keep hope alive

By the time you read this, the dream may already have died.

But if not, if you get this message by 7pm EDT on Saturday, September 30, 2006, won't you join me in rooting for the Baltimore Orioles to find a way to beat the Boston Red Sox this evening? And then let's root for them to find a way to do it again tomorrow afternoon.

Why, you ask? Because if the Boston Red Sox fail to win another game this season, my prediction (#85) will be correct. Exactly correct. And I will join Nostradamus, Jimmy the Greek, and Clubber Lang in the Pantheon of Prediction.

If Boston loses these two games, it might also help pbdotc's AL East order of finish prediction come true. So we can all win here.

Honor the names of the past -- like Lenn Sakata, Tippy Martinez, and Al Bumbry -- and make it happen, Baltimore!

Thanks to former blogger Joe M. for keeping tabs on all the predictions.

create new post

I haven't got a whole lot to say. Rarely, perhaps never, has a work of great historical importance begun this way; let's see if this 12 minute blogpost is the exception. I am not counting on it.

But I have been tired and depressed and just generally beat up and beat down and sometimes writing something, even something shitty, makes me feel better. Sorry that you have to be involved in this process.

I've actually had a few good ideas for posts over the last week or so, but I forgot 'em. Oh well.

I went to Italy last week for two days. Two days traveling and two days vacationing. I guess you could call it four days. It was fun there. I took a mess of pictures. Here are three I sorta like.

My friend has another I like in which I look kind of European, like Toni Kukoc's fat mooching cousin or something. I'll get it and post it soon.

Now I am just going to say some random stuff.

Good people of Minnesota, I know you have a shitty baseball stadium -- I once allegedly kissed another man there when our pictures came up on the DiamondVision (almost certainly not true, but I am taking credit for it anyway) -- but how is it possible that only 18,000 of you showed up the other night to watch your overachieving baseball team clinch a postseason berth? What else were you doing that night?

Paul Westerberg and Tommy Stinson. Rocking out for the kids. Er.

I seem to be on another Minnesota rant, so let me continue. Prolific and consistently excellent midwestern blogdude Moncrief has alerted me to the presence of something that I guarantee will at least make you chuckle out loud once if you read 'em all. Ten Genius points to you if you can honestly tell me you didn't.

Why did nobody tell me that it's completely lame to part your hair on the side? Do I need to start putting stuff in my hair and trying to look cool? I won't do it. I have always secretly theorized that the reason I still have a thick head of hair is that I don't put shit in it. I'd rather keep looking like Tom Ridge. I may grow a moustache though. Tom Ridge should, too.

I was going to make a list but I ain't got the time. So here's part of a list.

Irresponsible or just plain bizarre things my parents did that make me think they might have been continuously drunk throughout my childhood. (no order)

1. Left me (age 2) and my sister age (age 5) alone outside a casino in Monte Carlo so they could go inside and gamble.

2. Allowed my friend and I (both age 10) to hitchhike alone.

3. Allowed me (age 17) to miss a week of high school so I could attend Spring Break in Daytona Beach with all the college kids.

4. Fed me (ages 12-15) Nachos for dinner approximately four times a week.

5. Managed to remain unaware that my friends and I (age 11) were constructing homemade explosive devices in our apartment; even escorted us to Chinatown to help us purchase explosives. Didn't reprimand us when one of our experiments went awry and exploded in the kitchen.

6. Sent me to I.S. 70 (ages 11-13).

7. Dropped me (age 13) at the airport in Paris and allowed me to figure out gate, flight, etc. and find my way back to NYC even though I spoke no French. Did not give me any contact info in case I got lost (which I did).

There are like eighty more but I forgot 'em. Ten points for every marvelously stoopid thing your parents did or allowed you to do when you were a kid, and five each for other things you can remember about my parents.

I feel better now. Thanks.

you make the call

The situation is as follows:

The bases are loaded. Two men are out.

A sharp grounder is hit to the second baseman. The fielder bobbles it, drops it, can't quote pick it up. In the process of trying to get the ball he actually sort of shove-rolls about six feet.

Meanwhile, all the baserunners have taken off, except, due to some kind of brain freeze, for the man on second base. He hangs just a few steps off second, watching the action.

By the time the second baseman collects the ball there is no play at second, first, or home; all those runners have advanced. However, he flips it to third, where the brain-frozen runner is forced out for the third out.

Does the run count?

a) Yes; the run scored before the out was made.
b) No; the out was a force, therefore the run does not count.
c) Yes; there was an error committed by the second baseman, and the run scored as a result of that error.
d) No; there cannot be an error if the immediate out (i.e., a force) was made.
e) Other.

10 Genius Points to the person who gives the most convincing answer to this question.

unremarkable things that somehow still excite me

1) Coca-Cola, either in a can or in a tall glass with ice.
2) Cabbies who make unrequested U-turns for you, both legal and illegal.
3) Old (pre-1965) pictures of New Yorkers on their way to work or drinking in bars.
4) Fall Jackets
5) New Gadget Smell
6) Hearing a Replacements song in an environment outside my own music collection (bars, radio, MTV2, etc.)
7) Throwing someone out at home plate.
8) Reminiscing about your own one special memory that you don't have to share with anybody.
9) Coming up with possible names for one's debut album, like Or Current Occupant, as in "Hans Bungle, Or Current Occupant"
10) Quittin' Time
11) Walking in the West Village
12) The internets
13) Saying something that everyone immediately recognizes as brilliant, such as "You can be a champion on the court or a champion in the bar...and I choose to be a champion right now."
14) The Relative, if Largely Theoretical, Freedom of Adulthood
15) Commuter Trains
16) Grilled Cheeses
17) The approval of others
18) Backdoor Cuts
19) Fake Fights
20) Old Stomping Grounds


2 points for each unremarkable thing that still gives you a thrill. Maximum 10 things per person.

like it’s 1989

People are often asking me how they can recapture the spirit of stupid, carefree fun that they had when they were 19 years old. Luckily, I have the recipe. This serves 2 but can be multiplied as needed. Enjoy.

Fun

1 copy of De La Soul’s debut album, Three Feet High and Rising
25-30 of your favorite songs (pre-1990)
1 multi-disc CD player or other music playback device
2 tall plastic cups, approximately 24 ounces each (preferably leftover souvenir cups from Big 10 football games or drive-thru windows)
1 pitcher, approximately 64 ounces
2 cannisters of frozen Minute Maid pink lemonade concentrate (yield 60 ounces each)
Water
1 1-liter bottle of Absolut Vodka, regular or citron flavor
1 Friend
1 Pair of Drinkin’ Pants
1 Telephone (landline preferred)
Ice

At approximately 7pm, pick up the telephone and call up a friend. Tell them you want to go out on the town and “do it up,” and that they should come over to your place for a little warm-up cocktail around 8 o’clock. Take a shower. Put on your Drinkin’ Pants, and, if you choose, a T-shirt. At 7:30, make one pitcher of pink lemonade by adding 5 cans of water to one can of lemonade concentrate. Fill a tall cup with ice, the lemonade, and approximately 5 ounces of vodka. Sit back on your couch and program your music device to play your favorite songs. Begin rocking out.

When your friend arrives, fill another large cup with ice, lemonade, and vodka, and give it to him or her. Continue rocking out as much as you deem appropriate. Talk about somebody you made out with freshman year, and then gently boast about one of your mild athletic achievements. Allow your friend to do the same. Continue drinking vodka-lemonades; they are delicious. Make sure somebody says the word "Majkowski" at least once. As much as you may want to high-five, don't. When you are almost ready to hit the town, put on song #9 from Three Feet High and Rising ("Eye Know"). Slam the rest of your vodka-lemonade cups and head out.

Everything else will take care of itself.

***

For ten points, who is the most annoying quarterback in pro football history?

Fall Jacket

A gloomy Saturday afternoon and I got nuthin fun to do and somehow I feel like an all-set cobra jet anyway. Fall is here and that makes me happy.

Summer's full of nostalgia, sure. But it's nostalgia for lightweight stuff like watermelon-eating and three-legged races and Bicentennial fireworks and maybe if you're lucky sticking your hand down somebody's pants on a park bench.

But when fall comes it brings the real memories, the memories of all the stupid fall things you ever did and failed to do. The memories of actions and consequences, mistakes and regrets. It can be overwhelming. And just when you're about to double over or roll onto your back like a cockroach, fall helps you to your feet, wraps you up in your coziest fall jacket, and buys you a cold beer. And then fall raps its knuckles on the bar to let you know this one's on the house.

Fall: that's when you sit alone, three rows behind your friends at the football game because you're so distraught at what you almost did the night before.

When you return the books you borrowed, even though you hadn't gotten around to reading them yet.

When you give it one more chance.

When you put on a dark blue shirt and read the paper at the coffee shop and run into somebody you know and start talking about stuff like racism or the environment.

When you set out to prove you can still do it, only to find yourself cottonmouthed and humbled at 2 in the afternoon.
When you almost make a really courageous decision but instead roll over and take an afternoon nap.

When you dial the first 6 numbers of the person you want to call but hang up and flip on a football game instead.

When you finally give up on your dreams or take small steps towards realizing them.

But mostly it's when you walk around with your hands in the pockets of your fall jacket. I guess that's what people like about fall. They get to wear their fall jackets and nothing can harm them.

For the first time I can remember, I don't have a decent fall jacket.

***

Sunday night update: incredible bum rush softball tonight. Recap, anyone? If not, I'll tackle it in the next couple days.

For twelve GP's, tell me the brand and size of the bottled water I'm drinking right now. One guess to a person.