Milwaukee and baseball and moi
Lleah
^H^H^H^H^H^H^H pit of despair city of Milwaukee.
I was there for a week working Fan-Fest. For those who don't know what that
is, it's essentially a baseball convention that precedes the All-Star game.
I was showing product at the show, and it went very well over all. I like
baseball, so it was a decidedly interesting experience being emmersed in it
for a goodly while.
Here now for you are some highlights of my week in the Great Lakes region of
You Betcha County:
Bratwurst is everywhere, and is actually very good.
Miller beer is everywhere and is definitely extremely bad.
Our hotel was sandwiched twixt the Greyhound bus station and the freeway
offramp.
I'm not too picky when it comes to hotels, as I've stayed in some pretty
sketchy ones before without issue.
However, never before have I been inclined to sleep while completely
clothed.
At the last minute on Monday night, our co-worker, who is surely going to
heaven, got us tickets to the home-run derby. For those who don't know,
this is when several of the best hitters in baseball gather together to
compete in a bout of steroid-rage. Once again, the Yankees win. I poop on
them collectively, even though I have a fondness for Joe Torre. He always
looks like he needs to be holding a bottle of Pepto Bismol.
ANYHOWS, our seats were really great, right down the 1st base line. We had
a great view of everything, including the notorious Sausage Runners.
Now, I've seen a lot of weird mascots before, but the Sausage Runners are
new to me in the area of bizarre. There are four guys who put on giant
heads and pretend to be sausages of various varieties. They then race
around the field between innings and everyone begins to enthusiastically
shout for their favorite to take the win. ie:
"GO HOTDOG!"
"COME ON, BRATWURST!"
"KNOCKWURST! KNOOOOOOOOCKWUUUUUUURST!"
and
"SPICY ITALIAN IS THE BEST!"
I think the bratwurst won, and I think the hot dog may have collapsed from
the heat.
And it was indeed very very hot that evening. The humidity was around a
zillion per cent that night, and we were all sweating into big puddles of
ooze. Until the rains came.
And oh yes, the rains did arrive.
If you happened to watch the Home-Run Derby, you may have seen one of Sammy
Sosa's balls* zoom through the left-field area and out into the parking lot.
Those folks sitting in those particular bleachers were soaked completely
through within four seconds of the storm hitting the ballpark.
Though we were mostly dry in our seats, we did get to experience the
infamous leaky roof of Miller Park. I do recall hearing afterward that
Selig, or some other pussey of his calibre, defended the expensive clamshell
roof system by saying "You can't expect a retractable roof like that not to
leak in some areas.", which is extremely funny as Safeco Field (here in
Seattle) has a retractable roof that seems to magically prevent water from
actually hitting the spectators. And you may have heard something before
about the weather in Seattle.
But I digress ...
After the derby we went to catch our shuttle to the after-event at the Art
Museum. The rains had ceased at this point, so we were reveling in the fact
that the air had cooled to a more humane temperature. We then stood in line
for our shuttle busses, which all had the word LAMERS written in big red
happy letters on each side.
Yes.
LAMERS.
And as we were liesurely standing in line, making obvious bag jokes about
our special busses, and immitating Wisconsinites with glee, the rains again
decided to make an appearance.
Since I was going directly to this big-wig gala, I had dressed up in a nice
little linen skirt and absolutely to-die-for chemise number. Within a few
seconds, I was completely and utterly drenched.
At least it was a warm rain.
And then we got into the air-conditioned busses.
All the men here (and some of the wimmins) will be happy to note that lots
of lovely ladies were wearing white that night.
The gala itself was really interesting. The bar was free, so I took the
whole thing home with me, servers and all.
The art museum has something everyone is all excited about. All the people
I met in Milwaukee said "You must see the Calatrava!" And I swear that
every single time I asked "What's a Calatrava?" the response was "It's at
the art museum!"
I still don't know what it is, but apparently, it's very popular.
So as I was hanging out with Sammy Sosa .... okay, I was just sort of
standing there and he happened to be near me .... some drunken guy took his
shirt of and started dancing in the fountain. I don't know if it was the
cranberry juice high I was on, or what, but I thought I would be all cute by
sticking my tootsies into the fountain and doing a little jig.
At this point, drunken dude grabs me and pulls me into the water. He then
holds my head under water as I'm flailing and giving him The Finger with all
my might. I manage to escape for a moment and then he grabs me again and
does the same.
I then crawl out toward my doubled-over coworkers and as I'm standing there,
Senior Drunken Pants starts splashing us all with water.
Alas, I was simply too shocked to destroy him.
And also, I didn't want to offend Sammy into an impromptu bout of steroid
rage.
ANYHOW ...
So the next night we did get to go to the game, again courtesy of our
coworker, who is going to heaven where he will be eternally massaged by
beautiful big-bossom'd sex angels in the heavenly Hot Tub of Glory.
For those who don't follow baseball, the game ended in a TIE in the 11th
inning.
Baseball, for those who aren't familiar with the game, is not usually known
for its tie games. That is historically not the result they aim for.
However, the entire roster had been used up by then, and our man Freddi
Garcia had to work on Thursday. So what are ya gonna do?
But here's the kicker:
We lost Ted Williams last week. Probably one of the best players to ever
grace the game. So Selig the Pussey and his cohorts made what I thought was
an unusually positive decision, and announced that the yearly All-Star game
MVP award would now be called "The Ted Williams Award".
And after the game they announced that there would be no MVP this year.
BRILLIANT! <--- read with extreme sarcasm
All in all, a very surreal experience, and one I will not soon forget.
I hope you've enjoyed this long and babbling account of my experience in
Milwaukee.
It is indeed good to be home.
Love,
Leah
*Steroid joke goes here
Eli M. Balin
Lleah <leah...@attbi.com> wrote:
>
>After the derby we went to catch our shuttle to the after-event at the Art
>Museum. The rains had ceased at this point, so we were reveling in the fact
>that the air had cooled to a more humane temperature. We then stood in line
>for our shuttle busses, which all had the word LAMERS written in big red
>happy letters on each side.
During my brief sojourn on Europa back in February, I was amused by the
buses emblazoned with FUCKER and WANKER. I would have taken pictures, but
they were gone before I could think of doing so. My fukken
chunk-of-fukk "Logitech Quickcam Traveller" would have blurred them beyond
recognition anyhow, like it did with the pictures I tried to take of the
stained-glass windows in the St. Vitus cathedral in Prazcy Hrad (I am
quite sore about this; I *really* wanted the one of the art-nouveau
window).
>The art museum has something everyone is all excited about. All the people
>I met in Milwaukee said "You must see the Calatrava!" And I swear that
>every single time I asked "What's a Calatrava?" the response was "It's at
>the art museum!"
>I still don't know what it is, but apparently, it's very popular.
This is (according to MAM's website) the "Quadracci Pavilion," which
looks like what would happen if someone tried to peel Eero Saarinen's TWA
terminal at Idlewild.
http://www.mam.org/site/photos/images/mam1.jpg
--
elib...@panix.com http://www.panix.com/~elibalin/
"From Rangoon to Qatar...the haggis is piped in..."
-Smithsonian Magazine, March 2001
Chris McGonnell
I am so jealous of you I could bite through a goose's neck! So much jealousy
it's ALL OVER YOU SCREEN!!11! Llucky Lleah, I'll just go off and mutter
angrily for awhile.
--
Chris McG.
Harming humanity since 1951
Bill Buckner taunts are Not Allowed in Boise. -- Dr. Rose
-----------== Posted via Newsfeed.Com - Uncensored Usenet News ==----------
http://www.newsfeed.com The #1 Newsgroup Service in the World!
-----= Over 100,000 Newsgroups - Unlimited Fast Downloads - 19 Servers =-----
Otto Bahn
> Once again, the Yankees win. I poop on them collectively,
Bah! When everyone hates you (except your own fans),
life must be good.
> even though I have a fondness for Joe Torre. He always
> looks like he needs to be holding a bottle of Pepto Bismol.
I think he's doing his Kegel exercises.
> Since I was going directly to this big-wig gala, I had dressed up in a nice
> little linen skirt and absolutely to-die-for chemise number. Within a few
> seconds, I was completely and utterly drenched.
No need to mention that Contest Thing; your audience
is cooperating.
> At least it was a warm rain.
That, folks, is known as the set up...
> And then we got into the air-conditioned busses.
Well done.
--oTTo--
--oTTo--
Conmidhe
<shnipp>
>If you happened to watch the Home-Run Derby, you may have seen one of Sammy
>Sosa's balls* zoom through the left-field area and out into the parking lot.
Ewwwwwwww That HAD to hurt!!!
>Since I was going directly to this big-wig gala, I had dressed up in a nice
>little linen skirt and absolutely to-die-for chemise number. Within a few
>seconds, I was completely and utterly drenched.
>At least it was a warm rain.
>And then we got into the air-conditioned busses.
>All the men here (and some of the wimmins) will be happy to note that lots
>of lovely ladies were wearing white that night.
>
GIF !! GIF!! GIF!!
-Con
Darla Vladschyk
>I just got back from a week in the lovely^H^H^H^H^H interesting
>^H^H^H^H^H^H^H pit of despair city of Milwaukee.
Great. Just great. I spent 2 1/2 hours this afternoon frantically
tailing a car I thought you rented while here on a sooper seekrit
vacation because it had a license plate that read "Llama 1."
But the baseball stuff was interesting. As was the nippleage stuff
and Senor Drunken-Pants.
And about Selig being a pussy. Yesssss.
But how about Ted Williams' no-account son? Jezuz! He makes all
other sons of all other fathers in all centuries on this planet and
any others look like saints.
Scum-sucker.
John Henry Williams even makes IVAN look halfway decent.
No--- I take that back.
Anyway, welcome home, Lleah! Also, I think you need a dot in your
name, like India.Arie. Maybe you could be Leah.Awry
Okay then.
-=D=-
________________________________________
"Just because people don't understand
you doesn't mean you're
an artist." ---Unknown
.............................................................
http://www.yougotta.com/Darla
.............................................................
"Ma'am? There is a potato in
your tailpipe." ---Spring Garden
Place Maintenance
________________________________________
The Avocado Avenger
>I was there for a week working Fan-Fest.
I read this sentence three times and every time thought I saw the word
"wank", but in a different spot.
>Since I was going directly to this big-wig gala, I had dressed up in a nice
>little linen skirt and absolutely to-die-for chemise number. Within a few
>seconds, I was completely and utterly drenched.
I predict at least twenty-seven requests for gifs, jpgs, and mpgs of
this historic wet clothing event.
>I then crawl out toward my doubled-over coworkers and as I'm standing there,
>Senior Drunken Pants starts splashing us all with water.
That'll show the co-workers for doubling over instead of helping you not
drown and die and shit. At least you know Sammy Sosa noticed you.
Does everyone who goes to Milkwaukee spend the whole time wet and at the
ballpark and eating sausages?
Stacia * The Avocado Avenger * Life is a tale told by an idiot;
http://world.std.com/~stacia/ * Full of sound and fury,
There is no guacamole anywhere. * Signifying nothing.
Renault
> We had a great view of everything, including the notorious
> Sausage Runners.
>
> Now, I've seen a lot of weird mascots before, but the Sausage Runners
> are new to me in the area of bizarre. There are four guys who put on
> giant heads and pretend to be sausages of various varieties. They then
> race around the field between innings and everyone begins to
> enthusiastically shout for their favorite to take the win. ie:
> "GO HOTDOG!"
> "COME ON, BRATWURST!"
> "KNOCKWURST! KNOOOOOOOOCKWUUUUUUURST!"
> and
> "SPICY ITALIAN IS THE BEST!"
AAGGHHH!!! You just reminded me of the scary Klement's ads we had to take
down last week!
If I'm not mistaken... one is dressed like a baseball player, another like an
Italian chef, another in some bizarre mockery of a German in lederhosen, and
the last is dressed sorta like a tourist, right? Those things gave me the
willies every time I walked past the ad paper they were on, I'd probably wet
myself if I saw 'em running around in real life!
(...)
> After the derby we went to catch our shuttle to the after-event at the
> Art Museum. The rains had ceased at this point, so we were reveling in
> the fact that the air had cooled to a more humane temperature. We then
> stood in line for our shuttle busses, which all had the word LAMERS
> written in big red happy letters on each side.
>
> Yes.
>
> LAMERS.
I've seen these silly busses tooling about in this area too. They have their
URL printed on the back on some...
GOOOOOOOOOOO LAMERS!!!
(R)
Renault
>(The Sausage Runners...)
>
> If I'm not mistaken... one is dressed like a baseball player, another
> like an Italian chef, another in some bizarre mockery of a German in
> lederhosen, and the last is dressed sorta like a tourist, right? Those
> things gave me the willies every time I walked past the ad paper they
> were on, I'd probably wet myself if I saw 'em running around in real
> life!
Okay Lleah, were these what you saw?
http://www.klements.com/Games/index.html
(R)
Darla Vladschyk
>If I'm not mistaken... one is dressed like a baseball player, another like an
>Italian chef, another in some bizarre mockery of a German in lederhosen, and
>the last is dressed sorta like a tourist, right?
Nono, that's "Iron Chef."
HTH!
James Kibo Parry
as featured in the movie "Parts: The Clonus Horror"...]
"Lleah" (leah...@attbi.com) wrote:
>
> At the last minute on Monday night, our co-worker, who is surely going to
> heaven, got us tickets to the home-run derby. For those who don't know,
> this is when several of the best hitters in baseball gather together to
> compete in a bout of steroid-rage. Once again, the Yankees win. I poop on
> them collectively, even though I have a fondness for Joe Torre. He always
> looks like he needs to be holding a bottle of Pepto Bismol.
> ANYHOWS, our seats were really great, right down the 1st base line. We had
> a great view of everything, including the notorious Sausage Runners.
>
> Now, I've seen a lot of weird mascots before, but the Sausage Runners are
> new to me in the area of bizarre. There are four guys who put on giant
> heads and pretend to be sausages of various varieties. They then race
> around the field between innings and everyone begins to enthusiastically
> shout for their favorite to take the win. ie:
> "GO HOTDOG!"
> "COME ON, BRATWURST!"
> "KNOCKWURST! KNOOOOOOOOCKWUUUUUUURST!"
> and
> "SPICY ITALIAN IS THE BEST!"
>
> I think the bratwurst won, and I think the hot dog may have collapsed from
> the heat.
So, when a real human is pitching or hitting, people yell things like
"We need a pitcher, not a belly itcher", but when the bratwurst-headed guy
is playing, do people just yell "YOU'RE DEFORMED! GO AWAY! STOP SCARING
MY UNBORN CHILDREN!"?
And speaking of hideous deformities in Major League Baseball brand baseball:
After work I often go to the Fenway Star Market. This is not to be confused
with the Prudential Star Market (skyscraper on top, insane people playing
with the "DIVIDeR-DIVIDeR" bars, mysterious wall of kitties with giant eyes),
or the Equilateral Triangle Star Market (which is unremarkable except for
what it is), it's the one with the coatroom where all the ethnic foods --
such as spaghetti and rice -- have to stay and it's the one that still
has the vending machine that sells "GOOK" instead of the more politically-
correct "GOOP" and it bragged about selling a hundred-trillion-dollar
lottery ticket because the market is run by people who don't know how
zeroes work. I've described all that in detail elsewhere, as you might
imagine (because I never fail to describe anything in detail elsewhere.)
The ethnic-foods coatroom is separated from the main market by a glass
partition, so that in case Chinese communists invade Boston, Star Market
can lock the door to allow WASPs access to the granola aisle but forbid
anyone who likes EWW CHINESE FOOD EWW from buying canned chow mein.
(ANYONE WHO LIKES CHINESE FOOD MUST BE A COMMUNIST, ESPECIALLY IF THEY
BUY IT AT STAR MARKET'S INFLATED PRICES!) Oddly, the hundred-trillion-dollar
lottery tickets are sold outside the glassed-in room, because they are
apparently less of a security risk than La Choy Bi-Packs.
This market is very close to Fenway Park -- the antique baseball park
that's had a chunk of left field missing since the days when Shirley Temple
was cute -- and baseball season has begun. This gave the market an
excuse to paint some pictures of cartoon Red Sox players on the glass
between the regular foods and the room of ethnicity, so that they wouldn't
have to look at the people shopping for spaghetti, some of whom might have
dark hair, or worse, mustaches. So, they covered most of the window
with attempts at realistic depictions of baseball players executed in
signwriter's paint.
Of the three or four ballplayers, the most visible one is a pitcher.
What follow are my attempts to describe this incredibly abnormal
imaginary person throwing baseballs past the pickled peppers.
He's all wound up and about to throw, so he has one leg raised in that
way you have to do when you throw a baseball really fast. (The ball somehow
cares where you leg is. I don't understand the physics of it either,
but they do it in the real world, not just in sloppy cartoons inside
supermarkets.) He's facing directly towards us, at least judging by
the way the part of his shirt that says "RED SOX" is aimed directly
towards us, yet for some reason his raised leg crosses in front of
him. The heel of his foot is directly in front of his crotch. Because
this is a realistic depiction of a Red Sox player, his leg consists
of two black lines, with a red line running down the middle. His cleated
show is attacked to the ends of two of those lines. But, hold on a minute!
It's not attached to the two black lines! A tiny little shoe connects
one of the black lines (representing the forward edge of the raised leg)
to the red line (representing his pants seam.) This gives him a two-inch
ankle (directly in front of his crotch, remember) and the artist couldn't
figure out what to do with the remaining black line, so it just goes down
and joins to his butt, in front of his crotch, continuing straight down
to make his other leg, which is perfectly straight and eighteen inches
thick, as if he has a pedestal instead of any normal means of support,
or maybe he's part sea anemone. So, to sum up, one of his legs joins
his butt to his butt through the front of his crotch, and his other
leg is shaped like a garbage can. Oh, and the giant vertical leg has
a little dent in it where it goes around the tiny foot raised in front
of it, possibly representing a concave crotch from years of steroid abuse.
As a background, the artist painted in a row of green scribbly stuff to
represent the nice even grass of the ballfield, except the grass floats
just above the bottom of the window, and the pitcher's pedestal club-foot
passes in front of the row of grass and beyond it all the way to the bottom
of the window, as if the guy's been screwed into the ground. Perhaps
his giant foot has clam DNA in it. I wonder how many feet down it goes.
And the guy has no sleeves or shoulder joints. His upper arms end
in rounded tips that are hovering in front of his shirt. I take that
back, he does sort of have part of one sleeve. But I think the artist
added that at the last minute just to make the guy more asymmetrical.
To top it off, his head defies the laws of perspective and the laws of
nature in other ways. Remember when I said his shirt was facing directly
towards us? His head is turned so that he's looking slightly to his left,
and the "B" on his baseball cap is slightly to the left of center as
we would expect, and the brim is also pointing to the left. Except,
they colored in the cap before they remembered to draw a brim on it,
so the brim extends BACK and to the LEFT, while the "B" is FORWARDS
and to the LEFT, a ninety-degree discrepancy. That's one magic ballcap!
Maybe there's a second vanishing point hidden behind the grassy knoll,
or perhaps Boston University's photonics lab (with the glowing stripe
running down the side) has accidentally created a space warp which is
distorting space and joining ballplayers' legs together to form something
halfway between a Klein bottle and Johnny Tremaine, perhaps related to
those weirdly warped pretzels that sink to the bottom of the bag or what
happens if you pick up a picture from the funny pages with your Silly Putty
before you leave it sitting on the radiator for a week, especially if
you accidentally used Gook instead of Silly Putty. (The Gook dispenser
didn't quite fit into my photo of this grotesquerie.)
Further examination of my photo of this tragic scene reveals that
he's standing next to a display of "UGLY RIPES HEIRLOOM TOMATOES".
Science has yet to explain the concept of a tomato which is also
a heirloom. Teams of linguists are struggling to determine whether
"pretty ripe" or "pretty unripe" would be the opposite of "ugly ripe".
Massive enhancement of the fine details shows a line of microscopic
print explaining everything: "The Tomato that TASTES like a Tomato."
Also, it's the tomato that looks more like a human than the pitcher does.
-- K.
We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher,
and certainly not whatever rhyming phrase
would describe a guy shaped this way!