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.

Wait 'Till Next Year

As was previously reported here, my dad lost the election for NY State Assemblyman, 51st District to the incumbent, Felix Ortiz. No surprises.

He did, however, get that writeup by the CUNY student.

You can read that here.

Turn the Page. Wash Your Hands.

Syracuse's Dinosaur BBQ reopened this week. Huzzah.

And apparently, they narrowed down the cause (though the origin is still unknown):

"The Onondaga County Health Department has determined that a norovirus sickened patrons of the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que, but health officials couldn’t pinpoint the origin of the disease.

...

"Noroviruses — gastrointestinal illnesses that typically cause nausea, diarrhea and stomach cramping — are spread through vomit or feces. The viruses, which are highly contagious, cannot be transmitted through coughing or sneezing, Morrow said."

They did throw out all the food and sanitize the place. Nonetheless, it will be a good while before we reconsider ordering the Big Ass Pork Plate.

Say It Ain't So

[Dr. Ellie Sattler has dug through a pile of dino-droppings with her hands]
Dr. Ian Malcolm: You will remember to wash your hands before you eat anything?
-Jurassic Park (1993), directed by S. Spielberg

From the AP (via the Washington Post): 600 Sickened After Eating at N.Y. Bar

"SYRACUSE, N.Y. -- At least 600 people came down with a gastrointestinal illness after eating at a popular biker bar and restaurant, health officials said Friday.

"Bacteria have been ruled out as the cause, meaning last weekend's outbreak linked to the Dinosaur Bar-B-Que is probably viral and could have spread through air particles, said Cynthia Morrow, health commissioner of Onondaga County.

...

"The county health department on Thursday ordered the restaurant closed for at least 72 hours. Workers threw away hundreds of pounds of prepared foods."

From the Syracuse Post-Standard: Dinosaur Illnesses 'Epidemic'

"Onondaga County health officials Friday declared the illness caused from eating at Syracuse's Dinosaur Bar-B-Que an epidemic.

"More than 600 people have contacted the department to report their symptoms and tell when they ate at the restaurant and what they had, Health Commissioner Cynthia Morrow said."

(Thanks to Pat for ruining Christmas prematurely by interrupting my blissful ignorance with this news. Jackass.)

Utter Disbelief.

Thy name is "If I Did It":

Fox is planning a two-night sweeps event whose title says it all: "O.J. Simpson: If I Did It, Here's How It Happened."

No, really.

Publisher Judith Regan has taped a wide-ranging interview with Simpson that will serve as the basis for the broadcast, set to air in two hourlong segs Nov. 27 and 29, at 9 p.m. both nights. In the interview, Fox said Simpson "describes how he would have carried out the murders he has vehemently denied committing for over a decade."

Simpson was acquitted of killing Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman, but found liable for both murders in a later civil suit.

Regan is publishing the Simpson-penned "If I Did It," which goes on sale Nov. 30 -- the day after the special's conclusion airs. ReganBooks is based at Harper Collins, which is owned by Fox parent News Corp.

At least there's no word of OJ as a guest judge on American Idol. Yet.

Election 2006

Ok, it's been a week now. Just in case you were wondering, here was last week's results according to the New York Post:

Now, admittedly, it is the New York Post. And the results haven't been certified by the NY Board of Elections just yet. And I don't think my dad has called to concede.

But he's also not looking up apartments in Albany, either. Nor is anyone taking this seriously (not that we really did to begin with).

Thanks to all those who showed support. All 1,156 of you.

No, you don't understand... it means more there. Their city. Their team.

This is the actual splash photo (aka the first thing you see) upon visiting the home page of the Philadelphia Flyers:

I legitimately don't know what's more awesome about this photo: the authentic lack of enthusiasm coming from the Flyers and their fans, or the fact that the girl sitting in the upper right hand corner is clearly wearing an airbrushed Rangers jersey.

This is the best photo they had?

Flyers hockey. It doesn't get any better than this.

We would like to start our Election Day endorsements right here.

Meet my dad, Washington.


(No, not the priest.)

You can call him George, though. It's not his legal name - but it's a heck of a nickname for someone named Washington.

He's running for State Assembly, 51st District of New York. He's running against the incumbent, Felix Ortiz, who has held the position since 1994. (Ortiz is the guy who proposed the fat tax in New York a few years ago. Yes, that tax on foods the promote a sedentary lifestyle. Twinkies. That sorta thing.)

We went through this election business before, in 2002. That didn't end well.

Why is he running, you ask? Why go for it again? Why not, he'd tell you. The Republicans in the district need a name on the ballot, and he's as good as you'll find. Now, he's not going all out here. There are no commericals or flyers. However, in the internet age, you can find all sorts of info about a candidate nowadays. Crazy stuff.

Like bios with photos presumably from before I was born.

Or, that the NRA says my Dad is a D+ candidate, which means:

D = An anti-gun candidate who has frequently voted for restrictive gun control legislation or made strong statements in opposition to Second Amendment rights, and regardless of public statements can definitely not be counted on in key votes.

Perhaps you'd like to read a questionnaire that someone got him to fill out. From the responses, I'm not sure he did.

Heck, he's being trailed by some CUNY students who will write an article about him when this is all said and done.

I'm fairly excited about this Tuesday. I moved, but haven't changed my voting address so that I can still vote for him. Sure, I'll have to cross party lines... but I know I can make an informed decision thanks to the ol' internet.

And maybe, after reading this, someone in the 51st district might flip the switch for him, too.

He's a good man. Moved to the US from Guatemala at age 10. Served his country as a member of the US Army Reserves. Married a lovely woman (they've been together for 41 years), put seven kids through high school, five through college. Bought a home and stayed in the neighborhood in the height of the white flight of Sunset Park. After retiring from the MTA which he dutifully served for 28 years, he got tired of how things ran and got involved with local politics. Going door to door getting signatures, mailings, things that "aspiring college graduates" are supposed to do.

He's going to be blown out on Tuesday, this we know. We write this just to remind you that these candidates aren't just ballot fillers. They're good people, that believe in something. That are just as interested in fighting the good fight. People like my dad. Or Jimmy McMillan, the disabled veteran whose running on the "Rent is Too High" ticket because... well... he thinks the rent in New York City is too damn high. There are others.

The beauty of the democratic system lies in its ability to empower those willing to take initiative to attempt to make a change. So, good luck to the dreamers on Tuesday. You've got my vote, and this humble blog's official endorsement.

Film Industry = Fragile Business.

Why do we do it? In hopes of creating a true masterpiece, movie magic such as this gem reported in today's Variety: Pairing Up for Poetry

Lindsay Lohan is joining Keira Knightley in the "The Best Time of Our Lives," which John Maybury is in negotiations to direct for U.K.-based Sarah Radclyffe Prods.
...

Script by Knightley's mother, playwright Sharman Macdonald, is based on the true story of the relationships among Welsh poet Dylan Thomas, his wife Caitlin (Lohan), his childhood friend Vera Phillips (Knightley) and her eventual husband, William Killick. It centers on the curious incident in which Phillips and Killick opened fire on the Thomas home with a machine gun and a hand grenade.

I don't know which excites me more - armed poets, or Lindsay Lohan with a British accent.

I'm getting giddy just thinking about it.

I will now start my routine of running eleventy billion miles a day.

From the NY Daily News:
The Lazy-Bones Nabe - Sunset Park Tagged in City Health Survey

I swear, I spent my youth playing wiffle ball. Maybe there is some nurture in laziness after all...

There are no words.

I was there. Game 7. Shea Stadium. Mets v. Cards.

I surrounded myself with my closest friends. I saw every pitch. I never left my seat. I chanted. I hooted. I hollared. I waved my towel. I kept hope alive, believed when reality should've set in, never stopped dreaming. I did everything I'm supposed to do as a fan to make this night perfect.

I got a hell of a ballgame. I didn't get the fairytale ending.

Cards, 3-1.

I can't quite describe this feeling. It's a combination of a straight gut punch and the depression from realizing it's just a game and the world's still on its axis. It feels slightly off, though. I want to come up with some analogy of baseball as life, but I realize I'm grasping at straws tonight. Making much ado about very little, but this feeling reminds me thoroughly that it's definitely not nothing.

I search for words to elaborate, and I can think of one moment... sophomore year of college, October. I finished watching the Mets lose in 5 in the World Series to the Yankees. That stung. I couldn't find words - but searched the internet reading everything to find them. And I found these two quotes. And they said it all for me.

I thought about them on the way home, the longest ride home. They still ring true. While I cope with the hurt and sadness of Game 7... I keep it in perspective with these few words.

"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

"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's raining tonight, you should know. Started during the game.

Welcome back.

I can't speak for all of you, but speaking as one guy who grew up a little dork... I know I for one am happy to see Weird Al's still doing it after all these years.

Wow.

The only word I can use to describe KT Tunstall's performance yesterday at Webster Hall. I'm a believer now. Leave your house right now and go buy her CD immediately. Go.

It's alright, I'll wait.

(waiting)

Stop reading this. Believe me, if the hooks don't get you, her voice will. And if her voice doesn't, nor her successful use of a kazoo during the performance, then her keyboardist's/trumpeter's washboard tie will.

Go.

Don't Bet the House on Me

Right.

So apparently, I goofed up my LDS picks. The NLDS? When I said Padres in 4, I should've said Cardinals in 3. And when I said Mets in 5, I should've said Tom Glavine is the Dodger Daddy.

I had my ALDS games mixed up, too. When I said Yankees sweep, I meant the As. And when I said As in 5, I should've said the Yankees are awful. My apologies to anyone who took my predictions to Vegas.

Guys, please accept this as a token of my remorse.

Girls? Uhh... don't.

PS - We've got jury duty! Updates to come just as soon as they're legal.

Mere Moments Away...

I'm sitting on the couch on a sunny afternoon here in the big BK, mere minutes from the Mets gettin' down with the Los Angeles Dodgers of Los Angeles. And I'm nervous.

I wanted to write a "what I expect from the LDS series" blog, but ran out of time (games started by the time I got halfway - for the record, I had Oakland in 5, Yankees in 3, and the Padres in 4). That leaves one series. The one that means more.

I spent the last Mets playoff experience in relative obscurity, getting my education about 300 miles away in scenic Syracuse, NY. I watched a small 13" tv, which gave me the grand slam single, the bases loaded walk, the one-hitter, and Timo Perez. I'm back in New York now. Living it. Hell, I've got tickets to Game 5.

Mets in Five. How do I know? Why would I back them even after they lost Pedro AND El Duque? Why am I a glutton for punishment?

I'll tell you why.
- The pitching never mattered. The Mets were 10-13 in games this season started by Pedro Martinez. El Duque? 11-8. Between them? 21-21. Number of games the Mets finished above 500? 32. It took them 13 different starters to get their wins. A patchwork rotation is clearly the least of their worries.

- The bats mattered. The Mets finished in the top 5 in the NL in runs scored, RBIs, HRs, OBP, and OPS. Score runs - and you win ball games. Some might argue a September swoon, but stats will show you there is no direct correlation between September and postseason performance. And, for good measure, the Mets finished the season winning four in a row - including sweeping the Washington Nationals by a combined score of 23-5. Yes, it's the Nationals - but they beat up the team they're supposed to beat up. We look for good signs in small places.

- The Dodgers are suspect. Penny's iffy, they lost their star lefty reliever Bemiel. They can hit with the best of them - but nobody in that lineup scares you.

- Grady Little.

- Because it's time.

Sadly, I have to watch the game on ESPN. Meaning Joe Morgan. I will be periodically punching myself to compensate for the stupidity.

Let's Go Mets.

I appreciate that most folks get their NY Sports from more reputable sources...

But I will say this might not necessarily be the worst idea I've ever heard:

From the NY Sun: Mets Should Use All Their Starters in Tandem

The argument? The Mets essentially schedule two starters for every game. Allowing each starter to go 3-4 innings. They have enough mediocre starters that turning each of them into long relievers would:

A) they wouldn't burn out the arms in the bullpen prematurely
B) the starters could just go all out, knowing they don't need to go all that deep
C) depending on the matchups, you could change the opposing team's strategy towards you earlier (like the Mets going from Glavine, a lefty, to Maine, a righty)

I don't know that I'm on board with this idea, but I've heard worse. (Lima Time comes to mind.) This doesn't solve the Mets' inability to hit lefties, or their general lack of gusto the last few weeks. But it could be a start.

Tomorrow marks my first day in a foray of unemployment.

With exception of one week for Christmas break, I literally have worked every Monday-Friday (and in some cases an extra Saturday and Sunday) since the middle of last September.

I worked too hard and spent the last month focusing on nothing more than getting to today. This isn't unemployment I'm starting tomorrow. It's a vacation.

Many's the time I've been mistaken, and many times confused
Yes and I've often felt forsaken, and certainly misused
Ah but I'm alright, I'm alright, I'm just weary to my bones
Still you don't expect to be bright and bon-vivant
So far away from home, so far away from home

And I don't know a soul who's not been battered
I don't have a friend who feels at ease
I don't know a dream that's not been shattered or driven to its knees
But it's alright, it's alright, for we lived so well, so long
Still, when I think of the road we're traveling on
I wonder what's gone wrong, I can't help it I wonder what's gone wrong

And I dreamed I was dying, I dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedly
And looking back down at me, smiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flying, and high up above my eyes could clearly see
The statue of liberty, sailing away to sea, and I dreamed I was flying

But we come on a ship they called Mayflower
We come on a ship that sailed the moon
We come in the ages' most uncertain hours and sing an American tune
And it's alright, oh it's alright, it's alright, you can be forever blessed
Still tomorrow's gonna be another working day and I'm trying to get some rest
That's all I'm trying, to get some rest

Where have I been?

I mean, I don't really know. I can't really explain where I've been hiding. My routine's been... well, routine. I work 12 hours a day, 5 days a week. I don't do much outside of that. I don't get out much, maybe catch a ballgame here or there. All the signs would point to a thriving blog. I mean, look at what's happened in the meantime:

- Chicago actually stood up for the working class and forced WalMart to pay a living wage to its employees. It pissed Walmart off for sure:

“It’s sad — this puts politics ahead of working men and women,” John Simley, a Wal-Mart spokesman, said in a telephone interview. “It means that Chicago is closed to business.”

Score one for the little guy. Even if it's done just to make Cubs tickets more affordable.

- The NYPD and their marijuana busts apparently have racism as a motive, according to the New York Daily News. In other news, the pot called the kettle black.

- Oh man, is this funny or what...?

- JetBlue flies to Aruba. I have a free round trip to anywhere JetBlue goes, and a vacation coming up. Yes, it's under genuine consideration.

- The Mets have a magic number. Rapture.

- I'm reading Alexis de Tocqueville's "Democracy in America." Apparently, we haven't learned all that much from history. More on this as it develops.

I mean, it's been almost a month. Well, in the meantime, I'm going to work on that excuse for you.

Howard Dean flies JetBlue.

How do I know this? I met him at the airport last night. We waited for the same plane.

Which they scheduled for 10:40pm.

It didn't depart until shortly before 2AM.

He's shorter than you think. Not short. Just shorter. Charismatic as hell, though.

Not so much the JetBlue attendants.

Oh, Tsuyoshi Shinjo... you're still a cad!

Shinjo, we always knew you were awesome. But if you had tried anything like this at Shea, you'd still be a Met...


Good luck in your future career as a nude model.

Could we have found the internet phenomenon to follow "Snakes on a Plane"?

No, probably not.

But we did find a movie starring Nicholas Cage and 50 Cent. A boxing movie. Called "The Dance."

And to think, I can't even get a meeting regarding a script...

Better late than never...

...but better never late.

From the NY Times: In Big Shift, U.S. to Follow Geneva Treaty for Detainees

Here's the general gist of what's going on, in case you happen to live under a rock:

In 2002, President Bush declared that members of Al Qaeda and other terror suspects seized during the invasion of Afghanistan were “illegal combatants, and so were not entitled to the protections of the Geneva conventions, which among other things set forth rules for the treatment of prisoners of war.

The main thrust of the recent Supreme Court ruling, in a case known as Hamdan v. Rumsfeld, was that the administration had exceeded its authority by creating a system of tribunals without the approval of Congress. But the court also declared that the suspects fell under Article 3, which applies to all “armed combatants,’ and that detainees were able to assert their rights under Article 3 in federal court.

In case you missed it, that Hamdan v. Rumsfeld decision means the President should have consulted Congress about Gitmo, and was in the wrong for not doing so. And he, and future Presidents, will need to do so. That's why Slate calls it "the most important decision on Presidential Power ever." I don't know about EVER (it merely just reaffirms checks and balances), but I imagine it could be for this administration because it might finally force Bush to play by the rules.

Or did it?

President Bush said last week that he “would comply’ with the courts ruling, but he has given no details of how he would do so.

Well, one can dream anyway.

And they say there's no good TV nowadays...

...you've just got to look for it. In2TV.

It's worth noting that among the last things I want to do with the ol' blog, providing free advertising for AOL services certainly makes the list. However, anything that streams episodes of Animaniacs, Perfect Strangers, and Welcome Back, Kotter in a quality better than YouTube can't be all bad, right?

Right?

How's your truffle shuffle?

I went back and forth on this one over the last few days.

From the AP: Experts Debate Labeling Children Obese

That's right. This isn't about dealing with child obesity. Just the wording. They don't want to call kids grossly overweight.

The rebuttal for the rewording argument seems like a gimme: "Why are we being so politically correct?"

Then, you get the retort: "But wait... the kids have very little (if any) say over their daily diet. Their caretakers (if available, one hopes) are fairly responsible for the kid's health here."

But now I'm back to the former. Besides avoiding the negative connotation the word "obese" exhibits, the US government uses terms such as "at risk of overweight" because kids may not be able to comprehend the term "obese." That's a good way to resolve it. More words. Kids like wordy explanations. Long and verbose. Perhaps with a slide show, even.

It seems fairly ridiculous to pull punches about something like this that, in a way, is self-inflicted. Sometimes the truth hurts. It can significantly sting in a country like ours where image makes scores of young girls and boys so superficial and self-concious about their looks. The thing is, you can't find resolution to a problem such as obesity unless you can talk about it actively. Give it a name. And stick with that name. Leave the name changing PR stunts to the professionals. (If you don't understand that reference, you can read about it here.)

And this is coming from a guy who has an affinity for fat kids, trust me...

Outdoor hockey in New York City?

Admittedly, it would be at Yankee Stadium, but it'll do.

You can question a lot about White Sox manager Ozzie Guillen.

However, don't ever question his take on homosexuality, especially when directed at a writer for the Chicago Sun-Times:

Guillen defended his use of the term "fag" by saying this about homosexuals and the use of the word in question: "I don't have anything against those people. In my country, you call someone something like that and it is not the same as it is in this country.''

Guillen said that in his native Venezuela, that word is not a reference to a person's sexuality, but to his courage. He said he was saying that Mariotti is "not man enough to meet me and talk about [things before writing].''

Guillen also told Couch that he has gay friends, attends WNBA games, went to a Madonna concert and plans to go to the Gay Games in Chicago.

So there, you naysayers.

I knew Lastings Milledge, phenom prospect of the NY Mets, was awesome.

I just had no idea he was this awesome.

Guess who's back?

I planned to go on a one-month hiatus to allow that last post regarding the Zamboni Revolution in the New York Times to resonate (because it's so freaking awesome). And I was close, mere days away...

Then I came across this gem and needed to share it with the masses:


I missed you, too, kiddies.

On some VERY saucy donkeys...

So, there I was, reading the New York Times, minding my own business. I come across an article called "Syracuse in 36 hours,"which is essentially a rundown of a potential one-day getaway in the Salt City. Among their suggestions, I came across this little nugget:

"'When you see God, you can't go back and tell everyone how handsome he is.' So go the streams of consciousness from the Zamboni Revolution, a team of Syracuse University students who perform improvisational comedy throughout the school year. The mostly free student comedy and music shows at the Schine Student Center are part of the regular weekend avalanche of campus events."

That's right, bitches.

My little baby is growing up.

Update #2

You'll recall in my last post that we drafted our celebrity roster.

One of our producers caught wind and wanted to play. So, we quickly rigged up another draft featuring In Touch magazine. One day hasn't passed, and I'm already in two freaking leagues.

Roster #2 (11 teams, 5 persons each, 2 male minimum) features:

Paul McCartney
Katharine McPhee
Matthew Fox
Halle Berry
Mariska Hargitay

(And yes, the last pick was a courtesy pick.)

(And yes, I'm the biggest dork ever.)

Update

You'll recall in my last post that I would take part in a ridiculous fantasy league draft featurting celebrities in Us Weekly.

Well, the draft is complete.

Here, my friends, resides this year's roster (in the order drafted):

The Beautiful People
Angelina Jolie
Nicole Kidman
Paul McCartney
Matthew Fox
Beyonce Knowles
Kelly Clarkson
Harry Connick, Jr.
Jamie Foxx
Oprah Winfrey
Jeremy Piven

The President's trying to fence off Mexico, Iran's building the bomb, and I'm busy scouting American Idol and the Tony Awards.

My life has officially reached a new low.

America (and by America, I mean me) Needs Your Help!

It started innocently enough.

As I left the office to run an errand, a co-worker passed around an article on ESPN.com by Bill Simmons, aka "The Sports Guy." The topic? Explaining the allure of fantasy sports leagues to his wife.

She doesn't "get sports," as you'd expect, so he sought to demonstrate the appeal in a fashion she'd understand:

"When I told my wife about [the allure], she looked like George Karl at the end of the Nuggets-Clips series: sourpuss face, hands at her sides, complete disbelief. All she was missing was the potbelly.

"You have a problem," she decided.

"You don't understand the fantasy thing," I countered.

"Well, come up with a league I'd enjoy. Then, maybe I'll understand."

...And then it hit me.

Us Weekly.

...So I'm going to create an Us Weekly fantasy league just for her."

Clever enough. While I was away, though, the article made it to the desk of a chronic reader of US Weekly.

I found, upon my return from errand-running goodness, my co-workers working out the logistics, and I had the number 3 pick in our office draft.

So now, instead of sleeping, I'm currently pre-ranking photogenic, culturally-relevant celebrities as we're now going through with this league. 4 weeks (until the end of shooting), all the marbles and bragging rights. Methinks we're going to embrace American Idol, but we'll see how that goes. I've got the third pick, and we're hoping Lindsay Lohan (or as Bill Simmons refers to her, "the Albert Pujols of the Us Weekly league") falls there.

In the meantime, if you have any suggestions, I could sure use them. ESPN isn't covering this action quite yet.

Chez Matt v2.0 is open for business.

I did done moved. Still in Brooklyn, but a different Brooklyn. Expect more literary goodness soon.

In the meantime, I've got a HiDef TV and a trough of paella. Excuse me if I appeared distracted.

The Rangers are now down 2-0 in a best of 7 series.

We're tempering expectations on the rapture, as my tickets are for game six.













Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts.

I have NY Rangers playoff tickets.

Rapture.

Further proof that Wesleyan University is the devil.

Jeffrey Maier, who helped the Yankees cheat once, plays baseball there.

Won't you join the dance?

I set up a Myspace account a while back not for my own purposes, but merely because I wanted to look at profiles of people I didn't really know that well to see if I had been missing anything. And it worked for quite a while. Procrastinator's dream. The ability to waste time in other people's business. This is good.

The plan worked perfectly... until today. I received a request for someone to be my friend. I've never been presented with this before. I missed the whole Friendster phenomenon... and I didn't need a list to deem who made the cut on the friend-o-meter back at Syracuse or prior to then.

Make me laugh = friend.
Feed me = friend.
First round's on you = friend.
First round's on me = dick.

I mean, for crying out loud... MySpace? Do I cave in and accept, knowing what kind of company I'll keep from here on out? I vote, for crying out loud. I've never seen Dave Matthews Band in concert, and my underwear's only a day old. I don't need MySpace.

Hell, I can barely keep up blogging.

pause

Oh right. I blog.

Maybe proof that I do still have friends might not be so bad after all.

Win Bill Gates's Money

Sorta.

In short: Lawsuit settlement between Microsoft and the State of NY regarding Microsoft overcharging for software between 1994-2004. And for every piece of Microsoft software you purchased indirectly (meaning, pre-installed on your computer), you'll get a voucher to put toward a future purchase.

This offer is open to "all persons or entities who, from and including May 18, 1994, through December 31, 2004, indirectly acquired a license for Microsoft Windows Operating System and/or Microsoft Applications for use in New York and who did not acquire it for the purpose of resale."

"...indirectly acquired" means "you legally acquired your software, or a computer which that software was already installed, from a person or entity other than Microsoft." In simpler terms, if it came pre-installed, or you bought it from someone that isn't Microsoft, then it's you.

"...for use in NY" I'm pretty sure means you used the software in NY state. This, I believe, means that if you used it for work/school purposes as well as being a resident of NY - then this is you. (In simpler terms, if you used your Microsoft-laden computer a significant amount in NY - regardless of whether you live here or not - then it's you.) At least that's what the people at the hotline number said.

For more info:

Microsoft-New York Class Action Settlement

And that hotline number is (800) 372-2368.

Feel free to link to this to spread the word. And buy me something nice.

No word yet on a "Bout to Knock the Other Guy Out."

This is Neal Baer, one of the executive producers of Law & Order: SVU (and head writer), a medical doctor that graduated from Harvard Medical School, and in the strange, screwed up way the TV industry is set up - one of my many bosses.

This is his cousin. A professional wrestler named Goldberg.

Small world. Creepy small.

(Bonus points to anyone who got the reference in today's title.)

Is radio dead?

Not just yet, apparently.

Update

And there goes the NCAA tournament. Go Chaos! Go George Mason!

Update

My NIT pool didn't come through. Stupid Cincinnati.

Madness, Thy Name is Bracketology

I've been stressing perhaps a bit too much lately over my NCAA men's basketball tournament bracket this year. Maybe it's a longing in me for my beloved Syracuse to fuck shit up and come away with this thing, despite everyone thinking Texas A&M is the new Vermont.

Maybe it's the constant reading of every little tidbit about this year's tournaments and all the teams I may or may not have known even existed before this season, and how picking them makes me a fool, a Communist, or both.

Maybe it's an office pool of over 100 people, which is about 85 more than last year's rendition. That also means people breathing down your neck about who you're picking, just so they can tell you you're wrong because they won once.

Maybe it's $40 that I'm most likely just giving away.

No matter. I think I'm ready to commit. It will end badly. 'Nova over Texas. SU only wins one game more than Oral Roberts (which will bring SU's tourney win total to one). And I count down the seconds to my bracket being eliminated so I can focus solely on baseball.

Then again, maybe my NIT bracket will come through after all.

Luck be NOT a Lady To-nite

Now, this is balls: Victoria, not Victorious

I don't know if this tops the Yale prank, but it definitely belongs in the conversation.

Overreacting 101

Find it here.

Stat of the day

From the Baltimore Sun:

One of every five calories in the American diet is liquid.

Discuss.

And now, the winner for worst play on the word "crash" in a headline...

From the Washington Post: A bang-up night for Crash

Honorable mention goes to:
NY Daily News: Oscar Party Crash(er)
Denver Post: An Oscar collision
Boston Globe (and everybody else): Crashing the Party

mb writes:

What I like about this is that now, perhaps studios with good movies won't be afraid to release them before November, for fear of killing their Oscar chances. If anything, this should be a liberating experience for Hollywood, one that allows quality films to be released the whole year round.

That might very well be the case, if only people were willing to pay to see movies the whole year around. Alas, January and September continue to be movie graveyards, and Hollywood execs will probably write this off to luck and not change a damn thing.

I'm more partial to George Lucas' sentiment: ""The market forces that exist today make it unrealistic to spend $200 million on a movie," said Lucas, a near-billionaire from his feverishly franchised outer-space epics. "Those movies can't make their money back anymore. Look at what happened with 'King Kong.'"

Of course, King Kong was mediocre at best, and way too long. But does this years' Oscars, and every year since Gladiator in 2000 signal the death knell for big budget blockbusters?

We'll see.

I was actually starting to miss Kris Benson, former pitcher of the New York Mets.

Then I saw this.

This is the end of the innocence.

Lent begins tomorrow with Ash Wednesday. To most Catholics, this tends to mean no meat on Fridays and giving up candy for a few weeks. Why give things up for Lent? Well, there's all sorts of origins on why Catholics fast that might be better described from a source like Wikipedia than from me. As I understand it, as Lent is a time for Penance and anticipation, of preparing one's self for the coming of better days.

I don't mean to get all religious here, but I write this because I'm trying to adopt this period as one to better myself. Better dieting. More active lifestyle. Et cetera.

I guess I'm a big fan of the policy of "today is the first day of the rest of your life." So, I'm adopting that, starting tomorrow. I'm adopting these through Lent:
- no sweets
*I know, didn't I just criticize pledges like this? What does this resolve? It's a symbolic thing. Of things to come.
- one salad as lunch per week
*I hate salad. Hate it. Nothing exciting about it. But I realize (a) I need to eats me greens, and (b) salad's a good way to do that. So here goes nothing.
- no food after dinner
*I had a friend in college who used to do this, rationalizing it that it's really a better way to get sleep. I had great success with sleep when I gave up on soda as a New Year's resolution. That is second only to alcohol in the ability to let me sleep like a baby. This year, I'll try this.
- minimize snacking
*I work 12+ hours per day. I can't make it without keeping the energy up. But there's an orange, and there's a strawberry pop tart.
- blog twice a week
*even if it's one sentence - this blog provides great release. I could use more of that.
- wear pants
*Oh, right.... moving on...

I'm publishing this not to inform you so that you can harass me at every turn. I just feel like I wish to say this out loud. For all to hear. To see what happens.

Wish me luck.

Rimshot, please.

Admittedly, I'm past the whole "Cheney shot someone" business. He stepped up, said "I goofed," I moved on. Indeed, we can criticize him for a lot worse.

Instead, I take to task the late night hosts, those who took some fairly cheap shots (ed. note: apologies - I know it's from Newsmax, but it's the best I could do on short notice) at the incident. If they had half the humor of Lupica this Sunday, maybe I'd make an attempt to watch:

If you live in a world where you can say almost anything about a war and your reasons for starting it, the way Dick Cheney does, why wouldn't you expect people to believe your original version of that accident, that it was more the fault of the guy who got shot than it was the guy doing the shooting?

Why wouldn't you stick to your story that poor old Harry was 30 yards away, when experienced hunters everywhere say he had to be closer?

Now we're even supposed to believe that Cheney - instead of telling the truth right away, the truth being a last resort in his world - waited as long as he did to come forward because of concern for poor old Harry.

What a guy.

The News' Michael Daly is right, if Cheney's this kind of crack shooter, maybe it's lucky he set that world's record for Vietnam deferments.

...

Visited the Capitol Building Friday afternoon in Washington.

Beautiful gallery in there, celebrating the beauty of American birds.

There may have been quail in there, I just didn't spot them.

But if I had, don't worry, I was ready to duck.

So to speak.

Now that's comedy

Tell me something: how much mail can a dead Postman deliver?

I remember when I was in high school and the internet was still very much a novelty. And I also recall those stupid chain e-mails people would send to you regarding anything.

"Send to 10 people or you'll have bad luck."

"Pass this on to everyone you know and you'll have great sex."

"Give this to everyone on your contact list or I'll kill your dog."

And one I recall that always stuck was one where AOL had been plotting to create stamps for online e-mail. It was mail, right? So shouldn't there be stamps?

Plot, meet reality.

In this service, only companies sending mails have to pay for "postage." When paying for it, they will receive "preferential treatment" (aka they won't need to go through your spam blocker). The recipient must agree to receive the message or risk being blocked from the e-mail account. It's believed this should help cut down on spam. (It's worth noting that businesses can still send you "free" e-mail, but those will go through the spam blocker rigamarole.) AOL and Yahoo are signing on to this program. So, you, the consumer, pay nothing. Right?

I say, "TANSTAAFL" - There ain't no such thing as a free lunch.

Businesses will have to pay to send you e-mail? Right, and they'll spare even a fraction of a penny to send it to you out of the goodness of their hearts? Come on now.

Want a tip to cut down on spam instead? Stop giving your e-mail address to porn sites.

I could've been a contender.

I've given shoutouts to my friend's comic strip before (you'll see the link to the Perry Bible Fellowship on the right)...

...but this is hilarious.

Did you know...

...that Alanis Morissette is blond?

There I am, minding my own business, watching a rerun of the Tonight Show where I'm befuddled by her goldilocks.

What the...?

Who is she taking advice from? The PR people for Kelly Clarkson or Lindsay Lohan?

And why the hell am I writing a column more fit for the E! Channel? Perhaps its because I didn't watch the State of the Union (fell asleep) and this is the best I can do for enlightenment?