Um. Yeah. I like baseball.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO kitsune13!
I had IDT today and left school with the intention of going to the Tenafly library, picking up The Dreyfus Affair, getting something to eat and then heading back to school with yummies and a book about gay ballplayers in hand. Of course, when you have my luck, nothing ever goes according to plan.
I got to the library, but Tenafly being teh suck that it is, doesn't have the book. I looked it up on the computers to find out that basically EVER SINGLE OTHER LIBRARY FOR MILES had it. Englewood being the closest, I hopped in the Chloemobile and headed that way. At this point it was about 12:40 and I had to be back at school by 1:28. I drive, dive, drive and after a scary bit of crossing a two-lane one-way road, I got the the Englewood Library.
Let me make a few things clear: Englewood is sort of ghetto. Englewood actually has "a bad side of the tracks." Englewood has a football team that could basically eat ours if they were so inclined. So yeah. I get to the library, which, mind you, is fucking huge and done in at terrible faux-Wright style, and I park crookedly and go inside.
LOW AND BEHOLD, THEY HAVE MY BOOK. I find it in seconds. Everything is brilliant. I go to the counter, fab-baseball-gayness in my ecstatic little hand, only to be told by the Unibomber that I cannot take my book out. Yes, he really did look like the Unibomber, I kid you not. He had a cut and crazy hair and an unkempt beard and strange old-man eyes and yeah. Unibomber to the core. He tells me I cannot take out my book (in very quiet tones) because I used to live in Alpine and because the Gods hate me more than they hate California. I pout, but sadly my charms have no affect on Senor Unibomber Library Man. I look up Ball Four by Jim Bouton for the hell of it, but Englewood does not carry it because I live too close to Yankee Stadium for such blaspmemy to be about.
I head home utterly bummed, but then an idea strikes just as I remember why I usually avoid libraries. Tenafly has a bookstore, which is also teh suck, but I thought I'd give it a chance. At this point, it is 1:08. I start speeding. I cross the Tenafly-Englewood boarder and just as I do so, I am struck with another thought: wouldn't it be just my luck if I got a ticket?
OF COURSE. A COP COMES OUT OF FUCKING NO WHERE AND PULLS ME OVER. >:O
I try not to cry. I cannot find my insurance papers. He smirks at me. I hate life. After being fined $193 dollars for going 24 miles over the speed-limit (I mean, for God's sake, I was hurrying home from the library. So that I would get to school on-time. I am not the type that gets into legal trouble. I am too much of a loser for the law) I go to the bookstore. They do not have my book. I debate crying. Instead, I order it and whine about my bad day to the stores clerk. And that is my story.
Tonight I have therapy. I bet Michelle cannot wait to listen to this. On a lighter note, I did go to Borders, where I actually bought Ball Four, Men at Arms, and Tales from the Yankee Dugout. I cannot wait to read Ball Four! I mean, it was actually banned from our fucking library. Like, holy shit. Jim Bouton lives in the next town over, too. I might have to add him to my list of "Ballplayers to Stalk." I happened to pick up Fathers, Sons, and Baseball: Our National Pastime and the Ties that Bond and it has a great section on the Boones which I readily devoured. Didn't want to buy it though, so I'm asking Mom to get it for Christmas. I think Bob Boone and his wife live in Florida, because Aaron was talking about getting his mom to do his laundry during spring training and having chicken tacos at home. Apparently, chicken tacos are the family specialty -deeply amused-. Wayne Stewart, the author, calls Aaron a "kid home from college" like, eight times, which also really amused me. And the text is clearly snarky about how much of an asshole Bob is.
I don't have much else to say. We did the car washed on the way home and one of the guys bared a striking resemblance to Pedro Martinez. I did not suddenly find Pedro attractive and swoon. Nope, that wasn't me at all. rhoddlet? I blame you for all of my baseball wibbling.
Edit: And now it becomes a question of baseball or homework? Baseball or homework?
I had IDT today and left school with the intention of going to the Tenafly library, picking up The Dreyfus Affair, getting something to eat and then heading back to school with yummies and a book about gay ballplayers in hand. Of course, when you have my luck, nothing ever goes according to plan.
I got to the library, but Tenafly being teh suck that it is, doesn't have the book. I looked it up on the computers to find out that basically EVER SINGLE OTHER LIBRARY FOR MILES had it. Englewood being the closest, I hopped in the Chloemobile and headed that way. At this point it was about 12:40 and I had to be back at school by 1:28. I drive, dive, drive and after a scary bit of crossing a two-lane one-way road, I got the the Englewood Library.
Let me make a few things clear: Englewood is sort of ghetto. Englewood actually has "a bad side of the tracks." Englewood has a football team that could basically eat ours if they were so inclined. So yeah. I get to the library, which, mind you, is fucking huge and done in at terrible faux-Wright style, and I park crookedly and go inside.
LOW AND BEHOLD, THEY HAVE MY BOOK. I find it in seconds. Everything is brilliant. I go to the counter, fab-baseball-gayness in my ecstatic little hand, only to be told by the Unibomber that I cannot take my book out. Yes, he really did look like the Unibomber, I kid you not. He had a cut and crazy hair and an unkempt beard and strange old-man eyes and yeah. Unibomber to the core. He tells me I cannot take out my book (in very quiet tones) because I used to live in Alpine and because the Gods hate me more than they hate California. I pout, but sadly my charms have no affect on Senor Unibomber Library Man. I look up Ball Four by Jim Bouton for the hell of it, but Englewood does not carry it because I live too close to Yankee Stadium for such blaspmemy to be about.
I head home utterly bummed, but then an idea strikes just as I remember why I usually avoid libraries. Tenafly has a bookstore, which is also teh suck, but I thought I'd give it a chance. At this point, it is 1:08. I start speeding. I cross the Tenafly-Englewood boarder and just as I do so, I am struck with another thought: wouldn't it be just my luck if I got a ticket?
OF COURSE. A COP COMES OUT OF FUCKING NO WHERE AND PULLS ME OVER. >:O
I try not to cry. I cannot find my insurance papers. He smirks at me. I hate life. After being fined $193 dollars for going 24 miles over the speed-limit (I mean, for God's sake, I was hurrying home from the library. So that I would get to school on-time. I am not the type that gets into legal trouble. I am too much of a loser for the law) I go to the bookstore. They do not have my book. I debate crying. Instead, I order it and whine about my bad day to the stores clerk. And that is my story.
Tonight I have therapy. I bet Michelle cannot wait to listen to this. On a lighter note, I did go to Borders, where I actually bought Ball Four, Men at Arms, and Tales from the Yankee Dugout. I cannot wait to read Ball Four! I mean, it was actually banned from our fucking library. Like, holy shit. Jim Bouton lives in the next town over, too. I might have to add him to my list of "Ballplayers to Stalk." I happened to pick up Fathers, Sons, and Baseball: Our National Pastime and the Ties that Bond and it has a great section on the Boones which I readily devoured. Didn't want to buy it though, so I'm asking Mom to get it for Christmas. I think Bob Boone and his wife live in Florida, because Aaron was talking about getting his mom to do his laundry during spring training and having chicken tacos at home. Apparently, chicken tacos are the family specialty -deeply amused-. Wayne Stewart, the author, calls Aaron a "kid home from college" like, eight times, which also really amused me. And the text is clearly snarky about how much of an asshole Bob is.
I don't have much else to say. We did the car washed on the way home and one of the guys bared a striking resemblance to Pedro Martinez. I did not suddenly find Pedro attractive and swoon. Nope, that wasn't me at all. rhoddlet? I blame you for all of my baseball wibbling.
Edit: And now it becomes a question of baseball or homework? Baseball or homework?