Word Power

When asked to describe his performance in a recent rough start against the Yankees, Curt Schilling -- a man never found speechless -- selected the word "Craptastic."

I immediately found the need to incorporate it into my conversations.

Q: "How're you doing?"

A: (with a smile) "Craptastic."


Q: "Hey, you wanna go see Shrek the Third?"

A: "I heard it was craptastic."



And: "My chances of getting my first novel published are craptastic."



Like Curt, I reserve the right to make up my own words when necessary. For instance, I conjure up images of famous people as a descriptive aid:
Instead of finding a word meaning "a complex mix of earnest and creepy" I might say: "Sorry, I don't mean to go all Anthony Perkins on you."

Or I use variations on Yiddish: Instead of trying to describe an unidentified bunch of glop, I might say, "What is all this shmutz?"

It's fun and if Shakespeare made up words, why can't I? It's a free country. And after all, isn't that why we're fighting that craptastic war in Iraq?

Identify Your Jam

Something new at Fenway this year is that they play a short excerpt of music as each Red Sox player comes to bat. My sense is that each is set to express something about that individual -- but it would be interesting to know if the player has any say in the selection. The only one I recognized right away was "Iron Man" for Mike Lowell, and considering he lead the league in doubles last year, this makes sense. The others were tougher to identify, but got their point across. David (Big Papi) Ortiz has a powerful slow jam while Julio Lugo has something Latino in flavor. Varitek's is a straight ahead, no nonsence rock drumming -- while Dustin Pedroia, one of the youngest players, has a kind of boodie-call selection.

It made me wonder what I would pick as my bit of music and I would have to say it depends on the day. Get on my wrong side and it would be "Bulls on Parade" by Rage Against the Machine. Catch me in a good mood and it would be "Just like Heaven" by the Cure. But if I had to pick one, it would probably be the openining to the Talking Heads version of "Take Me to the River" -- you don't know what to expect from that one, but it's got soul.

What would your jam be?

Honor Thy Mutha

Growing up in a house full of brothers, I understood how to hang with boys and men from a young age. I tended to be shy around girls and women because I had a hard time following their cues. They seemed to talk in code, every word and look having a double meaning. When I was with my brothers and their friends I understood that when you thought you were being insulted you probably were -- but unless their was a harsh tone to go along with it, the insult was meant as a ribbing, a way to feel part of the group. In the company of girls I felt the opposite was true -- if you thought you were being paid a compliment, chances were somebody either wanted something from you or was actually insulting you through the backdoor. I found it spooky and so I kept my mouth shut and prayed no one would notice me.

Somewhere in my adulthood I started to relax around other women -- but tended to gravitate towards the ones who spoke plainly and had a good sense of humor. When I became a mother I even started to attend a mothering group and found the company very reassuring. But every once in a while the old code would pop up and turn me off immediately. When another mother says, "My goodness! Is your son always this energetic?" she is actually asking you if you have tried him on medication for hyperactivity yet. If she says, "He sure is smart. You must work with him a lot," the translation is , "I'm not sure why you would try to raise a freak but everybody is entitled to their goals."
Defensive?
Yeah, probably -- but it is from years of being on the other end of a bad connection. I often feel as if I was raised in a different culture. One in which eye lash curling was never covered, and a compliment was a compliment.

Hope you had a happy Mutha's Day -- and I mean that sincerely.

Oh Captain, My Captain!

I was in Fenway Park last night to see the Red Sox beat the Mariners. It was not a pretty game -- but it was an exciting one, with the Sox coming back from a 5-0 deficit and then Manny (The Man) Ramirez winning it with a homerun in the bottom of the 8th (So that's why he makes 18 million dollars...).

For those of you who have never been to Fenway it is honestly a beautiful park. The oldest park still around and apparently the smallest as well -- there is simply nothing like watching a game there. It is the opposite in it's character to Yankee Stadium, which is like watching a game from a skyscraper's window. This is my perception of course because I have never had good seats in Yankee Stadium -- and yet, even in the bad seats at Fenway (and believe me I have had them too) you are still so close to the action that it manages to feel electrifying. The buzz is so strong that it caused a Yankee fan to turn to me once at Fenway and ask, "Why do Sox fans cheer so loud for a single?" (because we are cheaper dates than Yankee fans) and my younger son, a once-devoted Yankee fan to turn to me last night and say, "I'm a Red Sox fan now, Mom." He need not shop for any other Mother's Day present this year.

But the highlight last night for me was when I was near the bull pen and Jason Varitek came out to warm up. I have made my love for Jason a matter of public record before and that admiration blossomed having never seen the man up close. I thought he was just another great player until, in the 2004 season, he responded to A-Rod's bullshit by feeding him his mitt. Cue devotion. I can honestly say I have only felt star-struck a couple of times in my life -- and that moment when the man walked out in front of me last night was one of them. My husband (who was off buying beer when this happened) credits this fact as the reason that there is no picture of Jason Varitek from last night. I was simply too busy staring at the captain of the Boston Red Sox to go digging for a silly thing like a camera.

As always, Go Sox.

I'm In Labor

Happy May Day to us all!

Ah my comrades I am moved to talk about the workers today and how we set out to make a living in this world.

When I was little I wanted to be a fashion designer.

Also a pediatrician.

Also a nun.

But then I wanted to be an artist, a writer, and a teacher -- and that is what I ended up being.

My husband wanted to be Bugs Bunny when he grew up.

Then a Playboy Millionaire.

I'm going to leave that one alone.

My sons have amazing plans themselves.

My younger wants to make his living as a Race Car Driver.

An Ex-Games Star.

A Gym Teacher.

My older talks about being a Paleontoligist.

And a TV Producer.

And a Game Show Host.

As my dad would say: It ain't diggin a ditch.

What did you want to be when you grew up?