the gecko finally got me

Fifteen minutes, people. It can save you 15% or more on car insurance.

Here's the thing. I've been watching a lot of baseball lately, as devoted readers know. The sheer number of car insurance commercials during baseball games has finally gotten to me. Why am I paying so much for car insurance, I finally found myself asking. Never mind the question of why so many car insurance commercials air during ball games. The Viagra commercials make sense in a way that the insurance ones don't necessarily.

Anyway, I saved more than $400 by switching to Geico. Perhaps I should be getting paid to say this. But shit, I think I'll buy myself an ice cream cone.

late start

While watching the Cubs lose to the Orioles on Tuesday night:

Me: Honey, I want to be a big league baseball player.

He: You don't hear much about 35-year-old women breaking into the big leagues.

Me: Why not? It's not faaaaaaaaaair.

Pause.

Me: Well, what about 36-year-old women?

He agreed that, yes, I'll have a much better chance in October.

your Wednesday dose of cuteness

Here's Wrigley and Kramer, Julie's dog, when Julie was in Italy. Julie's dogsitter, our friend Marie, brought Kramey and Buddy (who's camera shy) over for a visit while Julie & Rob were gone. I sent Julie this photo while she was in Italy because I know how much she was missing her boy.

And please note the look on Wrigley's face. I'm pretty cute, aren't I, Kramey?

note to self on teaching summer classes

Amy tired.

Amy vewwwy vewwwy tired.

Don't get me wrong. I love the students in my class. We're having a lot of fun together, and they're helping me think in different ways about some things. And it's keeping my mind active, keeping me getting up in the mornings. And when the Cubbies are winning, I can celebrate with them. heh.

But here's the thing about this summer class: it's every. single. day. There's not enough time in between meetings to digest and synthesize information. I feel like I'm pelting them with new terms and concepts every day.

Plus I haven't had time to read David Sedaris's new book. Whine whine whine.

Garage sale this Saturday. Be there. Stuff galore.

I look at Sweet Lou so differently now

Oh. My. God. Those Chicago-area Chevy commercials featuring Lou Piniella and Ozzie Guillen jumping rope and playing chess and jumping on a trampoline together kill me. I wish I had taped one because I can't find it online. The one where they're rapping together is online, but it's not as good as seeing these two jumping rope together, Lou with his hands in his back pockets. Lou kicking the dirt after a move in their chess game--it's too much.

Makes me like Lou so so much because I love to think about the taping of these commercials. Hell, I love to think about his agreeing to do the commercials in the first place. And over this incredibly beautiful winning weekend, we actually saw Lou smile a few times. I think it's because of the jumping rope. It'll make anyone smile.

Kills me, I tell you. Kills me.

Damn, them Cubbies are good.

what to do when you're sick of yourself

Be happy that you're teaching a summer course because it will get you out of your own head for a little while.

Tell everyone who will listen how sick you are of chapter 3. It's all so obvious and, at this point, pretty much old news. Really, how much more gift economy explanation can you take? Duh.

Duh. Duh. Duh.

I've officially hit that point in my writing process. Where everything is well, duh. Even crackheads know this.

This point always happens. Which makes me wonder, why don't we have that as part of the "official" writing process in comp? Prewrite. Write. Realize how damn obvious it all is. Despair a little while. Drive your friends nuts. Revise.

How is it that I can teach the same concepts every semester and yet when it comes to explaining in writing something that is just so damn obvious to me, I want to just go, duh? Maybe because with new students each semester it's never really the same teaching, but with writing, it's the same damn concepts waiting for me. There's no immediate audience feedback.

Will I ever finish chapter 3? Duh.

why I love the Cubs so much

One, it's fun to watch them win. I feel like I somehow had a part in their winning, what with all my cheering (and sometimes swearing) at the TV.

S. is a bit worried that my love for the Cubbies is getting out of hand. For instance, on Friday night they weren't on until 9:40, and I was moping around the house whining about not wanting to wait any longer. I wanted my Cubbies NOW!

See, many of you might not know this about me, but I'm an all-or-nothing kinda girl. And what the Cubbies allow me to do, number two, is focus completely on them and--drum roll, please--not think about work or what I should be doing.

Three, I have a crush on, in no particular order, Ryan Dempster, Aramis Ramirez, and Mark DeRosa. And now that Geovany Soto has shaved his face, I realize that he's quite a cutie, too. S. finally admitted last night that he has a man-crush on Ryan Theriot. Next time we go up to Wrigley, he's gonna get himself a Theriot shirt. I wear my DeRosa shirt with pride.

One thing I would like to do for the Cubs is send them a team razor. The FACIAL HAIR on some of these guys is enough to make me fall out of my couch. Kerry Wood, PLEASE do something about that wild buffalo growing on your chin, and Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick, is Scott Eyre planning to NAME the cat on his chin? And Reed Johnson, you highlight-reel-center-fielder, you, just go all the way and do one more swipe with the razor. Your team will thank you for it.

I've never experienced this kind of team love before. I kinda like it, peeps.

I'm still here

Remember the days when my going more than two days without blogging made me nervous? Like I had so much to report that I'd never get through it?

Them's were the days.

Now I go almost two weeks and I still wonder if I have anything to say.

Perhaps I've become more of an internal processer. I process things before I get a chance to sit and blog them, so by the time I have a chance to blog, there's nothing left to say.

My blog for the year 2008 will probably be summarized as: I'm still here. Not dead yet.

I completely missed the anniversary of my adopting Annabelle on May 30. Six years. But that was because S. and I were on our way to North Carolina for his dad's memorial service. S. gave a beautiful eulogy, lots of people got up and talked about what a terrific person Gerry was, and the service ended with Gerry & Janet's 14-year-old grandson singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Not a dry eye in the house. I was tempted to get up there and say something because I really did love S.'s dad and I actually feel sad to have only known him for a year and a half. But I knew I wouldn't be able to be even mildly coherent.

I've been watching the Cubs faithfully and boy, that takes up a lot of time. So I haven't been reading much, but on the drive back to Illinois, S. and I listened to the audio version of David Sheff's Beautiful Boy about his son's meth addiction. Fascinating stuff. It just blows my mind the stuff that meth'll do to a person, and I want to know more. I can see that easily becoming a mild obsession...I've already ordered a copy of Nic Sheff's Tweak.

S. and I installed a vinyl tile floor this weekend, with grout and everything. It looks fantastic. We're gonna do it in the kitchen, too, but we wanted to try a small space first: basement hallway, where if it turned out badly, nobody'd really notice.

And I'm writing. Some days it's torture, but I'm somehow getting through it.