the Army Reserves and began teaching Russian at what is now the Defense Language Institute in Monterey. He moved to the Washington area in 1958, working briefly for the Voice of America before joining the USIA.

Apart from work, he enjoyed researching his genealogy at the Library of Congress and reading Russian history and works of world culture and religion. He also enjoyed travel and growing vegetables and herbs at his home in Kensington. Survivors include his wife of 60 years, Olga Lindes of Kensington; two children, Nina Willett of Ocean Pines, Md., and Hal Lindes, a guitarist in the rock group Dire Straits, of Los Angeles; and seven grandchildren.

Geek Fun of the Day

I'm behind the curve on a lot of these things, so my erudite and hip readers will already know about this, but I'm having way too much fun and have to share.

Coolest thing I've come across in a long time: Netvibes.

In case your erudition or hipness has not led you in this direction, let me tell you a bit about Netvibes.

Netvibes allows you to create your own home page that you can access anywhere you are and on any computer you happen to find yourself at. For instance, my home page has four tabs: the main page with my bookmarks and frequenty visited pages just a click away (and that open in a new window), five news feeds that I particularly enjoy (Snopes, Washington Post, BBC, ESPN, etc.), a search pane that does searches on four different search engines (and tabs the responses so you can flip from one to the other), weather, and an e-mail connection (that I"m not quite technologically savvy enough to get working properly).

Another tab has comic strips (Garfield and Dilbert) as well as a Sudoku puzzle. Another has the tech geek newsfeeds.

And the final (and the really cool thing) has my stickie notes. Yes, I can make a note (perhaps on a blog entry) on my work computer and have it when I hop on the Internet at home! Heck, when I'm travelling, I can make a note of something on a random computer in a library and have that note when I get home.

Ultra cool ... at least to my little geek brain.

A Sports Column for Non-Sports Fans

Dropping in for a quick note.

I'm a sports nut. I know this. I won't say I wear the badge proudly -- I own very few sports-related t-shirts or sweatshirts (and quite a few theatre (especially Shakespeare) themed ones.

But I watch Sportscenter pretty religiously, and check out espn.com quite a bit.

And I do it religiously on Tuesdays during the football season.

Tuesday Morning Quarterback isn't just a review of the previous two days' pro football contests. In today's column, for instance, in addition to his "Cheerleader of the Week," his recounting of the best and worst plays of the weekend and his obscure college football scores of the week, he talked about the politics of blame, books that might help with the "Why am I here?" questions (for T.O. of course ... but a serious and interesting list nonetheless), the crisis mentality of newscasters, the death of one of the last big-city afternoon newspapers, North Korean public relations, and airline and SUV safety issues.

Try finding that in any other sports column!

Photographic Evidence

I will post more later, but I did want to share ....

Evidence That I Curled.

I'm not saying which one is me, but I will confess that I'm "featured" in the "falling down" section (at least there were four or five others). And I'm in the background in a few other shots.

I'm also in the background in some of the "Learn to Curl" photos.

While I'm linking to those photos, I will point out Michael of the superhuman patience. He got stuck teaching me and was amazingly supportive.

Until I have the time to post more fully, I can tell you this: it is possible to have sore muscles in your neck that make it next to impossible to eat an apple without cutting it up first.

Trust me on this.

Teflon and Ice Don't Mix

For those who know me, the following post will elicit an "it's about time" comment. For the rest of you, it's probably more along the lines of "why in the world did you bother?" reaction.

I went curling last night.

Okay, that's an overstatement. Curling is an actual sport where talented individuals slide 42-pound rocks toward a target some 90+ feet away, angling for the best position after 16 stones are thrown. There are other talented individuals who race down the ice as fast as the stone, sweeping hard enough to melt the pebbled ice just so that the stone can travel farther or straighter.

Key words that make it clear that what I did last night was NOT curling: talented, slide, 90+ feet, 16 stones, race, sweeping hard.

What I did last night can best be summed up with this description: a very clumsy individual tried desperately to balance on ice while wearing TEFLON on one foot and made desperate attempts to push a stone farther than I fell. Oh, I did so-so on the sweeping, as long as the stone was travelling really, really, REALLY slowly.

To back up a bit: The Potomac Curling Club graciously held an open house last night to infect gullible idiots encourage fans of the sport to take it up.

I had done my homework. Heck, I'd been an avid curling fan since the 2006 Olympics. I have my subscription to CurlTV and spend a good deal of time at The Curling Zone and The Curling News blog. I have bought The Black Book of Curling (even if it hasn't arrived yet) and subscribed to The Curling News.

I knew it wasn't easy.

But I didn't know how hard it really was.

Three friends and I descended on the curling club (a four-sheet club that is part of a HUGE ice skating/hockey complex (three rinks!) outside of Washington, DC. I dragged them along, although they all were good sports and seemed to have a decent time despite injuries and pain.

The stretching was fine. I can stretch. I can't stretch well, but it seldom involves fearing for my life.

Then they put a slider on my shoe.

For those who have never curled, a slider is a device that attaches to your shoe so you can slide when delivering the stone. The bottom of this instrument of torture is Teflon. Let me tell you here and now, there is a huge difference between "sliding" and "putting Teflon on the bottom of your foot and removing all friction in the known universe."

Just standing became an issue. First secret I learned -- the brooms are really there to give beginning curlers something to keep them from falling over as often. Second secret I learned ... always step onto the ice with the non-slippy shoe first, and step off of the ice with the slippy shoe first.

Third secret: "thunk" is not a good sound. One friend fell at the first station (which was basically the "this is ice, that is Teflon, we're going to laugh hysterically as we watch you try to cope in a world where the two come in contact with each other"). She went from vertical to horizontal without seeming to pass through any intermediate positions. Her head went "thunk." "Thunk" is not a good sound. Fortunately, she got up quickly and rejoined the group before we got to the next station.

Fourth secret: curling is a lot easier when you're pushing two stones and not required to let go of either one of them.

At the second station, they taught us how to push off from the hack. (The hack is a small rubber thing that you put your non-slippy foot in so you can completely lose any balance you ever had.) In this exercise, we pushed off with a curling stone in each hand. I'm not good at this by any means, but I am a helluva lot better than I am pushing off with a broom and a stone, or (heaven forbid) actually having to let the stone go.

(Fifth secret: Sometimes it hurts worse when it doesn't go "thunk." At this station, while simply moving to get off the ice, another one of my group fell onto her wrist. From that point forward, she sat and watched with ice on her wrist.)

Very few of your here probably remember Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In, but they had a old-man character played by Arte Johnson who would ride a tricycle slowly, eventually falling over.

If you change the image from an old-man to a middle-aged woman, and a tricycle into a Teflon shoe, you'd get the same effect. I push off. I go a few feet (barely to the button for those who know the layout). My momentum runs out. I tip over.

This pattern changed little as I moved from the "hold on to two stones and don't let go" station to the "hold on to the stone and use your broom for balance but don't actually release the stone" station.

With this level of ineptitude skill under my belt, they actually asked me to let go of the stone.

The comparison between that old man on the trike and me became painfully obvious when we got to the "the game requires actually letting go of the stone" station.

Yeah, it worked about as well as you think it did. I think I got it to go about halfway down the ice. Maybe. Okay, I'm probably exaggerating.

(Give me credit, though. I did not -- as two of my friends did -- resort to trying the long stick thing that allows you to deliver a stone without even bending over.)

Sixth secret: sweeping isn't as hard as it looks. In fact, it was actually kind of fun and I could do it ... albeit slowly. I can actually see myself getting better at that.

At this point, the lesson ended, and the comedian running the final station (the "letting go of the rock is kinda crucial" station) invited us to join in a practice game. There was no way I was ruining the sport for anyone else.

Today? Today, I'm not nearly as sore as I thought I would be. My back's tender, and there's one small place on my thigh that's acting as though it wants to complain, but can't quite work up the energy.

So I've tried it.

And I'm going to try it again.

Yes, I was horrible at it. Yes, with my utter lack of coordination and grace, this is probably not the sport for me to participate in. Yes, I felt foolish and frustrated.

But I liked it.

So I've signed up for a three-hour course on Saturday. (And please notice that the course description starts with "safety on ice." They're kidding, of course. They're putting Teflon on your foot, putting you on the ice, then telling you to be careful.)

Saturday will probably be my "fish or cut bait" session. If I don't ever see myself pushing out from the hack and getting near the hog line, or delivering a stone over the hog line at the other end (on my sheet -- you'll notice I didn't even talk about my aim in my earlier description), I may have to rethink this. If I see even a little progress ...?

Well, let's just say you'll hear all about it right here.

Don't you feel lucky?

Glee

*bounce*

He's not fully himself yet, but it's him. And he's back.

Peter Gammons wasn't just at the game Saturday, but he was interviewed!

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The World Is A Better Place Today Than Yesterday

I watch a lot of sports on TV. A LOT. This means that very few personalities actually cause me to sit up and take notice, or delay turning off the TV if I am about to leave the house.

Actually, there's one. And one only. Peter Gammons.

For those who aren't sports fans, Peter Gammons changed the way baseball was covered -- from his exhaustive rolodex to his weekly notes column. Whenever he opened his mouth, he said something valuable, insightful or funny for the baseball fan.

Earlier this summer, Peter suffered a brain aneurysm. Just as the baseball season was heating up, he was in a hospital fighting for his life. In July, he left the hospital quietly and with a plea from his wife for privacy.

Most of the baseball season has gone by without him ... and the baseball season is lessened by that absence.

But today, the sun shone a bit brighter on baseball. Today, Peter Gammons visited a ballpark.

You know how life just feels better when things are in their proper place? Life feels a hell of a lot better today.

Local (58-Year-Old) Kid Makes Good

Tonight, as most sports fans already know, the Vikings and Raiders play on the first (albeit preseason) broadcast of Monday Night Football on ESPN. After decades of ABC holding the rights to (and making a mint off of) the Monday night game, it is ESPN's turn.

Yawn. Right?

It's a preseason game between two teams who didn't do all that well last year, and aren't expected to do all that well this year.

But there's another story here -- a big one ... at least to me.

Tonight, Tony Kornheiser debuts as the third man in the Monday Night Football booth.

For those who have no clue about who TK is (also known as Mr. Tony to his devoted radio listeners), he is the host of ESPN's show Pardon the Interruption. But for me, and many others in the DC area, Tony is a columnist of much biting wit, whether he is commenting on sports, or on the vagaries of life in general. C'mon, be honest, how many sportswriters/columnists can you think of that moved into doing columns for the Style section of their newspapers and were good enough to have those columns collected into books?

I can think of one: Tony Kornheiser.

As Mr. Tony has said (on other topics) numerous times, "That's it. That's the list."

So I'm rooting for him, I think.

He thinks he's going to be terrible. Others think he may be brilliant.

I'm pretty sure I want him to be brilliant.

But if he's brilliant, he'll be missing even more broadcasts of my beloved PTI and, even worse, he'll NEVER come back to his radio show here in DC.

One way or another, it should be a fun ride.

Give the Kids a Break!

I'm torn. Really, really torn.

(I have recognized, by the way, that as I get older, I am no less opinionated, but my opinion is often somewhere along the lines of "I can see both sides.")

My opinion here? I can see both sides ... really.

I recognize the drama, the pure athletic competition (minus any taint of chemical controversy), and the joy that can be found watching Little League World Series.

I get it, I really do.

While each and every one of these kids probably dreams of making the big leagues (although the litany of "what I want to be when I grow up" answers Saturday night never mentioned that option and instead brought up things like doctor, fireman, and engineer), not one of them sees the Little League World Series as a direct route to the big leagues and the millions associated with making "the show."

For those who watch young men -- down to the high school ranks -- preening and posing and sticking their hand out, not with dreams of making the pros, but expectations of doing so, the Little League World Series provides a breath of fresh air.

But ....

They're kids. Kids who don't have their hands out and aren't simply using this as a springboard to something greater. Kids have been playing in the Little League World Series for decades without television coverage ... or more recently, with only coverage of the final game. These kids wouldn't be trying any less if no cameras (other than their parents' video camera) were pointed at them.

But we now not only stick cameras in their faces, but mics on their coaches, cameras on their parents and have commentators make note of every tear and childish outburst (from children ... how horrible).

It won't surprise anyone reading this to hear that I watched a bit of the LLWS Saturday night. To set the scene fully, you should understand that this was not the final game in Williamsport, PA. In fact, the game wasn't in Williamsport at all. This was the final for the western region held about as far from Williamsport as you can get without leaving the contiguous 48 states.

After giving up the majority of the seven runs in the fifth inning, a small boy, no more than 12, was approached by a micced coach, mouthed off, then was relegated to left field ... where he proceeded to fight back tears -- all while a national cable network focused a camera on his every lip quiver and tear falling down his face and while commentators pointed out each tear and quiver in case you hadn't seen it, or weren't quite sure what you were seeing.

High drama, yes, but what is going to happen to this kid come September, when his classmates -- who, surprisingly, will not be as sympathetic and understanding as an adult -- begin bringing up this moment? Something tells me their response, for the most part, isn't going to be "tough luck, kid, you played really hard."

You even have to wonder how his parents will respond to his "don't touch me" yelled at the coach. I don't condone kids talking back to adults, but this was the highest pressure situation this kid had ever faced in his life to this point (and will likely top anything for the next five or six years at least) and such a snap isn't unexpected. His coach has probably already forgotten it. If there were no mics on the coaches, the parents wouldn't even know it happened. Now, in addition to taunts from schoolmates, he could even face censure from his own parents.

On some level, every athlete is exploited. An athlete's talent is used to make a profit for some other entity -- be it an owner, a network, or a league. Most athletes, however, get something in return: a paycheck, a college education (or, for those who really only use college athletics as a calling card for the pros, said calling card), or exposure for his/her sport (think the Olympic athletes).

These kids aren't getting a paycheck, a college education or a calling card to the pros. Their sport already has exposure at a variety of levels.

So what do they get out of it?

A measure of celebrity, sure. But do you really believe that boy in left field really wants to be known right now?

Fortunately for everyone involved, there is a middle ground. Take away the mics, or shut them off at key times (such as when a manager is talking to one of his payers who is having a bad day). Focus on the celebrations, but ignore the kids in tears.

Let the game tell the story. Let the kids jumping for joy put a period on the plotline.

Show the game. Exploit the energy and the passion these kids have, but not the kids themselves.

The genie may already be out of the bottle -- the mics and reaction shots now beloved of the sports directors and producers.

But I wonder how many sports fans would notice, or if they did, would really care if those "innovations" were abandoned?

And how many might actually cheer the change?

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Curling Redux

In my various incarnations as a blogger, I have never been linked to that I can recall -- certainly nothing other than one of my friends pointing out a post of mine in his or her blog.

But this morning, I checked out one of my favorite blogs: The Curling News Blog and read through it. I got to the "We've hooked another one" link and hit it without looking.

And it brought me here!!! (I know, multiple exclamation marks are the sure sign of a fractured mind, but still ....)

So thanks to The Curling News and welcome to anyone who might have followed the link yourself.

When Words Fail

"That's always seemed to me the worst kind of hardship: not to have words to name the world with ... to shape yourself to ...."

That wonderful quote, from Richard Greenberg's ode to baseball play Take Me Out, struck a chord with me the moment it was uttered.

How horrifying -- not to be able to describe, in detail, the experiences life has handed you, and the dreams you dream.

I've been fortunate. For most of my life, words have come easily to me. I'm not bragging. I'm not saying that the words have always been the most apt, or that the stories they tell the most scintillating. What I'm saying is that I could find words to describe life in a way that I found facile and that, from time to time, had an impact on someone else.

Last night, though, I spent nearly half an hour trying to review a movie that I was watching and enjoying. I struggled for something more witty, clever, and telling than simply, "It's much better than I thought it would be." Granted, part of my problem was avoiding saying, "It's quite good despite Billie Piper being in it," since I was writing in an area where Billie Piper fans were numerous (and where some actually know where I live).

But I sputtered. I stuttered (or the visual equivalent). I found myself without the words, and it threw me. It's a gift I've taken for granted, and I really shouldn't. It may not always be with me.
And, for the record, the first installment of BBC America's ShakespeaRe-Told (pronounced Shakespeare Retold), Much Ado About Nothing, was much better than I had expected. Yes, they modernized it completely (thereby offending my Shakespearean purist sensibilities). But they managed to stay true to the story up to all but the last five minutes. While the Shakespearean dialogue was missing, and much of the true wittiness of the banter between Benedick and Beatrice was lost, you still had that fiery charisma of the older couple, and the naive simplicity of the younger couple.

My biggest gripe is that Hero is supposed to forgive Claude (and maybe the final scene was meant to be a double wedding, but they certainly didn't make that clear). I will avoid the catty Billie Piper comment here, and simply state that, as an actress, she does the melodrama very, very well. I've seen nothing that suggests that she can do the consistent human inconsistency that marks most of humanity (and brands one a truly great actor) at all well. Hero's forgiveness falls into that second camp. So instead of forgiveness, they gave her the melodramatic scene by the ocean telling poor Claude that she can never forgive him. (Interestingly, Shakespeare's Hero -- who does nothing to earn the stamp of adulteress -- forgives the man who slandered her. In this version, Hero has done most of what he accuses her of doing, and was stupid enough to lie about it as well, but can't find it in her heart to forgive him.)

*sigh*

Well, I went from too few words, to too many. But they're back, and I'm grateful.

Slip Sliding Away

Curling.

Yeah, I got hooked badly this past February. I got hooked four years before. And now, it seems, a lot of people are getting one crucial fact: it ain't as easy as it looks.

Today's evidence: The Chicago Sports Review. Yes, another sports journalist tried curling ... and failed. But he found the bar.

One day, I will write my rapturous piece about why I adore the sport, why I spend good money to watch morning draws of events that don't matter much on CurlTV, and why I actually spent one entire afternoon listening to a curling match from a wi-fi hotspot at Panera Bread.

Today, since my time is very short, I will say this: the athletes look like real human beings and seem to honestly do it for the love of the game (they sure aren't getting rich), not one Olympic curler's name was mentioned in the context that say, a Bode Miller's was, and it's a sport that requires actual thought.

Okay, and the skintight Nike shirts worn by the US men's team during the Olympics didn't hurt. There, I said it. Happy?

Where in the world ...? And why can't we pronounce it?

It's a tiny gripe, but one that I get this time each year. For the last three weeks, I have listened to broadcasters hop back and forth between calling it the Tour de Frantz (rhyming with Lance) or the Tour de Frahnce.

Now, to be honest, I prefer Frahnce. I think it sounds better. And yes, I took French in high school and that could easily be the reason why.

But ....

The broadcasters who insist on calling it France (rhymes with Lance) say that they're going to pronounce it the "American" way.

Oooookay.

Notice, though, that they are not calling it the "Tour OF France" (rhymes with Lance). No, they are using the French "de." So much for the American pronounciation.

Oh, and by the way, these are the same broadcasters who made such of big deal of calling the last Olympic host city "Torino." Remember that cloth that supposedly has the imprint of Jesus Christ on it? Yeah, that's right, the Shroud of Torino. Yeah, me too. Never heard it called that ... not even once.

*sigh*

The Washington Post made a big deal six months ago about calling Turin Turin. Almost everyone else (including, most notably, ESPN) made a big deal about calling it Torino. And yet, today, it is ESPN that insists on calling it France (rhymes with Lance). Some consistency would be nice.

Of course, I have not had the chance today to listen to Washington Post radio. (And no, don't get me started on the whole "the newspaper owns the radio station and are being incredibly shameless about cross plugging and pretty much reading the listenership the newspaper each day -- that's a rant for another day.) But I'm betting that The Washington Post, who insisted on the American nomenclature for Turin, is today pronouncing that country with the wine and the really long bicycle race "Frahnce."

Consistency, after all, appears to be highly overrated.

*double sigh*

Or, as Pepe le Pew might say ...

*le sigh*

Simply The Best?

Or just the best advertising?

Marketwatch has a fascinating article (and a brief one, oh thee of short attention span) on the ten brand names picked as "best" by over two thousand adults polled. Basically, the subjects in the poll were asked to name three brands they thought were the best ... without being given a list of brand names, or even markets (consumer electronics, automobiles, etc.)

But does this really denote "best" or simply "best known?" How many people out there who made Sony number one actually own any Sony products? The last Sony product I owned was a Walkman ... 20 years ago.

Yeah, the VAIO's popular, but more popular than Dell (number two)? Don't think so. Yes, I know Sony's is the number consumer electronics manufacturer worldwide ... but the study was done in the US -- and much of Sony's sales are overseas.

Coca-Cola was number three ... but Pepsi still has a slightly larger share of the market than Coke (and didn't finish in the top ten).

Fix Or Repair Daily (aka Ford) finished in fifth. My friend whose Ford has been recalled five times probably would take (major) issue with the "best" claim made by these people.

It would be fascinating to see this survey include another question. "Do you own any products by the companies you named?"

Something tells me the percentage who would say "yes" would be pretty low.

Wilkommen, Bienvenue ... Welcome

Not sure that life is a cabaret or not ... maybe just a good dinner show with some really nice desserts ... but I've decided to be another voice in the wilderness, in hopes that a raccoon or two might find it interesting (or at least eat the Rice Krispie treats).

So what am I going to be writing about? Pretty much anything that strikes my fancy. I like sports (masters degree in sports administration that's gathering dust on a shelf -- and my new sporting love is ... curling!), theatre (about to head into the wilds of Canada for some of the best theatre in the world), and the general nuttiness that is the world and those who populate it.

If it sounds interesting, come on in and have a seat. The Rice Krispie treats are in the corner and the comfy chairs are hidden in the back.