Random Thoughts Friday I

Chaos in the midst of chaos isn't funny, but chaos in the midst of order is -- Steve Martin

• Of all the wonderfully entertaining e-journal entries I have read there this week, Big Bad Dumb is my favorite so far for pure entertainment. And of all the bon mots in that piece, "lemony elephant"... perfectly acerbically hilarious.

• Has Bill O'Reilly lost it? It's bad enough that as a "special deal" for spending 100 bucks at his online store that your reward is a "limited edition" signed Xerox of the questions that he asked President Bush in September on his show... but to call this reproduction on his show an "historic document"?!! I guess in Bill's world grandiose claims don't count as spin.

• A couple of thoughts from my past weekend of PA Turnpike driving: What color-blind bastard named Yellow Freight, YELLOW Freight??? And I guess Tony Orlando's song would now go... "stick that yellow ribbon on your S-U-V".

• I am all for legalizing Monster Trucks on our roadways. After having people pull out in front me yesterday on two separate occasions only to go 5 mph as they tried to figure out where it was that they wanted to go, I became a huge proponent of Big Foot legislation. Namely, if you pull out in front of someone and then proceed at a snail's pace, then it is perfectly permissible for them, if they have a Monster Truck, to crunch your car into oblivion.

• I recently saw a beautifully produced U.S. Postal Service ad on tv and came away thinking--- why in h-e-double toothpicks is the post office advertising? Does this mean I can expect to see ads from the Sewickley Water Authority on tv soon?

• We Might As Well Be Strangers by Keane is playing on my iTunes, while The Darling by Russell Banks is dog-earred on my nightstand.

• My lovely sister bought me Halo 2 for my birthday and I have waited patiently for its release... which was this past Tuesday. Here's the problem... I won't see my sister until Thanksgiving. The solution... spend $5 to rent a game for 5 days that I'm going to get in less than 2 weeks. Oh well, I never claimed to be completely rational.

Blizz...Out

F Earl

Is it too much to ask to be left alone at a supermarket?

Whether by design or circumstance I do my grocery shopping Wednesday evenings, which tends to be a light traffic night. I'm in and out in under an hour and I use the self-scan lines not because I dream of one day being a checkout clerk but rather to avoid small talk. Grocery shopping is the one activity in which I indulge my asocial side. In other words, just leave me the f alone.

Most people seem to get this. Hell, most people seem to embrace this.

So can someone please explain to me that crazy woman in aisle 11 last night?

I'm not sure if you've visited a Giant Eagle lately, or if maybe your local chain has adopted the same strategy, but it's no longer just Kellogg's, Post, and General Mills that fill the cereal shelves. In addition to Malt-o-Meal and Kashi, Giant Eagle also hawks its private-label cereal at half the price and taste as the brand names. Making matters worse, thanks to the "organic" craze, which was followed by the "fiber" phase, since followed by the low-carb fad and simultaneously with sticking any kind of dehydrated fruit -- particularly bananas -- into their plain Jane cereal (e.g. Corn Flakes with REAL bananas), the cereal shelves are stuffed like a fat woman in spandex.

(Side note: Who in the hell is still eating Grape Nuts? And who ever ate Mueslix?)

It would seem that Giant Eagle had an engineer organize the shelves. Either that or the asundry Chex cereals have reciprocal restraining orders that prevent them from being within 6 cereals of one another.

So I'm scanning the shelves for Multi-Bran Chex -- which has moved in the 2 weeks since my last visit as a result of adding some high-fiber, low-carb, dehydrated fruit offering that had Denise Austin on the box grinning like the Cheshire Cat, clearly in need of a bathroom break after having indulged too heavily in her high-fiber cereal with dehydrated prunes.

Sorry... So I'm scanning, being gleefully asocial, and watching this crazy woman out of the corner of my eye who is watching me look at the cereal shelves and walking toward me. You would think the fact that I subsequently moved my cart directly in between us would signal "leave me the f alone". It would and does unless you are the Crazy Woman in Aisle 11.

"Is there a particular cereal I can help you with?"

Who in the hell asks that? Even the people running around the store in Giant Eagle smocks don't ask people that. In fact, they don't even acknowledge you when you are soliciting their help to find something. And yet here was the Crazy Woman in Aisle 11 -- a shopper like myself, except clearly mad -- asking me if she could help me find a cereal.

As my friends will lie and tell you... I'm an indulgent and social person. I'm also particularly patient with people who break taboos, such as talking to others in the cereal aisle of the local Giant Eagle. So I smiled -- like Denise Austin -- and politely declined her invitation.

Crazy Woman in Aisle 11 isn't like you or me. She wasn't born with the sensor that picks up on signals from other people nor apparently could she read the big neon sign I had flashing over my head that screamed "LEAVE ME THE F ALONE".

"Raisin Bran is a good one. Total with [REAL] Strawberries is another one we like."

"Okay, thanks," I said, which clearly was said in a way to convey "LEAVE ME THE F ALONE".

Crazy Woman in Aisle 11 then picked up a box of cereal -- I can't remember which one because at this point I felt like I did while watching The Grudge -- how in the hell did I end up here? -- and CWA11 began explaining why I should buy this cereal.

And I thought (with Charlton Heston's voice in my head) "Damn you, Giant Eagle and dehydrated fruit makers," while I started picking up every box in the vicinity in the hope that my cereal was covered up and in some strange hope that my desperate act of tearing through cereal boxes would scare CWA11 away.

It didn't work.

When I finally located a box of Multi-Bran Chex, CWA11 smiled and said, "Earl likes that one."

"Who the F is Earl and why should I care?" is what I thought. Instead, my smile and patience long since exhausted, I muttered, "lucky me," as I hurried off to the adjacent pet aisle. Surely a woman this desperate for conversation could not have a pet, I thought then and mentioned to Otto later when I returned to the safety of my home.

Although, in retrospect, CWA11 had all the markings of a crazy cat lady (any single woman with 3 or more cats). I'm quite sure that Earl was not her husband, as I thought at the time, but rather one of her 7 (as she was especially crazy) Siamese, Burmese, Ragdoll or whatever type of cats that crazy cat ladies have. Each cat with a different favorite cereal.

So maybe this makes you think that I'm a misanthrope or asocial. Fortunately, if this is true, then it's okay for me to tell you that I don't like you or want to talk to you anyway.

Tim Crutcher

Eternal youth

I thought about Pi this morning.

3.14159 not apple or pumpkin.

On more restless days, my mind wanders to 6.02 x 10^23 and then to "great gobs of galloping goldfish" and "you squirrels". On long drives the Order of Operations some times flirts with me, which invariably leads to midnight madness and my friend Eric animated like I have never seen him, exasperatedly yelling at a Domino's Pizza delivery guy that "the mathematical way is the logical way!" And, of course, on those occasions when 9.8 m/s^2 worms its way into my subconscience like a Men at Work song, I think of Captain Ceo and Godzilla killing Bambi.

But today I thought of Pi. So today I thought of Tim Crutcher.

And it's always the same question... why would anyone memorize Pi to the 40th decimal place?

I guess it would help if you knew that Tim was not your run-of-the-mill geek. No, Tim was an extraordinary one. Biblical floods wouldn't have dampened the hems of his pants. Before they became fashionable among 80 year-old Jewish women, Tim sported oversized, partially-tinted glasses and wore plaid shirts that you typically only see on a scarecrow in a poor man's cornfield.

In short, Tim was the kind of guy that nerds ostracized.

So maybe it should have come as no surprise when during some dreary 9th-grade day Tim proudly recited the first 40 decimal places of Pi.

But it did and still does.

Memorizing something so meaningless. A number that seemingly has no end. For what purpose?

And then I wonder, what does it say about me that I vividly recall Tim Crutcher, Pi, and other memories like these. (And worse yet, write about them!)

Is my life just a random recollection of odd occurrences? Am I really any different than Tim?

And then I'm out on the street, walking Otto past the firestation and thinking "Why are fire engines red? 4 Wheels 8 Men. 4 + 8 is 12 . . ." and then I see Alexandra (my step-daughter for too short a time) set tight in her car seat in the back of my Honda singing like Bono... "it's a beautiful day, don't let it get away. A beautiful day". And I remember.

27-3

Until we meet again

If a tie is like kissing your sister, then a win over the Eagles is like kissing your girlfriend's sister. You enjoy it and look forward to doing it again, but you'd be wise to keep those thoughts to yourself. And, generally speaking, comparisons are ill-advised.

It's best to stick with things like...

"I can't see that happening again" or "whatever you are cooking smells wonderful".

While I believe myself selective in who I consider friends, somehow a few people have slipped through who are not diehard Steelers' fans but instead root for the team from the City of Brotherly Love. Recognizing that everyone has at least one flaw (and now that you know that I have friends who are Eagles' fans, you have discovered mine) and believing deeply that everyone is capable of redemption, I have befriended these deluded fans of Philly.

The game begins

So while I hollered and pumped my fists during the first half of yesterday's game (21-3) in the raw emotion zone known as my home, I had the pleasure of spending the 2nd half in the comfort and friendship of one of those McNabb Maniacs.

Realizing (at least from my perspective) the error of his ways, my friend had the good sense to marry a beautiful, intelligent woman, who more importantly is also a Steelers' fan.

Yes -- he wanted to save his kids. There was hope.

First son -- Eagles' fan.

Okay, mistakes can happen. Fortunately, they decided to have a 2nd child to correct this mistake. And like any good mother would, she declared her 2nd born for the Black and Gold.

Unfortunately, my friend and his wife allow their children some freedom of thought, and while I normally find this admirable, in some circumstances (such as football team allegiance) this is dangerous.

Big brothers and fathers representing to a younger brother what that they do, he cannot help but want to share in this alliance -- even if all involved understand the gravity of this misjudgment.

Final score... 27-3. Steelers win. The Steelers win.

No hollers. No fist pumps. Just a polite smile and good conversation about the prospect of our teams -- the best in each of their respective conferences -- meeting again. And then my friend and I, with a Nerf football and two Eagles-loving boys in tow, made our way to the backyard to catch, throw, and run, to play the game that boys of all ages have played for decades. Where there are no Steelers' fans. And no Eagles' fans. Just football fans.