Contact Us
 

10/31/04: Let's talk about how dumb I am

Or let's really not.  Whatever.

It's Halloween, and somehow I've failed to come up with a good outfit for the 36th consecutive year.  I think maybe I should go as somebody old (Mr. Magoo?), because that's how I've been feeling today:

1. I threw my back out playing hoops.  Even though I've never hurt my back before, I've always respected the seriousness of back injuries.  Seeing Bird and Mahorn and all those other guys, laying flat on their bellies in front of the bench, itching to play, left its mark on me. I have periodically been thankful for the fact that my back has remained pain-free for virtually my entire life. And somehow I knew that back pain would be the most immobilizing pain there is.  After today's severe tweak, I know I was right. It just sucks.  I can barely tie my shoes or sit down comfortably. I hope it goes away.  There's no reason a finely-tuned athlete such as myself should be suffering like this.
2. I saw cW tonight for dinner and a drink at the bar.  Home by 11ish. Everybody in the bar was in costume, some more creative than others. One guy had McEnroe '79 down pretty well, and one unkempt, makeup-smeared girl was going as "Walk of Shame."  A couple people we were talking to suggested that I should dress up.  When we asked them who I look like, they gave the answer "Donald Trump." Ouch Ouch Ouch.  I don't need Brad Pitt.  But can I at least get a Jason Bateman or a Fred Savage?
3. Something else happened today, but I am old and have forgotten.

OK, late Sunday night at some point, after all wise people have pulled the covers up to their chins and drifted off to beautiful sleep, I will post the next image for the google image search game.  I feel sorta bad about the way the first couple have turned out; I should have posted some clear rules at some point sooner than this.  But I feel like Joe M. legitimately got both answers, and my original intent was to make you guess exactly what I typed into the old google search bar, and he pretty much did that, so I am going to let his two points stand.  I think the game has been enough fun to be played at least one more time, and I have at least one more book worth giving away, so I hope you'll forgive me if your excellent answers went unrewarded this go-round.  Plus, you still have time to catch Joe. He ain't that bright. So here are the rules, updated through this moment but still very much subject to change:

1. I will post an image, possibly on this page, or perhaps on a page CLEARLY LINKED from this page, and that will be the image of the day.
2. You may start typing answers into the comments section at noon eastern; anything typed before then will be considered an attempt to ruin the game and will be ignored and/or deleted.  The first correct post-noon answer is the winner.
3. The goal is not just to submit a search term which brought up the image in question -- you have to guess the term my dirty little fingers actually typed into the search box, pretty much exactly as I typed it. I reserve the right to grant leeway.
4 The image must appear on the first three results pages for the search in question.  I may trim that to one page if nobody gets any answers right.
5. There must be something visible in the image that makes it a logical (but not necessarily obvious) result for that particular search.
6. You can just guess shit if you want, or you can check your guesses on google before submitting them. 
7. The first one to get three correct answers will receive a used copy of Steve Martin's reasonably charming 2000 novella Shopgirl, shipping and handling included.
8. Since Hugh's hours are slightly different than everyone else, he may submit one (1) answer via email prior to noon if he likes.  I will post this at noontimeish and it will count as his first guess.
9.  You can guess as often as you like.

Feel free to email me or post your thoughts, complaints, and addenda to these rules at any point.  I reserve the right to veto whatever the hell I want..

I know it's wrong, but I am happy for the Red Sox and their idiotic fans.  Although Manny's Jeter sign was bush league and goes a long way towards illustrating how new winning is to the Red Sox. You BEAT us.  BRUTALLY.  You don't need to taunt us.  It makes you look like amateurs, like you still consider us the gold standard.  You need to be happy for yourselves, not happy because we're unhappy.  Remember: Act like you've done it before.  Even if you never have. Punkasses.

I love my new phone. It does all sorts of amazing shit.  I'm so happy with it I think I will overlook the fact that it gets half the signal strength of my previous phone and I haven't had one clear call on it so far. If I wanted to have clear conversations, I would have bought something far less snazzy and toy-like.

That's about it, please let me know if you have any suggestions for a brilliant last-minute costume.

10/29/04: The Same Damn Animal*

Sure enough, Schilling issued a formal endorsement of Bush on Good Morning America the day after the Red Sox won the World Series.  Curt, you already own one of the uglier gas faces in town, now step up and say hello to your new teammates on the verbungle.com boycott list.  To think that Pete was bashing Jeter for his largely innocent banter with Bush at the 2001 World Series.  I wonder what he'll say about this.  Hopefully he will join me in declaring Schilling one of 2004's Most Nauseating People.  Bloody sock or not.

Just a couple more Red Sox thoughts.  A lot has been made over the last 48 hours about all the Sox fans who didn't live to see this day, the people who just couldn't hang on any longer. And I have to admit it touches even my plastic Yankee fan heart. And it got me thinking about the one person who I wish had lived to see it: Teddy Ballgame.  Born 12 days before the Sox won the World Series in 1918, and died just a couple years before they finally did it again. His life was pretty neatly framed by those two titles, and it's too bad he never got one of his own.  One of my all-time favorite athletes, and he even pre-dated Billy Beane philosophically:

"Getting on base is how you score runs," Williams explained. "Runs win ball games."

Sleep peacefully, Splinter.**

***

Pete mused eloquently yesterday on the World Series marking the end of summer and in some ways the end of life.  On a more practical level, it also marks the worst week of the year to watch sports on TV. No more baseball, no basketball yet, football's only on the weekends. Maybe that's what he meant by dying. 

The Badgers are 8-0, though, yo.

***

When it comes to basketball, I have never considered myself a fuddy-duddy.  I have tried to understand the changes in the game over the years, even if I don't really enjoy watching them take hold. I have always tried to believe that the players and the sport are evolving in some way, that the Golden Greats of the 1980's just couldn't hack it physically in today's game, that all the defense and the missed shots are part of some greater plan that will someday bring the game back to a place where we love it again.  I try not to judge hotdoggers; I think basketball is one of the few sports where you can truly display some creativity and originality. I'm even OK with showing up an opponent with a particularly flamboyant move.   A little humiliation has always been part of the sport.  As long as you have your fundamental game in order, you should cut loose a little bit out there. And when you look at the great showmen through the years - Davies, Cousy, Pistol, Magic, Isiah, etc. -- they all had their fundies under control, which allowed them to get a little experimental without sacrificing quality.  Flair has been a mark of almost every great player through the years.

That said, I don't have any easy answers for why:

-the U.S. is seemingly falling behind other countries in the sport we created, and
-the NBA has become such an ugly game to watch.

I recently read an interview with Shaq in "Slam" magazine (Yes, I read "Slam" magazine) and he was trying to come to terms with the U.S. Olympic loss.  He gave the standard answer: he said that all our kids are obsessed with bullshit schoolyard stuff like you see on the And 1 mix tapes while the international kids are in the gym learning fundamentals, like how to shoot. Easy for Shaq to complain; he's 7'1", 375 and really doesn't have or need any shooting skills.  There aren't many foreigners coming in to take his job. I figured he was just looking for a place to point the finger, which was fine, because he was asked.  But I didn't give this theory much credence, especially because it's what every conservative old coach and announcer has been saying for the last few years.  It sounds like something old men say when they no longer understand the world that has passed them by.

And then as I was flipping through the void of the cable spectrum tonight I came across the And 1 Streetball show on ESPN2.  I am not going to go into detail, but It was the most horrifying display I have seen in ages.  Alert: I am about to start sounding like grandpa. Not only was Shaq right about the lack of fundamentals, but the And 1 tour is teaching people the absolute wrong way to play basketball and the wrong way to live life.  It's sub-moronic. It made me feel terribly sad, especially when I saw that they are selling out 15,000 seat arenas in every city. I know they're just putting on a show, but it's not a pleasant show. It's like a mean-spirited Globetrotters act.  Just shameful. I was appalled, and I am sure this tour and the style of play it promotes have done some real damage to the next generation of ballplayers.  Not just by teaching them the wrong way to play, but also giving them another reason to bank all their dreams on basketball. Can't hack it in school? Not good enough for the pros? Come join the And 1 tour. That should provide modest income for at least 20 of you a year.

It made me really worried.  Take a good look at the NBA this year. It may not look this good again for a long time. 

***

I continue to surprise myself with the depth of my superficiality. Not only do I keep obsessing about my cellphone, but I am actually stupid enough to think you might be interested in reading about it.  Desperate times here at El Bungle.  Too bad; you want highbrow prose, go buy the latest Danielle Steele book. You want free, lightweight observations about meaningless BS, you've come to the right place.

The phone I got yesterday was pretty snazzy, and it was jam-packed with enough features to satisfy most men.  But I wasn't happy.  It was too delicate, maybe a little bit feminine.  It didn't feel substantial in my hand.  And it looked too generic. Plus I had picked it over the Sanyo 8200, which was the successor to my previous phone, the 8100.  The 8100 was a masterpiece.  Sure, it had maybe four or five annoying flaws, but I loved it. It was designed by somebody who actually uses stuff.  Every button and menu was created with the user in mind.  You could intuit anything you didn't know already. So today at work I started feeling remorseful about choosing the stupid gimmicky little woman phone, and I decided to exchange it for the 8200 or I'd spend the next two years regretting it.  Especially because the 8200 came in a blue color which looked really cool to me, although others agreed it was actually quite ugly when I demanded they look at a photo.  I like to force others to share my obsession with new gadgets I am about to purchase for myself. Perhaps you have noticed this.

So I went to our local Radio Shack, where I bought the original phone yesterday and where I've had some truly maddening consumer experiences in the past. When I got there tonight, the stage was set for possible frustration.  There were only two people working, one manager guy and one regular worker guy. Each was helping a customer ahead of me, one with a return (which can always turn ugly), the other with a series of complicated questions about setting up cabling for a home theater system. This customer even had a huge booklet with all the possible configurations on it, and he and the worker guy were examining it at length. There were a few other customers milling around, and I had a feeling it was going to turn into an angry line of entitled New Yorkers.  But I was surprised. The manager guy handled the return smoothly, and I stepped up to exchange my phone.  This could have been a complicated transaction, because there were rebates involved and service had to be changed over, etc. Then some guy came in with a cheap set of headphones that "didn't work." No receipt, no box, just some headphones.  He was pretty fucking rude.  He interrupted my transaction and asked if he could just ask the manager guy a quick question. He then told the manager his situation and the manager asked him if he had a receipt.

"No."
"When did you buy those?"
"A few months ago, and they don't work." (I like how he is implying that they never worked, even though he's owned them for months and probably just sat on them a half an hour ago.)
"So how am I supposed to know you got them here?" the manager asked, reasonably.
"Well, look, they say Radio Shack on them and I live right down the street.  I wouldn't ever go to any other Radio Shack."

Now this dipshit had wasted about a minute of my time with his receiptless return, and a line had formed behind me.  At the other counter, the customer and the worker guy were no closer to unraveling the mystery of the home theater system.  Grumbling was getting underway. The manager guy took swift action. He grabbed the guy some new headphones, lectured him for about a minute, and sent him on his way.  It was the right thing to do.  Then he called out to a young guy who was just milling around, a guy who it turned out works at another Radio Shack, and asked him in Spanish to help out with the home theater situation.  The guy had his coat on, but to his credit he jumped right in there and started answering every question with authority. He was grabbing the (presumably) right cables for the guy and he was just totally on the ball.  This freed up the less knowledgeable worker guy to head back to the register and take care of customers. Shit started moving.  The guy with the coat stayed and helped another customer, just because he saw the need. And the situation was settled quickly. The manager thanked the guy with the coat and shook his hand before coat guy left.  It was just beautiful teamwork and I want to give a shoutout to the W. 72nd Street Radio Shack. You guys took care of business today. Manager guy and coat guy, I thank you for your professionalism and I am going to try to emulate you for at least the next 24 hours.

Headphone return guy, you know you get the shoe, right?

I got my cool phone, and I am happy.  Although they didn't fix any of the flaws.

***

The google image game continues with this gem. Who's got what it takes?  Tell me the answer.

***

Finally, I really don't understand you shameless work poopers.  I went into the men's room to take a leak today, and someone was taking a dook in stall #1.  Knowing there was another person in the room, he still let out an ear-splitting fart, and followed it up immediately with a wet, nasty, honking nose blow.  Obviously impressed with his own emissions, he said, "Wow."  Fuckin' barbarian.

***

* When I was working at the University of Wisconsin Ticket Office in the late 80's and early 90's, the football team was just terrible.  Prior to the 1990 season, they thought (wrongly) that they were going to turn it all around, and started a publicity campaign with a picture of an extra-fierce badger and the caption "Badger Football '90: A Whole New Animal." Of course, we promptly got off to our usual crappy start, and the fans were not happy.  One day, I fielded a call from a ticket holder who wanted his money back.  "You said it was a whole new animal," he said.  "But I'll tell you, it's the same damn animal as last year."
** As peacefully as you can in your cryonic hell.

10/28/04: At least it's over

Well, as Cap C theorized yesterday, the Cardinals either threw the series or just plain gave up.  What a disgrace.  One of the worst world series in recent memory, and it didn't have to be this way. The talent level wasn't as lopsided as the score. The Cards had no aura, no moxie, no attitude,  And the Red Sox came in with guns blazing and balls hanging out. It was like they bullied the Cards right off the field.  The Cardinals didn't lead once in the entire series. That's almost as chumpish as the way the Yanks went out.

Anyway, the Cardinals are a bunch of losers. Same goes for their fans.  It takes a hell of a lot to get those fuckers out of their seats.  Just a depressing scene all the way around.  I said it before and it remains true. The entire complexion of the Yankees-Sox rivalry has been permanently changed.  Yes, we still have like 26 WS wins to their three or four or whatever it is, but if we rely on that to combat their taunts we are suckers.  The dynamic of the rivalry was based on the fact that we always won and they never did.  Now they have beaten us in the most humiliating fashion imaginable en route to the championship.  We are going to hear about this, and we deserve it.  It's going to be 86 years worth of younger brother rage exploding in our face every time we face them.  I am not looking forward to it.

I watched most of the Yankee series with my in-laws out on Southern California, and they aren't huge baseball fans.  I guess that's why Fox's coverage didn't drive me nuts.  The constant fan cutaways were actually kind of nice then, because it gave the in-laws something interesting to look at and I didn't feel so guilty for monopolizing the TV. It bothered me the way they wouldn't cut to the CF camera until the pitcher was in mid-delivery, but I was generally OK with watching the games.  Even McCarver kept it in his pants for the most part.  Now I am home watching alone and the coverage is driving me nuts.  They are just killing us with all the cutesy crowd shots.  It's baseball for people who don't watch baseball.  That's fine for those people, but it ruins it for baseball fans. Whatever, the series sucked anyway.  I will credit McCarver for being subdued and somewhat informative.

It's interesting that going into the offseason, the WORLD CHAMPION Red Sox are going to have a lot of personnel decisions to make:  Pedro, Lowe, Varitek, Cabrera, etc.  I am sure they won't sign all these guys. I have always felt that when you win the whole thing, you have an obligation to hang onto the main guys who brought you there. I know that's not the way a GM should think -- he's got to be cold and clinical and put together an even better team without any emotional considerations whatsoever. That's why fans don't make personnel decisions, I guess.  But ever since the 1998 NBA Champion Bulls just let Jordan, Pippen and Jackson leave, I have been disgusted with the way championship teams get torn apart.  The Bulls were so desperate to get started on their rebuilding effort they forgot just how hard it is to assemble a championship team -- like the one they had sitting in their lap. It's 6 years later, and they're still rebuilding.

One thing that impressed me about these Red Sox -- they got a little something out of just about everybody.  Every guy on that roster deserves some credit.  A true champion.  Oh, and Schilling.  I guess he backed up his big mouth. Well done.

By the way, if you just started rooting for the Red Sox in the last two months or so, you have no right to enjoy this.  The people who have waited for years deserve this all to themselves

Gas face goes to Fox again, along with Jimmy Fallon -- what was up with the shot of Jimmy Fallon making out with a chick on the field immediately after the series ended?  Every Red Sox fan who's waited decades to see this and taped the game for his kids now has to deal with Fallon being one of the first five shots they have of the on-field celebration.  How insulting -- it's like if the Knicks won the whole thing and then they cut to a shot of Billy Baldwin smooching somebody.  Only times about 80.

Congratulations to the Sox and their long-suffering fans.  This must feel good.

I hope they never win again.

I sucked it up and got a cool phone from Sprint.  There was a $150 rebate and they gave me a 5% discount on my monthly bill for the length of the contract, which will work out to another $75 bucks or so, so it ain't a terrible deal.  The phone is teeny and potent, like Nelson de la Rosa.  There was another one I wanted, but it wasn't quite as teeny.  It was blue, though.  Nice dark blue. I'm not totally sure how I feel about this new phone.  There are a few annoying things about it, most notably the fact that "Immigrant Song" is no longer an available ringtone.   How dare they eliminate that song.  It was my personal theme music for the last two years. Crap.

So yesterday's google image search game may need a little refining, although Chris S. had it figured out with the limited info we gave.  Here are some basic ground rules:
1. The image must appear on the first three results pages for the search in question.  I may trim that to one page if nobody gets any answers right.
2. There must be something visible in the image that makes it a logical result for that particular search.
3. You can just guess shit if you want, or you can check your guesses on google before submitting them. 
4. The first one to get three correct answers (starting with the next one, sorry Chris) will receive a used copy of Steve Martin's reasonably charming 2000 novella Shopgirl, shipping and handling included.

Get started with the picture above right.  Hint: you may need a little knowledge to go with the visual to solve this one.  This game may be so stupid that it doesn't last long enough to declare a winner...

10/27/04: Customer Service Phoneys

Things have been a little slow around the verbungle.com compound over the last few days.  I am adjusting to city life again, and I have not been feeling well.  I'm also suffering from a bit of that post-vacation letdown.  The realization that you are not a man of leisure but rather just a mid-level working stiff always takes a little while to get used to. And it's kind of got me in a funk. I'm in that stage where I'm sick of everything, and that includes this stupid website.  I want to make a new cool website or something or maybe just dump this one and put up a picture of a winsome dog.  Not bloody likely. 

I mentioned that my phone was mortally wounded in L.A. last week.  So I decided to call Sprint and see about getting a new one. I was pleased to discover that my contract was up, so I figured I had huge bargaining power.  If they didn't offer me some swanky new phone, I could walk, and some other provider was bound to offer me the world to sign up.  Well, I got on the phone with Sprint and the best they could do was offer me what a new subscriber would get, which was a discount on a new phone.*  They didn't care that I have been a customer for five years and could pack up and leave without a penalty. These are the rules, they said. F them. Over the last five years, almost everybody I know who has had Sprint has had bad experiences and told me I should leave. But I have stuck with them, because frankly my service has been excellent.  And now they are ready to let me walk away.  It's a sad day.  I could get a regular, uncool phone for free, but where's the fun in that? 

The Sprint situation, along with seeing all the nice houses the wealthy people in Southern California own, left me wishing I had a lot of money.  Not Donald Trump Fuck You Money, but I think I would like to be making around 300 grand a year. I wish I had realized how shallow I was before I chose such a poorly-compensated career path.

When one dies, cremation is clearly the thoughtful way to go. It's cheap, it's easier to deal with ashes than a body, and it's just much less of a burden for all involved. Sure, there's have the whole urn dilemma  -- do you keep the ashes, do you spread them symbolically over the deceased's favorite fishing spot or in the ivy at Wrigley Field or something?  Or do you just let the crematorium dispose of them?  It doesn't matter in my case. I have semi-officially decided I want an open casket. But that's not all.  I don't want a traditional coffin. I want to be permanently displayed in a vertical glass case with 360 degree viewabliity, and I want the embalmers to fix my face with a hideously contorted look of abject shock. I want to be a grotesque reminder of the horror of death.  I don't want to be buried in a suit, rather a purple thong with little Santa Clauses on it.  Across my chest, I want the word WHY? tattooed in dark red ink. During viewing hours, I will have provided the cemetery staff with a selection of bad death-related songs from which to choose.  Let my misery in death remind everyone how much I loved life. 

Fox's baseball coverage is abysmal, and never has it sunk lower than during tonight's IN-GAME interview with Leon from the Budweiser commercials. Unreal. Leon, you just bought yourself a spot on the list of annoying pitchmen. And Fox, you just hooked yourself up with a long overdue spot on the boycott list. I know you'll have to deal with Fox in some capacity in your life (like watching the World Series), but I think we all need to boycott these fuckers whenever we get the chance.

Speaking of lame television networks, I heard a rumor today that the FN may be working on a "What Would Jesus Eat" Primetime special. That's got serious gas face potential.  The answer, as we all know anyway, is Cool Ranch Flavor Doritos. Hopefully all the prophets from Mohammed to David Koresh will receive similar treatment.

Boy am I dreading the Red Sox coronation.

I thought of a variation on Pete B.'s brilliant google image searching game. Instead of just searching for random pictures of drunks, etc. (or rather in addition to searching for random pictures of drunks, etc.), how about someone posts an image and people have to guess what google search led to this random, stupid picture.  You can start with our bearded friend above.  What did I type into my search box that brought me to this fine fella?

* Actually, I wasn't even eligible for the full discount a new customer could get. So I have been a customer for five years, and even if I sign a contract for an additional two years like a new customer would, the person off the street gets a better deal on their phone.  Dicks. DICKS.

10/25/04: That Same Old Place that You Laughed About

It's good to be home again.  Hello, DVR.*  Hello, Coffee Table.  Hi, bed. Hello, walking around in my underpants.  Hey there, H & H bagels.  Greetings, magazines waiting in mailbox. Hello, two of my all-time favorite cheesy Sunday afternoon movies**, back to back. How nice it is to see you. Howdy, meaningless, nap-inducing NFL games.  Thanks for being there for me.

Hello, Jewish Community Group, protesting the fact that there is a Neo-Nazi living in my building.  Hi, six foot two inch transsexual person, angry at this group for infringing on the Neo-Nazi's freedom of speech.  Hi, sweet little thirteen year-old girl, calling the transsexual an "asshole" and telling her to "piss off."  Hi, Falun Gong pamphleteers, with your dramatic representations of torture and imprisonment. How's tricks?

I'm home.

And I have a headache.

I propose a new major league baseball rule: any time a batter is hit with a pitch so lightly that the catcher is still able to catch the ball, the batter should be forced to get back in the box and bat.  That should not be a HBP. Right?

Speaking of baseball, Fuck the Red Sox.  I am totally sick of them and all their horseshit.  And it's going to get much worse if they win the whole shebang. I like Foulke, though.  He's tough.  But fuck him, too.  The Cardinals looked lame in these two games; they had the Purple A-Rod Get-Me-Out-Of-The-Cold Face going.   Edmonds has shown me nothing in CF.  He looks like he wants to be on the beach in SoCal. Sounds pretty good, actually.

As a white man, I may not be qualified to judge such things, but I think "The Big Chill" may be the single whitest movie of all time.

Operation Postcard has not had much success yet.  I am thinking about sending one to my long-lost freshman year roommate Oly. A nice guy, even if he was a true wild man. We had some tough times but we parted on good terms. I haven't spoken to him since maybe 1992, and I suppose maybe that's for the better.  Other candidates include college friends Kyle, Eric T., and Jeff C.  I think Jeff C. may be the way to go.  Has anyone ever made contact with a long-lost friend?  How did it turn out?  I am 0 for 1. I really botched my one attempt.  It got off to a good start, and then I dropped the ball and the communication was broken once again.  I say don't bother unless you are willing to commit to a new friendship and the work that it may require.

After reading this article***, I wonder why anyone would hire such a douche as Tom Coughlin.  His record is good, but it's not like he has some tremendous history of winning. Why put up with someone who sucks the joy out of the game unless he's the cat's crotch****? I certainly wouldn't want to play for him.  Sure, a lot of us could have used some more discipline early in life, but not from a damn football coach when we're 30 years old. He needs a good kick in the sac. Although I suppose that's against his "rules," too.

You may notice that we have added a list at the right of products and people we endorse.  The thought process behind this was, "There is as much good in the universe as bad, why dwell on the bad?"  You will probably also notice that we only have five good items so far.  Give it some time.

Ugh, hello work.  How's it going, nine to five?  What's up, energy-sapping office.  Good to see you, continuation of meaningless life.

* And thank you, DVR, for reducing your lag time between remote control button-depression and the channel actually changing.  Don't think I didn't notice, you sly dog. Still some room to go, but it's a step in the right direction.
** "Silence of the Lambs" and "A Few Good Men".  I know that "Silence of the Lambs" won all sorts of Acadamy Awards, but it's pretty dated and kinda ridiculous. View it again and I think you'll agree it's a pretty cheesy piece of cinema. Which is part of what makes it oh so enjoyable.  Every line spoken by Jame Gumb brings solid chuckles. And it's still pretty creepy and well-made.  I give it a 9.7 on the Cheesy Sunday Afternoon Couch Movie Scale.  And "A Few Good Men" -- what more do I have to say? Preachy, melodramatic, with Cruise and Nicholson overacting so delightfully that you can actually see little bits of scenery hanging from the corners of their mouths.  Plus it's just so tightly written and directed that you can barely tell it's 7 hours long. Sure, the dialogue is highly unrealistic, but who wants to hear Cruise and Nicholson speak like regular people when they can deliver line after line of juicy bullshit that sounds like it came out of...a really cheesy Hollywood movie. Not me. Down points: the music, and the presence of the ultra-annoying Kevin Pollak. It's still a 9.825 on the CSACMS.
*** And yes, the article totally botched the Yankee no-beard policy, even if they were just repeating what somebody supposedly said.
**** I don't expect this one to catch on.

10/22/04: Malled and Battered

This is what it's come to: I have become a connectivity whore.  I will hop from connection to connection to satisfy my jones. No emotional commitment whatsoever. Just biznizz. Each day we come to a large shopping mall, and each day I make a quick path for the nearest Starbucks or Barnes and Noble Cafe so I can get on the internets. Right now I am in Mission Viejo, where it turns out there is no Starbucks or B & N.  So I have latched onto the signal being emitted by the Apple Store.  Take that, Apple. Update 10/23/04, 1pm PST: I got the boot from the Apple Store so now it's a day later and I am in the internets lounge thingy in LAX. Should be home at around midnight.*

The worst song of all time that also at the same time manages to be one of the most enjoyable songs to sing along with at top volume: "What's Going On" by Four Non-blondes.  Just an awful, awful song. But if it comes on the radio and I'm around, watch out!  You might get one of these out of me:

And I say, "HEY, YEAH, YEAH YEAH. HEY, YEAH, YEAH. I SAID HEY! (now I slip into my Cher voice) WHAT'S GOIN' ON?!?!"

Just give me my space and ride it out.  There's no point in trying to stop me.

I managed to get down to Laguna Beach today as I had hoped.  I guess I played 5 games. My record:

1 on 1: 1-0
2 on 2: 1-1
3 on 3: 0-2

Not great, but my 3 on 3 team was pretty beat. A bunch of shooters who couldn't shoot, and our opponents were three pretty good guys who live together. I did have a couple of nifty moves.  There was one play where I caught an errant pass with my right hand as my defender reached for it, and I managed to switch it to the left in one motion for a nice lucky scoop on the other side of the basket.  One of the guys on the other team asked me if I was left-handed. That felt pretty good.  I actually scored about half my points with the left today.  I used to have a pretty decent left hand, but in recent years it's deserted me. As Fast Eddie once said, "I'm back, baby!"

Not really.  I am as slow as Jorge Posada carrying Tony Clark, and I lost my breath after about seven minutes. But it was fun.  Playing basketball at the beach.  You just can't argue with that.  Laguna Beach may be a tourist trap, but I am OK with that. People were pretty nice, and just about everybody I talked to expressed their deep satisfaction with life in Southern California.  Not a bad place to be.  I took some pics but I left my camera in the car, so you will have to wait until tomorrow.  It's going to be a tough wait, I know.**

Oh, and I guess I'll say Cardinals in 7.  The WS is always 7 with the Red Sox, and they always lose.  Let's see if they can change everything in one year.

* That estimate allows time for me to thwart some bad guys on the flight (if necessary) and fill out the appropriate paperwork once we're back on the ground.
** Holy Crap!  It's tomorrow! Here is one bad pic.

10/21/04: Step Right Up

I really don't have connectivity right now, but it's a desperate time so I will use whatever means I can to post something.  Like in that movie with Robin Williams broadcasting stuff through the Jewish ghetto, I am going to get the dirty job done. Because it needs to get done. Joe Monkeyweb can't do it alone.  Something terrible has happened, and it can't just be ignored.  Gas faces must be distributed. But I will keep it quick and scattershot, because I am actually too shocked to focus and figure out how this made me feel.

First off, congratulations to the Red Sox. A truly inspiring comeback and they deserve all the praise they are going to get.  When you factor in Schilling's (minor) injury, Damon's disappearance for almost the entire series, and Manny's ZERO RBI's, it's even more remarkable.  Just a tough team who stayed together and here's to them. I don't like them, but what they did is unbelievable. No Gas Faces there, especially for Francona, who took that tattered pitching staff and worked it to perfection.  This last game, it almost seemed like they were playing with us -- they had bashed our faces in against the ropes over the previous three games, and last night we were just stumbling around waiting to get knocked out.  To their credit, they swung with power and skill and put us on the canvas early.

I have no idea why they brought Pedro in, however.  And I doubt if I hear the answer it will make sense to me.

1. The Gas Face suitable for Kevin Brown does not exist. It is so hideous, just imagining what it might look like could turn even Perseus to stone. For now, let's just give him the Big Kahuna Gas Face and leave it at that.  If he spends another moment in a Yankee uniform, we have lost the bloodthirsty edge that once made us an organization worth fearing.  After the game, he mentioned that "short of giving up the well-being of my family, I'd do whatever I could to go back and do a better job of helping this team," which was almost exactly how I felt about his performance.  Only difference is I think he's letting his family off a little easy.  Like, Little Tommy couldn't spend 6 weeks in the hospital with an undiagnosed illness in order for us to get to the World Series?  That's why Brown is a failure: he doesn't want it bad enough.  Fucking Brown.  When we got him, the word was, Bad guy, injury prone, bad temper, but tough in the clutch. Well, I bought into that and I guess that makes me a mercenary of a fan.  The only problem is that they were only right about the first three parts.

2. Vasquez should just strap on his Gas Face and slip out of town before anybody remembers he was even on this team. Maybe he can get a ride on the Brown Bus.

3. It's good to get out of NYC and see how the rest of the world views the Yankees.  That Brown quote came from this article in the LA Times (reg req'd) which I felt elegantly summarized the significance of this game and this series.  Well written, to the point, and probably only worth reading if you're already registered or really care about baseball.  The first three paragraphs were particularly spot on:

NEW YORK — And now the New York Yankees have something horrible to live with, something excruciating to hang with their banners and retired numbers and superiority.

Although Boston might still have The Curse, not dead yet as its baseball team tries to win its first World Series since 1918, New York owns The Choke, the most significant and shocking collapse in baseball history.

George Steinbrenner bought it and Joe Torre ran it and the Boston Red Sox, for 85 years unable to touch it, took it apart in four nights that took the breath away from baseball fans everywhere.

Damn right and well-put.

4. The A-Rod deal didn't really hurt Boston, did it? Thanks, A-Rod.  You're a special ballplayer.* Remember this Steinbrenner quote from right after the Yankees 'stole' A-Roid from Boston:

"We understand that John Henry must be embarrassed, frustrated and disappointed by his failure in this transaction," Steinbrenner said. "Unlike the Yankees, he chose not to go the extra mile for his fans in Boston. It is understandable, but wrong that he would try to deflect the accountability for his mistakes onto others, and to a system for which he voted in favor. It is time to get on with life and forget the sour grapes."

Ouch.  That one sort of took a bite out of his ass, huh?  I admit it gave me some dirty, Boston-baiting satisfaction when he first said it.  Now it looks just terrible.

5. Kissel, your apology is accepted and appreciated.  Here I am, team going down in flames, I'm fighting for breath and for hope in the universe, and Kissel rings me on my bender-damaged cell phone**. He's my friend, my best man, and I figure he's calling to lend a sympathetic ear. After all, he's a Phillies Phan. What other reason could he be calling me in the hour of my defeat than to tell me he's sorry for the way things turned out this year and better luck in the future? Nope.  He's calling to TAUNT me and tell me how happy he is that the Yankees are losing. It was, as Sting once put it, a humiliating kick in the crotch. Really, it just sucked the wind out of my stomach and I couldn't speak.  I said goodbye and he threw in a "Worst choke ever" as I was hanging up. Wow, I must be a terrible man to have earned that one.  Whatever, all is forgiven and go Phils.

6. Overall, as bad as this series was, as hideous as the outcome was, as much as we'll never really live it down***, I have to admit it reawakened in me a love for sports I've been missing since the mid-90's Knicks.  I loved those teams, and even though I didn't really love this Yankee team, I wanted to win this series. Badly.  And the sting I felt when the wheels rolled off was real.  And the hunger I feel going into the off-season is exciting.  These games felt important.  I know sports are stupid and meaningless and should probably only be used as a distraction from all that's horrible in the world, but when you lose something the way we lost this series, it feels strangely validating.  You feel it in your stomach and you want to scream.  It sounds corny, but you feel alive. I can't explain it very well, I guess.  Just that we watched sports played at their highest level of drama and skill, and we weren't too cool to get all wrapped up in it emotionally.  We were a part of it. 

And, of course, we'll be back.

***

OK, that's it.  No more Yankee talk for awhile. The sun came out in California today, and Bible-Thumping, Bush-Backing Curt Schilling is not here to enjoy it. So I will head out to the beach basketball courts tomorrow and lament my slow chubby physique, but I'll still stick in a couple of nice baskets and I'll promise myself I am going to try to get good at hoops again.  Even if I never was in the first place.  Sports are fun.  Sunshine is fun.  And I am going to take advantage of both every chance I get. 

* As good as A-Rod is, Joe Monkeyweb is way too soft on him.  A-Clod gets his own Big Purple Gas Face to keep him warm through the winter.
** If anyone has tried to call me and been hung up on, it's my stupid phone.  Plus I don't feel like talking right now.  Give me a few more days.
*** And I mean that: our lives were forever changed by this loss.  The Red Sox are no longer the Red Sox and the Yankees are no longer the Yankees, and that goes for us as fans, too.  The smugness is going to be facing South from here on in.

10/20/04: A Day Late and a Dollar Short

This should have been a great week. Vacationing in sunny Southern California, seeing friends, soaking in rays.  And it hasn't been all bad. But there've been a few developments that made it not so great:

1. I went on a real bender my first night here. Lots of fun was being had, but there were numerous opportunities to escape with dignity intact.*  And there were plenty of signs that it was time to do just that. But I ignored these signs.  I will spare you the details, and I would appreciate it if all who were there would do the same, but the bottom line is I was The Dick.  Again.  Like I always am.  I think I mean well.  I am a pretty mild-mannered person -- I worry about other people's feelings, I tip generously, and I do my best to appear remorseful about being a Yankee fan.  But at a certain point on certain evenings, I become Mr. Hyde.  It's horrible.  I feel like it's my duty to lead the troops over the ridge and into Idiot City.  I'm now 35 years old, with a good wife who tries to be understanding to a point.  But this time I really screwed up, and I am here to announce for the 375th and final time that it won't happen again. 

2. The weather has been lousy.  Rainy and unpleasant for maybe 4 out of 6 days. Totally uncalled for.  On second thought, probably my fault.  But I don't have to like it.

3. No internet access.  I am staying at the wife's parents' house, and their computer/cable modem is all messed up.  We have been trying to fix it, and got it up and running for about an hour, and then it got all screwy again. So no posting, and not even really time to check out everybody else's sites until today.  Today I am sitting in Starbucks, catching up with Pete and Joe and trying to make sense of what's happened in the world over the last five days.  Specifically...

4. The fucking Yankees.  It's been just an absolutely unbearable 6 games, and I am nervous as hell about tonight.  Luckily, the aforementioned Pete and Joe are all over this story, and I think they've pretty much covered whatever stray thoughts I may have had.  But let me just add a couple, even if they were already mentioned:

a. Fox: Joe Buck has the largest ego ever found on a play-by-play man, and you could prove that with a CAT Scan, I reckon.  Still, I think he's pretty bright and he sees the game quite well. McCarver has gone around the bend.  Leiter has a future in this business if he's not John McCain's running mate in '08.  He's smooth and understated, and it's nice when he says something that clearly and incisively contradicts the hooey that McCarver's spewing. Let's not forget, however, how much McCarver has brought to the booth over the years.  He knows the game as well as anybody, he's not afraid to be critical, and he used to actually say things that changed the way people watched the game. I just think he fell head over heels in love with himself and got lazy. It happens to almost everybody who's any good at something -- look at Gallagher.  You take for granted what made you great (in McCarver's case his refusal to simply accept the often idiotic prevailing baseball 'wisdom', and his ability to predict things before they happened, in Gallagher's case his ability to hilariously smash watermelons) and you end up being just a tired, grouchy old bastard, running your mouth and collecting checks. I have to say that the three guys in the booth for Fox are about as well-informed as any broadcasting team I've heard in awhile, but they, and their production staff, still leave a lot to be desired.   

-Last night, they kept talking about Bellhorn's dinky shot and how great the umpires were for getting it right.  I agree.  And I thought it was interesting when they talked about how umpires have become more willing to discuss as a group and get the call right.  And it was really cute when they got the little girl to admit it was a home run. Which it was.**  But why did they keep showing us the same angle? The side angle was far more interesting, and far more telling. The girl was reaching forward and the ball was dropping steeply.  It was close to being fan interference and a ground rule double.  Close enough that they should have shown that angle more than once.  They just kept killing us with the straight on shot, where it clearly shows the ball hitting the little girl above the fence.  Well, if she's sitting in the stands, and it hits her, it's a home run, right? Yes, assuming her arms and body do not cross the threshold of the fence -- which they very well may have.  I agree that it was almost certainly a home run, but show us the angle that proves that.  More than once.

b. A-Rod: is it just me, or did he look exceptionally cold and uncomfortable last night? More so than everybody else.  Like he wanted to get the hell off that field so he could go model swimwear with his wife under a waterfall on some tropical isle. And back to Fox for a second, how could they give him credit for that insanely stupid karate chop move on the first base line.  They were all, It was worth a try. No, as Pete pointed out, if he doesn't make that play, Jeter's on second and could score on a (albeit theoretical) base hit by Sheffield.  It was a bush league play, a piece of garbage. It was something you'd expect to see, MAYBE, if you were playing softball with a guy from New Zealand who didn't know the rules.  The only purpose it served was to distract us from the fact that A-Clod had failed in the clutch once again.  Failed to the tune of an anemic grandma of a dribbler down the first base line.  You are paid enough money to bring an entire country out of poverty.  How about you sock one into the fuckin' seats?  And yes, I have forgotten what he did in the Division Series and earlier in this series. And yes again, all will be forgiven if he bats in eight runs tonight.  This is the nature of sports fanaticism.

c. The barrage of crap flying in from the stands after the umpires' two excellent calls against us.  This is horseshit, and as stupid as Yankee fans may be, I thought they were above stuff like that.  You can't throw lethal objects on the field. Maybe I am naive, but this really disappointed me.

d. The Yankee bats in general.  From en fuego to en frio in a matter of hours.  Someone, ANYONE, get a fucking big hit already. 

e. Schilling:  Yes, it was a tremendous, even masterful, performance, but I agree with Dinny that his injury was obviously overhyped.  Even in Game 1, when he got shelled, I don't recall him saying it was so much painful as it was uncomfortable. Give me $15 million a year and I'll pitch with some discomfort.  On Tuesday, he was very, very good -- but the Yanks were every bit as bad as he was good. And he remains a dick. Most appalling was his Gaetti-like God Squad postgame interview, when he said he couldn't have done it without Jesus. For the last time: JESUS DOES NOT DETERMINE, OR EVEN CARE ABOUT, THE OUTCOMES OF SPORTING EVENTS. Evidence:

-the Yankees have plenty of devout dudes on the team, including Mariano Rivera, who lost two family members this week.  Yet Rivera blew two games in this series. Don't the deaths trump Schilling's creaky ankle?  Where was Jesus for Rivera?
-isn't following Jesus supposed to get you all sorts of cool shit AFTER you die? I don't know the exact rules on this, but I don't think Jesus is supposed to step in and help you pitch seven strong innings because you hurt you foot.
-If Jesus was responsible for sporting events, and he wanted glory for the BoSox, wouldn't he have stepped in by now?  He's had 86 years.  Indeed, he may be a Red Sox fan, which is why he has put this franchise through such trials -- he's testing your faith, people.  Every performance like last night is destined to be followed up by an equally disastrous incident in the immediate aftermath.  If not tonight, soon.
-If Jesus cared about deciding what goes on on earth, would the world look like it does today? (Examples: GWB in the White House, My Big Fat Obnoxious Boss, rain in San Clemente.)  If I were Jesus, I'd get a little pissed off when people invoked my name after a good athletic performance.  It makes Him look bad.  I'd be like, People, I am working my ass off to straighten out the Middle East, and you're telling people I'm wasting my time on baseball games.  Thanks for the big promotion, Schilling, you fat prick.

Bottom line: the earth is ours to fuck up or clean up, and Jesus knows this better than Curt Schilling.

There were bright spots this week:

1. California is beautiful, even in the rain.

2. The wife's parents are kind and go out of their way to make me happy, though I don't deserve it.

3. We stayed at the Four Seasons in Beverly Hills, so there were a couple of good celebrity sightings:
-Duran Duran (original lineup!) were staying in the hotel, as were
-Enrique Iglesias and Anna Kournikova.  Enrique may be the charter member in the Verbungle.com Hall of Fame.  I was riding down in the elevator with maybe two other people, and a couple more people got on on maybe the tenth floor.  Enrique stands there, outside the elevator door, talking to them for a minute.  Maybe it was like his tour manager or something.  The doors start to close, and then Enrique sticks his hand in and opens it again.  With a very serious expression, Enrique tells his tour manager, "Oh, by the way, I've got your suppositories in my room.  Come by and get them later." Then he let the door close with impeccable, Gallagher-like timing. He is my new hero.
-Eriq LaSalle was in a cafe and was placing a takeout order.  He made the cashier crouch down and count the number of a certain type of pastry they had left, and then ordered nothing. Gas Face.

4. No work.

5. Yankees winning tonight? (DOwn 8-1 in the 5th)

*Even cW had the good sense to get out while the gettin' was good, leaving around 1am.
** Acknowledge that I am acknowledging this before you dismiss what I am about to say as partisan Yankee whining.

10/15/04: Call Me Plissken 

I am going to California Friday around 11am, getting in at around 2pm or something.  The wife's parents retired out there, and believe me it's a much more attractive place to spend your Christmases than Chicago*, where they used to live.  I know it's not Christmastime, but I'm just sayin'.

So we get in around 2 or 3 and then it's off to watch the Yankees and get some food and drink with cW and Sita and their hacky sack-playing entourage. Should be a blast. I like drinking in different cities to see how my position on the planet affects my performance.  Some climb mountains; I sit and rest my elbows on the solid wooden bar absorbing the wisdom of others and spewing some of my own.  Speaking of the basic bar structure -- after AJR's wedding, many of the guests congregated at a bar on the East side of Manhattan.  It was there that we discovered the purpose for that small wooden lip that often adorns the front (customer side) of the bar.  AJR's pal Mark had a weak moment in which he began to stumble drunkenly backwards.  Balance was lost; face on floor was looking like a strong possibility.  Then he reached out and grabbed that little lip like Wile E. Coyote and saved himself. Or, rather, the lip saved him. God Bless The Lip.

While I am in California, there is a possibility that I may take a break to reconstruct this site.  I may strip it down to nothing.  I may just post pictures of poodles wearing varsity sweaters.  I may take the whole bastard down. But most likely, it'll be more of the same old crapola.

Can we say it together? U2 is the most overrated, overstated band of all time. I've liked a few songs through the years, but what's so great about these fuckers? Have they left some legacy that other bands are following? Nah. They're hosers.   

I am enjoying the O'Reilly nonsense.  What a tool.  Doesn't he know that only attractive young men are allowed to regale sexy female co-workers with promises of wine, nipple-rubbing, and loofas? Amazing how these sexual harassers overestimate their own attractiveness to the opposite sex. Their egos are so huge, they assume attractive young females MUST be into them. That is a key element of harassment, right? Unwanted. As long as your perverted ramblings are welcome, you're in the clear. In other words, Brad Pitt could get away with a lot more than Clarence Thomas or Bill O'Reilly.  Not fair, but not a hard formula to figure out. If you ain't Brad Pitt, and you don't want to risk losing your job, keep the comeons to yourself. As for ol' blotchy-face O'Reilly, I will not give him the benefit of the doubt.  I won't wait for all the facts to come out. I say he's a hostile asshole who gets off on making people feel uncomfortable. I say he's guilty of the harassment (although there seem to be some questions the woman may need to answer as well). I think there are tapes. My only hope is that we get to hear them. Oh, and I also hope this fucks up his career. But I have a feeling his fans will worship him even more after this.  Because they too are hostile assholes.

Madame Monkeyweb sends in a serious boycott list that not only trumps mine but also seems to have a practical purpose.  That's the thing about having a bullshit website; whenever you do something, it's only a matter of hours before somebody sends in a link to someone who did it first and did it better.

By the way, terrorists out there: my vow from last April to bust you up if you fuck with my plane still stands:

Once again I issue this courtesy warning to potential terrorist types on my flight who might have some ideas about pulling some shit. Don't fuck with me or the crew.  I will take you out.  You can stab me and shoot me but you won't get to that cockpit.  I'll just keep coming like a slow, fat Terminator. I'll bust your nose open on an armrest, and I'll keep bashing it and busting it up even more.  Then I'll turn my attention to your friends.  I'll kick them each square in the nuts in rapid succession, and while they're doubled over in pain I'll slam their heads together like coconuts.  Long after your entire squad has lost consciousness, I will still be performing disturbingly violent acts upon your persons. It will get to the point where other passengers will be so freaked out by my unending capacity for righteous violence that they will all be utilizing their air sickness bags in one mass vomit session.  My eyes, glowing red with psychotic rage, will finally begin to calm down as I survey the scene.  Once I'm sure you and your buddies are out for the duration of the trip, I will return to my seat, high-fiving the still-reeling passengers as I walk down the aisle, grinning the same stupid grin that Wade Boggs grinned as he took that cop's horse for a victory spin after the '96 World Series. Once I am seated again, I will hit my little "attendant call" button, and when the grateful stewardess arrives at my row, I will calmly order a round of drinks for everyone on the plane (except the first class passengers), and two Bud Tall Boys for myself.  I will probably be asleep before I finish the second can.

There was a little more BoSox baiting at work today.  I try to be nice, but I can't help myself. I have to throw a dig in there every now and then.  Picking up from yesterday:

I know next to nothing about how music is played. But I do know I like the drum sounds the Flaming Lips seem to get on a lot of their songs.  It's such a nice big round sound. It makes me feel like I'm at a carnival.

* But Chicago is quite fun.  They take it to 4am without making a big deal about it.  And then they eat Gyros.

10/14/04: Mo Mo Mo

Rivera is very good.

I am now 0 for 3 in debate watching.  I've caught most of each of them during the re-broadcast, but not the whole thing. Won't stop me from spouting off like an idiot when I see fit. Memo to debate scheduling team: next time, try to coordinate your schedule so you don't conflict with any big Yankee games.  I bet you wish you had thought of that on your own.  As to the debate, Kerry did a solid job. And almost all of the polls had him winning this debate. Those polls seem like something you should actually look at, instead of listening to the pundits' take on who won.  The point of the debate is to win people over.  So I think polling actual people is a fair way to measure the winner.  The only thing the Dems are doing that is pissing me off is their continued exploitation of Dick Cheney's gay daughter. They're making her an an involuntary spokesperson for all gays and lesbians.  I understand the point they are trying to make, contrasting the Bush Administration's intolerant attitude towards homosexuals with Cheney's obvious love and compassion for his daughter, but it still seems in bad taste to me. Still, Kerry is closing nicely, and seems to be in a similar position to the Yankees: it's his battle to win or lose..  Props to Pete B., whose confidence has not wavered.

I had to work until 11 tonight, so we were sneaking out when we could to check out a few innings of the game.  Nice job by Deion on the Olerud prediction (#46). Olerud is one of the most placid athletes I've ever seen.  He seems so passive that you almost worry about him, and then you look up and he's made like $70 million dollars in his career.  He's like one of those guys you went to college with who never said much but seemed to have it all figured out at an early age. All of a sudden you hear that he's retiring at age 30. He's also one of the more graceful players I've seen -- a real natural.  I used to work with a guy who faced him in college once.  Olerud took my friend deep.  I bet he did that to a lot of guys. I also think Olerud looks a teeny bit like Ralph Fiennes.  What do you think?

+
=

Yeah, maybe not so much.

One enjoyable thing about the Yankees-Red Sox series is that everybody I know seems to work with at least one Red Sox fan.  It is quite fun to razz Red Sox fans.  I know we'll get it back tenfold if they beat us this year (or any year), but it's still fun.  Here's an email exchange I had on Wednesday with a very nice guy in my office, who happens to be from Boston and is a HUGE Red Sox fan. He had to give me some news about something that he had failed to get done for me.

I bet he liked that.  I don't know for sure, though, because he didn't respond.

***

I was recently thinking that the San Diego Padres have really become a cursed franchise:

1) Steve Garvey: Baby machine
2) Alan Wiggins: Drugs, AIDS, death
3) Eric Show: John Birch Society, drugs, death,
4) Dave Dravecky: John Birch Society, cancer, freakish cancer-related injury, career in public speaking
5) Ken Caminiti: Drugs, death
6) John Kruk: Obesity, nut cancer
7) Tony Gwynn: Obesity, Acute Honkie Syndrome
8) Dick WIlliams*: Public joikin'

I'm sure I've missed a few as well.

***

You remember that email from around five years ago, the one that talked about the work poopers and whatnot? Well, I am one of those people who just doesn't go at work unless a nuclear catastrophe is about to take place in my pants.  I'm real timid about this matter.  And I look on the out-of-the-closet poopers with fascination.  There is one guy in my office who has absolutely no shame whatsoever.  We have two stalls and two urinals in our bathroom.  I think a reasonable person would assume that one of the two stalls is, for the most part, a cosmetic structure-- its only practical function is to provide a small barrier between the stall in use and the other people who may be using the urinals.  In other words, if you see one stall door closed, you should assume it is in use and come back later.  Not our bold pooper (BP).  I have another colleague who, like me, is very hesitant to poop at work. This colleague went in there for an emergency visit one day. BP came in, plopped down in the stall next to my poor colleague, and unleashed a jihad for which by all means he should have felt ashamed.  My poor colleague just sat perfectly still and waited for the assault to stop. Later, we identified the culprit as the BP by matching him to his suede moccasins.  Anyway, the BP has now gotten so self-confident that he is using his BP status to sort of intimidate the rest of us. I was walking down the hall yesterday and I walked past him as he was clearly headed to the can, magazine in hand. I said hello, and he waved hello with the magazine. He basically pointed it at me like a gun. It was like he was saying, "I'm going into MY bathroom, and you know what I'll be doing, so stay the hell out."  The guy's got some nerve.

* Does anyone know why WIlliams left the A's after the '73 season? Did he just get a huge offer from California or something? Has any other manager left a team after winning the WS?

10/13/04: Nothing Old, Nothing New

Hell of a game tonight. Sure I would have preferred a 17-0 perfect game blowout, but a win is big and Mussina delivered. Should be very interesting tonight.

Here are ten observations:

1. Schilling, hurt or not, needs to shut his yap-hole. He and Damon were both talking big before the game, and they both played like hot sweaty ass.  I almost felt sorry for Schilling for a minute, but then I toughened up and enjoyed his misery.
2. God Bless Matsui -- he's a very disciplined and tough hitter. But Jesus he cost us about four runs on balls that bounced off his glove tonight. He needs to soften that thing up with some Neatsfoot oil. Both very tough plays, but he should have had 'em both.  Follow the ball into the glove, my friend.  Still, he got some huge hits on some very tough pitches.
3. I don't blame Torre for letting Gordon face Ortiz.  Gordon's nasty as hell, he just fucked us tonight.  It would have been real nice if he could have gotten us to the 9th, considering Mariano's condition.  We just needed one more out from Gordon, and I can't dog Torre too much for giving him every chance to get that out.  The Ortiz ball was the only ball that was really smoked, and Matsui should have caught it.  McCarver was all over Torre for that.  Typical know-it-all McCarver. It was a tough decision, and it (sort of) backfired.  Mariano still came in and saved the day.
4. Mariano.  How thankful are we as fans that he is on our side?  I think I would even love him if he was an opponent.  He's just so cool and classy. To get to the ballpark in the middle of the game while dealing with all the stuff he's dealing with, and then to come in and perform like he did is just incredible.
5. Mussina was dominant.  Even though he got charged with 4 earned runs, this was a huge start in a huge game and we'll remember it for a long time if we win it all.
6. Manny's a bit of a butcher out in left field, too.  He and Matsui can both look very bad.
7. Ortiz terrifies me.  He seems to really enjoy hitting.
8. The Sox showed a lot of spunk tonight -- those bats are just relentless.  I can't believe it came down to Mariano with men on in the last two innings.
9. Bernie can still do some big things on occasion, can't he?
10. Red Sox I truly dislike: Schilling, Nixon, Varitek, Millar, and maybe Timlin a li'l bit.

***

A year ago, I was recapping the brawl in Fenway:

***

Not to pile on the WNBA, but I think it's a bad sign for your league when the highlights for the final game of the championship series are shown on Sportscenter after NBA PRESEASON highlights.

10/12/04: My Asshole Yankee Heart Begins to Beat Faster 

Congratulations to Amy and Alexi on the birth of adorable son Jack.  Now somebody get Alexi some steak'ums before he does something terrible.

***

I spent the first year and a half after college drifting in confusion.  OK, maybe I've spent the first twelve years after college drifting in confusion.  But specifically, that first year and a half was spent working low-paying jobs and half-assedly trying to find my way in the world.  OK, that goes for the full twelve years as well. But these first couple were particularly aimless and unproductive, which was actually a very respectable thing to be back then.  And since my low-paying jobs weren't stressful, and for the first time since I was 3 years old I had no homework to put off until the last minute, I needed something to feel anxious about on Sunday nights.  I was drinking a lot in those days, and if you know me, you know that drinking too much tends to make me real anxious.  I think I also felt pretty bad to see all my friends moving on to real jobs as real members of society while I spent my days slinging hash at the UW Hospital.  The point being, I managed to get real nervous on Sunday nights.  Another weekend wasted, another shit week fast approaching.

As the hours ticked by, I got more and more restless.  Life was zooming by.  I had to get up early the next day.  I had an upset tummy from too much booze and bad food.  So what did I do to assuage my Sunday Night Jitters? I stayed up late watching TV.  I'd watch some Discovery Channel and I'd feel a little better. Then some nice early 90's SportsCenter.  And finally, I'd settle in with my trusted roommate Scott, and we would watch the one program that always cleared my head of bad thoughts.

NFL Films Presents.

It was on at maybe 1:30 am Sunday nights.  Just a 30 minute show featuring selected bits and pieces from the NFL Films archives.  The footage was so good, and the stories were so compelling, it convinced me for that half an hour that NFL football must surely be the greatest game there is.  Just an awesome organization, NFL Films.  They've got footage of everything.  Some backup tight end would be telling a story about some night in 1968 when Don Meredith came into a game drunk and led the team on a touchdown drive without remembering to fasten his chin strap. As the guy's telling the story, they'll cut to the footage of that particular game, and there you'll see Meredith, helmet wobbling around, tossing a TD pass.  The stories are matched up with the corresponding visuals, and often you'll have some great sideline audio from the vaults as well (Hank Stram and Jerry Glanville are two personal favorites). The show was so good that it soothed me and sent me into the work week on a high note.

Today I didn't have to be at work until 1pm, so I stayed up real late stressing and wondering what I was going to do with my life. Now that I've entered the five-figure salary club, it's hard to just chuck everything and start over.  I knew I was going to have a hard time falling asleep, so I just sat there flipping through the channels.  All of a sudden it came on, NFL Films Presents. It was a special about officials, and it rocked the house.  The NFL is the best. Steve Sabol, you have my respect.  The highlight of the show, of course, was Ben Dreith discussing the "giving him the business" call from 1986.  For my money, that is the greatest moment in sports history.

***

OK, I got three out of four first round series right (OK, not down to the number of games), so I may as well keep picking.  My dad has an Oscar pool every year, and on the ballots he prints a reminder known as O'Malley's Law*: Don't bet with your heart.  Sorry, I can't follow that law right now**.  There is too much emotion involved from here on out.  I have to put aside logic and pick these from deep inside my filthy, Yankee-loving soul.

***

For diehards Replacements fans only: in one of the least predictable intersections of humanity in recorded history, Paul Westerberg went on Jim Rome's show last week. You probably hate Rome.  I used to as well. He sounds like an overeager fraternity pledge when he speaks. But I have come to respect him over the years, the Chris Everett incident notwithstanding.  The guy knows his sports and he's actually a pretty rational thinker, especially compared to our local WFAN boys.  The best part of this interview (other than the fact that Rome's favorite band turns out to be the Replacements -- wtf?) is that Westerberg's mom dated Ted WIlliams.

* Named after my dad's troubled comedic genius of a best friend, Tom O'Malley
** And O'Malley would be proud of me
*** PREW = Pujols, Rolen, Edmonds, Walker
**** Yes, I just called the Yankees "us" -- I know this is wrong, and I apologize.

10/11/04: Idiot Wind

It's Fall alright. The wind was blowing pretty hard today, creating a slight chill that was totally delightful.  Tomorrow I shall wear my fall jacket.  All cozy and shit.  A great couple of weeks lay ahead.  Of course, I will be in California for a week starting Friday.  In California, a great couple of weeks always lay ahead.  And behind.

Fall means Halloween and Halloween means I need a good costume for once.  I am still welcoming suggestions.

***

Here was my description of the Cardinals' postseason chances earlier this week:

"St. Louis looks like they might be vulnerable"

I wonder what exactly I meant by that.  These guys are terrors. Pujols, Edmonds, Rolen and Walker -- that's a lot of beef.  Renteria's a hell of a player, too.  They're solid all the way around.  Bad job of picking by me.  I guess I was just trying to go against the conventional wisdom, the same idiotic strategy that usually lays waste to my NCAA tournament pool by Day 2.

One observation, though: Pujols sure looks like a 'roid-head.  It's usually a telltale sign when a 24 year-old keeps getting bigger while his hairline retreats.  He's looking like the Michelin man.

Sticking with the beisbol for a moment, I have to say it's a good time to root for the Yankees. I've mentioned it before, but there's nothing tougher than being the overdog. Nobody feels sorry for you when you lose, and nobody gives you much props when you win. The Yankees are always the overdog. They're expected to win it all every year.  They pay for championships, and when they don't get 'em, they're failures. Other than 2001, I can't remember the last time when the Yankees didn't win the World Series but still felt like winners.  And the only reason that year was any different was that New York City got attacked. For once, there was some sympathy directed towards the Yanks.

And in no matchup is failure less acceptable for the Yankees than when they play against the Red Sox.  The Red Sox are our little brother. We take them out to the driveway and beat them one on one, every time.  Sometimes they seem like they're drawing even with us, and then we throw an elbow or two and knock 'em down on the concrete.  And they never get what they want.

So there is an unbelievable amount of pressure on the Yankees to win this next series. More than ever before, I think.  Because for maybe the first time, the Red Sox look like they're finally ready to knock the big brother on his ass.  Think about it: the Red Sox are not only 0 for the last 85 in terms of winning championships, but they've really NEVER beaten the Yankees in a game that mattered. '78, the playoff game, they lost.  Last year, Game 7, they lost. 1999, ALCS, they lost.  Every year that it's come down to one all-important game between the two teams, they've lost.

There have been several seasons where the Red Sox have been better than the Yankees, but they've really never won a huge game to decide the season. The Yankees have generally sucked in those seasons. Let's look at Boston's postseason history as it relates to the Yankees, going backwards.

2003: Boone
1999: Lost to Yanks, 4-1
1998: Lost to Indians.  Yanks go on to win WS.
1995: Win division, by 7 games. Both teams lose in first round.
1990: Win division before being swept by A's. Yanks finish 21 games out, precluding any big games between the two teams.
1988: In the closest race between the two teams that the Red Sox ever win, they finish first, only 3.5 games ahead of the Yanks.  Still, three other teams finish closer to Boston than the Yanks do, so Boston can't claim this one as a huge head to head victory.
1986: Win division; Yanks finish 5 1/2 games back.  Pretty close, but not a nail-biter. Especially considering it was 9 1/2 going into the last weekend of the season.  The Yankees then swept 4 games from the Sox, putting a little damper on their division title. WS: Ouch.
1975: Win division, Yanks finish 12 games back. WS: Ouch again.
1967: Win pennant, Yanks finish 20 games back. WS: You know the drill.
1946: Win pennant, Yanks finish 17 games back. WS: Um, don't ask.
1918: Yay! Sox win it all! I suppose it would be in poor taste to mention that this title was really tainted, as it came after a war-shortened season.  A lot of the best players had to go fight, and the Sox snuck in there and got their title. 

Anyway, I think that at least partially demonstrates how one-sided this rivalry has been -- and how much the Sox and their fans must want to win this. Generations have come and gone without being able to say, "Remember the time the Sox came through in the big game and knocked out the Yanks?"  It just hasn't happened. And the Yankees have the incredible responsibility of not letting it happen again this year.  We'll see.  Schilling could get a highway out of this if it all works out.

***

A few years back, when Herr Von Weber was doing his no-show fellowship over in Krautland, he sent me a postcard.  On it, he quoted his brother, who said, "Emails are good, postcards are better." It's true.  When was the last time any of us got a real letter from a friend in a faraway place?  Maybe a postcard when someone's on vacation. But even postcards become a chore when you can just take a digital picture and attach it to an email.  So I hereby announce the first annual Verbungle.com Postcard Drive.  I know a letter is too much to ask, but why not send a postcard to somebody you haven't seen in a while?  Who cares if you're not on vacation? Surely your hometown has some postcards.  Grab one, write a couple of nice lines telling the person how ya been, and asking 'em how they've been.  If so much as one person follows through on this, I will consider it a success.  Even if it's me.

***

I am still not mature enough to see the headline "Matthew Drenches Louisiana" and not think "porno title."  Gotta check up on these things every now and then.

10/10/04: Time for a Nader check

First I want to give brief thanks that I have the type of job that allows me to drink Bloody Marys when I am at lunch with co-workers every now and then.

I missed the debate. Now how will I know who to vote for?  Actually, I saw a few minutes and it looked pretty entertaining.  I just think it's weird how if Bush does a halfway decent job and doesn't get completely knocked out by Kerry in a debate, it's seen as some huge victory for Bush.  Like, "Wow, did you see how much less Bush sucked last night than he did last week?  He's dynamite."  Isn't he the President? Shouldn't he be able to at least hold his own in a debate?  It amazes me how low the standards are for W., how little he has to do to win praise and gain theoretical momentum.

I've come down pretty hard on Nader in the past, and several of my friends and fellow bloggers have rallied in his defense.  They say things like, "Gore ran a terrible campaign, that's why he lost" and "The Florida election was a travesty, that's why he lost," and "A third party has to start somewhere," and a lot of other stuff. To which I say, "Yeah, but..." The fact remains that Nader's candidacy was one critical factor (of several) that cost Gore the 2000 election. You'll never convince me otherwise.  Florida would have been a cakewalk for Gore if Nader wasn't on the ballot.  You remember the numbers: 97,000 and some-odd Floridians "voted" for Nader.  I have to believe that a significant number of them would have voted for Gore without Nader as a choice.  Gore lost that state by 537 votes. 537. Now I am not trying to say Gore is blameless in the final analysis of his own defeat, but say there are ten factors, any one of which could have won Florida, and thus the election, for Gore. And all ten went against him.  I'm going to go ahead and rank Ralph Nader at the very top of this list. And you will also never convince me that America wouldn't have been in better shape today after four years of Al Gore than it is after four years of George W. Bush.

So it's pissed me off from time to time, but somehow there is a general sense that Ralph Nader just isn't going to be a factor this time.  When I whine about him, I get shot down.  Here is Pete B. from last February:

I love how people are so apoplectic about Ralph Nader. Sometimes I wonder whether people are thinking for themselves or not. Nader got almost 3 million votes in Campaign 2000 because he RAN ON THE GREEN TICKET. Nader is no longer a Green. In fact, he dissed the Greens abruptly and without a care for the party of the environment's future on the national ticket, thereby costing himself probably 85 percent or more of the votes he earned in 2000. And yet all we see in the news media is shirt rending over the (erstwhile) Green Gadfly. I guess the Democratic operatives are kind of smart to play up that angle, however bogus, since it will help them continue their efforts at galvanization.

Pete's right; Nader probably won't get nearly as many votes as last time.  Of course, he might not need to in order to fuck things up. Still, nobody seems all that worried.

Even Nader-blamer Chris S. sent in a prediction (#33) indicating he thinks Nader will withdraw rather than help Bush win again. 

Basically, people think Nader is crazy, but not crazy enough to follow all the way through on the campaign again.  There is an assumption that he will either drop out or be considered such a fringe candidate that he won't have a real impact on election day. It's like we're all in Nader denial. I guess there are at least some people taking Ralph seriously. Still, Pete was unswayed in July, and so was the NYT:

So far, Mr. Nader is on the ballot in six states — Florida, Michigan, Mississippi, Colorado, Kansas and Montana — because of his affiliation with the Reform Party, while David Cobb, the Green Party nominee this year, will be on at least 23.

That was in July.  Nader is now on the ballot in 34 states and counting, including the most of the battleground states. He's been campaigning in these key states and generally trying to make as much noise as possible.  I was talking about this with my man Kissel today and we were getting pissed off.  Sure, Nader's numbers are pretty miniscule. But last time we saw a state turn on 537 votes.  Nader's still capable of getting thousands of votes in almost every important state.  Which means he could conceivably flip a state.  It doesn't mean he will. But it's just ridiculous that it's come to this again.  Barring something really remarkable happening one way or the other, the election's going to be close. The world has never needed Ralph Nader any less than it does right now.  Ralph, we've been good friends through the years. We've been through a lot together -- the parties, the strip clubs, those crazy nights in Tijuana -- but the time has come to step off.

*** 

Strangely, I knew exactly what Gary Sheffield was going through tonight when he lost that pop fly in the stupid Metrodome ceiling.  Last night I thought it would be a good idea to drunkenly catch a ball thrown from D. Lee's 8th story terrace in the pitch black night.  Here's what happened (probably not worth the 4MB download). Anyway, it was a strong weekend for the Yanks, whether you like it or not.  They have enough all-stars to just overwhelm a team like the Twins, who have Santana and a bunch of scrappy bastards who try real hard but just couldn't quite score enough to beat the Yanks. That Torii Hunter is a delight in centerfield.  There is something admirable and romantic about guys who play center with as much recklessness as Hunter does.  They're always one wall away from a career-ending injury, and they don't let it effect the way they play.  He's got some guts, and for that I salute him. 

Gardenhire, not so much.  He took Santana out after five innings today with a 5-1 lead.  I was watching while eating a fantastic dinner at Cesca on the UWS. We were camped out at the bar eating like pigs, and there was no volume on the TV, so I figured (wrongly) maybe Gardenhire is removing him in case he needs him in emergency duty tomorrow.  No, I guess Gardenhire was just aware that Santana had never gone on three days' rest before, and he was concerned either that a) Santana was about to tire and get shelled or b) Santana could do permanent damage to his arm if he stayed in the game. If it's a), why not wait for some evidence that he was losing his stuff before you yank him?  If it's b), I say there's no reason to think he's gonna muck himself up based on this one start.  And even if there is a risk, what is more important, a player's career or the chance for a team to win a World Series?  It's kind of a tough question. Every postseason game and series is precious, just as precious as a stud pitcher.  It's time Gardenhire learned that; his Twins may never have another chance as good as this one.

I have to admit it: I am positively terrified of the Red Sox.  Not that we can't beat 'em, because we can.  But facing Schilling and Pedro 5 times in 7 games is a real challenge.  I think the two teams are pretty close offensively, and I give the Yankees bullpen a pretty big edge, but the starting pitching definitely goes in Boston's favor. We shall see.  Should be interesting.

***

Have you seen Jenna Jameson's "Got Milk" ad?  Pretty outrageous.

***

It's election time, so I want to point you in the direction of my friend Brian's excellent new website.  It's mainly an educational tool, and I know most of you already think you have plenty of education, but I want you to have a look anyway.  Especially at the old campaign ads, which are fascinating. Brian is a gentleman and a scholar and one hell of a Pictionary player.

***

I think you should also check out this video (via BoingBoing).  I'm sure it never aired, which maybe makes it not so funny at all. But one of the characters is named Bungle, so I give it an endorsement anyway.    

10/8/04: Free and Worth Every Cent

I guess it started when the New York Post dropped their price to 25 cents an issue a couple of years ago.  Or maybe it was in the mid-late 90's when the Voice went from $1.25 to FREE.  Hell, it's probably been going on since the advent of newspapers, and you see it in TV and magazines and any other ad-driven medium as well. The goal, of course, is to maximize your revenue.  How best to do it is a tough question facing any publisher, and there's a simple formula that helps them decide.  Basically, if we lower the price or give our product away for free, we will increase circulation.  Can we increase it enough so that the loss of revenue from the lowered purchase price is more than offset by the increase we can charge our advertisers, as they are now reaching more eyeballs?  It's a gamble, I guess.

For those of you living outside New York City, the reason I bring it up is the arrival over the last few months of two free daily newspapers, AM New York & Metro. During morning rush hour, you will be offered one or both of these new dailies at just about every subway station in Manhattan (and possibly the other boroughs as well). New Yorkers are pretty tired of having things handed to them on the street, so for these new entries to have a chance to succeed, they have to be handing you something worth grabbing.  As Mitch Hedberg put it, "When someone hands you a flier, it's like they're saying, 'Here, you throw this away.'"  And judging from the quality of the two papers, they clearly have to accomplish this goal of grabworthiness on a very tight budget. 

In my opinion, they are right on the border of success. Like, they're good enough to take one if you have a ride over ten minutes long and you know the train won't be crowded.  You take one of the two papers, read everything you need to read over the next ten to twenty minutes, and then you toss it into the garbage on the platform when you arrive at your stop.  Pretty wasteful, but it's pretty convenient as well.  I imagine if I was a work pooper, it would be worth grabbing both AM NY and Metro, one for the ride and one for your potty break.  But I am not a work pooper, and if I was, I doubt I would be so brazen as to head down the hall with one of these papers tucked under my arm. 

So the papers are readable enough that you will take one for free on most days. Barely.  But they are pretty bad.  Make that very bad.  There is a significant dropoff in quality between the regular NYC tabloids and the freebies. The freebies are just bad enough that you might consider buying a Post for a quarter instead.  The freebies are very, very amateurish.  But like the internet, these papers appear to be an outlet for those whose viewpoints are either too controversial or too stupid to find their way into the mainstream.  It's kind of fun, like a college newspaper. Sometimes, a brilliant voice that would never be heard in a real newspaper sings through beautifully. But more often, it's just some douchebag running his mouth, like a blog on dirty recycled paper.

Today I read an opinion column in Metro that cracked me up for a number of reasons.  It wasn't particularly well written, and the guy almost completely failed to make his point.  It was some bullshit about extreme sports and born-again Christianity. But he did say a couple of things that you don't expect to see in a free daily paper grabbed by every kid in the city on their way to school. My favorite being:

"Take it from me: Born-again Christianity and adolescence is a dangerous combination simply because of the whole "abstinence thing." Your teen years (13-18, preferably) are the best time to engage in indiscriminate sex with uncaring acquaintances. Skydiving and base jumping are nothing compared to the self-satisfaction one feels when sexually active at an early age."

Not exactly the New York Times. I don't know why I found that so amusing, maybe because teenagers have never really needed encouragement from a fool in a free newspaper to get their freak on.  I also like that he says, "Take it from me," as if he knows what the fuck he's talking about.  We should take it from you because you are an expert in what again...? When you hear somebody start a sentence with "Take it from me" you can be fairly certain some unsupported horseshit is about to flow from their lips. "Take it from me" gets the shoe. It's also funny how he says "your teen years" and then feels the need to clarify his point as "13-18, preferably." As if the pleasures of indiscriminate sex suddenly go sharply downhill the moment you turn 19. Here's the column.

***

I know most of you are too cool to be impressed by celebrity sightings.  If you weren't, you wouldn't be reading such a hip, happening site as this.  But I'm a dork, so I'm going to go ahead and tell you that if you want to see some famous people, you should head to Cafe Luxembourg on West 70th street.  It's good (although overpriced) food, and here is a list of celebrities we've spotted there:

-Nathan Lane, Matthew Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker (last night, together with two other actor types I didn't recognize)
-Robin WIlliams (last time we were there)
-Liam Neeson (like 4 times)
-Peter Riegert
-Lenny Kravitz and Nicole Kidman (together)
-Michael Strahan

Not bad.  Sarah Jessica Parker looked very good, much less leathery and makeup-encrusted than you're used to seeing her on TV.

***

This is one of those little crossroads moments at the verbungle.com offices. Nobody here is really happy with the product as it now stands.  We're like the Metro of bullshit websites. We're considering a number of major changes, including:

-Using a program like Blogger, Typepad, LiveJournal or Movable Type for the blog entries.  I need something that's going to organize my shit for me.  Any recommendations are welcome.
-At the very least, organizing the entries so you can click or link on an individual entry.  I'm trying this starting today.
-Changing the format/content in some substantial and interesting way. Again, your feedback is welcome.
-Publish less often; maybe something halfway decent every week or so, instead of something lame every damn night. Although posting nightly is highly addictive.
-Ending the site completely and immediately, recharging for a few months and coming back (or not) with something newer and cooler.
-Ending the site in March of 2005, which will mark two years on the job (my domain registration also expires then, so it might be a convenient time to hang it up).

Of course, these feelings usually pass, so the eight of you can likely expect to see more of the same crap in the upcoming weeks and months.  But if you have any ideas at all on how to make things more better, please let me know.

10/7/04: I bet the Boz uses a Mac

In yesterday's comments, cW invoked one of the great philosophers of the last 50 years: Brian Bosworth.

The book cW cites, The Boz, is an underappreciated masterpiece and I urge all of you to track down a copy.

During my sophomore year at the University of Wisconsin, I was lucky enough to find a used hardcover edition in the $1 bin, and over the next few years it provided a great blueprint for me as a young man trying to find his way in the heartland.

Remember just how harsh and unforgiving Bosworth's introduction to Pro Football was?  There was Bo Jackson, then there was the bum shoulder, and then some mumblings about his contract, and then it was done.  And that's where we all misunderestimated the Boz. Because he was such a complete failure as a pro athlete, his unique philosophical vision has largely gone overlooked. 

But there is this book, this mighty book -- The Boz -- that lives on. If you can find a copy, and I hope you can, it will change your life. The basic thrust of the book is "be yourself, especially if you're cool like me." But it's so much more than that.  It describes his freeway navigation technique, which he calls "diagonal driving." This involves going about a hundred miles an hour in the ri