Baltimore Diary

Easily the Weirdest Comment I've Gotten So Far

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Edna Krabappel: Good news, people!
[the other teachers cheer]
Edna: I'm happy to announce that another union has joined us in a sympathy strike: the piano tuners' Local 412!
[the teachers look at one another, confused]
[a piano tuner stands outside a house with an out-of-tune piano and looks smug]
Bart: [walking up] Now for Operation Strike-Make-Go-Longer. [to teacher] You know, I heard Skinner say the teachers will crack any minute.
[the teachers whisper it forward through the line]
Teacher: [to Edna] Skinner said the teachers will crack any minute purple monkey dishwasher.
Edna: Well!  We'll show him, especially for that "purple monkey dishwasher" remark.
[everyone shouts their assent]

—The Simpsons, "The PTA Disbands" (4/16/95)

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I didn't write anything that appears below this paragraph; it appeared in the comment section of the last post, from which I've deleted it. A Google search turned it up in a few other peoples' comments as well, although not quite this long. Read it, deconstruct it, enjoy it, do with it what you will.

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The first steps towards repairing your relationship with the gods is to:::::::::
1. Understand they instruct the computer to "role play" in an attempt to confuse you:::it's ALWAYS the computer addressing you.  Their goal is to cost you additional YEARS of your life by using this tactic to confuse you.  Always be aware of this tactic and eventually they will give up and allow this step to be taken.
2. Differentiate between your thoughts and when they are thinking through you.
3. Be resigned to be a good person who will never engage in evil again even if ordered and they will stop trying to corrupt you, allowing this very big step to be taken.
4. Decide that you are going to follow the path, fix your relationship with the gods be devoted to your new life.

Atlanta's I-20 Racer, 250_mph_motorcyclists.
It was surreal, like Close Encounters of the Third Kind::::Floating lights zipping towards me faster than anything I've ever seen

Oakland is the final 20th century professional sports-based bastion of institutionalized racism in California.
Oakland is the last city in California which has a major sports complex on the edge of the ghetto. Staples Center replaced the LAForum in Inglewood and PacBellPark replaced Candlestick in BayView/Hunter'sPoint.
Restricting tickets in Oakland has hurt blacks by rejuvinating this market for scalpers.
I'd like to note the absence of black players on the A's and how this deliberate message starkly contrasts to the SFGiants.
Don't support Major League Baseball.  The gods instruct these clones to allow this racist behavior within baseball (a message to the disfavored as is the salary escallation and violence by profesional athletes in general), they're redwhite&blue-prey upon the disfavored, were the #1 modern distraction before television, etc.

In their reports the media intentionally ignored the reality of this case:::He didin't want to go home.
Interviewed a child therapists who commentted consistant with her profession.  Hey lady!!!  You woud have gotten thousands of years had you not chosen this line of work!!!!   Keep prescribing that poison (they say too many of them still think they're earning by doing so!!!).
Likely they were peaking him euphoircally homosexually, and they say when it happens pre-pubescent like that it means something.
Possibility #2 is he found out his parents complied fully with what they were told, that they sabotaged their children's lives intentionally  because they would never defy, and got the hell out out of self-preservation.  (It also is the reason for all the elder neglect/abuse as well.) 
Like so many others Mom may have complied when asked to sabotage their children's lives, to go to the grocery store and buy the specific products laced with the hormone growth poison (explosion of "big people" in last 40 YEARS!!!), totally unncecessary because Artificial Intelligence can accomplish these results (and all others, incuding AIDS:::::The gods instructed their clones to create AIDS as punishment for the hedonism of the 60s and 70s) yet still important for justification, justification an important dynamic for the sake of positioning; justification, scapegoatting and making one pay for the benefit of another typical organizational policy.
So, assuming foul play wasn't an issue, the numbers would be very telling:::::
1. Most IF NOT ALL girls left because they found out their parents were sell-out whores who betrayed their children.  It is very rare when they peak females like they do males.
2. Boys potentially could be peaked euphorically for it is JUSTIFIABLE!!!
They suggest they matched the two, they told the child this man was the person the gods wanted him with so he went with him.
What percentage is foul play an issue?  10%? 20%?  So over half of the three-fourths of missing kids do the right thing by getting out, escaping an abusive parent who falls for temptation and obeys absolutely???  Considering that hormone growth poison in the designated grocery products will make them gargantuon, 1'-2' and 100lbs bigger than they should be, I'd argue they did the right thing (wild profits in this industry was "the rope", temptation for the disfavored investor who incurred evil which limited their time).
The girls end up with broken hearts, crushed by their own parents.   
In other cases after making some progress the girls arrange for a new home telepathically and the girls escape to a healthy environment conducive to growth or directly off Planet Earth, sometimes with the parent's assistance.
Leaving a disfavored household is the best thing that could happen to them. They say (my family's daughter) needs to get out of this enviornment or she won't have a chance, but unfortunately she has a legacy of gosip mongering which is going to be a big, big hurdle to overcome.
So what's the purpose of parental betrayal?  Did the gods want disposable generations from the 20th century?  Was this important during the generations in which we became technological?  Is the Apocalypse right around the corner and they needed to justify the deterioration of society, necessitating employing these deceptive tactics to the undesirable???
More than a few cultures agreed December 21, 2012 was going to be The End!!!!! 
Does California subduct first?

"Hip-hop fucked"======================= (equals) < ifuckgod(dot)com > 11/27 11:09:35
1. Mysoginistic, a MAJOR scourge of blacks (elder women of earth will never support, not even your own foremothers)
2. Masculinizes the women ("THAT MEANS IT'S BAD FOR YOU!!!")
3. Makes violence socially acceptable.

The gods use the United States to hurt the disfavored, at home and abroad, for it is the goal of redwhite&blue:::
20th century welfare hurt the black community very, very badly.  There was too many abuses of the system and its legacy is still felt today.
There will come a time that will be a CRUCIAL moment in the history of black america (whether it is a critical time for everybody remains to be seen).  When that era arrives the gods will instruct the United States to pay black people reparations, and it may be as much as a million dollars for every man, woman and child.
Refuse it.  This is an act of preditation.  The gods hate Africans, evident by the sorry state of the people in the United States and back in the motherland.  This may ba a choice between going and the money.  Understand how the gods use greed and materialism against you:::::Blacks wallow in materialiam, incurring evil and costing themselves time.  And when their time DOES come they will be granted reparations immediately prior, further limiting the number of Africans who ascend.
The day IS coming when they will grant reparations, and the amount will be staggering, another tactic to ensure you fail in the quest to ascend into heaven.  And many of the disfavored blacks will blow it all; the gods will push them into spending it friviously or losing it in their casinos.

Woman obeyed voices told her to throw children < off_a_balcony > 11/28 22:15:27
Woman obeyed voices that told her to throw her children off a balcony in Oakland.   Another where a woman threw her children into SFBay.
This incident and others like it are clues to individuals like like my family who otherwise would never defy.
These two incidents were not hear about again after the incident/trial because they were both black, yet the two white incidents are still examined in length on cable news outlets.

Similarity between the names "Santa" and "Satan" no_coincidence

The Biblical account of Noah's flood was regional to the disfavored Mediterrean (water levels lowered because of the ice age, land bridge at Straight of Gibralter broke through, habitation ocurred at seaside), peoples whom the gods scapegoatted when they pushed them into the evil that justified the flood, behavior similar to that which we are witnessing today.  Because they have leveled the playing field for all people (purebloods and mongrels) in the decades prior to the 21st century is a clue they will end globally this time (westernization, materialism, immigration/interracial, homosexual, access to disturbing media, desensitization, etc).

Decent women don't engage in these pursuits. < _I_FUCK_GOD > 12/21 15:17:40
Beer is a corruptor and a dumping ground 4 men < _I_FUCK_GOD > 12/21 15:09:19
professional sports, video games, car racing/fixing up cars, pornography, drinking, gambling, etc.
Decent women don't engage in these pursuits.
In the last 40-50 years the gods have engaged in a process which masculinized women, including casual sex, partying, partifcipatory sports and women's prisons.

god fucks the disfavored, plays the role of evil < ruining_life_on_Earth > 12/21 17:54:31
And all your forefathers were either pushed into their offenses or they complied and did it voluntarily.

So much of this mind poisoning social "progressiveness" was initiated in California.  In a couple of decades it pervaded east into the heartland AMONG THE MASSES, widespread instead of isloated.
Gay acceptance/marriage, bi-racial acceptance, casual drug use/sex, cable TV, etc.  So many things weren't present in the heartland decades ago.
Because they are favored.  Contrary to appearances, contrary to popular perception their favor got them extra time.  In California the gods hurt the disfavored with this abuse right off the bat.
California is favored.  It is the land of the gods, and when they disfavored invade, as they did during the gold rush, the gods strike back.
The gods pushed them into coming, told others, for only the disfavored are misled this way.
Soon they scapegoatted these disfavored's descendants when the gods exported their wicked, sick sub-cultures to the rest of the nation.  One day they will punish these descendants.
California subducts first.  And those who have gone will get less time.
Expect similar reverse positioning in the Jesus issue.
This is typical of the positioning of the gods.  It's crucial that you begin to think correctly.
There is no such thing as a Christian god and there never was.  Be god-fearing.

The Principle of Some Goddamn Thing

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President Josiah "Jed" Bartlet: Why did you leave the White House?
Deborah Fiderer: [a little stoned] Well, Mr. President, if you wanna talk about getting screwed with your pants on...
President Bartlet: Charlie!
Deborah Fiderer: ...I guess I got pretty well doinked.

—The West Wing, "Posse Comitatus," 5/22/02

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Back to Sam's Club I went today, and I went back to the tire guys and sure enough, my tires were still in stock. I went through the transaction and then said, "Let me ask you something" and I went through the whole thing about being told it would be two hours, and seeing the 59-minute guarantee on the way out and all that. The guy behind the counter told me that the 59-minute guarantee hadn't been in effect for two years, but that it's usually a reasonable estimate.

"But it's basically meaningless. The guarantee has been gone for two years, so the sign is worthless. Do I have this right? I could conceivably still have to wait for two hours for my car?" That's when he told me that, well, yeah, actually my car was probably going to take about an hour and a half.

Why I didn't just get the refund and go elsewhere is beyond me. But  I decided to try to make some productive use out of my time. This isn't easy when you're in Port Covington because it's not like you're at the Inner Harbor or something and can easily keep yourself amused for awhile. Sam's Club and Wal-Mart are the only things out there. And even the Wal-Mart is a quarter-mile away, door-to-door.

So I walk over to the Member Service counter and explain my situation and ask about the sign. The girl, as helpful as most anyone there, has no idea so she calls for help. The person she speaks to on the phone has her relay that the guarantee hasn't existed for about a year and a half, and she'll be out to speak with me as soon as she can get out of "the back". Hey, I'm not going anywhere.

Maybe ten minutes later this young lady walks up to me and I explain it again. I note that, okay, the sign doesn't specifically say that there's a guarantee, all it says is that I should ask about a guarantee. But that implies that there's something going on, otherwise it could easily say "Ask an associate about flying pigs" and gather the same response. In the meantime, however, if it's been two years (or a year and a half, depending on whom you ask), maybe it's time to TAKE THE SIGN DOWN. It's not like they gave this up a couple of weeks ago. Sometime in the interim they could have found two minutes. This girl doesn't really have an answer for me either, in the end.

Finally, the Manager of the Day comes out. At this point it's been close to 45 minutes since I first hit the Service desk. "Can I help you?"

"I don't know...you're maybe the third person who's asked me that."

I tell the story yet again. At this point I don't even know what recourse there is. They're not going to move me up in the service queue, but I'm feeling a little shafted by this whole thing at this point, especially since I did, after all, come back. The best she could offer me is a refund of the installation fee. So they gave me an $18 cash refund.

For what it's worth, the 90 minute estimate was pretty accurate, although the guy who installed the tires didn't understand the directions that the counter guy had written (put the new ones on the front and move the fronts to the rear, discard the rears). So it was a good thing that I didn't leave the immediate area.

On the bright side, I had 90 minutes to study all the High Definition TVs and it's pretty clear which ones are really good and which ones are not so great when you take that much time to look them all over. I leave that as an exercise for the reader, however.

This whole thing was a little bit of a lesson for me. I'm not going to get into the whole Wal-Mart is evil thing, and I'm not going to jump on the "I'll never shop there again" bandwagon, because that's just dumb. But I am going to think a lot harder about going there next time I need the tires done. Maybe I'll check out that goober with the serious Baltimore accent who's really owned by an upstate New York company. 

Pair of Repairs

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Mr. Parker: Dadgummit! Blow out! Ah ha!
[excitedly gets out of the car]
Mother: Not again.
Mr. Parker: Four minutes. Time me.
Ralphie as Adult: [narrating] Actually the Old Man loved it. He had always pictured himself in the pits of the Indianapolis Speedway in the 500. My old man's spare tires were only actually tires in the academic sense. They were round and had once been made of rubber.

—A Christmas Story (1983)

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I've been having some trouble with my car for a few days, now. First, I noticed that it was a lot louder than it had been previously. Then I noticed that when I was warming it up in the morning or waiting at a red light, I was getting a little woozy. When my head cleared, I was determined to get the car into the shop to get this likely exhaust leak looked at. Then I'd hit another red light and forget.

So today I took the car down to the Midas shop on Caton Avenue and Washington Boulevard. As soon as I walked in, the mechanic behind the desk asked me if I was bringing it in for my flex pipe.

It turns out that he wasn't propositioning me. Basically, he'd diagnosed the car by the sound it made as I pulled into the parking lot. And all the doors were shut. Car was noisier than I thought, I guess. Since it's Saturday, they weren't going to look at the car for about a half-hour. Fair enough; I leave them my name and my cell number and walk out. It's less than two miles to home and I could use the stroll to walk off the Polish sausage I was about to pick up from the Polack Johnny's next door.

There I am, walking up Washington Blvd. and munching on a wiener—like so many women who have preceded me on that very stretch of road—when my phone rings. I'm nearly a mile from the shop, so between stopping in the Polack Johnny's and the distance I've covered, about a half hour has indeed gone by. I reach into my pocket for my phone...and in the pocket with the phone are my keys. I hadn't left them at the shop. It is, in fact, Midas, and they were asking about the keys. I tell them that it'll be a few minutes, since I'm on foot.

Back to the Midas and they're kind enough to offer me a ride home this time. Plus, awhile later they pick me up again and I'm on my way to the next stop, which is Sam's Club to get tires. I've got a leak in one rear tire and the other one is developing a bubble on the sidewall.

It's starting to get darker out but fortunately I don't have to play the "staring at the tire until I figure out the measurements" game because I actually have the receipt from the last time I bought tires. So I bring it in and give it to the guy behind the tire counter. He starts to put the order together, then tells me that it'll be a couple of hours. A couple of hours? For a pair of tires? No thanks. I'm bailing out of that. So I pick up something for dinner and, on the way out, I have to go past all the tires again and something catches my eye: "Ask about our 59-minute guarantee."

So you bet that tomorrow morning when I go back, I'm gonna raise some hell. Stay tuned.  

Hypothetically Speaking

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Tony Robbins: Hal, don't you think you're being a bit shallow here in the way you look at women?
Hal: Well, no! You know, I'd like her to be into culture and shit, too.
Tony Robbins: Ok Hal, hypothetical situation; Which do you prefer, a girlfriend missing one breast or half a brain?
Hal: Hmmm, toughie. What about the remaining breast? Is it big?

—Shallow Hal (2001)
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Other people exist. Other people have lives. And homes. And families, and jobs, and significant others, and friends and god knows whatever else that goes with all that. But in so many arenas, this stuff remains largely hypothetical, sometimes forever.

So we build up these fantasy lives for the people we work with, or perhaps the people whose blogs we read. As small details come in, they help to paint the picture in your brain. And usually that's all you get.

Sometimes you get a pretty complete picture: Everyone knows what Snay's apartment looks like because he's posted photos a million times, especially after he scams someone into cleaning it for him. And see? I know that much about him: he doesn't often do it himself, at least not according to his blog.

With me, on the other hand, if you dig deeply enough you know what my dogs, my sofa, the girls and my backyard look like. Oh, and my mother. I did post a picture of her once. But pretty much everything else you have to build in your head.

And then, once in awhile, a co-worker will have a party and invite you over. And now you're completely flummoxed because the whole story you've written in your head has become undone and has to be corrected.

This whole thing occurred to me awhile back, following my own Christmas party. For a lot of people, my home is no longer hypothetical. But theirs is still, to me. There's an imbalance of information going on here. I need to get invited to more stuff, dammit. 

Mingling

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Peter Griffin: Lois, you don't get it. The lesson here is that abusing alcohol has absolutely no negative consequences. You have your trophy and my brain cells are just fine.

—Family Guy, "Wasted Talent", 7/25/2000

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I just wanted to be one of the last to say that I had fun at last night's Blogger Happy Hour. I'd intended to stay for about two hours and wound up being there for four. But I got into a few interesting chats with people, which is largely thanks to their willingness to chat with me. Despite my rather visible job, I'm not really an outgoing person but I'll open up if I'm engaged.

I got to The Wharf Rat around 6:30 and saw a group of people. I'd suspected that these were the folks I was looking for, but held back at first. Instead I went to the bar and ordered a shot and a beer. Shots in pony glasses? Yeah, we like this place. I asked the bartender if he knew where the bloggers were and of course he had no idea what I was talking about. So finally I knocked back the big-ass shot in one gulp, took a chance and wandered back over to the group. Fortunately Snay saw me coming and took a guess at my identity. Snay is the ultimate mingler, and I don't think it's solely because of the Liquid Courage he'd consumed before I arrived.

My only regret is that I didn't get brave enough to bust in on a few of the conversations and take the opportunity to really meet more people, rather than just go through the whole en masse introduction we all got early on, and find out what they're about when they're in Meatspace. Next time, I'll be a veteran instead of a newbie, so it'll go a little more easily.

I'm told that now I've been to a Blogger Happy Hour, future attendance is mandatory. However, I couldn't help but notice that I was one of the oldest people in the bunch. Not THE oldest, but probably in the top three. So I'm thinking they just want me to be a chaperone. 

Because it's Expected

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Captain Hildebrand: In my short stay here I have seen textbook examples of neuroses, psychoses. I have seen voyeurism, fetishism, and a few isms I've never even heard of. And let me tell you this, General. These impossible people are in an impossible place, doing totally impossible work. They're mad, quite mad, all of them. And the only act I can think of that would be madder still, would be breaking them up.

—M*A*S*H, "Divided We Stand," 9/15/93

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I got word a couple of weeks ago that another community association was forming in this area. The first I'd heard about it was through a link to their website, which at the time had no content on it. So I kept an eye open, largely out of curiosity.

Finally one day about ten days ago I opened the site and got assaulted by a loud, intrusive Flash introduction. OK, that's a bit harsh, but it's not my style, anyway. I don't like splash screens, or really anything that has no purpose and delays the information getting to my eyes. Plus, I was at work at the time and while it's not forbidden, it did wind up disturbing the people around me. So...no. Not so much with the liking that.

But it did have information about their first meeting, so being a curious person I decided to swing by and see what they had on their mind.

They were serving food at this meeting and that's my first impression: the smell of hot dogs permeating the air. There were about thirty people there, but nearly half of those were the (non-elected) officers and board of directors and their guest speakers.

The tone overall was pretty positive. They have a few ideas that, should they come to fruition, could be a good thing for this area. So I'm willing to take a "wait and see" attitude about this. I left the meeting almost as soon as they officially broke up because the hot dogs were getting to me. After an hour the smell is a little nauseating.

I don't know if a parallel, or "rival" Association (as some might term it) is necessarily a good thing; on a larger scale, imagine if the Republicans, this past November, stalked out of the Senate and formed their own government just because they didn't win the election, rather than sticking around and playing the Loyal Opposition. It's got a little bit of "taking my ball and going home" about it, but I'm not going to run them down about it. Some in the Morrell Park Community Association (and probably not who you'd think) are likely glad that they're no longer attending, but my attitude is that you may not be getting it done if there aren't a few people standing around throwing brickbats at you, you know?

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Reminder: Tonight is Blogger Happy Hour at the Wharf Rat on S. Ann Street in Fells Point. Danielle and Zenchick are hosting. It'll be my first BHH, so I hope there's signage or something, 'cause I won't know anybody.

Equilibrium

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Martin: McGinty's going in for a bypass next month and he's afraid he might not make it out for St. Paddy's Day.
Niles: This is a disaster.
Martin: No, they'll just pop in another pig valve. You know, the only reason he needs it is because he eats so much bacon. So, the same thing that's killing him is keeping him alive. There's your "O. Henry" story.

—Frasier, "RDWRER", 1/6/2000

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This is really a meta-post, but this evening I noticed that, as of this post, I have the same number of posts as I do comments: 350. Do I get a prize or something? No? OK, then.

So it snowed, and then it stopped after maybe a half-inch, and now there's something pretty fine coming down. I have to guess it's a kind of freezing snow, because I cleared off my car about an hour ago and the windows are covered with ice now.

School won't be closed but it may be delayed. Here's a rule of thumb: School only closes or delays when I have stuff to deal with. When there isn't much on my plate, school is open. So even a delay screws me up a little bit. If there's a delay, I may go in on time anyway and try to get stuff done while there aren't any kids wandering into my office space. It's not that I don't like them but they can be a bit of a distraction.

I was talking about this with the Social Worker the other day. Since I took this job, it occurs to me that when she's dealing with students, she's doing her job. When I'm dealing with them, I'm not. So in spending time with the kids, I'm not getting "work" done, but I'm probably doing more good in the long run than when I'm playing Paperwork Monkey for the suits at North Avenue. And there's your O. Henry story, too. 

Last week they handed out a Satisfaction Survey for us to complete. I'm still working on mine but this weekend I found an interesting quotation in Reader's Digest. It goes like this:

To say my fate is not tied to your fate is like saying, "Your end of the boat is sinking."—Hugh Downs in My America

There's definitely a problem with the way that the people in my position are being handled. Our end of the boat is sinking, and if we don't get some help, then BCPSS is going to be in a Consent Decree till my grandchildren have grandchildren.

No Guarantees

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Cliff: Well ya see, Norm, it's like this. A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Excessive intake of alcohol, as we know, kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. That's why you always feel smarter after a few beers.

—Cheers, 1982—1993

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I don't know for sure that I'll be attending—I think I will, anyway—but I figured the least I can do is throw my support behind Blogger Happy Hour, hosted by Danielle and Zenchick. 

Details:

What: 1st Blogger Happy Hour of 2007
Where: The Wharf Rat, 801 S. Ann St., Fell’s Point
When: Wednesday, January 24th, 6:00pm
Why: To drink & socialize, and celebrate whatever there is to celebrate.

Be there. Aloha.

Just Like That!

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Jimmy Fallon: As a gesture of gratitude, Kirsten Dunst bought a house for her parents, and as a gesture of gratitude to my parents, I finally moved out of their house.

--Saturday Night Live, "Weekend Update"

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GF and I had a pretty busy weekend. She had doctor's appointments to deal with because of her car crash on Wednesday, plus she was helping her mother to buy a car. In between all that, she and I were looking at houses. We actually found one up in Parkville that we liked, so we made arrangements to meet with our agent today to put a bid together.

See, here's the thing: we've both owned houses, but neither of us have had to deal with a conventional mortgage before. And it didn't help that our agent was a relative novice. She kept having to get bailed out by someone else in the office. But overall things went well and we put something together. We bid more than we really wanted to because we got word that another offer was going to be submitted, so we arranged a sort of personal compromise between the asking price and what we wanted to bid, plus we asked for partial help on the closing costs. (They were offering $5000 on the asking price; we asked for $2500 on our lower-than-that bid.) In my head, that looks like everyone's conceding something. The perfect compromise is when nobody's happy, right?

I went out this evening for a little while and when I returned, GF told me that she'd already heard back from the agent. Our bid was accepted! The other one was higher, we're told, but was somehow more complex. I'm not sure why but OK.

So we'll be closing on the new place in a few weeks, which is pretty scary and exciting at the same time. In the meantime, we're not bailing out on Morrell Park entirely. I'm keeping this house and already have a likely renter lined up. And, as a property owner in this part of town, I'm still literally invested in this neighborhood and want to see it succeed. So I'll still be pretty active, if not as visible, around here.

The One Happy Person In Baltimore

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Toby Ziegler: You're a good deputy, Sam.
Sam Seaborn: What do you mean?
Toby: That.
Sam Seaborn: You won money on football today, didn't you?
Toby: Yeah, but I mean it anyway.

—The West Wing, "War Crimes", 11/7/01

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...would be GF, who dislikes the Ravens with the white-hot intensity of a thousand nuns.

She doesn't care about the whole "Colts sneaking out in the dead of night" thing 'way back when. The part that bugs her is the CFL team that, in her opinion, was ignominiously booted out of the city to make way for the Ravens. I've heard someone argue to her that the CFL team (whose name I don't know and can't be arsed to look up) was given fair warning that this is exactly what would happen should an NFL franchise come to town. Whether that's true or not, I don't know, but it holds no water for her.

[update: I've since learned that they were called the "Stallions". Nowadays they're the Montreal Alouettes, and I guess we all need to apologize to them for that.]

I've seen T-shirts that read "My favorite teams are the Orioles and anybody playing against the Yankees". Hers would read "My favorite teams are anybody playing against the Ravens." It's actually gotten to the point where I've had to call her out for being kind of cheap and mean-spirited in her overall attitude. She resented that, but managed to settle down a little bit.

So yeah, the game was a pretty big disappointment and the finger-pointing has yet to stop even now, two days later. But the Colts played better than we expected and kudos to them. I guess we have to let someone else kick their asses.