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.