Due date

So right now I'm at Starbucks by myself checking email, updating my Netflix queue, and ordering some books for school next year. (Rach is at work and Mom took the kids to the farmers market.) A boy who I had in class two years ago walked in with his dad and twin brother. I waved at him and he came over and said hello before telling me that his mom is having a baby. Now this is not really the kind of woman who needs be procreate any more. (Click here for a walk down memory lane to our first meeting http://http//mritchason.blogspot.com/2006/08/when-saying-you-dont-care-isnt-enough.html.) Anyway, he went on to tell me that his mom was six months along to which I responded that she didn't have much further to go. He nodded and added "Yep, in five more months the baby will be here." 6 + 5 = 9? I instantly learned that his math skills haven't improved a bit since I had him in class. His dad just shook his head as though he'd heard it all before. "It's been the longest six months of my life," the dad bellowed in his finest Larry the Cable guy t-shirt. "She bitches about everything!" He then added that they were going to Kentucky for Thanksgiving and were hoping that the new baby arrived by then. Um, if the baby hasn't arrived by November I think you might have encountered some major complications. Spending the holidays in Kentucky would be the least of your problems. I simply said "Well I hope everything works out for your guys" as they grabbed their drinks and left. I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.

Overheard

Since returning to summer school this week after my week-long excursion to Little Rock, I've overheard some conversations that caused me to laugh:

* One of the girls in my class walked in yesterday morning and just looked a little different than normal. There was something about her hair that had changed but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Giving up, I asked her what was different. Seeming annoyed, she responded, "Um, I brushed it this morning." Unfortunately the new hairstyle didn't come complete with a more glowing personality.

* During our 15 minute snack time yesterday I overheard one boy say to one of his classmates, "My dad is rich." When the boy responded by asking where he worked, he was told that his dad worked at Enterprise Rent-A-Car. The boy expounded on this by saying "Ya he always just takes one of the nice cars for the weekend and when our van needs gas he just drives it over to work in the middle of the night and fills it up. Sometimes he'll take us out to lunch and if he doesn't have enough money he can just take some out of the cash register." Um, young Connor, that's what we call stealing from the workplace, punishable by 5-8 years in prison. I hope that $5 footlong from Subway was worth it.

* When the students get there for breakfast each morning they are asked to sit at one of our class' two assigned tables. To help keep our kids straight there are laminated signs in the middle of the table with my last name and my teaching partner's last name. A second grader walked in this morning and just floated from table to table, seemingly trying to not to have to sit down at his table until the last possible moment. When he got to our table he looked at the sign with a confused look on his face. Turning to me he said "Ritchason? Isn't that a black name?" I just nodded and told him my mom was black, which seemed to satisfy him as he moved on to the next table.

You get what you give

Today Liam and I stopped at Starbucks after running some errands around town. I ordered my drink and found a cramped spot to sit in the midst of all the tables. I pulled a donut from the store out of Liam's bag and began breaking it up in pieces for him to eat. To our left was a woman interviewing for a job at Bergner's, while behind us sat a realtor finishing up the paperwork foir a new listing. On the right near the window sat a woman with her laptop and a pile of receipts. Liam is completely my son because the boy can eat all day long. He screeched excitedly as he devoured each bite of donut. The woman with the receipts was chatting loudly on her phone about an upcoming trip to Florida. She went on and on about the condo they were staying at for $3,000 a week. First of all I hate people that talk at the top of their lungs just so everyone can hear how great they are. You're sitting in a Starbucks in Pekin wearing an orange banana clip in your hair and large red eyeglasses that even Sally Jesse Raphael wouldn't have worn in 1997. Wow, I'm so envious.

She went on to tell her friend on the line that she was sitting in Starbucks before adding "It's really loud in here. This baby in here keeps screaming." I couldn't believe she said that since we were sitting close enough that I could reach over and rip off the Guiliani '08 t-shirt she was wearing. I don't like confrontation so I just quietly stewed in my chair. It gets better. She went on to say "The dad just sits here and doesn't do anything." Alright, so I turned to look at her and gave her one of my patented "Are you friggin kidding me" looks. I'd like to think that I was so intimidating that she finished up her conversation, albeit by adding "Well I'm just going to head home where it's quiet to finish up these expense reports."

She closed up her laptop and while she turned towards the window to put it away I did something I'm not proud of. I took a handful of Liam's pieces of messy chocolate donut and tossed them into her open purse. Aha, gotcha! As she collected her belongings she walked past the two of us and glared at me as though I had just stood up on my chair, stripped down naked, and peed into my cup of chai tea. Now here's the best part. I watched her head out into the parking lot and as she stepped off the curb she tripped and coffee spilled all over everything she was carrying. The photo of Rudy on her t-shirt now looked a little more like Barack. And that my friends is what we like to call karma.

Fight club

For the last week I've had this little bump on my eyelid that I can't seem to get rid of. I thought it was a sty because I occasionally get them from not throwing out my contacts every two weeks like I'm supposed to. I'm cheap in that way and will basically wear them until a) they tear, b) I lose them, or c) my eyes turn the color of Buffalo Wild Wings' Mango Habanero sauce. When I get a sty I usually do my old standby routine: I throw away the infected contact, where just the one contact for the next two days, and put warm tea bags on my eye. You laugh but it always works. Except it didn't this time. I've sat through countless movies, church services, birthday dinners, and a DMB concert being only able to see out of one eye. Plus I've gone through enough tea bags to keep the Lipton company thriving through these difficult economic times.

I'm leaving on Sunday to go to a conference for a school in Little Rock so I knew that I wanted to take care of it before I left town. I made an appointment with the eye doctor and went in this afternoon. The nurse escorted me back to an exam room where she asked me some basic questions. I made the mistake of telling her that for the last week I hadn't been wearing my contacts. Contacts plural, not singular. She said "That's really smart of you because some people just still keep wearing their contacts and that doesn't allow for the eye to heal. I've even had some people come in ignorantly wearing only one contact. That's not only unsafe, it's also very stupid." That would be me. Ignorant, unsafe, and stupid. Table for one please.

Sitting there in the oversized exam chair she then handed me one of those paddles that you use to cover one eye and read off the chart. I covered my good left eye and obviously couldn't make out anything but the large letters at the top. She then told me to now cover up the other eye to see if I could see any better out of it. Busted. Rather than coming clean I faked my way through it. I pretended that I couldn't make out what the letters were. "I think it's a B, although it might be a P," I lied. It was a C. Seeing how blind I was she rather condescendingly asked why I didn't wear my glasses in. I said that Ella had stepped on them just this morning. She shook her head and finally said "Please tell me you didn't drive here." I shook my head and told her that my brother had brought me over and was waiting in the car. This is the perfect example of how one lie leads to another lie which leads to another lie. The moral of the story kids is to always tell the truth.

When the doctor finally came in he took a look and immediately told me that it was a blocked tear duct. He said he'd need to do a procedure called a chalazion and unblock the gland. I was ushered to another room without being given the opportunity to ask any questions. The next thing I knew I was getting a shot in my eyelid and trying hard not to urinate in my pants. After getting the shot I had to wait twenty minutes for it to completely numb. Nobody mentioned that it was going to make my eye swell up like Violet Beauregard. Right on cue the doctor came back in, reclined the chair, and went to work. Having metal instruments darting into your eyes is something creepily reminiscent of A Clockwork Orange. As he leaned over me it didn't help my nerves that I could see everything he was doing reflected off the lenses of his eyeglasses. I've watched Hannibal Lecter bite out a man's tongue but nothing is quite so eerie as seeing a scalpel slicing away millimeters from your eyeball.

Another woman poked her head in I guess to check on the progress or perhaps just to be nosy. "Aren't you Mr. Ritchason?" she said shortly after arriving. She was a former Willow parent and began talking about her daughter's gymnastics meet coming up this weekend. I don't mean to be rude, but I could really give a crap about that right now. "Oh great" is all I could get out. She excused herself just before the doctor finished up the procedure. "You're as good as new," he said as he shook my hand and left. The assistant sat me and I could immediately see my reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room. I looked like I had been in a bar room brawl with Woody Harrelson. My eye was puffy with a big shiner below. For once I looked (somewhat) like a tough guy. Don't mess with me.

A bizarre night at Busch Stadium

Last night my buddy Seth and I headed down to St. Louis to see Dave Matthews Band. It was something of a momentous occasion as it was the first concert held in the new Busch Stadium. The Post-Dispatch this morning reported that over 35,000 people were in attendance, which is probably an accurate figure as only the outfield bleachers between the two foul poles were left empty. It struck me last night that it's been five years since my last DMB show. In that time I swear the band's demographic rapidly aged in years. The crowd used to be full of free-spirited young adults out just looking for a good time. However, everywhere I looked last night I saw gray-headed couples older than my parents. Now when I say old I don't mean like Bon Jovi groupies-old. I'm talking more Neil Diamond-old. At one point I thought I'd unintentionally stumbled into a massive screening of The Bucket List. Later on an elderly gentleman in front of us turned around to a rauckous crowd near us and asked them to keep it down. In his defense, it was past grandpa's 8:30 bedtime.

Before the show started this girl named Kara was shooting a piece for MLB.com. I think she was an aspiring journalist who was covering the concert for the website. Now all this girl had to do was tape an opening segment, introducing where they were and why, and later a closing segment to wrap it all up. It took take after take to simply look into the camera and utter "Thanks to Busch Stadium. Thanks to Dave Matthews. I'll see you next time." I swear this girl was something of a retarded Katie Couric.

A few rows up there were two groups of girls that had just met and were introducing themselves. One of the girls asked if they had seen the new Sex and the City movie, and they responded no, that they were going tomorrow. "Oh my God, it's so goooood!" the girl said before launching into the entire plot of the movie. "Wait until you see Carrie (insert major plot spoiler here)." Hey honey, I don't think they even need to see the movie now. You mentioned things even Roger Ebert missed.

There was another strange older man a couple of rows up. I say strange for many reasons. First, he was in his 50's there by himself. Alright, that's not that unusual. Second, throughout the almost three hour concert he alternated between taking off his hat and waving it high above his head to no one in particular and using both hands to shade his eyes as he searched the crowd. The odd thing about this is that it's dark at 10:15 and there's no reason to protect your eyes from the powerful rays of the moon. Third, he looked like a pedophile. I know, I know, I always mention To Catch A Predator, but this looked like your typical guy that gets caught chatting online with a 13 year old girl. I'm sure he has some sleazy screen name like longdanny57 or ragingboner49. I'm just saying that he was a very odd little duck.

This kid behind me must have been president of the Dave Matthews Band fan club. He knew the most obscure facts about the guys. It was like having Wikipedia looming over your shoulder all night. It's like when you go to the movie theater and you watch the trivia questions before the film begins. There's always that one loud idiot who thinks they're so smart. John Travolta played Danny Zuko in Grease? Really? You mean, it wasn't Ashton Kutcher?? Thanks to Brainy Smurf, I now know the original title of "Don't Drink The Water" ("Weight of the World"), who directed the "Crash Into Me" video (Dean Karr), and Carter Beauford's first concert (Buddy Rich).

As the show progressed more beers were drank, more pot was smoked, and to most there wasn't a single care in the world. A guy in front of us really loved the slow jams because each time he'd rub his girlfriend's back before heading down to her butt. He was rubbing it as intensely as a maid polishes the silver at Buckingham Palace. I kept waiting for the genie from Aladdin to spring forth. About two hours into the show a girl magically appeared to my left dancing with a beer in her hand. I'm gonna go out on a limb and predict that it wasn't her first beverage of the evening. It didn't take long for her to start berating me for not being as into the music as she would have liked. "It's a concert," she kept saying over and over. I'm more of a laid-back, head bobbing kind of guy who just likes to sing along to his favorite songs. Unlike her, I don't feel like I need to dance like a goofy court jester in King Henry's castle. She got more and more annoyed with me that she began banging on my back repeatedly. Now let me inform you that this wasn't like a simple tap on the back with a kind of "C'mon, you can do it" quality. This was more like a battering that comes when your friend swallows a chicken bone and you're trying to dislodge it from their esophagus. I truly think I could have brought her up on assault charges.

Set List
Two Step
Rhyme And Reason
Corn Bread
Crash Into Me
One Sweet World
#27
So Damn Lucky
Crush
Don’t Drink the Water
Hey Hey My My (Into the Black)
Pay For What You Get
Recently
Water Into Wine
Tripping Billies
Grey Street
You Might Die Trying
Ants Marching

Encore
Everyday
Louisiana Bayou
Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)