Fear the Crab

Yep. Looks like ocean.

Continued ~

My fourth year of participation in the AUW charity softball tournament saw better success than last year, as the UH System Darksiders won its third championship in four years. If I had to peg one reason for the turnaround, it was the effort of our outfielders taking away the opposing teams’ big hitters.
Continued ~

Two weeks ago The Office participated in the annual AUW Softball Tournament. Normally I’m jazzed to report about this event, but I needed some time to get over this year’s poor performance. Unlike the last two years, we were eliminated in two games thanks to some shoddy defense, and while our bats were “okay” we couldn’t stop the other teams from scoring.

Continued ~

I participated in “Bartertown” at Other Realms yesterday. I had a bunch of Games Workshop miniatures that I needed to get rid of, plus some random bits and pieces from other manufacturers. These were all complete models, parts and accessories that I knew I would never get around to, so why not see if I could recoup my losses or get stuff I needed?

Continued ~

I’ve heard that there are people in the world who look just like you.  Sometimes these people are not of the same race, perhaps not even of the same gender, but on casual observation it would be like looking at a mirror.

I was recently (read: yesterday) made aware of a bloke named Thomas Beatie.  Apparently this dude has been in the spotlight for the much-publicized circumstances of being a pregnant man, although there has been much discussion about the valid definitions of gender differences (I won’t get into those, and really they have no place here).  Regardless, the guy was pregnant, gave birth to a healthy girl, and according to reports, is pregnant again.

As the news spread about, word has started to circulate around me that this Beatie fellow bears a startling resemblance to yours truly.  I finally managed to score a glance at some images, which included the pregnancy, and I have to admit that, damn, I really DO look like this guy!  We seem to share a similar hairstyle, a similar chin-strap goatee and beard (complete with sparse growth; sometimes I wish I had a hairier face).  There are certain angles of view, certain expressions, that seriously appear to be a duplication of my spitting image.

The similarities apparently don’t end with just the appearance.  Reports indicate that Beatie grew up here, and we’re almost the same age.  I’m not that interested in digging much further to find out if we were elementary school classmates, though.  That’d be weird.

And of course, once people have noticed the similarity, comments have followed in regards to my own belly.  I am not naive to think I don’t have a rather expansive gut.  I am fully aware of the effects copious amounts of alcohol and sedentation have on the abdominal physique.  I just believe the inevitable progression of “so, when is it your turn?” will soon flood my in-box.

Hey, I have no problem with someone being pregnant, male or female.  I personally wouldn’t want to go through it, but I don’t have issues with someone who chooses to become so.

My thing is that I’ve been making snarky comments about my beer belly for way longer than this guy.  I’ve been saying things like, “I’m in the second trimester,” with no real knowledge of what a second trimester would look like, but with the full expectation (har) that I have a significantly-sized gut and that I can and will be made fun of.  If anything, this Beatie-chap needs to throw some credit my way as being the inspiration for his new good looks.  Anything, I guess, maybe even an obligatory, “I saw this guy in town, and I said to myself, ‘I want to look just like him!'”  That’d work.

Or maybe I’m just a trend-setter.

The extra-cool thing I can take from this series of coincidences is that, after seeing Beatie’s “before” photos, I’d be frickin’ hot if I were a woman.

One year after the events in this post, the UH Systems Darksiders took the field once again for the AUW softball tournament.  Almost the same rules as last year, with three-inning games, 10-run mercy rule, and 20-minute time limit.  This year, all teams were required to field a minimum of two women.  Some of us believe our team was responsible for this rule change, since last year we only had one woman, and she didn’t play all the games.

Maile came with me this year.  I think she’s my good luck charm.  At the stadium, we found a sticker on her jacket, with a number the same as on my team shirt.  We don’t know where she picked it up from as it was on her back, but we thought it was a strange and rather interesting coincidence.

Played against HCC in our first game. We won after three innings by a small margin, perhaps no more than a couple of runs.

Played against UH Manoa in the second.  This was another game won after three innings, but the we had to play from behind and rally in our last at-bat.  I was particularly lucky in this one; at bat, with two outs and runners on first and third, I lined to the third baseman.  I figured I was done, but the ball squirted out of his glove, I reached on an error, and the winning run scored.

Played against WCC in our third game.  This was a brutal game that lasted the full twenty minutes.  Thankfully we were ahead by a few runs at that point, but this game was another lucky break since we were on the field trying to stop their contact hitters.

Single!

Our three straight wins put us in the championship game.  Unlike last year, we would only need to beat the opposing team once to secure the victory.

Our opponent from the loser’s bracket was our first match-up, HCC.  They did what we did last year; fought their way through to earn a spot in the last game.  They definitely were looking for the upset, but did they have the legs?

We lost the first game on a controversial call.  Bottom of the third, down by one, two outs, bases loaded, I was up to bat.  I hit a weak grounder to the shortstop, and out of the corner of my eye I could see that the fielder wanted to get the force at second, but the baseman wasn’t there.  I hoped that delay would ensure that I beat out the throw.  It did!  My foot fell on the base, followed by the ball in the glove.

Unfortunately, the umpire didn’t see it that way.  I think he was just trying to make things interesting.  Besides, I had made a few mistakes whilst playing first (couldn’t stop some errant throws on the force-outs), and I think those undoubtedly put us in that position in the first place, so there was no reason to argue the call.  We had one more game.

Our team woke up in the second game.  We gave up four runs in the top of the first and only managed to score one during our at-bat.  However, in the second, our defense made no mistakes, and our bats came alive to score nine.  That’s how it would end after three as we held on and got the last remaining outs to secure the win.

Final game

As a team, we’re now back-to-back champions.  I heard through the grapevine that a lot of teams this year were pretty sore about losing to us, and had stepped up their practices to keep pace.  Now that we’ve won our second tournament, I’m pretty certain all the other teams will be gunning for us.

Or they’ll change the rules again.

Champions

A friend recently confessed her worry that she will not see any of her family and friends in Heaven.  This concerned her to the point of tears, that her father, her sister, her daughter, or her best friends will never meet up with her in the afterlife.  The reason for this dire fear was that according to what she is being taught, the only way to get into Heaven is to accept Jesus Christ as the Lord and Savior.

So how does one respond?  It is a very delicate area to be mucking about.  How do you comfort a person so distraught, yet not compromise your own personal beliefs, much less avoid shattering hers?

It is hubris to think that I have all the answers.  I do not have the perfect solution to this dilemma, nor do I have the wisdom and authority to aver that what I think is the right thing.  I only have what is in my heart, based on my limited experience with human behavior and interpersonal relations.

I told her that out of everything I have read or been told about this Jesus chap and his father is that they are filled with boundless love.  Jesus cured the Canaanite woman’s daughter, even though there was a bit of a conflict between the teachings of God and the Canaanite religious practices.  Jesus cast out Legion from the suffering man, even though the farmer who tended the pigs undoubtedly lost his source of income and livelihood.

The writings of the Bible indicate that God’s love is not reserved solely for those who follow its teachings, that no one is so far from God as to be beyond God’s heart.  Therefore it seems reasonable to believe that God would accept any and all creatures among the faithful in Heaven, regardless of their race, political affiliation, or religious practices.  Granted, it seems horrifying to think that monsters who murder children or exploit the safety of others purely for their own personal enjoyment or benefit get the grace of God’s love… but perhaps that is reflective of just how powerful God is.

God is described as perfect, and I do not doubt that.  Yet his word is given to us through the hand of Man, and man is fallible.  Man is not perfect, and it’s pretty obvious that the different interpretations of God’s word has given rise to the many divisions of Christianity.

So for a person to tell another that they can’t get into Heaven because they do not accept Jesus as the Lord and Savior, to me is not representative of God’s love.  In fact it seems that it the opposite of love; I’d go so far as to claim it is a bit of hate.  It is a hate that places a burden on someone’s shoulders, someone who is already suffering under a heavy load.  How can God’s love create fear, anxiety, and overwhelming sadness?  How can one find comfort in a God that heaps pain instead of peace?

I find it hard to agree with anyone who attempts to hold themselves in a moral superiority.  Practicing an all-exclusive path of love is nothing more than a smug assertion that you’re not going to Hell.  Telling people that their loved ones aren’t going to be in Heaven is only proclaiming your own self-righteousness.

I am not a Christian.  However, I do feel there are a lot of nice things about Christianity.  I agree with the mantras of good behavior, how to treat others well, how to have compassion.  I think a great many people in many different religions and walks of life practice the same levels of decent human behavior with their fellows.  I think there are many different paths of good behavior that is reflective of God’s love, and I think God is probably rather receptive of that.

I know that for someone who is learning about Christianity, it is difficult to remove yourself from your pastor’s teachings.  It may take months or years, or even a significant life event, to gain the ability to step back and re-interpret God’s word as something different than what the church says.

Yet perhaps with the acknowledgment that there may be many paths towards the same goal, comfort can still be attained without the sacrifice of faith in God and in humanity.  Perhaps through the reading of the Bible, listening to sermons, and talking with her friends and family, my friend can find solace by forming her own personal belief of God’s word, even if it is different than what she is being taught.  Perhaps she will find a way of loving those around her irrespective of their religious leanings or behavior.

And to me, that kind of acceptance and love is far more closer to God than the tallest spire.

From the MetaFilter: an old web site regarding Traffic Waves, the seemingly-inevitable occurrence of traffic congestion and possible suggestions for easing it.  I think it is a tremendously interesting read, and I might try to implement its practices in my own commutes.

I don’t know how well this will improve the traffic situation here, much less the attitudes of “everybody else,” but perhaps it will at least make me feel a bit better about being stuck in the daily ritual of bottlenecked bog-nostifications.

I think it’s high time I got a Nintendo DS of my very own.  I’ve been borrowing Maile’s for the past month or two.  At first it was to share the same game, but eventually I began to branch out and acquire media on my own.  Now we end up fighting for stylus-time during our respective down-times.

Not to mention, there’s always the old “porno in the VCR” risk whenever there are disparate interests in game genres.  What possible excuse can I have when she discovers the sordid tales of my amusements, all because I forgot to return the game to my secret stash?

I suppose the use of VCR dates me to a bygone era.  Obviously I am not all up-ons with the times.

* * *

Watched a spot of videos about a guy who dances all over the world, in particular the most recent of his accomplishments prominently aired in high-def (as high-def as a web video can get, anyway).

I don’t know why, but when I first saw the video for 2008, it made me tear up.  Like, literally, enough salty droppings to blur the lines between “Aw, that’s sweet” and uncontrollable “Blooob blooob blooob.”  I do know why and how this guy did it, but what I took from these videos was something different.

Perhaps it was my perception that despite the global conflicts, despite the wars and poverty and famine and fundamentalist propaganda that is prevalent in the news today, despite all the negativity and distrust and cynicism and ignorance and corruption and despair, despite all of that…

…there are regular schmoes around the world, the everyday people that walk the land and toil hard to eke out their small portion of existence, that can gather together as strangers and dance like complete morons.  They can dance a goofiness that is without language, without contempt, without judgment, without any of the psychological barriers that can make a person mean and nasty, and they can do it collectively and have actual fun.

Perhaps it is a reflection of what humanity could be, if we didn’t let all this stuff about status and power and fear get in the way.  Perhaps it is a hopeful dream.

That’s what I got out of the videos.  Your mileage may vary.

Fuck off, you’re making me tear up again.

* * *

ADDENDUM:  I miss Mr. Rogers.

I attended my high school’s alumni dinner.  It’s not quite a class reunion per se, but rather an aggregation of former students from the school’s storied past.  It is, from what I understand, an annual affair, drawing people from outside the state and from generations far removed from my realm of understanding.  I think this type of gathering is one of the few where a 1953 graduate can chat with a 2005 over drinks and food.

This was my first time attending such a function.  I had known of its existence from years past, but it was always the excuse of a prior commitment, or a lack of time, that publicly shielded my serious lack of desire in attending.  I don’t know why I felt that way, and I doubt I could put it properly into words.

Perhaps it was just a hesitation of “reliving” the moments of long ago.  I was not the most social of butterflies, nor was I the most gifted.  And high school generally was an awkward time of discovery, trying to learn what it took to be a person in this world, whilst living in relative shelter away from the stark realities of truth.  I think there isn’t a month or a year during my tenure at the high school where I was not a grade-A jerk, and those days still overwhelm me in a wash of embarrassment.

One of my coworkers at The Office convinced me to go.  He is also an alum from the same high school, though a bit older than me.  He made it sound fun, and perhaps this time I was more inclined to give it serious consideration. Perhaps, too, I was more mature in having accepted the actions of my past.  Plus I doubted that anyone in attendance would remember if I did anything bad to them.

The day came and Maile and I attended the alumni dinner.  It was terrific fun, and I met some former classmates who gave me the up-to-dates on other people.  I met some older and younger alumni, met some of the former teachers, and walked away with a bonus CD of music (coincidentally, my classmate’s).  There was a lot of food and drink, and despite the lack of air-conditioning or anything resembling a stiff breeze, the atmosphere was very comfortable.

What I found intriguing was that I could not remember anybody, except for a select few.  My classmates, I could definitely remember, and the former professors, but some of the other people were not anywhere near my radar.  Yet the intrigue was that they all remembered me.  Whether it was because of a past misdeed, they would not say.

Perhaps, it was because of a good deed.  Maybe my actions during the Time of Troubles weren’t so dishonorable.  Maybe I wasn’t that much of a jerk, maybe a grace-C jerk who had enough redemption that people could see the good inherent within.

Or maybe it was my name and year on that darn Hello sticker on my chest.

I’ll have to attend next year.  Maybe this time I’ll bring something.