(A Long Awaited) Weekly Music Update

I’m feelin’ music from the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s this week. Lots of fun songs, and lots of Elvis.

1.) Wild World - Cat Stevens

2.) Helter Skelter - The Beatles

3.) Suspcious Minds - Elvis Presley

4.) A Little Less Conversation - Elvis Presley

5.) Jailhouse Rock - Again, Elvis Presley

6.) Tragedy - Beegees

7.) Signed, Sealed, Delivered - Stevie Wonder

8.) You Don’t Own Me - Lesley Gore

9.)Wild Thing - The Kinks

10.) Maybe I’m Amazed - Paul McCartney

A quick update…

I went to a Tribe game the other day. It was a magical experience. Not because I had good seats - I was in the third from the last row, at the very top of the stadium. And not because the trip went off without a hitch - I had beer spilt on me by some random drunken dude sitting behind me, I had his kid kicking the crap out of the back of my seat and sticking Sour Patch Kids in my hair, and there was the slight problem of my companion getting a nosebleed from the altitude…

But it was magical.

I got there late; the whole trip was up in the air until the last minute due to the impending storm that the weather blokes were warning about, the same storm that never actually made it to Cleveland…. But I digress.

I got there, bought my ticket, my mate Maryann (the one engaged to the old pervert) and I headed up into the (quite literally) nosebleed seats. The moment I sat down, I recognized strains of Ryan Garko’s at-bat song playing over the sound of the crowd. And there he was, strutting to the plate, wearing the high-socks which had been, for weeks, collecting dust in his locker. I was shvitzing. So, he gets up to the plate, and woosh! On the first pitch, he hit’s a base-clearing, three-run double. It just set the tone for the whole game. It was fabulous.

In other news, I went to the zoo. Yes, the zoo as in an actual zoo. I am quite possibly the oldest child on the face of the earth. But that’s not the point. The point is, there’s this thing called the “Australian Adventure” at the Cleveland Metroparks Zoo. I, of course, was thinking of Joders the whole time I was walking amongst the kangaroos and koalas. But I came upon this fense, this fense and broke out laughing. In the middle of a crowded place, I just started giggling madly and didn’t stop until there were tears rolling down my cheeks. The people around me thought I was nuts, but who gives a crap? It’s just too good. We need one of these, ladies. Build one all around Orli.

Be Careful What You Wish For….

I got the job. The only problem is, I think I hate it.

URGH!

For all my whining and carrying on, being jobless might be better than doing this paricular job. I’m not sure about that, and since I can’t make a decision for myself, I need some input. What would you do?

Good points:

The job is mine. I landed it. That’s a plus.

The job isn’t unmanagably far from home.

When you get a paycheck, it’s almost guarenteed to be a decent one.

My boss is nice. And friendly. And professional. Fine, he’s a complete fox, too.

I’d be doing something that involves learning. I could then use those learned skills to further my career doing something I, y’know, WANT to do.

Now for the bad points.

It’s totally comission based. If I can’t get a single family, couple or person to buy the product, I don’t get paid. I only get paid when I make a sale, so I could go all month, or God forbid, two or three months without a sale.

Like I said, the job isn’t completely far from home, but I use 1/8 of a tank getting there and the same getting back. That’s a big ‘ole chunk of change when I don’t have a steady paycheck.

I’d be working in finance, so I’d have to get certified. According to the Cutie Boss Man, that involves $100 out of pocket, two weekend courses and three exams. That this is all before I start work, so I won’t be working or attempting to generate some income for at least three weeks.

This office is out in the boonies. It’s the crudiest, grungiest place imaginable. I can’t believe a professional company has an office there. All the furniture is broken down and clapped out. It’s kind of pathetic.

So. That’s my dilemma. Kind of sucky, right?

Will Work For… Well, Anything.

As I mentioned in my previous post (for which I sincerely apologize-I was sleep deprived and coming off a baseball high when I wrote it), I have a job interview today. The job search thus far hasn’t been fruitful - I’ve been on a few interviews, but none have resulted in me being offered a paycheck… I mean, a position, with any company. People hear “high-school graduate” and immediately picture some random teenage blond, gabbing on her cellphone and using the words “like” and “omigod” in every other sentence. (I realized I myself OMGed many times in my post last night - I stick to my sleep deprivation defense.) These employers see some loser kid who barely scraped through high-school, without even looking at the education portion of my resume which has that nice sparkly 3.8 GPA printed on it in bold, and immediately give me the old “Don’t call us, we’ll call you” shpeel.

I am a good worker. I know I don’t have much experience, but people who know me know that I work hard. I practically schooled myself for the last four years, God damn it! If that isn’t dedication, I don’t know what is.

It isn’t as if I don’t have the skills I need to succeed in one of these office jobs I’m applying for. I’m a computer whiz kid, I can type over 80 words per minute and I can answer a bloody telephone. Oh, and I can alphabetize files. Just because I don’t have a fucking degree in it, I’m not considered suitable for the position.

But, I digress. About this job interview today - I really hope I land this one. It’s my dream job, the opportunity of a lifetime….

Pfft!

Okay, I’ll be straight with you, because you’re my posse and all. This is not my dream job, not even close to being my dream job. It’s doing some secretarial shit in the finance department of a subsidiary of this big, national corporation. It ain’t rocket science, but it would be a paycheck. And seeing how I’m stuck with seven dollars in my account, a third of a tank of gas and still no ticket to see The Dark Knight on the 19^th, a regular paycheck is sounding pretty damned good right now.

I’m Baaaack!

And to (slowly) ease my way back into the blogsphere, I come bearing a baseball post with no real baseball chatter. Nothing of substance. Completely stat free. Rejoice, ladies. Rejoice.

The first game of the All Star series was played tonight. Is it just me, or is it really, really freakin’ weird to see a bunch of Red Sox meandering around the Yankees dugout? Watching Dustin Pedroia chat up Derek Jeter was most unsettling. Wanda, back me up here. It’s just unnatural.

In related news, I cheered for a Red Sox player tonight. J.D Drew hit a two run homer to tie up the game in the fifth (or seventh, or whatever) and I cheered. I immediately felt dirty. It’s no good, man. I can’t do it. I mean, the mere sight of Jonathan Paplebon made me emit a sound even I’ve only heard coming from an angry mountain lion. It’s no good.

For those of you who don’t give a flying fig about the All Star game, let me just say that you’re missing a great opportunity to size up some very fine looking players. I must say, and I’m honestly not being biased (okay, I am, but only a little), that Grady Sizemore is the finest guy on either team. He is just beyond cute, and have I stressed enough that I loathe you lot for turning me into a fan. But besides him, I’ve discovered Justin Morneau (on the right), a.k.a OMGshLookitHisEyes and Joe Mauer, a.k.a OMGshTheOtherCuteTwinsGuy and OoohLookitHisPertyLips, and that’s just on the American League team. There’s also Ryan Braun, Chase Utley and Dan Uggla (who’s cute in the way Ryan Garko is cute, in the awkward, odd, kind of stocky-looking-but-he-really-isn’t kind of way). They’re all at least kind of cute, not nessairly in the pics, but they’re all totally charming on T.V. No, seriously!

Oh, and on a related note, I’ve kind of got a gigantic crush on the tattooed born-again Christian. Not the kind of OMG-he’s-so-perty kind of crush, but the my-heart-grows-three-sizes-when-I-see-him[-to-quote-Unlovablehands] kind of crush.

Meanwhile, my beloved Clifton (Lee, Indians ace pitcher) played all of three innings tonight. Three beautiful innings, and it was terrible that he couldn’t play more because of the stupid All Star rules. Stupid rules.

Anyway, the American League (AL) won the game this evening. It ran 15 innings, and over five hours. FIVE HOURS. I got mentally exhausted by just watching the damn thing. But, I’ve learned a valuable lesson. It’s totally worth it to watch a 15 inning game just to see the manlove that reigns over the winning team’s players immediately after. The dogpile on the field induces a giddy feeling in any viewer. Seeing Carlos Quentin lift Justin Morneau into the air made me squee a little. Watching Grady bounce around with this odd, patchwork group of fantastic players was quite possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. He looked so dang happy, ya’ll.

Oh, and I know why the AL won. I KNOW, people. It’s because I put on the Rally Shorts. Yup. That’s got to be the reason. Screw talent, it’s the RALLY SHORTS. What are Rally Shorts, you ask? Well, I’m sure you know all about Rally Caps, but these, these are Rally Shorts. They are mine, they are fabulous and magical and I love them.

In completely unrelated news, I’m totally tired of seeing Derek Jeter’s ugly mug. *ducks heavy metal objects being throw in my direct* Sorry, Wanda. I had to say it. Every time they focus on Jeter, I’m sitting there wondering why. Is it that important to see his expression during the National Anthem? Do we really need to watch him watch a home run? Must we watch him do God knows what in the dugout when ever the action on the field lulls? Com’on, people. There are other guys out there.

In closing, and I know I’ve jumped all around in this post and you’ll have to forgive me, you’ll HAVE to, because I just watched five hours of baseball and am kind loopy, I’ve just gotta say that I’m so, so, so freakin’ proud of my boys, ya’ll. SO PROUD. Cliff was spectacular, and Grady continues to be awe-inspiring. It’s so cool to see them up there with the A-Rods and the Quentins of the world, holding their own, kicking ass and taking names. I am just bursting with pride, here. They’re my boys, and I love them dearly.

Now I’m off to bed. I have an interview tomorrow and I need to look like I didn’t just spend half the night sitting unblinking in front of the television set. Wish me luck, ladies. I’ll need it!

Missing Person

The woman known simply as “Cait”, age 18, has vanished from her Cleveland home. She been missing since July 3rd.Last seen in the vicinity of Carnegie and Ontario streets in downtown Cleveland, Cait was seen skulking towards the Cleveland Indians’ player’s parking lot after the game on July 12th. According to reports, she was muttering to herself about mean bloggers turning her into a Grady Sizemore fan. Reports also say that she was wearing a Travis Hafner jersey. This is quite curious, as the man commonly known as “Pronk” has been missing since 2006. Authorities are looking into a possible connection between the two cases, but as of yet, have not found one.

An earlier report puts her a showing of the movie Hancock at her local cinaplex, talking loudly to herself about how the movie was “fine and all, but [she] might as well have saved the money to see The Dark Knight“. As she was apparently quite excited about the new film at the time of her disappearance, there have been look outs placed at many of the theaters in the greater Cleveland area for the July 19^th opening.

Another report puts Cait at a job fair, from which she was seen being forcibly removed from by security guards. She was dragged, kicking and cussing, from the exhibition center.

“I dunno,” one onlooker commented, when asked what she was so upset about, “I guess no one would hire her because she didn’t have a college degree. Not in anything in particular, just a degree. She was going on about how as long as you had a degree, whether it was in Uzbekistanian History or Pastry Arts, you could get a job in an office, but if you just had your diploma, you were fuc…. erm… you couldn’t be considered.”

A reward in the amount of $1.50 has been offered for the safe return of this young woman. If you see a large, rather homely creature wandering the streets of Cleveland, looking dazed and disoriented, wearing a baseball cap and an AC/DC tee shirt, be sure to contact local authorities.

This just in: another sighting was just reported, and alleges that Cait is in fact in her own home, and was seen sitting in front of the television, cheering for a tattooed former heroin addict turned born-again Christian in the Home Run Derby, which was held at Yankee Stadium this past evening. This report is unconfirmed and widely considered a hoax, as it’s well known that Cait has strict rules about cheering on anyone not wearing a Wahoo.

 

Just… Stuff.

Gah! I miss blogging. Having feedback from you fabulous slags on all my day-to-day bullshit makes me feel a little less alone in the world.

First order of business is that I quit my job. Well, I dunno if I can call it “my job”, because the only day I spent on it was my orientation day. I spent all of the following weekend recuperating and quit on Monday. During my short time there, I raised all of eight dollars for the cause I was working for. Oh, and the salary is based on how well you do; you earn $150 a day, $750 a week and get a pretty paycheck. You don’t reach that, you get paid half of what you earned. So, if I worked six days a week, earning eight –hey, let’s round it to ten– dollars a day, I would’ve gotten a paycheck for sixty bucks. Wow! That would ALMOST cover a month’s worth of train passes to get me to the freakin’ job.

Oh, and I kind of wanted to beat my co-worker’s faces in. That could just be stress talking, but my boss was the most loathsome woman on the face of the earth, and the dude I observed with was a hypocrite of mammoth proportions. “Save the earth” my ass. When he drops the keys to his freakin’ Suburban I’ll start believing what he’s preaching.

Second order of business: The Indians’ season is over. Well, not officially over until September, but for all intents and purposes, we’re through. 12.5 games out of first place, having just been swept by the MF’ing White Sox, and on our way to play the 18-21 Twins? Nope, our goose is cooked. The former American League Central champs are done for in the beginning of July. What. The FUCK. Just. Happened?

*sigh* It will only be a matter of days until we’ll be watching C.C Sabathia try on his new pinstripes. If we’re lucky, we’ll have a few more weeks before Clevelanders have to wave goodbye to Casey Blake, Franklin Gutierrez, David Dellucci and, well, any other player whose contract isn’t nailed down.

I hear there are stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance… does this sound familiar to anyone?

For me, denial was “No way! They’ll come back. They’ll sweep the Sox, sweep the Twins, sweep the Rays and be right back in it! Com’on, this is the same team from last year. They can do it!”.

Anger was “Fire Eric Wedge. And Mark Shapiro. And Travis Hafner. Definitely Travis Hafner! Bloody coward. Fire the owner for God’s sake, just fire someone! Heads need to roll for his. I want Shin Soo Choo on a spit. I want Wedge tarred and feathered. I want Dellucci’s head on a platter. I want Garko on a platter, too. I mean, heh, y’know.”

Bargaining was “Oh please, please, please let them win. I’ll do anything. Please! I’ll stop perving over Garko. Okay, no I won’t, but I’ll stop perving over Grady! Honestly! I will, I really, really will. Just let them get back into the running for the championship and I’ll do anything you want me t…. oh, hey, lookit Grady! Ooh, look at those thighs… oh, how I’d like to be… eh… ahem… where was I? Oh, right. PLEASE!”

Depression was “Fuck it all. I don’t fucking care. Fuck them! Those fuckers. How could they fucking do this to me?! I can’t eat, I can’t sleep… okay, I lied. All I want to do is eat and sleep. They did this to me! BASTARDS!”

I think I’m finally at acceptance. “Another loss. Again. Wow. It’s really over, isn’t it? Hmm… okay. Whatever. I wonder what spring training will be like in the new park down in Arizona? Maybe I’ll check on airfare, book early, and get a jump on next season….”

Third point: Dudes, frozen gummy worms are like God’s gift to tastebuds. They’re fan-freakin’-tastic. I’m such an overgrown kid, but seriously, they’re the best shit ever. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been on a diet for a week and a half, cuz’ it’s been one of those diets, those “I’m going on a strict diet tomorrow… oh, dude, bratwurst! No, seriously, tomorrow, I’ll throw all this fattening shit out… Ooh, mac ‘n cheese! But seriously, tomorrow, I’ll get it done… Mmm, frozen gummy worms!”

Fourth point: I rewatched the Grey’s Anatomy season finale. Are there any Grey’s fans ‘round here? Does anyone else think Derek is going to bit the bullet or something? The whole “I’ll be back. Wait for me.” thing struck me as ominous. And the whole Hahn/Torres kiss totally threw me off. Where did that come from? Did the writers just say “Hey, you know, we’ve never really lived down the whole Isaiah Washington “fag” thing, so let’s add more gay love to the show. Think that will help ratings?” And it isn’t as if they could’ve added another character for either Hahn or Torres to fall in love with, nooo. They have to keep recycling the relationships they use now. I’ve lost track of who’s done who. Who is McSteamy fucking this week? Okay, now, which one had a fling with Alex? And he’s sleeping with Izzie? But wasn’t she with George? But wait, I thought he was married to Torres in the first place? But now she’s all touchy-feely with Hahn, who had a thing for Alex, right? Or was that the other chick, the redhead? The one with her own new show? Addison! But she’s Derek’s ex, who was sleeping with Meredith, and now kind of is again, except now there’s Rose, too….

Fifth point: I got pulled over on the highway today. Apparently I was going a tad bit over the speed limit… somethin’ like 16 miles an hour over, but whatever. The officer who caught me was quite possibly the finest guy to ever sport a police uniform. He had Gael Garcia Bernal’s eyes and Mario Lopez’s dimples. I nearly fell out of the driver’s seat (which didn’t do much for the “honestly, officer, I’m not drunk!” plea). He asked me if I knew how fast I was going, if I knew the speed limit and if I was familiar with the area (which apparently counts for something). He then proceeded to make fun of me for my choice of music (hey, I can’t help it if Dimelo is a catchy song!). He looked at the radio, looked at me, then back to the radio. “Enrique Iglesias?” he asked, his eyebrows arched. “Seriously?” I turned about sixteen shades of red. It’s a guilty pleasure!

Why am I telling you this? I just feel the need to share this little fact: if he hadn’t been, y’know, completely out of my league, I totally would’ve faked like I had drugs hidden on me and would’ve had to have been frisked.

 

Sixth, best and final point: I’ve been tagged again, by the fabulous Ali-ers!

Here’s the rules: List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re not any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now, shaping your summer (winter). Post these instructions in your blog along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they’re listening to.

 

 

1. Fake It - Seether

2. Dimelo - Enrique Iglesias

3. Eleanor Rigby - The Beatles

4. Blitzkreig Bop - The Ramones

5. It’s Raining Men - Weather Girls

6. Life is Beautiful - Sixx a.m

7. In the Year 2525 - Zager and Evans

My seven people will be… well, who here hasn’t been tagged? Help a poor, unemployed, disheartened slag out and suggest some names, will ya? Please?

Update

I got the job. I would’ve posted sooner, but I’ve been, y’know, recoperating from my “1.5 - 2 mile” jaunt around Cleveland. Now, just to be clear, when they said “1.5 - 2 miles”, they mean a 1.5 - 2 square mile radius, or 1.5 (let’s just say 2) miles up one side of the road, and two down the other side, plus another two or three miles going up and down about 100 driveways, whilst being chased by dogs and angry Republicans. Without being able to take a break. For six hours. Power-walking. I work from 1pm to 10-11pm, and six+ hours of that is “out in the field”. I end up getting home, after the train and car rides, at about midnight.

I. Am. Miserable. And I haven’t even been in for my first official day yet. *facepalm*

Oh, and the people I work with are psychotic. Not just kind of psychotic, but sincerely, 100% NUTS. They’re a bunch of carnivore-hating, vegan-eating, bohemian-dressing, “reduce cancer-causing emissions” preaching, CIGARETTE-SMOKING hypocrites.

And seriously? The leaders of our little pack made more money in a week than some people do in a month, and they go around “oh, well I’M bohemian so I know everything about how to live green”. These people need to learn the meaning of the word “bohemian”.

And I quote:

“In modern usage, the term “bohemian” can describe any person who lives an unconventional artistic life, where self-expression is their highest value; art (acting, poetry, writing, singing, dancing, painting, etc.) is a serious, if not central, part of their life. Historically, Bohemians were also known for forsaking things of monetary value to live a penniless life.”

I mean, hello? Have these people never seen Moulin Rouge?

M.I.A

I just realized how lax I’ve been about doing any actual posting around here (y’know, about things OTHER than baseball). I’ve also been absent from most of my favorite slag’s blogs, and that makes me sad.

I’m trying to get a job with an environmental activism committee in Cleveland, and am jumping through about a million hoops to land the position - that being the coveted role of canvasser. Yeah, I’m going to be walking around Cleveland, knocking on people’s doors from 2-8pm, harassing them about living ‘green’. And hey, with my luck, they’ll stick me in the Hough area.

Meanwhile, I’m calculating how much a month I’ll need in train fare (because I live so far out in the boondocks I’ll need to commute on a friggin’ train to get into the city), how much gas I’ll need to get me to the train station (again, because I’m out in podunk and even getting to the station is going to use more gas than I ever have getting to ANY job) and how long it will be before I start badgering the wrong person about cleaning up the steel factory and they take a pick-axe to my Carotid artery.

Fear not, I’ll be back… sometime…. hopefully…..

 

The Second Coming

a.k.a WELCOME HOME, OMAR!!

Now, I know most of you don’t give a rat’s tutu about the Indians, or baseball in general (when it doesn’t have to do with Grady, of course. ), but I am so elated I have to share this with the blogging community.

In 1994, the Indians signed a little known Venezuelan short stop named Omar Vizquel. The Indians thought he showed a bit of promise, and decided to give him a go on their major league team. Little did they know exactly what kind of a player they had on their hands.

For the next ten years, Omar wowed us here in Cleveland. He became part of the community, and we loved him; the feeling was entirely mutual. He was a superstar, both on and off the field, and he would become one of the greatest shortstops ever (that’s coming from the MLB, not just me!), and yet he would still walk around downtown and say hi to people on the street, sign autographs and generally be a sweetheart. Omar was a part of the 1995-1998 teams that would blow us out of the water, and for the first time in a long time, put Cleveland on the map of Great Baseball Cities in the US. His time with us will always be known as The Golden Days, and even though he left in 2004, the parting was amiable (if not tearful) and he’s still in the heart of every Clevelander.

His former teammates have come and gone, and no part of those great mid-late nineties teams still exist here in Cleveland, except of course the manager, but we don’t count him.

There was Manny Ramirez, who played with Omar, and who is now -of course- with the Boston Red Sox, and still the biggest asshole on the face of the earth (only now he’s found kindred spirits with the rest of the Red Sox). The phrase “Manny Being Manny” was coined here, and trust me, back then, everyone knew that “Manny Being Manny” was code for “Manny Being a Prick”. (Legend has it, he was too careless with his paychecks; there’s allegedly a check for two million dollars floating around in the park somewhere with Manny’s name on it.) Indians fans now hate him.

Jim Thome, another former Indian who played with Omar, is quite possibly the Most Hated Man in Indians history (with the exception of Carl Mays, the Yankee who killed Ray Chapman). Thome was a bullshit artist, not to mention a sellout of massive proportions. Let’s just say the next game Gimme Gimme Jimmy played in Cleveland after ditching us, the fans were out for blood. I’ve never heard such a loud, obscene crowd. Need I say this? Indians fans now hate him.

But, I digress.

Omar Vizquel has always held a special place in our hearts, mine especially. He played at the very first game I attended, and I know you lot already know the story, but he was my favorite player back then, and it broke my heart when he left.

Since 2004, he’s played with various clubs (and had various health problems) but this year, today actually, with the San Francisco Giants, is the first time he’s been back since 2004.

When he took the field this evening, the crowd game him a long, standing ovation. He had a hard time holding back a smile. Fans waved signs saying things like “Welcome home, Omar! We missed you!” and “We still love you, Omar!”. I was giddy as I watched on T.V, wishing I could’ve been there in person to scream and holler with the other 30,000 or so people in those stands.

I know, I know. Fine, I’ll get to the point!

I just wanted to take a minute (okay, more like ten minutes) to dedicate a little something to the best shortstop in the MLB, and remember all the good times he showed us Clevelanders.

We love ya, Omar! Always have, always will. Welcome home!

(^Here’s a funny little clip of our beloved Omar after the 1995 win. *squee*)

ETA:

Even li’l ole’ ladies love Omar.