Night Owl Cards

I've been out of touch with baseball the last three days. Ever since the Dodgers' elimination, I've lost all interest in the baseball postseason. A good chunk of my feeling is related to the final four teams left. I don't like any of them. Another portion is the way in which the Dodgers were eliminated: not a single soul can explain to me why Clayton Kershaw was in that game. The remaining part is that this is about seven painful exits in a row for the Dodgers and I'm just tired of it. One person has already tried to get me out of the dumps by telling me to "hug it out," saying, "it's still baseball!" But I'm not one of those baseball fans who are baseball fans first and you can barely tell whether they have a favorite team. I have an allegiance and my heart was ripped out by a stupid strategic move and I can't get excited over talented plays performed by four teams who have repeatedly eliminated my Dodgers. So I'm prob...

When I was a kid, I grew up in a house with a dishwasher. It was kind of a fascinating invention for a 9-year-old. Dishes go in dirty, come out CLEAN! When I got old enough, I was allowed to load the dishwasher, but not before I cleaned off the dishes first, which even at that young age confused the heck out of me -- why am I cleaning dishes when the dishwasher is going to do it for me? When I was 12, we moved. The new house didn't have a dishwasher. And my folks, who realized they had real, live dishwashers living in the house with them, didn't feel the pressing need to buy the mechanical kind. So, they didn't. After that, through years of living in other places and settling into my own home, none of my residences featured a dishwasher. To this day, the last time a dishwasher existed in the same living space as me was in 1978. Because of this, my brain considers the dishwasher a relic of the 1970s, like the Sony Walkman and olive green wall phones. It's as if ...