Tuesday, May 31, 2005
I'd be glad to do that for you on Tuesday, missus, but I won't say which Tuesday...
Whew, I've been away so long, I almost forgot my password. In any event, hope y'all had a nice Memorial Day Weekend. Mine didn't suck.
Here are a few thoughts for the morning, before I codify something for the afternoon:
- Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd made a return to professional baseball last night, starting on the hill for the Brockton Rox. The Rox are an independent minor league team in Massachusetts and, let's be honest, the indy leagues are more for gimmicks and promos than they are for nine-inning canvasses of beauty.
The Can didn't disappoint. In fact, at age 45, he pitched pretty well, scattering seven hits over six innings, while yielding two runs. Many of the folks in the stands probably remembered him from back in the day, from the PawSox to the BoSox to the fact that he was flat-out crazy. He may still be crazy. But he can still throw, excite, and entertain. And that's good enough for me.
- Nice weekend for the Bombers. Cue up the Sesame Street theme, and this weekend's series was brought to you by the number 17 and the letter W.
- If Mike Tirico came into my apartment with a suitcase full of hundreds and asked me the named the starting five for the four remaining teams in the NBA playoffs, he'd promptly leave my apartment with said suitcase in hand.
I was thinking about the NBA briefly this weekend, which is the longest I have done so in about a decade, and realize what the biggest problem the association has to deal with: name recognition.
- Was watching The Crocodile Hunter on Sunday morning. It's nice to have been to a place in the world, then see it on TV, and say "hey, I've been to that place in the world."
The Australia Zoo was a kick-ass place and one particular highlight was petting a koala as Kate, the friendly zookeeper held it. Well, lo and behold, on the Croc Files, there was Kate helping that psychopath Steve Irwin out in the croc pit.
Kate was great. So was Oz. I'm mulling over a career move in the next few weeks. "Selling all my shit and backpacking through the Antipodes" is in the top three.
- Oooh, just saw this on page three of the news: Paris Hilton's engaged. Whew, that's big news. Personally, I thought the news about the real Paris was slightly more important. You know, the Paris with the big erector set thingy in the middle... The Paris that Lance Armstrong rides his bike in, with his yellow jersey, metaphorically thumbing his nose at those who spit on him in the Pyranees.... The Paris that is the capital of the country that, by virtue of its arrogant "non" vote, may have just sent the European Union into a short-term economic recession...
Nope, not that Paris. Paris Hilton. And she's engaged to a GUY named Paris? Enthralling. I give it 11 minutes.
- On a side note, me and pops were discussing Paris the girl's latest publicity gimmick - the Carl's Jr. commercial - and what I thought of it. I told him I didn't think much of it, unless you count when I'm all alone in my private den...but that's a whole different ball of yarn altogether.
Carl's Jr. is not a household name on the Best Coast - it's more of a West Coast thang - but hey, no less than two folks in the Biggest Little were discussing their burgers on Sunday, so score one for the adverts and the Hilton P.R. machine.
There were three (five is you're counting the virtual nothing Ms. Hilton was or wasn't wearing) main eye-catchers in the :30 second spot: a scantily clad Paris, a Carls, Jr. burger, and a black Bentley. Which poses this question: which of those three are you most likely to contract some sort of illness from: Paris, the burger, or the Bentley?
Right, I've never heard of getting the clap or e.coli from a car, either.
- Whoa, shocking news out of the NBA! Larry Brown is taking another job! Yeah, seriously. Larry. Brown. And all this while he's still working, in a pretty important spot, in his current and now old gig.
Yeah, I thought he had a pretty good thing going, too. But, hey, I heard Paris Hilton's engaged...
Later on. One.
Here are a few thoughts for the morning, before I codify something for the afternoon:
- Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd made a return to professional baseball last night, starting on the hill for the Brockton Rox. The Rox are an independent minor league team in Massachusetts and, let's be honest, the indy leagues are more for gimmicks and promos than they are for nine-inning canvasses of beauty.
The Can didn't disappoint. In fact, at age 45, he pitched pretty well, scattering seven hits over six innings, while yielding two runs. Many of the folks in the stands probably remembered him from back in the day, from the PawSox to the BoSox to the fact that he was flat-out crazy. He may still be crazy. But he can still throw, excite, and entertain. And that's good enough for me.
- Nice weekend for the Bombers. Cue up the Sesame Street theme, and this weekend's series was brought to you by the number 17 and the letter W.
- If Mike Tirico came into my apartment with a suitcase full of hundreds and asked me the named the starting five for the four remaining teams in the NBA playoffs, he'd promptly leave my apartment with said suitcase in hand.
I was thinking about the NBA briefly this weekend, which is the longest I have done so in about a decade, and realize what the biggest problem the association has to deal with: name recognition.
- Was watching The Crocodile Hunter on Sunday morning. It's nice to have been to a place in the world, then see it on TV, and say "hey, I've been to that place in the world."
The Australia Zoo was a kick-ass place and one particular highlight was petting a koala as Kate, the friendly zookeeper held it. Well, lo and behold, on the Croc Files, there was Kate helping that psychopath Steve Irwin out in the croc pit.
Kate was great. So was Oz. I'm mulling over a career move in the next few weeks. "Selling all my shit and backpacking through the Antipodes" is in the top three.
- Oooh, just saw this on page three of the news: Paris Hilton's engaged. Whew, that's big news. Personally, I thought the news about the real Paris was slightly more important. You know, the Paris with the big erector set thingy in the middle... The Paris that Lance Armstrong rides his bike in, with his yellow jersey, metaphorically thumbing his nose at those who spit on him in the Pyranees.... The Paris that is the capital of the country that, by virtue of its arrogant "non" vote, may have just sent the European Union into a short-term economic recession...
Nope, not that Paris. Paris Hilton. And she's engaged to a GUY named Paris? Enthralling. I give it 11 minutes.
- On a side note, me and pops were discussing Paris the girl's latest publicity gimmick - the Carl's Jr. commercial - and what I thought of it. I told him I didn't think much of it, unless you count when I'm all alone in my private den...but that's a whole different ball of yarn altogether.
Carl's Jr. is not a household name on the Best Coast - it's more of a West Coast thang - but hey, no less than two folks in the Biggest Little were discussing their burgers on Sunday, so score one for the adverts and the Hilton P.R. machine.
There were three (five is you're counting the virtual nothing Ms. Hilton was or wasn't wearing) main eye-catchers in the :30 second spot: a scantily clad Paris, a Carls, Jr. burger, and a black Bentley. Which poses this question: which of those three are you most likely to contract some sort of illness from: Paris, the burger, or the Bentley?
Right, I've never heard of getting the clap or e.coli from a car, either.
- Whoa, shocking news out of the NBA! Larry Brown is taking another job! Yeah, seriously. Larry. Brown. And all this while he's still working, in a pretty important spot, in his current and now old gig.
Yeah, I thought he had a pretty good thing going, too. But, hey, I heard Paris Hilton's engaged...
Later on. One.
Friday, May 27, 2005
Godspeed, Schapelle
I don't have much to say today, and with the news that Schapelle Corby was found guilty in Indonesia and sentenced to 20 years, I'm having trouble finding humor.
So here's the link to the Age - a Melbourne, Australia newspaper - if you want to read more about the case.
Here's hoping something is resolved. Hope you all have a good weekend, be safe, and be sure to call cabs or walk home if you've been overserved.
One.
So here's the link to the Age - a Melbourne, Australia newspaper - if you want to read more about the case.
Here's hoping something is resolved. Hope you all have a good weekend, be safe, and be sure to call cabs or walk home if you've been overserved.
One.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
The Holy Trinity
If you thought yesterday's ethnic etymology lesson was fun, today will be a friggin' blast.
I have found the "Trinity."
Trinity Gray, former 800 meter standout from Brown University? Nope.
Trinity University, an independent, liberal arts and sciences university of approximately 2500 students located in San Antonio, Texas? Nope.
Trinity College Dublin, home of the Book of Kells? Nope.
The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. God bless, but no.
This Trinity? Oh, no.
This piece of shit? Nope.
Trinity. From Canada. She's one of those Canadians you may have read about. They live four hours north and say oooot & abooot and eh. They like The Tragically Hip, ice hockey, ice and skating. They drink Molson. They have a queen and coins for one and two dollar amounts.
But I'm of Canadian decent. So I love them. All. A to Zed.
So tonight, when Trinity emerged in the bar, I noticed her. Why?
Well, generally, around these parts, you need to stand out. You need to get all gussied or foofed up. Trinity? She was macked out in a ballcap, a gray tee-shirt, and shorts. She had just finished playing seven innings of softball. And she glowed.
It takes alot for someone who just got done working out to light up a bar. But Trinity pulled it off. And so did I.
We talked our about our favorite subjects: baseball, blackjack, how people are bars suck, how beer at bars rules, how people don't hold hands enough, how guys try too hard at bars, how girls do too, and how the two of us needed to get out of there (and how I was without a ride home and she needed to give me one. I know that's not sexy, but sometimes a guy just has to be practical.)
Was there some sort of Ethan Hawke/Julie Delpy "Sunrise" story cooking? No, sorry, no sordid details. A number, a slight kiss goodnight, and the promise for a promising Monday.
Was at a charity golf outing tonight for my man Sean. It's always one of the best days of the year. Good friends, good times, good food, good door prizes and good beer. This year, I finally won a prize. Two pimp tickets to the (coughcough World Champion) Red Sox and Yankees. September 10. Good on me.
-----
Ok, for all five of my dedicated readers...thanks. I do it for the kids...and you. To the rest of you, enjoy Memorial Day. Go Sox. Go me. And Go You!
One.
I have found the "Trinity."
Trinity Gray, former 800 meter standout from Brown University? Nope.
Trinity University, an independent, liberal arts and sciences university of approximately 2500 students located in San Antonio, Texas? Nope.
Trinity College Dublin, home of the Book of Kells? Nope.
The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. God bless, but no.
This Trinity? Oh, no.
This piece of shit? Nope.
Trinity. From Canada. She's one of those Canadians you may have read about. They live four hours north and say oooot & abooot and eh. They like The Tragically Hip, ice hockey, ice and skating. They drink Molson. They have a queen and coins for one and two dollar amounts.
But I'm of Canadian decent. So I love them. All. A to Zed.
So tonight, when Trinity emerged in the bar, I noticed her. Why?
Well, generally, around these parts, you need to stand out. You need to get all gussied or foofed up. Trinity? She was macked out in a ballcap, a gray tee-shirt, and shorts. She had just finished playing seven innings of softball. And she glowed.
It takes alot for someone who just got done working out to light up a bar. But Trinity pulled it off. And so did I.
We talked our about our favorite subjects: baseball, blackjack, how people are bars suck, how beer at bars rules, how people don't hold hands enough, how guys try too hard at bars, how girls do too, and how the two of us needed to get out of there (and how I was without a ride home and she needed to give me one. I know that's not sexy, but sometimes a guy just has to be practical.)
Was there some sort of Ethan Hawke/Julie Delpy "Sunrise" story cooking? No, sorry, no sordid details. A number, a slight kiss goodnight, and the promise for a promising Monday.
Was at a charity golf outing tonight for my man Sean. It's always one of the best days of the year. Good friends, good times, good food, good door prizes and good beer. This year, I finally won a prize. Two pimp tickets to the (coughcough World Champion) Red Sox and Yankees. September 10. Good on me.
-----
Ok, for all five of my dedicated readers...thanks. I do it for the kids...and you. To the rest of you, enjoy Memorial Day. Go Sox. Go me. And Go You!
One.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
I Got Worms
Actually, I don't. I've got nothing today. At all. Blame it on the Reed Johnson walk-off.
One thing did catch my eye today, in the sports transactions wire. The ABA - American Basketball Association - is trying to make a comeback; yet another fledgling, fly-by-night minor league hoops league. Well, the new Charlotte franchise just announced its team nickname.
"The Krunk. "
Try typing "krunk" into dictionary.com, and you get this. And I, myself, thought that maybe it had been misspelled, so I tried "crunk" and got this. But that made no sense, not in a basketball-sense at least.
What is "krunk" or "crunk?" I google-ed it and lo and behold, I found the answer. For an alternate etymological entry, try this. And finally, for a musical adaptation, try this or this.
-----
I'm wondering when, exactly, this fine late May weather is going to break. Not too much you can do in 45 degree, rainy, windy, gray, and miserable conditions except mull over trying heroin.
-----
I now know why Weight Watchers works. Since they're cheap, and I'm trying to be both fat-conscious and frugal, I tend to eat the WW meals for lunch. And they have slightly more consistency than the packaging that houses the "food."
Weight Watchers works because their meals make you hate food. They make you loathe mealtime. Lunch becomes more of a job than the one you get to escape from for 59 minutes and 30 seconds. Someone, inexplicably, tagged a bulletin board in front of my office with graffiti...I guess they confused my door and nametag as the fucking D train...but no worries. I used my fully cooked WW salisbury steak to rub it clean.
-----
My boy Dyzzy went to the U2 concert in the Hub last night and was nice enough to send us photos from his cellphone of both the Kings of Leon and the lads from Dublin. We countered by taking cellphone photos of gay porn photos.
Which poses the question: What is most troubling: receiving the photo of a naked dude; the fact your friends sent you a photo of a naked dude; or the fact that your friends know where to find photos of naked dudes?
-----
Half-price hamburgers at the local tonight - a Wednesday tradition since 1998. My personal fave? The bleu cheese pub burger. Medium. With onion rings. I could eat five. They are the anti-Weight Watchers. If Weight Watchers were Israelis, then bleu cheese pubs are Palestinians.
If you prefer to be neutral, geopolitically, there is a Canadian pub as well.
-----
Playing golf tomorrow in an annual charity outing. First time I'm swinging the clubs. The other three folks in my group are not Tiger, Phil, and Ernie. It's "best ball." How many strokes over will we be? I'm going with a guess of 5-over.
-----
If you're a John Legend fan, as I am, then catch the remix of "Ordinary People." He ranks at the top of my babymaking music list. Joss Stone is a close second. Norah Jones, Sade, and Coldplay round out the top five.
On the opposite pole, Metallica's "One" ranks as the least romantic song to have come up on shuffle play when you're making some sexy time. Especially the guitar and drum solo. People could get hurt.
-----
Well, that's all I have for now. Enjoy your hump day, in any sense of the term, and if you're bored and looking for something to do, well, get crunk.
One.
One thing did catch my eye today, in the sports transactions wire. The ABA - American Basketball Association - is trying to make a comeback; yet another fledgling, fly-by-night minor league hoops league. Well, the new Charlotte franchise just announced its team nickname.
"The Krunk. "
Try typing "krunk" into dictionary.com, and you get this. And I, myself, thought that maybe it had been misspelled, so I tried "crunk" and got this. But that made no sense, not in a basketball-sense at least.
What is "krunk" or "crunk?" I google-ed it and lo and behold, I found the answer. For an alternate etymological entry, try this. And finally, for a musical adaptation, try this or this.
-----
I'm wondering when, exactly, this fine late May weather is going to break. Not too much you can do in 45 degree, rainy, windy, gray, and miserable conditions except mull over trying heroin.
-----
I now know why Weight Watchers works. Since they're cheap, and I'm trying to be both fat-conscious and frugal, I tend to eat the WW meals for lunch. And they have slightly more consistency than the packaging that houses the "food."
Weight Watchers works because their meals make you hate food. They make you loathe mealtime. Lunch becomes more of a job than the one you get to escape from for 59 minutes and 30 seconds. Someone, inexplicably, tagged a bulletin board in front of my office with graffiti...I guess they confused my door and nametag as the fucking D train...but no worries. I used my fully cooked WW salisbury steak to rub it clean.
-----
My boy Dyzzy went to the U2 concert in the Hub last night and was nice enough to send us photos from his cellphone of both the Kings of Leon and the lads from Dublin. We countered by taking cellphone photos of gay porn photos.
Which poses the question: What is most troubling: receiving the photo of a naked dude; the fact your friends sent you a photo of a naked dude; or the fact that your friends know where to find photos of naked dudes?
-----
Half-price hamburgers at the local tonight - a Wednesday tradition since 1998. My personal fave? The bleu cheese pub burger. Medium. With onion rings. I could eat five. They are the anti-Weight Watchers. If Weight Watchers were Israelis, then bleu cheese pubs are Palestinians.
If you prefer to be neutral, geopolitically, there is a Canadian pub as well.
-----
Playing golf tomorrow in an annual charity outing. First time I'm swinging the clubs. The other three folks in my group are not Tiger, Phil, and Ernie. It's "best ball." How many strokes over will we be? I'm going with a guess of 5-over.
-----
If you're a John Legend fan, as I am, then catch the remix of "Ordinary People." He ranks at the top of my babymaking music list. Joss Stone is a close second. Norah Jones, Sade, and Coldplay round out the top five.
On the opposite pole, Metallica's "One" ranks as the least romantic song to have come up on shuffle play when you're making some sexy time. Especially the guitar and drum solo. People could get hurt.
-----
Well, that's all I have for now. Enjoy your hump day, in any sense of the term, and if you're bored and looking for something to do, well, get crunk.
One.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Can't Spell C-H-A-S-S without the last three letters...
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/24/sports/baseball/24chass.html?
The above link is an article by the New York Times' esteemed baseball writer, Murray Chass. The premise of the article is the argument: "hey, sure, the Red Sox won the World Series last year, but...have they won the AL East?"
Um...
So I thought I'd pen the chap a nice email. Will keep you updated if he replies. Pasted below is the text of the missive.
-----
Mr. Chass: I just finished reading your article in today's New York Times. And it made me think about my experiences at Fenway Park this past Saturday.
I noticed several new changes to the ballpark that John Updike described as the "lyric little bandbox." There are loads of new concession stands, wider walkways, and several new advertisements on the Green Monster.
Oh, and one more thing. There's a big red flag on the center field flag pole, underneath the Stars & Stripes. It reads "2004 World Champions."
Back to your article. It poses one question: who cares if the Red Sox haven't seem to capture the American League East title?
In the past, Fenway would hang those banners celebrating being second or even third-best. Similarly, in the past, the Yankees would thump their chests as the World Champions and even in 2000, the back-to-back World Champs. The slogans have morphed each year since then, from pompous to penitant to merely pointing out the past. Whenever this argument would come up in circles, Yankee fans tirelessly pointed to two numbers: 26 (the number of world championships the team has won), 86 (the span of time, in years, between Red Sox world championships), and 19-18. Those arguments are now moot.
But aren't the most important numbers for the Yankees, at this point, 200,000,000 (the approximate payroll of the '05 Yankees) and 4 (the place, out of five, that the Yankees rank in the AL East)?
Considering that since 2001, the team that won the World Series were wild cards, maybe the way to go isn't to be a division champion. So with that in mind, maybe the only "curse" that's left is the one you get when you win the AL East.
Thanks for your time.
The above link is an article by the New York Times' esteemed baseball writer, Murray Chass. The premise of the article is the argument: "hey, sure, the Red Sox won the World Series last year, but...have they won the AL East?"
Um...
So I thought I'd pen the chap a nice email. Will keep you updated if he replies. Pasted below is the text of the missive.
-----
Mr. Chass: I just finished reading your article in today's New York Times. And it made me think about my experiences at Fenway Park this past Saturday.
I noticed several new changes to the ballpark that John Updike described as the "lyric little bandbox." There are loads of new concession stands, wider walkways, and several new advertisements on the Green Monster.
Oh, and one more thing. There's a big red flag on the center field flag pole, underneath the Stars & Stripes. It reads "2004 World Champions."
Back to your article. It poses one question: who cares if the Red Sox haven't seem to capture the American League East title?
In the past, Fenway would hang those banners celebrating being second or even third-best. Similarly, in the past, the Yankees would thump their chests as the World Champions and even in 2000, the back-to-back World Champs. The slogans have morphed each year since then, from pompous to penitant to merely pointing out the past. Whenever this argument would come up in circles, Yankee fans tirelessly pointed to two numbers: 26 (the number of world championships the team has won), 86 (the span of time, in years, between Red Sox world championships), and 19-18. Those arguments are now moot.
But aren't the most important numbers for the Yankees, at this point, 200,000,000 (the approximate payroll of the '05 Yankees) and 4 (the place, out of five, that the Yankees rank in the AL East)?
Considering that since 2001, the team that won the World Series were wild cards, maybe the way to go isn't to be a division champion. So with that in mind, maybe the only "curse" that's left is the one you get when you win the AL East.
Thanks for your time.
You're Only As Strong As Your Weakest Link
Just finished my daily intelligence report and have a some links to a few stories that caught my eye. But before I do that, I must put on my Newsweek hat and issue a retraction.
Last week, I linked to a story about 42 Cambodian midgets dying while trying to wrestle a hungry African lion. The story was a hoax. But, if you have an imagination and can close your eyes and picture the scene, the story lives on. So apologies for the mix up. (yeah, right.) Onto today's stuff:
1. Two idiots in England were critically after trying to fight with "homemade lightsabres." There is a videotape. I need to see this.
2. Tom Cruise is like a giddy little schoolgirl over his new girlfriend, Katie Holmes. Tom, stop. It's already driven past the exit for interesting and is making a bee-line for the Weird stateline.
3. The Sundance Channel is proposing a reality show about sex-change operations. I have no words. How...um...but....wait... Nope, no words. I tried.
4. The voice of Tony the Tiger died. If there is a God, he won't have "It's Grrrrrrrreat!" on his tombstone.
5. An update on Australia's national treasure.
More later today... One
Last week, I linked to a story about 42 Cambodian midgets dying while trying to wrestle a hungry African lion. The story was a hoax. But, if you have an imagination and can close your eyes and picture the scene, the story lives on. So apologies for the mix up. (yeah, right.) Onto today's stuff:
1. Two idiots in England were critically after trying to fight with "homemade lightsabres." There is a videotape. I need to see this.
2. Tom Cruise is like a giddy little schoolgirl over his new girlfriend, Katie Holmes. Tom, stop. It's already driven past the exit for interesting and is making a bee-line for the Weird stateline.
3. The Sundance Channel is proposing a reality show about sex-change operations. I have no words. How...um...but....wait... Nope, no words. I tried.
4. The voice of Tony the Tiger died. If there is a God, he won't have "It's Grrrrrrrreat!" on his tombstone.
5. An update on Australia's national treasure.
More later today... One
Monday, May 23, 2005
When you get what you want, but not what you need...
Emptying out the cobwebs from the weekend past; previewing the week ahead:
· Ended up, rather randomly, at a karaoke bar on Friday night. This is a phenomenon and a sub-culture that I have been stumbling - literally and figuratively - into over the past month. As my man Kyle has been known to say, "there's comedy; there's high comedy; then there's **fill in the blank**." (he may or may not have stolen that line, but I'm attributing it to K-Stein)
· Music pick for the week: The Shins. Preview a few of their best-known tunes on the Garden State soundtrack. Then proceed directly to "Caring is Creepy" and "Chutes too Narrow." Great driving music. Even better with a few select cocktails. In other music news, Oasis - formerly known as the most important rock band in history - is playing a 26-dollar-a-ticket gig at Great Woods. Wow, don't look back in anger. Ben Folds is playing the Sailing Capital of the Country on July 2 and I took one look at the lineup for the Newport Folk Festival and got excited. Does that mean I'm getting old?
· Props go out to all parties involved with Troy Brown returning to the Two-Time Defending World Champion New England Patriots. This may be the first time that the Pats got a touch on the new site. No subject better than Troy Brown to kick it off. BINGO! I'VE GOT BINGO!
· Went to Fenway on Saturday night. It was, no joke, about 40 degrees and snowing by the 7th inning. Went with my man - and the most faithful reader of the TLBR experience - TP, his future bride, and his future brother-in-law. Good time had by all. Reports of me getting a little profane with my vocal comments re: Kevin Millar and Edgar Renteria have neither been confirmed, nor denied.
Speaking of those two - Red Sox Nation's latest whipping boys - the light was shed on a common urban legend regarding the Olde Towne Team to me this morning.
Kevin Millar came out in defense of the much maligned, error-prone, groundball hitting, multi-million dollar shortstop. Millar, who has taken his share of cuts at the plate and his share of shots in the press, did publicly what some say is his greatest asset to the Sox. He took a bullet for a teammate.
You can criticize Millar for hitting his first home run about a week ago. Well, it was a walkoff. And you can criticize Millar for having a bad glove. Well, using his range factor and zone ratings - both of the "new math" categories that baseball stats guys use and more representative of Millar's skills - then he's 10th in the majors.
But what Millar gets criticized for most - and what he does best - is opening his mouth. It might be the "Cowboy up" thing, or "Yee-haw, Jack Daniels", or whatever... But Kevin Millar was the first player to jump up and defend his teammate - a teammate of his for a very short time, I might add.
"Can you guys give Renteria a break?" Millar told a group of reporters, asking them at one point to "get on me" to take some of the heat off his teammate. "I suck. I'm not a good player. He is." Do you think A-Rod would ever volunteer that sort of thing?
Millar added: "It's my job to speak the way I feel about Edgar Renteria. He's my teammate, he's my family member and I think he's a great player. Don't let eight years of greatness be overshadowed by six weeks of whatever you want to call it."
(a side note: "Curt in the car" called in to WEEI, after a skit busting Millar's rocks, to chime in with his two cents about the media in Boston. Interesting stuff.)
· On the topic of pitchers who use the computer alot, how about the story of the Cubs' Carlos Zambrano? Forget Tommy John, if this keeps up, Carlos is going to need Michael Dell surgery pretty soon.
· If you like the NBA, or even if you don't, read this piece on Dwyane Wade by Yahoo!'s Dan Wetzel: http://sports.yahoo.com/nba/news?slug=dw-wade052305&prov=yhoo&type=lgns
Until later, enjoy your now.
One.
· Ended up, rather randomly, at a karaoke bar on Friday night. This is a phenomenon and a sub-culture that I have been stumbling - literally and figuratively - into over the past month. As my man Kyle has been known to say, "there's comedy; there's high comedy; then there's **fill in the blank**." (he may or may not have stolen that line, but I'm attributing it to K-Stein)
· Music pick for the week: The Shins. Preview a few of their best-known tunes on the Garden State soundtrack. Then proceed directly to "Caring is Creepy" and "Chutes too Narrow." Great driving music. Even better with a few select cocktails. In other music news, Oasis - formerly known as the most important rock band in history - is playing a 26-dollar-a-ticket gig at Great Woods. Wow, don't look back in anger. Ben Folds is playing the Sailing Capital of the Country on July 2 and I took one look at the lineup for the Newport Folk Festival and got excited. Does that mean I'm getting old?
· Props go out to all parties involved with Troy Brown returning to the Two-Time Defending World Champion New England Patriots. This may be the first time that the Pats got a touch on the new site. No subject better than Troy Brown to kick it off. BINGO! I'VE GOT BINGO!
· Went to Fenway on Saturday night. It was, no joke, about 40 degrees and snowing by the 7th inning. Went with my man - and the most faithful reader of the TLBR experience - TP, his future bride, and his future brother-in-law. Good time had by all. Reports of me getting a little profane with my vocal comments re: Kevin Millar and Edgar Renteria have neither been confirmed, nor denied.
Speaking of those two - Red Sox Nation's latest whipping boys - the light was shed on a common urban legend regarding the Olde Towne Team to me this morning.
Kevin Millar came out in defense of the much maligned, error-prone, groundball hitting, multi-million dollar shortstop. Millar, who has taken his share of cuts at the plate and his share of shots in the press, did publicly what some say is his greatest asset to the Sox. He took a bullet for a teammate.
You can criticize Millar for hitting his first home run about a week ago. Well, it was a walkoff. And you can criticize Millar for having a bad glove. Well, using his range factor and zone ratings - both of the "new math" categories that baseball stats guys use and more representative of Millar's skills - then he's 10th in the majors.
But what Millar gets criticized for most - and what he does best - is opening his mouth. It might be the "Cowboy up" thing, or "Yee-haw, Jack Daniels", or whatever... But Kevin Millar was the first player to jump up and defend his teammate - a teammate of his for a very short time, I might add.
"Can you guys give Renteria a break?" Millar told a group of reporters, asking them at one point to "get on me" to take some of the heat off his teammate. "I suck. I'm not a good player. He is." Do you think A-Rod would ever volunteer that sort of thing?
Millar added: "It's my job to speak the way I feel about Edgar Renteria. He's my teammate, he's my family member and I think he's a great player. Don't let eight years of greatness be overshadowed by six weeks of whatever you want to call it."
(a side note: "Curt in the car" called in to WEEI, after a skit busting Millar's rocks, to chime in with his two cents about the media in Boston. Interesting stuff.)
· On the topic of pitchers who use the computer alot, how about the story of the Cubs' Carlos Zambrano? Forget Tommy John, if this keeps up, Carlos is going to need Michael Dell surgery pretty soon.
· If you like the NBA, or even if you don't, read this piece on Dwyane Wade by Yahoo!'s Dan Wetzel: http://sports.yahoo.com/nba/news?slug=dw-wade052305&prov=yhoo&type=lgns
Until later, enjoy your now.
One.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Friday After Next
Just some random rubbish to end your work week and kick off your weekend:
· BBC One is still the best radio station in the world. Thanks to the way the world turns and the whole time zone change continum, morning in NY is afternoon in the UK. And that means the Colin & Edith show.Nowhere in the U.S. are there two hosts that work off of each other as seamless, and unrehearsed, while still providing a high level of spontaneous comedy. Case and point with this week's Star Wars hype...Edith was in Cannes for the premiere and interviewed all of the movies' stars including Samuel L. Jackson, the old guy who plays the Emperor, the guy who is the voice of C-3PO, and The Muse. Best interview of the set was her time with Hayden Christensen.
Edith is a bit smitten by him. (actually, she'd like to shag the bloody hell out of him) She made him a mix tape (or three) and you could hear her trying to use her "sexy voice." When they played it over the air, Colin et al. took the piss out of her and it made for quite an amusing bit.
So if you have speakers on your computer, can rock out to some good music and great DJ's, click on: http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio/aod/radio1.shtml?listen
· Keeping with the Star Wars theme - went to see it yesterday. It was good. The time of day I left to see it was even better - an "extended" lunch.
Yes, you knew how it was going to finish, so you went there more for lightsabers and less for plot development. Nice to see the re-introduction of Wookies. Chewbacca and this other dude who looked like a wookie member of the band Gwar. Still good stuff.
· An update on the plight of accused drug smuggler Schapelle Corby: Stories out of Australia indicate that if found guilty, Indonesia would transfer Corby back home to serve out the time on her sentence at Brisbane Women's Prison.
Two thoughts come to mind. If they're already making plans and concessions "in the case that she may be found guilty," then guess what? She's guilty. You don't plan for rain unless you know it's gonna rain.
And the second thought, devoid of any legal basis, is Brisbane. If you sentence Corby to live in Brisbane for 10 years, that's worse than any prison sentence I could think of. In fact, it could be cruel and unusual. But that's just me and I was only there 36 whole hours.
· Donald Trump, in his infinite egoism, has proposed his own idea for the site of the World Trade Center in lower Manhattan. His brilliant idea? Rebuild the towers the same as before, except, with one more floor.
The previous plans, which were ugly and scrapped earlier this month due to security concerns for the entire development, included a tower that would peak at 1,776 feet - in honor of the year the Declaration of Independence was penned.
"It's the worst pile of crap architecture I've ever seen in my life, and I don't think we have to live with it," Trump said. "If something happened to the Statue of Liberty, you wouldn't rebuild it as something other than the Statue of Liberty."
Yes, Donald, you would replace the Statue of Liberty with something that was as close a replica as possible. But it's a Statue. Not over a million square feet of office space with tens of thousands of people working there, especially when two 112 story towers would immediately become another bullseye for these fucktards to target. And, to be honest, it would be both the height of arrogance and disrespect and would show a tremendous lack of hindsight. To rebuild the towers as they originally were would be a colossal thumbing of the nose to all possible constituencies involved.
· Switching gears to the National Basketball Association. I'm a huge hoops guy. But not the NBA. Until the playoffs. When they play defense and don't travel. How many people do you know that share that sentiment?
Last night, in Indianapolis, one of my all-time favorite players played his final game. Reggie Miller - I fear, one of THE last old-school hoopers - announced his retirement earlier this season. He - being 6-8 tall and barely 185 pounds - was one of the greatest. His shooting in the final seconds versus the Knicks in the playoffs at MSG in 1995 rank as one of the best episodes of clutch play that I have ever witnessed.
And throughout his career, Miller was sometimes brash, cocky, and arrogant. His smack-talk sessions with Spike Lee were legendary, mostly because he backed it up. But as he's grown older, he's become more mature. Even a mentor.
When the game was seemingly out of hand, Pacer coach Rick Carlisle subbed Miller out, so he could get his curtain call. While the Conseco Fieldhouse crowd chanted "Reg-gie," held signs up in his honors, former Pacer head man and overall classy Pistons coach Larry Brown called a timeout to allow fans and players on both ends of the court to properly praise Miller.
At the end of the game, Miller was seen hugging each and everyone on the floor. ESPN cameras then cut to a shot of him talking into the ear of Pistons' forward Richard Hamilton. Rip - another talented guy who might weigh a buck-eighty soaking wet and with rolls of quarters in his warmups - got the proverbial torch passed to him. And who better and what better honor than to get it from one of the all-time gamers. Good luck Reggie. And good luck Rip. The floor is yours to share with D-Wade.
· I'll close with two absurdities. British tabloids are running photos of deposed despot Saddam Hussein in his tighty whiteys. One question: why?
And the next story, well, you just can't make up. Not one facet of the story. Not the battle. Not the arena. Not the fact someone thought of this. Not the fact that tickets to the event were completely sold out for three weeks. Not the fact that a CMFL even exists. Not the fact that they have CMFL t-shirts. Not the fact that the government approved it and is taking a sizable cut. And not the fact that the promoter thought that 42 midgets would have a fighting chance against a hungry african lion. (how's that for a teaser?)
Enjoy the weekend, boils and girdles, and keep on...keep on truckin'.
One.
· BBC One is still the best radio station in the world. Thanks to the way the world turns and the whole time zone change continum, morning in NY is afternoon in the UK. And that means the Colin & Edith show.Nowhere in the U.S. are there two hosts that work off of each other as seamless, and unrehearsed, while still providing a high level of spontaneous comedy. Case and point with this week's Star Wars hype...Edith was in Cannes for the premiere and interviewed all of the movies' stars including Samuel L. Jackson, the old guy who plays the Emperor, the guy who is the voice of C-3PO, and The Muse. Best interview of the set was her time with Hayden Christensen.
Edith is a bit smitten by him. (actually, she'd like to shag the bloody hell out of him) She made him a mix tape (or three) and you could hear her trying to use her "sexy voice." When they played it over the air, Colin et al. took the piss out of her and it made for quite an amusing bit.
So if you have speakers on your computer, can rock out to some good music and great DJ's, click on: http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio/aod/radio1.shtml?listen
· Keeping with the Star Wars theme - went to see it yesterday. It was good. The time of day I left to see it was even better - an "extended" lunch.
Yes, you knew how it was going to finish, so you went there more for lightsabers and less for plot development. Nice to see the re-introduction of Wookies. Chewbacca and this other dude who looked like a wookie member of the band Gwar. Still good stuff.
· An update on the plight of accused drug smuggler Schapelle Corby: Stories out of Australia indicate that if found guilty, Indonesia would transfer Corby back home to serve out the time on her sentence at Brisbane Women's Prison.
Two thoughts come to mind. If they're already making plans and concessions "in the case that she may be found guilty," then guess what? She's guilty. You don't plan for rain unless you know it's gonna rain.
And the second thought, devoid of any legal basis, is Brisbane. If you sentence Corby to live in Brisbane for 10 years, that's worse than any prison sentence I could think of. In fact, it could be cruel and unusual. But that's just me and I was only there 36 whole hours.
· Donald Trump, in his infinite egoism, has proposed his own idea for the site of the World Trade Center in lower Manhattan. His brilliant idea? Rebuild the towers the same as before, except, with one more floor.
The previous plans, which were ugly and scrapped earlier this month due to security concerns for the entire development, included a tower that would peak at 1,776 feet - in honor of the year the Declaration of Independence was penned.
"It's the worst pile of crap architecture I've ever seen in my life, and I don't think we have to live with it," Trump said. "If something happened to the Statue of Liberty, you wouldn't rebuild it as something other than the Statue of Liberty."
Yes, Donald, you would replace the Statue of Liberty with something that was as close a replica as possible. But it's a Statue. Not over a million square feet of office space with tens of thousands of people working there, especially when two 112 story towers would immediately become another bullseye for these fucktards to target. And, to be honest, it would be both the height of arrogance and disrespect and would show a tremendous lack of hindsight. To rebuild the towers as they originally were would be a colossal thumbing of the nose to all possible constituencies involved.
· Switching gears to the National Basketball Association. I'm a huge hoops guy. But not the NBA. Until the playoffs. When they play defense and don't travel. How many people do you know that share that sentiment?
Last night, in Indianapolis, one of my all-time favorite players played his final game. Reggie Miller - I fear, one of THE last old-school hoopers - announced his retirement earlier this season. He - being 6-8 tall and barely 185 pounds - was one of the greatest. His shooting in the final seconds versus the Knicks in the playoffs at MSG in 1995 rank as one of the best episodes of clutch play that I have ever witnessed.
And throughout his career, Miller was sometimes brash, cocky, and arrogant. His smack-talk sessions with Spike Lee were legendary, mostly because he backed it up. But as he's grown older, he's become more mature. Even a mentor.
When the game was seemingly out of hand, Pacer coach Rick Carlisle subbed Miller out, so he could get his curtain call. While the Conseco Fieldhouse crowd chanted "Reg-gie," held signs up in his honors, former Pacer head man and overall classy Pistons coach Larry Brown called a timeout to allow fans and players on both ends of the court to properly praise Miller.
At the end of the game, Miller was seen hugging each and everyone on the floor. ESPN cameras then cut to a shot of him talking into the ear of Pistons' forward Richard Hamilton. Rip - another talented guy who might weigh a buck-eighty soaking wet and with rolls of quarters in his warmups - got the proverbial torch passed to him. And who better and what better honor than to get it from one of the all-time gamers. Good luck Reggie. And good luck Rip. The floor is yours to share with D-Wade.
· I'll close with two absurdities. British tabloids are running photos of deposed despot Saddam Hussein in his tighty whiteys. One question: why?
And the next story, well, you just can't make up. Not one facet of the story. Not the battle. Not the arena. Not the fact someone thought of this. Not the fact that tickets to the event were completely sold out for three weeks. Not the fact that a CMFL even exists. Not the fact that they have CMFL t-shirts. Not the fact that the government approved it and is taking a sizable cut. And not the fact that the promoter thought that 42 midgets would have a fighting chance against a hungry african lion. (how's that for a teaser?)
Enjoy the weekend, boils and girdles, and keep on...keep on truckin'.
One.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
Trudging Through Thursday
I don't have much for you this morning, but saw this story and thought I needed to share:
A Maine State Trooper was baffled by the behavior of a man who displayed amorous intentions as she was arresting him."What did he think I was going to do? Go out on a date with him?" said Jennifer Fiske, who arrested Peter Murray on Sunday.
When Fiske arrived at the scene, Murray had a cut on his head and had also urinated on himself.
Murray, 42, who had gotten into a car accident and failed 3 sobriety tests, began behaving inappropriately while seated beside Fiske in the front passenger seat of her cruiser. "Then he said, 'You have beautiful green eyes,' and he started touching my arm," Fiske said. "I'd had enough of that."
Fiske got out of the car and went around to the passenger seat to handcuff Murray. She had one of his hands cuffed and was working to apply the other handcuff when he wrestled with her and tried to cuff her to him, saying, "I just want us to be tied together." Fiske responded by giving a sudden short twist to the handcuff on his wrist and rapping him on the thigh with her police baton. He yelped with pain and cursed as Fiske cuffed him.
Murray was charged with drunk driving, assault on a police officer, resisting arrest, and refusing to sign or give a name.
Murray was friendly and cooperative during the sobriety tests, Fiske said, and it wasn't until he was in the cruiser that he refused to take a written intoxication test and started making sexual comments.
During the ride to the police department, Fiske alleged, Murray touched her and tried to grab for the steering wheel, forcing her to give him a few sharp smacks. Murray was placed in leg restraints and another trooper came along in the cruiser as the suspect was transported to the jail in Bangor.
-----
Damn right he was trying to Bangor (the 9:00 pm show is completely different than the 7:00...) And if she did decide to go on that date, I'm guessing she'd have to drive.
I give the gentleman credit, but it's not exactly a power-move after failing three sobriety tests. And a written sobriety test? That's both cruel and baffling. What, the fact that he pissed himself wasn't a clue? It's like when Cincinnati's Bob Huggins got pulled over last summer and the police saw that he barfed all over the passenger seat. I think you can skip the paperwork and move immediately to Central Booking, Dan-o.
Ok, that's it for now. If I catch some inspiration, I will let you know. One.
A Maine State Trooper was baffled by the behavior of a man who displayed amorous intentions as she was arresting him."What did he think I was going to do? Go out on a date with him?" said Jennifer Fiske, who arrested Peter Murray on Sunday.
When Fiske arrived at the scene, Murray had a cut on his head and had also urinated on himself.
Murray, 42, who had gotten into a car accident and failed 3 sobriety tests, began behaving inappropriately while seated beside Fiske in the front passenger seat of her cruiser. "Then he said, 'You have beautiful green eyes,' and he started touching my arm," Fiske said. "I'd had enough of that."
Fiske got out of the car and went around to the passenger seat to handcuff Murray. She had one of his hands cuffed and was working to apply the other handcuff when he wrestled with her and tried to cuff her to him, saying, "I just want us to be tied together." Fiske responded by giving a sudden short twist to the handcuff on his wrist and rapping him on the thigh with her police baton. He yelped with pain and cursed as Fiske cuffed him.
Murray was charged with drunk driving, assault on a police officer, resisting arrest, and refusing to sign or give a name.
Murray was friendly and cooperative during the sobriety tests, Fiske said, and it wasn't until he was in the cruiser that he refused to take a written intoxication test and started making sexual comments.
During the ride to the police department, Fiske alleged, Murray touched her and tried to grab for the steering wheel, forcing her to give him a few sharp smacks. Murray was placed in leg restraints and another trooper came along in the cruiser as the suspect was transported to the jail in Bangor.
-----
Damn right he was trying to Bangor (the 9:00 pm show is completely different than the 7:00...) And if she did decide to go on that date, I'm guessing she'd have to drive.
I give the gentleman credit, but it's not exactly a power-move after failing three sobriety tests. And a written sobriety test? That's both cruel and baffling. What, the fact that he pissed himself wasn't a clue? It's like when Cincinnati's Bob Huggins got pulled over last summer and the police saw that he barfed all over the passenger seat. I think you can skip the paperwork and move immediately to Central Booking, Dan-o.
Ok, that's it for now. If I catch some inspiration, I will let you know. One.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Lift Your Head Up, Wednesday
Here's the Hand for this week:
Thumbs Up: To recent Penn State graduate Adam Taliafierro. In ceremonies in University Park, PA on May 14, Taliafierro received his bachelor's degree in labor and industrial relations, even compiling a 3.2 grade-point average along the way.
But the good news isn't his walking with his classmates. It's the simple fact that he IS walking.
Taliafierro was a standout defensive back for the Nittany Lions' football program. As a freshman, he cracked the starting lineup and was playing well for Joe Paterno's troop. While attempting to make a stop in a game against Ohio State on Sept. 23, 2000, Taliafierro suffered a severe spinal injury, fracturing his C-5 vertabrae.
Immediately following the injury, doctors predicted Taliaferro would never walk again. But just five months after the injury and difficult spinal-fusion surgery, that's exactly what he did. And almost one year to the day of his life-altering injury, he excited the 109,000 people at Beaver Stadium when he led Penn State onto the field.
Years of rehab has yielded him 85-90% of his original faculties back. And now he tackles yet another goal: law school. Somehow I don't think the rigors of being a 1L is really going to be an issue for him...a walk in the park, if you must.
Thumbs Down: The folks who run Major League Baseball's "Extra Innings" package on the telly.
Now, before I slam them, I would like to give them props for responding to an email that I thought was pretty obvious to be tongue-in-cheek...but back to my griping...
The Red Sox are the World Champs. They are, arguably, the most popular team in MLB. People from all over the country - and the world - subscribe to some form of the MLB package in order to follow them. I'd be willing to bet you a slice of pizza with pepperoni that more Sox fans subscribe than, say, Mariner fans. Or Devil Ray fans. Are there Devil Ray fans? There is that one heckler idiot that NESN annoyingly mikes up when he goes nuts on Mark Bellhorn, but other than that, they all look like empty green seats to me.
So why use non-NESN feeds? Why alienate a good 50-60% of your customer base who want to see Don Orsillo and the Rem Dawg? This past weekend, when Boston was playing Seattle, they used FSN Northwest's feed and the Mariner broadcast team. They were both about 80 years old and, at one point, I thought I heard the color guy stirring his Metamucil (orange flavor, I'd presume) so he could get regular by the 7th inning stretch. And that was a highlight.
Thankfully last night, Donnie-O and Remy were back on the screen and all was well. Although, someone might want to tell their production manager that when it's time to go to commercial, they ought to do just that...go to commercial...and make sure the mikes aren't hot. But that's a completely different breed of cat altogether.
Index Finger: This week's propers go out to none other than Mother Nature. It's getting sunny out. Which means it's getting warmer. Which means it's inching closer to beach weather.
The warmer weather also allows for not having to wear a god-damned shirt and tie to work everyday. And, for the first time in a long time, I'm taking advantage of the weather and doing something commonly known as "exercise." I read about this new phenomenon - "exercise" - somewhere.
Scientists and doctors claim that by "exercising," you can get healthier and feel better in the morning and your pants won't get tight and you won't get a gut or grow boobs like Phil Mickelson. (holy run-on sentence, Batman.)
But seriously, it's been great. I got into the whole walking thing in Australia. I walked everywhere, with the exception of the times when I took the train...or a cab...or was flying...or driving... But walking is good for you. And if you have some tunes to put a little pep in the step, all the better.
Middle Finger: I've been in a rather good mood as of late and nothing has really pissed me off for more than two or three seconds. I get mad when I miss the occasional jumpshot during lunchtime hoops, but that happens so rarely, that it's almost not worth mentioning. But I digress.
Have you been following the latest saga with the American media and the lack of diligent fact-checking or substantiated stories? I could go on-and-on about this topic, but you all probably have important things to do before Friday and I'm not sure I'd finish quite before then. And like I said in last week's Hand, I'm not much for talking politics with strangers.
But since none of you fine, fine folks out there (and I know that sets of eyes have viewed this stuff at least 280 times...) have commented on anything I've written thusfar, I'll assume I have not offended anyone and will proceed to go medieval on yo' ass.
Last week, Newsweek wrote an article about the internment camps at Gitmo and how U.S. investigators would put copies of the Qu'ran in the toilet and flush them or even (with apologies to Triumph the Comic Insult Dog) poop on them. In the Muslim faith, that is a crime punishable by death. And, if you shit on Muhammad and have weed in your boogie board bag, like, say, in a land with a large Muslim population like Indonesia, yer doubly fucked mate. (free Schapelle)
Now, I have no doubt that the U.S. might be using some unconventional means to an end to get some answers from some of these folks. And I am OK with that. I do wake up every morning and wonder "hey, I wonder if these fuckers are going to blow me, my friends, or anyone else up today." That sucks.
So if you have to pull a tittie-twister or purple-nurple on some al-qaeda member, cool by me. A little sleep deprivation never hurt anyone, either. I call that "junior year in college." Even if you have to douse their feet with kerosene and light them on fire, I'd be willing to turn my head. (did it just get weird? it got weird, huh?) But for crying out loud, why write about that? Why tell anyone about that? Why misrepresent it? Why, why, bleedin' why?
Newsweek publishes its story and all holy hell (no pun intended) breaks loose. Scores die in anti-U.S. riots and, to quote Papa Jack, "someone's got-ta pay!" The White House says Newsweek got-ta pay:
"There is lasting damage to our image because of this report," the chief White House spokesman, Scott McClellan, said at a news briefing. "And we would encourage Newsweek to do all that they can to help repair the damage that has been done, particularly in the region."
Man, where do I start? I've got an idea, Newsweek...if you want to fix the lasting damage to our image, go out and find some of the WMD's we heard so much about... Just a thought.
And further, McClellan, who called Newsweek's retraction "a good first step" shortly after the magazine issued it on Monday, said that journalists at the magazine could do even more "by talking about the way they got this wrong and pointing out what the policies and practices of the United States military are when it comes to the handling of the holy Koran."
Well, I'm chock full o' suggestions this afternoon. Right after Newsweek explains how it f-ed up covering this story, how about the White House explains how they just f-ed running this country, this useless war, this economy - and while we're at it - all your policies and practices since Sept. 12, 2001.
Me? I don't care if you crap on the qu'ran and piss on Mecca. Just don't crap on the Constitution, too. And don't put our men & women in harms way by being irresponsible.
Whew. Good thing I'm "exercising" or else I'd be real bitter these days.
(author's note: addendum...David Wells gets the middle finger, too. 1.3 IP, 9 H, 7 ER this afternoon vs. the A's. If it didn't take me a while to come up with the Newsweek stuff, I'd erase it.)
Ring Finger: Portman's the muse. And that can't be denied. But I would be hard-pressed to disagree with Maxim magazine's "Girlfriend of the Day." Her name is Joss Stone and she is amazing.
One look at the photos and you say, "wow, pretty blonde." And you see the stats, "wow, 5-11, she's tall." And if you have a thing for English women, then you'll say "hey, she's from Dover and I've got an English fetish."
Then you see the birthdate and you feel icky. Born in 1987??? But she is 18, so you won't have to try to convince the judge that you're innocent because you were duped, a la Jake LaMotta in Raging Bull. (assuming you do start to date her)
But the kicker comes when she opens her mouth and sings. It's like nothing you could imagine. She's got a deep, soulful voice that warms you up. Her new tune, "The Right TIme," that serves as the soundtrack for the new white jeans ad for the Gap. If you have a chance, check out her music. It will not disappoint.
The Pinky: We're coming to an end of an era. The last two Tuesday trash days are evidence.
The strip of grass in front of 549 Webster Avenue has been piled high with trash, as the three inhabitants have been slowly packing all their unwanted and unnecessary stuff into disposable boxes and tossing it aside. Monday night, the big couch that was in the living room for so long took its swim with the fishes.
549 has been a second home for me the last few months and has served as an alternate homebase for countless others along the way. We're all better for it.
It's not a sad breakup, just an inevitable one. We all tried hard. But then Jimmy quit and Jody got married... We all knew it'd never get far. No, wait, that's what happened to my band back in 1969.
One of the three flatmates is moving home and the other two fellas are moving down the road. Apparently a couple came to check it out this past Sunday, as it's on the market now. That finicky little missy saw as much as she cared to in the 45 second tour of the place. (apparently the bathroom was the final straw) She doesn't understand. Never will. Can't expect her to.
With the Memorial Day holiday coming on the final weekend of the lease, it's unlikely that 549 will go out with a bang. But at least one of the housemates did (wink-wink, nudge-nudge)...and that's good enough for me.
Until tomorrow, enjoy today. One.
Thumbs Up: To recent Penn State graduate Adam Taliafierro. In ceremonies in University Park, PA on May 14, Taliafierro received his bachelor's degree in labor and industrial relations, even compiling a 3.2 grade-point average along the way.
But the good news isn't his walking with his classmates. It's the simple fact that he IS walking.
Taliafierro was a standout defensive back for the Nittany Lions' football program. As a freshman, he cracked the starting lineup and was playing well for Joe Paterno's troop. While attempting to make a stop in a game against Ohio State on Sept. 23, 2000, Taliafierro suffered a severe spinal injury, fracturing his C-5 vertabrae.
Immediately following the injury, doctors predicted Taliaferro would never walk again. But just five months after the injury and difficult spinal-fusion surgery, that's exactly what he did. And almost one year to the day of his life-altering injury, he excited the 109,000 people at Beaver Stadium when he led Penn State onto the field.
Years of rehab has yielded him 85-90% of his original faculties back. And now he tackles yet another goal: law school. Somehow I don't think the rigors of being a 1L is really going to be an issue for him...a walk in the park, if you must.
Thumbs Down: The folks who run Major League Baseball's "Extra Innings" package on the telly.
Now, before I slam them, I would like to give them props for responding to an email that I thought was pretty obvious to be tongue-in-cheek...but back to my griping...
The Red Sox are the World Champs. They are, arguably, the most popular team in MLB. People from all over the country - and the world - subscribe to some form of the MLB package in order to follow them. I'd be willing to bet you a slice of pizza with pepperoni that more Sox fans subscribe than, say, Mariner fans. Or Devil Ray fans. Are there Devil Ray fans? There is that one heckler idiot that NESN annoyingly mikes up when he goes nuts on Mark Bellhorn, but other than that, they all look like empty green seats to me.
So why use non-NESN feeds? Why alienate a good 50-60% of your customer base who want to see Don Orsillo and the Rem Dawg? This past weekend, when Boston was playing Seattle, they used FSN Northwest's feed and the Mariner broadcast team. They were both about 80 years old and, at one point, I thought I heard the color guy stirring his Metamucil (orange flavor, I'd presume) so he could get regular by the 7th inning stretch. And that was a highlight.
Thankfully last night, Donnie-O and Remy were back on the screen and all was well. Although, someone might want to tell their production manager that when it's time to go to commercial, they ought to do just that...go to commercial...and make sure the mikes aren't hot. But that's a completely different breed of cat altogether.
Index Finger: This week's propers go out to none other than Mother Nature. It's getting sunny out. Which means it's getting warmer. Which means it's inching closer to beach weather.
The warmer weather also allows for not having to wear a god-damned shirt and tie to work everyday. And, for the first time in a long time, I'm taking advantage of the weather and doing something commonly known as "exercise." I read about this new phenomenon - "exercise" - somewhere.
Scientists and doctors claim that by "exercising," you can get healthier and feel better in the morning and your pants won't get tight and you won't get a gut or grow boobs like Phil Mickelson. (holy run-on sentence, Batman.)
But seriously, it's been great. I got into the whole walking thing in Australia. I walked everywhere, with the exception of the times when I took the train...or a cab...or was flying...or driving... But walking is good for you. And if you have some tunes to put a little pep in the step, all the better.
Middle Finger: I've been in a rather good mood as of late and nothing has really pissed me off for more than two or three seconds. I get mad when I miss the occasional jumpshot during lunchtime hoops, but that happens so rarely, that it's almost not worth mentioning. But I digress.
Have you been following the latest saga with the American media and the lack of diligent fact-checking or substantiated stories? I could go on-and-on about this topic, but you all probably have important things to do before Friday and I'm not sure I'd finish quite before then. And like I said in last week's Hand, I'm not much for talking politics with strangers.
But since none of you fine, fine folks out there (and I know that sets of eyes have viewed this stuff at least 280 times...) have commented on anything I've written thusfar, I'll assume I have not offended anyone and will proceed to go medieval on yo' ass.
Last week, Newsweek wrote an article about the internment camps at Gitmo and how U.S. investigators would put copies of the Qu'ran in the toilet and flush them or even (with apologies to Triumph the Comic Insult Dog) poop on them. In the Muslim faith, that is a crime punishable by death. And, if you shit on Muhammad and have weed in your boogie board bag, like, say, in a land with a large Muslim population like Indonesia, yer doubly fucked mate. (free Schapelle)
Now, I have no doubt that the U.S. might be using some unconventional means to an end to get some answers from some of these folks. And I am OK with that. I do wake up every morning and wonder "hey, I wonder if these fuckers are going to blow me, my friends, or anyone else up today." That sucks.
So if you have to pull a tittie-twister or purple-nurple on some al-qaeda member, cool by me. A little sleep deprivation never hurt anyone, either. I call that "junior year in college." Even if you have to douse their feet with kerosene and light them on fire, I'd be willing to turn my head. (did it just get weird? it got weird, huh?) But for crying out loud, why write about that? Why tell anyone about that? Why misrepresent it? Why, why, bleedin' why?
Newsweek publishes its story and all holy hell (no pun intended) breaks loose. Scores die in anti-U.S. riots and, to quote Papa Jack, "someone's got-ta pay!" The White House says Newsweek got-ta pay:
"There is lasting damage to our image because of this report," the chief White House spokesman, Scott McClellan, said at a news briefing. "And we would encourage Newsweek to do all that they can to help repair the damage that has been done, particularly in the region."
Man, where do I start? I've got an idea, Newsweek...if you want to fix the lasting damage to our image, go out and find some of the WMD's we heard so much about... Just a thought.
And further, McClellan, who called Newsweek's retraction "a good first step" shortly after the magazine issued it on Monday, said that journalists at the magazine could do even more "by talking about the way they got this wrong and pointing out what the policies and practices of the United States military are when it comes to the handling of the holy Koran."
Well, I'm chock full o' suggestions this afternoon. Right after Newsweek explains how it f-ed up covering this story, how about the White House explains how they just f-ed running this country, this useless war, this economy - and while we're at it - all your policies and practices since Sept. 12, 2001.
Me? I don't care if you crap on the qu'ran and piss on Mecca. Just don't crap on the Constitution, too. And don't put our men & women in harms way by being irresponsible.
Whew. Good thing I'm "exercising" or else I'd be real bitter these days.
(author's note: addendum...David Wells gets the middle finger, too. 1.3 IP, 9 H, 7 ER this afternoon vs. the A's. If it didn't take me a while to come up with the Newsweek stuff, I'd erase it.)
Ring Finger: Portman's the muse. And that can't be denied. But I would be hard-pressed to disagree with Maxim magazine's "Girlfriend of the Day." Her name is Joss Stone and she is amazing.
One look at the photos and you say, "wow, pretty blonde." And you see the stats, "wow, 5-11, she's tall." And if you have a thing for English women, then you'll say "hey, she's from Dover and I've got an English fetish."
Then you see the birthdate and you feel icky. Born in 1987??? But she is 18, so you won't have to try to convince the judge that you're innocent because you were duped, a la Jake LaMotta in Raging Bull. (assuming you do start to date her)
But the kicker comes when she opens her mouth and sings. It's like nothing you could imagine. She's got a deep, soulful voice that warms you up. Her new tune, "The Right TIme," that serves as the soundtrack for the new white jeans ad for the Gap. If you have a chance, check out her music. It will not disappoint.
The Pinky: We're coming to an end of an era. The last two Tuesday trash days are evidence.
The strip of grass in front of 549 Webster Avenue has been piled high with trash, as the three inhabitants have been slowly packing all their unwanted and unnecessary stuff into disposable boxes and tossing it aside. Monday night, the big couch that was in the living room for so long took its swim with the fishes.
549 has been a second home for me the last few months and has served as an alternate homebase for countless others along the way. We're all better for it.
It's not a sad breakup, just an inevitable one. We all tried hard. But then Jimmy quit and Jody got married... We all knew it'd never get far. No, wait, that's what happened to my band back in 1969.
One of the three flatmates is moving home and the other two fellas are moving down the road. Apparently a couple came to check it out this past Sunday, as it's on the market now. That finicky little missy saw as much as she cared to in the 45 second tour of the place. (apparently the bathroom was the final straw) She doesn't understand. Never will. Can't expect her to.
With the Memorial Day holiday coming on the final weekend of the lease, it's unlikely that 549 will go out with a bang. But at least one of the housemates did (wink-wink, nudge-nudge)...and that's good enough for me.
Until tomorrow, enjoy today. One.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Tuesday, afternoon, I'm just beginning to see...
First of all, there is terrible news out of Melbourne, Australia. The Treasure of the Antipodes and pop star extraordinaire Kylie Minogue has cancelled her Showgirl World Tour after being diagnosed with breast cancer. While Portman is the Official Muse of TLBR, Kylie holds a spot in our hearts. Get well soon.
Good news coming from the Supreme Court for wine enthusiasts and wine snobs: they ruled a ban on shipping wine nationally is unconstitutional. Here's the story. It doesn't really affect me, though. I'm neither an enthusiast or a snob. I'm of the heterosexual male who likes a nice glass of red or two while chilling at home demographic.
Oh boy, Bernie "exiled to freakin' Elba" Williams hits a grand slam - The. Greatest. Yankee. Grand. Slam. Ever. - the Yankees win their ninth straight, and whoop-de-damn-do, they're over .500 for the first time in a long time. The hideous and horrible John Sterling got to yell both of his annoying calls for Bern Baby Bern, and they're 19-18. 1918? (Ha. That's ironical.) Listening to WEEI today, all the Yankee fans are flooding the phone lines and rejoicing. Do enjoy.
But seriously folks, congratulations for joining the race. We've been waiting for you, kinda like the wimpy boyfriend who goes to the mall with his girlfriend who claims "Oh, I need to run to the Limited for five minutes..." then tries on 45% of the store, only to leave the place 45 minutes with a scrunchie. (I'm not sure where I was going with that, but at least the Limited has comfy leather seats.)
Another Rhode Islander - Krisily Kennedy, former Miss R.I. and NESN correspondent - makes it to the finals of the Bachelor, only to get edged out by some bank teller from Arkansas or something. The hideous and horrible (and all too naked) Richard Hatch won the first Survivor. Elisabeth Filarski-Hasselbeck was close in Survivor II. And Peter Manfredo is fighting in The Contender. When you cross the border into God's Country and you see the "Welcome to Rhode Island" sign, they often add some of the most esoteric stuff underneath. Let's hope that a blue "Home of Reality Show Contestants" sign doesn't get added to the gamut at the RI/Connecticut border.
On a side note, the Bachelor is beginning to irk me. An NFL quarterback? Jerry O'Connell's brother? Some heir to the Goodyear tire company? How hard is it for these guys? Really...
U2 is in town this week. Goal: get there without losing my shirt. I think it can be done.
Was listening to the best radio station in the WORLD today - BBC One online - and their brilliant lunchtime show Colin & Edith. In keeping with worldwide Star Wars over-hype, the lovely Edith was interviewing Samuel L. Jackson. My first question: "Does your wallet now say 'Bad Jedi Motherfucker?' "
Speaking of Samuel L., the "Samuel Jackson beer" skit ranks as the second funniest Chappelle Show piece of all time.
From Chappelle to Schapelle; Back to Australia news here. This is the saga of Schapelle Corby. I've been following this since before I went to visit Down Under almost two months ago. To learn more about it, her plight, and the dire consequences she faces despite there being proof beyond a shadow of a doubt, click on this link and read more: http://www.theage.com.au/flash/corby/corby.html She's facing the death penalty - by firing squad - for seemingly having someone stuff her boogie board bag with 4+ kilos of weed. Sure makes the eighth amendment look pretty good, eh comrades?
Until then, hearty hopes that y'all have a good rest of your Tuesday. One.
Good news coming from the Supreme Court for wine enthusiasts and wine snobs: they ruled a ban on shipping wine nationally is unconstitutional. Here's the story. It doesn't really affect me, though. I'm neither an enthusiast or a snob. I'm of the heterosexual male who likes a nice glass of red or two while chilling at home demographic.
Oh boy, Bernie "exiled to freakin' Elba" Williams hits a grand slam - The. Greatest. Yankee. Grand. Slam. Ever. - the Yankees win their ninth straight, and whoop-de-damn-do, they're over .500 for the first time in a long time. The hideous and horrible John Sterling got to yell both of his annoying calls for Bern Baby Bern, and they're 19-18. 1918? (Ha. That's ironical.) Listening to WEEI today, all the Yankee fans are flooding the phone lines and rejoicing. Do enjoy.
But seriously folks, congratulations for joining the race. We've been waiting for you, kinda like the wimpy boyfriend who goes to the mall with his girlfriend who claims "Oh, I need to run to the Limited for five minutes..." then tries on 45% of the store, only to leave the place 45 minutes with a scrunchie. (I'm not sure where I was going with that, but at least the Limited has comfy leather seats.)
Another Rhode Islander - Krisily Kennedy, former Miss R.I. and NESN correspondent - makes it to the finals of the Bachelor, only to get edged out by some bank teller from Arkansas or something. The hideous and horrible (and all too naked) Richard Hatch won the first Survivor. Elisabeth Filarski-Hasselbeck was close in Survivor II. And Peter Manfredo is fighting in The Contender. When you cross the border into God's Country and you see the "Welcome to Rhode Island" sign, they often add some of the most esoteric stuff underneath. Let's hope that a blue "Home of Reality Show Contestants" sign doesn't get added to the gamut at the RI/Connecticut border.
On a side note, the Bachelor is beginning to irk me. An NFL quarterback? Jerry O'Connell's brother? Some heir to the Goodyear tire company? How hard is it for these guys? Really...
U2 is in town this week. Goal: get there without losing my shirt. I think it can be done.
Was listening to the best radio station in the WORLD today - BBC One online - and their brilliant lunchtime show Colin & Edith. In keeping with worldwide Star Wars over-hype, the lovely Edith was interviewing Samuel L. Jackson. My first question: "Does your wallet now say 'Bad Jedi Motherfucker?' "
Speaking of Samuel L., the "Samuel Jackson beer" skit ranks as the second funniest Chappelle Show piece of all time.
From Chappelle to Schapelle; Back to Australia news here. This is the saga of Schapelle Corby. I've been following this since before I went to visit Down Under almost two months ago. To learn more about it, her plight, and the dire consequences she faces despite there being proof beyond a shadow of a doubt, click on this link and read more: http://www.theage.com.au/flash/corby/corby.html She's facing the death penalty - by firing squad - for seemingly having someone stuff her boogie board bag with 4+ kilos of weed. Sure makes the eighth amendment look pretty good, eh comrades?
Until then, hearty hopes that y'all have a good rest of your Tuesday. One.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Monday, Monday; Can't Trust That Day
Do you prefer your women shaved?
No, no, no, that's not what I meant. (pervert) I'm referring to Ms. Natalie Portman, aka plain Jane Jones, aka Queen Amidala, aka Mathilda...
Now, I was supposed to accompany Nat to "Revenge of the Silt" opening at the Cannes Film Festival, but I had to work a pinnacle doubleheader at Salesian Field and couldn't make it. But nonetheless, the photo of my jumpoff - my "boo" if you must - came as a great surprise. (author's note: in the efforts of authenticity, I'm lying about all that stuff.)
Despite Portman getting tons of ink on this site, it's safe to say I'm not some obsessed fan. There is a natalieportman.com, which is a fan site - and where I found the "shaved photos." A 20-spot on the fact that their webmaster has the matching Portman pillowcases and sham.
I also saw that some d-bag Oakland fan threw his beer at Jason Giambi on Saturday night. A few things irk me about this situation:
1. Fans should never throw anything onto the field of play. Anytime. Ever. Even at a Yankee. Fans should also not attempt to take a swing at an athlete. Even at a Yankee, Chris House.
Be happy you're at a game, being entertained by the professionals on the field, court, pitch, etc. You don't know them...and even if you got an autograph from one of them at the 99 Restaurant when he were taking his kids out for chicken fingers (you know who you are)...you simply don't know them. Let them go about their business. To quote a local mid-major basketball coach, "let the players play the game...let the players play the game...let the players play the game, Richie." And what are Oakland fans mad at? Do you want another .200 hitter in your lineup? I think the A's already have the market cornered on that one.
2. How much are beers at the ballpark these days, seven or eight bucks? It should be a class E felony to purposely spill your beer. Seriously. If the punishment for getting caught with a dimebag in Indonesia is death by firing squad, then purposely throwing your beer should be at least 3-5, minimum security.
3. Eyewitnesses on the scene said that the guy threw a backdoor slider with his cup and Giambi swung and missed at the beer. (I keed, I keed...)
Did something healthy yesterday and today. Ate broccoli for dinner last night and then walked to work this a.m. It was a nice walk, actually. It took about 28 minutes - roughly 12 minutes longer than when I drive. It's fitness week...and it's contagious. Catch the fever.
Dave Chappelle. I don't get it. I don't get famous people, making tons of money doing what they like and what they're good at, "losing it."
Kurt Cobain. Rock star. Millionaire. Depressed. Suicide. Ditto Billy Corgan, minus calling "shotgun."
Chappelle has done more for race relations, for comedy, and for television in the last two years than anyone in my generation. I'm dead serious about that. How many shows have brought people of all ethnic backgrounds together? How many caucasians know 'Lil Jon now? Or Charlie Murphy's "True Hollywood Stories?" The Chappelle skit with he and John Mayer was one of the funniest I've ever seen. he gave Rick James a rebirth in his career (before cocaine sorta ended it abruptly.)
Whatever Chappelle needs to figure out, I hope he does it. And quickly. Skeet-skeet-skeet.
One.
No, no, no, that's not what I meant. (pervert) I'm referring to Ms. Natalie Portman, aka plain Jane Jones, aka Queen Amidala, aka Mathilda...
Now, I was supposed to accompany Nat to "Revenge of the Silt" opening at the Cannes Film Festival, but I had to work a pinnacle doubleheader at Salesian Field and couldn't make it. But nonetheless, the photo of my jumpoff - my "boo" if you must - came as a great surprise. (author's note: in the efforts of authenticity, I'm lying about all that stuff.)
Despite Portman getting tons of ink on this site, it's safe to say I'm not some obsessed fan. There is a natalieportman.com, which is a fan site - and where I found the "shaved photos." A 20-spot on the fact that their webmaster has the matching Portman pillowcases and sham.
I also saw that some d-bag Oakland fan threw his beer at Jason Giambi on Saturday night. A few things irk me about this situation:
1. Fans should never throw anything onto the field of play. Anytime. Ever. Even at a Yankee. Fans should also not attempt to take a swing at an athlete. Even at a Yankee, Chris House.
Be happy you're at a game, being entertained by the professionals on the field, court, pitch, etc. You don't know them...and even if you got an autograph from one of them at the 99 Restaurant when he were taking his kids out for chicken fingers (you know who you are)...you simply don't know them. Let them go about their business. To quote a local mid-major basketball coach, "let the players play the game...let the players play the game...let the players play the game, Richie." And what are Oakland fans mad at? Do you want another .200 hitter in your lineup? I think the A's already have the market cornered on that one.
2. How much are beers at the ballpark these days, seven or eight bucks? It should be a class E felony to purposely spill your beer. Seriously. If the punishment for getting caught with a dimebag in Indonesia is death by firing squad, then purposely throwing your beer should be at least 3-5, minimum security.
3. Eyewitnesses on the scene said that the guy threw a backdoor slider with his cup and Giambi swung and missed at the beer. (I keed, I keed...)
Did something healthy yesterday and today. Ate broccoli for dinner last night and then walked to work this a.m. It was a nice walk, actually. It took about 28 minutes - roughly 12 minutes longer than when I drive. It's fitness week...and it's contagious. Catch the fever.
Dave Chappelle. I don't get it. I don't get famous people, making tons of money doing what they like and what they're good at, "losing it."
Kurt Cobain. Rock star. Millionaire. Depressed. Suicide. Ditto Billy Corgan, minus calling "shotgun."
Chappelle has done more for race relations, for comedy, and for television in the last two years than anyone in my generation. I'm dead serious about that. How many shows have brought people of all ethnic backgrounds together? How many caucasians know 'Lil Jon now? Or Charlie Murphy's "True Hollywood Stories?" The Chappelle skit with he and John Mayer was one of the funniest I've ever seen. he gave Rick James a rebirth in his career (before cocaine sorta ended it abruptly.)
Whatever Chappelle needs to figure out, I hope he does it. And quickly. Skeet-skeet-skeet.
One.
Everyday Is Like Sunday
Well, I'd like to begin today's transmission by thanking someone: the asshole who drove into my parked car, sometime between 8:30 p.m. EDT last night and about 10 minutes ago, when I noticed it.
There's not a lot of damage done, thankfully. One side-view mirror down, plus a nice scratch to the left side passenger door. But otherwise, it's more of an annoyance. If there's karma, and people who damage other people's cars and drive away without leaving a note get a rash or something, I hope it gets real red & itchy. And the bumps triplicate when it gets hot. And there's no cure.
Several bits of congratulations are in order, in no particular order: To my friend and attorney Chris, who got engaged on Saturday night. Well-done.
To Manuel Aristedes Ramirez for his 400th home run. Many more, Manny. Preferably after the 7th inning.
To the New York Yankees for evening their record to 19-19, thus moving to .500 overall...and from really crappy poopie to somewhere around mediocre.
Not much else cookin' today. T-minus eight minutes till Family Guy, so I bid you adieu. One.
There's not a lot of damage done, thankfully. One side-view mirror down, plus a nice scratch to the left side passenger door. But otherwise, it's more of an annoyance. If there's karma, and people who damage other people's cars and drive away without leaving a note get a rash or something, I hope it gets real red & itchy. And the bumps triplicate when it gets hot. And there's no cure.
Several bits of congratulations are in order, in no particular order: To my friend and attorney Chris, who got engaged on Saturday night. Well-done.
To Manuel Aristedes Ramirez for his 400th home run. Many more, Manny. Preferably after the 7th inning.
To the New York Yankees for evening their record to 19-19, thus moving to .500 overall...and from really crappy poopie to somewhere around mediocre.
Not much else cookin' today. T-minus eight minutes till Family Guy, so I bid you adieu. One.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Blubber
First of all, I'd like to send a super-dookie phat shout-out to Jacob's Creek's 2001 shiraz, and several Bud Lights. Thanks for making tonight possible.
For those of you who are wine snobs, get over yourselves.
For those of you who are not wine snobs, who like a good tasting, well-priced wine...well, if you had to ask me, you simply cannot go wrong with a shiraz from South Australia. And I am not a wine snob. Not even slightly wine knowledgable. That advice came from my friend Sara. And since she's infinitely smarter than all of us (and you), go to your local wine store, buy a bottle, and look for the lucky two letters: S.A.
It's half-11 at night and the Sox are up 6-5 in the 4th. Jeremi Gonzalez and Jo-ell Pinero. Fucking pitchers duel. Mark Bellhorn homered. The Henry Hudson Parkway collapsed. Coincedence? I think not.
The Buds flow like water and the shiraz warms my soul.
Have also been exploring my music on my trusty iPod...one album, one song you all (all? am I getting a bit boastful here with the word "all?" only 113 people have checked out the TLBR up to this point in its three days of existance...and in the effort of complete and total disclosure, all my ip addresses are blocked, so I'm not trying to boost my ratings...) need to download is Eric Prydz' "Call on Me" and the CD you need to git is The Clientele's "Suburban Light."
Malluck has another Bud for me. Have a Bud for you.
Twenty-one minutes till tomorrow. Y'all have a good today. Peace one.
For those of you who are wine snobs, get over yourselves.
For those of you who are not wine snobs, who like a good tasting, well-priced wine...well, if you had to ask me, you simply cannot go wrong with a shiraz from South Australia. And I am not a wine snob. Not even slightly wine knowledgable. That advice came from my friend Sara. And since she's infinitely smarter than all of us (and you), go to your local wine store, buy a bottle, and look for the lucky two letters: S.A.
It's half-11 at night and the Sox are up 6-5 in the 4th. Jeremi Gonzalez and Jo-ell Pinero. Fucking pitchers duel. Mark Bellhorn homered. The Henry Hudson Parkway collapsed. Coincedence? I think not.
The Buds flow like water and the shiraz warms my soul.
Have also been exploring my music on my trusty iPod...one album, one song you all (all? am I getting a bit boastful here with the word "all?" only 113 people have checked out the TLBR up to this point in its three days of existance...and in the effort of complete and total disclosure, all my ip addresses are blocked, so I'm not trying to boost my ratings...) need to download is Eric Prydz' "Call on Me" and the CD you need to git is The Clientele's "Suburban Light."
Malluck has another Bud for me. Have a Bud for you.
Twenty-one minutes till tomorrow. Y'all have a good today. Peace one.
The shorter story, no love no glory...
Have you ever yelled "holy shit!" at a movie? Maybe you did when Verbal Kint became Kaiser Soze.
Well, if you're looking for another expletive burst, just view the movie "Closer."
This will be investigated further when I have time to watch it again. What I can say now is that it is an excellent movie, well-written, superbly directed, with some outstanding performances from Jude Law, Julia Roberts, Clive Owen and this week's ring finger, Ms. Natalie Portman.
Can't say it's terribly sunny and light. But it's worth investigating. Which is what I plan to do after I settle down with the Mariners and Sox in 15.
Happy Friday night. If you're driving, don't drink...and if you're drinking, don't drive. One.
Well, if you're looking for another expletive burst, just view the movie "Closer."
This will be investigated further when I have time to watch it again. What I can say now is that it is an excellent movie, well-written, superbly directed, with some outstanding performances from Jude Law, Julia Roberts, Clive Owen and this week's ring finger, Ms. Natalie Portman.
Can't say it's terribly sunny and light. But it's worth investigating. Which is what I plan to do after I settle down with the Mariners and Sox in 15.
Happy Friday night. If you're driving, don't drink...and if you're drinking, don't drive. One.
Friday, May 13, 2005
Frolic fair fraulein, it's Friday...
Just a few thoughts to start off this lovely Friday...
- Just drove my boy VP, his girlfriend, and another couple to JFK. They're going to Cancun for a week. VP's girlfriend (Amy) hates flying. Good thing it's Friday the 13th and the last tune they heard in the car was "Freebird" by Skynyrd. Not good song karma prior to a plane ride.
- Happy 55th Birthday to the man who wrote songs in the key of life, Mr. Stevie Wonder. Steveland Morris Judkins Hardaway, was born May 13, 1950. Cranked up "Superstition" on the ride back from the airport - the best bad-assed bass line going.
- If you read yesterday's Hand, you learned about some jackass who stomped a few canada geese to death in Lincoln, RI. Well, today's news doesn't get any better for the plight of geese in the Biggest Little State in the Union. A goose and four goslings tried to cross Route 95 in Warwick, RI at about 1:45 yesterday afternoon. Motorists slowed and stopped, and traffic backed up, but the goose and three of her offspring were nevertheless struck and killed by vehicles. Two RI State Troopers - the finest law enforcement unit in the entire world - were summoned by about two dozen cell-phone calls from motorists, stopped traffic briefly in all four northbound lanes of the highway just north of the airport connector. They succeeded in catching one surviving gosling and taking it to safety in the back of Trooper Kenneth Moriarty's cruiser.
- Did you see the O.C. last night? Mischa Barton and the other black-haired girl didn't have dates to their prom. Suspend reality before you try to reason that one out. Got hooked on that show prior to vacation, and then went full-blown junkie out in Australia.
- If anyone has an extra Coldplay ticket for the Avalon this weekend in Boston, please email me and we can discuss...
Thursday, May 12, 2005
"The Hand"
Due to circumstances beyond my control, TLBR was left fallow for a day while I returned to the Hub to watch the World Champs.
And they did not disappoint. Oh sure, certain key cogs of the Beantown Nine did, cough coughKEITH FOULKEcough cough,but thankfully Captain Tek came up big.
So without further ado, I'll introduce you to "The Hand."
The Hand is my literary invention...my creation...many of the writers/columnists have those kind of quick hitter/one-liner/emptying out the desk of the sportswriters' mind-kind of things.
This is not that. This is better. Why is it better? Because it's mine. I, me, mine (repeat 2X). (thank god I'm the most humble person on Earth.)
The Thumb (Thumbs Up & Thumbs Down): Thumbs up goes to Red Sox captain Jason Varitek for hitting the second walk-off, game-winning home run in as many days for the World Champs. It's the kind of resiliency that this team showed throughout the 2004 season that helped elevate them to that elusive title in October in St. Louis. Or it could've been the inspiration of the love story of Ben Wrightman and Lindsay Meeks.
Maybe it's because my ex - who grew to love the Red Sox (and Shea Hillenbrand) - met another guy, began to date him, thus ending the superfluous vortex of heartbreak that enveloped me, the Red Sox and all who steadfastly stood by them.
Or it was Dave Roberts. I vote for the speedy centerfielder, personally. All those who believe in curses, in the words of the great Melvin Udall, can shampoo my crotch.
Thumbs down goes to John Sanders. Who is this clown, you ask? He is a 33-year old engineer from Rhode Island, who was employed by a temp agency - Olsten Staffing Services. (I got 20 that says he lives in his parents' basement with a poster of Journey's 1983 World Tour hanging above the hi-fi.) His latest gig was at the Texas Instruments plant in Lincoln, RI, and Mr. Sanders took a stroll during his lunch break.
During said stroll, a family of Canada Geese (yes, they're Canada Geese...not Canadian Geese) were also strolling around. They are geese, do not generally hold jobs, and tend to stay around nice grassy areas with lakes so they can walk, poop, swim, poop, and poop.
The mother goose (no, not THE Mother Goose, but rather the matriarch of said gander, but I digress), in Sanders' account "hissed at him and he slipped and fell in the mud." He also mentioned that he felt "threatened" by the goose.
Now, if you're thinking, "what kind of d-bag slips and falls after being hissed at by a two-foot goose?" you're onto something. If you're thinking "what kind of jackass feels threatened by a damned goose," you're really getting warm. Ever been mugged by a goose? Ever have a goose try to carjack you on a side street while you're idling at a red light some late Saturday night? Do rival goose gangs often wound innocent bystanders in fits of goose gangland violence? No, no, and for crying out loud, no.
Well, back to Mr. Sanders. This assclown stomped the mother goose to near-death and then proceeded to completely bludgeon the goslings to sure-death. Luckily, other people saw this scene, called the police, and Sanders was apprehended.
Mother goose was not so lucky. The brute force of the stomping caused so many internal injuries that she was euthanized later that day at a local animal hospital.
I'm not some PETA advocate, running around throwing paint on those who wear fur. I don't choose to wear fur, but darn it, I'll rock a nice leather coat once in a while. I own a baseball glove and a down comforter.
Regardless, if there's such a thing as karma, John Sanders will suffer the same fate.
The Index Finger (We're Number One): This one goes to the City of Boston. Not for any reason like efficient public transportation or anything, but for another one...much more important than crumbling billion-dollar infrastructure or slower-than-pregnant-yak green line trains.
It's for its populi femaleius. (that's as much Latin as "San Diego" is German for "whale's vagina"). I recently spent three weeks in a country with a population of beautiful beer-drinking women. It's a truly amazing thing to behold. No froo-froo Carrie Bradshaw wanna-bes like NYC. Just down-to-earth folks. I didn't want to leave.
Oh sure, these lovelies got gussied up and all and were the picture of beauty and refinement, but it was jeans, flip-flops, and a cold pint...or schooner...or what have you. Nothing fruity, nothing served in Frank Lloyd Wright-designed glass, nothing with a name that rhymed or sounded like a popular magazine. A beer. Lovely.
Riding the red line into the Hub yesterday, there were no less than 100% of the people wearing Sox gear. Beautiful women (and men, hey, I'm comfortable enough in my own domain to admit if a fella is handsome) wearing Trot Nixon tee-shirts, Jason Varitek jerseys, and pink hats with the forked "B." It's a wonderful thing.
I'm of the (recent) belief that people need to stop taking themselves so seriously. Well, amend that...take yourself seriously, but devalue the menial shit that surrounds you. Or else that glacier of menial shit will slice right through you and take you with it.
In the meantime, pony up to the bar and order a beer. That's one to grow on.
The Middle Finger (we all know what this means): To the Senate for letting John Bolton through to the nomination phase. Now, I rarely get political around people I don't know. Politics and religion are just not things to discuss, no matter if it's with friend, family or acquaintance. There's never a gray area to it, so leave it be.
But like I said earlier, I just traveled abroad. And I'm of the firm belief that America, who has a Q-rating somewhere south of Antarctica at this point, needs to do something other than be short-sighted, closed-minded, and stubborn. We've had all that since 2000 and look where it's gotten us.
So why send a fucking asshole to the U.N.? Why send a socially reprehensible fellow to a place where you're supposed to be socially proper? Would you let Pat O'Brien (before the rehab) be the White House press secretary? "Helen Thomas...you're so hot...blah blah blah blah..." Can we take a bigger dump on the term "protocol?"
And a special frown to R.I. Senator Lincoln Chafee, who did enough drugs in the 70's to kill a small pony, for rubber-stamping his vote for Bolton. Chafee, who is a republican, has gone against the GOP grain numerous times and should be commended for standing up for whatever it is he believes in. And Chafee makes a good point, that a President should be allowed to pick his own team, but c'mon... The only lineup more bloated, elderly, and costly than the U.S Government and Presidential Cabinet is the New York Yankees.
Hell, send Goldie Hawn. I liked the movie "Protocol." She was great in it, as well as "Laugh-In," and could make the U.N. into something more relevant: a kick-ass variety show. Tell me that wouldn't be a hoot? Have a karaoke night or something...get the Baltic states to sing their rendition of the Beatles' "I Saw Her Standing There." Get the Jamaicans to get a limbo line going and have the Netherlands bring some bud.
Wha' happened? Just a thought.
The Ring Finger (I love you, dream girl): One word: Portman.
Many of the great ones made it one-name status: Pedro. Jordan. Sting. Pele. Prince. Screech.
She is of greatness. Can't wait for Star Wars III. However, I don't plan on dressing up like an imperial Stormtrooper and sleeping on the street six days in advance. I did read that some folks are doing it for charity - and fair play to them - but if you own a Stormtrooper suit (um, mines is in storage at the, um, the cleaners) or duct tape two Dunkin Donuts' coffee buns on your ears to look like Princess Leia, please don't. Please? Don't?
The Pinky (freestyle, anything goes): I started this blog because I need to write more, for a multitude of reasons. It helps pass the time, it serves as a nice outlet, and who knows, it could take off...
Someone could read it, a la Bill Simmons when he was (...good? whoops, that was a low-blow), er, the Boston Sports Guy. Now he's dropping B-list actresses' names and getting credentialed to just about every major sporting event he wants. Pretty good gig for a fellow Jesuit-educated fellow.
Or, no one could read any of it and it'll turn into the biggest inside joke for all eight of my friends on this planet.
Either way, I hope you enjoy it. There are links and stuff on the page for comments, as well as an email address if you want to write full-on prose and tell me stuff. Use them. That's why they're there. (I just set a world record for most pronouns in a sentence under 20 letters.)
Until later...one.
And they did not disappoint. Oh sure, certain key cogs of the Beantown Nine did, cough coughKEITH FOULKEcough cough,but thankfully Captain Tek came up big.
So without further ado, I'll introduce you to "The Hand."
The Hand is my literary invention...my creation...many of the writers/columnists have those kind of quick hitter/one-liner/emptying out the desk of the sportswriters' mind-kind of things.
This is not that. This is better. Why is it better? Because it's mine. I, me, mine (repeat 2X). (thank god I'm the most humble person on Earth.)
The Thumb (Thumbs Up & Thumbs Down): Thumbs up goes to Red Sox captain Jason Varitek for hitting the second walk-off, game-winning home run in as many days for the World Champs. It's the kind of resiliency that this team showed throughout the 2004 season that helped elevate them to that elusive title in October in St. Louis. Or it could've been the inspiration of the love story of Ben Wrightman and Lindsay Meeks.
Maybe it's because my ex - who grew to love the Red Sox (and Shea Hillenbrand) - met another guy, began to date him, thus ending the superfluous vortex of heartbreak that enveloped me, the Red Sox and all who steadfastly stood by them.
Or it was Dave Roberts. I vote for the speedy centerfielder, personally. All those who believe in curses, in the words of the great Melvin Udall, can shampoo my crotch.
Thumbs down goes to John Sanders. Who is this clown, you ask? He is a 33-year old engineer from Rhode Island, who was employed by a temp agency - Olsten Staffing Services. (I got 20 that says he lives in his parents' basement with a poster of Journey's 1983 World Tour hanging above the hi-fi.) His latest gig was at the Texas Instruments plant in Lincoln, RI, and Mr. Sanders took a stroll during his lunch break.
During said stroll, a family of Canada Geese (yes, they're Canada Geese...not Canadian Geese) were also strolling around. They are geese, do not generally hold jobs, and tend to stay around nice grassy areas with lakes so they can walk, poop, swim, poop, and poop.
The mother goose (no, not THE Mother Goose, but rather the matriarch of said gander, but I digress), in Sanders' account "hissed at him and he slipped and fell in the mud." He also mentioned that he felt "threatened" by the goose.
Now, if you're thinking, "what kind of d-bag slips and falls after being hissed at by a two-foot goose?" you're onto something. If you're thinking "what kind of jackass feels threatened by a damned goose," you're really getting warm. Ever been mugged by a goose? Ever have a goose try to carjack you on a side street while you're idling at a red light some late Saturday night? Do rival goose gangs often wound innocent bystanders in fits of goose gangland violence? No, no, and for crying out loud, no.
Well, back to Mr. Sanders. This assclown stomped the mother goose to near-death and then proceeded to completely bludgeon the goslings to sure-death. Luckily, other people saw this scene, called the police, and Sanders was apprehended.
Mother goose was not so lucky. The brute force of the stomping caused so many internal injuries that she was euthanized later that day at a local animal hospital.
I'm not some PETA advocate, running around throwing paint on those who wear fur. I don't choose to wear fur, but darn it, I'll rock a nice leather coat once in a while. I own a baseball glove and a down comforter.
Regardless, if there's such a thing as karma, John Sanders will suffer the same fate.
The Index Finger (We're Number One): This one goes to the City of Boston. Not for any reason like efficient public transportation or anything, but for another one...much more important than crumbling billion-dollar infrastructure or slower-than-pregnant-yak green line trains.
It's for its populi femaleius. (that's as much Latin as "San Diego" is German for "whale's vagina"). I recently spent three weeks in a country with a population of beautiful beer-drinking women. It's a truly amazing thing to behold. No froo-froo Carrie Bradshaw wanna-bes like NYC. Just down-to-earth folks. I didn't want to leave.
Oh sure, these lovelies got gussied up and all and were the picture of beauty and refinement, but it was jeans, flip-flops, and a cold pint...or schooner...or what have you. Nothing fruity, nothing served in Frank Lloyd Wright-designed glass, nothing with a name that rhymed or sounded like a popular magazine. A beer. Lovely.
Riding the red line into the Hub yesterday, there were no less than 100% of the people wearing Sox gear. Beautiful women (and men, hey, I'm comfortable enough in my own domain to admit if a fella is handsome) wearing Trot Nixon tee-shirts, Jason Varitek jerseys, and pink hats with the forked "B." It's a wonderful thing.
I'm of the (recent) belief that people need to stop taking themselves so seriously. Well, amend that...take yourself seriously, but devalue the menial shit that surrounds you. Or else that glacier of menial shit will slice right through you and take you with it.
In the meantime, pony up to the bar and order a beer. That's one to grow on.
The Middle Finger (we all know what this means): To the Senate for letting John Bolton through to the nomination phase. Now, I rarely get political around people I don't know. Politics and religion are just not things to discuss, no matter if it's with friend, family or acquaintance. There's never a gray area to it, so leave it be.
But like I said earlier, I just traveled abroad. And I'm of the firm belief that America, who has a Q-rating somewhere south of Antarctica at this point, needs to do something other than be short-sighted, closed-minded, and stubborn. We've had all that since 2000 and look where it's gotten us.
So why send a fucking asshole to the U.N.? Why send a socially reprehensible fellow to a place where you're supposed to be socially proper? Would you let Pat O'Brien (before the rehab) be the White House press secretary? "Helen Thomas...you're so hot...blah blah blah blah..." Can we take a bigger dump on the term "protocol?"
And a special frown to R.I. Senator Lincoln Chafee, who did enough drugs in the 70's to kill a small pony, for rubber-stamping his vote for Bolton. Chafee, who is a republican, has gone against the GOP grain numerous times and should be commended for standing up for whatever it is he believes in. And Chafee makes a good point, that a President should be allowed to pick his own team, but c'mon... The only lineup more bloated, elderly, and costly than the U.S Government and Presidential Cabinet is the New York Yankees.
Hell, send Goldie Hawn. I liked the movie "Protocol." She was great in it, as well as "Laugh-In," and could make the U.N. into something more relevant: a kick-ass variety show. Tell me that wouldn't be a hoot? Have a karaoke night or something...get the Baltic states to sing their rendition of the Beatles' "I Saw Her Standing There." Get the Jamaicans to get a limbo line going and have the Netherlands bring some bud.
Wha' happened? Just a thought.
The Ring Finger (I love you, dream girl): One word: Portman.
Many of the great ones made it one-name status: Pedro. Jordan. Sting. Pele. Prince. Screech.
She is of greatness. Can't wait for Star Wars III. However, I don't plan on dressing up like an imperial Stormtrooper and sleeping on the street six days in advance. I did read that some folks are doing it for charity - and fair play to them - but if you own a Stormtrooper suit (um, mines is in storage at the, um, the cleaners) or duct tape two Dunkin Donuts' coffee buns on your ears to look like Princess Leia, please don't. Please? Don't?
The Pinky (freestyle, anything goes): I started this blog because I need to write more, for a multitude of reasons. It helps pass the time, it serves as a nice outlet, and who knows, it could take off...
Someone could read it, a la Bill Simmons when he was (...good? whoops, that was a low-blow), er, the Boston Sports Guy. Now he's dropping B-list actresses' names and getting credentialed to just about every major sporting event he wants. Pretty good gig for a fellow Jesuit-educated fellow.
Or, no one could read any of it and it'll turn into the biggest inside joke for all eight of my friends on this planet.
Either way, I hope you enjoy it. There are links and stuff on the page for comments, as well as an email address if you want to write full-on prose and tell me stuff. Use them. That's why they're there. (I just set a world record for most pronouns in a sentence under 20 letters.)
Until later...one.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
And begin...
This is the first post to my new blog. I'm starting this thing because it's better than doing nothing all day.
And besides, all the crap that goes through my head on a daily basis needs to be released, otherwise it could hurt someone. Namely, me. Kinda like when Khan put that worm in Chekov's ear in Star Trek II...
(author's note: I am not a Trekkie...I have kissed a girl. The worm incident is the only thing I remember from the lone Star Trek movie I have ever viewed. )
I am also starting this thing because I need to write more. And, as of this morning, they're not handing out writing jobs at Dunkin Donuts and my cellphone isn't bombarded by people who think my inane banter is marketable.
Not to say this stuff is going to put me in the 40/40 Club (E-S-P-N on the screen...), but I could always make up a story about going there, drinking Cristal and dancing with Tara Reid and you'd never know.
Ok, just needed to get this blog going. Off to do more of nothing, which might seem like a mathematical impossibility, but it's not.
Oh, and in case you're wondering what the name of the blog - TLBR - stands for...well, keep wondering. Hypothesize, even, because it's a secret. If I ever do get readers to this thing, feel free to send in your ideas or suggestions. If in the rare case you get it, well, I'll send you a prize. If you send in something really creative or witty, you'll receive an email telling you such.
Tomorrow - my first blog gimmick. The return of "The Hand."
And besides, all the crap that goes through my head on a daily basis needs to be released, otherwise it could hurt someone. Namely, me. Kinda like when Khan put that worm in Chekov's ear in Star Trek II...
(author's note: I am not a Trekkie...I have kissed a girl. The worm incident is the only thing I remember from the lone Star Trek movie I have ever viewed. )
I am also starting this thing because I need to write more. And, as of this morning, they're not handing out writing jobs at Dunkin Donuts and my cellphone isn't bombarded by people who think my inane banter is marketable.
Not to say this stuff is going to put me in the 40/40 Club (E-S-P-N on the screen...), but I could always make up a story about going there, drinking Cristal and dancing with Tara Reid and you'd never know.
Ok, just needed to get this blog going. Off to do more of nothing, which might seem like a mathematical impossibility, but it's not.
Oh, and in case you're wondering what the name of the blog - TLBR - stands for...well, keep wondering. Hypothesize, even, because it's a secret. If I ever do get readers to this thing, feel free to send in your ideas or suggestions. If in the rare case you get it, well, I'll send you a prize. If you send in something really creative or witty, you'll receive an email telling you such.
Tomorrow - my first blog gimmick. The return of "The Hand."
