Formerly Felines for Anarchistic Green Democracies

A Bostonian at the University of Michigan.

There will also be discussion of the New England Patriots, Miami Dolphins, and Michigan Wolverines. Probably in that order.

Detroit Tigers content now at Roar of the Tigers!

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Blogging the Detroit Tigers for the Most Valuable Network.

the flickr photostream

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the game sets

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Spelling rant
Yankee Star Wars
A Tigers Comedy of Errors
How bad is Keith Foulke really?
Harry Potter and the Boston Red Sox
Bellhorn vs. Graffanino vs. Lamprey
Critiquing team slogans
Joey Harrington blogs a baseball game
Jason Varitek gets injured
Winter meetings fashion report
Mascot Rant #1
Mascot Rant #2

8 Days of Jewish Baseball
Day 1- Kevin Youkilis
Day 2- Brad Ausmus
Day 3- Al Levine
Day 4- Jason Marquis
Day 5- John Grabow
Day 6- Justin Wayne
Day 7- Shawn Green
Day 8- Gabe Kapler and Theo Epstein

the Story of Chanukah, Red Sox style
Part I: the cruel reign of Steinbrennochus
Part II: rise of the Soxxabees
Part III: the rebellion begins!
Parts IV, V, and VI
Parts VII and VIII

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Fun with Roster Photos
Note: Comments may not exactly correspond to images, as the images will change when the team puts up new photos. Adds a level of surreality, I think.
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the Brushback
Call of the Green Monster (Red Sox)
Die-hard Cubs Fun
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Ann Arbor is Overrated
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Saturday, January 04, 2003  
Just now I was excavating some of the more heavily sedimented areas of my room, in a desperate search for largish sheets of paper, on which I was intending to scribe some comic book crud. Gotta do all that formatting on big paper, it doesn't work well on the regularly-sized stuff.

As I rummaged through the untold layers, I uncovered an unusually organized cache of writings. By 'organized' I mean that there were many little loose folded sheets of paper covered in untidy scrawls, all tucked into an entirely unused journal. The papers themselves weren't organized, but the fact that there were a number of them in one place astonished me. I generally make these little writings whenever I can't get to the computer to blog, and I generally throw them any old place after I've written them, presumably in the hopes of blogging them eventually, but realistically resigning myself to never seeing them again.

In any event, I curiously read through all of them, just to see what was going on in my deranged little mind so very long ago (i.e. last year. Last school year, I mean). Some of it was stuff that I definintely will not post herein, as it involved certain details of and events in my life at that time that are best left on little sheets of paper distributed randomly about my room. I deem them unsuited for public consumption.

Some of them, though, were amusing and appropriate to me even now. I cannot reprint them all herein, because that would take too damn long, and look at how long it's taken me just to introduce them properly! Great golly gee, I am awfully verbose tonight. That's what I get for reading Pride and Prejudice.

So here you are, some crazy little blasts from the past. The first three were written while I was in school. During classes. That being junior year. What a glorious year. Anywho, may they bring you joy and happiness and all things good.

--dated: Oct. 2001 labelled: precalc notes

I forget who I was talking to, but someone told me that they thought it was hard to consider teachers human. I dunno, I wonder about that sometimes.

This conversation I have just witnessed:
Maddie: Noah Pohl... your socks... are so incredible!
Noah: (looks down at his socks)... Thank you.


--dated: Mar. 2001 labelled: a poem on doni marie a cat god i am bored

Doni Marie
The cat for you and me
Just wait and see
The joys there'll be
When full of glee
Out from a tree
Comes rocketing she
The glorious
So splendid
Doni Marie!

(a note at the bottom of this signed by Corey)
'I thought it was a poem by Demi Moore, the cat. Hmmm...'

--dated: Oct. 16, 2001 labelled: random thoughts from 3 class periods

the 24th of october is united nations day, so be sure to put on your sombreros, pick up your strudels, wax your mustaches and celebrate!

candy pumpkins are SO much better than the intestinal flu, but maybe not if you're a virus. especially if you are an intestinal flu virus. no, maybe not then. or is the intestinal flu a bacteria? i wouldn't know, but i'll bet you the diatoms would.

buy a car, support the economy, get in an accident, reduce global overpopulation.

it just doesn't get much better than that, mon ami, it just doesn't get much better than that.

the trash can was metallic gray, the color of metallic gray paint, or maybe some metal that was gray.

--dated: undated (but I think it must be early this summer) labelled: o boy that was fun

OK, this is me in the present. The following is a bit long, but I decided to reprint it all here because I was amused by it when I read it again. It may not amuse you, but that's not my business. Names and certain words have been changed to protect the guilty, but if you know anything about anything you'll recognize pretty much everyone/everything mentioned. Here you go:

It is late. I have just escaped from the Internet.

Many, many hours ago my evil brother went to bed. "Be QUIET when you go to bed!" he hissed, glaring in that glazed, wild-eyed way that he has, most often reserved for use when charging down small, innocent children. I am a considerate sister. I put the computer on 'mute', I get out of the squeaky chair and sit on the stool, I close the door. Wow, I am too good to this beast.

I am talking online to Anna. After a bit I stop talking to Anna to read, which is hilarious and well-written. Anna stops talking to me, presumably to go speak with someone who will pay a little more attention to the conversation. I get tired. It is already tomorrow, that is, 12:15 am. I sign off.

As I am signing off Anna suddenly IMs me. "Wait!" So I sigh (quietly, of course. Musn't wake the dragon). I sign back on. It takes my computer forever. The dial-up seems endless when the sound is off. I have gnashed my teeth until I have nothing but gums and a stub of tongue left in my mouth. Finally, I am back online. "What?" I say, brilliantly.

Anna informs me that there is a party tomorrow night,probably on the beach, with probably some people there. It is kind of a going-away party for two of our friends, who are not going away but who are going to work at an overnight camp, with weekends off, for some of the summer. So we must party like we will never see them again. But this is Swampscott. Any excuse to party.

It is 12:25 am. Jen IMs me. "Do you have a wet/dry vacuum?" My mind slowly processes this unlikely question and asks, "What for?" Jen replies, "For cleaning. Duh." I consider. I say that I may have such a cleaning device. If Jen were to call me tomorrow when I was awake, say, late afternoon, it is even probable that I would have such a thing. "OK you," Jen says, wittily. "Laterz." As I am contemplating the 'z' on 'laterz', Jen signs off. I realize Anna has IMed me. I had not realized this before because the computer, and thus any IM *ding* noise, is muted.

"It will be a big party with cheese for people who want it and not-eating-cheese if you don't. Fred is planning it." The twin disaster situations of cheese-party-on-public-property and Fred-planning-anything collide in my mind. "Fred is getting cheese?? Fred is planning??" I IM incredulously. "We're doomed. He'll accidentally call the police department while trying to invite people. Fred can't plan anything. Fred couldn't plan a compound sentence without getting confused and lost. Doom."

I cannot believe that anyone would think this is a good idea. This is a bad idea. This is a resoundingly bad idea.

"Ha ha!" Anna says. "No, no, don't worry. Albert and Jen are getting the cheese. Fred is just in charge of the guest list." I indicate my earlier concerns. "I know I know," she says. She knows? Evidently we are not knowing the same things here. "Bob and Roger will be there," she says, as if that is supposed to reassure me that it will all be well. I can see it now. Bob and Roger will, with a little encouragement from certain other persons, have too much fun with the cheese. Why wouldn't they? More importantly, why would Anna think that telling me Bob and Roger will be there would ease my fears? I wonder, gaping in exhausted confusion at the computer screen.

But I decide not to press the issue. It is around 1:30 am, and my higher brain functions are beginning to shut down. I also begin to worry that I am going to get in trouble for keeping my entire household awake with my violent typing. I ask, nonchalantly, "Oh. So do we have a time yet?" "Nope!" Anna asserts cheerfully. I thoughtfully reflect that this is to be expected if Fred is planning this particular shindig. I ask her to call me tomorrow (damn, I mean, today). She agrees. I can, somehow, feel her perkiness through the computer. I wonder what she's getting from me on her end. It sure ain't perkiness.

"I'm only going to be there for a little bit, with Bill," she adds, irrelevantly. My mind hunts around to identify Bill and finally settles on a senior whom I know only through reputation. Anna has mentioned him rather a lot lately, and I idly wonder if he will be the next Anna-conquest. I do not know why I am supposed to care why she will be going to this disaster party with Bill, for a little bit. Is this information supposed to mean something to me? Would it make sense if I were actually awake? Am I supposed to react?

I decide that it is an unsubtle Anna hint, preparing me for the announcement, sometime in the near future, that Anna is dating this character. "OK," I say, online.

"Well, Jess will be there," Anna says (Jess is actually Jess. I'm too lazy to change any more names, and besides, she's not guilty of anything, so there's nothing to protect). "I would talk to Jess and find out what she's doing."

I suddenly realize that Anna is talking about leaving if too many people have eaten cheese and the party sucks. That is what the Bill-and-I-for-a-little-bit comment was supposed to make me think about. Maybe. Anyways, I say, "Yes. I shall. Good night." I wait to make sure she is not going to tell me to wait again. She does not.

I sign off, silently. I stealthily turn off the computer, get off the non-squeaking but unspeakably uncomfortable stool. I turn off the light. I tiptoe to my room in the impenetrable darkness, creaking every other floor board and praying I don't knock into the litter box. I make it to my room without swearing loudly. I sneak in. I close the door. My foot snags a little on something, but hey, it must be nothing. I turn on the light.

I have stepped on a piece of heavily glue-sticked notebook paper and now it is stuck, firmly and irrevocably, to the bottom of my sock. I tug listlessly at the sock for a little bit, but the glue stick ain't giving up. I decide to give up first and relinquish the sock.

It is now 2:22 am. I am tired. I have written this down because I felt like it. But now I have had enough. I am going to bed.

the end

And there you are! Those are my little thoughts from years past. I am fascinated by them, especially by the uncannily prophetic nature of my Anna/Bill prediction. Wow. I am so oberservant. And clever. And clairvoyant. And such.

You are in awe. You know that you are.

12:54 AM

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