Won't you be my neighbor?

I'm inspired by the site Dear Girls Above Me.  In celebration of three years of cohabitation with my heterosexual life mate, and one of my best friends, I'm writing an open letter to our past and present neighbors.

Dearest neighbors,

Let us take a few moments to thank you for shaping the history of the Fry - Voyles Château, 1 and 2.

First, to the girls living above us in 2008.  We were so excited about our first big girls' apartment post-graduation.  It was a palace in our eyes, with amenities close to the after college mecca, Wrigleyville, that allowed us to get the collegiate partying "out of our system" at the dreaded Clark St. JBC.

What we would have gave to get some fucking sleep that summer, on account of your 80's rock mix.  As much as we love Journey and Bon Jovi, would it have KILLED you to put your iTunes on shuffle once in awhile?  Another favorite is when you would listen to the first two minutes of the song, then start over, on repeat.

That same summer Coldplay released "Viva La Vida" and changed all our lives forever.  You loved that song...twenty times in a row at deafening decibels at all hours of the day and night.  Never mind our twisted schedules of work and sleep, we woke up and for some reason I can't explain / I know St. Peter won't call my name / Never an honest word / But that was when I ruled the world.  It was time to enact sick revenge.

About a week later, post-Cubs game and all day weekend binger, we rolled in around 2 a.m. and way past the point of regular adult motor skills.  Side thanks to mom and dad, for the gift of computer speakers with a separate bass large enough to fill our home with sound.  Dear neighbor, Micah and I will never forget plugging in those speakers, holding them to the ceiling, and pressing "play" therefore releasing an explosion of "Viva La Vida" directly at your floor.  Oh sure, we heard your foot or shoe or whatever that was pounding.  All ten minutes of it.  Drunkenly falling off a chair and risking bone breaks were totally worth it.

We didn't feel bad when you moved out.

Next up, to the girls living upstairs #2.  Sorry your living situation was shortened by the fact that you two bitches fought constantly, apparently fueled by serious arguments as "it's YOUR turn to buy the TOILET PAPER."  Unfortunately, you two also brought Karma in with you as you were another set of loud music players.  A little more alternative, with the Dave Matthews Band all the time.  Fortunately, we were experienced, and cut you off the passive aggressive way by coming straight up the stairs.  I hope the next neighbor that you ignore, the one buzzing and knocking, lights a fire under your door.

Me, fist sore from knocking, viewed by Micah and the bottom of the stairs: "Hey.  I'm your neighbor.  And I like Ants Marching, don't get me wrong.  I just don't want to hear it through my ceiling at 8 a.m."
You, terribly awkward and bothered: "All you had to do is ask."
Me, perturbed by your ignorance: "That's exactly what I'm doing.  Please stop."

Fortunately you both grew to hate each other and moved your belongings, including the KISS boots you all must have worn indoors, and put your shit in the building's courtyard until evening.  God help me, I prayed for rain all through that sunny day.

For the new neighbors at the new apartment, I'll save most of this for another time.  This means you: immature dudes upstairs with friends that piss on our front door, guy in sweatpants whom waters the sidewalk, drunk girl in a prom dress.  Most of all you, awkward short man and your Delia*s freak wife downstairs with the bat shit crazy dog.  Believe us, if your dog bites us in the middle of doing laundry again it will be drop kicked.  Yep, it's us who purposefully press our own buzzer to cause chaos and relish in delight as your pup goes into a thirty minute freak out session.  It's retribution for your music playing (really, is that a CELLO?!) in the make-shift conservatory below Micah's room.

Until next time neighbors.

Gratefully yours,
The residents of The Fry-Voyles Château
 Please note Lincoln Park change of address

Slacking! More baseball.

Oh no, slacking! I went to Florida April 4th - 12th with Casey and the family and have been really busy ever since trying to get my life back in order. PLUS, one of my best friends since childhood got married this past weekend so life has been fun. I'll post some pics up here I'm sure. Mostly I just wanted to share this link that Casey sent me today and is even now appearing in my friend Steph's "Between the Lines" baseball blog. Check out her blog here! She updates it almost daily and gives a very journalistic, fresh and unbiased account of baseball for what it really is. Refreshing! So you know, check it out.

This story goes along the one I wrote last month about my Cardinals and the Cubbies rivalry. I love it, it makes me smile and gives me goosebumps. Unfortunately I had to work last week for Thursday and Friday's games (make up those vacation days!) and then the game Sunday was rained out :( But fortunately, rescheduled for a day/night double header on July 12th which is the day before the All-Star break. AMAZING!

Read this article, do it now!

Here is an excerpt from the introduction. "Take the Chicago Cubs and St. Louis Cardinals. All that stands between these two adversaries -- who will renew their rivalry April 24 at Busch Stadium -- is a mere 297 miles of rich, Midwestern soil. With each team intent on owning that land, this rivalry is really a turf war."

Driving directions, according to Google maps, are actually 302 miles from stadium to stadium. 1020 W. Addison Chicago, IL 63102 & 700 Clark St. St. Louis, MO 63102.
Yes Cubs fans - we too have a Clark street.

For fun I am breaking this down. My childhood home is 203 miles, 3 hours and 28 minutes, south on Interstate 55 from Wrigley Field. Exit 100, fyi. From there, continue one hour, 45 minutes and 103 miles farther South to Memorial Drive. in St. Louis. From there...

Welcome home, Cardinals fans!

Cards and Cubs, the I-55 Series

"The Red Sox and Yankees is a tabloid-filled soap opera about money and ego and sound bites. But the Cubs and Cardinals are about... geography and territorial rights." - Buzz Bissinger, Three Nights in August

To start, I am from Springfield, Illinois and extremely proud of it. Land of Lincoln. The kick off point of Barack Obama's presidential campaign Booyah. I find it impossible to believe that anyone outside of this area can appreciate this post for all its worth. This is about the I-55 series or, if you're still reveling in the pre-Eisenhower era, Route 66. However, keep reading because I do not have many followers.

Two words and two worlds: Cardinals, Cubs. Central Illinois is the Berlin Wall of baseball rivalries. I chose West Germany.

Sure, Chicago will blabber on about Sox and Cubs, Southside Northside, whatever I get it and I don't really care. Your fate was primarily decided on your neighborhood, central Illinois isn't like that. We are conservative and liberal, Christian and Lutheran, right-brain and left-brain. Gray area. Boggles your mind. Above all - there is a choice and it is guaranteed you will choose against someone you love very dearly.

Beginning at childhood your world is turned upside down and the manipulation begins by adults pursuing you to sway towards the bright light.

Concerned adult: "Who do you like better, the Cardinals or the Cubs?"
Ignorant child: "I like both?"
Now exasperated adult: "YOU CAN'T LIKE BOTH."

I chose Cardinals. Well Dad chose Cardinals and what four-year-old chooses against Dad? Especially when this Dad had a mustache. I absolutely watched the Cubs' afternoon games with my Grandma and swayed to Harry Caray's drunken rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." Some of the best memories of my life. For me though, trips to St. Louis took a day and we frequented the Arch City often. Score one for the Cards. The tradition of losing by an unsaid team probably helped solidify this lasting allegiance. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa in '96. Enough said.

This excerpt is from George Will at a commencement address at Washington University in St. Louis - down the street from my own alma mater at SLU. If you don't know who George Will is, and I will carefully let it slide if you don't, he is a Pulitzer prize winning journalist with a history at both the Washington Post and Newsweek. He was also referenced in "The Jimmy" episode of Seinfeld but that's either here, nor there.

"I grew up in Champaign, Illinois, midway between Chicago and St. Louis. At an age too tender for life-shaping decisions, I made one. While all my friends were becoming Cardinals fans, I became a Cub fan. My friends, happily rooting for Stan Musial, Red Schoendienst, and other great Redbirds, grew up cheerfully convinced that the world is a benign place, so of course, they became liberals. Rooting for the Cubs in the late 1940s and early 1950s, I became gloomy, pessimistic, morose, dyspeptic and conservative. It helped out of course that the Cubs last won the World Series in 1908, which is two years before Mark Twain and Tolstoy died. But that means, class of 1998, that the Cubs are in the 89th year of their rebuilding effort, and remember, any team can have a bad moment."

Amen sir.