So, this semester–for reasons that haven’t really been made clear to me–Sherry has started attending meetings of the TU Martial Arts club. The first night, Sherry came home telling me she was going to have a bruise. But the kicker, was this past week. She drew blood! That’s right, our Sherry has turned into a stone cold killer. Look at that gash! The victim was Sherry’s department chair, Dr. Vincent Moore, who happens to be the instructor.
Tonight was the kick-off event to this year’s Arts & Angles series at Tiffin University. Arts & Angles runs throughout the school year and features various faculty members of the school of Arts and Sciences giving talks each month. This year, the dean of A&S—Janet Hanna—decided to give the talks a theme—World War II—in celebration of the 60th anniversary of the end of that war.
While the talks are usually given on campus, the kick-off event was a recreation of a night at the Ritz theater in 1943. Upon entering the lavishly renovated period theater, we were greeted by a young couple in period dress. Shortly after we took our seats, the entertainment began with Bugs Bunny imploring us to buy war bonds. After singing the national anthem with a bouncing cartoon ball, we were treated to the Bugs Bunny classic, “The Wabbit Who Came To Supper.” Next up was a series of newsreels, which revealed that the contemporary fascination with women in bathing suits is really not that new.
The main attraction for the evening was the Humphrey Bogart flick Action in the North Atlantic. In addition to Bogey, I was surprised to see someone who looked an awful lot like the Skipper from Gilligan’s Island. Turns out it was the Skipper’s dad, Alan Hale.
War has been described as long bouts of mind-numbing boredom punctuated with moments of sheer terror. This film tried its best to recreate that for the audience. In between loud explosions and men running about and jumping in the water, we were treated to a series of scenes devoted to convincing us of the humanity of these men and the importance of the merchant marine. The whole thing was spiced up a bit with various pieces of war-time propaganda (loose lips sink ships!). Oh! I shouldn’t forget the kitties. The film spends an inordinate amount of time establishing the existence of two kittens. One gets killed in the first explosion, and the other makes noise when the ship is trying to avoid a submarine. At the two-hour mark, our intrepid crew has only made half of its journey, and we were starting to wonder if it was going to take another two hourse to get them home, but rather than fulfill the dramatic arc created by any number of scenes in which Bogey talks about having something to go home to, the filmmakers end with a rousing speech and talk of “delivering the goods.”
A good night was had by all.
Sherry’s lecture will be on Feb 28, 2006. Her topic is “The Shorthand for Evil: Nazi Figures in Gothic Literature.â€
This past Saturday, 9/17, I was able to go with our friend Pat to the Ohio State football game. Pat’s an alum and there was this shindig goin’ on for the Arts and Sciences folk. I’ll talk more about that later.
The game itself wasn’t all that exciting. OSU won 27-6 although it would have been worse had the offense shown any signs of life at all. What was interesting though was the show that OSU put on. From the entrance of the band to the forming of the famous “script Ohio” to the singing of the alma mater, Ohio State is expert in the liturgy of football.
The only sour note in the atmosphere surrounding the game was the presence of armed troopers with binoculars relentlessly scanning the audience. It’s a sad sign of the times when 105,000 people can’t get together without the threat of some looney doing something stupid.
Last night Sherry and I were able to re-establish an old tradition that we haven’t been able to keep up since 1997: we went to an Indians game in Cleveland. We started going to games together while we were dating and the Indians were still playing in old Municipal Stadium. Back then, the Indians were terrible (had been terrible, would always BE terrible) and general admission seats were $5.
Then came the 90’s, John Hart, Jacob’s Field, and two World Series appearances. After moving to Chicago in ‘97, we haven’t been able to get back to the Jake. We’ve been getting our baseball fix by seeing the Indians at Comiskey and going to local minor league games (Kane County Cougars and Toledo Mudhens). For some reason, we couldn’t bring ourselves to go to a Braves game in Atlanta.
So it was, a few weeks ago, we realized that this, our first summer back in Ohio, was quickly coming to a close, and we hadn’t been to an Indians game. With the team in the hunt for a wildcard spot, we even had a good chance at seeing a meaningful game.
It was great to be back in the old ballpark, and we saw a great game, complete with a 49 minute rain delay. Jake Westbrook didn’t give up a hit until the 6th inning, and got out of the seventh having given up just three runs. The Indians defense turned in some sparkling play. There was some controversy over a double-play in the fourth. With a man on first, the A’s player hit a line drive to second. Belliard was a bit handcuffed by the ball and dropped it whereupon he zipped the ball over to first. Hernandez tagged the runner and stepped on the bag for the double-play. However the A’s contended that Belliard dropped the ball on purpose, allowing the runner to stay at first rather than have to advance. No dice. Later, in the seventh, Belliard’s three-run homer put the Indians ahead for good.
Our friend Pat was able to get us excellent seats: first row of the upper deck directly behind home plate. Even though the crowd of just under 22,000 was a far cry from the sold out games we attended and worked at in the 90’s, we still did our best to generate an exciting atmosphere. What made it all perfect, though, was Sherry sitting through rain and nine innings with an indelible smile on her face.
I was a bit apprehensive as I made my way from Tiffin to Upper Sandusky yesterday morning to play in the Pour House Open, a PDGA C-Tier event. For every other tourney I’ve played in, I’ve identified my self as an “intermediate” player due to the fact that I’ve been playing this sport for more than 3 years. However, this year the PDGA adopted a rating system that clearly defined classifcations based on your rating number. While I could certainly continue playing “intermediate,” my 782 rating places me solidly in the “recreational” division (lower than intermediate). Yet, I was concerned about being labelled a “sandbagger,” someone playing beneath their station for the purpose of raking in illicitly won prizes.
I needn’t have been concerned.
We had a beautiful day for the event: cloudless skies, little wind, and a high of 84. The format of the tourney was a little odd; instead of playing two rounds of 18 holes, we would be shooting two rounds of 24. The additional 12 holes caused me some trepidation due to stamina issues. Even though I fived the first hole, I quickly settled down to shoot one of my better tournament rounds, ending with a 77 (+5) including 4 deuces. I was feeling pretty good about my score, even though I knew it wasn’t going to be a leading result. After a pizza lunch, the second round started, and I promptly blew up. Looking at my card after the round was over, I see that I really only blew 3 holes, but my how I blew them. I ended up shooting an 82 (+10). Thus, my final score for the tournament was 159 (+15).
For some reason, I decided to stick around for the awards ceremony even though there were various enticements waiting for me in Tiffin (including a medieval feast and an Ohio State football party). To my pleasant suprise, my score tied me for 8th (out of 17) in the recreational division, and that was good enough to be “in the money.” I walked away with a Champion Firebird disc and a Cow Tale candy.
My score placed me dead center in the rec division and would have put in next to last in intermediate, so I guess it would be pretty hard to be called a sandbagger. I’m certainly not winning any divisions yet.
I’d meant to write up a nifty little review of the Over the Rhine concert we saw last Friday, Sept. 2 at Little Brothers in Columbus. I’d meant to write a little screed about putting an 8:00 show time on the tix and not getting an opening act until 10pm. I’d meant to write about eating sushi in a nifty little place on High St. called Hai Ku. I’d even meant to wonder about why someone who can obviously play a rather good guitar would choose, as an opening act, to play like she only knew two barre chords and could only strum on the down beat. I’d even meant to rhapsodize over some live performances that resurrected lackluster album cuts. I’d even meant to report that we bumped into Erin McGraw and Andrew Hudgins. But with school starting and what not, all I can manage is posting a few pics. (I’d even meant to bewail crappy batteries that pooped out before I could get any shots of Linford.)
