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Best season of Yankee baseball in a long time. Even if we get swept in Boston, it's been exciting. I think I've watched at least 40% of at least 82% of the games. And since Michael Kay is in the booth for approximately 94% of the games, that means I've listened to his blather for a MINIMUM of 114 hours this season. (That's assuming an average game length of 3 hours, minus 40 minutes per game of commercial time.) Would you invite Michael Kay into your house for 114 hours over the course of 6 months? Of course not. Maybe if he was coming over with the express purpose of being kicked in the nuts by you for 45 minutes straight every day, but if he was just sitting on the couch filling the air with his bullshit? No thank you. Tonight he even got the usually reserved Singleton in on it. Boston was trailing 4-3 in the 6th inning or so, and Kay starts going on and on about "if these scores hold up, then the Red Sox are fucking doomed, man." He was fully assuming the Sox were going to lose the game because they were down a run in the middle innings. The rest of the world knew Boston would come back and win, but Kay's pushing Singleton into answering questions like, "Should the Yankees rest the Unit for the final game or the postseason if they're up 2 games starting the series?" I hate that man. He did point out how little the Orioles were hustling. I am going to assume Tejada is hurting, otherwise he should be fully ashamed of the way he runs out his groundballs. Matos is a chump as well, hotdogging in CF when they're down 8-2. He portrays an air of indifference at all times that I find slightly annoying. And Sam Perlozzo, the Orioles' manager whose name I just had to look up, was indirectly bitching about the umps after the previous game, insinuating they screwed the O's (even though the out-of-position home plate ump called Bernie out at home when he was clearly safe). I agree the ump sucked, but he sucked both ways, and there's no point in complaining when your team's not even bothering to run out ground balls. Weak. I can understand it's been a long and frustrating season, but it's just an act of disrespect to everyone if you jog to first like that. You don't have to run full-out like Jeter does and risk an injury, but give it an honest effort. So we need one win for a tie, two for a win. Should be very interesting. I'm sensing a playoff game on Monday. Cleveland is gonna factor in there somewhere as well. We gotta go ahead and bust out the Yankee colors and the Steve kemp background photo for luck. Please pardon our appearance, we'll take it down as soon as the Yankees win it all or are eliminated. Whenever I post a long story like I did the other day, I end up feeling a bit embarrassed the next morning. If you start writing the story at 1 am and you have to be at work at 9, it doesn't leave you much room for fine-tuning. You just write what you can and count the regrettable sentences the next day. No point in going back and fixing it, the five people who are gonna read it have already done so. That's the danger of the internet; the whole thing is basically a first draft. The rest of this post was written Friday night, low after a loss to the stupid Red Sox. Watched the game in a bar and got taunted by Red Sox fans on the way out. I think the Red Sox should begin wearing white hats in tribute to their thick-skulled, date-raping, mouth-breathing fan base. They're crawling all over town like roaches lately. What if they sweep us again and Cleveland wins the next two? That would suck. Bad work by the home plate umpire tonight, and it was exacerbated by his delayed-reaction, theatrical strike call. What an asshole. I hate umpires, especially the ones who think the fans are there to see them. Joe's been saying it for a long time and I think maybe he's right: Jorge Posada is a lousy ballplayer. He does some things well, but as Joe points out, he has a real tough time catching the ball. And tonight he TWICE failed to get a run in from 3rd with less than two outs. We need a big start from El Unito Grande on Saturday -- Mussina scares the hell out of me. Although he is my answer to Big Jim Lang's question "If you had to fuck one of the Yankees, who would it be?" And Randy Johnson was my answer for "Who is the Yankee you would be most terrified to fuck?" I feel partly responsible for the loss, after I failed to get my new, obnoxiously Yankeefied site up in time for the Boston series. It's going up now, though, and as I mentioned before it'll stay up until the Yankee season is over. Furthermore, I will guarantee at least one post per day during that time frame. They may be lame like this one, and they may be one sentence long, but a post a day to help the Yanks is my pledge. If I fail to live up to it (87% probability) then I am responsible for anything bad that happens to the Yanks from here on out. For nine points, whodey? "Daddy, I don't want to go up in the helicopter again," the little girl said. "I'm sorry, sweetie, that's the way it has to be," her father answered. "We can't stay here." They were walking past the corner of what was once 9th street and 1st Avenue, New York City. The streets were empty, except for a few large bones here and there. Plastic bags and rumpled pieces of paper occasionally flew past them in the wind. The father, concerned about the late hour, picked up his daughter and began carrying her on his hip. They had to keep moving. The little girl protested, tried to squirm free, so the father stooped over and grabbed the nearest thing he could find -- which turned out to be a human ulna, sucked clean of skin, muscle, and marrow -- and handed it to her. She calmed down and began playing with it, swinging it like a baseball bat. The father had once known the area well. On that corner was the deli he used to shop at, where the owner would cut 12-packs of Rolling Rock into 6-packs and sell them for $5.50 each. He'd buy one, take it across the street to his little shitbox apartment, and then he'd drink it while he played on his computer and watched TV. He'd always felt like he was wasting time. Now he had nothing but time. Everything else was gone. The buildings remained, most of them, but no one lived there anymore. You couldn't. The storefronts had been demolished, every single apartment in the entire city had been burned, blown up completely, or abandoned. There was little of value left in Manhattan, and danger was lurking around every corner. If the you-know-whats didn't get you, then the bands of marauding survivors -- he'd heard there were roughly 1000 people still alive in NYC -- would kill you just for your sweet flesh. They wouldn't even take your clothes -- there was no value in anything anymore. There was nobody to trade with, nobody to sell to, no deals you could make. You just found what you could to eat and moved on. "Daddy, I miss mommy," the little girl said. "When can we see her again?" "Tonight, honey," he said. "Tonight. In just a little while." He felt a squish under his right foot and glanced down, full of hope for a split second. Maybe it was a Slim Jim or an old pack of Lance's crackers and cheese. Maybe. It turned out to be shit. He'd stepped in shit, like he had on this block so many times before. Only this time it wasn't dog shit. He kept walking, scraping it off as best he could with every other step. "Daddy, why are we running so fast?" the little girl asked. "Sweet pea, I've told you this hundreds of times," he said, trying not to show her how scared he was. "The squids come out at night." "What do the squids look like?" she asked. It was almost too much for him right now. Scavenging the streets for food, walking into dark apartments, stepping over skeletons and opening cupboards, trying to find anything. Anything they could eat. Anything that hadn't been picked over already. It was a losing game. And now the little girl wanted to ask him the questions. The same questions. "Honey, the squids are anywhere between 50 and 300 feet long, and they're covered in teeth. They have like 20 arms each and they just grab you and pop you right in their mouth like a handful of peanuts." He wished he was exaggerating. And saying the word "peanuts" had made his stomach growl, instantly and audibly. He'd violated one of the rules of extreme hunger, which is never to think of or mention specific foods.
"Well, my little angel, one day some men went under the water and they caught one of the squids on a hook so they could take pictures of it," he said. "And they ended up tearing off one of the squid's arms. The squid, he got away, but the men had made him very, very angry, and he went and told all the other squids about it, and they also became very, very angry. And a few days later, they started coming out of the sea and eating people. At first, it was slow, maybe ten people a day. But the more they ate, the more they realized they liked it, and soon it was a squid invasion, and then a full-scale war between us and the squids." He hated that his three year-old needed to know all this. He wanted to teach her about skipping rope and ice cream and Steve Kemp, all the things a little girl should be learning about. Not about the squids. "Why did the men go under there?" she asked. "Doesn't that make it our fault?" "Well, most people think the squids were planning on attacking us anyway, sugar plum," he said. "It was just a matter of time...I don't know, myself. I always thought it was crazy to go down and mess with that world beneath the ocean. Man just doesn't belong down there. But in the interest of science --" He stopped, saddened by the sudden realization that his daughter would never learn science, never learn math, never learn how to use the internets. "Well, in the interest of science man did a lot of crazy things. Now, sometimes it worked out great -- they found cures for a lot of diseases, they invented all sorts of amazing things, and a lot of people might say they made the world a better place. But they also spent a lot of time and money exploring things that maybe they shouldn'ta...like the ocean, like outer space. They could have spent that money feeding all the starving people in the world, but I guess sometimes science is just an undeniable, all-curious beast. It goes where it wants to go." "What happened when we went to outer space?" she asked. She knew the answer, she just wanted to hear daddy talk. "Well, in 2005 we had a very bad man in charge of our country. He was stupid and he was mean, and he only cared about himself and his friends. Late that year, when the squids first started to surface, he had a chance to set up fighting forces along every coastline in the world, so we could just start shooting the squids dead as they came out of the water. Every military expert in every nation agreed it was the right thing to do. But our president said no, let's wait and see. Plus, most of our troops were in Iraq, fighting a really misguided war. So the president, he kept waiting and seeing, and the squids kept coming up and eating people, and still the president did nothing. People were in a panic. It was during that uncertain time, that wait, that your mom learned how to fly a helicopter. Finally, in the middle of 2006, when the squids had already eaten over 500 million people worldwide, the president announced his plan. He was going to put all our money into the space program, so we could go into outer space, meet some space aliens, and recruit them to come help us defeat the squids." "That's the most preposterous thing I've ever heard," the little girl said. She had just learned the word "preposterous" earlier that week, and since then she couldn't stop saying it. "Well, you know that, and I know that, and 97% of the American public knew that at the time, but the President refused to cave in to public sentiment, or in this case, common sense. He declared a state of permanent war and told Congress their services would no longer be needed. He said he had to trust his gut on this. And for the next eight months, we put all our money, our energy, and our hopes into Operation Space Alien. And miraculously, by the middle of 2007 they had launched ten rockets into space, found some space aliens, and managed to convince them to come help us fight the squids. They flew down to earth in their spaceships, thousands of 'em. And they started fighting the squids. There were huge and bloody battles in every city, and the human-alien alliance seemed to be holding up. But then our president, in a nationally televised press conference, made an off-color remark about the way the aliens looked. The goodwill was gone in an instant. The aliens demanded an apology, but the president was silent. Then he went on vacation. The aliens, who had been fighting valiantly for our survival and taken heavy losses, finally turned on us. They started shooting our soldiers with laser beams and blowing up buildings everywhere. It was horrible. They even tried to form an alliance with the squids, which was a big mistake..." "Why, what happened?" the little girl wanted to know. It was almost dark now, and they'd found nothing to eat. It was time to go. Mommy was waiting. "Well, the squids pretended to join forces with the aliens, but then at the last minute, when the aliens dropped their guard, thinking everything had been worked out, the squids went back on the deal and started eating aliens like there was no tomorrow...in four days they ate about half of the entire alien army. The rest of the aliens flew back into outer space." "The squids are really mean," she said. "Yeah, they are," he said. "Are they gonna eat me, too, Daddy?" "Not without a fight," he said. "Not as long as your mother and I are here to protect you, they won't." He turned his face from her for a second and grimaced. He hated lying to his little girl. They walked past what was once San Loco on Avenue A. Shit, he just thought of how nice it would be to bite into a Taco Loco right about now. His stomach let out a moan. There, on the basketball courts in Tompkins Square Park (and there was still one basket standing), was the beat-up chopper that had served as their home for the better part of two years. Mommy was sitting in the cockpit, an RPG launcher draped across her lap, waiting for them with the rotors going. Hoping they'd brought her something, a can of soup or a bag of stale circus peanuts...or maybe a cone of Tastee Delight. A girl could still dream, couldn't she? But even from 100 feet away, she could see they were returning empty-handed. She loved them with all her heart nonetheless. "Maybe tomorrow..." she said, forcing a smile as they joined her in the chopper. The mother kissed her husband on the cheek and passed him the RPG launcher. "Yeah, maybe..." he said. Suddenly a loud set of squooshing noises filled the air, coming from the East. As if a thousand waterbeds were bouncing through the streets at the same time. Getting louder. And then that horrible, unmistakable howl. Again and again. They were coming. "Mommy, are the squids coming to get us?" She didn't answer her daughter, she was concentrating on takeoff. Concentrating, and hoping the old bird had at least one more flight left in it. Squoosh. Squoosh. Louder than the rotors now. The little girl started drumming against her armrest with the ulna in the back of the chopper, trying in vain to drown out the sounds. The father held the launcher over his shoulder, looked out towards Avenue A, and thought of the time the bartender at Doc Holliday's scrutinized his ID for a good two minutes. For a moment he fantasized about shooting the RPG into the bar and killing that smug bastard. Then he reminded himself that the bartender was surely dead already. Eaten, like everybody else. Friends and foes and people you never even met. They all taste good to the squids. The mother managed to get the chopper airborne after a brief struggle. One more day. The squids couldn't have been more than a block away -- their immense shadows were starting to fill the streets. The family rose about 500 feet in the air and hovered, looking down on the husk of their beautiful city. They could see the squids now, three of them, each over 100 feet long, gathered on East 10th street. They were reaching towards the chopper with their tentacles, but they couldn't come close to grabbing it. It looked like they were shaking their fists at the family. The father covered his daughter's eyes and the mother pointed the helicopter south. Maybe they'd spend the night in Staten Island. Even the squids had abandoned Staten Island. It was nighttime now, it could have been 8, it could have been 9, nobody kept track of hours anymore. Just daytime and nighttime. The father gazed down upon the streets. They were completely dark, as they had been every night since the electricity went down for good in the summer of 2007. Nobody left in my city but a few looters and an army of squids, he thought, and it nearly broke his heart. As they began flying south, the father heard something. It started faintly but then it got noticeably louder. It was louder even than the rotors. It was music. "Hold on, honey, stop the chopper," he said, and his wife eased up on the cyclic stick and began to hover. The music was pumping now, tremendously, obnoxiously loud. If Giuliani were still in office -- hell, if he hadn't been eaten as he tried to evacuate people through the midtown tunnel last year -- somebody would be getting a ticket for disturbing the peace. The father looked down, and he saw it there, on the corner of 7th street and Avenue B. A shiny glass window full of tasteful white Christmas lights. And music playing -- you could hear it clearly now.
I always flirt with death He wanted to tell her to bring the bird down, bring it down so they could go into 7B and raise a glass and feel alive one last time. But then he looked in the backseat and he saw his daughter, banging away with her ulna, and he thought better of it. "What do you say we spend the night in Staten Island?" he said. "Sounds good," the mother replied, and pushed the stick forward. *** If you made it through that, why don't you get in on this. I'm thinking of a song right now that starts with a scream of absolute defiance. For thirteen genius points, what song is it? *** Finally, best wishes for a speedy recovery to The Artist, who has come down with chicken pox or something enough like it to be a tremendous pain in the ass. We're pulling for you, even if your Birds didn't play nice tonight. Holy crappers! I been gone ten days now. What have you done for entertainment? I'll tell you what I did. I went out to California for seven laid-back days of sunshine with the in-laws. -I took JetBlue, which lived up to the hype. And the landing gear worked.
-I drank some Gatorade, as did Korean Abdul Jabaar. He chose a flavor that I believe was called "Cooler Orange + Cherry," which I can't find on the Gatorade website. What the hell? They just keep on making up new flavors without even consulting the dudes at the website. Take it easy, Gatorade. You're losing control of your flock. -I got about a quarter of the way through a very entertaining book that I picked up at the airport. I also read a Pre-Season Pro Basketball Annual. -I set up the photo printer we bought for the wife's folks, so they can more effectively document the ongoing adventures of America's cutest, and quite possibly fattest, baby (not pictured). -My computer kept dying, and may die again any minute. I'd consider buying a nice little Mac iBook or iPad or whatever the fuck they call it, but the Apple Cult continues to annoy me. I really hate the way the "geniuses" who work in the Apple Store refer to all the products by their lame-ass official Apple names with such satisfaction and pride. Like if you worked at Burger King, you'd say, "Would you like to try a Whaler with that?" because you'd be fired if you refused to do so, but you wouldn't say it with enthusiasm. You'd sneer or you'd chuckle or you'd do something else that reflected your indifference to the whole scene. The kids at the Apple Store are all, "Yes, you can get the iGarage Door Opener, but it won't automatically interface with your regular iRemote. So you'll need to get some of this iCable and manually connect the two. Can I interest you in this iBrator for those cold and lonely nights? Oh, and don't forget to stop at the Genius Bar for an iRish Coffee on the way out." Like they believe every word of that shit. F them and their presumably awesome line of products. -I was down in Carlsbad and got to see my man Dave B., who's still in the Navy and you know the rest of this joke. Best of luck to him and may he get stationed in a friendly port with some welcoming women in the near future. I tell ya, that Navying is a bitch. But you get to do lots of cool stuff, too. He told me all about the U.S.S. Reagan, his ship. Pretty amazing piece of human achievement, a boat like that. 5000 people on one ship. Wow. And no fucking allowed. DVD porn, however, is sanctioned. He also told me that he recently purchased some firearms, so don't even try to roll up on him. It'll be your ass. Here are some things I was UNABLE to do: -Post to the website. Internet access was spotty and time was short. -Head up to L.A. to see cW. I definitely regret this after missing him in NYC last week as well. Next time for sure. I hope you're still my dawg. -Watch baseball. Frustration aside, this has been one of the most exciting Yankee seasons I can remember. Should be an awesome final week. Just a word for The O's, who've had one of the most disappointing and emotionally trying seasons of all time. One, keep ya heads up. There's talent on that roster and next year can't be as bad as this one. For starters, Viagroid Man won't be around anymore. And Two, you played us very tough in NY last week, even though we got the sweep. But then you rolled over for Boston like a dog who wants his belly rubbed. We hereby request you do the same for us on our upcoming visit to Camden. Something tells me you won't, though. *** You know, at this point, it'd be cool if we could find and capture ANYONE named Osama Bin Laden. Even if it's a different guy, say a civil engineer from Cleveland. I'd settle for that. *** So I was blown away by the excellent suggestions for my as-yet-unmade Peter North film (see previous post). Here are your submissions:
Pete B.:
Joe M.:
Dan K.:
Crsmal:
Jeff M.: So we got some fine, fine responses. Unfortunately, none of them are the exact answer we were looking for, even though most of them are superior to my actual title: Peter North in "Suspicious Package" Upon further reflection, my title might better describe a North film in which he plays a UPS driver who has to bone his way through his daily deliveries. Whatever, I like it anyway. Thank you for your creativity, but I cannot award any genius points. Slightly off topic: if Peter North joined the And 1 Mixtape tour, they could choose one of his actual nicknames (according to IMDB):
The Beer Can As for the other genius challenge from the last post, I am leaning towards "PrePost" as the name for my audio post previews that I will run from time to time. No points yet, but if we don't get a better suggestion before we actually post the post that the PrePost described (which should be later this week), the points will go to Joe M. We promise to have lots of exciting features for you this week. A new Trayline is in the works. We'll have some new Gatorade activity. And more genius challenges. In the meantime, for twelve Genius Points, and no googling is allowed, what is the first name of the University of Minnesota's mascot?
It's an idea for a high-budget porno movie. Peter North plays a mysterious and road-worn traveler. Sort of a 21st century version of The Man With No Name. He gets on planes, he gets on buses, he rides the subway alone late at night. We're never really sure where he's going or why he's going there. But he's determined, in typically intense Peter North style, to get someplace. The problem is that almost everywhere he goes, he's stopped and scrutinized by security. His bags are searched. He's forced to strip. He's blindfolded and led into an interrogation room in the back of the Port Authority. Strangely, all of the security personnel who stop him are hot women. And stranger still, North bangs them all. It always unfolds basically the same way: the security bimbos pull him off an airport check-in line or ask him to get off a bus so they can ask him a few questions. They suspect him of involvement in some sort of terrorist plot. But as they interrogate him -- using every dirty trick in the book, from spanking him to kissing his neck to slowly removing different parts of their uniforms -- something unexpected happens. Instead of North's character breaking down under the pressure, it's the security babes themselves who begin to crack. They are helpless before his considerable Northian charms. So they have some sex, right there in the backrooms of airports, in Amtrak lavatories, in those old-fashioned bus depot chairs with the little 25 cent TV screens attached to them. And afterwards, as the female security officer lays there, spent after a solid rogering from Big Pete, our hero goes on his way. Each time, he picks up his satchel and slowly walks out the door and out of the frame. Down the railroad tracks. Alone, down the highway. Past the airport taxi line and across the long-term parking lot, on foot. We don't know what to make of him. Is he a devious criminal on a mission of death, or is he merely a victim of an overzealous, post-9/11 government and of our own ever-increasing sense of suspicion towards our fellow man? Make up your own mind: catch Peter North in his new film, "______________." For twenty points in the newly launched round of "Geniusmaker II," tell me what title I've come up with for my film. Joe Monkeyweb, you ARE eligible to participate, and if you win round II, you will prove yourself the Genius by which all future Geniuses shall be measured. Let's get it on. *** Speaking of the Monkeyman, I hear that he's thinking about hanging it up. To which I respond, say it ain't so, Joe. I will not stand for it. First PBdotC and now maybe you. It makes one realize, bloggin' ain't an easy road to walk down. Especially if you've been at it a while. And as someone who's constantly considering packing it in as well, I ask that you at least give it a few days and sort out your thoughts. You might just need a little break. If you still decide you don't have it in you, there's always space waiting for you here at verbungle.com should you want to bust out with the occasional post. And in the wake of all this sad news, we want to announce that verbungus dot commus is going to continue to keep it realer than Skip Stephenson ca.1980. We ain't going anywhere. *** 15 hour workday today, shooting in the field. Some fun, lots of work. Some standing around. When the days are long like that, you tend to graze on crappy food all day. Here are some of the things i ingested today:
-approximately 37 Runts One of my co-workers put down a 32 ounce bottle of Manhattan Special over the course of a few hours. That shit is no joke. Have you ever had it? I tried it once and my ears started to wiggle. Coffee in general freaks me out. I had a cup of iced coffee the other day and I quickly developed a heart murmur. I was stomping around the office clutching my chest while my eyes rotated back in my head. One cup of coffee. What kind of man am I? Answer: generally speaking, I am a damn lightweight. I used to think I was a tough guy because I could guzzle about 75 beers in a night, but the truth is I was drunk after the third one. Each additional one after number three was a mistake. I drink a cup of coffee and I hyperventilate. I drink a couple of whiskeys and I'm likely to steal a motorboat. I once passed out after chewing a teeny wad of tobacco. I smoke a cigarette in a bar and for a week afterwards I'm talking like Wolfman Jack. In my younger days, a small bong hit was the equivalent of a dose of Peyote to me. I just can't hang. It's really not that surprising, it's just a little odd that it's taken me so long to figure it out. That's been happening a lot to me lately. I've been suddenly realizing that my own image of who I am does not match up to a) other people's image of me or b) reality. It kind of knocks the wind out of me every time it happens. *** Since nobody's reading this site anyway, I figure maybe I should try some new things. My latest idea is to give you a short audio recording in which I outline the broad points of a future post. The readers will then have an opportunity to weigh in on whether the idea is post-worthy, and if so, what direction it should be taken in. They can even use the idea and base a post of their own around it. For now, we'll call it a Verbungle.com Post Preview (10 genius points to the person who comes up with the best name for this device). Here then is our first ever Post Preview. Enjoy it and chime in if you want to. Whether we get feedback or not, the topic in question will be addressed in a post in the very near future. Thanks and fuck off.
Too bad you don't read the site. Apologies to the three of you for my lack of posts lately. I've been working 10-13 hours a day and when I get home it's all I can do to shove a bottle in the kid's mouth before I fall asleep. I can't recall a stretch this bad in verbungle.com history. It's hard work coming up with something new every day, and conversely it's easy as hell to post nothing like fifty days in a row. Maybe this is the beginning of the end, I don't know. I just haven't been into it lately. Anyway, I was thinking about the Gatorade Project -- and before I continue, let's take a moment to consider just how sad a phrase that is -- and I decided on a couple changes. Namely: 1) You can and should send in a written review in addition to your numerical score for each flavor. It must be only one sentence long, however. The sentence can be as long as you like. 2) Each flavor will get its own page with a HaloScan Comments Box so that commenters may challenge the points of a review. 3) If you review a flavor when your thirst level is higher or lower than 6, you must subtract or add points from your score in the following manner: Every thirst level above 6, subtract 3 points from your score. Every thirst level below 6, add 3 points to your score. Simple enough. *** Just a few short nothings before I turn in. I hate the iTunes store. I hate the idea of buying music with restrictions. Here's a good slogan for them: The iTunes Store: digital music without all the fun! or The iTunes Store: Better hope your hard drive doesn't crash! Fuck Apple and their bullshit. That's right. Fuck them. The iPod. Not that great either. Not at all. *** I was flipping past CNN about a week after Katrina hit, and there was Larry King, interviewing DR. FUCKING PHIL about the long-term ramifications of the hurricane. I need Dr. Phil's opinion about Hurricane Katrina like I need Dan Marino's opinion about Iran's nuclear capabilities. Dr. Phil. Bleccch. *** I really don't have much to say. I have been tremendously stressed about work and it's actually giving me a headache. And my recent lack of posts has meant that I missed posting on September 11th this year. Considering that anniversary, and the recent tragedy on the Gulf Coast, I feel like a post of some kind is due. So I will do what any idea-bereft blogger does during tough times: I will re-post my entry from a year ago in the hopes that it will inspire me in some way, or at least it will fill up some space. Here goes: 9/11/04: Makes Me Happy I guess on 9/11 we should probably post something thought-provoking and intense. But instead, I think I am just going to be happy about how good I've got it. I'm thankful about a lot of things. Wife, family and friends. Health and roof overhead. 24 hour delis. Medical coverage. I'm thankful that I have a boss I can call my friend, and I'm thankful that I can go into his office on a Friday afternoon and sit there for an hour watching the U.S. Open and making jokes about Jennifer Capriati. I'm thankful that I live in one of the greatest cities in the world, even if I slag on it all the time. I'm thankful that there's an internet that gives me an opportunity to possibly misuse words like "slag" in semi-public and I'm thankful that nobody really cares if I do. I'm thankful that I have my new iPod, even if I realize Pete's right: if you're bored with your shuffle*, you're bored with yourself. I guess I'm bored with myself. I was just reading my super-corny iPod magazine and there was an interview with Jeff Tweedy and he was talking about how much he loves his iPod, because great songs he loves are always popping up on there out of nowhere, and he's like, "Oh, yeah, I forgot about that one." That never happens to me. But I'm thankful that I can post something on here asking people to recommend a CD for me to buy, maybe their favorite CD by their favorite artist, and at least one person will probably respond. I'm thankful that I can still care about the Real World even as you laugh at me, and I'm thankful I can still consider you my friend if you do. I'm thankful that I can also still care about a band from the 1980's that I never saw. I'm thankful that Tommy Stinson is playing the Mercury Lounge next Wednesday and I don't have to starve myself for a week to afford a ticket. Anybody wanna join me? I'm thankful that the Pixies are back together, even if it's just for the money. And even though I'm a little sad I missed the chance to buy tickets, I'm thankful that I can walk by the venue on the night of the show and easily purchase a ticket outside. I'm thankful that I live in a country where I can semi-publicly slag on the President every day without fear of being arrested or killed. I'm also thankful that I live in a country where I can help vote him out of office in November.** I'm thankful that I can go bowling and stink up the joint and still have a good time. I'm thankful that I finally got to see my co-worker bowl, the Republican*** who says he's got like a 190 average. And I'm even thankful that he averaged a 215 over the three games I watched. Oh, and I'm glad I cost him maybe twenty pins by screaming out "Limbaugh" as he was set to release another damn strike. I'm thankful that on September 11th of 2004 I can go play paintball with a bunch of good people, even if it's not something I've ever been interested in doing. Even though I'm ashamed of it, I'm thankful my
baseball team spends so much more money than yours. I'm thankful that I'm done with two grueling weeks of production, and I'm really happy to that no matter how bad things get screwed up at work, nobody dies. Ever. I appreciate it when people write in to tell me the website isn't loading properly, even if I can't always figure out the problem. Maybe it's the shaky haloscan commenting system. I'm thankful that I finally got 8 good hours of sleep last night, for the first time in maybe two months. I'm thankful my painful dental procedures are over for the year. I'm thankful that I don't have to be there when my dentist orders an inlay or a crown for me and has to describe the shade of yellow that the inlay/crown maker guy should use when he's making my inlay, so it will match the exact yellow of my teeth. "Better make it a Margarine 19, Stan." I'm thankful that almost all my junior high friends have moved back to New York, so we can continue being junior high friends forever. I'm thankful that I've reached a point in life where I can play sports badly and not feel embarrassed or angry about it. I'm thankful that September is here and it remembered to bring its bag of 72 degree afternoons filled with gorgeous, impossibly bright sunshine. I'm thankful that I don't walk with a noticeable limp. I like that whatever works for you works for you. I'm thankful that I can say I think David Cross is a mediocre comedian even if I know you disagree, and I can still think the world of you. I'm thankful that the NFL season is here, and I'm extremely relieved that I am not playing fantasy football this year. I'm looking forward to the singular pleasure of dozing off during a football game, then waking up in the middle of a thrilling fourth quarter comeback by a team that I really don't care about. Or just sleeping all the way through. I'm thankful that email means everybody I know is within reach. I'm thankful that I have four blogs to check every day, and I am excited that more might pop up soon. I'm glad that Dan finally posted something, and that it's a post you can curl up and spend some time with. I'm happy that I can still touch the backboard. I will admit I'm sad that I'll never dunk (again). But I'm thankful I got that one, slightly tainted though it may have been. And I am super-glad there were witnesses. I'm thankful when my rock and roll heroes keep putting out records into their 40's, and it doesn't bother me that these records are inevitably mediocre. I'm thankful I never got addicted to crack cocaine. I'm thankful I'm more than six feet tall and covered in muscles. I'm thankful I can smile at the misfortune of the down arrow key falling off my keyboard, perhaps a week after the warranty expired. I guess things will be looking up for awhile. I'm thankful that nobody I know was killed on September 11th of 2001, and I'm thankful that nobody I know has been killed or incarcerated during the ensuing "War on Terror." What are you thankful for? Here are a few 2005 additions: I'm thankful as hell to have a beautiful, obscenely fat baby daughter with twenty fingers and toes (total). I am thankful to have a wife who I grow closer to each year. I'm extremely thankful that nobody I love has died in the last twelve months. I'm thankful I watched the last hour of Agassi-Blake last week. Even if Federer makes it all kinda pointless. I'm thankful that people generally treat me with kindness if not respect. I am proud to say that I am starting to not care about the people who don't. I'm thankful to have a job. I'm excited to know that I am vested by my company -- if I quit tomorrow, I'll get $202 a month once I turn 65, no matter what. If I stick it out here for another 30 years, that shit will go shooting up to $1625 a month. I'm overjoyed to know that at some point in the next 30 years, I will leave this company and try something else, even if it means reducing my pension. In the meantime, I am happy that my job responsibilities include coming up with titles for new shows, and that two of my suggestions were recently used. I'm thankful that I bowled a 193 last time out, even if I should have broken 200. It leaves me with something to shoot for. I'm excited to be going to California next week, and I have a strong suspicion more Laguna Beach hoops pictures will be taken. I am thankful that work is going to slow down a little bit after a period of intense busyness that has burned me to a toasty crisp. That's after three more hellacious days. I'm thankful for Derek Jeter. Admit it, you are too. I am pretty stoked about my HDTV and DVR. I like that I have two new pairs of basketball shoes, even if I needed zero. I am appreciative of the fact that I can still play basketball, even if I get real winded real fast and I don't have much game to speak of. I am excited to watch Nate Robinson, even though I suspect he'll only get like 2 dunks the whole year. I am thankful for the 20 awesome friends I have. And the next 20 as well. No clinkers in there, really. I am happy Pete B. came back to NYC and played some softball, even if I'm sad he gave up his blog. I'm thankful we finally uncovered the moped pic, and I am glad that others were able to appreciate it as much as I do. I am glad that I have 9 long-sleeved T-shirts in my arsenal. I am happy to be able to offically list Brice Springsteen's 3 greatest songs, in order: 1) Atlantic City 2) For You 3) Incident on 57th street. I am glad I got to see "The Last Waltz" again. I am proud to admit that I get a kick out of the new Burger King NFL commercials. I am grateful that you have taken 74 seconds out of your day to read this. * The article in question is on the money, though. The
iPod shuffle does operate on way different mathematical principles than shuffles
from my past. 9/5/5: We could use a hand full of wheel and a day off
I've had a lot of things to say over the last few days, but I haven't been able
to put it together. Every time I read something about Katrina, I get angry and depressed. I'm not even gonna talk about it. It's heartbreaking. Joe Monkeyweb has pretty much exactly captured the rage I feel in his (and his lady's) posts over the last few days. And Tony Pierce gathered a nice selection of Katrina-related links that help illustrate just how fucked up things are right now. And Negro Please had a moving and thoughtful take. Dammit, I need to say a couple of words, obvious and already-been-said though they may be. Yes, Katrina was unavoidable. But the government's response has been completely inadequate, and Bush is right at the center of it. The guy couldn't lead a bum to a bar, let alone lead a country. Come to think of it, if you were to compile a list of the worst presidents in history, you would probably not include him, for the same reason Playboy Magazine omitted the University of Wisconsin from its 1987 Party School Rankings. Bush is simply that far ahead of his competition. I just cannot believe this man is in charge of our well being. I can't believe he's in charge of anything more important than filling out his golf scorecard. I hate him and his administration. Thousands of people are gonna die. A lot of them didn't have to. And I'm sure there's a portion of the country that thinks:
a) that people were given ample time and notice to evacuate, so much of the
blame lays on the victims themselves. Horseshit and horseshit. a) many people didn't have means to evacuate, and even if they simply chose not to go (and considering the sad stories from the Superdome, who can blame them?), they are still HUMAN FUCKING BEINGS WHO NEEDED OUR HELP after the hurricane blew through. And we turned our back on them for days on end. We left them to fucking rot and die in the streets and dome and convention center while we dragged our feet and pointed our fingers and gave them false promises and bad advice. And I will never forget that. I don't give a fuck about packs of rapists and snipers and thugs. We are the United States of America. We needed to go in there and drop some fucking food and water. We needed to go in there and restore order. We needed to take care of our citizens on the most basic of levels. Any citizen of any decent country should be able to go to bed at night knowing that the government's got his back on these basic levels. The levels where you live if the government does its job, and you die if it doesn't. Our government, specifically our President, failed this simple test. And he doesn't even really care, I'd wager. He's gotta be used to poor people's blood on his hands by now. b) this was a golden opportunity for Bush to step up and do right by his people. Swift, decisive action was warranted. He had the power to save lives. And he just completely blew it. He's astonishing. We Democrats would be perfectly happy to give him credit if he had done this job right. It was a job that we needed him to do right. I was no fan of Giuliani prior to 9/11, but I would have blown him on the pitcher's mound at Yankee Stadium before game 5 of the 2001 World Series after the way he handled that situation. He was visible, he was clearly in charge, rescue efforts were focused and for the most part efficient (even if they were largely unsuccessful), he was respectful to the victims, and you got the feeling that he was being torn up emotionally by what had happened. Credit was due and we were happy to give it to him. Not so with this crapstain of a president. I will go so far as to say that If you approve of his performance and the performance of his administration over the last week, you have no respect for human life. Apparently George Bush himself is in this camp. So basically that's not so good. This is all too much to take. Vebrungle.com sends its thoughts and wishes to everyone affected by this horrible chain of events. *** Anyway, let's move on to the usual bullshit. I feel that it's time to explain a few things about Big Jimmy Lang.* So here is a quick BJL primer, courtesy of Verbungle.com: The first thing to know is that he is unmatched as an irritant. He's a professional provoker. A mastermind of mischief. He'll drive you crazy and then he'll hand you the wheel and watch you smash into a telephone pole. Nothing makes Big Jim happier than getting other people riled up. Here are some of his tactics: 1) He'll call you a racist. He doesn't really think you're a racist; he just knows that nobody likes being called a racist (except bona fide racists). He knows that labeling a person a racist will most likely elicit a huge reaction from this person. So any time you mention a matter of race, or even gender or religion or sexual orientation -- in any context -- he will probably respond with a simple one word reply: "racist" Hopefully now that you know this, you won't take his bait next time. 2) He'll hit you when you're down. Here are a few examples (some of which may involve verbungle.com employees):
a) Victim #1 had just inhaled a monster bong hit and was in the middle of a
life-threatening coughing fit when Big Jim decided to go up and punch him right
in the balls. Please note that all of these examples involve friends of Big Jim. 3) He is a dirty prankster with a small touch of genius in all his work.
a) He used to torment the already-inwardly-tormented mailroom guy in our office
by stapling said mailroom guy's New York Post together. He would use about 40
staples to make sure the job was done right. He would also occasionally steal
the mailroom guy's mail cart and sometimes would attempt to lock the mailroom guy in
his mailroom. That said, he is also a man of considerable charms -- every time he drives you away, he finds a way to bring you back, either with a kind gesture or a hilarious and insightful comment. He is also the acknowledged master of the internets. For instance, yesterday he dig up this awesome photo of a young man modeling Clemson's new football uniforms. Then this the same day. We need him on that wall. *** Well, the first-ever Verbungle.com Genius Challenge has come to an end, and we are proud to proclaim Joe Monkeyweb the Genius Who Is Smarter Than All Other Geniuses. Joe, we are working on your very own "Verbungle-certified Genius" T-shirt and will contact you once we have a preliminary design worked out. To speed up this process, you may submit a design of your own. Here are the final standings:
Genius Board (FINAL): Well-played by Joe and thanks to everyone who participated. This challenge lasted a good six months or so and it was a whole lot of fun. More importantly, it generated a whole lot of comments on the old HaloScan comment machine. And I'll be honest: I LOVE IT WHEN PEOPLE LEAVE COMMENTS. Even stupid ones. With that in mind, we are here to officially announce that there will be more comment-generating challenges in the future. We may take a few days off, though. In the meantime, the obvious question that remains is "What next for Verbungle.com?" Meaning, what will occupy that valuable real estate on the right hand side of the home page, where the genius board once stood? Well, Verbungle.com didn't get to be the number one Google search result for people looking for "verbungle" and the number two Google search result for people searching for dazed and confused characters (no quotes) by sitting on our verbungles waiting for someone to tell us what to do (a lesson that would pay off handsomely were it to be learned by a certain United States President). So our next right hand column-space-taker is going to be The Verbungle.com Gatorade Project. Well, actually The Verbungle.com Gatorade Project Part 2. The Verbungle.com Gatorade Project Part 1 may have stalled in the early stages, but we stand by its originality and long-term viability. And more importantly, we don't hold a grudge against Gatorade and their fine line of beverages. Here then is our idea for TVGP II: our staff will taste every flavor of Gatorade and rank them from best to worst. Each flavor will receive a rating somewhere from 0-30 based on taste and quenchosity. Note: none of these reviews will be done from memory, we actually need to go out and taste each flavor again with the project in mind**. When I say, "our staff" I am referring to myself and any of you out there who'd like to participate. However, if anybody gives me any attitude about my rankings, I may just decide to do the whole thing alone. Anyway, I got a little start this weekend. The greyed-out flavors have not yet been sampled, and I have yet to find a comprehensive list of every flavor offered, so the list may grow. Have a look over at the right. PLEASE NOTE: If you would like to participate, we ask that you send in a picture of yourself consuming the product you are reviewing (poorly shot example, here's another of a guy who isn't actually participating), in the interest of authenticity. We will link to this picture with your initials next to the review, so feel free to have fun with it. Make it a shot of you riding a powerful steed as you knock back a 20 oz. Fierce Grape. How about being bound and blindfolded while a hooker pours a 32 oz. X-Factor Lemon-lime + Strawberry down your gullet? Also, we don't want a whole written review, just a product name, the picture of you drinking it, and the score you are giving it. If you have a comment that you feel compelled to include, please feel free to include it, but keep it brief. For scoring guidelines, please refer to the reviews page. We feel that this is a very important project. Let's not fuck it up. *** It'll take at least couple of minutes out of your day to download. It's not well-shot and there's no amusing commentary. But I'm going to go ahead and recommend it anyway, because what it is is a short video of two squirrels fucking, including some hot on-the-tree action. So you may as well give it a clickety click. *** I hope everyone has an excellent Labor Day. We all deserve it. Barbecue with authority if the opportunity arises. Be careful and spread love to one another. I hereby send my love to you and your most important amici and your cousin Donnie and the guy who works at the gas station and always has a smile for you and that girl you almost kissed 14 years ago but didn't because you had a girlfriend and even the guys out there who wear tight Chaps jean shorts by Ralph Lauren. You know who you are and I love you. The wife and I are renting a car and taking the baby out into Jersey so we can stock up on household supplies. L-I-V-I-N, baby. Watch out for us. *** This may come as old news to people with kids and as uninteresting to people without 'em, but let me just say that I love it when my baby daughter lets out a booming hobo fart right in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. She's the best.
* This is not an official Profile in Dignity, more of a courtesy warning about
what Big Jim is capable of. His finer points will someday be discussed in his
own PID.
In happier work news, today we celebrated Valsmal's imminent departure from the company. She's on to bigger and better, and so we went out and threw a few back in her honor. She brought her excellent husband who hopefully kept an eye on her as the night rolled on. Joe Monkeyweb stopped by and said hello. It was really a nice evening. Also, a co-worker pointed out to me today that The Onion has opened up its archives to the world again. I know it's kind of gone downhill in the last year or two (or maybe we've just gotten bored of its consistent brilliance), but I'll always have a soft spot for The Onion. As a UW-Madison student from 1987-1990, I was there when this journalistic giant was born. I remember picking one up for the first time in University Square in Madison ca. 1989. I sat and read it while I ate my ham and cheese sub at Cousins. I was hooked from that moment. When it went online and became the standard for internet humor in the late 90's, I cheered as if my underdog team had won the championship. Then, when it started getting lame, I felt obligated to be honest about its sudden lameness: Now that most of us agree that The Onion has lost its oomph, the boys over there have decided to start charging for some of their content. It always seems to go this way, doesn't it? You start to suck, and then you get desperate for money. Like Metallica's Napster lawsuit. Or Bell Biv DeVoe's comeback album. You have my word that www.verbungle.com will remain as free as the air you breathe. When they start charging for air, though, all bets are off. 'Cause I'm gonna need some air money. -Hans Bungle, 5/20/04 What I should have predicted was the next step: a reverse of field when the pay strategy fails. Whatever the reason, I am oh so happy that The Onion has become completely free again. I may start reading it every week. In the meantime, I will go back and look at some old favorites to see if they remain funny. I've really liked the fire that A-Rod and The Big Unit have been displaying lately. A-Rod in particular has impressed me with his attitude on the field. Go Yanks. Whodat (16 points)? Finally, I want to give Pete B. respect for being the only person I spoke to who recognized the scope of Katrina and understood what was going to happen to New Orleans. The rest of us are so used to hurricanes petering out after tremendous hype that we assumed this one would shake down pretty much the same way. Pete told us thousands would perish, and unfortunately it looks like he was right. The scenes down there are just horrible. I see no reason not to help. I know that there are tragedies of even greater magnitude happening around the world every day, and I know for a lot of people, myself included, it takes an event close to home to wake us from our lazy, comfortable stupor. So if you want to help somewhere else in the world instead, that's fine, too. I'm gonna start with the hurricane victims. |
Happy
Birthday to my pops, Grandpa Bungle. You'll always be my best friend, no matter
what. I love you.
first to 250 points wins free verbungle merchandise to be named later)
