Do I wake or sleep?

Fantastic softball game yesterday.

My friend Eric has a softball game every year, and this is the third year I've played in it (in 2009, we did it for four weeks in a row--so much fun! Wish we would do it again...) Yesterday was this year's game, rescheduled after Irene. A few weeks ago Eric and I were talking about the game, and I begged him to find a way not to stick me with Annoying Person Who Insists On Playing First. He decided to make me one of the captains, and as it turned out Tamara, another of his friends, was the other one. (And also as it turned out, Annoying Person wasn't even there yesterday. Crisis averted.)

There were actually not too many people there--in the end we had only about 12-13 people. One of the players, a red-headed guy who'd brought a friend and both were very good players, came up with the idea of 3 teams of 4 people each. (This is done sometimes--how it works is that two teams are in the field while the third one bats, and you rotate in and out. When the batting team gets their third out, they take the place of one of the teams in the field.) Red-Headed Dude explains it to the people who'd never played before and then says "so I'll be a captain, Dave can be a captain, and (Some Other Male Name) can be a captain." I was PISSED. Dude. You are new here. This isn't your game, this is Eric's. And he already has captains. FEMALE ONES. Obviously you just didn't even see us which I get from asshole male athletes like you all the time. STFU and sit down.

Eric comes in, it's explained to him what we're doing and Eric keeps me as captain. I guess Tamara didn't particularly want to be captain, so he chose two other ones. I chose Dave, a guy named Hughie who's played with us several times before, and Tamara. Eric asked us what our team name was and I was thinking, Balls to the Wall--no, that's not appropriate, how about Ovaries to the Wall? The guys on my team loved the name and totally embraced it.

Now, the best part--We. SMOKED. Them. Absolutely blew them away, and from the beginning--in our first inning at bat, we scored five runs. The final score was 3-4-13. We didn't even have any heavy hitters, we just got on base and then kept batting each other in. And our fielding was great as well--Hughie asked me where I wanted people to play and initially I put him at short and then said "no, you should be at third, you have a better arm than I do. I'll play short." And in one inning, I made all three outs! Eric accused me of padding the stats ;) I was chatting throughout, telling Tamara when to run ("it's two outs, run on anything"), talking through what's next ("play is to second, let's try for two") and reminding them not to get complacent toward the end, that's how you lose games. A huge factor in athletic success is hustle--being sharp and on top of things, reminding yourself of your goal, and not taking success for granted. Being hungry.

We were all chanting "O-va-RIES! O-va-RIES!" afterward. And Eric awarded the Rossignol Least Embarrassing Player trophy (a tradition with this game) to me, calling me a "spark plug" who reminds everyone why they're there. Aw! The trophy is a decorated empty bottle of malt liquor--I told Eric this is probably the first time a bottle of malt liquor has ever been in my apartment!

Afterward we all went out to Brother Jimmy'z, and we talked a little bit about 9-11. It has hit me much harder than I thought it would, and that's all I'll say about that for right now. When I went home, Anya joined me for karaoke at the Piper's Kilt, and Eric, Tamara and some of the other players joined us later. One of the players was talking to me about how I played, how he "liked my spark" and competitiveness, etc., and how good a singer he thought I was. I think I was kind of oblivious at the time, but now I realize he was probably hitting on me! At any rate, he bought me a beer at the bar after the karaoke had closed down, and another guy sitting at the bar joined our conversation and then things got very weird. The player and I were talking about language--he's a comedian like Eric is--and the guy (who was drunk, BTW) started talking about how "I use [N-word], I'm cool with [N-word], I love [N-word]." I was stunned and really, seriously creeped out. I said "uh, I am not at all comfortable with this conversation" and the guy was all "people use this word all the time" and I said "that's a really complicated matter and I don't feel like discussing that right now, but at the very least, that is a contextual thing, and as 3 white people, we do not have the appropriate context to throw around that word." The guy said "I'm part-Puerto Rican!" (I am not at all sure what that has to do with ANYTHING.) I said "whatever, I can't be part of this conversation." As I walked away, frankly quite shook up, the guy was accusing me of CENSORSHIP!

Another gorgeous, high-pressure weather day here in mid-September in New York City.

I'm watching the CNN "pipeline" feature right now, which has their archived footage of that day five years ago. Very interesting--it's bringing back a lot of that day. At this time I had just made it back to my apartment and turned on the TV in time to see the second tower fell, at which time I burst into tears.

The pipeline just re-aired the "CNN has just received an unconfirmed report that a flight has gone down in Pennsylvania." I remember thinking they shouldn't publicize any reports until they're confirmed, as we are all freaking out enough as it is.

Fucking murdering freak. I hope somebody shoots this guy "resisting arrest." I hope he dies in as much agony and fear as he's inflicted on these innocent immigrants--all for "the thrill of it." It's like that murdering animal in DC in 1991, the guy who "felt like busting someone"--so he shot into the next car on 395. You'll get murdered too, and then people will stare and point at your body, get their rubbernecking thrill and then walk away. Just another mad dog put down. Nobody cares about your shitty life.