a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time

Hi.

Like a stroke victim, I'm gonna have to remember how to do this again. The basics.

First, if you have nothing even vaguely resembling an idea, post a picture. Here's one.

Oh, and it's always smart to solicit some reader response, if anybody's even reading your blog. Hey folk(s), let's caption that photo!

Still stuck? Try expressing outrage at something. In a few weeks, I'm no longer going to be able to use FTP to publish this blog, should I so choose. The Wayward O thinks that's some bullshit and I agree. No FTP? WTF!

That reminds me, never a bad idea: linking to something you think is worthy. I'll do it three times:

1. Roger Ebert: The Essential Man in Esquire, and, of course, Ebert's magnificent and downright inspiring blog. You wanna feel alive, you read that damn blog a couple of times a week.

2. Can't say I ever read The Exile, but I've had a soft spot for Mark Ames since he obliterated Chuck Klosterman. Here's the story of the paper. I've always suspected that Matt Taibbi was a douche, but after reading the article, I sort of like him a little more (which was clearly not the writer's intention).

3. Posnanski, right again. You may disagree, but at least the guy uses his brain and encourages everyone else to do the same.

People always like to know if there's a new feature. Yo, Haloscan died, check out the new commenting system below. Like it? Does it even work?

Oh, and have you tried the 'Stachetastic app on your iPhone? It allows you to grow a moustache without actually growing a moustache. While I do have some problems with that philosophically, the thing is fun as hell, and doesn't that trump everything else? For $1.99, you get results like this:

Maybe recount a story from your daily life. Wow, not much here. I'll tell you that I'm still drinking iced coffee, I found myself a Sunday morning hoops game, and I'm going to fill out at least 2 NCAA brackets this year, despite watching less than 3 college basketball games all season. Because it's the right thing to do.

Finish up and turn in for the night. Repeat once you've got 5 comments or an idea, whichever comes first.

Oh, and don't forget to close with a snappy slogan! Here's one:

"Your son is all rainbow on the dick!"

(overheard at Knickerbocker restaurant, 2/27/10, middle aged couples talking about BJ parties, etc.)

you don't just have to say every single thing that comes into your head, you know

Yo, checking in. I can't remember going this long without anything to say in a while. And for perhaps the first time ever, I'm acting on the time-tested principle of not saying anything when there's nothing to say. But that leads to no posts in a month, which I think is too long. We can't let readership dwindle from 7 to 5.

Went to California. Had a very good time, a few semi-blogworthy thoughts and experiences but just can't seem to find the energy to post them. Blahdee blahdee. They say when you're in a shooting slump, you need to get a couple layups to restore your confidence. So let me post some quick free garbage for you.

This is for diehard Knicks fans only. For non-Knicks fans, you might consider it The Day The Basketball Died. Two condensed clips of the 1992 Eastern Semifinals, Game 3. So much to watch for, and, if you're an Iron Maiden fan, so much to hear. Click on "HQ" and the video quality will improve a bit. My quick observations:
a. One of the best opens for a sporting event I've ever seen. Marv rules.
b. This might be the most out of control, violent series in NBA history. The majority of the 'highlights' here are missed shots, fouls, blocks, and concussions. There are so many bodies on the floor it looks like a gangland massacre. It's as if they were playing on ice. Ugly ugly ugly. Yet...somehow the intensity almost makes up for it.
c. Gerald Wilkins, like half of his Knicks teammates still rocking the flat-top at least a year past its cultural expiration date, comes through with 2 huge lefty flushes that I had somehow forgotten about completely.
d. Jordan's greatness shines through. While he looks genuinely uncomfortable and nervous at times, like he can't believe the Bulls' 67 win season could go up in smoke to these punks from NY, his competitive edge is overpowering, resulting in the Gatorade Ad power-layup while being Malachi'd by Ewing and McDaniel at 6:35 of part 2.
e. Read the bit about Pat Riley's pregame speech in the video description. He basically ordered a 12 man assault on Jordan, and it wasn't enough. I miss Riley anyway; I've never been more committed, invested, and alive as a sports fan as I was during his 4 year run in NY.
f. The whole game is available on youtube if you are a masochist.





Part 2:



Those with strong stomachs can add their own observations in the comments.

IAQ vol. LXIX

Q: When is HIATUS? Any plans?

A: Starts in two weeks, lasts about 6 weeks. Plans: two and a half week California trip. Disneyland. Hoops. Beach. New books. Up to LA for a night or two with pals. Back to NYC. A couple of afternoon sessions at the bar. A matinee. An afternoon in Sheep Meadow. Good exercise and good clean living.

Plus a life-changing fitness plan that could put money in YOUR pocket. Wait til you hear (I figure out) the details.

Q: What do you make of LeBron walking off the floor and then out of the arena without saying anything to anyone?

A: I think it's lame. You get beat, you take your lumps, you act like a pro, you congratulate the guys who did it to you. Now if he had some extenuating reason for his mysterious walk-off (diarrhea?), I might think otherwise, but here was his reasoning:

"It's hard for me to congratulate somebody after you just lose to them," he said. "I'm a winner. It's not being a poor sport or anything like that. If somebody beats you up, you're not going to congratulate them. That doesn't make sense to me. I'm a competitor. That's what I do. It doesn't make sense for me to go over and shake somebody's hand."

So I guess the answer is, he's just a poor sport. I hope you're taking notes, little kids. It doesn't make sense for you to go over and shake somebody's hand unless you win -- in which case of course it makes no sense for your opponent to shake your hand.

All that said, I forgive the dude, and I still love him. And I know that means a lot to him. LeBron, my friend, you can crash on the Bungle Couch indefinitely when you sign with the Knicks and are looking for a place of your own.

Q: What do you wish would go away forever? (Not counting obvious and hopelessly permanent things like war, famine, etc. -- I mean things that might really go away)

A: Bathrooms with attendants. Websites with Flash intros. Jay Leno's career. Anchovies. Kobe. People who don't clean up after their stupid dogs. Slobbering Apple apologists.

Q: What do you always want more more more of?

A: David Sedaris books. HIATUSes. Ruffles Sour Cream and Cheddar potato chips. Big empty grassy fields. Beer fridges.

Q: What do you think of the new iPhone?

A: Well, it basically has all the things I assumed it would, but not much else. Do I want it? Yes. Was I hoping for more? Yeah, but I have no idea what exactly I thought it would do. It does all the cool stuff you would want, I think. I will get one when my contract runs out unless the world turns upside down.

Q: What is your favorite sport?

A: Hoops. I will record a basketball game and watch it later, sometimes even if I know who won. Won't do this with any other sport. I love basketball with an irrational and eternal passion. It has been this way since the moment I first fell for this game. I will defend it when I know it's wrong, I will stay with it even when it thoughtlessly breaks my heart, I will dream about it when it is off with another man. I can't help it. You got me, roundball.

Q: What do you think of Conan O'Brien's new show?

A: I dunno, Conan's definitely a funny guy and his old show sometimes made me double over with laughter, but I am totally unexcited about the new show. One thing people don't usually mention about Conan is that he has a pretty bad personality. Dude gets on my nerves to the point where I can only watch the comedy bits on the sow, not the interviews. He doesn't seem to have a real soul, at least not on air. I can't root for him or identify with him in any way.

Q: I was in a deli tonight and they had an over-the-counter sexual aid called "Weekend Prince." This is obviously the best name anyone will ever come up with for such a product, but do you have any other ideas along these lines, i.e. not so much focused on the penis but more on a euphemistic, symbolic notion of satisfaction?

A: Captain Suave. Rise and Shine. The Butler. Throbbing Commando. The Courteous Houseguest. Old Reliable. Up and At 'Em. Dashing Stranger. Randy's Way. The Total Gentleman. Pardon Me, Ma'am. Discreet Intruder. Shall We Dance? Valiant Sailor. Mr. Bang Bang. Straight Shooter. Uncle Tim's Parlor Trick. Doctor Yes. Tussy.

Please feel free to add your own.

mullin'

Here are some realizations I've come to since the last time you read my blog:

1) I don't want to manage you. I don't want to have to tell you to show up earlier, or work harder, or that the work you just turned in isn't adequate. I don't want to hear you complain about the big boss, or about the work, or about your unfulfilling life outside this place. I just want you to do your work and smile and be a pro and make a dick joke when the moment is right. Can you do that for me?

2) The Yankees are kind of suck. When I used to think about Joe Girardi, the image that popped into my head was his legs churning as he raced around 2nd base on his way to that huge triple in Game 6 of the 1996 World Series. Now I see him on the top step, arms folded, shades on, looking vaguely pissed off but incapable of doing anything about it. Plus, it's funny to think about all the money they sunk into this team -- Teixeira, Burnett, Sabathia, etc. -- and how it might not mean anything if Douch-rod can't come back effectively. And how when they made those moves they presumably were in the dark both about Douche-rod's injury and his steroid stuff. And if even 1/3 of the crap that's been written about Douche-rod is true, he's a boil on the ass of humanity and it is impossible to root for him to succeed. So I don't see how to pull for this team without sacrficing an even larger part of your soul than usual.

3) I have about the same percentage of my basketball skills left as Grant Hill has of his. Make that Christian Lattner. Make that Christian Welp. Whatever the case, I still love playing and I have a small amount of tasty treats left in my junkbag. Watch out for my sweeping hook.

4) We got a margarita machine at work. Fridays will be frozen margarita days. One work margarita is enough.

5) June 5. I gotta make it to June 5.

6) I was wrong about Pabst beer. My dad was wrong about Pabst beer. It is terrible. End of story.

7) The job I am in now, as hard as it has been, has given me a huge leg up when and if I ever apply for another job. I am 80 times better at this stuff than I was three years ago. I hope you believe me, future employer person.

8) It's better to go to your regular $15 haircut dude, even if it means waiting a week, than to try a new place because it's more convenient.

9) I skip all Clash songs when they come up on shuffle.

10) I will be in California this summer and I plan on doing two of the following three things: L.A., S.F., and Las Vegas.

11) The new Yankee Stadium looks like a minor league park on TV. But not in a cozy and homey way.

12) Twitter is utterly stupid. Facebook is just mostly stupid.

13) Fingernails, a cigarette's a lousy dinner.

14) We really are lucky to have jobs. Especially Ahmad Rashad.

15) My kid can (sort of) write her name.

16) Sports Illustrated is only good when you read it in the dentist's office.

17) I hate Jonathan Papelbon and K-Rod equally.

18) I desperately need a new book to read.

19) I would like to start watching some old flicks on TCM. I am particularly interested in old Paul Newman movies.

20) I haven't watched it in like four years, but I am pretty sure Lost is still a piece of shit.

21) The idea of Texas seceding worries me not at all. I encourage the stupid people of Texas to secede. Stop talking about it and do it. I won't miss you. Vermont, you go too, it'll be cute.

22) The chances that Albert Pujols is not on some kind of PED's are next to nothing and we need to stop celebrating him as if he is clean. I think he is probably a good human and a remarkable player, but he is on something. Something very effective.

23) Rod Strickland is under-represented on youtube.

24) This clip kills me (go 35 seconds in). Marion Ross is no joke.

25) Scanning, like faxing, is an idea that seemed remarkably modern and cool for about two years, and now seems painfully outdated and nearly pointless.

26) Players I dislike who are still active in the NBA playoffs:
Gasol
D. Fisher
Kobe
Farmar
Vujacic
Kenyon Martin
JR Smith

27) Players I really like who are stil active in the NBA playoffs:
Ray Allen
Pierce
Garnett (sort of active)
Rondo
Aaron Brooks (based solely on tonight's performance)
Yao
Battier
Turkoglu

28. Worst announcing in decades?

29. Let's all drink iced coffee Tuesday at 10:37 a.m.

30. It is time to start accepting HIATUS suggestions.

California, I meant to tell you

You looked stunning this Christmas.

I can't stop thinking about you. It makes me sad being so far away from you.

You provided the perfection in what turned out to be a perfect little vacation. Got to play hoops two times with an ocean breeze assisting me on the way to the hoop.

Headed down to San Diego and saw the lights of Tijuana just a couple of Brett Favre heave 'em ups away. Avoided missing the 'last U.S. exit' exit. Ate crappy food at a crappy tourist resort in Coronado Island, but your sunshine carried the day.

Vacation reading: The Tortilla Curtain, and I felt like I was right in the middle of the book. Loved it, but wondering what part of it fulfills the 'comedy' part of the 'tragicomedy' description on the back cover?

Took Amtrak up the coast and spent a couple nights in your L.A. area with pals.

R. Lee Ermey made sure nobody tried anything funny.


One thing, California -- this train ride up your coast is a surprisingly unbeautiful trip. Whatever. I passed the hour and change reading my book and slurping my Bud and rocking out to my favorite tunes.

Got that warm beery feeling with cW and pals on a Friday night. This is as unbeery a shot as you'll see:

Man we must have been funny!

We went to a bar near cW's place called Johnny's. Legend has it that Johnny was a dude who had some money and wanted a bar near his house that he could go to every day. So he opened up Johnny's and said, "This bar will be open from 10am to 2am, every day of the year including holidays, forever." Seems like he's kept his word, and I can only assume it would be 10am to 4am if the City of Los Angeles could ever get around to addressing their bar time problem. Anyway, Johnny's was a fun place, a nice mix of people, including some people older than me, not dead-end old-timers yet, just regular people in their 40's and 50's who like to have a good time.

There was a dude there who was a little rough around the edges, nice but kind of scary, and somehow I ended up talking to him. He said he had lived in L.A. his whole life and that I'd better be careful.

"People will just shoot you around here. Watch your ass when you leave the bar tonight," he said.

Then he explained that he was at the bar with the intention of restoring his name and pride.

"Last time I was here, I got in a fight in front of my girl," he said. "Some guy clocked me, and I didn't respond. I just took it. I won't feel like a man until I find that guy and fight him again."

Good luck with that, I thought as I eased away from him. I wonder if he got his man.

The next night I met up with another friend, who, completely coincidentally, took me to...Johnny's.
It's a nice place. I tried Absinthe for the first time. These Pabst-swilling Beard-sporting hipsters are enjoying themselves, whoever they are.

But is it the only bar in Los Angeles? My initial study says maybe. You tell me, California.

Went back to San Clemente for the last couple days and spent the final afternoon on the pier.

I just stared out at the ocean and let my mind wander. You're very good at making people do that, California.

I thought about 2008, and 2009. I even thought about 1998 for awhile. I wondered how much I've changed over the years. I wondered how much I've learned.

I've learned that 1% milk is the right choice for iced coffee. Skim is fine for all other occasions.

I thought about the fact that suddenly, my appreciation for Hall and Oates is no longer ironic in the least. They had some great great songs.



I came to accept that I will never be an awesome surfer dude with no worries.

Before I even had time to soak up our final moments together, I found myself back at work in NYC, already a beaten man within the first 48 hours. Where did you go, California? You didn't even leave a note.

At least I still have my lonely Macchiato Egg & Cheese on Ciabatta.

And a black man is about to be President. How about that?

See you this summer.

Hans

on to the nine

"New Year's Eve is amateur night and resolutions are for fools."

-Phil Jackson, 1/1/09

He's probably right on both counts, but to admit it is to give up hope, and I'm not ready to do that yet.

Hope that this is the year you finally found that perfect New Year's Eve Party, where you were the star of the show like you wrongly remember you used to be from time to time.

And hope that writing something down makes you more likely to follow through on it.

I am out in Southern California with the in-laws, so the New Year's Eve party was out of the question. We stayed in and sang karaoke and drank some champagne and kept the festivities under control, as you always should when three or more generations are present. It may sound ungrateful, but I think my heartfelt rendition of "Lodi" deserved an even better score than the 96 I received from the machine. To give the song the proper emotional resonance, I always pretend it is about Lodi, Wisconsin.

As for resolutions, first let's check in on last year's goals. It turns out I didn't really have any, other than a vague desire to live a less passive existence, to take life by the balls for once. As in "Take 2008 and make it my personal joyride. I am going to soak up every moment, I am going to be loose and goofy and full of spice."

Then my dad died on January 20th and the joyride was over before it started. In the end, 2008 was still an interesting year (as are all years except maybe 1997), with some historic triumphs and some cringeriffic disasters. But it was not the enthusiastic victory lap I had hoped for.

I'll take a mulligan on 2008 and push my goal of general fulfillment forward into 2009, a.k.a. the year I finally get my shit together and stop living in nervous anticipation of my next mistake.

In addition to this, I have a few small, attainable, and most importantly, objectively measurable goals for the year.

1) Continue to play basketball often enough so that I slow down my spiral of suckitude. I went back to Laguna for Day 2 and it was so so much better. I didn't feel a day over 50 out there.

I will also try not to get mad when people play in jeans or running shoes. I have no idea why this bothers me so much.

2) Come up with a slang term that catches on nationally. My first attempt: The Business District -- a euphemism for a person's genital region. You can go ahead and use it in a sentence, just to see how it feels. Not bad, right?

3) Get fit.

4) Don't even resolve to get fit in 2010, it's not going to happen.

5) Come to terms with your sexuality. I finally figured mine out in 2008, now it's time for me to accept yours.

6) Write a short story.

7) Think about what I eventually want to do for a living, if it ain't what I'm doing, for a minimum of 20 minutes total. Take at least one tiny step in this new direction.

8) Sing karaoke, with passion and skill, in a bar at least one time.

9) Take care of the kid for a weekend so Ma Bungle can get away and have a special little personal trip all for herself.

10) Patent my iPhone app: "Signal Loss" -- this is an application that, at the push of a button, creates static and simulated audio dropouts, allowing you to say "I think I'm losing you" to the person on the other end of the line. This will elminate the need for other bullshit conversation-ending excuses.

11) Read 25 books.

And do some other shit, too. I'll let you know.

humping around

I was on the fence tonight whether to blog up some stuff or go to bed, but then I spilled a beer and it got all over my new hoodie and some placemats, so I had to throw in a load of laundry. Now I have like an hour and a half whether I like it or not. Whether you like it or not.

Why don't I tell you about my weekend? It was pretty weekendy.

On Saturday, I went and played me some basketball, poorly. I didn't really fuck up or anything, I just barely registered. There was no point to me. If our game ever got turned into a movie, you would be like, "Why did they introduce that supporting character in that one scene and then never get back to him?" I didn't advance the plot at all. Maybe they're saving me for the sequel.

After one game I was sitting on the sideline, dripping sweat and trying to make small talk with a guy I know. I was like, "Man, I'm a step slow today...maybe two steps." Trying to be modest but also telling it like it is. He said, "Dude, you've been two steps slow for two years now." Ouch. I'll show him! Ah....fuck it, no I won't.

Then I was talking to another guy about the Knicks. Remember them? Tall, incompetent, irrelevant, unpleasant? Office is over on 33rd? Anyway, this guy was genuinely optimistic about the 2008-09 season, with D'antoni stepping in as coach and all.

"But the personnel..." I said. "They have two big fat center types who can barely move, one with a heart problem, and now they're gonna run? Yikes. It's all the same shitty dudes, I don't see them being competitive."

He said, "I think Nate Robinson's gonna play well. And I like David Lee. And the new Italian guy might be good. And Crawford..."

I was all, "OK man, if you think that's gonna be a good team..."

He said, "This is the time of year to have high hopes."

He's right. Of course, once they start playing games those hopes will fade fast. But why not at least be excited for a month? As he pointed out, this will be a good chance to see how much of a difference a coach can make. My guess: 5-6 games over the course of the season.

Thinking about Zach Randolph got me reminiscing about Knicks I've hated through the years. Greg Anthony will always be my least favorite Knick PG, but I think Charlie Ward deserves some special mention in any discussion of History's Most Loathsome Knicks. Not only did his low-bridge boxout on PJ Brown ignite the fight that cost us the '97 season, but then he took over the locker room with his anti-semitic and anti-woman-reporter bullshit. He was a hateful, small-minded little fuck, and...AND... he had virtually no game to speak of. That combination is unforgivable. Plus he had the charisma of a file cabinet. A file cabinet full of papers displaying the box scores of every game Charlie Ward ever played for the Knicks, with his stat line highlighted.

So a belated F you to C Ward.

Then Saturday night I knocked back a few bierce with some college pals at Tom & Jerry's. It was fun, but around 2:30 everybody (except me) started getting tired. I was about to enter the "rah rah let's tear the night open and throw burning garbage into its bleeding torso" section of the evening, but I sensed that there was no more life to be squeezed from this particular crew on this particular night. They had stuff to do on Sunday and frankly I was becoming more aggressively uninteresting every second. So we parted ways, mostly their choice.

I put on my headphones and started to walk home. The bottom may be falling out of the economy but you'd never guess it from walking through NYC at night. Packed bars, people spilling out onto the street smoking. Traffic all jammed up at 3 am. Horns and loudmouths filling in any silent moment that might try to slip in. Packs of douchebags in pressed shirts, looking to pick up girls so they can brag about it to their bros the next day. Arty kids passing judgment on them. And married dudes walking home from the bar bopping their heads to their favorite songs from 1973.

I walked up Bowery and made a right onto maybe 3rd street. Up ahead something caught my eye. It was a young couple, grinding like crazy against a building. What fun! At first I thought they were actually...you know...doing it. They were totally mashing their parts together in a crazy exaggerated thrusty-dance. I think the words "They're fucking!" actually rolled across my mind.

As I got closer I noticed that they were clothed, which both relieved and disappointed me. I would call it a building-aided vertical dry hump al fresco, if I was keeping score. As I got closer still I noticed that the guy was sort of burying his face in the woman's neck/cleavage area, and the woman was leaning back and apparently enjoying whatever he was doing. Then I looked again...the woman was actually talking on her cell phone!

Wow.

I got concerned for a minute. What if she was in trouble? I didn't want to be part of a 2008 Kitty Genovese moment, so I turned off my music to listen for sounds of distress and/or ecstasy. No sounds I could make out at all. Definitely none to get worried about.

But I couldn't help wondering: who was she calling? Was she listening to work voicemails? Calling an ex to taunt him with the live play by play of her latest hookup? Looking to recruit a third? Naively trying to pre-order Mets playoff tickets? Calling Ghostbusters? Making a spa appointment for Sunday?

And did her paramour care that all his best moves were only enough to consume a fraction of her attention? He didn't seem to.

I like to think I would.

HEY KNICK FANS –TELL ME HOW GALLINARI’S ASS TASTES!

..answer: like over-cooked pasta with vomit ragu.

DLEE DRAFT GRADES

Atlanta Hawks 

Grade: lazy

Round 1: None
Round 2: None

Analysis: No picks? I wonder what their war room looks like. Do they just hang out, chug brews, and play Wii? I’m curious..

Boston Celtics 

Grade: B

Round 1: J. R. Giddens (30)
Round 2: Bill Walker (47), Semih Erden (60)

Analysis: Giddens looks pretty talented but they made his personality seem like the second coming of Denzel in Training Day. I predict a bitch-slap moment with Paul Piece in the future that culminates in a full-on Bloods vs Crips shootout ten yards from the Fleet Center.
Side note: Bill Walker is a good find this late assuming his legs hold up ..which I highly doubt.

Charlotte Bobcats 

Grade: F

Round 1: D.J. Augustin (9), Alexis Ajinca (20)
Round 2: Kyle Weaver (38)

Analysis: Are you shitting me? Wow. MCJ has to be the worst judge of NBA personnel in history. How can someone so good on the basketball court be so clueless off it. Oh wait, Elgin Baylor, Magic, and Bill Russell were insanely incompetent too. Guess Shaq’s future as a GM is gonna be a real shit-storm.
Augustin is a worse version of Jameer Nelson and to take him here over Bayless when you already have Felton is bananas. Then taking a lanky big guy who averaged FOUR POINTS in --FRANCE?
I’m gonna make a crazy call here ..Bobcats in lottery next year.

Chicago Bulls 

Grade: A

Round 1: Derrick Rose (1)
Round 2: Omer Asik (36), Sonny Weems (39)

Analysis: Lucky motherfuckers. First MCJ, then the Curry trade, then Rose. As CP3 proved, one amazing point guard who plays D and has a team-first attitude can turn an entire franchise around. The fact they can trade now Hienrick for front-line help makes them that much sicker. All they need now is some dipshit fools to take the Larry Hughes contract off their blood-stained hands. *cough* ..KNICKS..*cough*.
Side note: I love watching the Bulls war room where they pretend to be nervous when they knew they were taking Rose a month ago. Perhaps they were scared Rose’d get assassinated by Isaiah on the way to the podium.

Cleveland Cavaliers 

Grade: C+

Round 1: J. J. Hickson (19)
Round 2: None

Analysis: Call me crazy, I don’t think JJ Hickson is gonna motivate LaBron to stay in Cleveland. Highlights made him look like a dark Tyler Hansborough ..if that’s possible.
JZ is already writing a HOT 97 single in prep for BronBron’s move to Brooklyn.

Dallas Mavericks 

Grade: D

Round 1: None
Round 2: Shan Foster (51)

Analysis:. It is soooooo over in Dallas. They’re gonna disappear faster than the Steam-punk fashion trend. What’s that? You don’t know what Steam-punk is? Don’t worry, it’s already over ..just like Dallas dreams of the finals after the Kidd trade.
They need to trade Dirk now before it becomes too late. If they don’t act soon they’re gonna do some dumb Gasol-like panic trade when Dirk starts phoning it in. Like the Gasol trade to the Kidd trade, or the Garnett trade to the Shaq trade ..this proves how the right/wrong move when on the cusp can either put you over the top or absolutely destroy your franchise.

Denver Nuggets 

Grade: Lame

Round 1: None
Round 2: None

Well done Denver. Miss the play-offs next year and then completely implode. So much for the idiotic notion of 2 superstar scorers on the same squad being an unquestionable path to success.
Note to George “Melonhead” Karl: defense wins championships ..try it one day.

Detroit Pistons 

Grade: whatever
Round 1: None

Round 2: Walter Sharpe (32), Trent Plaisted (46), Deron Washington (59)

Analysis: I don’t know any of these dudes. I doubt you’ll ever know them either.

Golden State Warriors 

Grade: C+

Round 1: Anthony Randolph (14)
Round 2: Richard Hendrix (49)

Analysis: Randolph is so skinny that if he gained 20 pounds he’d be considered a human bamboo pole. Serious, this guy may be the first bulimic basketball player in the history of the NBA. 6’10” and 197 lbs?? To put this in MMA perspective (*as I often like to do) he’d have to GAIN 8 pounds to fight the 6 foot Chuck Liddell as a LIGHT-heavyweight. (At least Randolph would have a hell of a reach, no?)
Speaking of reaches, I think this guy is a reach at 14 for GS. They just took last years clone of this dude last year in Brandon Wright.
Nelson better get these motherfuckers to Dinky Doughnuts ..fast.

Houston Rockets 

Grade: B+

Round 1: Donte Greene (28)
Round 2: Joey Dorsey (33), Maarty Leunen (54)

Analysis: Nice job for picking so late. This guy Green is more soft in game and brains than a retarded nerd with erectile dysfunction in a Nolita singles bar. Still, he does have “upside” at the 28 spot.

As for Dorsey, I’m one of his few fans. He’s a total Larry Smith, Rodman, Charles Oakley throwback. He’s small but (when motivated) he can rebound and defend like a demon from the gates of hell. At worst, he’s the second coming of Reggie Evans. At best, he’s a mini-Ben Wallace.

Still, Houston already has Chuck Hayes so I guess it’s kind of redundant.

Indiana Pacers 

Grade: A

Round 1: Brandon Rush (13), Roy Hibbert (17)

Big night for Larry legend (*legendarily boring interview as well ..did you see that shit? If not, it’s probably cause you fell asleep). Anyway, getting a broken down O’Neal and 18 million per off the books while picking up TJ Ford and Hibbert in exchange is pure genius. You get undervalued size in Hibbert (waaaay undervalued) and pick up a winner in TJ (*wish the Knicks got him) while also creating cap space for the future.
Then they lucked out with Bayless but were so over stocked at PG they traded him for Rush & Jack (both solid/good attitude guys ..but mediocre). All they gotta do now is dump Tinsley and they’re set. I think you’ll see surprising improvement in this squad next year and then no doubt in summer 2009.
A+ for the TJ/Hibbert trade
B- for not getting better value for Bayless

Los Angeles Clippers

Grade: A-

Round 1: Eric Gordon (7)
Round 2: DeAndre Jordan (35), Mike Taylor (55)

Analysis: I’m also a rare full-on Gordon fan. Everyone jumped off his bandwagon when he struggled during the second half when he injured his hand and Indiana went down in flames. The guy has mad range on his J and barrels over defenders like a bowling ball on way to the hoop. If Ben Gordan can make it at 6’3” there’s no reason to think Eric can’t as well. At worst, he’s the second coming of JR Smith. At best, he could be the second coming of Mitch Richmond.
As for DeAndre, hilarious that scouts used to project this guy at NUMBER THREE in the draft. Still, at 35 this is a no-lose pick. If he pans out the Clippers look like geniuses. If not, who cares..

Los Angeles Lakers 

Grade: assy

Round 1: None
Round 2: Joe Crawford (58)

Analysis: Joey Crawford’s in the draft? I woulda taken Dick Bavetta..

Memphis Grizzlies

Grade: Hmmm.

Round 1: O.J. Mayo (3), Darrell Arthur (27)
Round 2: None

Analysis: Mike Miller/Love/Cardinal for Mayo/Jaric’s horrid contract. Looks like a great move for McHale initially. Still, if the Grizz parley Mayo into Beasly (as I expect them to) it could be an outstanding move (*assuming they don’t include Conely in the Miami deal). That said, I think Mayo is going to be a good pro but I don’t see him as anything too amazing ..he’ll be Billups at best (*and probably take just as long to fulfill his full potential).
Mayo also wins the Greg Oden award for oldest face in the draft.
As for Arthur (*AKA: this year’s green-room roadkill), I was never a big fan of this guy but at 27 he’s a steal. I was wrong about David West --maybe Arthur can fit that bill as well..

Miami Heat

Grade: Hmmm.

Round 1: Michael Beasley (2)
Round 2: Mario Chalmers (34), Darnell Jackson (52)

Analysis: Oh Beasly. Your DUI is waiting…as is your paternity suit..as is your lawsuit from the guy you punched at Scores…as is your fine for walking out of practice while dumping over the Gatorade tank.. as is your suspension for bitching to the press that your coach is a douchebag...as is..
Get the picture?
I also picture him dropping 20p 10r in his sleep. Trouble is, Z-bo can do the same thing and look where he’s at..
Chalmers is a nice find at 34. They were talking about him at 12 which was crazy but to get him in the second is mighty sweet. Unlike Beasly, he seems like the kind of guy who’ll be a nice back-up PG for the next 10 years and then winds up even better as a coach. His acquisition could effect the pending Memphis trade.

Milwaukee Bucks 

Grade: B

Round 1: Joe Alexander (8)
Round 2: Luc Richard Mbah a Moute (37)

Analysis: The Jefferson trade was sweet but what the hell do they do with Alexander now? He’s two inches short of a Gugliotta. That’s a very important 2 inches.
Moute looks like a nice role player. Didn’t know he’s an African prince. That said, doesn’t he have something more important to do with his time than sit and watch Redd drain 3’s?

Minnesota Timberwolves 

Grade: B

Round 1: Kevin Love (5)
Round 2: Nikola Pekovic (31)

Analysis: I think the Mayo trade works pretty well for Minn ..if they were in the EAST. Frankly, I just think getting Miller and Love improves the Wolves just enough to make them mediocre in the west. It’s a possible talent upgrade but:
A) Love COULD be a total bust (..although I’m hoping not).
B) Love and Jefferson are both short/stocky post-up guys.
At least, they got rid of Jaric’s contract, no?
Side note: Pekovic looks pretty good ..too bad he’s on lockdown for 2 years.

New Jersey Nets 

Grade: B

Round 1: Brook Lopez (10), Ryan Anderson (21)
Round 2: Chris Douglas-Roberts (39)

Analysis: Mixed.
1) Brook Lopez at 10 is a safe pick considering Kristic is probably toast. Still, the buzz is he doesn’t like to play basketball and here’s what was overheard as they miced him during the draft: “~this is BOR-ring!!” “Who’s the coach of the Nets? Frank? Who’s that?” “Can we switch the TV monitor to the Euro Cup??” (alright, I made up the last one..) Anyway, I wouldn’t expect much more than 13p 7r outta this guy down the road.
2) Ryan Anderson: they compare him to a poor white-man’s Yi. Unless you’re trying to corner the market on future Brad Lohaus/Brad Sellers wannabes I don’t see the point.
3) CDR: I completely don’t understand how he goes so late. Where’s the flaw major in his game?? Handle ..check. Shot ..check. Defense ..check. Creativity ..check. Winning experience ..check. Length ..check. Seriously, he might be better than Gallinari. Totally reminds me of a 6’6” Cutino Mobley.
4) As for Yi/Jefferson: If you get LaBron in 2010 ..okay. Otherwise, LAAAAME.

New Orleans Hornets

Grade: Blah

Round 1: None
Round 2: None

Analysis: The Hornets sold the No. 27 pick to the Blazers for $3 million. Unless they were gonna take CDR (which they should have) I’d say it’s a good move.

New York Knicks

Grade: VOMMIT

Round 1: Danilo Gallinari (6)
Round 2: Got this e-mail from Hans:

dude,

i know nothing about this guinea the knicks just drafted...but his highlight reel was hugely depressing. usually the international highlight reels are full of amazing moves, dunks, etc.

this guy looks slow and unexplosive. and he's 6'8". is he a SF?

tell me he's awesome. please.
hans

MY REPLY:
unbelievable they passed on Gordon & Bayless for this dude. i can almost guarantee both average double digits rookie year. even the schmucks who drafted him played down his skills saying shit like, "should turn into a solid player" "pretty good at a lot of stuff" "doesn't need to start". "has defensive issues he needs to work on"

I wanted Avery Johnson as coach. he NEVER woulda taken this al dente piece of shit. looks like the Knick philosophy hasn't changed. D is not a pre-requisite to play on the team. ironic you e-mailed me about Gallinari. i made a comparison of his game to Polsky while we watched the draft...some guy named Hans Bungle.

translation: Gallinari might do well at Children's Aid but may have major problems in the NBA.

i could be wrong but ...groan.

dlee

Orlando Magic

Grade: B-

Round 1: Courtney Lee (22)
Round 2: None

Analysis: Solid not great …totally shoulda gone for CDR.

Philadelphia 76ers 

Grade: A-

Round 1: Marreese Speights (16)
Round 2: None

Analysis: Gotta say, this guy looks like he could be a major steal. Good size, athleticism, young, good stroke, fluid motion. The knock was on his conditioning. I’d say it’s worth risking a 16 pick on lottery talent at that spot.

Phoenix Suns 

Grade: B+

Round 1: Robin Lopez (15)
Round 2: Malik Hairston (48)

Analysis: Robin Lopez seems way cooler than his brother. I get a feeling him and Nash are gonna be smoking pot and riding around the Village on skateboards a lot. Who wouldn’t want to hang with a 7ft Sideshow Bob? Can’t wait to see him and Varejao guarding each other. Play by play guys will be spitting bad jokes like watermelon seeds at a county fair..
Hope Robin doesn’t wind up tasting Shaq’s ass.

Portland Trail Blazers

Grade: A

Round 1: Jerryd Bayless (11), Nicolas Batum (25)
Round 2: None

Analysis: I’ve recently pondered moving to Portland and this confirms how cool it would be in terms of hoops. Assuming Oden healthy, they are SOOOOO loaded for the next 5 years. Add last years well-reviewed import Rudy Fernandez to the mix and these guys are sitting in the catbird seat of the future. Oden, Roy, Aldridge, Bayless, Fernandez, Allen’s deep pockets, Pritchard as GM, McMiilian as coach = future success.
Not only that, they got Frye, Outlaw, Batum, and Webster to use as trade bait.
Sick.

Sacramento Kings 

Grade: C

Round 1: Jason Thompson (12)
Round 2: Sean Singletary (42), Patrick Ewing Jr. (43)

Analysis: Nice kid. Passable game. Kinda early in the draft for another Channing Frye.

San Antonio Spurs 

Grade: ?

Round 1: George Hill (26)
Round 2: Goran Dragic (42), James Gist (57)

Analysis: No idea.

Seattle SuperSonics

Grade: C+

Round 1: Russell Westbrook (4), Serge Ibaka (24), D.J. White (29)
Round 2: DeVon Hardin (50), Sasha Kaun (56)

Analysis: Westbrook claims he's a point guard. Hey, i can also claim to be a point guard when i'm on the court. Still, any asshole who's ever seen me handle the rock (like a drunken sailor handling a sloppy French whore) knows if I'm at the helm you better look at the sidelines for someone better to guide your ship. Don't get me wrong, he's a phenom athlete who plays great D and finishes. Thing is, he can't really shoot and has no mid-range game. kinda like ...Fred Jones or Antonio Daniels.
This is a major reach.
DJ White = Lonnie Baxter
Ibaka = whatever
Kaun = actual decent back-up C with Jeff Forster potential ..still, he already signed a contract in Russia so..

Toronto Raptors 

Grade: ?&(^%!

Round 1: None
Round 2: Nathan Jawai (41)

Analysis: I think the O’Neal trade is eerily similar to the dreaded Kidd trade. Giving up a young stud for a high-priced vet on the downturn?
Time will tell..

Utah Jazz 

Grade: A-

Round 1: Kosta Koufos (23)
Round 2: Ante Tomic (44), Tadija Dragicevic (53)

Analysis: Koufos was supposed to be top 10 next year. I’ve seen this guy. He’s pretty damn good for a legit 7 footer. Give him a year or two and this could be a major steal.

Washington Wizards

Grade: D-

Round 1: JaVale McGee (18)
Round 2: None

Analysis: El Busto.
Never EVER draft a 7 foot guy who averages 7 rebounds in a shit conference.
Especially, if the have a ridiculous name like JaVale McGee.
Smell ya later..
DLEE

get big

Welcome to 2008, my friends. It's going to be a hell of a year and I can't wait to be a part of it.

Time to talk resolutions. But first, the obligatory progress check on last year's goals:

I made one New Year's Resolution. That ain't saying I only want to improve/change one thing; just that most likely I will be pretty much the same schmuck this year as I was last year so I may as well set a realistic single goal for something that I might actually do. And that thing is giving up sugar soda. No more sugar soda anymore. That stuff is just no good. Delicious, but no good. It won't be easy but I can do it. And if I succeed, I might move on to some other resolutions. You'll be the first to know.

Well, I gave that shit up for a large part of the year, maybe 6 months, maybe 9, but somehow I slipped and now I am half diet soda, half regular. I need to get that straightened out.

As for resolutions for año cero ocho, to hell with that. Once again, I am going to be the same schmuck as I was in years 1972-2007, making the same bad decisions, cracking the same obvious jokes, feeling much of the same stress. Why kid myself? I am weak and scatterbrained and can rarely keep my train on the tracks for more than a few seconds at a time.

So in lieu of changing the things I do, I have decided to change the way in which I do them. No more half-assery, no more tentative Charlie Brown-style pussin' around, no more laying low and hoping nobody notices me. Every thing I do this year, I will do with passion, with flair, with commitment. If I suck, I will suck with a vengeance. I will scream and yell and apologize with sincerity. On the rare moments where I excel, I will gloat and dance and let the world know how awesome I am.

I will look people in the eye. I will speak in a full voice when I share my opinion.

The simplest acts in life, the ones we think of as mundane, are really opportunities to demonstrate grace and panache.

Example: the elevator door is closing. You want to activate the sensor that makes it open again so you can get on. Maybe someone is on the elevator pretending not to see you, maybe it's empty. Either way, the instinct is to halfheartedly stick a toe in, or your umbrella, or give it a lame wave of the arm -- something that could trigger the sensor but might not.

Fuck that. From now on I am kicking my entire leg through that door, kung fu style. I may even let out a yell. Or I may go Rockette style, humming a show tune as I let loose. Either way, I will go big and my life will be slightly more exciting because of it (providing my lower leg is not severed and I avoid groin pulls).

When I go on a coffee run, I will tell even more enthusiastic corny jokes to the cashier. They may think I am a fool, but their day will be better for it. (*Tried this today and it was met with a cold stare and complete silence -- who cares, it was worth it!)

When I play basketball, I will jack up a few crazy shots just for the hell of it -- they won't go in, but they will be fun. Nobody will mind.

I have always shied away from physical contact -- handshaking, hugs hello, unironic high-fiving, etc. No longer: I am going to embrace you and slap your hand whenever I get the chance. You are great, man. I like you! Why not show it?

If there is a chance for a good fake fight, I will take it.

So that is my simple resolution: to take 2008 and make it my personal joyride. I am going to soak up every moment, I am going to be loose and goofy and full of spice. Join me. Or at least tell me your resolutions.

Would a midsummer moustache be out of the question? I hope not.

PPF FYI

This is the first installment of a little thing we like to call "Past, Present, Future." It is really no more than a cheap excuse for me to reveal a few things about myself, things you may not have known. Things you need to know. It's so simple I don't think I even need to explain how it works.

I. School/Work/Career

Past: I never had good study habits growing up, but it didn't really come back to bite me until my sophomore year in high school. Sometime around February 1985, I had a secret psychological breakdown. I still don't know exactly what caused it or what it meant, but I just about flunked out of school before I got the ship righted again. The truth is, my h.s. diploma is as tainted as HR ball # 756.

Present: My job is a daily battle to survive. My head is cluttered with intense anxiety and various lame plans for escaping that day's nightmares and moving on to tomorrow. I can't focus, I have little time for my family, and I have no time to think about carving out a better career for myself (or even updating my resume). I am always exhausted or overcaffeinated.

Future: Using "To-do List" technology, I will become more organized and efficient. In my extra time, I will think creative and productive thoughts, one of which will eventually help me land a job I really love. My work-life balance will be ideal.

II. Bowling

Past: I am pretty decent for a down-the-middle, no-hook bowler, with a career high of 193 or 194. I average about a 150.

Present: I have not bowled in quite some time and I miss it. Let's go bowling this weekend.

Future: I just want to go on record that no child of mine shall ever participate in bowling with the bumpers along the gutters -- at least not on my watch. Maybe if they go to another kid's birthday party or something like that that's out of my control, it will happen. But I am completely opposed to it. When my kid first goes bowling, she will get the 33 or whatever we all get the first time we bowl, and then she will want to get better. I have too much respect for her as a person, and more importantly for bowling as a sport, to let her do the bumper thing. It's moronic. Are kids really excited after they get a strike that was banked off the damn bumper? WHY TEACH THEM THAT IT IS OK TO SUCK? SUCKING IS NOT AS GOOD AS EXCELLING. A REAL STRIKE = EXCELLING. A BUMPER-AIDED STRIKE = SUCKING AND BEING LIED TO ABOUT IT. IF YOU THROW IT IN THE GUTTER, YOU NEED TO STRAIGHTEN THAT SHIT OUT AND DO BETTER THE NEXT TIME. OTHERWISE, WHY FUCKING BOWL AT ALL? Apply the bumper theory to other sports and you will see how stupid it is.

III. Basketball

Past: Once I stayed up 'til 1:30 am on a school night watching the Showtime Lakers squeak out a home win against the hapless, hustling '86 Knicks. Magic Johnson kept complaining to the refs all game, infuriating me. After the game I sat down and wrote him a bitter, irrational letter. I never sent it, but I still remember the exact anger I felt that night. I might type that shit up again from memory right now. I used to be passionate about basketball.

Present: I am trying to play more hoops. Whenever I see pictures of Laguna Beach I get inspired. I can't watch the freaking Knicks without a barf bag (wouldn't it be funny if the Knicks ran a promotion called Barf Bag Night?) but I did recently plop down 150 bucks for NBA League Pass. On the rare nights that I have time, I get to watch any NBA game I want. And I like it a lot. And if I ever get around to faxing them a copy of my cable bill, I can watch 'em all live on my compooter, freeing up the TV for the wife.

Future: I am getting old and slow and will probably have to stop playing at some point in the next few years. But I do look forward to the Knickerbockers' memorable 2013 playoff run. Also, I don't think a player should ever be called for a charge if he has released his shot already and then crashes into a defender who is just setting up there trying to get the contact (and possibly injuring both players).

Also, why isn't there a good basketball website? Free Darko is OK from time to time but they take things a bit too seriously for my taste. Wizznutzz is of course magnificent but doesn't work on firefox for mac, in fact it crashes my browser. Plus, it is more of a site about humanity than it is about basketball. So somebody either clue me in to what I'm missing or let's start a damn basketball website that is good.

IV: Diet/Health

Past: I have eaten nothing but crappy food for the last 37 years. My pop used to make me nachos for dinner -- Doritos with Monterey Jack cheese melted on top. I have continued gaining weight every year of my life. I did go on a modified version of Weight Watchers for a few months six or seven years ago. I lost about 15 pounds but then decided to go back to regular old Bungle-style eating and I gained it all back in like half an hour.

Present: I seem to have stabilized at an unhealthy and grotesque weight and body shape.

Future: I will continue to gain weight until my first heart attack, pre-age 50. Then, motivated by terror, I will lose weight and be skinny for the rest of my days.

V: Shoes

Past: I have never had really cool work shoes, but I have owned a shitload of basketball sneakers through the years. Even at this moment, I own 6 pairs.

Present: For Christmas, my wife got me a pair of boot-shoes that I really like. Check 'em out:

I have had good experiences with the Clarks in the past. Real simple and comfy. I think these will be my regular work shoes for the next few months. (Update: Unless my feet keep sweating the way they have been the last couple of days.)

Future: I will continue to wear shoes.

VI: Drinking

Past: Between the ages of 16 and 35, I drank a ton of beer. Fuck that, more than a ton. About 8 tons, by my conservative estimate. I used to love drinking beer, I really did. Just the sight of an unopened case of Old Milwaukee made me giddy with anticipation. I never liked blacking out or morning-after anxiety, though. I used to encounter both of those about once a week.

Present: I drink about three or four beers a week. Maybe twice a year I will exceed three beers in a night. On those nights, lock your doors and hide your fireworks.

Future: I will continue drinking about three or four beers a week. That works out pretty good for me.

VII: Relationship with La Toya Jackson

Past: I never had an intimate relationship with La Toya Jackson.

Present: I am married with a child and vehemently deny that there is anything going on between me and La Toya Jackson.

Future: Who can predict the future?

VIII: Facial Hair

Past: I never had much more than a few stray hairs stickin' outta me chin.

Present: In 2007, I finally attempted to grow a moustache. It wasn't all I hoped for, but it was pretty incredible nonetheless. I miss it. My misstache. Whatever, here is the final photo taken of it before it got shaved.

Look into my eyes (but not too close!) -- I think this shot demonstrates how emotionally difficult it was for me to euthanize the ol' lipsnake. At the very least, you get a free gander at some chest and neck zits. And since we are here, it is time for me to give my long overdue moustache-troops donation info. If you pledged money in support of my 'stache, you can give it to the Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund. I'm sure they are corrupt and your money will end up somehow going to Dick Cheney's rent boy, but it's worth a shot. I am giving $40 as promised. In case you have forgotten, here are your pledges.

Future: I need an excuse to grow another one. A better one. A moustache that redefines masculinity for the 21st century. What, you say my first moustache already did that? Then I'll do it again.

IX: Hometown

Past: I grew up in NYC, then lived in Madison, Wisconsin for 6 years. Then I moved back to NYC and I've been here for the last 14 years.

Present: I live in one of the "luxury" apartments of Stuyvesant Town, but the rents are getting so ridiculous we will have to move soon. Maybe to the boonies of the Bkn.

If we do move, maybe the suburbs are a good bet, too. Although Brooklyn is not getting left out of the suburban-style holiday fever, let me tell you. Check out this atrocity:

Future: I think I will move to Southern California at some point in the next five years. I want to be outside 52 weeks a year. I want my kid to ride dirt bikes and catch rattlesnakes. I want beaches and mountains and a newspaper with all the box scores in it. This city's got me feeling like a motherfucker.

scrub 2.0

When we took our baby in for her 6 month check-up, she was big for her age. Tall, but also heavy. In fact, her weight was ahead of her height on the weight-height index or whatever they call it. The doctor assured us it was nothing to worry about.

"For the first couple of years, it really doesn't matter if they're overweight or not," she said. "But once they turn two, if they are overweight, they will probably struggle with weight for their entire lives."

What?

That doesn't seem right.

Anyway, when she went in for her one year check-up, she had sprouted up in height and had seemingly put her obesity problems behind her thanks to a daily regimen of healthy eating, good sleep and punching other kids in the face for no reason. So we relaxed.

And then came her two-year checkup, and wouldn't you know it, she got fat again. Like she's in the 80th percentile of weight to height. We'll try to help her regain her figure, but I guess she's probably screwed.

And it made me wonder, if she's screwed, if her appetites and habits are already too ingrained to change, what hope is there for poor 38 year-old fools like me?

Since I was like 7, I've taken really crappy care of myself. I don't know why exactly, probably some deep-rooted fuckedupedness, or maybe just laziness, or maybe poor self-esteem, or self-hate, or maybe because taking crappy care of yourself just feels good.

My diet is a disgrace. I've understood this for years; I've watched myself go from an awkward skinny guy to a fat guy in baggy clothes trying to fool the world. I'm not as fat as the fattest person you know but I probably eat worse food than he does. One night about 8 years ago I ran into a guy from high school at the Blue and Gold, and he was like, "Damn, you got heavy." And that was like 15 pounds ago. (P.S. for some reason I didn't box his stupid ears when he said this.)

So it's true. I need to exercise more, lose weight, and take it easy on the chunky chews. And I never do a damn thing about any of it except for acknowledging it. This condition, along with the fact that I recently shotgunnned a Pabst on a pitcher's mound, makes me an American. But being an American doesn't help me live longer or look more like the stallion that I know lives inside me. I need to make some changes, or at least promise to make some changes and then forget about them.

I have a new desk at work, and the other two people in my office are very fit. One is a woman who prepares and eats healthy meals every day. The other is a dude who is 6'5", maybe 195 pounds of lean manhood. Once or twice a day, he drops to the floor and does 50 pushups. It's pretty cool, actually. He's a fascinating character, a real-life southern gentleman with a great sense of humor and a positive attitude. He's sort of my new hero. And the woman is constantly pressuring me to eat right, to the point where the three of us and one other guy are all now eating our meals together every day -- veggie wraps that we make right in the office. So I am getting on the right track. I need to join my buddy and do some pushups, but I think hitting the wall after 3 might make me look bad.

But diet and exercise are just the first step. I need to do a bunch of stuff that will make me a better man. Here's my short list of small goals I don't expect to reach:

-Stop reading celebrity news in any format. My wife will bring home an Us Weekly and I will pretend to judge her for it for a few minutes, then I inevitably read it cover to cover myself. Celebrity gossip is the lowest form of entertainment, it's like batter-fried cheez doodles for the brain and I want you to stop reading it, too.

-Continue my semi-return to hoops. I played (and won) three full-court games on Saturday in 90 degree heat, and it made me feel 10 years younger. Then we had a terrible Sunday night softball game without DLee, and it reminded me that if I get only three hours a week to play sports, it may as well be spent playing the game I love best and not the one that actually makes me gain weight as I play.

-Buy a Wizznutzz T-shirt. I never look at Wizznutzz anymore because it crashes my Firefox every time I go there, but JCJ has one of the most original and compelling sites on the ol' intertubes. So check out their store for some awesome designs.

-Continue downloading some of the great songs you guys suggested for me. Thank you for the effort, I am far more able to rock now than I was a week ago.

-Not tell anyone the embarrassing story about how I returned my (GIFT!) iPhone to the store, had problems with the Apple staff, caused a bit of a scene, got what I wanted, and made an asshole out of myself in the process. And the assholery may not be over yet. Lesson learned. Oh, and the iPhone is pretty cool, other than the ludicrous decision to a) use the slow EDGE network that is about to get phased out and b) load full versions of websites. Loading stuff takes forever, unless you're in a hotspot. And hotspots don't really help you when you are using a MOBILE device. Anyway, I am ashamed on a number of levels about the thing but I think I'll get over it.

-Refrain from stealing cigarettes in bars. Hasn't happened in like 10 years, but it's always good to stay vigilant.

-Think more of others and less of me. Tough and generally unrewarding, but probably necessary in the end.

-Root for Stephon Marbury even though he may have some knuckles in his head. His charity stuff seems to me to be unequaled by other athletes.

-Blog at least once a week, maybe twice.

-Drink lotsa water.

-Actively hate the Red Bastards. I don't think we can catch 'em, but I want to get into the playoffs so we can possibly face them. Unfortunately, I think they have a better team this year so they might pound us, but it would be fun just to get there.

-Organize my workspace at the office. Before the juggernaut gets loose and it's too late.

-Read one book every month.

-Get more sleep. Starting right now.

If you can think of any other ways I could suck less, let me know.

38 not special

Ouch.

I am 38 years old today.

Old enough that I actually consider lying when people ask me my age, especially at work.

I played hoops for half an hour on Saturday against a bunch of dudes, mostly around 18-22 years old. They split us up into teams by age, and I was the oldest by far. The guy I was guarding was probably like 19 and he thought he was pretty good. I laid off him and dared him to make an outside shot. He insisted on driving and I blocked his shot like three times. On offense, I threw my fat ass around in the lane and got like 85% of the available rebounds. Then I'd roll out a few ancient head fakes and score. They started calling me "Vlade." That's what it's come to -- on a good day, my game inspires comparisons to a 55 year-old bearded Serb who looks like he's in desperate need of a shower. (Reality check: Vlade is only a year older than me and was actually well known for his extreme commitment to cleanliness.)

I'd like to fill you in with a pbdotc-style 'chicken soup' column in which I list all the things I've learned in my 38 years, but nothing comes to mind.

So let me just say that the world has been incredibly kind to me and I appreciate it with all my heart. My good breaks are way ahead of my bad breaks. I've got more than I could ever want and I love this planet as much as I did when I was 21. I can still run around and play and laugh and drink and high-five and sing like a true asshole when called upon.


Which leads me to discuss something that I really don't need.

Dudes, I didn't ask for it, I didn't plan on it, and I don't fully support it, but I am getting an iPhone today as a gift. And I will make love to it all night long.

Enjoy pbdotc's recap of Sunday night's softball in the rain. In my opinion it was the most satisfying game all season. Even if I still don't know how to shotgun a beer properly.

the open man

I guess I've mentioned 6 or 8 times on here that Kevin Garnett is my favorite basketball player. Probably ever. I don't even know that much about him. But I get the sense that he is a righteous man in almost every way. And I think that righteousness reveals itself in how he plays ball. He may not be the ultimate 'winner' -- the guy who will get pissed, take over a game and destroy the opponent all by himself. He's more of an "I'm excellent every day, all day, forever" kind of dude, which is interesting because he is also one of the most intense and competitive players in any sport. But rather than score 35 a night, even when that is the thing that would benefit his team the most, he chooses to spread the ball around, clinging to the probably naive belief that the open man is the right man to take the shot, no matter his name, no matter his salary, no matter his ability. The sad thing is that in Minnesota, that open man was never good enough and kept getting worse. But Garnett kept looking for him, encouraging him, believing in him. Trusting that more help was on the way. It was only in the last couple of weeks that he realized help wouldn't arrive until it was too late, until he was no longer good enough to use it.

You could probably legitimately criticize him as an athlete for this openheartedness; I choose to applaud him. He plays the game the way he lives his life: with a love and respect for his fellow man. Every time I hear him speak, I can't help thinking: there is a person of tremendous depth and humanity.

Now, in Boston, the open man is going to be Ray Allen. When it's not Ray Allen, it's gonna be Paul Pierce.

And on some nights, the open man is gonna be KG himself.

simple and right

Look, there's not that much going on right now, so I am going to keep talking about HIATUS and the moustache project and that type of crap. You may not really care about that stuff, you may be all, Enough Already, but I won't stop. All I can say is, when you see this moustache, you are going to have a hard time not falling in love with it. In love with me. In love with us.

So feel free to click elsewhere for awhile if you aren't interested. This is what we're about right now.

So my HIATUS is going to (finally) officially start on Tuesday. I guess you could say it starts today but I am working a few hours on Tuesday (and not getting paid, long story). How did that happen? Where did HIATUS go? Where have all the cowboys gone? My HIATUS is now less than a three week deal (although I did have two weeks in Cali that were pretty spectacular, have to count those). The reduction in time off has forced me to scale back my little boy dreams about what exactly is going to go down in the next three weeks.

I gotta simplify. So here's what I got (in addition to the usual glorious things I do every day):

1) See my ailing pops as much as possible.
2) Play basketball enough so that I suck 42% less than I do now. The last time I played was an embarrassment to pudgy pushing-40 fuckups everywhere.
3) Read at least one book. First, probably the Paul Auster book that Mrs. Sandals just loaned me. Then finish Stop-Time.
4) Have afternoon drinks at least one time.
5) Write a story based on an idea I had as I was going to sleep the other night. Not a great idea but good enough to get out of bed and write down.
6) Ponder how the Knicks just managed to get more unlikable. Zach Randolph? They didn't give up much but I would rather have nothing than have him.
7) Grow a moustache. It starts on Monday and runs through the end of July, which has prompted me to finally give it a name: The Monthstache. It's like a reunion tour of your favorite band. You have a limited time to catch it so don't miss out. I think I'm going for a Don Mattingly 1984,
with a dash of horrible late-period Eddie Murphy as well:

There, that's it. Very manageable.

on the beach

It was, as Ice Cube would often say to me back in the early 90's as we laid on our backs in the sand after a carefree afternoon spent wading in the surf, chasing girls and playing Kadima, a good day.

Walked in 72 degree sunshine. Played hoops at Laguna Beach. Took Baby Bungle into the ocean and she loved it.

Didn't even have to carry any keys. The less keys you're carrying, the more fun you're having.

Only downside is I got me some sunburn. Neck, nose, arms, feet, legs, and, I believe, eyeballs. Nose is looking like it might just fall right off. I used some SPF 40 sunblock, too. I guess I was a little haphazard in the application, and I paid the price.

To protect my eyes and face, I borrowed some low-budg hat and eye-wear from the in-laws. I was sexy. So sexy that I decided that when I grow my manly stache, I may have to sport some oversize cheapo sunglasses to keep it company. Picture this stud with a full-on furlip. It's scary.


Also, I kind of just plain suck at basketball these days. I had a decent moment here and there but I was out of breath and I kept getting stripped of the ball by younger and more competent players. Oh well, I did manage to win most of the games, including one against some dudes who shoulda killed us. No pictures were taken, so you'll just have to imagine how sexy I looked in my sweaty undershirt.

I hope cW's rooftop blowout was a blast, I wish I could have been there. Rooftops + Warm Weather + Beer = Guaranteed Fun.

I saw Spiderman 3. Piece of shit. And I loved 1 & 2.

I am also looking for a nice HIATUS read. I bought a Babe Ruth biography and I can already tell it sucks. I think Mrs. Sandals is hooking me up with a Paul Auster book I haven't read, but until then I am open to suggestions. As always, a good coming of age novel would be swell.

stop the flop

Jeff Van Gundy, who is turning out to be a somewhat entertaining and insightful announcer (I like the sarcastic interplay between him and Mark Jackson -- it's like a slightly more intelligent update on Bill Walton vs. Snapper Jones), went off the other night about flopping and how he hopes it is addressed next season by the league. I agree 100%.

Flopping, and the way defenders leap dangerously underneath driving offensive players in an attempt to draw charging fouls, is the single biggest reason basketball isn't as much fun as it used to be.

In the Golden Age of Basketball, an offensive foul used to happen a few times a game, when the player with the ball either:

1) Cleared out space with his off hand as he shot
2) Ran at full speed into a defender who was planted.

Rarely, and I admittedly have no statistical data to support this, would an offensive player be called for a charge when he had already left his feet on his way to the hoop. Nor when he was backing down a defender in the post. Now the paint is full of bodies. Guys are diving all over the place searching for calls. Defenders are scrambling to get in front of driving offensive players in an insane race "to the spot." Guys are falling down and getting hurt. Whistles are blowing. Flow is interrupted. Channels are turned.

Suggested solution:
1) Review game tape and punish floppers with a point system leading to an eventual suspension.
2) Stop calling offensive fouls when guys are being undercut. Stop calling offensive fouls when dudes fall down after a post player leans on them slightly. Adjust the dial on block/charge by like 25% until guys stop using "step-in and take the hit" as a defensive strategy.

One guy who plays pure defense is Andrei Kirilenko. He rotates off his man to help, he goes after blocks and steals, he tries to stay in front of the guy he's guarding, but he doesn't resort to flopping and begging. As much of a mess as he is offensively, he is a joy to watch on D.

***

Hope you had a good weekend. I have only three work days left until HIATUS. I have started putting together some ideas for how I will spend it. Thanks for your suggestions. I appreciate DLee's thought that I should be looking for another job that is less soul-sapping. I probably won't get around to it, though. I'm fucking spent. One thing I will attempt to do is eat better. Stay away from the chunky chews. Get back to my sexy weight.

Disjointed new softball recap is live.

brent barry: deadbeat scuzzball

I've been so very tired lately. Just counting down the daze until my hiatus rescues me. I have been working one (Shawshank) job from like 9am-7pm and then coming home and working on my other job from like 10pm-4am. So I would guess that at my best I am operating at 62% efficiency right now.

Last night I tried to stay up and work but got so burned out that I decided to treat myself to a ten minute break to watch some of the Spurs-Suns game I had DVR'd earlier in the evening. It was like 3am and I plopped down on the couch, honestly thinking I could go back to work after a few minutes. Of course I started drifting off to sleep almost immediately. You know that state when you are fighting to stay awake but like 80% of your brain has entered shutdown mode, and you keep waking up and trying to convince yourself that you can snap out of it, but it's a hopeless battle? That was me. Just cashed. Every few minutes I would open an eye or two and look at the TV screen. However, my powers of cognition were so depleted that I could no longer understand what it was that I was watching. Again: I ceased comprehending that there was a basketball game on. The last thing I remember was seeing Brent Barry and thinking, "Oh...that dude. I think he owes me money!" I repeat: I thought Brent Barry was an acquaintance who owed me money.

That is fucking tired.

Two more weeks of this crap. Two more brutal weeks and then it's moustachioed afternoons at the bar, bike rides down the WSH, dancing with bruised redheads in the park, and figuring out the rest of my life. Oh, and maybe some Doritos when nobody's looking.

The real reason I'm posting today is to alert you of two fresh pieces of digital content:

1) Season's first softball recap is live, thanks to PBdotC.
2) My good friend from college, redneck-thwarting bcny, has started a cool blog. Check it!

O'Malley's Rule: Never Bet with Your Heart

From last Monday through this Sunday, my life was a 168-hour suckfest of the 19th order.

One week, countless humiliations, failures, aggravations, irritations, and anxieties. And I am completely spent now. I look and feel like a zombie with a tequila hangover.

Working a week at my old job was far far more unpleasant than I'd anticipated, and I'd anticipated it being quite unpleasant. It was good to see certain people but others acted like fuckweeds. I'll spare you the details.

I also repeatedly tripped on a stupid bunched-up rubber safety mat that had been improperly installed. This happened like 38 times. Once I actually fell forward and jammed both hands hard on the counter. When you're already in the middle of a crappy day, stuff like that really turns you into a raging maniac. Which for me meant that I muttered a few swear words, phoned in a complaint to the facilities department, and continued my business. But in another universe I stormed out of the room without saying goodbye to anyone, after kicking those who desperately needed it right in the balls.

In the middle of the shittiness of the work situation, I was further tested when Ma Bungle got stuck in Toronto for three days due to bad weather, leaving me to take care of Baby Bungle on my own. Thank God that she's such a good kid. She didn't give me any problems at all. Only a couple times did she even say "Mommy?" as in "Where the fuck is Mommy?" When she did, I would say, "Mommy's at work," and she'd nod and say, "work," like, "wow, mommy works hard for the good of this family and I for one appreciate it." What a kid.

The nanny helped cover some of the extra baby shifts, so on Saturday I rushed out of work to relieve her after what was probably the lamest day in my mediocre career. Not the hardest day but one of the most stressful and unsuccessful. A series of small calamities, some of which were unresolved when I bolted out of there. I hate leaving stuff in the air.

Ma Bungle finally got home at like 2am. Then this morning we had to do some stuff, which we did, and then I wanted to go home and watch some of the Wisconsin game on TV. Of course, a) it wasn't televised here and b) they shit the bed anyway. Serves me right for picking them. On the way home from our errands I stopped for a six-pack of Rolling Rock at the corner deli and the lady behind the counter had to look up the price on the wall (bad sign).

"$13.00," she said.

"$13.00?!?" I said. "I think there's some kind of mistake."

"No, no mistake," she said.

I shook my head and returned the sixer to the shelf. I've been buying Rolling Rock beer in New York City for over 20 years, and I am fairly certain that it is never $13 for a six-pack. The reason I buy it is because it is never $13 for a six pack. For more than five years it was $5.50 at the deli across from my shitbox apartment on East 9th street, although that six-pack was actually a 12-pack that the guy sawed in half to maximize his profits (and give us a good deal at the same time). Generally I don't think it should be more than $7 for a sixer, even at a deli. Although maybe I'm a couple years behind on that. Whatever the case, I went to Gristede's right next door to the deli and picked up a sixer for $7.58, which suddenly seemed like a bargain.

Ma Bungle did bring me back a nice gift from her trip, a pair of swanky headphones (pictured above). I am liking them much better than my previous pair, which occasionally sent mammoth electric shocks through my skull.

I am ready for some spring weather and some Yankee baseball.

The tournament thus far has seemed way suckier than usual. I haven't seen that much but it just seems dull. And somehow CBS only booked college basketball's best play by play man Gus Johnson for the first weekend, replacing him with snooze-inducer James Brown at the Sweet 16. Senseless. And that curmudgeonly prick Billy Packer and his terrifyingly bland partner Jim Nantz will get the big assignments as always. I just don't fucking get it. Sigh. I guess my memo of two years ago fell on deaf ears.

2 points for each thing you suggest that probably annoys Billy Packer, up to ten suggestions per person.

shankin like al franken

So I am halfway through my 6-day Shawshank Tour at my old job. It hasn't been easy. Not one thing in particular has ruined it, just a series of small bad things that at the end of the day make my brainial ulcer bleed. In short, there's some fucked up bullshit going on. But what can you do? The Man lays down the rules, the rest of us just try to get ours and get out before we get squashed. Only three days left. Only three days left.

Too bad Wisconsin lost their lanky honky. They might have done some damage in this year's tournament. Oh well, I'm still picking 'em to go to the Final Four, because that's what you do when your school is a 1 or a 2 seed. Otherwise the possibility of acute roundball regret is too scary. Usually you insulate yourself by turning in a second, less emotion-based bracket, but not this year for me. Too busy. Go Badgers! Do it for Rashard Griffith! Do it for Steve Yoder!

Get even more caught up in the hoophype with Dan K.'s Slate piece about the death of the bracketmaster. I was the bracketmaster at one time. I loved it and hated it and finally gave it up. And I don't miss it even one little bit. My wife will never let me forget our vacation in South Florida in 2003 (starting on 3/16 -- also note that that was verbungle.com's frist month of existence and that I was already longing for a moustache), when I wasted a significant portion of the trip holed up in the hotel room fixing glitches in my first-ever internet-based pool. Sorry baby.

Oh and nobody got MDillyhairmetalballaddat: the answer was Warrant's "I Saw Red." What was MDilly thinking? What was America thinking?