My first blog with unoriginal content. Now wait, not sure that’s a claim I can honestly make. Let me rephrase. It’s my first video blog, and it’s funny because it’s true. And that’s why I am crying…
Author: In Write Field
Aubrey Gets Huffy… And Other Thoughts On Media Day
It was a busy Friday for the San Francisco Giants. In the lead up to spring training, players and coaches were on hand for their annual media day. Of course I don’t attend media day, so my information is all second-hand. But I think it’s fair to say that some Giants were happier to be there than others.
Media day is a funny concept. Team members answer the same questions again and again, all the while trying to sound like they don’t mind a bit. This year, Manager Bruce Bochy told and retold a story of being bonked on his prodigious noggin by a chairlift over the winter, as he tried skiing for the first time. It’s a good story. I always appreciate Bochy’s self-deprecation.
As a rule, though, questions are tougher than “How was your off season?” Infielder Pablo Sandoval seems to have been sized up from head-to-toe by every reporter in attendance, with extra scrutiny paid to his… breadbasket. He looked as if he be smuggling a few extra baguettes in there, so he was quizzed about his regimen and fitness. Had he gained or lost weight? His – and the coaching staff’s — estimates fluctuated between a 10 and 25 pound gain.
Then there was first baseman Aubrey Huff. A hero in 2010, he inked a generous 2-year contract in November of that year. In 2011, some felt he had developed a bad case of ambivalence (“Now I’ve got mine”). Virtually everyone agreed that he hadn’t shown commitment to his off-season conditioning, and played last season very out of shape.
So naturally, media day saw reporters asking about Huff’s fitness, which was met with a mixture of surliness and braggadocio. Outlining his regimen, Huff said (unsolicited, I think) that he hadn’t had a beer in six weeks. I struggle to articulate why this statement puzzles me. Given his woeful performance last season, perhaps I question if six weeks on the wagon is enough — particularly for an aging athlete who has kids like Brandon Belt nipping at his heels. It also made me wonder how much he drank during the prior off-season. Do other players offer specifics about their alcohol consumption to reporters, without being asked?
Tim Lincecum and Matt Cain tiptoed through a minefield of questions about their contracts, and their long-term commitment to playing in San Francisco. As with the fitness/weight gain line of questioning, it must be very unnerving to sit in a room full of virtual strangers who all know your exact salary — especially when you are making upwards of $22 million per year. At the Town Hall on Friday evening, Brian Sabean made a cringe-worthy joke that Timmy probably needed a wheelbarrow to move his new monIs it any wonder that Timmy hid behind a gray hoodie all day?
Yes, media day can be rough. (I’m certainly glad I don’t have to answer questions at work about my workout regimen or BMI.) But it may be hardest for players who no one is particularly interested in speaking with. I heard next to nothing about Barry Zito after media day, aside from Sabean’s pointed comment that the fifth starting spot is “his to lose”. I think Giants fans (and reporters?) know deep down that he will, indeed, lose it. The only true unknowns are… how soon will it happen, and what options may be available to the Giants when it does?
There’s ample material there for a future blog post… so stay tuned.
It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad World
Today I’m suffering from PMMS – Post Mad Men Syndrome. Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past 17 months, you know that last night was the Mad Men season five premier. Two hours! As one clever Twitter user noted, Don Draper and Tiger Woods made their comebacks on the same day… which could be a coincidence. Or maybe not.
Some questions were answered right off the bat: Don did indeed marry Megan the receptionist. He seems to be suppressing his hound-dog ways, channeling a happy 1960s husband and father. The fact that Megan has been promoted to the position of copywriter, despite her lack of applicable experience, may have something to do with this. Don can now chase her around his desk, and order her to flash her bra, at will. With Don, as we know, where there’s a will…
Megan’s probably thinking “if he must stare at cleavage at work, at least I can make sure it’s MY cleavage.”
There are other advantages to having your husband as your boss. When he waltzes out the door at 5 p.m., leaving a pile of work for his subordinates, you get to leave too while casting a long, sad glance back at the rest of “the team” (i.e. Peggy) that says, “Hey, what can I do? He’s my ride home!”
Megan is going to be a lot of fun, because it’s evident that Don’s narcissism and manipulative tendencies are already making her a little unbalanced. When angry at Don, she cleans their apartment in her sexy black bra and panties while he watches. You know, to PUNISH him. This occurs the morning after she shimmied and serenaded him, Brigitte Bardot-style, in front of their colleagues.
Roger Sterling is still a womanizing lush, with a vicious wit. When Joan arrives at the office to show off her (a.k.a. Roger’s) newborn son he shouts, “Where’s my baby?” before cheek-kissing Joan, who looks like she might faint at the prospect of her baby’s paternity being revealed. He also skillfully talks Harry Crane into trading offices with Pete, for a mere $1,100. Poor Harry never knew what hit him.
Aside from Megan’s promotion – and the fact that she still hasn’t had her teeth fixed — the biggest surprise may have been the fact that she knows Don’s true identify. It was subtle. During his post birthday party sulk he reminds her that, unbeknownst to the world, he’s actually been 40 for several months. And later, she references Dick Whitman, which REALLY pisses him off. This means there are now three women who know about Don’s sordid past – Faye, Betty and Megan. All are, or will be (sorry, Megan!) women scorned. Sneaky Pete Campbell also knows the score.
A few questions were left unanswered:
- Where’s Mom of the Year, Betty Draper Francis? Little mention is made of her, and I’m curious to see the state of her marriage after two years.
- How are the Draper kids faring, post divorce? Viewers got a quick snippet of Sally Draper as she smiled sweetly at Megan over breakfast. Still waters run deep with that kid, so it’s hard to tell if she likes her pretty new stepmom… or if she’s planning to kill her in her sleep.
- “Is it just me, or is the lobby filled with Negroes?” asks Roger Sterling. Is it just me, or have we not heard the last of Civil Rights encroaching on Madison Avenue this season? There was something very poignant about those graceful, earnest black women handing over their resumes for a job that didn’t exist. It was hard to tell if any of the partners felt a twinge of… anything… at that moment. But we all know Sterling, Cooper, Draper, Pryce will not integrate voluntarily, unless it helps sell cigarettes or baked beans.
We shall see.
(Lotto) Fever Pitch
This evening I picked up the latest ESPN Magazine, featuring Timmy Lincecum — and some other guy — on the cover. It’s suitable for framing, so colleagues should expect to see it proudly displayed on my desk next week.
I felt a bit giddy afterward, and a little lucky too, so I did something unusual. I bought TWO lotto tickets. I often forget to play the lotto at all, and when I remember I usually only buy one ticket. But tonight I wanted to double my odds…
Early in my career, I worked in the institutional retirement division of a large financial services company. While there, I stumbled across a survey suggesting that around 3% of working Americans are relying on the lottery for retirement income in their golden years. It wasn’t a joke. That 3% was serious, and seriously deluded.
The guy in front of me at the newsstand tonight was apparently among the deluded. He did not waste his money on magazines with cover photos of eye candy. He bought 40 — that’s 4-0 — lotto tickets. The funniest part was, the clerk thought he wanted four tickets, and asked for $4. The customer looked at him like he was completely nuts.
He responded, “No man, I said 40 tickets.” But his incredulous expression said, “Do the MATH dude! There’s no WAY I could win with only four tickets! I play for keeps so LET’S DO THIS.”
I reassured myself that buying 40 lottery tickets is a pretty bad financial plan. I contribute to a 401(k) because I am responsible and I live in the real world. But that doesn’t stop me from dreaming of what I’d do if I ever won the lottery, every time I play.
In case you are wondering, I would take the lump sum payment.
I would:
- Pay a lot of taxes.
- Quit my job. (If you are wearing your surprised face right now, get over it. Your boss can’t see you, you suck up. You’d do the same thing!)
- Stalk homeowners on Liberty Street in San Francisco until one of them agreed to sell his house to me.
- Three words: Buy Season Tickets… in the Giants dugout AND on the team plane!
- Fund a memorial bench in Princess Street Gardens in Edinburgh, Scotland.
- Purchase a decent golf swing. (Is that possible?)
- Make donations to my alma maters. You know who you are.
- Give huge wads of cash to my parents… although I still doubt it’d erase my debt.
- Alert Planned Parenthood. BIG check coming their way!
- Buy a pug puppy, and take him with me all over the world.
I’ll check the lottery numbers tonight, but I fear I have jinxed my chances of winning with all this blogging. Which means it’s back to work on Monday. The Giants and pug puppy will have to wait.
Get Your Morph On!
I thought I’d seen (and unfortunately, smelled) everything at my local gym. I’ve encountered 40something men in stinky fraternity t-shirts so thin and frayed you could read fine print through them, and women in get-ups so outrageously revealing I expected to see dollar bills sticking out of their oh-so-low waistbands. But today I observed something that sent me running to Google immediately after my workout: a personal trainer wearing a bright green Morphsuit.
I didn’t recall ever seeing a Morphsuit before, except on members of Blue Man Group. I knew the name only because it was printed in large letters across the trainer’s derrière. I assumed it must, in some way, promote more efficient burning of calories. But why did it need to cover her hands… and at times, her entire head?
Prepare to be amazed! Morphsuits provide no discernable athletic benefit. They are intended to produce nothing more than attention for the person wearing them. (Mission Accomplished!) That’s great if you are on stage at the Venetian in Vegas… but maybe not ideal if you are standing next to your client, who is paying $100/hour for the privilege of grunting and sweating her way through TRX training while you watch.
You’ll be relieved to know that you can “breathe, see and even drink through” Morphsuits, which explains how the Equinox trainer could wear one, and still pounce like a drill sergeant whenever her client appeared to be slacking during her workout.
The suits come in plain colors, and patterns such a camouflage and tie-dye. For Morphmen and Morphwomen who need to carry cash or a Muni pass, fanny packs are also available.
There are flag Morphsuits (Alba gu brath, Scotland Forever!), and even a black tuxedo Morphsuit. Wait, hang on. It’s all coming back to me. I HAVE seen a Morphsuit before… on Brian Wilson at last year’s ESPYs! The fact that I haven’t run across a one since July suggests that, even with B-Weezy owning the look, Morphsuits have failed to set the world on fire (despite being synthetic and highly flammable).
Still intrigued? You can consult the handy Morphsuit FAQs online. They address such burning concerns as how a wearer might zip/unzip the suit without assistance, and how to respond when someone asks to have his/her photo taken with you, while you are Morphed.
I hope the Equinox trainer takes her cue from Brian Wilson, and makes today’s Morphsuit experiment her last. She’s in great shape, but the suits are unforgiving to say the least. Unless you are a 6’2”, 200 pound closer with legs like redwood trunks, buns of steel and an arm like a cannon… a 100% Lycra body stocking with words across your backside is not a good look for you.
There’s No Such Thing As a Free Lunch. Really!
You may recall that I returned from Cactus League Spring Training earlier this week on a very delayed flight. After only a few hours sleep, I dragged myself to the office and worked a full day, then returned home to bake two dozen cupcakes for a St. Patrick’s Day party at my office on Friday.
(Last year I was volun-told to lead the ‘engagement team’ at my workplace, because apparently it’s a proven fact that engaged employees work harder, call in sick less often and make fewer annoying demands of management than a whiny rabble of disengaged employees. You may have something similar where you work, with a catchy name like the ‘Fun Council’. )
I placed the large aluminum food tray filled with cupcakes, covered in cling wrap, in my office’s communal refrigerator. Later that morning, I discovered that someone had helped himself to the cupcakes, well in advance of the party, thinking he could outfox me by taking them from the BACK row of the tray. Seriously?
Perhaps the culprit felt justified in his thievery because the food was for an office party. Perhaps he expected to go to the party, and figured he would just take his cupcakes early. Or maybe he works in the division that shares our floor and fridge — but doesn’t throw parties with delicious homemade cupcakes — so he needed a sugary way to fill the void that comes from lack of engagement.
Whatever. I was sleep deprived and still coming off a sugar crash from eating leftover cupcake batter the night before… so I was outraged! We live in a society and there are rules, people – most notably, that you should not eat food in the work fridge if you didn’t put it there. That is stealing. Only food left on the kitchen counter at the office is up for grabs. Who the heck doesn’t know that?
I affixed a sternly worded admonition along these lines to the fridge, which was a topic of conversation on the floor for the rest of the day. (Note to self: Remove nasty note from office fridge on Monday.)
After the party there were abundant leftovers placed on the kitchen counter. They were devoured within 30 minutes. I can’t be sure, but once my cupcakes were gone I think someone may have licked the aluminum tray clean to get those last few shreds of fresh coconut.
What is it with free food at work? I swear if you stood next to the elevator on a given afternoon and announced “free sandwiches and chips in the kitchen”… there are folks who would eat a second lunch simply because it was free! In fact, I suspect that if you said there was free gruel topped with past-its-expiration-date Limburger cheese in the kitchen, you’d still get a few takers.
A note to my fellow office workers: You scan steal the spotlight, or my thunder. But hands off my food in the fridge!
Temporary Area Of Refuge
I am currently waylaid in the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport, my flight delayed by at least two hours due to stormy weather in San Francisco. As I blog (and sigh, and fidget) I stare at an illuminated sign in my boarding area that reads “Temporary AREA OF REFUGE”. I have no idea what this means – refuge from what, I wonder? Unfortunately I don’t see any cots or hammocks for napping, so there appears to be no refuge here from exhaustion.
My Spring Training adventure has come to a close, and I’m a little sad to be saying goodbye to Scottsdale. Today’s weather was – no shock here — amazing, and my seats were much improved. Just like yesterday, I sat next to some really funny, friendly people. I think Scottsdale puts something in their water that brings out the nice, neighborly side of baseball fans. If so, where can I buy the stuff? I’d like to run it through the water filter at my office.
But I digress…
Today was the high note of the trip, baseball wise. First and foremost: Buster Posey had his first hit of Spring Training off Indians lefty Tony Sipp, and it was (naturally) a home run. It’s rare to see unilateral support for a player at a professional sporting event – even in the preseason. But people all around me – Giants and Indians fans alike – were exuberant.
Spring training facilities have an interesting feel — somewhere between a little league field and a big league ballpark on the intimacy scale. They aren’t rowdy but they aren’t sleepy little places either. Yet, anytime Buster Posey approached the plate a hush fell over Scottsdale Stadium. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, people didn’t just stop talking… they seemed to hold their breaths too. When he hit that home run, 10,500 fans collectively exhaled… then went crazy.
Matt Cain pitched well, allowing two runs on five hits in 5 2/3 innings. He was followed by Brian Wilson, who pitched with plenty of zip, and was hitless and scoreless.
I got to see lots of familiar faces play for the Indians, Shin-Soo Choo (who famously got his hand broken by an errant Jonathan Sanchez pitch last season), Lonnie Chisenhall, Asdrubal Cabrera (who I strongly suggest fire his barber), pitcher Scott Barnes (a former Giant) and first baseman Matt LaPorta. I have a soft spot for LaPorta; he joined the Indians amid a lot of hype. When he didn’t quite live up to expectations, he was viciously mocked and vilified on Twitter until he finally deactivated his account.
How fitting for me – the girl who has a troubling conflict of interest when the Giants play the Tribe – that the game ended in a 2-2 tie after 10 innings. Nobody won… but nobody lost either.
Awesome! My flight is boarding. Adios Giants, see you in April!
I Made My Bed, Now I’m Blogging In It
Day two of Spring Training was much less eventful than day one. The only drama I experienced occurred when housekeeping forgot to clean my room. I returned at around 5 p.m. after watching the San Francisco Giants play the Chicago Cubs, and realized that it hadn’t been touched. At about 5:30, the very nice head of housekeeping realized her mistake, and stopped by to tidy up — but by then I’d already made the bed myself. Seriously. As discussed, I am a neatnik so I think you can guess my position on unmade beds.
It was fun to soak up the lackadaisical vibe at today’s game. To start, the lineup was written on a white board near one of the entrances. Anyone with a dry erase pen could have wreaked havoc by putting Sandoval at catcher, or something. Lucky for Pablo, most fans do not show up at baseball games with whiteboard pens.
On my way out I double-checked – somebody had updated the whiteboard throughout the game, keeping it accurate. Nothing fancy, but it got the job done.
The game was packed, maybe even a sell out, and I had a really terrible seat in the bleachers. It was hot, and we were all squished hip-to-hip. My neighbors were nice, though, and everywhere I looked I saw sweet little boys sitting with their dads, sporting oversized ball caps and new baseball gloves. They were so excited!
Buster Posey caught for four innings, to lusty applause. Brandon Crawford looked a little sloppy. Brandon Belt and Aubrey Huff signed autographs during warm up. (The former smiled as he signed, the latter did not.) Madison Bumgarner pitched pretty well – better than the score would suggest.
When I left during the seventh inning stretch to visit the dugout store, the Cubbies were leading 5 -1. At some point in the final two innings, the Giants managed to score three more runs to nearly tie things up. In other words, as San Francisco was showing their only offense of the day… I was busy buying one more Giants cap, and one more Giants t-shirt, that I don’t need.
It’s difficult to get too anxious, or too excited, about anyone’s performance in Spring Training. Pitchers are tweaking their mechanics and testing new pitches. Every inning or two, players get switched in/out of the game. Of course, for some players Spring Training is a tryout that could determine whether they start the season in San Francisco, or in Fresno. But it’s hard to get a sense of who is faring well in tryouts, unless you attend all the Spring Training games.
Tomorrow the Giants will play the Cleveland Indians, so it will be a day of divided loyalties. Not yet sure which cap I’ll wear to the game – I brought one of each. I don’t often get an opportunity to support the Tribe in person, so I am leaning that way. Add to this the fact that my red Indians cap is a better match with the last clean shirt I have in my suitcase. Ladies and gentlemen, place your bets.
Meanwhile, I’ll have to sleep on it. Good night, all!
Hello, My Name Is Clarence and I’ll Be Your Hotspot Today
If you attended the film, music and interactive festival South by Southwest (SXSW) in Austin, Texas over the past week, you may have seen them. Thirteen homeless men walking around wearing t-shirts that read, “I am a 4G hotspot.” It’s the brainchild of advertising agency Bartle Bogle Hegarty’s BBH Labs.
These homeless men – um, I mean these “hotspots” — were intended to provide internet connectivity to smartphone users at the festival, where usage can often overwhelm cellular networks. They were paid $20 per day. Repeat, $20 PER DAY, not per hour. (BBH Labs suggested that festival goers using the service also pay these men $2 per 15 minutes of connectivity, as a donation).
According to CBS News’s “TechTalk”, the human hotspots included a man named Clarence from New Orleans who lost his house to Hurricane Katrina, and Jeffrey from Pittsburgh who suffers from the after effects of a traumatic brain injury. This feels very wrong to me, even if Clarence said he enjoyed the work because he “likes talking to people”.
BBH Labs doesn’t see what all the fuss is about (and there has been plenty of fuss). Proponents argue that this is an employment opportunity. Wrong! An employment opportunity should pay at least minimum wage. Otherwise, it’s called exploitation. Would you hire a homeless person to spend the day mowing your lawn or washing your car, and only pay him $20… just because he’s so desperate he’ll accept it? I hope not.
In response to criticism from bloggers, BBH Labs has compared human hot spotting to selling “Street News” and the like, but that’s wrong too. Street newspapers tend to cover topics relevant to the homeless community, and are largely staffed by homeless (or formerly homeless) people who do the writing and printing. When working at these newspapers, the homeless serve a human function and ideally learn a skill.
Making homeless people wear a dehumanizing label, and stand around while a bunch of yuppies check in via Foursquare – after which those yuppies pitch in $2 — is troubling.
If BBH Labs had a goal of generating free publicity, then this experiment has been a success. (No publicity is bad publicity, right?) But I sincerely hope this is the last any of us hears about human hot spotting.
Spring Training: Day One, The Bizarro World
I love baseball, so I am not sure why I have never gone to Spring Training in Arizona before. Phoenix is a two-hour flight from San Francisco, the weather is phenomenal, and so far I am having a blast. I just left my hotel bar, where I had cocktails and dinner outside in front of a fire while staring up at stars in a fogless sky. I did not need fleece to stay warm. Don’t get me wrong, I love the Bay Area… but I could get used to this.
Day one of Spring Training started out great. I arrived at SFO early, and landed in Phoenix right on time. I called Hertz from baggage claim – there was a reservation in my name, right? Confirmed!
I arrived at the rental car terminal to find a long line. After a few minutes two men stormed away from the Hertz counter yelling, “They have no more cars!” What does that even mean? I was about to find out.
Apparently Seinfeld was not a sitcom. It was, in fact, a reality show. Remember the season three episode in which Jerry reserved a rental car, but he and Elaine arrived to find that there were no cars available? It was one of the best Seinfeld episodes ever. Today I lived that episode. Hertz was out of cars.
The “waiting list” for those of us with reservations was approximately 30 minutes. Meanwhile, I had a ticket for a Cleveland Indians game and I was already late. Serenity Now! When pressed, Hertz offered each affected customer a $5 food voucher at a wrap kiosk in the building. My wrap plus a drink cost $9, so I was not exactly left feeling whole.
When my name was finally called, I looked at the paperwork and pointed out, “There’s no mention of a GPS here. I preordered it. Will this car have GPS? “ I was assured there would be a GPS.
There was no GPS in my car.
I headed back to the service counter. It was mobbed with irate customers who had been directed to parking spaces that not only had no GPS – they contained no cars. They were empty. I felt kind of guilty complaining about the lack of a GPS, since at least I had a car. But I held my ground because it’s no use having a car if you have no idea where to drive it.
Two men in their 60’s nearly got into a fist fight over who deserved the next available car more. (The Greatest Generation, keeping it classy.) I was so stressed by the time my car (with GPS) arrived, I would have left my suitcase on the curb were it not for a kind, quick-thinking fellow Hertz victim I had been commiserating with, who chased me down as I started to drive away.
Nevertheless, I arrived at the Goodyear Ballpark in time for the ninth inning of the Indians vs. Diamondbacks game. The entrance to the parking lot was already closed, but the security man reopened it – just for me – and let me park for free. And the cute guy at the entrance to the park couldn’t scan my ticket, but let me in anyway. “You are already so late!” I somehow doubt this would have happened at AT&T Park.
The vibe was relaxed. The Indians won. I picked up a lot of Spring Training swag at the Team Shop, and thus am way out in front of holiday stocking-stuffer shopping for my family.
Tomorrow I will see the San Francisco Giants play the Chicago Cubbies in Scottsdale. I can walk there so I’ll be early enough for photos and soft serve ice cream from the Mister Softee truck.
Did I mention that I love Spring Training?
In Write Field 