Memorial Day Movie Marathon - Part V

Yeah, I'm still backlogged from the weekend, but this is it. I swear.

Dazed & Confused
The eerie bass line from Aerosmith's "Sweet Emotion" opens to a black screen with fading white titles. It draws out for a little while, working up to the opening shot timed perfectly to the snare drum's entrance. A bright orange car rolls around the corner of a parking lot as Steven Tyler begins to do what he does so well. A more perfect opening to a movie will never be made.

And thus begins one of the best movies I have ever seen.

No, it's not a war epic, a disaster story, a love story, an underdog story... in fact, it's barely even a story. It's about a bunch of entering high school seniors and freshmen on the last day of school in 1976, and that's all you need to know.

The cast in this movie is unbelievable: one of the London twins, Matthew McConaughey, Joey Lauren Adams, Milla Jovovich, Ben Affleck (who was beyond perfect for the role of O'Bannion), Parker Posey, Nicky Katt (as male monkey Clint), and Adam Goldberg, all before they were really famous (this was in 1993). Cole Hauser, who played a red-headed tough guy named Billy in Good Will Hunting, plays a red-headed tough guy named Benny. Nice choice. Rory Cochrane (Slater) played the thief from Empire Records two years later before falling off planet Earth. Michelle Burke (Jodi) had played Connie Conehead the year before this movie came out... and her career was promptly hit by a bus after it. The rest of the ensemble cast didn't do much with the rest of their acting shelf-lives.

The movie doesn't lose any steam with repeated viewings either. In fact, it only gets better. You start picking up the hidden nuances you missed the first 12 or 13 times. And you can always find things you've missed before, especially in the actions of the characters in the background. There are even distinct drinking games to play while watching it.
- Take a drink every time somebody drinks a beer or puffs a joint
- Take a drink every time Mitch touches his nose outside the emporium (better yet, just finish a beer at this point)
- Take a drink every time somebody says "man." (Note: Not recommended if you're looking to avoid alcohol poisoning)

You can watch it drunk. You can watch it stoned (even very stoned). Any way you look at it, it's always good. So now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go light some incense and put on a Foghat record.
Final score: 9.5 out of 10.

Batman
Long before the batsuit had nipples, there was Michael Keaton. He played a darker, more mysterious Bruce Wayne in the days when George Clooney in OR scrubs wasn't even a thought.

The movie was good when it came out, but became better with each successive Batman movie. Robin, Batgirl, the Riddler... give me a break. If you want to look at it another way, take a look at the casts. Jack Nicholson plays The Joker, and him and Keaton carry the entire movie. Kim Basinger added a much needed aesthetic presence, but it could have been played by any actress, it wasn't that important of a role. In the next movie, you need Danny DeVito and Michelle Pfeiffer to make up for Nicholson's loss. After that, it just gets silly. The third picture needed Jim Carrey, Tommy Lee Jones, Nicole Kidman, and Chris O'Donnell (before he died) to support Val Kilmer as the Dark Knight (I like Kilmer, but he's no Batman). By the fourth, enter Schwarzenegger, Clooney, Uma Thurman, Alicia Silverstone (before she died) and Vivica A Fox. It's a complicated equation but a simple one to answer: to match the chemistry between Keaton and Nicholson, the Batman folks tried a total of 12 new stars between 3 movies and they still couldn't match the original. Not even close.

And there you have it-- long before the Batman franchise became a special effects parade of crappy actors, there were two good ones making a darn good movie. Oh yeah, and in the original Batman, Billy Dee Williams has a small role, although his character's name wasn't Lando, so I was just confused.
Final score: 7 out of 10.

Memorial Day Movie Marathon - Part IV

(Author's Note: This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I decided to forgo blogging in lieu of sleep, since my work weekend from hell was finally over. I'm not remorseful in the least about this decision)

It's late now on Monday. I haven't slept more than two hours at a time all weekend. I'm tired, dirty, probably cranky, definitely in need of social interaction, and if I never saw a computer again for the rest of my life, it would be too soon.

I've watched the sun rise two days in a row. My cat is more confused than I've ever seen him. He usually takes his cues from me whether to sleep or eat, but since I've barely slept and haven't remembered to eat much, he just seems out of sorts. I've managed to lose all concept of time, as evidenced by the fact that I walked outside into the bright sunshine today and was completely surprised that it was still cold... until I realized it was only 7 in the morning.

But enough about me. I'm finally posting the review of Band of Brothers which, fittingly, culminated for me on Memorial Day.

Band of Brothers
This is it. I've finished watching all 10 episodes, the documentary, the video diary... about 13 hours of WWII in all. And after it was all said and done, I can't say enough good things about this series. Nothing I can say here will do justice to it. But I'm going to try anyway.

Start by considering the facts: I watched more than a half day of footage and wanted more. I got choked up probably a half dozen times over the last 2 episodes and have no problem admitting it. You end up feeling the entire range of emotion that the soldiers themselves felt. And after 13 hours, it's over way too fast.

There weren't a lot of big name actors in this series, save for Ron Livingston (aka Peter from Office Space) and Donnie Wahlberg (aka Donnie from The New Kids on the Block). With the rest of the cast, you find yourself either not recognizing them, or saying things like "Hey that's the guy from the IBM commercial" or "I know him from.... from... somewhere." David Schwimmer has a role in the first episode and appears twice in the remaining nine. Jimmy Fallon has a tiny cameo role that he, surprisingly, doesn't screw up-- which is about the best you can say about his acting ability.

The entire series is based on the book by Stephen Ambrose (which I now have to read), but each episode was written and directed by different people. So although they all seamlessly tie together, they also all feel unique in their own way. Tom Hanks and Steven Speilberg take producing credits on the movie (Hanks directed one episode, and Hanks' kid even plays a small role in another), so the effects were so lifelike you start ducking out of the way of mortar shells on your couch. Makes me wish I had surround sound in my apartment, although I'm sure my neighbors are glad I don't, since a lot of this was playing at odd hours of the morning.

It follows the men of the 101st Airborne, Easy Company, as they make their way through Europe. It starts with them at boot camp, but moves quickly into the D-Day invasion of Normandy and onto several other major battles in which Easy Company fought. It's easy to forget that these are all true stories involving real people, but as a reminder, each episode begins with documentary interview footage of the surviving men, now in their 80's, as a way of humanizing the carnage. It's an effective way of reminding you that this isn't just another piece of Hollywood garbage. This happened. This was real.

I'd like to get into it more in this review, but like I said earlier, I just wouldn't do it justice. It's moving. It's powerful. It's epic. And if you don't go out and see it right now, we're not friends anymore.
Final score: 10 out of 10.

A Few Breaking News Stories

A few news stories to hold you over until I post everything I meant to post yesterday.

Article 1 - Evildoers and mistreaters of animals everywhere-- beware. PETA's black ops agents could be lurking in your midst.

Article 2 - Hmm.... so Paris and Paris are getting married. How cute. If there is in fact a wedding, which 2-1 says there won't be, I'd give this what, maybe 7 months? Any takers? Anybody? I'd go so far as to say that the sex tape will be out before the divorce is finalized.

Article 3 - The best thing to come from Canada since Lemieux. I'm speechless.

Memorial Day Movie Marathon - Part III

Crimson Tide
Tense action movie of nuclear proportions with Denzel Washington and Gene Hackman. Interesting, but (as with most action films) the character logic just doesn't make sense. It all boils down to a clash of ego between the two stars. But it's flawed in that Hackman's actions are baffling. He ignores the common sense that Washington's character, along with the entire audience, grasps with no problem. And he inexplicably plays the race card towards the end-- even though you hear no mention of it before or after.
What makes it worse is that the whole conflict was awkwardly set up in the beginning, with Hackman giving some contrived "I'm a simple man, you're a complicated man" speech so you know he's going to make a stupid move eventually.
One of the supporting roles is Viggo Mortensen, although I had to look it up on IMDB. It had been bugging me for half the movie before I realized it was Aragorn. James Gandolfini plays a nicely detestable character as well.
Ending was pure Hollywood. You knew from the opening credits that Denzel was going to end up saving the universe from Sauron and Mordor and... well, something like that.
Final Score: 4 out of 10.

Rounders
The movie that started the dominos falling for the recent surge in poker's popularity. In other words, Matt Damon is responsible for roughly 40% of the content on ESPN.
The overall 'cool' factor of this movie puts it ahead of most. The lingo, the style, the attitude are all played up well here. And even though it preaches some of the evils and pitfalls of gambling, it mostly makes you want to hit the nearest casino (there's one a few hours from here, now that I think about it...). Damon's good (kind of par for the course for him these days though). Ed Norton is good. Johns Turturro and Malkovich have convincing supporting roles. Plus-- and this is a big plus-- Famke Janssen has a role (Author's note: Ohhhhhhhh). The scenes feel real, even when you know who's coming out on top.
It scores even more points for its rewatchability. It's something I should probably have memorized before the next time I find myself 20 dollars deep into a card table (I've only won a hold 'em tourney once. The pot? A wallet-busting $35). I really can't think of a bad time to watch this movie.
Final Score: 7.5 out of 10.

Memorial Day Movie Marathon - Part II

Sideways
Most of us have a friend who isn't as skilled at talking to the opposite sex. Every now and again they need a little coaching, some encouragement. They're not bad people-- in fact, usually they're great people. They're just not as socially gifted as others.
Which is what makes Sideways an intriguing movie. Starring Pig Vomit from Howard Stern's movie and The Guy From Wings, it explores the relationship between two very different friends on a week-long bachelor party. It starts off slowly, but picks up steam towards the middle. The first time I tried to watch it, I ended up passing out on the couch. Second time was the charm. It wasn't as much a steady plot outlined movie as it was a character sketch, and for that I think the critics really picked up on it. Both lead parts were played flawlessly, but there wasn't anything where you sit back and say "Wow." I wouldn't recommend this flick to anybody under 30, since the main characters were in their 40's and the recurring themes (divorce, finding yourself in middle age) don't hit home as well with the young folks.
The ending dragged a little and turned out a touch predictable, but Paul Giamatti's character was so oddly likeable that it wouldn't have been right any other way.
Final score: 6 out of 10.

Memorial Day Weekend

Memorial Day weekend.

It's a time to celebrate. A time to relax, fire up the barbeque, maybe watch a parade, drink, and generally have a relaxing three days off of work.

Well, I hope you all are happy with it, because I'm stuck working all weekend. Way to rub it in. Jerks.

The task at hand involves me being indoors for about 40-50 hours straight while monitoring an automated process to check for errors. It's me, a computer, and my dvd player for more than two straight days. As it stands right now, I've been at it for a little over 16 hours, and I'm running on about 2 hours sleep.

Jealous?

So far, my movie selection has consisted of the following:

- 6 episodes of Band of Brothers
- Van Wilder
- Fast Times at Ridgemont High
- Sideways

I'll be keeping a running tab of brief reviews on these, when I get the chance (and as I see fit). I'm holding off on reviewing BOB until I see all the episodes, so that one will be coming a little later.

In the meantime...

Van Wilder
Exceeded and fell short of expectations at the same time. Had a few scenes that had me in tears, but for a low-brow comedy had much less gratuitous nudity than I expected.
I found the acting in this movie surprisingly good. Ryan Reynolds nailed his part, even Tara Reid was somewhat believable. The rest of the characters were nicely over-the-top. (Quick side note: Who's Reynold's agent? The guy goes from Van Wilder to Blade 3 to The Aminityville Horror in like 3 years. How many other actors have this sort of meandering career path so quickly?).
Good movie, had lots of potential but failed to deliver for the most part. Worth watching once, but it's not one of those staple comedies that you can stick in your DVD player for a month straight. Could have been better with a few adjustments:
- The gross-out scenes really hit the mark here but there were only 2. Needed a few more.
- As I mentioned earlier, dumb comedies like this one need more random breast scenes.
- Had the same tired plot as pretty much every college comedy ever made-- cool but delinquent student(s), threatened to get kicked out, makes up for it in the end. You know the deal. Animal House and PCU come to mind (Tim Matheson even had a part in this). Throw in the token romance sub-plot and there you have movie-in-a-box. I really think I could make a movie like this for around 30 dollars.
Final Score: 5 out of 10.

Fast Times at Ridgemont High
Not much to say about a classic that hasn't been said already. I may need to watch this again because I forgot to watch for Nicholas Cage's cameo (credited here as Nicholas Coppola). Always good viewing. For you young folks, if you haven't seen this one yet, it's out on DVD-- go pick it up.
Final Score: 7 out of 10.

Your TV Show Has Been Delayed

I usually stay far, far away from political jib-jabbering, but this line was far too good to pass up.

Here's the rub: One of the Law & Order spinoffs made a benign but comical reference to Senator Tom DeLay in a recent episode, prompting DeLay to write a letter to NBC's president. Now, that alone may not seem even remotely interesting, but buried in the article is this tongue-in-cheek comment from the show's creator, Dick Wolf:

"...But I do congratulate Congressman DeLay for switching the spotlight from his own problems to an episode of a television show."

Just something to brighten your Friday. I laughed.

By the way, I'm going to be running into a bit of free time this weekend, so there will be a large bevy of content coming your way shortly. Just a heads up.

The Height of Musical Achievement

You're young. You're impressionable. You think your career path can only lead to music. So you spend your suburban life becoming what you think a suburban punk should be. Buying 20-dollar t-shirts, idolizing Greenday, using your allowance to get that fake nose ring.

You spend your whole life dedicated to making the music you love. You form a band. You sell a few albums. Then, you realize you've hit your peak. You've achieved the ultimate musical recognition. You're at the top of your industry, the pinnacle of success. You can look down at all the footstool peons underneath you. You turn to your fellow bandmates and say, "Dudes. This is it. We've finally made it. We're on a Garnier Fructis commercial."

Let that one sink in for a minute.

Now, it sounds strange but every time I hear that commercial I think to myself, "Is this what the guys in the Transplants talk about? Are they somehow excited about this?" The Transplants, if you didn't know, are a "supergroup" consisting of a few leftovers from Blink-182 and Rancid ("supergroup" intentionally left in quotation marks, since that's a fairly lavish MTV media designation, not an earned superlative). Rancid isn't all bad, but Blink-182 could easily be the absolute worst band of the last 20 years-- and that's being generous. So it's not all that surprising that they're more commercialized than Jessica Simpson, but still.

Maybe it's just me, but just once I'd like to see some billionaire musicians use their powers for good, not evil.

Oh, and in a related story, Gwen Stefani will be the new spokesperson for Downy fabric softener.

Idol Is Lost on Me

Quite the programming decision tonight. Two two-hour season finales, and only one television on which to watch them (and even if you have multiple, it's not worth skipping over between finales).

So what do you pick? Lost or American Idol?

On the one hand, you have a creatively written drama mixing desperation and intelligent fiction. On the other hand, you have a guy who looks remarkably like Chewbacca singing show tunes.
Yes, it's an interesting dilemma.

I'm a fan of Lost and its subtleties, from Sawyer's reading Watership Down ("it's a book about bunnies") to using names from European philosophers (Locke, Rousseau). The characters are complex and intriguing, not to mention incredibly well-acted, and it always leaves you wanting more-- the hallmark of good television.

Flip the dial a few clicks the other direction and you have Idol-- an orgy of nauseating pop-culture bubblegum mania, where the hopes and dreams of a few lucky wannabe sellouts ride on the touchtone skills of an army of hypnotized couch-dwellers. And lest we forget the eye-roll-inducing ego-placating of Ms. Abdul ("I think it's really great that you can still sing with that trachea ring. You showed a lot of spirit. It's really great. Really great. Oh yeah and if you want to get laid my dressing room's down the hall to the left.")

So can you tell what I'm watching tonight? If you guessed "Band of Brothers" DVD set, you're right. But Lost will be on my DVR. Happy dialing.

More Star Wars News

But not the typical kind.

Article 1 - Although they did produce a working replica of an X-Wing.

Article 2 - For somebody who died a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, he sure gets into his share of trouble.

Unfortunately, there is still no breaking news to report on the Star Wars Kid. Too bad.

Misguided Searching for Paris

Today's reading material comes from the desk of the editor of the "She Just Won't Go Away" department.
Parental Group Says Hilton Ad Too Hot

The article states that visitors crashed this burger joint's website to see pictures of a bikini-clad Paris Hilton. I find this hard to believe. Mainly, the reason behind my doubt is that she's been in an internet sex video. You can literally see inside the girl. There is absolutely no reason why people should rush to see some 80lb wafer in a two-piece when they can see her in full birthday regalia being violated in at least six different fashions (answering your questions in advance: Yes, I've seen the video, and the girl has even less talent for that trade than she does as an actress-- but then again, what 19 year-old doesn't?). It's baffling.

But it goes further.

Let me list for you the three reasons Paris is famous:
1. She starred in a sex tape leaked onto the internet.
2. She starred in a sex tape leaked onto the internet.
3. She starred in a sex tape leaked onto the internet.

So it's not like she's a Jennifer Aniston or J-Lo who's been around for a while (clothed). And as a friendly service, I'll clarify for all of the people who stormed the web to see this picture-- yes, it's the same internet.

I don't get it. I really don't. I know it's been covered many times by many people, but this public fascination is more puzzling than the number of people who watch Yes Dear every week (100 episodes? Really?).

But then again, maybe it isn't the public at all.

Maybe the Hiltons, from their secret underground lair beneath the Los Angeles Hilton hotel, have actually created a devious plan to make the public only think that they're interested in this no-talent waste of bone marrow by creating an intricate marketing device using paid actors. Think about it. The Hilton family can easily pay a Joe Geek to flood a website. Heck, there's people out there who do it for free every day. Say they pay a whole bunch of out-of-work actors (I'm told LA has a few of those) to fawn and drool over her at ever appearance. The media would look plain stupid if it didn't follow the public's rabid interests, right? Right. So the media fawns and drools and creates tabloid stories and TV shows and action figures and everything else under the sun, and all so some vacant bitch can have her 15 minutes of undeserved publicity.

And it worked.

But if I'm wrong, and I admit that possibility exists, however slightly, and the Hiltons haven't devised a secret military-grade takeover, it's a sad state of affairs. One that I'll never understand. Now if you don't mind, I must take my leave of you today. I need to place a bid on an eBay auction.

----------------
At the closing of this post, I can't help but conjure images of one of my old college roomates, who, if he read this, would have immediately asked me, "Yeah dude, but, come on... you know... you still would, wouldn't you? I mean, seriously."
Yeah, I guess I would.
Sigh.
The answer was right there the whole time. God damn it.
And the cycle continues.

(Finally) A New Site Design

It's here. No, not Santa. No, not summer in upstate NY (it's 48 here this morning). No, not even the much anticipated announcement of Miss Congeniality 3.

The site has finally been updated.

I finally reached a point where I was happy with the design, and found it different enough from anything I'd seen out there to call it my own. It's a little different from the 'sneak preview' I posted a few days ago, mainly in that the colors went from bright yellow and orange to a much more eye pleasing blue. I had the sneaking suspicion that if people were going to spend more than a few seconds reading the material on the site, it would be in their best interest not to have their retinas burned out by that violently phosphorescent hue. It was not unlike looking into the sun.

It's tough searching for the right color combination. I must've gone through dozens that for some reason didn't look quite right. And you constantly find yourself asking the question, "Does this shade make my links look fat?"

OK, sorry, had to slip that joke in there someplace.

As for the rest of the page, I did all the images by hand. I must have gone through 30 ideas for the top border of the content before coming up with the Daffy headline prototype (and, in all unfairness, the Daffy design took about 10 minutes where the rest of them took hours. How painfully ironic). The 'pensive Superman' on the right side wasn't too tricky, although I had to take a digital photo of myself to get the arms right (it's tough searching for the perfect crossed arms pose on the web). And as for the profile, that's a big ol' glass of Guinness. Reasons obvious.

Also, I'd like to draw your attention to two other blogs I've been reading recently (and who were nice enough to visit and comment on this site): Outside Looking In by Alison Bradshaw and the Workman Chronicles by Morris Workman. Excellent stuff over there in both cases. (and to the both of you, congrats on making my esteemed blog link list-- usually there's a much more rigorous test involving an obstacle course, 90-minute written exam and a polygraph, but I've been tied up with the site design so you got a flyer on that one).

So I hope you like the new design. Feel free to leave me a comment and let me know what you think. Your feedback is always appreciated.

Regarding Star Wars

Today I admit to you two things-- first, I have succumbed to the ubiquitous hype of the new Star Wars movie. Second, I still have not seen it. You may be asking how the first sentence doesn't automatically preclude the second, but all I'm saying is I plan to see this new film. This is somewhat big news because I did not, under any premise, plan on seeing the second after being so sorely disappointed by The Phantom Menace (Attack of the Clones, in my mind, could stand to be one of the most poorly acted movies I've ever seen. It's completely beyond comprehension).

So with all the news and interviews and cover stories and merchandise, it's difficult not to wonder if this actually will be the "last" Star Wars movie Lucas will ever make. He's said many times that it will be, but the temptation to make episodes 7 through 9 has got to be eating him up inside.

It makes sense too, when you think about it. Everybody who survived at the end of Jedi is still alive, aged about 20 years (remember, there was 19 years between Sith and A New Hope, so this works). We know that there are now two Jedi left to repopulate the herd. The emperor is gone, Darth kicked the bucket, and the Death Star was blown up. Twice.

Of course, the question that's always been on my mind-- and I've given this lots of thought, as sad as this is going to seem-- is what the ghost Jedi do when they're not giving advice. I mean, you see Obi Wan and Yoda float around for a few movies with the occasional voice-over, but that's all you see. Where are they the rest of the time? Is there a Jedi heaven where Mace Windu sits around recounting the time he played a hostage negotiator falsely accused of embezzlement? Do they show up randomly in the Rebel girls' locker room? Do they play chess?

Maybe they make prank phone calls. Maybe they move to a Tatooine post-life retirement community and play golf. Maybe they just sit around drinking Endor Blue Ribbon and setting things on fire with their light sabers. Mr. Lucas, these are things I need to know.
~~~~~~~~~

Lastly, and while I'm on the topic of Jedi ghosts, I have to vent my disgust for the revised ending of the DVD Return of the Jedi special edition. If you haven't already written to Lucas on your Boba Fett letterhead to complain, I'll fill you in: They replaced Bernard Shaw (Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker) with Hayden Christensen in the final ghost scene with Yoda and Obi Wan.


Hey kid, are you lost or something?

When I saw this for the first time I nearly went into cardiac arrest. It has to be one of the biggest movie travesties in the history of cinema. If George Lucas was so intent on ruining his films, why didn't he just change the end of Indiana Jones to have the boulder return and exact its revenge by turning Indy into a cartoon-style pancake?

Let's go a step further. It's like Goose showing up at the end of Top Gun. It's like changing the end of Gone With the Wind to have the fire department show up in time. It's like having Casablanca end with Bogart and Bergman joining the mile-high club.
~~~~~~~~~

When I do finally see the new SW film, rest assured I'll probably write about it. This is what geeks like me do. But in the meantime, I'll just continue my angry letters go George Lucas, using my R2D2 stationary and my Darth Vader bobblehead ball-point pen.

Perfection is Such an Ugly Word

There are situations where I can be, when it comes to my own work, a bit of a perfectionist. Now, this may not be perfection in the sense of 'everybody likes it.' It's more like a 'beauty in the eye of the beholder' type of deal. And I rarely, if ever, nail it on the first try.
So where am I going with this?
Earlier this week I mentioned that the Steam Vent was going to be redesigned. I was not lying about that. I estimated it at about a week, more or less, and now here I am 6 days later and I can't get the damn thing to look right. I have ideas for the site. Lots of ideas. Ideas are not hard to come by. However, it's the ideas that work which prove to be more elusive. And, being that self-proclaimed perfectionist, I won't implement a concept until I know it will look good (of course, the irony here being that, when it's all said and done, I'll still have visitors to the site that say, "You know what, I really liked the old design better."). This is what makes life frustrating.

Many of you are probably asking yourselves what's wrong with the current design. Well, it won't do any good asking yourself that, since you're there and I'm here. You're better off just leaving a comment or emailing me....
OK, sorry to go all Naked Gun on you there, so I'll just answer that question now: the site design wasn't very original. I used a (gasp!) pre-formatted template with which Blogger was so kind as to provide me. It was, to me, suitable for the time being, but being a computer nerd, using other people's designs just didn't sit well. My inner geek was screaming. I had to do it for myself. Plus, now that I surf so many other blogs (with Blog Explosion), I realized just how many other people have the exact same template as I have. Again, it didn't sit well. And thus my quest began.

The part that makes designing this site particularly difficult is that it's more of a personal reflection than any of the other sites I've designed through the years. For a couple years I worked as a private contractor in web design, but in most of those cases they already had an idea. I made it work. Now, the only one I have to impress is myself, and the waters are choppier than I had expected. Or maybe I just forgot.

Now that you're all caught up with what goes through the mind of an obsessive computer programmer, I'll leave you with a very small snapshot of what the new site design will look like. Don't worry about the top and left margins, that's just the program I use to design (I'm old-fashioned as far as web geeks are concerned-- I'm stuck in 1996 so I code everything by hand).

I really hope that this will be as rewarding for you as it will be for me.

But who am I kidding?

Blog Exchange - from Highly Sophisticated Rednecks

Today's post is guest hosted by Scott Garner from Highly Sophisticated Rednecks.

About five months ago, I discovered blogging.

At first, I wasn’t very good at it. I wrote a blog about shopping with my then-girlfriend that began the landslide leading to us falling apart like a redneck algebra contest. So I scrapped the original blog and started a new one.

The new one was better, like the Six Million Dollar Man or Darth Vader – it took an accident to create better, stronger, faster. I met other bloggers through comments and emails. I started reading “The Steam Vent.”

And the Steam Vent has taught me some very valuable lessons:

1. Coors is not to be trusted.
2. A monkey with a dartboard could do a better job of running the Yankees and if it weren’t for Joe Torre, the pinstripes would be a total laughingstock.
3. Strippers are fun. Dangerous fun.

Thus armed, I have made my forays into the World At Large more well-equiped to deal with whatever Life throws at me. Go me. Yeah, Steam Vent.

But now poor Brad is forced to watch as his Lovely Girlfriend journeys into my part of the Known Universe as she moves to Alabama, home of Forrest Gump and just about nothing else useful. All of the trees in Georgia lean west because Alabama sucks. I can say this, because I’ve lived in Mississippi and Western Louisiana, which make Alabama look like a paradise, but I digress.

Since the Steam Vent has given me so much, I thought I’d give Lovely Girlfriend, Brad and all the Steam Vent readers from north of the Mason-Dixon line a few quick pointers to life in the South and how to adapt to your new humidity-filled, accent-ridden, not-as-incestuous-as-you’ve-heard environment.

First, as you prepare to move to the South, get a VCR that plays all your old movies just slightly slower than they should. Southerners don’t really move and think incredibly slowly, but they do seem to be on about a half-second delay. You’ll not really notice at first, but after three or four hours in a Waffle House, time will actually begin to move more slowly.

Secondly – I can call someone “Bubba.” Some other Southerner can call me “Bubba.” But if a Yankee (and by Yankee I mean anyone from north of Greenville, South Carolina) calls a Southerner “Bubba,” it’s on. Think of it as the “N-Word” for Rednecks.

People from New England love baseball. They have a passion for it. It rules their lives. That is nothing compared to how Southerners feel about football, particularly High School football. Worse, Lovely Girlfriend is going to be living in Alabama, where she will be asked to choose a favorite between Alabama and Auburn. Whatever you do, don’t say “I kinda like Syracuse,” or you’ll be laughed out of the state. Don’t align yourself with any football team in the U.S. Northeast for that matter. Even Boston College is only tolerated because they play in the ACC. If pressed by locals in Alabama, just say you like Texas or Nebraska “because my daddy went there.” Then change the subject to tailgating.

By the way, “who’s your daddy” isn’t a sexual line in the South (usually). It’s a way of determining where you fit in the social structure. If your family hasn’t lived in the South for at least three full generations, you’re a Yankee.

GOOD
Redneck: “Who’s your daddy?”
Redneck2: “Mr. Paul.”
Redneck: “Mr. Paul from the bowling alley?”
Redneck2: “Hell, naw. Mr. Paul what changes oil at the Jiffy Lube.”
Redneck: “Your daddy is Mr. James’s boy, then!”
Redneck2: “Yep.”
Redneck: “Ya’ll is good people.” (This is a high Redneck compliment.)

BAD
Redneck: “Who’s your daddy?”
Transplant: “My dad lives in New Jersey.”
Redneck: “Kids, get in the truck. Roll up the winders.”

Not all Rednecks are trailer-park denizens with 14 kids and a wheel of welfare cheese. There is, as my own blog indicates, such a thing as Highly Sophisticated Rednecks. These are Southerners who have education, some disposable income, cars that are (usually) bereft of NASCAR stickers or pictures of little men peeing on the logo of rival car makers, and a taste for good food, good beer and easy living. These Rednecks actually read books you don’t have to color in. Many of them have actually (gasp) been outside of the South. Find these people. They are an oasis in a sea of Southern Culture that, while I love it, isn’t for everyone.

There. I’ve given something back to the Steam Vent. I hope ya’ll will come over and visit HSR from time to time and start leaving poor Brad some comments. Feedback, friends, is essential. You can reach me at my blog or by emailing statesboroblues@lycos.com.

Thanks for the opportunity, Brad.

Do Your Homework

In preparation for the Blog Exchange with HSR, I'm giving my readers a heavy dose of homework to read up on. These are some choice articles I've found over the past week or so involving the Southern lifestyle.
I'll answer all your questions in advance:
Yes, I cherry picked a bunch of articles to highlight dumb people from the South.
Yes, there were just as many if not more articles about us Northern folk doing the same thing.
Yes, I'll have more actual content soon.
No, I did not see SWE3 at midnight last night.

• Article 1. Don't separate this minister and his Bush.
• Article 2. Hi ho, Silver (bullet)!
• Article 3. Didn't Sylvester try this on Speedy Gonzalez?
• Article 4. No word yet on Johnny Buddha.
• Article 5. Yeah but a sledgehammer wouldn't have been near as cool.
• Article 6. What, this is some kind of sin now?

The Future Is Miami

What you get from this article is that MLB has given the green light to the Florida Marlins changing their name to the Miami Marlins.

And for all of you astute sci-fi fans out there, that means the prophecies of Back to the Future II are coming true. Remember, in that movie (partially set in the year 2015), not only do cars fly and clothes grow or shrink to fit the wearer, but Marty McFly sees a sports headline and remarks "The Cubs win the World Series?! Against Miami???"

And if there's one thing to keep in mind, it's that if you find yourself in the year 2015, and for some reason have access to a DeLorean time machine, remember to bring the sports almanac with you back in time. This way, you can become rich and powerful like Biff. Just so you know.

Coors Drinkers Never Win

As if you needed more proof that no good can come of drinking Coors. I hope all of us can learn a lesson from this and never drink Coors again. I'm serious. (See: The Beer Article link on the right side of the page)

More Celebrity Look-Alikes

Today's entry is the 3D constructed image of King Tut and a newly shaved Natalie Portman. Eerie.

Some Disjointed Thoughts

A few thoughts that have been crossing my mind today:

First of all, I'd like to welcome back two of my favorite people to the mainstream-- Bill Simmons over at ESPN.com and Dave Chappelle.
Simmons recently had a baby girl-- well, his wife did anyway-- so he took a few weeks off. For all of you out there that read him, and I'm sure any sports-obsessed office drone knows exactly what I'm talking about, it's a well received comeback as he started posting columns again today. Granted, all he did was write about Survivor, but at least it's something.
Dave Chappelle is finally coming forth to dispell the rumors that he is either crazy, smoking crack, sleeping with Whitney Houston, using gene splicing to create unicorns, or any other crazy rumor seeping through the media's grates lately. He's still not sure when the new season is coming out, but at least it's a start.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm looking at the back of a bag of goldfish (the snack, not the pet) and it's telling me to not only visit their website, but to check back often for updates.
Really? This is something I'm going to do often? That's their idea?
I'm sure glad the good people over at Pepperidge Farm have the capacity for this sort of endeavor. I mean, just the other day, I was sitting at my desk thinking, 'You know, screw this, I'm going to go search for some fun printable games (and more!) that relate to a low-fat baked snack cracker with zero grams trans fat.'
Really, good job there. Well done.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think, and I really believe this, that if somebody released an INXS album under a different name and gave it a cool video on MTV, it would sell close to 6 gazillion copies. How many bands can you name off the top of your head that sound exactly like that? 5? 6? And they're killing in record sales.
I'm going to learn guitar and re-record a Def Leppard album. I'll be a millionaire by July.

Site News for the Steam Vent!

Here's a few updates on what's happening with the Steam Vent in the next week or so.

First and foremost, Scott from Highly Sophisticated Rednecks and I are going to be doing what is called a "Blog Exchange." More or less here's how that breaks down-- he writes a piece for my blog and I do the same for him. I'm pretty psyched about this opportunity, so if you're not familiar with his content, do that now. This is most likely happening on Friday.

Second, I'm going to be designing a new layout for the blog. The current template is pretty dreary and perhaps not as conducive to comedy as I'd like, and seeing how I used to be a contracted web developer, there's no reason why I can't do better. Much better.

I'm hoping to branch out in readership, by which I mean actually advertise this sucker so more people will read it. There's a service called blog explosion (linked by a button on the right side of the page), whereby you browse other people's blogs and for every 2 blogs you visit, a new visitor hits your site. It's ingenious in its simplicity, really. Does wonders for my traffic already, but it only works if you have the time to visit and read other people's blogs (the site knows how long you spend on each blog, and if it's less than 30 seconds you don't get credit for reading it).
Of course, the real down side of this is that you have to read other people's blogs. Which, if you've ever gone blog surfing, can be relentlessly brutal (emphasis on 'can'). Obviously there are exceptions (here and everywhere I link to, for instance), but for every one good blog you find, there's a ton out there that just plain suck. I could delve further into this subject but many many people have done this already, and I'd hate to do anything so redundant (no comments about writing about the Yankees, please).

In other news, the girlfriend is moving to Alabama this week for the summer. Most likely, she'll be returning in the fall, but you really just never know. This could turn out one of several ways-- a) I'll be channeling periodic updates of a native Long Islander's experience in Alabama (no, she doesn't have the accent-- I have standards), b) I'll only blog about crippling depression of having your girlfriend leave, c) I'll rename the blog: In Search of a Happy Ending - The Exploits of a Rebounding Womanizer, or d) none of the above.
As with all things in life, I'll just be taking this a day at a time. Expectations often lead to disappointment, and I'm not a planner, so I'm just going to enjoy it as it happens. Isn't that what this whole ride is all about anyway?

Right, sorry to get philosophical there, on with the updates.

Since the girlfriend won't be around, I'm going to have more free time. I think this will be the point in my life that I actively pursue a career in journalism. I'm young, I'm single, I'm mobile, I haven't been drained of my youthful ambition, and I hate my job as a computer programmer. Any words of advice or encouragement would be much appreciated.

So stay tuned. It should be good reading, if nothing else.

Wedding Highlights

Some of the more comical highlights leading up to the wedding I attended this past Friday.

Wednesday evening
Over a few beers, we start making prank phone calls to the bride and groom's apartment. They include everything from a leather fetish store manager to Bill Clinton. We also threw in a lonely transvestite named Peppermint (it was a sketch from Mr. Show). A while later, the bride angrily called us back to yell at us for being immature at a stressful time. We had forgotten that she was coordinating international travel. Oops.
"Uhh... I is stuck in Trenton New Jersey and we have run out of euros to pay for a taxi, my number is 22-"
*BEEEEEP*
"Hey Michael, this is Sergio down at Whips 'N Things, we have your gag ball on back order..."

Feeling guilty, we turned our attention to the best man. We left a half dozen messages on his voice mail pretending to be a confused Chinese food delivery guy (think along the lines of Cream of Sum Yun Gai [yes, from Wayne's World], except more graphic). He called us back later and reminded us his girlfriend is Asian. Double oops.

Thursday
Part of the bachelor party involved a full day of golfing with the groom, myself and two of his brothers. Golfing with buddies is great, if only because 85% of the heckling involves lines from Happy Gilmore, Caddyshack, and Tiger Woods golf (the video game).
Doing the bull dance, feeling the flow. Working it.

We also almost hit a guy with a drive when he nonchalantly walked across our fairway looking for his ball. High comedy.
(Author's note: If some jerk walks across your fairway and doesn't react to you yelling at him to move, it is well within golfer's etiquette to drive at him. However, when he gives a shocked look your way, you and your buddies should be prepared to be doing one of two things: 1) giving each other high fives or 2) exchanging money. We realized this after the fact, but I thought it would be best if the rest of the world was informed)

Friday
One of the guests was a Peruvian model (pictures forthcoming), whose command of English, while very good grammatically, was lacking in the subtle nuances that Americans have worked into the lexicon. When one of the caterers walked by at the reception carrying a tray of crabcakes, she said to him, "We really like you because you have crabs." I lost it. My two buddies lost it. We must have belly-laughed for close to five minutes. She was so embarrassed after we explained to her what she had said, she had to apologize to the guy... who was also laughing.

A Beautiful Wedding Disappointment

It had all the ingredients to be a disaster. All the key elements were there. The time was right, the stage was set... and nothing happened. I feel cheated.

I'm talking of course about my former roommate's wedding which took place this past Friday. He had actually been married to this girl for the past year and a half, but the original service was a civil ceremony with only one witness, more or less for green card purposes. The couple decided that if they were still happy with their decision in a few years, they'd have the traditional wedding with friends and family. So that's what this was.

The days leading up to the ceremony were crammed with events that could only have led to a videotaped submission to both The Worlds Worst Wedding Disasters and the New York State district attorney's office. It had (in no particular order) a stolen car, no less than nine prank phone calls to the couple's answering machine (uh.... partially my bad... but this is what happens when you mix beer with old buddies who love practical jokes), roughly 20 coordinated flights from northern Norway (where the bride's from), a fairly large language barrier, and the groom's three very protective Irish brothers (think matching tattoos). And just to add insult to injury, it was taking place on Friday the 13th.

The bachelor party the night before consisted of just me and the three brothers-- and no groom. That's right, he was too whipped to show up at his own bachelor party. So we bought lap dances for the best man instead. Let's just say that there were plenty of harsh words directed towards the bride that night.

So you can see where I thought this was going. I was expecting fireworks in a big way.

Then Friday happened. The wedding itself turned out to be a very pleasant ceremony, followed by a perfect reception with no shortage of smiles, tears and free booze. Let's just say that at my wedding (whenever that may be-- I can't believe I just said that), if the speeches are half as heartfelt as the ones I heard last night, I'm going to be a snivelling, sobbing ball of a man. My girlfriend said it best when she remarked, "Weddings bring out the love in people." She was right. Everybody got along, everybody had a great time, everybody, for one night, forgot any differences or preconceptions they may have had and created one of the most beautiful and memorable evenings I've ever witnessed.

But I still felt cheated.

Congratulations to my friends
and their new life together.

A complete 180

Coming up in the next few days I have (in order of expected drunkenness): 1 bachelor party, 1 wedding and 2 graduation ceremonies. Wish me luck. But in the meantime...

I enjoy the random nature of blogs. Which is why after a post admonishing the media for the whole baseball steroid issue, I'm posting something which is of a much lighter nature and will most likely be patently offensive to some people. All I can say is don't take it too seriously. You've been warned.

First, read this article on CNN.
In short, there's a guy who has the domain name www.benedictXVI.com, which means he's got the pope's web site.
Normally, the first thing you'd do is sell it for porno like the WhiteHouse.com name (don't go there if you're at work). However, this guy feels some moral obligation not to commit what is probably some sort of deadly sin. Good for him. But it got me thinking.
What would you put on the pope's website anyway? Hmm.... (this is the part where you hear chimes and the computer screen starts to wave until finally you see a vision of the pope's website... except I don't know how to code that, so use your imagination)

- Pope-Cam: Watch the pope 24 hours a day, 7 days a week with the new handy Pope-cam (only $14.95 USD per month). Watch him wave to adoring masses, beatify nuns, and publicly damn sinners to the fiery pits of eternal hellfire. All in real-time!

- Popey, the flash-animated holy chipmunk: See this rascally chipmunk get into all sorts of trouble, from bathing in the holy water to accidentally declaring prophylactics legal.

- Interactive Blessings (only available during baptisms): Control the high priests of the Vatican during sacred Catholic ceremonies. Make them stand on one leg, toss babies, or even do the Macarena.

- Pope Blog (aka “the Plog”): Hear the Pope’s daily thoughts on the opulent papacy and other racy topics (Author’s note: This is the part of the post where you can write your own altar-boy joke)

- Prophetic Image Search Engine: Search the growing list of sites that have witnessed graven images of the Virgin Mary and other biblical All-Stars.

- Add-A-Sin: There’s always room for more! For a small fee, you can add just about any act or thought to the growing list of punishable offenses. Tired of taxes? Damn them! Don’t like elevators? Now there’s 8 deadly sins! Sick of people poking fun at Christian doctrine on their blogs? Send ‘em to satan!
(Don’t worry, I’ve already got my ticket punched)

Are Roids Really the Problem?

I hate to do it, but it's high time I weighed in on the steroids issue.
Hmm... still pushing two hundred pounds. Not a good sign.

Of course, I'm not a juiced professional athlete-- I'm a liquored up amateur one.
And, on the first day of my beer-league softball season, it's about time I put in my two cents worth on the steroids issue that has been so heavily "plaguing" major league baseball.

If you believe the media, or even some sources inside MLB, you'd think that the news of homerun production dropping was concrete proof that the huge hormone-driven gorilla was finally off baseball's back. Guess what, it isn't. In fact, from the numbers provided so far, it's even tough to say it ever was.
Take a look at the stats provided to us so far.
HRs per game through the season's first five weeks

Year HRs/Game
2005 1.97
2004 2.16
2003 2.07
2002 1.93
2001 2.31
2000 2.59
1999 2.22
1998 1.97
1997 1.86
1996 2.34
Avg 2.14

Any statisticians out there want to raise their hand and tell me what this graph signifies? Anybody? Right. It's the natural ebb and flow of any statistical category, and nothing more. If I had told any of my stats teachers through college (5 of 'em) that the reason HR production dropped this year was because of tougher steroid regulations, I'd be punched. No, I'd be beaten with an axe. Publicly hung. Drawn and quartered. You get the picture.

Truth is, we're on exactly the same pace we were on in the revered "Summer That Saved Baseball," where Big Mac, Slammin Sammy and Crippled Ken Griffey combined for 193 round trippers. That's three guys hitting more moon shots than most teams combined (I included Griffey in there because he had the quietest 57 HRs in the history of baseball that year. To put that into perspective, Adrian Beltre led the majors with 48 last season). We look at 1998 now as the pinnacle of 'roid abuse just as '86 was to cocaine (thanks, Straw!).

To put this another way, the media is throwing around the figure of an 8.8% decline in HRs through the first 5 weeks of the season. Now, let's look at the percentage difference of the last 10 years, just for consistency:

Year Pct Difference from previous year
2005 -8.8%
2004 4.3%
2003 7.3%
2002 -16.5%
2001 -10.8%
2000 16.7%
1999 12.7%
1998 5.9%
1997 -20.5%

Still think the decline is steroid-related? I didn't think so. Pitchers and batters battle every year for supremacy. Some years, due to better conditioning, weather, whatever, one group will get the better of the other (relatively speaking of course).

Perhaps more telling of the issue at hand is to look at slugging percentage, not actual homeruns. If batters aren't making as much contact (and remember, even sluggers have established that steroids don't help contact), we can more safely attribute this decline to a rise in pitching performance. And what do you know, batting average has dropped from last year-- 4 points to be exact (4 points per 1000 doesn't seem to be very much to the casual fan, but remember that a difference of 10 points can cost literally millions of dollars in a player's contract).

I might be going out on a limb here, but it's hard for me to believe that steroids were ever really affecting the game. From all the evidence that exists, it all boils down to just a few players and a general trend towards increased power. It's extremely naive at this point to even suggest that it was illegal narcotics affecting and "tarnishing" the game.

This isn't radical thinking, folks, it's logical.

I find it actually disgusting when members of the media cherry-pick statistics to back up their predictions. I write this only to implore the rah-rah writers out there to please, please perform some sort of unbiased statistical analysis on this. You're leading people in the wrong direction, and it's wrong. Just wrong.

The Walk of Shame

I saw a girl this past weekend when I was walking through the city. She was all dolled up for a Friday night. Dressed nice, makeup, the whole deal. Only it was 11:30 on a Saturday morning.

Ah yes, the walk of shame.

It's easy to spot the shamers on a Saturday morning. They're still wearing their Friday best, but a few of the details are off. The shirts are wrinkled, the accessories are dangling precariously and there may still be an open fly. But mostly you can tell by the hair. That's the giveaway.

I never understood why they called it the walk of shame. Shouldn't you be happy about something like that? I mean, I know there have been times where you've woken up and you wonder how in your drunken state you guessed this person to be female since, despite some fairly obvious anatomical clues, she shows no signs of it in the morning. But (hopefully) these occasions are few and bar between.

Really, there are only a handful of reasons you should ever be truly ashamed of a drunken gropefest.
- You're married
- It's your cousin or other close relative
- You wake up covered in horse feed
- You're clergy

And so forth. You know when to be ashamed.

Once, just once, I'd like to see somebody (girl or guy) stumble out onto a porch at 10AM and start shouting, "I am the greatest!" while running down the sidewalk and holding up a mock championship belt. Just once.

Rickey's Back

Another quick one:

News is out today that Rickey Henderson is making yet another comeback, this time for the San Diego Surf Dawgs (yes, that's actually how they're spelling it).

This shouldn't really be surprising, the guy's played the last few years with Newark, and was called up briefly with the Dodgers a few years back.

The quote from the article that strikes me is, "Who else has that kind of body at age 46?"
Uhhh.... this guy!
Julio Franco, who qualifies for AARP by the end of the decade, has been going strong for years, and that's saying a lot for a position player. Jesse Orosco was 47 when he retired a few years back, but he only threw 6 pitches at a time, usually not after the 8th inning. Franco hit .309 last year. Three-oh-freakin-nine! Know how many Yankees hit .309 last year playing in that many games? Zero. Not one. Look it up. Steinbrenner gets stuck with guys who are past their prime at 33. I'm digressing again...

I guess what it all boils down to is that if I ever go to San Diego, I'm coming back with some Surf Dawgs memorabilia. Go Rickey.

Oh, and by the way, this is still the #1 sports photo of the year. It won't be topped. It can't be.

From the Weekend

Since the posts with actual interesting "content" are still in process (they got me working here at work... go figure... so I haven't had as much time as I'd like to slack off and blog), I'm going to leave you with some filler junk that will satisfy only the most casual of readers.
Yeah, I suck. I know. I embrace it.

Things I learned from this weekend:
- Whoever bought all those shots on Friday night is a real dick.

- If you see somebody you haven't seen in 3+ years, and they've lost about 25 pounds since then and look great, there is no way to tell them that without hitting on them. I spent half an hour trying to figure out how to tell an old college friend she was looking good these days. Can you really do that without flirting or insulting them? I mean, these are women we're talking about. Not to generalize (and subsequently receive plenty of nasty comments on this post), but it can be a difficult task to compliment them without somehow backhandedly insulting them. Take this conversation for example:
Me: Wow, you're looking great since the last time I saw you.
Her: What, like I was fat before?
Me: ......

This is what I had feared, but in the end (and probably since everybody was hammered) it turned out OK. Phew.

- Dinners with my mom are still really fun, not only because of the fact that I enjoy her company, but because she's clinically deaf in one ear. This never fails to be funny. Ever.

- Satan is now taking over the sports world -- Glass Joe Brown pitched a 7-inning shutout for the Yankees, and a freakin Canadian won the NBA MVP award. Incredible.

- Good book: The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (haven't seen the film). Bad Movie (to watch on TV): Out cold, starring the London twin from Dazed & Confused. Good Album (Classic): Alice In Chains - Facelift. Bad Day for a Family F-cking Reunion: July 30th, when the Black Crowes open up for Tom Petty. I'm pissed about this one.

- Still Great after all these years: The Simpsons. Jumped the Shark: The phrase "jumped the shark." Glad to have you back: The Family Guy. Can't wait for more: American Dad. (in other words, watch FOX from 8-10 on Sundays... and I can't believe I just gave a free promo to a major TV network-- somebody kill me)

Yankees Acquire Lindros, Marbury

NEW YORK – In a move to bolster their already powerful lineup, the Yankees announced Thursday the acquisitions of New York sports staples Eric Lindros and Stephon Marbury.

"I'm happy to have athletes such as these," said an ecstatic George Steinbrenner, "Isiah [Thomas, General Manager of the New York Knicks], Glen Sather [GM of the New York Rangers] and I all got together one night and realized we think very much alike." Steinbrenner later noted that former Mets GM Jim Duquette attended the meeting as well, adding, "I believe the fans of New York will really take a liking to these familiar faces. We're really going the extra mile here."

"Eric might take a while to adjust from playing in the Garden," stated a mostly confused Joe Torre, "I haven't seen him yet without his skates on, so it could take a few games before I get a good look at him. We'll get him some at-bats soon."

Torre also said that Lindros, whose crowning achievement in the Big Apple was enduring an alarming number of on-ice concussions, will most likely take over the catching duties while batting 5th or 6th in the order. He later added, "He brings a real physical presence to the team, which we like."

Marbury is also seen as having a strong upside for the Yanks, since it is impossible to commit a turnover on the baseball diamond. "George really wanted him," said Yankees General Manager Brian Cashman, "since, according to him, we really needed a shooting guard. He was fairly easy to acquire-- it's the playoffs in the NBA right now so obviously the Knicks won't need him." Marbury averaged 21.7 points this season for the Knicks, and Cashman is hopeful those point totals can help jumpstart the Yankees' slumping offense.

"We're seeing Stephon mostly as a leadoff guy," said Torre, "although we might use him out of the bullpen too. We could probably stick him in center for a few games, see if he can protect that wall out there, like a Torii Hunter type of guy."

Current Yankees had mixed reactions to the acquisitions.

"I think, like any sport, there's a learning curve," said captain Derek Jeter, "during infield drills Stephon kept yelling 'I'm open, I'm open,' only he was playing in left field at the time."

"I hear this guy Lindros can really swat," said a beaming Kevin Brown, as he shadowboxed around the clubhouse, "I can't wait to meet him, [and] trade a few tips."

"Good luck to the both of them," muttered backup veteran catcher John Flaherty, who was optioned to AA Trenton, "real class acts, the both of them. Great [expletive] idea, George."

Steinbrenner mentioned conversations regarding Giants' end Michael Strahan to shore up the defense, but backed off, saying football was "too much of a team sport. We're really focusing on the individual in 2005."

Some Odds and Ends

Today's flow of consciousness whose contents may or may not have any relation to one another, or any other rational ideology, for that matter.

- I went to Wendy's drive-thru for lunch today, since I didn't have time to stop anywhere else. And yes, in light of yesterday's post, I even bought the chili. Happy to report that there were zero fingers. Not even a press-on nail.
Although I did notice, as in the past with this particular location, that the drive-thru people treat you like a leper. They open the window so narrow they can barely fit their arm through it. It's very odd.
I was also thoroughly annoyed when I had 26 cents coming to me as change, and the lady handed me a penny, a nickel and two dimes. What!?! Where the f-ck is my quarter? There's more convenient change in there! I live in a city, I subsist on coin-op laundry, I don't have the patience for 3 coins when just 1 will do the job.

- A little tidbit from this article, saying kids shouldn't smoke pot until after 18 (at least, that's what I got out of it):

Of some 700,000 marijuana arrests in 2002, 88 percent were for possession, it said. And only one of every 18 of those arrests ended in a felony conviction.

"Arresting record numbers of low-level marijuana offenders represents a poor investment in public safety" and diverts resources from "more serious crime problems," said Ryan King, co-author of the report.

If they follow his advice, it should cut down on the rampant paranoia that can really kill your buzz.

- Free lesson: Don't email death threats to corporate executives.

- How much does it suck to be Jason White these days? Former Heisman Trophy winner Jason White. Look for more information in his upcoming autobiography, "How to Throw for 75 TDs in 2 Years, Make the National Championship Game Twice, Win the Heisman, and Not Get Drafted"

- And finally, can we start calling Kevin Brown "Glass Joe"? I think this nickname is perfect. If your mom picked up a NES controller, she could beat Glass Joe. Just like if she picked up a Louisville Slugger, she could knock a gap double against Brown. I hope this will catch on.


"Make it quick...I want to retire!"

The Low-Life Hall of Fame

I have a confession.

Some strange part of me likes hearing about these trashy people. It's a small part, although it sometimes gets the best of me and forces me to watch shows like Cops and Springer (and why haven't these two shows been combined yet? You're telling me you wouldn't watch Springer in the back of a squad car asking the perp just where his life went wrong and when is he going to tell his fiancé(s) that he's really a transgender mutated gay armadillo? You can't tell me you wouldn't watch that. You just can't).

Pout? Empty purse? How can she possibly be lying?

I derive some sick sort of pleasure watching these attention (and income) starved people like Anna Ayala (the chick that falsely reported finding a finger in her fast food chili) and Elicia Battle (the woman who claimed to have dropped a $162 million lottery ticket). Even Timothy Crebase and his cronies, the three guys who went on TV saying they found buried bank notes which, as it turned out, they stole. You can't make this stuff up.

Mind you, I'm not encouraging this type of behavior. On the contrary, I really wish these people could be put in a public forum and beaten with a rubber hose-- but it's still fun to watch. I think it's the part of me that just loves to see other people screw up. Very similar to the part of me that loves to see those poor celebrities go to rehab for crippling addictions to methamphetamines.

I think they should have some sort of a trash-hall-of-fame for lowlifes. It wouldn't be a prestigious shrine for heroes or athletes or Jim Davis. Rather, it would have the frivolous litigants and pathological liars and Paris Hiltons and anybody who has ever appeared on "The Real World" (after season 2). On the one hand, that would be giving them what they were after in the first place-- cheap and undeserved fame. But on the other hand, wouldn't it be great to take your grandkids to a museum where you have the sort of hand-me-down conversations that grandparents often have with, well, everybody?

"See her? She had actually sued almost a dozen other companies looking for a handout."
"Was she a hobo, grandpa?"
"Pretty much, Brad III. Pretty much. And they never found out where she got the finger in the first place!"

I can't wait.

I Knew It!!

Part of my post yesterday was facetious in a self-aggrandizing manner-- that is to say it was mostly wishful thinking B.S.
However, within hours after my post went up, the wheels of the Yankee machine were turning. And lo and behold -- this article.
(If you don't have time to read it, just take this line: "...and Robinson Cano is coming up from the minors to play second base every day...").
If you really needed proof that I'm publicly but secretly advising the Yanks brass, look no further.

OK, now that I'm done fellating myself, I'll share with you a much more embarrassing story, just so you know my ego hasn't gone into the ionosphere.

I sent an email to my girlfriend yesterday-- one of those cutesy, mushy emails you pray to whatever you're worshipping these days that your friends never read. Well, as it turns out, I'm a dumbass, and it so happens that my buddy and I are dating girls that have the same first name... and I sent it to his girlfriend instead.
Yeah.
Didn't realize it until she wrote me back today and essentially immasculated me with good-natured ribbing (which, by the way, is the exact same thing I would expect my girlfriend to do to my buddy, if he were ever so dumb as to pull that move).

Back to Baseball - Dear Brian Cashman

OK, I'm finally off the whole stripper thing and back onto baseball. Here's some open correspondence laying around my desk.

Office of the General Manager
Yankee Stadium
161st Street & River Ave.
Bronx, NY 10451

Dear Brian Cashman,
You know me. I know you know me. I know you've been reading my blog and following my advice. This is why you brought up Andy Phillips and Chien Ming Wang, both of whom are paying dividends for your precocious boss.
I know you realize I have a lot more knowledge of your team than most scouts, mostly because I'm more concerned with winning than harming the egos of a bunch of underachieving overpaid bums. In other words, I'm a fan-- not an accountant.
Now that we are through with cordialities, let me tell you what to do next. Bitch.

- Keep Phillips at first. He has as many extra-base hits as Jason Giambi in a quarter of the at-bats. Keep Tino, since it's good to have him around. And cut Giambi. Just cut him. Eat his paycheck. It's a tough price to pay but it's worth it.
- Tanyon Sturtze should be starting. If I had said this 3 years ago, I'd have been gunned down in an alley, but it's a good idea now.
- Way to give up Yhency Brazoban for Kevin Brown. Really, nice job. A hard-throwing righty who could have easily been Rivera's successor and you give him up for Kevin F-cking Brown. This isn't advice, but since I wasn't blogging back then, I really needed to get it off my chest. In the future, please consult me before making these trades. Jackass.
- Get rid of Rey Sanchez, and bring up AAA prospect Robinson Cano. The guy's ready. And Sanchez is crap.
- Dumping 220 pounds of dead weight from the roster (Giambi) will do two things-- first, you'll free up a DH spot for Bernie Williams. Moving Bernie to DH will not only put 3 years onto his career, but you also make room for prospect Melky Cabrera, who is not only the best defensive outfielder in the Yanks farm system, but can also hit for high average-- something Bernie hasn't been able to do for years (plus, Steven Hawking could outrun Bernie at this point).
- Pay a proctologist $15 million anually to shove his entire fist into your colon every five days for 3 full years. Now you know what it's like to have Kevin Brown on your roster. Hopefully, this will teach you a lesson.
Take it from me, the fans would rather see a crop of home-grown talent than hormone-grown losers.

Your move.

Sincerely,
Brad C.
The Steam Vent

PS - Chien Ming Wang needs to stop inexplicably and inexcusably pronouncing his last name "Wong." This is precluding the myriad unintentionally humorous John Sterling phrases such as "Wang has really grown here in NY" and "Wang's really heating it up tonight" and "It burns when I pee."
PPS - How'd you like the posts about the strippers?

To my newer readers, I first wrote about Wang here and Phillips here.

The Strip Club - Part III

Note: This is part iii in an ongoing series on my strip club adventures

The Bachelor Party
Two bachelor party stories. One happened last week at the club, and the other was a story related to me over a few beers.

But first off all, you should really check out the comment post on part II, left by Scott from HSR. It's a must-read.

There were about 6 or 7 Indian guys having their bachelor party last Wednesday, taking place just as we got in the door. The first thing the girls did was bring the groom-to-be up on stage and strip him. Now, if you'll recall from part I, in New York the girls have to be covered when making contact with the, um, patrons. That means the girl wore lingerie while the guy was stripped to an embarrassingly small pair of underwear. (Note to guys: If you know you're having your bachelor party on a given night, just plan on being stripped at some point-- that means don't wear anything you shouldn't be seen in. This is important)
The dancer then proceeded to spank the guy with his own belt until she felt bad and gave up. The poor guy was embarrassed enough being on stage in what was essentially a pair of panties, but now he's being defiled against all of his religious codes, and it just wasn't a fun sight to see. Well, it kind of was in a cruel, cruel way. Of course, his buddies were there cheering the whole thing on anyway, so I guess you couldn't feel too bad.

The other story involves some friends of mine and took place during a party for a guy whom nobody really likes. You know that friend that, for whatever reason, you hang out with despite his tendency to be a real whiny bitch? Well, it was that guy's party.
The girls brought him up on stage and blindfolded him, and did the usual stripper bachelor party sort of things. After a while, they said something like, 'Now we're going to put a nipple in your mouth,' and, as strippers often do, they tricked him. The "nipple" was actually a large synthetic replication of a male genitalia-- with whipped cream on it. Of course, thinking it was what they told him it was, he, well, you can fill this part in.
After the party, it was one of those things he wouldn't shut up about (because none of the other guys actually told him what he had done, it was funnier as an inside joke). Even though it caused much giggling at his expense, he was being a real pain about it-- until one day one of the friends had had a little too much:
"Dude, you know that nipple at the party? Well it was a big rubber dick. So shut up."

He shut up.


The Wet T-Shirt Contest
This didn't actually happen at the strip club last week-- it happened when we were out drinking on Saturday, but I'm going to include it here anyway.
And if you're asking yourself just how I manage to find myself in these sorts of situations so frequently, know that I hang out with mostly single guys under 30. And I drink. A lot.
The contest had been billed as a bikini contest, but then when we got there (and immediately ordered 6 pitchers of beer for the 4 of us) we realized the ad said bikini/wet t-shirt contest. Jackpot.
There were only four contestants. Three of them looked as if they had done these types of things many times before (one of them was a substitute teacher at a local school around here, no doubt encouraging scores of children to dust off their parents' vinyl copy of Van Halen's 1984). The fourth contestant was a moderately attractive but shy girl who had shown up with far, far too many young male friends, who ended up convincing her to enter.


Low self-esteem is a beautiful thing

The three pros, while clearly having the advantage in appearance, did not have the advantage of a rowdy cheering section, so the hometown girl won by a landslide. In retrospect, I think this was the best way to do it. We, as spectators, got as much as you can get out of a wet t-shirt contest (despite 2 failed chants of "skin to win"), and in the end a local girl walked home with a nice monetary prize and a very proud (if now unworthy) boyfriend.

Just like Cinderella, except with more boobs.

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