Barry, Barry, Barry...

If you follow baseball even a teenie bit, you have no doubt heard of a fellow named Barry Bonds who will likely break the all time home run record set by Hank Aaron. This is a vexing issue for many people because it's pretty likely that Bonds was juiced up, and by "juiced up," I mean that he was likely habitually using steroids.

That being said, today, espn.com reported that "Barry Bonds said he would give his game-worn gear to the Pro Baseball Hall of Fame should he break the all-time home run record. Bonds said he would only want to keep his shoes, bat and jersey from the record-breaking game and the Hall could have the rest of his gear."

So, basically, Bonds said that he was wanting to keep only the things that any collector would want to display, and the Hall of Fame could have the leftovers. Like his jock strap.

Zero Sum Games, or, Maybe I AM Crazy

My place of work has a fridge that is frequently restocked with various drinkable items on our floor. We employees get to partake of the aforementioned drinkables for free.

However, on the way to this fridge, I have to pass by the women's restroom. From time to time, as I pass this restroom, the door swings open and a female emerges. Now, I think most peoples' reactions to a sudden opening of a door would be to look and assess the situation, and I used to do just that.

However, the more that I thought about that, the more that I realized that it was perhaps uncouth to do so. After all, though the book is called Everybody Poops, I suspect that there is a reason that its follow-up book, I Just Got Done Pooping Minutes Ago, and I Would Like You to Know about It, Random Guy in the Hall, didn't sell quite as well.

So, I have taken to, whenever I notice that the women's restroom door is opening, immediately looking at the floor. This, however, poses its own problems:

1) I feel like I am being rude by not acknowledging other people's presence,
2) My sudden looking at the floor would almost certainly be construed as embarrassment, making me seem like an even more hermit-like figure on the 8th floor than I already am, and
3) If the person leaving the restroom is not a woman, and is in fact a zombie, I am going to spend my last few moments on earth being eaten alive considering how proper decorum has once again proven an inappropriate relic from the past.

This leaves me either with walking the long way to the fridge, appearing to be a weirdo, or appearing to be a pervert.

Sigh. Maybe I'm not thirsty after all.