About once a week I get a phone call from someone trying to reach the post office. Typically they blow past my “Nice Hedge Fund, Jackie speaking” greeting, none of which sounds like “post office” really, and launch into their sob story about how they filed for address forwarding but it’s been weeks and they still haven’t received their mail and what am I going to do about it? If I can get a word in edgewise I try to explain that, no, this is a private office and not the post office, but sometimes callers rant for twenty seconds before I can tell them they have the wrong number. Really, it’s like I’m doing everyone a favor: the caller gets to bitch about the unreliability of the postal service to someone who isn’t going to take personal offence to their slander, and then when they finally reach the person who can help them they’ve calmed down a bit. And also, the calls tend to be the most entertaining I get all week.
R and I celebrated his birthday yesterday with a nice sushi dinner uptown followed by a slice of cake like something out of a six-year-old’s dessert fantasy: part chocolate mousse, part brownie, and part cheesecake, drizzled with caramel, and topped with rainbow sprinkles and walnuts. All it was missing in this cake’s quest for perfection were Oreo cookies and a maraschino cherry on top. I had given him his present – a dartboard – early so we could hang it and play with it over the weekend. It was a low-key kind of night, but we had a good time together devouring that cake.
Then I went and invited him to Thanksgiving dinner.
We were talking about how our families celebrate the greatest holiday of the year (an entire day devoted to EATING!) and while I gushed about MomOh’s cooking and the fun/crazy energy that emanates from family gatherings on her side, he said that he doesn’t really like Thanksgiving now that his sister and brother go to their in-law’s.
Okay, don’t misunderstand me: R is completely qualified for Take Home to Mom and Dad Status and overall a wonderful addition to my life. But as soon as the words were out of my mouth I remembered that what my family thinks of as “fun” and “crazy” can also be considered “overwhelming” and “self-referential” by outsiders and newcomers. Nothing is definite (he said he’d think about it) and I’d be very happy if he came with me, but this is one of those situations that will either be a lot of fun or a complete disaster. This Friday he'll get a little introduction to the family with the Queen of Crazy: Aunt C and her husband will be in town for the opera and are taking us out to dinner, so that should be an interesting prelude.
My lovely little Midtown apartment is having a mouse problem. An aggressive mouse problem - the little fucker ate through a ziplock bag and helped himself to a batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. I've heard him scamper through the walls occasionally in the past and generally ignored it, assuming he was just passing through, but the cookie incident was just too much. My leasing company is useless, so I hired an exterminator (which I keep accidentally calling a Terminator, but that's cooler anyway) to kill the mouse. The Terminator was, as one might imagine, quite the character. He moonlights as a bouncer at various clubs I've never heard of, and wasn't shy about showing off his stab wounds. Really. Then, when he was putting down the traps in my bedroom (which looks like my closet exploded), he offered to "come over and help me clean sometime" and pointed out a stray thong that had missed my laundry basket ("sexy"). Sure thing, creepy Terminator, I'll be sure to request your service if this round of baiting doesn't do the trick. Now my lovely apartment is littered with little cardboard box traps and smells vaguely like peanut butter. Gross.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
There Is a Handbook, Right?
Nice Hedge Fund has a new receptionist. She is friendly if a bit overzealous and perhaps suffering from a mild case of alopecia, but she seems perfectly capable of answering the phone and assigning my meetings to conference rooms and that’s really all I care about. Also, she studies Numerology.
According to her (and my birth date), I’m a One and that makes me a leader with a strong drive for success, a creative thinker with a rapid mind, and given to frustration when things are not developing as rapidly as I would like (read: impatient). Well, duh, numbers! The planets and stars and plain old hanging out with me could have told you that. But wait, there’s more. New Receptionist told me that 2007 is a development year for me, full of new beginnings. Sure, I’ll give you that – new job, new roommate, new boyfriend, new friends, new sport, etc. Then she asked, “Are you engaged?” See, according to Numerology, 2008 is a Two year for me, during which I’m supposed to get married. So let’s get cracking on this, Numbers, ok? Because if I’m getting married any time soon let me know so I can, like, stop eating burgers and start getting facials or whatever brides-to-be do to prep for The Big Day. I’m assuming there will be a handbook included with that diamond ring.
Be so proud of me! I’ve been working diligently on my grad school applications all week (and concurrently ignoring work completely). I requested letters of recommendation, downloaded forms, started to fill some applications online, and made a chart of due dates. Also, fuck, applying to school is expensive! One has to seriously consider the futility of paying a hundred bucks to apply for a program that accepts FOUR students a year. It seems Jackie’s Laser Hair Removal Fund will now be redirected to Jackie’s Applying to Grad School Fund. The real question is: with which would I be most satisfied in ten years? On second thought, let’s not go there.
Happy Friday, lovers. It’s raining, it’s pouring, I’d rather be snoring, but instead I’m leaving work early and going to the gym.
According to her (and my birth date), I’m a One and that makes me a leader with a strong drive for success, a creative thinker with a rapid mind, and given to frustration when things are not developing as rapidly as I would like (read: impatient). Well, duh, numbers! The planets and stars and plain old hanging out with me could have told you that. But wait, there’s more. New Receptionist told me that 2007 is a development year for me, full of new beginnings. Sure, I’ll give you that – new job, new roommate, new boyfriend, new friends, new sport, etc. Then she asked, “Are you engaged?” See, according to Numerology, 2008 is a Two year for me, during which I’m supposed to get married. So let’s get cracking on this, Numbers, ok? Because if I’m getting married any time soon let me know so I can, like, stop eating burgers and start getting facials or whatever brides-to-be do to prep for The Big Day. I’m assuming there will be a handbook included with that diamond ring.
Be so proud of me! I’ve been working diligently on my grad school applications all week (and concurrently ignoring work completely). I requested letters of recommendation, downloaded forms, started to fill some applications online, and made a chart of due dates. Also, fuck, applying to school is expensive! One has to seriously consider the futility of paying a hundred bucks to apply for a program that accepts FOUR students a year. It seems Jackie’s Laser Hair Removal Fund will now be redirected to Jackie’s Applying to Grad School Fund. The real question is: with which would I be most satisfied in ten years? On second thought, let’s not go there.
Happy Friday, lovers. It’s raining, it’s pouring, I’d rather be snoring, but instead I’m leaving work early and going to the gym.
Monday, October 15, 2007
On The Bright Side: No Flat Tires!
Tired doesn’t begin to describe how I felt last night. Or today, for that matter. My fuel gauge is pretty solidly sunk on E, although I have faith that the cheesecake I ordered with lunch and a handful of Emergen-C packets will get me through the day.
What a great weekend! I’m bruised, bloodied, and sore, but I survived the MS Century Ride yesterday mostly in one piece, thanks to Cycling Friend A’s help and encouragement. Around mile 75, after being on the bike for nearly 6 hours, I wanted to curl up on the side of 9W and take a little nap, but she kept me going to the whole way. It was definitely one of the toughest physical activities I’ve ever encountered – and I can’t wait to try another one!
Of course I couldn’t get through that many miles without falling – with my track record, the odds are clearly against me. I caught A’s back wheel on a tough climb around mile 55 and took a tumble. Thankfully I was going at such a low speed that I didn’t get too hurt, but I shredded one of my gloves, the road rash on my stomach and elbow hurts like hell in the shower, and the bruise on my left hip/leg some kind of awesome. If it weren’t on such a scandalously high place on my leg, I’d be showing it off around the office right now.
As if that wasn’t quite enough, I clinched the title of Queen of the Klutzes yesterday when making my grand entrance to City Sports, the kids track program I coach on Sundays. A and I were running late and pedaling as hard as our tired little legs could take us across the George Washington Bridge to get there on time. We arrived with minutes to spare, quickly threw on our coaches tshirts over our sweaty bike gear and hurried over to the group. So there I was, smelly and starving but so happy to have finished the ride and made it to coaching on time. I was excitedly running towards the big group of stretching kids while all of their parents looked on from the stands above when suddenly THUD! There I was, sprawled out on the ground, now thoroughly hurting everywhere and kind of in shock. In my haste I had tripped over the metal ledge that separates the track from the infield and went flying into the air, cartoon-style. Parents were applauding. Kids were laughing. Coaches were laughing. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I sort of did both as Coach JC helped me up. It was really the crowning achievement in my Klutz Career. So technically we could add “bruise and scrape on left leg” to my list of MS Ride-related injuries, though I only have my own clumsiness to blame. I'm a mess.
It was very quiet around Nice Hedge Fund today. Easy has Jury Duty, Easier is in Croatia to run a marathon (I know, he’s my hero), Easiest is practically non-existent, and JDate is self-sufficient. It was also a good eating day. Besides my delicious sandwich and cheesecake lunch, I also ate half a dozen cookies that were left over from someone’s meeting. Mmm cookies. Restricted list, my ass, I earned them yesterday. Maybe after I get another century ride under my belt I can reintroduce bagels to my diet. Maybe.
What a great weekend! I’m bruised, bloodied, and sore, but I survived the MS Century Ride yesterday mostly in one piece, thanks to Cycling Friend A’s help and encouragement. Around mile 75, after being on the bike for nearly 6 hours, I wanted to curl up on the side of 9W and take a little nap, but she kept me going to the whole way. It was definitely one of the toughest physical activities I’ve ever encountered – and I can’t wait to try another one!
Of course I couldn’t get through that many miles without falling – with my track record, the odds are clearly against me. I caught A’s back wheel on a tough climb around mile 55 and took a tumble. Thankfully I was going at such a low speed that I didn’t get too hurt, but I shredded one of my gloves, the road rash on my stomach and elbow hurts like hell in the shower, and the bruise on my left hip/leg some kind of awesome. If it weren’t on such a scandalously high place on my leg, I’d be showing it off around the office right now.
As if that wasn’t quite enough, I clinched the title of Queen of the Klutzes yesterday when making my grand entrance to City Sports, the kids track program I coach on Sundays. A and I were running late and pedaling as hard as our tired little legs could take us across the George Washington Bridge to get there on time. We arrived with minutes to spare, quickly threw on our coaches tshirts over our sweaty bike gear and hurried over to the group. So there I was, smelly and starving but so happy to have finished the ride and made it to coaching on time. I was excitedly running towards the big group of stretching kids while all of their parents looked on from the stands above when suddenly THUD! There I was, sprawled out on the ground, now thoroughly hurting everywhere and kind of in shock. In my haste I had tripped over the metal ledge that separates the track from the infield and went flying into the air, cartoon-style. Parents were applauding. Kids were laughing. Coaches were laughing. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I sort of did both as Coach JC helped me up. It was really the crowning achievement in my Klutz Career. So technically we could add “bruise and scrape on left leg” to my list of MS Ride-related injuries, though I only have my own clumsiness to blame. I'm a mess.
It was very quiet around Nice Hedge Fund today. Easy has Jury Duty, Easier is in Croatia to run a marathon (I know, he’s my hero), Easiest is practically non-existent, and JDate is self-sufficient. It was also a good eating day. Besides my delicious sandwich and cheesecake lunch, I also ate half a dozen cookies that were left over from someone’s meeting. Mmm cookies. Restricted list, my ass, I earned them yesterday. Maybe after I get another century ride under my belt I can reintroduce bagels to my diet. Maybe.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Quiet Down, I Have a Surnouncement!
Of course, on the one day that I completely oversleep it’s actually busy here at Nice Hedge Fund. I’m scheduling car services, setting up meetings, refilling staplers…riveting, I know. My job is about 30% phone coverage, 10% meeting coordination, 8% random bullshit for Easy and 52% sitting around looking pretty – but without showering this morning, that last part might be a bit out of reach. Also, I’m wearing a white argyle sweater that I ALWAYS spill something on. Not that that really distinguishes it from my other clothes, but you know how there are just some items that seem to attract stains? Like my light blue sweater whose sleeves contain several unforgivable stains including red wine and Sharpie. I ordered tomato cheddar soup for lunch – we’ll see how many bites I can get through before I’m wearing it.
Last night R and I went to an informal wine tasting at a bar near my apartment. The theme was Wine & Chocolate so I imagined each station would have accompanying chocolate pairings, but that wasn’t really the case. It was more like, here is a lot of wine, and, oh right, over there in the corner is some chocolate. One of the “desserts” that R bit into turned out to be a jalapeño popper topped with chocolate sauce that surely must have been a mistake but after that culinary horror we focused mainly on getting drunk. There was quite a showing of dessert wines (most of which I hated), some delicious champagnes, and a memorable pinot noir. When it comes to my palette, R jokes that I have the taste buds of a 12-year-old because I’m disinclined to such “adult” tastes as coffee and asparagus. I do love any food item that could be found on a kid’s menu (grilled cheese, burgers, ice cream…) but of course I’ll never concede to his point. He likes to play the game Guess If Jackie Will Like It Based on Its Adultness, and it kills me that he’s usually right.
“Oh, you won’t like this wine. Adult taste.”
“Yahuh, I like it!”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Fine, I know, I hate it. Can I dump it out now?”
“I’ll drink yours.”
Anyway, we had a fun night. Check that off the Fall To-Do List!
Ok. Enough is enough - this is killing me. I’ve been holding in BIG NEWS for the past week or so, mostly because I didn’t want to get my hopes up only to have everything fall through. And sure, it’s possible that something could still come up, but at this point the outlook is good. Seriously, readers, this is HUGE. Are you ready?
THE OH FAMILY IS BUYING A SHORE HOUSE!
Phew! Oh, it feels so good to put that in print, to see it as a reality instead of a lifelong dream. MomOh and DadOh put a bid on a house this past weekend and it was accepted, paperwork signed. The best part is the location – we’re on 66th Street and the Bay, E’s house is on 66th Street and the Beach, and the S Family’s house is in the middle. And, I mean, it’s a house. At the shore. My favorite place on earth. It could be a trailer instead of a brand-new five-bedroom construction and I'd still be celebrating.
[Cue happy dance.]
[Surnouncement
n. A magical, made-up word combining the sounds and meanings of "surprise" and "announcement." Origin: Drunk/Awesome La ca. The Sink at Lucky Cheng's]
Last night R and I went to an informal wine tasting at a bar near my apartment. The theme was Wine & Chocolate so I imagined each station would have accompanying chocolate pairings, but that wasn’t really the case. It was more like, here is a lot of wine, and, oh right, over there in the corner is some chocolate. One of the “desserts” that R bit into turned out to be a jalapeño popper topped with chocolate sauce that surely must have been a mistake but after that culinary horror we focused mainly on getting drunk. There was quite a showing of dessert wines (most of which I hated), some delicious champagnes, and a memorable pinot noir. When it comes to my palette, R jokes that I have the taste buds of a 12-year-old because I’m disinclined to such “adult” tastes as coffee and asparagus. I do love any food item that could be found on a kid’s menu (grilled cheese, burgers, ice cream…) but of course I’ll never concede to his point. He likes to play the game Guess If Jackie Will Like It Based on Its Adultness, and it kills me that he’s usually right.
“Oh, you won’t like this wine. Adult taste.”
“Yahuh, I like it!”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Fine, I know, I hate it. Can I dump it out now?”
“I’ll drink yours.”
Anyway, we had a fun night. Check that off the Fall To-Do List!
Ok. Enough is enough - this is killing me. I’ve been holding in BIG NEWS for the past week or so, mostly because I didn’t want to get my hopes up only to have everything fall through. And sure, it’s possible that something could still come up, but at this point the outlook is good. Seriously, readers, this is HUGE. Are you ready?
THE OH FAMILY IS BUYING A SHORE HOUSE!
Phew! Oh, it feels so good to put that in print, to see it as a reality instead of a lifelong dream. MomOh and DadOh put a bid on a house this past weekend and it was accepted, paperwork signed. The best part is the location – we’re on 66th Street and the Bay, E’s house is on 66th Street and the Beach, and the S Family’s house is in the middle. And, I mean, it’s a house. At the shore. My favorite place on earth. It could be a trailer instead of a brand-new five-bedroom construction and I'd still be celebrating.
[Cue happy dance.]
[Surnouncement
n. A magical, made-up word combining the sounds and meanings of "surprise" and "announcement." Origin: Drunk/Awesome La ca. The Sink at Lucky Cheng's]
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Failure to Lunch
You know that movie, Failure to Launch? I’m relatively certain that I watched it while snow-banked in a hotel during a college track trip gone awry, and I always mix up the plot with The Family Stone (which I also watched on a college track trip that also went awry, but then again they all sort of did) but my point here is: the title always appealed to me, far more than the unmemorable movie itself. Failure to Launch is a related and debatably worse fate than being stuck in the Midtown Holding Pattern. Is it better to endlessly circle in search of a safe and happy spot to land than to never get off the ground in the first place? Although I’m stalled at the moment, my case implies a certain level of progress, but I’m afraid of landing somewhere that maybe isn’t the safest or happiest place simply because I’m running out of fuel and Dramamine. Is it worse to start things and never finish them, or just not start at all?
I am, as it turns out, a failure. Of the twelve items on my Summer To-Do List, I completed four. Four! I scored a lousy 33 1/3% for the summer – and they were things that I wanted to do! Sure, I accomplished many things that were not on the list (like learning how to drive a boat) and some of the things from the list turned out to be unfun (like the Guggenheim Shapes of Space exhibit) but I’m undeterred and shooting for a higher Social Life GPA this semester.
The Fall To-Do List:
The Arcade Fire, 10/6
Apple-picking upstate
Divine Bar Wine Tasting, 10/9
Tori Amos, 10/11 & 10/12
MS Bike Tour (possibly my first century ride!), 10/14
HHS XC retirement party for Coach W, 10/20
The Shins, 10/24
Foundation for Hospital Art Mural Painting Event, 10/30
HHS Five-Year Reunion, Thanksgiving
Enchanted, in theaters Thanksgiving (don’t judge me)
Visit The Cloister Museum once the leaves change colors
Mythic Creatures exhibit at the AMNH, through 1/6
Richard Prince exhibit at the Guggenheim, through 1/9
Implicit in this list o’fun is the goal to finish what I start, to follow through with plans, to say “yes” (or “no") and mean it and hold true to those convictions. Also: to stop temporizing about grad school and just fucking apply. Then if I actually get accepted I can debate the merits of attending. Duh.
In other news, I've been doing okay regarding the dietary restricted list. Sure, I've indulged in a fruit tart (or five) but overall I'm pretty proud of my willpower. Then, some days, I just fall completely off the wagon. Today wasn't even about pastries or desserts, my usual pitfalls. It started out innocently enough: my standby tuna melt sandwich, a Perrier, and a fruit tart. Then I fell and ordered a personal pizza. A delicious margarita pizza on hand-rolled crust with basil, tomatoes and mozzarella. I half-ass planned on taking it home with me and eating it for dinner. Cut to 2pm and the entire pizza is digesting unnecessarily in my tummy. So much for that willpower.
I am, as it turns out, a failure. Of the twelve items on my Summer To-Do List, I completed four. Four! I scored a lousy 33 1/3% for the summer – and they were things that I wanted to do! Sure, I accomplished many things that were not on the list (like learning how to drive a boat) and some of the things from the list turned out to be unfun (like the Guggenheim Shapes of Space exhibit) but I’m undeterred and shooting for a higher Social Life GPA this semester.
The Fall To-Do List:
The Arcade Fire, 10/6
Apple-picking upstate
Divine Bar Wine Tasting, 10/9
Tori Amos, 10/11 & 10/12
MS Bike Tour (possibly my first century ride!), 10/14
HHS XC retirement party for Coach W, 10/20
The Shins, 10/24
Foundation for Hospital Art Mural Painting Event, 10/30
HHS Five-Year Reunion, Thanksgiving
Enchanted, in theaters Thanksgiving (don’t judge me)
Visit The Cloister Museum once the leaves change colors
Mythic Creatures exhibit at the AMNH, through 1/6
Richard Prince exhibit at the Guggenheim, through 1/9
Implicit in this list o’fun is the goal to finish what I start, to follow through with plans, to say “yes” (or “no") and mean it and hold true to those convictions. Also: to stop temporizing about grad school and just fucking apply. Then if I actually get accepted I can debate the merits of attending. Duh.
In other news, I've been doing okay regarding the dietary restricted list. Sure, I've indulged in a fruit tart (or five) but overall I'm pretty proud of my willpower. Then, some days, I just fall completely off the wagon. Today wasn't even about pastries or desserts, my usual pitfalls. It started out innocently enough: my standby tuna melt sandwich, a Perrier, and a fruit tart. Then I fell and ordered a personal pizza. A delicious margarita pizza on hand-rolled crust with basil, tomatoes and mozzarella. I half-ass planned on taking it home with me and eating it for dinner. Cut to 2pm and the entire pizza is digesting unnecessarily in my tummy. So much for that willpower.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Correction: I Was in Fourth Grade When They Last Won the Pennant
Eeep! Human Resources sent out a Save the Date email about the annual Nice Hedge Fund Holiday Party. That only leaves nine and a half weeks to figure out what I’m wearing and how I’m doing my hair and oh, I’ll have to bring a date, too, and how soon is too soon to ask R without scaring him off? I mean, I’ve done a remarkable job up to now of hiding my particular strain of crazy from him, but this could make or break us! CAN’T HANDLE THE PRESSURE.
Aaand, breathe. I’m going to wear a black dress like everyone else, I’ll be due for a haircut then anyway so I’ll get my hair blown out, and I’ll talk to R about it a few weeks beforehand. Also, what did we learn from last year’s office holiday party, boys and girls? That’s right: Don’t drink too much, and set the alarm clock before going out. That brilliant “I pulled my deadbolt out of the door I’m late for work because I’m waiting for a locksmith not because I overslept and might be still drunk” excuse can’t possibly work two years in a row.
Dear readers, I’m tired. I feel like the cold weather crept into Manhattan and is slowly sapping me of all of my energy. What happened to staying up way too late every night of the summer and making poor life decisions but still surviving to tell about it? I want that JackieOh back, not this girl who voluntarily wakes up at the crack of dawn to ride in circles around a cold, dark park which is at that hour only populated by fellow cyclists and criminals. Going to bed before ten? Dinner that is neither liquid nor carbonated and occasionally nutritious? Who am I?
The worst part is how well I was running on such a self-destructive lifestyle. There’s a picture of me in the latest New York Road Runner magazine from the Club Championships, the one real, good race I had before it all unraveled. Between that reminder and watching SisterOh’s cross country race this past weekend, I’m itching to get back to running. I think I can fend off the urges for another six weeks or so, but with a no stress fracture diagnosis, the only thing really keeping me out of my trainers is an unfortunate yet persistent reluctance to pain. If only I weren’t such a big pussy I could be out running right now!
Ok, enough blathering, it’s time to focus. PHILLIES. Oh, baby, we’re in the playoffs and Game 1 versus the Rockies is this afternoon. Sure, I’ll admit that I’m a bigger Eagles than Phillies fan but that’s really just a case of quantity versus quality. Count me in for all sixteen regular season football games, but 162 regular season baseball games are simply more than I can handle. Blame it on my commitment issues, but now it’s October and that means everyone born within view of One Liberty Place is a diehard fan. Um, hello, MLB? What’s the deal with 3PM games during the workweek? This isn’t Boston; some of our fans actually have jobs.
Aaand, breathe. I’m going to wear a black dress like everyone else, I’ll be due for a haircut then anyway so I’ll get my hair blown out, and I’ll talk to R about it a few weeks beforehand. Also, what did we learn from last year’s office holiday party, boys and girls? That’s right: Don’t drink too much, and set the alarm clock before going out. That brilliant “I pulled my deadbolt out of the door I’m late for work because I’m waiting for a locksmith not because I overslept and might be still drunk” excuse can’t possibly work two years in a row.
Dear readers, I’m tired. I feel like the cold weather crept into Manhattan and is slowly sapping me of all of my energy. What happened to staying up way too late every night of the summer and making poor life decisions but still surviving to tell about it? I want that JackieOh back, not this girl who voluntarily wakes up at the crack of dawn to ride in circles around a cold, dark park which is at that hour only populated by fellow cyclists and criminals. Going to bed before ten? Dinner that is neither liquid nor carbonated and occasionally nutritious? Who am I?
The worst part is how well I was running on such a self-destructive lifestyle. There’s a picture of me in the latest New York Road Runner magazine from the Club Championships, the one real, good race I had before it all unraveled. Between that reminder and watching SisterOh’s cross country race this past weekend, I’m itching to get back to running. I think I can fend off the urges for another six weeks or so, but with a no stress fracture diagnosis, the only thing really keeping me out of my trainers is an unfortunate yet persistent reluctance to pain. If only I weren’t such a big pussy I could be out running right now!
Ok, enough blathering, it’s time to focus. PHILLIES. Oh, baby, we’re in the playoffs and Game 1 versus the Rockies is this afternoon. Sure, I’ll admit that I’m a bigger Eagles than Phillies fan but that’s really just a case of quantity versus quality. Count me in for all sixteen regular season football games, but 162 regular season baseball games are simply more than I can handle. Blame it on my commitment issues, but now it’s October and that means everyone born within view of One Liberty Place is a diehard fan. Um, hello, MLB? What’s the deal with 3PM games during the workweek? This isn’t Boston; some of our fans actually have jobs.
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