Easily Amused - Jon Sagara

Boston Magazine has a great feature article about Dustin Pedroia.  It covers a lot of ground, but two points really struck me:

Firstly, he trashes Woodland:

"[Woodland]'s a dump," says Pedroia, whose parents run a tire store on Main Street and whose family seems to occupy a position in Woodland roughly equivalent to that enjoyed by the Grimaldis in Monaco. "You can quote me on that. I don't give a shit." He shakes his head.

Pedroia acknowledges he's angry with the town for something he won't specify, though it's safe to assume it involves his older brother Brett's arrest, in January, on child-molestation charges. (Brett has pleaded not guilty.) "Everyone wants to get out of there," he goes on. "You don't want to stay in Woodland. What do you want to stay in Woodland for? The place sucks."

Part of me feels that I should defend Woodland, but it's hard to argue with Dustin.  I'll just leave it at that before I say something that gets me tarred and feathered.

Secondly, the article talks about Dustin's tenacity and obsessively competitive nature.  I really dug this part:

Pedroia's coach at Woodland, Rob Rinaldi, likes to tell the story of Chris Patrick and the National Classic. It was 1999, and Rinaldi had recently returned from a major tournament down in Long Beach, where he had coached this Patrick kid, a shortstop. [...]  Patrick was a soon-to-be senior at a high school near Fresno. Pedroia was a junior-to-be in Woodland. One day, Rinaldi happened to mention to Pedroia just how much he liked Patrick. 

"What was so good about him?" Pedroia demanded.

"Great leader. Makes all the plays," Rinaldi told Pedroia.

"This really bothered him," Rinaldi recalls today. Pedroia chewed on this for the rest of the year and even into the following high school season, approaching Rinaldi every month or so and asking, "What about Patrick, man? You still think he's better than me?"

As it happened, the two teams met in the 2000 National Classic, one of the premier events in high school baseball. The squads were booked into the same hotel, and shortly after Woodland checked in, sure enough, in walked Patrick's team. Pedroia turned to Rinaldi.

"Which guy is he?" he demanded.

"Who?"

"Patrick. Which guy is he?"

Rinaldi pointed him out.

"Go get him right now. Tell him I want to take ground balls in the parking lot right now. We'll see who's better."

In the game, Pedroia gave Woodland its first run when he doubled, stole third, and tagged up on a foul ball on which the pitcher, first baseman, and catcher all converged. (The catcher made the play, but no one covered the plate.) Then, in the seventh, the game's final inning, Pedroia uncorked a three-run home run to push Woodland to a 4–3 lead. In the bottom half, he flipped a double play. "Dustin single-handedly won the game," Rinaldi recalls. Afterward, Pedroia gave his coach an earful. "Who you want on your team now?"

That's the stuff legends are made of.

Anyway, it's a great read, so be sure to click through and read the whole thing.

Just within the past couple of days, Troy has decided that he really wants to talk.  He looks you straight in the eye, and very earnestly unleashes a string "words" in an attempt to have a grown up conversation with you.  Now, to you or I it is complete gibberish, but it's very cool and fun to see the little man trying his level-best to verbally communicate with us.

He's growing up so damned fast.  I wish we could slow down the time!

Update: And to illustrate just how quickly he's growing up, we no longer hear the "Pawdnum-pawdnum-pawdnum" described above (though he has moved on to try spelling out words using just the letters B and O!).

A coworker of mine recently visited the salad bar of a local grocery store.  Dissatisfied with some of the store's recent changes, she decided to write a letter:

I used to come to your store for the salad bar - where a employee would hand make it for me and toss it.  It was great.  Now we have a manual salad bar with half the ingredients and no way to toss the salad.  I am disappointed and have no reason to shop at <store name> anymore.

Here is the store's EPICALLY AWESOME response:

Dear <snip>:

Many thanks for your email and for sharing your thoughts with us.  As store director, I'm always eager to hear what's on your mind because you're our valued guest.  Your feedback is extremely important to me and my staff, and I want to follow up with you personally.

You share with us your disappointment with regards to our new salad bar arrangement.  I'm so glad you've voiced your concerns, as I've got some information that I hope will please you.  We feature a wide variety of salad options for our guests, including choices of greens, 26 different salad ingredients, and eight different dressings, just to name a few.  Chicken and salmon (along with other items) are available in our deli case.  You mention that you miss having an associate toss your salad.  Please know that we would be delighted to toss your salad for you, so please don't hesitate to ask any associate – we're here to serve you and to ensure your complete care and satisfaction. In addition, if there's a salad item that isn't at the bar, please contact an associate, and we'll check to see if that item is available.

<snip>, we're committed to providing you with spectacular service, a unique shopping experience, and the finest products at the lowest overall prices of any full-service market.  After all, you deserve nothing less!

[...]

Sincerely,

<Store Director>

*That* is customer service.

We just had a company-wide powow, and the Chairman of the Board said something that resonated with me:

I want to work with guys who are going to get down in the fox hole with me and shoot.
And when the ammo's gone, stab.
And when the knife's dull, choke.
And when there's no more war, drink tequila.

Couldn't agree more.  Passionate, gritty coworkers are a blessing, and if you have them, consider yourself lucky.  If you don't, maybe it's time to find a better place to work.

Just another day at the office, playing with blocks. He has no idea what is in store.

Troy just heard a booming "Ho! Ho! Ho!" coming from down the hallway.

And he'd really like to know WTH is going on here! Mama!

Santa comes bearing gifts!

"I still don't trust you, mofo."

Note the coaster in Troy's hand. Even after he'd opened all of his presents, he still preferred to play with the coasters. Probably had something to do with the pictures of golden retrievers on them.

"Okay, fool. We're cool, I guess."

Or not...

Troy! Run!

Note the stunning lack of progress compared to the previous picture. This is due to a phenomenon known as "stubby little Japanese legs", an affliction he shares with his father.

In the end, though, it was a very merry xmas, one I was fortunate to share with my family. Thanks for the great holiday, everyone!

And, Kelly, thanks for the new drawers.

This is, by far, my favorite picture of Troy from xmas morning:

He's opening a John Deere tractor set.  Thanks, Debbie!

I have been slightly preoccupied with life as of late, and, hence, have been ignoring this blog.  Very recently, however, our family received some great news.  Just a few weeks ago, my brother-in-law, Chuck, proposed to his girlfriend, Becky.  They are engaged to be married this coming summer.

I couldn't be happier for them.  They are a great couple, and I look forward to sharing many great moments with them.

Congrats!