Popped Collars and Profit Margins, Cabbages and Kings

In my (admittedly, extremely limited) experience, attending a Nats game is like watching fake baseball. It's like actors pretending to be baseball players. Fake, fake, fake. So, as an homage (i.e., a French nod) to the theme of the evening, I took this picture as a fake representation of our good seats. To the most untrained eyes, it's pretty clear these guys are not baseball players. They were actually obnoxious twin brothers from "Chi-Towwwwwwn, Baby!" who, despite their attire, seemed to think they were at home and spent the entire night cheering on the Cubs. And asking the players ON THE FIELD for autographs. I'm pretty sure that has never succeeded in the history of baseball. Let me think back to Doubleday....yeah, it's never happened. We did have great seats, but aside from the fact that we were able to walk to the stadium from my friend's house in Lincoln Park, I hated it as a baseball stadium. The seats do not extend very far past the bases on either of the baselines and there is no lower deck in the outfield. Also, it appears that those who built the stadium didn't think it would ever be prudent to sell refreshments. That's all I can come up with, because all of the vendors sold from kiosks that clogged up the concourse. Granted, I'm used to Camden Yards. And I probably don't have much room to talk right now, what with my team currently blowing the only shot they've had at contention in years. But, really, at least our house is nicer.

After the game, I spent Friday night on Capitol Hill and concluded that it is an alternate universe. Take, for example, the Friday night attire. I've never seen so many guys in pressed khakis and pastel polos. They were all speaking political code. But Andy's roommate tells me he and Ted Kennedy are working on a bill that would make it a whole lot easier for me to make it through Grad school, and if that's true, I can put up with the polos. At least the collars were not popped. (A survey: Is that trend ever going to die? You should have seen the way the cashier at American Eagle looked at me when I complained about it. "Maybe I'm just old," I trailed off. "Yeah," she fake-smiled at me, "maybe." And a little part of me died.)

Saturday I navigated my way home from Union Station beautifully. I guess that isn't that much of an accomplishment, but I was beaming. I also managed to go through boxes in the basement of the old house and actually got rid of a good amount of stuff, including pictures and letters that were terribly important to me at one time. Their unceremonious disposal felt laden with power, until I realized that dumpster divers would be able to recreate a good portion of my life from the contents of those trash bags. So, if you ever see my story on a Lifetime movie, please know that it was in no way authorized. Also, let me know, because I'm not a frequent viewer. What, surprised?

Yesterday was my little brother's first real gig (besides his high school talent show), and he did great! He wore a shirt that said, "I'm a Keeper." Like he really needed another way to get teenage female attention. One of his songs refers to getting tired of waiting for the girl who "walks through [his] dreams," and a couple of voices behind me said, "You don't have to wait! I'm right here!" After he played his set, a guy named Emmanuel who wore a do-rag and an enormous black t-shirt that said, "I GOT IT 4 CHEAP" asked Danny to play guitar while he rapped. Danny knows like 3 chords. I was so proud of him for being open to it, though. He sold 14 cds, including a couple to those NOT of the female persuasion, prompting me to suggest that he up his profit margin. My dad, as if I were crazy, replied, "He's not doing it for profit. He's just getting his music out there." Oh. Right. Getting the music out there/For the love of the game. But, here's a wacky idea: Wouldn't it be nice to fuse those goals together? No? Am I wrong?