Monthly Archives: June 2012

Responses to Spam: Nancy Full of Love

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Subject: Nice to know you

Hello dear!

My name is Nancy 23 yrs old single never married have no kid. I come across your contact in search for someone to be my best friend with hope to lead to something serious. I have free sensual mind full of love I am interested in making friends as I believe it is the richness of life, I will like a long term friendship with you because I derived interest communication with different people and lean new things. I believe friendship brings favor, friendship brings unity and friendship means treasure. So let’s see if we have the same taught and feelings. Contact my email address nancyphilemon02@yahoo.com Thanks and take care.

Nancy

 

Hi Nancy,

I was so pleased to receive your email this morning. I, too, am looking for a best friend. I found that after my last best friend died (of natural causes, I assure you) that I have been unable to find someone to fill her shoes. (She wore a size eleven, which is quite a bit larger than average for most women.)

I do have a few questions, though. I’m concerned about your wanting our friendship to “lead to something serious.” Can you clarify what you mean by that? I’m not at all looking for a serious friendship. In fact, I think that the seriousness of my last best friendship may have been the cause of its end (aside from my best friend’s death, I mean). You see, my late best friend did not love to laugh as much as I did, and found no humor in my jokes. This is what led to my smothering her in her sleep one night. (But I assure you, again, her death was not my fault – she simply stopped breathing!)

I’m also concerned that you’re a little young to be my best friend. This is not to say that I don’t have friends who are younger than me – certainly I do! – but I worry that with such a large age gap, we may not have much in common. For example, you say you are “single never married have no kid.” But what are your goals? I’m interested in finding a best friend with whom I can travel the world, but I worry that your being single might result in your sleeping with every handsome man (or woman – I wouldn’t want to assume!) we meet. While I applaud your “free sensual mind full of love,” I am concerned that your constant need for romantic attention may tarnish what is intended to be our bonding time as new best friends.

Please do reply if you still think we may be a good match. I also believe that a best friendship is “the richness of life,” as you say, and look forward to exploring the world of unity and treasure with you.

Best wishes,
Tori

An Open Letter to Chris Lincecum

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Dear Mr. Lincecum,

My name is Tori, and I’m a San Francisco Giants fan. I’ve been a Giants fan my whole life. Granted, that’s not a very long time when you think about the fact that they’re one of the oldest franchises in major league baseball. But I like to think of myself as a true fan. I attended my first baseball game when I was four months old, had my heart broken when the players went on strike in the 1990s, and was lucky enough to attend the first home game of the 2010 NLCS. In short, I’ve been around. I’ve seen some shit.

Lately, the shit I’m seeing is your son’s pitching. Now, please don’t take this the wrong way – this is in no way intended to defame Tim’s character or desire to win. But let’s be real: Timmy was called up to the big leagues in 2007, and has been, since then, the Giants’ ace. He won two Cy Young Awards for us. He helped us win the 2010 World Series. In short, he has been phenomenal.

Until last year.

(image source)

Your son, Mr. Lincecum, struggled last year – as did the whole team. Between injuries and lackluster hitting, many Giants fans – including myself – gave up hope of a repeat performance of 2010, or even making to the play-offs. No one blamed any one player, as they shouldn’t have – the team rose as one in 2010, and fell as one in 2011.

But it’s 2012 now, and the team looks better than they have in a long time. We’re just three games behind the Dodgers in the standings. Our hitters are hitting, our fielders are fielding, and our pitchers are (for the most part) performing above and beyond what most thought they were capable of.

… with the exception of Tim.

Shortly before our game against the A’s on Friday night, you spoke to the press, saying that the fans and the media were “crucifying” your son for his poor performance this season. We ended up winning that game, though Tim earned no decision. And it was the first game we’d won with him as a starter since April – the nine games he’d started since then had all resulted in losses.

My understanding is that you’re concerned that Tim will be sent back to the minors, will be evicted from the starting rotation, and will be treated as an embarrassment to the city of San Francisco. Let me assure you, Mr. Lincecum, that I don’t believe that is the reality, nor do I believe it is anyone’s intent.

No one is trying to “crucify” Tim. What we are doing is treating him like a pitcher who has lost his stuff. His fellow starter, Barry Zito, came to us as a Cy Young winner, and has been the weak link in our starting rotation since 2007. Fans lament his pitching when he gives up multiple walks or home runs, but we continue to support him because we trust in his talent.

The same will go for Tim. No one is crucifying him, Mr. Lincecum. No one wants to see him sent to the minors, and certainly, no one wants to see him leave the team altogether. But we’re shocked by his apparent inability to perform this season, just as he is, and just as you are. That’s something that, as fans, as people who have watched him for the entirety of his major league career, we are entitled to feel. And the very public speculation about “what’s wrong,” or about his future, is something that comes with being a professional athlete. While that may be difficult for Tim – and for you – to deal with, it’s a reality of the industry. If he wants to continue pitching at the big league level, he will need to deal with the criticisms this year as he has dealt with the compliments in years past.

In the meantime, I’ll be rooting for him.

Orange & black forever,
Tori

The Man Who Won’t Eat Sushi

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I knew that Dan and I were different when I married him. Hell, that’s part of the reason I married him – our differences help us balance each other out. But there is one difference I just can’t get behind: His aversion to sushi.

Sushi has been one of my favorite foods for as long as I can remember. The first time I ate sushi, I must have been three or four years old. My dad bought me tekka maki (tuna roll), and sliced the pieces in half so they were more child-friendly. I scarfed down the entire plate so quickly, it came back up almost immediately. I was in love.

Since then, I’ve branched out to other variations. Futomaki. Tobiko. Unagi. And the latest love of my life, tako.

I love sushi. I can’t get enough of it. I will eat the fancy nigiri from a four-star restaurant as quickly as I will eat the hastily prepared rainbow roll from Safeway. And the more exotic you can make it, the better. Rarely do I find myself ordering California rolls, spider rolls, or any of the other basics. Instead, put some fruit in it. Set it on fire. Serve me food that has a face. I’m down for whatever.

I will eat like, three of these platters. In one sitting. DON’T JUDGE ME. (image source)

Dan is naturally adventurous. The cross-country road trip we went on was his idea. He has no problem picking up and driving three hours for the day just to check out a town we’ve never been to before. He’ll take the long way just for the view.

But when it comes to food, he’s a meat and potatoes kind of guy. He lives on a combination of Kraft macaroni and cheese, ground beef, and hot dogs. He drinks nothing but beer and whiskey. In short, he has the palate of a seventy-year-old Midwesterner.

And that’s fine, but I’m a little bit more adventurous when it comes to food. In spite of the fact that I’m allergic to everything, I still love to taste and try and experiment with food. And sushi is one of the best arenas in which to do that, because you’re dealing with fresh, minimal ingredients. You want to throw some salmon on top of my tuna? Sure, why not? Add some avocado? Maybe that sweet unagi sauce? Done.

But Dan isn’t interested. He “doesn’t like sushi.” Which I think is bullshit, because there are SO MANY different kinds of sushi and there’s no way he’s tried all of them. You don’t like the raw stuff? No problem – try the cooked. You don’t like the fish? No problem – try the veggie rolls or something with chicken. THERE ARE SO MANY OPTIONS. WHY CAN’T YOU JUST HUMOR ME?!!

But this is yet another marital compromise. He will take me to sushi, and I can have sushi while he has chicken teriyaki. He will not share with me. He will not try anything. He will not so much as look at my plate. But he will be there, keeping me company, dreaming of potatoes.

That’s probably as good as it’s going to get, and I love him anyway. Most of the time.

You’re jealous.

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I found this thing yesterday after the end of our departmental commencement ceremony. I’m pretty sure one of our undergrads brought it, after wearing it as a sandwich board to the main ceremony. She left it with us, which means it’s now going to forever live in my office as a reminder that my job is awesome and hilarious.

Perfecto

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I remember the first time I ever saw Matt Cain pitch. It was 2006, and I looked at the scoreboard in shock.

“He’s only four months older than me.”

I was twenty-one, and I remember thinking about how young I was, and how young I felt, and how I had my whole life ahead of me, or at least I must, because so far, I hadn’t done shit. And I remember thinking how impressive it was that this Matt Cain guy was good enough not only to play baseball for a living, but to do it at the major league level at such a young age. And I remember thinking, this is a guy to watch.

And I have watched. I’ve watched his ups and downs, his wins and losses. I’ve seen him lose composure after giving up a hit, and I’ve watched him keep his shit together in spite of things going poorly. And perhaps most importantly, I’ve watched him mature as a person and a player.

I feel like I’ve known him forever; like I’ve grown up with him. So it was my pleasure last night to watch him complete not just a no-hitter, but a perfect game – the first in the one hundred and twenty-nine year history of the Giants franchise.

Afterwards, he thanked his teammates. He thanked the fans. HE THANKED THE HOME PLATE UMPIRE. If there’s an award out there for being humble, he deserves to win it.

The media was going crazy, interviewing Buster Posey and Gregor Blanco and Bruce Bochy and others. And all of them said the same thing: It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.

Congratulations, Matty. You earned it.

© Ed Szczepanski (US Presswire)

#worldsworsthusband

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I’ve started employing the #worldsworsthusband hashtag on Twitter for shit that Dan does that annoys me endlessly. (There is also a #worldsbesthusband hashtag, but it doesn’t get used nearly as often.)

Monday was one of the #worldsworsthusband days. I realized upon my arrival at work that morning that I was locked out of my office, because my keys were in the backpack I brought to work on Friday. Now, my building unlocks automatically at 7:00 AM, and I have more of a nook than an office, so I was still technically able to get to my desk, turn on my computer, and perform basic tasks. But I don’t have access to any of my cabinets – not the one with my post-it stash, not the ones with student records and transcripts, and not the one with my emergency candy.

EMERGENCY CANDY, GUYS. THIS IS A SERIOUS PROBLEM.

So what did I do? I called Dan. At [barely] 8:30 AM. And woke his ass up. Because I’m the world’s best wife.

I told him I needed my keys, and asked him to swing by around lunch time with them and then we could go to lunch! It would be just like a regular day-date, except at the end of it, instead of having to awkwardly make out with him or fake stomach pains so he’d leave me alone, I’d go back to work and my beloved (and newly accessible) emergency candy stash! PERFECT!

I met him outside my office building at 12:30. He pulled right up, I hopped in, and off we went for some delicious diner magic.

“Can I have my keys?” I asked.

His response? “OH, CRAP.”

That’s right, you guys. My husband drove thirty minutes to bring me my keys, and then didn’t even bring them. Which means that not only did I have to tolerate him for an entire hour, I had to do it with no access to my emergency candy stash as a reward.

All I have to say is that he’d better find a way to make it up to me. And it should probably involve chocolate.

A World-Renowned Braggart

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This morning was one of those mornings where my eternal optimism (that’s a joke, y’all) and deep breathing techniques came in handy. I left my house fifteen minutes early (YES!) which means I had time to get Starbucks (DOUBLE YES!) and hop onto 84 just in time to get stuck in traffic FOREVER.

Normally, traffic makes my blood boil. But this morning, for some reason, I was able to take it in stride. In fact, the only thing that annoyed me on my entire morning commute was this (apparent) USC alum I got stuck behind on my way onto campus.

I get it. I really do. You’re proud that you went to one of the most respected private universities in the nation, and that you survived (presumably) four years in one of LA’s scariest neighborhoods. But do you really need the sticker AND the vanity plates? It’s like wearing plaid and paisley together. You really need to pick one or the other, because together, it’s just not a good look.

Snort Snort Snort

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Stairs are really scary, especially when you weigh under ten pounds.

I remember having to teach a six-week-old Nix to go up and down the stairs, using a cookie to lure him and my heart breaking a little bit as he squeaked and whined because OH MY GOD THE NEXT STAIR WAS SOOOOO FAR AWAY! He would finally conquer one stair, only to be overwhelmed by the next, and the one after that.

(It was a process.)

Now three years old, he bounds up and down stairs FEARLESSLY! (Or as fearlessly as he can muster, since he’s basically the biggest wimp I’ve ever met.) But I will never forget where we started. It looked a lot like this.