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10/31/05: First the lights, then the collar goes up, and the wind begins to blow Happy Halloween. Best holiday of the year. I'm dressing up as my boss and I intend to take a picture or two. He's out of town so we'll email him the pics. I hope he laughs. The baby is going as a watermelon. You all lose on that one. Nice guesses, though. In a way, this period of not owning a computer is really exciting and fun. I can dream about all the cool machines I might someday own but I don't have to commit to any of them. Because once I commit, I will surely commit to the wrong machine and end up bitching for a few years. That's my way with technology. I've been thinking more and more about a Mac, so if any of you are Apple Experts, here are a few questions:
1) Is the difference between
this iBook and
this Powerbook worth $700? Especially with the iBook having longer
battery life... I need to know. Although I am thinking I won't have a new computer for about three months. I aim to research this one better than the last one. One bummer about buying a Mac is that I'd have to purchase word, excel, etc. for Mac, having already done so for our 2 PC's. That's a couple hunnert bucks right there. And since I have used Microsoft FrontPage to create this piece of shit website, I'd need to buy a new Mac-based web publishing program. And from what I understand, the "HTML" generated by FrontPage is so jumbled and arcane, I'd have a hard time importing these old pages into a new platform. And I know how you all love to browse the archives.* But the bright side is maybe I could get a cool new publishing program instead of this rather stupid one. Or I could just use blogger or something else that's free. It was a beautiful day in NYC today, nice enough really that I could have shot some outdoor hoops if I'd had the time. Not many days like this one left. I always feel a vague sense of melancholy when Fall arrives and it's a beautiful sunny day but it's just a little nippy and there's not a soul on any of the basketball courts. All those beautiful basketball courts, just sitting there. I've noticed that there are way fewer destroyed backboards in NY than there used to be. Big chips to the Department of Parks for staying on top of that. I enjoyed the piss out of this weekend. Without doing much of anything. PBdotC eLogged the Giants-Skins game, which was fun. The live eLog is a concept that we need to see more of. Well done, Pete. I have a bunch of interns sequestered in the basement trying to figure out ways we can steal that idea and repackage it here at www.verbungle.com. Inxe writes in from Chicago after a brush with fame: It's 9am Sunday morning, and I have to return a movie at blockbuster. I'm on the 17th floor and the elevator door opens. There's a father and his teenage daughter with 3 large suitcases. Oh my he looks familiar, what's his name. It's the guy from the White Sox and Yankees, it's not Jose but the other one. Shit what's his name? I cannot remember, he's talking with his daughter in Spanish. So I ask, yes I ask! Can I take a picture with my cell phone when we get to the lobby? He kind of nods. We get down to the lobby, and he walks directly to the building garage. I get totally dissed! His daughter looks at me as she walks by and gives that 'my dad totally blew you off hahahaha'. I ask the guy at the front desk, hey what's his name. It's Orlando Hernandez. He apparently lives in the building, who knew. Not sure if it's too early to report this, but Verbungle.com has stepped into craigslist territory, helping broker a high-end real estate deal that will see Inxe moving in with my old college buddy Vic in Chicago. We didn't have much to do with the deal, actually, but we put them in contact with each other and they worked something out. It should be interesting. Sort of an "Even Couple" with two Oscars. Not really. It should be fine. Looking forward to the story of the first dirty dish-inspired argument. If you're writing a story in which a guy and his woman are having an argument, you can feel free to use this line I came up with today while I was walking back from Le Pain Quotidien with sandwiches, coffee, and chocolate chip cookies. "The only time you listen to me is when you think I might say something you can throw back in my face later." It's yours. Free to do with as you wish. If you want to put it into a PowerPoint presentation, fine. Want to say it to the conductor on MetroNorth tomorrow morning? Go for it. I am releasing it like a beautiful wild bird into the open skies of the internets. No pictures here for the last few days. Is that bothering anybody? For ten points, tell me whodat? * Actually, I don't know if anyone besides me has EVER looked at the archives. 10/30/05: Weekends were made for Michelob So maybe I'm late to the party on this one, but... When you go to an electronics store and the nice salesperson convinces you to buy the extended service agreement for the expensive product you're purchasing, don't you sort of assume that said extended service agreement takes effect AFTER the manufacturer's comprehensive warranty period expires? Probably. But say at that moment, when you're in the store, practically panting with excitement about your new gizmo, you're not totally sure, and so you ask the salesperson the following question: "So, does this extended service agreement take effect AFTER the manufacturer's warranty runs out?" And he says: "Yes" or "Yes, the manufacturer covers the first year, and then the EXTENDED 2-year service agreement kicks in. So you're covered for three years." THEN, once you had gone to that little bit of extra effort to confirm what you suspected, wouldn't you feel pretty confident that your 2-year extended service agreement, when coupled with your 1-year manufacturer's warranty, would have you covered for THREE years from the date of your purchase? Yes, you would. But if you came to that conclusion after purchasing a Toshiba 5205-s705 computer at COMPUSA in September of 2003, you'd be wrong. In case you didn't know this, at COMPUSA, the "extended" service takes effect the exact second you purchase your product. So the first year of this "extended" service plan runs concurrently with the manufacturer's warranty. So you are actually paying all that money (for me, $350) for one year of "extended" service. Not two. Perhaps a better name for the "two year extended service agreement" would be the "one year extended service agreement." But I guess that doesn't have as nice a ring to it. The first lesson is: Read the fine print, ya mook. As always. But there are other, more immediately relevant lessons to be learned as well. Here's one: it never hurts to say, FUCK YOU, COMPUSA. That felt good. FUCK YOU, COMPUSA. Still. Feels. Good. Here's another: TOSHIBA is a crap-ass company that makes crap-ass laptops. Never buy one. I guess maybe from this nonsense you've figured out that I took my broken computer into COMPUSA to get it fixed today (I even brought along a letter I typed up detailing the computer's extensive medical history), and they informed me that my 2-year service plan expired last month. Terrific. They also let me know that I could still drop off the computer for repairs, but I would be charged whatever it costs to repair my busted shit. I said no thank you. I am not going to waste too much time on this fiasco for a few reasons: 1) We all whine too much, especially me. When you take two seconds to remember that you are leading a life that's happier and more privileged than 99.99999999+ percent of all the creatures that have ever breathed this planet's delicious air, you realize what a douche you are for whining. I'm not saying no more whining, ever. Nosiree. I will continue to whine when I deem it appropriate. We are all entitled to evaluate our own happiness on a personal scale. Meaning, we can compare it to how happy we've been in the past, how happy we expect ourselves to be, etc. We don't always have to compare ourselves to people who are more miserable than we are. That said, having a broken computer, while annoying, is not that big a deal. and 2) More importantly, the slap in the face courtesy of COMPUSA has allowed me to let that terrible, bug-ridden computer die its final death. It will not be resuscitated again. I am putting it behind me. and 3) Hopefully, once I can break down the wife's understandable reluctance to buy me a new $2000 computer that'll probably die within the next year or two, I will have a new $2000 computer. So I enlist your help: Tell me what computer to buy. I may not get one for a few months, but I want to be prepared when I do. Here are my requirements:
-laptop (even though I rarely travel and desktops are more powerful, stable and
durable) I don't care much about the screen quality as long as it's not a total craperoonie. I know it's a lot to ask for but I really want to get a good one and I am willing to pay a decent amount for it. Macs are intriguing but I'd need some convincing. For one thing, this program I am using right now doesn't run on Macs. I got a bad haircut last week. Went to the guy on 1st avenue, ignored BJL's advice about which guy to go to, and paid the price. I had a high game of 193 bowling on Friday night. I think it's safe to say that I will break 200 at some point. The only problem is that I only go bowling like twice a year. 156, 193, and then the third game I fell apart and threw a few down the alley between my legs, backwards, etc. Ended up with like a 128. The pin-setting device in our lane was messed up so we were constantly resetting the pins, which was tiresome and took a lot of fun out of the night. Chelsea Piers is a crap place to bowl. But I'm not complaining. The ending to the previous post -- Back up your hard drives TONIGHT -- may have been the dorkiest thing I've ever typed in two and a half years of dorky typing. It would have been OK if not for the CAPITALIZATION. Which scares me, because there's a whole mess o' capitalization in this post as well. But whatever. Today was the best Saturday I've had in a long time. Just hung out with the wife and baby and walked around town. Felt great even after my defeat at COMPUSA. NBA starts soon, Wisconsin is 8-1, and for once I've got a Halloween costume picked out. Life's pretty damn sweet. For ten points, tell me what food item we are dressing up our four month-old daughter as for Halloween. So it's time for another round of "What should I do about my fucked computer?" While I figure out the answer to that question, blogging will be light. This is the wife's computer I'm using tonight. She gets first dibs. When my technology fails, especially a unit that I was never happy with, my first reaction is anger. Then a few hours go by and I start thinking of solutions. It's during this time that I fantasize about maybe getting a brand new piece of superior equipment to replace the failed unit. Then I realize I can't afford to do that. Especially when I'm still covered by the extended service plan. So that's what I'll have to do. Drop off the piece of shit at COMPUSA and wait forever for it to get fixed. Last time I believe it was about seven weeks. That fiasco was almost exactly a year ago. The worst part is that it's just a shitty computer, even when it's working. It overheats and the fan blows as loud as a fucking hurricane. It's supposed to be a "powerhouse," but if you ask it to do more than one thing at a time it pretty much refuses to do anything. So when and if they repair it, I'll get a shitty computer back and I can begin the cycle again. I wish I was rich enough to have like ten computers. The worst part about this particular failure is that the warning signs were crawling all over the place like cockroaches and I ignored them all. The computer almost died when I was out in California last month, then I ran some spyware and adware programs and deleted some shit and it came back to life. But it was practically screaming "Back your shit up now!" And I ignored it. And now the hard drive is crispy fried and I don't think I can do anything about it. And if I take the computer in to COMPUSA for repairs I acknowledge that the HD is gone forever. I don't really see another option, though. My last backup was prior to the Crash of '04, so I lost a year's worth of stuff. LOST: Every digital picture I've taken in that time frame, except the ones of the baby, which are backed up on the wife's computer. Still, that's a lot of good photos that are gone forever. LOST: A year's worth of emails. I should probably care but I don't. LOST: A few documents, including maybe two or three stories that I started but didn't get far into. Don't care much about these either. LOST: A few songs that I downloaded from iTunes. One more reason not to download from iTunes. I guess that's about it. The pictures sting. But bizarrely, what upsets me the most is that I had a verbungle post all typed up in there and ready to go, and now it's gone. It wasn't even very good, but I just can't get over my anger about it. I guess it's cuz I made something and now it's gone. That sucks. I'm not going to recreate that post, but I will recap it briefly. I explained that Dan K. won the Artestdat contest, even if some quick internets research reveals that maybe Artest didn't actually work at Circuit City, just applied for work there. Still, DK gets the nine points. As for the props-replace-dat challenge, I wrote out long commentaries on each submission, and it really took some effort. I can't do that again. I think I will just say the winner is "chips" and give the 14 points to Deion. I liked all of the ideas. I had a great story about the phrase "Tasty Treats" that maybe one day I'll type up. The rest of the post was about my typical daily bullshit. I mentioned how I saw a lunatic at Paragon menacing customers with a wooden rod that he had sharpened into a spear. The staff said he came in all the time and nobody knew what to do about it. How about tossing his ass out? I hate Larry Bowa and I hate Phil Garner. I was offended that Garner called Everett a "fucking faggot" in Game 3. I know we all say things in the heat of the moment that aren't quite appropriate, and I know I shouldn't look to baseball dugouts for examples of decorum and good taste, but I still found it embarrassing that a 55 year-old man in a position of power is tossing around the word "faggot." Speaking of that rather offensive word, in what flagrantly un-PC movie is there a gay character with a dog named Faggot? No googling, and 11 points to the winner. Bowling Friday night. I feel a 200 game coming on. Or maybe it's just two 100 games. Back up your hard drives TONIGHT.
Gotta love that HaloScan. It's like the Billy Carter* of the Bungle administration. So on our shoot the other day (which I was really only peripherally involved in), an on-air talent left some personal items behind. One of the other producers on the shoot called me to see if I knew which on-air talent it was (I didn't). Then the producer dude called me back and left a message that they had figured out who the items belonged to, and wondered aloud how we could get them back to that person, clearly hoping I'd sign up for the task. He followed this voicemail up with a text message and an email including the on-air talent's address, complete with cross-street. Since the shoot and the on-air talent's crib were only about two blocks from each other, and they were both on my way to work, I volunteered to grab the items and drop them off at the dude's apartment. Call me a schmuck. On the way to the shoot location, I encountered Mean Old Steve for the third time in the last two weeks. He must live around here. I should have sensed that his presence was an omen of shittiness to come, but I trudged on anyway. I got the stuff, which turned out to be pretty heavy, and I lugged it over to the intersection in question. Except when I got there, the address didn't match up with the numbers on the buildings. I called the dude who had asked me to go get the stuff and I said, "Uh, so I am at (indicated intersection) and the numbers on the buildings are off. Way off." "Oh...the girl who gave me the address said she wasn't sure of the cross-street, but that's where she thought it was. The address is definitely correct, though." NONE OF THIS WAS INDICATED IN HIS TEXT MESSAGE OR CORRESPONDING EMAIL. "Yeah, that may be true, but the reason I volunteered for this mission was that it was on my way to work," I said. "The actual address is not then on my way to work, and I can't make it there and be on time for work. I guess we'll have to messenger it there later." "Yeah, no big deal," the dude said. "No rush." It IS a big deal, I wanted to say. You have me lugging thirty pounds of crap halfway across the city because you gave me bad information. Instead, I just hung up and took a cab the remaining 1700 feet to work. I forgot to get a receipt, though. More hints of the shitty day to come. Then at work, I was quickly blamed twice for other people's mistakes. And the mistakes were such that I'd have to be an asshole to say something. So I said nothing and just dealt with it. For the next hour or so, every time I opened my mouth I said the wrong thing. My jokes were either unfunny or insensitive, and every time I tried to contribute something intelligent it turned out I was like four steps behind in the conversation. I kept getting glared at or mocked or ignored. So I did a wise thing, for once: I shut the fuck up. I consciously decided that shutting the fuck up was in my best interest, and it worked. Nobody can get on your case when you've shut the fuck up. It wasn't my day, nothing I tried could change that, so all I could do was shut the fuck up and ride it out. I recommend it, really. Shut the fuck up. It worked for me. It was cold in the office today, too. I was underdressed in my ugly button down shirt. Tomorrow I will wear a sweater. I like sweater weather. It's reassuring somehow. I think I will also buy a new flannel shirt. That will be my one indulgence this Fall/Winter season. Anyone seen a nice one I can order online? Major ( ) to bc mi for nailing Ehrlichman. For the "props" replacement challenge (see 10/23 post), we like some of the ones we've received but we're gonna keep the phone lines open another day for two reasons. One, HaloScan went on a bender through most of the day today, and two, this is too important an initiative for us to just rush it through. So we will continue to accept answers until Tuesday at 11:54pm HST. For nine genius points, where did Ron Artest work in the offseason to supplement his NBA income when he was a member of the Chicago Bulls? Please do not google. * I temporarily considered a Roger Clinton comparison, but finally decided to go with B. Carter as this website is closer in its overall effectiveness to the Carter team. Plus Billy Carter was a little less offensive than Roger Clinton. He was sort of a harmless, hopeless fuckup, but not without his charms. Just like HaloScan. 10/24/05: Fuck Everything, We're Doing Five Blades
And we got a pumpkin for Baby Bungle's first Halloween. Renting cars is pretty bogus. But owning one here in NYC seems highly impractical. So I don't know. Looks like I'm walkin'. I want to give Pete B. some big (insert synonym for pr**s here) for not only having the discipline to forge ahead with more research for the Gatorade Project II, but also for having the creativity to come up with some truly original Gato-recipes. Such as today's. That shit looked so good I almost went out to the store at midnight just to grab myself some Gatorade. But I'll wait another day. My ball-playing plans haven't worked out as well as I'd have liked. I played with the Kois Krew on Thursday night, which was fun. But the guy who was guarding me most of the night was a marathon runner, and the disparity in our respective fitness levels became more and more apparent as the night wore on. The first few games, I held my own, hit a couple shots here and there. But by the third or fourth games I was beginning to get sore. That shouldn't happen until the next day, right? Whatever the case, I found it harder and harder to keep up with Marathon Man. And I kept getting trapped with nowhere to go and throwing the ball away, which is not usually what I do. One thing I noticed, if the guy who's guarding me doesn't go for my lame fakes, I'm hung out to dry. Hell, I suck. It's time for golf. Speaking of ball-playing plans that didn't quite work out as well as expected, take a look at the picture at right (as if you hadn't already). If you like it, and I know you do, please feel free to pay a visit to this site, where you can see plenty more that are just as good. That link comes courtesy of BJL, who sent it in along with this disclaimer: "Don't ask or even wonder why I was looking on this site." I miss ol' Sky. He always seemed like a nice guy. It wasn't his fault that he was only able to do one thing on a basketball court. I remember during his first couple of years, he'd have some 20 point games here and there in which he hit two or three jumpers from the top of the key. We'd all be like, "Look out, now! The Skywalker has arrived!" But I think we all knew he was just a great dunker and not much else, and we knew that would never change. You kind of have to blame Kentucky for letting him enter the draft so unrefined after 4 years. They had him playing center at 6'7", which may work in the SEC, but when you come to play with the grown-ups you better have some skills. Today I offer a verbungle.com first: a review preview. The item in question is my brand new Gillette M3 Power Nitro razor. I've been going with an electric razor for about a year now and I just don't like it much. This baby is like a hybrid blade/electric monster with a AAA battery that goes in the handle and makes it go bzzzz. I hope I don't get electrocuted before I can give you my review. Good World Series game tonight. I'm glad I snapped out of my Yankee stupor in time to catch some games. Adam R. sends in this link to a story about FJM. The guys behind FJM sound like dicks, but they are damn funny so I forgive them. For twelve points, tell me whodat. And don't forget to weigh in on yesterday's challenge (below). 10/23/05: If that guy lives to 100, he'll probably never have his own office...and he's OK with that I think we all fancy ourselves great celebrity-voice-over identifiers. The difference with me is that I really am. Be honest: did you recognize Jon Lovitz as the new voice of the Outdoor Life Network? No. Were you able to pick out Bette Midler's voice on the new Pepboys commercials? Uh-uh. And I'm sure you also failed to identify Tim Kazurinsky as the new spokesman for Colt .45. I nailed all of those. But some voices are really obvious. Obvious enough that even you probably made the connection, such as Gene Hackman on the United commercials or George Clooney for Budweiser. I'm sure it's been discussed in a bazillion places already, but the celebrity VO has taken over. It makes sense that it has, because it's really a win-win scenario.
The celebrity wins because somehow it's a less grotesque sellout than appearing in person on the ads; they preserve a little more dignity. And lately so many of them have been doing it that it's become a completely acceptable thing to do. Fuck, I'd do it if somebody offered me a ton of money. Provided I wasn't already as rich as George Clooney.* But I do remember from an Advertising class I took in college that product endorsers are required by law (see section I/D/4/a) to be active users of the product they are endorsing**. While I doubt that doing paid VO work constitutes "endorsing," it should. I think Julia Roberts should be forced to use AOL, on a dial-up connection no less. Her screen name could be like JuliaRoberts219 or something. When she wanted to cruise chat rooms or "cyber", she could resort to her smutty secondary screen name (mine was Mikereno7, hers could be PrettyWoman69 or something). She'd be the best. I miss Calvin and Hobbes. My roommate Little Scotty was a huge fan, and he'd always have the books laying around. I logged about 1500 hours of toilet time with those books, and they never failed to make me smile. Watterson somehow managed to capture the pure joy and whimsy of childhood without making his comic cutesy or saccharine. I think I may go buy the complete set.
DKNY writes in with some thoughts on the coverage of WS Game 1. His
notes: 2. The utter surreality of "national recording artist" Liz Phair singing "God Bless America" at Comiskey Park. Yeah, I had the sound down during the game, so I didn't hear how she was introduced, but I assumed it wasn't "Let's give a big Windy City welcome to the singer of "Hot White Cum" and "Fuck and Run" -- Chicago's own Liz Phair!" Gotta give the White Sox mad pro.. er.. a "well done", though. They could have gone in some much lamer directions than that (which unfortunately cannot be said of Liz Phair's recent career, which has indeed gone in the lamest possible direction). They could have gone with Chicago the band, for chrissakes. I guess there's probably a limited selection of Chicago-area recording artists they could choose from who haven't already aligned themselves with the more celeb-friendly Cubs over the years. I am predicting that Kanye West is not invited to participate in the WS in any way other than maybe getting some free tickets. We shot our first HD project last week, and the marching orders, were, predictably, "Shoot 16:9, protect 4:3." Which means frame up your shot as if you are delivering the show in 16:9 (HD) dimensions, but make sure nothing important takes place out of the 4:3 (SD) dimensions. I assume nearly all HD television projects are shot with this same philosophy, because 90% of the world is going to watch your HD product in SD. Which means that those two extra strips of video on the sides of all our snazzy HDTV screens are largely filled up with meaningless data. It's a prettier picture for sure, but I want to see some cool stuff happening over in those side bars. If it can't be of significance to the actual show itself, they should make it some exclusive, wild shit that only we HDTV owners can see. Naked ladies is a good place to start. My exhausted wife put the baby to bed tonight, then passed out on the couch watching an episode of Lost on the Magic Box. She half-got up an hour later and called me over. "Can you deal with her diaper?" she asked gently. "Whose diaper?" I asked, knowing that the baby was sleeping comfortably in her crib. My wife actually extended both her arms to me as if she was handing off the baby. Then, realizing there was no baby, she said, "Where is she!?!?" As if the baby had vanished or escaped or something. She felt much better when she found out the baby was in her crib. It was pretty funny. Renting a car and going apple-picking on Sunday. Howdaya like them apples?
* Ah, maybe he gives the money to charity. You know what excites me? That somebody finally got the background-dat. That is some nice work. Here's to isired for coming up with www.drpepper.com. Well the hell done. I don't know for sure who isired is, but I know it must have been a crusher for Joe Monkeyweb. He's usually cash on these types of challenges, and he should know that Dr. Pepper is always close to me in some way. At least he can take solace in his hot new redesign. I'm also glad that one got solved because it frees me up to talk about Dr. Pepper again. Here's the first thing I'd like to say: You may have seen ads touting new Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper. What? If it has Cherry and Vanilla in there, it ain't Dr. Pepper. I don't think this is open for debate. Dr. Pepper is a name for a specific, time-tested beverage, and I'd appreciate it if the people at the Dr. Pepper company had enough respect for their bread and butter product to refrain from whoring its name out to the lame-ass concoctions that the overpaid hacks in R & D are coming up with. Go ahead and sell 'em if you want, but they are in no way Dr. Pepper and should not be referred to as such. Damn. In yesterday's other challenge, BC MI correctly got John Wilkes Booth. After that, like 94 other people gave the same answer, at most 2 of which were sarcastic. I think there is a statement about human nature in there somewhere, but I don't care. I ate a grilled cheese sandwich for dinner at 12:58 a.m. tonight. The pounds are really starting to melt off. And I plan on playing some Koisball Thursday night, so I should be back to my high school weight after that. Hey Kois:
a) Are you ever going to start up your blog again? Are you working for someone
who forbids it? If so, they're a dick. I have been missing the Midwest lately. Specifically: Madison, Chicago, and Minneapolis. I think in five years I will go back to Madison, rent a moped and re-enact the moped photo. Then I'll throw a potato through somebody's window. Do you understand what hemi-powered means? Do you? BJL probably does, but I bet the rest of you don't. Here is a quick explanation my buddy JPW furnished for me the other day within ten minutes of receiving my request:
Leave it to the engineer/gearhead in the group. You're goddamn right it does. OK, Stuytown. You call yourself a "luxury" apartment complex. Why then when I went down to throw in some laundry tonight was there a submarine sandwich shredded and strewn across the entire laundry room? A whole sandwich, smeared everywhere. Lettuce, tomaters, bread, meat. Everywhere. It looked like somebody had tried to cram it into a washing machine. This does not happen at Zeckendorf Towers. But I give you the benefit of the doubt. I know you've started renting to NYU students (which would not happen in a real luxury apartment), and I know college students are capable of some stupid shit. Like smearing a sandwich all over somebody's laundry room, or peeing on grandma's favorite chair. I won't hold you directly responsible for what one dickhead did in the laundry room. What I will hold you responsible for is whether or not somebody cleans it up in the next 24 hours. Hurry up. You know what? I'll be the first to admit that I don't know the difference between a pandemic and an epidemic. When I was a kid, it was an epidemic. Now everybody's like "It's gonna be a pandemic." I think people who say "pandemic" are just trying to sound smart. It's amazing how you can like and respect someone for twenty years and then it all unravels in the course of five words. I've always liked Craig Biggio. He's been a great player, fun to watch, and since he's from the East Coast I naively assumed he wasn't a dumb baseball cracker. Then I got this week's Sports Illustrated, and they have a little section in there where they ask four sports figures the same set of pop culture questions. In this week's, Biggio was featured, and here were his first two answers.
Favorite Non-Sports Magazine: Bowhunter OK, Craig, a couple of things. One, Bowhunter is probably considered a sports magazine. So you kind of screwed up that answer. Plus, your answer was Bowhunter. You are now officially a scary, stupid motherfucker. Two, "all rap music" is not a song. So you really failed to answer that one as well. You ain't that bright, are you. Plus, is it possible that you've heard all the rap music ever composed, which would put you in a position to make such a judgment? I guess technically it is, but since you hate it so much all that listening must have been a real pain. Perhaps you wear a small batting helmet because your small head houses a small brain. While it is safe to say some rap music sucks, I think you could probably make that statement about Garth Brooks music or whatever the hell you listen to. Some rap music, you might be shocked to discover, is actually quite awesome. Cracker-ass. I must say it is good to see the PBdotC back up and running. Strong work so far. For 11 genius points, name the song that contains these lyrics (no googlin'):
Girls like her are very special
Deion, who may have been operating from memory, gets 8 of the 12 grannycardat points. It was a white 1973 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme that Grandma bequeathed to us upon her death. There was a brief period in maybe 1989, right after I got my license (city folk don't always get their license at 16), that I thought maybe that car would become mine. It wasn't running so good, but it was running, and my mom was keeping it at a friend's house out in Riverhead, Long Island so we wouldn't have to pay for parking. The car was really just waiting to die, but I looked at that old monster as a symbol of my rapidly expanding freedom. Who was going to stop me now from marauding across the countryside, playing basketball by day and meeting eager young townie girls by night? Nobody could stop the Cutlass. One weekend early that summer, my friend Benjy and I went out to Riverhead to tool around in the car. At that point, I was not yet aware that I was destined to always be a terrible driver. And Benjy didn't even have a license, so I figured he wouldn't complain about anything. Most of the trip was fine. We drove around the Island in the Cutlass, occasionally opening up the roaring V-8 engine on straightaways, and we blasted the radio loud the way we imagined suburban kids did. The sun was shining, we had slurpees on our laps, and we had no place to be but wherever we were going. It was sweet. Reception was so-so, so we kept changing stations, searching for that perfect combination of acoustic clarity and song quality. Ouch, Paula Abdul. Yuck, Glenn Frey. Then suddenly "Sweet Child O' Mine" emerged beautifully and cleanly through the static as if transmitted from God directly into our car's antenna. The song was maybe a year and a half old at that point, and in that time all living humans had heard it over 1000 times. But it never sounded quite as great as it did that day. "I just want to say," I said, turning my head slightly towards Benjy but maintaining strict 10 o'clock-2 o'clock hand placement, "that no matter how old I am, no matter where I hear it, no matter what happens between now and then, no matter what I might say...this song will always be awesome." Benjy nodded in complete and sincere agreement. Since then, I've wavered a bit on "Sweet Child O' Mine," sometimes loving it, sometimes pretending to dismiss it as schlocky and cheesy and all the other things it probably is, but eventually coming full circle and accepting its eternal awesomeness. That night, we decided to see a movie. We drove a couple of towns over to the big multiplex. I parked the car without incident and we bought our tickets to "Lethal Weapon 2" or whatever big, dumb action flick was showing. I remember standing at the concession stand and ordering a bunch of crap like I always do. The kid taking my order, who couldn't have been more than 16, was giggling, and I asked him what was so funny. "She thinks you're cute," he said, motioning to his blushing co-worker, who was actually pretty cute herself. But she was too young, and I had a girlfriend 1000 miles away anyway, so it probably wasn't meant to be. Still, between that and our crash-free drive to the theater, I must admit I felt a little bit like The Man. As history tells us, The Man does drive around Long Island in a white 1973 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme, so my confusion was understandable. When we walked into the parking lot after the movie, we noticed that it had begun to rain. Between that and the fact that it was now dark, we knew the ride home might get interesting. Which it did. It was a long drive on 2-lane roads that we didn't know, and I remember finding it really hard to see. And consequently finding it hard to stay in our lane. Benjy, suddenly and definitively sensing my spectacular incompetence, anxiously grasped at the armrest, the side of his seat, the dashboard, anything that he could get his hands on -- all the while undoubtedly reciting a silent prayer. We quickly got lost, and I remember pulling off this 2-lane highway into somebody's driveway, right off the road, and having to back up onto the highway to turn around. In the dark, in the rain, with cars whizzing by at 65 mph. It was a crazy, stupid, amateur hour move, and it was only shit blind luck that pulled us through. Eventually we made it home, and I'm pretty sure Benjy vowed right then never to get in a car with me again. And I think he's kept that vow. My confidence was rattled, but I figured I'd have plenty more chances to build it back up over the next few months. Learning to drive, developing that comfort zone where everything is second nature, takes time. Which I had. And what better car to learn on than an old beater like that? My next opportunity came later that summer. My mom rented a place in Connecticut, so we needed to move the car there. My friend Nathanael and I drove it to Port Jefferson and onto the ferry. I didn't crash. I remember on the way there, we noticed that the car only had 18,000 miles on it. We also noticed that the odometer only had room for five digits, so we assumed it had rolled past 100K and turned over on its way to 118. Or 218. The car was 15 years old. Who knew how often or how far grandparents drive? My mom promised me that the car would be mine when I went back to Madison for school in September. A new era seemed to be upon us. But the Cutlass started hacking up phlegm by mid-August, and we all knew it was just a matter of time. That proud old warrior died just before Labor Day. And I've still never owned a car. *** You know what's cool about work? It's one of the few places where they never kick you out. I was working kinda late tonight, but I could have stayed there until tomorrow, and nobody woulda cared. Bars, baseball stadiums, stores, parks, brothels -- just about every good place there is will eventually ask you to leave. But not work. They'll let you grind it out until you collapse, and even then you could probably go lay in a conference room or something. The only other place I can think of that you can stay all night is the subway. Too bad neither of those places is any fun. *** For eleven genius points, tell me whodat historical blemish? 10/18/05: Super Triple Cash Money As you may or may not know, I don't eat meat. But I used to, and if there's one animal-related treat that I wish I had tried but never did, it's rotisserie chicken. The ones you buy in the supermarket, already cooked. Nobody's got a bad word to say about those. Yum. This morning at the office a co-worker called me over to point out a rumpled-up one dollar bill that was sitting on the floor in the middle of the hallway. She correctly pointed out that it looked like it had been left there so someone could videotape one of us going over to pick it up. Nobody did. Then about a half hour later I was walking down a completely different hallway, and there on the ground sat a similarly rumpled ten dollar bill. This was weird enough. Then at my wife's office, an email was sent around asking if anyone had lost any money. Was today some sort of bizarre National Fuck-With-Your-Co-workers-By-Leaving-Money-Around Day? Nobody's got the background-dat yet, so keep on guessing. I would offer a clue but I can't think of one that wouldn't completely give it away. Here's a guy who who's better equipped than I am to eloquently and geekily begin to tell you what's wrong with the stupid industry-standard iPod. Winner of the caption-dat...is EJ in a tight race over several spirited runners-up. Invoking the Log Cabin Republicans was an inspired and necessary move. For four points each, tell me the year, make and/or model of the car my grandmother left us when she passed away in 1986. Since nobody's got it yet, feel free to answer yesterday's 12-point challenge (even if you've guessed already): from whose website did I steal my new background color? Damn, I like this new background color. I liked the green, too, but it was gettin' old. And it was a little too subtle and laid-back. This new background stands right up and announces to your boss, Yes, I am looking at an amateurish website on company time, goddamit. What in the name of Ozzie Canseco are you gonna do about it? Whenever I change something -- even the littlest thing -- my site inevitably gets all facocta. This time was no exception. So please tell me if something ain't right up in here. I mean specific problems, such as the pictures being too big and squeezing the text all nasty-like, or the page being too fat on your screen so you need to scroll back and forth just to read everything. We won't tolerate any of that shit. If you have general aesthetic issues with the way the site is laid out, I can't help you. We had to fire our website design guy because we caught him jerking off to an Austin Powers clip on his company-issued laptop. So we're gonna keep it simple and ugly. You know how I said I was gonna play hoops this weekend and I was all excited to play and start losing weight and slowly morph from my current state of flubbishness into a paler, shorter version of Dan Majerle ca. 1992? Well, instead, I stayed home and ate, among other things: potato chips, donuts, cookies, and a goddamn cream puff. A CREAM PUFF? Who eats cream puffs? I don't even really know what a cream puff is. I am immense. Tomorrow I'll buckle down. Besides eating criminally rich sweets, I spent a good four hours this weekend slugging it out in the laundry room. You know I take my laundry seriously, and for months I've considered composing some kind of Laundry Room Code of Conduct. Well, today I ran into a woman who has finally forced me to go ahead and do that. Here's what happened: The laundry room was packed (I'll never do laundry late on a weekend afternoon again), and when I got my first two loads out of the washer, all the dryers were full, with at least 15 minutes left on each one. Not being one of those losers who stays down in the laundry room the entire time that their stuff is in the machines, I put my clothes into one of the rolly hamper things, left it there, and headed back upstairs to wait. When I came back down 15 minutes later, there were two dryers open, so I rolled the hamper over and began loading my stuff into one of the two. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a woman cleaning the lint screen on the other open dryer, clearly an attempt to mark it as her territory. Fine, I thought. I'm not gonna rush over there and try to beat her to the punch if her stuff's ready to go in as well. I'll be the bigger person. I'll wait for another dryer for the rest of my stuff. As I finished loading the machine, I noticed that she was inserting a laundry card into "her" dryer and starting it up. I took a step back to survey the scene and I noticed that SHE HAD STARTED THE DRYER EVEN THOUGH SHE HAD NOTHING TO PUT IN THERE YET. She was only starting it so that she could claim it as hers, and there it was, spinning away with nothing in it. I looked at her washing machine, and it STILL HAD TEN MINUTES LEFT ON IT. You should also know that there were TWO OTHER DRYERS THAT WOULD BE DONE IN LESS THAN FIVE MINUTES. I am not one to confront others for small public indiscretions, but deep inside I am a sanctimonious asshole, and I couldn't just let her power move stand without some kind of an explanation. I went up to her.
She felt small, I could tell. The laundry room is one of those places that exposes your true soul, and hers had been just been laid bare for us both to see. It was dark and hollow, like A-Rod's bat. "Um, yeah..." she said. "It's been taking a long time to..." She trailed off, realizing that any attempt at an excuse was pointless. She had done wrong, and we both knew it. "So is this what it's come to?" I asked. "Has it become that cutthroat down here?" "Um, well, all my stuff's going in that one machine..." she said. "And look, those other two dryers are almost done." "Yeah, I see. I'll use those. I just wanted to make sure I understood exactly what was going on here." So it is in her honor that we are going to start a "Laundry Room FAQ," with answers to all of those highly charged ethical questions relating to doing laundry in a public place. When we say "Frequently Asked," we mean at least once, so if you have a question, send it in and we will post an answer. This service will begin soon, like all of the other things we promise and never deliver. Congrats to the White Sox. I have been rooting for them since the Yanks got knocked out, because my father grew up a White Sox fan in Chicago before selling his soul to the Steinbrenner Yanks in the 1970's. It would be cool if they won it all, especially because it would somehow lessen the glow of the Red Sox "amazing" title from 2004. After all, the White Sox haven't won since 1917, and you don't hear them bitching about it. Too bad I really don't like Guillen. But each remaining team has a reason to root against 'em. I truly hate Tony La Russa, and I think Pujols is on steroids, so I don't root for St. Louis. Houston's got Clemens and Pettitte and I'd hate to see them win it all after dumping out on the Yanks. So go White Sox! Did anyone else hear Stephen Malkmus in a Sears ad? Wtf? Desperate for basketball, I watched the Knicks' preseason game against Dallas tonight. I like the rookies, I really do. They all have something to add. The team is still a bit of a mess, but with Larry Brown there I can't imagine less than a 43 win season and a playoff berth. Two seasons into his Knick career, Jamal Crawford remains one of my least favorite NBA players. I like him fine as a person, but his game nauseates me. Flashes of truly stunning ability and then five bad plays in a row. I think it's interesting to compare him with Josh Howard of Dallas. They both entered college in 1999. Crawford played one scandal-tainted year at Michigan, where he led the team nowhere (one and out in the NIT) but showed enough offensive talent to get drafted #8 overall by Chicago in 2000. Howard played four years at Wake Forest, where he led the team to an ACC title and an NIT championship and played in 5 NCAA tournament games. He showed an all-around game that everyone seemed to love but it was only good enough to make him the 29th pick in 2003. Once they got to the NBA, Crawford showed that he can score on anyone, and also that he can bring his entire team down with his poor shot selection and decision making right out of an And 1 Mixtape. He also didn't seem at all interested in defense. Howard showed that he was a polished, unselfish team player who was ready to contribute to a winning team right out of the gate. Crawford got caught up in a bunch of bad-team bullshit and was basically run out of Chicago. Howard has grown in his two years in the league, and seems ready to take Michael Finley's place as the Mavs' #2 threat. Crawford still seems confused and overanxious. Would Crawford have benefited from more NCAA experience? Maybe. Shouldn't the NBA have ripened him up by now? You'd think so. Will Larry Brown finally help him figure it out? I hope so. Will Howard continue to develop? He should. Will he be held up as an example of the virtues of staying in school for four years (note: I am not pushing for this in any way; if you can make millions by coming out early, you have my blessing*)? As long as every NBA broadcast team has at least one out-of-touch white man with 1) a secret resentment of how much all these young kids get just for playing ball, and 2) a limited understanding of the economic realities facing most 19 year-old basketball stars, he surely will. Look, I'm doing it right now. All I know is I'd way rather have Howard. Although I wonder, if Howard had been a higher draft pick and gone to a crappy team like the 2000 Bulls, would he have shown the same hunger and commitment to winning? Was Crawford merely a victim of Chicago's poisonous atmosphere? Fourteen points goes to the person who can come up with the best caption for today's click-to-enlarge photo of the day (above). Multiple entries are allowed, and you may keep on submitting until 11:54 pm HST on 10/17/05. Remember, if you're the only one who enters, you win! Thank you! * Which is, I know, what most prospective NBA draft picks are looking for. 10/15/05: Deion surveys the leaderboard and likes what he sees You know what never gets old? The emotional high of successfully covering your own ass. Or, better yet, the euphoria of realizing that a bad fuckup was somebody else's fault. Not that any of that relates to me. I'm just sayin'. I got a flu shot the other day for the first time. Our office was having a "health fair" or some such so I stopped by for a quick jabbin'. That arm has been feeling flu-y ever since. On the consent form I had to fill out, one of the questions was "Are you allergic to chicken?"
Yuck, it turns out they grow that flu in chicken eggs. Nasty. And t Plus flu shots might give you Alzheimer's. That sure wouldn't be worth it. If you have a baby, you're supposed to get the flu shot, so I did it. But I'm not doing it again. Flu shots suck. I intend to play a little hoops this weekend. I think I will take it upon myself to make an early New Year's Resolution and start working on it. It's basketball related. I've noticed that I have begun to suck at basketball over the last three or four years. And that's a shame, even though I'm at an age where that's to be expected -- you don't see that many 36 year-old guys lighting it up in the NBA. Still, 36 is a viable age for weekend warriors to maintain a high percentage of their peak playing ability (PPA). In fact, at 35 or 36 is when you can see some dudes start to dominate their peers. That's because they stayed in shape and their peers let themselves go. I'm sick of being one of the victims who's let himself go. I want to be one of the guys taking advantage of those guys. I probably only have about four to six years left playing hoops competitively. I may as well enjoy it. So my goal is to be as good at basketball on my 37th birthday as I was on my 21st. Not that I was any great shakes on my 21st, but there were certainly a few things I used to be able to do that I now cannot. Like drive to the basket. I can't remember my last good drive to the basket. I think it was in June of 1993. Of course, to do those things I need to lose some weight. So part of my goal is to drop 20 pounds by my 37th birthday. Cheer me on. I've only watched about 40 minutes of it so far, but even from an objective standpoint, doncha think this ALCS would be more fun with some Yankees and/or Red Sox running around out there? I know a lot of people were like, Good, some new blood, so we don't have to hear about the Yanks and Bosox and all their crap anymore. Well, if this is the alternative, I'd rather not watch at all. Stiflingly boring games. And "Sweet" Lou Piniella clearly knows next to nothing about baseball. That USC-ND game was fun, though. I had to leave the house after the 3rd quarter and I set the DVR to record the end of the game, but, in an unforgivable rookie move, I didn't record the program following the game's scheduled end. Of course the game ran about an hour long and I missed that hour. Who won? I did see Wisconsin's fluky-ass win over Minnesota. That was pretty lame, I almost feel guilty accepting it. Almost. But we need every win. Sorry, Goldy. I missed this story the first time around:
Mark Grace caused quite a stir last night when a "technical glitch" caused
his microphone to remain on although he was unaware of it during the
Diamondbacks telecast. It proved to be a monumental embarrassment to Grace when
his candid remarks about one Diamondback player's swing was broadcast live,
complete with a forbidden expletive. Grace used the work "f***ing" at least
twice. More damaging was his harsh assessment of Diamondback catcher Chris
Snyder. His comment about Snyder's stroke, "Every f***ing swing that guy takes
is an underwater swing," won't win him any friends in the clubhouse. This will probably prove to be a huge mistake, but I must admit I'm excited for basketball season to begin. RIP Jason Collier. I am going to go ahead and predict that, in the wake of Collier's death, Eddy Curry goes in for the DNA test that he's been reluctant to take. I hope so, anyway. I also hope TJ Ford is recovered from all that spinal stuff. The Bucks could be fun, but I have to disagree with D. Lee's assessment; Bogut is going to be a disappointment. Not a full-scale, Fred Weis bust, but a disappointment. I was watching one of the NBA Preview Channels and they had a behind the scenes look at the Nets' training camp. I can't say for sure how well the Nets will do in the East this year, but if the footage I've seen is any indication, their first team will dominate the second team in practice all season long. The second team was struggling to get a shot and ends up settling for a brick off the backboard, then the first team comes down on a break and it's Kidd to VC for a windmill finish. Fun. For twelve genius points, tell me whose website I stole my new background color from. 10/13/05: How about that rain? I hate to talk weather, but this recent stretch is the rainiest and grossest we've had in awhile. And the weather geeks were all over it, too. Last week I looked at the 10-day forecast and it was just "Rain. Rain. Rain. Please check back in a month if you want to see something else." They were right, and it looks like it'll continue for at least another few days. This city is going to get soaked, and it'll probably start to feel and smell like the T-shirt I found in my gym bag the other night. Will all that water be enough to wash away A-Rod's sins? I just don't know. OK, I know I said no more baseball talk, but I lied. Lying is important. If we didn't lie every once in a while, the truth would mean nothing. So let me say a few more words about Mr. Alex Rodriguez.
I've been reading with great amusement the daily dispatches at
FJM,
and I have to admit I occasionally get tired of guys like them -- fans who think
they have figured out the game of baseball because they understand statistics
better than the idiots The point being that the postseason, especially in baseball, is an inadequate proving ground. For teams as well as individuals. In football and basketball, the best team generally wins the whole thing. They're the type of sports where a superior team, over the course of a series (basketball) or even a game (football) can assert themselves and enforce their will on an inferior team. Usually. In baseball, five or seven games is too short to decide who the best team is. It allows an inferior team to steal a series if they get a couple of strong pitching performances or a hot bat. Indeed, some teams are designed for winning postseason series (the '01 D-backs) and other, superior-over-the-long-haul teams are not (the Braves of the last 15 years). In baseball, you see a crap team beat a good team fairly often. The D-Rays swept the Yanks this spring. Probably the best way to measure the quality of a baseball team is its regular season record. The same goes for players. Unfortunately, that's just not the way we do things here on Planet Earth. I'm not saying this to soften the Yanks' defeat or absolve any of their numerous llama-faced choke artists. I just think it's funny that we as fans fully accept that the best team in 2001 was the Arizona Diamondbacks, and the best team in 1987 was the Minnesota Twins, or the best team in any season was that season's World Series Champ, because they did it when it counted. I'm not suggesting anything be changed, just that we need to take a step back when we destroy somebody for a bad series or praise them for a great one. A lot of it is luck and timing. Sure it seems like some players are able to raise their games when it matters most, and others wilt. But over one postseason series it's hard to define a player, let alone a human being. Except in A-Rod's case. A-Rod definitely choked. And he's a weak-minded individual. My powers of observation can tell me that. Thank you! We took the baby to the doctor today and the little monster is now 17 pounds. That's the average weight of a 7 month-old, and she's only 3 and a half months. I wonder, does this mean that when she's 35 she'll have the body of a 70 year-old? If her old man is any indication, the answer is a sad yes. Speaking of baby weight, the doc told me something during our last visit that surprised me. We asked, should we be worried about her weight? And the doc was like, "No, it's nothing but good to have a big baby. But we should keep tracking it. If they're still big for their age when they hit 2 years old, that's a pretty good indication that they're gonna struggle with their weight for their whole lives." Whaaaa? I couldn't believe it. I always thought there was still time to turn things around when you were two. Nope. I want to say a coupla words about D. Lee. If you haven't heard from him in a while, that's because he's spent the last month and a half producing, financing and directing an independent feature film based on his own script. I hereby issue a verbungle.com Major Congratulations. It's always impressive when somebody just puts aside all their doubts and reservations and just goes for it in life. Here's to a successful finished film and an eventual screening with delicious buttered popcorn. The answer to how many people were executed in Texas under George W. Bush is 154. The closest guess was Deion again, with 128. 9 points to the early leader. For 17 genius points, on what date will Nick and Jessica formally announce their split? 22 points for an exact match. You can guess until 11:57 HST on 10/13/05.
OK, I give up. We've been making jokes along the lines of
"The Terrorists have already won" for 4 years now. But when the world operates
like this... I'm not blaming Bloomberg for going into freakout mode (the unofficial government term for when they think the shit's about to come pouring down and they commit every resource they have to stopping the shit before it comes down), either. What's he supposed to do, get us all blowed up and be like, "Wow, that shit didn't seem credible to me. My fault"? No, he can't do that. So instead we pour millions of bucks into the problem. Because of something one dude said. What's to prevent this from happening every day? Not just informants. All it takes is an intercepted message from an Al Qaeda honcho hinting there will be an attack and we start to panic. How is this ever going to end? Fuck it all. Following this post, there will be no baseball talk on this site for at least two months. Thank you. If you must know I am still stinging from last night, but it's getting better. That A-Rod DP just shocked the shit out of me, I don't know why. It was like that scene in Jaws when they stumble upon that old dude's boat drifting late at night and Richard Dreyfuss goes underwater to check it out and the old dude's corpse comes tumbling out. I should have seen it coming, but somehow I didn't. I was thinking today about what a nice, manageable corporate cog I've become. You know you're a mindless piece of the machinery when not only do you have an employee ID number, but you've got it committed to memory. Ugh. I think through the years I've played it a little too conservatively at the office. Sure, I've been absolutely blotto at work a couple of times back in the mid to late 90's. I come in late quite often. Maybe I've pulled a few office pranks here and there. But I also stay full days, even when the boss is out. When cW was working with us, he reported directly to one SVP, and if she went home early (which she did about three times a week), he would be packing his stuff up before the sound of her footsteps walking down the hallway faded. He would be gone within ten minutes or so of her departure, whether it was noon, two, or five. He did not hesitate. I wish I had a little more of that in me. Played hoops tonight. Played four games, won 'em all. Even if there was some rust on these old bones, it felt great. Something about tossing that ball up through that hoop just makes me happy, even after all these years. It was the first time in over a month that I played in the city, and I'd like to offer you some free advice: when you're entering that stage of your athletic career when you only play once a month or so, BE SURE TO REMOVE ANY SWEAT-DRENCHED ITEMS OF CLOTHING FROM YOUR GYM BAG IMMEDIATELY AFTER YOU GET HOME. I accidentally left a soggy T-shirt in my bag the last time I played, and it was waiting for me tonight when I started packing up to go play. I've never smelled a dead man's ass, but after this experience I think I have a good idea what it smells like. I threw out the T-shirt; hopefully I can salvage the bag with a good washing. It reeks. Deion absolutely nailed yesterday's executiondat with his answer of 38 states (album title!). 12 points for him. Staying on the execution tip, how many inmates were executed in Texas during Bush's stint as gub'nor? No looking that shit up, please. 9 points to closest answer, 20 for an exact match. If this dude doesn't already have a blog, he should start one. OK, let's do a quick post mortem of the Yankees. If you don't like whinin', hit the "back" arrow on your browser and gander at those titties again. For some reason, tonight's loss hit me harder than most. In fact, let's rank 'em. Most Painful Losses of the Torre Era
1.
Game 7 2001 WS For some reason, 2002 and 2003 weren't this bad. Now on to general bitching and the distribution of Llama Faces*.
1. The Angels played a far cleaner, more efficient brand of baseball in every
game. The Yanks played the role of the
overpriced juggernaut with feet of clay to a T. When the bats failed, the Yanks
had nowhere to turn. And oh the bats did fail. As did the gloves. And the arms.
If you came to this series without a rooting interest, you'd find yourself
pulling for the Angels. Other than maybe two guys on that team, they are a likable crew
and they play hard, aggressively, and smart. Even Erstad kinda won me over. Hats off.
Whatever the case, I've loved having Bernie and I will remember the good years
over these last three. These last three he should not have been
So thus ends a frustrating, exciting, tense, and ultimately disappointing season. I was feeling pretty low right after the game, especially 'cause I'm not a huge football fan and New York's other Multi--million-dollar Morass, the Knicks, are on deck. Then I went into the bedroom and I saw this, and I swear I felt better right away. So tomorrow I'll trudge off to work with a fully charged iPod, and I'll feel the crisp autumn air on my face as I walk** across the island of Manhattan. And life will go on. But it won't feel right for awhile. I'll have to ease the pain with stupid stuff like this. Eventually all will be right. I'm gonna try to play ball this Thursday if the Kois-Man will have me. In honor of Kevin Brown, please tell me, without doing any research, how many of the 50 states have the death penalty? Closest guess gets 9 points, twelve for an exact answer.
* We've done run outta Gas Faces, so we're moving on to the Llama face this
year.
I mean, if you added up the pieces I've seen over the years, I've probably seen the whole thing. But I've never sat down and said, "I'm gonna watch Caddyshack" and then gone ahead and done it. This movie is for many members of my undistinguished generation a cultural rite of passage. Unfortunately, it's from Caddyshack, and movies like it, that a lot of people learned about life. Or at least about comedy. They've quoted it so often and for so long that the lines have become familiar to everyone, even those of us who've somehow avoided seeing the actual movie. The reason I bring this up is that Caddyshack was on TV on Friday night, and the wife and I started watching it. It kept our attention for a good 38 minutes, which is easily the longest uninterrupted Caddyshack experience of my life. During that 38 minutes I was able, I feel, to form a reasonably accurate appraisal of the movie. My opinion: Caddyshack is a terrible, terrible movie. A 9.7 on the VRS. From the distractingly phony and unfunny animatronic gopher to Chevy Chase's constant smirk to the lame supporting cast to the half-assed way the movie was produced, shot, and edited to the multiple Loggins tunes playing in the background to the scene with the Baby Ruth in the swimming pool to the overwhelming sense that they were making it up as they were going along -- this is one bad movie. And, other than a few fine moments, it ain't that funny. I guess you could say that it and a few other movies like it set the tone for 1980's comedy. And that's not good. Maybe comedy itself, more than other genres, needs to be enjoyed in the moment it was created. For instance, I also think Some Like It Hot kind of sucks the giant mildewy gym sock. In 1959 it might have seemed brilliant and risqué. Maybe good comedy is about pushing boundaries, and once a movie (or comedian, or book, or TV show, etc.) pushes them to a certain point, a whole slew of better movies comes in and plows through those boundaries completely, in a more interesting if ultimately less original way. Then when you go back and see the original boundary-pusher, it looks tame and lame. Although I'm not sure what boundaries Caddyshack pushed. The boundaries of suckitude? *** On to the Yanks. It's been an uphill fucking climb against these Angels. If we weren't playing them, I'd like that team. Here are a few observations about tonight's game: 1) McCarver was having a great night: he was subdued, he was insightful, and
he'd only said like maybe four annoying and/or stupid things (such as his MOTO
moment of correctly predicting the Angels wouldn't pitch around Bubba Crosby to
get to Jeter) going into the 8th inning. I was all set to give him some credit
for not ruining the game, when he went and said like twelve ridiculous things in
a row. There was his commentary about how Dominican players aren't scared when
they get to the big leagues. Then his suggestion that the fans could just
chant "Bernie" instead of "Bernie Williams," because, as he pointed out so
astutely, there is only one "Bernie" in the game tonight. Thanks, Tim! *** Not a bad weekend. Did six loads of laundry, drank three beers. That's a respectable 2:1 LB ratio. In the old days it would have been, "Took my disgusting laundry in to the cleaners, drank 168 beers." But that's OK, I wake up knowing who I am and I get to play with my baby and watch my HD television set. And that's not bad at all. For three points each, name the three brands of (bottled) beer I drank (and you can only guess three beers total). Right now I am thinking of two of my personal heroes, both of whom happen to have underbites. For five points each, tell me who they are (guess as often as you like). Hint: they are not in the same line of work. What should I eat for lunch today (Monday)? Four points for the winning suggestion. I would like it to be filling and tasty but not too fattening. I need to lose some weight. I haven't had a lick of exercise in about a month. Basketball for sure this week at some point. OK, some random observations from the Yanks-Angels game that I should probably just shove into the comments box.
1) Bernie in center = bad idea. He costs us about a run or two a game out there.
I'd take Chone Figgins in snowshoes over Bernie.
Breaking news: PB DOT C back in business!
Just like Giambi. Check it out immediately and enjoy this happy day. Pete also weighed in with a fine new Gatorade Review, which in the interest of your own personal safety you might want to read. So they wanna blow up the subway. Rats. I don't think it was a coincidence that my Magic Metrocard failed to work this morning. Somebody up there was looking out for me. Unless you believe that this warning was intentionally coordinated with Bush's big terrorism speech today, as a way for the Repubs to say, once again, "See what we're talking about?!? We're not fucking around here. Now stop talking about all the things we've screwed up, both through incompetence and malice, and get on board with this terror stuff! Unless of course you all wanna die, in which case you go ahead." Either way, I picked a bad day to buy a new unlimited Metrocard. If I walk to work, I lose money, and the you-know-who's have already won. God Bless Ernie Anastos. A caller phoned into the 5 o'clock news and said, on air, "There's been a bomb threat called in on Howard Stern's ball-sack." Ernie was all, "Can you tell us about the specific location of the threat?" Again, the guy said, "Howard Stern's ball-sack." Ernie still didn't get it. My co-worker was watching it live and told me about it, and I thought it was so funny that I rushed into a room where two VP's were having an important, high-level meeting, where I proceeded to:
1) Tell them about the whole subway scare. If indeed they blow me up on the subway, I expect you guys to finish the Gatorade project in my honor. And you can spill a few drops of Original Green flavor at my funeral. Sometimes I stumble across a blog that's worth my time, and when I do, you can believe I'll pass it along to you. I expect the same from you. Not sure who this guy is (rap experts, who is he?) or how often he updates, but he's got some good opinions if you can read that teeny font. The NHL is back. Which apparently means it was gone. I hadn't really noticed. I am almost as excited about its return as I am about the upcoming season premiere of "Yes, Dear." It's going to be off the hook. Sometimes you hear people talking about the Sports Illustrated jinx or curse or whatever, and I guess they're talking about athletes or teams that appear on the cover and then their careers fall apart. But to me, the SI curse is this: if you read it on a friend's toilet or you pick one up on an airplane or something, you're amazed at how good it is. Lots of great articles, cool photos, cute little sidebar elements and what have you. And you convince yourself that you were a fool to ever let your subscription lapse all those years ago. Then you resubscribe, and each issue stuns you with its complete lack of quality. Way too much college football and now they take NASCAR seriously and the thing is only like 52 pages thick, the last of which is a horrible column by the annoying Rick Reilly. And you realize that as long as you are a subscriber, each issue will be this way. And by the time, maybe three years from now, when you are thinking about resubscribing, you will have forgotten all of this. Deion wins the ass-in-seat-dat with his guess of 9:39 am. Actual ass time was 9:38 am. Nice work. You know me well. No correct answers on shoedat yet. We'll allow that one to keep going. For sixteen points, tell me which player will score the second run of the Friday Night Yankees-Angels game. One guess to a customer and the deadline is 8:02 pm Friday night. If you think the game will end 1-0, just type "none." Idiot. Let's be careful out there. Bad, bad Yankee loss tonight. However, it was not the type of game that makes me want to tear my hair out. They pretty much roasted us all over the field. There were about ten pivotal plays in that game, and the Angels made about 8 of 'em. I feel lucky we were as close as we were. And we have the Eunuch going on Friday at the Stadium, so we should be OK. Plus, there are certain things I like about the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim:
1) Vlad - I love watching him play. He's such an
awkward-looking fellow, full of sharp elbows and knees and hips, and yet the
things he does on the field are breathtaking. And he does them without making a
big deal about it. He'd make a great cartoon character. Then again, there are a few things about them I could do without:
1) Fireworks, as Joe M. points out, are bush league. *** A few weeks ago, a guy at work who could definitely beat me up, a guy who chases down criminals on the street just for the hell of it, suggested that he'd rather not fight me because I look like I might have "retard strength." That's not appropriate, nor is it true. But I won't do anything to stop the rumors. Had a Cherry Coke the other day on Joe M.'s advice. I was very much into the experience; it took me back to the summer of 1985 when I visited the Kissels in Cape Cod. Kissel's dad would hook us up with a nice 2 liter bottle of the Cherry Coke, which we'd guzzle in between games of one on one basketball that we'd videotape. Sad, but fun as hell. I still have one of those tapes. At night we'd make nachos in the toaster oven using jack cheese and taco flavor Doritos (R.I.P.). Then we'd read old issues of Sports Illustrated that we'd buy at a place that sold things like old issues of Sports Illustrated. One article mentioned that high-scoring Nets guard Mike Newlin had put iodine in his orange juice when he was a kid in hopes it'd make him grow tall. Apparently it worked. Another issue chronicled the 1976-77 76ers and tallied the season's dunk totals for every player on the team. And of course we got the 1978 "High on the Hogs" Arkansas issue with the 'Crief in full flight, about to deliver a tomahawk, on the cover. At night, we'd lay in bed and talk about the girls we liked and how maybe next school year we'd get the nerve up to ask someone out. So I guess I had high expectations of my Cherry Coke the other day. It failed to live up to them. Perhaps, as Joe suggested, I screwed up by not treating myself to a nice tall glass of ice with the CC. Whatever the case, I'm afraid Dr. Pepper is still superior. But a good Cherry Coke every year or two is probably a good idea. By the way, Deion, your 21 mile pre-marathon workout is impressive as hell. My back hurts just thinking about it. I think we should write and produce a play. Any ideas? Let's get Brad Pitt to be in it. This is gonna be awesome. For ten genius points, what brand of shoes am I wearing to work today (Thursday, 10.6.5)? For another ten, tell me what time my ass touches my seat when I arrive for work on Thursday. Closest guess wins, you can guess until 9pm Eastern. This is a new low point, I think. Metrocard scored again on Wednesday. Magic, I tell you. You'll note that in response to reader dissatisfaction I have toned down some of the Yankee colors on the site. We're gonna keep Steve Kemp up though because he seems to be bringing good things. That was wild when A-Rod got hit by that pitch. It looked like he'd been shot or something. Like in the movies when the guy gets shot and thinks he's gonna be OK for a second and then slowly twists awkwardly and collapses. Pretty cool. A-Rod has grown on me with each of his 48 home runs this year, but I still think he's a big phony. For instance, the other day after they clinched, he gave the exact same, word-for-word answers to the Fox crew and then the YES crew minutes later. He was all, "This year, I've grown a lot as a person and as a player and I thank the city of New York and the pinstripes for that." Then two minutes later, same exact shit. It reminded me of the time I saw Jerry Seinfeld on Leno and Letterman within like two days of each other. He not only did the exact same standup on each show, he even gave the same scripted answers to the same scripted questions from each host. It was so canned, so safe and lame, I lost all respect for Seinfeld. Didn't he consider for a moment that some of the same people might be watching both shows? I kind of see A-Rod the same way. A packaged star. No soul. But I like it when he smacks the ball over the fence, yes I do. I watched Carson Daly's late night show for the first time tonight. I've been a lifelong loather of Carson Daly and all things related to him. But what's surprising about this new show is that Carson Daly is the least offensive thing about the show. He's trying so hard, and the show is falling apart around him so completely, that you end up feeling sorry for him. It's approaching Chevy Chase territory -- just an amazing confluence of horrendous components. I predict it'll be off the air by December 8th. Metrocard worked again today. I think it's magic. The previous one expired on August 27th or something. Is it possible I waited a week before buying another? No, the more likely explanation is that I got a magic Metrocard. Here at verbungle.com, we like to make ourselves some predictions every now and again. We aren't right very often, but we don't let that keep us from havin' some fun with it. So let's lay out our 2K5 MLB Division Series Predictions. I know, most official publications are predicting results all the way through to the WS winner. Well, I say that's bullshit. How am I going to predict the outcome of a series that may not even happen? I ain't that smart. So I take it one round at a time. It should be noted that I have followed the Yankees pretty closely this year, but I have barely a clue about the other seven teams. I still recommend you take my selections to Vegas and drop $25 on 'em. As Damone says, "Ya won't regret it."
AL:
New York over Los Angeles/Anaheim 3 games to 0.
NL:
St. Louis over San Diego 3 games to 2. Thank you. *** For the last week, I've been expecting my unlimited monthly Metrocard to expire. So each day I give it a halfhearted swipe as I go through the turnstile, expecting the dreaded "insufficient fare," and each time it gives me a nice friendly "go." I'm so excited by this (and in such a rush) that I never wait around to see the expiration date. Imagine if it's a magic Metrocard that never expires? Like it was a for-transit-workers-only prototype that somehow got mixed into the general Metrocard population? Maybe the turnstiles know this, and that's why they're always like, "Go! Hurry before somebody sees you." They're helping me out. It's good to know a few friendly turnstiles. FYI: We're still waiting for Deion to check in regarding yesterday's genius challenge (could it be that he doesn't read verbungle.com every day of his life?), so feel free to chime in with your guesses before he answers. We're also still looking for the correct answer to the whodey from the other day. Get on it. As for today, twelve genius points to the person who can predict which player will hit the 3rd home run of this baseball postseason. One guess to a person, no duplicating each other's guesses. Get 'em in before 10/4 at 1:51 pm, which is the cutoff, for no |
Not
a lot to say today...we never managed to do any apple picking, because we got a
late start and then we had to buy baby supplies. We did get to the apple place,
though, and we ate some apple cider donuts and breathed some fresh air and
thanked David Koresh for the clear skies and the beautiful countryside. 
The advertiser gets one of two things from its audience by employing a celeb VO.
Either the listener recognizes the celebrity's voice outright, and then actively
assigns the same positive feelings they have about the celebrity to the product,
or, better yet, they subconsciously recognize the celebrity's voice, and assign
the same positive feelings they have about the celebrity to the product without
even realizing they're doing it. 
MDilly, no matter how many times you try to insult me by comparing me to Eugene
Levy, it will not earn you any genius points. Just because two men are
breathtakingly sexy does not mean they are sexy in the same way.
hey only put
three strains of the flu in there, which may not even be the flu that ends up
happening here in the USA. They base it on China and Australia's flu for that year.
They're like, "What kinda flu you boys got over there?" Then they take their
chances that we'll have the same flu over here. Seems like they're
grasping at straws.
who, for the most part, run the game. Still, I largely
agree with what the FJM people have to say, and I enjoy the way they say it. The
in CF. And this
year he just never really got hot at all. Disappointing end. Particularly in
this series, his bat just looked dead. He was hitting it as hard as he could and
it just wouldn't go anywhere. He gets a sad, reluctant Llama Face on his way out
the door.
You may find this hard to believe, but I've never seen Caddyshack. 
but he's a .270 hitter who rarely walks and he hit 7 home runs in 153 games this
year. And he plays first base. He's really only had one season in his career
that you could unequivocally call "good." For this production he was paid eight
and one half million dollars this year. Plus he's got a weird sore on his mouth.
