Alex McVeigh’s posterous

This my friends, is why I go to baseball games. Nothing says "summer" or America like a giant foam fist that can hold a beer.

Its a good thing they don't make one for the left hand, because I wouldn't have survived the night.

That's about as close as I got to the Obamas. Too bad, I was going to ask Barack what he thought of the Shaq trade.

Yeah, that's my white house press pool media pass. I'm kind of a big deal. And a snazzy dresser, as you can see.

In a few hours, volunteers led by Barack and Michelle Obama will be packing backpacks for military children.
 
 
The clown at the podium is testing the mics by reading the sports page, the same recap over and over.
 
 
Stay tuned for updates.

Whatever path I've taken that has led me here, waking up at 3:30, it was the wrong one.

This is when I usually get up to go to the bathroom, and then realize I have a sweet 3.5 hours left until I wake up.

Only 20 more hours to go until sweet sweet sleep.

Let me lay you a scenario for you people:

I went into work today at 6:30 a.m., and I left at 8 p.m. I've got to get up at 3:30 a.m. tomorrow to do work, then be in Washington, D.C. by 7 a.m. (where I will be covering El Presidente, check back for pictures). I'll be in D.C. until noon 1 p.m., then I have to help put my newspaper together in the vain hope that I can leave by five, and fight my way back into the city for the Nationals/Red Sox game.

Someone at the Nats/Sox game is going to put a gun at my temple and force me to drink 7-10 beers (preferable from a giant foam fist, be prepared for another pic of that), then I have to go in Friday and get a crap load of work done before I can go on vacation.

My reward? Well, my reward will b your reward O Loyal Reader, as you should fully expect some liveblogging this weekend.

Anyways, my point is this: It's 8:30, and I'm trying to get home after a long, 14-hour day. The car you see above this text is some driver's ed car that just so happens to be heading to my house or my neighbors, because it has been in front of me for over a mile.

All I want to do is get home, put on Paul Simon's "Adios Hermanos" and cry myself to sleep. But this car is stopping at every intersection for a full second, even if there is no stop sign.

I want to rear-end the car and pull that snot-nosed little punk out of it and tell him never to love anything, because it will only let you down (which I have screamed at a child before, stay tuned for that little ditty).

That would have given that kid a real education.

PS: How do you like all the teasers in the paragraphs above? I count four. Should be some good stuff coming up on this here blog.

Finally, softball season is here at last. Unfortunately, I'm not on the field, I'm behind the camera and notepad.
 
 
But I'm back on the softball beat, and who knows, maybe you'll even get some video out of it.

Pictured above is my close, personal friend Justin Masterson, pitcher
for your Boston Red Sox. We've been tight since 6:30 this morning,
when I covered him for a story.
 
I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but it was pretty much the most
excited I've ever been to meet a celebrity. I've met a few, a UFC
fighter, and Jasmine Guy from some supid 80's show, but they were both
people I knew little to nothing about before meeting.
 
Justin Masterson, while I wouldn't have rushed out to get his jersey
before, is solid. A current Red Sox player, a damn good pitcher, and
as it turns out, quite a nice guy.
 
I fought every rube-ish instinct I have to snap a cell-phone picture
or even ask for a picture with him.
 
Hell, I was debating that morning whether or not to wear some of my
Red Sox gear. I immediately nixed the idea of wearing a Red Sox cap,
that would be too hack. But I thought about wearing a Red Sox T-shirt,
and ripping off my dress shirt and bum rushing him, only to be dragged
away kicking and screaming like a child. But that would probably
result in me losing my job.

I'm a hat guy. Plain and simple. If you know me in real life, you know
that my hair tends to get a little out of control after a few months.
Hence my college nickname, "Fluffy" which people still call me by.
 
Nowadays, as a professional, I get my hair cut more regularly, but I
still slack once and a while. Like now.
 
Above is a picture of my hat rack that hangs in my room. I will
explain each hat using the numbers.
 
1 - Taylor Made. Just a simple golf hat, very comfortable. When I wear
a baseball cap to work, it means one of two things. A) I am hungover;
or B) I didn't shower in the morning. Thankfully, because I am a
semi-responsible adult (technically), I don't go to work hungover all
that often. But if I've got to go in before 6 a.m., or if I know I
don't have to come in contact with any attractive females, I don't
shower, and just roll into work with a hat on to tame my long auburn
locks.
 
2 - Dallas Mavericks. My favorite basketball team, and my favorite
sports team. I always thought it was weird to wear a baseball cap for
a basketball team, because even football players (the white ones at
least) wear caps when their helmets are off. It says "One Size Fits
All," but if my hair is long, it doesn't stay on so good. But a good
hat nonetheless.
 
3 - Green Boston Red Sox - When I went to Maine to visit with my mom's
family a few years back, I bought every alternative Red Sox cap I
could find at Logan airport. This one is my favorite though, so it
stays on the rack.
 
4 - Charcoal grey ascot. Now we're getting obnoxious. I was wearing
ascots in sixth grade, old corduroy ones that my grandpa gave me,
before it was the official hat of the jerk. Now I wear it in the
winter, when I wear my grey peacoat, because that's a classy look, I
don't care who you are.
 
5 - Straw golfers hat - The best times to wear straw hats are with no
shirt on, that's just a scientific fact. It's another one of those
hats that get a little tight when my hair grows long, but it's perfect
for summer.
 
6 - Irish tweed thatch hat - Possibly the most obnoxious hat of the
bunch, this one is perfect when my hair is long. I bought it while
working at a summer camp in Lexington, VA, in some Irish shop. It was
pretty darn expensive (less than $100 but more than $80), but it was
worth it. It's a cool hat to wear in the fall, but I'm always afraid
I'll ruin it, so I don't wear it that often. That's why I don't buy
nice things.
 
7 - Castro hat - I want to make it official right here. I started the
Castro hat trend that has now become the staple of the jackass. I
bought this hat in the summer of 2004, while in Key West with my dad,
at Ernest Hemingway's favorite bar. It's a sweet hat, but it was
quickly ruined by every emo kid that decided to wear those hats with
thick sideburns, heavy glasses, tight T-shirts with pockets on the
front and obnoxious wrist bands. I still keep the hat for the
memories, but I no longer wear it in public.
 
8 - Lake Merriweather Baseball Cap - The summer camp I worked at while
in college during the summers of 2005 and 2006 was on Lake
Merriweather. I was in charge of the waterfront, which meant I got to
chill on a beach, get super tan, and supervise a bunch of snot-nosed
boy scouts who wanted to drown and make my life miserable. One of the
guys that works there now ordered hats, and I bought one, and it is a
great hat, vented, leather band, top drawer all around.
 
9 - English wool Trilby Hat - I bought this hat while in London in the
early summer of 2006. I went there knowing I wanted to get an
obnoxious English hat, and I did just that. I almost bought a Sherlock
Holmes hat, but that would have been the height of jackassness. But
this is a nice little number, I like to wear it with my long raincoat,
it makes me feel like a private detective, or a depression-era
newspaper reporter, which is my lifelong dream. If I ever buy a pair
of two-toned loafers and some suspenders, I will wear this hat
everyday, with an index card with the word "Press" written on it in
Sharpie.
 
10 - Ski cap with a puffball and tassles - Ah, winter. Winter is the
best time for obnoixous hats, whether it's ridiculously tassled hats
like this, or furry Russian hats, which I also have, but couldn't find
for this one.
 
Hats not pictured: The aforementioned furry hat. A felt joker hat with
bells on it (that's right, bells). Several boring baseball caps that
I've gotten for free while covering stories. Several other knit hats
with various logos on it. Possibly a beret or two, I'm not proud of
that.
 
If I told you I had a giant foam ten-gallon cowboy hat, would you
think less of me? You would? Well, I don't have one.

I consider myself a man who enjoys the finer things in life. Exquisitely aged whiskeys, transcendantly sculpted jazz rhythms and perfectly seasoned flank steaks, they're all part of what separates us from the savage beast.

But every now and then a man must return to his roots. Every now and then, when he's getting shit on at work, his umbrella blows inside out, that one special lady slips just out of reach, or his favorite team loses in a sports match, a man must learn to appreciate the simple things.

And there's nothing more deliciously simple than a solo cup filled with milk and Honey Nut Cheerios. That's just science.

I'm not above eating foodstuffs out of disposable containers. I've been known to eat a can of black beans, or better yet, beanie weenies (which, by the way, are your number one seed as far as canned legumes) right out of the can, with a plastic utensil no less.

Quick postscript: After I finished my cereal, I dumped the leftover milk into my bathroom sink, since the kitchen is a whole floor below me. What I didn't realize was that I shaved earlier, and didn't clear out the sink.

Have you ever seen hairy milk? I hope you haven't because it wasn't something I was prepared to see. I almost took a photo, but it was too revolting.

But if I ever become a Top 40 DJ, I know that I have my DJ name.

"Hey there cats and kittens, this is Harry Milk coming at you live at five with a nonstop block o' rock to take you around the clock"

End transmission.