You offer better services than your competitors but customers still don’t visit your website?

Starting a busy stretch at work and got off to a horrible start this morning.

Not worth any details, but suffice it to say I had died about seven office deaths by 10:30am.

Struggled but managed to pull the nose up by around noon. Toughed it out thanks to some laughs and a few corn nuts.

Left at 7:30 with my stomach going fizz fizz fazz fuzz after a 20 oz. Coke that I drank for no reason at all.

Spoke to Vic in Chicago who told me about a crazy time-bending dream that he had. If you expanded on this dream you might have a good short story, Vic. Or a movie. In the dream, Vic creates a document to prove that he is from a future era and this document gets sealed and buried until the time he is actually from rolls around on the calendar. I think any time something gets buried you might have a movie. Dilly and I buried something once. When we went to dig it up it was gone. Or maybe we dug in the wrong place.*

Digging holes drunk at 4 in the morning is tough business but usually worth it in the end.

Vic got Cubs tickets today, like a whole bunch of 'em. Ah, the Cubs. They're all alone in their futility now, and I'm sure they like it that way. When I think of them I think of Y2K and sitting in the bleachers gently placing peanuts on the heads of the strangers sitting in front of us. That was freedom.

It's thoughts like those that will get me through the miserable 31 days of March.

March, you overlong, holiday-free sonofabitch, why couldn't you take February's lead and shave off a couple of those extra cold days that hang from the calendar like the unwanted and resilient stray hair on my right shoulder?

Do you actually think you deserve 31 days?

March. Sheesh. Dick.

Dan K., I don't disagree that Larry Bird Flu was less awesome than some of the other submissions. So I won't dock you for suggesting it. However, Larry Bird Flu was what we were looking for so that's what will earn the points. You are free to write an entire novel based around the concept of Morrisononucleosis, and I will probably buy it and give it a 5 star user review on Amazon.com, but you are still not getting near these particular genius points. Same goes for Starks Raving mad, Kelly Tripukin' and all the other awesomer entries.

There will be less room for debate on today's challenge: whodat (13 points)?

I actively look forward to watching "Knicks 101" each week and to scribbling down my thoughts on it soon afterwards. It must be March.

* This is one of the things I recommend you keep good track of if you're ever burying something you want to dig up later.

gigantic news shows promise

I don't have much in the way of energy, time, or ideas right now, so we'll keep it to some quick housekeeping.

I did 12 loads of laundry on Sunday. That's at least 7 more than you did. Help youself to 12 workin'-hands genius points if you can honestly tell me you did more than 5 loads on Sunday.

RIP Don Knotts. Hopefully Mr. Furley is out there somewhere with a big smile on his face, finally scoring with some chicks.

(segue)

As for roommatechickbangdat, the answer we were looking for was, "He hung women's panties on the doorknob." DK was close but no cigar. Now I know you probably have a bunch of questions, and come to think of it so do I. I will fill you in as best as I can.

1) He informed me of this system within the first few days of my arrival on campus.
2) I can only actually remember him using the panty system once, after that if the door was locked I would generally assume he was banging somebody. And I was usually right. I once showed up late to an intramural basketball game because my stuff was in the room and he was mid-bang.
3) I can only imagine the awkward moment when he and his lady were about to get down and he had to say, "Hang on a second...and do me a favor, give me your panties." Talk about a moodkiller. Maybe he paraded over to the door with the panties hanging out of his mouth, like a hunting dog retrieving a felled duck, to maintain the erotic tension. Maybe he just had one pair of women's panties that he kept on hand specifically for this purpose. I really don't know. I would estimate that he had sex with about six women in the ten months we lived together. Not a record-breaking pace, but enough to impress the hell out of pathetic little me.

If you have any further questions, feel free to ask and I will try to answer them.

As for soultraindat (yesterday's quiz, below), no right answers so far so we will let you guess for another day.

I think I have caught something. I recently noticed that I have developed a wispy moustache and a deadly three point shooting stroke. What illness might I have? (10 points)

I am going over to BJL's place on Wednesday to take a last crack at my old hard drive. Maybe we can make it breathe again. It reminds me once again that I am thankful to have a slew of friends all living nearby. When they get rich and move to the suburbs I will be sad.

We do have a new list for you today. If you aren't familiar with Billy Packer's work, he is CBS's sanctimonious, unbearable NCAA basketball commentator and he's been hammering our eardrums with his negativity for about 35 years now. He ruins the game with his incessant harping about lost fundamentals and too much showboating and poor shot selection, etc. He once called Allen Iverson a "tough monkey."

I dunno about you, but I can't wait for the Winter Olympics to start.

Love conquers all things except poverty and toothache

Today's post is dedicated to "Kevin", IS Dude of the Year!

Kevin's our in-house IS support guy. It's not one particular deed that causes us to honor him today, the guy is just money in the bank every damn day and the world needs a couple billion more Kevins and any other cliche you can think of to describe someone who brings light to the dark alleys of civilization.

You remember the Jimmy Fallon SNL skit where he plays "Nick Burns: Your Company's Computer Guy"? Like most things SNL and Jimmy Fallon, it overstayed its welcome, but it was pretty funny when it first debuted and it was quite accurate in its portrayal of the typical IS guy: smug, sarcastic, and unhelpful. For crissakes I've lived through eras at work where calling IS meant calling cW or Joe Monkeyweb.

Actually, they were good men as well, they tried to fix the problem and when they couldn't, they knew to dial up those who could. But since they left, my IS experiences haven't been so rosy. There is an expectation on the part of IS that we as office workers know more than we do, or that we are asking for more than we should, or that we should just leave them alone so they can get back to their game of Doom. When they're not busy assuming that we're smarter than we are, they are lamenting how stupid we actually are.

But then our company hired Kevin (and another dude who's pretty good) and it's been service and respect and good cheer ever since. And what a difference that makes. For one thing, Kevin's a pretty normal guy on a social level. You can sit there and have a laugh with him or talk about the Mets and it's no big thing. For another, he'd rather solve the problem right off the bat by dedicating 19 seconds of his own time than tell you to "call the helpdesk and get an official work order/complaint number and we'll get back to you in a month."

Just solve the problem. What a concept.

The other day I was walking by his desk and I stopped and said hello and we talked for a few minutes and then for some reason I committed the cardinal sin of asking the IS guy for advice on a computer matter that was not work-related. I told him that my laptop had died and that I thought it was the hard drive but I wasn't sure and had he ever heard of some sleeve you can get where you take the old hard drive and put it into the sleeve and then you hook the sleeve up to a funcioning computer and then you can access the hard drive, sort of make it an external hard drive? And not three seconds have passed when he throws open his desk drawer and pulls out a little cardboard box and says, "You need one of these" and hands it to me. It's precisely the thing I'm talking about. "Take it home, get it back to me whenever," he says.

Kevin. Taking IS to a new place.

So I took the little thing home (it's actually just a cable with a USB attachment on one end and an IDE on the other) and I plugged my long-thought-dead hard drive into my wife's computer and goddamn if it didn't recognize it right away. It spun, it whirred, and I thought I was in the clear. It opened up like any other folder, and showed lots of other folders inside. It correctly noted that the dirve was 56GB total in size with 21 of that 56 available. So it was seeing the 35GB of stuff on there. And I was able to access a lot of it, even some of my MP3's.

However, I couldn't really get at the bulk of what I wanted to recover, namely my photos and word documents and the rest of my iTunes songs. I messed around with permissions and hidden files as best as my limited skills would allow me to, but those folders just weren't coming up. There were some folders I couldn't access but when I clicked their properties they were listed as empty anyway, so I don't think it was in them. Frustrating.

So here's my multi-part question, and isired mostly I am talking to you. Maybe BJL too because he likes taking apart computers.

1. Is there something I am missing? Is there a particular folder I should be looking in that possibly I overlooked?
2. If not, is there a better chance of the thing working if I put it into another (working) computer and hooked it up as that computer's actual boot drive? Meaning, if I opened up my wife's laptop and swapped my hard drive for hers, is it likely that I could launch windows, get the files I need, and burn them to CD before the thing died? And then could I just swap hers back in and boot it up again and nobody's the wiser? Or is hard drive swapping not so simple and straightforward? Is there a risk I would fuck up her computer by removing the hard drive and then putting it back? And if I have a virus or some shit on my files, is there any way I can infect her computer? I wouldn't think so b/c the two hard drives are never actually exchanging blood so to speak.
3) Is it likely that the reason I couldn't access the files I wanted is that they were on a damaged, inaccessible part of the disk? If so, should I give up?
4) Any other suggestions?

Thanks for your answers to this highly technical and boring post. I just really want to get some of those pics off there. The tunes are mostly replaceable and 90% are already burned as MP3's onto CD's.

I think you're probably really sick of me talking about computers and violently sick of me talking about the new Apple laptop. Should I get it? Should I wait? Will they make it better? Is it buggy? I'm even annoying myself. Part of the problem is that I am already caught up in this pathetic Apple culture of coveting every stupid product as if it holds the key to your happiness.

I'm caught up in it, but I hate it. I went to the Apple store today and it was typically overwhelming and the customers and geniuses alike were behaving so savagely that it made me think less of us as a species. That place is like the Fairway of electronics. They had like three or four MacBook Pros set up for people to tool around with, and of course people are bogarting their way onto the machines and then staying on there for like a half hour, reading emails, taking off their coats, updating their blogs, posing for pictures from the built in camera, looking at porn (actually, the SoHo Apple store has the parental controls on, so you can pretty much just cruise the Apple site and nothing else). I finally got on a machine for like two minutes. It felt hot, but not unbearably so. The display looked good, although definitely best viewed straight on and with a limited amount of movement in the hinge. Couldn't hear the buzzing noise that so many users have been complaining about, because the place was too loud and I'm sure they gave them non-screwy units to display anyway. Mostly it looked pretty good, like a PowerBook.

I was just futzing with it for a minute or two, launching apps and whatnot (which was really fast, I must say) and suddenly this nasty genius lady came up with a customer in tow and was all, "I'm sorry, can I use that?" So I cleared aside and she went into her spiel and the lady she was spieling was definitely interested and I'm listening in and finally the customer lady says, "OK, I'll take one." This next part was the part I knew was coming but it was still fascinating when it actually went down. The genius was like, "OK, let's get you rung up" and the customer goes, "OK, how does it work, do I then go pick it up over there?" motioning to the line of people picking up the items they had just purchased.

Of course, I knew that there was no way they actually had these in stock. From what I understand, each store has been getting severely limited quantities and I'm sure SoHo sold 'em out the first day. Bad product launch by Apple, I gotta say. A huge new item and nothing in stock? What a rush job. I'm sure they've lost a lot of business this way; they may lose mine.

The genius goes, "No, what we're actually gonna do is go ahead and fill out an order at our online store, and then you'll get the product in about 2 weeks. Which is actually better for you anyway..."

How it was "better" I'll never know because I turned away in disgust. Such dishonesty. On at least three levels.

1) At no time during the sales pitch did she indicate that there were no units in house.
2) It won't be 2 weeks, closer to 3 or 4 according to Apple's own site.
3) Coming to a crowded, insane, senses-assaulting environment like that Apple Store and sitting through a moronic sales pitch, only to be told that you can now order the item via their online store is in no way "better" than these other two options that the customer may have assumed were available to her:
a) going to a retail store, slapping down her 3 grand, and walking out with an actual product in hand, or
b) ordering via the online store from the comfort of her own home.

Apple, you're losing me.

After that the wife and I went out and had a wonderful Italian meal at the consistently great but still somehow overlooked Caffe Rosso on West 12th street. The West Village is will always be lovely, even if we all get blown up someday. Man I wish I had 10-15 to million to plunk down on a brownstone over there.

Then I went and played poker with the boys. I only lost $9 which is pretty good for me. It was fun, and I don't care if they only invite me along because I am a guaranteed mark. I did manage to win $2 in a bet with JP when I correctly stated that Kelly Lynch played the love interest in "Road House."

The graphic open of "Soul Train" features an animated train chugging across video of many of the famous performers who have graced the show's stage over the years -- Whitney, Stevie, etc. There are about a dozen artists featured in this open. For ten GP's, who is the only honky among them? No internet research please.

Dry hole, Wet hole PROFIT either way!

Not many of you read the site on Fridays. So I ain't gonna give you much to read.

I like the new Michael Jordan ad, I admit it. Very well done. Beautifully shot, meticulously reenacted. You can easily recognize every move as one of Mike's. My only complaint is that in the reenactment of the famous "I can't help it" game against Portland, the kids in the crowd take a little too long to stand up after he hits the shot. Get on it, continuity department.

We do have a new edition of High Socks and Short Shorts for you.

For ten points, what system did my freshman year dorm roommate institute to let me know that he was busy a-chick-bangin' and I should come back to the room later?

Medicines for Real Men!!!

I was thinking about Dave Chappelle's freakout today.

Since he's come back, whenever somebody interviews him, he gets the kid gloves. And he's coming across a little weird. Still funny, but damaged somehow.

And in every interview he hints that he felt controlled at Comedy Central, that that was one of the main reasons for his departure. Seems fishy -- I can't recall another television show ever that was allowed to push limits quite the way his was.

The main thing I get from every interview is that he's not telling us the whole story, if he's even aware of what the story is.

But I have a theory: Dave Chappelle had an industrial-sized Dave Chappelle moment, the kind we all have from time to time, and it overwhelmed him.

What's a Dave Chappelle moment? It's when you are enjoying some fine Dave Chappelle race-based comedy, laughing out loud and wondering, how the hell does he come up with this stuff? It's so original, so funny, so dangerous. And then all of a sudden you realize, maybe I'm laughing at the wrong thing. What's so funny here, the clever way he's tapping into our own biases and exploiting them to show us how ridiculous they are? Or am I laughing at the actual racist caricatures themselves, in all their stupid glory? And am I justifying my laughter at these stereotypes because they are delivered by a black man? Does that make it any better?

And I think that Dave got fed up of white dudes coming up to him on the street and saying, "I'm Rick James, bitch" and "I want to pee on you" and "OKAAAAAAY" which are really all jokes at the expense of famous black men. Funny in the hands of David Chappelle, not so funny in the hands of Chadwick Huffington III. And aside from the energy he must have expended resisting the urge to punch all these well-meaning honky douchebags, I wonder if Dave also started to wonder if he was making things better or worse.

And all of a sudden he was just like, "ahhhh, fuggitall, get me out of here." Who hasn't had that feeling?

We have another episode of "Knicks 101" loaded up in the Magic Box and waiting to be reviewed. We should have that for you tomorrow. Tease: I believe it's Game 7 of the 1994 Eastern Conference Finals.

Whodat (10)?

Lastly, I have a general rule about the merit of drinking stories. If you were there, it's a laugh riot. If you at least know some of the players, they can still be fun. But listening to somebody's crap about Jimmy and Ricky and blah blah and you don't know anybody involved...well, it better actually be a good story if it's gonna keep your interest. I've tried to tell a good story in the latest installment of Trayline, but I'm not sure if I'm succeeding. So I am breaking it into two (long) parts. The first one is mostly setup so forgive me if it goes on and on. The second one is where all the action is, and we'll get to that as soon as we can.

all love enhancers on one portal!

Not a great day for spam.

Sorry about yesterday's crazy sweepingstatementdat fiasco. It was fun seeing all those great responses, and I got carried away and let the bunglesphere get out of control for awhile there. Dangerously out of control. Won't happen again. Thanks to everyone for the responses, even the lame ones.

And thanks to Price Waterhouse Coopers for helping tally all the points. Tommy, Natalie, Rick, Lenny, Carl, Belinda -- you guys are the best! Foster's on me down at the Sunset Grill Thursday night.

I ate a baked (microwaved) potato for dinner tonight. My people have been eating them for a long time now. We are a smart and refined people. What the hell is better than a baked potato? A rotisserie chicken? Maybe, just maybe. I've never eaten one.

Other foods I've never eaten: meatloaf, crab, lobster, quail, octopus, eel, rabbit, duck, pheasant, and venison.

The new camcorder is just about the coolest thing I've ever seen. Rather, having a camcorder of any kind is just about the coolest thing I've ever seen. I can't wait to get that thing out onto the softball field. We could just set it up and let it go, I've got the four hour battery for it. Then I could edit down game footage into a nice two minute package. Like I'd ever have that kind of time.

OK, maybe I would.

If I ever got a new computer.

The early macbook pro user reviews are in and of course they are all over the map. Everyone says it's fast as hell but we get wildly different observations on battery life, temperature, and display quality. Also, more than half of the people who have posted say that it makes a weird and highly annoying buzzing sound and that it gets as hot as Satan's verbungle. But they're such mac loyalists that they're like, "It's still awesome."

Don't get me wrong, I will still probably end up getting one, but I kind of think that if you're dropping $3K on a computer that will hopefully last you a few years, you should probably come away very happy about the entire experience. Loud buzzing would make me feel a bit ripped off. It seems like people tolerate a ton of design flaws, lost features, etc. just because it's a Mac. For example, the old PowerBooks had terrible wifi reception. To me, that's a big deal. And Apple didn't address it for several years. Yet the machines cost a fortune. I guess you pay for the software and the OS. And the look. F you, Apple. Now come bring me new shiny toys.

I have been busting my ass at work lately and fantasizing about a simpler life. By simpler, I mean one in which I have accumulated great wealth and rarely if ever have to work. Imagine if I could spend like 7 hours a day posting on verbungle.com (instead of the 4-5 I spend now)? I think if I was a rich douchebag I would live in the Hudson Valley and go buy fresh apples at the store in town like every other day. The wife and I would grill out three times a week (I guess I'd make Boca burgers or something, please don't ruin my fantasy by sweating this point). When I woke up at ten every day I would read the newspaper while eating a rich and satisfying breakfast. Then I'd take Baby Bungle out to an open green field and we'd fly kites. We'd have to be home by around 3 so we could take long afternoon naps under the covers in our cool beds.

What kind of a life would you live if you were a rich douchebag? (If you are already a rich douchebag, you can simply describe your current lifestyle.)

Whodat? (10)

We all go through health obstacles. This mitigation dispensary is always there to help us.

Today's spam title was selected partly because it contained the word mitigation again and partly because of the first line of the actual spam email: Guess what, Sacco! That should have been the title, huh? Guess what, Sacco! I'm just going to start saying that all the time.

Almost all the Gatorades are gone already. I think we have two left. Just waiting there, all green and cold.

Goddamn Gatorade is good shit.

Tough day at work, as I knew it would be. About thirty more tough days in a row coming up. Pass the Gatorade.

My camcorder purchase has lifted my spirits considerably. With more electronics on the horizon, and with baseball season just around the corner, I may be able to stave off a late-winter depression after all.

Plus I was digging through my closet and I came across a relatively new shoulder bag that I had prematurely abandoned. That thing is now back in the rotation.

I was at Whole Foods this evening and I was looking at the rotisserie chickens, all neatly packed into their plastic cases. Every one was prepared the exact same way, was just about the exact same size, and they were stacked so perfectly that they might as well have been boxes of cereal. My first thought was sympathy for these chickens. Sure, chickens are dumb animals who don't really want more out of life than some food, an occasional sex romp, and to not be killed. But when they are alive they must each still have some measurable strand of individuality, something that separates one from the next, something that could roughly be called a personality. To think about them herded into a room, decapitated, feathered, skinned, refrigerated, shipped, cooked, and packaged like Sugar Corn Pops is tremendously sad to me. A walking, breathing, no-ill-will-bearing creature slaughtered and stripped of its (admittedly limited) chicken dignity. It was at this moment that I felt great pride in my vegetarianism. Fuck you, chicken processing industry.

My second thought was that if I weren't a vegetarian, I could really go for some delicious rotisserie chicken. Mmm.

Outside of my thumping little baby, what should I shoot with my new camcorder? Some squirrels going at it on the Orange Thing?

I would make an official list out of this, but it's late and my verbungle is falling asleep. So let me start with the first three entries and I will let you complete the list.

12 Sweeping Statements That Can Easily Be Proven False

1. All of the Backstreet Boys went on to successful solo careers.
2. In all great works of literature, the main character's last name is "Dugan."
3. The answer to like the last 13 whodats is "Ralph Macchio."

So this is an easy chance for you to rack up some GP's. 5 points each for the first 9 reasonably decent additions to this list.

I can't stand paying crazy bills for generic mitigating products. What is your opinion?

Foe the next ten posts, we will title the post with the subject line of the most intriguing piece of spam we receive that day. It's gonna be tough, too. Today we had like an eight-horse race.

So...

We got the video camera that we wanted. In one of the biggest upsets in recent memory, the B & H guy annihilated me in a head-to-head bargaining session. Who would have guessed? It was actually over before it started. He didn't buy into my "online offer match" argument and I immediately surrendered. I was just like, "Yes, you're probably right. May I buy one of everything please? The more expensive models, yes. The four-year warranty? Sounds perfect."

Anything to get out of there. That place is insane, like a Terry Gilliam acid nightmare. My item actually came shooting out of the floor like two minutes after I ordered it.

Maybe I shouldn't be, but somehow I am still happy. We got the camera we wanted for a decent price. And the early functionality tests are very good. This is a cool thing we bought. I was kind of hoping it would look a little better on the TV, but I guess the HD actually makes the lack of resolution more apparent. It'll work fine, though. Baby Bungle is almost as cute on tape as she is in person.

Let me be clear: I am excited as hell about this new item and I intend to use it all the time.

And I am looking forward to editing a montage of softball called-shots and the ensuing at-bats on my new Mac. Someday.

If, that is, the camera works on a Mac. There is apparently some doubt. I may barge over to Joe's at some point this week and shove my camera into his Mac to find out.

***

Every time I sit around whining about how much I miss 1980's basketball, certain images flash through my mind and I catch myself.

Images like this:

The forecast calls for a miserable week at work, with Monday seeing the worst of it. I want to take a nap with the covers up to my chin. Maybe next weekend. Maybe when I'm 73.

The boys at FJM haven't been posting much lately, but when they do, it's usually pretty good.

This may give you nightmares. Especially because it's "real." If that thing was within two hundred yards of me I would pop my cyanide pill, shut my eyes, and scream until death took me.

Whodat? (10)

Malled

About once every coupla months, we head out to NJ for a supply run. You know, toilet paper, shampoo, diaper wipes, new beads for the Ass Bead Pull -- whatever.

I'm ashamed to admit it, but the place we do these restocking runs is Wal-Mart.

I know, I know.

I've always had ethical problems with it. We've all heard the stories. This week more crap came out about Wal-mart's attitude toward its employees. They are the scummiest of the scummy.

However, their stuff is cheaper than most anyplace else (I know, I know) and we need to be saving money up in this household so we can keep buying cool shit every now and then.

I know, I know.

So we've been going out to these cruddy Wal-Marts in industrial Jersey and we've been buying two or three hundred bucks worth of stuff at a time. The savings probably still don't quite offset the price of the rental car, but it's nice having stuff in bulk so you don't have to be going every ten days. After a run out there, my ass is officially wiped for the next ninety days or so.

But today we were there and they didn't have half the stuff we wanted and we were wandering around the store and I started feeling depressed about the whole experience. Saving a few dollars is not worth the damage inflicted on your soul by setting foot in that place.

Plus one of the cashiers was all sarcastic with me today for no reason.

So I now declare that verbungle.com and all of its subsidiaries have officially added Wal-mart to the boycott list. Please join us in this. We can take 'em down.

I did get 8 20 oz. Gatorades for $4.70 or something like that. The 20 oz. Gatorade is the perfect size to keep around the house. I prefer the 32 oz. for playing sports, but otherwise it's too big. Come on over and we'll have some 20 ouncers together.

We also went to the Short Hills Mall. I spent about an hour in the Apple Store drooling at various items. The Macbook Pros still haven't arrived. At the end of the day, the wife gave me permission to buy a new iPod, and when I ran back to do just that there was a snarling Genius guarding the door.

"Are you closed?" I asked. It was 7:02 p.m. and there were like 80 customers still in the store.

"Yeah," he said.

"OK...wait, what if I know exactly what I want to buy? Can I run in and buy it?"

"No, sorry. Then we'd have to let everybody in."

Damn. I was close. I felt like saying, "Wow, dude, you just cost your store $300" but then I realized I will just wait and buy it the next chance I get. I bet he knew that, too. Or maybe he just had a Genius party to get to later that night. Or maybe he doesn't give a fock either way.

At least Joe got his iMac. I am going to steal it.

I got about halfway through a post for the Trayline site but it just isn't coming together right. I may need to start over. I don't want to blow this one -- it's one of the few interesting things that have ever happened to me.

I realize I am running the risk of this site turning into me talking about whatever I watched on TV that day, but fukkit here goes one more observation: Bill Maher was off his game the other night. I though he would have come out big in the wake of whodatcheneyshot, but he had nuthin'.

Whodat? (9 points)

good stuff soon. not today, but soon.

As part of our ongoing effort to make your verbungle-reading experience more satisfying and streamlined, we will no longer force all of you to read recaps of "Knicks 101" in this space. Instead, we will create a brand new blog dedicated to recaps of "Knicks 101" for anyone who might be interested. This will be a weekly feature.

And we are going to begin rocking new Trayline posts, beginning this weekend with the story of the worst night of my life. For you. Because you've heard the story and want to hear it again. Because you simply can't get enough of my love.

Since we have no time to waste, we have decided to go with this video camera. Probably go pick it up at B & H on Sunday. Do they match online offers? It's reasonably priced and gets good marks, except the 10x optical zoom is comparatively weak. Is that important?

This weekend we are renting a car and driving to the suburbs and stocking up on all sorts of cheap household shit. When you factor in the price of the rental car against the savings we'll get by not paying NYC prices, we probably come out a little bit behind. But at least we get to soak in some of that crisp NJ air.

I realize that several challenges have gone unsolved recently, and I have failed to post the correct answers. Here then is an attempt to clear things up:

• The whodat from the other day: it's actor/surfer dude Don Stroud!
• The originalendtosentencedat was: Then I got the comments up and going and it's been good like pre-condom gay porn.
• 1964worldsfairdat: The Spanish introduced Sangria to the U.S.
• Cabbietodaddyquotedat: Where you wanna go, peckerhead?"
• NewYearsEveBanddat: The New York Dolls

If I'm missing any, please let me know. And also let me know, for ten points, whodat?

A lousy team and a coach named Brown

I know half of the twelve of you have no interest in sports, and I don't really blame you. But there is occasionally a powerful need within me to talk, write, watch and play them, so you will just have to deal.

Last week I mentioned that I had stumbled across a Knicks game from 1984 on MSG Network. MSG has a series called "Knicks 101" which is basically just edited-down-for-time old Knicks broadcasts. First of all, it's a terrible show name. What the fuck? Shouldn't this name be used for the show where the teenagers enlist the help of Knicks scrubs to teach kids basketball fundamentals? Yes. Whatever, my second thought is that screening, editing and coming up with little on-screen factoids for this series is the job I was meant to perform since I came tumbling out of the womb. I just need to find out who's doing it now and take them out big time. Because frankly they ain't doing that good a job. The factoids are ugly and for the most part uninteresting. MSG, I can do better. I would like to make a lot of money, though. Is that cool?

Anyway, I have added "Knicks 101" to my DVR list, and tonight I came home to discover that the Magic Box had a game from 1.5.85 all cued up and ready for me to watch. It was Michael Jordan's second game in NYC (not the first one where he ripped the ball from Ernie Grunfeld and did that flying cradle dunk). Here are my observations:

1. Jim Karvellas was excellent on play-by-play again tonight -- he really observed the game well, caught lots of little things. I will say that the game was much easier to follow then, too, but I don't exactly know why. Maybe it was just slower. Karvellas and Butch Beard each called Michael Jordan "Sky Jordan," which was pretty hilarious. The way it went down was that Karvellas said, "What a play by Sky Jordan..er...Air Jordan." Then like five minutes later Butch Beard is like, "What a play by Sky Jordan. Had to make sure we got that nickname right." This even though MJ was wearing Air Jordans.
2. Jordan had a semi-quiet 40, although he pretty much took over in the 4th quarter. He was so much faster, stronger, more coordinated, more fundamentally sound and just cooler looking than all the other players, it was like watching a man from the future dropped into the past. Like that old Scottie Pippen ad. There were like ten times during the game when the announcers were forced to admit they were seeing things they'd never seen before. He was that much better than everybody else. By the end of the game the Knicks were sending like three guys at a time at him, and each guy had a desperate and embarrassed look on his face.
3. It was also cool to see Hubie Brown pleading with the refs to call Jordan for palming the ball. It must have been tough for an old purist like Hubie to watch the game change right in front of his face like that. Especially because he was right -- the guy was flagrantly breaking the rules and nobody did anything about it. I bet he stopped worrying about it by the end of that season. Or at least by now.
4. Orlando Woolridge was on fire. Although Bernard put the game away with a jumper in his face with like 20 seconds left.
5. Darrell Walker dribbled the ball off his foot and it smacked the ballboy in the face, knocking him over.
6. The NBA three point shot was five years old then, and it was for the most part a strange and mysterious beast. The Knicks hit three in this game and the announcers were talking about what a huge number that was. In fact, I just looked it up: the entire team hit 51 on the season, an average of .62 per game.
7. There was indeed a moment when Ron Cavenall and Ken "The Animal" Bannister were occupying the two inside rebounding positions as Chicago shot free throws. That's like seeing Ben Franklin and George Washington sitting down together at an old wooden table, smoking Philly Blunts and playing Crazy Eights. Something you knew was historically possible but you never thought you'd see with your own eyes.
8. Jawann Oldham was playing with the Bulls then. Karvellas hinted that the Knicks were looking to pick him up, which eventually proved accurate. Unfortunately. Karvellas also astutely observed after Oldham misfired badly on a hook shot, "Wow, what a brick. He almost broke the basket."

PBdotC suggests a round of pickthedaythenewverbungleovertakestheoldverbungleongoogledat, by which I assume he means name the date when a simple google search of the word "verbungle" will bring up this site as the #1 result instead of bringing up verbungle classic. I am game. Fifteen points to the closest guess. Although I have no reason for believing this, something tells me that it will never happen. I think google probably protects their search criteria formula as closely as The Colonel guards the KFC recipe, but I have a suspicion that one of the first things the search does on a one-word nonsensical query like "verbungle" is check to see if a (legitimate) site exists with the address "www.(search word).com," and if it finds something then that comes up as the number one result. I am probably wrong and can easily be proven so.

Another fifteen points to the person who can most closely guess the date when Baby Bungle first says the word "Daddy" or some form thereof. Not sure if I just used the word "thereof" correctly but you know what I mean. As Baby Bungle gets older, Ma Bungle and I have realized that we are terrible parents for not owning a video camera. So we are going to buy (an inexpensive) one. Your suggestions are welcome. Here is what we need: something that is of reasonable quality and in the $600 price range. I would like to use it for softball games as well as drooling baby footage. Thanks for your help.

My week now looks like this: two hours of American Idol, and 166 hours of waiting for American Idol. Being a darkhearted bastard, in the past I always gave up after the first couple of rounds when all the disaster cases got their chance to show their stuff. I didn't really care about the later rounds with the people who could actually sing. This year is different -- I have picked out a few people to root for and I am finding the show hopelessly addictive. So are you.

twenny

1. The New York Knicks may be the worst organization in all of sports. Bad and looking to stay that way for quite some time. What a mess.
2. And if the human race were the world of professional sports, Dick Cheney would be the New York Knicks. When a pass doesn't connect on the basketball court, Clyde Frazier likes to say, "It's always the passer's fault." Meaning that it is incumbent upon the passer to throw the ball in such a way that guarantees it will be caught. You could throw a nice pass, right on target, and it might bounce off the dude's hands because he's a klondike. That's your fault, Clyde would argue, because you should have known he was a klondike and either thrown him a better, even more catchable pass or not thrown it at all. I don't necessarily agree all the time, but I think the same rule applies to shooting your friends. It's always the shooter's fault. Sure, the old dude maybe didn't announce himself, but you still can't be shooting people, announced or unannounced. I love how the early reports were all trying to pin it on the old dude. Like, Dude, you gotta give me a heads-up or something. Come on. Of course I'm gonna shoot you if you just come walkin' up like that in your orange jacket. How am I supposed to know you're not a bunch of birds?
3. p.s. Hunting is stupid as hell, especially Hunting Cheney Style.
4. Blizz o' Sizz is shaping up as a big phony. Sure it gave us a couple of feet of snow, but it wasn't all that tough, really. In fact, I don't think it ever met the necessary conditions to call itself a blizzard (such as condition no. 1 -- you walk outside in it and go, "Holy Fuck! What a Blizzard!"). Back in my day, way back in the previous century, we had us a real man's blizzard. It was 1996 and that storm kicked our city's ass. I seem to remember crying a lot.
5. Of the many things I wanted to happen to pull me out of my funk, several almost happened. I almost played basketball, I almost played touch football in the snow, and we almost had a snow day at work. But I am still 0 for the list so far. Not giving up though.
6. Since I last rapped at ya, I have watched two movies on HDNet. HDNet shows some really good movies. The first was Mean Streets. Believe it or not, I'd never seen it all the way through. What a great movie. For me the best part was seeing early-70's NYC laid out in all its scummy glory. When they drive down 8th street and you see Whelan's Drug Store, where Gray's Papaya now stands, I instantly became 5 years old again. Plus, Robert DeNiro was so amazing in that movie. He's been on autopilot for so long now that you can forget what a versatile, dynamic, handsome, light-on-his-feet young dude he was. Ridiculous. As much as I like Harvey Keitel -- after all, he's Harvey Keitel -- there are several scenes with him and DeNiro where I was going, "Man, Harvey Keitel's a stiff." It was really just that DeNiro was so spectacular. He even made the DeNiro Face (band name?) a few times.
7. The other movie I saw was Coogan's Bluff. Another one I've seen parts of on TNT over the years but never watched all the way through. What a trippy movie. I don't know that I'd call it good, but it sure is fascinating. More great NYC footage, this from 1968ish. If you see it, don't watch it on regular TV, you need the unedited version. It gets you access to what for all intents and purposes is a rave at a downtown NYC club called The Pigeon-Toed Orange Peel, where the song of choice is, incidentally, The Pigeon-Toed Orange Peel. This scene is so choice, so preposterous and stupid and entertaining, that I would go so far as to say it is the inspiration for every scene in every movie that has come out since Coogan's Bluff. In addition to that scene, you also get some great foul language and drug use. Eastwood and Don Siegel made some really interesting movies together. Since Eastwood pretty much plays the same character in every movie he's ever been in, you end up getting confused and you think that the values of the character are stand-ins for Clint's own values. Hopefully that ain't the case, because his characters are real weirdos. In this movie, he's Coogan, an Arizona deputy who's come to NY to extradite a prisoner. But the prisoner has taken a bad acid trip and is now holed up in Bellevue, and Coogan can't have him until he's cleared medically to go. Of course Coogan has no patience for these damn rules and procedures, so he bluffs his way into Bellevue and gets his man. Then, through Coogan's incompetence, the dude escapes. So you expect the rest of the movie to be packed with action and suspense as Coogan tracks the fugitive. But that only accounts for about 30% of it. Most of it is Coogan trying, with some success, to bang a series of NYC women (including the mom from Webster!). He also kicks a hooker in the ass. There is a great motorcycle chase up by the Cloisters at the end of the movie, followed by a ridiculously staged fight scene, but on the whole the movie is slow and kind of clumsy. But worth seeing for sure. Lee J. Cobb remains one of the best actors of all time.
8. Nobody got basketballproteachdat. The answer we were looking for was "whistle." Jenny taught Mike Finley how to whistle. Not sure how exactly she taught him. I know that was a hard one but that's why they're not called reasonably intelligent dude points.
9. Thanks again to Bango T. for the post and mp3's. Since I lost my iPod I haven't been listening to music at all and it feels good to hear it again. We'll leave 'em up for a few more days and then they go bye-bye.
10. Just read the Kurt Vonnegut book from last year. It's a collection of essays on the world today as he sees it and it took about an hour to read. It's slight but the dude is still pretty nimble at age 82 and my hat is off to him. I laughed out loud several times and I was interested the whole way through. Anybody wants to borrow it it's theirs. Same goes for The Tender Bar, which is also worth a read. PBdotC I still have to get you your Frey book back. My messenger bag.
11. Still no news on the forthcoming Apple laptops, but my sense is that I am going to give in and order one once they clear the customer review hurdle. New computers are a whole lot of fun.
12. We are going to have a new edition of Trayline soon, and in it we may or may not tackle the controversial evening in which young Hans Bungle may have been violated by a drifter. Let's get excited for this.
13. Has there ever been a slower NBA guard than Mark Jackson? He was gross. I do give him kwachas for a long and successful career. Don't really like him, though.
14. Whodat (ten points)?
15. More than ever before, weekends are truly made for Michelob. Meaning I am treasuring them to the point where it's getting unhealthy.
16. I was doing laundry tonight, and when I bent over to put some stuff in the machine, my pants split. That's the first time that's ever happened to me. It's hard to find it encouraging.
17. I've decided that come spring I should either start riding my bike more often or I should sell it. Otherwise I'm pretty much just waiting for it to get stolen. Wanna buy a bike?
18. Another ten GP's to whoever can come up with the best tagline to replace "the information you need from the names you trust" at the top of this page.
19. Enough with Sebastian Telfair.
20. My winter boots are 11 years old, crackin' up, and ugly. But they will not be replaced this year. Go winter boots.

2000

Los Angeles

We left so early there was no one in line at the donut shop. And with Jonathan driving both of us, we could carpool lane all the way to the airport. We rocketed past thousands of dead-eyed drivers stuck solo in Acuras and Saturns and Mercurys and Cateras. I commandeered the radio to play the last of the mix tapes I'd made for our road trip, one for each state, and "California Stars" came on, elegiac and inappropriate in the bright morning sun. Near the airport was a strip club called, as far as I can tell, Live Girls Girls Girls Live Girls Live. Rather than seeming seedy, it seemed inspirational, a joyous command to women everywhere. Live, Girls! Girls, Girls, Live! Girls, Live!

Hugs all around. Jonathan helped us unload our monstrous bags and drove away, back to Long Beach, back to bed. We handed the luggage over to the skycaps and realized that for the next few hours, anyway, all we owned in the world was in our two carry-on bags. Our car was somewhere in the middle of the ocean; our furniture was in a warehouse somewhere in Hawaii; everything else was in the belly of the plane. If it weren't for all the donuts we would've felt positively lighter than air.

There were two TV screens listing departures. DOMESTIC DEPARTURES, one said. INTERNATIONAL DEPARTURES, the other said. For the eightieth time we reminded ourselves that we were not, in fact, leaving the United States. Our flight was departing from Gate 66.

We sat by the gate for half an hour, waiting to board. My mom called on my cell phone to wish us luck. "I can't believe you're about to fly to Hawaii," she said. Neither could we. My head was still trying to get around our cross-country journey. Somehow, three weeks before, we'd been staring out across the Atlantic, and now we were about to fly 2000 miles across the Pacific. And waiting for us at the end was an apartment we'd never seen in a city we'd never visited on an island in the middle of the sea.

The phrase "point of no return" originated with early airplane flights from the mainland to Hawaii. Because Hawaii is so far away not only from the mainland but from everything, planes flying there reach a certain point, around halfway through the trip, at which they simply do not have enough fuel to land anywhere other than in Hawaii or in the ocean. You can't turn around or land someplace else. There's just nowhere else close enough to go.

The point of no return.

"Now boarding, Continental Flight 75, non-stop to Honolulu. All rows now boarding."

We picked up our bags. We got into line. Nineteen months before, my wife had gotten this job. Before we even had time to laugh, she and I stepped through Gate 66.

Soundtrack:
Hurricane Warning (Ignored) Portastatic NC
West Savannah Outkast GA
Oxford Town Bob Dylan MS
Billy the Kid Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers NM
California Stars Billy Bragg & Wilco CA

wish list

The Stressman is temping in my office, and wouldn't ya know they put him in the cube right next to me.

Today I could smell his bologna sandwich as he ate lunch. The fucker's relentless.

The fact that I'm still dealing with shit like that at this stage of my life is discouraging and makes me want to take some personal inventory.

My home life has never been better. I come home and I exhale and I get love and satisfaction everywhere I turn. I sit on the sofa and I read and play and see silly smiling baby face and all is good.

And even the job has been fair. It's just getting me all worked up. A lot of stuff going on, none of it going particularly well.

The end result is I have a nervous gut all day, the way I did the night I fought Tyson back in '87.

I think it'll pass. I just need a couple things to go my way.

I know it.

Here are some (mostly material) things that might help pull me out of my funk:

-a snow day, a real, blizzard-coated snow day when nobody goes to work and I sit home watching Divo'd American Idol and playing with the baby while pistachio shells pile up on my shirt
-a shiny new computer that's more than good enough for my humble needs
-a good game of basketball in which I make an impact instead of standing around holding my shorts and breathing heavily
-a new hoodie
-a good new book about teenagers or suburbs or both
-a new, work-appropriate flannel shirt
-an email from an old friend
-a huge financial windfall
-a beard
-the return of my iPod or the arrival of a replacement that's cooler
-a solid night of sleep
- a couple of beers at the bar, just a couple I swear

-a new CD that gets me excited like a Pointer Sister
-a new blog to read every day
-a marketable skill
-an increased sense of self-worth
-a high five
-a video of someone kicking Dennis Miller in the balls
-a better glove for softball
-a good movie with delicious popcorn
-a compliment
-an injury-free game of touch football, preferably in the snow
-an original thought
-for Baby Bungle to begin speaking and/or assisting with household chores
-a massage
-a fire under my ass
-a cheap and good new place to eat lunch
-baseball season

This guy had the right attitude. Just go for it. By the way, that mug shot woulda made a good whodat, so I hope you read and enjoy the article instead. This page is also kinda fascinating.

Nobody got CDat, although a lot of you were close enough to sniff the ass of the right answer. We were looking for "Darkness on the Edge of Town," which I believe is now my least favorite pre-90's Bruce album.

JW tells me that Clint died in between 2 and 4 movies, depending if you are counting explicit deaths or implied. Not bad.

Here's some Friday Fun. There was a girl named Jenny who worked at the University of Wisconsin Athletic Ticket Office when I was there. An attractive girl who dated several UW athletes. She also taught futire NBA star Michael Finley how to do something that he hadn't learned while growing up. For ten genius points, what skill did she pass on to Mr. Finley?

in '84 he'll be a little faster

I was walking through the office today and as I passed the little TV lounge area on the 2nd floor, I noticed that one of my co-workers was eating his dinner in front of the TV.

What was he watching? You ask. Or maybe you don't care. I'll tell you anyway.

He was watching Game 3 of the 1984 Eastern conference playoffs between the Knicks and the Pistons. No, not the famous Isiah 16-in-94 performance, that was Game 5. This was game 3, at the Garden. Also significant because it was the first NBA game I ever attended.

We had all gone crazy for basketball that year, and I remember being down in Florida visiting my grandma when my dad called from NY and told me he had gotten us two tickets to Game 3. I was delirious with the news. They had just played Game 1, I remember, in Detroit. Bernard King scored 36 in a Knicks win. It would be his lowest scoring game of the series.

The game we attended was one of the five most exciting sporting events I've seen in person*, a good game that the Knicks won. Bernard was Bernard. I think he got 46. The place was nuts. We ate popcorn, I drank coke, we waved our hands in the air with little regard to the possible consequences. From that night on I have been a basketball freak.

It was cool to see it again today for a number of reasons. One, since I was at the game I never got a chance to see it on TV. Two, the game itself was entertaining. Three, it's always fun looking back at events from your own lifetime and being amazed that you lived in an era as primitive as that. It seems impossible.

Observations:
1) I would guess that the average player then was 30 pounds lighter than they are now.
2) In addition to the Wham!-like short shorts and skinny bodies, the players just looked kind of unrefined. Like a guy missed an open layup, and defensively nobody seemed to be able to prevent the other team from getting wide open 15 footers. And when a guy made an open 15 footer, it was exciting! You could hear the crowd get fired up.
3) That said, the game was wide open. You got a rebound, you pitched it out. You needed a basket, you gave it to Bernard. It would be interesting to see Bernard playing today. He seemed completely unstoppable then, a force of nature. Every time they threw him the ball, he rose and shot and scored. For like a twenty month period, he sort of mastered the game of basketball from an offensive standpoint. Would he still be dominant today?
4) Tripucka, unfortunate coif and all, could really score. A pretty solid offensive player, and he had a big game that night. As my co-worker who was watching the game today said when I told him I remembered Tripucka was hot that night, "Yeah, he's already got 25 and it's just the end of the third quarter." I am not sure whether the guy knew the game he was watching was 22 years old or if he thought it was live. Not wanting to ruin his fun, I eventually walked away.
5) I was never a huge Jim Karvellas fan, but looking back, he was a good announcer with a great voice and a nice feel for the changing rhythms of the game. Butch Beard, however, still stinks 22 years later.
6) The TV cameras at MSG used to basically be at court level. While this was occasionally problematic because players would be blocked from your view by other players, it was actually a much more interesting way to watch the game. You got a real sense for how fast everything was, how tall the players were, how high they were jumping, etc. And since the cameras were so close to the action, the players were bigger and you could see way more detail. They should bring that shit back.

Thank you.

***

I just found out that my company gets an 8% discount at apple.com. That's eight percent less money I don't have that I'll be spending on my new computer at some point. Cool.

Dipak wins the ClintEastwoodcroakdat competition by being the only one to enter. Not pretty, but ten kwachas is ten kwachas. The correct answer is...I dunno. I woulda found out if more people had guessed. I may contact JW for official word anyway.

For ten points, what was the first CD I ever purchased? (Not LP or tape, CD.) And just for the hell of it, what was the first CD you ever purchased?

* In no order:
1) 10.17.03: Grady's Last Stand (scroll down)
2) 7.4.83: Dave Righetti no-hitter
3) 2.19.87: Molloy Naismith scores like 72 against Stuyvesant
4) 6.5.99: The Larry Johnson 4-point play game (made better by the fact that we SNUCK INTO THE GAME WITH THE HELP OF A CROOKED USHER! And then temporarily got chosen to participate in a halftime shooting contest, which resulted in some quick backpedaling when they asked to see our ticket stubs!)
5) 4.23.84: Bernard gets 46 in my first taste of live basketball

the stressman

the stressman came to see me today.

what he does is, he calls you up on the phone from like fifty feet outside your apartment to see if you're home. if you pick up, forget it.

he learned that shit when he was in the fbi investigating the too hot tamales porno incident. wait, maybe i got that wrong. maybe he knew that move all along and the fbi studied him and learned it too.

so the phone rang today around 8am and i picked it up and said hello and he didn't say anything for a minute. then he chuckled.

i knew it was him right away because he's always chuckling like that. he could be playing russian roulette and he'd be chuckling every time he pulled the trigger. and not a nervous laugh, either. a knowing chuckle. he's unflappable.

i hung up and within about six seconds the buzzer rang. he's fair, i'll give him that. he always gives you a fighting chance.

i buzzed him in and went out in the hallway to see if he was coming up in the elevator. sure enough, it started coming up towards my floor. 1...2...3...

but that could be a trick. he could have sent up an empty elevator. he could be chilling in the lobby waiting for me to come running down the stairs like a fool. or maybe he's running up the stairs himself.

too late to worry about that with the elevator on 4 and a half so i took off down the stairs. there are two stairways. he could only be on one. or he could be on the elevator. or he could be in the lobby.

i got to the lobby and opened the door real quietly. i looked around. he wasn't there. i looked at the elevator floor indicator. the elevator was coming back down. so i bolted outside into the cold, wearing nothing but a long sleeve T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

i got on the subway and walked to the end of the platform. the train was crowded when i got on. at every stop, i'd poke my head out the door and look back to see if he was coming. i thought i saw him a couple of times but by the time i got to 8th avenue everything was groovy, he was nowhere to be found.

at around 9:30am he called my work phone. i recognized his number right away but i still picked up.

"i'm very disappointed," he said. he didn't even chuckle.

i told him i was busy and asked if i could call him back later. he said he'd call me back.

i was very busy this morning, too. that wasn't a lie. I was trying and failing to catch up on a number of different things. he kept calling every fifteen minutes throughout the morning. i didn't pick up and he didn't leave any messages.

at noon i went downstairs and bought myself a slice of pizza. ok, two slices. when i came back up to my desk there was a post-it on the monitor that said, we really need to talk. the sooner the better. i crumpled it up and ate my pizza.

i think something may have been missing from my desk but it's a mess so i can't really say for sure.

he didn't call anymore for the rest of the workday.

but then tonight he kept calling me at home. it was embarrassing, actually. i had to keep telling my wife not to pick up the phone, that it was a telemarketer or something. she looked at me like i was nuts.

i turned out all the lights in the bedroom and i kept looking out the window down across the oval. on the bench right outside our building, somebody was sitting and smoking cigarettes all night. it could have been anybody, it was too dark to tell. all you could make out was that teeny, constant orange glow.

finally i went down to do some laundry. the laundry room officially closes at 11pm. the lights go out automatically but you can keep doing your laundry in the dark if you want. that's what we usually end up doing. i was putting the stuff in the dryer at around 11:15 and the lights were still on for some reason.

i was hustling to get it transferred when the lights went out. it was still noisy down there, though. a couple other people had stuff drying, i noticed. i found that comforting.

then as i crouched down to put some stuff in one of the bottom machines, i felt the tap on my shoulder. i didn't yell but i tensed up and i felt my hair start to bristle. it wasn't pyschological, my hair was actually blowing back on my head like the guy in the maxell poster.

it was him. i knew it before i even turned around.

i clenched my jaw and i brought myself to a standing position. then i turned around and looked.

yes. it was him. he was every bit as hideous and terrifying as i remembered. the pieces of loose straw coming out of his throat. the black bottomless shark eyes. the sharp protruding jaw. the way his clothes hung loosely on him like he wasn't even there. the same crusty old Notre Dame cap. he grinned.

i waited for him to talk. he waited for me to talk.

then he said, "are you using this machine?" he gestured to the machine i had just loaded. of course he knew i was using it. was he testing me?

"yeah," I said.

"that's cool, i'll use this one," he said, pointing to the one right next to mine.

then he just stood there for awhile.

"take your time," he said. he just kept hovering.

finally i said, "let's get this over with. what do you want?"

"it can wait," he said. "let's talk tomorrow."

then he kicked my dryer door shut and walked out of the laundry room.

comments (788)

I'll admit it. I am a whore for comments.

I love checking back every eleven minutes or so to see if I got any new ones. And I try to leave comments of my own on other people's sites.

It's astonishing to me to recall that for the first year and a half of verbungle.com's existence, I had no comments section. I was too stupid to figure out how to implement it, so every day was basically just me going blah blah blah blah blah and a few people clicking on my site and saying to themselves hmm or uh-huh or holy crapshorts that's stupid.

Remember when I had those sad little reader challenges, in a desperate attempt to manufacture some interactivity? Those were fun.

Then I got the comments up and going and it's been good like baked potatoes.*

And I'll be honest, I post the little whodats and whydats and breakfastcerealdats and all dat for two reasons:
1) I like games, and I like making up games.
2) I like getting feedback.

So even if it's just an answer to a trivia question, I do get a tiny, pathetic thrill every time I go to the page and see that the comment number has increased. I do it with the other sites I read, too.

I think maybe it's because we're all deeply lonely or hungry for approval or bored out of our fucking heads by the stacks of paper on our desks, but I suspect that most people who put shit up on the internet are the same way.

Verbungle.com Ring of Triumph inaugural inductee Pete B. has a sign declaring "We Live for Your Comments."

And the consistently brilliant Oak Park Mastermind recently sent out a straightforward plea for more comments.

See. It ain't just me.

So if you're ever in the mood to leave a comment but you're not quite sure what to say, say anything. Tell me what you ate for lunch or describe the smell surrounding your cubicle or find new ways to bitch about Jeter's fielding or just tell me how great I am. The number will go up by one and the world will be a better place.

As for me, I have devised a new system for leaving a comment when someone posts something that I find particularly insightful or witty or just really good for one reason or another. I am taking my cue from the late 80's, because it's 2006.** Back then, when I was playing basketball, if one of my teammates made a particularly good play, like maybe driving all the way to basket and flipping up a high-arcing finger roll for a score over some tall kid, or maybe drawing two guys and then dropping it off for a layup, I would sometimes slap them on the ass -- yes, I would occasionally slap my friends on the ass! -- and say, in cringetacular jock voice, "Good shit!"

I no longer say that out loud. I rarely slap asses. But from here on out, when I really like something somebody posts, yet it doesn't inspire me to comment in a specific way, they will get a "Good shit!" Not every day, just when they go above and beyond the typical level of excellence. Watch for them on your upcoming posts.

Dipak wins SuperDat XL with a combined point differential of 13. He'll collect 15 GP's for the win and another 8 for answering on the first day (technically he was a half hour late but he is in the central time zone so he gets the B.O.T.D.). Well predicted, D.

For ten genius points, and no googling, tell me how many movies Clint Eastwood's character dies in. TV shows don't count. You can consult a list of his films but not read up on any of them. Closest guess gets the ten points and an exact answer gets fifteen. Also, Vic's Gristededat challenge from yesterday's comments section is still in effect.

* For 50 GP's, tell me what my original phrase was at the end of this sentence. In other words, Then I got the comments up and going and it's been good like (insert answer here).*
**Speaking of which, I have adjusted to the fact that it's 2006, and even to the fact that 2005 is now "last year" but I simply cannot accept that 2004 is no longer last year but now two years ago. That seems like bullshit to me. 2004 was just happening like a few days ago. Somebody check that out.

I can no longer shop happily

I saw a Giant Rat in the Gristede's on 1st Avenue last night.

Jobbers Welcome

Jalen Rose? Wtf?

I went to a bar tonight for about an hour and a half. It was warm and dark and not too crowded. Large screen TV's were all around, but not in an oppressive, sports bar kinda way. The music played loud enough to hear but not so loud you had to shout over it. There were about 15 beers on tap and another 40 in bottles.

Were I to open a bar of my own, these would all be default settings. Well done.

Was the bar charming or cool? Nope. Did it have "character?" Not a shred. Did they play good music? Not really. Did they in fact commit the unforgivable bar sin of playing "Brown Eyed Girl?" Yes I'm afraid they did.

So they can work on all that. I doubt they'll get far. But I'm easy to please so it was more than adequate for my needs.

At one point I went outside to call the wife and I looked across the street at the meat-packing place. They had a big sign, a permanent sign, that said "Jobbers Welcome." A dude I work with came out and asked me what I thought that meant. I told him I thought it was a way of recruiting day laborers, freewheelin' folks who were just walking down the West Side Highway, gunny sacks over their shoulders, without a debt or a dime to speak of. The kind of folks who might be willing to pluck 500 dead chickens for thirty bucks. The kind of folks who'd get the thirty and go spend $14.95 on the Steak and Wine special at Tad's and then probably waste the rest.

But I wasn't sure, exactly. What's a jobber in this context? I tried to call cW on his cell, because he has cousins in the meat-packing biz, but he didn't answer.

Anybody know? Ten points for the first non-googled correct answer.

It's Oscar season, kids, and since I only saw TWO movies in 2005, I think I will forego a year-end "Best Of" selection. Instead I offer you this:

The Fourteen Best Films I Didn't See in 2005*:

(in no order)
-Brokeback Mountain
-A History of Violence
-Crash
-The 40 year-old Virgin
-The Wedding Crashers
-March of the Penguins
-Jarhead
-Syriana
-Good Night and Good Luck
-The Constant Gardener
-War of the Worlds
-Kung Fu Hustle
-Match Point
-Hustle and Flow

*Or, more accurately, Fourteen Films I Wish I Had Found the Time to See in 2005. I'm sure there are a bunch more I've forgotten. Especially little foreign films and whatnot. Them are good.

Incredible

Did you happen to catch the 1:30 am Becker repeat last night on Channel 2? Incredible.

elroy en la casa

OK, we have another new word introduction, and this one is muy dorky. And it doesn't quite work. And if you use it, you most certainly will not get admiring looks from your co-workers. But here goes:

As a replacement for "word" as in, "I concur," how about trying "ibid"? I know it doesn't really translate quite right, but we'd all appreciate it if you give it a try. Especially if you are at a Star Trek convention.

You know, so many people have been making fun of Chuck Norris lately (and doing a pretty damn good job of it, too) that we thought it only right to post a serious message that Chuck wanted to get out to you, his fans. Have a look.

Does this happen to you? When I'm walking down the street, and a couple is approaching me from the other direction, the girl always looks me in the eye and then, right as they walk past me, she squeezes her man's arm extra tight. Now you could speculate that I've creeped her out, and she's squeezing that arm for reassurance of her own safety, or that she's squeezing it to let me know she's taken, so stop staring and back off, mister.

But you'd be wrong. She's squeezing it because she just saw something beautiful that she knows she can never have, and she wants a reminder that she does have something, even if it's not that thing she really wants. To face the truth at that moment is too much for the poor things.

And it makes me sad for them.

But what can you do?

Hans has empowered me to award fifteen genius points to the person who can tell us what item was introduced to the American public by the Spanish at the 1964 World's Fair? No damn googlin', please.

And we are now accepting votes for the best football game-accompanying beers.

burned

Just a quick sideburn update from cW in L.A.

"...went to get a haircut yesterday and got butchered myself! (See fig. 1-c.) That spot is bare not because I'm follicly challenged but because the (expletive) wielding the clippers was clearly drunk and vertiginous. Sideburn hacking is a national emergency and I hope George W. addresses it in the State of the Union...."



This is serious, people. And Bush predictably sidestepped the issue in his SOTU address.

I'm going to give 12 points each to D. lee and PB dot C for their answers to the Al Qaeda Production Company challenge. Good stuff.

I got nuthin' else today.

Except an early SB prediction:
Steelers 24, Seahawks 20.

We'll accept your SB opinions through Sunday at 6pm Eastern in the comments section for this post, with the closest prediction (using our previously explained formula) collecting 15 GP's. 8 bonus points if the winning answer comes on Wednesday, and then that goes down to 6 on Thursday, 4 on Friday and 2 on Saturday. No bonus points for Sunday.

Also through Sunday, we will award two points for every reasonably intelligent and generally worthy SB-related prediction that comes to pass. For instance, what company will be promoted in the first ad...