Searches Ending at The Green Room, Part II

Last year I posted a detailed analysis of Google searches that brought unique visitors to The Green Room. This year, some of the searches are the same, but there are quite a few interesting new ones that make me shake my head at the strangeness of the World.

First of all, why are so many people asking about butterfly poop? Seriously. I get at least five, often more, inquiring visitors every week asking the age-old question, "Do butterflies poop?" There is an astonishing dearth of information about this topic on the otherwise knowledgeable Internet; and so the Internet sends them to me for answers. The answer is Yes, butterflies poop. Read all about it here.

Many stumble into The Green Room seeking book reviews, and sometimes they're looking for a specific kind of review. Some have searched for a bad review of Joker One--which they certainly did not find here. Some arrived looking for a dissertation on the themes or chapter summaries of Danny Gospel.

More than anything, new visitors want to know about a certain company that goes door to door trying to get unwitting customers to sign up for a long-term contract for the delivery of natural gas, promising budget-conscious consumers protection from future natural gas price increases. When I last updated this expose, I reported that my price-per-therm had averaged well-below the price that the company had tried to get me to lock in. Since then, my price-per therm has ranged from $112.84 in September '08 to $39.40 in April '09, with an 11-month average per-therm price of $73.09, still well-below the $1.13 lock-in price.

An alarming number of people want to know about sociopaths: "sociopathic husband laziness," "sociopath control cross," and "sociopath brain science," for example. The search engines direct them here because of my review of The Sociopath Next Door, a scary book that made me start seeing sociopaths every time I turned the corner. When I visit my family.

This blog does not pretend to be a food blog like some of the really great sources of food euphoria out there (Elise's Simply Recipes is one of my favorites, as is Chris' Ordering Disorder). And yet! Virtual visitors have uncovered some delicious recipes in The Green Room kitchens: authentic sopes rusticos; texture-and-flavor-rich corn, wild rice and sausage soup; and fresh summer salsa, for example.

Apparently I performed a service for Chicago families learning to navigate the Chicago Public School selective enrollment high school system when I narrated C. Peevie's journey to high school.

Night at the Museum 2: Battle for the Smithsonian got people to the Green Room with amusing searches for "Bobblehead Einstein that's the way I like it," "Einstein bobblehead conversation," and "watch Albert Einstein bobbleheads singing." I can't blame them--that was my favorite scene in the movie (reviewed here) as well.

Apparently many folks are interested in taking care of an unsavory little league situation--perhaps like the one I described here. They searched for "how to get rid of a bad baseball coach," "how to get rid of a little league coach," and "bad little league coaches."

I'll close with random selections from the site meter reports that offer secret insights into the weary travelers that stop by the Green Room for a brief visit:

• Marriage is hard work
• I believed that prayer would work without fail joker one
• plucky people
• what coral should I get for goldfish
• how to get along at dinner table book
• good boy movie dinner table
• what is reading enrichment
• senator burris vain nightclub
• a boy touch a girl breast
• your own word will turn around and bit
• agent freckles
• onesimus and philemon forgiveness drama skit
  

Thank you, visitors to The Green Room, for making this blog the 889,960th ranked blog on Technorati. I'm so proud.

Good Coach, Bad Coach

Last night at C. Peevie's game, the opposing coach got kicked out of the game. After grumbling, arguing, and complaining most of the game, he started arguing plate calls late in the final inning when his team was down by five or six runs. The ump got tired of the abuse, and after warning him to stop, he finally gave an ultimatum.

"One more word, and you're out of here," he warned Coach Obnoxious.

"One more word, one more word, one more word!" Coach O. singsonged like a nine-year-old, heading down the third base line toward the plate.

Ump kept his cool and stood his ground. "One more word and your team forfeits the game," he said. "Keep on walking. We're not re-starting the game until you're in your car." Now that's what I call setting boundaries! Go Ump!

"I thought there was going to be fisticuffs!" C. Peevie told me later, after he had made the game-ending put-out with a back-handed scoop-from-the-dirt at first base.

If I were a parent of a kid on that team, I'd be embarrassed and angry. I'd ask the league director to get rid of the coach; and if he stayed, I'd yank my kid off that team. There is no excuse for such childish, inappropriate and unsportsmanlike conduct from anyone in Little League, let alone a coach.

In other Little League news, A. Peevie's coach continues to impress with his kindness. We coaxed, bullied, persuaded, urged and ultimately forced A. Peevie to attend his team's game on Saturday. This two hour process took about as much physical and emotional pain and energy as actual childbirth.

We finally agreed that he would play one full inning, and then if he wanted to come out and sit on the bench for the rest of the game, he could. The coach started A. Peevie in right field. He was in full uniform, his cup was right-side-up, and he was not screaming, crying or complaining, so I considered it a personal victory. I prayed that the ball would not come anywhere near him.

At his first at-bat, A. Peevie placidly watched four pitches in a row sail over his head. I suspected that he would just have placidly watched four pitches in a row sail directly through the strike zone, but I counted my blessings. Four times that game A. Peevie walked on four pitches, scoring twice. He stayed in the game the whole time, and felt like a champ.

I felt my bones melt in relief that we gotten through one more little league trauma.

This little drama doesn't even take into account how excruciating minor league baseball really is, especially early in the season: tiny ten-year-olds try desperately to get the ball over the plate while parents bake on the bleachers, or, more likely in our lattitude, wrap themselves in blankets until mid-June. Games go on and on while players walk the basepaths and teams score 14 passive runs in a single inning.

Occasionally there's a pitch in the vicinity of the strike zone, and a lucky batter makes a connection. Inevitably the ball squirts through the legs of an infielder, and comes to rest in shallow right field. The right fielder jogs over, picks it up from where it's resting on a clump of grass, and attempts to throw it to first base without regard for where the runner actually is.

More often than not, the ball squigs past the first baseman, rolling clear over to the fence, and the runner keeps running. Minor leaguers throw the ball behind the runner, so most hits end up becoming home-runs, which is the only other way a team scores other than by walks.

Only eight more regular season games to go.

Meanwhile, we've had a reprieve from having three kids playing ball at the same time because of M. Peevie's season-stalling broken wrist. Cast comes off Thursday, then removable velcro cast for a week, then she's back in the swing as well.

Championship Play-by-Play

The Little League Coach has posted my story about The Big Game. Click on the link to read about the heart-stopping action and C. Peevie's Big Triple. I can't stop writing that. C. Peevie's triple. C. Peevie's triple. C. Peevie's triple.

And here's the story behind the triple: On vacation, we drove up to Craig's Cruisers in Holland, MI to play. Everyone except grandmom and granddad took at least one turn in the batting cages. They offered slow pitch and fast pitch softball, little league pitching at 40-50 mph, and major league pitching at 70-80 mph.

Uncle G-Man was the only one brave enough to swing in the majors, and he actually popped a few home runs. I made a pretty good showing against little league pitching, and enjoyed it so much I batted twice. Each token triggered 20 or 25 pitches, with no break. By the end of each cycle, I was feeling my age, which is definitely north of 40.

Even though I was feeling the burn, I was still making enough contact to impress the little leaguer in line behind me. He looked to be about 13 or 14. As I exited the cage, he made eye contact and grinned at me. "Nice hitting!" he said. I was so happy that he left off the "grandma."

C. Peevie couldn't get enough of the cages. He must have batted four or five times, facing a hundred or more pitches. I have no doubt that the cages polished his timing, hand-eye coordination, and confidence--and the result was a strategic triple in the championship game. Next season, if I see him struggling at the plate, I will definitely take him out for some batting cage medicine.

The real champ at the batting cages, to my mind, was little M. Peevie. This girl was whacking softballs like a big leaguer, and I am hoping against hope that she decides to sign up for baseball next year. She already has it going on, and I fully intend to live out my fantasies in her.

Poor Mr. Peevie. We were watching her swing away, making contact with almost every pitch, and Mr. Peevie said, with a touch of jealousy, "She's doing better than I did."

"That's OK, honey," I told him. "You have other talents. You're good at scrap-booking."

We Are The Champions

I know you've all been following the big debate about whether or not I should drive C. Peevie back to Chicago for his final championship game. I discussed it with my family: everyone was supportive, even enthusiastic. None were enthusiastic enough, however, to offer to come with us.

C. Peevie was all for it, of course, and in the end, it came down to whether I was willing to spend a significant chunk of one vacation day in the car. Since championships are rare and uplifting events--even if you lose; and as a former player myself--I was. So C. Peevie and I made the three-hour-plus sweaty drive, arriving in time to eat a sandwich and chill out for a half an hour before heading over for batting practice.

(For those of you interested in the travel details, or for future reference: It took us exactly two hours to get from Sleepy Hollow to the exit for 22nd Street south of the Loop. From 22nd Street to Jimmy John's on Irving Park, we sweated through another one hour and ten minutes of traffic.)

Everyone was surprised to see us. "I thought you were on vacation!" ChefKat exclaimed. "I am," I replied. "We're heading back up after the game." This plan was met with nods of approval mixed with a tiny bit of I-can't-believe-you're-willing-to-do-that-are-you-nuts?

But folks were glad to us--glad to see C. Peevie, I should say. More than one person told us, "We really missed him at the game on Monday." They lost, 12-8, making the series 1-1 and making a third game necessary.

"He's a key player," ChefKat's brother, Uncle D told me. "We really missed him."

I leaned toward him. "Is he really?" I fished. "He's been struggling a little at the plate."

"Yeah, he's been struggling at the plate," Uncle D said, "But he's solid in the field. We lost that game on defense, and we could have used his skills." Sigh. I didn't feel bad for going on vacation--but it validated my decision to drive in for this final game.

You can read about the dramatic conclusion of C. Peevie's little league season, and his critical part in it, on the Little League Coach. I'll post the link as soon as it's up.

UPDATE: It's up. You can read the play-by-play here.

Suiting Up for Championship Play

Check out my latest post on The Little League Coach. Especially check out the Coach's comment on my post about missing championship playoffs. "Team comes first," he says, and Little League families should plan their vacays around the season and post-season schedule.

Coach, Coach, Coach. You are a silly, silly man. You must live on the planet I Tell My Family (Including Extended Family) What's What and That's That--which is in a far-off galaxy from my home planet.

There are ten million reasons why The Little League Coach is wrong on this one, not the least of which is gas being nine bajillion dollars a gallon. Round trip from my house to Sleepy Hollow is about 135 miles. With a not-very-fuel-efficient vehicle, and the highest gas prices in the nation, that's $70 in gas alone.

Granted, seventy bucks is not a huge amount of money--but when you look at it as the cost of playing a single, seven-inning baseball game, it seems a little crazy.

The South Haven-to-Chicago traffic jam is another consideration. Mapquest says the trip is about two to two-and-a-half hours, which is fairly accurate for those of us headed away from the city. But Mr. Peevie and I are considering buying a hot air balloon to carry us and our vehicle across the lake in order to avoid the bumper-to-bumper ride home on Sunday. It looked that bad from the outbound lanes.

Oh, and I almost forgot: The AC is broken in our van. (Remember, it was one of the Season of Repair items a few posts back. Turns out it's not just a Freon problem; it's a catastrophic failure problem that would cost $800 to fix. Not gonna happen.) Anyway, imagine THAT two-and-a-half-hour car ride. Then imagine it again--and remember--the prize at the end is not a week's vacation, but a two-hour baseball game. Are you really that committed to your Little League team?

But that's just me. What do you think? Should commitment to your team take priority? What's the cut-off cost, in dollars and opportunities? Let the Coach and me know what you think.

Little League Mom Strikes (Out) Again

Hey, hey, hey, baseball fans. (Oh, my. I always start missing Harry Caray around this time of year.) Check out my new post on The Little League Coach.

Out in the blogosphere, parents and coaches are reporting that their seasons are over, and they're well into play-offs and all-stars. Not us. Our Little Leaguer is still suiting up and swinging away. We still have two regular season games and 2.5 make-up games to go.

C. Peevie caught a stinging line-drive at first base the other day, and is generally playing well in the field. He's struggling at the plate, however, which I'm sure is bringing his confidence down.

I remember what that was like. I often struggled at the plate as well--but in this 1977 game (!) apparently I was a "tour de force":

"William Tennent gained its eighth win in nine outings behind the pitching of Kathy Strobel, who is now unbeaten in four starts.

But the real tour de force belonged to sophomore second baseman Eve Meyer [AKA E. Peevie]. Starting for the first time, Meyer was a little nervous. She fumbled a couple of balls which paved the way for an early Pennridge lead.

But with Tennent down, 7-5 in the fifth inning, it was Meyer who drove home the tying runs with a single. Then in the sixth she opened the game up with a double.

The key defensive play of the game came when Monique Cousin threw out a runner at the plate--Monique was on target all the way from her left field position."

The caption reads, "Tennent's Eve Meyer shags throw as Upper Merion's Francine Collins steals second"--except they spelled my last name wrong.

Ah, those were the days.

Don't forget to check out my post on The Little League Coach.

Little League Mom Humiliates Self Again

I forgot to mention that I have a new post on The Little League Coach.

This post is a continuation of my series of posts about cup-related humiliation. Check out Cup Stories: The 40-Year-Old Cup Virgin when you have a chance. Leave a comment so that Rick McBride gets an idea about how powerful and influential I am.

Stumped by a Cup

I am a girl jock--or at least, I used to be. (Lately I'm a slug.) I've had experience in my years with all sorts of sporting equipment: bats and rackets; balls of every shape and size (get your mind out of the gutter); court shoes, running shoes, and cleats; baseball pants, tennis skirts, volleyball shorts, and the infamous "shiney hiney" basketball uniforms we had to wear in junior high; sports bras; goggles--you name it, I've participated in the sport and I have at least passing familiarity with the equipment.

Having a boy in Little League changed all that. I had to buy a cup for the first time. You can read about my humiliation in my guest post in The Little League Coach, entitled Cup Stories.

Little League Mom

Hey gang, guess what?! Rick McBride, the talented owner of the up-and-coming sports blog, The Little League Coach, liked my post about the heroes of summer so much that he invited me to guest post once in awhile.

Here's a link to my very first guest post, entitled The Call.

Practice on our swampy Chicago fields begins this Wednesday, and C. Peevie cannot wait to begin testing the limits of my laundering skills by sliding in those pristinely-white-for-twelve-seconds baseball pants every chance he gets.

Let the games begin!