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(no subject)
Jun. 1st, 2009 06:04 pmMichael's company owns four season tickets to the Baltimore Orioles. The partners get first dibs on them, for personal use or business entertaining, but the rest of the staff can put their names in for any unclaimed tickets. Michael won a pair of tickets for Sunday afternoon's game.
We'd been meaning to take Alex to her first ballgame sometime this summer, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. She sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" all the way from church to the light rail stop, and from the light rail to the stadium.
They were good seats. Right at third base. On the club level, where you can order food and have it brought to your seat or visit a dedicated club-level concession stand. Club level, where the concourse is air-conditioned and has couches and big-screen TVs in case you want to cool off without missing any of the game. Club level, where the bathrooms are clean. I had never been up there before. We got to walk past the private box with the presidential seal on the door.
We had figured that third-base club-level seating would be shaded. Unfortunately, when we came out from the concourse we discovered that the first three rows were sunny, and our seats were right in the first row. But I didn't even have time to start worrying about the sun. (Colin is too young to use sunscreen.) As soon as the usher caught sight of us, he bustled over. "Your seats are... okay, let's put you up here. We may need to move you around a little, but we'll keep that baby in the shade. Your seats should be shaded after the first inning." (They actually weren't shaded until the fourth, but there were plenty of unclaimed seats in our section, so we had no trouble staying in the shade until then.)
I settled in to my seat and started to nurse Colin. Moments later, the usher came over and started talking to Michael. I saw him point at us and cringed, thinking that he was probably telling Michael I couldn't nurse there. But in fact he was saying: "Is this the baby's first game? Be sure to stop by the concierge desk - they'll give him a certificate."
Awww.
The game moved along pretty briskly, because neither team could hit a damn thing. (The O's eventually solved that problem by putting Danys Baez in as a relief picher. Everyone can hit off him.) I had been prepared to ditch the game in mid-progress, but Alex actually lasted until the very end. Colin had a less-good time - he was fussy, wanted to sleep, couldn't sleep. It might have just been too hot for him.
I had a barbecue sandwich and a really tasty beer. We admired the new scoreboard (Okay, it's not new. We just haven't been to a game in years.) and enjoyed the city view beyond the outfield. It was a very pleasant afternoon.
We'd been meaning to take Alex to her first ballgame sometime this summer, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. She sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" all the way from church to the light rail stop, and from the light rail to the stadium.
They were good seats. Right at third base. On the club level, where you can order food and have it brought to your seat or visit a dedicated club-level concession stand. Club level, where the concourse is air-conditioned and has couches and big-screen TVs in case you want to cool off without missing any of the game. Club level, where the bathrooms are clean. I had never been up there before. We got to walk past the private box with the presidential seal on the door.
We had figured that third-base club-level seating would be shaded. Unfortunately, when we came out from the concourse we discovered that the first three rows were sunny, and our seats were right in the first row. But I didn't even have time to start worrying about the sun. (Colin is too young to use sunscreen.) As soon as the usher caught sight of us, he bustled over. "Your seats are... okay, let's put you up here. We may need to move you around a little, but we'll keep that baby in the shade. Your seats should be shaded after the first inning." (They actually weren't shaded until the fourth, but there were plenty of unclaimed seats in our section, so we had no trouble staying in the shade until then.)
I settled in to my seat and started to nurse Colin. Moments later, the usher came over and started talking to Michael. I saw him point at us and cringed, thinking that he was probably telling Michael I couldn't nurse there. But in fact he was saying: "Is this the baby's first game? Be sure to stop by the concierge desk - they'll give him a certificate."
Awww.
The game moved along pretty briskly, because neither team could hit a damn thing. (The O's eventually solved that problem by putting Danys Baez in as a relief picher. Everyone can hit off him.) I had been prepared to ditch the game in mid-progress, but Alex actually lasted until the very end. Colin had a less-good time - he was fussy, wanted to sleep, couldn't sleep. It might have just been too hot for him.
I had a barbecue sandwich and a really tasty beer. We admired the new scoreboard (Okay, it's not new. We just haven't been to a game in years.) and enjoyed the city view beyond the outfield. It was a very pleasant afternoon.
Conversations with my daughter, part II.
Aug. 28th, 2006 07:29 pmScene: It's storytime in the living room, right before bed. We are reading Touch and Feel Baseball, and we've just gotten to the part about "Rub the scratchy turf of the outfield."
Me: And you can tell by the N-Y on the field that this is Yankee Stadium. What do we know about the Yankees, Alex?
Alex: Bad!!
...I am SO proud.
Me: And you can tell by the N-Y on the field that this is Yankee Stadium. What do we know about the Yankees, Alex?
Alex: Bad!!
...I am SO proud.
(no subject)
Oct. 20th, 2004 12:34 amMy sister, who does not like sports at all, just called me at 12:17am. She wanted to talk about the game.
"It's so exciting!" she said with a certain tone of helplessness to her voice. "They just needed one more out, and they, they got it!"
She was stuck without a TV, so she watched the whole thing on MLB GameDay. I got to tell her about the blood soaking through Curt Schilling's sock and the A-Rod interference fiasco. And the riot police.
"I can't believe you're up," she said at one point. "Don't you have to work tomorrow?"
"Don't you have to work tomorrow?"
"...Yeah."
"It's so exciting!" she said with a certain tone of helplessness to her voice. "They just needed one more out, and they, they got it!"
She was stuck without a TV, so she watched the whole thing on MLB GameDay. I got to tell her about the blood soaking through Curt Schilling's sock and the A-Rod interference fiasco. And the riot police.
"I can't believe you're up," she said at one point. "Don't you have to work tomorrow?"
"Don't you have to work tomorrow?"
"...Yeah."
Jed Bartlet is my president!
Apr. 24th, 2004 01:02 amThis was the scene tonight at Camden Yards.
(I know, I know, it's blurry. All the pictures turned out blurry, and I'm profoundly sorry. What it says is: "The Orioles Welcome Tonight's First Pitch Participant - President Josiah Bartlet.")
( read the full story... )
(I know, I know, it's blurry. All the pictures turned out blurry, and I'm profoundly sorry. What it says is: "The Orioles Welcome Tonight's First Pitch Participant - President Josiah Bartlet.")
( read the full story... )
You'd think that I would have had enough of being sick.
I'm sure I'm past it now - it was obviously something to do with what I ate for lunch - but I spent the afternoon desperately unhappily and now I feel all faded and washed out. I was supposed to be packing. I was supposed to be working on my dissertation.
At least, while I was writhing in pain on the couch, I got to see Rocket denied again. Damn, but Kerry Wood can pitch.
So, you know, there are consolations.
I'm sure I'm past it now - it was obviously something to do with what I ate for lunch - but I spent the afternoon desperately unhappily and now I feel all faded and washed out. I was supposed to be packing. I was supposed to be working on my dissertation.
At least, while I was writhing in pain on the couch, I got to see Rocket denied again. Damn, but Kerry Wood can pitch.
So, you know, there are consolations.
(no subject)
Mar. 31st, 2003 09:29 pmIf this had been a sit-at-my-desk-and-write workday, I probably would've been fine. Unfortunately, it was a criss-crossing-campus-and-standing-a-lot day, with several long walks in the biting wind. By noon, I was feeling ill. By 2:30, I was miserable. I cut out of work early, came home, and fell asleep on the couch in front of a long series of baseball games.
I remember some muddled bits here and there, so I must have woken intermittently. I woke up briefly to hear that the Orioles' opener was interrupted by a snow delay - I looked out the window and indeed, snow was falling sideways while the sun shone. In my groggy state it had the feel of a dream. When I next woke, the O's were tied 4-4 in the 12th. We switched to the game long enough to see them win it in the 13th, 6-5. Incredibly satisfying! I know they have no chance, but that just makes it more fun to see them win. I adore underdogs.
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curiousangel said I didn't have to cook dinner, but takeout was unappealing to me and I knew I wanted more to eat than canned soup. I took some "turkey chops" (slices of raw turkey breast, vaguely chop-shaped), slathered them with mustard, wrapped them in bacon, and threw them on the George Foreman grill for five minutes. I steamed a bunch of fresh asparagus, topped it with lemon butter hastily produced in the microwave, and cut big wedges of sourdough bread. It was a remarkably good dinner for about twenty minutes of effort, and I felt much better after eating it.
Tomorrow I have to go to work, because I have a full clinic schedule. I hope I feel better.
I remember some muddled bits here and there, so I must have woken intermittently. I woke up briefly to hear that the Orioles' opener was interrupted by a snow delay - I looked out the window and indeed, snow was falling sideways while the sun shone. In my groggy state it had the feel of a dream. When I next woke, the O's were tied 4-4 in the 12th. We switched to the game long enough to see them win it in the 13th, 6-5. Incredibly satisfying! I know they have no chance, but that just makes it more fun to see them win. I adore underdogs.
curiousangel said I didn't have to cook dinner, but takeout was unappealing to me and I knew I wanted more to eat than canned soup. I took some "turkey chops" (slices of raw turkey breast, vaguely chop-shaped), slathered them with mustard, wrapped them in bacon, and threw them on the George Foreman grill for five minutes. I steamed a bunch of fresh asparagus, topped it with lemon butter hastily produced in the microwave, and cut big wedges of sourdough bread. It was a remarkably good dinner for about twenty minutes of effort, and I felt much better after eating it.Tomorrow I have to go to work, because I have a full clinic schedule. I hope I feel better.
First baseball game of the season.
Jul. 19th, 2002 04:18 pmI don't know how that happened. Opening Day was three and a half months ago. The Orioles have played ninety-three games already. They're even playing decent baseball this year - they've got a decent shot at a .500 record, which is more than we had any right to expect. I've even (and this would never happen ordinarily) watched bits of some O's games on TV.
But this will be the first night since October of 2001 that I've walked down after work to meetcuriousangel at Max's for a beer. We'll walk past the sidewalk vendors ("Ice-cold water, only a buck, pay twice as much inside!"), threading our way through the orange-and-black crowd, smiling at the little kids with their Cal Ripken T-shirts and fielder's gloves, threading our way through the turnstiles and up the long long escalator to the upper deck. The smoke from Boog's Barbecue will add a tinge of sweetness to the hazy air.
"Baseball!" we'll murmur contentedly to each other as the players warm up on the field, in sparkling white against the green. "Ladies and gentlemen, your Baltimore Orioles!", most of them excited young guys fresh out of Triple-A, not above showing a little hustle, not above making foolish mistakes. As the innings rise and fall in leisurely rhythm, punctuated with flashes of excitement. As the stifling hazy day cools into evening and the fly balls shine brightly against the night sky.
But this will be the first night since October of 2001 that I've walked down after work to meet
curiousangel at Max's for a beer. We'll walk past the sidewalk vendors ("Ice-cold water, only a buck, pay twice as much inside!"), threading our way through the orange-and-black crowd, smiling at the little kids with their Cal Ripken T-shirts and fielder's gloves, threading our way through the turnstiles and up the long long escalator to the upper deck. The smoke from Boog's Barbecue will add a tinge of sweetness to the hazy air."Baseball!" we'll murmur contentedly to each other as the players warm up on the field, in sparkling white against the green. "Ladies and gentlemen, your Baltimore Orioles!", most of them excited young guys fresh out of Triple-A, not above showing a little hustle, not above making foolish mistakes. As the innings rise and fall in leisurely rhythm, punctuated with flashes of excitement. As the stifling hazy day cools into evening and the fly balls shine brightly against the night sky.
Damned Washington Post...
Jun. 23rd, 2002 11:02 pmAnyone who follows baseball knows that Luis Castillo was working on a hitting streak that ended at 35 on Saturday night. He went 0 for 4 in Saturday's game, and he was standing in the on-deck circle in the ninth when Tim Raines hit a sac fly to win the game.
The Washington Post, in what can't be anything but an attempt to stir up controversy, helpfully points out:
So the Post's baseball writer thinks that, in the bottom of the ninth with the score tied and the winning run at third base, Tim Raines should have given more consideration to Castillo's run at an individual record than he should have given to winning the game. And he writes the paragraph in a way to subtly suggest that Raines was somehow grandstanding, or being selfish, in how he chose to take the at-bat. That much is bad enough.
Except: the story the Post ran is essentially the AP wire story - but the wire story contains a few critical additions. After the line quoted above, the AP story goes on to provide context:
In other words, Raines did what he did on explicit instructions from the manager - who affirmed, properly, that the business of baseball players is winning baseball games, not setting individual records. And the manager was happy to go on record laying these priorities out for the press.
Why did the Post story leave that out? I guess it makes for much better news if you can try to stir up some bad blood in the Marlins' clubhouse.
Feh.
The Washington Post, in what can't be anything but an attempt to stir up controversy, helpfully points out:
Raines could have guaranteed Castillo a fifth plate appearance by not swinging the bat - taking either a walk or a strikeout. Instead, Raines swung 2-0, then again on a 2-1 pitch.
So the Post's baseball writer thinks that, in the bottom of the ninth with the score tied and the winning run at third base, Tim Raines should have given more consideration to Castillo's run at an individual record than he should have given to winning the game. And he writes the paragraph in a way to subtly suggest that Raines was somehow grandstanding, or being selfish, in how he chose to take the at-bat. That much is bad enough.
Except: the story the Post ran is essentially the AP wire story - but the wire story contains a few critical additions. After the line quoted above, the AP story goes on to provide context:
He even asked Torborg what he should do.
"Tim Raines asked me before he went up there if I wanted him to bunt, and I said 'Shoot, no, win the game here. We can't mess around. We're going to be out of players.' And he followed instructions,'' Torborg said. [...]
"You've got to win the game,'' Torborg said. "The team comes first. You can't say enough about what Luis accomplished and what he's meant to the team, but you've got to win the game.''
In other words, Raines did what he did on explicit instructions from the manager - who affirmed, properly, that the business of baseball players is winning baseball games, not setting individual records. And the manager was happy to go on record laying these priorities out for the press.
Why did the Post story leave that out? I guess it makes for much better news if you can try to stir up some bad blood in the Marlins' clubhouse.
Feh.
Ten good things.
Feb. 18th, 2002 04:44 pmIt's all too easy for my LJ to slide into an eternal litany of complaints and outrage and depressive maunderings. I don't know why bad moods and surliness seem so much more appropriate to share, but in recompense I offer (in no particular order) ten things that are currently brightening my life.
1. Baseball season fast approacheth. Full squads report to spring training this week. Opening Day is in forty days. Baseball is one of the things that makes me feel especially close tocuriousangel, in addition to its myriad of intrinsic virtues.
2. The days are noticeably longer. More daylight usually means more energy and a more positive mood, for me. It's also meant that we've gotten to see some spectacular sunsets on the drive home.
3. I have more projects and social plans right now than I have time to do them in. This has its frustrating aspects, but it also makes me feel good: energized, liked, busy, full of good ideas.
4. Tonight is English Country Dance night. I love being able to un-self-consciously lose myself in the music and the patterns, and I love having found a form of dancing that puts so little stress on my hip.
5. I started data collection today for our study of spirituality and health in HIV patients. I've been working on this study for more than a year, beginning with helping to develop the original idea and write the grant proposal, and on through endless efforts to get the project approved. Now it's really happening. That's so exciting.
6. Seventeen days to our Key Largo vacation.curiousangel and I and my oldest sister, Debbie, have rented a waterfront cottage, and we're going to spend an entire week swimming, lounging on the beach, kayaking on the Florida Bay, learning to snorkel, eating seafood, reading, and sleeping late.
7. I have achieved great results with a notoriously difficult patient. At last year's clinic, no one would have noticed. At my new clinic, people have gone out of their way to praise both me and the patient.
8. I'm developing highly enjoyable new friendships with Sam and withtherealjae.
9. I don't have to borrowcuriousangel's computer to play The Sims anymore. And it runs so fast on my new 1.1GHz processor. It's a whole new experience - and much more enjoyable. Whole vistas of pleasant obsession lie before me.
10. I feel more and more as though I'm managing to get my life set up in a way that I have chosen. Most of the things that are part of my life right now are there because I consciously chose them. I don't feel nearly as buffeted by uncontrollable forces as I used to feel. I think I'm getting closer to living a conscious life.
1. Baseball season fast approacheth. Full squads report to spring training this week. Opening Day is in forty days. Baseball is one of the things that makes me feel especially close to
curiousangel, in addition to its myriad of intrinsic virtues.2. The days are noticeably longer. More daylight usually means more energy and a more positive mood, for me. It's also meant that we've gotten to see some spectacular sunsets on the drive home.
3. I have more projects and social plans right now than I have time to do them in. This has its frustrating aspects, but it also makes me feel good: energized, liked, busy, full of good ideas.
4. Tonight is English Country Dance night. I love being able to un-self-consciously lose myself in the music and the patterns, and I love having found a form of dancing that puts so little stress on my hip.
5. I started data collection today for our study of spirituality and health in HIV patients. I've been working on this study for more than a year, beginning with helping to develop the original idea and write the grant proposal, and on through endless efforts to get the project approved. Now it's really happening. That's so exciting.
6. Seventeen days to our Key Largo vacation.
curiousangel and I and my oldest sister, Debbie, have rented a waterfront cottage, and we're going to spend an entire week swimming, lounging on the beach, kayaking on the Florida Bay, learning to snorkel, eating seafood, reading, and sleeping late.7. I have achieved great results with a notoriously difficult patient. At last year's clinic, no one would have noticed. At my new clinic, people have gone out of their way to praise both me and the patient.
8. I'm developing highly enjoyable new friendships with Sam and with
therealjae.9. I don't have to borrow
curiousangel's computer to play The Sims anymore. And it runs so fast on my new 1.1GHz processor. It's a whole new experience - and much more enjoyable. Whole vistas of pleasant obsession lie before me.10. I feel more and more as though I'm managing to get my life set up in a way that I have chosen. Most of the things that are part of my life right now are there because I consciously chose them. I don't feel nearly as buffeted by uncontrollable forces as I used to feel. I think I'm getting closer to living a conscious life.
YANKEES LOST!!!!!
Nov. 4th, 2001 11:28 pm...and the Arizona Diamondbacks win the World Series.
Luis Gonzalez came to the plate in the seventh game of the series, bottom of the 9th, bases loaded. He said in his postgame interview, "it's the kind of thing you dream about when you're a little kid." I imagine it was a home run rather than a grounder to center field, in his childhood dreams... but he won the World Series for his team with one swing of the bat.
It's not so much that I'm a big Arizona Diamondbacks fan. It's more that the New York Yankees, root of all that is evil in the universe, have finally been vanquished. And there was so much rejoicing.
Luis Gonzalez came to the plate in the seventh game of the series, bottom of the 9th, bases loaded. He said in his postgame interview, "it's the kind of thing you dream about when you're a little kid." I imagine it was a home run rather than a grounder to center field, in his childhood dreams... but he won the World Series for his team with one swing of the bat.
It's not so much that I'm a big Arizona Diamondbacks fan. It's more that the New York Yankees, root of all that is evil in the universe, have finally been vanquished. And there was so much rejoicing.
(no subject)
Oct. 12th, 2001 09:54 pmI stayed home from work again today. I woke up with a raging sore throat, tonsils so swollen I was having trouble swallowing, and a repeat of Tuesday's unfortunate inability to keep a cup of tea down. So I got an appointment with my doctor's partner for this afternoon. Rapid strep test came back negative, and he gave me samples of a prescription decongestant that's been phenomenal at un-swelling my tonsils. He also gave me permission to take twice the amount of ibuprofen recommended by the bottle. ("We give one ibuprofen to a 40-pound kid and two to an 80-pound kid. If you weigh 150, it doesn't surprise me that you're not getting much relief with two." I suspect that there's something wrong with that argument, but I went ahead and took four. I don't think I'll need to do that again, though, now that the swelling is down.)
I also called my doctor's nurse (the doctor herself was out sick today) and asked her to add a thyroid test to the lab slip for my repeat ANA. Thanks again, Mary. I'll keep you all posted. I must admit that it's weird to be hoping that Mr. Thyroid is slowly being destroyed by my immune system... but I know enough about hypothyroidism to know that it's reasonably benign and well-controllable. No promises for other mysterious things that could be messing up my labwork. And then a magic thyroid pill would lower my cholesterol and help me lose weight, and I wouldn't have to change my diet. *grin*
In happy baseball news: the Braves swept the Astros and will advance to the NLCS. They finally got their bats working. We're also cheering with all our might for the A's to demolish the Yankees, toward which they have already gotten a pretty good start. It's especially pleasurable because not only are the Yankees our mortal enemies, but the A's are my brother's team.
My brother and I are recent converts to baseball, having both fallen in love with baseball fans. It's nice to have someone else around who feels very much the way I do about the game: genuinely interested, genuinely appreciative, and yet with undertones of "My god, I enjoy a sport. How bizarre is that?" Our family doesn't know what to make of us - they're amused, but essentially mystified. I think American families are all supposed to be steeped in televised sports, but ours was not a sports-watching family. At all. Ever. Must have been weirder for my brother, growing up without that context, than me.
Our kids, of course, will be baseball fans. Heredity has to count for something.
I also called my doctor's nurse (the doctor herself was out sick today) and asked her to add a thyroid test to the lab slip for my repeat ANA. Thanks again, Mary. I'll keep you all posted. I must admit that it's weird to be hoping that Mr. Thyroid is slowly being destroyed by my immune system... but I know enough about hypothyroidism to know that it's reasonably benign and well-controllable. No promises for other mysterious things that could be messing up my labwork. And then a magic thyroid pill would lower my cholesterol and help me lose weight, and I wouldn't have to change my diet. *grin*
In happy baseball news: the Braves swept the Astros and will advance to the NLCS. They finally got their bats working. We're also cheering with all our might for the A's to demolish the Yankees, toward which they have already gotten a pretty good start. It's especially pleasurable because not only are the Yankees our mortal enemies, but the A's are my brother's team.
My brother and I are recent converts to baseball, having both fallen in love with baseball fans. It's nice to have someone else around who feels very much the way I do about the game: genuinely interested, genuinely appreciative, and yet with undertones of "My god, I enjoy a sport. How bizarre is that?" Our family doesn't know what to make of us - they're amused, but essentially mystified. I think American families are all supposed to be steeped in televised sports, but ours was not a sports-watching family. At all. Ever. Must have been weirder for my brother, growing up without that context, than me.
Our kids, of course, will be baseball fans. Heredity has to count for something.
I just wanted the bobblehead doll
Sep. 27th, 2001 10:19 pmYou know how credit card companies set up in public places, and offer you some sort of prize or giveaway if you'll fill out an application? And you get the prize even if later they turn you down for credit?
We went to an Orioles game Labor Day weekend, and they were doing that. Fill out an application, get a Cal Ripken bobblehead doll. I was entranced. I'm not the biggest Orioles fan, but it just seemed like I ought to have a bobblehead doll to put next to my beanie transgenic knockout mouse and my Queen Armadillo. So I filled out an application for an official Major League Baseball credit card.
I expected to be turned down, of course. We had money troubles last winter, and I missed a couple of credit card payments. We've been getting the kind of credit card offers in the mail that they give you if you have marginal credit: secured cards, cards with high interest rates, cards with big annual fees. I had in fact just been turned down for a new credit card at the National Zoo in June. (I wanted the panda T-shirt.)
But it arrived in the mail today. With a much lower interest rate and much higher credit limit than my current (and only) card. Bright red, with the MLB logo and the Atlanta Braves logo at the top. I'm irrationally delighted to see that, apparently, people trust me again. I can transfer my balance and cut up the old annoying card.
But you know, I just wanted the bobblehead doll.
We went to an Orioles game Labor Day weekend, and they were doing that. Fill out an application, get a Cal Ripken bobblehead doll. I was entranced. I'm not the biggest Orioles fan, but it just seemed like I ought to have a bobblehead doll to put next to my beanie transgenic knockout mouse and my Queen Armadillo. So I filled out an application for an official Major League Baseball credit card.
I expected to be turned down, of course. We had money troubles last winter, and I missed a couple of credit card payments. We've been getting the kind of credit card offers in the mail that they give you if you have marginal credit: secured cards, cards with high interest rates, cards with big annual fees. I had in fact just been turned down for a new credit card at the National Zoo in June. (I wanted the panda T-shirt.)
But it arrived in the mail today. With a much lower interest rate and much higher credit limit than my current (and only) card. Bright red, with the MLB logo and the Atlanta Braves logo at the top. I'm irrationally delighted to see that, apparently, people trust me again. I can transfer my balance and cut up the old annoying card.
But you know, I just wanted the bobblehead doll.
(no subject)
Aug. 14th, 2001 04:38 pmMisha called a couple of hours ago: "Want to go to the game?" Two of the tickets his company holds suddenly became available at the last minute. So yay, it's a baseball night. Sure, it's only Kansas City, and the clouds are admittedly a bit threatening... but we'll have great seats, and they're free. And at least the heat has broken.
I've spent half the day on all the irritating little tasks that go along with getting a paper out for publication. Checking the references, formatting them properly, looking up missing databits, making sure the style conforms with the journal's requirements, reading it through again and again to check for miswordings and awkward transitions. Lydia's really a very good writer, although has a tendency toward overly elaborate run-on sentences in first drafts. At least she doesn't start sentences with "Importantly" when she wants to highlight that something is important. Given that, I can forgive much else. *grin*
I also set up the figure from hell, and I'm preening myself on that. Lydia's first draft had eighteen separate circles and boxes arrayed in a bulging free-form snarl of arrows and dotted lines and commentary. Mine is eleven sleek boxes, neatly organized in linear fashion, with minimal commentary and only one kind of connecting line. (The simple, the elegant, the pointed black arrow.) I guess that's what she pays me for. *preen* I'll be the first to admit that 90% of the ideas in the figure are hers, but in their original form they were hardly intelligible. I'm proud to be able to figure out a layout that would throw her ideas into sharp relief.
She seems to have disappeared, which is the only thing putting a crimp in my satisfaction. Her office light is still on (she does this on purpose, to give the impression that she's there. When I'm elsewhere, she's careful to turn on the light in my empty office anyway, so everyone will know that the B Med team is present and working hard), but I've been by to knock a half-dozen times. How is she going to be able to praise Figure 1 adequately if she isn't even here?
On the other hand, how is she going to be able to ask me to completely rework it to include some new minor "absolutely essential" thing, in apparent ignorance of just how long it takes to get the balance and formatting right on something like this? She already added 10 references when she knew perfectly well that we were 15 over the limit permitted by the journal. "But these are really important."
It's going to the Lancet. Wow. And I'm the second author. I think it has a sound chance - it's a good topic for a general audience, and we do a nice job of stirring up alarm and then making authoritative recommendations. Besides, they've published Lydia before, and Big Red (our minimalist third author) is probably even recognized as a Big Name in Britain. Oooooh, I'd like to have a Lancet publication on my vita. (Then I could get girls.)
So now I'll just whip through a couple of minor odds and ends to do with the adherence project (revising the form for use in the new clinic, coming up with a data entry/management system for chart review, assuming that we ever hear back from the IRB). And then it'll be Max's at Camden Yards, for the ritual Beer Before The Game.
Ooooh, baseball and Misha, on a cooled-off summer evening.
I've spent half the day on all the irritating little tasks that go along with getting a paper out for publication. Checking the references, formatting them properly, looking up missing databits, making sure the style conforms with the journal's requirements, reading it through again and again to check for miswordings and awkward transitions. Lydia's really a very good writer, although has a tendency toward overly elaborate run-on sentences in first drafts. At least she doesn't start sentences with "Importantly" when she wants to highlight that something is important. Given that, I can forgive much else. *grin*
I also set up the figure from hell, and I'm preening myself on that. Lydia's first draft had eighteen separate circles and boxes arrayed in a bulging free-form snarl of arrows and dotted lines and commentary. Mine is eleven sleek boxes, neatly organized in linear fashion, with minimal commentary and only one kind of connecting line. (The simple, the elegant, the pointed black arrow.) I guess that's what she pays me for. *preen* I'll be the first to admit that 90% of the ideas in the figure are hers, but in their original form they were hardly intelligible. I'm proud to be able to figure out a layout that would throw her ideas into sharp relief.
She seems to have disappeared, which is the only thing putting a crimp in my satisfaction. Her office light is still on (she does this on purpose, to give the impression that she's there. When I'm elsewhere, she's careful to turn on the light in my empty office anyway, so everyone will know that the B Med team is present and working hard), but I've been by to knock a half-dozen times. How is she going to be able to praise Figure 1 adequately if she isn't even here?
On the other hand, how is she going to be able to ask me to completely rework it to include some new minor "absolutely essential" thing, in apparent ignorance of just how long it takes to get the balance and formatting right on something like this? She already added 10 references when she knew perfectly well that we were 15 over the limit permitted by the journal. "But these are really important."
It's going to the Lancet. Wow. And I'm the second author. I think it has a sound chance - it's a good topic for a general audience, and we do a nice job of stirring up alarm and then making authoritative recommendations. Besides, they've published Lydia before, and Big Red (our minimalist third author) is probably even recognized as a Big Name in Britain. Oooooh, I'd like to have a Lancet publication on my vita. (Then I could get girls.)
So now I'll just whip through a couple of minor odds and ends to do with the adherence project (revising the form for use in the new clinic, coming up with a data entry/management system for chart review, assuming that we ever hear back from the IRB). And then it'll be Max's at Camden Yards, for the ritual Beer Before The Game.
Ooooh, baseball and Misha, on a cooled-off summer evening.
