the sloppy copy

When I sit on the couch, or on a chair, or on the floor, I immediately look for a pillow to put in my lap. Why? I do not know. 

I also did not know this predisposition toward accent pillows was genetic until I came across my dad, sitting in his chair, casually watching TV, a pillow held tight against hisself. 

I think my brother does it too. Weird, all of us. So weird.

But that’s not why I’m posting. This is why:
I am currently semi-engaged in a semi-fruitless Job Hunt. I say “semi-engaged” because I’m still not 100% sure what type of job I’d actually do well and I say “semi-fruitless” because I’ve at least had one interview thus far (though I apparently won’t find out one way or the other “for a few weeks” which I find incredibly distressing).

As part of this semi-engagement in Job Hunting, I spend a substantial portion of my day nose-deep in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch classifieds and point-and-clicking higheredjobs.com, studentaffairs.com, monster.com, and yes–even Craigslist.

Oh, Craigslist. How did you come to be one of the focal points of my existence? Perhaps it began when someone began sending me links to particularly interesting Missed Connections, or when a friend jokingly suggested I look for a Casual Encounter. Perhaps it began when I decided that I wanted to move back to St. Louis, so I hit up the Apts/Housing page with gusto. Regardless, I am now reluctant to admit that the majority of my online browsing is on this site. Heaven help me, I’m now able to pick out some Repeat Posters in, well, all of these categories…and more.

But it’s not been all dick shots (NEVER click on any kind of personal ad that has a picture attached) and $50 Rooms-for-Rent (I’ve seen the same “apartment” listed in several different areas of the city, with different features, for different prices). Nay, Gentle Reader, there are some hypothetically more useful uses.

“Jobs” and “Gigs” has given me a few solid leads. I mean, nothing that I’ve actually, you know, followed up on… (irrelevance!). Anyway, a few months ago, I came across an ad wanting St. Louis Cardinals bloggers. “Hey!” I thought. “I like to blog, and I like the Cardinals! What could possibly be un-right about this arrangement?” 

But, as I thought more about it, I realized that my Cardinals knowledge is less encyclopaedic and more trivial. I’m less play-by-play and more color commentary. My input would be highly niche, less–oh–we’ll call it “mainstream,” because “readable” makes me feel shittily. While some might enjoy reading what I have to say, I’d venture a guess that most…wouldn’t. Your typical, sports-news-reading Business Guy, sipping his crappy Office Coffee and working on his standard Office Computer would hastily discard my writings in favor of something more satisfying. Lesser bloggers might now construct a simile comparing this to their failed romantic liaisons, but I’d like to think I’m above that. Er. Ahem.

Aaaanyway, here are some thoughts that have been stewing in my brain for awhile, and these are the types of musings that I’d be likely to produce, had the skies parted to reveal dudes riding horses and someone actually wanted me to write about my Cards–unedited, in its rawest form (so please forgive its all-over-the-place tangents and overall quality):

As the kind of person who constantly deconstructs the goings-on around her and imagines how they would be written into your standard television pilot and/or independent film, I find Cardinals shortstop-come-third baseman Khalil Greene to be absolutely fascinating. I admit that my interest pre- Meltdown (hush, now, everyone else was thinking it) was confined strictly to his hair. Namely, it’s apparent texture: does it really grow like that, angrily poking down from his hat at perfect straight angles as he runs the bases? Does he straighten it in some sort of metrosexual pre-game ritual? Is that his natural color? Or does it break off in shards if you touch it because it’s been bleached near-to-death? 

At the beginning of this season, I was living in Tulsa, and admittedly, it took a bit more effort to keep up with my beloved Home Team. By May, I was engrossed in my move back to St. Louis, land that I love, and sort of drifted away from my daily Cardinals Watch. 

So when I made my triumphant return to the 314, I was surprised to read that the DL on which Greene’s name appeared was the MLB Disabled List (and not a nod to what I assumed were his metro- tendencies) and that he’d been taken out of commission due to anxiety-related performance issues (Oh…that sounded…bad). I was immediately re-intrigued, because this sort of shit just doesn’t go down in the Major Leagues, at least, not publically. 

In the realm of cinema, the mental (and physical) anguish of the professional athlete is All Teh Rage. From Will Ferrell’s overly cartoonized Ricky Bobby to James Caan’s gnash-your-teeth-and-wail-with-grief portrayal of Brian Piccolo, audiences absolutely flock to see this drama portrayed on-screen. See, we’ve been assuming (some would say “with hope”) that these things are true (Well, Piccolo’s story was… perhaps that was a bad example), but the hush-hush, let’s keep the Image mentality of pro sports only lets the casual spectator peer so deep into this freaky little world. 

Side note: Did I mention that there was a brief period when I wanted to go into sports psychology? Worth mentioning now.

So the fact that the media was tossing around the term Social Anxiety Disorder in reference to Greene was amazing to me becaaaaaaause…

My Dad and I have been talking for quite some time about the sissification of Major League Baseball. Players are added to the Disabled List for itty-bitty boo-boos left and right, almost without shame (while, I might add, NHL’ers receive stitches and IV infusions during shift changes and hop back out onto the ice ten minutes later). So does this decidedly un-physical explanation for a player’s absence mean that it’s becoming more acceptable to take oneself out of commission for a spell?  

becaaaaaaaause

I have always secretly suspected that some of these miscellaneous “injuries” were covers for other non-physical “issues.” Really, dude? You have a blister on your non-throwing hand so you need 15 days to recover? Riiiiiiight. This doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’re batting .103 does it? You make sure that blister has plenty of time to heal, pal. Take all the time you need.

What I’m trying to long-windedly say is this: What I assume was once pretty taboo has been plastered all over the sports pages, hyperlinked all over the internet, and spoken (sometime tentatively, I feel) all across the airwaves. 

And if Greene’s brief disappearance wasn’t enough to lure out the type of fans who are solely drawn to the Human Interest story, his comeback should have them crashing in waves along Clark Street downtown: three games in, and a home run in each. Seen laughing and smiling in the dugout. Giving heartfelt radio interviews. I mean, c’mon. They’re shoveling these images in faster than the press can feed it to them! 

In just a few days, what was once a moderately-interesting character (word choice intentional) on whom Tony LaRussa pinned hopes in the mid-to-upper range (clean up hitter? Shortstop with a Big Bat?) has surely become a mini-sensation among the female (and more than a few male) fans. 

The attention he must be receiving–both in front of and behind the scenes–must be intense. He is the Tragic Hero of our cinematic fantasies in the flesh. Oh, and if this wounded-bird-with-a-kick-ass-comeback story wasn’t enough, please do yourself a favor and Wikipedia him. And please pay especial attention to the final paragraph. I’ll wait here while you do so.

waitingwaitingwaitingwaiting.

So…yeah! Baha’i? Hip-hop lyrics? The ladies must be literally magnetized to this guy. 

What a film-in-the-making!

And what a blog.