Exactly how bad am I at Warcraft III?
A symptom of hope or a symptom of despair? This morning, Tony and I had a disagreement over ownership of the Abba CD (Abba Gold, currently ranked 81st on Amazon's sales chart -- this CD is ten years old and contains songs that are nearly thirty years old!) that he had in his car. I claim it for my own, but he insists it's his.
Fortunately, ye olde CD-Burner will resolve this disagreement.
Recently I've become aware of a societal undercurrent of Abba adoration. Has this always been present? Am I just now noticing it? Or is this the bellwether of some coming Abba revival?
Tony and I are both on an Abba kick, obviously. I bought the A*Teens' The ABBA Generation yesterday (only 2625th on Amazon's charts, but awesome stuff -- many of these songs are better than the Abba originals). There's a hit Broadway musical, Mamma Mia! (currently 46th on Amazon's charts), constructed around a score of Abba songs. (Get it: "score"? Dual meaning. Heh. (Why am I explaining my semi-clever jokes?)) Jenn asked me to make her an Abba CD (along with a Carole King CD and a Free To Be You And Me CD). Nick, reading this entry over my shoulder, mentioned that five years ago he went to see Bjorn Again, an Abba tribute band. Nick says "it was great" -- there were "lots of people" having a good time and the band was "really good, too".
What's going on?
My injured quad improved markedly last week. By Sunday's soccer practice, the leg felt great, better than it had during the past month. I could run and play and kick the ball and generally be care-free. During the first half of our scrimmage, I felt as if I was back to 80% of normal (instead of 40% of normal as I had the past couple of weeks).
Then (and you knew this was coming, right?), at the start of the second half of the scrimmage I decided that I could take my own goal kicks (a responsibility I had been, wisely, eschewing in favor of my leg's continued recovery). Look! there's Jefferson streaking across midfield. I'll kick him the ball! Run, kick, AGONY!
I spent a couple of minutes writhing in pain, clutching the goalpost, swearing a blue streak. Fortunately play stayed at the opposite end of the field until I regained enough composure to hobble to the center of my goal.
Still: damn it all! I'd been very careful to nurse this injury and now I've exacerbated the problem. I don't know what I'm going to do.
Kris and I talked a little about the injury last night. I may actually go see a doctor. Also, it may be in my best interest (and the best interest of the team) to forego the fall season, to sit out and rest the leg. Now that I know recreational leagues exist, I'm eager to get involved, but not at the cost of my health. And if I sat out, one of the people on the waiting list could be added to the team.
I've only got a few days to decide. Whether or not my leg shows good recovery this week will make the difference…
Canby High School's class of 1987 held its 15-year reunion this weekend and I didn't attend either of the events. Though I would have loved to see some old friends, the truth is that I see most of my close friends from high school regularly. Also, because I live in Canby, I see many other former classmates around town. It's not difficult to keep up with the gossip.
I still want to find Mitch Sherrard, though. Maybe if I mention his name enough he'll find this weblog when peroforming a Google vanity-search. Mitch Sherrard. Mitch Sherrard. Mitch Sherrard. Mitch Sherrard is a fine fellow and I wish to find him.
One former classmate, Scott Smith, dropped me a line last week. It was great to hear from him. We were never close friends, but we did have some fun times together, both in school and as children in the Mormon church. One of the most-told-stories of my life involves Scott - the "missing-the-plane-for-Houston-because-of-video-games" story. Heh.
That's right, Scott Smith! Cast your mind back 15 years or so to high school. Actually, go back 17 years or so to a little trip you took to Houston for the (supposed) Future Business Leaders of America. You (unfortunately I am sure) were paired with Scott Smith on that trip. You played millbournes, shared a few taxi rides, and almost missed your connecting flight in Denver because you and he got involved with a strange video game that I seem to recall was called "Turkey Shoot."
Kris and I joined Aimee for a couple of movies the other night: The Importance of Being Earnest and Amelie. Both were fine films (and Earnest was, indeed, hilarious), but Amelie was the better of the two. Aimee found it charming, Kris loved it. I was completely engrossed. The last time a film completely engrossed me was when Kris and I saw Magnolia on the big screen.
Amelie is bright, lively, vibrant, jubilant, fun. It's not for everyone; it's too light and happy for some, there's nothing thick and meaningful to take away from the film. But if you can surrender to the story and the visuals, I'm not sure how you can help but be captivated. Had I seen it last year, the year of its release, I would have considered it the best film of the year.
The City of Lost Children, however, seemed hollow in comparison. Also from director Amelie's director Jean-Pierre Jeunet, Lost Children is a pedestrian film with many isolated outstanding components (style, set design, characters, actors, etc.). Somehow the final film is not equal to the sum of its parts.
I recommend Amelie.
On this day at foldedspace.org
2005 — First Grade This morning, as I soaked in a hot bath in a darkened room, I was overwhelmed by memories of first-grade.
2004 — The Astonishing Ant-Man Why haven't you, the average American, ever heard of Ant-Man? Because he's lame.
2003 — Little Things In which cats are wonderful creatures. In which Lisa gives birth to a cat. In which I drove home listening to Italian Mexican music. In which I waste time and money on a game.