A Grinch Stole My Christmas--Literally!

I refuse to turn into my friend Dana. I also refuse to let Ben take over this blog with only sports-related musings. I love sports (as much as the next girl), but our Christmas was almost ruined! Well, maybe just the decorating part of Christmas.

A few weeks ago, Ben ventured to the basement to fetch our Christmas decorations. Three huge boxes later, we were ready for set-up.

Large, pre-lit Christmas tree: check

Mini Christmas tree from college days: check

Garland: check

Nativity: check

Last year, Ben and I spent hours shopping for Christmas decorations. I was very specific about what I wanted in a tree: it needed to look very real (I have insane allergies that keep me from enjoying a real tree), it needed to be a particular shape to fill out a large corner in the living room, and it needed to be nice and tall. Well, we found the perfect tree. High five, Ben;)

The garland came from my mom's house. I can't remember if I asked permission to take it! Sorry, mom. It is lush, blends well with my tree, and is covered with mini pinecones. My mom is an amazing decorator and she has tons of Christmas decorations that she alternates each year. I think, at this point, she doesn't even realize the massive amounts of Christmas paraphernalia that fill her attic. I actually noticed yesterday that Carrie sneaked out with some old garland, too!

Now, my nativity scene is very important to me. It was a wedding present from our dear friends Emily and Greg, and her parents Doc and Mrs. Ruth. I love it; it made me feel very grown up to have my own nativity scene for our first (married) Christmas together.

What could be missing, you ask? Ornaments.

So, I sent Ben back to the basement. Nothing. So, I went down myself. Nothing. I tore the house apart, looking in every closet, box, and hiding place. Nothing. After a week of this exact same process, I called our landlord. In order to prepare for their expanding family, Will and his wife Georgiana recently moved from the apartment above us into a beautiful home. I just knew that our Christmas ornaments were sitting in a (labeled) box in his attic. Yep, you guessed it: nothing.

I know our ornaments came from Target or Garden Ridge, but there was a sentimentality attached to those ornaments. It took me weeks to get over the loss. Our tree stood bare in that perfect corner for the longest time. I refused to do anything about it--except send Ben back to the basement and harass Will by phone and text.

This week, my mom came to the rescue. She refused to let the tree stand empty for the entire holiday season. It's impossible to pout now--pictures to come!

Sports Epigraphs: Louisville Cardinals Men's Basketball

"Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall."
--Proverbs 16:18

F'in Fantasy Football; or, Playoffs?! You Kiddin' Me?

I play in two fantasy football leauges--one with friends from law school, and the other with the crew of flunkies I acquired at college. In both, I'm screwed.

I feel like this at least once a week, if not more often. This week, I picked up Denver's defense/special teams. In both leagues. But Ben, you might be saying, they're terrible. Aha, I would have replied before yesterday, they are playing the Kansas City Chiefs, a dismal 0-3 team that simply cannot move the ball. Thus, Denver's D is going to have a great week. WRONG. The Chiefs torched the Broncos, earning me a whopping 3 points in one league. What a pack of ninnys.

Also, I have Anquan Boldin in both leagues. He's been stellar for the first few weeks of the season. Last week, I even traded Peyton Manning to get him. Of course, immediately after the trade, the Arizona Cardinals get practically shut out for the first time this year. And, to add insult to injury, Boldin suffered a serious injury and God only knows when he'll be back (he did manage to score a TD before being crushed--every cloud has a silver lining, I guess). Is it bad that the only thing I was worried about when I saw this was how it would affect my fantasy teams? Probably.

Deep breaths. Sorry, had to get that rant out of my system. Lynn listens to me bitch and moan about fantasy football just about every week, but I think she's just humoring me and doesn't understand the earth-shattering import of making the Stupid Panda Jerks playoffs two years in a row. God knows the internets do.

UPDATE 12/1/08: The Indian Goggles will be in the SPJ Playoffs, competing for the gaudy panda bobblehead traveling trophy currently held by Ross Love.

UPDATE 2: Lost! Gah! Ross Love pulled it out but only because his opponent left 130 points on the bench, mostly from Brandon Jacobs and DeAngelo Williams. Yes, that team was stacked.

Monasticism on Two Feet

"Running is one of the only activities that you can begin with little or no planning. You can simply stand up and begin to run. That's what I did."
--Marc Parent, The Very First Step

Like Mr. Parent, I work at a desk. I read and write for a living. I do not labor with my hands or earn my keep with the sweat of my brow. Languor and impassivity seep into my body with every passing day. That is why I have started to run.

Like Mr. Parent, I find the simplicity of running alluring. Its austere qualities draw me toward it. You need only shoes and a path. You need not equipment or experience or talent. The clouds--shortness of breath, jagged pain in the side--can be enjoyed and savored for their silver lining--unassailable feelings of triumph, improvement in well-being. The sounds of running, measured clop clop clop footfalls and rhythmic labored breathing, hypnotize and push me forward. Running is asceticism personified.

Like Mr. Parent, I have only begun. I may falter but I will recover. I may never be good but I will never again be soft.

Things I've Pondered While Bored at Work Today

1. Burning Out vs. Fading Away
2. Correlation = Causation?
3. My Records > Records of the K.G.B.

Favre Watch!

Last night, I couldn't sleep and decided to watch some TV. Since we'd been out of town at a wedding all weekend, I didn't really keep up with the goings-on around the world of sport. Turning on the TV, I flipped to ESPN.

They talked about Brett Favre. Having to run a lap. FOR FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.

Apparently, Favre and Jets center Nick Mangold muffed a snap and coach Eric Mangini made them both run. I understand that it was one in the morning, but did NOTHING else happen yesterday? This whole Favre grab-ass has been infuriating, not only because Favre has whored himself out at every opportunity, but also because he's found a very willing john in ESPN. It's just another step toward all media becoming US Weekly. What's next?

"Thanks, Stu, Chris Mortensen here. I'm at Hofstra University at the Jets' training camp, and Brett Favre has misplaced his keys. Again, Brett Favre has misplaced his keys. I spoke to Favre, and he told me that he usually places them on top of his dresser, but they weren't there. He said to me, 'Chris, I can't believe this. I looked in the Wrangler Jeans I was wearing last night, and they weren't there either.' Favre now plans to retrace his steps over yesterday evening in hopes of recovering the missing keys so the assembled media may take pictures of him as he arrives at practice in his F-250, personifying everything that makes America great. I will keep you posted with new developments. Back to you, Stuart Scott."

Fingers crossed.

I Hope This Embarrasses You, Ben

This week, Ben and I celebrated our first anniversary! It absolutely feels like last week that my musicians started playing Linda's Song...and I sobbed my way down the aisle to meet Ben (all the Felicity fans out there might recognize this song as "Ben and Felicity's Piano Theme").

So many people have said that the first year is the hardest, but I have to say, this was a wonderful year. I loved coming home to Ben after a long day at work, spending the weekends being lazy, sharing our home with lots of friends, and starting some of our own traditions. I am so lucky that Ben loves me, because I can be hard to love (just ask my sister...or my students). And I think Ben is just perfect. Seriously.

Our celebration was postponed a few days, as Ben was busy taking the bar exam (pretty good excuse, I thought). But, on Wednesday we ate a delicious dinner at North End Cafe' and enjoyed the top of our wedding cake.

Here are a few pictures from our favorite day, o7/28/07

Our monogrammed aisle cloth that my mother designed

Seeing Ben for the first time made me very happy

Mr. and Mrs...can you pronounce it? Spell it?

First (and only) moment alone...

At Talon Winery, a Lexington vineyard where our reception was held

If you can't tell by those pictures, I adore you, Ben. Happy Anniversary!

Pat Forde--Pal to the Prosaic and Plastered Alike

Pat Forde has written an interesting article on what he calls "the cult of the coordinator." He makes some good points on what, perhaps irrationally, offensive and defensive signal-callers mean to today's college football fan. Around here, people are sure that Joker Phillips, UK's offensive coordinator, will lead Kentucky to breathe the rarefied air atop the SEC East, despite the fact that, just last season, made some truly indefensible play calls in winnable games (See Georgia, Mississippi State, and especially Tennessee in overtime). But it's one of the article's throwaway paragraphs that grabbed my attention:

"The cameras find [coordinators] routinely, whether on the sidelines or in the booth. It would be an absolute drunkfest if you played a drinking game tied to camera shots of coordinators wildly signaling plays by hand or furtively calling them into their headsets while covering their mouths with play sheets."

Pay attention, aspiring sports journalists. The article is well researched and written, peering into a recent sports trend with an inquisitive and skeptical eye, Forde playing the sports fan's Woodward. At the same time, he appeals to a core demographic of college football: drunken fools. Reading the article, it struck me that both sentiments appealed to me about equally. I wonder whether the sometimes exorbitant salaries college coordinators are paid today (Norm Chow is reportedly getting over $1 million a year as UCLA's offensive coordinator) really do translate into success on the field, when raw talent is at least equally responsible for a football team's success. At the same time, when I read the description of Forde's drinking game, my first thought was, "I wish I had thought of that about seven years ago." And now, planning the logistics of that game for the last Saturday in August, when Lynn will be out of the house for most of the day at a wedding shower, has quickly taken precedence over pondering the so-called cult of the coordinator.

UK's Chances

I've been trying to get Lynn to write something for a few days, but she refuses. I've been calling her Harper Lee for her extreme reticence, and you should too. I guess the heavy lifting is going to have to fall to me.

Summer sports are the worst. I have been looking forward to college football since the end of Euro 2008. College football is the Dude: it's the sport for its time and place. Baseball is, at best, Donny, and thus needs to shut the fuck up and get off my TV. Of course, this is just, like, you know, my opinion, man. Even if it's not fact, I still can't wait for the football season.

In Lexington, the approach of fall brings one burning question to the fore of every Kentucky fan's mind: how many games will the football team win? The most popular answers to that question are "Hopefully, enough to be bowl eligible," followed closely by "We have a football team?" My answer? SEVEN.

Games we are sure to win: (4)
Norfolk State, Middle Tennessee, Western Kentucky, Vanderbilt

I've just jinxed the team. We're going down.

Games we are sure to lose: (2)
Florida, Georgia

These two teams are first-class and one of them will be playing for the SEC Championship. Of the two, I think we have a better chance to beat Georgia. We play them at home, and it could be a trap game for them, falling between their games with Florida and Auburn.

Six close calls, of which we will win three:
Louisville, Alabama, South Carolina, Arkansas, Tennessee, Mississippi State

If I had to pick three of these, I'd say we will beat Louisville, South Carolina, and Mississippi State. If I could pick any one of these teams to beat, at the expense of losing three other games this season, it would have to be Tennessee. This is just getting embarrassing. Plus, now that Bruce Pearl is pulling all the tail that the southeast has to offer, we need to take them down a peg or two. Hell, though, we might just win all six. Look out, BCS!

So, we'll make it back to seven regular season wins, then brutalize another unsuspecting ACC powder puff in the Music City Bowl, then go into next season with the national media predicting a three-win season. Again.

I'm Going to be a Father...

...to a three year old chocolate lab.


We're adopting her from a Lab rescue here in Lexington. I'm going to re-name her, though. I would name her after Coach Rupp, but she's a girl, Rupp is taken and I can't imagine walking down the street calling for Adolph. Not really sure why, just a feeling I have. Here are the names I've been thinking about:

1. Little Jerry Seinfeld
2. Dude
3. Maggie
4. Dethklok
5. Bear

And we got a grill yesterday. I'm well on my way to becoming a red-blooded American.

UPDATE July 15, 2008. We got the dog yesterday and decided to name her Tilly.

Rupp's Brush With Death

This afternoon, I took Rupp outside for what I thought would be a routine walk. Unfortunately, this would turn out to be the least routine walk Rupp and I have ever gone on.

Ninety-nine percent of the time he is outside, Rupp is on a leash. Today was no exception. As we walked out the back door, though, I noticed a small, innocent puppy standing in our driveway. Rupp, being the gracious host that he is, decided to attack this intruder. I did not have a great grip on the leash and it shot out of my hand. After rolling around in the driveway for a second, and before I could grab Rupp's leash, the puppy shot out of sight at top speed, with Rupp giving chase.

I sprinted after them in bare feet, yelling at Rupp to stop. He declined. They both stayed on the sidewalk, but this puppy was fast. Rupp was not quite as fast and could never catch him, but he easily outran me. Finally, they reached the end of the block and both dogs shot across the street with me about 100 yards behind them, panting for breath. Right after they made it across the street, a car shot by, and I mentally prepared for the divorce proceedings that would ensue were I responsible for the death of Lynn's dog.

At that point, they both turned onto another road and out of sight. After the fact, I looked on the internets to see how far I had sprinted. 1/5 of a mile, or 1,056 feet, or over three football fields. It's safe to say I had not sprinted like that since playing high school soccer seven years ago, and it showed. I could barely move and my throat was afire from the run and screaming myself hoarse at the dog. Thankfully, a kid was riding his bike down the sidewalk and pointed out the two houses the dogs ran between. I hobbled into the yard of the first house, feet bleeding, and heard Rupp's collar jingling as he walked from between some bushes. He was wearing a shit-eating grin similar to this one.

I've been looking for a Lab to adopt since.

A Welcome to Friends, Acquaintances and Intense Fans of the Fiechters

It's over a month until my return to teaching, and about the same amount of time until Ben takes the bar exam. We are both looking for a distraction, and thought we'd try our hand at creating a blog. Actually, I had to twist Ben's arm by promising he could write about anything he wanted. You have been warned.

So, welcome to our blog. We usually introduce ourselves as Lynn and Ben and leave out the rest; if we had a celebrity nickname, we have been told, it could be Len or Bynn. Since this blog belongs to both of us, we thought we should stick to something more united--like our last name. But, no one in the world seems to be able to spell--or pronounce--our name correctly (unless they've tried spelling drills to commit the name to memory). An impossible-to-spell last name is probably not a good idea if you are trying to draw attention to a website. Ben thought of this easy alternative.