It started when I was eight or nine. I think it was my spring break. We were having lunch while on the road in Nebraska, headed out east somewhere (as always), and one of the menu items caught my eye. Buffalo burger, it read. Eight ounces of buffalo meat grilled to your preference with swiss cheese, mushrooms, onions, and bacon. Or something like that.

“Buffalo burger?” I asked my dad. Why on earth would one name a burger after a city in New York? (Seriously.)

“Yeah,” he said. “Made out of buffalo.”

I was flabbergasted. Made out of buffalo? Like Ralphie?

“Like Ralphie,” my dad said.

If you aren’t from Colorado, chances are you don’t necessarily know about Ralphie, the University of Colorado mascot that is, yes, a live buffalo that gets bustled along the perimeter of Folsom Field before CU football home games. She has handlers who are student athletes (you bet it takes an athletic program to handle her), and when she has seen enough days on the football field, she is retired to a ranch somewhere in the Rocky Mountains to graze to her heart’s content. You could say I’m rather fond of Ralphie — she was the first thing I knew about the school that would one day become my alma mater.

Yeah, you try telling a fourth-grader that she’s eating a Ralphie burger.

Over the years, I became more and more resistant to the idea of meat on the dinner table. I’ve never been a big fan of ham; in fact my family still makes fun of me for being absolutely insolent at the idea of having a Christmas ham. As a teenager, besides being weight-conscious, I ordered salads when we went out, or at the very least, avoided getting a burger (who knows if it could’ve been a Ralphie burger?). And I usually picked at my serving of the Thanksgiving turkey, woefully unsatisfied that the only way it tasted decent to me was if it was slathered with gravy.

And I’ll be honest: I’m just not that into bacon. (Save your mud-slinging for someone else — it’s useless on me!)

On the other hand, I’ve also been raised in two rather meat-loving cultures. My mother is Filipina, and I’ve seen more than my fair share of lechon (roast pig) parties, cooked more than enough chicken adobo, and been totally excited for some kare-kare (a stew made with beef and/or oxtail). My father comes from German stock, which means that our church had krautburger sales and bratwurst for dinner was a regular occurrence.

Throughout all of this, I’m still mostly a carnivore.

Lately, the same child in me that lamented the idea of a buffalo burger has taken another look at the whole idea of eating meat. I realize that our food industry is far too powerful, that the food in our grocery stores is not necessarily ethically produced nor made in the best interest of health, and that sustainability is in question every single time I pull out my wallet to purchase meat. Things I know first-hand having been born in Greeley, Colorado — home to one of the largest meat-packing plants in the nation — have cropped up here and there in documentaries like Food, Inc. or in books like Fast Food Nation. There has rarely been a single day that has gone by in the last few months in which these issues have not plagued me as I sit down at the dinner table.

What am I, in my own capacity and as a single person responsible for my own actions, planning to contribute to the struggle? I honestly don’t know for sure. One thing that wasn’t necessarily prominent in Food, Inc., for instance, is the idea itself of strict vegetarianism; instead, the documentary promoted conscientious buying practices more than anything else. In order to adhere to that, I’d definitely have to go mostly vegetarian anyhow — the money it takes to purchase locally when it comes to meat isn’t something I have at the moment.

I can’t necessarily say if I could really pull off becoming a vegetarian. I do love my kare-kare, and In-n-Out calls my name once in a while. Plus, I’m a pretty adamant eater of eggs. If anything, I could probably stick with being pescetarian — excluding mammals and birds while keeping fish in the diet — and maybe having to deal with meat on a ‘family events only’ basis. (On that note, even eating fish comes with lots of questions of ethics; this I learned while living in Sweden, while others are seeing slivers of opposition in such forms as the Oscar-winning documentary The Cove.)

It still nags at me, though. For now? I’m avoiding meat, especially what has been packaged and sold cheaply at some big-box Vons/Food 4 Less/Albertson’s. Swearing it off? Well, hesitating. After all, going cold turkey (pun… intended?) would probably not be a good idea, anyways. There’s a lot more to becoming vegetarian than meets the eye — trust me, I’ve been doing my research — and the stepping-off point takes a bit of tip-toeing at first. What about veganism? Well, not anytime soon.

I’d be happy to hear any of your suggestions, thoughts, or experiences about delving into vegetarianism or veganism. Are you vegetarian or vegan? Why? If you aren’t either, why not?

So have at it. Tell me what you think. And I’d also be curious to hear if anyone else was utterly terrified at the idea of a buffalo burger.

So with that, I present to you… a revival of this series, and hopefully a kickstart for far more to come!

MUST READ

“Ghost of Forsberg skates on,” a commentary by Denver Post sports columnist Mark Kiszla. I still follow hockey a bit — not like I used to — but with the Olympics going on, it’s hard not to. Swedish star Peter Forsberg is competing for his home country in the Olympics and the team, Tre Kronor (“Three Crowns,” the Swedish name for the national team) is on track to be one of the biggest competitors; they won gold in 2006 and look very strong this year, especially against last year’s silver-medal-winning Finnish team. Forsberg is one of my all-time favorite athletes, and while I have always enjoyed watching him play, it really feels like this is his big goodbye to hockey and I’m okay with that.

MUST SEE

The trailer for Food, Inc. It’s a documentary about the food industry in the United States, and one heck of an eye-opener. At least see the trailer, because you might just be intrigued enough to watch the entire thing; however, after watching the film, I definitely feel a bit uneasy about most of the food I consume.

MUST HEAR

“As Tall As Cliffs” by Margot and the Nuclear So & So’s. I had heard about this band before, and even tried to make it to one of their shows, but I never put in enough effort to actually give them a good listen or see them play. Next time I get the chance to see them I will not pass it up — their music is amazing, and this song is quickly becoming a favorite. Are they a bit “indie”? Sure. Does that mean they aren’t very mainstream? Pretty much. Is the music still good? Even better, if you ask me.

*     *     *

Chatting with my lovely friend Naomi today, we came upon the topic of influential literature. Not necessarily literature that influences masses of people, but pieces that have been individually influential. Although there are numerous works, both fictional and non-fictional, that have influenced me quite greatly, I would have to settle on one particular book that has stood out as The Book That Changed My Life.

This particular book is Naïve. Super by Erlend Loe, originally published in Norwegian and translated into English by Tor Ketil Solberg. Chances are you probably have never heard of this novel, but it was a bestseller in Norway when it was published in 1999. I was introduced to the book several years ago in a Nordic studies class and it captured my heart almost immediately.

The simplistic and direct style of Naïve. Super sets the perfect pace for the 25-year-old unnamed narrator to describe his sudden loss of purpose to life. At the time I first read this, I couldn’t relate; I knew what I wanted in life, I had an idea of where I was going, and everything seemed very well-planned to me. I could not relate to the sudden need to flee from a situation or a desire to spend so much time alone, which is a large part of what the narrator does in order to help him get to the bottom of his deep and philosophical questions about life, time, and purpose.

The narrator at times steps back into his childhood in order to find answers. He discusses stories he has been told about his family about things that happened even before he was born. He purchases simple toys and befriends a young boy in the neighborhood. While it seems counter-intuitive to step backwards in order to progress, it makes more and more sense as we follow the story to New York and through the delicate beginnings of his interactions with a pretty girl he has just met. While the novel does not necessarily present a clear-cut answer, it depends on the reader to decide just how much the narrator has accomplished with his lists, his constant reminiscing, and his simplistic exercises in catharsis.

One of the things that I really connected to is the habit that the narrator makes of creating lists. I’m a list-maker, myself; I tend to keep lists in my head of just about anything, and I write lists out every day as a way to organize just as much as I do to generate motivation or get ideas out on paper. The list-making becomes a useful mechanism in the novel for being able to connect to the narrator’s perspective as it ever-so-gradually changes.

While I loved the book from its very first pages, it took a while to really settle in with me. I didn’t know upon first reading it that it was going to be the most profound and influential piece of literature I had ever read. Believing I already knew my path in life (and ultimately being wrong), I used this novel as a way to connect to friends who had seemingly lost direction in life. I’ve snapped up as many copies as I could find, and I intend to do it again when I can once again afford to do so.

I have more recently connected to this novel because I have embarked on the sort of journey I never expected, one in which I’m re-writing my path and heading in a direction I never thought I would ever take. It was a few months ago that the book came back into my life; I re-read before I decided to move to San Diego and carried it around with me, checking my favorite passages on a daily basis, as I pondered whether or not the move would be a good idea. Although the book means a lot to me, I don’t necessarily need to possess a copy — I’ve read it so many times that I remember quite a lot of it by heart. I gave my most recently-acquired copy to my last boyfriend so that he could understand why I uprooted my life in search of change, but also as a way to express my love. I feel that communicating in art, music, and literature can be one of the most effective ways to express complex thoughts; in giving this book, it’s like giving a piece of my heart to someone.

If you can find a copy of this book, I highly recommend getting ahold of a copy and reading it — especially if you feel like you are still searching for your purpose in life. Then I recommend giving it to someone else who might be going through a similar situation. Even if it doesn’t change your life, like it did mine, it’s still a worthy perspective and a clever, charming read.

I’ve been in San Diego for just over five weeks now, and life is radically different than I thought it would be. I guess I had certain kinds of expectations.

If anything, I expected to be a lot happier and excited to be here. I love new places, always have, and I’ve uprooted myself once before to live in an entirely different place; moving to Sweden was a huge thing, but that was under very different circumstances, and I kind of knew what I was getting myself into there.

The thing is, I had no idea what I was getting myself into here. It’s a lot of change to move a third of the way across the country, have only a handful of friends, and not have any sort of reliable job. It was a lot of adjustment for me — for anyone, really — and I wasn’t well-equipped to handle any kind of emotional stress.

It would only be my luck that emotional stress had a way to find me.

I considered my move three-fold: mind, body, and heart. I explained in a previous post that I knew I needed something new, and that I had arranged accommodations in San Diego — that takes care of my mind and body. But as for my heart? I had fallen for someone out here, and I didn’t even know it. I knew that the guy I had met was wonderful, I enjoyed my time with him, and that I wanted to be around him more — and the fact that my housing and intended career path matched up with San Diego, I thought that the pieces were just falling into place.

Guess what? It didn’t work out too well with the guy; in only four days, he broke it off. Among other things, I think we had a difference in expectations. Weeks later, after flurries of text messages, letters, arguments, and a lot of misunderstandings and rash decisions, we don’t even speak. I know now that I fell for him and that my feelings were stronger than I thought.

How did I not predict this was going to happen? Isn’t it a classic story? Conventional storytelling would have marked it as doomed from the beginning.

I’ve had about five weeks now to process just what happened. It’s been a valuable lesson. This kind of stress would hurt even if I was in a comfortable place  –  even if I had friends, family, a stable job, and more money than I know what I do with, it would still hurt. It just happened to be a bit harder on me because it took me mostly by surprise, occurred while I didn’t have very good footing, and most of all, when my expectations were very different.

However, I’m not giving up on San Diego. I love it here. When I drive over the valley, even if the smog is a bit thick, I look over all the buildings and hills and I am thankful that I’m here. I still have my mind and body to think about while my heart repairs itself; I have temporary seasonal work until I find something more career-oriented, and I have all sorts of new neighborhoods and places to explore — these are the things I desperately needed.

Sadly, I won’t be home for the holidays. I have always expected to be with my family over the holidays, but just like I expected a lot of other things, that doesn’t mean it’ll always happen. And I guess I’ll get used to it.

Were my expectations fulfilled? Not entirely. Not at all, for the most part. But I have a new set of expectations now. Is it a vicious cycle? We’ll see. All I can be certain about now is that expectations are just that — expectations. If they were certain, they’d be called “guarantees.”

I have worked since I was 15. I helped clean up a local roller hockey rink to play in a league before I was 16, and after that, I’ve worked at numerous fast food, retail, customer service, and office jobs. I’ve very rarely not had at least one job. Even now, while being unemployed, I have a little bit of part-time work before I head out to San Diego.

That’s part of why unemployment bothers me. I haven’t really known what it’s like to be unemployed.

Sometimes I blame employment for any time I had difficulties in school. Now that I look back on it, some of it was indeed detrimental to my performance in school, but I also realize that I wasn’t very good at keeping in touch with my advisers, some of whom were not very good advisers in the first place. My workload next to employment was pretty tough. I should’ve paced myself a bit better, and while I wish I’d been able to only study in college, I don’t necessarily regret working. It was fulfilling, I learned quite a lot, and I made a lot of good friends.

When I have nowhere to be in the mornings or don’t have goals that are outside of solely personal interests, it’s a little bit tougher to get out of bed. Actually, it’s a lot tougher to get out of bed. It’s harder to get motivated to get things done, because I am no longer planning things according to a set of priorities that are more or less out of my control. When I’m employed, it helps my sleep, my diet, and my discipline in general — besides the fact that income is a necessary thing.

I’ll be looking for any kind of employment I can get when I first get to San Diego. My parents always taught me that I’m not above service jobs; while I have a college degree and would prefer not to have to work in the service industry for the rest of my life, I know that I’ll need it to get by. I try very hard to pay a lot of respect to service industry workers because I know that they’re just trying to get by, too, and I knew I’d be back in that position again one day. Fingers crossed, it will only be temporary.

I really, really hope that I’ll be blogging about employment within a month’s time.

(And tweeting less. Apparently I tweet the most when I’m unemployed — see June and October.)

As of right now, the plan is to pack my things, put most of it into storage, and head west to San Diego.

I didn’t want to be writing this. I was hoping that I’d find something at the last minute. But when I look at my finances and all of my options, it doesn’t make any sense for me to stay.

Am I angry? It varies, but for the most part, yes. While I usually take the stance that I am always lucky to have anything at all, I felt truly jipped this time. I fully intended to stay in Boulder for a while. I love this town, I love this neighborhood, and I love the people around me. I needed several months of a steady job to start paying off bills and for some reason it just wasn’t meant to be.

However, I’m comfortable in Boulder. I think I’m too young to be comfortable here. What happens when a person is too comfortable where they’re at is what happens when people settle for things and become complacent. I’d like to spend the rest of my life in Boulder, but not just yet; I want to explore what else is out there and come back some day. It’ll always be here.

So why San Diego? For one, there are more opportunities for my type of work out there. Also, a lovely friend is helping me out by renting her place out to me, and I’m incredibly grateful. I’ve now got friends there — not a whole lot, but I’m good at making new friends — and there are particular people out there with whom I’d like to spend a whole lot more time.

The last time I left Boulder, I knew I was coming back for school. Now I don’t have any other reason to come back besides the fact that I love this town. I appreciated it a lot more when I left it for a while, and it’ll be that way again.

I might have a night out before I leave. Actually, I’ll definitely have a night out before I leave. I’ll at least be out on the town for Halloween and there will be at least one more trip to the Downer. But I hope I get the chance to say goodbye to everyone, and I’ll try my best to see people before I get out of here.

Is this goodbye, Boulder? Not entirely. Just for a bit.

Ignite Boulder. Oh, how it has grown.

From less than two hundred people in a smart room on the CU campus to a nearly sold-out show at the Boulder Theater (only 12 tickets were left when the sales ended), Ignite Boulder has become one hell of an event.

After Ignite Boulder 5 and its exceptional performances, I knew I had to try to submit another topic. I had gotten lots of suggestions from friends and plenty of reassurance that I couldn’t go wrong with another submission. This time, it was Ben’s suggestion to try some Swedish in my presentation that really got me going. Thus it was born: “Bork Bork Bork: Swedish 101 for Foreigners.”

I was beyond excited but nervous. Last time I spoke in front of no more than 500 people, and this time it could’ve topped 800. Thankfully, it went as well (if not better) than I had hoped for — people laughed where I wanted them to (and at some times, in places I didn’t expect), the crowd learned a little bit of Swedish, even my father came to watch, and I didn’t screw up!

I have to say that this was probably my favorite Ignite, and it was not because I felt like I succeeded — that’s just the icing on the cake. There were some fantastic presentations that exceeded my expectations and absolutely blew my mind. I laughed, learned, and overall, I really enjoyed myself.

It’s so hard to pick favorites, highs or lows, surprises, etc., from Ignite Boulder. I loved Ef Rodriguez’s Sacrificial Deck in which he showed the crowd that you can forget a line or two and still pull off an amazing presentation. Plus, he sang!

Ef wasn’t alone in entertaining the crowd with music. Mountain Standard Time played a few sets, and we were all happy to help them out a bit — turns out their equipment got jacked a few weeks ago. I hope we raised some cash for them.

It was nice to finally meet Jen Yu, who presented on “Food Porn: Behind the Lens,” but it’s too bad I didn’t get to talk to Sari Levi more because I thought her presentation on “The Alternative, Alternative Energy: My Million-Dollar Idea” — capitalizing on America’s obesity — was brilliant.

I laughed a lot thanks to Ryan Wanger (“Our Princess is In Another Castle”), Vanessa Schneider (“The Things They Don’t Tell You About a DUI”), Luke Tilsley (“Have You Kissed Like a Trobiand Native?”), Heather Clisby (“Screw Logic: An Unbelievable Look at Bizarre Beliefs”), George Smith (“How to Master Debate”), and Dave Burdick (“Everything I Need to Know About Journalism I Learned From Ghostbusters”).  From Blowseph and crude jokes involving Australia to video game nerds and how many people believe the sun revolves around the earth, I got my fair share of laughter from these presentations.

But we all learned a lot from Naomi Meredith (“Making Friends and Insulting People – The Shakespearean Way”), Cristina Sagray (“Classic Literature Through The Eyes of a Teenage Chick Flick”), Todd Berger (“Business Earth”), Kaley Sutton (who presented on Burning Man), and Michael Brown (“Reward and Risk”). It was dead silent as Michael Brown described life and death on Mt. Everest through his experiences as an Emmy Award-winning filmmaker — we closed with some clips of his work, a perfect way to end the best Ignite Boulder yet.

Oh yeah… and I almost forgot! The volunteers were great as always. They handled the huge line really well, and there were no technical problems. The whole thing went so smoothly!

“Sätter eld på Boulder” is how you would say “set Boulder on fire” in Swedish. And that’s just what happened at Ignite Boulder 6!

This is no less than 1/8 of the blue Pyrex dish that exploded when I tried to add water to it while it was still very hot from continuous, direct heat.

See, I should’ve learned my lesson a few years ago when I witnessed how a mere touch of cool air made the glass door of my parents’ oven explode all over the kitchen. My dad taught me this, and I learned it in physics class: tempered glass shatters entirely and abruptly when breaking, unlike regular glass, which will break in shards and more gradually.

Extreme temperatures or stress can shatter and entire object made of tempered glass. At least, that’s what I learned. Contrary to what I did tonight, you’re not supposed to use it on the stovetop or in the broiler. The funny thing is that I knew this — but I completely forgot while using a makeshift system to steam my puto (no, not like the Spanish profanity, but the Filipino cake). See, I knew better — I knew I was doing something wrong — but it didn’t strike me that I was supposed to use a tin, not a Pyrex dish, on the stove top when improvising a steamer. Instead, I watched the dishes carefully, up until the water ran out of the Pyrex dish and I tried to add more water — as soon as I tipped the Pyrex measuring cup and began to pour water, I knew I’d made a mistake. Before I could do anything about it, the Pyrex dish burst.

I was really, really lucky I didn’t get hurt. I was really lucky that my face was not injured. I was really lucky that although I found glass shards in my shirt and cardigan, none of it had hurt me.

As my housemate and I were cleaning it up, I explained to him what I’d learned. He didn’t seem to understand what I had said, so I was nearly convinced that maybe I was wrong about the vaguely scientific explanation I’d blurted out. But like any good modern-day researcher, I turned to Google.

After the cleanup, I hopped online to see just what I could turn up about exploding Pyrex dishes. I remember that after my parents’ oven door exploded, I learned from my dad that even though tempered glass is technically stronger than regular glass, it can still be rather dangerous. Was I wrong? After a bit of searching, I found one poorly-written Consumerist article that blamed an exploding Pyrex dish on what type of material is now being used for Pyrex; I’m not sure I buy that as the sole reason for a Pyrex dish to explode, and I’m sure it could be a contributing factor, but I believe that it’s more about how tempered glass reacts to temperature, not the kind of material used in making it. Furthermore, according to this source, colored dishes are more susceptible to breaking than clear Pyrex dishes. Okay, maybe. But if we believed everything we found on the Internet, then Jeff Goldblum and George Clooney both died in tragic falls in New Zealand while filming on location…

Unsatisfied, I dug around a bit more and found a better explanation that did not include the soda-lime factor in why Pyrex dishes break. (On top of that, it jives with what I vaguely remember from physics class and my dad’s little lesson tempered glass: extreme temperature change can cause Pyrex to ‘explode’.) I’m inclined to go with that one. I’m no scientist, and while I did well in Advanced High School Physics, I can’t say for sure that it’s what happened. However, I’m pretty confident that this is the closest and most accurate explanation.

Have you seen Pyrex explode? What were you doing that caused it to explode? And why do you think it explodes?

Personally, I think it’s a bullshit excuse to blame the manufacturer entirely when something like this happens. They tell us not to use it on a stove top. They warn not to use it in a broiler. If people paid attention in physics, maybe they’d understand the properties of tempered glass. (Hey, there are a lot of “if people paid attention…” lines out there, mind you.) I’m not saying that Pyrex is made perfectly — it certainly isn’t, and I’m sure apparent cheap manufacturing contributes — but if you do something you’ve been warned should not be done, don’t you dare think it wasn’t your own stupid fault.

You see, Twitter has been getting on my nerves for many months now. I first started getting tired of Twitter when CNN started to pick up on it, asking people to voice their opinions and basing entire shows off of the concept of giving viewers a voice. The problem with that, if you ask me, is that a lot of the hot topics on the news are far more serious than 140 characters, and require much more space, time, and context than a mere tweet. Of course, that’s been a problem in journalism for a while now; 140 characters is extreme when examining the way that half-hour news programs have severely limited the quality of content while becoming a prime source of news for most Americans.

I could go on and on about user-generated content, the importance of editorial discretion, why journalism is dying, etc., and it’s all relevant — but it’s only distantly related to my unhappiness with Twitter.

Twitter is beginning to tire me out because of the way it is being used by a large amount of its user base. When I first joined Twitter, I thought it was a neat concept; I could broadcast something I wanted to say to a lot of people, and they could get it on their phones if they wanted to. I could keep updated on what my friends are doing without having to ask each person separately what their plans are for the weekend or if they felt like seeing a movie. I, like many others, never anticipated Twitter becoming quite as huge as it is now, nor did anyone actually anticipate the rush it has become to gain followers, build a brand, start discussions, etc. In all honesty, I’m quite disappointed that it has become such a big deal.

And don’t even get me started on all the social media guru stuff that goes around. The hundreds of top ten lists that circulate the Internet, written by supposed social media experts? I get so tired of it. But like I said — don’t get me started.

I’ve been involved in a few arguments over Twitter lately with people whom I know personally to some extent. Funny enough, the arguments have been sports-related. Now, I’m pretty into sports; I’m a Cubs fan, I love the mechanics and the rules of football, I play and love watching ice hockey, and I tend to get pretty involved when the World Cup rolls around. But by no means am I a Super Fan (though I’ll always be devoted to the Cubs), and I think I have a hard time understanding such intense fandom when it becomes personal. Regardless of my stance on sports, it was the combination of debate/argument/discussion with the incessant need to pursue the topic over Twitter that really turned me off. I was accused of not wanting to stand up for what I was saying, amongst other things, especially when I wanted to stop the discussion. In fact, it’s the exact opposite — I want to stand up for myself and continue a discussion, but it’s not possible to do so on Twitter. I don’t believe that Twitter is the proper medium for arguments; it is not a glorified chat room, nor does it provide much space for one to properly and thoroughly discuss a topic.

On top of that, what’s the result of trying to halt such an occurrence? Name-calling, unfollowing, blocking, and really just unpleasant behavior. Come on, people. It’s Twitter! It’s not necessarily the right place to start a serious conversation. If I mean to start a serious conversation, I wouldn’t start it on Twitter. Therefore, what I talk about on Twitter is not serious. There’s a reason I don’t delve into most of what I do at work on Twitter. There’s a reason I stopped talking about my love life on Twitter. Those reasons, with different pieces of nuance to each, all come down to the same things. Plain and simple, Twitter is just not the place for a multitude of valuable interactions; it takes away from quality, just as not all news can be summarized in 30-second snippets or within a half hour of a news program. Regardless of the different ways it can provide a great service, it just isn’t the best place for everything — especially long-winded and rather public arguments.

Even though I find it ludicrous to create a policy for something one doesn’t take so seriously in the first place, I think I will have to put some time into writing about the reasons I use Twitter and what I expect (or don’t expect) from others when interacting on Twitter. For instance, I really like Jeremy Tanner’s Twitter policy. Although I think that it’s slightly dated in the sense that following/unfollowing is no longer one of the top issues users have with etiquette and behavior, it’s still a pretty solid start.

In the meantime, I don’t mind hiding out from Twitter for a while. I’ve discovered that the less time I spend on Twitter, the more time I spend reading a good book or two. The less time I spend on Twitter, the more I get done at work. And the less time I spend on Twitter, the less I get pissed off at asinine arguments that are best conducted through other media.

It comes from my family all living in Chicago. I’m not terribly close to my father’s side, but I associate pretty closely with my mom’s family. My mom moved to Near North Side sometime in the 1970s, before she found a job in Dallas, TX, and met my father. She and a few of her siblings crammed into a little apartment right off Lake Shore and enjoyed the city life for a while. Now most of my family lives in the suburbs, except for the cousins who are going to school or have a job in the city.

Before rooting for the Cubs, I really didn’t root for anybody. I was happy with the Red Sox winning their first World Series in decades because I knew the Cubs weren’t very close to it themselves. Several years later, after choosing my allegiance, I admit that I enjoyed seeing the Rockies make it to the World Series — even though it meant that my Cubs weren’t there. After all, as the song goes, “The last time we won the National League Pennant / was the year they dropped the bomb in Japan.” You can credit a Rockies fan for giving that song to me, though I had heard it one spring in the car on the way to the suburbs from the airport. How unfortunate for the songwriter, Steve Goodman, who in his lifetime never saw the Cubbies win a World Series much less a pennant — not that anyone today can say that they saw the Cubs win a World Series.

I really should be at the game right now. The  Cubs are losing to the Rockies 4-3 in the top of the 6th right as I type, and the Cubs lost last night with probably a more horrendous score (I like to forget about this kind of thing). Tomorrow I’ll be watching at Coors Field, wearing my Soriano shirt and swearing like a sailor, but I won’t stand down. Yes, I will go to Coors Field and be one of those jerks rooting against the home team. I’m totally fine with that.

And hey! The Cubs just tied the game at 4!

But will I get my hopes up? Probably not. Like my father told me, “The Cubs were created by God to make us suffer here on Earth.” I don’t know — to believe in God is to believe  that the Cubs might just win a World Series someday. Would God make the northern half of the city of Chicago absolutely, incredibly, pitifully miserable?

I remember giving a boyfriend of sorts — a Rockies fan — a key chain in the shape of a bat, adorned with a Cubs logo, as a little bit of a joke.  What it really meant to me was a reminder that I’m pretty adamant on my choice of teams, much like I am to the people who are good to me. What can I say? I’m a loyal person. When we later parted ways, he gave it back to me. “I’m not a Cubs fan,” he said, acting as if it was some sort of sin to root for the Cubs. I was actually pretty insulted; being a Cubs fan is about loyalty, and to be perfectly honest, self-flagellation. It takes some honor, more patience than you can imagine, and tough skin. It is a true feat of emotional strength to be a Cubs fan, requiring a dash of naïveté and a hint of humility, and I won’t let anybody convince me otherwise.

And the Cubs are now up 5-4 as we go into the 7th inning. And I am pretty sure there is still time to foul this one up. Really now — in the time I can write this blogpost, the Cubs took a lead. In the time that I can submit it, they can blow it. But guess what? I’ll still be a Cubs fan. Ask any other Cubs fan — it defines their character.

Look for me tomorrow, amongst the sea of other Cubs fans. We might be a little miserable, but Coors Field is pretty thankful for us during this four-game series; we damn near sell the whole place out, and hosting a team like the Cubs means will be a whole lot of beer poured to help ease the pain.