I could give you several posts today, I am in a Chatty Cathy type mood. I am pretty excited still about something that happened earlier in the week, even though many of you will not care. During our baseball game Wednesday night my team turned a triple play. This is a rare baseball feat. It is the first I have seen in person. The play for the true cognoscenti was a 4-3-2. It began with a line drive to the second baseman (little HB) who whipped it to first to get that runner leaning off base then a rocket to home to get the runner from third who was tagging up. I have to tell you I nearly wet my pants. It made losing yet another game by one run almost worthwhile.
I am told insects have tiny brains, they are capable only of motor functions and survival thoughts. I disagree. Why else would the little juice filled bastards know exactly where to throw themselves at my windshield to get the most from their kamikaze attacks? Every time I get a big, slimy hit on a bug it is right where I look through the windshield. I have to spend the next hours looking at guts and gore. Windshield washer only spreads it around. Yesterday, one of these little insect splodytards made such a mess I had to pull over at the next exit to wash off the windshield at a gas station. I swear if there is reincarnation, those Islamic assholes either were, or will be, insects hurling themselves in useless self-destruction at any available piece of auto glass. It reminds me of the joke I tell my kids -- What is the last thing to go through a bugs mind when it hits your windshield? It's ass! Hah. Oh quit, you will repeat it before the day is out.
As I was doing my work thing this week I mused I used to travel to the Pacific Northwest, The Netherlands, Germany, The Carolinas and New York among other places on a regular basis. Now I go to Monon or Kendallville, and Anna and Rockford. I am home with my family more and I am not spending three or four nights a week staring at the art work on the wall of whatever hotel I am in. Life is good.
Today is my wife's birthday. I have to go and get her something. I have procrastinated because I have no idea what to get her. She already has me, I imagine all gifts pale in comparison. Anyway finances are tight so I will get her something (?!?) and a nice dinner, most likely. We have no ball games on her birthday, the first time in many years. She will be xx old this year. Hey, I am not as stupid as you think I am, peoples. I will not publish that info, even if she does not know about this mess of rambling incoherent half-formed thoughts and musings I call Fat in Indiana. Suffice it to say she will still be older than me.
The little one had all-star tryouts for baseball last night after our game. I am not coaching this year. He played very well. I believe, but I am not impartial, his starting spot is secure. He will move from second base, where he plays in the regular league to the outfield. He has become a good outfielder and at this age (he is 13) there is no longer the "put the crappy players in the outfield" stigma. As he points out, he sees more action than some of the infielders. The team made it to the Regionals last year (5 state championship, one round short of the World Series) and look good again this year. Of course there is always the angst and worry he will not make the team, especially since the manager and I had a falling out last fall -- the reason I was not asked back to help coach. We can only hope that he does not take out his frustrations with me on my kid. That would be a pretty shallow asshole. My son already has to fight the fact his Father and Grandfather did not play baseball here. Welcome to Small Town, John Mellencamp.