Friday, December 14, 2007

Face Off

Apparently RandBall has publicly discussed his disapproval of the comeback of Zubaz. I, on the other hand, welcome them. Did you not forsee the circle of life that Zubaz would inevitably follow? Take, for instance, the soft comfortable fabric of your pajama pants, then add the stylish animal print of your most bitchin' "going out" outfit, and you've got Zubaz. What's NOT to love about that?

I remember back in the early nineties when Zubaz were originally popular, they were adorned by mostly muscle bound men, weight lifting in the gym, or heading to the beach (after weight lifting in the gym) or lounging on the couch watching the game (after weight lifting in the gym.) Then they came out with a fashionable female counterpart to the bold "male" fabric patterns. Mine were pink cheetah print.

This time around the Mpls/St.Paul magazine projected that women would be more interested than men in the product. Imagine the female college student's perspective: After a 20-hour day of back to back classes and full-time work, she slips on her favorite Zubaz and heads to the couch. She watches her favorite program while she scarfs down Chinese takeout, her only full meal of the day. Off to bed. She wakes up, rolls out of bed, and takes the dog out (in the aforementioned Zubaz- see how all-purpose they are?) She fills her book bag with the day's homework, and loads her laptop into it's carrying case, and it's off to the coffee shop to study for finals (still clad in her fashionable Zubaz.)

Zubaz could easily become a female student's uniform. They're as comfortable as flannel p.j.s without the stigma. They're gym pants with flare, and are 100% all-purpose. Perhaps their new slogan should allude to conjuring up the power of the animals whose prints they display: Like a stalking cheetah, she has devoured her Chinese takeout and tackled her final project in one deadly swoop! Maybe we'll pitch that idea...

Thursday, November 29, 2007

Giving Thanks

Yes, Thanksgiving was once again hosted at our home, and another turkey was sacrificed to the gods of tradition. *Sigh*

My parents came to visit and the four of us (the RandBalls and the Olsons) sat around, visited with each other, and--most of all-- ate.

Thanksgiving is such an important holiday in this day and age. We so often forget to express our gratitude. We take things for granted. We expect that life will happen the way we plan. It's difficult to come to grips with the fact that everything in our lives is mutable, and nothing is to be taken for granted.

I know it's rather morbid, but I often think about what I would do without RandBall, or what would happen if I got into a terrible accident and couldn't notify him myself. I think of all types of scenarios, partly in order to prepare myself, and to a degree, I feel my subconscious is constantly reminding me not to take my blessings for granted. My mother is the same way. When I leave for a trip by plane, my mother always sends me off with the same phrase, "Don't get dead." In her mind, voicing this ensures that nothing bad will happen because the likelihood that you would predict something so terrible is so minuscule, that she feels in some superstitious way, she's preventing the very fate she hints at. From my perspective, this could become a psychosomatic fulfillment of prophesies- and my superstitious tendencies compel me to knock on wood. So, I often don't voice my thoughts. I do so here only to illustrate the point- that we seldom take the time to be grateful.

Why does our society use Thanksgiving Day to focus on food and prosperity? I know how the story goes; that the pilgrims celebrated the harvest and their partnership with the American Indians to bring forth such bounty. However, in a society filled with such abundance, why is the focus on food? Why don't we instinctively look to the others around the table, and take a moment to share our gratitude with one another; for live, for happiness, for the struggles that taught us valuable lessons, and most of all, for each other?

So I suppose I'll lead by example:

This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for my new husband, my lovable pug, my home and work and education. I'm thankful for my family, for my parents, and for my relationships with family and friends. I'm thankful for the learning and growth that these relationships have brought me, even though many of them were complicated by family dynamics, situational drama, and emotional pain. I'm thankful for my growing self-awareness, and for the person I have become. I have been making new friends-- something that evokes a very childlike excitement in me--and I've encountered and fostered relationships with some very strong mentors and role models. This is a time leading up to a great career transition in my life, and for all of those who helped me through it, I am eternally grateful.

Photo courtesy of istockphoto.com

Friday, November 16, 2007

Opposites Attract (My apologies if this gets the song of the same title stuck in your head...)

So, Mr. RandBall and I have varying interests. The first time I met his father, he asked me a simple question, "So, you're a sports fan?" and I had a simple answer, "No, not really." Aghast, Michael's father looked from son to future daughter-in-law, not knowing what to say. RandBall jumped in, "It's kind-of nice, actually. I can come home and talk about something other than sports."

My favorite story from RandBall's business travel was when he went to the East Coast to cover a tournament. (In my version of the story, the teams and the sport in question are too minor to mention. :) During his off-time, RandBall went to the local art museum, to take in come culture. Upon returning to his hotel, and finding his colleagues gathered in the hotel bar, watching a game on TV over some brews, they asked, "Where've you been?" "The art museum," he plainly responded. The other men were surprised (and probably poked fun at him.)

Well, I'm proud of RandBall. Culture; whether it be art, music, theatre, or culture with respect to community; fraternizing with other cultural groups, tasting the cuisine of other cultures, or simply reflecting on the cultural differences of any place you visit in comparison to home... this is what makes travel worthwhile. Yes, sometimes RandBall travels for work-related purposes, but I'm happy to know that he will take the time, if possible, to get to know the cities he's visiting.

Now, there's also the aspect of the Deaf Community, a cultural group I've become involved with in my studies to become a Sign Language interpreter. Now, RandBall has attended a few Deaf Community events with me, and each time, he struggles to understand those around him, and often will use my services as an interpreter, to express himself. After the first outing of this kind, I was surprised at RandBall's willingness to be surrounded by people whose language he didn't understand. Diplomatically, he responded, "Well, when you come out to one of my work events, everyone talks about sports, and you don't know what they're talking about. This is pretty much the same thing- so I can tough it out for you." *Sigh!* I'm not sure where I found this gem of a man, but I'm thankful for him.

The Seurat painting pictured above is from the Art Institute of Chicago. RandBall and I contemplated this exact painting years ago (We were just like in the picture, but blonder.)

Where would we be if RandBall had no interest in the arts and culture? Well, it would've been a tough battle... and I don't know whether we'd be married now. Luckily, there was no ultimatum that I be baptized as a sports fan prior to our union. Though I continue waver between believing that sports are a capitalist venture, and believing that "It doesn't matter whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game," RandBall tends to enjoy my naive comments about the industry. Many a time, RandBall has responded to one of my quips with, "I'm going to include that in my blog," or "I can't wait to tell Taco you said that!!" And, to tell you the truth- I've found this is my role... to comment on the industry as an outsider, that the "insiders" can contemplate why something is the way it is. Is that not what art does? Good art challenges it's listeners, viewers, readers, etc. No, I suppose you can't take the art out of an artist. So, maybe it follows that you can't take the sport out of a fan. So, I might as well be creative with my sports fanatic husband... as long as he takes me to a museum or the theatre every now and then... or humors me by coming to another Deaf Community event. Now that's teamwork!

Photo courtesy of www.gallagher.com

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

I had hope, dammit!

RandBall commenter, and closest friend, Rocket, came to visit last week. We had dinner at his favorite restaurant, and talked Purple Jesus. It's pretty well understood that I'm not a sports fan. However, I admitted to getting choked up at Santana's shut out game last season, and Rocket exclaimed, "See, that's why we become sports fans." We get glimpses of pure physical genius- we get to watch players who are in the zone- who are playing their best game ever... a game that will never be matched.

It's so dramatic- I swear sports fans are the most romantic of us all. They are believers- they are superstitious, they root for a team against all odds. And finally one day their team wins.

After this visit, I started to have faith in the Vikings. Though they suffer terrible losses, and there are times where it's a true embarrassment to be a fan, there is still a point in "rooting for the loser" as I ranted against in my last post. I started to sympathize with the fans. I started to understand their plight- and began to validate it.

And then the Vikings blew it against the Packers. To top it off, Adrian Peterson was injured- the team's one asset. Is this a team that begs it's viewers to root for them against all odds? Are they even able to consider the fans, when they can barely scrape together a defense?

*Sigh* Who am I to complain? I don't have season tickets- and I didn't watch the majority of the Vikings vs. Packers game. The players make millions of dollars, and we fans are the lowly proletariat. Maybe we expect too much of the athletes which our society have put on a pedestal. Perhaps, like leap year, we must wait patiently for those glimpses of genius. Leave the Vikings hat in the closet, and step away from the television. Maybe in seven years we'll have the team you're ready to root for.

Picture courtesy of www.istockphoto.com

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Rooting for the Loser


This past Sunday, I was witness to another infamous Viking's "game." RandBall thought I was successfully doing my duty as Viking's team good luck charm as we drove to a local quipster's home, listening to the first quarter on the radio. However, the luck changed for the worst as we settled onto the couch for the rest of the game. Luckily, I had a one week old infant to coddle (local quipster's spawn), and was not too engaged in the game. However, for the two young men, it was a disaster. They resorted to eating their pepperoni pizza and badmouthing the very team they are fans of.

Which brings me to the topic of this post. Dictionary.com defines a fan (in this context) as: "an enthusiastic devotee, follower, or admirer of a sport, pastime, celebrity, etc." When that enthusiasm wanes, can we really say we're still fans? What is happening psychologically when we hang on to a devotion that gives us nothing in return? What makes a sports fan continue their devotion towards a particular team despite their consistent losses? What happens when we're caught wearing our Viking gear out in public after a terrible loss? Do we stand strong, and turn our noses up at the fair-weather-fans? Or do we hang our heads in shame- the shame that shouldn't be ours to bear- that should only be experienced by the team themselves?

After the game, I explained to a friend, "I thought I was the Viking's good luck charm, but I didn't work this time." Their response, "No good luck charm works for the Vikings." There you have it, folks. There ain't no gain in conjuring up another superstition to help the Vikings along- they just aren't a team that will use it.

Photo courtesy of: www.ximnet.com

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Good Luck Charm

I was at a conference Wednesday through Sunday. I returned home, laid in the bathtub, and contemplated a nap. RandBall arrived home at precisely this moment, gave me a quick peck, and ran to the TV. Oh. Game time.

I entered the living room and slumped onto the loveseat, and thought to myself, "Welcome home, Julie." Too tired to move, I stayed until halftime, when I decided to go to bed. We were winning (gasp!) and I was pretty sure the fate of the game was sealed.

Only later did RandBall share with me that the Vikings blew it, and lost badly. He then blamed it on me, because I left the room. His reasoning? I must be a good luck charm if a) the only full game I watched (the Sunday before) the Vikings won, and b) I was there for the first half- when the Vikings were in the lead. I've heard RandBall talk about good luck charms before. When it comes to sports, he's very superstitious. I've heard about games he's watched where he was convinced if he turned on the light, the team would lose. I'm not sure if he ever had lucky underwear that he wouldn't wash for fear his team would lose... but I wouldn't put it past him!

What if I really were the determining factor in the fate of the Vikings? Would I watch every game in hopes that they'd win? Hell no! I'd toy with the team... make them think they've finally got things together- then I'd go to the mall, and wait for their demise! I'd stop into the room as the team is behind by several touchdowns, watch as they are just about to kick their tying field goal, and on a whim, take off to get a pedicure. Mwah ha ha ha ha ha!

Picture courtesy of www.istockphoto.com

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Blog Action Day (just one day late)

So, yesterday was Blog Action Day- a day where bloggers united to present topics related to saving the environment. Now, I'd like to share that RandBall and I recycle. Every couple of weeks, we've got about 4 or 5 grocery bags full of recyclables. This is a very important component for taking responsibility for your carbon footprint. This is the easiest, most accessible way to make a difference. Think about it; someone who you already pay to take away your garbage is willing to come to your house and take away your recyclables, that they may be used again to make future aluminum cans and newspapers. You don't even have to go anywhere. RandBall and I live in a condo, which is a four-plex. All the other owners are single women. None of the other owners recycle. They feel that since they live alone, their recyclable waste is too insignificant. This is not true. I'm appalled when I visit my family up north (for those non-Minnesotans reading, that means Northern Minnesota) and I'm informed that they cannot, for example, recycle cardboard in their area- or based upon where they live, recycling is not available. Those of us who live in a decent sized city have the most options when it comes to recycling. You can even recycle the cardboard core of your toilet paper roll. Please look into your recycling options in your area, and do the responsible thing- recycle!

Picture courtesy of: www.istockphoto.com

Saturday Morning Occurrence

Okay, this has nothing to do with sports, but I had an eerie thing happen to me on Saturday morning. I went to bed at a decent hour on Friday night, and woke around the time RandBall typically awakes (rare, because he needs less sleep than I.) I suggested we go out for breakfast, since the breakfast rush is usually closer to noon in our neighborhood. So we went to a local breakfast nook, and had a lovely meal. Just as we were finishing up our meal, I noticed a little blonde girl near the front door, who seemed to be looking at me. I motioned to RandBall, because she looked a lot like me when I was little. Then I realized she had blonde pigtails and glasses on, and so did I! It was a bit eerie. Then when RandBall looked back towards the girl, we noticed there was not one blonde girl, but two! They looked exactly alike, and both were intensely staring at me. I tried staring back, no change. I laughed. Still staring.

RandBall leaned in towards me and whispered in jest, "Maybe we're the only ones who can see them!" It was seriously a moment it seemed only we were aware of.

Just when the staring was becoming ridiculous, I looked behind me at the wall- wondering if there was a particularly alluring paint-by-number above my head. Alluring, but not a painting, was the HDTV mounted on the wall above my head airing cartoons.

"Oh, I get it!" I said to myself, "They're hypnotized by Saturday morning cartoons!"

Picture courtesy of: http://world.visualwebtools.com

Monday, October 15, 2007

Running at the Speed of Life


Most of you know that RandBall is moving up the ranks at the Strib. You may not see his "Rotation" page any longer, but you do get to see his handsome mug in the paper every so often, and he's got a great team of writers working for him. So, he's doing a bit more "behind the scenes" work, and let me tell you... he's working his ass off. He comes home late, he works 10-12 hour Mondays. He works Friday nights. The first few weeks, I was worried about him- wondering when he was planning on getting some R and R.

I on the other hand am working full time and going to school part time (getting my second BA in ASL/English Interpreting.) Our schedules are crazy, and when we arrive home at the end of the day, you might find us vegging in front of the TV watching past seasons of Curb Your Enthusiasm or The Office... or you may happen upon us at a local establishment, sipping a cold one, winding down after another cyclone of a day.

I think it's our generation- a group of young adults trying to inch their way up- trying to earn a living, trying to build their careers, and showcase their integrity. It's not easy- and when you pick up and change career paths, you find yourself wedged between eager 19 year-olds chomping at the bit to compete in the field.

We are not the vitalized, puppy-dog eyed, go-getters of the workplace. We know our shit- we have loads of life experience, and we know what we want. We've got focus.

And how do we maintain focus? One simple answer: espresso. I came up with this genius idea when moping about how the hell I'm going to get through till May with the addition of an internship on my plate. That's it! Espresso, and loads of it- possibly multiple times a day.

The barista at Caribou Coffee knows my pug's name (what use are human names, anyway?) Starbucks, Dunn brothers, you come in at a close second and third. We love you, and all you have done for our careers. Thank you. Thank you a million times.

Don't you have homework?


Yes, we often have something "better to do" or something more important to do than what we end up doing. Often we choose the easier thing, or the more enjoyable thing, or the short term pleasure over the thing that would, in the long run, help us out. Saturday, we had a gathering, and Sunday, we were sluggish. What can I say? I had homework, yes, I had errands to run, yes. There is always laundry to do, and eyebrows to groom, and nails to file and polish. Yes- even personal hygiene took a back seat to football this Sunday.

I'm am unabashedly an avid self-help book reader. I feel we are all "hopelessly flawed," (This is a quote from my favorite movie, Little Women) and everyone can benefit from a little self-help now and then. One book I have recently purchased is entitled, "The Joy Diet." Though it has nothing to do with food, this "diet" encourages folks to include a list of elements to their daily life in order to increase their enjoyment of their everyday life. One such menu item is "treats," defined as "anything that makes you smile." Well, I have found myself indulging in various treats this weekend. One such treat was seeing, "Jerry Springer, the Opera." I had the pleasure of attending when there were two ASL interpreters working. I have added an entire repertoire of ASL swear words to my ASL vocabulary (if you didn't know, I'm going to school to become an ASL/English interpreter... graduating in May! Horray!) I'm pretty sure I was the victim of a perma-smile throughout the entire performance.

Even if football doesn't make me smile, per se... I spent the afternoon with my husband, curled up on the couch with a sleepy pug, the above-mentioned husband serving me breakfast and coffee during the commercial breaks. Then, when glorifying (this time not the quarterback) Adrian Peterson after the game, I actually knew what he was talking about! I admit, I'm the type of person who does the Simpson's "ha ha" when I see a kicker miss a field goal, or a golfer just barely miss a three foot putt. But during Sunday's game, I was riveted as the kicker prepared to kick a career record field goal. Here's the kick.......... it's good!! I, like a true fan, grinned with satisfaction. Yes, it's good.

Picture courtesy of www.jupiterimages.com

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

I have indulged in the Soma


So last night was an anomaly. The 'Ball and I went to a local establishment for a late dinner and beverage, and *gasp* watched the game. I've learned that coaches call timeouts right after a kicker has kicked a field goal- thus making it null. I've learned that T.O. makes mistakes. And sometimes when a QB has a bad game, the rest of the team rallies for a win. Maybe it was the beer- or maybe it was the amazing service we enjoyed by our fabulous server. Or... maybe sometimes all you need on a Monday night is a good... old... gulp... game of football.

Picture courtesy of www.candylandcrafts.com

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Peace and Quiet


I've noticed that during the week, between Monday night football and the pre-game show on Sunday morning, there's a peaceful hush in the household. Before football season, this was just the norm, but now that Sunday morning through Monday (well after twilight) are filled with the energy of football games, I've taken notice. Our evenings are often engaging, but mellow. We are a couple who go to dinner at 9:00 p.m. and rarely turn in before midnight. Not only do we practice this lifestyle, but we're becoming known for it! A friend of mine recently said, "we could always go out at 9:00 p.m. on a weeknight- you guys are always up for it." Often our evenings consist of watching DVDs until one of us (the snoring one... no not the pug... well her too) falls asleep on the couch in the middle of a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode. I'm beginning to become wise to the industry of football. Have they targeted us? The demographic of Americans who are busy and worn out during the week, and need a hobby? Isn't Sunday a day full of dread for the upcoming work week for the typical 9-to-5-er? Isn't Monday so depressing that everyone needs a beer and a flickering TV screen in front of them? Wait- have I happened upon a drug? The American's soma? Has our need for relaxation and rejuvenation been replaced by hypnosis? I used to think the message went a little something like this, "Dream big, kids- because you could make a million dollars for your athletic prowess too!" Now, I'm beginning to think that the message is more like, "Drink it up, America- we've got an industry to entertain you- and you've got a sucky life."

*SIGH* I have a friend who really believes in conspiracy theories... and I don't intend to create my own, but I do wonder about the appeal of football. Why has the industry blown up to the point that athletes are our best paid "workers?" Why do we culturally appreciate athleticism and physical skill over artistic creativity and social justice? Why is American pop culture common knowledge, and history, social science, politics are not? I wonder how participation in the industries that exist to entertain affects our culture... after all, many adults are not "smarter than a fifth grader." Sad, but true.

Picture courtesy of www.jupiterimages.com

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

The Constant Buzz


Oh, dear sweet football, this is my ode to you. I wake in the morning to the pre-game show wafting through the house. The excited muffled speech of beefy, testosterone brimming men humming, growing louder as I approach the living room. The sight of my beloved, RandBall, sprawled out on the couch, alert beyond what one might deem appropriate for leisurely television watching.

This is the reality of our household during football season. It's been three years since I've had to have this experience in my home... we just purchased a TV. I should've known that the timing was planned. I should've known that it was back to watching EVERY game that basic cable would allow... even college football.

I humored him. Though I know nothing about football, and have never been able to concentrate long enough to learn the rules, I sat and watched with him. Though, I had no idea that this was a day-long event. One game after another. I thought we would have dinner at one point, but another game began, and RandBall was equally attentive to it. Finally, at a certain point I asked, "Are you really interested in this game?" I was relieved when he replied, "No, let's go eat." Immediately, I noted to myself: Make sure to ask if he's interested in the game before griping about having to wait for the game to end in order to eat/grocery shop/run errands/etc.

Occasionally, during a game I assumed RandBall had no vested interest in, I'll witness him cheering and screaming at the TV. "Is that guy on your fantasy football team?" I ask. "Yah," he says. Surprised? No.

Finally, it's all coming back to me. Football, sweet football. You're back in my life.

Monday, September 10, 2007

Thought of the day: "What's the big deal about football?"

Randball and I went to Longfellows for lunch yesterday and our waiter, in a bout of witty bantor, asked us for a "thought of the day." Mine was, "What's the big deal about football?" I was delighted by his gasp, as he seemed equally baffled as I. "I know! I came into work today and everyone was wearing purple, and gawking at the TV screens. Then I figured it out, it's football season!"

*sigh* Yes, it's football season. Now that we've purchased a (insert Freudian slip here)-sized TV, I've got hours of alone time, while the man and dog enjoy bonding time on the couch.

I've just never understood the appeal of a game that is contantly on-again-off-again. Ten seconds of action, two minutes of dispute, ten seconds of action, two minutes of glorifying the quarterback.

As I told Randball one night when he admitted to playing (number removed for the protection of our beloved) hours on end of online Scrabble, I said, "You could be earning a graduate degree in the time you spend online!" I could apply this principle to the hours in front of the tube watching football.

Well, at least he's not alone.

"Are you ready for some FOOTBALL?!!"

Thursday, August 23, 2007

Our "flower girl," Petunia.


Petunia Sue, actor, writer, and tap dancer extraordinaire, stops for a brief photo op outside her mother and father's wedding. Yes, she was born out of wedlock. Poor bastard.

I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Randball!





On the afternoon of June 30th, this young woman was accosted by this young man outside of Azia Restaurant in Minneapolis, and forced to pose as his bride for a picture. OH! Just kidding- she was paid.

Mrs. Randball Steps on Stage

Hello, everyone- my husband's avid readers over at RandBall, friends, colleagues, the world. I've decided to create a counterpart to my husband's blog. Yes, he writes about sports, but he writes about a lot more. He's a complete goofball. (Yes, one of the many reasons I'm Mrs. Randball today.) I, in fact, am a fellow goofball, and this is my stage.

Thank you for reading- and for your patience as I get this blog up and running.
Yours,
Mrs. Randball