On The Felt

Funny new little parenting blog - check it out.

Sort of like George Lucas, despite it being a terrible, terrible idea . . .  I just can't seem to leave this thing alone.

But nonetheless . . . I had to revive this little slog, at least temporarily, because I've been thinking a lot about baseball lately - I'm in New York this week and trying desperately to get in to see the old Yankee Stadium before she's gone forever.

Anyway, watching ball games always makes me think about Annie's (Susan Sarandon's) opening speech in Bull Durham about the Church of Baseball.

It wouldn't make any sense to most people, but to baseball's faithful, it's one of the best openings in film:

"I believe in the Church of Baseball.

I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology.

You see, there's no guilt in baseball, and it's never boring... which makes it like sex. There's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career. Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate. Besides, I'd never sleep with a player hitting under .250... not unless he had a lot of RBIs and was a great glove man up the middle.

You see, there's a certain amount of life wisdom I give these boys. I can expand their minds. Sometimes when I've got a ballplayer alone, I'll just read Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman to him, and the guys are so sweet, they always stay and listen. 'Course, a guy'll listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay.

I make them feel confident, and they make me feel safe, and pretty. 'Course, what I give them lasts a lifetime; what they give me lasts 142 games. Sometimes it seems like a bad trade. But bad trades are part of baseball - now who can forget Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas, for God's sake? It's a long season and you gotta trust.

I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball."

I believe in the Church of Baseball too.

If only the Blue Jays weren't such sinners.

I'll keep you posted.

(Maybe)

I'm too busy to do this little blog justice.

Plus I write all day for a living, so coming home to write for all your sorry asses would be like asking President Bush to come home at night and do horrendous damage to those around them.

"Ahhhhh, Laura come on.  I don't do enough of this at work??"

So until further notice, the On The Felt blog is closed.

I won't keep you posted.

Hey, turns out this blog does still exist . . . sort of

Watched Pulp Fiction last night (IMDB top 250 list).  Hadn't seen it in like six years.  Turns out it's still a frickin' masterpiece.  Tarantino may or may not be a little off the deep end, but even if he never does anything relevant again . . . we'll always have Pulp Fiction, and for that I will be forever grateful.

And then today I watched The Brothers Solomon.  I knew it was going to be bad.  But I was messing around on the computer and it has Wil Arnett in it and I thought "yep, this is going to suck, but it'll just be in the background and it has Wil Arnett in it."

Wow.  What a chunk of drippy, melty, armpit-softened Whopper that was. 

I am totally baffled by the movie industry.  What other industry is capable of producing what is for the most part absolute bollocks - at great expense - and not only survive, but prosper to a great degree?

Just as Seinfeld proposed that 95% of the population is undate-able, pretty damned near 80% of movies are unwatchable. 

Why?

Is it because the film industry is more inextricably linked to commerce than perhaps any other art form?

Is it because even crappy films often make money?

Is it some inherent flaw in the way the industry is set up?

I'm not sure, but we really need to get to the bottom of this because I'm one of these people who CANNOT turn off a movie - so I wind up watching these stinky cheese muffins all the way through to the end . . .

I'll keep you posted.

"Well, if I'm gonna feel nauseous anyway, I might as well be chock full of ham."

"Um . . . what are you doing?"

"I'm counting my Canadian Tire money"

"Did you actually just go out to the car to get your Canadian Tire money and bring it in just to count it?"

"It makes me feel rich."

"Oh my god, you are SUCH a geek."

"Hey, you'll be singing a different tune when this sweet wad of cash gets you a beautiful anniversary gift."

So I finally played some cards.

Between the new business(es), the new job, the toddler, and fixing up and selling our old house, there just hasn't been room for poker of any kind - not online, not with friends, haven't been playing at that private room downtown, hadn't even once been to the new casino.

But . . . Slim and I were out for a pint, his later plans got cancelled, and out of the blue we found ourselves on the road out to the Dakota Dunes.  The Dunes opened in August or September, but this was my first visit.

It's not bad.

The night, though, was one of those things of beauty - exactly the kind of night the casino wants you to have on your first visit.

I won a bunch at blackjack while waiting for a seat at the 1/2 NL game to open up, a Pit Boss walked up to me and gave me fifty bucks cash out of the blue for some sort of 'Hot Seat Bonus' and then we got seats at the 1/2 NL game.

I was catching pocket pairs like crazy, and catching cards like I was Paris Hilton and three of a kind was chlamydia. 

I couldn't lose.  I think we were there less than three hours and I squeezed over $500 bucks out of that joint.

And that quickly, the fire is re-ignited and I can't wait to get back.  Pokerpokerpokerpokerpokerpokerpoker.

Good morning there, little Gamblar.  I hope you missed me as much as I missed you.

I'll keep you posted.

Which book would you like to read before bedtime tonight, honey?

This book.

Um . . . are you sure?  I don't know if that's the best book to read.

Ya, dis book.

But honey, wouldn't you rather read . . .

NO!  Dis book!  Peese?  Peese?  Peese Dadden?

Sigh.  Okay honey, we'll read this book. 

I'm sure we'll have a blast reading this blank Dora The Explorer notepad.

I can't wait to find out how it ends.

I spent six hours looking at wedding gowns.

Suffice it to say that having two beautiful models completely at my disposal for an hour did not quite turn out the way I had pictured it.

And I think we can all agree that I probably forever lost the final piece of my masculinity at the point I said "I like the one with the Sweetheart neckline."