Song Title of the Day

"Self Loathing Rules" by Shout Out Out Out Out

Song Title of the Day

"Supernatural Car Lover" by Robert Pollard. It's a good song, too.

Funny Headline of the Day

From the Philippine Daily Inquirer comes this story:

"Truce holding, say MILF, Army"

I'm not sure what the disagreement is, but that's pretty impressive, to keep a whole army busy like that.

Had a Weird Dream Last Night

I dreamed I was in Chicago when there an earthquake. I happened to be in an elevator with a couple of other people whom I didn't know when it happened. The elevator stopped and we were stuck for a while but got out by sending the elevator down to the sub-basement.

Somehow I ended up in St. Louis, which was a real mess. The arch was twisted, and panels were missing from it. Some buildings had partially or totally collapsed. Some people were stuck in the partially collapsed buildings because they couldn't get out.

After a while, the dream changed and I ended up being in a kind of survival situation where there was no city, nothing around but nature. Sort of a post-apocalyptic, Hobbesian state-of-nature kind of thing. A group of us (none of whom I think I knew) were traveling around with only a few provisions and our own wits to stay alive. It felt like there was always somebody out to get us.

All things considered, it was a very weird dream.

"How To Live"

Today's poem from the Writer's Almanac is "How to Live" by Charles Harper Webb. Despite its apparent pretension, the poem actually gives pretty good advice, sort of like Kurt Vonnegut's famous (and apparently apocryphal) commencement speech in 1997.

I wanted to highlight a couple of lines from the poem, but I couldn't find one or two to choose. It kind of has to hang together.

Anya's Morning Quip

This morning as I was getting ready for work, I had Little Feat's "Tripe-Faced Boogie" going through my head. I turned to Anya, who was in the bedroom with me, and quoting the song lyrics, said,

"I'm going to boogie my scruples away!"

Without missing a beat, Anya quipped,

"Spray deodorant all over yourself."

Song Title of the Day

"His Lyrics are Disastrous" by Jakobinarina.

Oops - I Forgot to Send a Card!

Did you know the Earth just celebrated a birthday?

According to the dogma of the Church of England in the 18th-19th centuries, God created the Earth at 9:00 a.m. on Monday, October 23, 4004 B.C. So our beloved planet just celebrated its 6,010th birthday.

Happy Belated Birthday, Earth!

Quote of the Day

From Daniel Boone, whose birthday is today:

"I have never been lost, but I will admit to being confused for several weeks."

The Months Without Baseball

Can it be only 4 days since the Cardinals won it all? Can it be that I'm still shaking my head, not understanding how it can be true? Can it be that one wicked Wainwright slider ended seven months of hopes and dreams, just like that? Can it be that October is already past, leaving us to stare into a leafless, lifeless November and beyond - nothing but months of snow on the basepaths, frost in the dugout, and ice on the diamond?

Can it be that there are still three-and-a-half months until spring training? Can it be that I miss baseball already?

At the end of this season, of all seasons, can something still be missing? This season of losing streaks, of injuries, of strke threes, of swept-by-the-Cubbies? This season of Weaver, of Marquis, of Wilson, of Miles and Miles and Miles?

This season of Spiezio, of Albert the Great, of Soooooup, of Carp (just Carp), of Eck the Pest, of did-you-really-just-do-that-P-dub?, of Yadi, Yadi, Yadi?

Can something still be missing, even after this?

Yes. For this was the season in which the child in us defeated the adult in us. This was the season in which the "we can do it" beat the "we know better." This was the season in which hope beat cynicism, the season in which love beat knowledge.

This was the season to savor. This was the season of the "why not," the season of the "maybe more."

But there is no more. Not for a while. Nothing to savor now but hot stove discussions and speculations gone mad. Suppan? Weaver? Spiezio? Belliard?

All of it nothing but fantasy gone amok. All of it nothing but the displacement of childhood dreams, the substitution of X-L-S for 6-4-3. All of it just numbers, numbers, numbers.

All of it mattering not at all in comparison to the specific physics of a ball that climbs and climbs and climbs and falls and falls and falls and finally fades into the cradle of a child's hands in a late summer twilight, to the "hurray" of the crowd.

Not mattering at all, even a little bit, until the whiff of early spring grass brings the next hit-and-run, the next suicide squeeze, the next double up the gap, the next "Oh, Tony, what-are-ya-thinkin?"

Until the next swing-and-a-miss.

For in the end, that's what we live for. The next swing-and-a-miss. Not the last one, no matter how sweet the slider, or how significant the stakes, or how ungainly the Inge.

It's the next one that keeps us waiting, and watching, and dreaming of summer days to come, of autumns full of baseballs loaded with dirt and grit and spit and gumption.

The next one. It's a long way away, a winter-spring-summer-fall. A long, long way away.

So fly into the winter, Redbirds.

We'll see you in the spring.

Anya's Language

Anya is developing a language, called "Erconinas." These spellings are mine, phonetic only:

Kop = Statue of Liberty
Moskegranz = mouse
Elbrunans = elephant

My recall may be imperfect, but I'm sure Anya can correct me.

Update: Anya's language has changed. It is now a singing language. Every word is sung rather than spoken. Last night she told me the word for "angel." It took her about 1 minute to sing it. I imagine that if you wrote it out, the word would be about 100 syllables long.

Bowie and The King

Trivia: David Bowie wrote "Golden Years" to be performed by Elvis. I can hear it.

"Gooolden years,
Oh-ooo-woooh, wopwopwop..."

Cookie Boys, Scarves and Carpenters

The girls have been cute this week.

A couple of days ago, Quinn approached me while I was sitting at the dinner table and loudly declared, "You are my cookie boy!"

Then Saturday night, while I was watching Game 1 of the World Series with both India and Anya on my lap, Anya turns to India and says (pertinent to nothing, as far as I could tell): "You're Chris Carpenter!" Whereupon India replies, "YOU'RE Chris Carpenter!" This went on for about 5 minutes, each of them telling the other, in increasingly insistent tones, that they were Chris Carpenter. I didn't even know they knew who Chris Carpenter was. He wasn't pitching, he wasn't on the TV. They just picked it up, I guess. It was pretty funny.

Then yesterday India decided to create a coat out of scarves. She brought out every scarf in the house and tied them around herself. She looked like some kind of odd muppet. It looked warm, too.

My Brand

I have decided that for the duration of the Cardinals' trip through the playoffs, I am going to drink only Budweiser while watching the games.

Budweiser has good mojo for the Cardinals.

They're just one win away from the World Series. Come on, guys!

Song Title of the Day, Oct. 11, 2006

"Without MSG I Am Nothing," by Mclusky.

Musky

A few days ago Mari-Rose and the girls were down by Sugar Creek, and at the edge of the water they found a tiny baby muskrat which had apparently been abandoned. It was only about two inches long and couldn't have weighed more than an ounce. It was still alive, so they brought it home, wrapped it in a washrag and kept it alive for a day by feeding it milk from the pet store.

Of course, we couldn't keep a muskrat forever, so Mari-Rose found out that the University of Illinois Veterinary School will take in lost little animals like "Musky." She took Musky over there, and he lived for a while, but ultimately didn't make it.

Rest in peace, Musky.

Elmore Leonard

From today's Writer's Almanac, a quick good line from Elmore Leonard:

"I leave out the parts that people skip."

Redeem This!

From the Writer's Almanac of Oct. 7, I learned this:

Oct. 7 is the birthday of R.L. Stine, the creator of the Goosebumps and Fear Street series of horror novels for young people, he's one of the best-selling children's book authors of all time. He has written more than 200 books, and he's sold more than 100 million copies.

By the early 1990s, Stine's books were selling about a million copies per month. To keep up with demand, he had to write 20 pages a day, finishing a book every two weeks.

In response to critics who have said that his books aren't good for children, R.L. Stine said, "I believe that kids as well as adults are entitled to books of no socially redeeming value."

A book every two weeks. That is just stunning.

I Suppose We Should Be Happy

Has it really been a week since I posted anything? Sheesh. A few items:

Science teachers in Michigan will be able to teach evolution. I guess this is what we call a victory these days - science teachers actually get to teach their subject matter?

But here is a genuine reason to be happy today: WOXY came back on the air today. It is good, good music. For example: Already this afternoon they have played new stuff by Michael Franti, Lily Allen, Guillemots and the Decemberists, as well as some live music by Wilco. Ahh! (They are back on the air thanks to an arrangement with LaLa.com, which I don't really understand. But apparently LaLa is a good source of music, too.)

Mystifying

While doing research at work yesterday, I came across the following quote from an article in Joint Force Quarterly, a military journal, dated October 2004:

Indeed, it is notable that the current Secretary of Defense, Donald Rumsfeld, has registered his reluctance to commit military assets to aid civilian authorities without a clear exit strategy.

Now, I can understand the logic of this. You don't want the military to be indefinitely committed to doing cleanup work after disasters. But the thing I can't figure - and I mean this honestly - is, did the same standard apply in Iraq? After three-and-a-half years, I still can't figure out what Rumsfeld's exit strategy in Iraq was, or is, or will be.