tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46875672275562728372024-03-13T00:46:58.150-04:00Of Politics, Sports and StuffJamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.comBlogger592125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-34268717867332002802024-01-20T18:19:00.001-05:002024-01-20T18:19:35.197-05:00This is US<p>Interesting <a href="asking people to condense their thoughts on race or cultural identity into one sentence of six words. The front of the cards simply read: Race. Your thoughts. 6 words.">column</a> in a recent Washington Post where the author asked <span face="var(--wpds-fonts-body)" style="background-color: white; font-size: var(--wpds-fontSizes-125);">people to condense their thoughts on race or cultural identity into six words. </span></p><p>Here are mine:</p><p>My fellow Democrats: You're obsessed. Stop. </p><p>or</p><p>We = We. Please stop We/They</p><p>What are yours?</p><p><br /></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-90418575924312171742024-01-19T18:20:00.002-05:002024-01-19T18:20:43.001-05:00Glory Days<p>My friend Harry Bryans emailed me yesterday commenting on <a href="https://theathletic.com/371447/2018/05/29/philly-specials-series-the-utley-play/">this</a> Jayson Stark column on the amazing play Chase Utley made in the 2008 World Series. This is part of the email I wrote him back, that I am posting here for posterity:</p><div class="gmail_default" style="color: blue;">For many years in our 30's, my buddy (since 5th grade) Jim Daly and I used to play in a co-ed softball league. (And we took it a little too seriously sometimes, I'm now willing to admit. Adam Bratis actually saw me provoke a bench-clearing brawl - true story - when I slid too hard in the other team's catcher.) Jim was, and in some respects is still, a very good athlete. Jim played shortstop in the J-Roll way - not many spectacular plays but incredibly dependable - made every throw right on the money. I, on the other hand, was very undependable at third base, but they kind of tried to hide me there, particularly because in co-ed softball, there were so many baserunners, I often only had to touch my base or throw home or to second, which was almost the max distance for my candy arm. But the reason for telling all this, is that to Jim's horror, I was always trying plays like Utley's, like dropping popups and line drives on purpose to try to get double plays or to force a faster runner at a base to allow the slower batter to get on (still drives me crazy when major leaguers don't think of that.) My favorite was when there was a runner on second base who I knew was particularly (like me), aggressive on the bases, I had a play pre-set with our second baseman that if the batter grounded one to me, I would fake a throw to first, knowing the runner on second would take off for third, and our 2B would sneak in behind him and we'd throw behind him to get him out. </div><div class="gmail_default" style="color: blue;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="color: blue;">(If you haven't already, you can stop reading here, the rest is as much for my own enjoyment in remembering and telling it as it is intended for you to enjoy it) My favorite story semi-related is that one time I was on first base and Jim grounded a single to centerfield. I saw the CFer taking his time fielding it (we couldn't take leads), so I rounded second and headed for third and slid in safely. Jim, seeing this, rounded first and took off for second where the third baseman threw and where Jim slid in safely. I, seeing this, got up at third and headed home, where I slid in safely...and you know the rest, Jim, seeing this, took off for third where the catcher threw the ball over the third baseman's head and Jim scored standing up. He and I go to at least one game a year together and have recounted the tale as often as we can find reason to fit it in. I think our wives even know the story by heart by now. (Side note - even though Jim and I met as students at Owen J Roberts, his wife Leigh and I first met in Kindergarten at...Downingtown Friends School. She was a cutie even then. :-) )</div><div class="gmail_default" style="color: blue;"><br /></div><div class="gmail_default" style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Thanks for hanging in and giving me a chance to tell that story again!</span></div>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-63294573055856917012024-01-17T23:38:00.001-05:002024-01-17T23:38:50.652-05:00Plus ca change, plus ca meme chose? Just not much sign of the change part<p>Interesting conversation with a young (20ish) voter last night when I questioned her lack of enthusiasm for Joe Biden in the upcoming election even though she is a clear liberal/progressive.</p><p>When I asked why she found it hard to support him, her main thrust was not about his age, per se, but about his being part of the old guard, wanting to do things the way they've always been done, in a capitalist system young people don't trust or value. And she understands some of the appeal for Donald Trump, despite being almost as old, in that he wants to shake things up or, more excitingly, blow things up. </p><p>I told her that reminded me of us when we were her age when Richard Nixon represented all that was evil and wrong with the world. He was the epitome of what we called The Establishment. Totally resistant to any kind of change or accepting that things were way out of whack, the country wasn't go in the wrong direction - it wasn't going in any new direction that would right the wrongs of racism, sexism, big business, and most specifically, that would get us out of war, in this case, Vietnam. (All complaints today's young voters might have.)</p><p>She also referenced Biden's carte blanche support of Israel's genocide in Gaza as evidence of how stuck in the past he is, when clearly that is the wrong policy.</p><p>I told her that her answer fascinated me, both because I found it incredibly illuminating, but also because the answer didn't include any references to climate change or college debt, to which she replied: "Oh, I wasn't done!"</p><p>The uncommitted vote in November might come down to their walking into the voting booth on election day and picturing waking up the day after the election and considering which scenario scares them more. </p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-38263586213803259112024-01-16T00:24:00.003-05:002024-01-16T00:24:55.292-05:00<p> It seems unfair for me to just list, as I did a few days ago, the things I wish the media, and more importantly our government, would spend less time on, without also listing that which I wish they'd give more attention to, so here ya go:</p><p>- Universal health care</p><p>- Affordable housing; finding places for unsheltered people to live with dignity</p><p>- Universal basic income, in JamieWorld, replacing all welfare of every kind</p><p>- Good news, as shown at <a href="https://futurecrunch.com/">this</a> amazing website on a weekly basis</p><p>- Fair funding of education</p><p>- Laws to increase gun safety</p><p>- Reducing college debt but on a grander scale, free college, starting with community colleges</p><p>- Pathways to citizenship for those wanting to immigrate here</p><p>Most importantly, promoting love instead of war. Moving toward a foreign policy where we help other countries with anything but weapons. Working as a peacemaker to bring people together instead of arming them to fight each other. Helping people around the world improve their lives when we are requested by them to do so.</p><p><a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2024/01/04/big-question-2024-war-global-order-gaza-ukraine/?utm_campaign=wp_week_in_ideas&utm_medium=email&utm_source=newsletter&wpisrc=nl_ideas">This</a> was a great article listing all the ways war has failed not just the USA, but any countries involved in them.</p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-4545833024045870632024-01-07T13:50:00.003-05:002024-01-07T13:53:14.166-05:00My frustrations and apologies<p> </p><p>Looking at this blog a few days ago, I decided I didn't like the colors of it, so out of boredom, I decided to change it, choosing one of their choices of "themes", and boy do I regret it. Not only did it lose many of the "widgets", as they call them, on the sides, some of which I was able to eventually recover, though I still don't like the way it presents them, but it incorrectly and incompletely displays the posts. The one right below this one, if you click on it, shows correctly that the items I listed were written as bullet points but when one looks just at the blog, it throws them all together as if they are part of a sentence. So I apologize for the new look.</p><p>Yet once again, I've had to sacrifice reality in favor of beauty.</p><p><br /></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-82380221132100622632024-01-06T17:34:00.002-05:002024-01-07T13:41:56.277-05:00Of course, the Republican Congress didn't get anything done last year anyway, so maybe it's for the best<p> Things the media seem obsessed with that I just pass over as soon as I see what the article is about:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li> AI</li><li>Anything to do with Israel, especially the latest war</li><li>Abortion</li><li>Crime</li><li>Donald Trump</li><li>Fantasy Football</li><li>Golf</li><li>Space of the Outer variety</li><li>Women's sports (sorry!)</li></ul><p></p><p>On the other hand, climate change applies in terms of my (not) wanting to read about it, but they actually should be writing about it far more often.</p><p>Interestingly, it seems like national level politicians spend way more time on things I don't care about than the things I wish they would, too. </p><p><br /></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-11531873752825890142024-01-05T17:37:00.000-05:002024-01-05T17:37:36.175-05:00So wrong...but so right<p>There are just too many applicable punchlines to <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/01/04/science/flower-sex-evolution-bees.html">this</a> actually very important NY Times story about how flowers are learning to self-pollinate (I know!), but I'll provide one direct quote from it here and let you take it in any direction you feel (in-?)appropriate:</p><p>"(Pansies) can also use their own pollen to fertilize their own seeds, a process called selfing. Selfing is more convenient than sex." Actual verbatim quote from the story.</p><p>But the best part, again, besides the important bigger ramifications, were the comments from NY Times readers, 90% of which were very serious, scientific observations. But because well, I'm me, this was my favorite comment:</p><p>"I am a 55 year old married man. I have undergone similar evolution."</p><p>And I'll add that it gives new meaning to the expression "Go F__ yourself!"</p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-35747203885516065012024-01-04T21:52:00.002-05:002024-01-04T21:52:29.950-05:00That and try to lose 10-20 pounds, of course<p> <span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">This is my mantra for 2024: </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Focus on the basics. When in doubt, choose love.</span></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ol5v8tHt90dT0-3W04peItrk5cWrpelQB1SlG-KYsVJ7bGosGoANwhLMqc82JxvXg8XgUiDg5A2oQrHCXQODOCdXDcXW3ErL2ZMj2TZrmxwwlrW7P-PFllHRBA-btXZnMbU93QYSY1mnnaFKOwtC1EABH-DdAPNJJ7rpIrx6zVjKX-8Xjow3Lj8-WF8/s2798/PXL_20240103_225333677.MP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2588" data-original-width="2798" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ol5v8tHt90dT0-3W04peItrk5cWrpelQB1SlG-KYsVJ7bGosGoANwhLMqc82JxvXg8XgUiDg5A2oQrHCXQODOCdXDcXW3ErL2ZMj2TZrmxwwlrW7P-PFllHRBA-btXZnMbU93QYSY1mnnaFKOwtC1EABH-DdAPNJJ7rpIrx6zVjKX-8Xjow3Lj8-WF8/s320/PXL_20240103_225333677.MP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-66020986866024415452024-01-04T14:05:00.001-05:002024-01-04T14:05:12.467-05:00Why, who and do I care?!<p> </p><p>I started this blog, or actually <a href="https://jamiemcv.blogspot.com/">this</a> blog, which morphed into this one, shortly before I had access to Facebook and for better or worse, many of the things I would have posted here have been usurped by FB. This year, I think I will try to do a lot of double-posting to both there and here, so apologies in advance to anyone who sees both and wonders why.</p><p>Here is the first time I'm doing it, as it seems appropriate both because of the time of year but also because I am resolving to post here more often...which raises a few questions I've asked myself ("'Self', I asked...") many times:</p><p>- Why do I post anything here at all?</p><p>- Who is the audience I'm aiming it at?</p><p>- Do I care who reacts and how?</p><p>And the answers aren't easy...which explains why I've asked myself "many times". Part of the answer is that I write here for my own amusement. I actually do go back and read 5-10 of my most recent posts maybe 1-3 times a year and actually get a kick out of some of the things I've written. </p><p>So part of the audience I'm apparently aiming at is...me. And I'm not terribly proud to admit it. But there are also three other audiences I'm aiming for. </p><p>The first is my kids, who I'm fairly certain have never seen anything I've written on either blog but very likely will not long after I'm gone when they will still want some kind of connection with me besides the boxes of sports memorabilia that only Evie and possibly Ammar will have any interest in.</p><p>The second is my way-in-the-future descendants. I'd LOVE to come across something like this that my ancestors had written back in the 1700's...or 400's. Can you imagine?! </p><p>And finally, it is written for any of my contemporaries who find it interesting in any way. Really the only two people who I know see it are you, Becca and Laurie. There are others who show on my "followers" list who theoretically get emails telling them that I've posted something, but I think it's a fair guess that they at best delete them upon delivery or they have asked that they go directly to their spam folder.</p><p>As for whether I care if anyone reacts - it's a total mixed bag, well, a mix of two in that bag. The first is that I sometimes wish no contemporaries would ever see any of this. I feel like it sometimes restricts what I write. The second is that a part of me wishes I had unlimited numbers of followers checking in daily (or more!) to see what wise pearl I've dropped. Again #NotProud.</p><p>As for how people react, sometimes when I write something I really like and no one reacts, I wonder if anyone even bothered to read it. And Laurie and Becca - you are (almost) always so nice in your responses, but there was a time when a local guy - Anthony would come on here from the right-wing crowd and argue with me, and part of me enjoyed it and me was annoyed by it. </p><p>So...what the heck was I going to write about today anyway? Kidding - I'll post it separately.</p><p>Thanks for reading! </p><p><br /></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-20021837935448235922023-12-28T23:00:00.006-05:002023-12-28T23:06:30.782-05:00Paying it forward...at no charge<p>This is a true family story about a dad, an uncle, and a son,
only one of them related to me. It goes back to the 40’s I’d guess, the 1940’s
that is, remembering now that this may be read well past the – gasp – 2040’s,
and ended in 2014. Or maybe it hasn’t ended yet. Maybe that will be up to
someone who wasn’t even born when I wrote this, as I wasn’t when this story began.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The story starts…or continues…or possibly ends…in 2014, when
Cheryl and I were making a very big push to get our property ready for our
niece <a href="https://paradoxit.wordpress.com/">Becca</a>’s wedding to a very cool guy name of Mark. I took a week off from
work to complete a number of projects around the property that needed to be
done so badly, I’d put them off for years. But now, in my judgement, they
really did need to get done.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And the biggest job of all, and most germane to this story,
was to re-do the 80-foot walkway that runs along the front of our house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The walk had consisted only of a very fine
gravel from when mom and dad built the house back in the 1950’s, and I vaguely
remember Mom saying she’d never liked it that way. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnog4KayeNLhc8MmTJ8pis0VZ6qFXgVnjHgygtZF6z4-IVyi0zLF5jCmzazlXTGzjZ71SsKbCHXBLB0vdRJ5RtP9dOLB5okgCDwB0v3uh6C6BPVqcnAhG0DeNmJOsjVysqLdbTMPDpI9CW17XcHDObl9Cal9SAlgVcuZdiPjbC5TpXalL-sjAbg-CZBVY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="5312" data-original-width="2988" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnog4KayeNLhc8MmTJ8pis0VZ6qFXgVnjHgygtZF6z4-IVyi0zLF5jCmzazlXTGzjZ71SsKbCHXBLB0vdRJ5RtP9dOLB5okgCDwB0v3uh6C6BPVqcnAhG0DeNmJOsjVysqLdbTMPDpI9CW17XcHDObl9Cal9SAlgVcuZdiPjbC5TpXalL-sjAbg-CZBVY" width="135" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So my vision was to embed pieces of flagstone into the
walkway with dirt or gravel, or hopefully, eventually, moss in between. But it
was important to Cheryl and me that the flagstone be irregular, not perfectly
precut to interlock or be perfectly spaced. We wanted something more along the
lines of a jigsaw where the pieces might fit in a more creative arrangement. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But…we didn’t know where to go to find it, so we asked our
local expert and amazing neighbor <a href="https://www.bannvalleyconstruction.com/">Aidan Myles</a> who told us exactly where to go:
to see Stephen Senn right down the road in the town of Eagle, just a few miles
away. But, Aidan warned us, the entrance to his business would be really hard
to find and we’d probably pass it by a few times before making the correct turn
on to his semi-hidden gravel driveway. It seemed unlikely to us, given that
Eagle had gone from a sleepy little theoretical mark on a map when I was a kid,
more than any recognizable destination, to a half-mile long stretch with 5
traffic lights, a CVS, a Starbucks, an Acme, some beauty salons, and a few bars
and restaurants.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, Cheryl and I set out in search of the aforementioned Mr.
Senn. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as Aidan predicted, we did
indeed pass by his drive at least once, not believing that weed strewn little
dirt road could possibly be the entrance to an actual business. So, still not
sure, we turned down the driveway, looking for an office, and not seeing one,
looking just for any sign of life. For the most part, we only saw piles of
dirt, a lot of brush and occasional stacks of empty pallets. It felt like a
place either spooky or magical, where we either would never get alive or we’d
happened into <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brigadoon_(film)">Brigadoon</a>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We had passed one backhoe in operation down a short side
path, so we went back there, parked behind the large now unmanned machine and
ventured past it to find a tall, round-faced man, who looked a little
intimidating, serious and at the same time, at least potentially to be a tad
jolly. Turned out to be a some of each.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we walked toward him, he stopped what he was doing and
looked at us, seeming to wonder why we were interrupting him. “Hi! Are you
Steve Senn?” I asked, to which he replied, his eyes narrowing, “Depends on who
wants to know!” I paused for a moment, wondering if we’d made a mistake in
coming here at all. And then as we stared at each other, I noticed a twinkle in
his eye and the start of a smile at the corners of his mouth, and I chanced an
introduction of myself and then Cheryl. And now, his face changed again. He
seemed to grow quite pensive, looking upward and stroking his beard gently, as
he said slowly, “McVickar. McVickar. I remember a McVickar. Are you Art
McVickar’s son?” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now I was both excited and somewhat perplexed. Many years
ago, one of the local Senn families had lived across from us on Black Horse
Road, though we never really socialized much, and I wondered if he was
forgetting Dad’s name. And I said, “No, I am Paul McVickar’s son. I had an
uncle named Art but you may be thinking of my parents who used to live on Black
Horse Road across from a Senn family, but I don’t know if that was your family
or one of your brothers’ families.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Listening carefully, but now maybe a little confused
himself, he said “No, no. I’m talking about an Art McVickar. Did he used to
work at a nursery – <a href="https://archive.org/details/CAT31410050/page/34/mode/2up">Vicks</a><span style="color: red;"> </span>- down in the Gladwyne
area many years ago? And then he taught at a private school on City Line – <a href="https://www.friendscentral.org/">Friends Central</a>?” My eyes widening, I said “Yeah!
Yeah, that was my uncle!” And again, he spoke slowly and thoughtfully and said,
“Yeah…way back in some really hard years when my dad was having a tough time
finding work, your uncle always seemed to find work at the school for my
dad.” We could almost see him getting a
little misty as he remembered it. But he quickly caught himself and said, “So
what are you looking for?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We explained our goal of finding some irregular shapes of flagstone
for our front walk, making it clear that we didn’t want the perfect rectangular
pieces so popular these days. Well, I don’t know that we could’ve said anything
better, as his face brightened and he said “Follow me!”. As we walked, he went
on a diatribe of sorts about all the developments going in all around, where
all they want are those very pre-cut, perfectly interlocking pieces sold en
masse at the Lowes and Home Depots of the world.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And now we found ourselves walking down a barely-there path,
with waste-high weeds on either side of us, when we came to a clearing of sorts
where we found some piles of exactly what we were looking for. Steve walked
over toward 2 of the piles and said “So I can give you these, which are
probably what you’re looking for, or those over there, which are probably too long
for you.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cheryl and I walked over toward the piles he stood by,
knowing immediately that they were exactly what we were looking for. Cheryl and
I looked at each other and nodded and Cheryl asked Steve, “I think these are what
we were hoping for. How much would these two piles cost?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And at this point, Steve reverted back to that same
intimidating, serious look when we first arrived and, with a touch of anger in
his voice said, “I told you I would GIVE them to you!” Now, both a little
flustered and shocked but incredibly blown away by his generosity, we thanked
him profusely and made arrangements for how we could get them to our house.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Left unsaid was the obvious. He was repaying us for Uncle
Art’s having been so helpful to his father and his family maybe 70 years
earlier.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">(Not relevant to the story but in some ways even more
entertaining were some family secrets Steve then went on to regale us with in
considerable detail, sharing stories about things his parents never told the
kids directly but which they figured out, much as we kids did about our own
family’s eventually uncovered secrets.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sadly, I’ve learned that Stephen has since <a href="https://www.thedailyreview.com/obituaries/stephen-f-senn-77/article_a5a01712-4a4e-5623-bca7-e601fc499537.html">passed away</a>, or I would have liked to have gone back
to thank him again. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">The End…or is it? <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4ZNNEa_eLCXWjxOInWI7Zht3Q-s-yKrENknnRISvEe7XzTHjO-csDP3bGghYhihCLdQXcybQ-NXL7TL-jyhdnb9zjo6ZRFqdVzbf-vcXdvX77lphpUw7qmm5Ekz8v3XdhRWLkjttvjGHAWs-h-dFERcVXFDWuj6UxB4V0H0gykzdOXIWSSvrwpKL0t7E" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="5312" data-original-width="2988" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj4ZNNEa_eLCXWjxOInWI7Zht3Q-s-yKrENknnRISvEe7XzTHjO-csDP3bGghYhihCLdQXcybQ-NXL7TL-jyhdnb9zjo6ZRFqdVzbf-vcXdvX77lphpUw7qmm5Ekz8v3XdhRWLkjttvjGHAWs-h-dFERcVXFDWuj6UxB4V0H0gykzdOXIWSSvrwpKL0t7E" width="135" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwEucLfzD_lfQGR6NSVi4eN9EXEwj-Ph0537wnGLmSZcg_DwYDbEuQaU5rsFXP3dz83gJDv-qzT4Qr3Y1dD4dpiDlxWrTdFTkCepbIbsHTz9_sINJr2lv3BY7ACskp50c2UxJl8x60d6_cVAP3hcoy28PMPiVfpl_YEe_3TtBpdbi6SF9GnZEjEOzAJoo" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="5312" data-original-width="2988" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgwEucLfzD_lfQGR6NSVi4eN9EXEwj-Ph0537wnGLmSZcg_DwYDbEuQaU5rsFXP3dz83gJDv-qzT4Qr3Y1dD4dpiDlxWrTdFTkCepbIbsHTz9_sINJr2lv3BY7ACskp50c2UxJl8x60d6_cVAP3hcoy28PMPiVfpl_YEe_3TtBpdbi6SF9GnZEjEOzAJoo" width="135" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxE2XfdhIf0noeFDwuk2ZklpABf4rhKfeDXN-5aDTWg8Nphgxp-vWRrVoeO2MfCgg10qRL6-iZQvPhEtvbvDL4wicacHPf75y0EwKK10H_Y6mhMyZz5jxv_m01jX59vWB46X2UpQvL-G5odmgCEihzxNikJvSEfKAw4wR_vBdUmy-z34-Za4ynIMwUhlQ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="5312" data-original-width="2988" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxE2XfdhIf0noeFDwuk2ZklpABf4rhKfeDXN-5aDTWg8Nphgxp-vWRrVoeO2MfCgg10qRL6-iZQvPhEtvbvDL4wicacHPf75y0EwKK10H_Y6mhMyZz5jxv_m01jX59vWB46X2UpQvL-G5odmgCEihzxNikJvSEfKAw4wR_vBdUmy-z34-Za4ynIMwUhlQ" width="135" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgp-aTq21Lic2bjIksOszJgLl0zJqxJEEbdfIJby3GMhtq6VmJisGIsYZ6O2qv1tPR5nyCNBMpgr2M5VV-UZiW7A1lgF3rYdBVX3QlmKAOJeN8iG1jDsrWxIy35ylQGwUhuTa8iSvx17yHcIpCHBJjf7530zZFaB_1BaNF7mvW3LPr5FkiUOsR-rjZa4E" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="5312" data-original-width="2988" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjgp-aTq21Lic2bjIksOszJgLl0zJqxJEEbdfIJby3GMhtq6VmJisGIsYZ6O2qv1tPR5nyCNBMpgr2M5VV-UZiW7A1lgF3rYdBVX3QlmKAOJeN8iG1jDsrWxIy35ylQGwUhuTa8iSvx17yHcIpCHBJjf7530zZFaB_1BaNF7mvW3LPr5FkiUOsR-rjZa4E" width="135" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">And lastly, I need to add one more picture of a stone that brought me to tears: the right hand side of this one piece reminding me very much of my dad’s profile – my dad who had taught me when I was a child how to build stone walls and who now
seemed to be giving me his approval of the job I was doing. That rock is now a part of the wall that holds up the path that I hope will be there for many years to come.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfdyu4GBIcpIqOJh52_ZMFOeCTXBT-b-Rhu3kTHcFZsNVloGaJWHATg1uyoot375HLJczQwwkmxr1hr7Z3FecKJdTJ6a8LaaLHARsUvp7IJSW-o2VJFxzTmjdSzgdS5hnJO8bySAOkOhSMG1W_2I-9xXlv6l1HpBdIZm0rIHGlaBFpRIK4qscJDFKvoqs" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="5312" data-original-width="2988" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhfdyu4GBIcpIqOJh52_ZMFOeCTXBT-b-Rhu3kTHcFZsNVloGaJWHATg1uyoot375HLJczQwwkmxr1hr7Z3FecKJdTJ6a8LaaLHARsUvp7IJSW-o2VJFxzTmjdSzgdS5hnJO8bySAOkOhSMG1W_2I-9xXlv6l1HpBdIZm0rIHGlaBFpRIK4qscJDFKvoqs" width="135" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-33922607969620024702023-05-23T22:08:00.002-04:002023-05-23T22:10:52.956-04:00<p>Sixteen years ago for my 50th birthday, my sister Sherry asked some family and friends of hers to write something about me so she could bind it up and give it to me as a gift. Very thoughtful. And beautifully put together with many of her sketches and drawings.</p><p>Earlier this year, as I was cleaning out the garage (a seemingly non-stop process going on 20 years now, since the year we moved in), I came across her gift and put it aside to read later (perhaps for the first time) which I did a few days ago. </p><p>I couldn't bring myself to read all of them, but the ones I read were very nice and it was obvious that people for the most part had put a great deal of time into thinking of what to say. All of them were really wonderful, but two of them were my favorites. </p><p>The first was from her friend Craig who wrote, "I can't recall with any degree of certainty whether or not I ever actually met your brother though I do remember you telling me that he was planning to ride his bike across the country. I'm not even sure whether he did it. But anyway, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the young man! (Ed. Note: I don't believe we ever did meet, but I appreciate his effort regardless.)</p><p>The other favorite was, sadly, unsigned, but what the person wrote was stunning. Among other things, the person wrote: "There are all kinds of things I do in your honor. I think of it as a commonality between us; doing things "in honor of". I think I told you, but it bears repeating, my therapist once asked me to list the people I most admired. I told him that I wanted to be like Gandhi, or you. It would be too mushy for me to outline those characteristics. You have to wait 'til you're on your deathbed." </p><p>And then the person went on to list all the ways I became a better person than when they first knew me back in the 1970's. So on the one hand, the person has known me a pretty long time, and knows me quite well. On the other, if they are putting me on a short list with Gandhi, maybe not so much.</p><p>Regardless, I was incredibly moved and honored by their words, and was very much regretting not knowing who it was who wrote it. But as I thought about it more, I realized that in a way, to dwell on that, or the writer's kind words, in the spirit of Gandhi, perhaps it best not to dwell on either the author or the sentiment but to merely accept the thought with gratitude and move on.</p><p>As Gandhi said: </p><p style="text-align: center;">"<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, "sans serif";">The first condition of humaneness is a little humility and a little diffidence about the correctness of one's conduct and a little receptiveness."</span></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-84906193030907910332023-03-27T20:18:00.006-04:002023-03-27T20:21:59.065-04:00<p>I was going through a tough time recently, and was trying to sort through why, when I concluded that I felt like a napkin ring. Sort of useful but easily done without, not really good for much, and always just kind of there. So after a few days when the thought inevitably passed, and after I'd gotten over my murky self, I realized that lots of people probably felt the same way from time to time, so I decided henceforth that I would endeavor to not to let any day go by without validating at least one person. Honestly, it's not much of a commitment. I like to think I was doing that already. </p><p>This should probably be a separate post but it's not totally unrelated. And I'm taking you into a dangerous place known as Jamie World. I may even have written about this before, but it saddens me in the smallest of ways that people who love each other rely only on saying "Love ya!" to each other but can't seem to bring themselves to say "I love you". Perhaps the same reason I react that way is the reason people are hesitant to say it - it is so much more meaningful and even leaves one vulnerable to not getting the return "I love you", because if you don't get it back, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bfx7izBNHeI">"that's a pretty big matzo ball hanging out there."</a></p><p>And along those same lines, at least in my mind, is the topic of The Hug. To me, there is only one kind of acceptable hug, and that is an all-in, full body, at least from the waist up, embrace. If one isn't comfortable with what might seem invasive, that's fine, but should be communicated. If the hug is going to just be some version of a lean in, or a mild touching of shoulders, then it feels like a weak, floppy handshake, which we've all experienced.</p><p>You are now encouraged to leave Jamie World.</p><p><br /></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-38834264303649839872023-02-21T23:12:00.000-05:002023-02-21T23:12:20.471-05:00<p> I don't believe I've posted anything about sex lately, or terribly much else for that matter, though possibly much that is terrible, so I'll post my favorite quote about sex here:</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">"There is hardly anyone whose sexual life, if it were broadcast, would not fill the world at large with surprise and horror."</p><p style="text-align: center;">- W. Somerset Maugham</p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-69412918534658470072023-01-19T23:23:00.000-05:002023-01-19T23:23:33.418-05:00Cleaning out the garage I came across of a few of my old journals, one of which is circa-1978, the year I graduated from college and another from the early-to-mid 90's which mostly consisted of random lists and thoughts, sort of a blog before there were blogs.<div><br /></div><div>Here are a few of the entries:</div><div><br /></div><div>"If someone says something that's really deep, but it's over my head, how low must I be?</div><div> - Me to Fred Chapin 2-28-1993</div><div><br /></div><div>Love not Hate</div><div>Sailboats not Motorboats</div><div>Sneakers not Shoes</div><div>Baseball not Football</div><div>Watercolors not Oils</div><div>Democrat not Republican</div><div>Listening not Talking</div><div>Icing not Cake</div><div><br /></div><div>"It's raining now. I love the sound of rain. It is its own song."</div><div> - my "friend" Charlotte in a January 1993 letter to me from New Mexico</div><div><br /></div>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-36836567860187844412023-01-12T21:06:00.001-05:002023-01-12T21:06:59.650-05:00<p> </p><p>I was reading this interesting opinion <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/12/11/opinion/what-twitter-can-learn-from-quakers.html">piece</a> in the NY Times this week and was both impressed and a little envious as to the clear intellect and talent level of the author, Ezra Klein. And I wondered what it would be like to be that smart, not to mention talented.</p><p>And that got me to thinking as to whether I'd rather be really smart or a really great athlete. I decided I'd rather be a really great athlete because I think being that smart makes one all the more troubled by what's going on in the world.</p><p style="text-align: center;">But that's probably not very smart.</p><p style="text-align: center;">And then I thought, if I could one one of the ten best in the world at something, what would it be? </p><p style="text-align: center;">How about you?</p><p style="text-align: center;">Maybe we should just go with</p><p style="text-align: center;">People.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Same as we've been trying to do.</p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-91299133566025176222022-12-12T19:36:00.000-05:002022-12-12T19:36:01.433-05:00<br />
Things I just don't get, and don't expect that I ever will, that others people just looove:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Any Quentin Tarantino film</li>
<li>Nascar</li>
<li>Donald Trump</li>
<li>Mixing fruit and chocolate</li>
<li>Mixing fruit</li>
<li>Bok Choy</li>
<li>Ultimate Fighting, or whatever they call it</li>
<li>Powerboats</li>
<li>Organized religion</li>
<li>Anything mint-flavored...except mints.</li>
<li>Fast food</li><li>TV shows that center around cops, lawyers, detectives, doctors</li><li>Reality TV</li>
</ul>
<br />
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<br />Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-59767357173411927912022-11-20T14:50:00.004-05:002022-11-20T14:51:30.855-05:00Please don't shoot the messenger. (I said please!)<p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure a thought like this is what George Fox was looking for when he founded Quakerism 3-400 years ago, but this is what came to me in Meeting this morning regardless:</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;">I wonder...were murder legal, if we would all be nicer to each other.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-9353488349878097482022-11-08T11:31:00.000-05:002022-11-08T11:31:24.831-05:00The Hows and Wise<p> </p><p><b>My most recent conclusion about how and why people vote:</b></p><p style="text-align: center;">Republicans vote with their pocketbooks.</p><p style="text-align: center;">Democrats vote their values.</p><p style="text-align: left;">In other words, if you vote based on the values attributed to Jesus in the Bible, you'll vote Democrat.</p><p style="text-align: left;">And when, not if, the Dems lose the House tonight, and likely the Senate as well, the navel-gazing will begin, analyzing how and why Dems didn't and aren't connecting with moderate (non-MAGA) voters. </p><p style="text-align: left;"><b>Here's my (overly simplistic) take. It comes down to two words:</b></p><p style="text-align: center;">Free Stuff</p><p>If you support the idea of the government giving people Free Stuff - stimulus checks, welfare, food stamps, section 8 housing, even including affirmative action and minority set asides, things you didn't earn or work for - you are going to vote Democrat.</p><p>If you hate that the government gives people Free Stuff, especially if it isn't coming to you, you vote Republican.</p><p style="text-align: center;">And that second category includes most of the people who decide elections.</p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-57164665669527113272022-11-05T23:40:00.000-04:002022-11-05T23:40:18.074-04:00<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;">Life is complicated, confusing, and challenging </p><p style="text-align: center;">and yet </p><p style="text-align: center;">quite simple</p><p style="text-align: center;">if one approaches every challenge with calm, courage, conviction, compassion </p><p style="text-align: center;">and...love.</p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-19712222890372175582022-11-04T00:19:00.003-04:002022-11-04T00:22:04.303-04:00October, 1980 - whadda month<p> </p><p>I came across this little square of a piece of paper recently:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkub5IODYDcTxa6vEX9-pX3rjj0xPcLabdDCbiGsdlmHPj-F_NgmfDOgrSN-eHnc2DPP8sHHMs3AMFnCnJ1aIE75fX3lFleOeS0CzMEMXElx6MyDolZtFKB9ywol1xTCkRWqUk4aryCygsCQu3A3bXao2IwW3JRS5QefrjNkIMjR41EktC8VPTaftq" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkub5IODYDcTxa6vEX9-pX3rjj0xPcLabdDCbiGsdlmHPj-F_NgmfDOgrSN-eHnc2DPP8sHHMs3AMFnCnJ1aIE75fX3lFleOeS0CzMEMXElx6MyDolZtFKB9ywol1xTCkRWqUk4aryCygsCQu3A3bXao2IwW3JRS5QefrjNkIMjR41EktC8VPTaftq" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">...and it reminded me of a time in my life (age 23) that I remember as busy, but didn't remember just how busy. I think I used to do this monthly, or maybe I just did it for this one month of October, 1980, because it was just a crazy month in my life.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The dates on that list are all events I attended or participated in, and some are of some historical interest, and just a little more relevant now because the Phillies are now, and were then in the World Series.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here is the list a little bigger and with explanations:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">October, 1980:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 - I took an exam in my accounting class, probably at Ursinus College. This was the start of my career change from social work to accounting.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">4 - The second ever Friends Fall Festival at Downingtown Friends Meeting (and the date Martha Bryans asked Mike Rellahan and me, who were doing face- and HAND-painting at the Festival to give her young daughter a "hand job", referring to her preference that we only paint something on her hand and not her face. To this day, I don't know if that was due to either the lower cost of the "job" or her (lack of) confidence in Mike and my abilities to paint something semi-respectable on Lydia's face) and the day the Phillies clinched a playoff spot on Mike Schmidt's 10th inning home run in Montreal: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rCwBmeaXZEI">He buried it!</a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">5 - I went to the Eagles-Redskins game with Jim Daly. This was the only year I ever had Eagles season tickets. We were way up in the infamous 700 level, but almost always were able to sneak down into seats that we started scanning the stadium for shortly after the game started.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">7 - I went to the Astros-Phillies playoff game. (I don't remember going to this game or the next one, but it says here I went. I'll look for the ticket stubs sometime.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">8 - See the 7th, above</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">9 - Flyers-Penguins: This was the first game I ever worked for the Flyers, and I wouldn't miss a home game for the next 20 years. I kept statistics for the telecast, sitting next to future Hall-of-Famer Mike "Doc" Emrick, who was also working his first ever NHL game.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">10 - On this day, I went to the Phoenixville Hospital to visit an intellectually-impaired young woman named Anna in my capacity as a caseworker for her husband Nick. Anna had a baby that day, so I was going to see how they were doing. As I walked toward the front doors of the hospital, I noticed a small crowd moving toward the doors from the inside, with many bright lights moving along with them. As I came to the front doors, I realized what it was all about. The crowd was following none other than the recently disgraced ex-President of the United States, Richard Nixon, who, as it turned out, was there to visit his son and daughter-in-law, who had also just had their first baby. As I remember it, the only conversation or interaction I had with the DEPOTUS (disgraced ex-President) as we passed was about the Phillies 1-0 extra innings loss earlier that day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">11- I waited 6 hours in line for Bruce Springsteen tickets, which I went to on my 24th birthday with my date Beth Beglin, accompanied somewhere in the building by Mike Rellahan and Xandy Wells. As it turned out, that concert on December 9, 1980, my first of many, many times I saw Bruce, was the night after John Lennon was killed. It is considered one of the best Bruce concerts of all time and can be listened to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lGG8IuFlj0E">here</a>. After he is introduced, he gives a brief speech about Lennon's impact on his music, saying that without him, "we'd all be in a different place tonight." I am also embarrassed to admit that I briefly fell asleep, I believe as or just after he played Candy's Room.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">12 - Eatin' Meetin' at Downingtown Friends Meeting and another Flyers game. When the game was over around 10, a small group of us stayed in the Press Box watching the Phillies epic 5th game win over the Astros, putting them into the World Series. As soon as the game was over, I went across the street to the Vet to see if they were going to start selling World Series tickets. They were not, but a line was already forming, so I decided to join them. When they finally opened the ticket windows at about 6 or 7 the next morning, the crowd had grown so large and was so disorganized that people were pushing in from all sides to try to get ahead of latecomers. By the time they finally opened the ticket windows, women were passing out near me from the heat and children were being lifted up and passed to the back so they wouldn't get crushed. I was pushed so tight that my chest was pressed up against the wall adjacent to the window. We were screaming at the windows asking them to hurry and open the windows and when they finally did, I was able to push and squirm over to the front, buying tickets to game one and two, having been told that I was unable at that point to buy tickets to any other game. Turns out that was wrong, though I'm not sure I had enough money on me to buy them anyway, which led to, well, see October 21 below.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">13 - This was the morning I actually got the tickets. Having procured the precious ducats (!), I went to my car to see if KYW (allnews radio) was covering the mayhem and dangers that I had been a part of. Soon after I turned on the radio, I heard the announcer say "And now let's go to Stephen Nelson at the Vet. What's the atmosphere like there, Steve?" to which Steve replied "Well, it's a festive atmosphere here at the Vet, with lots of happy Phillies fans...blahblahblah". Aghast, I was determined to find the reporter to set him straight. Leaving there, I went to my day job, got home later that night, walking in to my apartment, where my roomie, the frequently aforementioned Mike, asked, so, what was it like getting tickets? Wordlessly, I walked over to the radio, flicked it on to KYW, just as the announcer said "...and we spoke with one young fan named Jamie who was there to get tickets and he gave this report..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">14 - Game One of the World Series</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">15 - Game Two </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">16 - Vancouver vs Flyers - this game wasn't televised but I was allowed to come to watch from the press box. When I got there, the steward showed me where to sit, in an empty seat way down at the end, where only one person was sitting, surrounded by 3 empty seats. I sat next to that person, who turned out to be there to watch his son Mark who had recently been traded to the Flyers. The player's name was Mark Howe. His dad? Gordie Howe, then considered the greatest hockey player of all time. I was pretty much dumbstruck the whole time, though we did speak briefly about one of the players. This ranks with my painting an outside wall of a building in North Philly, elbow-to-elbow with Jimmy Carter (coming soon to a post near you...if requested), where I was equally speechless.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">17 - World Series on TV</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">18 - Dinner at (someone's - Erica's? Can't read my own writing); World Series on TV</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">19 - Cowboys - Eagles and Montreal - Flyers - both in person; World Series on TV</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">20 - Visit Sherry "at home" could mean either my house which is unlikely or at Mom and Dad's</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">21 - Phillies win their first ever World Series! I do not have a ticket but am determined to get into the game anyway. I decided to go down and just walk around the stadium trying to find a way in, as Jim Daly and I had done the year before in Baltimore for the World Series, where we were able to get into both games 6, by bribing a ticket taker (with assistance by his accomplice), and game 7 by getting scalped for $45 or so each. I started by just walking around the outside area where the employees, players and media parked and entered, under the concourse where everyone else was going - the same underneath area where I had almost been squashed to death 8 days earlier. My first time around the building, I noticed about 15-20 people gathered around a doorway but didn't pay it much attention. After circling the entire stadium one time, I came back to that spot and stood back to try to figure out what was going on. I noticed that every 5-10 minutes, a door into the stadium would open, a guard would walk out but stay in the doorway, looking out over the crowd as if he was looking for someone. But the strange thing I noticed was that when he opened the door, 3-5 people would go inside behind him. Aha! I'd found my opening. So I moved in among the gathered throng, now 20 or so people. I somewhat assertively moved up toward the front until I was a row or two behind a few people closest to the door. Sure enough, the door eventually reopened, and the guard took his usual stance, looking for his imaginary friend, while a few of his new, closest friends came up to him and walked past. But what I noticed was that they were slipping money into his shirt pocket. So I fished into my pocket found a crumpled ten and a five, stuffed them in his pocket to see whether I too could be one of his newest bestest BFFs. He looked down at his pocket somewhat quizzically and I quickly slipped past him and ran as fast as I could. I was IN! Eventually I found a place to sit high in the left field stands in between a few seats where there was a narrow opening. Around the 7th or 8th inning, I got up and wandered over to where Jim had tickets through work, about 3 rows back of the very front rail of the upper deck, right behind home plate, which is when <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uR_SLHpa0wc">this</a> happened. Jim and I then proceeded to go outside, walk the 3.7 miles from the stadium to City Hall and then back to the stadium, high-fiving any and everyone along the mass celebration that ensued. Jim then got in his car and came home, while I decided to walk back to City Hall and then down to 4th and Arch where my friends Terry and Denise Lefton let me stay the night in their beautiful apartment overlooking the Friends Meeting House.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">22 - Accounting class. Zzzzz!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">23 - Islanders - Flyers</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">24 - Went to see the Robert Redford movie Brubaker - not sure with whom, maybe Beth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">25 - Nothing!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">26 - Chicago Bears at the Eagles</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">27 - Nothing again!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">28 - Calgary Flames - Flyers</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">29 - Accounting exam</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">30 - NY Rangers - Flyers</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nov 1 - Melody and Steve Evans wedding</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So there it is - quite a month and fuel for lots of stories to share the rest of my life. I'll also add that besides working for the Flyers and as a caseworker, I was also delivering the Evening Bulletin Fridays - Sundays (sharing a route with Martin Bradfield, who did the first 4 days of the week) and also was working as a census quality control enumerator. Somehow nothing involving those two jobs were worth noting on this little slip took place this month. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-21722632015183840692022-11-01T18:05:00.012-04:002022-11-01T18:26:17.794-04:00David Brooks and me<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal">After being harangued for months by avid reader Becca (and
by “harangued”, I mean she casually mentioned it once in a comment a few months
ago, but hey - I'm a too sensitive guy - that surely constitutes a harangue in Jamie World), I am finally willing to share the story of how David Brooks, the NY Times
columnist, tried to have me thrown out of the 2012 Democratic National
Convention (DNC).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p><span face="Calibri, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">(Spoiler – there is nothing in the story that
follows that will match the scenario playing in your head that likely looks
like </span><a href="https://images.app.goo.gl/PhqtixpaaiPhtSZT7">this</a>. I'm sorry - I have no idea how to link to GIFs properly. Or even how to pronounce GIF.)<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">So, here’s the back story. Cheryl got a call in early 2012
asking her if, based on her level of participation and hard work on behalf of
the Obama campaign, she would like to be a delegate to the DNC coming up in
Charlotte (NC, not VT). <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Being a delegate to the DNC had been a goal of mine since I
was in 10th or so grade and had seen a young hippie-like individual interviewed
on the Today show who had hitchhiked all the way to the convention just to
fulfill his duties as a delegate. So, while envious, I was also thrilled for
Cheryl who clearly deserved it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">And since Cheryl was going, I looked into seeing whether I
could volunteer in such a way that I could actually be inside the building to
hear the speeches as well. And that’s exactly what happened.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">There were going to be three nights they needed us: Tuesday,
Wednesday and Thursday. There was no guarantee that we would be in a
location where we could see the speeches, but we were told that no matter where
we were put first, we’d be rotated around to make sure everyone had a chance to
be inside the actual arena where the action was to be. But we – about 50-75 of
us - were to follow our supervisor around the building and take whatever
assignment we were given. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We started at the bottom of the
steps leading into the arena just inside this entrance to the left of the 2012 sign:<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3PcoGuVYB9lBbLdbiarLxyw4rjIQ1sh-3u4D5KQ158q3vcA7nSlWYRmittabzXkonfjxtfQLZXFpkc1c9qDHQxuT4MeNamjvHLCkrGlyyttJhhqeT4fYQZ2FF0LXWDtKhEDVJxpknHUJ7fM7zTCArAiryNnKtH5CHwBjOVR1K84sei_uXSwBM55oF" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh3PcoGuVYB9lBbLdbiarLxyw4rjIQ1sh-3u4D5KQ158q3vcA7nSlWYRmittabzXkonfjxtfQLZXFpkc1c9qDHQxuT4MeNamjvHLCkrGlyyttJhhqeT4fYQZ2FF0LXWDtKhEDVJxpknHUJ7fM7zTCArAiryNnKtH5CHwBjOVR1K84sei_uXSwBM55oF" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">…and I noticed that the supervisor took the person closest
to him and placed them right there inside that door, and then the next closest
person halfway up the steps, etc at which point I realized that I would be
best served hanging well back until I saw people getting the spots inside.<o:p></o:p></p><p>
<span face=""Calibri",sans-serif" style="line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Sure enough, after 10-20 people had been placed
in hallways and such, I saw it was time to make my move. Kinda like </span><a href="https://twitter.com/i/status/1587241002829496327">this guy</a>.</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">So I moved to the front and soon found myself with a sweet
gig working as an usher in the executive box at the top of the lower level of
the arena, and had an amazing view of the speeches that night, Michelle Obama
being the most memorable. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This was my view<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuFyiJr6u7JTsSe-4H0ovZlaeuvJ95RHyIizLQ2q7Ut6E02etaJjxfkbNaXRsNXUDz5vFEP-k01b7kELfW2x5IBXuOmYT2Yl8BQpA3KpzQdIOoW52K1scJGIn2OIVbZL3LkzuH80ciikMhcxelLnN6z56jZE6nrfzRdnBD-fjbkeBw4h5qEBng6cEy" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhuFyiJr6u7JTsSe-4H0ovZlaeuvJ95RHyIizLQ2q7Ut6E02etaJjxfkbNaXRsNXUDz5vFEP-k01b7kELfW2x5IBXuOmYT2Yl8BQpA3KpzQdIOoW52K1scJGIn2OIVbZL3LkzuH80ciikMhcxelLnN6z56jZE6nrfzRdnBD-fjbkeBw4h5qEBng6cEy" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">And true confession – every time I saw a supervisor walk
into the suite looking for us, ostensibly to rotate us out, I either ran into
the bathroom or left the suite for 5 minutes or so until I was sure they were
gone.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, karma being what it is, the next night I was
specifically given a spot in front of the doors to the media center. This was my view:</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhsE8LJiDaScj_O8ERTk7xiLrOK9AIo9NbVYLLF965ZAQ-YFxyXkS4OBfJJj_54sLARvurWQzWASx-KEz1xOcaFZzwP93cD6mpmx-5o09L-0NKYL6R-ZO0v7HHyb6UQl0jZI3mjbLDxQ2ya88ahyNhMrH0YjznI3LUJUUtv62FDnldtiL-nXUBCvss" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhsE8LJiDaScj_O8ERTk7xiLrOK9AIo9NbVYLLF965ZAQ-YFxyXkS4OBfJJj_54sLARvurWQzWASx-KEz1xOcaFZzwP93cD6mpmx-5o09L-0NKYL6R-ZO0v7HHyb6UQl0jZI3mjbLDxQ2ya88ahyNhMrH0YjznI3LUJUUtv62FDnldtiL-nXUBCvss" width="180" /></a></div><br />I was inside the
building but on the outside of the concourse. There was also someone official there
checking credentials, and even though I was paired with another volunteer, we
had no apparent responsibilities.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So we just kind of stood there, looking for any media-types
we recognized, and since the room was dominated by the
ink-stained-wretch-types (newspaper reporters), as opposed to talking head TV-types, we had no idea
who any of them were. That is until I spotted one familiar face walking toward
the room. Was it? Yes! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This guy:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhg7OVTgwrFZRR3RvXQCwA__JsGWMbX72xahY9RJ4_8XE3nJpA0m4WIHCSd0--FNgupldyXyRnuX-Pl_XDxaMhQnZLAVzywLGjJ0uVboPmEz-D45ZOZE8B5-n1SMs-peL57YUEGj-jb1MvyvNR3LS1iDQzUkrafMgBzAFewIeGQjtWfCRkw5Q99liwh" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhg7OVTgwrFZRR3RvXQCwA__JsGWMbX72xahY9RJ4_8XE3nJpA0m4WIHCSd0--FNgupldyXyRnuX-Pl_XDxaMhQnZLAVzywLGjJ0uVboPmEz-D45ZOZE8B5-n1SMs-peL57YUEGj-jb1MvyvNR3LS1iDQzUkrafMgBzAFewIeGQjtWfCRkw5Q99liwh" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So with that moment of breath-exhuming excitement behind me, I turned to my volunteer compadre and told him that at some point, I was probably going to take a break, go for a walk and might not be (read: definitely had no intention of) returning.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, maybe 20 minutes went by before some official
rent-a-cop-sorta guy strode all official-like toward me and told me he was
there to escort me out of the building, sorta like <a href="https://images.app.goo.gl/hpWK1uG5yZp6GALC8">this</a>. Stunned, and upset I hadn’t gone for my
“walk” already, I asked why. At first he wasn’t going to tell me, only saying
that I had broken mandated protocols or some such. So I pressed, completely
confused and wondering what I’d done, he finally confided that some unnamed media member
had complained that I had taken his picture and that it was expressly against
the rules. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, after much pleading, begging and emoting, I convinced
him that I had never been told of any such rule and that I would never even
think to do it again. To my surprise and relief, he let me go.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And predictably, as soon as he was out of sight, I went inside the media center, found the aforementioned Mr. Brooks, told him he was a diva and punched him squarely in
the nose…in my fantasy. In actuality, I turned to my erstwhile buddy and told
him I was going for my walk, at which point, I texted Cheryl to find out where
she was sitting and soon joined her</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0fXPfnWYPv-6BiyhcC-PweN_cNFyY97wWjrVHbPtqutmWWTTPvVp6ybPYS3bEVSR8qApzRGTCLTeO5TupNYrlOE8rhcfdWy1eMYBgeycyE6y7RORqcOJRQ0Rp8dvXJCY03-J1diqzVbG8cLbHi2NZmGcXuzLr7kOATc8Q5k8OUsmMQ4vgx--xp3gg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj0fXPfnWYPv-6BiyhcC-PweN_cNFyY97wWjrVHbPtqutmWWTTPvVp6ybPYS3bEVSR8qApzRGTCLTeO5TupNYrlOE8rhcfdWy1eMYBgeycyE6y7RORqcOJRQ0Rp8dvXJCY03-J1diqzVbG8cLbHi2NZmGcXuzLr7kOATc8Q5k8OUsmMQ4vgx--xp3gg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> for a night of amazing speeches, including
by this guy – The Secretary of ‘Splainin’ Things:<o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLRpG251QT4CvpBxdX6ToaYbllNsBOk2skkuTSHUkHz7fBUEf_AZfZ4zR31IHmmshIzHoAA-6vfcS6MVU_3X4kawpsMjooI_Xs5sxJ48v1GQ6rpP9sRj0HR0TTMnTmvJy3eG46HmbWvmJBMXxa_xUJv9n3_nuw1vucdx_q2FDk_U58OYX5dXrhPjTF" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhLRpG251QT4CvpBxdX6ToaYbllNsBOk2skkuTSHUkHz7fBUEf_AZfZ4zR31IHmmshIzHoAA-6vfcS6MVU_3X4kawpsMjooI_Xs5sxJ48v1GQ6rpP9sRj0HR0TTMnTmvJy3eG46HmbWvmJBMXxa_xUJv9n3_nuw1vucdx_q2FDk_U58OYX5dXrhPjTF" width="320" /></a></div><br />And then, ten years and 2 months later, I told the tale to you guys!<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">And one bonus pic - me pretending to stop to check my phone for messages on national television:</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKIPU0HTKWnvAUuelvF2lnVS4OjOXPLrY5Sp1q7wDTBePBeYA1j3yfVMUpoA5IlKWdyKp1dQIlXJrwzvGDaGDcGpuIcPYTLx6xf0ZK0GapzRY0snRsTM1gDxuyYENgKEyL5CXMUwui66W8oyIF5Hj86w7G57LB7SQRDegAZrkgjpE3Uksj2yBozjQ7" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKIPU0HTKWnvAUuelvF2lnVS4OjOXPLrY5Sp1q7wDTBePBeYA1j3yfVMUpoA5IlKWdyKp1dQIlXJrwzvGDaGDcGpuIcPYTLx6xf0ZK0GapzRY0snRsTM1gDxuyYENgKEyL5CXMUwui66W8oyIF5Hj86w7G57LB7SQRDegAZrkgjpE3Uksj2yBozjQ7" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-49771005784255019252022-10-06T21:48:00.000-04:002022-10-06T21:48:53.825-04:00<p class="MsoNormal">No one asked or possibly cares, but here's my view from our
couch:<br />
<br />
- Hunter Biden and Donald Trump should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of
the law. And as quickly as possible.<br />
<br />
- It's no coincidence that (Joe) Biden announced pardons for marijuana
possession on the same day leaks appeared about charges being considered
against his son.<br />
<br />
- Joe Biden is doing a great job...and in 2024...should give his full support
to someone/anyone else...other than Kamala Harris. Even Bernie or Pete, but I
gotta believe we can do better.<br />
<br />
- Flying immigrants to Martha's Vineyard is a win-win, as long as those being
flown are told the truth.<br />
<br />
- I haven't heard a cogent argument for how trillions spent on either war or
the space program are better uses of tax dollars than improving our schools.<br />
<br />
- Teachers are badly underpaid. Our goal should be to have our brightest minds
want to teach, not work for Wall Street or Madison Avenue or as defense
contractors.<br />
<br />
- Tenure should be banned.<br />
<br />
- Corporations are doing all they can to make unions popular again, even with
me.<br />
<br />
- I try to avoid cliches like the plague. At all costs. Like my life depends on
it. Literally.<br />
<br />
- On 90% of the issues, Republicans and Democrats want the same results. We
just have different approaches to achieving those results.<br />
<br />
- I'd rather talk with someone I disagree with politically than someone with
whom I agree...as long as they can speak rationally and listen as carefully as
I try to.<br />
<br />
- It's okay to be against abortion, regardless of the reason. And just as okay to
be able to get one in the most dire of circumstances.<br />
<br />
- In most cases the impregnator's opinion should be taken into account as well.
(I'm not sure why I never hear anyone else say that so I am likely misguided.)<br />
<br />
- The Phillies have a better-than-acknowledged (but less than 25%) chance to
win the World Series, and will have an even better chance next year with Andrew
Painter in the rotation and Trea Turner leading off and playing shortstop. And
hopefully, finally, a reliable closer.<br />
<br />
- The Eagles can win the Super Bowl this year, but they won't. This is the
Bills' year.<br />
<br />
- The Sixers can win the NBA Championship, but they won't. If they are healthy
next April/May/June, they should at minimum be favored to go to the finals
though.<br />
<br />
- Undefeated (so far) Penn State won't get into the championship playoff even
if they beat either Ohio State or Michigan, which are both unlikely. <br />
<br />
- The Flyers really aren't even worth watching. I'd rather they just get a top
5 pick in the next draft. Of course, I don't think hockey in general is worth
watching...even though I played weekly until a few years ago and worked for the
Flyers for over 20 years.<br />
<br />The only opinion here that everyone will agree with is that no one will
agree on all the opinions above!<br /></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-11745235865523097172022-09-15T22:28:00.000-04:002022-09-15T22:28:11.192-04:00More boring baseball stuff<p>Two more stories shared with my baseball buddies I thought worthy of including here:</p><p>- <span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">When the Phils moved to the Vet in 1971, i was a 14 year old and used to wait with my buddies outside the clubhouse where the players would walk to their team bus for the ride back to the hotel. I got autographs from Roberto Clemente, Willie Mays, most of the Big Red Machine, but the nicest person I ever met in that process was Fergie Jenkins (by far) and the biggest a**hole, by far, was Bob Gibson. Only reason Hank Aaron wouldn't give me an autograph was because the little 3' x 3" scrap of paper was too hard for him to write on. I told him that one of his teammates had signed it with no problem: "Ralph Garr signed it. Aren't you as good as him?!" Didn't work.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">- </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">In honor of Roberto Clemente Day, and because my team is so far out of it, the price you guys have to pay is all these posts regarding the Dark Ages of baseball, I'll say that the 4 most impressive home runs I've ever seen hit were by:</span></p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Roberto Clemente at the Vet - a bolt to left center field, circa 1970</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Hard-hittin' Mark Whiten - 1994 - upper deck at 3 Rivers in Pittsburgh</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Richie Allen at Connie Mack off Bob Veale out of the stadium in 1969</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Aaron Judge at Yankee Stadium 2021 - a shot to CF that appeared to still be rising as it disappeared into the night</span><div><span style="font-family: Google Sans, Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Google Sans, Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></span><p><br /></p></div>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-57765038960563490692022-09-12T21:19:00.000-04:002022-09-12T21:19:15.049-04:00A random discussion of baseball stadiums (OK, stadia) we've been to, came up recently among my baseball fantasy league buddies, and I suggested we list the ones we've been to that don't exist anymore, and when I gave the list, the only response was from one of the younger members telling me I was showing my age. <div><br /></div><div>Anyway, here it is:</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Candlestick Park</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Kingdome (Seattle)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Baltimore Memorial Stadium</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The Vet (Philly!)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Connie Mack (Also Philly)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Shea Stadium</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Comisky (Chicago)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Tiger Stadium (Detroit)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Riverfront (Cincinnati)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Three Rivers (PIttsburgh)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">District of Columbia (RFK) Stadium</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Cleveland Municipal</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Milwaukee County Stadium</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Exhibition Stadium (Toronto)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">and the (Houston) Astrodome</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I might as well list current ones too:</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Fenway (Boston)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Wrigley (Chicago)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Yankee Stadium</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Citizen's Bank Park</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Angel Stadium (Anaheim, CA)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Guaranteed Rate Field (Chicago)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Kauffman Stadium (Kansas City)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Camden Yards (Baltimore)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">PNC Park (Pittsburgh)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Ring Central (?) (Oakland)</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I've also been to hockey games in Philly (3 places, including the Convention Center for the Blazers), Long Island, Manhattan (MSG), Cherry Hill NJ, Meadowlands (NJ), Calgary, Boston, Montreal, Washington, Pittsburgh</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Football at Franklin Field, the Vet and Lincoln Financial - all in Philly and the Meadowlands</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">NBA in Philly, Indiana and the Meadowlands </span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "Google Sans", Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></div>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4687567227556272837.post-42313118106141883132022-07-11T21:15:00.001-04:002022-07-11T21:15:14.607-04:00your name here!<p> </p><p style="text-align: center;">I should almost start a new thread called </p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>Random Retirement Ramblings</b>. </p><p style="text-align: center;">Here are three:</p><p>1 - Would you want to know if someone is having sexual fantasies about you? </p><p><span> </span><span> </span>Are you sure? Part of me would (guess which part), but the rest of me would not. </p><p>2 - The coolest email address: yourname@gmail.com. </p><p>Rando Dude: "What's your email address?"</p><p>Me: "It's yourname@gmail.com"</p><p>Rando: (Looks up, stares) MY name?</p><p>Me: No. Yourname.</p><p>Rando: "Wait...your email address is my name?"</p><p>Me: "No, it's yourname."</p><p>Rando: "So your email address is randodude@gmail.com?"</p><p>Me: "What? No, it's yourname@gmail.com."</p><p>Me: (Gets punched.)</p><p>3 - I forget the third one. Which is perfect for a retired senior f-ing citizen, which I was just called last week for the first time ever, to my immediate alarm and despondence. (Wow - turns out "despondence" is an actual word. I hate it when I try to make up words and it turns out they are actual words, like shenaniganry. At least I still have skidaddalize and reconstabulate going for me,<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBWcRqPesws"> which is nice</a>.)</p><p>Oh Joy - I remembered! But upon further review, it didn't make sense, so never you mind. It was about how out of touch people who are passionate about something are. But then I remembered how much I love passionate people. And passion in general. But there sure is a tipping point. The fine line between passion and obsession.</p><p>And why is the line always a fine one? Can't it be a fat line? Or a coarse one?</p><p>Enough with the R-cubed.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Jamie McVickarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16590127542551603241noreply@blogger.com0