Skip to main content
In the fall of 1978, this little long-haired raggedy kid rode around the block over and over in a rage. No one else was outside. They were still in their living rooms, sitting before their televisions in disbelief. So she just rode her red white and blue Spirit Of '76 bike (with banana seat, of course) around and around.

She hated – hated hated hated – the Yankees.

Today, finally, she can let go of her hatred a little bit. Mostly to taunt them, but still. It is progress.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Em,

Can you spell Bucky Dent?

October 2, 1978. One game playoff to decide whether Boston or New York would paly in the American League championship series. Boston leading 2-0 with 2 outs in the 7th. Bucky Dent had hit 4 homers in 1978 and had just had to ice his foot after he fouled a pitch into his foot. On the first pitch after the delay, with 2 men on, Bucky pops up a lazy fly ball on a previously windless day. Somehow it carried over the 38 foot Green Monster to give the Yankees a 3-2 lead. The score held and New York went on to win the World Series as well in 1978.

How could that raggedy kid NOT hate the Yankees?
listeme said…
Sheesh, I wonder where that kid gets her spirit.

Popular posts from this blog

More lake news : they've installed microwaves in the cabins. Okay. This is deeply disturbing to me. First of all, let's be honest. The furniture is rickety at best. Harvest gold plaids went out of style with the Bradys. The easy chairs with no legs never were in style. The high chair is just plain dangerous. The pots and pans are not non-stick; that's baked-on grease. So bringing in cute little white microwaves seems like some perversion of priority. Not to mention! Microwaves introduce things like frozen dinners, oatmeal with dinosaurs, and something called EasyMac. This is just wrong. Sick and wrong. Why, when I was a kid we chipped ice away from the lake's edge just to get our drinking water and then lit a fire to melt it. And the microwaves are really tiny and inadequate. It took 14 minutes to defrost my chili.
So I can finally talk about this without shuddering… much. There I was, innocently minding my own business, reading “Freakonomics” in the bathroom, and out of the corner of my eye I saw something run by. Curie and Sagan were both napping, so I was immediately alarmed. I thought maybe it was a mouse. (This should give you an idea of the size of the thing.) It was not a mouse. It was a centipede. It dashed into the laundry nook. “Aahh!” I said and looked around for help. No help was in sight. I believe in being prepared. I also believe in keeping an eye on my enemy. This presented a dilemma. I had to go find weapons without taking my eye off the creature. So I would run out of the bathroom, look around for something, anything -- where is a bazooka when I need one? -- and then race back in to see if he was still there. I did this several times. Finally, armed with a long piece of, well, bamboo (to poke with, of course), a bottle of bathroom cleaner, and a big cup, I advanced ...

a definition of demons

I talk about demons.  What I mean is I joke about demons, because one, demons aren't real, and two, it is a particularly useful way for me to isolate and define the things that I struggle with during the winter, and three, joking is an attempt to make them smaller.  Seasonal affective disorder, seasonal anxiety, these are hard to pin down.  You can pin down a demon.  It's a person.  Ish. So this is what demons do.  They circle as night falls, as unerring as coyotes when the fire dims.  They throw everything at once -- terror, mortality -- a barrage.  I actually physically stay away from the windows as the sun goes down, because the dread is so sharp.   Can you imagine?  Dread, like clockwork, when it gets dark.  Every day, right now.  You get to the point where earlier and earlier, you anticipate; you fear the window shades, the clock, dinner, thinking of what time it is.  All you can think is it's going to hit and it is...