With every Collapse, there comes rebirth.

"God is living in New York, and he's a Mets fan."
-Tom Seaver

So we posted previously regarding a surprise we wanted to offer. Now would be the time to share.

We accepted a position as a blogger for NJ.com. We will write NJ.com's blog, Always Amazin' - a regular blog commenting on the current state of affairs of all things New York Mets. It's a new direction for us - a full time Mets blog for the masses. We're very excited.

So what does that mean for "Everything?" We'll still be around. We just won't comment on the Mets so much. We'll probably go back to our observational/politcal bent that worked so well in the past. We write. It's what we do.

In the interim, though - please stop by and check out the new gig. And don't worry - we'll leave a link on the sidebar for you.

We got feast... all the time... We got famine... all the time...

So I caught up last night with a few friends to see a few more old friends.

We popped in at the Mercury Lounge to take in the triumphant NYC return of one of our favorite bands of yesteryear, Rustic Overtones. We discovered them as an opening act for They Might Be Giants at the Bowery Ballroom and followed them anywhere they went.

You can read their history elsewhere - but our history's a little more intimate. You'd think Rustic Overtones was one of those bands that you discover in college and you think is awesome solely because no one else is listening.

You'd be wrong. This isn't Guster here.

Rustic Overtones can play. Their music was up, funky, accessible, never arrogant or pretentious. You could move to it. Unwind to it. Sing along to it.

And they're back together and looking for one more shot at the big time. Last night was a good first step. They played a set that consisted of half new songs and half songs from their last album, Viva Nueva. Sadly, they didn't play some of their best work ("Check," "Cherry," "Feast or Famine," and their best by far - "Iron Boots") - but they sounded good. They didn't bring the megaphone for "Smoke," but they didn't have new gimmicks, either. Just Dave Gutter singing like he's having a seizure. Spencer Albee jumping perpendicular to his keyboard. Like they're back on track. Like they will go places.

I don't meant to wax nostalgic and get all sappy about the Overtones. It's just that it was a 45 minute set, but could've gone on for 4:45 and I wouldn't have cared. It was a damn good show. It's nice to have them back (if only because I've never heard "Scarecrow" live).

Just for kicks - here's a live version of "Cherry." And a live version of their cover of Peter Gabriel's "Sledgehammer."

I won't say, "I told you so."

"So when you reach into your pocket
reach down further than the seams
to the leg that you could kneel down
and beg upon; one day a prince
and the next day a vagabond.
I flip a coin into a wishing well
this one's for you..."
-Rustic Overtones, "Long Division"

Venom Only a Masshole Could Love

After last night's exciting Pats-Ravens MNF extravaganza, I started doing a little light reading (aka what can be easily Googled) on the Pats' run and the history of Miami's perfect season.

Upon my search, I came across Don Shula's Wikipedia entry. Don Shula, for the blissfully ignorant, led the 1972 Miami Dolphins to an undefeated season, going 17-0 en route to win Super Bowl VII. It remains as the NFL's only perfect season, as long as the Pats don't join them.

So, I read on the profile, not expecting to read much... but Wikipedia's always good for a miscue or two. Boy, there were a few...

It starts mildly enough. A possible typo about Shula's GPA in college. Heck, a 1.9 GPA... it's crazy enough to be true - and just looks crappy because of the grammar.

Clearly, Shula's not the most decorated coach in NFL history. And Shula did criticize the Pats for Spygate and tampering when he also took part in a controversial move to take over the Dolphins. BUT, his perfect season didn't occur before he became the coach of the Miami Dolphins. So this comment stands out.

Somehow, Shula doesn't strike me as the cheerleader/assistant trainer type.

...and we now might have an association to the "author." I presume it's a friend of Collier's son.

You heard it here first, folks. Marino NEVER won a Super Bowl because of Shula.

Ah... a second reference to Shula's references to the perfect season. Perhaps Collier's friend, a Pats fan, has heard about it one too many times.

Did OJ's Bronco pre-empt that programming? I missed that.

Ok, this one's just plain mean. Like Boston fan mean.

So there's a good chance Shula's Wikipedia entry will change - and if the Pats continue their march toward to perfection, it could get more entertaining.

We have no heat, but we've got the beat.

So we have some very exciting news to report shortly. And we will.

It's why we haven't written about the Mets in a while. Don't worry - we will.

We have no heat in our apartment. And hopefully, soon we will.

We've not been to a Rangers game this season. But tonight, we will.

We're admittedly still working in Connnecticut, but still...

A Favor for a Friend

So, I usually hate doing this - telling people to vote for someone's internet poll - I'm making an exception this once.

A friend's got a movie on Myspace. Naturally, it's a contest - winner gets a development deal with Fox.

She promised me a job after winning, so...

So, should you have a Myspace account, click here.

After that, click "Booyah!"

You can watch it, too. It is a short film.

After doing all that, we now return you to your regularly scheduled surfing of Blogfrica.

Let's not get panicky.

"Fill in any figure you want for that boy . Whatever the figure, it's a deal."
-Branch Rickey, regarding Mickey Mantle

I'm currently on the bandwagon that the Mets should not consider signing Alex Rodriguez under any circumstances. However, I cannot seem to verbalize my intuition. I intend to do so here.

I see two reasons why no one's leaping at the chance to sign A-Rod.

1) The money.
2) The baggage.

It seems each team considering a go at Rodriguez's services find issues with the former (Angels, Cubs, Marlins, Giants) or the latter (Mets, Yankees, Boston, Dodgers). Yes, crazy reports about his asking price float all over the place -- but we probably won't know the true numbers for quite a while.

Now, for the sake of argument here, we'll presume A-Rod gets his raise from $25 mil per, and let's ballpark his final deal for 10 years, $300 mil. I'll also presume the deal is loaded in the back end, and doesn't include another opt out clause.

This shouldn't affect the Mets too much - they've got NYC as a fan base, a regional sports network, and a competitive team. Pedro & Delgado come off the books next year, and God knows there'll be more money from all the luxury boxes at Citifield. There'll be revenue from his merchandise as a marquee attraction...

Oh, just read the Boras booklet for why the money will work out for the Mets. This is where some fans stop reading and say, "I can have 50 HRs, 150 RBIs for all that? Whatever. Just gimme."

So, that means the remaining issue involves the baggage. And here's where it gets tricky:

- Yes, we're all well versed on A-Rod's prowess at the plate. We're also aware of his futility in the playoffs. Sure, his years as a Yankee in the playoffs might be an abberation. OR, it could be the superstar has thin skin and weak knees when the world's watching. Remember - in his playoff days in Seattle, he played second fiddle to Griffey until 2000. As a Yank, he was the whole f'n show. Don't give me Jeter - A-Rod came to NY to be the man for the Yanks in the playoffs. To get them over the proverbial "hump." He's currently 0-for-his Yankee tenure.

- A-Rod first go-round didn't go over well in NY. Here's a taste:
I know I could go on, and I know I can find positive ones as well. Thing is - he pissed off the NY media. They won't just embrace him - and A-Rod's demonstrated he needs to be embraced once in awhile.

- The move means shifting David Wright to 2B and/or perhaps 1B (after Delgado's departure). The Mets established Wright as a big part of the team's cornerstone for years to come, along with Reyes and Beltran. Shifting him not for defensive purposes but solely to accomodate A-Rod sends a message about who's running the show. I know Wright's saying the right things and all for taking one for the team - but if he plays with an ounce of pride, then he wants to stay at 3B.

- The Mets don't need a third baseman. They need pitching and a second baseman. This is where the shifting Wright situation gets stickier. There's always a concern that Wright doesn't work out at 2B. Remember how well Reyes worked there? Or Mike Piazza at 1B? Or Todd Hundley in the OF? It's not automatic. It might not take. So the Mets could be stuck with an albatross defensively at 2B. And I imagine dedicating all that money would take the Mets out of the running for...

- ...Johan Santana. I want to shoot down this one right now. The Mets trade David Wright to Minnesota straight up for Santana. So now - the Mets have traded their team cornerstone for Johan, just to accomodate A-Rod. Because that's the only way Wright gets traded. The Mets now reinvent themselves with A-Rod as their centerpiece. And if the Twins don't trade Santana, the Mets probably will get outbid next winter (probably by the Yankees and their A-Rod free as well as Damon/Giambi/Mussina free payroll).

Still think A-Rod does more good than harm? I'm not sure - and I'll have more on this soon.

Today's Discovery

Upon my random wanderings through the ol' interweb, I came across this little nugget...

John FX Flynn - Hemingway man, prior muse for mb, executioner of the passive voice, and easily in the "most influential teachers" category for moi - currently hails in Minneapolis as an Assistant Coach for the University of Minnesota's Golden Gophers Rowing team.

Enjoy.

It's Halloween. Everyone's entitled to one good scare.

We're officially at the midway point of our mid-Movie sabbatical. We've been keeping busy in the interim. Doing what, you say?

- Attending reunions! We've attended formal events for both Regis and Syracuse - and, curiously, both involved significant amounts of bruschetta, beer, and conversations leading off with "I remember..."

- Eating dinner at the bar! OK, we've done this maybe 2-3 times, but in that line of business, you meet the most interesting monsters over a Sam Adams Oktoberfest and a Grilled Chicken sandwich. And they can talk.

- Watching the World Series! Or did I? I blinked. Is it over? Poor Rox. So caught up on the magic carpet ride, they didn't see the train rolling down the tracks. Well, the Sox'll be around for a while. And so will...

- A-Rod Opts Out!* Isn't it amazing how, deep down, nobody really wants a perennial 50 HR, 150 RBI infielder at the prime of his career? "Sign me up for a decade of also-rans and premature postseason exits, please!"

T-minus 10 days to go before Shopaholic commences. Bring on Van Halen, house sitting, and more of the free party mix.

*Ok, I didn't have anything to do with A-Rod opting out. Sue me. I point it out in utter fear of the Mets doing something rash like, say, signing him to a 10-year, $300 million dollar contract. The fact that it's anything but an unequivocal "NO!" frightens me. The Mets need a second baseman and pitching. Neither are A-Rod (nor Wright's suggestion to move to 2B to allow A-Rod to play 3B). A-Rod also doesn't make the Mets the team to beat because he clearly didn't make the Yankees that, either.

A-Rod will go to the highest bidder regardless of that team's standing as a contender. The Mets need that kind of character like they need a hole in the head.

Denver, the Last Dinosaur

I'll admit - I attempted to purchase Rockies' World Series tickets today, and had a plan in place to make it out to Denver for the games. Admittedly, the Rox prepared themselves for the plan as much as I did - and crashed all their servers so no one could buy tickets. We'll try again tomorrow.

This was a far cry from my visit to Coors Field two years ago. I bought the tickets at the Stadium Box Office day of game with no wait.

That's evolution for you.

I get a good vibe from the World Series, which is comforting because the Collapse of '07 left a sour taste for baseball. I'm excited about this week - So what the Rox only joined the league 14 years ago? So what the Sox lost some luster after winning in '04? This feels like baseball. Rox v. Sox for all the marbles? I'm on board.

There's no teams that "snuck in the back door," or seem unworthy. Colorado and Boston earned their keep. They both show a lot of pride, have something left to prove, and clearly aren't in a "We're Happy to be Here" mode. This Series could end up like the '91 World Series - no wins for the away teams.

In which case, that's Boston in 7.

Regardless, it's about the journey since the destination doesn't involve Flushing, NY. Some time very soon - the Mets will get their due. This week, though... just give me a damn good ball game and I'll call it even.

We're moving on, I swear.

I haven't gone on and on about the Mets' Great Collapse of '07 because nothing more needs to be said. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that my indifference about the matter worries me more than their collapse. They blew it, and I don't care. Next season will be about them winning my respect back as it will to get back to the promised land.

And then you get a few more reminders...

...like how you can purchase a $200 commemorative brick to sit in front of Citifield...

...which will be appropriate, considering you most likely won't be able to get INTO Citifield.

There are days where I legitimately hate the business of sports. This is one of them.

That's where we'll find it, the Rainbow Connection.

Radiohead released their new album, "In Rainbows," today. You, I, and everyone else can download it free (and legally) from their website. Or, really, for a "suggested donation" of whatever you feel like paying.

Oasis might follow suit.

I am OK with this development.

$1,011.05

Yep, that's how much I've saved by the Mets and Yankees being eliminated in the playoffs prematurely. Here's the breakdown:

4 Mets NLDS Game 1 Tickets: $228.00
*See, I would've made it to a game if they qualified. Would've cut work and everything.
4 Mets NLDS Game 5 Tickets: $328.00
*It wouldn't have gone 5, but you take what you can get...
2 Yankees ALCS Game 5 Tickets: $209.05
*Was supposed to take Erin to Yanks v. Sox; she shouts obscenities about it now like a true member of Red Sox Nation
3 Phillies NLCS Game 4 Tickets: $246.00
*Blatant attempt to make money reselling tickets after Mets go home early. If I have to put up with Phillies' fans crap until spring, then at least I could've made a few bucks off 'em. Or go eat cheesesteaks. One or the other.

And are we done? We'll see.

And now, we retire our late September sports blog and return you to your regularly scheduled blog.

An old friend of mine (we'll call him "Super Cool") turned me on to '80s hair metal while at Syracuse. I couldn't get into it before college - it just seemed so shallow.

Then, I learned the wonders of Poison, Bon Jovi, and the like. I learned to appreciate (not always enjoy) the reincarnation of Nikki Six, the requisite monster ballads of, well, all of them, and that Van Halen did indeed have a third front man (Gary Cherone, formerly of Extreme).

There's a fascinating duality in hair metal that I feel other music doesn't emote. On the one hand, you have visions of masculinity - a cowboy riding on his steel horse, with a woman at home he can't describe in mere words while recovering from a past love, his thorny rose. It's good, honest, simple music.

On the other hand - it's inexplicably awful. Leather pants. Long hair. Some of the corniest lyrics this side of a boy band. It's awful.

Still, it's their songs. It's not recycled, or canned in Hollywood. There's no pop irony such as Natasha Bedingfield's "There Words Are My Own" (writing credit to Stephen Allen Kipner & Andrew Marcus Frampton).

And so, I continue to hope to see Bon Jovi in concert next month - he's playing for 2 weeks at the new arena in Newark - and not rolling eyes at future attempts.

Who's with me?

And now those NLDS tickets are refunded.

"I cannot get rid of the hurt from losing, but after the last out of every loss, I must accept that there will be a tomorrow. In fact, it's more than there'll be a tomorrow, it's that I want there to be a tomorrow. That's the big difference, I want tomorrow to come."
-Sparky Anderson

That one's my stock quote whenever the Mets get eliminated. I read it shortly after the 2000 World Series. It resonates.

The Mets blowing a 7-game lead to the Phillies with two weeks to play? That'll resonate, too.

And not just because if you watch the TBS commercials for the MLB postseason, they still feature the Mets because who blows a 7 game lead with two weeks to play?

I get pipe dreams about winning the World Series everywhere. Usually misguided, but this year - it made some sense. It had some basis in reality. And yet, I get football and hockey season a little too early once again.

I wish I could say "Wait till next year."

"Think it was September, the year I went away,
For there were many things I didn't know.
And I still see him standing, tryin' to be a man;
I said, someday you'll understand.

"Well, I'm here to tell you now, each and ev'ry mother's son,
You better learn it fast; you better learn it young,
cause, someday never comes."
-John Fogerty, "Someday Never Comes"

I think they did it again.

"It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone."
-A. Bartlett Giamatti

"It gets late early out there."
-Yogi Berra

They did it. They blew the division lead.

Goddamn it.

I've been scouring the internet for days looking for some insight, something to say "It can't be over, can it?" MLB.com and their Pythagorean Standings. Metsblog and it's pro-Willie banter. Faith and Fear to keep me grounded.

And I keep thinking of Game 7.

It rocked and rolled. We high-fived everyone after every routine ground ball. Then Yadier F'n Molina screwed it up...

He hit the home run - and no one booed or hissed. 55,000 in attendance (and no doubt millions at home) watched stunned, speechless, unable to utter a sound. I've experienced disbelief before - but never on such a large scale.

And that's where I'm at again - and hoping to endure that bottom of the ninth rally one more time... hoping the Mets rally the troops one more time... hoping they play with the fear of God in them and with more inspiration than a few scattered hits off the Craptacular St. Louis Cardinals...

...and that Beltran swings the goddamn bat this time. And the crowd goes wild this time. And that we don't blow our shot at redemption this time.

A Mets' fan's fatal flaw is that we're optimists. We caught a few breaks once upon a time (100-to-1 in '69, Buckner in '86) - and now we feel entitled not to an automatic birth to the playoffs (we'll never attain that kind of arrogance), but that somehow, someway - the boys'll come through. They won't break your heart. They will earn your respect.

I have endured years of "Mets suck"-"Who won more World Championships?"-"Shea's a hole"-"Anthony Young? Seriously?"-"Armando/Braden/John F'n Benitez/Looper/Franco"-"Worst Team Money Can Buy"-"You'll Never Catch the Braves" crap in hopes that just once - I'll witness one of those breaks. Just one, in a game I've studied and cherished more than anything on this planet.

3 games against the Marlins to earn my respect again. We're due.

Please, someone, tell me we're due.

Yes, those Mets NLDS tickets are still refundable.

Blowing 2 3-run leads makes me want to throw up. I can't remember the last time I felt like this...



Wait, yes I do.

Oh shit.

I pity the fool who lacks nougaticity.

So I'm "working" today.

And while working, I had a hunger. And then I found this:



How they're not using this ad in America... I have no idea.

We've gotta get out of this place if it's the last thing we ever do.

I think I just committed myself to like 6 more months of CT.

I just experienced a CT "summer." Now a CT "winter" as well? (The quotation marks are for "theoretical" - I never leave the office or hotel!)

Well, at least I still have the weekend house in Brooklyn. And those Mets NLDS tickets.

And refundable NLDS tickets at that.

Eagles Beat the Skins

I spent the weekend recovering from a cold.

I spent Monday meeting with our courier company, buying Mets NLDS tickets (don't worry - they're refundable), and taking care of a script revision.

I'm still in Connecticut. They won't let me leave.

Food blows here.

Blows.

Remember when I was opinionated? Those were the days...

We're freelance again.

Remember that last post where I mentioned writing for a fantasy football website?

It went under.

Damn.

It's... ALIVE!

Rather than hit you with the requisite "Where have we been? We'll start blogging again, promise!" post... how about just some quick hits instead:

- Transformers the movie? A celebration of mediocrity. Never have I seen such perfectly executed schlock that didn't have the words "Keanu Reeves" attached to it. And it felt fairly dated for a movie that came out in July. Movies that inspire you to root for the Army just need more oomph nowadays.

- I finally saw Dispatch in concert in July @ MSG. Great show. It left me thinking that if Live Earth had half the heart that Dispatch concert did (it was a charity concert raising money for Zimbabwe), it would've left a bigger footprint. Then again, Live Earth's big on the whole "reducing your footprint on the Earth" theme. So, uhh... mission accomplished.

- Admittedly, I enjoyed the Dispatch concert - but I'll always cherish the story of my failed attempt to see them previously. A friend, let's call him Obr Larcona, ran late and eventually never showed up - so Dispatch sold out the Wetlands before Joe, Alex, and I could get in. Instead, we went to a nearby diner where a waitress who couldn't speak English invited me to point to what I wanted on the menu, then proceeded to serve me a steak 'um w/ cheese and a Diet Sprite, which she passionately debated the proper pronunciation of with me. Spritz? Spritz my ass.

- I miss the Wetlands.

- Best story from this time? Not punishing the "enlightened" (by "enlightened," I mean "high on marijuana") fellow who kept running into me by hanging out right next to me (I had an aisle seat - he didn't seem to care and kept hanging over me). He disappeared in a conga line. I imagine he's still going.

- Work is rough. There are times where I completely lose track of time (I don't mean time of day - I mean, I've forgotten what month I'm in). Management didn't prep this one well - and I'm losing a great deal of sleep as a result. I've forgotten what most of my friends look like, and man, Stamford, CT... talk about mediocrity. I'm not miserable - but I am clearly and undeniably wasting my summer.

- I celebrated my 5-year anniversary last weekend with Erin. 5 years... Yep, still very much in love.

- Does anyone have any idea how the Mets are doing? I mean, seriously? Goddamn, this movie!

- I'm writing for a fantasy football website that presumably no one will ever read. Fantasy Football Star. I encourage you to read it, but the membership fee is fairly high. Well, maybe I can parlay this into something bigger. Or, I can lose more sleep.

- I cooked dinner tonight. Threw a steak on the grill, and made a caprese salad with tomatoes my neighbor gave us. I will do that more often. Always a good decision.

More to follow. Hopefully not in October.

These, Tom, are the Causeheads. They find a world-threatening issue and stick with it for about a week.

(Yes, I know I owe you a Transformers review. Don't worry - it's coming. Go read Pat's thoughts in the interim. They're not too far off.)

So I'm returned from Live Earth. I left home at 11am this morning. It's been a long day.

It started with a crazy line for a bus in Secaucus, then venturing into the stadium as KT Tunstall finished up her set. She may or may not have went second - I stopped paying attention to order rather quickly.

So, what did we learn today?

- Hipsters may have supplanted hippies. Yes, it's closed-minded and shallow - but I kinda hoped to see a line of tree-hugging hippies and militant lesbians types. Just something about a "Save the Earth" event invited that expectation, politically incorrect as it might be nowadays. Instead, I'm greeted by frat boy types and trustafarians who own green t-shirts and showed up for the party of the year and probably Dave Matthews band. If I wanted that, I would've gone to Williamsburg.

- You have to understand... this was 10 hours worth of alcohol. This was sloppy, going inexplicably crazy for Kelly Clarkson, please stop spilling your beer all over my breasts, "Yank-ees SUCK!" drunk. I haven't seen that kinda drunk since my last poker night.

- By the way, I'm changing all my light bulbs to compact florescent bulbs. Please stop reminding me.

- On Taking Back Sunday, AFI, and Fall Out Boy... they are who we thought they were. And we let 'em off the hook.

- On Melissa Etheridge and Alicia Keys... they've got a little crazy in their eyes. Entertaining, don't get me wrong. But they're a few trees short of a rain forest.

- On my inaugural Dave Matthews Band concert... oh wait, sorry. Was online for chicken tenders for that. And part of Kelly Clarkson, too. Note to self: Next time you want food at an epic concert at Giants Stadium, just buy beer instead. No wait.

- Concerts we're now further excited to attend: The Police.

- Concerts we're now looking into attending: Smashing Pumpkins, Bon Jovi.

- Nanatak. So Live Earth played all on all 7 continents, including a performance by a group of scientists stationed in Antarctica. Nanatak, as they called themselves, appeared onscreen between acts and played an original song as penguins literally walked by them. Next time you're in Antarctica, check them out.

- I had every intention of awarding Bon Jovi the "best performance of the night" tag. I'm confident enough in my masculinity to admit I'm a fan. So suck it.

Then Roger Waters hit me with this...



Yes, if that's not clear:


It's the Pink Floyd signature giant inflatable pig floating over the crowds as Roger Waters played "Another Brick in the Wall." On one side of the pig: "S.O.S. Save Our Sausages." The other side: "United We're Together, Divided We Fall."

The Pink Floyd pig has an origin. It's just a little airborne, it's still good. It's still good.

- You would think they would stock more than like 8 t-shirts that aren't XXL in the souvenir stands. I mean, I got one - but have a little consideration, people.

- The Meadowlands State Fair was going on at the same time. I thought about it. They had a slide.

- I'm all for this "Go Green" movement, encouraging conversation about global warming and the environment. That's fine by me. Surely, a plane flying overhead in the early afternoon advertising DemandDebate.com reminded me of that today.

It's just that there's something a little too "Big Brother"y about Al Gore's role in this conversation. I like him and appreciate his viewpoint - but it can get kinda creepy at times. Surely, a plane flying overhead in the late afternoon advertising "Draft Gore" reminded me of that today.

- Speaking of which, I left Live Earth asking myself what, at the end of the day, this intended to prove. Live Aid brought awareness and aid for African relief over 20 years ago. Live 8 revisited that. Now, Live Earth... yes, it's not even 24 hours since it's completion. And people know it happened... but did it/will it register? I'm not getting jaded or anything - I intend to "Answer the Call" and I have no plans to throw up my hands after completing this blog and enrolling for LSAT classes, but what's next? I remain cautiously optimistic regarding the pledge.

It's all behind me now. See you on the next one.


Aww screw it... here's 14 seconds of Bon Jovi for you...

Redefining German Efficiency

From the Daily Mail:

Oh, how it pains me to do this...

So tonight I will finally see Transformers in the movie theater.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. I've already seen Transformers the Movie in the theater. I could not cross the street nor write in cursive at the time, and my brother almost abandoned me because my parents forced him to bring me along. I saw it, though. Fortway Theater in Brooklyn, NY. August 1986.

I'm saving my "Which was better?" debate for later merely because I hold out hope that tonight will be more than a pretty, 2-hour Michael Bay blow-'em-up fest. My friend Nick (who works at Paramount and has had a sneak peak) as well as my brother who brought me that fateful afternoon (who can't stop mentioning that Spielberg's an executive producer) insist I reserve judgment. Fine.

So now, I sit and ponder why this movie's such a big deal to me. Transformers doesn't represent my penultimate uber-geek moment in my 26-year existence. I stopped reading the comic book, I don't collect the toys, I didn't even buy all of the TV show sets on DVD. This was never a "geeky" thing.

I did, however, watch it religiously with two brothers and one sister. We all collectively sat in front of the living room TV, my first experience with appointment television. Yes, Hasbro was selling toys - we didn't know that at the time. Instead, it became this thing - this bond of sorts. We watched our shows together, then wrote and acted out radio plays using just the theme song. It's this thing that doesn't happen anymore - but should. That bond remains in smaller forms - my brother brought me to Transformers the Movie in the theater, and later gave it to me on VHS so I'd have it to complete a bet at my senior prom. I gave it to my little brother when he received his first DVD player (also known as Playstation 2). We've all pledged to introduce my nephew to it when he's of age.

It was never about the nerdiness of it. It's the nostalgia. It's why tonight I'm hustling to be there to watch it with my two brothers and sister (and about 20 of our closest friends). To have that moment again...

It makes the risk of a Michael Bay crapfest that much more worthwhile.

Review and thoughts to follow.

To summarize the nonsense of earlier's post:

Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

It's still a long way to Tipperary.

Time for this blogger's requisite "Commentary on the final Sopranos episode" post.

TV owes you nothing. In consulting other friends, co-workers, bloggers, newspapers, critics, David Chase himself (in article form)... I come to the conclusion that TV owes you nothing. A lot of outrage comes from the now-infamous ending, where we may or may not have gone to blackout prematurely.

Then I realized: This wasn't a movie. This isn't a story that gets neatly wrapped up in 2 hours. TV chronicles the story, perhaps a bit too long for monetary gain, but is a serial by nature. The good ones do not stop and start at our convenience. The idea of a TV series having an ending, made popular by the Mary Tyler Moore show, well... sucks.

I asked myself about truly memorably TV series endings, episodes that give you goosebumps and make you say, "Wow." There's the Mary Tyler Moore show. Maybe MASH. And after that... I came up with nothing.

Should they survive long enough to get the opportunity to present a series finale, they all probably ended with everybody moving out (Mary Tyler Moore Show, Growing Pains, Friends, MASH, West Wing), a narrator informing you how everyone ends up (the Wonder Years, Mad About You), an episode that provides a last plot twist that neatly wraps up all outstanding issues (Cheers, the Fugitive, Malcolm in the Middle), or just a bunch of horseshit (Seinfeld, St. Elsewhere).

In the end, I liked this "open-ended or not" ending of the Sopranos because it was different, unique, new.

First, the finale was appointment television. This wasn't a show you could DVR and watch later. If you missed it, you were out of the conversation and could not avoid it. There are no shows on TV (with exception to maybe the American Idol finale) that have the ability to do that anymore. Do you think people will scramble to watch the finale of CSI? Doubtful. When an episode becomes appointment TV, it needs to raise its game.

Second, it's Thursday, and the Sopranos aired on Sunday. People still talk about it. And it's intelligent discussion. It's not "Man, that sucked" or "Man, that was awesome." It's interpretation, discussion, then airing of grievances. I'll take that any day.

Third, the open ending or not allowed for multiple interpretations, which is unique to TV. Here's the possible endings I've counted so far:

1) Tony's dead. This stems from two theories: The first comes from a flashback in the previous episode between Bobby and Tony, where they're discussing what it must be like to be whacked. Bobby described it by saying, "You never see it coming. Everything just goes black." This would evolve further if the hit were to involve Tony's family, either as viewers or victims. The hitmen would wait for the family to be there. Hence, why everything goes black as soon as Meadow walks in.

The second comes from the conspiracy theory that everyone in the restaurant is a ghost from Tony's past (the cowboy that Christopher whacked, the hitmen who botched a hit on Tony, the boy scouts from the train store where Bobby met his demise). It's a stretch, but not beyond the realm.

2) They whacked the audience. Roughly same explanation as #1, except we're the victim. The Sopranos, this theory states, live on - we just don't get to see it anymore.

3) Tony's arrested. Also the same rationale as #1, except add the conversations about Carlo flipping.

4) Tony sits down to eat dinner with his family. It seems like stating the obvious, but it makes sense. The Sopranos is a family drama, just in the setting of the modern day Italian Mafia. It dealt as much with Tony's relationship with his mother and his wife and kids as it did with politicking with Johnny Sack. It starts and ends with the family.

The cuts and characters in the diner? A red herring. Another David Chase signature.

And why the blackout? David Chase spent the second half of Season Six reminding you that Tony is a sociopath, a killer with ice water in his veins. Therefore, you can't get the happy ending here. You can't get the wide shot of the family laughing over dinner at a Jersey family restaurant institution as the camera pulls out to a wide shot of the diner under a starry night. Chase constantly debated whether crime pays (and if it does, what's the pay rate?) throughout the series. I think his answer, demonstrated under this theory, is "sometimes."

5) It was all a dream. Before the episode aired, everyone pointed back to the episode where Tony is Kevin Finnerty, a traveling salesman. They argued that Kevin's the real person and Tony's his dream. Chase wisely decided he knew his audience better than that. You could argue that the blackout ends the dream, but I don't buy it.

6) It's a microcosm of Tony's world. Why build up all the tension in the diner? To give you a taste of Tony's world. Constantly looking over his shoulder, looking for the gunmen before they find him. It's a sugar-coated ending, one last cheap thrill.

7) David Chase is fucking with you. Look, he's no dummy. He's proven himself a maestro with the music throughout the series. Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" seems unbelievable until you realize the B-side on the jukebox is "Any Way You Want It." Why building up the tension with the cut shots and looks to the man at the counter? Why not? Chase didn't know how to end it, so he figured he'd stick his dick in your ear and fuck with your mind.

Worked, didn't it? Remember your reaction 5 seconds after the credits started to roll and you realized your cable didn't go out?

------

So where does this leave us? Without the Sopranos, for one. I know there's talk about another season or a movie - but I'll pray we don't go down that road. In TV terms, it's better to walk away too soon than too late. You can't point to an instance where the Sopranos jumped the shark. Give it more opportunities and it will find one.

Also, it inspires hope for TV. The Sopranos changed things. For better or worse, we'll see. However, the networks will see the reaction from the Sopranos' finale and want the same for their shows.

Change is good. We hope.

This is my corn. You people are guests in my corn.

Man, it's been a busy week for baseball for me.

Let's see... there was...

...the two inning wait for a Dodger Dog in Chavez Ravine on Sunday...

...that very not so good free popcorn giveaway in Flushing on Thursday...

...and sweating my balls off for a Fenway frank in Beantown on Saturday.

Not bad for the unemployed. Way to start a new job next week, me.

Some men get the world. Others get ex-hookers and a trip to Arizona.

It's Steven's last night in town...

I "took a lunch," as they say here in Tinseltown, with an old friend on the Paramount lot today. We ate sloppy joes and reminisced about our alma mater, catching up on who is up to what and where. I asked him how LA treated him, whether he planned to hang his hat here for a long time coming.

No, he said. Just long enough to make a name, then he's taking his reputation home. "I've made some friends here, sure," he said. "There just isn't anyone I'd go out to grab a beer with after work."

This May now behind me, I'm four years removed from the Salt City. I frequently find myself asking if I am anywhere near where I thought I'd be while walking down the aisle in the Carrier Dome. I made a promise to an ex-girlfriend on my 18th birthday that I'd never wear a suit to work - because I never dreamed about that growing up, and a suit to work represents a final concession of the dreamers. I spent the last seven days studying the dream in the Mecca of shorts to work and long, leisurely lunches in sidewalk cafes. It got me thinking.

So I had dinner with an old roommate and another old friend, again catching up and eating apple pie. There's a great deal of Americana in LA - not just the Hollywood schlock, but diners, fast food joints, old cars. It's all an "Los Angeles institution" while none of it seems organically LA. It's helped me develop a new appreciation for Queens, NY.

"It's a lonely city," my old roommate noted. "It's a social field. You can't really escape work." He, much like the others as well as myself, continue to chase the white rabbit. Four years of higher education indoctrinated me to believe that if I wanted to legitimately make it in this business, then I'd need to hang my hat in LA, too.

Tomorrow, I board a plane for New York City. Home. My roommate will pick me up. I'll go to Shea via subway on Thursday with friends, I'll start a new gig Friday, and I'll see my girl on Sunday.

I have no regrets.

All I know's I gotta be where my heart says I oughta be...

This weekend, Jaywalking does not refer only to a lame Leno bit.

So I'm in Los Angeles. There's a Trader Joe's and a lot of driving. An obscene amount.

Apparently, jaywalking's a big no go here. A friend here advised me that his roommate received a $200 summons for jaywalking recently.

I ran across Venice Blvd in Culver City this afternoon, only to have two onlookers I left behind at the curb say, "Oh my God," to my display of impatience for oncoming traffic and that stupid hand.

I have every intention of continuing my acts of civil disobedience.

Everyone needs a hobby.

Wait, what's this? Mad TV being hilarious funny?

It's true, folks. It's true.

In other news: Don't kick the baby.

She can't get paid for it? That's so gay!

I read this little nugget this morning:

Judge: No money for Mormon girl who sued over saying 'That's so gay'

SANTA ROSA, Calif. - A Sonoma County judge ruled Tuesday that a Mormon high school student who sued after being disciplined and then mercilessly teased for using the phrase "That's so gay" was not entitled to monetary damages.

Superior Court Judge Elaine Rushing said that while she sympathized with 18-year-old Rebekah Rice for the ridicule she experienced at Maria Carrillo High School, her lawyers had failed to prove that school administrators had violated any state laws or singled the girl out for punishment.

Somewhere, Will Berriel is weeping.

No word yet on whether the courts deemed threatening to pancake's one's house in retaliation for failure to produce waffles as an eminent threat.

Woke up this morning... got yourself a gun.

I read this article in the NY Times today regarding the gun control debate, which opened with this simple fact:

"In March, for the first time in the nation’s history, a federal appeals court struck down a gun control law on Second Amendment grounds."

That's right. The Second Amendment. Which reads:

"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."

Once upon a time, legal scholars agreed the Second Amendment referred to militas, not individuals. Then, others argued the phrase "bear arms" appeared in many legal writings as referring to individuals. Now, apparently, there's a movement of legal law scholars (the NY Times feels compelled to label them as liberals in the article) who argue:

"If only as a matter of consistency, Professor Levinson continued, liberals who favor expansive interpretations of other amendments in the Bill of Rights, like those protecting free speech and the rights of criminal defendants, should also embrace a broad reading of the Second Amendment."

So, there's two interesting points here. 1) The NY Times feels compelled to identify that liberal legal law scholars find this statement accurate, even if it's not the majority view. 2) This view, labeled the "individual rights view," basically states that "Well, if it's OK to liberally interpret the rest of the Constitution, then why not the Second Amendment as well?"

The former's just stirring the point. The latter is fascinating. As a matter of course, one should decide for themselves their own political beliefs based on the system. So, if you're for or against gun control, so be it. You should be allowed to think.

However, that this might happen:

"Laurence H. Tribe, a law professor at Harvard, said he had come to believe that the Second Amendment protected an individual right.

“My conclusion came as something of a surprise to me, and an unwelcome surprise,” Professor Tribe said. “I have always supported as a matter of policy very comprehensive gun control.”

The idea, "Well, I know what I think, but the laws don't back me up" seems, well, crazy. Not a "This guy wants to be a gun-toting maniac in a Church steeple" crazy, but a "This might serve as a genuine legal argument or just an attention grabber for me" crazy. It's kinda feels like the latter, a gun control devil's advocate position of sorts. Nice to see legitimate thought going into the argument, though. It's been a while.

Can Superman just collect all the guns in the world and throw them into the Sun already?

Thank Goodness, It's Opening Day.

"No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again"
-Regina Spektor, "On the Radio"

When we last left Shea Stadium, I wanted to throw up.

Yadier F'n Molina drove a dagger through the collective Mets fans' heart, and the Cardinals punched their ticket to the World Series at the expense of my dinner. He single-handedly ended the 2006 Mets' Magic Carpet Ride - a glorious season that ended too soon thanks to a craptacular catcher with no pop.

I didn't throw up, nor cry - but I came close. It was a long ferry ride home.

So, after a cold winter, a winter of what ifs, Giant implosions, NITs... the time had come to go home... I braved the elements to make it to Opening Day. Part of a record crowd, they said. I didn't care. It just felt right. That's what mattered. It felt right to be at Shea, watching the games again. The hot dogs, roar of the crowd, flooded bathrooms, and all that poetic crap.

You can see the construction of the new ballpark beyond the outfield now. It's quite prominent, the little men and their big cranes. I wondered aloud how it might feel to suffer in the new ballpark the way I had suffered so many times at Shea... from the likes of Yadier F'n Molina to Armando Benitez to Anthony Young to Robby Thompson to that family sitting behind me with the HoJo face paint...



This day, though. It just felt right...



...and not just because Sean tried to crush Cole Hamels with his fingers.

One Shining Moment

I'm in full on college basketball mode now. It started a little late this year - an up-and-down Syracuse basketball season will do that to you. Still, since last Thursday, I knocked down three games with one to go: All 3 games of the NCAA East Regional Final (yes, the UNC-Georgetown one - though the G'Town-Vandy one was the best in my opinion), and tonight's the Syracuse-less NIT Final (do I still have to go?).

The Final Four goes down this weekend, good basketball to be had and just in time for baseball's Opening Day. It's a good time, though.

And to commemorate that good time, I'd like to recall one of the top 5 greatest moments in the history of the world:

Yep, still glorious.

For someone who lives in Brooklyn and works in Manhattan...

....I spend an absurd amount of time in Newark, NJ.

Tomorrow it's East Rutherford, NJ. NCAA East Regional Final. It'd better be awesome, or I swear, I will start to saw Jersey into the ocean immediately.

Immediately.

I'm not kidding.

I spent 3 hours at Newark Airport in front of a cargo hold waiting for a FedEx truck. That's it. I didn't actually give the FedEx truck anything. I just had to see him pick it up.

I'm working on that baseball post, Johnny.

Freakin' Lent...

And now for something completely different.

You gotta be a moron... you gotta be a *moron* to wanna be a fighter.

"I remember those cheers
They still ring in my ears
After years, they remain in my thoughts...

Rocky IV and Mike Tyson's Punch Out.

I first introduced myself to the sport of prizefighting through two cartoonish interpretations, one boxer who brought down Communism and another who brought down Iron Mike Tyson. What wasn't to love? Boxing represented a sports where one man could, despite all clichés, achieve anything.

You could become starry eyed, and dream what it might be like to stand in the ring, toe to toe with the champ, going the distance and leaving it all in the ring. It's beautiful, to watch two men dance, duck, move, jab, shift, watch, nod... graceful. The sweet science. By the time I learned of boxing, I'd given my heart to baseball. I wanted to make room. I tried.

"Go to one night
I took off my robe, and what'd I do? I forgot to wear shorts...

Then Tyson fell from grace. First, literally, to Buster Douglas in Tokyo. Then, figuratively, to Miss Black Rhode Island. It shook the foundation. Wait... Boxers were people? With faults? They could do wrong? I know it sounds ridiculous, naive, cynical perhaps... but I was 9. This equals learning the truth about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. You grow up, and those crazy childhood dreams go away. It's a little thing, but the little things take away those big things...

"I recall every fall
Every hook, every jab
The worst way a guy can get rid of his flab.
As you know, my life wasn't drab.

I tried to keep watching. Following young boxers like Zab Judah, older boxers holding on too long like Holyfield, boxers peddling their wares to find a second life like Foreman. Money corrupted all. There were 5 major heavyweight belts. Five. You can't have a Rocky Marciano if four other guys can claim to be Marciano, too. Some of those champs can't fight the others because HBO and Showtime can't play nice. And if you disagreed with them and you've got a few bucks... hell, start your own league. Boxing, meet the circus.

I watched in college. I remember watching an undercard on HBO with floormates, don't remember the boxers. The winner would land a shot to the loser's temple, the loser's knees buckled... the winner would land 3 more shots before loser came back to Earth for an obvious KO. Two men beat each other savagely and I couldn't look away. The grace was there, however barbaric you find it. This isn't like horse racing where 50 years ago, everyone loved it and now it's like "Wait, what the fuck's a mint julep?" The game's alive - the sport. But the business, like every other major sport, took it's toll.

"Though I'd much... Though I'd rather hear you cheer
When you delve... Though I'd rather hear you cheer
When I delve into Shakespeare
'A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse', I haven't had a winner in six months.

I don't pretend to be an expert on boxing. I've seen the Ali-Liston fight, Marciano, the controvery of Schmeling, the Sugar Rays, the Rumble in the Jungle, the Thrilla in Manilla... but on tape. In books. I didn't live it, and so, I concede any credibility. I know enough, however, to hear ESPN peddle a conspiracy that Ali started hip hop and know that's not what he, nor boxing, ever aimed to be. Ali aspired to be the greatest on his own terms. Every boxer's dream. To remain standing at the end of the night, arms raised, knowing you stood your ground on your own terms and didn't back down. Yes, the money's nice. Yes, there's no World Series or Super Bowl of boxing. But, something has to click. You have to want it badly if you're willing to risk an accelerated chance at Alzheimer's and a shorter life span.

It's funny, now, how a legendary mecca like Gleason's Gym in Brooklyn offers a fantasy camp. You can live the dream, of sorts. Sure, you're safely removed from the brutality while you dream. Everyone's in on the act. You know it can never be what it once was, what Hemingway dreamed about, Mailer and Plimpton so eloquently described. The ghosts haunt the halls.

And that's all that's left to Boxing. The ghosts. Chasing the ghosts, and hoping you can add one yourself. To entertain the crowds and take care of yourself. To leave a legend behind you, a pure one that no one can question.

Well, it's still not too bad a dream. Implausible, sure. Not bad, though.

"Though I'm no Olivier
I would much rather... And though I'm no Olivier
If he fought Sugar Ray
He would say
That the thing ain't the ring, it's the play.
So give me a... stage
Where this bull here can rage
And though I could fight
I'd much rather recite
... that's entertainment."
-Jake LaMotta, Raging Bull

Start your day right.

TGIF, everybody.

Of course, I'm working tomorrow. So that probably stands for, "That's Great! I'm Fucked!" Go figure.

Went to see Zamboni Revolution alum David "Stan" Young last night. (You can see what he's been up to @ JoeyandDavid.com -- link's always on the right of this page). He's taking his show to the Aspen Comedy Festival. Good show last night, and bonne chance to him.

Looks like I'm going to be doing a little bit of writing in the future. I'm officially signed up for a sketch comedy course with the Upright Citizens Brigade. I'm working on a challenge thrown down by another Zamboni alum, Johnny K. And I have an offer to potentially write about fantasy football. Rapture.

I'm going to the City of Brotherly Love next week to cheer on the little lady at a Trial Advocacy competition. It's always very exciting to see her in her element, and this time, she has nothing to lose... it'll be memorable (and yes, in a good way). I'm keeping a steel chair handy, just in case.

To celebrate, here's some damn good television...



And here's a story about chimps with spears (and I don't mean K-Fed).

Perhaps I just need to reference body parts more often.

I'm taking up sketch comedy writing again. Currently just for kicks. Going to take some classes with the Upright Citizens Brigade soon.

No word yet on any attempts to option the rights to the children's book with the scrotum:

Yet there it is on the first page of “The Higher Power of Lucky,” by Susan Patron, this year’s winner of the Newbery Medal, the most prestigious award in children’s literature. The book’s heroine, a scrappy 10-year-old orphan named Lucky Trimble, hears the word through a hole in a wall when another character says he saw a rattlesnake bite his dog, Roy, on the scrotum.

I'm sure Disney's hard at work on this one.

We've gotta get out of this place...

...if it's the last thing we ever do.

Insomnia

How you spend the time determines the severity of insomnia.

Not being able to sleep but being able to write an award winning story - seems fine by me.

Not being able to sleep but catching up on a book you've been reading - seems not so bad.

Not being able to sleep, then channel surfing while not watching anything of consequence - not so good.

Trying to fix it by venturing out to a local watering hole, only to be reminded exactly how much you loathe "Tainted Love" as two drunken female types dance around a herd of guys who think they might have a shot - take sleeping pills.

Staring at passing cars in hope that someone will come to take you away - punch yourself in the face.

Creating a list of people you know and creating clever ways to kill them, such as shooting them out of a cannon but into an anvil, or driving 900 miles in a diaper - try listening to some Enya.

Rearranging anything - just go to goddamn sleep.

New Amsterdam

I work for Fox now.

The network that brought you Married with Children. American Idol. Man v. Beast.

It's a pilot called "New Amsterdam," about the trials and tribulations of an NYPD detective who's significantly older than he seems (hint: It's called NEW AMSTERDAM). No word yet on They Might Be Giants or the Four Lads providing the theme music.

A lot's going on. Almost pitchers and catchers. The Rangers are mediocre. Apartment is warm.

I just got the OK to go home. I'll do that.

Root canal tomorrow.

Super Bowl Sunday.

Have you had your break today?

What's your opinion? We'd like to know.

Food for thought:

Is there anything stopping me from placing "2007 Time Person of the Year" in the awards section of my resume?

Every little bit helps.

Discuss.

A million times I've asked you and then I ask you over again... You only tell me perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

We know. We're a little behind on the ol' updating thing.

Lots to tell you about soon. New Year's resolutions. Wii. Jimmy Carter. It's all coming. We promise.

Take this to tide you over:



We'll be back in 2 minutes and 2 seconds.