September 2009 Archives

Fall, Cardinals, playoffs, and stupid Dinger

Gavin Morgan

on September 28, 2009 10:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

While I'm certain that there are folks among us that favor winter, spring or summer the most, by and large it seems that everyone loves the fall season. Before moving to Portland, summer used to be my most loathesome season. The humidity of St. Louis summers and the dry furnace that is Abilene in August are enough to convince anyone. Since I moved to Portland, summer has become my second favorite out of sheer perspective. Here, I take the occasional 100 degree days and sunshine with a smile because every March I start to lose faith that there really is blue sky above the dense cloud cover.

So fall is my favorite season, and there are a host of reasons why, but I bet they are pretty much the same as your's. I do have a few extras, though. First, the St. Louis Cardinals have made the playoffs many times this decade, so my September and Octobers have been pretty exciting. Second, I turn on my cable box every August after turning it off every February, so it's always exhilarating to fire up the NFL Network, my newest addiction NFL Redzone, and MLB Network's MLB Tonight: Roundtripper.

The Cards made the playoffs again, and I took some notes during their game against the Rockies when they clinched the Central Division:

-Gosh, I hate the Colorado Rockies. Granted, I can't think of one player I don't like on their team, and their fans seem nice enough. I hate the Rockies because I believe they are a mirage. An impostor. They seem like an illusion of a quality team. It's that Coors Field high altitude gimmick they've been running out there every year since MLB birthed this freak in the early 1990's.

-My heart lifted slightly when Jason LaRue hit the go-ahead homerun in the 7th inning while doing his best Waingro impersonation.

-Score still 4-3, Jason Giambi pinch-hit in the bottom of the eighth with two on and two out. Lately he's been wearing what looks like a Velcro travel wallet wrapped around his bicep, and tonight was no different. LaRussa left Wainwright in the game to face him in a very critical situation. Giambi was frozen on a called third strike on an inside curve ball. Sweet.

-My mind started to drift towards playoff-clinching celebrations. It's the first of 4 champagne celebrations for whomever wins the World Series. It seems like an excessive amount of champagne spraying and antics in a very short amount of time.

-Ludwick hit a two-run home run in the 9th, making the score a little more comfortable: 6 (contender)-3 (mirage).

-Ryan Franklin entered the game to close the bottom of the 9th. Then a mascot appeared behind the catcher and it gave me another reason to hate the Rockies. I can't believe MLB is ok with this, but the Rockies have their bush-league mascot--Dinger--dancing behind the catcher to distract the pitcher. Unbelievable. You can see it clearly on television. I'm pretty sure Fredbird has never sunk that low. The Cardinals are trying to clinch their division in a huge series with a potential playoff matchup in the Rockies, and their goofball mascot and his mammoth plastic dinosaur face is bouncing up and down behind the plate to try and throw off the pitcher. Uncool. Not classy. Bush league. And you know pitchers don't want to say anything about it and admit a mascot could mess them up.

With one out Franklin shows me why I'm a little scared of his closing ability in the playoffs. He can't overpower anyone if he needs to. He is forced to scrape the strike zone, and when he's missing, he's next to worthless. But he's had a great season so he gets the benefit of the doubt. I'm just saying he scares me, but it might be ok. So he walked Helton. But Franklin gets a couple of ground balls, the Cards get out of trouble, and the Cardinals are declared 2009 Central Division Champions. And LaRussa makes it obvious he's ok with hugging other grown men. As we all should be.

It's gonna be a great October.

The Haircut

Gavin Morgan

on September 24, 2009 12:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I was thinking about writing a follow-up blog post to my haircut write-up from a few years ago, and it suddenly occurred to me that I haven't shared it yet. I actually wrote this in 2007 and shared it with a few friends at the the time:

-----

Last Friday I was told to lean "all the way back", and then a man washed my hair. Gently.

I've had men cut my hair a zillion times before. But all those guys called themselves 'barbers' and they worked in 'barbershops'. Out front you would see a barber pole, which helped the customers remember that barbers used to have the manly duty of bloodletting, and even surgery! We trust these guys. They usually wear a long, blue zip front smock with a collar. The stories they spin took place in 40's till the 70's, the content of which is activity in a war, avoiding a war, or horsing around with pals in their Studebakers and Ford Falcons. The current news they chat about is typically the trouble with mass transit, government rights, reckless drivers, rediculous fishing permit rules, and where to get a good slice of pie. From age 7-10 I attended a barbershop that was decorated like a hunter's trophy room. In college I got my haircut in downtown Abilene at Dub's. I moved to Portland and got a haircut from an old-school barber a couple times at first, but I started going to Bishops Barbershop because they give you beer. I left barber scene.

Tom (looks about 57 years old) has been cutting hair in downtown Portland for 25 years, and he works alone. His shop doesn't have the aforementioned barber pole. When I walked in, a high-tech stuffed pig motion detector started oinking. The walls looked just as they did when he scouted out this location several years ago: White with no decorations. In the lobby there was a red vinyl couch nobody sits on with magazines in front of it that nobody reads. This may have been the most inconspicuous, most nondescript place of business I've ever seen. It was like a movie set where the goal is for you to notice at a glance that people get haircuts here, but there isn't anything else there to distract you from the characters.

I said, "I like what you've done with the place." He must have detected the sarcasm, because he said, "Oh, yeah? What would I do?" I said nothing because I had no response. It seemed like he knew I wouldn't have anything to suggest, like he had me pegged from the minute I walked in. I made a mental note of the brand of sarcasm that he employed. It's like when two people know each other really well. One person might say something in a deadpan, or matter-of-fact way that is obviously not true, and the listener understands this to be sarcasm because he/she knows the speaker very well (like if I said flatly, "I love to wear speedos...") But when two people don't know each other very well, the speaker must change his/her tone to make the sarcasm clear, and so the listener understand the content of what is said is not true. Tom used with me sarcasm reserved for friends. He wanted to throw me off a little bit. Maybe that's how old guys do it. Maybe he saw me as a peer.

A couple weeks ago I was walking past his shop and I spotted him outside smoking. I told him I needed a haircut soon, so he dug out a business card from his pants pocket with his free hand and handed it to me, and he told me to call and set up an appointment. A week later when I arrived for my haircut, he feigned a puzzled look and asked, "Why weren't you here this morning?" Earlier in the day I called him from court because a case was running long and so we rescheduled for later.

"Like I said on the phone, court ran long," I said. He replied, "Yeah, so why weren't you here?"Puzzled and not wanting myself to get grumpy with the guy who is about to cut my hair, I moved things along: "Where do you want me to sit?" He directed me towards both his chairs. I naturally picked the wrong one, which gave him the opportunity to make the crack, "No, you're other right." I moved to the other chair without comment, and this is when he said to me, "Just lean all the way back." I remember feeling my abdomen muscles suddenly conflicted: Some letting me back, some keeping me forward, and my body weight deciding for everyone that I was going lay back on the damn chair. It was as though the base of my spine said 'just lean back, you wimp', but my cerebral cortex waved a yellow caution flag. A dizzying, stale cigarette odor wrapped around my head while his hands rubbed the soap through my hair. I was lightheaded when I thought he might actually be washing cigarette smell off his hands and onto my scalp, and it occurred to me that this was unfair.

I moved to the other chair after he finished rinsing and softly drying my hair. I'm a little ashamed to say that it felt good. This was quite a departure from the ancient temple massager Ol' Dub used to press against my head without asking me first. I hated that thing. Anyway, I told Tom what I wanted and he started to work. After a few minutes the phone rang. As he is the only employee, he stopped what he was doing to go answer it. I heard, "No, dumbass, I'm not at the bar yet. I'm cutting Gavin's hair." He made a few more cracks to let me know that this was either a business partner or a friend. In my experience, saying something like that is meant to endear myself to him, or at least make me ask, "Who was that?" But this was my first haircut by Tom. And the same reason why I didn't ask who had called should have been applied by Tom in why he shouldn't use my name with a stranger: unfamiliarity still between us. The mystery remained unsolved, but I'm still slightly curious about the tease.

I've seen Tom smoking cigarettes outside his shop for a couple years. It was tough for me to connect who I saw in person as someone who cuts hair because, 1) He doesn't dress like a barber, and 2) He doesn't dress like a typical hair stylist. Tom, as today, always wore solid oxford shirts, cheap khakis, and loafers. He doesn't fit the neighborhood. His shop sits between a printing press, a crappy downtown convenience store, and across the street from a nasty Section 8 building. My point is that he is the only guy on his block who routinely tucked his shirt in and had a hairstyle that could be worn without catching a bit of attention in this decade or the past five. I asked him about the folks who live across the street because I thought he could throw me some gems. I was correct.

He actually turned my chair towards the window that faced the building to point things out. I worried for a moment that coworkers walking by would notice me on display for their razzing. He pointed to the apartment building and said, "The (address of the building)? You don't want to live there." If forgot about my coworkers and listened up.

I've walked by those apartments like I've walked by Tom's shop: A million times before and with a quickened pace. All you ever see are the smokers taking drags. Sure, if you listen you can pick up on some juicy psychobabble, but it's usually no biggie. But Tom works in front of the apartments. He sees more than I do because he smokes across the street from them. So he warned me, "Don't ever go in there," his eyes widend for emphasis, "'cause it's a box of loonies."

A box of loonies. Terrific. He chuckled as a fond memory synapsed and moved forward. He points outward and said, "See where that Buick is?" I said, 'yes'. He went on to tell a story about a fella from the apartments who exposed himself to a female employee of the printing press next door, and then urinated near the Buick for convenience sake. Though I wanted to ask for a few more details (like if that was his Buick), I decided against it for fear of coming on too strong in my first appointment.

I decided to make another appointment. This is partly because after we finished, he said what he does for his other clients is call them for a reminder in 6 weeks. I said 'ok'. I didn't say, "I'll call you," because it would sound like I didn't approve of the haircut. But I liked the haircut. I provided my phone number when asked, but he couldn't find any paper. So he oddly started writing on the counter with a regular pen. Now I'm a permanent fixture? I didn't ask anything about this or make a comment. I thanked him for the cut, tipped him $5 and left for the day feeling slightly uneasy, but with a sharp haircut. We didn't hug or even shake hands when it was finished.

My wife complimented me on it later that night and said I was sexy.

-----

I'll try to get the follow up out in a few days. I've seen Tom every couple months for a haircut since this visit above. I guess I got used to his charm.

More to Gravel, More to Love

Gavin Morgan

on September 16, 2009 1:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

More to Gravel, More to Love

Luke picked Tali. Yay.

Tonight I'm watching the season finale to the Fox reality show More To Love with my wife. I would have missed it, but she called me from the grocery store to remind me it was on and then asked if I would please watch it to catch her up when she got home. What she didn't know was that I was right in the middle of scouting the waiver wire for "gems" in my fantasy football leagues. This was important business.

But you know what? There is more to me than fantasy football. So I paused my important business to spend time on what really matters: Reality television with my wife.

In case you aren't familiar with More to Love, its a Bachelor-style reality series with a twist: Everyone on the show is plus-sized. It's definitely not a VH1 plastic surgery drunk-fest. I would love to tell you that this was my first episode, but I would be lying. I've actually seen them all. The show caught my eye from the beginning because the contestants presented themselves so genuinely, wearing their hearts on their sleeves with extreme ease. In fact, it was hard to find the requisite villain. Lauren was the best they could do. She was mean because of her outspoken ways: "I'm not here to make friends, I'm here to win." Ooooh. So bad.

The biggest single difference in the women on this show and every other dating reality show wasn't their size, but their tears. Every time we saw a solo interview with a contestant, the water works let loose. It was uncomfortable at times. These women ADORED Luke. For them, Luke represented a guy who "finally" made them feel good about who they were. He liked them for who they were on the inside. And we heard about it over and over and over.

Many of the contestants were very upfront about their lack of dating experience. Some didn't need to say a word about it because their inexperience was glaring. For example, several junior high-style saccharine sweet notes were left for Luke to find. If the ladies had only known that males past puberty react to sappy love notes from females in the 'might date' category with only nausea and revulsion. And on one of the first solo dates with Luke, a loose-lipped lady picked the wrong time for share time by dropping the "I'm a virgin" while they cuddled in a sailboat. While Luke struggled to find something a little less wrong to say, she changed the subject, "You know, that horizon is the perfect metaphor for this moment: Endless possibilities." I'm pretty sure Luke disagreed because he shooed her away that very episode. Tim Tebow at least waited until he was asked by the media to drop the V-bomb.

I thought the show overall stayed away from the usual cheap thrills and antics that we see on most reality programs now. The only tacky part was the series title graphic showing a huge oversized ring thudding loudly as it landed with the voice over, "More to Love". Come on, Fox. That was a little too obvious.

So the series ended tonight with the most earnest reality show finale I've seen. First Luke told Malissa that his heart belonged to "someone else" (duh). Luke showed empathy and care with her reaction. Malissa was expectedly sad and hurt, but took the bad news with some grace while crying in the limo ride away from the happy couple. Some of the other exits were positively hard to stomach with the bellowing and the, "What's wrong with me?" pleadings at nobody. Luke then asked Tali--the chosen one--to marry him. Not surprisingly, she said yes. They looked like a happy couple.

So there is more to me than fantasy football. I can watch More to Love. On a Tuesday night without a game to watch, no problem.

Nobody Wins A Blood Feud

Gavin Morgan

on September 9, 2009 10:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This week I received an insightful and timely op-ed piece from an avid Loose Gravel reader in Allen, Texas:

Nobody Wins a Blood Feud

by Kril Cunningham

You know what the problem with blood feuds is? People die, and nobody wins.

Welcome to the world of U.S. politics in the oughts. Republicans vs. Democrats is the new Hatfields vs. McCoys (no offense to Colt). It's a blood feud that's rooted in ignorance and misunderstandings, and it's the single most destructive force facing those of us who love this country.

Two years ago I couldn't turn on the radio or television without listening to someone like Bill Maher or Nancy Pelosi decry our President as a dim-witted loser that's hellbent on destroying America. Now I can't turn on the radio or television without listening to Rush Limbaugh or Mike Pence call our President an arrogant socialist with plans to destroy America.

You know what? George W. Bush and Barack Obama both love this country. Why else would they subject themselves, and their families, to the scrutiny and misery of being in the ultimate spotlight? It's pretty unlikely that either of them had a moment when they turned to their wife and said, "Hey, I bet it would be a gas to send our kids to school for the next decade with Secret Service agents glued to their hip" or "Let's lead a life filled with death threats and zero privacy."

Presidents make those sacrifices because they care about this country. We may not agree with their policy ideas - and that's okay, it's good to have positive discourse and debate about policy - but can we at least stop the name calling and hateful rhetoric?

It's clear that our elected officials in Washington (and Austin) are incapable of toning down the venom, so let's take it upon ourselves to set the example and demand that they follow our lead.

This means that we need to start viewing a Presidential address to our children as an opportunity to teach, and not an opportunity to espouse hypocrisy.

What do I mean by hypocrisy? Let's try to identify this quote:

"The Department of Education should not be producing paid political advertising for the President, it should be helping us to produce smarter students. And the president should be doing more about education than saying, 'Lights, camera, action.'"

It was probably Governor Rick Perry.

No wait - it may have been Republican leader Michael Steele.

Nope, on second thought I bet it was Sean Hannity.

Tired of guessing? It was former Democratic House Majority Leader, Dick Gephardt getting his knickers in a twist over then President George H.W. Bush's national address to school children in 1991. A practice he learned from his predecessor, President Ronald Reagan.

We sit here 18 years later watching the same story play out - only the party roles are flipped. This time the Republicans are up in arms and the Democrats are defending the President.

It's hypocrisy, plain and simple.

As parents, we let our children down when we fail to take advantage of these moments to teach them both sides of the story. In sports, we teach them to watch game film of their opponent. We teach them not to taunt their opponent during the match. We even teach them to show respect to their opponents by shaking hands after the game.

Let's listen to each other. Let's respect differing opinions. Let's work together to make this country the best it can be.

Above all else, let's stop pissing and moaning about our differences and put forth the effort to find common ground. Because if your son or daughter becomes President some day, and half the country accuses them of being the devil for making a speech to the nation's school children, then we have all failed.

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September 2009 Archives

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