Thursday, September 27, 2007
  The Process
Phase 1: Print the t-shirts

Phase 3: Profits.

(what about phase 2?)
Well, since the bulk of the pre-printed championship t-shirts get shipped off to third-world countries, I guess phase 2 involves Angelina Jolie adopting you.

That is all.

Tuesday, September 25, 2007
  Best Family Guy Ever
Here are some of the clips of the show.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V
Sunday, September 16, 2007
  Open Note to LaDainian Tomlinson
Patriots 38, Chargers 14 - Final.

Saturday, September 15, 2007
  The Pump Don't Work Cuz the Vandals took the Handles
You shouldn't go to bed angry.

Because like feeding Gremlins after midnight, or pouring water on them, the anger grows and grows. Mutates, even.

With a little bit of luck, the good folks here at the luxury accomodations in the First State won't notice the shards of plastic that used to comprise a remote control.

But last night's Red Sox/Yankees game lit a fire under me. I something can be done today and tomorrow to make that go away.
Wilmington, Delaware. Not what I expected. Looks like Downtown Providence in 1988. (you know, prior to the Renaissance).

And walking around this a.m., trying to find a Dunks, I added yet another occupation to my "I really wish I was (insert today's random revelation) instead of this crap..."

I think it'd be awesome to own a little breakfast place. Just breakfast. Maybe one or two days a week, stay open for lunch (only till 2). There's something to a breakfast place, moreso than any other restaurant.

I think the great restaurants (and bars) and ones that give the patrons a sense of ownership. Not in the LLC way, but just....perhaps the word is loyalty, more than ownership.

I dunno.
Yeah, it always seems I'm trying to decide how green the grass is on the other side of the fence.

But it's not just the verte I want to know.

I want to know if it's bent grass, fescue, or a hybrid of kentucky bluegress and sensimilla.

I'm not perpetually angry, despondant, or pessimistic. Rather, I call it optimistically inquisitive.

Besides, if all were perfectly aligned, it would mean two things:

1. I wasn't looking hard enough
2. There'd be nothing to blog about.

I mean, if everything was bluebirds, bubble gum, and ice cream, I wouldn't notice the homeless man just taking a dump on Market St. in Wilmington. Instead, I'd frolic in the fact that he probably has enough fiber in his diet.
Seriously, how do you bring Okajima back for the 8th and not have someone (or sometwo) warming.

It's crap.

And if there's some sort of end-of-the-season standings problem, i.e. if the Sox don't have the best record in the A.L., then this lands on Tito's non-uniform wearing ass.

Aargh. Bollocks.
More Delaware:

Ordered a garden salad and buffalo wings (because I don't have enough fiber in my diet, so those two natural draino foods do the trick...too much info?)

Anyway, garden salad and 10 wings from Pete's. Other than being late, the wings were a combined hot and delicious and the salad - big enough for two people looking to crap their brains out the following day (TMI?) - had an assortment of fresh green peppers, onions, olives, carrots, and warm garlic bread croutons.


All for just under 12 bucks.

Large hot, skim/one sugar from Dunks? A buck-eighty.

Cost of living - probably comparable to Rhode Island.

Thumbnail economical plus/minus to moving to Delaware? 24 cents per day, times 365.

(A large s/1 s at DD is $2.04)
I found this last night, and it's a lot of fun to play's a message y'all.

Enjoy your day.

Thursday, September 13, 2007
  Gearing up for the 29th
Just trying to de-compress with a little music tonight.

And it's got me all geeked up, thinking of Sept. 29 and the Amos Lee-Declan McManus-Bob Zimmerman show at the R.C.

Here's a little of each to whet ye ole whistle.

(amos lee)



By the way, I'm not sure what to make of this yet. I want to hate it, yet, I'm drawn to it.

alright, night...

Wednesday, September 12, 2007
  Stay on Target...Stay on Target...
While not the tragic ending, I fear that this might be the beginning to the end.

You know the ending. The fight between the two warriors, in the nearly-complete most powerful weapon in the Universe.

Father and son - established ruler and up-and-coming star. Jedi vs. Jedi.

Father stumbles. Son capitalizes.
I've always liked the Melvin Udall line in "As Good As It Gets," that people who speak in metaphors can shampoo my crotch.

So I apologize, with a bottle of Pantene Pro-V close by.

But is this Star Wars-New England Patriots videotape-gate allusion warranted?

I dunno. But the luster of the world's most perfect franchise is gone.

(on an aside, how do you think this book and this book are selling?)

Bob Kraft - would we call him the Emperor in this? - gives Belichick free reign to do his thing. And why wouldn't you? No head coach's record over the last 6-7 years has been better than Belichick's. In fact, it might be one of the best in NFL history.

But now, with the numerous allegations of his illegal taping and - let's call it what it is - cheating, how much does all this get affected?
The Ron Borges' of the world - and far be it for he who commits the biggest cheat (plagiarism) of journalism to cast his first stone at the big glass house in Foxboro - will love this.

So will all the arrogant media-folk who continually get stonewalled by the veil of silence of Belichick and his team.

What will Belichick do? The same thing(s) he's always done.

Win. Say nothing. Then prepare to win the following week. And say nothing in the days leading up to that game. Lather, rinse, repeat. (editor's note: no shampooing of crotches when the metaphor in use is a shampoo metaphor.)

Take a look at the transcript from today's press conference, one in which Belichick began by issuing the following statement:

"Earlier this week, I spoke with Commissioner Goodell about a videotaping procedure during last Sunday's game and my interpretation of the rules. At this point, we have not been notified of the league's ruling. Although it remains a league matter, I want to apologize to everyone who has been affected, most of all ownership, staff and players. Following the league’s decision, I will have further comment."

Upon opening the presser for questions - and you knew they weren't going to be about LaDainian Tomlinson - Belichick laid down his usual law. And stonewall.

And try as they did, the media gathered there got nothing:

Are you worried at all that the investigation will be a distraction?
"We have a big week here with the Chargers. We know that. That's what we're working on."

When you spoke with Roger Goodell, did he give you an indication of when the decision would be made?
"I don't have anything to add. I said all I can say about it for right now. When something comes in, I'll have another comment on it. Until then, that's it."

Are you making any contingency plans should you be suspended and unable to coach the game on Sunday?
"I don't have anything else to add. I've said all I can say right now."

Are you embarassed by it?
"Are there any questions about the Chargers? Do you want to talk about the football game? That statement pretty much covers it."

Do you think you put the players in a tough situation?
"I think we're getting ready for San Diego, that's what we do on Wednesday. That's what we're doing today. OK, any questions about the game?"
I don't know how it will play out. From Rodney Harrison's HgH admission a week or two ago, to this, the Patriots have taken quite a few hits.

In New England, it doesn't make many waves. Rodney was a "stand-up" guy for admitting his cheating (Giambi is a cheater, Rodney's a man. Interesting). There's probably a countdown somewhere for when he can return to the field and he'll get some sort of standing O.

With the videotaping hullabaloo, there are many who just view it as part of the game and would like to see Matt Estrella back out there, keying on the Chargers' blitz calling.

With more than a few "Patriot haters" on the committee charged with meting out punishment - Bill Polian, Jeff Fisher, et al - and with Law & Order Commish Roger Goodell making the final call, Patriot fans should expect the worst.

Expect loss of draft picks. Expect hefty fines. Expect suspensions.

But there's one thing you shouldn't expect: answers from the Patriots.
Mangina, er sorry - unfortunate typo there - Mangini might have been able to battle his Darth Vader and might end up with a victory. He took his shots - took his tumble down the ventilation shaft at Cloud City last year in the playoffs - and came back, dressed in all-black, and delivered the blow that took off a part of his former mentor/current nemesis.

Time will tell the fate of Vader and the Emperor. But there is a disturbance in the force.


(statement text and Q&A text courtesy of the Boston Globe..see Borges, that's how you attribute sources...)
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
  I'm not a biter, I'm a writer, for myself and others
On occasion, the good folks here at TLBR will get politely political.

A good friend and longtime reader (and TLBR general counsel) is approaching the 2008 elections with a singular focus.

Not a unilateral platform, but one topic interests him more than the others: national healthcare.

Because I need a life, or need some sort of release, or at least, maybe a few hours to myself per week, I was thinking about this on the drive to work today.

(as for the gig, I'm just living the dream. can you sense the sarcasm? can I make it any clearer? how about a billboard on Rt. 95? subreference intended.)

If the business of healthcare was nationalized, then what would it become?

It'd be a government entity.

And, I'm breaking my self-imposed TLBR guideline against publically recognizing or refering to my place of work, but I couldn't imagine getting older...having my health fail...and deal with bureaucratic, inefficient-because-of-the-system, celebratively (it's a celebration, bitches!) incompentent louts the likes of those I work with.

(yeah, it was a run-on sentence and I ended it with a preposition. if you don't like it, get your own shampooing blog, Paddy.)

Perhaps the frustration that occupies virtually all 72 inches of my vertical likeness (no comment on the inchage of the horizonal perpendicular...heh-heh, I said dicular...heh-heh) is adversely affecting my opinions on both national healthcare and my vocation, but seriously... How can we trust a two-party system, which was designed with checks & balances but has allowed that to be broken up into two, four, and six-year spans of inefficiency and can all the voices with different pitch, tone, and vernacular all merge to form a symphony?

A sweet-sounding symphony...that's what national healthcare would have to be.

I don't see it.

Could it be an independent government-based entity? Sure, I suppose. By the way, call me when Amtrak and the U.S. Postal Service stop hemorraging cash. (hemmoraging is a healthcare term? don't say the good folks here at TLBR can spin the metaphors with the best of them...)
Six years. (link to to Michael Daly's column in today's New York Daily News)

Doesn't seem like it's been that long.

I've tried to mark the sad anniversary in a number of ways: heading out for a brisk run, standing at a Memorial service, crying my eyes out in my apartment, or just going someplace quiet with my thoughts. This year, I'm trying something different.

I'm trying to do my normal routine.

Not out of disrespect, not because "it's time to move on."

Not for any particular reason.

It just seems like something I should do.
Speaking of the six-year anniversary, I'm glad to report that there's been a lot of progress.

Americans are still dying for no reason, al Queda/the Taliban are as strong as ever in Afghanistan, and bin Laden is still sending out his "Up Your Butt, Jobu and filthy Zionists" videos on YouTube.
Ok, that's all for now.

Monday, September 03, 2007
  Ground Control Can You Feel Me?; Need Permission to land...
A few thoughts while working on Labor Day, listening to JFK's inaugural address, and balancing the duality of man - trying to figure out where everything went wrong, while trying to figure out how to rejoice in the moment.
Watched Wedding Crashers last night - apropos, in that my good friend VP tied the knot in a wonderful ceremony in the Queen City of the Sound on Sept. 1.

It was a little eerie during the scenes with Owen Wilson, sad and morose over the loss of Claire Cleary (Rachel MacAdams), delivering a sad-sack toast at a reception he was crashing.

In those episodes where art imitates true life, here's a situation where you hope it turns out like the end of the movie.
"If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich..."
Well, sports fans, welcome to your conundrum.

Your pointed question.

Your ethical dilemma.

Rodney Harrison admitted the receipt and use of HgH - human growth hormones. He said he used them to help to recover from some of the many career-threatening injuries he has sustained throughout his career.

Rodney Harrison is, er, was one of my all-time favorite New England Patriots. Not any more.

Rodney Harrison's play used to make me jump out of my seat and yell. It used to make me pick up my cellphone and call my friends and yell obscenities.

Rodney Harrison's play was inspiring, as he went 100 mph and put forth 100% effort, 100% of the time.

Now, it's tainted. The "how-the-shampoo-is-he-back-playing-already?" questions now have their answer. A chemically-enhanced answer.

I'm sorry. For all the venom and bile spewed at the feet of Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro, etc... Rodney Harrison might not deserve all of that - and to his credit, he has "manned up" and admitted his guilt and offered his apologies - but he does deserve to have his accomplishments demerited.

As a Patriots diehard, I'll look forward to seeing #37 back on the field. I'll look forward to his hard hits and all-out play. But I'll also attach a label and stigma to it.

Cheating is cheating, no matter who does it.

"Let both sides seek to invoke the wonders of science instead of its terrors. Together let us explore the stars, conquer the deserts, eradicate disease, tap the ocean depths, and encourage the arts and commerce."
Nice to have the farmhands making significant contributions for the Red Sox this time of year.

Can we expect a Johnny Vander Meer from Clay Buchholz? Doubtful. Heck, he might not start again in the regular rotation.

And that's fine.

But if you can pick up wins from the likes of Buchholz, Lester, get offensive (and defensive) contributions from Brandon Moss and Jacoby Ellsbury, then it's all gravy.

I feared the loss of Manny Ramirez would cripple this team. Not that they've been hitting the cover off the ball, but putting a gaping hole in the 4-spot means that everyone bumps up a spot. And that means JD Shampoo goes back into the 5-hole.

But if they can continue to string together some pitching, some timely hitting, and a little bit of luck, it'll all come together. We hope.

Magic number: 20 and counting.
"Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty."
Congrats to Pedro Martinez for making it back to the bigs for the Mets' stretch run. Hard not to still admire Petey from afar. And it's equally as hard to see him in the blue and orange 45.

Still not the strangest 45 in professional sports, but nonetheless...
And double congrats to Appalachian State.

Nothing like rolling into town, banging the homecoming queen, stealing her rich boyfriend's wallet, and leaving with a wagon full of glory.

I'm sure there's a nicer way to put it, but shampoo it, I'm working on Labor Day. I'm entitled to my return to the BFC.

Speaking of which, good to see Johnny Rags - the BFC's long-standing card-carrying member.
Status: nauseous and annoyed.
That's about it.

Whew, feels good to let TLBR take the mean, bad, angry voices out of my head.

And thanks for reading. The voices are YOUR responsibility now. Feeding time at 7, noon, and 7.

A daily - or every-other-day - account of all there is in my head
that's dying to get out, via my fingers.
(I vow to attack this endeavor with an enthusiasm unknown to mankind.)

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