Late again this week, for reasons I will nebulously describe as “technical difficulties”, and move rapidly on. Glad of the extra couple of days inspiration however — I work on the assumption that if I wait long enough, something interesting will turn up. Luckily for you it did, or the entire column could well have been taken up with a discussion of what many of my favourite babes seem to have in common: outstanding eyebrows.

This was triggered by a visit to www.eyebrowz.com, a site which specialises in fake eyebrows which will supposedly make you look just like a range of famous celebrities. Or at the very least, give you that oh-so-sexy, “permanently startled” expression. Discovering how many of my top 10 were in there, followed by perusal of the piccies I possess, led to the realisation that Audrey Hepburn eyebrows are apparently further up my list of wants than almost anything else.

But moving on, I was also pleased to receive my very first piece of abusive email. It seems to come from the exotic source of Uruguay, and runs, in full, as follows:

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From rober@mailcity.com Sat Mar 21 00:21:25 1998
Subject:
Date: Fri, 20 Mar 1998 20:10:31

you are a stupid
you are a “hijo de puta”
your page is “The trash of the red”

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Okay, it’s not much I know, but it is at least a start. Unfortunately, “rober” didn’t tell me precisely what it was about our pages that upset him so much he turned into a drooling imbecile. Maybe it was my praise for Brazillian women on the strip-pub pages? Whatever. Now, I don’t mind criticism, and I can even take abuse, too — providing it’s interesting, or at least coherent. But if you can’t grasp the minimal basics of the English language, then get mummy to help you, or else your insults are going to be somewhat wasted. And if anyone knows what “the trash of the red” actually means, please get in touch.

Secondly, and more pleasantly, was the following from TC’s American ambassador, reporting on a day spent chaperoning a field trip for her son’s 8th Grade class.

“…Next stop was lunch at the Five and Diner. Remember the Air Stream all-aluminum trailers that were used as diners in the 50’s? This place is just like that, out of time, with waitresses in saddle shoes and oldies music emanating from table side juke boxes and served the best damned malteds in the whole universe. Lunch, of course, were hamburgers and fries (*chips*) with *FREE* ketchup in bottles.” [Ah, yes — having to PAY for ketchup in the fish and chip shop was a major shock to the system for certain Americans when they visited recently…]

Speaking with my son’s teacher, Janet Jones (who’s husband, by the way, is from Liverpool), we had a complete discussion about London. Since she is married to a Brit, we enjoyed our conversation about my trip there and the things that were new and different from our way of life. I found out, to my complete amazement, that my new favorite beverage, “HOOCH” is now sold here in a local supermarket. Now I can “Mind the Bottle” here as well (just kidding). We also discussed the finer points of how to get a drink with ice IN it. […and another shock was that when the British put ice in drinks, in tends to be of the “one lump or two?” approach.]

The piece d’resistance on our little excursion was the Peoria Sports Complex, home to the Milwaukee Brewers and San Diego Padres baseball franchises in the spring, where we witnessed a training game. I, being a baseball illiterate and quite ignorant of baseball etiquette and rules, was awed by the ritual. Don’t get me wrong. I went to a baseball game about 11 years ago and that was the only time. So to say I enjoyed myself was a grand understatement. Today’s game featured, to my Baseball Ignorant self, the American League’s Most Valuable Player, Ken Griffey Jr., who played Center Field not 15 feet from where my carcass was parked on the Lawn.

Not having been to a baseball game in over 10 years, it was refreshing fun and hot as hell since it was an early afternoon game and the temperature was up in the 90’s with a sun that would burn you in 5 minutes.. Needless to say, my arms and face were burnt to death, and how I am going to explain that to my job tomorrow since I called in sick, is going to be a problem.

Baseball games are fun, not so much because of the game itself, but the fans are a trip and a species unto their own. The die-hard fans have witty sayings and dirges they will yell out to the players for different reasons:
a.) To boost their favorite team’s morale
b.) To berate the opposing team by picking on the players one at a time.
c.) To insult a player on their favorite team if he is not playing up to snuff.

Yes. I would have to say that, from the National Anthem, to the screaming fans, to the one-of-a-kind concession vendors who scream out the names of the products they are hawking in a ritualistic, mystical Cantor, that Baseball is indeed an American institution and makes for one hell of a good afternoon.

I think that someday, I should like to learn the rules about baseball… The only thing I remember is that you have to “run home”….

Yes…something like that. I think that on the next visit, a trip to a football (er, that’s *soccer*) game is in order. We’ll soon have Chris teaching chants of “You’re shit, and you know you are” to the Little Leaguers in Scottsdale. Wonder if Millwall will be at home?