Road Trip Bats 1.000

Jess, Billy, me, Quinn, and Drew at the induction ceremony.

This past weekend, I took a road trip with some buddies up to Cooperstown, NY for the Hall of Fame induction ceremony. We arrived late Friday night at our campsite, spent Saturday wandering around town and perusing baseball memorabilia shops, and hung out in a giant field with 75,000 other people on Sunday for the big event. It was a love fest. Cal's speech was inspiring. I even cried. This morning, we went to the National Baseball Hall of Fame & Museum -- it was everything I could have hoped it to be.

Despite the crazy crowds, iffy weather, epic traffic jams, and mischievous kids at our campsite, this weekend rocked. I felt like a little kid, gazing in awe at the ball Roger Maris hit his 61st home run with. I remembered why I first fell in love with this game -- the myths, the legends, the detailed craft around which the whole thing is centered. Cooperstown was packed beyond capacity, and yet the small town charm was undeniable. We visited two breweries, a winery, and a cider mill. We ate awesome hometown cheese (tomato-basil-cheddar). We marveled at the adorable houses and their perfectly manicured yards-turned-parking lots.

Although the weekend was poorly organized (cool events were scheduled at conflicting times and there were no good maps available, live music, or people directing traffic), I had a total blast. I'd love to do it all again.

Streak Squared

It was more than 47 years ago that Ernie Tyler began the second most famous streak in Baltimore baseball history.

Tyler, the umpires' attendant at Oriole Park at Camden Yards, has worked 3,773 consecutive games, dating back to the start of the 1960 baseball season. Like Cal Ripken, Jr., Tyler has let nothing stand between him and his duty to show up to work everyday. Neither births nor deaths, severe weather nor illness persuaded Tyler to take a day off. But one 30 second phone call has changed everything.

This weekend, Tyler's streak will end at 3,775 games. The reason? A personal invitation from Cal Ripken, Jr. to attend the Hall of Fame Induction festivities and ceremony in Cooperstown. Ernie said it took him less than half a minute to accept the invitation. Somehow, this seems the only fitting ending to such a fabulous tale -- one iron man reaching out to another and both celebrating the glory of Baltimore baseball together.

Tyler plans to take a week off after his trip to Cooperstown, but says of his streak "part two will start August 7." At 83 years of age, Ernie still jogs to the home plate umpire with fresh baseballs between pitches. He skips to his stool near the Orioles dugout dozens of times each game. And he still rubs down dozens of balls by hand each night, preparing them with the special New Jersey mud that is available only to professional baseball teams.

It may seem that Tyler's streak isn't as remarkable as Cal's, after all, he only works home games and gets long breaks when the team is on the road. But taking into consideration the fact that Tyler did not begin working for the Orioles until 1954, after retiring from his career with the U.S. government; given that he has worked every single home game for almost 50 years, even as he aged well beyond the years that most Baltimoreans consider working age; and recognizing that he has not been collecting 7-digit (or even 6-digit) paychecks for his labor, Tyler is indeed more the symbol of the hardworking Marylander than any professional ball player could ever be.

I love that it is the Orioles that inspire this type of dedication (although I suspect that no one gaining employment in the Angelos era is starting any of these streaks). I am proud of Maryland for raising men with this type of passion and grit. And I love that it's Baltimore that kept these men smiling everyday of their legendary streaks.

In a day and a half, I'll be heading to Cooperstown to celebrate Cal. He was about so much more than The Streak (Rookie of the Year, World Series, MVP, 18 consecutive All-Star selections, redefining the shortstop position, The Oriole Way, I could go on...), but knowing that Ernie will be among Cal's entourage really shows how much The Streaks mean not just to baseball fans, but to the hardworking guys that created them.

Sit On It, Tony Snow

For the past month or two I have been experimenting with a new philosophy. Well, honestly it is less of a philosophy and more of a perspective through which I am trying to view everything -- a tint to my glasses, if you will. The essence of it all is this:

Everyone's actions have the potential to effect an equal impact on the world.

This means that the U.S. hootenannies decision about what color the terror level is tomorrow may have the same eventual impact on the lives of everyone else on this planet, the state of the planet, and all the non-human inhabitants of this planet as a the decision of little boy in Tazmania to spend the afternoon burning ants with a magnifying glass.

The key to this whole perspective is to unlock yourself from thinking about impact as something that happens immediately and instead force yourself to take a step back (okay, maybe many steps back) and view the planet as a vast system of intricate pieces. You have to look at the big picture, the huge picture, the almost unfathomably enormous picture. In the grandest view, the ultimate impact an event has is infinite. Therefore, thanks to my steadfast belief in the Butterfly Effect, I believe that every decision, every sentence uttered and overheard, every action has equal potential to cause a shift in energy and matter all over the world, nigh, the universe.

I find this perspective comforting for a number of reasons. First and foremost, it gives me hope that some little helpful action, some contribution to the positive energy (good vibes) in the world really can cause a big change. Second, when I listen to the right-wing numb nuts rattle on about "values" and "threats" and "democracy," I finally feel I can breathe easy and change the channel on the TV without my head exploding in frustration. The president's idiotic, corrupt, incompetent administration could quite possibly dissolve in a tornado of wisdom and truth. Tony Snow's words hold the same potential as mine or as those of a man in India speaking to his daughter. We can cancel out Snow's lies and stupidity by increasing our own efforts to spread truth and intelligence. We don't even have to counteract his exact points (though that sure helps), we can simply spread energy that is counter to his own.

The real power lies not with the person who takes the action, but with those who are the first recipients of it. Someone once said, "You cannot control what others do, but you can control how you will react." Looking at things under this new light, this saying has so much more meaning! If I choose to react to the bad news I hear with positive, good energy, then perhaps my reaction can cancel out the ill effects of what I heard. Of course this all takes place indirectly, and of course it may not be evident at first or ever. But I have hope that by continuing to smile and laugh and love that I can spread enough smiles and laughter and love among others to cancel out the anger and misery spread by people like Tony Snow, Wolf Blitzer, and of course, Dubya.

This has all gotten very confusing as I have been writing, so I apologize for the disorganized ramble. I hope you get the gist. And if not, I don't care because this is my blog, my journal, and my space for rambling. :-p

A Lesson in Painting

Last night I was rereading old blog entries from the MySpace days, and I found this gem that I had completely forgotten I even wrote. Now seems like the perfect time to dust it off and reintroduce these thoughts to the world. Read on...

An ignorant man once said, "Fuck Pittsburgh, Virginia's the best state!" I beg to differ. Pittsburgh, obviously, is not even a state. But if it was, it would be the best one. Here is a short list of what I love about Pittsburgh:

• the sports-loving people (post-super bowl blissfulness leads to the most peaceful "riot" in sports history)
• the eclectic mix of architecture (cathedral of learning, meet ppg place)
• cheap beer (25 cent tuesdays, dollar drafts every day)
• yinzer pride (n'at)
• affordable cost of living (hello to having my own place)
• good thrift stores (though laurel thrift will always have a place in my heart)
• the hills and rivers/geography/topography (the view from mt. washington)
• the fact that a blue collar past has led to an adamently liberal politcal present (no republican mayor in more than two and a half decades)
• diversity (south oakland was home to both dan marino and andy warhol... what a great dichotomy)
• tradition (not that pitt contributes to this, but the rest of the city has it right)
• being undervalued (no bandwagon yinzers in sight)

So with all these wonderful things filling me up with joy everyday, why am I so antsy? Why am I dying to hop on a plane?

The answer is in the first part of this post: Pittsburgh is not a state. It's not a region. It's not a nation. It's a dot on the vast planet Earth. The people and things who make this place so great are tiny little drops of paint on an infinitely larger canvas. I want to explore the other dots and see each as what it is: an individual part of the masterpiece that is this world.

Pittsburgh isn't a state, but it is a state of mind. And when I go elsewhere, I won't really be leaving this place behind.

Planet, I am going to leave my footprints all over your fine canvas. And the paths I cut, the lines I draw, the corners I strain to reach will all be connected on one looping, crazy trail that ends where it began -- Pittsburgh is the best state.

-December 18, 2006

Apple, Blueberry, or Pumpkin?

Now you can get Small Wonder posts emailed directly to you. Just click the link at the top of this page, enter your email address, and confirm the subscription. A message will be delivered to your email address if I produce new content on that day. No new content, no email for you. Easy as pie.

She just keeps going, and going, and going...

It has begun. And by "it," I mean the process of cramming 3 months of summer activities into one hyperactive month of fun.

This past Wednesday night, I said goodbye to Pittsburgh in style -- my style. I spent the evening parked on a bar stool, sipping on a steady stream of delicious brews from all around the world. Surrounded by about 20 friends, it was the only way I could have imagined a farewell for me to be. No pressure. No raucousness. Just beer and laughs.

On Thursday, I packed my car and drove to MD, arriving in time to grab an ice cream with my dad at sundown, but then my body gave up and I fell asleep. On Friday, four of my friends and I packed into my little, exhausted car and drove to Baltimore for the Os game (which they actually won!) After oohing and aahing at the post-game fireworks, we headed to Fell's Point and bar hopped until 2am. We slept at my house in Columbia, and then did it all again on Saturday: Baltimore, record stores, tasty lunch, ska show, good times.

It was the perfect way to kick off what is sure to be a crazy month of summer. This week is pretty calm, but on July 22 I'll be making a one-day trip to Wilmington for a BBQ and Counting Crows concert. Then it's off to Cooperstown the following weekend for Cal Ripken, Jr.'s induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame, plus camping and brewery tours with friends. Right after I get back from that epic road trip, I'm headed to the beach first with friends, then with family. And less than a week after I get back from the beach, it's off to Mexico!

I cannot get a handle on the amount of stuff I am about to do in such a short amount of time. Looking back, I see how I was really in a rut (maybe I should just called it a routine) that had kept me from living it up in Pittsburgh. No offense to the town or the people there, it's that whole "comfort thing"; I didn't have a fear about missing out or wasting time because when I was there I felt like I had all the time in the world. Now that I am in transition and I know I only have a limited amount of time to hang with friends and family, I'm packing it all in.

At the heart of things, that's what I really love about traveling. When I'm on the road, I go-go-go to pack in as much as I can because I know the adventure will end. That's why just living in another country would never satisfy my wanderlust. That's why as soon as I arrive somewhere, I figure out when I will be leaving -- the fear of running out of time gives me the energy to pack in as much as possible.

I am not a calm person. I never will be. But I'm sure as heck glad that I can look back and say, "Yup, I did that!"

Another thing...

I honestly don't know how I missed this the first time around, but here is one more picture from the weekend at the lake. I think I turn into some kind of elf around the camera, because I'm even shorter than normal in this photo and more, well, elfin. That's Brewer and F'n Greg in the back. I think they look like they're in love, and they are, but only in that way that I love all my friends.

Doesn't it look like I PhotoShopped myself into this picture?