Three point five thoughts from a full weekend

Last weekend I patrolled the sidelines of Steakfest '11. For a while I tried to update scores by smartphone, but eventually lost interest. The guys ended up in 14th place. They were troubled by only having 9 players and eventually losing their star to a hamstring pull in game 2 on Sunday. They had a 2-6 record, but one key victory in a crossover game to make it to the championship bracket. They beat Cornell-B and Ursinis and lost to Georgetown, Columbia (x2), TCNJ, and American. They narrowly missed upsetting Georgetown in the windy opening game. They had two shots on universe point and one of those bounced off Lemon's outstretched hands (See how close they came here .) The girls ended up in 2nd place, going 5-2 with both of their losses coming to TCNJ. John G. was patrolling their sidelines and got good reviews. The girls dominated a few games notching victories of 15-0 and 15-1 and from the bits I saw are really starting to play some Ultimate.

There is much I could comment on, including how proud of everybody I am, but there are a few moments that I'm going to record for posterity.

The first is about Ben. Ben is a transfer and he's our secret weapon. He's started to catch everything, he cuts well, and he just keeps getting better. He's got a little hitch in his throw and he doesn't commit to the dump the way I think he should (shocking, I know), but he's really helping out the team. After making another fine grab, Ben is five yards out of the endzone. The count gets to nine. Ben just decides to get rid of the disc. Somehow his flick comes out vertical. It's a blade. The blade strikes a defender in the noggin, bounces or rolls over the defender's head and is caught by a diving Cocco. It was pure wackiness.

The second is about spiking the disc. In the championship game, down something like 12-4 and feeling frustrated, Super Jess makes a deep cut. Knockout throws a nice flick down the line, Jess jumps up and grabs it. Score. She comes down and spikes it hard on the ground. It's a celebration, but there's some angst in there. The game is observed, so I think that's held off some of the ugliness, but there's still a clear distaste forming between these two teams. Next point, the girl from TCNJ makes a grab and spikes the disc in clear retaliation. For a second everyone stops. It's shock or confusion or some combination of the two. A little chatter starts and then what's been observed is reflected by the observer. TCNJ girl was not in the endzone. Turnover. The sidelines guffaw. It's inconsequential as far as the outcome of the game, but not a moment I want to soon forget.

My final note on Manheim, PA is to say that other than the RV in Dallas, I've never stayed closer to a field. We walked out of the hotel and onto the fields. We could see the fields from our room. I don't expect that luxury regularly, but how sweet it can be.

Now, I want to play. I want my shins to stop hurting. Let's go.

Inheriting a car for a month

Giving up my car several years ago was a triumph of public transportation and good sense. I've made the most of it for many years. I've biked, grabbed rides from gracious friends, taken the Metro, participated in car-sharing, and perhaps stayed a little closer to home. Last month after C went down with a broken leg, her car suddenly became very available. I couldn't resist its lure. As the temperatures hovered just above freezing and the Ultimate practices hovered just before bed time, I borrowed the car on a regular basis. At 8 o'clock at night and beyond, the car was a treat to warmly whisk me to practice and home again.

Unfortunately, it wasn't all evening back street driving. Clare also asked me to drive her a few places. Those adventures didn't go as well. The hour was usually day time and the traffic was thicker than I like my milkshakes. I don't have a great sense of direction anyway, but having a passenger who would rather be driving only made my misdirection seem more severe. All my reasons for choosing to be mostly car-less came rushing back. I think what Sartre really meant was, Hell is other people- in cars. In this city there are just too many cars vying for too little space. Then they want to park too.

It has been a great relief to return to my bike. Yes, I often feel that I'm going to be crushed under the weight of a giant unfeeling steel and plexiglass box on wheels, but at least I'm going to go out with a sense of freedom and control.

Part II
Although Clare has reclaimed her car, this experience has made me realize that in the world of car-less, I no longer fully count. I'm not pure. I do have more access than before. I live in a household with a car. At some point in my life, I think this blurring of the line would have bothered me greatly. Now, I acknowledge it, but I'm going to go about my business. Also, I think I'll go for a bike ride.

A tale of a mattress written in exactly five minutes
At first there was nothing, but a sleeping bag. Then came a mattress out of a garage. I look back on that time and I wonder, "how was that ok?" It was.

Next came a mattress, just the mattress, flopped on the floor. I was happy there. The mattress was firm. I was low to the ground. The danger of falling was minimized. Time passed and my need to stay low was overtaken by a need to grow up. Pressure mounted. I caved. My mattress was joined by box springs.

My firm Serta Ferndale Supreme mattress and a fine box spring made their way together through the years. Until, one day, my mattress and my box spring no longer fit my life. I needed a new mattress. I found one. It was firm. It would fit.

It arrived damp. Phone calls were made. Angry action threatened. Curses sent under my breath. Nothing took effect. Finally, a call to my credit card company stopped payment on the damp mattress. Still it sat in my room, propped up on the window, unmoving. For months. I had to get another mattress. I chose quickly. I felt pressured to right my wrongs, pressured to find a satisfying sleep.

A mattress trade later and I had just enough comfort to survive. This is not an easy tale to tell. I tried to call Serta to see if they had a replacement for the Ferndale Supreme, but they needed more information. My frustration continued.

Finally, they came and took my damp mattress away. It's only been 5 months.

That story took an extra 22 seconds. The end.