Actually, "Dyngus Day" is a Polish tradition, or so I've been told, so I should call this post "Dopus" or "Doofus," or just "idiocy."
My Chicago Cubs should no longer be mine, because they offer no love back. They have the second-worst record in baseball, despite having one of the highest payrolls. They have an okay batting average, unless it's in an important situation, and that's where they fail to deliver. Their starting pitching has been a travesty all year. They are one of the slowest teams in baseball; they have the worst defense in baseball. Their pitchers walk more than any team; their hitters take fewer walks than any team.
And yet, they are refusing to make any moves. As if they are happy with their current club. Seriously. Gm Jim Hendry claims that practically everyone on the team is a "keeper." There's rumor that the Cubs are deliberately keeping anyone, so that they look "Competitive" to Prince Fielder in hopes of signing him as a free agent next year. This team is competitive? Only the Astros have a worse record, and they just traded two of their best players for some nice prospects.
We all know about their history of not wining the World Series, let alone the pennant, so I won't rehash that here. All I know is that the organization has so many things to change, and I don't see how they'll ever do it. The easier thing to do would be for me to change allegiances.
So I'm trying. It'll be hard not to have a vested interest in the Cubs, so I won't give them up completely. And I won't allow myself to just pick a perennial winner, or hop on a bandwagon.
I think I'll pick the Nationals. This is an easy move for me, even though they're in a tough division. They play where I lived for six years. They have a great stadium. They have Stephen Strasburg and Bryce Harper. That makes sense to me. A Nats fan I will start to be.
For the American League, I think I like the Royals, because they're always behind as a very small-market team, but their farm system is loaded. They also have a great park and there's something about the blue of their uniforms that's even more appealing than what the Cubs offer. I suppose if I wear a Royals cap, I might look a little bit like a gangster. Already have a Nats cap somewhere.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Old low, new high
I was really feeling lousy today. And no, I don't wish to write about it. So I went bowling, deciding to be clinical about it, creating a table and writing down where I was setting up, what board I tried to hit, where it went, and where the ball then hit the pins. I did this for two games, and it helped me concentrate and see the cause and effect of what I've been doing.
I've also found that, keeping the ball lifted with my wrist, having a straight arm, starting my backswing between the second and third step, and holding the ball at a 45-degree angle (facing neither the alley nor the side of my body) the entire time, I was able to get a consistent roll and a consistent placement.
Consequently, I bowled a new high score: 211. It had been a while since I cracked the 200 mark. This one, like all of my other 200+ games, started strongly after a less-than-ideal first frame and weakened at the end.
7/ X X X X X 7/ 8/ 90 S71. I had no shot at converting the 4-6-10 split in the tenth, but the standing five-pin in the ninth killed me. My ball curved just enough to miss it to the left.
I got into the groove of standing just behind the dots, my right big toe at the 22nd board on the left lane and the 23rd board on the right. Dave has been helping me notice the difference between each lane. In tournaments, different lanes will be intentionally oiled differently, forcing the bowler to adjust. Golfers have to deal with the wind; bowlers must account for the oil. It will even change as the game progresses. And I notice that the ball was hooking a little less on the left lane for my final game (the one after my 211, which wasn't a league game), so I went right another board and it worked well.
During my three-game series, I averaged 8.7 pins per first ball. That's HUGE for me. I have to hit that head pin well with every first ball, and I was able to do that today better than ever. I also converted two tricky splits in my second league game, which happened to be my worst game of the day: a 6-7-10 and a 3-7.
Of the six games, my low was a 148. Overall, it was my second-best day so far, as I averaged 166. (I averaged 177 for six games once before.) Every one of these games was better than each game yesterday, when I took on my brother Don in a little two-game match. Don often bowls under 100 with his current ball, though his lifetime best is 199. (Oh, for that extra pin.) The first game, we actually tied at 132. The second game, he finished with a 144, and I needed eight pins with my last ball to tie and nine to win. I missed the pocket for what seemed like the 90th time that day, giving me a 142.
Don beat me fair and square. As upset as I was for my poor performance, I did get a kick out of Don rising to the challenge and succeeding. Most 43-year-old autistic men who are obese, diabetic and partially deaf usually don't do that very often. Well done, brother. But I'll get you next time.
I've also found that, keeping the ball lifted with my wrist, having a straight arm, starting my backswing between the second and third step, and holding the ball at a 45-degree angle (facing neither the alley nor the side of my body) the entire time, I was able to get a consistent roll and a consistent placement.
Consequently, I bowled a new high score: 211. It had been a while since I cracked the 200 mark. This one, like all of my other 200+ games, started strongly after a less-than-ideal first frame and weakened at the end.
7/ X X X X X 7/ 8/ 90 S71. I had no shot at converting the 4-6-10 split in the tenth, but the standing five-pin in the ninth killed me. My ball curved just enough to miss it to the left.
I got into the groove of standing just behind the dots, my right big toe at the 22nd board on the left lane and the 23rd board on the right. Dave has been helping me notice the difference between each lane. In tournaments, different lanes will be intentionally oiled differently, forcing the bowler to adjust. Golfers have to deal with the wind; bowlers must account for the oil. It will even change as the game progresses. And I notice that the ball was hooking a little less on the left lane for my final game (the one after my 211, which wasn't a league game), so I went right another board and it worked well.
During my three-game series, I averaged 8.7 pins per first ball. That's HUGE for me. I have to hit that head pin well with every first ball, and I was able to do that today better than ever. I also converted two tricky splits in my second league game, which happened to be my worst game of the day: a 6-7-10 and a 3-7.
Of the six games, my low was a 148. Overall, it was my second-best day so far, as I averaged 166. (I averaged 177 for six games once before.) Every one of these games was better than each game yesterday, when I took on my brother Don in a little two-game match. Don often bowls under 100 with his current ball, though his lifetime best is 199. (Oh, for that extra pin.) The first game, we actually tied at 132. The second game, he finished with a 144, and I needed eight pins with my last ball to tie and nine to win. I missed the pocket for what seemed like the 90th time that day, giving me a 142.
Don beat me fair and square. As upset as I was for my poor performance, I did get a kick out of Don rising to the challenge and succeeding. Most 43-year-old autistic men who are obese, diabetic and partially deaf usually don't do that very often. Well done, brother. But I'll get you next time.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
inertia
I can't do anything. I don't mean that I have no talent; actually, I think I've got a lot of that. But there's so little drive. No motivation.
What's worse is that, when I was younger and hated something that I perceived to be wrong, I would get very angry about it and think about how I could fix it. Sometimes I'd try to fix it. There wasn't a lot of success, but at least I tried. Now, not only do I not try, I don't even get angry. I can't even force myself to scream anymore.
My parents' jukebox, smelling of cigarette smoke, now sits in my basement. A repairman is coming tomorrow, though the problem has fixed itself. Still, I want him to come to tune-up the machine, and more importantly, come up with a way of playing an iPod through it.
As long as this house call doesn't cost too much money, that is. Since I'm not bringing in anything, it's pathetic for me to spend a lot of money.
I really, really, really hate that I'm nearly 40. I know that most people my age haven't accomplished that much more than me - my z-score is likely between -1 and +1, and probably a positive number - but I find ways to let my situation get me down anyway.
I'm genuinely tired of bringing myself down. What other people my age have accomplished should not affect my emotions, as it has no effect on what I can still make of this life. Steve Carlson's very successful and is married with kids. He has everything I want, but lack. And he was the world's biggest asshole to me. My childhood was scarred because of him. I never stood up for myself. Why didn't I? Why didn't I get help?
Would things have been different if my older brother wasn't autistic? If my father wasn't wrestling with his own alcoholism? If my mother was offering guidance and instilling self-confidence, instead of sheltering me so?
Man, I'm so tired of the nostalgia. I remember so many moments from my youth, moments that no one remembers. And they don't remember them because they're not important. They happened a very long time ago, and they have since moved on and are living the current lives to the fullest. They are in the moment.
I've recently heard that those in the moment are happiest. I guess this is true for me, on the rare occasions when I'm involved in a task. Like the development of my band's website: http://tedfromaccounting.org. It was not a good site at first, but Paulito got it going and had little time to maintain it. I worked very hard to get it respectable, and I'm actually proud of the way it looks.
As long as I'm happy in my work, it will be a good life. And once I get motivated, I'll start trying to determine how to be happy in my work. As much as I like interacting with people, I don't do well with them at times and should probably have a quieter profession. My social skills lack. Even my "Discover What You're Best At" book agreed, marking me extremely high on half of the attributes but below average socially. Heck, I can't even look people in the eyes most of the time. It's not natural; I have to constantly force myself to do it.
Being an actuary won't necessarily make me happy, but accomplishing the goal of becoming one will. Being able to provide for my wife and hopeful child will make me very happy. The only person bringing me down is me. If it wasn't Steve Carlson, it would be somebody else to act as the symbol of my own insecurities and self-abuse.
What's worse is that, when I was younger and hated something that I perceived to be wrong, I would get very angry about it and think about how I could fix it. Sometimes I'd try to fix it. There wasn't a lot of success, but at least I tried. Now, not only do I not try, I don't even get angry. I can't even force myself to scream anymore.
My parents' jukebox, smelling of cigarette smoke, now sits in my basement. A repairman is coming tomorrow, though the problem has fixed itself. Still, I want him to come to tune-up the machine, and more importantly, come up with a way of playing an iPod through it.
As long as this house call doesn't cost too much money, that is. Since I'm not bringing in anything, it's pathetic for me to spend a lot of money.
I really, really, really hate that I'm nearly 40. I know that most people my age haven't accomplished that much more than me - my z-score is likely between -1 and +1, and probably a positive number - but I find ways to let my situation get me down anyway.
I'm genuinely tired of bringing myself down. What other people my age have accomplished should not affect my emotions, as it has no effect on what I can still make of this life. Steve Carlson's very successful and is married with kids. He has everything I want, but lack. And he was the world's biggest asshole to me. My childhood was scarred because of him. I never stood up for myself. Why didn't I? Why didn't I get help?
Would things have been different if my older brother wasn't autistic? If my father wasn't wrestling with his own alcoholism? If my mother was offering guidance and instilling self-confidence, instead of sheltering me so?
Man, I'm so tired of the nostalgia. I remember so many moments from my youth, moments that no one remembers. And they don't remember them because they're not important. They happened a very long time ago, and they have since moved on and are living the current lives to the fullest. They are in the moment.
I've recently heard that those in the moment are happiest. I guess this is true for me, on the rare occasions when I'm involved in a task. Like the development of my band's website: http://tedfromaccounting.org. It was not a good site at first, but Paulito got it going and had little time to maintain it. I worked very hard to get it respectable, and I'm actually proud of the way it looks.
As long as I'm happy in my work, it will be a good life. And once I get motivated, I'll start trying to determine how to be happy in my work. As much as I like interacting with people, I don't do well with them at times and should probably have a quieter profession. My social skills lack. Even my "Discover What You're Best At" book agreed, marking me extremely high on half of the attributes but below average socially. Heck, I can't even look people in the eyes most of the time. It's not natural; I have to constantly force myself to do it.
Being an actuary won't necessarily make me happy, but accomplishing the goal of becoming one will. Being able to provide for my wife and hopeful child will make me very happy. The only person bringing me down is me. If it wasn't Steve Carlson, it would be somebody else to act as the symbol of my own insecurities and self-abuse.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)