Take me out to the ball game...

I stopped following baseball several years back. Growing up, I was always a White Sox fan, thanks to my Grandfather - he was definitely their #1 fan, and my earliest sports memories are of taking the train with him to Comiskey Park (back when it was big and dank, before it was rebuilt) and watching the Sox play. He'd watch the games on TV with the sound turned off so he could hear Harry Caray's play by play on the radio, and I'd sit and commiserate with him about their latest loss, or talk about how the Red Sox batting averages were skewed by the tiny little ballpark they play in, or sing along with Harry during the 7th-inning stretch. And make no bones about it - the Sox were pretty much never in the running for the Pennant, and hadn't won the world series since Gramps was a toddler, so rooting for them was an exercise in futility. Truth be told, the White Sox weren't even really loved in their home town - people may root for the Sox, but they love the Cubbies. Except for Gramps.

Gramps passed away about 10 years ago, and I lost interest in baseball at about the same time (to be honest, I never approached Gramps' love for the game - it's a little too slow paced for me, and I discovered Basketball and Football in college). And then I turned on the TV a couple of nights ago, only to find the White Sox playing in the World Series. I was stunned - I honestly never expected to see the Sox make it to the World Series. Losing just seemed like one of those things that was foreordained for the team, like Sisyphus pushing that stone up the hill every year but never reaching the top, like Wile E Coyote never catching the Roadrunner.

And then today I read that the Sox had won the series. And suddenly, I'm crying and I can't stop, because there's only one person I know who really gives a damn, and he's dead now, and I can't call him to celebrate.

Then I realize that I don't really want to celebrate. I just miss that old man, and the older I get, the more I appreciate how much he meant to me growing up, and how much of who I am today is thanks to him. He taught me how to play cards and shoot pool, he took me to my first bar (when I was 4!), and got me my first "businessman's haircut" (which my Mom and Grandma were appalled by, but which I loved, because it looked just like his), and provided me with a healthy collection of corny jokes and limericks. And he taught me that I'm someone worth loving, and that I can be proud of myself, and that I can be strong and still cry.

I'm not a religious man, but I still can't help hoping that he's out there somewhere celebrating. So, Congratulations, Gramps - it's been a long time coming. I love you.

Baby school!

I spent all day Saturday in my childbirth class, aka "Everything you always wanted to know about labor, but were terrified to actually find out" class. Really truly interesting, horrible, fascinating, terrible stuff. From a biological standpoint, there are these competing evolutionary pressures:

• The evolutionary pressure towards babies having larger and larger brains (large brain = smart human = more likely to survive). Larger brains = larger heads.
  
• The counter-pressure coming from the mother, because there's a limit to how large of a head a woman can squeeze out through her pelvis.
• Both of the above put pressure on the baby to be born prematurely (premature = smaller baby), but there's obviously a limit to how early you can pop that kid out.
  

So you end up with a baby who is as premature as it can possibly be and still survive, with a head that is as large as it can possibly be and still have a decent chance of making it through the birth canal. The comfort of the mom does not really figure in the equation, it turns out.

It's all first-time parents in there, and there's this really weird mindset, where everyone intellectually understands that they have a kid, but haven't yet taken on the role of a parent. As a result, you have women asking whether they need to start changing diapers right away, or if the nurses will do it for them (the instructor/doula gently broke the news that since this is indeed your child, you should expect to perform all non-medical procedures on it, starting right after birth). Even my own Darling Wife was concerned that perhaps the doctors would swoop up our kid and secretly circumcise him without our consent, when the reality is that your kid will basically not be out of your sight the entire time you are in the hospital.

There's also this interesting cognitive dissonance going on - the doula states that nearly 90% of the women who give birth in this hospital ultimately choose to have an epidural. 90%. And yet, when asked, nearly every woman in the room did not have an epidural in their birth plan. Frankly, knowing what I know now, I'd have them put an IV in me as soon as I walked into the birth room, so as soon as I hit 4 cms I'd be ready for the anesthesia if I want it. It's great if you want to avoid having an epidural, but given the odds, you are probably going to ask for one when the pain gets unbearable, and when you do, you'll want one as soon as possible so you should plan accordingly. But in the face of all the information to the contrary, everyone still thinks they will have an unmedicated birth - good luck, sister.

It also struck me as I looked around the room that there were a bunch of weird guys in there. You know the type - not necessarily nerds per se, but just kinda odd - they laugh at the wrong times, or make inappropriate comments. One guy was a "fast talker" with a red face, another guy had a dorky mustache, a third guy thought it'd be funny to hide the "mock placenta" from the doula. Just weird stuff. On the way home, I mentioned this to my Darling Wife, and she gave a little nervous laugh that immediately made me suspicious. Narrowing my eyes, I looked over at her and innocently asked, "So, was I one of those weird guys?", and I could see the truth flash in her eyes. Goddammit, I am one of those weird guys! She did say that she thought I was the coolest of the weird guys, which is some comfort, I guess.

On the bright side, I got to try to provide support for the doula as she play-acted her way through a contraction while in active labor. So basically, I'm massaging this complete stranger's hands while she's moaning and gyrating around on the ground, at which point she starts screaming and I have to resist the urge to run right out the door. I mean, I wanted to be anyplace in the world other than in front of this crazy screaming woman.

I'm sure I'll get over that by the time my Darling Wife is in labor, though...

Rolling an alt...

After several years of trying, Mary and I are finally pregnant (well, OK, technically she's pregnant, and I'm just a bystander, but you get the idea). We'll have a bouncing baby boy arriving sometime around the new year (per which my grandmother helpfully pointed out that if we can time the arrival before January 1st, we can claim the baby as a tax deduction this year - I guess you don't get to be that old without being pretty damn pragmatic...)

Anyhow, it's been a long road getting here (and this is just to get to the start of an even longer road). Some random thoughts:

• In retrospect, it was probably a mistake to get a vasectomy in my 20s :) I was a smart guy, and I thought it through, and did my research before getting a vasectomy, and I really thought it was the right move for me. But what I didn't realize then was just how much your life situation can change in a few years - you may have a new partner, or you may just change your mind about having kids, or who knows what. I thought my life at 28 was how my life was always going to be, and (thankfully) that turned out not to be the case. A vasectomy is a permanent solution (duh), and as someone who's undergone a couple of painful, expensive, and only moderately successful reversal surgeries, I'd be really leery of making that kind of decision so early in life.
• It really helps to have a sense of humor if you are going to go through infertility treatments, as you are basically letting medical professionals with whom you are only slightly acquainted into the most personal parts of your life. And nothing gives you a new and profound perspective on the relationship between reproduction and sexuality like sitting in a room with a bunch of other men, waiting in line for your turn to masturbate for a lab technician.
  
• Fertility clinics have the worst porn. The discriminating patient brings his own.
• Our friends and family were generally pretty supportive about the whole thing, which we really appreciated. But for some unknown reason, a few people felt compelled to give us unsolicited advice, which I found really frustrating. Look, we're both successful, college educated adults with a healthy supply of disposable income, who are both really motivated to have kids. We've done more research on the subject of infertility than you can possibly imagine - it's great that you have a baby, but this does not make you a goddamned fertility expert. And, for the record, yes, we already tried: wearing boxers, taking vitamins, using ovulation kits, tracking basal temperature, checking mucus consistency, trying different positions, having lots of sex, having very little sex, relaxing, not relaxing, doing yoga, drinking herbal teas, taking zinc supplements, having sex at high altitudes, going on vacation, taking shorter showers, and pretty much anything you could possibly suggest to us. When my wife is already taking daily hormone supplements to force ovulation on a specific date so we can do timed artificial insemination and we are researching fertility clinic success rates through the CDC and trying to decide how many embryos we might want to implant if we use IVF, you sound really fucking stupid when you tell us to try doing it "doggie-style". And it killed me to have to smile and thank you for your well-intentioned advice instead of telling you to fuck off.

Whew. At least now we can stop worrying about fertility, and start worrying about day care :)

Sun + Google = TL 4 evar?

So a friend of mine waxed poetically about how the Sun/Google alliance was going to usher in a new age, replete with rocket cars and busty robot housekeepers.

Interesting news, except:

1) Sun's software universally sucks. It's one of the reasons why the industry has shifted to use Linux instead of Solaris, even though Sun is now giving Solaris away for free. Open Office is already free (www.openoffice.org), so I'm hard-pressed to understand why magically stamping the Google name on it is going to turn it into a Microsoft killer.

2) OpenOffice isn't what people want. People already have Microsoft Office (you have to go out of your way these days to buy a PC that doesn't already have the basic Office apps built in). What people want is a browser-based (AJAX) suite of apps with data stored somewhere in the bowels of Google's server farm on the dark side of the Moon. OpenOffice ain't that, and it isn't even something that can be evolved into that. It's just another downloadable application suite, but this time written by someone other than Microsoft - it's great if you aren't running a Microsoft OS on your desktop machine, but those people are few and far between.

At some point Google will provide the apps you want in a browser, but for now the OpenOffice stuff is not going to make you give up your trusty MSFT Office apps. If you want to see an example of a *real* Microsoft killer, check out Zimbra (Outlook in a browser) - I guarantee you that Microsoft isn't losing any sleep over OpenOffice, but they should definitely be losing sleep over apps like Zimbra.

I'm really hard pressed to understand why Google is teaming with Sun anyway, other than the fact that the Google CEO (Eric Schmidt) used to be the head of Sun. The fact is that server hardware/OS software has become a commodity market. You can build a Linux/x86-based server that runs just as fast and reliably (if not more so) than Sun's offerings, for a fraction of the price. As a result, Sun's days as a force in this industry are over, and they are pretty much just coasting on inertia now (it takes a long time for a big company to die).

And having worked with their crappy OS, I'm not going to cry any tears for them.

That unfamiliar taste in my mouth is...humility?

I've been doing Kung Fu for a few years now, and while I'm not going to give Bruce Lee a run for his money, I've definitely picked up some skills.

Our system has 6 levels: Basic, White, Blue, Green, Brown, and Black. I've been a blue sash for longer than I can remember, in large part because my last big hurdle to moving into green sash (the sparring test) is given once per month at most. Given that Kung Fu was probably my least favorite sport, I found lots of reasons to miss classes, which meant that I... well, no excuses, let's just say I've been a blue sash for a long time, and it's entirely my own doing. It's almost embarrassing how long I've been sitting at blue sash, to be honest.

Anyhow, after blowing out my ankle, I decided I'd get serious about my Kung Fu again, so I started attending classes regularly, and set myself a goal to finally get my green sash. I knew that they'd be giving the sparring test this past weekend, so I tore myself away from my customary "sit on my ass and play Warcraft" weekend morning ritual, and went to class.

Sparring is actually my favorite part of Kung Fu, as it is one of the few times we can really put everything together (offense, defense, punches, kicks, movement) and see how it holds up. The sparring test basically consists of putting on sparring gear, then spending a couple of minutes going up against various opponents - in my case, a brown sash, a green sash, and a fellow blue sash. At this level, they aren't looking for you to do anything spectacular - just stay low, have a strong base, keep good form and distance, get your punches and blocks out there, and that's about it.

My friends, I don't have to tell you how ready I was for this test. I'd been looking forward to it for the entire month, I'd been training for years, and I knew I was going to pass. I felt great, and was totally pumped when I stepped into the circle.

And, naturally, I failed the test.

I won't go into the details of why, as they are fairly esoteric. But what surprised me most of all was how much it hurt. Not physically (I really never even got touched), but emotionally - I couldn't believe how disappointed I was. I was so goddamn sure that I was going to pass, that I was mortified to find out that there's this gap between how I perceive myself as a martial artist, and reality. I guess I need to train harder.

I'd heard about this humility thing, but didn't really have much experience with it until now. It kinda sucks, to be honest.