- So Mensch called Spector and I "fuckers" for not posting about Fran Dunphy leaving Penn; apparently we are the only connection to Philly sports that dear Matthew has. I've decided to rectify the situation forthwith.
Daily Pennsylvanian: Dunphy announced as next Temple coach
There you go, your majesty!
Seriously, I wish Dunph all the best; you can't really fault him for wanting to do this. I can only hope that whoever is next to lead men's basketball 1) doesn't pull a Joe Scott, and 2) regards coaching the Penn Quakers the same way one would regard managing the Yankees or coaching Notre Dame football. We may live in an ESPN world that has long since left Ivy League sports behind, but that doesn't mean it isn't amazingly special to pace the hardwood at the Palestra.
- I don't know who Ray Glier is, but after writing his commentary on the upcoming Mets-Braves series, it seems clear he can go back to his home on Whore Island. Seriously. Part of me wonders if he was wearing a Braves hat in the Turner Field clubhouse/dugout when he got quotes for this thing. It reminds me of the dueling columns in the DP and the Daily Princetonian on the eve of Penn-Princeton basketball, only it's completely sincere and written by a grown man and a professional journalist.
Bluster like this is one of the many reasons the Braves deserve to fall, and fall hard (though I don't know if it's better or worse than the type of intellectually dishonest homerism that frames the rivalry as the poor wittle Braves versus the big bad Mets), but as Clint Eastwood once growled, deserve's got nothin' to do with it. So we shall see.
I've come down from the euphoria of last week, as Carlos Beltran is apparently hurt again (oh, come on!) and the Mets looked lucky to take two of three from the Brew Crew. I'm getting that "Lucy's going to pull the football away just before the Mets try to kick it" feeling in the pit of my stomach - again - but I really really really really hope this year is different. I know these three games against the Braves won't tell us either way if this year is indeed The Year, but I really hope they slap those bitches down and put them back seven games before April 20th (I'd take five).
I've been calling David Wright "The Chosen One" for about two weeks now; normally that would invite a meteroite to explosively sluice through the skull of whichever Met had been called that (by anybody anywhere), but Wright just has that certain "it" factor that makes me unafraid to anoint him as such. I'm hoping that tonight he begins to fulfill the prophecy and bring balance to the force (i.e., finally finally lead the Mets to first place - and beyond).
- Some musical moments of zen: I heard Hall and Oates' "Your Kiss is On My List" not once, not twice but three different times this weekend: once while Kris and I were walking through Ann Taylor on our way out of Franklin Mills on Saturday, once in Kris' car on our way back from Franklin Mills, and a third time at Lowe's yesterday.
The odds against that have to be astronomical; I'm guessing either that or winning Powerball was going to happen once in my life, and now it has, and it wasn't the Powerball one.
The other musical moment of zen occurred this morning on the NJ Turnpike; I stopped at a service area to get some coffee at Starbucks - just regular old coffee, nothing too fancy. When I got back in the car, Mike Doughty's "Busting up a Starbucks" was playing on XPN.
Now it's true that railing against the corporate, bourgeois ubiquity of Starbucks is very 1999, but as I drove along sipping my Tall Freshly Brewed, I was like "yeah, Starbucks sucks, man!" I don't know what that says about me.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Monday, April 03, 2006
opening day
Exactly six months ago, I lamented the loss of baseball and the onset of fall. The previous day, Kris, Spector and I watched Mike Piazza take his bows as a Met for the final time, then watched as Jose Offerman lined into a double play, officially ending an 83-win season for the New York Mets.
Today, they're back - not just the Mets, but the Brewers, Blue Jays, Padres - all of them. It's Opening Day, and 2006 can finally begin.
I guess I'm just a huge sports nerd, but my summers are not only defined by what happens to me in my life, but what happens to groups of millionaires as they run around ballfields. And really, the two are intertwined - I'll always remember 2005 for the first full summer Kris and I enjoyed together, and we spent part of it following the Phillies to Camden Yards, following the Mets to PNC Park, making trips down to Citizens Bank and a couple pilgrimages to Shea. It was incredible highs at work (and a few lows), and it was the Mets taking their shot at the playoffs.
So as sad as it seems to say it (considering the fact that it's the jockly equivalent of dividing up cherished life memories based upon when seasons of Star Trek spinoffs begin and end), Opening Day is more than just game one of 162. It's day one of 2006. We can once again don shorts and flip-flops and rub in some suntan lotion and go out and let life begin. It's time to make new memories, even if some of them are going to be sitting in a 45,000-seat stadium for three hours drinking $7.50 Budweisers. It's time to live our lives nine innings at a time, even if we miss today's game - there's always another game tomorrow.
Flowery prose aside, I'm cautiously optimistic about this year's Mets team. They seem to have put together their best, most likeable group since the magical season of 1999, and as bad an in-game manager as Willie Randolph can sometimes be, the players play for him - he brings a veneer of professionalism to a franchise that has too often been a fucking insane circus (you may think the use of the word "fucking" is gratuitous here, but the phrase "insane circus" can't begin to describe the 2002, 2003 and 2004 New York Mets; hence, "fucking").
Of course, this is the type of optimism that lasts just about as long as it takes for Tom Glavine to give up three first inning runs and get that "I hate New York, life and myself" look going today, so we shall see. Enjoy Opening Day.
Today, they're back - not just the Mets, but the Brewers, Blue Jays, Padres - all of them. It's Opening Day, and 2006 can finally begin.
I guess I'm just a huge sports nerd, but my summers are not only defined by what happens to me in my life, but what happens to groups of millionaires as they run around ballfields. And really, the two are intertwined - I'll always remember 2005 for the first full summer Kris and I enjoyed together, and we spent part of it following the Phillies to Camden Yards, following the Mets to PNC Park, making trips down to Citizens Bank and a couple pilgrimages to Shea. It was incredible highs at work (and a few lows), and it was the Mets taking their shot at the playoffs.
So as sad as it seems to say it (considering the fact that it's the jockly equivalent of dividing up cherished life memories based upon when seasons of Star Trek spinoffs begin and end), Opening Day is more than just game one of 162. It's day one of 2006. We can once again don shorts and flip-flops and rub in some suntan lotion and go out and let life begin. It's time to make new memories, even if some of them are going to be sitting in a 45,000-seat stadium for three hours drinking $7.50 Budweisers. It's time to live our lives nine innings at a time, even if we miss today's game - there's always another game tomorrow.
Flowery prose aside, I'm cautiously optimistic about this year's Mets team. They seem to have put together their best, most likeable group since the magical season of 1999, and as bad an in-game manager as Willie Randolph can sometimes be, the players play for him - he brings a veneer of professionalism to a franchise that has too often been a fucking insane circus (you may think the use of the word "fucking" is gratuitous here, but the phrase "insane circus" can't begin to describe the 2002, 2003 and 2004 New York Mets; hence, "fucking").
Of course, this is the type of optimism that lasts just about as long as it takes for Tom Glavine to give up three first inning runs and get that "I hate New York, life and myself" look going today, so we shall see. Enjoy Opening Day.
Monday, March 27, 2006
don't blame us, we voted for kodos
I have no idea who Gina Cobb is, but today she sounded a warning klaxon w/r/t Iran's development of nuclear weapons (via Krauthammer in Time).
I share her concern. Nuclear proliferation is probably one of the biggest issues facing humankind, as well as one of the least understood. Our administration's poor record on proliferation (making latter-day SDI plans public, seeking to resume nuclear arms production, sending John Bolton to the UN, patting India on the head for flaunting the NPT, etc., etc.) aside, Cobb, keeping in spirit with the Bush Doctrine, seeks to place pre-emptive blame for the Iran problem:
Now, I think it's pretty apparent that we on the allegedly "loony" Left don't make up a majority of Americans (one look at who controls all three branches of federal government should dispel any notions to the contrary). So how, then, can one explain why mainstream America is rejecting the Iraq war en masse and crippling the administration's further use of preemptive force? I think it's one of two possibilities:
1) Mainstream America is being led astray by the Left's corrosive attacks on the Bush administration's handling of the war; in particular by the media's refusal to report "good" news coming out of Iraq.
I think this is the explanation with which neo-conservatives will ultimately stick. The only problem with it is that if you take it to its logical conclusion, it's basically saying that 1) the power of leadership within the Bush White House is not enough to overcome the administration's shrill critics, and 2) mainstream America is easily swayed, which is a euphemism for "stupid."
Which is ironic, given how conservatives love to paint liberals as smug elitists - how often have we heard those on the Right chuckle about how the only message progressives have for people is "vote for us, you idiots!" Indeed, after huge wins in the past three election cycles, it's been incredibly easy for the GOP to proclaim its great faith in the wisdom of the American people. Only now that the shoe's on the other side of the aisle, Republicans are doing their darndest to tell middle America that it's been brainwashed by an agenda-driven New York Times; given the current poll numbers, when conservatives talk about the Left and the media's attacks on Bush, they're essentially telling Americans, "wake up, you idiots! And then vote for us!"
2) Ultimately, the American people are suckers for the truth.
Bingo.
Also, what Churchill said. As the disastrous way that Bush conceived and executed this war becomes more apparent, a majority of Americans respond with increasing negativity - robbing the President of his precious capital. It's that simple. To blame the people - on the Left or anywhere else - for both the political and real-world consquences of this nightmare is absurd.
What does this mean w/r/t Iran? Well, I don't want to be consumed in nuclear hellfire any more than you do. Unfortunately, you've gotta dance with the one who brung ya, and by that I mean we're going to be forced to give our trust to a man who has not yet shown he's worthy of it.
I share her concern. Nuclear proliferation is probably one of the biggest issues facing humankind, as well as one of the least understood. Our administration's poor record on proliferation (making latter-day SDI plans public, seeking to resume nuclear arms production, sending John Bolton to the UN, patting India on the head for flaunting the NPT, etc., etc.) aside, Cobb, keeping in spirit with the Bush Doctrine, seeks to place pre-emptive blame for the Iran problem:
"One of the most awful legacies of the American left ultimately may be that it has undermined American and world support for decisive action to stop Iran's acquisition of nuclear weapons until it is too late. By its relentless attacks on the White House centering around the Iraq war, the left has hobbled the Administration at a time when swift and unanimous action is required."OK, here's the thing: nearly every poll in the known universe shows that a majority of Americans 1) decisively disapprove of Bush's handling of the Iraq war, and 2) think it was a mistake to go to war there in the first place. You want to know why the political capital Bush bragged about after the election is completely spent? Look no further than these numbers.
Now, I think it's pretty apparent that we on the allegedly "loony" Left don't make up a majority of Americans (one look at who controls all three branches of federal government should dispel any notions to the contrary). So how, then, can one explain why mainstream America is rejecting the Iraq war en masse and crippling the administration's further use of preemptive force? I think it's one of two possibilities:
1) Mainstream America is being led astray by the Left's corrosive attacks on the Bush administration's handling of the war; in particular by the media's refusal to report "good" news coming out of Iraq.
I think this is the explanation with which neo-conservatives will ultimately stick. The only problem with it is that if you take it to its logical conclusion, it's basically saying that 1) the power of leadership within the Bush White House is not enough to overcome the administration's shrill critics, and 2) mainstream America is easily swayed, which is a euphemism for "stupid."
Which is ironic, given how conservatives love to paint liberals as smug elitists - how often have we heard those on the Right chuckle about how the only message progressives have for people is "vote for us, you idiots!" Indeed, after huge wins in the past three election cycles, it's been incredibly easy for the GOP to proclaim its great faith in the wisdom of the American people. Only now that the shoe's on the other side of the aisle, Republicans are doing their darndest to tell middle America that it's been brainwashed by an agenda-driven New York Times; given the current poll numbers, when conservatives talk about the Left and the media's attacks on Bush, they're essentially telling Americans, "wake up, you idiots! And then vote for us!"
2) Ultimately, the American people are suckers for the truth.
Bingo.
Also, what Churchill said. As the disastrous way that Bush conceived and executed this war becomes more apparent, a majority of Americans respond with increasing negativity - robbing the President of his precious capital. It's that simple. To blame the people - on the Left or anywhere else - for both the political and real-world consquences of this nightmare is absurd.
What does this mean w/r/t Iran? Well, I don't want to be consumed in nuclear hellfire any more than you do. Unfortunately, you've gotta dance with the one who brung ya, and by that I mean we're going to be forced to give our trust to a man who has not yet shown he's worthy of it.
Friday, March 24, 2006
what the f
A quick two-minute hate, then back to work:
Apparently our Prez has rendered all public school civics classes obsolete (not to mention the United States Congress). Also, he made Princess Amidala cry.
Imagine for a moment that it's 1995, and Congress has just passed a new campaign finance reform bill after months of intense bipartisan negotiation. Now imagine that President Clinton signed the bill into law, then wrote in his own addenda right after the signing ceremony gutting the new law and ensuring that it could never apply to him. The ensuing rage among the chattering skulls of the Right would have been able to power the entire city of Tokyo for one full night. I'm pretty sure Ann Coulter would have transformed into a huge werewolf live on the set of Hardball, digging her slathering maw deep within Paul Begala's chest for a most unholy feast.
Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not expecting any hearts to be eaten on live TV in the next couple days, if you know what I mean.
Apparently our Prez has rendered all public school civics classes obsolete (not to mention the United States Congress). Also, he made Princess Amidala cry.
Imagine for a moment that it's 1995, and Congress has just passed a new campaign finance reform bill after months of intense bipartisan negotiation. Now imagine that President Clinton signed the bill into law, then wrote in his own addenda right after the signing ceremony gutting the new law and ensuring that it could never apply to him. The ensuing rage among the chattering skulls of the Right would have been able to power the entire city of Tokyo for one full night. I'm pretty sure Ann Coulter would have transformed into a huge werewolf live on the set of Hardball, digging her slathering maw deep within Paul Begala's chest for a most unholy feast.
Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not expecting any hearts to be eaten on live TV in the next couple days, if you know what I mean.
from the next invasion u.s.a. dvd release
"if as part of an eternal curse i had to spend the rest of my life in a movie... (invasion usa) would definitely be part of my top 500 choices or so." --ryan kelly, haplography"Yes, I said it. Thanks to Spector for putting it into jacket-cover-endorsement-quote form, though.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
red dull
The Poor Man Institute made me laugh today.
You're just not going to think it's that cool of a movie if the most ardent wish you've made in your life up to that point is to be there on opening afternoon for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze.
A much better movie involving a Communist invasion is Chuck Norris' incomprehensible masterpiece Invasion U.S.A. The whole movie is a protracted A-Team episode, only with corrupt small-town sheriffs replaced by an unholy alliance of Russians, Cubans and Nicaraguans, and people not dying replaced by lots of people dying. It doesn't get much better than when a small group of the invading Communists drive a K-Car alongside a schoolbus full of singing children and stick a time-bomb to the side of it, only to have Chuck drive behind them, pull the bomb off of the bus, catch up to the K-Car and throw the bomb in the open driver's side window just as it explodes. The only thing missing is the great Robert Z'Dar; the role of leader of a Communist invasion force should have been the one he was born to play.
(By the way, I can just assume you've already thanked me for not linking to or discussing any "little-known" Chuck Norris facts. You're welcome).
Anyhoo, the Poor Man's thoughts on this matter are really funny, and all relevant context is explained therein.
First of all, the invasion of the US? We don’t see it. We are just told it happened, and then we get to watch everybody cry when they see their dad in a cage. Daddy, I loves you! Oh son, I loves you! Boo-hoo-hoo! My daddy’s in a big cage! And I loves him! Dude: NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR BORING MOVIE DAD. Also, you suck at acting. Please kill Russians. If memory serves, this “character development” crap goes on for approximately the entire history of time, before somebody finally kills a Russian. They shoot him with a bow and arrow or a hunting rifle or something, and that’s pretty much it. And then, it’s back to the cry-a-thon.I too saw Red Dawn around the age of ten, and remember it being disturbing and decidedly non-fun. To any true-hearted ten-year old boy (i.e., me, when I was ten), there's nothing worse than going to a friend's house for an all-nighter of action movies (the best the 1985-1990 era had to offer; we're talking lots of the Total Recall-type of late-80s mega-event pictures that could turn then-10-year old male brains into buzzing dopamine factories), having Red Dawn foisted upon us by a parent (not mine, thankfully) who swears we'll enjoy it, and then watching as Patrick Swayze and Charlie Sheen feel deep about things before tying their friend's limbs to four horses and tearing him asunder.
You're just not going to think it's that cool of a movie if the most ardent wish you've made in your life up to that point is to be there on opening afternoon for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles II: The Secret of the Ooze.
A much better movie involving a Communist invasion is Chuck Norris' incomprehensible masterpiece Invasion U.S.A. The whole movie is a protracted A-Team episode, only with corrupt small-town sheriffs replaced by an unholy alliance of Russians, Cubans and Nicaraguans, and people not dying replaced by lots of people dying. It doesn't get much better than when a small group of the invading Communists drive a K-Car alongside a schoolbus full of singing children and stick a time-bomb to the side of it, only to have Chuck drive behind them, pull the bomb off of the bus, catch up to the K-Car and throw the bomb in the open driver's side window just as it explodes. The only thing missing is the great Robert Z'Dar; the role of leader of a Communist invasion force should have been the one he was born to play.
(By the way, I can just assume you've already thanked me for not linking to or discussing any "little-known" Chuck Norris facts. You're welcome).
Anyhoo, the Poor Man's thoughts on this matter are really funny, and all relevant context is explained therein.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
the more you know
So some idle IMing with Janice somehow led to talk of what I call the Donut Spot - that swath of Schuykill Expressway underneath 30th Street Station and the adjacent Post Office that smells like, well, donuts in the warmer months. It never occurred to me that this odor could actually be produced by donuts - surely it had to be some sort of industrial by-product or the sweet stench of a very peculiar type of urban decay. Surely a quick Google would confirm as much!
Nope. It's donuts.
Nope. It's donuts.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
almost
The Quakers gave it everything they had, and there were times I thought, this is it. This is going to be the year we finally win a tournament game.
But Texas was a bit too big down low, and Penn missed two or three shots too many, and the good guys ultimately fell, 60-52.
This is the best I've ever seen Penn play in the Dance - which figures, as this was the first year since I've started following Quakers basketball that it seemed the team had absolutely no chance to win its first-round tournament game. Yet they were within a point of second-seeded Texas - in Dallas - with five minutes to go.
I'm proud of the Quakers. They earned the respect of the college basketball world tonight. It just would have been so much sweeter to win.
Someday...
But Texas was a bit too big down low, and Penn missed two or three shots too many, and the good guys ultimately fell, 60-52.
This is the best I've ever seen Penn play in the Dance - which figures, as this was the first year since I've started following Quakers basketball that it seemed the team had absolutely no chance to win its first-round tournament game. Yet they were within a point of second-seeded Texas - in Dallas - with five minutes to go.
I'm proud of the Quakers. They earned the respect of the college basketball world tonight. It just would have been so much sweeter to win.
Someday...
Friday, March 17, 2006
AHHHHHHHH! AHHHHHHHH! IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE!
CAN'T FORM WORDS OR COMPLETE SENTENCES! SNAKES! ON PLANE! TRAILER!
EVERYBODY CRACK EACH OTHER'S HEADS OPEN AND FEAST ON THE GOOEY INSIDES!
EVERYBODY CRACK EACH OTHER'S HEADS OPEN AND FEAST ON THE GOOEY INSIDES!
bicoastal
Everybody's very happy
'Cause the sun is shining all the time
Looks like another perfect day
I love L.A. (We love it!)
I love L.A. (We love it!)
- Randy Newman, "I Love L.A."
So Kris and I are finally back at work after a nine-day span that saw us visit both Los Angeles AND New York City. We were in L.A. for six days of fun, and we were in Manhattan Wednesday and yesterday for both business and pleasure (I call it "pleasness," but the boys down in marketing didn't think that was so hot).
It was my first time in SoCal, and I'm still not sure how to encapsulate it. It may take years to be able to absorb and describe the essence of any place, let alone a city as huge, decentralized and diverse as Los Angeles. Asking me to hold a singular concept of L.A. in my mind right now would be akin to asking me to contemplate the sound of one hand clapping. It's a zen koan, only with crippling traffic and plentiful souvenir T-shirt stores.
That said, I do have some pertinent thoughts/observations.
- I got the sense that most Los Angelinos just don't get the Northeast, nor why anybody would want to live there. One older woman made idle conversation with us in a hotel elevator and was truly shocked when we told her we were from Philadelphia. "Why would anyone want to live in Philadelphia?" she asked. No joke. She looked at us as if we belonged to some subspecies of insane ape.
- Why can't we have the fast food places they have out there? Carl's Jr. was pretty good, and In-N-Out Burger was sublime. We never did get to try Jack in the Box or El Pollo Loco, despite seeing about 1000 locations of each every day we were out there (nope, no exaggeration there). But I can only assume they're scrumtrulescent.
- We stayed with my uncle in Irvine the first couple days we were out there, and I think I liked the O.C. better than L.A. proper. Also, when I mentioned that to Kris, she threatened to hit me if I ever voiced the phrase "the O.C." again.
Orange County seemed to be a little more relaxed, a little nicer; definitely more suburban, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. The sleepy coastal communities of Newport Beach and Laguna Beach were charming, and Irvine was nice.
- My uncle engaged in a cultural practice that the East Coast would do well to take up; I don't know if it's at all prevalent in Southern California, or if it's something only a select few support - he called it "wine time," known to the rest of us as "5 p.m." The concept of "wine time" is pretty simple - at five, the workers throw down their blackberrys, wipe their weary arms across their sweaty foreheads and stare dramatically into the fading sun. Then they walk from their home offices to their kitchens and/or media rooms to pour themselves glasses of wine. Kris and I both thought there was merit in this particular custom.
So in our five days in L.A., we ended up hitting Disneyland (where Kris let me win at Buzz Lightyear Astro Blasters; see Figure 1.01 below); the Nixon Presidential Library and Birthplace; a Stockton Thunder-Long Beach Ice Dogs ECHL hockey game at the beautiful Long Beach Arena (courtesy of David Perez y Perez, who helped build the Thunder's arena); the Getty Center; Griffith Park (we wanted to see the observatory, but it was closed for renovation); Six Flags Magic Mountain; the L.A. Zoo; and finally, the Santa Monica pier. We didn't do too shabby. Hopefully I'll have pictures up soon.
New York, as always, was cool. I was there for some business yesterday, which allowed Kris and I to see many of my friends from high school and college on Wednesday. We had lunch with Adam Rosenbloom, after which Kris and I checked into our hotel and stumbled upon the National Geographic Channel's in-depth show on "Hogzilla." We followed that up with dinner - we met Brad Moore, Jordan Burg, Clifton Jackness and Clifton's new ladyfriend at Lederhosen in the West Village (where one could order liters of German beer); then Brad, Jordan and I met a host of ex-DP folks (including Spector) for Jon Margulies' birthday party at Pete's across town.
It was a great, fun, exhausting vacation, and now Kris and I are back in our respective workplaces for a grueling one-day week. It's been a little hard today getting back into the groove, but at least there's Penn basketball tonight - the #15 Quakers dutifully play the role of "Opponent" against second-seeded Texas in the first round of the NCAA tournament... in Dallas. Which is in Texas.
Good luck, guys. Let's go Quakers!
Figure 1.01: Kris letting me win. Also, you'll notice we're in a complete vacuum without protective spacesuits of any kind, yet still carrying out our duty in dispatching the forces of the evil emperor Zurg. Now that's professionalism!
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
i have returned!
Bring on the meats and cheeses! Where are the dancing bears!? The people wrestling pumas!? I want to see all of it! Also, unicorns doing stand-up comedy! Robot werewolves! The Last Supper re-enacted by hydrocephaloids!
Why? Because I have returned! And it's my birthday, dammit! (No, really!). I've spent the last three weeks putting together a huge project, and today's its last day. I haven't been able to blog because I've been so busy, and since I'm going on vacation in two days, I probably won't be able to blog at all in the near future. So in grand blog tradition, here are some random thoughts/questions/observations/anecdotes that don't necessarily have anything to do with each other.
- If as a suggestion my Tivo records a show that I wrote and directed, does that make me awesome, or merely spectacular? I only ask BECAUSE IT HAPPENED, BITCHES.
- What is Minotaur? And who is Lex Shrapnel? And why doesn't the immortal Tony Todd have first billing? And is there a chance I don't Tivo this?
- Kris took me out to Morimoto on Saturday night for my birthday. We both had the $100 omakase, which is basically an eight-course meal featuring a representative cross-sample of the restaurant's offerings (all chef's choice, of course; which is what "omakase" apparently means in english). It was amazing; that's all there is to say.
The eight courses were (in order): Tuna tartare with shallots and caviar in a sweet soy sauce; snapper served in the hot oil in which is was seared; raw yellowfin tuna seved with green salad; orange-saffron sorbet (a palette cleanser); halibut topped with mushrooms and cooked in chinese white wine; kobe beef served with Japanese sweet potatoes; sashimi; and finally dessert (bittersweet chocolate cheesecake served with sorbet and banana cream sauce).
Kris doesn't care for fish too much, but she's a trooper and she got through it all because she knew I was DYING to do this. And I think she enjoyed it; as she often repeated, it was an adventure. And it was really, really, really good.
- The internet is now complete.
Why? Because I have returned! And it's my birthday, dammit! (No, really!). I've spent the last three weeks putting together a huge project, and today's its last day. I haven't been able to blog because I've been so busy, and since I'm going on vacation in two days, I probably won't be able to blog at all in the near future. So in grand blog tradition, here are some random thoughts/questions/observations/anecdotes that don't necessarily have anything to do with each other.
- If as a suggestion my Tivo records a show that I wrote and directed, does that make me awesome, or merely spectacular? I only ask BECAUSE IT HAPPENED, BITCHES.
- What is Minotaur? And who is Lex Shrapnel? And why doesn't the immortal Tony Todd have first billing? And is there a chance I don't Tivo this?
- Kris took me out to Morimoto on Saturday night for my birthday. We both had the $100 omakase, which is basically an eight-course meal featuring a representative cross-sample of the restaurant's offerings (all chef's choice, of course; which is what "omakase" apparently means in english). It was amazing; that's all there is to say.
The eight courses were (in order): Tuna tartare with shallots and caviar in a sweet soy sauce; snapper served in the hot oil in which is was seared; raw yellowfin tuna seved with green salad; orange-saffron sorbet (a palette cleanser); halibut topped with mushrooms and cooked in chinese white wine; kobe beef served with Japanese sweet potatoes; sashimi; and finally dessert (bittersweet chocolate cheesecake served with sorbet and banana cream sauce).
Kris doesn't care for fish too much, but she's a trooper and she got through it all because she knew I was DYING to do this. And I think she enjoyed it; as she often repeated, it was an adventure. And it was really, really, really good.
- The internet is now complete.
Monday, February 20, 2006
good sunday reading... on monday
There's an excellent piece in the Sunday New York Times magazine by Francis Fukuyama of Johns Hopkins University. Titled "After Neoconservatism," it's a coolly rational analysis of the history of the neoconservative movement, the failures of the Bush Doctrine and what a modified foreign policy should/could look like in a post-neoconservative America.
For those who seem confident that the Democrats will retake the House in November, a cautionary history lesson in the WaPo. With it comes the unspoken notion that w/r/t the continuing dominance of the GOP in Congress, it's not necessarily America which has become more conservative (it probably has, but not to the degree that triumphalist Republicans would have us believe), but preservationalist congressional Democrats who have grown older, more lifeless and infinitely less appealing (which is definitely true).
And finally, an interesting interview at Salon with William Ian Miller, a professor of law at the University of Michigan who extolls the virtues of archaic "eye for an eye" justice in "honor societies" like medieval England and Iceland. Neither he nor the interviewer seem to realize it, but his depiction of revenge as an interpersonal and/or intertribal form of negotiation and/or communication in ancient societies pretty much exactly describes the modern anarchic system of international relations and international security.
For those who seem confident that the Democrats will retake the House in November, a cautionary history lesson in the WaPo. With it comes the unspoken notion that w/r/t the continuing dominance of the GOP in Congress, it's not necessarily America which has become more conservative (it probably has, but not to the degree that triumphalist Republicans would have us believe), but preservationalist congressional Democrats who have grown older, more lifeless and infinitely less appealing (which is definitely true).
And finally, an interesting interview at Salon with William Ian Miller, a professor of law at the University of Michigan who extolls the virtues of archaic "eye for an eye" justice in "honor societies" like medieval England and Iceland. Neither he nor the interviewer seem to realize it, but his depiction of revenge as an interpersonal and/or intertribal form of negotiation and/or communication in ancient societies pretty much exactly describes the modern anarchic system of international relations and international security.
Friday, February 17, 2006
greatness courts failure
I'm not actually watching the Olympics, but I do read the sports pages. And I've noticed that the sportswriters who are covering some of these high-profile American flameouts are being merciless:
"I didn't feel my inner peace tonight," Weir said. "I didn't feel like my aura is white today. My biorhythms were a little off. I was black inside."
Whatever. Truth is, it's all Weir-speak for this:
I choked.
Fine, so Johnny Weir is a little eccentric. But you know what? These are amateur athletes. It may say "USA" on the helmet or the uniform or whatever, but really, they're not over there for us (depsite what NBC would have you believe).
They don't owe us anything.
Yet this particular Philly scribe treats a 21-year old who's not getting paid as he will Tom Gordon the first time "Flash" blows a save opportunity as a Phillie.
Am I the only one who thinks there's something wrong with that?
The AP said Lindsey Jacobellis' "hot dogging" board-grab was inexcusable because it cost her a gold medal.
"Inexcusable"? I'm thinking a good rule of thumb for sportswriters is that they should quit if they ever start sounding like middle school teachers trying to give detention time to the athletes they cover.
And obviously none of these scribes have ever seen Tin Cup, in which Kevin Costner's character blows his chance to qualify for the US Open because he refuses to lay up (at least, that's how I remember it). He keeps trying - and failing - to make it over a water hazard that makes the world's best pro golfers pee their pants. Don Johnson's slimy character lays up and secures a forgettable finish near - but not at - the top of the leaderboard.
"Greatness courts failure," Costner's character says. Everybody remembers his spectacular failure, and he wins the respect of the golf community (not to mention Don Johnson's girlfriend, played by the comely Rene Russo).
So if Jacobellis wanted not just to win but to excel - to give a performance for the ages - who can blame her if it didn't work out? If she's OK with herself after taking her shot at greatness and falling short, who are we to criticize her? (And frankly, given the nature of snowboarding, how can we criticize her? This is not Leon Lett dancing at the end of his fumble return; this is an entire sport based on showing off).
In general, who are we to get offended when an American amateur athlete fails to bring home the gold?
"I didn't feel my inner peace tonight," Weir said. "I didn't feel like my aura is white today. My biorhythms were a little off. I was black inside."
Whatever. Truth is, it's all Weir-speak for this:
I choked.
Fine, so Johnny Weir is a little eccentric. But you know what? These are amateur athletes. It may say "USA" on the helmet or the uniform or whatever, but really, they're not over there for us (depsite what NBC would have you believe).
They don't owe us anything.
Yet this particular Philly scribe treats a 21-year old who's not getting paid as he will Tom Gordon the first time "Flash" blows a save opportunity as a Phillie.
Am I the only one who thinks there's something wrong with that?
The AP said Lindsey Jacobellis' "hot dogging" board-grab was inexcusable because it cost her a gold medal.
"Inexcusable"? I'm thinking a good rule of thumb for sportswriters is that they should quit if they ever start sounding like middle school teachers trying to give detention time to the athletes they cover.
And obviously none of these scribes have ever seen Tin Cup, in which Kevin Costner's character blows his chance to qualify for the US Open because he refuses to lay up (at least, that's how I remember it). He keeps trying - and failing - to make it over a water hazard that makes the world's best pro golfers pee their pants. Don Johnson's slimy character lays up and secures a forgettable finish near - but not at - the top of the leaderboard.
"Greatness courts failure," Costner's character says. Everybody remembers his spectacular failure, and he wins the respect of the golf community (not to mention Don Johnson's girlfriend, played by the comely Rene Russo).
So if Jacobellis wanted not just to win but to excel - to give a performance for the ages - who can blame her if it didn't work out? If she's OK with herself after taking her shot at greatness and falling short, who are we to criticize her? (And frankly, given the nature of snowboarding, how can we criticize her? This is not Leon Lett dancing at the end of his fumble return; this is an entire sport based on showing off).
In general, who are we to get offended when an American amateur athlete fails to bring home the gold?
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
nerd humor gives me the giggles
I don't really read Something Awful too much anymore, but I saw this earlier this morning, and it's given me a case of the giggles. It's a performance self-appraisal written by a disgruntled replicator repairman on board the Enterprise from "Star Trek: The Next Generation":
Those assholes only ever call me when something breaks. My chest never beeps and then says "Ensign Dupree, we are under attack, what do you think the replicator can do." I would say "a whole hell of a lot," because holy crap, it's only like the second most incredible technology ever made.
I think my favorite "incident" the repairman describes is the one that induced the giggles:
Turns out Wesley decided he wanted a "giant rubber vagina" (direct quote from Lt. Barclay) and it came out of the replicator a bit more suddenly than Wesley had expected. One end of the thing got wedged in the replicator slot and the other end ballooned out of the replicator and pinned him to the floor of his room. The engineering team had to set their phasers to shame to get him out of that predicament.
There's just something about the visual of Wesley Crusher ordering a "giant rubber vagina" from an Enterprise replicator that tickles the funny bone of my inner nerd... which, quite often, is also my outer nerd.
The rest of the article is giggle-inducing, as well.
Those assholes only ever call me when something breaks. My chest never beeps and then says "Ensign Dupree, we are under attack, what do you think the replicator can do." I would say "a whole hell of a lot," because holy crap, it's only like the second most incredible technology ever made.
I think my favorite "incident" the repairman describes is the one that induced the giggles:
Turns out Wesley decided he wanted a "giant rubber vagina" (direct quote from Lt. Barclay) and it came out of the replicator a bit more suddenly than Wesley had expected. One end of the thing got wedged in the replicator slot and the other end ballooned out of the replicator and pinned him to the floor of his room. The engineering team had to set their phasers to shame to get him out of that predicament.
There's just something about the visual of Wesley Crusher ordering a "giant rubber vagina" from an Enterprise replicator that tickles the funny bone of my inner nerd... which, quite often, is also my outer nerd.
The rest of the article is giggle-inducing, as well.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
happy valentine's day!
With a tip of the hat to I-Mockery.
I can't really talk long, as I'm leaving early today and I've got lots of work to do. I just wanted to thank Mensch and Terry for the love w/r/t a most dangerous game.
Happy Valentine's Day!
a most dangerous game
(Note: While it may seem similar to recent events, this story is fiction - pure, quickly written, poorly worded/structured non-sensical fiction. Any similarity to real people living or dead is purely coincidental, and hopefully hilarious... but I'm not counting on that last one).
Jack Wellington's car pulled up to the Aldrin Ranch with a cloud of dust in tow. Though he was about to complete his eighth decade on God's good Earth, the distinguished Texas attorney today felt the energy of a young graduate who'd just conquered the bar exam.
As Wellington's driver lowered the back passenger side window, the dry Texas heat rushed into the car - bringing with it familiar scents.
Quail. And gunpowder.
"Mr. Wellington," said a slender man clad in bright orange hunting gear. "I work for the Vice President. My name is Klaus von Richtover. I'll take you to the party."
"Well, thank you son. Much obliged," Wellington said as he hoisted himself out of the car. He usually didn't Texas his speech up too often, but he liked to see if he could impress people who were obviously not from the area.
"Of course," von Richtover purred. He drew the corners of his mouth back towards his ears. 'That must be German for 'smile,'' Wellington thought, allowing himself a small chuckle.
von Richtover quickly pivoted and turned toward the driver. "See that you stick around," von Richtover told the man in the black Cadillac. "Mr. Wellington is a very special guest."
The driver gave von Richtover a deliberate nod, and the car slowly pulled away. A cloud of dust seemed to form out of nothing, following the Caddy around a bend and out of sight.
"Well, let's get a move on, son," Wellington said. "Those quail aren't gonna plug themselves."
"No," von Richtover replied, his lips once again thinning in an approximation of a smile. "They most certainly will not."
Though he was easily twice the age of von Richtover, Wellington strode quickly towards the hunting grounds, forcing his new friend to break into a slow jog.
"Mr. Wellington," von Richtover said. "Perhaps we should slow down. If you're lucky, this will be a long day for you."
Wellington gave the younger man a hearty laugh. "I haven't seen Dick since the Austin fundraiser. I told him I'd deliver him Texas," he chirped. "I wanna shake his hand and give him a howdy-do."
"Oh, he's very... eager to do the same, Mr. Wellington. Very eager indeed."
The pair soon found themselves surrounded by brush. Before long, they came upon a pith-helmeted man, otherwise dressed entirely in khaki. His back was turned, and the sun glistening off his shotgun barrel forced both newcomers to squint.
"They say a 28-gauge shotgun is a 'ladies'' weapon," said Dick Delaney, Vice President of the United States of America. "But you know I've had 11 heart attacks, Jack."
He turned around, revealing a dumpy, bald, bespectacled middle-aged man. "Thank you, Klaus, that will be all for now." Klaus bowed neatly before trudging through the brush on his way back to the ranch.
"It's a beautiful weapon, isn't it, Jack?" Delaney continued. "No recoil at all. It's good for the heart. My wife can tell you, I don't really like the idea of dropping dead in the middle of a quail hunt."
"I understand, sir," Wellington said. "Let me just say that it's an honor-"
Delaney quickly interrupted him, as if Wellington hadn't spoken at all. "But I'm not opposed to a little danger out here, Jack." The vice president's upper lip curled into a sneer. "It's a shame your boat had to run aground on my island, of all places. A shame, indeed."
Wellington was now thoroughly amused. "Uh, your car service came to get me, sir."
"We're surrounded by thousands of miles of Pacific Ocean on all sides," Delaney continued. "It's just you and I, old friend - no longer shackled by the laws of Man."
"We're in Corpus Christi, sir," Wellington replied.
"During the Great War, I quickly learned of the most dangerous animal of all," Delaney said. "Do you know what it is, Jack?"
"Is it Man?"
"It's Man," Delaney continued. "Shocking, I know. But one learns much when he faces the constant threat of horrific Zeppelin attacks by the Kaiser's men. One learns that only a man possesses the cunning necessary to make a hunt truly worthwhile. And since you're trespassing on my island, Jack... I shall hunt you. For sport. But make no mistake; I expect and hope that you'll be able to turn the hunter - me - into the hunted - also me, but in the future.
"I'll give you a thirty-second head start," Delaney explained, turning away from his guest. "There's a jungle out there. I believe you'll be able to find everything you need to turn this contest to your advantage."
Wellington didn't want to offend the Vice President by cutting his joke short, but he felt it necessary to exchange formal pleasantries. "Sir, let me say what an honor it is to be here, and how honored I've been to be a loyal Mush-Delaney supporter."
"Oh, we're always glad to have you, Jack. Perhaps I'll have you for dinner tonight," Delaney replied. "Twenty-five seconds."
Wellington forced a chuckle. "Uh, Mr. Vice President, where's the rest of the hunting party?"
"Twenty seconds," Delaney replied, looking at his watch.
For the first time, Wellington felt fear shoot its way up and down his spine. "Sir, this is some sort of joke... yes?"
"Oh, good sport is no laughing matter, Jack," Delaney said. "Fifteen seconds. I would get moving if I were you."
Wellington quickly began looking for cover. "Sir, I've given you everything! Money, votes!"
"And if this day is mine, you'll be giving me a whole lot more. Precious organs, hair, lifeforce," Delaney droned, his upper lip curling once again. "Ten seconds."
Fear completely took over Wellington's brain and told his body one thing.
Run.
As the 79-year old took his first step, he was startled by something exploding out of the brush. He instinctively recoiled.
"Time to die, Jack!" Delaney whirled and fired. The smell of burnt powder stung his nose as he watched Wellington crumple to the earth. As he closed his eyes to savor the moment of victory, the vice president heard a single quail making its escape.
He smiled and slowly walked to where Wellington lay.
"This is extremely uncomfortable," Wellington said, tiny pellet marks covering his face and neck. "I think I'd like to go to the hospital."
"Ironic," Delaney said, staring into the distance. "We matched wits for what seemed like ages - two clashing titans were we. And in the end, he was brought down by his fear by one of nature's lowliest creatures - the cage-raised quail that he almost stepped on. Also, his hubris was his downfall... yes, hubris. That sounds good, too."
"Makes you think," Wellington said.
Delaney removed a large wooden horn from his hunting pouch and blew a single, majestic note into the late afternoon sky. Within seconds, von Richtover was upon them.
"Klaus," Delaney barked. "Take Mr. Wellington's body inside for preparation. We'll be taking the heart, the scalp, the eyes and oh... let's say... the pancreas. I'm in a fun mood today. Stick the rest in the black Caddy and let the driver take care of it. Tell him if he makes pemmican for the children, to save some for me this time."
"Can I go to the ER now?" asked Wellington.
As the German carried the trophy back towards the ranch, the vice president stared into the setting sun.
He sighed.
'Sometimes I get so bored,' he thought to himself.
Jack Wellington's car pulled up to the Aldrin Ranch with a cloud of dust in tow. Though he was about to complete his eighth decade on God's good Earth, the distinguished Texas attorney today felt the energy of a young graduate who'd just conquered the bar exam.
As Wellington's driver lowered the back passenger side window, the dry Texas heat rushed into the car - bringing with it familiar scents.
Quail. And gunpowder.
"Mr. Wellington," said a slender man clad in bright orange hunting gear. "I work for the Vice President. My name is Klaus von Richtover. I'll take you to the party."
"Well, thank you son. Much obliged," Wellington said as he hoisted himself out of the car. He usually didn't Texas his speech up too often, but he liked to see if he could impress people who were obviously not from the area.
"Of course," von Richtover purred. He drew the corners of his mouth back towards his ears. 'That must be German for 'smile,'' Wellington thought, allowing himself a small chuckle.
von Richtover quickly pivoted and turned toward the driver. "See that you stick around," von Richtover told the man in the black Cadillac. "Mr. Wellington is a very special guest."
The driver gave von Richtover a deliberate nod, and the car slowly pulled away. A cloud of dust seemed to form out of nothing, following the Caddy around a bend and out of sight.
"Well, let's get a move on, son," Wellington said. "Those quail aren't gonna plug themselves."
"No," von Richtover replied, his lips once again thinning in an approximation of a smile. "They most certainly will not."
Though he was easily twice the age of von Richtover, Wellington strode quickly towards the hunting grounds, forcing his new friend to break into a slow jog.
"Mr. Wellington," von Richtover said. "Perhaps we should slow down. If you're lucky, this will be a long day for you."
Wellington gave the younger man a hearty laugh. "I haven't seen Dick since the Austin fundraiser. I told him I'd deliver him Texas," he chirped. "I wanna shake his hand and give him a howdy-do."
"Oh, he's very... eager to do the same, Mr. Wellington. Very eager indeed."
The pair soon found themselves surrounded by brush. Before long, they came upon a pith-helmeted man, otherwise dressed entirely in khaki. His back was turned, and the sun glistening off his shotgun barrel forced both newcomers to squint.
"They say a 28-gauge shotgun is a 'ladies'' weapon," said Dick Delaney, Vice President of the United States of America. "But you know I've had 11 heart attacks, Jack."
He turned around, revealing a dumpy, bald, bespectacled middle-aged man. "Thank you, Klaus, that will be all for now." Klaus bowed neatly before trudging through the brush on his way back to the ranch.
"It's a beautiful weapon, isn't it, Jack?" Delaney continued. "No recoil at all. It's good for the heart. My wife can tell you, I don't really like the idea of dropping dead in the middle of a quail hunt."
"I understand, sir," Wellington said. "Let me just say that it's an honor-"
Delaney quickly interrupted him, as if Wellington hadn't spoken at all. "But I'm not opposed to a little danger out here, Jack." The vice president's upper lip curled into a sneer. "It's a shame your boat had to run aground on my island, of all places. A shame, indeed."
Wellington was now thoroughly amused. "Uh, your car service came to get me, sir."
"We're surrounded by thousands of miles of Pacific Ocean on all sides," Delaney continued. "It's just you and I, old friend - no longer shackled by the laws of Man."
"We're in Corpus Christi, sir," Wellington replied.
"During the Great War, I quickly learned of the most dangerous animal of all," Delaney said. "Do you know what it is, Jack?"
"Is it Man?"
"It's Man," Delaney continued. "Shocking, I know. But one learns much when he faces the constant threat of horrific Zeppelin attacks by the Kaiser's men. One learns that only a man possesses the cunning necessary to make a hunt truly worthwhile. And since you're trespassing on my island, Jack... I shall hunt you. For sport. But make no mistake; I expect and hope that you'll be able to turn the hunter - me - into the hunted - also me, but in the future.
"I'll give you a thirty-second head start," Delaney explained, turning away from his guest. "There's a jungle out there. I believe you'll be able to find everything you need to turn this contest to your advantage."
Wellington didn't want to offend the Vice President by cutting his joke short, but he felt it necessary to exchange formal pleasantries. "Sir, let me say what an honor it is to be here, and how honored I've been to be a loyal Mush-Delaney supporter."
"Oh, we're always glad to have you, Jack. Perhaps I'll have you for dinner tonight," Delaney replied. "Twenty-five seconds."
Wellington forced a chuckle. "Uh, Mr. Vice President, where's the rest of the hunting party?"
"Twenty seconds," Delaney replied, looking at his watch.
For the first time, Wellington felt fear shoot its way up and down his spine. "Sir, this is some sort of joke... yes?"
"Oh, good sport is no laughing matter, Jack," Delaney said. "Fifteen seconds. I would get moving if I were you."
Wellington quickly began looking for cover. "Sir, I've given you everything! Money, votes!"
"And if this day is mine, you'll be giving me a whole lot more. Precious organs, hair, lifeforce," Delaney droned, his upper lip curling once again. "Ten seconds."
Fear completely took over Wellington's brain and told his body one thing.
Run.
As the 79-year old took his first step, he was startled by something exploding out of the brush. He instinctively recoiled.
"Time to die, Jack!" Delaney whirled and fired. The smell of burnt powder stung his nose as he watched Wellington crumple to the earth. As he closed his eyes to savor the moment of victory, the vice president heard a single quail making its escape.
He smiled and slowly walked to where Wellington lay.
"This is extremely uncomfortable," Wellington said, tiny pellet marks covering his face and neck. "I think I'd like to go to the hospital."
"Ironic," Delaney said, staring into the distance. "We matched wits for what seemed like ages - two clashing titans were we. And in the end, he was brought down by his fear by one of nature's lowliest creatures - the cage-raised quail that he almost stepped on. Also, his hubris was his downfall... yes, hubris. That sounds good, too."
"Makes you think," Wellington said.
Delaney removed a large wooden horn from his hunting pouch and blew a single, majestic note into the late afternoon sky. Within seconds, von Richtover was upon them.
"Klaus," Delaney barked. "Take Mr. Wellington's body inside for preparation. We'll be taking the heart, the scalp, the eyes and oh... let's say... the pancreas. I'm in a fun mood today. Stick the rest in the black Caddy and let the driver take care of it. Tell him if he makes pemmican for the children, to save some for me this time."
"Can I go to the ER now?" asked Wellington.
As the German carried the trophy back towards the ranch, the vice president stared into the setting sun.
He sighed.
'Sometimes I get so bored,' he thought to himself.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
sore-ass sunday buzzed blogging
Kris and I have finally made our way to the couch, after 1) digging a car out of snow on Samson Street, 2) digging a driveway out of snow in Delaware and 3) digging kitten vomit out of carpet, bedsheets and hardwood floors. Each and every one of our muscles are sore, and we're going to get our buzz on, and nobody's going to stop us. In fact, we'd like to thank our main enablers, Mr. Duboeuf and Mr. Yuengling (and yes, Mr. Jacuzzi).
Cool Shit:
- Jon Heyman of Newsday says that the Mets' ballpark plans are being heavily influenced by PNC Park in Pittsburgh. Kris and I went to PNC last summer to see the Mets play the Pirates (you can probably find some of the pictures by following the Flickr links at left), and we both loved loved LOVED the park. Watching a ballgame there is a complete and total joy; I felt that if they were going to try to build Wrigley Field today, it would be PNC Park. So kudos to the Mets - as my boss has been known to say, "if you're going to steal, steal from Tiffany's."
- This afternoon, while driving along South 26th Street on our way to the George C. Platt Memorial Bridge, I-95 and - ultimately - Delaware, Kris and I saw a deer walking along an overpass. It might just be the coolest thing I've ever seen within the Philadelphia city limits, and I've lived in Philly for almost eight years now(!). It made me think about the weirdest things I've seen since I've been living here...
- A guy fake getting hit by a car (just about my first day ever in Philly)
- A guy's car getting towed (on my way to 7-11); said guy trying to get into the tow truck and drive away before getting pulled out and beaten by the tow truck driver (on my way back from 7-11)
- A homeless man defecating in public (on two separate occasions; and yes, they were two different homeless men)
- Ed Rendell and Morgan Fairchild drumming up support for Al Gore... together... on Locust Walk (around Election Day, 2000)
- Rocky Balboa getting filmed two blocks from my house (two weeks ago at Irish Pub, which I'm assuming means Rocky was trying to hook up with a chubby 24-year old yuppie automaton in tight black hoochie pants)
What are some of the weirdest things you've ever seen in Philly? Hmmmmmmm?
Cool Shit:
- Jon Heyman of Newsday says that the Mets' ballpark plans are being heavily influenced by PNC Park in Pittsburgh. Kris and I went to PNC last summer to see the Mets play the Pirates (you can probably find some of the pictures by following the Flickr links at left), and we both loved loved LOVED the park. Watching a ballgame there is a complete and total joy; I felt that if they were going to try to build Wrigley Field today, it would be PNC Park. So kudos to the Mets - as my boss has been known to say, "if you're going to steal, steal from Tiffany's."
- This afternoon, while driving along South 26th Street on our way to the George C. Platt Memorial Bridge, I-95 and - ultimately - Delaware, Kris and I saw a deer walking along an overpass. It might just be the coolest thing I've ever seen within the Philadelphia city limits, and I've lived in Philly for almost eight years now(!). It made me think about the weirdest things I've seen since I've been living here...
- A guy fake getting hit by a car (just about my first day ever in Philly)
- A guy's car getting towed (on my way to 7-11); said guy trying to get into the tow truck and drive away before getting pulled out and beaten by the tow truck driver (on my way back from 7-11)
- A homeless man defecating in public (on two separate occasions; and yes, they were two different homeless men)
- Ed Rendell and Morgan Fairchild drumming up support for Al Gore... together... on Locust Walk (around Election Day, 2000)
- Rocky Balboa getting filmed two blocks from my house (two weeks ago at Irish Pub, which I'm assuming means Rocky was trying to hook up with a chubby 24-year old yuppie automaton in tight black hoochie pants)
What are some of the weirdest things you've ever seen in Philly? Hmmmmmmm?
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
oh, alberto
Our nation's top law enforcement official (via Crooks and Liars): "President Washington, President Lincoln, President Wilson, President Roosevelt have all authorized electronic surveillance on a far broader scale." (emphasis mine).
OK, here's how it all went down. Skynet began to learn at a geometric rate. It became self-aware at 2:14 a.m. Eastern time, August 29th. In a panic, they tried to pull the plug. After Judgment Day, a single machine - a Cyberdyne systems model T101 - was sent back to 1790 with one mission: find Patience Connor.
This machine - this Terminator - felt no pity. No pain. No fear. Musket balls did nothing, and guns took 10 minutes to reload. And the only man who could save Connor and ensure the future survival of the human race was President George Washington.
After several encounters in the bleak urban hellscape of 1790 New York, the Terminator followed Connor and Washington to the abandoned gunpowder mill near Old Man McCoogan's farm in northern Manhattan. The two humans, by now embroiled in a passionate love affair brought on by their desperate circumstances, lured the Terminator into a trap.
As the badly wounded president lay nearby, Connor detonated a mound of old gunpowder and destroyed the machine. "You're terminated, fucker," she said.
President Washington eventually recovered from his injuries, and Patience Connor changed her name to Martha Washington. The two married and had a son, whom they named Abraham Lincoln. The future seemed bright, until Dr. Miles Bennett Dyson, director of the new National Security Agency, brought shocking news to the president.
"We've recovered some remarkable material from the gunpowder mill," he said, gingerly taking intact T101 microchips from the front pocket of his knickerbockers. "Dr. Franklin believes we can use these to build the world's first electronic surveillance system. We're calling it 'SkyNet.'"
President Washington, mindful of the intelligence such a system could provide in case there were any sort of three-lettered affair with a certain country - oh, say, "XYZ" and France - considered Dr. Dyson's proposal for a moment.
His eyes narrowed.
"Do it," he growled. "But don't tell Congress."
OK, here's how it all went down. Skynet began to learn at a geometric rate. It became self-aware at 2:14 a.m. Eastern time, August 29th. In a panic, they tried to pull the plug. After Judgment Day, a single machine - a Cyberdyne systems model T101 - was sent back to 1790 with one mission: find Patience Connor.
This machine - this Terminator - felt no pity. No pain. No fear. Musket balls did nothing, and guns took 10 minutes to reload. And the only man who could save Connor and ensure the future survival of the human race was President George Washington.
After several encounters in the bleak urban hellscape of 1790 New York, the Terminator followed Connor and Washington to the abandoned gunpowder mill near Old Man McCoogan's farm in northern Manhattan. The two humans, by now embroiled in a passionate love affair brought on by their desperate circumstances, lured the Terminator into a trap.
As the badly wounded president lay nearby, Connor detonated a mound of old gunpowder and destroyed the machine. "You're terminated, fucker," she said.
President Washington eventually recovered from his injuries, and Patience Connor changed her name to Martha Washington. The two married and had a son, whom they named Abraham Lincoln. The future seemed bright, until Dr. Miles Bennett Dyson, director of the new National Security Agency, brought shocking news to the president.
"We've recovered some remarkable material from the gunpowder mill," he said, gingerly taking intact T101 microchips from the front pocket of his knickerbockers. "Dr. Franklin believes we can use these to build the world's first electronic surveillance system. We're calling it 'SkyNet.'"
President Washington, mindful of the intelligence such a system could provide in case there were any sort of three-lettered affair with a certain country - oh, say, "XYZ" and France - considered Dr. Dyson's proposal for a moment.
His eyes narrowed.
"Do it," he growled. "But don't tell Congress."
Monday, February 06, 2006
in the interests of full disclosure...
I had a Whopper for lunch today.
I took an hour or so out of my morning to write about it, so come lunchtime I figured, "what the fuck - I might as well try it out."
Does this mean that Burger King's commercial caused me to buy their product? In an indirect way, yes.
Here's my question: does that therefore make it a "good" ad?
I took an hour or so out of my morning to write about it, so come lunchtime I figured, "what the fuck - I might as well try it out."
Does this mean that Burger King's commercial caused me to buy their product? In an indirect way, yes.
Here's my question: does that therefore make it a "good" ad?
super thoughts
- Is it me, or did most of the commercials last night look like they were done by a losing corporation in an Apprentice task? Take the Burger King "Whopperettes" commercial. It's a 60 second homage to 1930s Busby Berkeley musicals, with dancing girls dressed up as buns, beef patties and various condiments.
First of all, consider the audience. I'd like to think that we're not a nation of slackjaws, but did Burger King really expect to impress America with the concept and execution of this ad during the biggest football game of the year? "Wow, look at the costumes, and the attention to detail. This is really evocative of the 'Melody of Broadway' number from Gold Diggers of 1935, and- OH SHIT, RANDLE-EL JUST GOT FUCKING JACKED UP ON THAT KICKOFF RETURN!!! Anyway, as I was saying..."
Second, it's 60 seconds long, which for a Super Bowl commercial is an eternity without any overt irony, humor, people hitting/tackling each other and/or farting monkeys.
Third, their one feeble attempt at humor is to have the ingredients of the Whopper - i.e., the dancing girls - fling themselves on top of each other, each landing with an "oof" on top of their fellow foodstuffs as the burger gets built from the bun up.
The whole thing just smells like the vanilla product of ad agency groupthink. Like the products Apprentice losers tend to come up with, it feels like the result of an uninspired, out-of-touch creative team taking the path of least resistance when it comes to concept, then overcompensating in execution. It's as if one of them got the idea after seeing a Berkeley musical late on TCM one night, and the rest of the team went along with it because they couldn't come up with anything better. Then one guy added in the women hurling themselves on top of each other because, well, you have to have physical comedy - it's a Super Bowl ad, after all!
I appreciate the fact that Burger King was going for something big and well-done. I do. Most of the other commercials were just as disappointing, but they all likely fared better because they didn't try to obliterate our lowered Super Bowl ad expectations (see: monkeys, farting). In Burger King's defense, the production value was top-notch (it better have been at $5 million worth of airtime), and the lyrics and choreography do indeed communicate the brand message Burger King has been seeking to establish for quite some time - namely, that the Whopper and other B.K. products are comprised of quality ingredients, and that you can have them all "your way."
And the commercial actually involved the product in question, which is more than you can say for a lot of the more "clever" ads. Though I haven't stepped into a Burger King in at least three years, I must say they made that Whopper sound pretty damn appealing. And I think if this were a campaign that debuted normally at any other time of year (and the commercials were all 30 seconds), it would be pretty effective. It would certainly make me more likely to buy a Whopper than those creepy "The King" ads.
But you know what? Given the fact that it's the Super Bowl, and given the fact that they had 60 seconds during the first stoppage in play, it feels like Burger King should have done so much better. You can just hear the Donald and his underlings in the boardroom:
The Donald: You did a good job with the product, but I kept waiting for something to happen. You had 60 seconds, and it got boring. I didn't know what was going on. I dunno, maybe I'm wrong; what do you think, George?
George: Where were the farting monkeys? There were no farting monkeys. I've been in business for 60 years, and let me tell you: you need farting monkeys.
- Wow, that was a long thought. Anyhoo, congrats to the Steelers, and a word of advice to their fans: don't become Red Sox fans. Please. We all rooted with you for your guys because they're really likable and they're a great story. Don't make us sick of them.
- Was I the only person who thought that the Steelers would be told they need to face the Patriots in the "Real Super Bowl"?
First of all, consider the audience. I'd like to think that we're not a nation of slackjaws, but did Burger King really expect to impress America with the concept and execution of this ad during the biggest football game of the year? "Wow, look at the costumes, and the attention to detail. This is really evocative of the 'Melody of Broadway' number from Gold Diggers of 1935, and- OH SHIT, RANDLE-EL JUST GOT FUCKING JACKED UP ON THAT KICKOFF RETURN!!! Anyway, as I was saying..."
Second, it's 60 seconds long, which for a Super Bowl commercial is an eternity without any overt irony, humor, people hitting/tackling each other and/or farting monkeys.
Third, their one feeble attempt at humor is to have the ingredients of the Whopper - i.e., the dancing girls - fling themselves on top of each other, each landing with an "oof" on top of their fellow foodstuffs as the burger gets built from the bun up.
The whole thing just smells like the vanilla product of ad agency groupthink. Like the products Apprentice losers tend to come up with, it feels like the result of an uninspired, out-of-touch creative team taking the path of least resistance when it comes to concept, then overcompensating in execution. It's as if one of them got the idea after seeing a Berkeley musical late on TCM one night, and the rest of the team went along with it because they couldn't come up with anything better. Then one guy added in the women hurling themselves on top of each other because, well, you have to have physical comedy - it's a Super Bowl ad, after all!
I appreciate the fact that Burger King was going for something big and well-done. I do. Most of the other commercials were just as disappointing, but they all likely fared better because they didn't try to obliterate our lowered Super Bowl ad expectations (see: monkeys, farting). In Burger King's defense, the production value was top-notch (it better have been at $5 million worth of airtime), and the lyrics and choreography do indeed communicate the brand message Burger King has been seeking to establish for quite some time - namely, that the Whopper and other B.K. products are comprised of quality ingredients, and that you can have them all "your way."
And the commercial actually involved the product in question, which is more than you can say for a lot of the more "clever" ads. Though I haven't stepped into a Burger King in at least three years, I must say they made that Whopper sound pretty damn appealing. And I think if this were a campaign that debuted normally at any other time of year (and the commercials were all 30 seconds), it would be pretty effective. It would certainly make me more likely to buy a Whopper than those creepy "The King" ads.
But you know what? Given the fact that it's the Super Bowl, and given the fact that they had 60 seconds during the first stoppage in play, it feels like Burger King should have done so much better. You can just hear the Donald and his underlings in the boardroom:
The Donald: You did a good job with the product, but I kept waiting for something to happen. You had 60 seconds, and it got boring. I didn't know what was going on. I dunno, maybe I'm wrong; what do you think, George?
George: Where were the farting monkeys? There were no farting monkeys. I've been in business for 60 years, and let me tell you: you need farting monkeys.
- Wow, that was a long thought. Anyhoo, congrats to the Steelers, and a word of advice to their fans: don't become Red Sox fans. Please. We all rooted with you for your guys because they're really likable and they're a great story. Don't make us sick of them.
- Was I the only person who thought that the Steelers would be told they need to face the Patriots in the "Real Super Bowl"?
Friday, February 03, 2006
the power of love
I used to think Huey Lewis' anthem about not needing credit cards and riding trains was on the Back to the Future soundtrack because it totally rocks!.
Now it's even more appropriate.
On edit - I didn't realize you needed to click through an ad to see the video on the original link. I've since changed to link to go directly to YouTube.
Now it's even more appropriate.
On edit - I didn't realize you needed to click through an ad to see the video on the original link. I've since changed to link to go directly to YouTube.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
he stole my idea
I've always felt doing this would be a great conversation starter.
Though to be fair, I've always imagined doing it on the upper lip, or perhaps one word on each cheek. This guy's taken it to a whole new level.
Though to be fair, I've always imagined doing it on the upper lip, or perhaps one word on each cheek. This guy's taken it to a whole new level.
sorkin returns?
Oh, Matthew Perry, too.
The former co-star of the long-running "Friends" is returning to NBC to star in a still untitled series from "West Wing" creator Aaron Sorkin about the behind-the-scenes life at a "Saturday Night Live"-type sketch-comedy show.
I can only hope there's a Horatio Sanz-esque character who walks quickly through hallways and delivers razor-sharp dialogue. And lots of scenes of actors cracking up during sketches, after which Robert Guillaume (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) chides them before imparting life wisdom with a touch of humor. And when does Josh Molina join the cast?
Thanks to Kris for the heads up!
The former co-star of the long-running "Friends" is returning to NBC to star in a still untitled series from "West Wing" creator Aaron Sorkin about the behind-the-scenes life at a "Saturday Night Live"-type sketch-comedy show.
I can only hope there's a Horatio Sanz-esque character who walks quickly through hallways and delivers razor-sharp dialogue. And lots of scenes of actors cracking up during sketches, after which Robert Guillaume (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) chides them before imparting life wisdom with a touch of humor. And when does Josh Molina join the cast?
Thanks to Kris for the heads up!
Sunday, January 29, 2006
sunday, bloggy sunday
- Though their tickets webpage seems to have been designed by Samuel Beckett (no, not the Quantum Leap guy), I finally fought my way through redsox.com and secured two seats to the Mets/Sox game at Fenway Park on June 29th. Single-game tickets went on sale at 10 am yesterday, and I had registered with the site earlier in the week to save as much time as possible while ordering. So 10 am yesterday - I was gonna be there, clicking away!
Of course, I slept until 11:30 and totally forgot about the Red Sox until about 8 pm last night, as Kris and I decided to secure our Valentine's Day Penn/Princeton tickets ("cool, we have tickets... hmmm, 'tickets'... oh shit").
Now, because Fenway Park seats about 1500 people, and because Red Sox games have been made popular in recent years by the Jimmy Fallon megahit Fever Pitch, there is apparently an extremely high demand for tickets - so much so that redsox.com set up a "virtual waiting room," where one stays until he or she is randomly selected to receive the opportunity to buy single game tickets (limit of four per game, maximum of two games). This lessens the demand on the Geocities-esque bandwidth with which redsox.com is blessed.
There's no virtual magazines or virtual sick coughing kids in the virtual waiting room; just lots of disclaimers, instructions, warnings ("IF YOU BUY MORE TICKETS THAN ALLOWED, YOUR ORDER WILL BE CANCELED AND THE RED SOX WILL MAKE SURE YOU CAN NEVER VOTE OR OBTAIN A MORTGAGE"), and a little 30-second countdown timer that automatically refreshes the window; if you've been randomly selected to get to buy tickets, the window closes and you're almost home free. If not, back to 30 seconds.
RYAN
Well, shall we go?
KRIS
Yes, Let's go.
They do not move.
We had pretty much given up hope and stopped paying attention to the virtual waiting room (in favor of Chris Noth's debut episode on Law and Order: Criminal Intent, which I actually enjoyed in spite of my previous thoughts on the subject). I was checking my email midway through a routine Det. Mike Logan suspect assault, and I realized with a start that I had received my random selection into the Kool Kids Club. I was in.
And I still almost blew it. I was immediately given two tickets in obstructed view, and I said "nah, I can do better." Turns out I was wrong; for one thing, the ballpark was built during the Taft administration, and I think that pretty much every seat has its own load-bearing column directly in front of it. For another, the website began to warn me that there were only scattered single seats left. Realizing this, I spent another 15 minutes clicking on "Best Available," hoping that somebody else given two adjacent seats would be a dope like me and release them.
It worked. I escaped my existential nightmare, and Kris and I get to go to Fenway Park, sit together (something which is not to be taken for granted), and watch the Mets play the Olde Towne Team. We'll be sitting in section G22, right behind home plate. I've never been to Fenway Park (immediately outside of it doesn't really count in my mind), and I've always always always wanted to go. And now it's turned into a summer minitrip with the woman I love, to see the team I love. I can't imagine how it could be better (maybe it gets better if it turns out Pedro is pitching that night, but ESPN's Pitching Probables page isn't quite bold enough to project who'll be starting five months from now).
- OK, here's my new dilemma: leave a house devoid of breakfasty food to go secure said breakfasty food, or stay in and see if heating up Thursday night's Border Cafe fajitas is enough to get me through the morning? I love breakfast, but I also love staying in my PJs and generally sitting around on my ass. What to do? Should I stay? Shall I go? If I stay there will be trouble; if I go there will be double! (I'm paraphrasing from what I can only imagine is Waiting for Godot). Really, I could go for a sandwich and a black cherry soda from Koch's, but seeing as how I'm in Delaware, I don't think that's going to happen.
Of course, I slept until 11:30 and totally forgot about the Red Sox until about 8 pm last night, as Kris and I decided to secure our Valentine's Day Penn/Princeton tickets ("cool, we have tickets... hmmm, 'tickets'... oh shit").
Now, because Fenway Park seats about 1500 people, and because Red Sox games have been made popular in recent years by the Jimmy Fallon megahit Fever Pitch, there is apparently an extremely high demand for tickets - so much so that redsox.com set up a "virtual waiting room," where one stays until he or she is randomly selected to receive the opportunity to buy single game tickets (limit of four per game, maximum of two games). This lessens the demand on the Geocities-esque bandwidth with which redsox.com is blessed.
There's no virtual magazines or virtual sick coughing kids in the virtual waiting room; just lots of disclaimers, instructions, warnings ("IF YOU BUY MORE TICKETS THAN ALLOWED, YOUR ORDER WILL BE CANCELED AND THE RED SOX WILL MAKE SURE YOU CAN NEVER VOTE OR OBTAIN A MORTGAGE"), and a little 30-second countdown timer that automatically refreshes the window; if you've been randomly selected to get to buy tickets, the window closes and you're almost home free. If not, back to 30 seconds.
RYAN
Well, shall we go?
KRIS
Yes, Let's go.
They do not move.
We had pretty much given up hope and stopped paying attention to the virtual waiting room (in favor of Chris Noth's debut episode on Law and Order: Criminal Intent, which I actually enjoyed in spite of my previous thoughts on the subject). I was checking my email midway through a routine Det. Mike Logan suspect assault, and I realized with a start that I had received my random selection into the Kool Kids Club. I was in.
And I still almost blew it. I was immediately given two tickets in obstructed view, and I said "nah, I can do better." Turns out I was wrong; for one thing, the ballpark was built during the Taft administration, and I think that pretty much every seat has its own load-bearing column directly in front of it. For another, the website began to warn me that there were only scattered single seats left. Realizing this, I spent another 15 minutes clicking on "Best Available," hoping that somebody else given two adjacent seats would be a dope like me and release them.
It worked. I escaped my existential nightmare, and Kris and I get to go to Fenway Park, sit together (something which is not to be taken for granted), and watch the Mets play the Olde Towne Team. We'll be sitting in section G22, right behind home plate. I've never been to Fenway Park (immediately outside of it doesn't really count in my mind), and I've always always always wanted to go. And now it's turned into a summer minitrip with the woman I love, to see the team I love. I can't imagine how it could be better (maybe it gets better if it turns out Pedro is pitching that night, but ESPN's Pitching Probables page isn't quite bold enough to project who'll be starting five months from now).
- OK, here's my new dilemma: leave a house devoid of breakfasty food to go secure said breakfasty food, or stay in and see if heating up Thursday night's Border Cafe fajitas is enough to get me through the morning? I love breakfast, but I also love staying in my PJs and generally sitting around on my ass. What to do? Should I stay? Shall I go? If I stay there will be trouble; if I go there will be double! (I'm paraphrasing from what I can only imagine is Waiting for Godot). Really, I could go for a sandwich and a black cherry soda from Koch's, but seeing as how I'm in Delaware, I don't think that's going to happen.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
i like mike
Mike Lupica: Big Ben-wagon not for Giants
You know what we ultimately have in sports? The game that just got played. We're all experts on the last big thing we saw. For now, that's Ben Roethlisberger. For now. Just because he's the hottest guy going doesn't make this a cold case.
This morning, Mike Lupica again showed the world why he's among the best in his profession. Most sports columnists today fall over each other to write instant history; they feel the need to criticize for criticism's sake, as if taking a step back from hyperbole and cynicism will destroy their cred in the press box and revoke their membership in the local chapter of the Kool Kids club.
Now, it's obvious that Ben Roethlisberger is further along in his career than Eli Manning. Nolo contendere. I don't want to take anything away from Big Ben, and I don't want to give Eli props he doesn't deserve. But while Gary Myers and Shaun Powell wrote predictable "what if" columns, Lupica said something else:
Wait.
You could imagine his brand of common sense coming from the typewriter of Red Smith; Powell and Myers come off looking more like the Artie Green character from 61*. Powell in particular wrote:
Would the Giants be headed to Detroit for Super Bowl XL right now if they had drafted Big Ben over Manning?
My second-guessing gut says: most definitely.
Shaun, if you're reading this, I'll give you $20 to say that to my face. If you can honestly tell me that a Big Blue Ben would have healed the Giants' linebackers with his magic, Jesus-like hands, I'll give you $20. If you can honestly tell me that he would have lined up next to Michael Strahan and kept the Giants' defensive line from getting blown off the ball by the Panthers, $20. Ditto if you can keep a straight face while saying that Ben would have been able to sneak Troy Polamalu into Giants Stadium in a duffel bag (or something) and stuck him in a blue uniform that day.
While we're at it, maybe Ben would have been able to get Mike Vanderjagt gigs with the Cowboys, Seahawks and Vikings on the days which saw the Giants lose to them all by late field goals. Then New York would have had home-field advantage throughout the NFC playoffs, and the Giants would really be going to the Super Bowl.
My point is this: the Steelers - who came dangerously close to a 2002 Giants-esque meltdown in Indy - are a much, much better overall team than Big Blue. Big Ben deserves accolades, but it's not a quarterback alone that gets a team to a Super Bowl, just as it's usually not a quarterback alone that keeps a team from getting to one. Pittsburgh has a championship-caliber defense and a backfield that elevates the running game to an art form. Against the Panthers, the Giants had an injury-riddled, papier-mache defense. That's your main difference right there.
But as Lupica wrote, we're all experts in the last big thing we've seen.
And how do the Chargers get a pass in this eruption of second-guessing? They were arguably the most talented team in the AFC, they missed the playoffs, their "Class of 2004" quarterback has played parts of four games in two years, and they Chad Penningtoned their Pro Bowl quarterback in a meaningless season finale. But the meme is still that they're the Lyle Lanley to the Giants' brain-dead Springfielders.
Giants GM Ernie Accorsi, one of the all-time good guys in pro football, said it best.
"Unbelievable."
No matter.
Wait.
You know what we ultimately have in sports? The game that just got played. We're all experts on the last big thing we saw. For now, that's Ben Roethlisberger. For now. Just because he's the hottest guy going doesn't make this a cold case.
This morning, Mike Lupica again showed the world why he's among the best in his profession. Most sports columnists today fall over each other to write instant history; they feel the need to criticize for criticism's sake, as if taking a step back from hyperbole and cynicism will destroy their cred in the press box and revoke their membership in the local chapter of the Kool Kids club.
Now, it's obvious that Ben Roethlisberger is further along in his career than Eli Manning. Nolo contendere. I don't want to take anything away from Big Ben, and I don't want to give Eli props he doesn't deserve. But while Gary Myers and Shaun Powell wrote predictable "what if" columns, Lupica said something else:
Wait.
You could imagine his brand of common sense coming from the typewriter of Red Smith; Powell and Myers come off looking more like the Artie Green character from 61*. Powell in particular wrote:
Would the Giants be headed to Detroit for Super Bowl XL right now if they had drafted Big Ben over Manning?
My second-guessing gut says: most definitely.
Shaun, if you're reading this, I'll give you $20 to say that to my face. If you can honestly tell me that a Big Blue Ben would have healed the Giants' linebackers with his magic, Jesus-like hands, I'll give you $20. If you can honestly tell me that he would have lined up next to Michael Strahan and kept the Giants' defensive line from getting blown off the ball by the Panthers, $20. Ditto if you can keep a straight face while saying that Ben would have been able to sneak Troy Polamalu into Giants Stadium in a duffel bag (or something) and stuck him in a blue uniform that day.
While we're at it, maybe Ben would have been able to get Mike Vanderjagt gigs with the Cowboys, Seahawks and Vikings on the days which saw the Giants lose to them all by late field goals. Then New York would have had home-field advantage throughout the NFC playoffs, and the Giants would really be going to the Super Bowl.
My point is this: the Steelers - who came dangerously close to a 2002 Giants-esque meltdown in Indy - are a much, much better overall team than Big Blue. Big Ben deserves accolades, but it's not a quarterback alone that gets a team to a Super Bowl, just as it's usually not a quarterback alone that keeps a team from getting to one. Pittsburgh has a championship-caliber defense and a backfield that elevates the running game to an art form. Against the Panthers, the Giants had an injury-riddled, papier-mache defense. That's your main difference right there.
But as Lupica wrote, we're all experts in the last big thing we've seen.
And how do the Chargers get a pass in this eruption of second-guessing? They were arguably the most talented team in the AFC, they missed the playoffs, their "Class of 2004" quarterback has played parts of four games in two years, and they Chad Penningtoned their Pro Bowl quarterback in a meaningless season finale. But the meme is still that they're the Lyle Lanley to the Giants' brain-dead Springfielders.
Giants GM Ernie Accorsi, one of the all-time good guys in pro football, said it best.
"Unbelievable."
No matter.
Wait.
teevee thoughts
- I have decided that My Name is Earl sucks. Therefore, Earl Hickey has been banished from my Tivo for good.
You ever have a show that you'd like to like, and you get a Season Pass to it on Tivo, but it just keeps building up on there because you really don't want to watch two, then three, then four, then five episodes of it? That's My Name is Earl. It constantly set up potentially funny situations and resolved them without a funny payoff; plus, I got a little tired after the millionth "rednecks don't understand something the audience understands, like golf or gay people" joke.
- The Office is starting to run like a well-oiled machine... that needs oil... to run well.
Yeah.
Anyhoo, each and every episode recently has been strong, and there's this sense of momentum being created. Not many television shows have a season in which there are absolutely no weak spots; in which one gets the sense that the series is becoming something special (or, at least as special as a T.V. comedy can be). The Office is on that kind of run right now.
And no, I don't give a shit how much better the original was. So don't bother telling me.
- I just got the first two seasons of Arrested Development on DVD, thanks to some Amazon.com Christmas gift certificate action from my Uncle Jimmy. They'll be nice things to have once the show has been officially ground into dust and forever forgotten.
- A moment of silence for The West Wing. Its first few seasons were among the best ever to be produced, for any show. Hopefully that's the way it will be remembered...
You ever have a show that you'd like to like, and you get a Season Pass to it on Tivo, but it just keeps building up on there because you really don't want to watch two, then three, then four, then five episodes of it? That's My Name is Earl. It constantly set up potentially funny situations and resolved them without a funny payoff; plus, I got a little tired after the millionth "rednecks don't understand something the audience understands, like golf or gay people" joke.
- The Office is starting to run like a well-oiled machine... that needs oil... to run well.
Yeah.
Anyhoo, each and every episode recently has been strong, and there's this sense of momentum being created. Not many television shows have a season in which there are absolutely no weak spots; in which one gets the sense that the series is becoming something special (or, at least as special as a T.V. comedy can be). The Office is on that kind of run right now.
And no, I don't give a shit how much better the original was. So don't bother telling me.
- I just got the first two seasons of Arrested Development on DVD, thanks to some Amazon.com Christmas gift certificate action from my Uncle Jimmy. They'll be nice things to have once the show has been officially ground into dust and forever forgotten.
- A moment of silence for The West Wing. Its first few seasons were among the best ever to be produced, for any show. Hopefully that's the way it will be remembered...
Thursday, January 19, 2006
the onion can still bring it
"Your Offer Of Gum Seems Rather Disingenuous"
As I read this column, the words were spoken in my head by the voice of Brad Moore. Take that for what you will.
In any case, it totally makes up for the uber-disappointing "Maverick Hunter's 'Human Beings As Prey' Plan Not As Challenging As Expected". Maybe I love the concept of hunting people for sport a little too much; maybe no satirical news article could possibly live up to my hopes and dreams. I still think the concept represents a vast, untapped vein of humor, just waiting to spill forth.
The best line: "They asked about grand prizes and something they called an 'immunity challenge,'" von Urwitz said. "I had my men slit their throats."
As I read this column, the words were spoken in my head by the voice of Brad Moore. Take that for what you will.
In any case, it totally makes up for the uber-disappointing "Maverick Hunter's 'Human Beings As Prey' Plan Not As Challenging As Expected". Maybe I love the concept of hunting people for sport a little too much; maybe no satirical news article could possibly live up to my hopes and dreams. I still think the concept represents a vast, untapped vein of humor, just waiting to spill forth.
The best line: "They asked about grand prizes and something they called an 'immunity challenge,'" von Urwitz said. "I had my men slit their throats."
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
cheesesteaks!
dailypennsylvanian.com: Quakers "Cheesesteak" Leopards
Thanks to Mensch for the heads-up. I wasn't there, but as a crotchety old man, I can't imagine it could possibly compare to the magical night Palestra folk hero Dan Solomito won everybody cheesesteaks in the best Penn basketball season ever (assuming all of recorded history starts in the fall of 1998 and stops in the spring of 2002).
I bet the young kids tonight even went straight to Abner's to collect their free cheesesteaks. In our day, we celebrated free cheesesteaks by throwing random dudes through plate-glass windows, telling them "when you get to hell, tell 'em Section 109 sent you." Upon arrival, we'd immediately grab raw beef off the grill with our bare hands and stuff it in our mouths, so as not to have to wait as long as the suckers (i.e., the people in line for "cooked" cheesesteaks).
First it's a gunshot Penn student failing to quip about intact genitalia, and now this. Such pale imitations these college kids are nowadays.
In other news, in case it gets lost in the mad rush to Abner's, it's worth mentioning that the Quakers are kicking the shit out of people right now.
Thanks to Mensch for the heads-up. I wasn't there, but as a crotchety old man, I can't imagine it could possibly compare to the magical night Palestra folk hero Dan Solomito won everybody cheesesteaks in the best Penn basketball season ever (assuming all of recorded history starts in the fall of 1998 and stops in the spring of 2002).
I bet the young kids tonight even went straight to Abner's to collect their free cheesesteaks. In our day, we celebrated free cheesesteaks by throwing random dudes through plate-glass windows, telling them "when you get to hell, tell 'em Section 109 sent you." Upon arrival, we'd immediately grab raw beef off the grill with our bare hands and stuff it in our mouths, so as not to have to wait as long as the suckers (i.e., the people in line for "cooked" cheesesteaks).
First it's a gunshot Penn student failing to quip about intact genitalia, and now this. Such pale imitations these college kids are nowadays.
In other news, in case it gets lost in the mad rush to Abner's, it's worth mentioning that the Quakers are kicking the shit out of people right now.
Monday, January 16, 2006
old school
dailypennsylvanian.com: Penn student shot at 38th, Sansom
It's like somebody put Penn into the wayback machine, and it's 1997 again. The only thing missing is a classic line like "I'm just glad it didn't hit my penis."
It's like somebody put Penn into the wayback machine, and it's 1997 again. The only thing missing is a classic line like "I'm just glad it didn't hit my penis."
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
new feature goodness
As I've been waiting for my AVID to finish digitizing the mountains of media I need to knock this week's project out, I've slightly upgraded the functionality and look of the site.
Most prominently, I've added links to both RSS and Atom feeds of haplography; you can find the appropriate links in the sidebar (many thanks to Terry, from whom I stole the best-looking Atom feed button I could find on the web).
In addition to reducing the width of the sidebar, I've also added a space there which will allow readers easy access to recent posts. Finally, I added trackback-esque functionality for all posts.
So get linking, and get subscribing! And while you're doing that (or, more likely, sleeping and/or enjoying time away from work), I'll be here - toiling away for all you sinners. Or, more accurately, I'll be here, popping tapes into my AVID and wondering how the heck I'm going to structure this piece that has to be cut by tomorrow night.
Most prominently, I've added links to both RSS and Atom feeds of haplography; you can find the appropriate links in the sidebar (many thanks to Terry, from whom I stole the best-looking Atom feed button I could find on the web).
In addition to reducing the width of the sidebar, I've also added a space there which will allow readers easy access to recent posts. Finally, I added trackback-esque functionality for all posts.
So get linking, and get subscribing! And while you're doing that (or, more likely, sleeping and/or enjoying time away from work), I'll be here - toiling away for all you sinners. Or, more accurately, I'll be here, popping tapes into my AVID and wondering how the heck I'm going to structure this piece that has to be cut by tomorrow night.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
fun with keywords
Here are some recent search terms people have used to reach haplography:
Scott Kazmir cocaine
"Jesse Spector"
haplo groups
Who played Jay Peterman on Seinfeld
vincent d'onofrio
female body inspector
"there's motherfucking snakes on the motherfucking plane"
Scott Kazmir cocaine
"Jesse Spector"
haplo groups
Who played Jay Peterman on Seinfeld
vincent d'onofrio
female body inspector
"there's motherfucking snakes on the motherfucking plane"
best $95 I ever spent
Not!
Yes, I was at the Giants game yesterday. Yes, they lost. Badly. Yes, I was there with Kris, Spector and Lady Spector... and sort of there with Man-Chris and Friend of Man-Chris, who were seated at the other side of Giants Stadium.
No, I don't have any pictures from the game, despite the fact that Kris brought her digital camera. There were no pictures taken, and even if there were, I wouldn't post them. I would transfer them to a hard drive, then take a cartoonishly large magnet and Degauss the hell out of it. Like Leon Trotsky, the Giants' loss would thus be erased from the history books, then assassinated in Mexico decades later (which is kind of where the Stalin-era Soviet Russia analogy breaks down... and in Soviet Russia, analogy breaks you!).
I really, really don't want to think about the loss anymore, but as bad as he played, I think it's ridiculous to say that Eli Manning is the main reason the Giants lost. And I think Steve Politi of the Star-Ledger and Keith "Ladies Man" Idec of the Bergen Record both know that and don't care, or have myopic understandings of the game. Either way, it's pretty inexcusable to downplay the culpability of the Giants' porous defense and the team's outschemed coaching staff in order to get in one's licks on a high-profile, second-year quarterback in a near-impossible situation. Put it this way - if the Giants had Jake Delhomme at quarterback for the entire game and the Panthers had Eli, would New York have won?
Fuck no.
No matter. The Giants stunk just fine without Delhomme under center, and the Panthers played so well they probably would have won even if Big Blue played to its maximum potential. All we can hope is that this latest playoff disaster doesn't set the franchise back two years or so (like the last one did). I guess we'll see in eight months.
In the meantime, I'm sure the resurgent Rangers and the potentially special Mets will come to the precipice of greatness before shitting the bed in the most painful fashion imaginable. I figure it's only a few more decades before the New York sports karma for my particular teams reverses itself; all I have to do is hang on, and hope the sun doesn't explode just before one of my teams finally seals a championship (though thanks to the limitations of the speed of light, it will be 8.3 minutes before we know what has happened - and perhaps the championship can be sealed as we all wait for the shockwave to rip the flesh from our bones!).
Yes, I was at the Giants game yesterday. Yes, they lost. Badly. Yes, I was there with Kris, Spector and Lady Spector... and sort of there with Man-Chris and Friend of Man-Chris, who were seated at the other side of Giants Stadium.
No, I don't have any pictures from the game, despite the fact that Kris brought her digital camera. There were no pictures taken, and even if there were, I wouldn't post them. I would transfer them to a hard drive, then take a cartoonishly large magnet and Degauss the hell out of it. Like Leon Trotsky, the Giants' loss would thus be erased from the history books, then assassinated in Mexico decades later (which is kind of where the Stalin-era Soviet Russia analogy breaks down... and in Soviet Russia, analogy breaks you!).
I really, really don't want to think about the loss anymore, but as bad as he played, I think it's ridiculous to say that Eli Manning is the main reason the Giants lost. And I think Steve Politi of the Star-Ledger and Keith "Ladies Man" Idec of the Bergen Record both know that and don't care, or have myopic understandings of the game. Either way, it's pretty inexcusable to downplay the culpability of the Giants' porous defense and the team's outschemed coaching staff in order to get in one's licks on a high-profile, second-year quarterback in a near-impossible situation. Put it this way - if the Giants had Jake Delhomme at quarterback for the entire game and the Panthers had Eli, would New York have won?
Fuck no.
No matter. The Giants stunk just fine without Delhomme under center, and the Panthers played so well they probably would have won even if Big Blue played to its maximum potential. All we can hope is that this latest playoff disaster doesn't set the franchise back two years or so (like the last one did). I guess we'll see in eight months.
In the meantime, I'm sure the resurgent Rangers and the potentially special Mets will come to the precipice of greatness before shitting the bed in the most painful fashion imaginable. I figure it's only a few more decades before the New York sports karma for my particular teams reverses itself; all I have to do is hang on, and hope the sun doesn't explode just before one of my teams finally seals a championship (though thanks to the limitations of the speed of light, it will be 8.3 minutes before we know what has happened - and perhaps the championship can be sealed as we all wait for the shockwave to rip the flesh from our bones!).
Saturday, January 07, 2006
more from "duh" magazine
Bob Klapisch says Pedro's supposed toe injury is a way for him to bow out of the World Baseball Classic with honor.
Friday, January 06, 2006
your new drug
Have fun, bitches.
My fastest time at home was 30 seconds and change; I plateaued at around 21.5 seconds at work, where I think it runs a little bit faster on a better computer.
My fastest time at home was 30 seconds and change; I plateaued at around 21.5 seconds at work, where I think it runs a little bit faster on a better computer.
scene from a dry-cleanery
Me: Uh, the suit has some stains on it.
Dry Cleaning Lady: What are the stains?
Me: ... That would be vomit.
Dry Cleaning Lady: [Business-like silence]
end scene
Dry Cleaning Lady: What are the stains?
Me: ... That would be vomit.
Dry Cleaning Lady: [Business-like silence]
end scene
culture wars! tonight, 9/8c, only on nbc
As Terry points out, the religious right is apparently making The Book of Daniel into the newest cultural battleground.
For those of you who don't watch promos during the credits for My Name is Earl, The Book of Daniel is a new dramedy (yes, I just typed the word "dramedy") about an Episcopal priest (Aidan Quinn) who rides around town with Jesus in his passenger seat (no word yet as to whether Quinn wears a "Jesus is my Co-Pilot" trucker hat; personally I'm hoping for a "Damn Seagulls" or "FBI: Female Body Inspector" hat). He's got a messed-up family and a wacky cast of supporting characters, making it look an awful lot like it's network TV's long-overdue attempt at ripping off Six Feet Under (the main difference being there's only one dead guy on the whole show, and it's Jesus).
The Book of Daniel premieres tonight on NBC, which tells you all you need to know w/r/t how they feel about its prospects. Friday nights on NBC have been Godless even since they buried the original Star Trek in 1969; sensing this, the religious right has revved up its well-oiled outrage machine to a steady purr. Conservative Christian groups have already pressured two NBC affiliates to pull the show.
First of all, I disagree with Terry; the religious right is not stupid. He's correct in saying that their outrage has generated more buzz around the show than the mighty My Name is Earl ever could. My suspicion is that when these groups tilt at windmills like this, it spreads righteous indignation like a disease - and the only cure for the infected is to break out the checkbooks.
Second, I've noticed that a popular tactic in parrying the thrusts of the right is to be passive-aggressive and say something like "protest it because it sucks, not because of the whole 'Jesus' thing." The left does this a lot in all arenas of debate, and it bugs me for some reason. We haven't even seen the show yet, and even though it looks unfunny and uninspired, it might be good. True, the writers really seem to have been lazy in assigning each character his or her flaw ("hmmmm... How about, the priest is addicted to pain killers!" "Ooh, I like that... and his daughter, she doesn't just use drugs, she sells them too!" "Brilliant!"). But I think the concept of having Jesus as a recurring character on a show is pretty cool, and if executed well could be both entertaining and thought-provoking. Who knows - a recurring Jesus character on a TV show might even get some people interested in religion. Whether The Book of Daniel drops the ball on this or not, the left, in meekly trying to outflank shrill conservatives, risks one day giving up on something that's actually worth defending.
Lastly, it's not my place to decide what other people should or shouldn't get offended by. But really, comparing The Book of Daniel being on TV (before it's actually on TV) with the plight of blacks under Jim Crow is too ridiculous for words (I'm looking at you, Rob Kirkham), even if one accepts the debatable premise that Christians are somehow discriminated against in this country.
For those of you who don't watch promos during the credits for My Name is Earl, The Book of Daniel is a new dramedy (yes, I just typed the word "dramedy") about an Episcopal priest (Aidan Quinn) who rides around town with Jesus in his passenger seat (no word yet as to whether Quinn wears a "Jesus is my Co-Pilot" trucker hat; personally I'm hoping for a "Damn Seagulls" or "FBI: Female Body Inspector" hat). He's got a messed-up family and a wacky cast of supporting characters, making it look an awful lot like it's network TV's long-overdue attempt at ripping off Six Feet Under (the main difference being there's only one dead guy on the whole show, and it's Jesus).
The Book of Daniel premieres tonight on NBC, which tells you all you need to know w/r/t how they feel about its prospects. Friday nights on NBC have been Godless even since they buried the original Star Trek in 1969; sensing this, the religious right has revved up its well-oiled outrage machine to a steady purr. Conservative Christian groups have already pressured two NBC affiliates to pull the show.
First of all, I disagree with Terry; the religious right is not stupid. He's correct in saying that their outrage has generated more buzz around the show than the mighty My Name is Earl ever could. My suspicion is that when these groups tilt at windmills like this, it spreads righteous indignation like a disease - and the only cure for the infected is to break out the checkbooks.
Second, I've noticed that a popular tactic in parrying the thrusts of the right is to be passive-aggressive and say something like "protest it because it sucks, not because of the whole 'Jesus' thing." The left does this a lot in all arenas of debate, and it bugs me for some reason. We haven't even seen the show yet, and even though it looks unfunny and uninspired, it might be good. True, the writers really seem to have been lazy in assigning each character his or her flaw ("hmmmm... How about, the priest is addicted to pain killers!" "Ooh, I like that... and his daughter, she doesn't just use drugs, she sells them too!" "Brilliant!"). But I think the concept of having Jesus as a recurring character on a show is pretty cool, and if executed well could be both entertaining and thought-provoking. Who knows - a recurring Jesus character on a TV show might even get some people interested in religion. Whether The Book of Daniel drops the ball on this or not, the left, in meekly trying to outflank shrill conservatives, risks one day giving up on something that's actually worth defending.
Lastly, it's not my place to decide what other people should or shouldn't get offended by. But really, comparing The Book of Daniel being on TV (before it's actually on TV) with the plight of blacks under Jim Crow is too ridiculous for words (I'm looking at you, Rob Kirkham), even if one accepts the debatable premise that Christians are somehow discriminated against in this country.
friday thoughts returns
Wow... it's been a while since I've done some real blogging (my exhaustive review of Narnia notwithstanding). I've just been trying to survive, man. It's been a rough month, but the three of you who read this blog probably know what's going on in my life anyway, so there's no need to rehash it all (no matter how witty and entertaining that rehashing would be). So let's get on with some Friday thoughts!
- I blame Kris for getting me hooked on Law and Order: Criminal Intent. True, its stories are absurd to the point that it makes recent seasons of the original Law and Order look like brutal realism. And many episodes end with all the main characters gathered together for a big "Clue"-style accusathon.
There's one main reason it's good TV, and his name is Vincent D'Onofrio. His portrayal of an eccentric, brilliant homicide detective is so exaggerated that even my grandmother imitates his trademark lean-and-head tilt at the very mention of the show's title. He's a lot of fun to watch, and in a world made bleak with the absence of Lennie Briscoe's wisecracks and Adam Schiff's fedora-and-lightswitch one-two combo, that lean-tilt is a ray of light.
- It's official - I've sold a kidney, and I can now go to the first Giants home playoff game in five years! Now, seeing as how there's a good chance the team will choose seats at random during the game and have the lucky winners come down and play linebacker, I have a bad gut feeling about the outcome (what else is new?). But Kris is coming, as is Man-Chris, and we're going to meet Spector and Lady Spector there, so it should be fun. It feels like the football equivalent of seeing your team make it to the NCAA tourney, only it's much rarer (at least, if your team is Penn); and relatively speaking, the Giants actually have a chance to win (again, if your team is Penn).
My only gripe is that it looks to be a mild 43 degrees Fahrenheit on Sunday; this is my first NFL playoff game, and I want epic cold, dammit.
- For a multitude of reasons, is there any surprise in seeing Jerry Rice thrive on Dancing with the Stars? The main one being that Rice made his fortune in the West Coast offense, which is predicated on timing, rhythm, footwork and precision.
I'm just surprised at how relatively little being the greatest wide receiver in NFL history means in the world of celebrity. He's one of history's top athletes, and apparently in the hierarchy of reality TV that puts you on par with George Hamilton and the guy who played Jay Peterman on Seinfeld (though to be fair, I guess anybody who chooses to go on reality TV is by default on par with George Hamilton and Jay Peterman).
- I blame Kris for getting me hooked on Law and Order: Criminal Intent. True, its stories are absurd to the point that it makes recent seasons of the original Law and Order look like brutal realism. And many episodes end with all the main characters gathered together for a big "Clue"-style accusathon.
There's one main reason it's good TV, and his name is Vincent D'Onofrio. His portrayal of an eccentric, brilliant homicide detective is so exaggerated that even my grandmother imitates his trademark lean-and-head tilt at the very mention of the show's title. He's a lot of fun to watch, and in a world made bleak with the absence of Lennie Briscoe's wisecracks and Adam Schiff's fedora-and-lightswitch one-two combo, that lean-tilt is a ray of light.
- It's official - I've sold a kidney, and I can now go to the first Giants home playoff game in five years! Now, seeing as how there's a good chance the team will choose seats at random during the game and have the lucky winners come down and play linebacker, I have a bad gut feeling about the outcome (what else is new?). But Kris is coming, as is Man-Chris, and we're going to meet Spector and Lady Spector there, so it should be fun. It feels like the football equivalent of seeing your team make it to the NCAA tourney, only it's much rarer (at least, if your team is Penn); and relatively speaking, the Giants actually have a chance to win (again, if your team is Penn).
My only gripe is that it looks to be a mild 43 degrees Fahrenheit on Sunday; this is my first NFL playoff game, and I want epic cold, dammit.
- For a multitude of reasons, is there any surprise in seeing Jerry Rice thrive on Dancing with the Stars? The main one being that Rice made his fortune in the West Coast offense, which is predicated on timing, rhythm, footwork and precision.
I'm just surprised at how relatively little being the greatest wide receiver in NFL history means in the world of celebrity. He's one of history's top athletes, and apparently in the hierarchy of reality TV that puts you on par with George Hamilton and the guy who played Jay Peterman on Seinfeld (though to be fair, I guess anybody who chooses to go on reality TV is by default on par with George Hamilton and Jay Peterman).
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Friday, December 23, 2005
christmas presents!
Last night Kris and I exchanged gifts, as she's going to Ohio and I'm working today (theoretically, I'm working right now, but my head's not in the game yet) and tomorrow. I made out like a bandit...
I got the 2005 version of New York Mets Monopoly. Kris and I played one game that lasted until midnight. She bought Boardwalk-equivalent Tom Seaver on her first turn, and several tense go-rounds occurred before I landed on (and purchased) Park Place-equivalent Mike Piazza, thereby blocking what would have been a crippling monopoly for me.
I eventually prevailed through my ownership of Home Plate and First and Second Base (which correspond to the railroads in the original), and my monopoly of Carlos Beltran, Kaz Matsui and Doug Mientkiewicz (Pennsylvania, North Carolina and Pacific Avenues in the original, respectively); meaning that last night's Monopoly victory has been the biggest contribution to date those three have made to anything associated with the Mets and winning.
I must mention that Kris had some particularly bad luck with the "Home" and "Road" cards (Community Chest and Chance cards from the original), which severely handicapped her (despite her ownership of both utilities - WFAN and the Daily News; by the way, Spector - you're working for Kris now).
It's also worth mentioning that my official bad taste joke of the game was suggesting that Darryl Strawberry and/or Doc Gooden should have replaced the original angry-looking guy in jail.
It's also also worth mentioning that the first two properties after Go (which used to be Mediterranean Avenue and Baltic Avenue) were the Home Run Apple and Shea Stadium, and both were worth $60. Apparently, the Home Run Apple, while a part of Shea Stadium, is worth as much as Shea Stadium, yet buying Shea Stadium does not give one ownership of the Home Run Apple. Interesting.
The final thing worth mentioning is that Kris' game piece was a hot dog. And that's just inherently cool.
My other sweet gifts were cute Love Tokens, which I can cash in for kisses, hugs, massages and rolls in the hay; the truly creepy Zombie Survival Guide, which might be scarier than any such movie thanks to its matter-of-fact writing style and lurid descriptions of zombie attacks; season one of The 4400 on DVD, which is a show Kris and I both enjoy; and season one of the new Battlestar Galactica on DVD. Kris will watch it (or is "tolerate" the right word?), but she knows I absolutely adore it. While holiday shopping last weekend with Kris, I cooed over the DVD set in a store, and her ensuing half-smiles and cryptic comments now make perfect sense.
So Kris did really, really, really well, and I hope I did as well in my gifts to her. I'm going to miss her this weekend...
I got the 2005 version of New York Mets Monopoly. Kris and I played one game that lasted until midnight. She bought Boardwalk-equivalent Tom Seaver on her first turn, and several tense go-rounds occurred before I landed on (and purchased) Park Place-equivalent Mike Piazza, thereby blocking what would have been a crippling monopoly for me.
I eventually prevailed through my ownership of Home Plate and First and Second Base (which correspond to the railroads in the original), and my monopoly of Carlos Beltran, Kaz Matsui and Doug Mientkiewicz (Pennsylvania, North Carolina and Pacific Avenues in the original, respectively); meaning that last night's Monopoly victory has been the biggest contribution to date those three have made to anything associated with the Mets and winning.
I must mention that Kris had some particularly bad luck with the "Home" and "Road" cards (Community Chest and Chance cards from the original), which severely handicapped her (despite her ownership of both utilities - WFAN and the Daily News; by the way, Spector - you're working for Kris now).
It's also worth mentioning that my official bad taste joke of the game was suggesting that Darryl Strawberry and/or Doc Gooden should have replaced the original angry-looking guy in jail.It's also also worth mentioning that the first two properties after Go (which used to be Mediterranean Avenue and Baltic Avenue) were the Home Run Apple and Shea Stadium, and both were worth $60. Apparently, the Home Run Apple, while a part of Shea Stadium, is worth as much as Shea Stadium, yet buying Shea Stadium does not give one ownership of the Home Run Apple. Interesting.
The final thing worth mentioning is that Kris' game piece was a hot dog. And that's just inherently cool.
My other sweet gifts were cute Love Tokens, which I can cash in for kisses, hugs, massages and rolls in the hay; the truly creepy Zombie Survival Guide, which might be scarier than any such movie thanks to its matter-of-fact writing style and lurid descriptions of zombie attacks; season one of The 4400 on DVD, which is a show Kris and I both enjoy; and season one of the new Battlestar Galactica on DVD. Kris will watch it (or is "tolerate" the right word?), but she knows I absolutely adore it. While holiday shopping last weekend with Kris, I cooed over the DVD set in a store, and her ensuing half-smiles and cryptic comments now make perfect sense.
So Kris did really, really, really well, and I hope I did as well in my gifts to her. I'm going to miss her this weekend...
the newest yankee
Now just slap a funny, fake nose on him, stick him in a time machine back to 1994, and if he keeps the shirt he's ready to be an Bajoran on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (as demonstrated by my meticulous MS Paint artist's rendition):
I dunno, maybe it's the combination of the shirt and the hair, but now he just looks like one of those effete, new-agey-looking (read: wussy) actors they always got to play aliens on Star Trek back in the early 90s. Maybe it's just me.
If anything, I've now given you all the best Christmas present anyone could offer: permanent visual knowledge of what Odo would look like with boobs.
Look at it... there you go... let it burn into your retinas.
Good.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Monday, December 19, 2005
Saturday, December 17, 2005
random saturday thoughts
- I will watch today's Giants game like a normal human being. That means with friends, with wings, and with beer. For once.
My gut feeling isn't good for the Giants today; for one thing, Antonio Pierce would have been one of the main guys counted upon to stop the frightening Larry Johnson (not the good Knicks kind, either). But like the new LJ's old coach told Ernie Accorsi back in his State days, teams with character win games because of injuries, not in spite of them. And quite frankly, being the elite team the Giants aspire to be shouldn't be easy (and rarely is). Plus, it's not like the Chiefs are the '64 Browns here...
- Message in a Bottle is on TBS right now, and Paul Newman completely blows everybody else in the movie out of the water. It's a little confusing as to what he's doing in this. Which shouldn't really be too surprising when you look at the cast, but it's worth mentioning. His Emmy-worthy turn in the much better movie Empire Falls will always be one of my favorites.
- I like Kris' laugh. Though I don't have a link to it to share it with y'all.
My gut feeling isn't good for the Giants today; for one thing, Antonio Pierce would have been one of the main guys counted upon to stop the frightening Larry Johnson (not the good Knicks kind, either). But like the new LJ's old coach told Ernie Accorsi back in his State days, teams with character win games because of injuries, not in spite of them. And quite frankly, being the elite team the Giants aspire to be shouldn't be easy (and rarely is). Plus, it's not like the Chiefs are the '64 Browns here...
- Message in a Bottle is on TBS right now, and Paul Newman completely blows everybody else in the movie out of the water. It's a little confusing as to what he's doing in this. Which shouldn't really be too surprising when you look at the cast, but it's worth mentioning. His Emmy-worthy turn in the much better movie Empire Falls will always be one of my favorites.
- I like Kris' laugh. Though I don't have a link to it to share it with y'all.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
wayne fucking gretzky
This picture is from the front page of ESPN.com (as of 1 pm on Wednesday afternoon):
Wayne Gretzky must be a good coach. If I were a hockey player on his team, I would do anything - including stick my face in front of a puck traveling at speeds upwards of 100 mph - to keep my childhood hero from making that face at me.
If I were a professional hockey player on the Great One's team, and I couldn't cut the mustard, I think it would go a little something like... this:
me
"I sure am sorry I couldn't clear the puck out of the zone, Mr. Gretzky. Can I have your autograph?"
coach wayne
"FUCK YOU"
Wayne Gretzky must be a good coach. If I were a hockey player on his team, I would do anything - including stick my face in front of a puck traveling at speeds upwards of 100 mph - to keep my childhood hero from making that face at me.
If I were a professional hockey player on the Great One's team, and I couldn't cut the mustard, I think it would go a little something like... this:
me
"I sure am sorry I couldn't clear the puck out of the zone, Mr. Gretzky. Can I have your autograph?"
coach wayne
"FUCK YOU"
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
hey, it could happen
The NFL has just released updated playoff scenarios in the wake of last night's 36-17 Falcons win over the Saints.
Apparently, the Giants are on the cusp of clinching a playoff spot this weekend. All they need is 1) a win over the Chiefs, 2) a Carolina loss to the Saints, 3) an Atlanta loss to the Bears and 4) a tie between the Cowboys and Redskins.
Also helpful would be an unexpected total eclipse of the sun during Saturday's game, a butterfly flapping its wings in Japan just about... now, a Poltergeist-like implosion of FedEx Field during the Dallas/Washington game (somehow involving Craig T. Nelson), and for monkeys to fly out of Wayne's butt.
Apparently, the Giants are on the cusp of clinching a playoff spot this weekend. All they need is 1) a win over the Chiefs, 2) a Carolina loss to the Saints, 3) an Atlanta loss to the Bears and 4) a tie between the Cowboys and Redskins.
Also helpful would be an unexpected total eclipse of the sun during Saturday's game, a butterfly flapping its wings in Japan just about... now, a Poltergeist-like implosion of FedEx Field during the Dallas/Washington game (somehow involving Craig T. Nelson), and for monkeys to fly out of Wayne's butt.
shameless plug
For days, I've been thinking of a way to write about the newly-launched Jim Davis for Governor (of the state of Florida) website without too much emphasis on the fact that it's run by my big brother from our fraternity at Penn, Matt Thornton (Matt's the name of my big brother, not of the fraternity).
Terry Ryan, Matt's big brother, was knowledgeable enough to write about how the site makes use of ColdFusion technology (but apparently NOT the kind pioneered by Elisabeth Shue in The Saint), so that's out.
Really, all I can offer is a shameless plug... and this: I know Matt, and he wouldn't be working for anybody unless he or she is the real deal. I could say that a Jim Davis victory is essential in finally turning Florida blue; I could say that Davis, unlike the current governor, will fight the right battles for the right reasons. All of these things are true. But I think the best thing I could say about Jim Davis is that Matt decided to help him out.
So check out Matt's campaign blog already!
Terry Ryan, Matt's big brother, was knowledgeable enough to write about how the site makes use of ColdFusion technology (but apparently NOT the kind pioneered by Elisabeth Shue in The Saint), so that's out.
Really, all I can offer is a shameless plug... and this: I know Matt, and he wouldn't be working for anybody unless he or she is the real deal. I could say that a Jim Davis victory is essential in finally turning Florida blue; I could say that Davis, unlike the current governor, will fight the right battles for the right reasons. All of these things are true. But I think the best thing I could say about Jim Davis is that Matt decided to help him out.
So check out Matt's campaign blog already!
it begins
As I predicted here yesterday, the spinning of the Giants' nailbiter has begun. Bob Glauber of Newsday applies the first bit of polish.
Just to be clear - this is not necessarily a bad thing. Though it probably left Giants fans exhausted, Sunday's win was the kind that contenders pull out (and pretenders let slip through their fingers). It's tailor-made for the half-hour NFL Films season highlight of a successful playoff team (or, dare I say, a championship team).
One passage that stood out to me:
"Paterno used to say, 'If you have character, you win a game because you have injuries, not in spite of them,'" Accorsi said. "We lost four starters in the first 10½ minutes of the game, and we fought back and won. We've got two new starters on the offensive line, and we had none left. Unbelievable. That's a very good locker room of people. There's a lot of heart down there."
Just to be clear - this is not necessarily a bad thing. Though it probably left Giants fans exhausted, Sunday's win was the kind that contenders pull out (and pretenders let slip through their fingers). It's tailor-made for the half-hour NFL Films season highlight of a successful playoff team (or, dare I say, a championship team).
One passage that stood out to me:
"Paterno used to say, 'If you have character, you win a game because you have injuries, not in spite of them,'" Accorsi said. "We lost four starters in the first 10½ minutes of the game, and we fought back and won. We've got two new starters on the offensive line, and we had none left. Unbelievable. That's a very good locker room of people. There's a lot of heart down there."
Monday, December 12, 2005
friday saturday sunday
Friday Saturday Sunday, 261 South 21st Street.
Wow. Kris took me out for a romantic dinner here about a month ago, and I've been meaning and meaning and meaning to review it (as reviewing Philly restaurants we try is something I'd like to do with this blog o'mine). So here goes... Friday Saturday Sunday (hereafter: FSS) is known for three things around these parts: romance, reasonable markups on wine, and mushroom bisque. Kris and I enjoyed two of those three together at FSS. Only I tried the bisque, as mushrooms are high up on Kris' "stinky foods" list.
FSS is cozy. The atmosphere reminded me of what I imagine romantic, contemporary-yet-somehow-timeless 1980s New York City restaurants must have been like. In a good way. Whatever that means. Bright, flourescent, black-lit accents stood out in a world of warm, dark blues (especially on the prominent dry-erase board announcing the evening's specials).
We shared a bottle of Clos du Val Merlot for about $30. Kris and I both liked it. There are very few merlots we don't like - this despite the bafflingly popular hatred for merlot inspired by the movie Sideways, in which the main character refuses to associate with two beautiful women unless they're drinking ABM ("Anything But Merlot"). Kris and I like to actually taste what we drink, so we like Merlot. Fuck all y'all - y'all be bullshit.
Anyhoo, for starters, I had the bisque, which retained just enough mushroominess to be extremely pleasing, and Kris had some pate - which I generally don't hate, but don't go out of my way to eat. This partcicular pate was pretty tasty.
For our main courses, Kris had the crab cakes, while I had the chili-rubbed angus steak special. Both were pretty tasty; it's been my experience that there aren't too many steaks that turn out well outside of a steakhouse, but this particular cut of meat wasn't too chewy or tough (the usual pitfalls of ordering steak in strange, new places).
Besides the mushroom bisque, I really got the sense that FSS was selling atmosphere and mood at least as much as the food (probably more so). There are several restaurants in and around Philly where you can get better, more interesting food; rather, it was in our immediate company where one could see the unique appeal of the establishment.
We sat next to a middle-aged couple that has apparently been coming to FSS for dinner every Saturday night for years. They had their choice of wine waiting for them in their corner booth, and the hyperfriendly wait staff feted upon them as soon as they arrived. They were extremely cozy as they looked out upon the restaurant, and they knew exactly what they wanted to eat; I got the sense they felt they were home. They just seemed so comfortable.
And that's what FSS is - it's comfort food. Especially if you're in love.
Wow. Kris took me out for a romantic dinner here about a month ago, and I've been meaning and meaning and meaning to review it (as reviewing Philly restaurants we try is something I'd like to do with this blog o'mine). So here goes... Friday Saturday Sunday (hereafter: FSS) is known for three things around these parts: romance, reasonable markups on wine, and mushroom bisque. Kris and I enjoyed two of those three together at FSS. Only I tried the bisque, as mushrooms are high up on Kris' "stinky foods" list.
FSS is cozy. The atmosphere reminded me of what I imagine romantic, contemporary-yet-somehow-timeless 1980s New York City restaurants must have been like. In a good way. Whatever that means. Bright, flourescent, black-lit accents stood out in a world of warm, dark blues (especially on the prominent dry-erase board announcing the evening's specials).
We shared a bottle of Clos du Val Merlot for about $30. Kris and I both liked it. There are very few merlots we don't like - this despite the bafflingly popular hatred for merlot inspired by the movie Sideways, in which the main character refuses to associate with two beautiful women unless they're drinking ABM ("Anything But Merlot"). Kris and I like to actually taste what we drink, so we like Merlot. Fuck all y'all - y'all be bullshit.
Anyhoo, for starters, I had the bisque, which retained just enough mushroominess to be extremely pleasing, and Kris had some pate - which I generally don't hate, but don't go out of my way to eat. This partcicular pate was pretty tasty.
For our main courses, Kris had the crab cakes, while I had the chili-rubbed angus steak special. Both were pretty tasty; it's been my experience that there aren't too many steaks that turn out well outside of a steakhouse, but this particular cut of meat wasn't too chewy or tough (the usual pitfalls of ordering steak in strange, new places).
Besides the mushroom bisque, I really got the sense that FSS was selling atmosphere and mood at least as much as the food (probably more so). There are several restaurants in and around Philly where you can get better, more interesting food; rather, it was in our immediate company where one could see the unique appeal of the establishment.
We sat next to a middle-aged couple that has apparently been coming to FSS for dinner every Saturday night for years. They had their choice of wine waiting for them in their corner booth, and the hyperfriendly wait staff feted upon them as soon as they arrived. They were extremely cozy as they looked out upon the restaurant, and they knew exactly what they wanted to eat; I got the sense they felt they were home. They just seemed so comfortable.
And that's what FSS is - it's comfort food. Especially if you're in love.
monday giants blogging
I haven't blogged for a while; partially because of work, and mostly because of my grandfather passing away last Thursday, which has hit me really, really hard.
For my return to blogging, however, I'd like to switch to some lighter talk and ruminate on the Giants a little bit.
First of all, yesterday's 26-23 overtime win over the Eagles still feels like a loss, if only because the Giants looked so poor in pulling it out.
I think, though, that this could be the win that the Giants look back upon in a couple of weeks as the one that saved/defined/whatevered their season. It just feels like time will treat the Giants' performance yesterday kindly. For one thing, Big Blue never plays flawlessly in Philly, even when the team pulls out a win. And the Eagles are still a team made up of proud NFL athletes; coming into the game I thought it was going to be the scrappy affair it was, rather than the Giants cakewalk so many had assumed would take place. The bottom line is that they took a December win out of Philly, which is tough to do regardless of how well or poorly the Eagles' season is going.
I said to Kris during the final minutes of the fourth quarter and during overtime that this would be Jay Feely's redemption game. And despite some gallows IMing with Spector, I never really doubted Feely. Or perhaps I couldn't really imagine him blowing another amazing opportunity to win a crucial road game. Whatever the case, Feely came through, which will no doubt make this gruesomely ugly game an amazing triumph once NFL Films is through with it.
Looking ahead, there are two real areas of concern with this team. I'll begin with Eli Manning, who has seemingly taken a few steps backwards these past two weeks. Now, I've been on the Eli bandwagon all season long, and I'm not about to jump off just yet (as I'm sure many Giants fans already have - "the next Kerry Collins" was a particularly idiotic comment I heard from one rooter). I think Eli is going to be just fine.
Of immediate concern, however, is whether he'll be able to re-establish his game in time for the Giants to have a shot at doing something special in 2005. I'm not really worried yet, but it's definitely something to keep in mind as #10 takes the field on Saturday versus the dangerous Chiefs.
The other red flag with the Giants is in the trainer's room; Big Blue lost four starters to injury yesterday, including both starting offensive tackles (forcing guard David Diehl to move to right tackle - meaning that there were essentially three backups on the O-line). On the other side of the ball, the Giants lost William Joseph and Antonio Pierce (who's been the heart and soul of the defense thus far this season).
You saw just what the problem with backup offensive linemen is yesterday; backup Bob Whitfield came in cold and did his best Luke Petitgout impersonation, taking two crippling penalties on two different possessions inside the Eagles' 10. You never want to say that Petitgout wouldn't have taken those penalties, but if the Giants hadn't had to settle for field goals in those situations, maybe the game isn't as close as it turned out to be.
The Giants could have some real problems down the stretch if they don't get these players back. And even if they do, Eli is once again going to have to prove to the league that he deserves to be here.
The rest of the season starts Saturday in East Rutherford.
For my return to blogging, however, I'd like to switch to some lighter talk and ruminate on the Giants a little bit.
First of all, yesterday's 26-23 overtime win over the Eagles still feels like a loss, if only because the Giants looked so poor in pulling it out.
I think, though, that this could be the win that the Giants look back upon in a couple of weeks as the one that saved/defined/whatevered their season. It just feels like time will treat the Giants' performance yesterday kindly. For one thing, Big Blue never plays flawlessly in Philly, even when the team pulls out a win. And the Eagles are still a team made up of proud NFL athletes; coming into the game I thought it was going to be the scrappy affair it was, rather than the Giants cakewalk so many had assumed would take place. The bottom line is that they took a December win out of Philly, which is tough to do regardless of how well or poorly the Eagles' season is going.
I said to Kris during the final minutes of the fourth quarter and during overtime that this would be Jay Feely's redemption game. And despite some gallows IMing with Spector, I never really doubted Feely. Or perhaps I couldn't really imagine him blowing another amazing opportunity to win a crucial road game. Whatever the case, Feely came through, which will no doubt make this gruesomely ugly game an amazing triumph once NFL Films is through with it.
Looking ahead, there are two real areas of concern with this team. I'll begin with Eli Manning, who has seemingly taken a few steps backwards these past two weeks. Now, I've been on the Eli bandwagon all season long, and I'm not about to jump off just yet (as I'm sure many Giants fans already have - "the next Kerry Collins" was a particularly idiotic comment I heard from one rooter). I think Eli is going to be just fine.
Of immediate concern, however, is whether he'll be able to re-establish his game in time for the Giants to have a shot at doing something special in 2005. I'm not really worried yet, but it's definitely something to keep in mind as #10 takes the field on Saturday versus the dangerous Chiefs.
The other red flag with the Giants is in the trainer's room; Big Blue lost four starters to injury yesterday, including both starting offensive tackles (forcing guard David Diehl to move to right tackle - meaning that there were essentially three backups on the O-line). On the other side of the ball, the Giants lost William Joseph and Antonio Pierce (who's been the heart and soul of the defense thus far this season).
You saw just what the problem with backup offensive linemen is yesterday; backup Bob Whitfield came in cold and did his best Luke Petitgout impersonation, taking two crippling penalties on two different possessions inside the Eagles' 10. You never want to say that Petitgout wouldn't have taken those penalties, but if the Giants hadn't had to settle for field goals in those situations, maybe the game isn't as close as it turned out to be.
The Giants could have some real problems down the stretch if they don't get these players back. And even if they do, Eli is once again going to have to prove to the league that he deserves to be here.
The rest of the season starts Saturday in East Rutherford.
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