Ethnic diversity in the Cardinals Nation

Yesterday a co-worker took note of my scarf and said, "So you must be a Cards fan?" She then confided that she "hates the Cubs". I replied in my standard way, "I don't hate them at all. It's not like they've ever been a spoiler for us." And then I asked myself: Is that true? After all, I haven't always been following the playoffs like I do now, so maybe it happened before and I missed it. Nope. In the course of my lifetime, we've been knocked out by Arizona in the NDLS and lost the Pennant once each to the Astros, Braves, Mets, and Giants. This is why when people ask me who our rivals are, it's the Mets and the Braves who immediately spring to mind (beyond, of course, the obvious facts that the Mets are pond scum and the Braves an embarrassment to humanity).

But she may have provided some insight into Chicagoans' claims of a "rivalry" between our teams. Just as I forget that the homely mass of dying industrial areas and deadening suburbs across the river from the Arch considers itself part of "St Louis", I forget that downstate Illinois is Cards country. Given the resentment of downstaters for Chicago and the contempt of Chicagoans for anyone from west of Austin, much less south of I-80, it's not surprising that this should carry into the sports arena. It also explains how I, living up in a world where Illinoisans were queer interlopers, grew up blissfully ignorant of it all.

Incidentally, said co-worker's primary allegiances are to my second-favourite NL team, the Brewers, and she's as much a fan of Miller Park as I am. Tragically, loyalties of love pull her into supporting the White Sox as well. (See how easy you have it, monshu?) Her harrowing stories of contact with the drunken yobbos who fill Wrigley on a regular basis reminded of how much sweetener my commute is going to be this summer. No matter how irritated I may get by rude clueless students with their inane chatter and free-swinging Olympic-sized bookbags, it beats rubbing shoulders with bleacher bums any day.

HELP SPREAD PANIC!

Sounds like a lot of work, but really it's easy and fun!

• Spread rumours about absent coworkers. It doesn't matter if you know they're really out because of a root canal or an afternoon game at Wrigley. Tip: Find a way to work in the term "next of kin".
• Wear a mask. Doesn't matter what kind. If you can't find a surgical mask, wear a hockey mask or balaclava instead. Tip: If people ask where they can get one, too, be sure to mention that both local drugstores are sold out.
• Eat a hotdog and then complain of feeling "not so great". Tip: For added fun, immediately sneeze on someone.
• Post frightening pictures of your favourite pandemics from times past. Tip: Younger victims = more click thrus!

These are troubling times, but we can all find a way to help. REMEMBER! People make their best decisions when they're terrified by something they barely understand.

Word of the Day: Bradford pear

1. die Chinesische Wildbirne
2. het Bradford perenboom
3. el pero Callery
4. *el perer
5. le poirier de Chine
6. *yr ellygwydd
7. *an crann piorraí
8. 콩배나무
9. 豆李 dòulǐ

Notes: (*) indicates a general word for "pear tree" in the absence of evidence for a specific species term.

This tree originated in northern East Asia and its native name in both Korean and China literally translates as "(soy)bean pear". I haven't a clue why; the local cultivars don't seem to have any fruits, but perhaps their wild ancestors produced pears the size and appearance of soybeans? In any case, I figured educated Korean would be familiar with the common name, so when I stopped by to see Hera and Jay yesterday, I opened with "콩배나무들 좋아해요?"

This only confused the hell out of them. Too late, I realised how close "콩배나무" sounds to "콩나물" "soybean salad". So a friendly inquiry was mistaken for a food order, and there was much pointing and explaining before harmony was restored. In fact, it wasn't until Hera had Googled the term that all became clear. I felt rather sheepish at this point, of course, but they were as magnanimous about it as possible.

What's brown and sticky?

On the way to work this morning, I picked up a stick. There was a fallen tree branch lying in a shrub and I lifted it out without any thought as to what I was going to do with it and began snapping twigs off. I threw them into the next dumpster I passed. Up the street, a dog was barking at a woman walking by and I reflected that, if it came near me, I could hold out the stick so it would bite that instead of me. It did and I tried this, but the owner restrained it and gave me a sour look. Or did I imagine it? Swinging the stick back and forth reminded me of the last dream I had before I awoke, one in which I was fighting off men with found lumber chop-socky style. My favourite bit was when someone came at me with a long pair of boards and I caught them with the corner of the metal bar in my hand flipped them clear to the other side of the room. I held onto the stick all the way to the shuttle stop, where I ran into my coworker. He said, "You have a stick." "It's not so big," I told him. "And you don't speak softly," he retorted. So I hit him with it.