When did the Winter Olympics turn into the X-Games? I just can't get into judged sports. It seems so.....subjective. Snowboards are fine, as long as there's a race.

Snowboard Cross.

Now there's an event I can get into. Contact: allowed. Oh, you can't push or pull someone down, but if in the event you're trying to get around an opponent and your board happens to clip the board of the person in front of you, and said person happens to fall flat on their face - well, that's just part of the game.

I always get into at least one event for the Winter Olympics. In 2002, it was curling. (Don't laugh, what event were you sucked into this past week and a half - the biathalon? I'm not judging.) This year - it's snowboard cross. The Goal: be the first one to the bottom of the hill. That's it. We watched all the qualifying through to the finals. No tricks necessary - just don't showboat if you have a commanding lead and you're 5 seconds from winning the gold medal.

Now that's drama!

I really don't think men and women are all that different.... despite the evidence.

So, I figured out another amazing aspect of the male brain. Like other women, no doubt, I’ve spent some time wondering why it is that men cannot multi-task like us gals. I did read something about genetic hardwiring once, but I refuse to believe that men are unable to evolve beyond the point where they can check the washing machine for clothes before adding another load – and then lay the laundry detergent on its side to drip out all over the place. Not to say that my guy isn’t multi-tasking life to death- classes, clients, Laura, and Jack (oh, my). He also tends to make the more-than-occasional amazing meal. Yet, there’s still something getting in the way of him remembering his cell phone in the morning without a reminder. I think I figured it out, at least partially.

Now, where my extra (I use this term loosely) brain space is usually filled with navigating Boston roads in my mind in order to find that elusive quick route to BU via our distant neighborhood, Ed let me in on the content of his extra brain space. Saturday afternoon, he was playing “tackle” with Jack. Jack will grab the ball, yell babble that mimics “15, 17, 45 hut!” and then allow Ed and/or me to knock him (gently) to the ground. When Jack moved onto his cars, Ed grabbed the football and started throwing it to me, taking over the imaginary game. Fun enough. When he had the ball, he’d fake that he was throwing it in the distance, extending his other arm as if to ward off oncoming imaginary defensive linemen. His mouth in full pursed focused mode, his eyes no doubt imagining an entire field of players. It took less than a second for him to immediately transfer to football fantasy world. I need to find a similar escape route.

So, here’s my theory. When us women are driving somewhere or cooking dinner, we are no doubt planning out how to get four hours of work done in the two we have that night before we fall asleep. When Ed is cooking dinner, he’s probably engrossed in cooking dinner (which is why it’s so good). When Ed is traveling between class and clients and home, he’s in fantasy football (or soccer) land, picturing the perfect play. Maybe that’s what I need, some perfect play- even if imagined.

Somehow, I’m not so pissed off about the fantasy online sports leagues. Somehow I’m gaining new respect. Somehow I need to find my own. Not sports, no. How about fantasy napping?

Snow Blast 2006

We're experiencing our first major Nor'easter today. Without getting into too much meteorological detail, a Nor'easter involves cold winds from the northeast and a lot of snow. We're expecting 20 inches of snow by the time it's all done this evening. This being Boston, of course, it's still up in the air whether or not BU or BHCC will cancel classes tomorrow. If this was Seattle, Jim Foreman (King 5) would be out reporting from Queen Anne Avenue, showing us how much snow he can hold in one hand. Not that the news stations here don't hype snow storms. They do. I'm waiting for the graphic at the top of the newscast, that flashes, "SNOW BLAST '06" or something like that.

The new semester is now almost a month old, so it's not really "new" anymore. I'm always a little ambivalent at the start of a new semester. There's a mountain of work to get done, but no worries, there's weeks to go before I have to start thinking about it.

Now it's time to start thinking about it. Oh, it'll get done. It's that middle part of the semester that I wonder, "how in the hell am I goin' to get all this done..."

I also have regular clients this semester. Many of my friends (and family) might be thinking, "oh boy, people actually go to this guy for help..." I must admit, it's scary. Learning to be a counselor is kind of like it was when I started out as a teacher. I have these mini-moments when I think, "oh yeah, I'm the counselor..." So I resist the temptation to say, "you know, you just can't worry about that...do you own a Playstation, my suggestion is to play NCAA 2006 and next meeting we can talk about the In-Season Recruiting option.." Pretty sure that's a clinical technique not found in many textbooks.

Later this week I'm giving a sport psych talk at a nearby college to a sport I don't have much experience with: Synchronized Swimming. Should be interesting. Don't ask me how I got that gig... long story.

Laura got a couple more projects from the publishing company she's been freelancing for lately. One's a pretty big editing project. I think she'll be glad to do something for them that doesn't involve correlating math skills to the state standards of New Mexico or California. I don't know much about that, but I can't imagine it's very exciting.

Jack got visably excited about the snow when he looked out the window this morning so I'm pretty sure he's my son. Our car is slowly being buried as the plows drive down the road pushing the snow on the road to the side of the road. It's half-way up the driver side door. Looks like I'm going to have to out there to dig it out. Shoot.

A rare moment of empathy for the fantasy fellas

A while ago I vented about the appeal (for men) of fantasy sports. Ever since I explained, in probably too much detail, why I hate the whole fantasy sports "thing," Ed has made a point to check on his fantasy league (or leagues, I don't ask) away from home. For all I know, he's in first place or last place- he doesn't talk about it anymore. I should feel bad, but I don't. I LOVE that the whole fantasy sports lexicon is absent from my world. I love that I don't know what shit talking is going on between Mark and Matt or what crazy trades are occuring. And I especially don't want to accidentally read over Ed's shoulder AGAIN all those horrific team names - the ones that all too often make that hideous connection between the scrotum and some confidence/talent combination.

This morning in the car, though, I felt momentarily bad for all of those boys out there who find their pleasure in fantasy baseball. It seems that MLB is trying to keep its statistics to itself and not share them (which, if you are lucky and don't know, statistics are crucial for gaining points the fantasy sports world). I have to say that I must side with all you fellows out there whose few moments of adrenaline rush come when checking your fantasy team. I hope that you can continue to indulge in this particular pleasure (just keep it hidden).

Company Sues for Right to Use MLB Statistics

Weekend Blogger

Okay, so I've given up the notion that this blog will be a weekday gig. There's really no way, at this point, that, even between the two of us, Ed & I can post everyday Monday thru Friday. I find the only time the blogging spirit moves at the same time I have time to be moved to the keyboard is on the weekends. It's now 11:4o and I'm having trouble seeing after correlating a second grade math book to Texas standards. But, I know Ed's getting up with Jack in the morning, so I have 20 minutes that would usually be devoted to sleep.

I've been reminded of the real struggle of the working mother: cramming 40 hours of work into 15. No matter how hard I try to tell myself that I do decent, if not good, work, in such a short amount of time (I mean, I wouldn't get hired again for contract work if I didn't, right?) - my body and mind still cling to the notion that I can spend the extra time reviewing the work and revising assignments to make sure they are PERFECT. Uh-uh. Not gonna happen. Maybe when Jack is in college. But by then, I'll be waking up at 6:30 and be so damn organized and efficient that I'll wonder why I didn't write the great american novel when we had "all that free time" in Boston. It's like thinking about Bellingham: What in the hell did we do in grad school? Did I really spend ALL of my time either sleeping or studying? Yup. Well, that, and worrying about the work. IF anything, having too much to do keeps the worrying to a minimum. For example, we have $400 in the bank and about $1800 of bills due in a few days (not to mention our $1000 irs bill due in a few months). I should be getting one of my invoices from a freelance gig last month - but who knows. I'm sure the accounts payable gal already thinks I have gambling debts because of all the times I've called to see when the next check is coming. Come to think of it, I guess we DO have gambling debts - we've racked up the credit card and student loan bills, betting that we will indeed have some payoff for the hard work of following our guts/dreams.

While waiting to see how our dice will fall, I did move a little bit more into the 21st century today. I signed up for instant messanger. I've never been a fan; I've always thought of instant messaging like popping in unannounced at someone's door - and unless I absolutely love you and have nothing to do that day, I'm going to be annoyed. And, because I do 95% of my work on the computer, to have some message popup only takes away every precious 5 mintues I grab to type up part of an assignment or answer "regular" email before Jack comes over and tugs at my hand. Anyway, I signed up for the personal radio station. I gotta tell you, it's awesome. I chose the artists I like and within the first hour I heard Depeche Mode circa 1983, Massive Attack and Muddy Waters. Oh, and some Everything But the Girl from 1991. The tunes helped to get me through two hours of correlating. I have this fantasy of developing the ultimate "Laura" CD - you know, the top 50 songs of my life - of which 40 I'm pretty sure I haven't discovered yet. But like searching fashion, who has time to develop their music tastes? SO, thank you, Yahoo instant music for taking me one step closer to realizing my music dreams. I know we need to get an IPOD to make it all even easier, but we spent that money on a new t.v. last month.

Okay, bedtime. Besides, for some reason, Meatloaf is playing. Definitely time to sign off.

Do you have one minute...

...for off-shore drilling?

This is what I'm asked by a member of some political-action member out on Comm Ave when I'm going somewhere. Sometimes it's off-shore drilling, sometimes it's the environment.

Wait a minute - are you asking me do I want to do some drilling? Oh. I see, you're asking do have a minute to talk about off-shore drilling. I get it. Only a minute? I mean a minute's pretty short to cover all the complexities, costs, benefits, of off-shore drilling. I mean we could skip all that if I consent now, that yes, off-shore drilling is evil and if you're for off-shore drilling, well, then obviously, you don't care about what happens to you or your children. Pig. Can we just agree, now, right here, off-shore drilling's got to go. Of course, there could be dozens of oil rigs right out there in Boston Harbor but I wouldn't know, I haven't actually had time to admire the Harbor, but that's besides the point.

Where are you going? Time's up? What are you talking about?