"You're the meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest, meanest meanie!"

I think this parent just won at life.

Patrick Hard came to mind again today, as I was playing ultimate this evening. I kept thinking, I don't like who I become when I play ultimate [in certain circumstances], thinking of how Patrick stopped playing open because he didn't like who he became when he played open.

When we arrived at the game tonight, the score was already 4-0, good guys winning, and it didn't improve much for the other team in any appreciable way after we started playing. The good-guys team was playing a woman down, as only two women were there, and I was going to be the third, so zone was clearly working for the team, and not working for the other team.

Teams, like people, tend to focus on one thing and ride it, er, obsess on it, for all it's worth. The opposing team was no exception. Their obsession was one of those rules that very, very few people even notice, and only beginning teams pay attention to. Their obsession?

Disc width.

Right. Disc width. One of those calls that no one who can throw makes.

They called disc width a number of times on one of our women players who was marking the thrower, clam in a zone actually. She didn't know what was going on, so they would call it repeatedly. After the third or fourth instance, I yelled back, "You're fine! You're more than a disc width away from him!" to which one of their teammates called to me, "She can't wrap her arms around the thrower."

This is true, she's not allowed to. She also wasn't.

So.

Right.

I was holding my shit just fine for a short while, and then the main woman handler called disc width on me.

When I was an arm length away from her.

There are some things I find inexcusable. One of those is bad sportsmanship on a team beating another team 9-0. I was that bad sportsman tonight. I ignored her, as she was clearly in the wrong, and kept counting. Even if I disagreed with her call, the correct actions were contest or drop two counts and keep going.

I did neither, and kept counting. She called double team again. I stood up from my mark, called violation, and she threw the disc. It came back, and explained to her, "THIS," holding the disc between us, "is disc width," and stepped back to where I was marking, "and this is not." I continued, "I don't care how big your boobs are, or how big my boobs are, even at the narrowest point, we were still more than a disc width apart. Learn your distances," and handed the disc back to her.

I then went round-the-world on her, and marked as hard as I could. It pissed me off that every single other person on the field was standing still, flat footed as we moved. One guy even laughed at my marking, which only served to piss me off even more. The woman complained about my arms being in her way, when neither were they in her way, nor was she even fucking pivoting. She stood there like a blob and spun around.

Give me a fucking break.

If you're going to make bad calls, at least have the skill to fucking back them up.

Given that their whole team was travelling left and right, never bringing the disc up to the line, bringing it to the line 2 meters off from straight up, and running with the disc after catching when they didn't need to take any steps to stop, and making these dumb-ass calls, I did the only thing I could do to stop being a raging bitch.

I left the field.

I left the field, took myself out of play, left my other teammates hanging since we didn't have any subs, and sat at the sideline.

What the fuck was going on? We were winning 9-0, I DIDN'T CARE ABOUT THIS GAME. What was wrong?

I found out about an hour later, when my vision disappeared. That rage? Hello, migraine.

So, I am now 3 for 3 with migraines after ultimate. I even jogged today during the game. I took it easy. I sandbagged. I didn't run hard except for maybe one or two sprints tonight, and I still triggered a migraine. My inexcusable behavior has an excuse, the migraine, and it feels dirty to forgive that behavior. I wouldn't have it from any of my team when I was coaching, I shouldn't have it in myself.

Worse, I injured both of my achilles.

I am now blind, hobbled, and in so much pain from the daggers stabbing in my head that, well, come near me and I'll show you what a raging bitch can be. In the meantime, yeah, to the woman who can't throw, can't pivot, and doesn't know the rules, yeah, I'm sorry for my behavior.

And by "kiddos," I mean Jonathan, Lucas, Hayden, and me. I have to say, Lucas' cheer in the back seat both cracks me up and warms my heart.

SassBites is a weekly, lunchtime videocast of Sass topics, hosted by Micah Godbolt. The casts are great. Micah talks about Sass, demos Sass in various flavors (beginner through advanced), and invites other Sass people to talk about and demo their Sass projects.

When Micah decided to host a series highlighting women in Sass, he sent request out for a female co-host. I was intrigued, convinced I would pretty much suck at it, and willing to try. This would be a fine way to step outside of my comfort zone, a goal I have for every day.

Of the six Micah scheduled for the Women in Sass series, I was able to co-host four of them. I missed two of them due to scheduling difficulties.

The whole co-hosting was a good experience. Here's what I learned from it:

1. If you're not post-editing your recording, production is easier.
2. Don't pick your nose on camera, if you're not post-editing.
3. You will always be able to find a bad screenshot, so don't worry about making an odd face. Maybe this should be: so make the odd face anyway.
4. Don't interrupt the speakers. Oh, gosh, that was awful of me. First time I did it, I wanted a giant UNDO button. Yeah, hosts are there to get the interviewees to talk, let them talk.
5. Preplanning is key. Have show notes. Prep the interviewee with questions that will be asked. You're not trying to make your guests look bad, you want them to look wonderful! (And if you are trying to make them look bad, you're an ass, go do something else for a living.)
6. Watch / listen for your ums and uh-huhs that steal the focus. This is an issue with Google Hangouts: it changes the screen focus to the person speaking. If you're saying only "Uh-huh," you don't want the focus on you, so limit those.
7. Something will always happen to the schedule, just go with it.
8. If you're co-hosting, let the host lead. If you're new, let the experienced one show you the ropes.
9. Good internet is key to good online interviews. If you have sucky internet, your view will lag and your questions will lag and, oh, boy is that a hard interview.
10. Transitions from topic to topic are hard, try to plan ahead. Half listen to the guest talking, partially note the show notes recalling the next topic coming up, and transition when the time is right.
11. Let the interviewee speak, but keep her on topic.
12. Live interviews rule.
13. Q & A can help an interview, but you need to use it. Involving the community is fantastic.
14. Appreciate the experience.

And the biggest lesson learned: if you are going to co-host an established series, you can't do much better than working with Micah. He's encouraging. He's positive. He mentors well. He inspires. "A++++++++++++++ would co-host with again."

Last month, when I visited Ben and Lisa in Seattle, I introduced them to the game 2048. I've been playing it off and on obsessively since I first heard about it, and find it mindlessly addicting (addictingly mindless?). When I want to think about something, but want my eyes and hands otherwise occupied by something that doesn't really need any attention put to it, I'll open the app on my phone and start playing.

I was playing the game during some down time when Ben noticed, and I showed the two of them the game. I zoomed along, playing for a bit, talking through what moves I made and why. I made the classic mistake of an experienced player when describing my moves: I explained what I was doing, without explaining the why, or leading either of them through the learning process of the tactics. Which is fine, I guess, as they can develop their own techniques if they decide to play enough.

I had also handed my phone to Eli with the app running. After I explained only the barest of rules to him ("If you swipe two numbers that are the same together, they will combine. See, look, 4 and 4 together make 8, and 8 and 8 together make 16. What do 16 and 16 make?"), I watched him play. He figured it out fairly quickly, and was able to answer "32!" in short order. He played for a while as we were driving back from our cabin adventure, with Eli managing to get to 256 before our drive ended. I think he managed 512 before too long.

Later in the evening, Lisa pulled up the game, and I leaned over into her shoulder to watch her play. I made a couple play suggestions, and offered that playing the combinations into a corner protects the higher numbers, giving more space for building lower combinations. At one point, Lisa made a move, to which I commented, "I would never do that."

And it's been bugging me ever since I said it.

Saying, "I would never" is just a call to fate to say, "What a load of shit." Of course, I could make the same play that Lisa made. Of course, I likely HAVE made the play she made. Of course, as I keep playing, I'm going to make the same play again.

The absolute of the statement "I would never..." bugs the crap out of me. There are so few absolutes in the world. When it comes to people, there are even fewer absolutes. People do shit. People change their minds. People change. Circumstances change. Life happens. To say, "I would never..." dismisses the ability for people to change, dismisses the realization that people are fallible, dismisses the opportunity for people to rise above their current situation and become more than they currently are.

So, yeah, "I would never..." is bullshit. I did, so clearly I would.

Now, would I do it again?

I hope not.