It is snowing in Buffalo. I sound like a broken record when I say that. I think we are getting hit by a storm today but I’ll believe it when I see it. My mom and I went out to breakfast this morning to the Original Pancake House. I ordered some chocolate chip pancakes, which were phenomenal. My mom ordered hash and eggs with two pancakes on the side. She couldn’t finish the hash and offered some to me. She said she usually has no problem finishing her food, and I disagreed. “You always takes leftovers home,” I told her. I guess we see things differently. We had as much coffee as we wanted, which is always nice and always turns into too much coffee. Now I am back home on a lazy Sunday morning. Life is good.
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While driving home from work today, the highway had long stretches of snowy, unplowed road followed by perfectly clear road. Maybe the plow drivers lifted their plows while working and missed some spots. It was really windy and there were some whiteout conditions at times, but thinking that the roads were covered in snow in some areas because it blew there from somewhere else was not convincing to me. It’s the closest thing to crappy driving conditions I’ve experienced in the past week, so I’ve been living good in that regard. I think there is another winter weather advisory waiting for us this weekend. It’s January in Buffalo, we should be under caution every day. Let it snow.
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Buffalo is a dramatic place. That seems wrong. It confuses me. We are a regular Rust Belt city with mostly simple folk doing mostly simple jobs. We are not in Hollywood. And yet, the warm moist air mixes with the ice cold air in some combination to dump biblical snow on us, and it always happens around a morning commute or an evening commute. That makes everything wild and scary. And then, still in Buffalo, we have football people that are allergic to winning in a straightforward and easy way. Our quarterback goes wild during games, like an atomic bomb that might blow our opponents up or might blow us up. Our owner and “general manager” then fire the head coach and burp up their lunch during a press conference explaining their actions and everyone freaks out. Nothing is calm here.
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I sold an exercise bike to a woman online for $20. She came and picked it up from my apartment today after I got home from work. It was really cold and windy when I went out to load the bike into her car. The bike was really heavy and the two five dollar bills and the one ten dollar bill she paid me with were wrinkled and frayed. I took that money to Home Depot to buy black garbage bags and duct tape. Of course those things cost more than $20 so I paid with my card instead. I felt less like a serial killer at check-out than I thought I might. Just trying to throw some stuff out and tape it so it says compact, nothing illegal to see here, thank you.
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The Bills fired their head coach today. I look forward to a new feel around the team next year. They have been very intense while Sean McDermott has been in charge and I hope that with a new coach comes a new style, one that is more fun and loose and not brooding and intense but intense in the right ways and in the right moments. Part of our past failures has been the tightness within the team during the playoffs. We need to relax during the regular season and, once the playoffs begin, turn up and embrace the moment. All I see is success and glory in the future. Go Bills.
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“Do not give way to useless alarm,” added he; “though it is right to be prepared for the worst, there is no occasion to look on it as certain.”
That is a line from Pride and Prejudice, spoken by Mr. Gardiner as he is reassuring his sister, Mrs. Bennet, that everything might be okay with regards to her daughter Lydia, who appears to have ran off with Mr. Wickham to be married.
I think it is good advice to take as Bills fans, or any fans, approach an important and emotional contest. This thing could end sooner than any of us imagine. It would be foolish to be assured of anything, positive or negative, but it would be more foolish still to not be prepared for both. Or, perhaps you don’t need to be prepared for the best outcome because that is met with ease and readily accepted. But to be prepared for the negative outcome, to be prepared for all your hopes and dreams to be swept away as if you don’t even exist, is important if you want to avoid a major crash out after everything turns to shit. We have been in this position before, and we have seen the team fall. I won’t ignore the past. I remain guarded. Go Bills.
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A local sports talk radio host, a guy at work, and a cousin of mine all seem very confident the Bills will beat the Broncos tomorrow. That is a sample size of three, enough for me to say “Man, everyone in town is really confident the Bills will win!” Sports predictions are funky. If people knew so much about sports, would casinos be as rich as they are? But I admit, sometimes I am one of the confident ones. I go strictly off gut feeling. Maybe other people, like the host and the co-worker and the cousin, know things and have seen evidence in the past that make them more comfortable going into this game. For me, it’s all visions and hope and delusion. At least we aren’t playing the Chiefs, although I might feel more confident if we were playing those guys. Go Bills.
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Western New York woke up to snow this morning. The snow continued all day but was very light and fine and did not accumulate to such an amount as to cause much trouble on the roads. It did look a bit messy but all in all, I thought travel went smoothly. The only hiccup personally felt was that I, while listening to sports talk radio guys discuss Super Bowl MVP odds, stopped for a while at a flashing red light as if it were a regular red light. A word of praise for the car behind me for not laying on their horn and both enraging me and embarrassing me more than I already was when I realized what I had done. How long was I stopped for? Possibly not long but still, come on, focus on what you are doing!
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Today, while at work, I decided to donate my microwave. At 3:33 PM, I arrived home and immediately Googled “donating a microwave.” I had to get stuck in right away if I wanted to actually get the microwave out of my apartment. I learned that Savers accepted electronics, and I could see the microwave plugged into an electric outlet, therefore it was an electronic.
I unplugged the machine and took it from the small table it had been on to my kitchen counter to soap it up and wash it down. It hadn’t gotten very dirty over the years but infrequent washing (its a dang microwave for crying out loud) meant some things had gotten stuck on it or inside of it. I didn’t want grime and crumbs to be the reason they rejected my donation and I, after some cleaning, shrugged and said “Good enough.” Whoever ends up owning it will probably wash it themselves to get the second-hand store stink off. I loaded the microwave into the trunk of my car and drove to Savers.
Once near Savers, I pulled into an abandoned parking by accident and saw an old guy and what looked like a younger man wearing jeans and a jean coat getting out of a car. It looked like they were going to Savers too, but wanted to avoid the congestion of the actual lot. The old man was looking at me as if I was in the wrong while I looked at him and wondered how he was going to hurt that young boy. I minded my own business and executed a three-point turn. I pulled out of that lot and into the correct lot and as I drove, I voiced my desires out loud. “I do not want to deal with small talk and stupid workers. This better not take forever.” I assumed this would be easy but my thirty-four years of living told me it would be more difficult than necessary.
I saw a “Donation Center Entrance” sign to the left of the main entrance and drove there. I thought maybe I’d have to walk the microwave in myself, which I didn’t mind as long as it went smoothly once inside. As I drove, I saw the old man from earlier walking into the store with, who I had thought was, a young boy. The young boy in denim turned out to be an older lady, probably the dude’s wife. Sorry for judging, sir.
At the Donation Center, I saw a line with two cars. I went to join the line. The front car quickly drove away, leaving only one car in front of me. I watched how that car was dealt with and rolled my passenger window down so I could speak when spoken to. The car ahead of me got taken care of in no time, and I pulled into the batters box with fingers crossed. The worker in a Bills hoodie came out to my car. I told him I had a microwave in the trunk. He said “Alright,” as he handed me a little voucher sized piece of paper, twenty percent off such and such. I put the car in park and unlocked the doors and hoped he would be able to figure out the trunk door. It felt like I was picking someone up at the airport, but without the overzealous airport security guards hovering. The worker got the trunk open, grabbed the microwave, closed the trunk, and walked away saying “Alright man, have a good one. Go Bills.” I wondered if I was wearing a Bills hat when I knew I had a Dodgers hat on. I said “You too, brother. Go Bills!” It was probably the license plate holder and bumper sticker that gave my football allegiance away. The whole thing took about 45 seconds and I couldn’t have been happier.
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I am the proud owner of an official Major League Baseball. Sometimes, when I am thinking, or stressed, or in a good mood, I lay in bed and use the baseball. I throw it up above me with my right hand, watch it spin, see my right hand catch it, and hear it smack against my palm and fingers. Then, I throw it up again.
My father has described a baseball as “a perfect object,” and I find it hard to disagree with him. It’s a very simple object, fun to spin in your hand, and it fits in most hands comfortably. It’s hard not to try out different grips while handling a baseball. Maybe I’ll go with a four-seamer, or a two-seamer, or a curveball. The change-up grip is one I’ve never settled on. It’s a tricky pitch to get just right. I did a little pitching in high school and still have my glove I used back then. It’s one of my most cherished objects. If ICE ever comes for me and asks me to show my papers, I’ll just show them my glove and ball and tell them I’m red, white, and blue through and through.
Speaking of ICE, I wonder when they will start hunting their own. Certainly some of those agents are here on faulty grounds. Maybe their ancestors came over from Europe and took over a country already occupied by people. Could be something to look into.
Dog Bites and Bee Stings 