Green Eggs and Fulham

Consumer of culture, or whatever passes for it these days. Twitter: @albolte.


Requests and dedications

No birds were harmed in the making of this picture. (My cats, however, nearly killed themselves falling over their curiosity.)

From The Burrito Lady: Egg, potato, ham, carne adovada, bacon, smothered in HOT red and green chile.

I’ve got your best burrito right here, FiveThirtyEight.

lnthefade:

I was going to play along but they don’t offer Mike Patton as a frontman.

Also, I keep going over $25 because I’m insisting on Prince, Claypool and Grohl all playing together.

I’ll only play if I can pick Josh Homme as a free agent; otherwise forget this mess.

My first new pair of glasses in fifteen years. Still getting used to them.

The most frustrating thing about new glasses is thinking I should be able to read fine print from 1/4 mile, knowing that I can’t.

But hey, maybe I’ll be able to see distances a bit better now.

Being a supporter.

Went to my first non-collegiate soccer match last night, the first-ever home match for USL PDL side Albuquerque Sol FC, and standing in the “supporters section” with 20 other individuals, I learned a few hard truths:

  • If you’re situated in a stand that is almost as far as you can be from the main stand without being on the bench for the club, it’s very difficult to get them to hear what you’re saying.
  • If you are wearing a soccer kit (Rochdale AFC, in my case) and walk from the nearest bar to the match and pass a regular couple attending the match, they will approach the nearest security guard and say something about “I think those are soccer hooligans - you may want to keep an eye on them.” 
  • The walk to the match (roughly a mile) is much harder than the walk back. Must be something about the urgency to get there.
  • Singing or chanting for 90 minutes is HARD. Getting others to join in on a simple chant when they have other ideas, or have their heads buried in their smartphones, is even harder. Doing a commemorative chant for our first-ever goal scorer during the 60th minute (when he scored the club’s first goal two weeks ago) will just get you stared at like you’ve grown a second head.
  • iPhone (or in my case, iPod touch cameras) are terrible at night shots. Don’t bother using them.
  • Regular folks attending a soccer match in the U.S. don’t want to chant. They don’t want to sing. They do want to cheer like we scored when all we did was fire a ball into the side netting.
  • $2.50 Miller Lite 16-ounce aluminum cans at the local dive bar taste like college. Price is right, though.

My throat hurts, my voice is shot, my body’s sore, and we lost 2-1 to a team from Midland-Odessa that were solid defensively and stopped everything we tried before it got into the final third.

But I’ll be back in two weeks’ time to watch them against FC Tucson.

My first CD purchase will be my next CD purchase.

Pastrami and Reuben. Sunday is the new Caturday.

First thing I see in my mailbox upon my return.

I’ve been called to jury service five times in the past 15 years. Apparently there’s something about me that just SCREAMS minimum-wage.

THE MOVING WALKWAY IS COMING TO AN END — WATCH YOUR STEP PLEASE — THE MOVING WALKWAY IS COMING TO AN END — WATCH YOUR STEP PLEASE

- the soundtrack to the next two hours of my life.

Lucas Oil Stadium. The sports bubble, rendered in brick and steel and space. Oh, God, the space.

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