tadcranky

The Heat
So I'm in Washington, DC, and, as you may know, it's hot here. The word "hot" doesn't even accurately describe how intense it is. When you walk outside, it feels like the molecules of heat are just pressing into your skin, fighting their way to your core. You can't fight 'em, there's nothing you can do.

When I look out my office window, the people down on the street are gamely trying to go about their routine. But I'm noticing how slowly they're walking. They're in slow motion, walking against a pool of those damn heat molecules. Occasionally, someone will just stop. I fight the urge to open my window and yell, "Don't stop. The molecules will just penetrate you faster!" So far, fortunately, everyone has been able to keep moving. It's supposed to be hotter tomorrow, though.

Baseball
The much-ballyhooed MLB trading deadline came and went, and Alphonso Soriano is still a National. This is good news for Nationals fans, for obvious reasons, and for journalists, who now can write about how stupid it was for the Nationals, particularly GM Jim Bowden, not to trade Alf for a couple of minor league players that at one point were considered hot prospects, but now are just guys that other teams would trade in order to get a good player for a couple of months. I think Bowden did the right thing. And it's not like I love the guy.

Soriano-wise, I'm also amused by the writers who say that one of the reasons it was so bad to not trade Soriano, and try to re-sign him, is because Alf wants a no-trade clause, and Nats President Stan Kasten does not give no-trade deals. It seems to me that a lot of teams give no-trade clauses, and a lot of players want, and get, them. It's not unusual for a player to waive that part of his contract -- Greg Maddux just did it when the Cubs shipped him to Los Angeles. So I say, Hey, Stan, you might want to think about changing your philosophy. If the Cubs can give no-trade deals, we should, too. These are the Washington Nationals, not the Atlanta Braves and their fifty straight divisional champions, so we might want to have a little flexibility. I think Kasten has probably already figured this out. Soon, maybe the writers will.

The Tender Bar
I read this book at the beach a couple of weeks ago. I always like to have a good beach book, and it just came out in paperback, so the timing was good. I liked it. I imagined a book mostly about bar hijinks, and it was really more about growing up and living your life. JR Moehringer's writing style really sucks you in, and he has had an interesting life. This makes for a good book. If I were to talk to JR, I'd ask him about what happened after the book was published. He had lost track of a lot of the characters involved in his life, and I wonder how many he's become reacquainted with. Particularly the book store clerks in Phoenix. So if you run into JR, ask him that for me.

Carry-out Thai Food
My girlfriend called me from work Saturday afternoon, and said she was craving Thai food, and could I pick something up for her and bring it to the mall. I said yes, because I'm that type of guy, and also because there was no baseball on tv, and I could listen to the Red Sox game on XM Radio.

She tells me she wants something called Kra Pow beef, from UrbanThai, in Crystal City. I google Urban Thai for the number, and I also look at their menu, and confirm that they have something called Kra Pow beef (I'm not big on Thai food, although there's a duck dish at a Thai restaurant by my apartment that's great; they have cheap drinks there, too.). Based on how excited she was for this dish, I started to add the number to my cell-phone directory, figuring I'd use it again. I immediately became frustrated with that process, and decided just to dial. Here's the conversation:

Restaurant guy: (unintelligible)
Me: Hi, I'd like to make a carry-out order.
RG: What would you like?
Me: I'll have one order of Kra Pow beef.
RG: What?
Me (refreshing the menu screen on my computer, and making sure I said it right): Uh, I'll have one order Kra Pow beef.
RG: We don't have that.
Me: K-r-a P-o-w beef, I'm probably mispronouncing it.
RG: Dude, this is Pizza Hut.
Me: Oh, sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number.

I really need to figure out how to more efficiently use the cell-phone directory (and I generally don't really like Pizza Hut).