who?
twenty second july | ten:thirty post meridiem
Reverse Cowgirl Style
I genuinely like most of my coworkers, but every once in a while there'll be a flash of culture shock when dealing with them. Today, during a break, some of the women were speculating about whether or not the one woman who works in my (traditionally male oriented) section was a lesbian. Their attitude was weird - not outright homophobic, not ewww, but it was very clearly something that was not part of their world, not something they were accustomed to, erm, dealing with.
There is one openly gay man in my wing of the building; I don't like him. He's the oiliest, smirkingest, egotistical white collar type, and I wasn't at all surprised today to learn that he's running for city council. Personal dislike wouldn't stop me from voting for someone, especially in local politics where basic competency counts for so much, and this guy is prudishly by-the-book to an annoying degree. A guy I went to college with happened to stop by the other day; he's running for the council as well. He's one of Laura's friends, someone who grew up here (as I did) and who's always been - and as far as I can tell, will always be - very involved in the community. He MC'ed the impromptu vigil the night of Rachel's death. He's straight-up active Greener, environmentalist I assume (not a big deal to me - grr nature), and I know he has a lot of strong labor ties, which is great and relatively unrepresented in this government/college town. I'll vote for him without hesitation - except I won't, since I just remembered I'll be gone by election day. Damn.
For my birthday I received The Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract, which is fantastic, very hokey and funny (his wife wrote several sections, including one called "Baseball's Ten Handsomest Men"). Here's a sample:
Nicknames of the 1870sThere were no rules for nicknames, to begin with, and a sportswriter - who might be the only one in town - could call a player whatever he wanted. Charlie Pabor was called "The Old Woman In The Red Cap," probably the only seven-word nickname ever; a similarly outstanding handle was "Death To Flying Things," [!!!!!!! - me] assigned to the overbearing defensive wizard Bob Ferguson. Will White was called "Whoop-La," a forerunner of "Ee-Yah Jennings" and "The Say-Hey Kid." Hardy Richardson was called "Old True Blue," Billy Reilly "Pigtail Billy," George Bradley was called "Grin" and Jim O'Rourke [not that Jim O'Rourke] "Orator Jim." Bob Addy was called "The Magnet," and Joe Gerhardt was called "Move Up Joe" because of something he always yelled to his teammates as a young man.
In addition to this I've been reading an economics textbook (!) and John Kenneth Galbraith and E.P. Thompson on economic history. I tried reading a bunch of regional stuff for my roadtrip, but burned out on it; besides, improvise! live crazy! are supposed to be my guiding principles, right? Fiction is being neglected; Ursula K. Le Guin and Raymond Chandler are lying chastely next to my bed. I've been watching old Avengers episodes and the second season of Twin Peaks. It seems like I don't have enough spare time to take this all in but somehow I manage.