NYC winters

You know it's winter in New York when

-everyone takes up a seat and a half on the subway thanks to puffy knee-length jackets that resemble sleeping bags

-delightful crunch of large granules of salt mixed in with frozen chicken bones and dog shit

-hobos stinking up subway cars

Robotic man-children

Last week I’ve had three vivid dreams. I usually don’t remember dreams.

I dreamt about a black horse on Manhattan Avenue. I saw behind the railing of the subway entrance which was located right across Dunkin Donuts, next to the 99 cent store. There is no subway stop there in real life. I thought the horse was totally harmless, but as I passed it, it started loosening itself from the reigns by kicking everything and everyone around it. I got hit. But since it was a dream, I lived on.

Then I had exactly the same dream the following night. This time, I peered behind the railings to see what the horse was up to. It did not have reigns this time, but it was still kicking and standing on its hind legs the way that horses do. I got a little scared and ran into the 99 cent store; I figured a horse won’t be shopping in the 99 cent store.

Then on my third night, I had a dream I gave birth to a child. Normal, right? I mean, I am pushing 30. Except it wasn’t an infant, I managed to give birth to a toddler. A blond little boy. He seemed pretty cool, independent, good lookin’ little feller. But then one day I noticed that he had a deep crack in his forehead. It was about 5 inches deep and 3 inches across. I peered (I guess I’ve been doing a lot of peering) inside the crack and surprisingly he wasn’t bleeding although I could see the fibers of the flesh. Since I didn’t health insurance, I took him to the nearby neighborhood clinic where the doctor peered inside the crack, stuck her fingers in and pulled down the entire face of the child like the way you would open the front cover of a book. Turns out I gave birth to a robot. The doctor cleaned the inside with computer screen cleaning solution and glued it back onto the head with superglue. I thought to myself, “Crap, I could have done that on my own and saved myself $100 in medical bills.”

I can guess what the dreams mean. I’ve been spending a lot of time with the object of my Hispanic cowboy fetish. Turns out this object has been kicking hind legs and there is a strong possibility that I will be hit. I guess I should keep a mental map of 99 cent stores. And yes, I don’t have health insurance. No clue where the birth to a robot man-child came. Hmm, I guess I do know a lot of man-children.

Companions and fetishists

Yep, I know, it's been a while since I've written anything worth your time. But nothing is going on. Well, things are going on but I don't want the five people who read this blog reading about them.

In case you were wondering, I have no idea what happened to my companionship. I had a long talk about my lack of identification to any of the things that matter to my companion. Since then the companion dropped from the face of the earth. Well, not exactly, but I have not seen the kid since "the talk." So technically speaking, I still may have a companion, but who knows?

I've also started a Mexican cowboy fetish. But the rest is, you know, private.

Since I have absolutely nothing to write about, I will instead post a link to the Chicago Manual of Style Q&A. It's hours of fun reading.

Happy Holidays

This entry is going to be fairly boring (of course, this is based on the assumption that previous postings are fascinating). My previous posting generated a fair amount of reaction from people here and there. It’s cool since it clearly evoked feelings from readers, something I did not plan to do. And I like that piece a lot.

Anyways, but to address a variety of emails, yes, I am OK. And yes, I was fucked, or fucked over, however you want to look at it. Maybe I put my guard down, maybe I really fell head over heels, maybe it just looks that way because it ended, who knows. I can’t tell you whether I’ve moved on, it felt that way a few days ago, it did not feel that way today.

To make everything even worse, the “not being able to move on” is augmenting the sickening aspect of the current situation. I am literally trapped and I am trapped in something that to any outsider, or any normal person, looks good and wonderful. I am pretty sure I am in a companionship for the sake of companionship.

If you don’t believe me, look at it this way - I wrote “companionship.”

So I am waiting for that moment where I become intolerable and the companionship will end. It is sickening. Or masochistic, however you want to look at it.

On that note, no, I am not depressed. No worries, I don't sit around the house, staring at a wall.

This was on my mind since last night

It started off as an experiment. No one makes eye contact any more. And if there is eye contact, it’s short, lasting three seconds the most. If you stare into someone’s eyes long enough, that person is bound to feel something. So I stared intensely, curious on what will happen. Did I objectify? Maybe. Yes.

I feigned interest in stories meant to impress. I found them clichéd. I spoke about shit that, according to every dating rule out there, people really should not bring up their first dates. I didn’t care; I was on my high-horse. And I am not much of a rules person.

When we first fucked, it was just as clichéd. Boy pushing and tugging, girl squirming and giving reasons not to do it. Then giving in since it was easier. It wasn’t impressive. I felt lonely after.

I am not sure when I let my guard down. Maybe when I was freaking out in front of my friend, complaining of feeling overwhelmed by all the attention and the friend told me to take it easy. That struck a cord since I never take it easy. Maybe I gazed too long and got lost in what I saw before me.

The fucking got better. I still felt lonely though; I felt lonely standing in the same room with him. Not lonely, that’s not the right word. Objectified.

It was the eye contact that gave it away when things were changing. When we fucked, instead of staring back, he started to turn his eyes to the left. It’s the classic body language when someone is lying or feeling guilty. Once a woman asked me for money, explaining that she need to buy a calling card for an emergency. I shifted my gaze left and said that I didn’t have any change. I lied.

These are all generalities. It’s not about you, don’t be so pompous. None of this is true and there is no meaning. And it’s all so clichéd.

For Montauk, It’s Lighthouse vs. Surf’s Up!

What surfer has a tan at this point? Mine faded months ago!

Doug Kuntz for The New York Times

The Montauk Lighthouse, which Army engineers want to save from erosion with a $14 million sea wall of boulders.

By COREY KILGANNON

Published: November 14, 2006

Doug Kuntz for The New York Times

A passing storm meant that the surf was up Thursday just west of Montauk Point. The surfers fear that the sea wall will end exciting waves.

MONTAUK, N.Y., Nov. 10 — The Montauk Point Lighthouse was commissioned by President George Washington and completed in 1796 and may be the most recognized landmark on Long Island. If left unprotected, it could also be a few good storms away from falling down its steadily eroding bluff into the ocean.

So the Army Corps of Engineers is embarking on a $14 million plan to save the lighthouse by building a sea wall of boulders to protect the bluff. But a group of surfers say the boulders that would save the lighthouse would ruin Alamo, the world-renowned surf break just beyond its shadow, and they have a counterproposal.

Dude, just move the lighthouse back.

“I know the lighthouse people feel the current location is hallowed ground, the spot George Washington built the lighthouse on, but we as surfers feel the same way about Alamo,” said Tom Naro, the chairman of the eastern Long Island chapter of the Surfrider Foundation. “All of our research and science has grown out of protecting the wave, and it all indicates that moving the lighthouse is a much better and cheaper option in the long run.”

The Corps of Engineers has assured the surfers that its sea wall would not ruin the waves. It considered moving the lighthouse but decided it would cost too much to transport the delicate structure over severely sloping terrain.

Though the officials in charge say it is too late to change gears, the surfers — whose organization and efficiency around this issue run contrary to their mellow stereotype — have in recent weeks met with politicians, distributed fliers and commissioned studies to block the Corps of Engineers’ plan to drop a wall of 12-ton boulders on their surf break. The corps says the surfers’ proposal to move the lighthouse back 800 feet instead would cost $27 million.

In a 35-page position paper, the surfers argue that the sea wall — 840 feet long, 40 feet thick and known as a revetment — would imperil not just the Alamo but also another favorite break just down the beach, at Turtle Cove.

At a restaurant here in Montauk on Friday night, Thomas Muse, the environmental director of the Surfrider chapter, gave a slide-show presentation to a roomful of 50 tanned, long-haired surfers, many of them taking notes as he indicated with a red laser pointer how the revetment would interfere with the waves.

“We’re building a groundswell and we’ll get some attention,” Mr. Muse promised. He pointed out that other historic lighthouses — including Southeast on Block Island, Cape Hatteras in North Carolina and Highland on Cape Cod — have been moved successfully. “It’s not like we’re barking up some radical tree here — there are precedents all over,” he said.

But Greg Donohue, erosion control manager for the Montauk Historical Society, which owns and maintains the lighthouse, said that it was simply too fragile — “it would have to be taken apart brick by brick” — and that the location atop Turtle Hill was integral to its history. He criticized the surfers for raising their concerns after the Corps of Engineers’ $1 million study was completed and for threatening the largest anti-erosion project in the lighthouse’s 210-year life.

“Suddenly, they come along and think they know better, and they’re trying to stop this,” he complained. “They have no scientific dialogue, they just say, ‘We’re for saving the beach.’ To me the lighthouse is more important than Alamo, but to them Alamo is more important than the lighthouse.”

Montauk Light, on the eastern tip of Long Island, was the first lighthouse built in New York State and is the fourth-oldest active lighthouse in the country, according to Mr. Donohue. When it was completed on Nov. 5, 1796, on the Turtle Hill plateau, the edge of the bluff was about 300 feet away. Erosion has been eating away at a rate of more than a foot a year, and now, at its closest point, the bluff is about 75 feet from the lighthouse.

In 1946, the Corps of Engineers installed a 700-foot stone revetment, which was overrun by storms a few years later. The bluff seemed to be hopelessly deteriorating until Giorgina Reid of Manhattan began a one-woman crusade to shore it up with her own methods of terracing and planting. Local residents have conducted vigils and concerts starring the likes of Paul Simon to raise money to help prevent erosion. In the mid-’90s, Mr. Donohue helped build a ring of boulders as a sea wall, but erosion continues.

Montauk, meanwhile, has become increasingly popular as a surfing spot; the champion longboarder Joel Tudor surfed here regularly last summer, and local surfers see more and more visiting top pros. Though surfing is officially prohibited at the point, the ban is enforced only sporadically.

There are three main breaks: Alamo is best in big surf, but some surfers favor the clean waves of Turtle Cove, and when winds howl out of the southeast, the area northwest of the point is one of the few good surf spots on Long Island.

The Surfrider Foundation, with 50,000 members nationally, has grown into a lobbying force. Earlier this year, it helped defeat a large dredging project in Long Beach, in Nassau County.

The group’s leaders say it is easier to organize opposition against a project that involves typical preservationists’ issues, like historic buildings or open space. It is more difficult, they said, to persuade public officials to save a wave.

The surfers argue that in the long run, moving the lighthouse would be the most cost-efficient option, even if it costs $27 million as the corps estimates. “It’s a better deal for the taxpayer to move the lighthouse,” Mr. Muse said. “You’re done for 300 years.”

Joe Jakubik, a project manager for International Chimney, a Buffalo company that has moved several historic lighthouses elsewhere and has repaired this one in the past, said moving it would be complicated by the softened mortar between its stones.

He estimated that the lighthouse weighs 3,000 tons, and said it could be lifted off its 13-foot-deep foundation by dozens of hydraulic jacks so a platform could be slipped underneath. The hydraulics would keep the tower level while rolling along uneven ground, he said, and the chief danger would be uneven pressure creating stress cracks.

“That lighthouse is extremely fragile, but there are methods that would put limited stress on it,” Mr. Jakubik said. “There’d be some problems moving it, a greater degree of difficulty, but nothing that couldn’t be overcome. It’s just a matter of expense and work.”

Mr. Donohue, who lives in Montauk year-round, has been working on the erosion problem here for 25 years. He criticized the surfers’ group for stirring up controversy that could endanger a project that is based on decades of careful study, including wave-tank analysis at the University of Delaware that showed Alamo would not be seriously affected by the revetment.

“A wave is something very difficult to pin down, the dynamics of it,” he said. “If they had hard scientific information on how our work is going to destroy their wave, we would look at it. Instead, they’re just beating a drum and playing the politics of beach erosion. They are spreading propaganda and innuendo and false information to politicians.”

“We’re not destroying a wave,” Mr. Donohue added. “We’re preserving a lighthouse.”

QUICK QUICK

Awww, those South Africans!

I'm a pirate!

Not that long ago, I was talking to this guy. I am not going to write much about this guy because I found him really boring. I found him boring not because he was quiet or that he lacked energy. I found him boring because he had completely nothing interesting to say. The worst part of our conversation was the fact that he didn’t even bother to engage me in the conversation. He would just blabber and blabber and I would stare at him, stare at the clock, stare at the people around us; apparently, a girl sitting across the table staring at everything around her is not a clue enough that she is completely bored.

The reason why I started this posting is not to bore you with the boring conversation. It’s more to make fun of what a boring moron he was. At some point toward the end of the conversation, he mentioned that NPR broadcasted a piece about a test that gives a good glimpse into a person’s character.

The test is:

If you were given a choice between the power of flight or the power of invisibility, which one would you choose? In other words, would you rather be able to fly or be invisible?

I’ll give you a couple of seconds to think about this one.

Ready? State your answer.

OK, so apparently, people who choose the power of flight are free and have nothing to hide. People who choose invisibility have something to hide and have low self-esteem since being invisible means “having a desire to know what people have to say about you.” According to this boring moron.

Some say that choosing the power of flight is a sign of a hero, while a villain would choose invisibility. This is based on a quick Google search.

I chose invisibility. Just for the practical reasons of being able to get onto a plane and still fly wherever I want to. I can also get into a show that’s sold out or is way too expensive. Oh, I can even sit on the stage!

Why would you want to fly places? Yea, I am sure it’s cool to spontaneously fly in general, but why bother if a variety different transportation options can take you places practically anywhere you want to go. And if you’re invisible, it’s not like the cost is going to matter.

Now, last time I checked, it is very hard to be invisible. Yea, you can be ignored (and I have first hand experience in this one), but you are still not invisible.

I just don’t see how invisibility will doom a person to doing things that are so awful that they would be viewed as crimes against humanity. C’mon, I would just play a few pranks here and there and then jet off to South East Asia. And then Africa. And New Zealand (I hear surfing there is great!).

So the boring moron dude said that I failed the test because I didn’t take it seriously. Clearly the moron doesn't have an ounce of imagination! Not to mention the fact that he actually believes in these stupid tests. The funny part is that I actually did take it seriously and took about a minute (a minute!) to decide which choice is the better one. At least, for me.

I think a better test is: are you a farmer, a cowboy, or a pirate? Quick, pick one!

For my mom and dad

and maybe Elsa.

(Press the arrow on the cartoon)

Oh man

Oh man oh man oh man. I am getting such a bad feeling about this one. Mark my words.

Whatcha doing?

So I know, I haven’t written much. And I really don’t have any excuse for it. Or at least a reason worthy an excuse. Suppose I’ve been working a lot. And dealing with people exhausts me so whenever I get home, the last thing I want to do is sit by the computer and write. The other exhausting thing about my job is that I don’t have my own space – an office, a desk, a chair – anything. And since I don’t have a place to retreat, I am “on” the entire time I am there, and that makes me feel spent. Suppose this job proves that I really am not a people person.

The slightly amazing thing about the job is that I now work in Red Hook which is an up-and-coming area in Brooklyn. It’s a bit cut off from the rest of civilization since the only way to get there by public transportation is taking a bus that takes forever. Or, as in my case, take the little choo-choo train that goes from nowhere to nowhere and then walk 20 minutes through the projects while dodging piles of dog shit on the sidewalks. The amazing part of this story (well, at least to me amazing) is that my highschool English teacher used to live on Van Brunt street which is where my work is located. I went to visit him when I was in college and I distinctly remember taking the bus and getting off at the location he specified on Van Brunt Street. I went with my friend and he fed us blueberry waffles and we climbed onto his roof to take in the stunning view of the Statue of Liberty and lower Manhattan.

Of course, like many areas of New York City, Red Hook is slowly being populated by hipsters, artists, restaurants, and art-bars. There is even a Fairway organic food store in the area where my teacher used to live. And there is an IKEA on the way.

Anywho, not to change the topic but another funny thing is that friends/relatives/random people I barely know don’t believe that I’ve been surfing. Yes, I know, this web thingee doesn’t have pictures of me riding a board but I swear, I have an eight foot T&C sitting in my living room right now. Of course, that’s no proof of me surfing. Unfortunately, lately I haven’t had a chance to surf, mainly because the board is in my living room instead of being stored in Rockaways and since I don’t have a car, it’s really difficult to lug it on the subway. I’ve had offers to go out surfing but sadly I’ve come to a realization that these offers are a bunch of hot air, so no surfing. Besides, since I have all those cracks in my board and the water is leaking in, I should wait for the board to dry out so that I can fix it sometime in the spring.

It’s a little weird not to be surfing. And since I’ve managed to completely fall from the face of the earth this summer due to surfing, no one ever calls me to go out any more. And I just can’t figure what to do with myself during weekends. Yea, so if you’re reading this and I haven’t talked to you in a while, call me! Because clearly I am a loser and cannot pick up the phone.

Yea I know I am lazy

And I haven't updated this thingee for a while. But I blame it all on surfing, it's more addictive than crack. Here is a quick update: 5+ foot waves - a no-no for Betty McBoob. Anything around 3 feet is fun, in a scary type of way. Oh, it looks like I will be fixing my own dings soon. Cowabunga!





South Africa 'breaks' surf record
A group of South African surfers say they have broken the record for the number of people riding a single wave.
Organisers say that 73 surfers managed to stay upright for five seconds, beating the previous best of 44.

The event was organised to raise money for spotters who watch the sea to raise the alarm when sharks are seen on Muizenberg beach near Cape Town.

A lifeguard recently had his foot bitten off by a great white shark in the area.

"We have broken the world record," said organiser Dene Botha jubilantly.

"We don't know exactly by how many, but we have a record."

The record still has to be confirmed by the Guinness Book of Records.

Still not sure what to say

I ran across this while reading someone else's blog. Well, not exactly, but when I saw a reference to vagina dentata, I quickly looked it up to Wikipedia. Which led me to anti-rape condoms.

They're weird. And somewhat fascinating. And confusing.

Anyways, here and here and here is what other people say about it.

I'll never learn

In an attempt to fulfill my fantasies about a hipster with a beard in short shorts and tighty-whities, I took a leap of faith and reached out. To my own pleasant surprise, I got a lengthy response full of promises of future socializing. The very same promises I received a while back when I started noticing hipsters in short shorts and tighty-whities. To my further surprise, a few days later, I receive a third party confirmation of excitement about my reaching out from the said hipster with a beard in short shorts and tighty-whities.

So far, so good.

Of course, in all this excitement, I forgot all of the previous patterns of promises but little follow through.

But clearly, I am a sucker for self-inflicted punishment. Because I reached out again. But prior to any action, I conferred with a friend who agreed that a modern day woman should be able to do whatever she wants rather than adhere to some preconceived and outdated social standards. She also reminded me that many hipsters with beards in short shorts and tighty-whities happen to be boobs. But I chose to ignore that small piece of rather important reminder.

And I got – “Awesome! Let’s hang out soon.”

That’s it.

I guess the bigger question is: where are all the manly-men with no beards who don’t wear short shorts with tighty-whities? I have no clue where to start looking for them.

And a word from the Government

For the three people who read this blog, it's about freaking time! Not to mention, just in time for me to enjoy those short shorts!

FDA News
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
P06-118
August 24, 2006

FDA Approves Over-the-Counter Access for Plan B for Women 18 and Older
Prescription Remains Required for Those 17 and Under

The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) today announced approval of Plan B, a contraceptive drug, as an over-the-counter (OTC) option for women aged 18 and older. Plan B is often referred to as emergency contraception or the "morning after pill." It contains an ingredient used in prescription birth control pills--only in the case of Plan B, each pill contains a higher dose and the product has a different dosing regimen. Like other birth control pills, Plan B has been available to all women as a prescription drug. When used as directed, Plan B effectively and safely prevents pregnancy. Plan B will remain available as a prescription-only product for women age 17 and under.

Duramed, a subsidiary of Barr Pharmaceuticals, will make Plan B available with a rigorous labeling, packaging, education, distribution and monitoring program. In the CARE (Convenient Access, Responsible Education) program Duramed commits to:

* Provide consumers and healthcare professionals with labeling and education about the appropriate use of prescription and OTC Plan B, including an informational toll-free number for questions about Plan B;

* Ensure that distribution of Plan B will only be through licensed drug wholesalers, retail operations with pharmacy services, and clinics with licensed healthcare practitioners, and not through convenience stores or other retail outlets where it could be made available to younger women without a prescription;

* Packaging designed to hold both OTC and prescription Plan B. Plan B will be stocked by pharmacies behind the counter because it cannot be dispensed without a prescription or proof of age; and

* Monitor the effectiveness of the age restriction and the safe distribution of OTC Plan B to consumers 18 and above and prescription Plan B to women under 18.

Today's action concludes an extensive process that included obtaining expert advice from a joint meeting of two FDA advisory committees and providing an opportunity for public comment on issues regarding the scientific and policy questions associated with the application to switch Plan B to OTC use. Duramed's application raised novel issues regarding simultaneously marketing both prescription and non-prescription Plan B for emergency contraception, but for different populations, in a single package.

The agency remains committed to a careful and rigorous scientific process for resolving novel issues in order to fulfill its responsibility to protect the health of all Americans.

For more information on Plan B and today's action, please see: http://www.fda.gov/cder/drug/infopage/planB/default.htm.

Who likes short shorts?

Ahh Williamsburg, not only did you bring gnarly looking beards to men’s latest fashion but now the trend includes hotpants for men. And let me tell you, judging by the legs I’ve seen at the McCarren Park Pool shows, I like it! Who knew that skinny hipster boys have smooth thighs and wonderfully sculpted calves.

I’ve always been a fan of tighty-whities, which I used to think were actually called tidy-whities until someone pointed out the misfortune of skid marks that seems to plague some men. I was then told that the term “tidy” is inappropriate when applied to snug men’s undies. But back to my point, since it’s virtually impossible to wear boxers with hotpants (I suppose it is possible, but boy, will that look stupid!), one is required to go commando or sport some tighty-whities. Although I suspect it is ill advised to go commando when wearing hotpants because you just never know when lil’ buddy will decide to sneak a peak at the outside world.

Of course, the added bonus to the hotpants is a nice preview of what’s inside them. Hence double the pleasure – hotpants with a preview and tighty-whities. What else could a girl ask for?

Clarification

So apparently there is a minor buzz about me being "head-over-heels in love." The situation is that I am in love, but I suppose it's not in the traditional sense. This slight confusion may be due to me, a foreigner, writing in English.

Or perhaps this is due to a foreigner reading a blog written in English by a foreigner, who knows.

So to clarify, I am completely head-over-heels in love with surfing. Going to the beach and getting beat up by a hard board that's about 10 feet in length is my idea of having an amazingly fun time. I am not that much of a fan of being pummeled by the ocean, I am not really loving salt water up my nose, twisted ankles, or bruises on my knees/hips/elbows. But riding a wave for the five seconds is worth it all. I guess that's what women in violent relationships say. Great. Not to mention that my mother called this a sport for men.

But, just for my mother, below I have several examples of women surfing. One of the best surfers on the beach where I attempt to surf is a woman. She's really good, every time I turn, she catches a wave. Most others, predominantly men, just float about.

Summer time

So in case you were wondering if I am so bummed out about the French World Cup loss that I've sunk into deep depression and can no longer update the blog... well, that's not the case.

The situation is that I found a job. Sort of. It's a short temp thing, chatting with prostitutes. It's right up my alley. And it keeps me super busy.

Additionally, I've discovered and have become head-over-heels crazy in love (not sure if that's the right term to use but heck, it works for me) and addicted to surfing. I've been going every weekend. Well, except for one weekend when I had pink eye. But despite being knocked over by waves, despite getting liters of salt water up my nose, and despite being completely banged up by the surfboard (people are now asking me if I am experiencing domestic abuse...), I love it. Sun, surf, and sand... no, more like drunken boys with a bungalow in the Rockaways. That's where I am spending my weekends instead of updating this blog.

So surf's up. For now.

Bwahhh...

Oh those Italians...

I wish the French won.

Ronaldo, part II

In the midst of the FIFA World Cup fever, there are about a gazillion newspapers and magazines that contain (predictably) witty articles about how football (soccer…) is not popular in the United States. And although I have not read all gazillion of them (I read two), it seems that most write about how football is a low-scoring game and therefore it cannot capture the attention of an average American.

Clearly the writers of these (two) articles smoke crack. Because last time I checked, baseball, an American favorite pastime, is a low-scoring game, too.

I like playing softball, the girlie version of baseball. It’s fun. And it’s fun mostly because there is a lot of drinking involved while waiting for your turn to bat. Being a girl, I am usually the catcher and the consumption of alcohol contributes to the antics behind the home plate. Most the antics involve falling down when attempting to catch the ball. Also, since I grew up amidst boys, I have minor athletic skills so when I swing a bat, it actually hits the ball. Which, of course, doesn’t mean much because most of the time, the ball doesn’t travel far.

Contrary to playing softball, baseball is the most boring thing in the world. There is a lot of waiting, gigantic ass-scratching, and spitting. It takes forever for teams to change field (or whatever that is called), it takes forever for a batter to bat, and, most of the time, there is a lot of looking around. Not to mention that there aren’t that many home runs.

In football, there is tons of running up and down the field. All the running (which, as I established before, contributes to rock hard bodies) builds to a stressful suspense for the observer who hopes that someone will get the ball close enough to kick it into the field goal. Yes, most of the time, the ball is either high or wide or both, but to anyone who is watching football, it looks like the ball might just make it. It’s also cool to watch some of the amazing footwork that is required to avoid an opponent trying to steal the ball. Is there a bicycle kick in baseball? No, sir! It’s also amazing to watch an economically “underdeveloped” (have you noticed that no one says Third World anymore?) country (Ghana) kick the ass of a “world power” (US). For once, a country’s GDP does not correlate to its athletic ability like it does in the Olympics.

Football is also a lot more civilized game. The referee has the power to kick a player off the field for something minor as a hand flip protesting a referee’s call. In baseball, it is acceptable to throw chairs and bats onto the field or, even worse, onto fans.