26 Thoughts and One to Grow On

First, some things you may not know about me

1) I am seriously weary of people who do not appreciate Seinfeld's humor.

2) I know six programming languages. I don't know how to use them, but I know they exist.

3) I am extremely possessive of my desserts.

4) I use only my index finger when typing with my left hand. This was news to me when I discovered it three months ago. I do not know if this has always been the case, but I can't seem to change it.

5) Ice cream burps are my fave, followed closely by doughnut and guacamole burps. If you have never had a delicious burp, I pity you. It's a non-caloric treat.

6) I had no front tooth for four years. And rocked that look every minute.

Things I ponder

7) Is the speed limit really being enforced by aircraft?

8) How much money do grocery stores lose from people mislabeling their produce during self checkout? Is it worth the money they save in staffing?

9) At what level of static does the average American change the radio station?

10) Why does every oil change turn into a $300 excursion?

11) Is it socially acceptable to pluck one's eyebrows at an ATM? Those mirrors have the most incredible lighting.

12) How many malicious workers shake carbonated beverages before stocking them and get silent satisfaction knowing they exploded all over someone?


Pet Peeves

13) Excessive hash-tagging. If you can't make your point in six hash-tags, it's not worth making.

14) Anyone who says they know what it is like to be a Cleveland fan because they have one mediocre team. O, I'm sorry, Detroit, the Lions are terrible? I seem to remember the Pistons and Tigers winning championships in the past ten years. Your sports history is not as tragic. Don't take that from us.

15) People who say they love summer then complain about the heat.

16) Business emails beginning with, "I just wanted to reach out." Obviously. That is implied by you sending me an email. Tell me something I don't know like, "I had no desire to reach out, but my boss is going to throw a fit if I do not."


Random thoughts:

17) This is post number 69. Well, kind of. There are a couple drafts included in the count, but I am not deleting them so this can be 69.

18) I am getting my car inspected today. It expired last September.

19) Chipotle. I just think about Chipotle a lot.

20) Occasionally I remember it is not a dream; Lebron has returned and, realistically, Cleveland could win a championship in my lifetime. Then I smile. Then the Browns lose.

21) I think my neck is generally sore from balancing and supporting my big head.

22) One should always buy hoodies two sizes too large. They are not meant to be flattering. They are meant to be comfortable.


Things I spend too much time pondering

23) Cider vs IPA: Crisp, light, refreshing vs hoppy, heavy, and rich. Both so good once they hit your lips. Bahhh. Give me both.

24) How much money does the Smoked BBQ truck man make? And why did Zocalo stop having dance parties?

25) Hypothetical hubby - professional country star vs tennis player: Rugged, strong, American vs suave, smooth, sensational. And both so good once they hit your lips*. Bahhh. Give me both. And Mark Wahlberg.

26) Could I make a living being a socialite?

Finally, one to grow on.

*In my head

The Boys of Fall

Tonight is the first evening with Internet in my new apartment. Yes, I moved over a month ago, but apparently a modem requires a router to receive WiFi, and apparently an extender is not the same as a router. Ahh, technicalities. It seemed appropriate I stop by since I have been absent the past few weeks. I missed you, and returning feels like a nice, big hug. The fall air is creeping through my window, country music is playing softly, and I am feeling nostalgic. Perhaps it is because I heard Kenny Chesney's Boys of Fall this afternoon, but I cannot help but be whisked back to Friday nights in a small town.

For as long as I can remember, high school football was as much a part of life as church or Sunday dinners. My father was a coach, and fall evenings were spent calculating computer points*, dissecting the classic wing-t offense or bemoaning the fact that Catholic schools did not have to pull talent from within their district. We went to every game, and when my grandpa became too sick to make it inside the stadium, I sat with him and my grandma to watch from their car. They had priority seating because my father led the effort to build a new stadium.

The Hilltoppers were good. We won state in '94. My sisters' boyfriend, now husband and Chardon's head coach, led us to a state berth in '98, where we were beat with a hook and ladder. My heart still sinks slightly envisioning the play. I watched the cute football players and pretty girls who seemed so mature and imagined what it was like to be that old.

In my head, each season began the same way. The sky was a billowing gray with hints of sun, and the invigorating fall air penetrated your core with hopes of victory. The stands filled with fans in jerseys; the infamous superfans carried the ever-classy blow horns. The student section assembled, led by mascots in ridiculous attire. Some were there to watch and some were there to socialize, but all of Topper land was there.

Every team was undefeated, and last year meant nothing. The players lined up behind the fence and clapped their ritualistic beat, one that is engrained in my memory. Excitement and anticipation mounted as they rushed the field and tore through the tarp for the first time. This was when the Hilltoppers collected on months of hard work. From kickoff until the clock struck zero, the only play that mattered was the next.

The season was always an emotional roller coaster. The eight minute drives, the quarterback on the keeper, the missed block and subsequent sack. The interceptions, fumble recoveries and touchdowns. You were lost in the moment, but in a different way than collegiate or pro, because these were your childhood play dates, the sons of your closest friend or your grandson. They were your study hall buddies, the class clowns or fellow nerds, your boyfriend. And you wanted them to win.

But why? Why did people travel hours to see a game and weather rain, sleet and snow? Why did people come long after their children had graduated? Why did you get butterflies when it was 3rd and long and we were down by 6?

High school football represents something. It is pure. It can be a sign of strength and normalcy after tragedy. There is a comfort in knowing that amidst outside turmoil, the game is constant. A touchdown is always six points, a false start is always a five yard loss, and despite possibly questionable refs, the scoreboard never lies. The boys play with an innocent and unadulterated passion. They are not yet tainted by the world around them, but, rather, are maturing before your eyes. Most of all, it represents a community and family that is able to put their differences aside for a season and stand behind one group of young men.

I was very close with many on the football team. Time has increased the distance between us, but with a simple song, I hear the stadium chants, feel the nervous excitement and smell the musty post-game locker room. Though I cannot say for certain, I believe with each new autumn, they smell the crisp air and are taken back, if only momentarily, to a time when they were the boys of fall.

*The mathematical basis of making the playoffs determined by the caliber of team you played, but also the caliber of teams they played.