Quick basketball thought: I have real ambivalence about George Mason in the Final Four. On the one hand, I like me an underdog. On the other hand, when I went to college, our lame-ass bball team was in Mason's conference and got its ass kicked pretty regularly by them. Later, after I had finished my PhD, the first academic job I wanted and got a nibble at was a job at Mason. I didn't even make the interview stage and the chair of the committee is a friendly acquaintance (you know, not a friend, more than an acquaintance--she rode in the back of my car for sixteen hours once) of mine. Anyway, I hate Mason for those reasons, but have this sort-of wistful Mason hatred/love that reminds me of college and make me think that my alma mater looks a little better for Mason's success. This doesn't really make sense as my alma mater is no longer in their conference and still sucks at bball.
I am excited about UCLA. I think if you have degrees from a place (even advanced esoteric ones) you can root for a place. What would be cool is a Mason/UCLA final. Then I could root for UCLA and against Mason and feel like I'm back in college all over again. Go Eagles, I mean Bruins.
My mother is really disturbed that we need a new toilet and haven't gotten one. I'm now working on it. The American Standard Champion looks like a good flusher. The one we have is an early low-flow and flushing anything taxes its abilities. Bless its heart.
I was listening to "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" this weekend on NPR. They had Lee Smith on as a guest. I love Lee Smith. Anyway, she was talking about the Southern tendency to say really mean things about people and then follow them with "bless her heart" which makes the mean thing ok to say. I knew exactly what they meant. Something like, "she has a weak chin, bless her heart." It proves just how Southern I still am that the minute somebody says, "bless her/his heart" whatever they just said seems ok to me. I'm not sure it extends to toilets, though. So we'll get a champion. I want a champion toilet. I was never a champion in anything. I played soccer long before they started giving everybody trophies. I've never gotten a trophy. Maybe I'll get the new toilet a trophy.
My Honey bought me this fantastic bracelet made out the keys from a 1927 Remington typewriter. Every time I've worn it, she asks me if someone has commented on it.
Totals so far:
Times honey has asked: 2
Times bracelet has been asked about: 4
(My keys are white/ivory, but you get the idea)
Ok, that's enough for today. Weak blog entry, bless its heart.
3 comments:
Its not weak. I asked about the bracelet, and I was told about it ahead, but forgot, so I experienced it "fresh" when I saw it on your wrist on Saturday. It is a most excellent bracelet. Very cool (in fact, I was shown at least one alternate wearable gift item as your birthday approached, and I gotta say, your H has great taste in jewelry-type gifts).
Noting that your mother is really disturbed that we need a new toilet and haven't gotten one yet makes it sound as though there's sewage strewn about the house due to catastrophic backup, which isn't the case. The poor devil just seems to be issuing his death rattle—or maybe his death trickle? At any rate, your mother is really disturbed by a lot of things that aren't all that disturbing. Plus, she just tells her husband to fix whatever is disturbing her and it's magically taken care of. We still haven't decided which of us is the husband, so…
In re: hoops. My underdog bias is vastly stronger than any institutional allegiance I might have to my grad school, since when faced with rooting for/against UCLA, I root against them in almost all cases. For example, I'll be pulling for LSU on Saturday, and when that fails, for GMU against them on Monday. If Florida makes it to the final against them, which seems the most likely possibility, I'll simply do what I do in those cases when I dislike both teams equally: either not watch at all, or root for a horribly played game with lots of injuries that accords credit to no one. Bleah. (Neeeed more sleeeeep. Neeeed more sleeeep.)
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