Shout Out to Curlers

I'm going to indulge myself (like I've never done that before!) and give a shout out to my curling teammates from the Thursday night league at the Detroit Curling Club. They may not, and indeed probably will not, see this blog. But I already told them personally how happy I was with their play, so they know.

We began last night's game playing unusually sloppy. We were down 4-0 after an awful first end (ends are more or less equivalent to baseball innings) in which yours truly hurt the team by overthrowing a takeout (trying to remove an opponent's stone from play) and missing completely, given them an easy four. We scored once in the second when my sweepers kept my last rock going to barely win a point, then forced the other team to take a point (I'll just stop explaining now because it'll get too complicated, but that was a good thing under the circumstances) in the third end and were forced ourselves to one in the fourth. So we're down 5-2 halfway through the game.

Then the boys turned it on. We stole the last four ends to win. 

Okay, one more explanation: last rock of an end is called hammer, because if you play it right you use it to score multiple points. The team with last rock is presumed to have the advantage. You 'steal' an end when you score without hammer. Hammer is sorta akin to batting last, if I may use another baseball comparison. So to steal four straight ends is a significant accomplishment.

I'll admit I wasn't thrilled with our chances after that 4 set us back early, but things snowballed for us. When Jeff, our Vice (throwing third rocks on the team; okay, so maybe I'll squeeze in another aside) drew the top of the button in the sixth end which could not be outdrawn and led us to two for a tie at that point, I knew we'd turned the corner. We stole two in the 7th and 1 in the 8th to win.

Great game, guys. It's why we play, eh?

Telemedicine

I had a follow up appointment with my hematologist yesterday. Everything's good, and no serious issues. Yet I did have an issue of nonmedical import.

Last Thursday I received a text asking me to pre-register for yesterday's visit. So I clicked the link embedded within and filled out all the questions asked. It's no big deal. I do it every time I have to see a doctor.

A text came Tuesday reminding me of my Noon appointment. Okay, fine. That's not unusual either, and probably good for a guy like me who's admittedly becoming terrible about out of sight, out of mind.

I arrived 30 minutes beforehand and checked in. Told that all was copasetic, I was sent on to the hematologist's office. I signed in. Everything was normal that far.

The nurse called me to the desk. "Oh, Mr. Cosgriff, you didn't have to come in. Today was supposed to be a telemedicine call, since it's only a follow up on the tests you had. But since you're here the Doctor will see you."

Well, nuts. Yet the real exasperation is that for all the organization involved, all the automatic prompts and encouragements, no one caught that it was supposed to be a telephone appointment (the hematologist was simply going to call me with the results) until I was all the way to the receptionist's desk at hematology. I wasn't even required, technically, to register for it. The Doc was just going to call me and that was all. 

No one caught it. That doesn't exactly give me confidence in the system.

Must Be AI

I resist click bait, if for no other reason than that it wastes time. But occasionally I go for it, and then immediately remember why I avoid it. Clickbait wastes time and is often plain wrong.

This morning I clicked on The Most Beautiful Unknown Small Towns in Michigan which Michiganders don't know. The first was Saugatuck. Well, perhaps it fits. I only know it marginally, as somewhere near Lake Michigan. Second was Frankenmuth.

Oh, come on. If you're from Michigan and don't know Frankenmuth, well, you're not really from Michigan.

I didn't even bother checking the rest of the list. Just avoid clickbait folks.

The trouble with magic and time travel

I watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone over the weekend not because I was encamped at home with nothing better to do but because my son had the Rifftrax of it and we figured it would be fun. Quite bluntly, I cannot imagine myself watching it without the riffs. Nothing personal, Potter fans.

Anyway, it reminded me of why I can't take stories about magic (or time travel) seriously if they're supposed to be serious movies. They're both impossible (time travel and magic) and invite all sorts of inconsistency.

During one scene in the aforementioned movie a kid clearly breaks his arm. The instructing wizard stops the lesson to take the unfortunate boy to the infirmary. That's all well and good, and of course necessary and proper in the real world. But in that world of magic all I could think was, why are you making this kid endure all that misery? Why don't you just wave your wand and heal his injury?

Ditto time travel. If taken at face value, either everything will always be in flux as folks gallivant about changing everything, or you should just be able to go fix the problem and be done with it. It's okay with comedy such as Back to the Future as you're not expected to take it seriously. But as a plot device in a drama it's really rather stupid.

Yes, yes, yes, suspend disbelief and enjoy the films on their own merit I will be told. I will even concede such movies might make passable entertainment. Still, the inconsistencies inherent in them will always bug me.

Rant (if this qualifies as one) over.

Trump Went Too Far This Time

We. as individuals and within our various groups, need to self police. We need to examine what we say and do and to explain, expand upon, and apologize as necessary for our words and deeds. And we cannot be afraid to censure our friends when they cross a line. Perhaps especially so then. President Trump merits censure by tweeting he was glad Robert Mueller had died. 

We should never, ever, under any circumstances revel in a person's death. What they need at that time are prayers, charity, consideration for their souls, and concern for the suffering of their families left behind. Stating we're glad they're dead is never justifiable. 

I don't care that our opponents have acted similarly. The defense that it's just Trump being Trump is a dodge. It does not matter that our adversaries will, and they will, use our necessary self reflection against us. We are called to love everyone. That means wanting the good for them. That means prayers and charity upon death. Even before that, quite frankly, but particularly then. Full stop.

The President saying that he's happy a fellow human being has died is disgusting, reprehensible, and indefensible. We must say it. Out loud. And no matter what. 

Weeping for Lazarus

In today's Gospel in the Catholic lectionary, we hear the story of Lazarus raised from the dead. Lazarus was the brother of Martha and Mary, and Christ was personally close to them. 

While two days away preaching Christ was informed that Lazarus was very ill. By the time he reached Bethany where the three friends lived, Lazarus had been dead four days. As Christ approached the tomb, He wept.

That's rather peculiar, isn't it? In the moments before Our Lord was to pray to His Father for help, He wept. He was soon to command, "Lazarus, come out!" surely knowing he would, yet Jesus cried. But why should He?

Because he understood the evil of death better than we can. Christ understood it on a deeper, more profound level. He became man precisely to do that, to take on fully what it means to be human and to atone for evils such as death. He would eventually die for that, hung from a tree as the Apostles would say, to make a better life possible for you and me.

That's love. That's why we need to accept as our Savior, Christ Jesus.

Hold Thy Tongue Marty

As a general rule, it really is best to hold your tongue. But, hell, sometimes that can be hard.

I sent an order UPS to a customer. Okay, I sent my brother out with the package to UPS it to a customer, but potato, pa-tat-o. After he had left the old barn, and as they had prepaid, I sent an email explaining that the order was on its way and that I would be snail mailing a paid invoice later that day. That's a standard business practice, right?

The next day I received an email from said customer wondering why, as they received the parcel, there was not an invoice enclosed. They enquired, would I be sending one by the regular mail?

I might not have been quite so upset with the question except that they asked it in a reply to the original email informing them that a paid invoice was forthcoming in the regular mail. 

Bite. Thy. Tongue. Marty. 

I cannot tell you how badly I wanted to reply to the email by asking if they actually read their emails. I cannot tell you how seriously I considered a smarmy, snide response. Something along the lines of, 'What? You didn't get an invoice? I will overnight air one to you immediately!' or some such. But no, I calmly replied that one was already in the mail, and to let me know if they didn't get it soon. 

I'm easing my anger by writing this blog entry. But I'll bet you know the feelings I'm dealing with, eh?