horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (melbourne)
Very happy to see Rafa win Cincy for the first time, but this is, unequivocally, the ugliest trophy I've ever seen in my life.

 photo rafa_cincy2013_zps41caeb34.jpg

Watching the ceremony this morning, even my sister had to ask WTF it was that we were seeing. Immediate googling revealed the name and sordid history of the Rookwood Cup:

The trophies have come a long way since 1899. As part of the agreement, Cincinnati artist Roy Robinson redesigned this year's trophies for Rookwood, making them slightly smaller and lighter, with an earthier glaze palette of burgundy and green. Rookwood's own artists did the sculptural and molding work, including the foliage that carries over the lip of the cup.

Oh, Roy Robinson. You shouldn't have.
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (too cool for spring training)
 photo 931345_10102427591728611_305169309_n_zpsde65da59.jpg

I've been a Zito/Lincecum kind of girl for a long time, but watching Tim and Buster in person (coupled with Barry's increasingly baffling right-wing behavior) has started making me think that perhaps Posey/Lincecum is the way to go.

They're amazing to watch together. Buster sliding a hand between his legs, staring Tim down, telling him what to do. The self-conscious curve of Tim's mouth, wide eyes, the way he does what Buster says.

It's becoming a Thing. A Thing that I could watch endlessly.

Also, I met Duane Kuiper at Starbucks this afternoon. I was going to just let him be, but then he went to the barista for a refill and I spun around and told him, "I'm sorry, but I can't listen to you order coffee and not say hello." He appeared momentarily startled by my greeting, but warmed up to me quickly: "That's our hotel over there where we're staying, and that's our bus, and this is my iPad." Direct quote, people. I nodded patiently, because I wasn't sure what the point of all that was, and then he showed me said iPad, and we chatted about the Giants, and we tried to decipher the homemade blow-up doll sculpture on top of a van in a nearby loading zone. It was magical.
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (winning pitcher & his catcher)
I was already uncomfortable enough as it was, having seen this. )

Aaaand then I saw this. )

Meanwhile, loved seeing Posey in the dugout tonight. Hoodie on. Smiling.

Before we know it, it'll be time for spring training again. These next eight months are gonna just fly by, you'll see.
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (Default)

An actual post with actual content will be forthcoming.
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (melbourne)
...Such as Rafa, for example.

Probably a tad NSFW. )

Yeah, I can't even believe that actually happened.

Meanwhile, Vegas is nearly upon me and I have no idea what to pack. I have a lot of muddled ideas—jeans with holes worn in the knees, five inch heels, sequins, cheap tees from Urban Outfitters, fleece-lined boots, cocktail dress. We just want to walk around a lot and look at stuff, eat at a bunch of restaurants, and drink. Essentially I don't know if I want to be comfy or be a poser while all of this is happening. Maybe I'll take turns doing both.
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (they might be giants)
And then suddenly, shockingly, there it was?


Tim wore high socks tonight. My personal holy grail, wet dream, fantastical scenario that I feared I'd never see in a real game. Do we need to talk about how maybe Barry Zito is dressing him nowadays? Because it looks suspiciously like that is what's happening. [livejournal.com profile] soupypictures and I nearly had a stroke when he came out. He was all striped and bright and crazy-looking and we figured the night was going to be awesome.


And then, of course, he was immediately a disaster, and he just looked so small and lost and orange out there and it was devastating, heart-attack inducing. He kind of got it together eventually, but it was far too late by then.

I'm wondering, at this point, if it's bad luck that I discovered his existence.

(But the high socks! Oh, my heart <3)
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (NBA)
Larry was at the Suns game tonight, wearing bright yellow capris, talking with his older gentlemanly friend, and intermittently golf-clapping.

His hair looked magnificent.

The halftime entertainment was this guy, who frolicked around the court performing the Macarena, YMCA, and other assorted dance moves, accompanied by stuffed Village People mannequin puppets attached to his body by a system of poles. Now, I realize that NBA halftime entertainment is hardly the pinnacle of performing arts, but this was honestly beyond anything I ever expected to be subjected to at a professional sporting event.

When I left after the game, the air was full of smoke. There had been talk of immigration protests outside the arena, and for a minute I was worried that maybe there had been a riot and something had been set on fire? But apparently it was just a mulch plant, slowly burning out in the west valley, and the smoke had finally blown downtown.


Went out for a belated birthday lunch today at Zinburger (amazing) and received a lovely gift (an orchid). It has been a good day :)
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (pink ice)
Charles Barkley/Johnny Weir is a crossover that does not need to happen, despite what the Tonight Show would have us believe. I knew it was going to be a volatile mix of guests (Charles, Kenny Smith, and Ernie Johnson from Inside the NBA, plus Johnny and k.d. lang), but I never expected to be watching Johnny flirt openly with Charles—and watching Charles respond with a certain self-conscious enthusiasm as he looked Johnny up and down—repeatedly. It was one of the stranger things I've ever witnessed. I mean, I don't even know what to say.

I suppose not even Charles can resist this. )

ETA: Found a video.

horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (blue ice)
My computer is such a dinosaur that the only way I can utilize YouTube now is to grab the embed code from the webpage and post videos to LJ.

Which I have done. Oh daddy. )

This is clearly a sign that I need to give up the ghost and buy a new laptop. The thing is, I love my current titanium PowerBook G4: it's so perfect-looking and gorgeous, and I don't like the new Mac styling at all. But I think when your OS is so old that you can no longer upgrade Firefox and Norton Antivirus, and video playback is always going to be choppy and horrific no matter what changes you make, it doesn't make sense to put it off any longer.
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (super bowl)
What did I spend the last three hours watching?

Usually I'm good at letting things roll off, but this is beyond. I don't understand what this even was. How could a team make so many mistakes, and look so horrifically bad, when so much is at stake?

I was getting really, really angry at the Cards. Like, irrationally angry.

And then this happened. )

The ensuing panic—as Larry was surrounded by fluttering trainers, tried to stand, collapsed, and was escorted back to the locker room—helped to temper my rage momentarily, but it didn't last.

Thankfully, Larry came back and played, but it didn't really matter. The team looked ridiculous.

At least someone managed to take a lot of nice pictures of Larry warming up. )

That's about the only positive thing to come out of this game. I have that crazy pseudo-diabetic feeling that I usually only get following Rafa's gut-wrenching losses in majors.

Meanwhile, I fell out of a malfunctioning elevator this morning, ate way too much sugar and wheat, and went on a really painful run. Not an auspicious Monday. And to think, it started out with such promise, it really did...

Well, on to Tuesday.

ETA: I should've known things would go awry when Larry tweeted this earlier.

Well then.

Dec. 2nd, 2009 09:44 pm
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (super bowl)
I have got to stop reading Into Thin Air right before bed. I'm entrenched in the really dramatic, gruesome part, and it inspired the strangest dreams last night. First I dreamed that I climbed to the top of Everest (no surprise), and it was difficult and torturous as one would expect. Then that segued inexplicably into finding (and I think reading) a fic in which "Zevran/yaks" was listed as one of the pairings. Then I dreamed that I went out to a bar with Adam Lambert, drank nothing at all, had an enormous amount of fun despite my sobriety, he drove me home in a yellow Mustang, and we spent the night in my guest bedroom. All that, and I don't even like Adam Lambert that much, to be honest.

Must've been the resultant hypoxia from summiting Everest earlier in the night.
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (this way)
Good job, Weezy. Godspeed.

To follow up on my post earlier this week, let me mention that I spent all morning reading the full IMDB synopses of Saw I–Saw V. By the end, I was totally confused and unnerved, although I do have to say that I liked how twisty the plot was. Then, I got home this evening and saw that Saw III was playing, so I flipped to it, and...OMFG. I watched for approximately 4.5 seconds, and it was gruesome and horrific and everything I feared. I quickly flipped back to baseball. Seriously, how do people stand that stuff? Obviously there's a reason the movies are so successful, but I find it completely traumatic.
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (super bowl)

Larry's busy being tiny-waisted and aggressive with Dominique Rodgers-Cromartie. It's all smiles and jokes here, but let's not forget that Larry and DRC were involved in an angry shoving match recently. I find them very intriguing, honestly.

I suppose that's a good thing, since Larry's twitter has just about ruined the magic for me. There was a moment today where I thought he was actually making a humorous comment, and I felt this rush of hope—and then realized he was talking about something completely different than what I thought he was referring to, and it turned out to be utterly not-funny. Oh Larry. When he's not busy misspelling words, ignoring the most basic standards of punctuation, and being horrifically boring, he's tweeting about being a dad and posting pics of his son and claiming to be straight, and I just can't work with that very efficiently. It makes me tired.

I finished Azadeh Moaveni's Honeymoon in Tehran earlier tonight, so that leaves me with zero books to read now. I've been on a Middle East kick recently, and I think I'd like to continue with it. Can anyone recommend any relevant books? Fiction or non-fiction, I'm down with whatever. I'd welcome the distraction, honestly, because after watching a BBC America documentary about men who have romantic/sexual relationships with life-sized dolls and viewing a (almost certainly Photoshopped, but nonetheless!) photo of Lil Wayne with no clothes on (NSFW, obviously), I'm feeling a bit fragile.
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (super bowl)
Larry. Where. Are your pants.


I think the look on Kurt's face says it all. Could Larry be wearing any more shirts? And yet his shorts are just...gone?

o.O Clingy shorts-less Larry. )
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (paris)
Somehow I just agreed to pet-sit Vinny, my friend's 25 lb. cat, for the next eight days. I don't quite know how this came about, but I've turned the guest bedroom into makeshift cat quarters (I will need to keep Vinny and Simon separated while I'm at work, at least for the first couple of days) and I'm hoping for the best.

Last night, I had a dream that Roger lost the French Open in straight sets. The scoreline was totally wacky, 9-6 in the third, which made no sense whatsoever. I woke up, restless and upset, and turned on the tv to see that Roger was two games from the title. I know I said I wasn't planning to watch, but in the end I couldn't stay away. I do love tennis, no matter how I feel about the final.

It's good for the game, Roger winning :) And he earned those tears, and the celebration. I turned it off a minute or two after the championship point, though. I don't begrudge Roger his win in any way; I'm just a little miserable, still, that it wasn't Rafa falling to his knees on the clay today.

Anyway, [livejournal.com profile] buckle_berry, I made sure that I never actively rooted for Roger at any point during this tournament. You're welcome :D
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (larry loves tights)
I booked plane tickets for Vegas today. And, like an idiot, I totally booked them backwards: Las Vegas > Phoenix on Friday and then Phoenix > Las Vegas on Sunday. That itinerary, of course, is of no use to me whatsoever. And the irony is that Audrey was leaning over my shoulder as I booked, helping me make sure that we had the dates correct, that we had the times right, that all names were properly spelled. It never occurred to me that I might have screwed up the departure cities.

Luckily I double-checked my emailed confirmation—and immediately had a panic attack.

Fortunately, we booked our flights on Southwest Airlines, so after some frantic clicking around the website, I was able to change the reservation and only had to pay the difference in fare—no other fees. I seriously love Southwest. Embarrassingly, this isn't the first time I've screwed up an airline reservation, but the previous instance was also with Southwest, and after phoning customer service, they had me on the correct flight for no extra charge. I cannot say enough nice things about them. The fact that now you can modify your itinerary online, without a call of shame wherein you must admit that you're an idiot who can't properly make an airline reservation, just makes me love them even more.


The Cardinals started OTAs today. I was happily awaiting new photos of Larry's head, when instead I came across this message from the Cardinals' official blogger:

Prelim count has 73 of 85 players here for OTA first day. Voluntary, remember. No Q or Dock. Heard Warner and Fitz had something.

What. What? Had what? Had the flu? Had a prior commitment? Had sex and were too tired to attend practice? Some of us need further information. Is someone's leg falling off?

Further random Larry, in the meantime. )
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (believe in now)
A child in a tiny suit interviews Larry at Anquan's charity event. This is simultaneously the best and the worst thing I have ever seen.

Good lord, words fail me.

From Sunday: Larry and Kurt Walk It Out under the cut. )
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (heart)
I never thought I'd come across tennis fandom in [livejournal.com profile] fanficrants, and yet there it is. Pretty valid rant, too, although I'm not particularly fond of the generally anti-RPS/RPF feel to that comm.

I have to say I had no idea people were going all crazy on Mirka; I haven't read any tennis slash in a little while, certainly nothing since the big announcement. Clearly I'm out of the loop (as I was for the announcement itself, incidentally).


There's a gentleman at the farmers market who sells organic, grass-fed beef. He's gorgeous, tall with dark hair, and would be very much my type, except that he's a cowboy—or at the very least, dresses like one. (Which might be worse, actually.) My dad's side of the family is full of cowboys, and I've gone riding, and been there for the branding, and the castrating, and the feeding in winter. And it's fine; it is what it is. But it means that I don't have that romantic notion of cowboys, so while my friends are all fluttery for this guy, I'm totally neutral on it. Mostly.

Anyway, I've long wanted to talk to him about his meat, as it were, but I'm usually a mess on Saturday mornings and don't have my game face on. Last Saturday was no exception—I had the previous night's Rocky Horror Picture Show hair still going on, I was wearing the most haphazard outfit, and I was weighted down with multiple bags of vegetables. But I was like, fuck it, and bought two pounds of chuck roast. He was very charming.

In keeping with my theme of interacting with good-looking men while looking like a hot mess myself, I was taking out the trash on Sunday morning when I ran into one of my neighbors. I'd never met him—never even seen him before—and my hair was twisted up into a crazy knot with huge chunks sticking out of one side, I was in my gym clothes, and I was carrying a bag of used cat litter. And he smiled and said hello and looked beautiful; and I said hi, threw the bag of cat litter in the dumpster, and scurried back inside. It was a really great first impression. Oh well, I'm not sure how you recover when you're carrying around a bag of cat litter.

Went on the greatest run tonight, btw—I'm back to my usual distance, and that's a wonderful thing. My legs are pleasantly sore right now, and I love that feeling :)
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (believe in now)
The light rail was an adventure on Friday. I was sitting next to a little girl, who kept elbowing me inadvertently as she ate her KFC. (Mind you, you're not even supposed to have food on the train, but that's another matter.) My ribs are sore as hell right now from coughing, so the elbowing was quite painful and I was on the verge of saying something to her. Except then we stopped at a station, and a transvestite hooker boarded the train and sat down on the other side of me, and that really took up most of my attention from that point out. She was wearing the shortest shorts I'd ever seen, and was continually readjusting herself because there was no way for that tiny amount of fabric to contain...everything. I was trying not to look—really trying. But I kind of couldn't help it at times.

Then a girl with a black trash bag and her cracked-out friend sat down across from me. The friend was periodically convulsing and yipping, in between bouts of relatively (and I use this term loosely) normal conversation. Then he discovered a particularly worrying stain on his pants (his clothes were filthy) and began licking his finger and wiping frantically at the mark. For like three straight minutes.

Anyway, turns out the black trash bag was full of drugs. I know this because they conducted a drug deal on the train. Maybe I'm just naive, but I just sat there like o.O, not really knowing how to react. Meanwhile the transvestite hooker's perfume was beginning to overwhelm me, and I debated getting off the train two stops early, but in the end I simply endured.

\o/ Metro Light Rail \o/

Last night I had some friends over for a potluck. Usually with this group, we go out for sushi, but everyone is so broke right now. So, potluck it was. I kept it pretty relaxed, and didn't instruct anyone as far as what to bring. We ended up with really good food, but every dish (with the exception of the tangerine sorbet for dessert) involved bread and/or pasta and/or potatoes, in some way. Delicious, but we were so overloaded on carbs that everyone was falling asleep by 10:30. Party animals.

Today Angie came over with her baby, Aurora. She got to see my place for the first time, and then we went out to lunch. She had a coupon for the Armadillo Grill, which is a total dive—a run-down sports bar with like 50 televisions and green everywhere: green carpet, green booths, green tabletops. We walked in with our sunglasses and heels and a baby and they didn't really know what to do with us. The hostess ended up seating us way in the back by ourselves, lol. Service was a bit slow, but the food was surprisingly good. I have to say, though, that babies are exhausting. I gave Aurora a bottle at one point, and at the end I was spent. With my ribs the way they are, it hurt so much to hold her, but even without the soreness, it's simply a lot of work! They are heavy! They are messy! They get into everything! I love Aurora, she's like a niece to me, but Angie can keep her as far as I'm concerned :D

Blah blah blah Larry etc. )
horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (grapple)
Phoenix endured the most unbelievable monsoon on Thursday night. I've lived in this city for nearly 20 years, and it was the worst I'd ever seen. People who have lived here far longer have expressed similar sentiments. It started out as simply an incredible electrical storm, with shafts of lightning cutting across the sky almost constantly, and from every direction. This lasted for about two hours, just sort of rumbling in slowly from the south and the east.

Then around 9pm all hell broke loose. It started to rain, and wind accompanied the moisture, with hurricane-force gusts up to 100mph. I was driving around shortly after the worst of the rain, and trees were down everywhere, in parking lots and streets and yards. When I drove home around 11pm, there were trees down on the freeway, and once I got off the freeway, there were trees and debris all over the surface streets. The electricity in the central corridor was out, so there were no streetlights—which was scary, as it was basically a stretch of several miles' worth of intermittently observed 4-way stops.

I made it home to find that luckily, the electricity to my block had already been restored. I cuddled with Simon, who'd had to endure most of the storm by himself, poor guy. I had the television on and suddenly the emergency alert system was activated, warning of more wind and recommending that everyone stay inside and away from windows for the next hour. So I got candles and matches organized as hail and wind pelted the windows, but fortunately the electricity stayed on and I was able to get ready for bed and go to sleep.

The city is still in tatters, though. It's not catastrophic, by any means, but so many trees are down, power lines are down, houses are damaged, my poor friend Tim hasn't had electricity for almost 36 hours in 106º, high humidity weather. It's weird, because I've just never seen a storm this severe.


In other news, my grandma had surgery earlier this week; she was released from the hospital on Thursday and I've been going over to her place every day after work to help my mom out with her care. ([livejournal.com profile] shadow_shimmer, remember when you were having dinner with my family and the sole topic of conversation was hip replacement? Well, it finallly came to pass after like, nearly a year!) She's been taking some pretty powerful narcotic painkillers, and she's just been kind of funny, the way most people get when they're that drugged. She's been coming up with all sorts of bizarre little pieces of advice, including, last night, the following recommendation: "Don't kill your family."

Duly noted, Grandma.


horizon_greene: Robert Smith singing (Default)

July 2017



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