DOPU's

 Hi guys -

I know I haven't spoken to you (formally) in a while so I'm just dropping a line. I was sent a picture of the two of you recently, one I had never seen, but it was you in your heyday, attending some event or another. That's how I remember you both. In my mind, you were never young, even when you were young. You were always sage and refined even when you were little. You never had a specific age because you were always just "the age that my parents are" whatever that number ended up being. Generally, I estimated your age as halfway between "older" and "old."

Mom, always engaging and working on something. With your angular features and widow's peak (or cowlick or whatever), you were clear eyed and always in the moment. Dad, at an event because he is supposed to be there, or somewhere so he did his job and was somewhere. No doubt it was an unwelcome social engagement for him, like buying a suit, a necessary part of his work to fix the world.

He was never young and she was never old. He was OK with whatever temperature she wanted and she was OK with his choice because she would never be warm enough, anyway. I have no doubt that there was some passive agressive martyrdom bandied back and forth because that's the way things develop in many cases.

I miss that. I miss you both. Please know that you are missed.

Love,

Dan

The O's Own Park

 I caught another Orioles' game last night. Just a few notes and reflections:

They have this second baseman (I think...maybe shortstop?) names Jackson Holliday. Jackson Holliday looks to be about 9 years old. His bio says he is 20 and was the top pick in the 2022 draft. I say, 9 years old

Next, and I have mentioned this to people already after watching another game -- that Gunnar Henderson is really good. With his 1880's rugged good looks and the name Gunnar, he could certainly be the next big thing.

The game was on MASN which is the sports network of I'm not sure what, but they carry Baltimore games so I assume that MA stands for "Baltimore." Their two guys in the booth give off an odd couple vibe, both very weird. Maybe this is a function of a smaller market or maybe these two guys have just crafted a niche of "weirdos" and that works for them.

One of the guys said that by winning a game, Baltimore continues its streak of not being swept in a series. That's a rather esoteric statistic but it brought me to wonder "what counts as a series?" Some serieseseses are 3 games long and some 4. But there are also 2 game serieseses -- do those count? What about if a game is rescheduled for September to make up for a rain-out. That becomes (though linguistically illogical) a one-game series. So as statistics go, I wish this one would.

A true Mets fan

 Here's a scary truth, but a truth none-the-less:

In lieu of the usual slate of twisted reality shows with their dashed hopes and dreams of the rich and famous, or the sitcoms of my childhood but now in rerun form, or even the movies I never wanted to see anyway, last night, I chose to watch a Mets game. This was momentous for many reasons, including my sense that when I watch, they lose (sure, the lose also at other times, but when I watch, it becomes my fault), and my lacking any TV package which allows me access to the game. So how did I turn my intent into reality? I turned on the MLB app and chosen to watch the condensed game because I had already listened and knew that the Mets had won, 16-4. I figured I would be able to appreciate an easy win, safely. They beat Atlanta which made the prospect of watching a laugher all that much more sweet. When else in my life would I be able to have such pure enjoyment? The Mets win easily, beating a serious rival and no commercials, just action. Sign me up, right?

The condensed replay, for those of you living under the influence of Arak, is the game in order, but only pitches that result in something important are shown. So no marathon at bats, no meaningless pop ups in foul territory. Only the really great plays, the important put outs and the base hits/errors. Zoom, zoom, zoom -- let's watch some runs! It is the whole game with just the good parts.

[side note -- if you have just the good parts and not the context of less good parts, you run the risk of not appreciating the good parts as they stop being special. I guss that's why professional whiskey tasters cleanse their palates with Brillo pads and when they aren't working, they prefer mulled midget blood. When it comes to a Mets win, I can watch just the good parts because they have a 50+ year context of suckage. I'm not missing out on a positive baseball experience -- how often will I get to see the Mets trounce the Braves in record time? Maybe never-often, that's how often. What do you think of that? Would you be happy then? Huh? Would you?]

So on with the rout, right? During this abridged retelling, I got to the part where the bad guys, down 7-0 start rallying and scoring runs. One man crossed the plate and then two and three. And I, a full and fuller grown man who knew completely well who won and by what score, still felt butterflies of worry in my stomache as I watched. Now it wasn't that there was some sort of compelling narrator who made me care about the characters and watch the plot unfold as I grow closer, emotionally to the players and set them up as my heroic idols. It was that I know that the universe is so cruel and uncaring, that the Braves' pact with Satan to maintain dominance over the Mets is so absolute and that the Mets are so magically and supernaturally bad that they could find a way to lose during the replay.

The Beekeeper, A review

I watched The Beekeeper last night. Jason Statham gets angry and people get dead. it's what I paid for so, yay.

I really did like the movie. At points, I would say I really liked it and there was a scene or two that shone and the whole movie, even with its unevenness was riding strong score until the last 10 minutes when the story telling, already muddy and confused at times, went off the rails and the plot holes became too big to ignore. A movie that felt so very satisfying the whole way through sold its soul too many times and suddenly it was just a mess. The dialogue remained crisp and often entertaining and the acting was surprisingly mature for a movie of this genre, but there was too much unexplained and too many gaps of logic. It became confused at the end even though its watchword all along had been clarity of purpose and message. The plot became almost too stripped down and efficient so that everything wraps up with no denoument.

I give it an 81 but with a bit of revision, an A grade is still within reach for an improved draft.

This Topia

I am trying to create a conception of a universe that is so dystopian that I need to find new imagery to describe it. So here's my work in progress of a list:

1. It is marketed as "The Dystopia's Dystopia"

2. This is the universe that the English teacher in Dystopia Universe High School uses to explain dystopia to his students

3. That universe's dystopian system is that dystopia that no one ever picks for kickball so he becomes the official right fielder, or even the "foul ball getter"

4. The dystopia that time forgot!

5. Chuck Norris refuses to live there

6. If Baba Yaga and Beetlejuice got married and had a baby universe, it would be this dystopia

7. In Soviet Russia, topia disses you!

Small Ball

I watched some of 2 different baseball games (a Yankees/Marlins game and a Red Sox/Orioles game). One was on Prime and one was the free game on MLB network. What follows are thoughts inspired by watching the games:

I experienced a weird emotion. I watched a player who used to be on "my" team and is now playing for another. Which is the proper feeling?

A. Pride at the player's success because I knew him way back when.

A sub 1. Secret happiness when the player fails

B. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about another great player who got away and I consider what might have been.

C. Righteous anger aimed at the player because no matter the truth of the situation, in my mind, this guy's sub par performance sank my team, or his super performance before a trade deadline showed a lack of loyalty, or his attitude wasn't appreciative enough and we wasted good money on him and I hopt god strikes him down with a lightning bolt full of chlamydia. Amen.

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So I watched the game and the camera, before every pitch, switches to an angle from center field, aiming at the batter from behind the pitcher. Pretty standard. And also to be expected is the technologically superimposed (or otherwise inserted) rectangular box representing the strike zone so we can all feel superior when we second guess the umpire because a computer informs us that the human is human. Now, as far as i recall, the strike zone is variable -- as it relies on the physical dimensions of the batter, it should appear distinct and in proportion with each sized person who comes to the plate. Additionally, even within an at bat, as a player stand more upright or bends, the zone should change to accomodate that new physical reality. Bottom line is, the zone representation should not be static on the screen, but dynamic. But what did I see?As the batter moved around, up and does and such, the strike zone remained exactly the same. This seems wrong to me.

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I'd like to tell you a little story about a baseball player from a bunch of years ago. He was a cocky kid for sure but with the skills to back up the swagger. He wore his hate off to the side, thumbing his nose at convention as he blazed a trail through high school and college. The next step was the MLB draft and with the right agent and the words of praise from all his coaches, he was snapped up early and sent through the minor league system. So far, his life was batting a thousand.

And he continued his rise, stopping for only a cup of coffee in single-A and not much more than a pastry in AA. Upward through triple AAA and then the call to the Show. The Bigs. How big? SHOW BIG!

July 2nd was a glorious and clear day. His first start on an 83 degree sun-fest. He was steady as a rock as he went through his pre-game ritual, with the same confidence as ever. No false bluster, but the well earned bluster from a lifetime of success. He walked to the mound, hat askew and chains swinging, his own man.

Quickly, he loaded the bases. He was wild and overcompensated by forcing very hittable strikes. So now one out and the bases jammed. Finally, the manager walked slowly to the mound. The pitcher figured that he had burned this bridge and he was on his way out so he prepared to argue his case even though he knew that ultimately he would surrender the ball. The manager just stood there staring. The pitcher sighed and held the ball out, seeing that no words were going to change anything.

"Whatchoo doing?" the manager asked quietly.

"I thought that after that last walk --"

The manager cut him off. "Nope. This is the majors. Clean up your own goddam mess. You're only screwing up your own rookie stats at this point."

Now the pitcher was confused. "So why'd you come out, skip?"

"Well, it looks like we're going to be here for a while so I wanted to recommend that you fix your hat before you end up with a stupid looking tan line." And he turned around and walked away. Slowly.

The pitcher was left hand outstretched, mouth open enough to catch well hit line drives with mustard on them. He took a beat, fixed his hat and proceeded to strike out the next 3 batters and have an historic year.

And that player was me.

I'd like to tell you that story but I won't, because it isn't true. I wasn't that player and none of that ever happened because I just made it up. Life doesn't work like that. Grow up.

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I just misheard the commentator -- I thought he described the call strike three as "he struck out yelling."

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Rules question:

In the case of a dropped 3rd strike, is the batter still safe until the catcher does something actively to make him out (so the play is live) or is he assumed to be out if he doesn't run, or returns to the dugout, making the play dead from that moment?

Here's the case -- bases loaded and a dropped third strike. If the batter is live until actively put out even if he doesn't run then the catcher simply has to pick up the ball and touch home because the batter's live status means the player on 3rd must advance a base and is therefore a force out at home. In fact, a catcher can then choose to drop a third strike and force an out at home if the runner on third is particularly fast. If the catcher intentionally doesn't throw to first, he can then touch home and THEN throw to any base for a second force out on the same play. In fact, if he throws to second or third, and then the ball is relayed to first, he can effect three force outs on one play after an unhit ball.

Or not -- experts please let me know.

One night in Indonesia

I decided to take an evening to myself and just relax. I present an accounting of that evening.

Early on, I watched Adam-12 (season seven, episode 10, I think) and Willie Aames was on as a kid named Billy Ray. This is gonna be a good evening!

I have found some Indonesian cinema. A movie called "Foxtrot Six." It looks like a good old shoot-em-up kind of movie. I'm psyched. This evening is getting even better.

30 minutes into the movie. I don't think I understand what's going on in this movie. I mean, I might understand, but I don't know. That's only because I don't know what's going on.

I thought I was pretty expert at watching movies and following a story line. All my skills are proving useless for this movie.

Thirty-five minutes in and I'm now convinced that I officially don't understand what's going on in this movie.

Regardless of my understanding, there is a VERY FUNNY scene at about 36 minutes or so. There is a very violent combat scene in which 10 men, all covered in oil compete to see who can climb a greased pole and ring a bell first. So they spend their time beating the hell out of each other and squirming around in their oily mess until one of them can somehow shimmy up the pole. After our hero wins, he is approached by others who get him into a conversation. As he speaks, he flicks open his lighter to light his cigarette. The man with whom he is speaking stops and says, "isn't that all oil?" The hero says, "yeah, why?" There's a pause and the other guy says, "no reason."

And at about 39 minutes there is another great moment. Look, I'm getting on in years and I should be a mature adult at this point but I just can't stop laughing at a good (for lack of a better term and apologize for the crudeness) "nut shot." The one at 39 minutes is pretty damned good. I laughed for a while.

At a little over an hour in, I got to a part where I thought it would be the kind of place that make sense to some one if not multiple ones, but it ended up being the wrong kind of place and it only made the non kind of sense.

My new hit single inspired by the movie, "I don't want to get flash fried."

I can't keep track of who the characters are or what the story line is and this traditionally counts against a movie. I feel like they used more than a single actor for each role within the movie which explains why i can't keep anyone straight. I can imagine an interesting version of Hamlet, made from spliced performances, assembled from pits of other performances but it doesn't work in this piece of Indonesian cinema.

I feel like there was a more cohesive and compelling backstory begging to be told while this movie was being made but the decision was "no."

Actual line from the movie, "Let's show this clown what pain really feels like." I have many, many questions.

It is a very bloody movie and I am very squeamish. I am how I am and that's it. It seems to be an instinctual response -- I flinch when I see certain things and hide my eyes to prevent and more messy response. Some would say that my response must be learned and not innate (though aren't some instincts inborn? The blink-response or a scare-flinch, or other things that reflect the "flight" response) but this would beg some unremembered trauma which taught me to not like bloody things. I'll stick with reacting by instinct and just put my head back under the covers.

I have no idea what's going on in this movie. Of that I am now totally sure.

There was a post credit scene which was amazing because I can't imaging anyone wanting to take any credit for this movie.

Thus endeth Foxtrot Six.

Next up, reflections while watching a baseball game in a mirror.