Tag Pt 2

4) The slight itch in the crook of my elbow has turned into little red bumps that have spread to an alarmingly large portion of my body. I used to be severely allergic to poison oak and would have huge, oozing rashes most of the spring/summer, but as it's been years since I've had a reaction, and I'm really careful, I was really hoping that maybe I'd grown out of it, or had been exposed so much that it just didn't generate that much of a reaction anymore. Also, during a training exercise at Ft. Drum, we were punished with the infamous "Incoming 100 meters, that way!" drill, which involves sprinting around in a field and diving into the grass at prescribed intervals, and after twenty minutes or so I realized that it wasn't just grass and harmless bushes we were flopping around on, but huge swaths of poison ivy. When I didn't have any sign of a reaction, I thought maybe it was over. But perhaps poison ivy just isn't the same, cuz this stuff is looking familiar. Ick. Plus, my other allergies (the sneezing, wheezing kind) are bugging me. I may have to resort to taking medicine.

5) I HATE taking drugs. I have to be in some seriously high levels of discomfort before I'll down any chemicals. For one, I'm kinda scared as to what they're actually doing to me. For two, I can't drink booze with any of them, for fear of causing some sort of horrible reaction and having my insides melt. (I at least am aware of what alcohol does to my system. Long, latinized chemical names, not so much.)

6) Speaking of "seriously high", FIFA recently banned high altitude, international soccer matches. I wasn't aware that there even were soccer stadiums in the 11,000 - 14,000 foot range. Two experiences tell me this is a good idea: For about a two month period in Afghanistan I lived at 8,000 feet. It's not like I was in bad shape when I arrived, either; I was used to running 3-5 days a week for 3-6 miles at a time. I had been at this firebase about two weeks before I attempted to run, as was suggested by the people that had been there longer. I had sort of noticed the thin air while carrying a couple cases of water out to the truck when I had to pause to catch my breath. Even still, when I did get around to running, I only lasted a half a mile and I really thought I was going to die. My vision got dark around the edges and blurry in the middle, I had to lean up against a wall to keep from falling on my face, and no matter how many breaths I took or how deep they were, I could not get enough air. At the end of the two months, my buddy and I attempted a slightly faster pace, but still slower than what we'd do at home, and made it a whole mile, and then I REALLY thought I was going to die. Same symptoms as before, just worse. I even felt funny the rest of the day, like nutrients weren't traveling to my brain like they should.
The second experience was a high school soccer game in Sister, OR. Sisters is only 5,000 feet or so, but I still felt like I was running in slow motion. It didn't help that the ref decided that if we were to wear long sleeves under our jerseys that everyone's on the team needed to be the same color (normally, the undergarments just have to be either white or black, there's no requirement for uniformity throughout the team). Of course the kids from the poor logging town at sea level didn't have matching attire that the rich kids in the ski resort did, so we played in the snow flurries in shorts and t-shirts. The presence of a huge mountain just on the other side of a valley directly down from us combined with the lack of oxygen to make me feel like I was falling off the field.

7) When I was little, I would have dreams about falling off the Earth. These may have spawned from the revelation that people didn't live INSIDE the earth, but rather on TOP of it, something my little mind couldn't quite wrap itself around. In any case, the dreams started out with me in some very grassy, hilly location in the far north, near the top of the planet. The scenery looked suspiciously similar to that of Scotland and Ireland. I'd be running south down a huge hill, and as I picked up speed and the curvature of the earth kicked in, I'd run myself right off the edge of the planet and fall down - really, it seemed like flying, because the earth was getting further away from me - all along the ocean and other continents and then I'd wake up with a start like in most normal falling dreams. At least the scenery was pretty! Odd, especially considering at that age I'd never been to the places that resembled the ones in this dream.

8) EXTRA CREDIT! I hate bugs. The world would be a much better place if all arthropods and arachnids - with the exception of honey bees, daddy long-legs, and small hermit crabs - were eliminated. Hornets, wasps and spiders because they sting/bite and they're HORRIFIC looking (really, have you ever gotten a close look at one? *shudder*). Lobsters because of Stephen King's The Gunslinger and crabs because of the scene in Winged Migration when the battalion of crabs descend upon the wounded bird and drag it off while it's still alive. Oh, and ants. I won't ever forgive those awful creatures for the damage - physical and mental - they inflicted on me and my sensitive skin in Texas and Alabama. They're nasty, they bite, and scarily enough, they COMMUNICATE. Get rid of them, NOW!!!

Taggety Tag Tag, Part I

Gina tagged me earlier this week, so I supposed I'll get around to that now. The theme of this tagging is seven things about myself, I think.

1) "Just because you're better than me doesn't mean I'm lazy." -- Billy Bragg, "To Have and to Have Not"
Not entirely true for me. I'm not very good at much AND I'm lazy. I think I'm the laziest person I know. Maybe I just hang out with overachievers. In this respect I fit in pretty well in the army, which isn't as surprising as you might think: I only really do things in order to not get yelled at. Since every inaction in the army resulted in just that, I usually got things done. Here in Realityland, no one yells at me for procrastinating, half-assing, and generally just plain ol' not doing things.

2) Due to procrastination and last-minute technical difficulties yesterday, I missed the bus I needed to take in order to get to campus and turn in my (terribly written and half as long as required) paper by 4 o'clock. As a result, I bombed my way across town on my bike, smashing my previous record time by a third. I guess that means soccer and going to the gym really are doing some good. I even braved the downtown sections, changing lanes and passing buses during rush hour. Thoughts of the upcoming Timbers game and getting flattened by a car resulted in the chant, "you're goin home in a Portland ambulance," running through my head for the rest of the afternoon.

3) I really have pointed a loaded gun at someone and meant it. It was very weird. Most things in Afghanistan were weird, but I have to admit I kind of enjoyed it. (Afghanistan, not pointing guns at people.) This is not to say I won't throw the world's most gigantic hissy fit if I get recalled to go there or anywhere else.

Running out of ideas here, so I'll post more later.

For the Rose City 2-0! *clap clap*

This is really incredible. The Timbers are 3-0-1 at home! Reverse the win/loss columns and you'll have what I witnessed last year. I'm not used to all this winning! Never caught up with my friends, though, those flaky fans! Nevertheless, the game was fun. Here are some highlights:

1) The beer selection: When did THIS happen?? Obsidian, from Deschutes; Stella; Newcastle; and....ARROGANT BASTARD! ON TAP!!! Yes, it's $8.25 for a plastic cupful, but with the alcohol content of AB as high as it is, it's the most worthy of this price. Halfway into my second one and I was having trouble with the hand gestures that accompany the chant in the title of this post. This may be related though to my lack of beer consumption this past month.

2) The crowd: small, but feisty. Favorite chant of the evening: "If you've ever won a game, clap your hands! *clap clap*" Followed by "Can we playyyyyyyyyyy you every week?" The California team, ironically named the Victory, are new to the league and in four games have so far only managed a draw. Ha ha.

3) Timber Jim: "Let's all do a jig!" The coolest mascot ever. (note: the video isn't of TJ, just a cheer for him) Even let one of the visiting Sunderland fans use the chainsaw to slice off a hunk of log to celebrate a goal.

4) Justice: What a buncha dirty divers! The dirtiest of them all was finally red-carded near the end of the game and we happily chanted him off as security escorted him from the building. Nyuk nyuk nyuk.

5) Players: Our longtime defender Scot-with-one-T scored, as well as our AWESOME new guy, Bryan Jordan, scored the goals. I'm not used to all this goal scoring, either.

just a lil bit more

I have this really long paper that I've been stressing over the entire term, yet haven't actually started, that's due today. This post is really just one last gasp at procrastination. It's due at four, I'll be drinking whiskey by five, meet the guys at the Yammy at around six, and march down to the Timbers game sometime before kickoff at seven. There's another Timbers game on Sunday. Monday, Dad and I are going fishing.... somewhere. I haven't been privy to the exact time and location of this trip, so I can only hope it's still going to happen. My fishing pole has been looking lonely in the corner of my room since Christmas.

My paper is about cod. Pacific cod, to be exact. Mysteriously I get hungry whenever I do research on it. Heyy, how bout after I turn it in, I'll head to Kell's and have whiskey and a large hunk of battered cod and NOT see Wayne Rooney! Yeah! (still upset.)

Gina tagged me. I'll get to that.... sometime.

GAH!

I MISSED HIM!!! He was at KELLS!!!

he looked like a deer in headlights and was wicked shy.... they just stood near the bar drinking guinness, no one bothered him, on guy did go grab a soccer ball out of his car and had him sign it, otherwise, the remaining 95% of the customers had no idea who he was.

Ya know how often I go to Kell's? ALL THE TIME. And Wayne Rooney has never been there (except for on the tv). Man. I'm really upset.

Wayne Rooney in Portland????

OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!

If I didn't have so much damn homework to do I'd probably be out prowling around my old apartment, as it's quite near where I think this "unnamed shoe company" is. I do have a life, I promise. It just happens to revolve around beer, music and soccer, and not necessarily in that particular order.

I can always dream he'll show up to the indoor soccer center tonight. After all, who doesn't want to see the Meadow Muffins play? (Meadow Muffins is a FAR cooler name than Raging Rhinos!)

I....Have...TICKETS!!!!!

PDX-DUB, September. No firm plans other than the dates, but it's nice to have something to look forward to at the end of summer.

Back to reading/typing/reading/cursing/typing/reading.

Dass right. I'ma getcha, sheepies.

This job screens for criminal history, dignity

Can you imagine playing for an adult, nay, professional soccer team named the Raging Rhinos? Me neither. I'd have thought that was cool until about age nine, and then until eleven, I'd have thought it was funny in that it's-so-uncool-it's-cool sort of way, but that's the limit. Well, these Rochester guys put up with it. I suppose if I got paid an EPL salary, I could play on a team called the Pink Princesses with tutus for uniforms, and still be happy, but seeing as this is the USL, I suspect they're not making a whole lot of anything. Maybe they take consolation in that the opposing fans call them the Winos. I know that'd be my preference!

More things happened this weekend that I'd like to blog about, but right now I have to read a bunch of things. There are numbers involved. Bleh.

...and there went my links

I got on a fix-up-the-computer kick and decided to revamp everything. Thing is running faster, the blog shows up normally on Firefox now, but I didn't really pay attention to the 'you'll lose all your customizations' threat when I changed templates and now I don't really know what to do. Maybe somewhere I saved a copy of the source? Let's hope so.

Update: Fixed!

Wow

So that's what it feels like to drop a whole letter grade in under an hour.

Ugh, and I came to Kell's to drink beer, watch soccer and maybe hear the Pogues, but ya know what's on tv? Bowling. Seriously, why is this "sport" televised?

Heading to Seattle this weekend for a number of reasons - to give a friend a ride to National Guard duty, to visit an old army buddy - but mainly I'm going to see the Timbers play our rivals Seattle (or rather, 'Shittle' as the Timbers' army soldiers would insist you say it). My buddy Owen, who is giving me a place to say, has informed that, most dissappointingly, I'll have to share the place with a buncha muscley, single, rugby players. How ever will I manage. In any case, he called yesterday to discuss details and I informed him that we need to find out how seating works as I simply can't sit near Seattle fans. He was actually offended by this! Apparently, he's never been to a *real* soccer game. (I guess being a N. American, I haven't either, but this is close enough.) I predict that he'll enjoy himself in the Seattle supporters' section (supposin' they even have one), singing and jeering. Hopefully he'll be entertained enough to make a habit of coming to games.

The Demise of Kim Jong-Il

My friends keep chickens in their backyard, right in the middle of the city. This is funny enough in itself, but even better is that the chickens are all named after dictators. Recently, a new chicken became the first to receive the name of a "benevolent" dictator, Hugo Chavez. This has evidently sparked a debate amongst the household residents as to whether Chavez is in fact a benevolent dictator, if a dictator can really be benevolent, or whether he's even a dictator at all. In any case, they now get to eat his (technically, 'her') and Mussolini's babies for breakfast.

It is with this background that I bring you the latest news from the chicken coop: Kim Jong-Il has died. The best part? He was eaten by a dog.

Coincidentally, friends on the other side of town are reporting that their cat is evidently a communist, as surmised by his refusal to "MEE-ow" like a normal cat and instead says, "Mao."