An Open Letter to the Seattle Mariners

Dear Mariners,

We need to talk.

I've looked up to this team my whole life. They taught me that hope will get you a long way, and even the least likely group can come out ahead if you work hard enough. But it means I also grew up not knowing what winning felt like. Sure, we had '95, '97, and '01. But now it's been fourteen years since we've touched the playoffs, or even truly had a legitimate shot at them.

I grew up not knowing what a championship felt like. I grew up in a house that cheered for the Mariners, the Astros, the Cowboys, and the Seahawks. I didn't experience my first championship shot until 2005, and my first championship win until 2-2-12 when the Seahawks won the Super Bowl. I was twenty-one. Many people I know have had more championships than they can count by that age. Or at least shots at them.

I tell you that so I can say this. Something needs to change. And it's not me, it's you. There have been several years in that fourteen year span that the Mariners should have gone to the playoffs. The reason why they missed was not because the team wasn't good enough. It was because the management and ownership gave up on the boys on the field.

I'm tired of the athletes being meddled with and eventually given up on by people who sit in an office and get paid millions, instead of the men who are paid to manage the athletes. Even former manager Eric Wedge complained that the front office made poor decisions about players and scouting.

We've had a whopping two winning seasons since Jack Z took over at GM. Two. And that's with not one, not two, but four different managers. I know I'm not great at math, but I know how to find a lowest common denominator.

Every season, the Mariners get fans hopes up, bringing in great players like Cano, Cruz, and this year J.A. Happ. And then something goes wrong. The first half the season is mediocre at best, but looks promising. There are trades made, and it's not hard to tell that we're always on the short end of it. It's easy to see that certain guys are kept around for name value, like Iwakuma (or in his day, Ichiro), and should be the ones going, but are kept on and kept playing for reasons unknown to everyone with eyes.

And then the All Star Break happens. It's great, we get a breath of fresh air. King Felix goes and represents the team and reminds the world that we can be the best!

And then the season starts back up. And the world remembers why we're not. The trade deadline approaches and this is where it's apparent the front office has given up. Every year. It doesn't matter how promising our team looks in terms of potentially making a playoff run, especially when you bring into account anybody you may be able to bring in, or anybody who may be sick or injured. Jack. Gives. Up.

This year it started with the trade of Dustin Ackley. While this one was not a surprise as the outfield is pretty strong this year and the once-firstbaseman no longer HAS a position in the majors, you trade a guy hitting .215 with a .635 OPS, for Ramon Flores (another outfielder), who has barely set foot on a major league field, hitting .219 with .469 OPS, and Jose Ramirez who has an ERA of 15.0.

I'm not a manager. I'm not a business person. I am an athlete, but in an individual sport. But I do know that when you trade from one team to another team, you should always try and make it so that your team is getting the better deal. I cannot imagine a world in which the Mariners got the better deal here. Even for young prospects. These are not the kind of players I want.

BUT WAIT. THERE'S MORE!

THEN YOU TRADED MARK LOWE?! You traded a pitcher with a 1.00 ERA and 47 strikeouts for effectively three prospects. AND THEN. J.A. Happ has a few bad games. So you throw him away for ONE SINGLE PROSPECT.

You cannot win a World Series on the hopes of prospects. You will never win a World Series if you continue to trade away your good players faster than the ink dries on their contracts. Fans are tired of "rebuilding." We're tired of being told that these prospects are great and then seeing nothing from them, a la Ackley, Smoak, and many others you've promised us. We're tired of seeing players we have built go on to win series rings with other teams because you traded them away for mediocre counterparts. We're just tired. Take a trip down the street and go have a chat with Pete and John. They know how to get it done, with respect for their fans and their athletes. They never gave up. Something you need to learn.

Most importantly, stop giving up half way through the season. There's still hope after 81 games. Hell, there's still hope after 120 games. It's not how you start, it's how you finish. You can lose the first eight innings, but if you win the ninth, that's all that matters. So for the sake of your fans, finish something for once.

Forever True to the Blue,
Emily

The Invincibility of the Modern Athlete

I feel like we live in a time where I can't turn on the news or scroll on social media without hearing about another pro athlete being arrested, pulled over for driving drunk or high, or is somehow in legal trouble. It's so bad, in fact, that USA Today has found it helpful to have an NFL Arrest Database to keep track of the legal adventures of many young peoples role models, and adults favorite weekend entertainers.

After hearing about yet another arrest today, as well as current-former (for those of you who do not watch football, he is currently not allowed to partake in any NFL activities as a result of sanctions handed down by the league) NFL player Adrian Peterson pleading 'No Contest' to child abuse allegations, I began to rack my brain about why so many professional athletes find themselves in legal trouble. We do not find actors or musicians or even politicians in as much trouble as we seem to find athletes, despite being in just as much of a spotlight. There have been 28 NFL players arrested, cited, or detained in the last 6 months (updated as of 10/24/14). That does not include players in other leagues, players not on rosters, players on practice rosters, or who simply were not caught. But why are so many living lives that are putting them in this position?

I believe we give them a sense of invicibility from a young age through their participation in athletics.

One month ago, 7 high school football players were arrested and subsequently charged for sexually assaulted and hazing of fellow teammates. The remainder of the season for this high school team was ultimately canceled, sparking rage in the community. One student tweeted about truly hating the freshmen now. A mother stated "They were talking about a butt being grabbed. That's about it. No one was hurt. No one died."

I'd like to take this time to note that the victims spoke of multiple occasions where they would were slammed to the floor, kicked, and occasionally sodomized with the fingers of the convicted players. But "No one was hurt. No one died," so it's not a big deal, right? A mother and a community is trying to protect rapists and abusers, who would potentially go on to do more harm in their futures, instead of taking a stand for what is moral and what is right.

I'm sure we all remember the Stubenville rape case, where two football players raped and filmed a young girl while she was unconscious, and then passed around the video their friends and fellow teammates. In response to the video and the rape allegations, people from Stubenville (including adults unrelated to the rapists) claimed that the young woman put herself in a position to be raped by being "too drunk," and even the defense attorney argued that since the victim did not verbally reject the boys advances that she did not deny consent.

In the Stubenville case, people took sides, saying it would be unfortunate for these two young men to lose their "bright futures" over such an incident where they seemingly did nothing wrong. You know, nothing but rape a girl.

And of course, my personal favorite, we have the coddled Jameis Winston. The NCAA and Florida State University alike will do anything to make Winston believe that he can do no wrong, down to disciplining him with a one game suspension for actions that many players (and normal students) could be suspended indefinitely and potentially expelled for. Winston has legal troubles that include: shoplifting, shouting sexual explicit vulgarities in a public places (while standing on a table, might I add), rape allegations, firing a BB gun at squirrels on FSU property, and allegedly selling autographs (a huge NCAA no-no).

Despite all of this, Winston has a Heisman Trophy, a National Championship, and has only ever been sanctioned to miss one game, which was originally a mere half-game suspension, during his time as a player at FSU. Additionally, I find it necessary to add that during his suspended game, Winston showed up suited up on the sidelines, as if the team would be ready to throw him into the game if injury were to require such circumstance.

Effectively, the NCAA and FSU are setting precedent for all NCAA athletes, and not a good one. They are saying that as long as you can perform on the field, your off the field conduct does not matter. They are saying that your potential as an athlete is more important that your moral and legal practices. They are saying that athletes, as long as they are good ones, are invincible. The NCAA and FSU are creating the NFL players that we find on USA Today's arrest database.

Occasionally we even find ourselves cheering for the athlete. In the wake of the Oscar Pistorius trial I found myself heartbroken that this man I looked up to as a fellow disabled athlete could have possibly killed anyone, even accidentally. And after his sentencing I was once again heartbroken that he would have to serve 5 years in prison for it. "But he's an athlete, what about his potential? He won't be able to run in prison," I caught myself saying. It didn't matter to me that he had shot his girlfriend, accidental or not. It mattered to me that he was a role model to me. It's that attitude that creates these invincible athletes. "But I'm an athlete, I can't be arrested," or "But I'm an athlete, you wouldn't ruin my career and future for this."

It's not athletes who are creating the idea that athletes are invincible. It's the public and the organizations that are. We are contributing to this, whether we realize it or not.

Things Are Changing

So first off, I want to start with sharing the fact that apparently I'm just a really awful blogger. I'm really good at having a Tumblr, and a Twitter, and a Facebook. But a "real" blog is apparently not for me. I have no idea how people keep up with these things weekly, let alone daily, or how people could possibly make money off of them. I, on the other hand, apparently like to post once every 3-6 months with the hopes and aspirations that I'll post more often, only to be let down by my innate inability to find anything important or interesting to post about. I could probably post tons of pictures of kittens every day, but that's not what this blog is here for.

Moving on. Obviously a lot has changed in my life in the last 9 months. I moved to Maryland, was forced to stop riding horse in the meantime, learned a lot about myself, and that's just the beginning.

A little over a month ago I got notice that my Uncle had been placed in the hospital with signs that he had suffered another heart attack. This was not a new experience for me. I have often gotten news that he was sick again, even hospitalized, and often gotten word of it after he had come home. You see, my Uncle's body was very sick. He suffered his first heart attack on September 11, 2001, mostly thought to be brought on by the stress, shock and horror of the terror attacks on the United States. Since then, he had had several minor heart attacks, open heart surgeries (including a quadruple bypass), and all in all was in desperate need of a heart transplant. He also dealt with other illnesses, such as diabetes, that added to his lack of wellness over the years. So learning that he was in the hospital was not a shock. But this time it felt different.

If you did not know that my Uncle lived with these ailments, you would not have guessed. He did his best to be there for us as nieces whenever he could, especially as he never married and did not have any children of his own. We were his children. Once in the middle of July he went with my cousins and me to the Houston Museum of Natural History and ogled at the dinosaurs, allowing me to break the rules and touch the exhibits (all for a photo opportunity of course), despite the obvious "do not touch" signs. He simply looked the other way. We would watch football, horse racing and baseball together, and he was the only person in the world that could keep me interested in the Tour de France for longer than about 10 seconds.

But when I got that call, I knew something was different. This time he was intubated, something that had happened very rarely, if ever before. His kidneys were failing and his body was shutting down. I wanted to jump in my car or on a plane and be there with him, because I had an underlying feeling that he would not be with us for long.

I was right.

One Tuesday night I was up late doing homework, and I jokingly asked a friend to buy me a plane ticket to Houston. He declined, obviously. The next morning, I woke up feeling very ill, like something was wrong. I decided to not go to class that day and fell back asleep. I woke up a few hours later with a text message from my dad (and if you know my dad, you know he never texts) that read "Call me when you are out of class." I knew then.

I called him anyways and he told me the news, and I immediately started crying. I was glad I had stayed home. Oddly, my pets had been extra cuddly that morning as well, as if they knew before I did. I called my mom and we started discussing travel plans and coping, etc. Most of all we talked about how we were glad that we had taken the time to drive to Houston for Thanksgiving.

One big discussion that we had was how I felt the need to be there for the funeral, but coming that Saturday was my very last chance to compete for a local title to go to Miss Maryland, and as this is my last year, it would have been my last chance ever. As I was laying in bed trying to figure out how to be an adult again (aka, I was watching The Land Before Time and eating ice cream), I got a text message from a director that I had had previously in the year (actually the very first pageant I did in Maryland).

Teresa asked me if I was busy and could talk on the phone, I said no, and she gave me a call. The conversation that followed informed me that I was the new Miss White Oak 2014 and would be going to Miss Maryland. I would not have to compete on Saturday, a mere days after my Uncle passing away and hours before having to fly to his funeral. I cried while on the phone with Teresa, both out of grief and excitement.

For a while I didn't know how to feel. I didn't know if it was okay to be happy about my title because of the circumstances I was also in. I didn't know if I could celebrate one thing and mourn another. After a few days I was able to separate the two emotions and could be excited for my opportunity to compete for Miss Maryland while still mourning the loss of a loved one. I took my new crown to the funeral to show my Uncle, who never got to see me compete.

Most importantly from all of this, is the fates work in mysterious ways. My uncle would not have been healthy enough to come see me at Miss Maryland or even Miss America. Had I had to compete that Saturday I most likely would not have won, as I would have been too emotionally compromised.

My Uncle is the most inspirational person I've ever known. He never finished college, but is easily the smartest man I have and will ever know. He traveled the world in his lifetime, and I now have a piece of the Berlin wall that he picked up straight off the ground after the fall of the wall. He was asked to be a body guard at the Seoul Olympics, but turned down the offer as he did not want to carry around an AK-47. He was a hardcore conservative, but understood that war takes live and is detrimental to our economy, our society, and the lives of people around the world. He pursued everything he loved in life. And most of all, he taught me that life is too short to spend it doing something you hate because it's what you think society would want you to do.

For a man who was 54, he was wise beyond his years. My only hope in life is that one day I can influence as many people as he did. I hope that one day, people look up to me as they looked up to him. And I hope my pancakes can be half as good as his were.

I love you, Uncle. Rest in Peace.

Strawberry Banana Protein Smoothie

Protein smoothies are a staple in my diet. They're quick, easy, and liquid, which is great for someone who commonly has a upset tummy and can't tolerate much breakfast food. I used to buy the pre-packaged Jamba Juice smoothie mixes at the store, but they are SO incredibly expensive that once my grad-school budget happened I simply couldn't afford them anymore. And why bother? Making your own is a little daunting at first but it's a really simple formula.

I like finding a lot of recipes on Pinterest and editing them however necessary (take out dairy when I'm dairy free, slightly more or less fruit, different fruit, whatever). Frankly, smoothie making is more of an artform than anything. No two smoothies are going to turn out alike, so know you always have the freedom to add more or less liquid, fruit, greens, whatever you so choose.

However, I do have a couple rules that I always always always follow:

1. ALWAYS use frozen fruit. It negates the need for ice and thus you become full faster and stay full longer. If you freeze bananas, peel them first. Trust me. I learned the hard way.
2. Don't use water as your liquid. You want something with nutrients in it. Cow's milk, soy milk, coconut water, juice, whatever. Just. Not. Water. If you opt for juice make sure you're using something that is 100% juice with no sugar added.
3. Don't use sweeteners. A lot of "recipes" call for Honey or other sweeteners. Frankly, you don't need them. All it does is boost the sugar content without altering the taste much.

I loosely based this particular recipe off of the popular "Lauren Conrad's 7 Days to Skinny Jeans" pin that is everywhere on Pinterest. The recipe follows.

1/2 Cup Frozen Strawberries
1 Frozen Banana
1/2 Cup Old Fashioned Rolled Oats*
1 Scoop Vanilla Protein Powder
1 TBSP "Very Green" Dietary Supplement
1 1/2 Cups Light Vanilla Soy Milk

*I make sure I use certified Gluten Free oats, but I'm picky. These are dry, uncooked oats. Don't use Instant Oatmeal.

It turns out looking like this:

Of course you're free to switch out berries, flavor of protein powder, liquid, whatever. This is just what I personally use. And don't worry, I see your brain gears turning.

What is Very Green?

Good Question! Very Green is a dietary supplement you can pick up at your local organic market or health food store. It may be called something different, but when you buy it at Trader Joe's it looks something like what you see on the right. Basically, it's a full serving of veggies in powder form. I add it to all my smoothies in lieu of adding things like raw spinach or kale because it blends right in and doesn't add volume. It also does not alter taste. It changes the color a little, as the powder is green, but you're getting a full serving greens for basically no room in your blender, allowing you to add more fruit, liquid, or whatever you may like. You also don't have to worry about cleaning the greens before you blend them, or de-stemming things, or winding up with stems in your smoothie if your blender isn't the best.

I haven't tried, but I'm guessing it can also be added to other foods like soups and sauces. It can also be taken straight with water or juice. Here's the dietary panel:

Okay so now that that little side track is over. Put all that in the blender, and, well, blend. I often find myself having to pulse the blender a bit, and then stop and shimmy it a little to get everything back around the blades, but within about 45-60 seconds of blending you should have a nice consistancy. Don't be afraid to add more liquid if you like yours thinner. The one in the picture below was on the thicker side, but I also neglected to use the full 1.5 Cups of liquid. So your final result should look something like this:

Drink up!

Another Topic

So I realize that this blog remains dormant a lot and therefore does not have a lot of followers. With my fibromyalgia and inability to work out a lot, I have to maintain my health through my diet, so I'm going to begin blogging about my food choices a bit as well as my bucket list when I reach those goals.

Expect lots of pictures and recipes, as well as tips!

#40 - Visit the Grave of Edgar Allan Poe

...and the accompanying adventure.

This is obviously something I've wanted to do for a long time, as it's on the first page of my Bucket List. Poe has been one of my favorite authors for years, and I find myself in the heart of Baltimore this week, so I couldn't pass up this opportunity.

My dad was at his convention all day, leaving me to fend for myself. I had called him to see if he could sneak away for some brunch, but he couldn't, so he told me to take the money he left and go get a hotdog on the corner. He strictly specified if I stayed within the block that the hotel is on, I'd be fine.

Jokes on him.

I got my hotdog and decided, well, I'm already outside, might as well explore, right? I knew that the graveyard was close, but I didn't know what direction, so I pulled out my phone and mapped it. Literally the easiest directions ever, but it's important that I show you this map, so it's on the right.

Now why is this map so important, you ask? Well, you see... I got lost. Not "lost" in the traditional sense, but I walked right by it. Yes, I walked right by a 200+ year old graveyard. I even had looked at the church and said "Wow that's a beautiful building, I should take a picture of it..." and kept walking.

So when I finally figured out that I had gone too far, I turned around and eventually realized what I had done, it had started to sprinkle. I thought "no biggie," since I'm from Seattle and all. As soon as I set foot in the graveyard, to the sight of a beautiful monument erected for Poe, as well as what I understand is where Maria Clemm and Virginia Poe are buried.

As I walked around and browsed the graves of various famous (and not so famous) people, it started to rain harder. And harder. And harder. I eventually found the actual original burial place of Edgar Allan Poe, and crouched there for a minute or two before finally leaving. I had wanted to sit and read for a bit, but it was simply raining too hard. Some pictures from the graveyard:

 

 

So I decided to ditch the graveyard, thinking that the spirits were telling me that I should have listened to my dad. I knew I had passed the Lexington Market on my way there, and I figured I could find some solace there while the storm let up. So I briskly walked down the street to the market, dove inside, and tried to dry myself off a bit. I also took this picture to show how miserable and soaked I was. For reference, I was wearing flip flops with gel in them, and they basically just oozed water every time I took a step. Gross. 

So after the rain let up a bit I decided to head back to the hotel. Except, I did it wrong. Now, I'm gonna show you another map. Because this one is also important. Here's the map from the Market to the Hotel on the left. Shouldn't be that hard, right? Well this time, I didn't map it. I trusted my gut after I left the market and I walked the wrong way. And then I was like "Oh I know where I am because there are signs for the University!" and continued to walk the wrong way. And I might have walked into a bit of the wrong part of town because I decided to maybe look at a map. And then I VERY quickly turned around. Once I knew where I was I was golden and made it back to the hotel in no time (with a slight detour for some sweet tea). By the time I was within sight of the hotel there was tons of thunder and a bit of lightning, so I made it back just in time. My clothes are currently hanging over the tub and I'm comfortable in my PJs. AND I got to listen to the rest of the storm from the comfort of my bed.

So there you have it. Today we learned that although I am almost 23, I still need adult supervision. And if you leave me alone in a hotel room all day in a city I've always loved and never gotten to explore, I will not listen to you when you tell me to stay within a one block area. We also re-confirmed that even with a map, I never have any idea where I'm going. Ever.

#44 - Name a Pet Kuzco

So first off, I was talking about how I blog about my bucket list to a friend of mine and then I realized that I haven't blogged in almost a year, though I've accomplished a few things. Oops.

So here's a quick one for the night. Last June I was coming out of a doctors appointment and I saw this odd Yellow truck-van near where I get my prescriptions. At first, my mom and I thought it might be a taco truck, but as soon as we got closer I saw that it was the Humane Society and that there were, in fact, kitties in said truck-van. I yelled "PULL OVER NOW" and hopped out of the car before she had even put it in park (mind you, I had just had blood drawn and was in the middle of a ridiculous fibro flare).

So I was perfectly content just standing outside looking at all the cute kitties through the window, when suddenly a guy who works for slash volunteers for the Humane Society walks up to me and simply says the words: "You can go in and take them out of their cages if you want."

Man. What a mistake.

I opened up the door and immediately saw this little gray kitten standing up against the bars of his cage just meowing and meowing. I crouched down and frantically tried to let the little guy out, and once I finally figured out the handle he, no exaggeration here, LEAPT into my arms.

I started petting him and loving on him, and then I took a selfie with him cause who wouldn't want that, right?

My mom tried to tell me I couldn't have him, but she fell in love with him as well and in the end said "you're an adult and you can make your own decisions." So really what that means is "I am not taking responsibility for this when you tell your dad you brought home a cat."

So I brought home a cat.

And then hid it from my dad for 4 days.

But he became right at home, and walked in and looked around like he had lived here his whole life. He basically stepped in and said "This things? These are all mine."

And thus, Kuzco was named.

He is Lilo's baby, and occasionally thinks that he is a dog. To the point that he's actually a really heavy footed cat. Like, he may think he's sneaking around the house, but he's not. We all know where he is at all times.

Oh and all boxes are beds.