Aye, aye, Capt'n!
Blog Written with a loving hand by kitt some time around 00:41 on 30 August 2005So, Mischief is having "Captain Feedback" time. An email is going out to every player to help each of them know where they are on the team. Positions and roles will be defined at this point, until the of the season.
In other words, we're being pigeon-holed, so we better like it.
My favorite part of my email:
Your mental game is the most important factor on whether you will have a good game or a bad game. When you make one play, that gives you the confidence to make another, which gives you the confidence to make another, and so on. Don't be surprised that you can make plays, or that you can shut someone down. You've done it before. Once you display a skill, you own that skill, so we know that you can make plays. I want you to really focus on your mental game at Labor Day and Sectionals, trying to keep a positive attitude the entire time. Think of some of the good sayings from "The Mental Game of Baseball" that really keep you focused, because a focused Kitt is a star player.I laughed when I read that. Last season, at Regionals, in a game against CTR, I was marked up against their top woman. The tournament was my first tournament in several weeks, having missed Sectionals with four broken ribs, and I was still having problems breathing deeply. After some stoppage of play, probably a time out, CTR was at the goal line, setting up an isolation play for the score, with my woman as the iso. Mano y mano. And she was their best woman. Giving her the whole endzone to work with, her teammates moved to the four corners. She went to the middle. Facing my hips the same directions as hers, fronting her one step, looking back to see both her and the thrower in my peripheral, I let the marker know I was ready, and the disc was tapped in. I remember hearing Rick Buellesbach's voice. I remember she made four, maybe five cuts. I remember being in front of her the whole way, thinking I might have to layout for this one. I remember Rick yelling at me to stay with her, she's cutting back to the middle, and scrambling hard back away from the sideline. And I remember seeing Mark Smith streak in with the poach and catch the disc for the turnover. We scored that point. We won the game. And I had shut down their top woman player.
My mother reads my site
Blog Posted by kitt at 21:56 on 29 August 2005
So, what happens when you discover your mother is reading your site and catching up on all the gossip that's fit to print?
You cringe, and think, "Uh oh, do I need to go back and edit some posts?"
So, then what happens when your mom takes note of her only daughter freezing her ass off in San Franscisco?
Easy, she buys her a sweater.
I now have, "My momma loves me, this I know, 'cause she bought me this yellow!" running through my head.
Curse those elementary school religious diddies!
Couldn't be subtler!
Blog Written with a loving hand by kitt some time around 11:20 on 28 August 2005So, we're sitting in the living room this morning: Kris on the couch watching baseball (Oakland vs. Baltimore), I at the table programming.
At some point, I commented about something and turned to look at Kris as I spoke. He looked over a me with a funny look, then let one rip.
After a pause, I commented, "Subtle."
And then burst into song, to the tune of "Couldn't be Happier" from Wicked:
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"Couldn't be subtler!
No, you couldn't be sub-tle-er!"
Lessons from a light soul
Blog Posted by kitt at 01:08 on 27 August 2005Ah, the lessons taught to me this week, may I remember them next week, too.
Lesson 1:
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"Top up or top down?"
"You live in California. Top down! I'll always say top down!"
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"You know how her car was broken into? Well, nothing of hers was stolen, but we later realized that two of my bags were stolen."
"What?!? That sucks! What did you lose?"
"I lost ... but, eh, it's okay. I deal well with loss."
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"I think people are the greatest fun."
Walk away
Blog Written with a loving hand by kitt some time around 22:53 on 25 August 2005Best advice I can give to myself at this moment?
Walk away.
Just. Walk. Away.
The great mysteries in life
Blog kitt decided around 13:52 on 25 August 2005 to publish this:Pretty much all through my public education experience, I detested gym class, recess, physical activity in general. Imagine the clutziest, most awkward, skinny girl you can imagine (don't forget the glasses and braces!), and you're pretty close to me.
*shudder*
The memories!
Ick.
Anyway, in junior high, I had, like all my classmates, gym class three times a week. The best time to have gym class was, of course, first period. Having it first period meant I could sleep until 7:40, roll out of bed, pull on my gym clothes, and walk to school which was all of 80 yards from my back door.
After gym class, I would take my shower (and I was the only girl who actually showered after gym class, complete with soap, shampoo and a towel that actually had to dry something), and head to class.
Maximum sleep. Efficient schedule.
One particular day, I had my gym shoes in hand and wandered over to the gym. I went to tie my shoes, they were like the early Nike shoes: dark blue with a white shwoosh, when I noticed something in the laces. Puzzled, I loosened the laces to look better.
Inside the tongue, between the laces was some crap I couldn't identify. It was light in color, maybe tan, soft, relatively odorless. I had absolutely no idea what the stuff was, but I couldn't tie my shoes with it in there, so I asked my teacher if I could go clean my shoes, and left to do so.
Oh, darn, I missed the first part of class while I washed out my shoes.
And I had to wash them out fully. Once I opened the laces, I realized the stuff was all over them, and even down to the toes. What the heck was this stuff? It was all over these shoes.
Puzzled, I went to gym class, wet shoes and all.
Fast forward 12+ years.
My mother, my little brother and I are sitting around talking about who knows what. At some point, we started talking about major illnesses and the like. Which, of course, turns the conversation to nausea and vomitting. Who knows why, that's just what we were talking about.
My little brother then turned to me and said, "Yeah, like that time I threw up into your gym shoes."
Blink.
Blink. Blink.
"You what?"
"Yeah, your blue Nikes. I tried to clean it up. Not sure how well I did though."
Mom was looking back and forth between the two of us.
"That was vomit?"
"Huh? I thought you knew."
"Oh, gross!"
For over a decade I had absolutely no idea what the heck that stuff was in my shoes. I cleaned it up and went on with life, only to find out many, many years later what the heck it was.
I had run in my brother's vomit.