Sunday, March 26, 2006
Another weekend come and gone. Unlike most weekends which have been devolving into a predictable pattern of same-ole-same-ole guiding illegals across the California-Mexico border in the dead of night in exchange for uncut heroin and cold hard cash, this weekend actually marked a few milestones:
This last one, believe it or not, was the one I spent the most time on. Turns out not killing anyone talks almost no time.
It was a little awkward getting back into the flow of the season including regular practices, lugging the equipment, remembering which moms I slept with last year in order to weasel out of snack-bar duty, but it all comes flooding back once the first bat hits the first ball and the first TRO is politely-yet-firmly enforced. 500 yards is farther than you think.
The best part about it was being outdoors on a glorious SoCal Spring day, just overcast enough to make you forget to put on sunscreen.
For me, of somewhat fair skin and light colored hair that meant not only 2nd degree sunburn over 40% of my body, but also the charming, charming bleaching of my non-sunglasses-protected eyebrows from the ravaging power of our closest, life-giving star.
I don't generally like to give clues as to my identity or how I look (I don't have a problem with it personally, but everytime something slips, I get the same ole "Do you have any idea how much this costs the taxpayers" speech from my Witness Protection case officers), but the overall effect is this:
If you come to Riverside this week and you see this man (especially forehead-up), it's most likely me. You can make fun of me if you wish, but beware my ability to pull out your still-beating heart and then show it to you before you die. There is power in eyebrows.
This post on the Narcissus Scale: [Inscrutable Mystery of the Orient]
Pops Yun Fat
PS- Speaking of fat, my Sunday posts are likely to be this half-ass (lists, silly pictures, etc.) while this season of The Sopranos plays itself out. As a functional illiterate, TV is what I do instead of reading. So I have to have my stories of Gutshot Tony, Uncle Alzheimers, Stoner Kid Hippie Hair, Hot Daughter, Big Fat Gay Vito, Dr. Platitude, Silver Wing Head Guy, Salt-N-Pepper Eyebrows (I'm into eyebrows this week) and all the rest of the nutty, nutty gang of bloodthirst sociopaths. I know the same general description applies to you, my beloved Bucketeers, but until you do the antisocial things you do in front of a camera for 45 minutes to an hour every week, I'm going to go with Gutshot Tony. Don't worry, I'm still too much of a mentally and socially retarded pussy to give up Sunday posting altogether. Pops is still damaged in that endearing way.