A New Year/A New Season.

Happy 2011, all. Yes. I'm still around. Los Angeles has not killed me yet. I suppose there are a few updates, and when I say 'a few,' I mean it. Not much has happened here since last we spoke. I suppose that could be construed as an excuse not to blog, but I won't use it. I remember a time when it took less than nothing to get me on here. Were those better blog-times or worse? I suppose the fact that I was once much less content made it easier to write. Whether it be poetry or prose or music or just punctuation, I once considered myself an avid writer. Well, spewer of words at the very least.

I'm older. Things have gotten in the way of being young. Responsibilities. Priorities. What have you. I enjoy my day to day life because I know how to laugh and I know how to interact. I have done so little of what I want professionally that I focus on the small victories in life. I had a good day. Made some money. Enough to be able to anticipate a trip back home to the bounty of nostalgia sitting in the port of my fondest memories. Yet I often still come back to the question of whether I'm happy or not. Does that mean I'm inherently unhappy or think too much? I had a good day. Small victories.

A little over a year ago, I began a blog entry chronicling the past decade of my ever-changing young adult life. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I got about 2 years into the 2000's and gave up. Or got tired. Plenty to talk about in a small amount of blog-space. By the time I'd whittled each year down to one specific telling memory, I'd lost all interest in sharing. Perhaps I'll revisit that entry occasionally. Perhaps.

The Cubs' season starts in about 9 hours and I will be planted on a bar stool in the valley to watch it with a face ready for slight expressions and hands ready for a sturdy ale. I often think of myself as someone who would be happier in any decade but my own. The same can be said of watching my baseball team. Baseball in general. I still love watching and playing the game, but it certainly is different than what it once was. This brings me to the main reason I came aboard to blog tonight; baseball seasons starts.

Since I have lived in L.A., I have found it difficult to follow my Cubs. Granted, the last two years have been dismal and may have contributed to my general malaise in keeping tabs on them, but even if I catch a game out here once in a while, I find something is lacking. Where is the old TV in my parents' chilled basement? Where are the sounds of the broadcast reverberating off the windows that lead to the backyard? Where is my father listening to the game on the radio while wasting his afternoon in that yard in some manner? The smell of freshly cut grass. The drowning out of the cicadas by turning up the volume. The monotonous tossing of a ball between hands between innings. This is why baseball is special to me. Baseball is memory. Baseball is something that should involuntarily bring a smile to a waking moment when dreams are fleeting and the day approaches. For whatever trials and obstacles we face daily, we have at least 162 reasons to say, "Fuck it. Game is on." Small victories.

So here we are. Another opening day. For me, another one far from where I should be experiencing it. The team may or may not be better this year the the past two. Injuries, performance and chemistry, as always, will determine these things. However, what has changed for me are the tangible connections to my memories that baseball happens to be the spokesperson for in my mind. Things have changed. The coverage is over-hyped. The high definition graphics display stats across the screen that try in vain to predict things to come. The games are often seen only as condensed high-light reel worthy clips. Things have changed, but the game stays the same. It takes forever. The most exciting games are essentially a pitcher and catcher playing catch and every spring is a time for renewed excitement.

As I sit in my bar stool, far from the port of my fondest memories, I'll sip my afternoon ales and cherish the fact that because of a game on a TV in the corner of a dive I'll be happier than I've been all year. Because of this game, I'll be waist-deep in sensory memories of home. A place I can return to in my mind whenever I need to. Baseball is starting. Small victories.

Now Playing: Anthallo - "Cafetorium"