If It's Not the Heat, It Must Be...

the company.

There must be one mean little black raincloud following me today because I am literally seconds away from kicking somebody. Anybody. A puppy, even.

Honest to God, I don't think I've ever had a day with sooooo many people getting on my nerves. Is it Piss Off Debbie Day and nobody told me? I hadn't even been at work an hour before it started. One of my co-workers (I call her Old Hateful) addressed the office at large, asking what was the legal corporate name of one of the motels. I told her. So, she asked another girl. I told her again. So she opened the tax cabinet and began to search amongst the myriad files. Did I stutter? Truly, this happens to me so often, I should be laughing. I guess I just don't have a "believable" voice. Assholes.

And then there was a visit (via a phone call to somebody else) from El Jefe, who is in one of those astral phases where he has to make sure that everybody (and I do mean everybody) knows he's the one signing the paychecks. Figuratively speaking, of course. So, let's void all the shit we did yesterday and re-do it, and then void it again because we put the wrong effing date on it and then send it off with Miss Information for further abuse. Jackass.

My husband has gotten in on the action as well. At some point in his sleep Sunday night, he tore his ACL. At least, that's what he'd have you think. He's not going to any damn doctor, so the rest of us have to suffer with him. I'd be a lot more sympathetic if he didn't get a lot worse when I'm in sight. And the groaning! I'm pretty sure that's a legitimate legal alibi right there. I'm sorry, your honor. I couldn't take the groaning anymore.

No worries. I'm going home and downing a quadruple dose of St. John's Wort and I'll sit quietly by the tomato plants until the murderous thoughts subside. It's a good day to pick ticks off the dog, let me tell you.

Etceteras

This is why I love American soccer. Too bad it didn't work out.


Best. T-shirt. Ever.

















And a little funny stolen from Comedy Central.

Christmas was just around the corner, and a father was a bit upset with his son, who would always say "motherfucking."

Especially troubling was his letter to Santa, which read: "I want a motherfucking bike and a motherfucking train set right under the motherfucking tree, motherfucker. Love, Sam."

So the father decided that instead of presents, he would leave piles of dog shit under the tree for the boy. On Christmas morning, the father got up to see his son sitting in the living room.

"What did Santa get you, son?" the father asked, a malicious grin spreading across his face.

"A motherfucking dog, I guess, but I can't motherfucking find it."

It Was That Kind of Game

I hope His Royal Beckness was taking notes last night (while bench-warming [via special permission from MLS - because apparently you just can't have just *anybody* hanging around the sidelines] in a very natty suit) because once his ankle heals, methinks he'll be tasting a lot of Field Turf and grass.



Like his little buddy Landon here, who could not buy a call last night.

The word went out all across the Canadian nation: Wins? We don't need no stinking wins. We just don't want to lose to the (really clever dis alert) Galactically overhyped. As long as they *don't* win, we win. That's Canadian for Take No Prisoners or something. Clearly, there's a language problem. They build a beautiful stadium, sell record numbers of season tickets, build enthusiastic crowd support out of The Great White North, and what do they play on? Turf. Field turf. Why, oh why, Canada?

Anyway, as the time nears (that pesky ankle can't be swollen forever, can it? can it?) to his actual MLS debut, I have one little question. How will he be reffed? Because you can't put yer $25 million Precious on the field and let Dema Kovalenko (or Carl Robinson, as the case may be) go all Dirty Harry on him.

Can you?

Maybe we'll find out Thursday. ESPN2.

I Woke Up in Love This Morning.

Apparently, I'm having a Tiger Beat psychotic break.

Last night, I dreamt about Tim Armstrong. Specifically, hanging out with Tim in some anonymous airport, flirting with him, holding his very lovely hand, and inscribing my cell phone number in blue Flair on the inside of his wrist.

I had a dream I was a vigilante's sidekick...

And it was sweet. In all senses. Very 5th grade, just two steps away from passing the I-Like-You-Do-You-Like-Me? note in history class. I fought very hard to stay in that dream when my alarm clock went off.

I can't believe you're with me after dark, so let it come together in Echo Park...

Now the mists have evaporated and I'm left wondering: did I have a stroke or something? Have I become some love-starved weird old lady destined to prowl yard sales looking for used Harlequin romances? I already have two cats and a pretty serious Hallmark card problem. I don't need another reason for people to stare. And who has hand-holding dreams anyway?

And I dream of this girl - yeah, an angelical ghost I met dancing through my neighborhood...

That could be me.

Sure, it could.

Telefutility, Or Why I Hate Directv

Because this sounds like one h-e-double-toothpicks of a game: L. A. Galaxy 6, F. C. Dallas 5. Gals only need a tie to advance, but Dallas had to win. Gals come out strong, scoring 4 goals in 17 minutes. Then, just to make things interesting, they give up 3. Landon "Beer Run" Donovan added another for the Gals (and pissed off the Dallas faithful something awful) before Carlos Ruiz biked one in for the home side. Another goal each in stoppage time and the Galaxy go home with the win and a place in the semis.


Eleven freaking goals.

And what was I watching last night?

Law & Order SVU reruns.

Again.

I hate Directv.

Nobody Likes Me, Everybody Hates Me

Think I'll eat some worms...


Me and Nick "You Can't Call Me Butterfingers If I Don't Actually Touch The Ball" Rimando. Bless his heart.

Maybe it's the weather, which is gloomy and depressing. Maybe it's the time of the year - the stultifying dog days and that point in the soccer season when good games get scarce. Maybe it's because all my younguns (except one) are having fun in the Florida sun. Maybe it's just me.

Gloom, despair and agony on me
Deep dark depression, excessive misery
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all
Gloom, despair and agony on me.


My new philosophy: when things are bad, think Hee Haw.

The East Coast Beckham

I think we need to play up (and ... uh ... invent) this rivalry.



and we could start with a Zoolander-style walk off.












See? He looks excited about it.


Smokin' hot to Dumb and Dumberer in .005 seconds.


But welcome to the team, to MLS, to the freakin' United States of America, Juan Pablo Angel.

I Didn't Quite Believe It

So, I was trolling the internet for Tim Armstrong pictures the other day and this one popped up. Ostensibly, this is a high school graduation photo of Mr. Armstrong. In a bow tie, no less!


But look how happy he looks. So California-kid-next-door. I think that's what made me doubt. That and the bat-like ears. In the biography I invented for him, Tim never graduated from high school - I mean, how NOT punk rock is it to stay in school? He was homeless and drug addled - how could he possibly look so clean cut, so Beach Boy-ish? But the eyebrows and the eyes - who else could they belong to?





His face, to me, is incredibly fascinating. And this is one of my favorite pictures. There's a wary intelligence, a little physical menace, some non-cocky self-assuredness and a genuine individuality (which is tough to accomplish in a punk milieu).


He's cute, too.


In both photos.


And it's a slow news day. ;)

Been a while

since I waxed rhapsodic over Tim Armstrong. I was listening to this on the way home the other day and experienced an epiphany: Tim's Oh No as the new David Beckham/L. A. Galaxy theme music. Listen and imagine the free kicks, the abs, the hair, the abs, the right foot, the abs...

Honestly, I think it's genius. That beat is soccer driven, and it does ... um, ...bend. I put this magnificent idea to one soccer buddy who could not be bothered to reply. I put it to another, who was delighted with the 'oh no' aspect (him being all pissy Englishter, and stuff). I even emailed it to the Galaxy who have yet to acknowledge (possibly to avoid future legal problems). So, send the Gal's an email: customerservice@lagalaxy.com. Let 'em know you're in love with Los Angeles, you're in love with her sooouuuulllll. Or at least in love with My Idea.

Thank you for your support.

No Soccer Today

Meet my trend-setting daughter, Josephine.

This was her ensemble for a recent after-work/after-summer camp stop at the grocery store.


I guess that's my thumb on the left.


What I love about this is that she's not at all worried about looking dorky or stupid. She wants to go in and get some candy, this is what she has on, this is what she wears.

Of course, being 9 and ridiculously cute, she can get away with outfits like this. People might stare, but they're smiling when they're staring. If I were to wear this, well, I'm not sure what would happen but visions of police and psych holds come to mind.

Here's hoping we all find our inner 9 year old and rock some Tater Tot Style. Big ups to being who you are, no matter where, no matter what.

I Wasn't Gonna Do It

Talk about soccer today, that is.



But, unfortunately, the onus is upon me and I can't think of anything else to write about except work, and if there's anything more boring than me going on and on about soccer, it's me going on and on about my job.



It's the lesser of two evils. Really!



Today's subject: Unsung Heroes of the Columbus Crew. Specifically, Alejandro Moreno who came to the Crew via a trade with Houston for Joseph Ngwenya (who had that sweet goal last week). Alejandro, the Venezuelan Curious George, has the distinction of being the most fouled player two years running. In 17 games for the Crew this year, he's scored 3 goals and been credited with 5 assists, but his most profound contribution to the team may just be that he is a real "team" kind of guy. He knows how to Take One For the Team. Like a Timex watch, he takes a licking and keeps on ticking. Like a good neighbor, Moreno is there. Like Avis, he tries harder. He will sell no wine before it's time because somebody put a tiger in his tank. Alejandro Moreno, this Bud's for you!

Becks Big Day

For starters, don't call it his MLS debut. This Chelsea/Gals "world series" game was not an MLS game; ergo,it cannot be his MLS debut. But there can be no doubt now that the circus is in town. We had the DB one hour bio previous. We had half an hour of DB chatter and celebrity sightings before the game started. We had a swarm of photographers following him on to the field.


Really, truly, unabashedly surreal. Nobody has ever pandered to me as a soccer fan before.

Cool!

Random observation #1: Pete Vagenas doesn't look all that comfortable with his new teammate. He practically sat in Chris Albright's lap to avoid physical contact with DB. Could it be having to give up #23? The massive pay differential? Perhaps he doesn't care for Dave's aftershave. This picture doesn't really capture the chill, but it was there. I saw it with my own two eyes. Pete's the one with his legs crossed. His whole body language was "don't touch me!"

Random observation #2: who knew Katie Holmes was such a soccer fan? Or is she a Posh fan? She brought the Stepford Baby, which no doubt gave her something to do in those boring stretches without Becks. She uses Playtex bottles. Less air in Suri's tummy.


Random observation #3: I'm way past ready for all this hoopla to die down. If one has been playing DB drinking games the last few days, one is in serious danger of alcohol poisoning. Let's just play the game, ok? *Not* the drinking game.

Sad fact #1: I didn't actually see him step on the field. I fell asleep. But, somehow, I just don't think I missed much.




Back to some semblance of normalcy, please.

Watch This Space

The goal is 30 days of continuous posting.

Yes, I have been challenged, nay called, as from a higher power, to do my part, to commit my random acts of prose in the name of freedom of speech (or freedom to be a jackass, depending on how you look at it). Global warming just ain't happening fast enough. I want my house ocean front now. So, I'm dedicating the next 30 days to gasbagging, blowing wind and piling up the bullhockey. It will be an arduous task - it may look easy from that side of the keyboard, it may appear simple and free-flowing, but it's not. I work at this, searching for words, thumbing Roget's so I'm not redundant, constantly hitting that 'view next blog' button for inspiration. It rarely works - naked women just don't do much for me - but it sometimes makes me think, 'hey, I'm not the worst blog on the internet. and I mostly spell right. and I don't use an ugly background making what I do write indecipherable.'

Anyways, that's the challenge.


And the first post! :)

The MLS All-Star Game v. 2007

What? You don't believe in All-Star games? Hater.

I love the idea of them - the best choosing the best of their own. I kind of wish they were post-season, but who would care then?

So, MLS looked good last night. Celtic are pre-season, sure, but they looked a whole lot better than Chelsea who looked lazy, sloppy and fat at last year's. I'd give the boys in the green and white stripedy shirts a B- for effort. I mean, look at that dude's face. He looks pissed. And not in a fun way.

Juan Pablo Angel with goal #1, Juan Tojas with goal #2. Bad pun alert! Juan plus Juan equals two. Tojas, don't ever cut your hair. I think it gives you special powers, special protection. Now if we can just perform some Santeria ritual and have Dallas (and the rest of the league) forget you're signed to them, and have Bruce bring you over to the Red Side... mmmwaaahaaahaaahaaahaaa!

Is there anything more inspiring than a big sweaty man hug? I think not.

Big ups, all you all stars.

So, it wasn't our best showing

But it could have been worse.

Ok, I'm just saying that.

What the hell am I talking about? Copa América. And our 0-3 record. Losing to Argentina was expected. Losing to Colombia was not. It was an invaluable learning experience. It will pay off big time during WC qualifying. We will be stronger for the effort.

Etc.

Really, that's how it seems to me. Given the timing (right after the Gold Cup - our regional championship where we won that ugly gold ... uh, cup, mid-MLS season and smack dab in the middle of the U-20 World Cup) and the ambition (to whip this national program into shape before the next World Cup), this was the way to handle it, so big ups Bob Bradley for having the cajones to do it.

I guess I've just swallowed the Official USSF policy hook, line and sinker.

Anyway, here's a poolful of gratuitous hotties to help us all forget...

I am the water. I am the water. I am the water...

Argentina 4, USA .... 1

A brilliant beginning.

60 minutes of inspired play.

We actually LED for two whole minutes.

And somewhere, around minute 62, things went to h-e-double toothpicks in a handbasket. Was it the subs? The heat? The humidity?

Nah. It was the stripes. The butt-ugly pinstripes. The last time we wore these with the white shorts: a friendly with Guatemala in March, which was possibly the ugliest, least interesting, most depressing game ever with Mostest and Feilhaber in the starting XI.

But, in the end, it's not whether you win or lose, but what you discover about your players that's important. Just keep saying to yourself 'it's a four year master plan, it's a four year master plan.' All will be well in the end.

Things Could Get Interesting

at the Copa America.

Mexico 2, Brazil 0. WTF?

Beautiful goal from Nery Castillo - and those are hard words to write.


We beat Mexico. Mexico beat Brazil. Ergo, we are better than Brazil.

It's logic, baby. ;)

Sure, It's Ugly, But It's Ours.

And these guys seem pretty happy about it. USA 2, Mexico 1. Landon Donovan's veins are filled with ice water - how can you be that collected with Osvaldo Sanchez blowing kisses to you? And curly-haired Mexican player #18 (who may or may not be Guardado) also had some words of advice to give him while LD was doing his voodoo.

Seriously, is that supposed to be one of those minimalist masterpieces?

Saturday Soccer Madness

It's an all day show, peeps. Well, most of the day. The best part of the day, how 'bout that?

First up, Team America versus Panama, 4:00 PM, live from Foxboro, Mass. I have some trepidation about this one for some reason. Soccer angst, I suppose. Or perhaps they'll be out for revenge against me after my wish for a Mexican miracle in their last game. Panama will be missing two key players due to red cards from that brouhaha, but they are a speedy bunch.

Break a leg, USA.
Kenny Cooper says hey, hey
Win this one so we can go
win it all in Chicago!

thank you, thank you, thank you.

Next game: back to Foxboro (there's a song there - don't go back to Foxbro and waste another game...) for what I hope will be a so-hungry-they're-salivating Columbus Crew eating the Revolution for breakfast/lunch/AND dinner. Wanna see the Gaven and Guille show. And lots of Crew goals. They will actually be playing on grass, since they covered up Gillette's lovely lovely astroturf for the Gold Cup games played earlier. So, in an ironic twist worthy of O. Henry, the visiting Crew will technically have home field advantage.

Last game: those fabulous New York Red Bulls (hopefully) smacking down the Eddie Johnson-deprived KC Wizards. This is either #2 v. #1, or #3 v. #1, or alternatively, #1 v. #2 depending on whose rankings you subscribe to. Wanna see Mathis shine.

insert gratuitous soccer hottie here
Now, don't YOU feel like a winner too?

If I'm going to have a stupid moment

chances are, it won't go unnoticed.

Take last night, for instance. I settled down in the den with the Austinator to watch the first match of the Copa Libertadores final. Boca Juniors versus Gremio at La Bombonera. See these fans? Incredibly enthusiastic.

I had wanted to see the Mexico/Panama Gold Cup game, but could not find it on the 1000 + channels Directv claims to air. So, we tuned in to FSE to watch Guillermo Barros Schelotto's old team. FSE is broadcast in Spanish. I know this. And still, when I tuned in and couldn't understand a word, I did the only sensible thing.

I turned it up.

Which provided Austin with the best laugh he's had since the Spongebob P.O.O.P. episode.

It seemed like the logical thing to do at the time. I have noticed that people tend to speak louder when they're trying to communicate with someone who speaks another language. So, following that train of thought, if I just listened harder, I would understand better.

And part of me actually believed that.

I've been a mad juggler the last few years anyway, trying to keep my Balls of Knowledge and Experience in the air so my kids will keep believing I'm invincible and omnipotent. They already know I can't kiss the boo-boos away. I was hoping for a few more years of quasi-respect and awe.

Bribery or threats? Money or military school? You decide.