Archive for July, 2006

Stay for a While (part one of a series)

When my sister IMed me on Friday, my mind couldn’t have been farther away from music. I mean, how could I think about exciting happy things when I had only hours before realized that I was driving an uninsured car?

Let’s rewind a bit.

Thursday night, Mike handed me my mail. This happens a lot. I almost always forget to get the mail. I then almost always just kind of give it half a glance and throw it into the pile on the table. This drives Mike nuts. Yet, somehow, I am unable to fix this terrible habit of mine. Luckily, on Thursday, I had the presence of mind to actually read the return addresses on my new mail. One thing caught my eye.

The RMV? They already sent me the change-of-address stickers for my license and registration. What the hell could this be?

So I opened it, and read it. Baffled, I read it again. By this point, Mike’s curiosity took over and he asked me what it was. He probably developed this curiosity because I was swearing and making all kinds of upset-Diane noises. Basically, I had just received a letter telling me that my registration would be revoked on August 4th if I didn’t get them proof of insurance. Dun dun dunnnnnn!

Mike looked at it and told me what I already knew. “Call your insurance people first thing in the morning.” So I did.

When I called my lovely local insurance rep, I started with my back story. I have a new job, my old job used to take care of my insurance for me, I guess I have to renew my insurance myself, can I please do that now, yada, yada, yada… She interrupted me. “It tells me here that your insurance was terminated. Please hold.”

What the fuck?!

Luckily I didn’t have too much time to stew before some kind of “tier two” support answered the line. I gave her the same story, and she told me that my insurance was canceled because I didn’t pay. Funny enough, I vividly remembered paying them.

I told her that, and she said she would look for more information and call me back. It was just about noon, but I waited for a while for her call before deciding I was far too hungry to just sit there. So I hurried my ass over to Au Bon Pain and bought myself a soup, a chunk of bread, and a cookie. The soup and bread were to nourish my body. The cookie was for my crying soul.

I ate at my desk, patiently (okay, not patiently) waiting the return call. It didn’t come. I finished my soup. It didn’t come. I chomped down the last bit of bread. It didn’t come. I nibbled my cookie until it was gone. It didn’t come. I came to realize that she had just let me off the phone so she could have lunch. Bitch.

So I did what any person freaking out about their car insurance would do. I called them back at 1:01. Tier-two answered the phone herself. She explained the situation to me and told me how it would be. Premier says they haven’t received payment. So they canceled my policy. They informed the registry. They informed my insurance brokers. No one told me. Why the hell did I have to learn this from the registry when it was too late?

I had done some research too, by the time I called back. I figured out that the insurance payment I had made was in fact for my renters insurance, not my car insurance. They are handled by different companies. I used to have both deducted from my paycheck, so I never noticed or had to pay attention. So when a bill came from Travelers about insurance, I paid it and thought I was good to go. Not the case. Even though I have the same brokers for both insurances, they are not actually the same insurance company.

I was fuming. But I knew there was no way I could undo any mistakes – mine or their’s. I told her that I would do whatever was necessary to get my car insured and immediately because I had places to go and famous people to see. That’s when she told me I’d have to pay in full for the next year.


But like I said, my car needs insuring, and I need to drive it. So we made arrangements. Totally illegal arrangements. Because their nearest office is still far outside the range of the T, so I’d have to drive my uninsured car to them.

I told my group lead I’d have to leave work early. I told Mike everything that happened. He tried to help me find some way to get it done in Boston, but it wasn’t possible because I’d need a receipt for the overdue insurance no matter what, and my rink-a-dink insurance brokers wouldn’t take any kind of payment over the phone or by fax. So, when 3:30 rolled around, I took off.

I felt like a fugitive…

July 31st, 2006 • 10:25 am • dinane • Posted in Family, Life, Music202 Comments »

In Which I Whine About the Orange Line Again

I gingerly put my right foot down the first step. As my left foot followed, my eyes passed over the broken light bulb hanging from the ceiling. I rolled my eyes, knowing that they are in fact working on fixing this station… or they were… wait… I haven’t seen any construction workers out on the street at Arlington and Boylston for a couple weeks. What the hell?

It was at the moment I reached the first landing that I realized two things. One – I had to pee, but not so bad that I couldn’t wait until I got home. Two – I didn’t have my iPod.


You would think, with me working just 3 buildings away from the station and up only 11 flights – by elevator that the obvious choice would be to go back up to use the bathroom and retrieve Sweet Pea (my iPod has a name, live with it). But instead, I shrugged and decided I’d rather just get home. So I trod on.

As I reached the platform, after having swiped my car in the decided easier, if old fashioned, turnstile above, a trolley headed to Lechemere was right there waiting. Of course it was jammed full of people. I can take a little bit of squishery, but I’m not willing to be completely mashed into a trolley car with that many people. I don’t need to exercise my hyperventilation muscles that often.

So I patiently waited for the next trolley, and was very lucky indeed that it was headed for North Station. Often, the longer running train is followed by one that only goes as far as Government Center, which simply isn’t good enough. I realized that everyone was waiting by the first car, so I sauntered back to the second one and even got myself a seat. Sweet!

As we chugged along, I realized just how much I missed my iPod – and my noise cancellation headset. Really it is the headset that I really missed. With that on, I don’t notice how frickin’ loud the Bombardiers are. *SCREEEEEEEEEEE* as they turn the corner at Boylston. *SCREEEEEEEEE* as they pull in to Government Center. *SCREEEEEEEEE*

But I, and my daily free crossword puzzle from the Metro, survived. At North Station (“Last stop. This train is going out of service. For service to Science Park and Lechmere , please wait on the platform for a train marked ‘Lechmere .’ Last stop.”), I got off and headed across the platform and down the stairs. I walked up to the front of the platform, because I had come in from Malden Center, and that end is closer to the exit there.

I soon noticed something very disturbing. It was silent. I don’t know what I thought North Station sounded like, but it really was about the quietest place I had heard all day. I was baffled. I tried to discern what was missing… and then it occurred to me. My music. Damn, I wish I had my iPod.

“Attention passengers: the next orange line train to Oak Grove is now arriving.”

I didn’t get a seat, but I was able to lean against the railing by the door, which was enough for me to leave only my left foot on the ground. Not long now. Twelve minutes on the train, twelve minutes on the road, and home free. I finished a quadrant of my crossword puzzle.

“Next stop, Wellington. Doors open on both sides of the train.”

I’ve heard that plenty of times. But then came the words that sent a chill down my spine:

“This train will be going out of service at Wellington. Wellington will be the last stop. Everyone must exit the train at Wellington. There is another service train right behind us” (link via Universal Hub).

We groaned. We whimpered. We pouted. We pulled out or cellphones and called our loved ones to let them know we would not be getting home. Ever. But there was nothing else we could do. We all got off the train at Wellington and stood like one giant pissed-off mass waiting for that other service train that was obviously right behind us.

Of course, even if it was there, how would it come to get us if the train we just got off of was still sitting on the platform? We all held our breaths for as long as we could take it, but it only took a couple extra minutes of waiting before we all burst into spontaneous annoyed conversation with the people next to us. I talked to one lady who had 7 minutes to catch a bus – the next one wouldn’t be for an hour. We were apeshit.

Finally, the broken train pulled out and over into the side lot. I’d like to say that right behind it was another train, but I’d be lying. We waited a good 3 or 4 more minutes for that next train. During rush hour, the orange line is supposed to run trains every 4 minutes. Right behind us. Riiiiiiiight.

And of course it was jammed full.

But we all got on it anyway. I mean, seriously, by this point, I really had to pee! I had visions of getting stuck halfway between Wellington and Malden, but they didn’t materialize. I got to my car, and drove on home. I steamed for a little while, but eventually calmed down. It could have been worse. It can always be worse.

I’m very lucky to have a life where the most annoying and painful things are almost always public transportation in Boston.

It could be way worse.

July 28th, 2006 • 11:41 am • dinane • Posted in Life3 Comments »

Out of Touch

So I’m completely out of touch with the internet, okay? Forgive me? Please? Good.

So today, I decided to pick out three blogs to read a bit of. I picked them partially at random, and I don’t remember what the other two were, because I got distracted by Nickerblog. I can’t really blame Shane, but really, I think I should. He is, after all, the one who posted the links to Magazine Man‘s story.

Don’t start there, though. You need to read this. Be warned, however, that before you go off to read the link you most likely dutifully opened in a new tab while finishing to read this, that this will suck you in. In fact, you should also be warned that it isn’t exactly “work safe.” I don’t mean there are pictures of boobies or foul-mouthed audio tracks. I mean that if you wish your coworkers to respect you and not think you’re a slobbering crybaby, you should probably wait to read this until you are in the comfort of your own home. Just follow the next links at the end of each entry. I promise. You will not be sorry.

July 26th, 2006 • 2:17 pm • dinane • Posted in Blogosphere4 Comments »

Just Like Duct Tape

It was sunny out. Very sunny. And kind of hot, too. Though it could have been hotter. I had hoped there’d be more shadows hanging over the west sides of the streets, but apparently 2:30 is just like noon.

I took Berkley towards the river, passing by shops and homes. As I approached Comm. Ave., I realized that I could have a little reprieve from the sun. Commercial Avenue (which has far too many syllables, so everyone just says “Comm. Ave.”) is a real traditional avenue. It comes complete as a divided road with a park running through the middle. Technically, it’s called a mall.

So, I walked along the mall, with my ever so slight limp, wearing my bright white work out sneakers, until I reached Dartmouth. See, in the Back Bay area of Boston, the streets that run perpendicular to the Charles are alphabetical. First there’s Arlington, then Berkley, followed by Clarendon, and then Dartmouth. When walking across these, you are walking long blocks – think avenue blocks in NYC. My new podiatrist’s office was to be found between Dartmouth and Exeter on Beacon Street.

As I got closer to the address, I started to wonder what kind of building the office could possibly be in. Beacon Street is lined on either side with old brown stones and brick buildings. It’s not really a commercial type of place; this is where you’d be more likely to find residences than doctors’ offices.

When I got there, I found that it definitely was in just another brown stone. And as I approached, I had a sudden fear. I checked the post-it note in my pocket. Yep. Definitely says 4th floor. What if this building is too old for an elevator. Oh man, what kind of podiatrist puts her office at a fourth floor walk-up?

When I entered the building, I thought my fears had been realized; all I could see was regular doors with handles. I quickly noted the one that had a stairwell behind it, and whimpered as I headed towards it. Then I realized something. The door directly in front of me had a familiar looking brass dial above it. It pointed half way between a 3 and a 4. Then I spotted the button.

With a sigh of relief, I pressed the button and watched for the dial to move. It didn’t. Thoughts of hobbling up four flights started to cloud my mind. But then it came into view of the door’s narrow window. It was an elevator all right. The kind with a gate that you have to open and close yourself.

I opened the door, and pulled back the (very heavy) gate. As I slipped into the box of the elevator, the gate slammed itself shut. (Told you it was heavy.) I nervously pressed the button labeled 4 and the elevator lurched into action. I could see through the gate exactly why the dial showed no valuable information – the rope that once controlled the dials had been cut off at each and every floor.

I was happy to see the 4th floor come into view. I was even happier when the elevator stopped exactly there. I pulled back on the grate, pushed open the door, and bolted out of that wretched box.

There were several doors to choose from there on the fourth floor. I studied a couple signs before I found the door I knew I wanted. It said podiatry on it. That’s foot-doctor-y. That’s what I’m looking for.

The door was ajar. I pulled the handle and found myself looking into what really looked like an apartment. This was an entry hallway, with a coat closet on the left. Ahead the waiting room sat only 4 chairs and a table, and just beyond that was an office with a front-desk looking front-desk. Someone was already at that front desk talking, so I patiently waited in the hallway. When she had gone, I walked up to the counter and started, “Hi, I’m…”


“Yep.” I like it when they’re paying attention. Insurance card, co-pay, forms, more forms, more forms… I didn’t wait too long after my form-filling was complete. I had my Games magazine with me, and probably only managed about five crossword entries before the doctor came out to fetch me.

Her curly hair was pulled back in a low pony tale. Her glasses perched low on her nose, which was very centrally located on her pale face. My eyes went to look at her shoes. They were cute! I was jealous. Here I am, wearing white work-out sneakers, and she’s got on these awesome chunky-healed sandals with ties going up her ankles. Oh well. I guess her feet don’t hurt.

So, we talked about my foot. She told me all kinds of fun reasons why this could happen. We both agreed that it was probably due to the extreme change in the amount of walking I do in a given day now that I work in the city. She told me it was good that it hadn’t been going on for too long, and that if I make sure I wear good shoes with arch supports, once I kick this current pain, I’ll be perfectly fine.

Then she gave me two options. Tape or an injection. I absolutely will not ever be taking a cortisone shot. So, tape it is! She started ripping off even strips of wide white medical tape. *shrrrrrrrrrrrkkkk!* She gripped each end of the strip and pushed it hard against the arch of my foot. *shrrrrrrrrrrrkkkk!* The next one overlapped the previous one by half. *shrrrrrrrrrrrkkkk!* Each strip overlapped the previous, and she taped down the ends to make sure nothing would move.

Then she repeated the whole process.

I felt like my foot was now being held together with tape. Apparently feet are to doctors like most problems are to lazy engineers. Anything can be fixed with duct tape. Or in this case, white medical tape reinforced with string.

Lucky me! I have to plastic-wrap my foot to take a shower!

This had better work.

My walk back to my office was a little shadier (in a good way) and a little more awkward.

July 26th, 2006 • 9:53 am • dinane • Posted in Life2 Comments »

Orange Line Blues

I woke up late again. This should come as no surprise to anyone by this point. I might have been able to make it to Oak Grove just in time for lucky space number 13, but my foot and I didn’t feel like walking a half-mile today. So, to Malden Center it was.

I don’t know why it doesn’t bother me more to pay $6 instead of $3.50. I feel like it should be more annoying or painful or something. The only thing I can think of is the distance. The walk is so significantly shorter. But I could have the short walk for $3.50 if I just woke up ten minutes earlier…


I recently noticed some fun times going on at Malden Center Station. Construction tape held the doors open for a while, and one day the turnstiles were gone. A lone MBTA employee stood helplessly watching 3/4 of the people wave monthly passes while the other 1/4 looked in vain for somewhere to drop their token. It was a disaster.

Over by those taped-open doors, there were some very conspicuous crates. About as tall as me and half that wide, they stood almost shiny along the dark brick walls. They were marked with many labels cautioning the movers that they were heavy, breakable, and expensive. I knew what was coming before they even ripped out the turnstiles. Charlie was coming.

Well, today, it appears, Charlie has arrived. And boy, were the Malden Center riders ever confused. It seemed obvious that some of us were used to the Charlie system. We slipped our cards in the slots, took a half step, grabbed the card as it spit out the top, and took the other half step through the whooshing gates. Other people were not so enlightened.

One poor gentleman walked up to each gate in turn, holding his token in his right hand, looking for the appropriate slot. Of course, there is no backwards compatibility in Charlie! The poor man looked so confused, and it took at least 5 attempts before an MBTA employee said something like, “Over here, sir.” The employee looked tired and annoyed. It wasn’t even 7:30 yet. This was going to be a long day for that poor soul.

I passed through easily, but met up with a guy on the other side who looked as perturbed as I did the first time I had to use my monthly pass in the insane Charlie contraption. His mind seemed bruised, possibly along with his hips, but I don’t know if the gate actually touched him.

“This is so dumb! The lines are longer with this nonsense.” I made the mistake of looking up. “The lines are longer this way. Don’t you think?”

“Oak Grove isn’t usually this bad, but it has been worse since the tunnel collapse.”

“The lines are ridiculous. This is so dumb.”

Poor guy. There was nothing I could do for him, so I let him slip away when we arrived at the top of the escalators.

I have to wonder what the MBTA is hoping to accomplish with Charlie. The crates made it obvious that the machinery is very expensive. Are they able to get less employees this way? I don’t know. It does give them an excuse to raise the fares, but they’ve never needed something to do that before.

The thing that amuses me the most is the name of the system. Everything is Charlie. Charlie Pass, Charlie Ticket, Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. This is definitely a tip of the hat to (or outright theft from) the song “Charlie on the M.T.A.” Cute, right? Until you realize that the song was written in protest of fare hikes on the Boston subway.

July 25th, 2006 • 8:17 am • dinane • Posted in LifeComments Off on Orange Line Blues

Whining the Sequel

I was going to title this post simply “Whining,” but lovely Firefox and it’s memory told me that I’ve already titled a post “Whining.” This isn’t actually a sequel to that post, though it does share some common themes.

Part the First

First, I’d like to talk about traffic. No, not site traffic. Actual car traffic, and how it affects my public-transportation-enhanced-commute.

So, if you’re in or near Boston, I’m sure you know about the panel that fell in the tunnels recently. Freaks me out. Probably freaks you out. Probably, though, you won’t really be able to change your use of it, if you do use it, or your use of any other tunnels in the system for that matter. The tunnels are here, and they’re here to stay.

It’s a severe tragedy, what happened to that poor lady, but that’s not really what I’m hear to whine about. See, like good citizens, Boston’s commuters have been taking more public transportation to get in and out of Boston. Fabulous! Or so you’d think, if that system could actually handle it.

The first and most obvious problem is parking at Oak Grove. Usually, I can get a pretty good spot if I show up to the station at 7:10-7:15. Today, I got there at 7:15 and got space number 30. This part of the parking “lot” is actually a side street with numbered parallel parking. You memorize your number, walk about a quarter mile to a box, jam $3.50 in the box, and walk another good distance past the good parking lot to the station. Parking space number 30 is about 18 spaces from the end – the last space is 13 (spaces 1-12 are in a tiny little side lot that I occasionally park in if it is available).

That kinda sucks – parking so far away even when I’m running so totally on time. (Sucks more when your foot hurts like someone blew up a bomb under the heel, but that’s a story for part two of this bitch-fest.) Also, this sucks because it doesn’t give a lot of faith to the wanna-be T-riders who find themselves out of luck at 7:20 or 7:30 or (God forbid) 8:00. I bet the T could up ridership by making it easier to take the T, what do you think?

Other fun things that have happened include my all-time favorite: jam-packed orange line cars. I’m a wee bit claustrophobic. Okay, screw that, I really hate hate hate being crammed into a small space with lots of other people. Two days ago, it was so bad that there wasn’t a single direction where I could look and not see another human right there, right in my face. In fact, it was so packed I couldn’t turn to another direction anyway.

Oddly enough, though, yesterday’s afternoon ride was practically empty. Probably there was a train right in front of ours the whole way that was full to the brim. Glad I didn’t make it to the station any earlier.

Really, though, I’d rather take the orange line than the commuter rail any day. It comes every 4-8 minutes. The commuter rail comes every 4-8 hours (or so it seems).

Part the Second

Now onto that earlier mention of my foot. Something is wrong with my right heel. It hurts. It hurts a lot. And the pain has been getting progressively worse. So, I did what anyone with a pretty good PPO health plan would do. I looked up a podiatrist and tried to call for an appointment. Here’s how that went:

Call phone number A (MGH podiatry department): Next appointment is more than 2 months away. Try phone number B, they might have something sooner.

Call phone number B (MGH orthopedic ankle and foot specialist): Message says office opens at 8. It is 8:30. Get punted to the answering service. Answering service guy tells me they’re not open until 9. Say I’ll call back at 9.

Call phone number B (MGH orthopedic ankle and foot specialist): Get punted to answering service again. Have chat with same guy who tells me he can take a message and they’ll call me to make an appointment. He also tells me that I will need an MG ID number. I don’t have that. He tries to punt me to registration. Some other random receptionist tells us both that I have to call directly to phone number C.

Call phone number C (MGH registration): Hold please. Wait 20 minutes. I was about to give up, someone finally answered. Tell her everything there is to know about me. She could now totally steal my identity. Hope and pray she really is the MGH registration department. She gives me my official branding number.


Receive call from phone number B (MGH orthopedic ankle and foot specialist): Next appointment in a month. Schedule said appointment just in case nothing else can be done. Whimper silently that your foot really fucking hurts and you want to see someone now now now now now.

Return to Blue Cross website to look for a different doctor.

Call phone number D (Other podiatrist in Boston): “I’m sorry, our next appointment isn’t until next Tuesday, the 25th.” She’s sorry? That’s awesome! I’ll take it! She doesn’t ask for my entire life history, just my insurance name, and tells me to come early to do paperwork. So old school. So soothing. So relieving (though it does not relieve any actual pain).

Call phone number B (MGH orthopedic ankle and foot specialist): Get punted to answering service again. Tell answering service guy I’d like to leave a message to cancel my just made appointment for the 15th. He asks if I’d like to be called back to reschedule. I tell him no, I’ve found someone who’ll see me this millennium.

Only downside to new doctor at phone number D – they’ve recently moved offices. They came up on the Blue Cross website as being only 4 blocks from where I work, but now they’re about 7 or 8. I’ll just make sure to wear my work-out sneakers (like I am today).

The End

Thank you for listening (read: reading). I always feel better when I can get my whining out of me.

July 20th, 2006 • 11:21 am • dinane • Posted in Life2 Comments »

All My Teeth Are White Again

Or… mostly white-ish. Okay, kind of ivory.

What I mean to say is, all my fillings are no longer metallic. This was accomplished a few weeks ago, now, but I was just reminded about dentist-related-things by reading back-entries from a new blog I found. Oh blogosphere, how thou hast pained me with my own memories.

Okay, I know I swore off talking about my teeth too much in this blog. But that’s pretty much all I’m going to do in this post, so if you don’t like it, bugger off and read something else.

My dentist has bee pretty swell. She’s nice, patient, and even gives me breaks from the drilling when I start to cry. The hygienists and various assistants have all also been nice to me. Even the lady at the front desk is pretty nice when she isn’t asking me to give her hundreds (and occasionally *gag* thousands) of dollars.

But still, I hate the dentist. I couldn’t tell you what it is. I’m not afraid, per se, I just hate it. I hate the smell. I hate the sounds. I hate holding my mouth open for so long. I hate everything about it.

Her place isn’t so bad I guess. It’s in a house, rather than an industrial building. It’s got a friendly smiling tooth on the sign outside the door. The sign is even a lovely shade of purple. She has all the newest technology and supports all the latest ideals of healthy teeth and gums. She seems to have even found a way to reduce that dentist smell.

My first visit, all she did was take pictures, really. But even that made me anxious. The X-ray technology, even as new and fancy as it is now, still requires stuff in your mouth. And then there’s that mirror *gag* (literally).

A couple times ago, I was just sitting in the chair, waiting for the novocaine to take effect, and I just started to cry. I couldn’t stop it. I hate the dentist that much! In fact, she even knows this. As I was fighting my mouth to stay open to get “the anesthetic” (I think she thinks it sounds nicer than “novocaine “) during my last visit, I mumbled something like, “I don’t like this.”

She immediately said, “No, you hate this.”

But with all of my hatred for the dentist, why was it so hard for me to tell her that I need to go to someone closer to where I live now? I loathed the thought of telling her I was leaving. I was afraid to disappoint her. But seriously, driving an hour to the western suburbs at the crack of dawn just for a dentist only to fight the east-bound rush hour traffic and to pay $20 to park in Boston when I’m through is a little ridiculous.

I told her. She said she’d help me find someone up in my new area. She reassured me that I had improved dramatically. That I was on the right track, and she was happy to have sent me that way.

I almost cried.

Then I realized I was crying at the loss of a dentist, and I carried on with my general business. That would be the business of closing my eyes, opening my mouth, and balling up my hands so tight I lose circulation in my finger tips.

July 19th, 2006 • 3:08 pm • dinane • Posted in Blogosphere, Life2 Comments »

Wild Thing, I Think I Love You

So, yesterday’s Sox game was about the best game I have ever seen in person. It was seriously and truly Hawesome. I know, it didn’t start out so wonderful, and I am concerned about poor Wake… but boy was that an awesome last third.

Up in nose-bleed-behind-the-scoreboard-bleacher-land, we all knew Mirabelli was due. And when it went up, up, up, and out of the park, I could finally flip my hat back upright. Yeah, that’s right, I had my rally cap going during that seventh inning. My hat knows what to do.

And the eighth inning just reaffirmed my knowing love for Timlin, Manny, and Ortiz. A five-pitch perfect inning? Sweet! Oh man, and did you see Big Papi steal second? Unbelievable.

But really, it was the top of the ninth that made this the best experience I have ever seen or felt at a baseball game. This was my first chance to watch Paplebon in action. My first chance to feel the excitement as the crowd all knew what was coming. We were itching to stand up and cheer. And then it comes.

Wild Thing
You make my heart sing
You make everything
I said Wild Thing

We’re all clapping in time with the music. Up on our feet. Excited and ecstatic to know that we will be witnessing an 8-inning ballgame. And there he goes.

I was too busy screaming and hollering to notice, but apparently as he left the bullpen, he chest-bumped the police officer. He was ready. We were all ready. This game was over before they even announced it.

Wild Thing, I think I love you
But I wanna know for sure
Come on, hold me tight
I love you

He was already tossing to Mirabelli when the announcer came on. But he had other business to attend to first. “Now at second base, Alex Cora!” We tried so hard to be happy for him. We cheered, but we all wanted to save it for the right moment.

Wild Thing
You make my heart sing
You make everything
I said Wild Thing

Sometimes, it really is fun to hear what happens when the television has gone to commercial.

Wild thing, I think you move me

“Now pitching for the Red Sox…”

But I wanna know for sure

“Number fifty-eight…”

So come on, hold me tight


You move me


{djnn} {djnnnn} {djnn} {djnnnn} {djnn} {djnn} {djnn}…

It was the very definition of: “And the crowd goes wild.” Man… that was awesome.

July 18th, 2006 • 9:58 am • dinane • Posted in SportsComments Off on Wild Thing, I Think I Love You
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