Sunday, September 30, 2007
Amazing Footage
I can't get over the fact that as much as it must've cost, World War II was, and remains, the most photographed event in the world. Unreal. The PBS stuff, unbelievable. And it's not like today with everyone having a cell phone; the film back then: incredible.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Going at it Just As Hard as They Can
A coupla years back The Sports Guy wrote a running diary account of a day in the life of Mike and the Mad Dog, the world’s single greatest wadio pwogwam. I remember at the time thinking this was a Sports Guy Classic, one for the ages; my friends and I reveled in it for weeks. As it always is when time puts some space between the actual and the memory, the aura of the article grew larger and larger in my mind as the greatest, funniest collection of words put together since that Sunday edition of Bloom County where Opus is buying Preparation H. Recently I found the article and read it for the first time since it appeared and, me being Xmastime, of course I can only think one thing: I can do better.
Not only can I do better, I say to myself, but I’m going to point out the Sports Guy’s article for comparison –I’m not gonna pretend I never saw his article. Here it is, in your face, I’m better. Here it is...one man’s thoughts on the greatest show on Earth.
(for a quick primer, click thru this link to the Youtube clip...)
1:04pm for the intro they’re busting on Dawg being a Yankee hater by playing clips of him declaring the Yankees’ season over at various points throughout the year. The main one being on May 1...with 139 games left in a 162-game season. Hmm. This is like a father calling his son a loser who will never become a goddam thing at the age of 7. Flash forward a quarter century and well well well, look who’s sittin’ pretty on his own sofa-bed, hasn’t drunk-pissed himself in 2 years and is on the verge of getting his own checking account? FUCK you, “Dad”, fuuuuccckkkk you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1:06 one of the great things about these two is that after 20 years, sometimes they talk as if they’re dancing with each other. Rhythmic. Like right now Mike is starting in about the Mets, with Dawg chirping in. “Folks, we are watching a team in udder collapse. Udder (tewwible, Mikey!!) udder (tewwible!) udder (terrible!) collapse” Dawg is like your mother chirping behind your father while he’s giving you a belt-whupping, driving him even crazier and making it worse for your ass.
1:14 They guys have been hyperventilating re: the Mets collapse for ten minutes now. Nobody’s seen Mike this animated since Sonic started serving breakfast - must be why he’s actually in his seat coming out of commercial; for some reason, 90% of the time Mike insists on walking back into the studio about 20 seconds after Dawg has already started the segment. His rock star moment, I guess.
1:17 after screaming/laughing bout the Mets choking, Mike admits that no, he didn’t actually see the game. Yet he sounds off as an authority. Typical. But then Mike hasn’t seen his dick in about 25 years and he just had a kid, so I guess somehow he really does just know things.
1:18 Seriously, I’ve never seen Mike this happy. Did Ben & Jerry stock just split? Mike is usually so stoic, but now he is singing along and tapping on the desk to “If This is It” (NOT the Huey Lewis one, the other 70's one.) I've seen it all, and wanna throw up.
1:25 one thing The Sports Guy got right is that Mike kinda sounds like Yogi Bear. Anytime he references Yogi Berra, he should hafta do the voice. And how nobody’s come up with a M&MD Yogi the Bear cartoon with Dawg as the Boo-Boo character is beside me. “Hey hey Doggy, looks like Ranger Smith left some food out!” “Oh, that’s a TEWWIBLE job by Ranger Smith, Mikey!” “Ugh.” “Tewwible!” “Ugh” “Tewwible!”
"AAAAAAAAND now those jagoffs won't fuck with us ever again, Doggie."
"Wow! GWEAT job, Mikey! One for the Big Guy!!"
1:27 Dog just tried to say "Colorado." After three fly-bys, finally just plowed thru it "Carararro." Sounds like a Chinese guy ordering Sammy Hagar’s tequila. Ugly.
1:30 Mike now makes his official Yankee declaration “You will have your October.” Of course those 5 words took about 120 seconds to say as Mike inhales the fumes of his own genius. This kicks off the first hellacious Doggie laugh of the day, which sounds like someone shredding cardboard while stepping on a cat, but not as calming.
1:38 Now they’re yapping about some goofy throwing contest by fans. I guess they’re cutting on Boomer from the morning show. No idea what they’re talking about. But Mike is still giddy, which to me has become the story of the day.
1:39 our first “hahahahaha say something funny Mike!” yelp from Dawg. Ironically, Mike is actually the funny one. Which makes no sense. He stares down at his desk and makes serious proclamations like he’s the voice of the almighty, but he actually gets off a few funny lines a day. I guess it’s true that a fat, dour, self-righteous, condescending, smarmy know-it-all clock is right twice a day.
1:42 how does YES pay these guys a million each a year and they have two commercials? Wtf?
1:43 and how is it possible that these guys haven’t been on Michael Kay’s CenterStage yet? Emmanual Lewis, Lambchop w/o Shari Lewis and the guy in the “Safety Dance” video, but no Mike and Dawg? I guess Mike somehow sees this as competition to his NBC show Mike’d Up. The best part of that show is for some reason they place a HUGE bowl of candy or chips on the table in front of Mike throughout the ½ hour – my dream is to hire some kid who during commercials can sneak in there and put a dent in the candy each time, so it looks like Fatcessa has been devouring the bowl on each break. Shit disappears as the show goes on. Kills me. Well, and I dream that men would be angels, and angels would be God. But the candy thing, camon....
1:46 I love it when the callers announce that they’re gonna ask their question and then “I’m gonna hang up and listen to your answer.” Really? Just once I’d like to hear “then I’m gonna hang up and drop the radio in my bathtub so the last words I hear on this Earth are ‘oh, Dawg, brutal. Ugh.’” Or “then I’m gonna drop the phone and sprint away as quickly as possible, just run as far as I can. thanks guys!"
1:50 John from Staten Island calls in to cry about the Mets bullpen, and Mike is incredulous: “if you can't get 6 or 7 outs, why bother even talking about the bullpen? They’re awful!!” I feel we’re only minutes away from a “Mariano Rivera is a God, on a different level” speech. Only question is how will Mike tie in his precious ’61 Yankees/Rivera/guzzling another crate of Diet Coke, which is the Mikey hat trick.
2:00 now we’re listening to a clip of David Wright saying the Mets have to “dig down deep” and “find that something extra” so they can “finish strong.” You think an alarm is going off cross town in Derek Jeter’s locker to warn that another player is trying to out-cliche him? I can’t wait for 40 years from now and old-timers try to school youngsters on what a great cliche-er Jeter once was. “You fucking call that a cluster of cliches? Derek Jeter, young man, did the intangible cliches, the cliches that don’t always show up in the papers the next day! Derek Jeter could put a reporter to sleep in four questions, you fucking punk!!! Know your history!!!” And David Wright sounds like Jermaine Jackson. Which is funny, cause there’s are only 4 other males on Earth who have heard Jermaine speak, but this is how I’d picture his voice.
2:05 Mike declares that he never thought the Yankees would win the division. Wow, what a genius. He stuck to his guns, even when the Yanks were 14 ½ back. Can’t wait for Mike’s “I knew Suri Cruise was gonna be a screwed-up kid” proclamation 20 years from now. Right again, Mikey!!! You did it!
2:08 Now Doggie’s going thru the Yankees season and its big turning points. Tuff for Dog, who is the King of all Yankee haters. Which makes the show great. And he somehow just found a way to toss tennis into the discussion three times. Nothing’s worse than when Mike’s on vacation in the summer and Dawg regales us with the play by play of whatever local tennis match he played the night before. “high wob, I fwoat back, cwossstwoke aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannd....15-wuv, storms coming fwom the northwest, I know I gotta huwwy!!!” For 5 hours. A brutal test for any listener. Like sitting there for hours listening to a girl prattle on and on cause you know this is the night she’s finally gonna give it up. Just hang in there, fellas.
2:11 Mike seems distracted; now I see he’s staring at the computer beside him, ready to pounce like a bear. Sniffing it. Like great white sharks mating in nature, humans have never witnessed Francesa on a computer. He is the original proud Luddite; a few years back Dawg tried to get him to admit he knew what the internet was and after about an hour Mike finally admitted that sometimes he went online to “check out my stories.” Nobody even wants to know what these stories are. And....BAM! There he goes, to the computer! See the bright colors, big guy! Sniff sniff!
2:12 be amazing if all of a sudden he pulled a ham sandwich out from inside the monitor, wouldn’t it?
2:30 Sorry. Just took a dump so big a doctor came in and made me name it before I flushed.
2:38 Dog loves that the guy is gonna put an asterisk on Bonds’ home run ball. Mike sniffs he’s a “fashion designer.” I guess Mike thinks XXXL plain white button-down shirts with pit stains and Cheetos dust design themselves.
2:50 Biff from Philly calling in... a “Biff” from Philly? Are you kidding me?
2:52 I’m always amazed more crank calls don’t get through. Anytime someone slips thru, the guys bitch at their call screener. Like it’s impossible to be lied to over the phone. I don’t see how stopping a caller is even possible. If I wanted to call in and tell Mike to eat his own fat ass, couldn’t I fool the screener long enuff? Or does it go “Okay, what’dya wanna ask the guys?” “I wanna tell Mike to eat his own fat ass.” “Sorry (click)” I would think I’d have the brains to pull off:
“Okay, what’dya wanna ask the guys?”
“I wanna ask if they’d start Clemens over Chad on Sunday.”
“Please hold...” now they switch to another voice, try to make me slip up
“Okay, what’d you say you wanted to ask about?”
“I wanna tell Mike to...”
SHIT! couldn't even pull it off here...guess it is tough after all. Fucking hell.
2:55 Mike’s at the door with his back to us, talking to someone...right now, every single YES viewer is making the exact same joke: “Lemme check before you take off, make sure they put on double pepperoni...”
2:57 first “in the mix”sighting, one of Doggie’s pet phrases. Though it almost gets lost in the wreckage of Dog using it with the word “strategy;” “there’s some stwategy in the mix!” fucking christ; is there a St. Bernard lapping at his face that I just don't see?
3:01 I get a kick outta the fact that at every break Dog has to say “Sports Radio 66.” And you know Mike makes him be the one to say it, just to be a dick. When I first started listening, I was amazed that someone with Doggie’s speech um, “patterns” could get a job on radio. I decided that this guy must be amazing, must REALLY know what he’s doing to get a gig on radio. It’s like going to the track and betting on the three-legged dog: why else would he be running?
3:02 hooker with one titty mighta worked back there, too.
3:08 Dog’s blowing his nose into some toilet paper. Not television’s proudest moment. Looks like a dachshund putting on a surgical mask.
3:09 Now they’re going thru playbacks of different announcers from the game last night, trying to detect panic in Met announcers. Are they psychiatrists? Should they be a carnival act? “Step right up, Doggie will guess your feelings while exploding into 1000 pieces as Mike sits in a chair to ease his ‘mysterious knee pain.’”
3:10 “oh, Dawg...ugh...ugh” Mike’s pretending to be sad re: Mets collapse panic.
3:11 now they’re trashing Keith Hernandez’s handling of a play while in the booth. I wonder how they woulda done on Seinfeld? Dude was in an hour-long episode and made out with Elaine!!! Tho be fair, Mike mighta played Newman, so.
3:12 Dawg is pissed no one’s showing up to support the Mets: “they should boo the fans for not showing up!!!!!” Really? If there’s no fans showing up, who’ll be doing the booing? And at who? Dog’s a little slap-happy now, he’s been fighting to hold Mike off his Hot Pockets for 2 hours now.
3:14 Clip of Willie Randolph trying to break David Wright’s cliche record for the day. Stumbles after saying “we gotta go get em tomorrow” by missing the chance to say “we gotta take it day by day.” Can hear Wright goffawing in the background, Willie’s pissed.
3:18 John Minko, the update guy, is walking in to give some scores as he does every hour. Camon, one time, do it naked! Or in a chicken costume. Just walk in, do the news in a chicken suit. Have Mike and Dog pretend to not even notice.
3:26 Chris from Jersey gives us our first “first time/long time” moment. Everyfuckingbody does this: “hey it’s Chris, first-time caller/long-time listener...” I’d like to call in “hey it’s Xmas, this is my ninth call since this morning when I first heard of you guys...” Surely I’m not the first person to think of this?
3:28 is Mike reading a magazine? This is what its come to?
3:31 Mike coming in late from commercial again. They should have the train from Silver Spoons cart him back and forth every break.
3:38 Mike never says “hi” to a caller, just quickly gruffs their name. “Hey guys, it’s Ricky.” “Ricky.” If you set it up perfectly, listening to Mike could be like an Abbott & Costello routine.
3:40 seriously...what the fuck does Mike do every break? Sprints outta the chair every time. I assume the shitter; but we’re now 2 & ½ hours in, how much of the Velveeta pony keg can still be left? Fuck!
3:58 Mike just spent 2 minutes trying to explain “Sal wanted a pony for Xmas”, a metaphor for a Mets win, which takes Dawg about 7 passes to finally get. Which leads to Dog asking if Mike wanted a pony when he was a kid, to which Mike seriously says oh, no no. Definitely not. Sad solemnly, in case we were to ever get the wrong and presumably dangerous impression that at one time he would’ve wanted of all things a pony.
3:59 Now Dawg’s talking about his cat as a kid. Yum Yum. After destroying some upholstery, Dawg’s dad got rid of Yum Yum. Mike, in one of the rare moments he’s curious about another person’s life, asks Dawg what he means by this. Dawg says they found another home for it, to which Eddie from the booth chimes in “under a tree.” Hardest I’ve ever seen Mike laff, and all it took was a young child’s dead kitten. Nice. I think I’ll make sure Mike’s around next time I read “Where the Red Fern Grows” to, you know...”keep things light.” Ugh.
4:14 Dan O’Dowd is talking. GM of the Colorado Rockies. I missed the last 15 minutes. Why is he on? I have no idea.
4:17 Mike declares this year’s umps have been the worst ever. That’s it! In the books, 2007 the worst ever. Prolly already on Wikipedia as fact.
4:18 Just occurred to me - I hope they brought this guy in just to make Dawg hafta say Colorado again. Poor bastard, he can’t even fall back on “Rockies” and sound like an adult.
4:19 “Good job Dan!” Dawg always says that you did a good job when the interview’s over, like a pat on the head. Always seems vaguely surprised a guest comes on and isn’t completely retarded. You’d think being in a room with Mike all this years, he’d be programmed to always assume whomever he’s talking to is a genius. But then, you’d also think we could get Cuba Gooding, Jr into a second movie that’s almost watchable, so I guess you never know.
4:29 Dawg just said that El Duque had a “weird bunion problem.” How can Mike not jump on this? Oh, right...he’s been asleep for the last ½ hour. Don’t wake the bear, Doggie!!!
4:37 they’re reading a quote from Skip Carey, who’s upset about being left off playoff telecasts. But apparently not about being named “Skip.” Interesting.
4:38 Wait - there’s Skip AND a Chip Carey? The Keebler Elves had children? What the fuck?!!!
4:39 You know, they’re right about bringing in announcers for playoffs that haven’t even seen any of the teams all year. It’s complete bullshit. It’s like bringing in Richard Simmons and Lance Bass to judge a Cameltoe Contest. Why wouldn’t they bring one local announcer from each team?
4:41 I gotta take break for a second, flip over to Beverly Hills 90210. Valerie is irked her latest conquest is leaving: “what do you hafta do, balance the federal deficit?” Fair question; if I'm in bed with Valerie Malone the only reason I'm getting out is if a King Cobra has announced its presence.
4:47 Is anybody alive out there? Dawg’s gettin amped up re: Bruce on The Today Show the next morning. It's a good thing Bruce didn't play for the Giants last year, Tiki would SHRED him on Today for sure.
4:48 Dawg is outlining his morning for watching Bruce on The Today Show. Trying to decide if he’ll buy his kid a little guitar to take. Wow. Now we find out from an uproarious Mike that at some Bruce shows, Dawg actually takes a toy guitar along to “jam” on during the show. Again: wow. There’s air guitar, there’s being the kid in the “quit being mean to Britney” video, and then there’s that. Dawg's kid’s gonna be thrilled. “Thanks Dad, being your son doesn’t get my ass kicked quite enuff at school, this should definitely take it over the top. You’re the best!”
4:49 almost 4 hours in, just now getting our first call from a Vinny? There a massive hair-gel sale going on all day I don't know about?
5:07 Dawg’s pounding himself for dissing the Yankees so early. Now comes the time of the day where they get lazy and just repeat themselves from earlier, saying the same shit they’ve already blathered. This is like a father calling his son a loser who will never become a goddam thing at the age of 7. Flash forward a quarter century and well well well, look who’s sittin’ pretty on his own sofa-bed, hasn’t drunk-pissed himself in 2 years and is on the verge of getting his own checking account? FUCK you, “Dad”, fuuuuccckkkk you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
5:09 Joe Torre’s on. I’d make a child abuse joke here, but isn’t getting drunk and slapping little people around funny enough already?
5:11 Jesus Christ. Torre. Lulling me to sleep. Blah blah blah.
5:22 You know what’s creepy? During phone calls when they put the person’s picture on screen; you can hear the dude talking but they have a still picture there, staring back at you. Do we need this? You find yourself staring at the person’s photo, hypnotized. Like whenever I watch something with subtitles, I find myself staring at the words on the screen and not the actors. Which is why it takes me so long to “issue” during “Rencontres Anales 4.”
5:24 Joe gives his thoughts on each team. Hmm. Lemme guess. “solid, good team. Will be tough to beat.” Thanks, Joe. Really going out on a limb here.
5:30 The last hour or so usually sucks, I always hope they go off topic such as “top ten movies.” This is fun cause now Mike has to pretend he’s never seen a movie in color except The Godfather. "Tom Hanks? Who's that?" And Dawg always asks Mike for his lists, never vice versa. Of course the Babe Ruth of these time-wasters is the Ratings Game, wherein Dawg reads out recent games to Mike who then tries to guess that games national and local television rating. At first you think they’re kidding, they GOTTA be putting you on, but you look at Mike and he looks like he's cracking logarithms on the bowl over there. And no matter how far off he is, he always nods his head as if he understand WHY he was off. “Dawg I’m gonna say for Giants/Boys, I’m gonna say 8.2 national, 10.1 local.” “They did a 6.6 national and 8.9 local.” Now Mike starts nodding his head, “okay, okay, I can see that.” And Dawg acts like he’s at a funeral, crestfallen “Mikey, that a tewwible wating! That’s an awful job by CBS, Mikey...just awful...” while Mike nods his head. "Well Dawg, it was the 3rd-to-the-last nice day left in the summer, so I knew that..." Are we supposed to take this seriously, that Mike really thinks he can guess these numbers? This reminds me of a guy I used to work with, Harry. EEEEEVery day Harry would check his lotto numbers from the night before and try to match them with his and see what he did wrong. “Okay, they have a 12, I chose 14...okay...22, I said 28...” I’m like Harry, it doesn’t matter, it’s completely random! But he insisted he was figuring it all out. My secret hope for the stupid ratings game is this is actually an inside joke they’ve been playing on listeners for years and are just waiting for the day someone finally phones in and calls bullshit on ‘em. “This ratings game, you’re fucking with us, right?!” Dude “wins” a weekend at Hooters with Mike, we never hear this stupid game again.
5:37 Now they’re talking about clothes, and Mike has just revealed that he has “active” socks and “inactive” socks. There’s no way I’m topping that sentence with anything else.
5:40 commercial, flipping to "MASH"...why did Hot Lips pick Frank Burns? All the doctors there to fuck, she picks him? Camon!
5:47 Now Mike and Doggie are talking to Ed Coleman, local beat guy for the Mets. Its official: Pedro Martinez will save millions of Mets fans from killing themselves tonite with a win. Comforting. This is the most the city has had to depend on a Latino since it got J-Lo to hide P-Diddy’s guns back in the day. HUGE game, Mike tells us 14,000 times in a row.
5:57 fuck!! They’re cutting the show early to get to the Yankees game. Mike and the Mad Dog. My life!! For you people outside of NY who wanna listen in, hit them every weekday starting at 1pm at WFAN.
Not only can I do better, I say to myself, but I’m going to point out the Sports Guy’s article for comparison –I’m not gonna pretend I never saw his article. Here it is, in your face, I’m better. Here it is...one man’s thoughts on the greatest show on Earth.
(for a quick primer, click thru this link to the Youtube clip...)
1:04pm for the intro they’re busting on Dawg being a Yankee hater by playing clips of him declaring the Yankees’ season over at various points throughout the year. The main one being on May 1...with 139 games left in a 162-game season. Hmm. This is like a father calling his son a loser who will never become a goddam thing at the age of 7. Flash forward a quarter century and well well well, look who’s sittin’ pretty on his own sofa-bed, hasn’t drunk-pissed himself in 2 years and is on the verge of getting his own checking account? FUCK you, “Dad”, fuuuuccckkkk you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
1:06 one of the great things about these two is that after 20 years, sometimes they talk as if they’re dancing with each other. Rhythmic. Like right now Mike is starting in about the Mets, with Dawg chirping in. “Folks, we are watching a team in udder collapse. Udder (tewwible, Mikey!!) udder (tewwible!) udder (terrible!) collapse” Dawg is like your mother chirping behind your father while he’s giving you a belt-whupping, driving him even crazier and making it worse for your ass.
1:14 They guys have been hyperventilating re: the Mets collapse for ten minutes now. Nobody’s seen Mike this animated since Sonic started serving breakfast - must be why he’s actually in his seat coming out of commercial; for some reason, 90% of the time Mike insists on walking back into the studio about 20 seconds after Dawg has already started the segment. His rock star moment, I guess.
1:17 after screaming/laughing bout the Mets choking, Mike admits that no, he didn’t actually see the game. Yet he sounds off as an authority. Typical. But then Mike hasn’t seen his dick in about 25 years and he just had a kid, so I guess somehow he really does just know things.
1:18 Seriously, I’ve never seen Mike this happy. Did Ben & Jerry stock just split? Mike is usually so stoic, but now he is singing along and tapping on the desk to “If This is It” (NOT the Huey Lewis one, the other 70's one.) I've seen it all, and wanna throw up.
1:25 one thing The Sports Guy got right is that Mike kinda sounds like Yogi Bear. Anytime he references Yogi Berra, he should hafta do the voice. And how nobody’s come up with a M&MD Yogi the Bear cartoon with Dawg as the Boo-Boo character is beside me. “Hey hey Doggy, looks like Ranger Smith left some food out!” “Oh, that’s a TEWWIBLE job by Ranger Smith, Mikey!” “Ugh.” “Tewwible!” “Ugh” “Tewwible!”
"AAAAAAAAND now those jagoffs won't fuck with us ever again, Doggie."
"Wow! GWEAT job, Mikey! One for the Big Guy!!"
1:27 Dog just tried to say "Colorado." After three fly-bys, finally just plowed thru it "Carararro." Sounds like a Chinese guy ordering Sammy Hagar’s tequila. Ugly.
1:30 Mike now makes his official Yankee declaration “You will have your October.” Of course those 5 words took about 120 seconds to say as Mike inhales the fumes of his own genius. This kicks off the first hellacious Doggie laugh of the day, which sounds like someone shredding cardboard while stepping on a cat, but not as calming.
1:38 Now they’re yapping about some goofy throwing contest by fans. I guess they’re cutting on Boomer from the morning show. No idea what they’re talking about. But Mike is still giddy, which to me has become the story of the day.
1:39 our first “hahahahaha say something funny Mike!” yelp from Dawg. Ironically, Mike is actually the funny one. Which makes no sense. He stares down at his desk and makes serious proclamations like he’s the voice of the almighty, but he actually gets off a few funny lines a day. I guess it’s true that a fat, dour, self-righteous, condescending, smarmy know-it-all clock is right twice a day.
1:42 how does YES pay these guys a million each a year and they have two commercials? Wtf?
1:43 and how is it possible that these guys haven’t been on Michael Kay’s CenterStage yet? Emmanual Lewis, Lambchop w/o Shari Lewis and the guy in the “Safety Dance” video, but no Mike and Dawg? I guess Mike somehow sees this as competition to his NBC show Mike’d Up. The best part of that show is for some reason they place a HUGE bowl of candy or chips on the table in front of Mike throughout the ½ hour – my dream is to hire some kid who during commercials can sneak in there and put a dent in the candy each time, so it looks like Fatcessa has been devouring the bowl on each break. Shit disappears as the show goes on. Kills me. Well, and I dream that men would be angels, and angels would be God. But the candy thing, camon....
1:46 I love it when the callers announce that they’re gonna ask their question and then “I’m gonna hang up and listen to your answer.” Really? Just once I’d like to hear “then I’m gonna hang up and drop the radio in my bathtub so the last words I hear on this Earth are ‘oh, Dawg, brutal. Ugh.’” Or “then I’m gonna drop the phone and sprint away as quickly as possible, just run as far as I can. thanks guys!"
1:50 John from Staten Island calls in to cry about the Mets bullpen, and Mike is incredulous: “if you can't get 6 or 7 outs, why bother even talking about the bullpen? They’re awful!!” I feel we’re only minutes away from a “Mariano Rivera is a God, on a different level” speech. Only question is how will Mike tie in his precious ’61 Yankees/Rivera/guzzling another crate of Diet Coke, which is the Mikey hat trick.
2:00 now we’re listening to a clip of David Wright saying the Mets have to “dig down deep” and “find that something extra” so they can “finish strong.” You think an alarm is going off cross town in Derek Jeter’s locker to warn that another player is trying to out-cliche him? I can’t wait for 40 years from now and old-timers try to school youngsters on what a great cliche-er Jeter once was. “You fucking call that a cluster of cliches? Derek Jeter, young man, did the intangible cliches, the cliches that don’t always show up in the papers the next day! Derek Jeter could put a reporter to sleep in four questions, you fucking punk!!! Know your history!!!” And David Wright sounds like Jermaine Jackson. Which is funny, cause there’s are only 4 other males on Earth who have heard Jermaine speak, but this is how I’d picture his voice.
2:05 Mike declares that he never thought the Yankees would win the division. Wow, what a genius. He stuck to his guns, even when the Yanks were 14 ½ back. Can’t wait for Mike’s “I knew Suri Cruise was gonna be a screwed-up kid” proclamation 20 years from now. Right again, Mikey!!! You did it!
2:08 Now Doggie’s going thru the Yankees season and its big turning points. Tuff for Dog, who is the King of all Yankee haters. Which makes the show great. And he somehow just found a way to toss tennis into the discussion three times. Nothing’s worse than when Mike’s on vacation in the summer and Dawg regales us with the play by play of whatever local tennis match he played the night before. “high wob, I fwoat back, cwossstwoke aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannd....15-wuv, storms coming fwom the northwest, I know I gotta huwwy!!!” For 5 hours. A brutal test for any listener. Like sitting there for hours listening to a girl prattle on and on cause you know this is the night she’s finally gonna give it up. Just hang in there, fellas.
2:11 Mike seems distracted; now I see he’s staring at the computer beside him, ready to pounce like a bear. Sniffing it. Like great white sharks mating in nature, humans have never witnessed Francesa on a computer. He is the original proud Luddite; a few years back Dawg tried to get him to admit he knew what the internet was and after about an hour Mike finally admitted that sometimes he went online to “check out my stories.” Nobody even wants to know what these stories are. And....BAM! There he goes, to the computer! See the bright colors, big guy! Sniff sniff!
2:12 be amazing if all of a sudden he pulled a ham sandwich out from inside the monitor, wouldn’t it?
2:30 Sorry. Just took a dump so big a doctor came in and made me name it before I flushed.
2:38 Dog loves that the guy is gonna put an asterisk on Bonds’ home run ball. Mike sniffs he’s a “fashion designer.” I guess Mike thinks XXXL plain white button-down shirts with pit stains and Cheetos dust design themselves.
2:50 Biff from Philly calling in... a “Biff” from Philly? Are you kidding me?
2:52 I’m always amazed more crank calls don’t get through. Anytime someone slips thru, the guys bitch at their call screener. Like it’s impossible to be lied to over the phone. I don’t see how stopping a caller is even possible. If I wanted to call in and tell Mike to eat his own fat ass, couldn’t I fool the screener long enuff? Or does it go “Okay, what’dya wanna ask the guys?” “I wanna tell Mike to eat his own fat ass.” “Sorry (click)” I would think I’d have the brains to pull off:
“Okay, what’dya wanna ask the guys?”
“I wanna ask if they’d start Clemens over Chad on Sunday.”
“Please hold...” now they switch to another voice, try to make me slip up
“Okay, what’d you say you wanted to ask about?”
“I wanna tell Mike to...”
SHIT! couldn't even pull it off here...guess it is tough after all. Fucking hell.
2:55 Mike’s at the door with his back to us, talking to someone...right now, every single YES viewer is making the exact same joke: “Lemme check before you take off, make sure they put on double pepperoni...”
2:57 first “in the mix”sighting, one of Doggie’s pet phrases. Though it almost gets lost in the wreckage of Dog using it with the word “strategy;” “there’s some stwategy in the mix!” fucking christ; is there a St. Bernard lapping at his face that I just don't see?
3:01 I get a kick outta the fact that at every break Dog has to say “Sports Radio 66.” And you know Mike makes him be the one to say it, just to be a dick. When I first started listening, I was amazed that someone with Doggie’s speech um, “patterns” could get a job on radio. I decided that this guy must be amazing, must REALLY know what he’s doing to get a gig on radio. It’s like going to the track and betting on the three-legged dog: why else would he be running?
3:02 hooker with one titty mighta worked back there, too.
3:08 Dog’s blowing his nose into some toilet paper. Not television’s proudest moment. Looks like a dachshund putting on a surgical mask.
3:09 Now they’re going thru playbacks of different announcers from the game last night, trying to detect panic in Met announcers. Are they psychiatrists? Should they be a carnival act? “Step right up, Doggie will guess your feelings while exploding into 1000 pieces as Mike sits in a chair to ease his ‘mysterious knee pain.’”
3:10 “oh, Dawg...ugh...ugh” Mike’s pretending to be sad re: Mets collapse panic.
3:11 now they’re trashing Keith Hernandez’s handling of a play while in the booth. I wonder how they woulda done on Seinfeld? Dude was in an hour-long episode and made out with Elaine!!! Tho be fair, Mike mighta played Newman, so.
3:12 Dawg is pissed no one’s showing up to support the Mets: “they should boo the fans for not showing up!!!!!” Really? If there’s no fans showing up, who’ll be doing the booing? And at who? Dog’s a little slap-happy now, he’s been fighting to hold Mike off his Hot Pockets for 2 hours now.
3:14 Clip of Willie Randolph trying to break David Wright’s cliche record for the day. Stumbles after saying “we gotta go get em tomorrow” by missing the chance to say “we gotta take it day by day.” Can hear Wright goffawing in the background, Willie’s pissed.
3:18 John Minko, the update guy, is walking in to give some scores as he does every hour. Camon, one time, do it naked! Or in a chicken costume. Just walk in, do the news in a chicken suit. Have Mike and Dog pretend to not even notice.
3:26 Chris from Jersey gives us our first “first time/long time” moment. Everyfuckingbody does this: “hey it’s Chris, first-time caller/long-time listener...” I’d like to call in “hey it’s Xmas, this is my ninth call since this morning when I first heard of you guys...” Surely I’m not the first person to think of this?
3:28 is Mike reading a magazine? This is what its come to?
3:31 Mike coming in late from commercial again. They should have the train from Silver Spoons cart him back and forth every break.
3:38 Mike never says “hi” to a caller, just quickly gruffs their name. “Hey guys, it’s Ricky.” “Ricky.” If you set it up perfectly, listening to Mike could be like an Abbott & Costello routine.
3:40 seriously...what the fuck does Mike do every break? Sprints outta the chair every time. I assume the shitter; but we’re now 2 & ½ hours in, how much of the Velveeta pony keg can still be left? Fuck!
3:58 Mike just spent 2 minutes trying to explain “Sal wanted a pony for Xmas”, a metaphor for a Mets win, which takes Dawg about 7 passes to finally get. Which leads to Dog asking if Mike wanted a pony when he was a kid, to which Mike seriously says oh, no no. Definitely not. Sad solemnly, in case we were to ever get the wrong and presumably dangerous impression that at one time he would’ve wanted of all things a pony.
3:59 Now Dawg’s talking about his cat as a kid. Yum Yum. After destroying some upholstery, Dawg’s dad got rid of Yum Yum. Mike, in one of the rare moments he’s curious about another person’s life, asks Dawg what he means by this. Dawg says they found another home for it, to which Eddie from the booth chimes in “under a tree.” Hardest I’ve ever seen Mike laff, and all it took was a young child’s dead kitten. Nice. I think I’ll make sure Mike’s around next time I read “Where the Red Fern Grows” to, you know...”keep things light.” Ugh.
4:14 Dan O’Dowd is talking. GM of the Colorado Rockies. I missed the last 15 minutes. Why is he on? I have no idea.
4:17 Mike declares this year’s umps have been the worst ever. That’s it! In the books, 2007 the worst ever. Prolly already on Wikipedia as fact.
4:18 Just occurred to me - I hope they brought this guy in just to make Dawg hafta say Colorado again. Poor bastard, he can’t even fall back on “Rockies” and sound like an adult.
4:19 “Good job Dan!” Dawg always says that you did a good job when the interview’s over, like a pat on the head. Always seems vaguely surprised a guest comes on and isn’t completely retarded. You’d think being in a room with Mike all this years, he’d be programmed to always assume whomever he’s talking to is a genius. But then, you’d also think we could get Cuba Gooding, Jr into a second movie that’s almost watchable, so I guess you never know.
4:29 Dawg just said that El Duque had a “weird bunion problem.” How can Mike not jump on this? Oh, right...he’s been asleep for the last ½ hour. Don’t wake the bear, Doggie!!!
4:37 they’re reading a quote from Skip Carey, who’s upset about being left off playoff telecasts. But apparently not about being named “Skip.” Interesting.
4:38 Wait - there’s Skip AND a Chip Carey? The Keebler Elves had children? What the fuck?!!!
4:39 You know, they’re right about bringing in announcers for playoffs that haven’t even seen any of the teams all year. It’s complete bullshit. It’s like bringing in Richard Simmons and Lance Bass to judge a Cameltoe Contest. Why wouldn’t they bring one local announcer from each team?
4:41 I gotta take break for a second, flip over to Beverly Hills 90210. Valerie is irked her latest conquest is leaving: “what do you hafta do, balance the federal deficit?” Fair question; if I'm in bed with Valerie Malone the only reason I'm getting out is if a King Cobra has announced its presence.
4:47 Is anybody alive out there? Dawg’s gettin amped up re: Bruce on The Today Show the next morning. It's a good thing Bruce didn't play for the Giants last year, Tiki would SHRED him on Today for sure.
4:48 Dawg is outlining his morning for watching Bruce on The Today Show. Trying to decide if he’ll buy his kid a little guitar to take. Wow. Now we find out from an uproarious Mike that at some Bruce shows, Dawg actually takes a toy guitar along to “jam” on during the show. Again: wow. There’s air guitar, there’s being the kid in the “quit being mean to Britney” video, and then there’s that. Dawg's kid’s gonna be thrilled. “Thanks Dad, being your son doesn’t get my ass kicked quite enuff at school, this should definitely take it over the top. You’re the best!”
4:49 almost 4 hours in, just now getting our first call from a Vinny? There a massive hair-gel sale going on all day I don't know about?
5:07 Dawg’s pounding himself for dissing the Yankees so early. Now comes the time of the day where they get lazy and just repeat themselves from earlier, saying the same shit they’ve already blathered. This is like a father calling his son a loser who will never become a goddam thing at the age of 7. Flash forward a quarter century and well well well, look who’s sittin’ pretty on his own sofa-bed, hasn’t drunk-pissed himself in 2 years and is on the verge of getting his own checking account? FUCK you, “Dad”, fuuuuccckkkk you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
5:09 Joe Torre’s on. I’d make a child abuse joke here, but isn’t getting drunk and slapping little people around funny enough already?
5:11 Jesus Christ. Torre. Lulling me to sleep. Blah blah blah.
5:22 You know what’s creepy? During phone calls when they put the person’s picture on screen; you can hear the dude talking but they have a still picture there, staring back at you. Do we need this? You find yourself staring at the person’s photo, hypnotized. Like whenever I watch something with subtitles, I find myself staring at the words on the screen and not the actors. Which is why it takes me so long to “issue” during “Rencontres Anales 4.”
5:24 Joe gives his thoughts on each team. Hmm. Lemme guess. “solid, good team. Will be tough to beat.” Thanks, Joe. Really going out on a limb here.
5:30 The last hour or so usually sucks, I always hope they go off topic such as “top ten movies.” This is fun cause now Mike has to pretend he’s never seen a movie in color except The Godfather. "Tom Hanks? Who's that?" And Dawg always asks Mike for his lists, never vice versa. Of course the Babe Ruth of these time-wasters is the Ratings Game, wherein Dawg reads out recent games to Mike who then tries to guess that games national and local television rating. At first you think they’re kidding, they GOTTA be putting you on, but you look at Mike and he looks like he's cracking logarithms on the bowl over there. And no matter how far off he is, he always nods his head as if he understand WHY he was off. “Dawg I’m gonna say for Giants/Boys, I’m gonna say 8.2 national, 10.1 local.” “They did a 6.6 national and 8.9 local.” Now Mike starts nodding his head, “okay, okay, I can see that.” And Dawg acts like he’s at a funeral, crestfallen “Mikey, that a tewwible wating! That’s an awful job by CBS, Mikey...just awful...” while Mike nods his head. "Well Dawg, it was the 3rd-to-the-last nice day left in the summer, so I knew that..." Are we supposed to take this seriously, that Mike really thinks he can guess these numbers? This reminds me of a guy I used to work with, Harry. EEEEEVery day Harry would check his lotto numbers from the night before and try to match them with his and see what he did wrong. “Okay, they have a 12, I chose 14...okay...22, I said 28...” I’m like Harry, it doesn’t matter, it’s completely random! But he insisted he was figuring it all out. My secret hope for the stupid ratings game is this is actually an inside joke they’ve been playing on listeners for years and are just waiting for the day someone finally phones in and calls bullshit on ‘em. “This ratings game, you’re fucking with us, right?!” Dude “wins” a weekend at Hooters with Mike, we never hear this stupid game again.
5:37 Now they’re talking about clothes, and Mike has just revealed that he has “active” socks and “inactive” socks. There’s no way I’m topping that sentence with anything else.
5:40 commercial, flipping to "MASH"...why did Hot Lips pick Frank Burns? All the doctors there to fuck, she picks him? Camon!
5:47 Now Mike and Doggie are talking to Ed Coleman, local beat guy for the Mets. Its official: Pedro Martinez will save millions of Mets fans from killing themselves tonite with a win. Comforting. This is the most the city has had to depend on a Latino since it got J-Lo to hide P-Diddy’s guns back in the day. HUGE game, Mike tells us 14,000 times in a row.
5:57 fuck!! They’re cutting the show early to get to the Yankees game. Mike and the Mad Dog. My life!! For you people outside of NY who wanna listen in, hit them every weekday starting at 1pm at WFAN.
Seriously, How Long Til...
...Rudy buys out the phone number 911 for his campaign? Camon, there's plenty of other numbers for EMS to choose from!!! He's America's Mayor, for fuck's sake!!!!
"911 is a joke in your town? Not anymore; it's Giuliani time, mofos!!!!!"
"911 is a joke in your town? Not anymore; it's Giuliani time, mofos!!!!!"
Friday, September 28, 2007
Cause Sometimes Friday Night is Just a Slice of Pepperoni and Some Diet Coke
Since for the first time in six months I don't have to hold my breath and pray with every pitch as my Yankees have wrapped up their playoff spot, I have directed a lot of my energy towards cheering on the Mets disastrous collapse. Cackling with glee as each Mets fan tightens the noose around his own throat in the shower. Fuck 'em I say; they start the season with Glavine/El Duque 1-2 and they think they got some juggernaut? Every day on the radio, some numbfuck screaming it's their town now, not the Yankees. Fucking idiots. Play in the abysmal NL, squeeze out 87 wins and don't know why we're not calling them the 1927 Yankees.
While I am not normally a big believer in karma I am a recovering Catholic, meaning that I can maybe believe in it if it means it's gonna be bad for myself. So now I'm wondering if my negative cheering towards the Mets will come back to bite me in the ass a la another first round nosedive by the Yankees. Should I be worried?
Also, one thing about being a Yankee fan I hate is hearing myself speak of another team's player in hushed tones "oh yeah, he's a Yankee killer." Like that's the ultimate compliment a player can get. Not that he's a great player, or a clutch hitter, but that for some reason the powers that be deign him to get a few hits against my squad. All season he trips over the lines and guffaws through strike three, but for one brilliant moment the rings of Saturn allow him to shine at The Stadium. Ugh. Will make a note not to say that next season.
While I am not normally a big believer in karma I am a recovering Catholic, meaning that I can maybe believe in it if it means it's gonna be bad for myself. So now I'm wondering if my negative cheering towards the Mets will come back to bite me in the ass a la another first round nosedive by the Yankees. Should I be worried?
Also, one thing about being a Yankee fan I hate is hearing myself speak of another team's player in hushed tones "oh yeah, he's a Yankee killer." Like that's the ultimate compliment a player can get. Not that he's a great player, or a clutch hitter, but that for some reason the powers that be deign him to get a few hits against my squad. All season he trips over the lines and guffaws through strike three, but for one brilliant moment the rings of Saturn allow him to shine at The Stadium. Ugh. Will make a note not to say that next season.
Fucking Idiots
As insulting/ridiculous as the "Big 4" not bothering to go to the Republican Debate last night was, isn't it even dumber on their part that not one of them, upon realizing that the others weren't coming, thought to show up after all, thereby giving himself an edge over the other dumbfucks who didn't come? Or is this yet another case of the Good 'Ol Boy Club sticking together no matter what? Old white guys staying true to each other?
Racist AND dumb. Nice.
Racist AND dumb. Nice.
More Nonsense
And these right-wingers on the radio have to stop crying that Hillary is, get this, "too ambitious." Really? Running for the highest office in the world, and it's possible to be "too ambitious"? Hmm. How exactly does that work? I suppose we'd be better off with someone whose highest ambitions are to spend daddy's money and hang out at the ballpark star-gazing baseball players. Imagine how fucked we'd be if THAT happened!!!
Wasting His Chance?
Like this reader on Sullivan, "Underwhelmed” is pretty much how I’ve felt every time Obama has opened his mouth in the last six months. I know it’s still (kinda) early, I know we might be expecting too much of him; but the fact is there are tons of thirsty people looking for any reason to let him be the well. I wrote here a while back that he is the only candidate capable of hitting a home run here, and it appears he is blowing it by offering speech after speech of general clichéd vagueness instead. A lot of nothing. My feeling is not only does he HAVE to be sensational to win the Presidency, he’s the only candidate who CAN be sensational and win. Treading water or simply not fucking up does not help him. Here’s hoping he wakes up to this fact before it’s too late.
Bad News Bears
Flipped into The Bad News Bears this morning, and it’s always bothered me that the Yankees’ Coach, who is painted as a douchebag throughout, all of a sudden has a huge problem with his son throwing at a kid. He’s enough of a jerk to slap his kid around on the mound, but is outraged the kid might strategically throw at a batter? Has never added up for me.
VT
Doesn’t television have it backwards, what with primetime being the time characters can cuss, have sex or shoot people? I’ve always assumed tv censors itself mainly for children; but from 8 o’ clock on, “prime time,” children are home. Yes, maybe they’re supposed to be in bed or studying, but that doesn’t mean they are. Conversely, during the day television (regular tv anyways) is strictly a G-rated affair. Seems backwards to me. Shouldn’t the hours we know children are home be more G-rated and the hours they’re in school a more bubbly, Playboy After Dark Affair? “Shit, 3 o’ clock, let’s sober up and get dressed.” Am I the only person this has ever occurred to?
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Bra Day
According to the Daily News, today is the 100th Birthday of the Bra. Happy Birthday, Bra! The News listed important dates in bra history here, so I thought I’d throw in some of my own bra moments throughout the years.
March 2, 1985: D______ H_______ lifts up her shirt, lifts up her bra, and showed us her titties on the back of the bus. Therein I saw my first naked tit up close. Got a nice squeeze in what would become a daily ritual. And yes, she turned out to be a slut in high school (but hot!)
September 8, 1987: after taking a shower in the locker room little fat Alan Davis, standing at his locker next to my friend Robert and me, lifts up his fat boy-titty and applies deodorant underneath. After much retching Robert and I came up with the ORIGINAL “bro.”
October 11, 1987: slapped by my friend Kristie after grabbing her titty in the hallway. First titty lesson learnt; was worth it.
February 2, 1988: L____ C_____ every day for a week while we watched some series of films in English class let me feel her up the whole time. Learned another lesson: was told “you shouldn’t ask, just do it” to the question of “can I go inside your bra?” Later applied that same answer when asking myself "bareback in the shitter?
April 15, 1989: after a young lifetime of being terrified by clumsy dudes in movies/tv and hearing horror stories et al re: getting a girl's bra off, was relieved to see that my first girlfriend had a bra that easily opened from the front. Lil hook, open. Could yell at it and it would open. Unfortunately, she had no titties in the first place. A Pyrrhic victory, at best. Slip into the hen house, no hens.
June 10, 1992: hooked up with a lunatic hot chick while visiting my brother at college. First but not the last time I uttered the phrase "yeah well, he ain't here, now is he?" Next morning she woke up to find I had hidden her clothes so I could see her naked longer. “Where are my clothes?” “Gosh, I dunno” (looking bewildered.) Broads - I should write a manual!!!
February 15, 1993: first hookup with college girlfriend, who had huge tits. Her bras were such contraptions, such textile engineering miracles that I never even bothered learning how to unhook this thing for two years. I’d watch a back-to-back of “Who’s the Boss” while I waited for her to disengage. Took a goddam Color Guard to put one of those things away.
January 24, 2002: girl I was madly in love with at the time decided to get fake titties. I'm sorry, "breast augmentation." Not only did she not reciprocate my feelings, but, just to make sure that I understood clearly that she didn't view me as a person with a penis, and since I was her closest! bestest! girlfriend, she asked me to be the one to take a Polaroid to send to the doctor doing the surgery. So...I had to stand there and snap pictures of the fruit I ached to taste, all to get her bigger tits to attract...other men. Christ. Why didn't I just bring in other dudes and fluff them for her too? No dignity, table for one please.
April 4, 2002: finally got up in them fake titties. Loved every second of 'em.
You're gotdam right I'm using this picture again. You're welcome.
March 2, 1985: D______ H_______ lifts up her shirt, lifts up her bra, and showed us her titties on the back of the bus. Therein I saw my first naked tit up close. Got a nice squeeze in what would become a daily ritual. And yes, she turned out to be a slut in high school (but hot!)
September 8, 1987: after taking a shower in the locker room little fat Alan Davis, standing at his locker next to my friend Robert and me, lifts up his fat boy-titty and applies deodorant underneath. After much retching Robert and I came up with the ORIGINAL “bro.”
October 11, 1987: slapped by my friend Kristie after grabbing her titty in the hallway. First titty lesson learnt; was worth it.
February 2, 1988: L____ C_____ every day for a week while we watched some series of films in English class let me feel her up the whole time. Learned another lesson: was told “you shouldn’t ask, just do it” to the question of “can I go inside your bra?” Later applied that same answer when asking myself "bareback in the shitter?
April 15, 1989: after a young lifetime of being terrified by clumsy dudes in movies/tv and hearing horror stories et al re: getting a girl's bra off, was relieved to see that my first girlfriend had a bra that easily opened from the front. Lil hook, open. Could yell at it and it would open. Unfortunately, she had no titties in the first place. A Pyrrhic victory, at best. Slip into the hen house, no hens.
June 10, 1992: hooked up with a lunatic hot chick while visiting my brother at college. First but not the last time I uttered the phrase "yeah well, he ain't here, now is he?" Next morning she woke up to find I had hidden her clothes so I could see her naked longer. “Where are my clothes?” “Gosh, I dunno” (looking bewildered.) Broads - I should write a manual!!!
February 15, 1993: first hookup with college girlfriend, who had huge tits. Her bras were such contraptions, such textile engineering miracles that I never even bothered learning how to unhook this thing for two years. I’d watch a back-to-back of “Who’s the Boss” while I waited for her to disengage. Took a goddam Color Guard to put one of those things away.
January 24, 2002: girl I was madly in love with at the time decided to get fake titties. I'm sorry, "breast augmentation." Not only did she not reciprocate my feelings, but, just to make sure that I understood clearly that she didn't view me as a person with a penis, and since I was her closest! bestest! girlfriend, she asked me to be the one to take a Polaroid to send to the doctor doing the surgery. So...I had to stand there and snap pictures of the fruit I ached to taste, all to get her bigger tits to attract...other men. Christ. Why didn't I just bring in other dudes and fluff them for her too? No dignity, table for one please.
April 4, 2002: finally got up in them fake titties. Loved every second of 'em.
You're gotdam right I'm using this picture again. You're welcome.
Tiffani Amber-Greasingmypole
Now see, this is what I get for working during the day and doing things like reading books. I haven’t seen the daily double of 90210 for about 2 weeks, flip to it right now and it turns out I completely missed the introduction of Val. Fuck! Already she’s been to Mexico and back and is about to drug Jonesy to get her mitts on a briefcase full of cash. Was there anyone even remotely as hot as her on tv in the mid-90s? Why isn’t she on every show on tv? Shouldn’t she be on a show with Alyssa Milano where they wrestle each other in a gravy boat and then sniff each other’s leather thongs for an hour? I’d pay to see that, mang. After all, I believe it was Dylan Thomas who once said “Rain cuts the place we tread.”
Hillary's Unnecessary Bullshit
Several times she refused to give answers, but she couldn't duck when Russert threw her a curveball, asking if she would back the Yankees or Chicago Cubs, her childhood home team, if they met in the World Series. So she waffled.
"Well, I would probably have to alternate sides," she said.
Now it’s this shit that drives me fucking bananas. How can someone so smart be so over-calculating, SO over-analytical that they can’t even pander correctly? Does she actually think that by actually having a favorite team, she will alienate the other fans and thereby lose their votes? Are you shitting me? She can’t be so blind as to not realize that the number of votes she loses because of that is a tiny fraction of those lost when people hear this shit and just shake their heads at her sheer disingenuousness. Jesus christ. Pick a fucking team! It's okay!! Fucking unnecessary nonsense.
"Well, I would probably have to alternate sides," she said.
Now it’s this shit that drives me fucking bananas. How can someone so smart be so over-calculating, SO over-analytical that they can’t even pander correctly? Does she actually think that by actually having a favorite team, she will alienate the other fans and thereby lose their votes? Are you shitting me? She can’t be so blind as to not realize that the number of votes she loses because of that is a tiny fraction of those lost when people hear this shit and just shake their heads at her sheer disingenuousness. Jesus christ. Pick a fucking team! It's okay!! Fucking unnecessary nonsense.
The Democratic Debate Last Night
Well, the one thing we learned last night is the only smart investment from here on out is in the military. If I have two nickels to rub together, I'm buying into Halliburton, Blackwater, body bags, whatever. I am investing in Cheney 'R Us. Anything else is a fool's errand. Cause these pussy candidates don't have the guts to say "I am not interested in perpetuating the acts of a war criminal." Can life get any easier for George Bush? Seriously, do the Democrats greet him in the morning with éclairs and blowjobs? FUUUUUUUCK!!!!
And how does Bill Richardson poll so far out in front of Joe Biden?
And how does Bill Richardson poll so far out in front of Joe Biden?
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Has Anyone on Planet Earth...
...tried this fucking thing? The Domino's Oreo Dessert Pizza? Are you shitting me?
Is it just me, or does this look like someone took a dump, then looked into the bowl and thought "You know what, I should probably jizz all over that."? What the fuck. Thank you, Domino's.
Is it just me, or does this look like someone took a dump, then looked into the bowl and thought "You know what, I should probably jizz all over that."? What the fuck. Thank you, Domino's.
Happy Birfday Paddy Mac!
My nephew Paddy Mac turns two today. 2!!! Which is funny, cause every time I've gotten to hang out with him, I think he's older than me. Well, he DOES have his own mutual fund portfolio...
I won't have any new pics til I go down to visit at the end of October, but here's a roll thru Paddy Mac memory lane:
Hello Paddy Mac!
Paddy Mac vs. Theodore Album Review
Paddy Mac hits the mats!
Fall 2006
From this summer.
Happy Birfday buddy! :)
I won't have any new pics til I go down to visit at the end of October, but here's a roll thru Paddy Mac memory lane:
Hello Paddy Mac!
Paddy Mac vs. Theodore Album Review
Paddy Mac hits the mats!
Fall 2006
From this summer.
Happy Birfday buddy! :)
Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head
Why don’t raindrops hurt? I know they’re just tiny drops of water, but they DO fall from clouds several miles up in the air. I would think anything that travels that far picking up that amount of velocity would be lethal, no? You always hear “oh, if a penny is dropped from the top of the Empire State Building it will drive into your skull and push you through the sidewalk straight thru to China, where you’ll be crushed like an accordion but still the best driver around.” Seems like a drop of liquid dropped from 6 miles up would be as damaging. Ah well. Keep in mind, I am an idiot.
"The Real World"
So MTV puts 7 twenty year olds in a house halfway around the world, and they spend the whole time hooking up with only each other? What the fuck is this? Do these people even leave the house? “Ooooh, I’m in Australia…seems like I should spend the whole time hooking up with this dude from Alabama; when’s the next time I’ll get to fuck an American?!?” You’re practically on another planet, wouldn’t you be at least a little curious what dating one of the natives would be like? For fuck’s sake. It’s like Bush, who has more money than God and every opportunity possible throughout his life but keeps giving jobs to whatever 4 people he knows from the Fuddruckers in Texas. Camon. Take a look around, people.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
McDonalds. And a New Low.
Unlike some people I’ve known, I’m not a guy screaming for everything to be automated this very second. Yes I get frustrated in the Post Office line like everyone else, but I also know that there are tons of jobs out there that exist for the very purpose of allowing people to have jobs. Yes a machine can probably better put sequins on my “Muff Diver” ski masks, but there’s a lot of people in this country and they need jobs. Everybody can’t be making a living off my Etch-a-Sketch kiddie porn addiction. (“shake hard, watch Dora’s titties disappear!”)
Okay, I’m going to hell for that one. For sure.
But if automation does take over, can we please start with McDonald’s? For fuck’s sake has there ever been a business MORE set up to be run by a loaf of fucking bread? Ray Kroc was adamant about streamlining the damn thing pretty much down to “press this button;” there are more pictures on a McDonald’s cash register than in Andy Dick’s “Did Him!” scrapbook . Yet every time I’m trying to get my order in, I end up standing there thinking “Am I the first customer this place has ever had? And how DO black guys shampoo their hair?” Tonite I went to Mickey D’s with The Barber and ordered two cheeseburgers with no ketchup and two 4-piece McNuggets. Obviously, an order that would flummox Gordon Ramsey. As the girl stared down at the screen in front of her and waited for her friend Flicka to come from the back and kick her in the head to jump-start her tiny brain into actually working I, admittedly stupidly on my part, decided to add to my order. “Make that three orders of McNuggets.” Now the conversation went like this:
“Make that three orders of McNuggets.”
“You want three cheeseburgers.”
“No no, just two...I want three 4-piece McNuggets.”
“Three cheeseburgers and three McNuggets?”
“No..no...two cheeseburgers, and three orders of the McNuggets.”
“Which McNuggets?”
“The four-piece.”
“How many?
“T H R E E.”
“And a double cheeseburger.”
“Two!”
“Two.”
And then I made the mistake or re-iterating that I didn’t want ketchup on the burgers. This caused her to look up, roll her eyes at me as if I was an idiot, and shake her head sighing “hold on...now I gotta start over...” So now she has to get a “manager” to come over and punch some things on the computer screen....a screen on which I’m sure there are two buttons to choose from: “FOOD” and “PRESS HERE TIL CUSTOMER SHITS SELF IN ANGER.” Now, you should know that as I’m standing there I am face to face with a message on the little screen facing me that is bragging “average service time: 51 seconds.” Really? To keep the average at 51 seconds after the length of time I had already spent on this transaction, the next 50 people would have to have their orders transmorphed to them as they speed by in cars driven by Gary Busey.
Then, because I’m a fucking idiot and have no desire to get back to my house before they invent YouAnal, I ask about the McFlurry that’s in a big picture behind her, with what looks like maybe mint and chocolate.
“What’s that McFlurry right there?” (pointing to picture)
”That’s our newest one.”
”Yes, but what is it?”
“It’s this one.” (pointing to picture)
“What’s.....the...green...stuff....”
“It’s the green, mixed in with the chocolate.”
“Is the green stuff mint?”
“The Oreo McFlurry?”
(head explodes)
You can’t have a conversation like that in any other industry, can you really? Would be like transacting business with a hooker, right?
“I’d like a blowjob plus anal.”
“That’s $150.”
“Do I hafta wear a rubber if I wanna pull out and cum on a ham?”
Well. Maybe not EXACTLY the same, but ...
Anyway. And on. And On. And on. AND, guess what they did after all this? PUT KETCHUP ON MY FUCKING CHEESEBURGERS!!!!! I don’t even know why I pretend to be surprised anymore.
“Are you hard yet, Mister?”
Wow. Straight to hell.
Okay, I’m going to hell for that one. For sure.
But if automation does take over, can we please start with McDonald’s? For fuck’s sake has there ever been a business MORE set up to be run by a loaf of fucking bread? Ray Kroc was adamant about streamlining the damn thing pretty much down to “press this button;” there are more pictures on a McDonald’s cash register than in Andy Dick’s “Did Him!” scrapbook . Yet every time I’m trying to get my order in, I end up standing there thinking “Am I the first customer this place has ever had? And how DO black guys shampoo their hair?” Tonite I went to Mickey D’s with The Barber and ordered two cheeseburgers with no ketchup and two 4-piece McNuggets. Obviously, an order that would flummox Gordon Ramsey. As the girl stared down at the screen in front of her and waited for her friend Flicka to come from the back and kick her in the head to jump-start her tiny brain into actually working I, admittedly stupidly on my part, decided to add to my order. “Make that three orders of McNuggets.” Now the conversation went like this:
“Make that three orders of McNuggets.”
“You want three cheeseburgers.”
“No no, just two...I want three 4-piece McNuggets.”
“Three cheeseburgers and three McNuggets?”
“No..no...two cheeseburgers, and three orders of the McNuggets.”
“Which McNuggets?”
“The four-piece.”
“How many?
“T H R E E.”
“And a double cheeseburger.”
“Two!”
“Two.”
And then I made the mistake or re-iterating that I didn’t want ketchup on the burgers. This caused her to look up, roll her eyes at me as if I was an idiot, and shake her head sighing “hold on...now I gotta start over...” So now she has to get a “manager” to come over and punch some things on the computer screen....a screen on which I’m sure there are two buttons to choose from: “FOOD” and “PRESS HERE TIL CUSTOMER SHITS SELF IN ANGER.” Now, you should know that as I’m standing there I am face to face with a message on the little screen facing me that is bragging “average service time: 51 seconds.” Really? To keep the average at 51 seconds after the length of time I had already spent on this transaction, the next 50 people would have to have their orders transmorphed to them as they speed by in cars driven by Gary Busey.
Then, because I’m a fucking idiot and have no desire to get back to my house before they invent YouAnal, I ask about the McFlurry that’s in a big picture behind her, with what looks like maybe mint and chocolate.
“What’s that McFlurry right there?” (pointing to picture)
”That’s our newest one.”
”Yes, but what is it?”
“It’s this one.” (pointing to picture)
“What’s.....the...green...stuff....”
“It’s the green, mixed in with the chocolate.”
“Is the green stuff mint?”
“The Oreo McFlurry?”
(head explodes)
You can’t have a conversation like that in any other industry, can you really? Would be like transacting business with a hooker, right?
“I’d like a blowjob plus anal.”
“That’s $150.”
“Do I hafta wear a rubber if I wanna pull out and cum on a ham?”
Well. Maybe not EXACTLY the same, but ...
Anyway. And on. And On. And on. AND, guess what they did after all this? PUT KETCHUP ON MY FUCKING CHEESEBURGERS!!!!! I don’t even know why I pretend to be surprised anymore.
“Are you hard yet, Mister?”
Wow. Straight to hell.
An Early Congrats to Anna Nicole (Rest in Xmastime)
Unless Britney continues her spiral the way it's been going, I gotta say that right now Anna Nicole Smith is #1 on the official Xmastime List of Chicks I Wanna Bang that Died This Year. Hell, is there even a close #2?
Xmas Recommendation
I see that the brilliant doc "Nine Innings from Ground Zero" is on HBO OnDemand for the next few weeks. Two HUGE Xmas thumbs up for this one, I highly recommend watching. Definitly the best World Series of the recent Yankee run, even though we lost. Certainly the most unique, obviously cause of 9/11. But Jeter's November homer, Brosius' homer, the fans calling out Paul O'Neill's name as Game 5 was ending, can still feel these moments like they were going on right now. Can remember every second. The drama of the attacks coupled with an amazingly exciting 2 weeks of baseball. Unforgettable. And of course I could listen to Leiv Shreiber narrate 3 hours about the lint in my crack.
Blacks are Normal?!?!?!?!!!!!!
Everybody's talking about Bill O'Reilly's idiotic statements from a few days ago re: Sylvia's restaurant being normal even tho it's run by black people. Everyone's a-flutter, and rightfully so. I'm not going overboard on it; I think dumbass somoehow THOUGHT he was saying nice things and just said them in a way that came out stupid. Well, and racist. And in a SLIM SLIM SLIM defense of O'Reilly, the other idiots on radio (Rush/Hannity/Savage) make him seem rational/sane. But anyways, I happened to be listening when he made the comments and I gotta say, the one thing he said that really jumped out at me was when he said that everybody up there are "fans of the Factor." Really? Black people up in Harlem all tune in to Bill O'Reilly? Am I...crazy to think that MIGHT not be accurate? What's next, Turkeys loving Thanksgiving?
Cunt Fuck Dick!!!!!
So the Mets are having a kid with Tourette's throw out the ball at tonite's game. Which obviously is a very nice thing to do, and certainly a thrill for any kid. But it did make me start thinking about Tourette's...why is it that the words these people always involuntarily shout out are "bad" words? What's this from? No one with Tourette's ever shouts out "truck bamboo watercolors!!"
So I think you see where I'm going here...I'm calling bullshit on Tourette's. Why WOULDN'T a kid pretend to have a "disease" where he gets to shout out bad words? This would be like me having an "uncontrollable disease" wherein I had to reach out and grab women, but of course I "had to" grab their titties every time. Tourette kids: like the chicks in Salem, the jig is up.
So I think you see where I'm going here...I'm calling bullshit on Tourette's. Why WOULDN'T a kid pretend to have a "disease" where he gets to shout out bad words? This would be like me having an "uncontrollable disease" wherein I had to reach out and grab women, but of course I "had to" grab their titties every time. Tourette kids: like the chicks in Salem, the jig is up.
Monday, September 24, 2007
MM RIP
I would think if there's one eulogy you'd wanna give, it'd be Marcel Marceau's. The greatest testimony being, of course, just going up there and standing around for a few minutes, not saying anything at all. Within 90 seconds people realize what you're doing, cue slow clap, bam! you never pay for another jizz-filled croissant in France again.
And He's the Crazy One?
Just turned on Ahmadinejad's speech. One question. Am I an asshole for wishing that the interpreter translating the speech for tv be a man? Having a woman speaking his words gives the listener ZERO chance to suspend belief and let themselves think they're listening to Ahmadinejad as he's speaking. Now, I'm just distracted cause I'm watching a dude's lips move, but hearing a woman's voice say the words. Camon. Who's running this shit, Jim Henson?
"The Holocaust? oh, HELL no it didn't happen. Wakka wakka wakka, motherfuckers!!!"
"The Holocaust? oh, HELL no it didn't happen. Wakka wakka wakka, motherfuckers!!!"
High School Football
It occured to me the other night outta the blue that none of the people I know in NYC played high school football. I can't think of anybody. And I don't mean friends FROM here, where high school football is a bit strangely put togther; I mean people from all parts of the country. And some of these guys were and are really good athletes and played and starred in other sports, it's not like they're burned-out D & D survivors. But not football. I couldn't have imagined that when I was a young bronckin buck. When I was coming up if you were one of the better athletes, you played football.
Anyways. Slightly shocking to me, this realization. Maybe someone can remind me if I'm forgetting anyone.
Anyways. Slightly shocking to me, this realization. Maybe someone can remind me if I'm forgetting anyone.
This Weekend's Best Drunk Text Message
"Union Picnic. Gone. bout time. oh, and I loved eating your pussy."
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Friday, September 21, 2007
Not the Kind of Trim I'm Usually on the Prowl For
Seriously. I can't take it anymore. Next time I'm in a room with more than four people I'm passing the hat to collect for a gotdam nose trimmer. Jesus Christ, the hairs coming outta my nose, are you kidding me? Scratching my eyeballs with every breath. I can't say I'd be surprised if all of a sudden a Buick drove up lookin for a wash. Fucking hell.
Methinks You are Trying Too Hard....
....Eva. We get it. You wanna be Mrs. Xmastime. But you ain't gotta buy up every can of Hormel there is baby; I'll still get up in that queef sender!!!!!
PS - what size are those fucking cans? All I ever get is the little ones...where is this wonderland paradise she's shopping at, where the Hormel is the size of a country ham?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!
PS - what size are those fucking cans? All I ever get is the little ones...where is this wonderland paradise she's shopping at, where the Hormel is the size of a country ham?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!
THE BROOKLYNITES
My friend Anthony ("A-Train!") has a great book out now celebrating the glory that is Brooklyn - a proud story told by the faces and pictures throughout this collection. Highly recommended, take a peep here and buy one...or several; remember, Christmastime is coming!!!
PS - Anthony, you're still cut ;)
PS - Anthony, you're still cut ;)
Bin Laden and High School Football
This joint on Sully yesterday made me think of my high school football days. We’d spend all week practicing REACTING to our upcoming opponent. IE they run a wing-T, shit we better change our defense; they run a 4-4 defense so we better monkey with our offense etc etc. I used to think why don’t we run OUR offense and defense and fuck them – let THEM worry about us. King William has run the double wing every Friday night of the fall for about 40 years now; they prolly don’t even know or care who they’re playing. Run your strength, don’t let your opponent choose the play for you. I touched on how Bin Laden makes us over-act here a while back (going down memory lane w/Xmastime!!) Maybe someone should send Dubya some film of King William rolling over us 48-6 every year, he could prolly learn something. Well, hopefully something other than "boy, how many times is that dude gonna blaze by #82 untouched for another 6?" Cough.
Seriously, Who Falls for this Shit?
Another thing on the radio that’s cracking me up is my BFFfF (Best Fat Fucking Friend Forever) Limbaugh yesterday, spending half the day crying into his mic about the possibility of Hilary becoming president; crying, MOANING “my God people, you don’t wanna hafta go back to the 90s again, do you? That would be a tragedy!!!!!” Really?….unprecedented, runaway peace and prosperity…no good? Really? Jeez, the MISERABLE Clinton years, when everybody got rich and the world loved us. I guess we’re much better off now. Yeah. Hmm. I know I know, the President getting a blowjob is much worse than your son coming home in a body bag for a fake war. You sold me. Hey, is it possible to bomb OURSELVES back to the Stone Age?
Same Old Shit
I know I’ve been listening to Hannity & Rush all week, but am I the only person on the planet who say why NOT let Ahmadinejad visit Ground Zero? Wouldn’t that at least move any dialogue with him forward at this point? Wouldn’t we WANT someone we think is partially responsible for it in the first place to see the scene of his destruction? The faces of people on flyers who died; the posters of “Have you seen my daughter?” et al? For all we know it might actually move him towards humanity. Of course maybe he really is crazy and will piss on it, but at least give him the chance to do right or fuck up, no? You’d think Bush would actually push for this – wouldn’t allowing him down there at least show the world that we have exhausted any diplomatic possibilities? “We took him down there, bought him pizza, dude still won’t talk sense to us, oh well at least we tried.” Wouldn’t that actually HELP these assholes’ argument to bomb the fuck out of Iran in the near future?
But of course what does the world see? Us beating our chests with our “From our cold, dead hands!!” belt buckles trying to out-macho each other; Hannity and Rush acting like they’re gonna be down there personally to paint his face red, white and blue with their fists. Is this really the smart thing to do? Or after 6 years is that even a fair question of these people?
But of course what does the world see? Us beating our chests with our “From our cold, dead hands!!” belt buckles trying to out-macho each other; Hannity and Rush acting like they’re gonna be down there personally to paint his face red, white and blue with their fists. Is this really the smart thing to do? Or after 6 years is that even a fair question of these people?
This Is What It's Come To?
This morning I wake up and just kinda lie in bed, moseying through my mind as I’m want to do. I got a few minutes before I gotta get up to shower and begin yet another brilliant, bettering society day. All of a sudden I think of a girl I know and think ooooohhh……wanna fantasize about her for a bit. NOT beat off, just kinda fantasize a bit. But I’m looking at my clock and I start thinking I dunno, can I squeeze in a nice scenario in only 6 minutes? I dunno, I dunno…so instead of just saying fuck it and dreaming about being with this girl, I waste four of the six minutes debating whether or not I have enough time to do so. Which means, needless to say, I had to abort with only two minutes left. What the fuck is this? Is this what it's come to; I can't even dream about chicks anymore? grrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!
Knock It Off, Jessica Xmastime
What’s with Jessica Alba sprinting from talk show to talk show to desperately sell us on how clumsy she is? What the fuck…apparently she spends 2 hours in the new steaming pile of movie she’s in bumping into things and tripping. And she sprains her lips hurriedly trying to tell us that that’s how she is in real life, so pleased with herself. Why does she think this is so endearing? Yes, it’s nice to know you’re human, but you’re going overboard. You’re super hot, accept it. I’m sorry, but you’re successful cause you’re hot. Period. A truly funny person is rare enough, we certainly don't expect you to be hot AND funny. One or the other is enuff. And, to be honest, we prefer hot. Trying to pound us over and over re: “look at me; I’m so clumsy!” to show us you’re “normal” and "funny" isn’t endearing or, ta-da!...funny. Wow, hot girl tripping. My sides are splitting. Does she think she’s SO hot she has to now counterbalance this with goofiness? Like Charlize Theron, who cannot seem to do a movie anymore unless she’s required to cover her face in moles and wear a dead mouse for an eyepatch. Camon. Did John Holmes ever try to prove something by saying “look, I can’t make rice!! I’m just like you!!” No. He said “I have a huge dick, you’re paying to see it.” And he died of AIDS!!!!
Laying in bed nekked with you, or opening for Greg Giraldo at the Chuckle Hut every Thursday? You decide.
Laying in bed nekked with you, or opening for Greg Giraldo at the Chuckle Hut every Thursday? You decide.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Hold Up a Second....
...whoa, whoa whoa...who is this mystery girl from The Hills; a little slice of dick shed heaven I've missed all along? I'm proclaiming my love for Lauren, thnking bout cheating on her with Audrina, and the whole time Whitney's been here, lurking in the shadows? Could SHE be the real Mrs. Xmastime of the show? Runaway teef, smoking lil body...hmm. Gonna hafta do a little..."research"...Whitney, welcome the stable.
Fucking Worthless.
I was about to post here that after a week of listening to right-wing radio, these people need to give up their over-indignation of the "General Betray-us" ad by MoveOn. Jesus, I'm thinking to myself, shut up. Nobody cares. Nobody to the right cares, nobody to the left cares, this is the very definition of a red herring. Hannity et al fuming about it, the Preznit bringing it up over and over; enough I'm thinking. Nobody older than a zygote is falling for this, we all know that it's a red herring. Let it go.
But then of course now I read that today the Senate voted to condemn the ad. That's right - in the middle of a war disaster, with a war criminal in the White House, with all the shit that's going on these fucking idiots take time out to fucking piss around about some fucking ad? Are you fucking kidding me? Why don't they take another fucking few days and vote on which chick Bret Michaels should choose on Rock of Love?
I guess THAT'S a red herring the Democrats are throwing so we forget for a moment what ABSOLUTE PUSSIES they're being re: funding the war. And we keep hearing that they're scared to pull the funding and get us out of Iraq because of public opinion? Public opinion? We put these motherfuckers in office a year ago for one reason: GET US OUT!!!!! Each day they keep us over there their approval ratings drop, and these dickless chipmunks can't put the two together. Fucking idiots. They're scared to do the one thing we've actually asked them to do. Why don't the Democrats just get together and see about clipping the Constitution so W can get elected one more time while they're at it?
Fucking worthless. Baffling.
But then of course now I read that today the Senate voted to condemn the ad. That's right - in the middle of a war disaster, with a war criminal in the White House, with all the shit that's going on these fucking idiots take time out to fucking piss around about some fucking ad? Are you fucking kidding me? Why don't they take another fucking few days and vote on which chick Bret Michaels should choose on Rock of Love?
I guess THAT'S a red herring the Democrats are throwing so we forget for a moment what ABSOLUTE PUSSIES they're being re: funding the war. And we keep hearing that they're scared to pull the funding and get us out of Iraq because of public opinion? Public opinion? We put these motherfuckers in office a year ago for one reason: GET US OUT!!!!! Each day they keep us over there their approval ratings drop, and these dickless chipmunks can't put the two together. Fucking idiots. They're scared to do the one thing we've actually asked them to do. Why don't the Democrats just get together and see about clipping the Constitution so W can get elected one more time while they're at it?
Fucking worthless. Baffling.
PBS & RIP
I just saw a commercial on PBS asking for viewers to take them into account while planning their estate. IE "put us in your will." That a lil weird to anyone else? Commercials now plying for the "dead people" demographic? Can I have a nice time watching tv without being reminded of my own death? Wow. And how long til McDonalds gets in on this? "We all know little Bobby loved the Filet o' Fish Happy Meal...well, just because leukemia won the battle doesn't mean Bobby cannot have a Happy Meal with him from now til all eternity - buy one of McDonald's Casket Basket Meals today...I'm lovin it."
Yeesh.
Yeesh.
My Small Part
There are no small roles in social protest, and I took my place along with the other angry people horrified at the Jena 6 debacle by buying 6 frozen Jeno’s pizzas on the way home tonite. I’m telling you, I’m not even kidding, I’ve been obsessed with these things for about a month. And I don’t really know why; I’m looking at one right now and I see no cheese, the sausage looks like pencil shavings and the crust is apparently made out of crackers. But something about when you bite in....it’s like the first time you’re about to munch on a girl’s twat, you look in and are like “oh, HELL no!” and then next thing you know you’re out in her father’s boat in the middle of the river with her sitting on your face and not even her family dog licking your newly infected big toe can make you stop, know what I mean? Makes no sense when looking at it, but there you go. Life in a frozen box.
And another thing I love is no matter what or how many toppings you get, it’s the same price. Real pizza, you gotta pay extra for each topping. Not Jenos. “Whaddya want, the plain cheese, nothing on it? Great, that ‘ll be 99 cents....the pepperoni? 99 cents...hey, this one has truffles sorbet and once touched Princess Di’s nipple...tell you what, gimme 99 cents for it....”
Fucking Jenos. Slice. Of. Slices.
Pages in the August 27 Issue of Life & Style I Might Sauce the Plate To Later On
Page 5
Page 55
Back cover
dang. slim pickings this issue.
Page 55
Back cover
dang. slim pickings this issue.
Tasered by the Light
The student getting tasered at the Kerry forum the other day makes me uneasy about our relationship with cops from here on out. While the police surely over-reacted, I’ve got a feeling this kid knew what he was doing, and was being a bit of a baiting jackoff, knowing he’d be immortalized on YouTube forever. Today's folk hero - I promise you that as "victimized" as this kid is, this video is all over his MySpace page. Between the accessibility to the mass media via cell phone cameras/videocameras/Youtube and our now insatiable thirst to be on tv/the internet no matter what it takes, no matter who we hurt or how stupid we look for our 15 minutes of fame these incidents are gonna increase exponentially. Which means that’s a few more seconds from now on that cops have to hesitate, thinking “Is this kid for real, or is he bullshitting for attention?” And now cops know that at any moment anything they do they can be filmed – obviously sometimes that works in the public’s favor, but it may backfire also. A cop may think why bother jumping in, I’m gonna get hosed on videotape, I’ll look the other way. A double-edged billy club, I reckon.
We Don't Need Pettiness to Beat Rudy
If Republican voters expose themselves to be big, big, big hypocrites and nominate Rudy for President, I hope the Democrats don't jump out and start using the shit about him wearing dresses et al. #1, who gives a shit. It was all in fun, let's for once show we have a sense of humor. He's never been caught in a dress in an airport shitter, for example. #2, that would only distract voters from remembering what a fucking shit bag he REALLY is - let's stay focused on REAL stuff about him; such as him blowing off the Iraq Study Group to run around and line his pockets, or the fact that the FDNY, the very backs upon Rudy is running on, HATES HIS GUTS AND WILL DO ANYTHING TO KEEP HIM FROM WINNING. And that's just two big reasons for somebody to decide "maybe this isn't the guy." We don't need to bother with the other shit; he's done enough already. No amount of chest-pounding and declarations that "a vote for a Democrat means you will be killed the second you walk out of the voting booth" should be able to sway anyone at this point. So let's lay off the silly shit - it's stupid and completely unnecessary.
Oh yeah, and his kids hate him too. What a guy.
Oh yeah, and his kids hate him too. What a guy.
Women
The other day a friend of mine said "I know you better than anyone else." All of a sudden it occurs to me, what does she mean? Does she mean she knows me better than she knows any other person, or that she knows me better than anyone else knows me?
Women, eh? Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em, can't masturbate without thinking of one of them shitting in a bucket. Ah well.
Women, eh? Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em, can't masturbate without thinking of one of them shitting in a bucket. Ah well.
NYC...The Young, the Old, the Ugly Me
No city makes you feel young like New York City. No matter what age you are, there's always some idiot that's older than you that's starting a new band, or writing a screenplay, or wiping down tables at a bar to pay for his improv classes that night. There's always some dipshit 50 year old in a ponytail yammering bout the Raconteurs' new ep etc etc. So unlike every other city where by the time you're 23 you better have a wife and a mortgage you always feel well, I reckon there's still some time for me to grow up.
And no city makes you feel old like New York City. Unlike other cities, with their cars and isolated areas, no place brings you face to face with youth like NYC. Twice a day the streets and trains are flooded with kids going to and coming from school...Christ, you think, I thought they ended 8th grade after I left. Wtf. They still have schools? And you used to assume you were on the kids' side, that kids would somehow automatically think you were "cool" and on their team; now you realize that to some kid on a train, you're just some really old guy. It's impossible for him to imagine being born in 1972. And then there's the annual flood of 22 year olds hitting Bedford Avenue, pushing your own youth and coolness further down the L train with each H.R. Pufnstuf lunch box and pair of Buddy Holly rims. They regale the pub with how "metal rocking" Appetite for Destruction is, but they can't imagine being alive when it was actually on the charts.
Ah well. Old age - it's wasted on the old.
And no city makes you feel old like New York City. Unlike other cities, with their cars and isolated areas, no place brings you face to face with youth like NYC. Twice a day the streets and trains are flooded with kids going to and coming from school...Christ, you think, I thought they ended 8th grade after I left. Wtf. They still have schools? And you used to assume you were on the kids' side, that kids would somehow automatically think you were "cool" and on their team; now you realize that to some kid on a train, you're just some really old guy. It's impossible for him to imagine being born in 1972. And then there's the annual flood of 22 year olds hitting Bedford Avenue, pushing your own youth and coolness further down the L train with each H.R. Pufnstuf lunch box and pair of Buddy Holly rims. They regale the pub with how "metal rocking" Appetite for Destruction is, but they can't imagine being alive when it was actually on the charts.
Ah well. Old age - it's wasted on the old.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
"I Write the Songs, and Am Apparently an Idiot"
No one wants to punch Elizabeth Hasselback in the neck more than me (tho I’d love to get my Chicklets on those pregnant, fattening by the day titties!!) But Barry Manilow? Refusing to sit next to her? Barry, camon, you’re...Barry Manilow. Are you worried about getting asked questions about the tax code? Immigration? You’re fucking Barry Manilow – show up, croon out one of your numbers, swear repeatedly you’re not gay and move the fuck on!!!!
Bush is Killing Us way More than Captain Caveman
An interesting thought on who's more evil, Bush or Bin Laden. The sad fact is, Bush is potentially doing WAY more damge to me and any children Britney squeezes out for me. I know that as I type this Toby Keith is flying in on a red, white & blue magic carpet to break his boot off in my ass, but it is what it is. Bush has destroyed this country in ways Bin Laden could only dream of, much to his delight I'm sure. And though yes I'm a left-wing commy pinko lefty pussy, at this point I don't even consider this to be Bush-bashing. Just the cold, sober, sad truth.
Speaking of our fearless leader, I stumbled on this list the other day. I was shaking my head, AMAZED at all the shit this idiot has fucked up. and then I noticed that this list is almost 3 and 1/2 years old!!! Jesus!! Look how much he fucked in a little over 3 years - we can only shudder to think what the list looks like by now. I will say this: no half-steppin for this mofo. When he fucks things up, he fucks things up. The dumb, elitist bull in our collective china shop.
Speaking of our fearless leader, I stumbled on this list the other day. I was shaking my head, AMAZED at all the shit this idiot has fucked up. and then I noticed that this list is almost 3 and 1/2 years old!!! Jesus!! Look how much he fucked in a little over 3 years - we can only shudder to think what the list looks like by now. I will say this: no half-steppin for this mofo. When he fucks things up, he fucks things up. The dumb, elitist bull in our collective china shop.
Isiah English Muffins
Seriously. What the fuck's it gonna take to get Isiah Thomas fired? How much in love with him can Dolan possibly be? Other than if had given away the ending to the "Sopranos", at this point I can't imagine a possible scenario where Isiah actually gets fired. And it's not like he's Belicheck and has some rings to give us cause to let him stick around. Thomas is completely embarrassing a once-proud organization (and city) with this circus shit, and all in the name of 30 wins a season. Well, and the possibility of bringing Allen Houston back for $65M/year.
And I understand the "N word", but is Thomas now saying that "bitch" is for black people to own? Camon. Has he never heard of "Dynasty?" But if he wants some words for black people to own, maybe we should volunteer some. I can let the following go:
Infirmary
Salon
Instant
Abrupt
Herring
Bring
Loch
Olfactory
Wither
Saltine
You're welcome, Zeke.
And I understand the "N word", but is Thomas now saying that "bitch" is for black people to own? Camon. Has he never heard of "Dynasty?" But if he wants some words for black people to own, maybe we should volunteer some. I can let the following go:
Infirmary
Salon
Instant
Abrupt
Herring
Bring
Loch
Olfactory
Wither
Saltine
You're welcome, Zeke.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
A Pre-Emptive Restaurant Review
JIMMY'S DINER
577 Union Avenue, Brooklyn NY
What I'm Sure Would Be 0 Xmas Trees
Strolling down Union Ave yesterday, I could see from a short distance that my “beloved” Union Picnic joint was finally out of business and has been replaced. A fried chicken place (and by “fried chicken place” I mean one of those places that purports to be Southern but is run by someone who thinks The Colonel fought in the Cola Wars of the mid-80s) that was a series of comedic errors (no chicken. no ice. no change. no shit.) and deserves it’s own post one day.
But as I walked up to the new joint, I saw that it was now “Jimmy’s Diner.” Like UP it seats about 10; none comfortably. And then I looked up and there in the door was a fat, older Italian neighborhood guy who, I’m guessing, was Jimmy. Or Delta Burke. Hanging out in the doorway, beaming out into the street. And in a flash my mind instantly distilled everything Anthony Bourdain had decried in his classic “Kitchen Confidential” to be certain failure for any restaurant. Restaurant Failure 101: (all pure conjecture of course) Jimmy, being raised in the old Italian section of Williamsburg, grew up loving food, stuffing his face with it at every huge family dinner. At some point Jimmy started making meatballs and gravy, having big dinners for his friends, all of whom always brayed loudly “Jimmy you gotta start your own place!! This is great!! Is man a dream, stretched over an abyss? This gravy is awesome!!!” After years of hearing this, Jimmy sees the incoming flux of young, rich suckers moving into his neighborhood and decides to cash in on his “real-neighborhood” authenticity by opening a small diner, part of whose charm is Jimmy himself – a loud, hugging Italian cartoon of a man who loves his mama and makes sly innuendos that he knows mobsters. He’ll give these people a slice of REAL Williamsburg, and make them pay for it. Poor, poor Jimmy.
So I grab a menu to take with me. Handwritten of course, with a picture of Jimmy as a toddler. I guess if the menu looks like it was done by a coked-up Tickle Me Elmo doll, I’m supposed to be charmed into popping my food wad for the month here. Wtf. When I open my restaurant, the menu will be Crayola etchings with glitter made from my own placenta. $$$Ka-ching!!!!!!!! My default glance to see how bullshit a restaurant is of course cheeseburger with fries. Jimmy’s asking $11 for this. Hmm. $11 to sit just off the BQE in a dining room the size of my nutbag for a burger and fries. No thanks. I can get this UNDER the BQE, and have a boyfriend who has his own shopping cart of aluminum cans to boot. And lemme guess – Jimmy will make it worth your while by basically making it a huge, dried-out meatball. The bigger the better, I guess. Thanks, Jimmy!!
Jimmy is also guilty of another one of Bourdain’s sins – too much variety. This menu’s got more choices than Michael Jackson at a Romper Room remake of Ben Hur. Jimmy’s got Italian, of course. Don’t like Italian? That’s cool, Jimmy’s got Mexican. And seafood. And a huge breakfast menu. Huevos rancheros, “The Homeboy”, “real Southern” cornbread bowls. Deep-fried moon rocks with almond drizzle for you brothers from another planet. Jimmy’s not just looking to cash in on the vibe of his own neighborhood, but any neighborhood that it will take to make you sit down and look at his Sinatra pictures on the wall while dropping some serious bread.
And it is serious. A $12 salad? Really? There’s only one salad that’s worth $12 - and, if I’ve studied my Chris Rock correctly, and I think I have, you have to get caught stealing a car to get one. And a side of baked beans costs $4. Please. Jimmy. Williamsburg hipsters will gladly pay $900 for a used Hold Steady lunch box, but they won’t pay $4 for baked beans for fuck’s sake. Hipsters don’t like anything that makes them gassy unless it’s the thought of someone finding their high school yearbook and finding out that they DIDN’T actually love Wire or Gang of Four in high school - at least then they feel a bit of danger to give themselves a thrill.
$4 for a side of corn bread. $5 for, get this, ENGLISH MUFFIN PIZZA!!!!! Jesus Christ. You can’t call something a “pizza” if it’s not bigger than the black eye you get when you try to steal my copy of "Anal Encounters IV: They Always Come Back." Camon, Jimmy.
You get the picture. I’ve walked by twice now, and it’s still just Jimmy in the doorway, no one at the tables. I guess all of his buddies who were clamoring for him to open a restaurant have used up all their free meals and are deserting our hero. This place will not be open in six months. Ah well. Sorry, Jimmy.
577 Union Avenue, Brooklyn NY
What I'm Sure Would Be 0 Xmas Trees
Strolling down Union Ave yesterday, I could see from a short distance that my “beloved” Union Picnic joint was finally out of business and has been replaced. A fried chicken place (and by “fried chicken place” I mean one of those places that purports to be Southern but is run by someone who thinks The Colonel fought in the Cola Wars of the mid-80s) that was a series of comedic errors (no chicken. no ice. no change. no shit.) and deserves it’s own post one day.
But as I walked up to the new joint, I saw that it was now “Jimmy’s Diner.” Like UP it seats about 10; none comfortably. And then I looked up and there in the door was a fat, older Italian neighborhood guy who, I’m guessing, was Jimmy. Or Delta Burke. Hanging out in the doorway, beaming out into the street. And in a flash my mind instantly distilled everything Anthony Bourdain had decried in his classic “Kitchen Confidential” to be certain failure for any restaurant. Restaurant Failure 101: (all pure conjecture of course) Jimmy, being raised in the old Italian section of Williamsburg, grew up loving food, stuffing his face with it at every huge family dinner. At some point Jimmy started making meatballs and gravy, having big dinners for his friends, all of whom always brayed loudly “Jimmy you gotta start your own place!! This is great!! Is man a dream, stretched over an abyss? This gravy is awesome!!!” After years of hearing this, Jimmy sees the incoming flux of young, rich suckers moving into his neighborhood and decides to cash in on his “real-neighborhood” authenticity by opening a small diner, part of whose charm is Jimmy himself – a loud, hugging Italian cartoon of a man who loves his mama and makes sly innuendos that he knows mobsters. He’ll give these people a slice of REAL Williamsburg, and make them pay for it. Poor, poor Jimmy.
So I grab a menu to take with me. Handwritten of course, with a picture of Jimmy as a toddler. I guess if the menu looks like it was done by a coked-up Tickle Me Elmo doll, I’m supposed to be charmed into popping my food wad for the month here. Wtf. When I open my restaurant, the menu will be Crayola etchings with glitter made from my own placenta. $$$Ka-ching!!!!!!!! My default glance to see how bullshit a restaurant is of course cheeseburger with fries. Jimmy’s asking $11 for this. Hmm. $11 to sit just off the BQE in a dining room the size of my nutbag for a burger and fries. No thanks. I can get this UNDER the BQE, and have a boyfriend who has his own shopping cart of aluminum cans to boot. And lemme guess – Jimmy will make it worth your while by basically making it a huge, dried-out meatball. The bigger the better, I guess. Thanks, Jimmy!!
Jimmy is also guilty of another one of Bourdain’s sins – too much variety. This menu’s got more choices than Michael Jackson at a Romper Room remake of Ben Hur. Jimmy’s got Italian, of course. Don’t like Italian? That’s cool, Jimmy’s got Mexican. And seafood. And a huge breakfast menu. Huevos rancheros, “The Homeboy”, “real Southern” cornbread bowls. Deep-fried moon rocks with almond drizzle for you brothers from another planet. Jimmy’s not just looking to cash in on the vibe of his own neighborhood, but any neighborhood that it will take to make you sit down and look at his Sinatra pictures on the wall while dropping some serious bread.
And it is serious. A $12 salad? Really? There’s only one salad that’s worth $12 - and, if I’ve studied my Chris Rock correctly, and I think I have, you have to get caught stealing a car to get one. And a side of baked beans costs $4. Please. Jimmy. Williamsburg hipsters will gladly pay $900 for a used Hold Steady lunch box, but they won’t pay $4 for baked beans for fuck’s sake. Hipsters don’t like anything that makes them gassy unless it’s the thought of someone finding their high school yearbook and finding out that they DIDN’T actually love Wire or Gang of Four in high school - at least then they feel a bit of danger to give themselves a thrill.
$4 for a side of corn bread. $5 for, get this, ENGLISH MUFFIN PIZZA!!!!! Jesus Christ. You can’t call something a “pizza” if it’s not bigger than the black eye you get when you try to steal my copy of "Anal Encounters IV: They Always Come Back." Camon, Jimmy.
You get the picture. I’ve walked by twice now, and it’s still just Jimmy in the doorway, no one at the tables. I guess all of his buddies who were clamoring for him to open a restaurant have used up all their free meals and are deserting our hero. This place will not be open in six months. Ah well. Sorry, Jimmy.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Funny Cause It's True!
...or so I remember from back in the day when I actually gunned the rock. Thanks to my brother Edmund for sending me this. Dedicated to the memory of Op's 31 charges taken in the 1988-89 season. Enjoy!
11 Guys You'll Always Find Playing Pickup Basketball
11 Guys You'll Always Find Playing Pickup Basketball
Shut the Fuck Up Vol. MCCIV
Can we all stop pretending to be horrified at what a “bad parent” Britney is? For fuck’s sake, bashing Britney’s parenting skills has become the “Calling Kathie Lee Gifford the Devil” of the 00’s. Everybody LOOOOOOVES to act horrified/chagrined at what a terrible parent she is. I guess every other parent in the world is amazing. Hey, maybe she’s not a good mother, maybe she is, I don’t know. But I do know those kids will want for nothing, be it food/clothes/houses with pools etc. They will go to the finest schools and have every opportunity possible. Yes, maybe they will become crack dealers because their mother was off touring all the time. Who knows. But if you wanna cry and stamp your feet at a child’s welfare, quit being a hypocrite acting like you wanna “save” Britney’s kids. Fucking hell. There’s hundreds of thousands, or millions even, of kids that are starving/homeless et al. If you wanna show off what an AMAZING, concerned person you are and worry about some children, worry about them. Otherwise, put down your fucking InTouch magazine and shut the fuck up.
Here Comes the Autumn (Thank God)
I think we can all knock off the nonsense about “spring is about rebirth!” that we love to throw around and believe. As with the stupidity of clinging to voting on Tuesdays, I know this crap is from our days as an agrarian society. But isn’t fall more about rebirth than spring? Schools re-open. Most people get back to serious work after a long summer of vacations/slacking off etc. Football, hockey and basketball seasons begin in the fall. The crisp autumnal air gives us fresh energy after a summer of trying to sleep in our own sweat. Fall kicks off the holiday season. Networks roll out their new seasons. Everything starts for real after Labor Day. What the fuck does spring start? Wow, leaves come back on the trees. Whoop-de do shit. Otherwise, it kicks off months and months of hot, dreary nothingness. So let’s give fall it’s due for once this year as it rolls in. And Spring? Go fuck yourself.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Whole in the Head?
I was walking through Manhattan yesterday and I came upon a Whole Foods, which I had never visited before. I love grocery stores, so I thought I’d check out what the fuss was about. But the one thing I noticed is that the door to enter the store was automatic, while the door to leave the store you had to open yourself. Isn’t that backwards; wouldn’t one assume that as I’m entering the store my hands would be more empty than when I leave since I would, presumably, then be carrying grocery bags? Wtf?
Idiot Boxed
Well, one thing we know about Dubya’s speech tonite is it will prolly set a record for eye-rolling, as he wows us with how much the Surge has kicked ass. I haven’t checked on the over/unders for how many times he throws out his 4 or 5 patented terror phrases, but I’m guessing a high number. And hopefully he doesn’t go longer than 10 seconds between reminders of how desperately terrorists are trying to claw over the ocean and blow us up. It will be, as always, entertaining.
I was listening to my bff Rush Limbaugh yesterday and he went on and on about how ASTOUNDED, BEWILDERED AND AGHAST he was at the Democrats not doing cartwheels and fighting each other to give Petraeus a blowjob during his “report” that the Surge was almost, kind of, in an incredibly small way, working. First of all, anyone who can listen to any of this bullshit and lend credence to it after 6 years of flat-out lies, well, then, you’re a fucking idiot. But even if we are to assume the Surge was a small success, why am I supposed to be so fucking thrilled about it? To me, this is like someone coming over and burning my house down to the ground, then laying a single brick down in it’s place and then being incredulous that I wasn’t doing backflips and baking pies to thank him. Hey, thanks for the brick to rebuild with, but maybe you shouldn’t have burned my house down in the first place, dipshit.
I was listening to my bff Rush Limbaugh yesterday and he went on and on about how ASTOUNDED, BEWILDERED AND AGHAST he was at the Democrats not doing cartwheels and fighting each other to give Petraeus a blowjob during his “report” that the Surge was almost, kind of, in an incredibly small way, working. First of all, anyone who can listen to any of this bullshit and lend credence to it after 6 years of flat-out lies, well, then, you’re a fucking idiot. But even if we are to assume the Surge was a small success, why am I supposed to be so fucking thrilled about it? To me, this is like someone coming over and burning my house down to the ground, then laying a single brick down in it’s place and then being incredulous that I wasn’t doing backflips and baking pies to thank him. Hey, thanks for the brick to rebuild with, but maybe you shouldn’t have burned my house down in the first place, dipshit.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Sullivan. Dead Right.
Clear rationale and logic. Something this administration either does not have itself, or assumes the rest of us are idiots and incapable of figuring this out for ourselves. If the Surge is such a success, wouldn't going back to the disastrous pre-Surge days be like Aaron Spelling pulling Heather Locklear from "Melrose Place" after she had single-handedly made the show a success? "Thanks Heather you can go now. We'll be fine with Andrew Shue carrying us from here on out." Christ. Why don't these people just go ahead and declare absolute victory, put Bush on the nickel, declare oil the national bird and make Saudi Arabia the 51st state?
I Can Be a Geek Too!!!!!
As my opinion is incredibly important on all fronts, thought I'd take a moment to briefly comment on GodIHateYourBand's finalized list of the 100 Greatest Songs of All Time. Well, the Top 10 anyways.
1) Like a Rolling Stone (Bob Dylan) - absolutely #1. Greatest song ever, as per my comments on my own list here. Anyone who didn’t have this one their list I gotta wonder about. And by "I gotta wonder about" I mean "pretty much am dead certain is gay."
2) I Wanna Hold Your Hand (The Beatles) - again, on my list. Great choice, unbeatable sheer energy/excitement. I love it when music geeks discredit the early Beatles, snidely calling it “teenybopper.” They only love them from Rubber Soul on, when they became “artists.” I love it cause any idiot who proclaims this is one more person I can scratch off my list of ever having to talk to again.
3) Satisfaction (Rolling Stones) – eh. Not my Stone slice of slices. It’s a great song, prolly a victim of hearing it too much through the years. Which is my problem with the Stones; how many more times do we hafta hear “Start Me Up” “Paint it Black” and “Jumpin Jack Flash” over & over? The Stones probably have about 100 great cuts they don’t even remember recording. Do they themselves have to be as lazy live as radio programmers are? If this song came out today it would be huge. Same thing goes for Eli Manning, of course.
4) Tangled Up in Blue (Bob Dylan) – love love love it. Though I guess I’ve always kinda thought of it as “Like a Rolling Stone Junior.” Kicks off what may be my favorite Dylan album. An album so great that sometimes this incredible song vacillates between #1 and #3 on it.
5) Thunder Road (Bruce Springsteen) – okay, this one’s driving me fucking nuts. I love “Thunder Road.” We all love “Thunder Road.” But how the FUCK could anyone pick this over “Born to Run”?!?!???!???!? Obviously if you know “Thunder Road” you know “Born to Run” as they’re on the same album. So ignorance is no excuse. As much as I love Bruce, and you know this, I cannot accept this in the 5-spot. It’s only my 4th favorite on the album!!!!!!! A bad choice. A great song, but a bit meandering, does not belong here. Furious!!
6) Waterloo Sunset (The Kinks) – another surprise this high, I always thought “Days” was more popular and woulda beat this. Ah well. A beautiful song, Ray Davies out-Englishing even himself.
7) Walk Away Renee (The Left Banke) – a happy surprise; for years I thought I was the only person who even knew this song, a la “Him or Me” by Paul Revere and the Raiders or “Have I the Right” by the Honeycombs. Or "Big City, Miss Ruth Ann" by...whoever. Great great sad sad song. Though I may prefer their other hit “Pretty Ballerina.” But props to whomever loved this slice. Wasn’t on my list, but glad it’s here. Also has that rushed ending, just like I picture it back then how they cut records. The tape just runs out on the engineer. "But I have one more verse about racial equality, the existence of a higher being and world peace that we didn't get to!" "Nah fuck it, it's great, let's ship it." BAM! On the radio that afternoon.
8) Smells Like Teen Spirit (Nirvana) – anyone who knows me knows my thoughts on this band. Might need a whole post for this; will move on before I get angry.
9) A Day in the Life (The Beatles) – what can you say about this one? Absolute highest moment on the highest of albums. Yes, I know as a Beatles freak I’m supposed to turn my nose up at Sgt Pepper; fuck yeeeeeeew. One of a small handful of songs that had they beat out “Like a Rollnig Stone” for #1, I wouldn’t have gone apeshit. Also, Ringo’s single greatest drumming performance other than “Rain.” And I guess the last great instance of John or Paul adding the middle eight into the other’s song, making it even more amazing.
10) God Only Knows (The Beach Boys) – Carl’s dead, so I can’t pick on this cut. It’s a great one, I love it and don’t begrudge it’s standing here, but if presented with Pet Sounds on a juke, I always go for “Waiting for the Day” or “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.” Maybe even “I Know There’s an Answer.” That said, an amazing performance and production.
1) Like a Rolling Stone (Bob Dylan) - absolutely #1. Greatest song ever, as per my comments on my own list here. Anyone who didn’t have this one their list I gotta wonder about. And by "I gotta wonder about" I mean "pretty much am dead certain is gay."
2) I Wanna Hold Your Hand (The Beatles) - again, on my list. Great choice, unbeatable sheer energy/excitement. I love it when music geeks discredit the early Beatles, snidely calling it “teenybopper.” They only love them from Rubber Soul on, when they became “artists.” I love it cause any idiot who proclaims this is one more person I can scratch off my list of ever having to talk to again.
3) Satisfaction (Rolling Stones) – eh. Not my Stone slice of slices. It’s a great song, prolly a victim of hearing it too much through the years. Which is my problem with the Stones; how many more times do we hafta hear “Start Me Up” “Paint it Black” and “Jumpin Jack Flash” over & over? The Stones probably have about 100 great cuts they don’t even remember recording. Do they themselves have to be as lazy live as radio programmers are? If this song came out today it would be huge. Same thing goes for Eli Manning, of course.
4) Tangled Up in Blue (Bob Dylan) – love love love it. Though I guess I’ve always kinda thought of it as “Like a Rolling Stone Junior.” Kicks off what may be my favorite Dylan album. An album so great that sometimes this incredible song vacillates between #1 and #3 on it.
5) Thunder Road (Bruce Springsteen) – okay, this one’s driving me fucking nuts. I love “Thunder Road.” We all love “Thunder Road.” But how the FUCK could anyone pick this over “Born to Run”?!?!???!???!? Obviously if you know “Thunder Road” you know “Born to Run” as they’re on the same album. So ignorance is no excuse. As much as I love Bruce, and you know this, I cannot accept this in the 5-spot. It’s only my 4th favorite on the album!!!!!!! A bad choice. A great song, but a bit meandering, does not belong here. Furious!!
6) Waterloo Sunset (The Kinks) – another surprise this high, I always thought “Days” was more popular and woulda beat this. Ah well. A beautiful song, Ray Davies out-Englishing even himself.
7) Walk Away Renee (The Left Banke) – a happy surprise; for years I thought I was the only person who even knew this song, a la “Him or Me” by Paul Revere and the Raiders or “Have I the Right” by the Honeycombs. Or "Big City, Miss Ruth Ann" by...whoever. Great great sad sad song. Though I may prefer their other hit “Pretty Ballerina.” But props to whomever loved this slice. Wasn’t on my list, but glad it’s here. Also has that rushed ending, just like I picture it back then how they cut records. The tape just runs out on the engineer. "But I have one more verse about racial equality, the existence of a higher being and world peace that we didn't get to!" "Nah fuck it, it's great, let's ship it." BAM! On the radio that afternoon.
8) Smells Like Teen Spirit (Nirvana) – anyone who knows me knows my thoughts on this band. Might need a whole post for this; will move on before I get angry.
9) A Day in the Life (The Beatles) – what can you say about this one? Absolute highest moment on the highest of albums. Yes, I know as a Beatles freak I’m supposed to turn my nose up at Sgt Pepper; fuck yeeeeeeew. One of a small handful of songs that had they beat out “Like a Rollnig Stone” for #1, I wouldn’t have gone apeshit. Also, Ringo’s single greatest drumming performance other than “Rain.” And I guess the last great instance of John or Paul adding the middle eight into the other’s song, making it even more amazing.
10) God Only Knows (The Beach Boys) – Carl’s dead, so I can’t pick on this cut. It’s a great one, I love it and don’t begrudge it’s standing here, but if presented with Pet Sounds on a juke, I always go for “Waiting for the Day” or “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.” Maybe even “I Know There’s an Answer.” That said, an amazing performance and production.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
9/11/84
Today is my little brother’s birthday. 23 years old....don’t that make you wanna punch him? Grrrrrr!!!
I was 11 years old when our mother poked her head into me and my brother’s bedroom and said to come out, she had an announcement to make. We had been playing one of our made up games: basketball, on our knees, rolled up socks for a ball and, perched on the dresser, the support weighed down by books, a real metal basketball rim. Which, of course, would constantly fall on top of our heads. Bright fellas. How I made it to 9th grade before dropping out is still a mystery.
So we get taken into our parents bedroom – right away we knew something was odd; our parents bedroom was not a place my brother and I were welcome. The only time yours truly got the invite was for my daily whipping from my mother; hell, for years I thought the brass metallic sound that rang out was from my opening the door, not the handles of my father’s belt drawer clanging as my mother opened the drawer up to peruse that day’s weapon of choice. Tinkle tinkle "Welcome Xmas," I thought the door was chiming "you are s-c-r-e-w-e-d!!" “Boys” my father announced, “your mother is pregnant. You’re going to have another brother or sister. Anyone else think squirrels are sexy?” I looked at my mother. I can still see her, in some sort of light blue denim jumper thingee. Hey, it was the early 80’s. And I am 35 years old and I have ZERO idea what the fuck a “jumper” really is. If I can’t immediately identify a piece of clothing as a skirt or dress, I call it a jumper. Prolly the very last thing I need to learn about women, I guess.
However, the announcement was quickly dismissed by my brother and I as, ta-da, it happened to be April Fool’s day. “Nice try” we smirked as we walked out and back to our game of “Let’s Hit Each Other in the Head with a Huge Iron Rim.” Not thinking, of course, that our parents had never bothered to show even flashes of humor; certainly the idea of them getting together to scheme some sort of April Fool’s Day joke on us should have been absurd. 11 years of saying and doing exactly funny and all of a sudden we’re thinking our parents are Abbott & Costello. So eventually the long pregnancy sunk in and we prepared ourselves for the new addition.
Is it me, or did that last sentence sound like a story outta “Little House on the Prairie”, where they build a room for the mother to go out alone and have the baby in, out in the field? “We put Ma out in the birthing house and Pa played his fiddle as we locked arms a-spinning round shouting ‘how to it, Pa! Pick it, pick it!!!” What the fuck am I saying?
I remember a few things about my mother being pregnant during that loooooooong hot summer. Number one, she got into some weird pregnancy groove wherein every night for dinner she would make the exact same thing: hamburger patties, white rice and green beans. Monday night. Tuesday night. Wednesday night. EVERY night. One night my father started to complain and that was the night that I, at a very early age, learned a very important lesson: whatever a pregnant woman puts on a plate in front of you, you fucking eat it and shut your mouth. Period. It was as if a strange, alien creature reached out from my mother’s guts, reached across the table, slapped my father’s face with a pristine white glove saying “lordy, I declare!” before grabbing my father’s testicles and slapping his brain with them...while making him eat the burger, white rice and green beans. Yeesh. I also learned how to fake smile when someone put food on a plate in front of you that you weren’t thrilled about. “oh, yeah....green beans....great...pass the mustard, please...and the mayo...and Worcester...and salt...aaaaaaaaand A-1....”
Note: takes more than a crazed pregnant woman to get me to eat ketchup.
So we ate the shit. The summer went on, and it was a HOT summer. Come August my brother, who was going into the 8th grade, declared he wanted to try out for the junior varsity football team. My mother being a recovering Yankee and not in love with the brutal Southern summers said HELL no – there was no way she was gonna drag her pregnant ass out in the hot sun every day to bring him back and forth to practice or sit in the stands roasting in the heat during his games. Which meant, of course, guess who then wasn’t allowed to play the next year when HE entered 8th grade? Thanks, lil bro!! Also, btw, the reason it took an extra year for me to learn how to french kiss. But this post’s about my lil bro, not me.
We spent a lot of time on names that summer too. For some reason I was stuck on “William Phillip;” obviously I wanted him to grow up to be a soap opera character who disappears on his yacht, is thought to be dead, then comes back 15 years later, a changed man (so we think – but STILL secretly a prick who had embezzled millions from his wife’s father’s plastic fruit company!!!!) My father, of course, was determined to break the record for being Irish with such gems as Brógán Buadhach, or Cairell Deaglán Fearchar. I think he was still miffed we hadn’t let him name our sister “Honnorrah.” Well, and that women were given the right to vote. “Next thing you know, boys” I remember him warning us “they’ll be doctors and lawyers and directing their own woman on woman breast milk-lubricated anal bead scenes!!!!” Hey, what can you say, a man of the old country. I don’t know how we landed on William John McKenna. William John sounds like it could be a family name in any family; McKenna however was my grandmother’s maiden name. My little brother would come to repay her for lending him the name by, a few years later when she had to move in with us for a few months, walking up to her and asking “when are you leaving?” Such tact at 4 years old. Unteachable.
I can’t really remember a lot about him as an infant; I mean I don’t remember much about feeding him or any of that. I do remember the first time I babysat him by myself. About 8 seconds after my mother’s car left the driveway for work little man dropped about a three-pounder of real angus beef in his Huggies. I can still see his face, looking at me like “...okay...fix this, that lady always does...” I looked at him, shrugged, and said “gonna be a long 8 hours for you, buddy.” Another valuable lesson for him, I thought: life’s tough, and sometimes you hafta sit in a pile of your own shit while your caretaker is in the next room jerking off to Catherine Bach in “Dukes of Hazzard.” Seriously, Will: you’re welcome.
A few years later Will entered the working world, getting his first job: walking into the living room every 90 seconds to spy on me and my girlfriend on the couch. My mother, remembering her teachings from the 50’s that dictated that necking on the couch could lead to becoming pregnant with a black baby, would send him into the living room where we were trying to make out and ask inane questions to pester us. I shudder to think now, shaking my head at those things his young, innocent, naive eyes must’ve seen, the human depravity...no toddler needs to see a girl worship a young man’s body that lustily on THAT certain area, mewling so much like an animal in twisted, feral heat...what was I talking about?
One weird thing about him as a young kid, I mean 2-4ish, is how grumpy he’d be when he’d wake up. My family was all early risers, we’d be sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast discussing world affairs and he’d come stumbling in, eyes glazed like a zombie, careening into the first chair he’d see. Then he’s stare out into space. He looked like a 90-year old who had just had something quickly waved in his face: stunned, vacant, and in disbelief that the Negroes had really been set free. “Good morning Will!” we’d say. To which he’s snap “shut up! It’s NOT a good morning!” Dang. Heavy load for such a young man to be carrying around. Oh wait, I already told that story earlier.
I guess I should save some for next year’s birthday, so I’ll stop there. Well, plus I hear the General Lee on my tv, so obviously I have to start taking my pants off now. As he’s becoming a man he’s everything you’d want in a little brother – warm, loyal, not a mean-spirited bone in his body. Hard to believe this little kid is 23 now; wasn’t it just yesterday he was hooked on Ninja Rangers? Oh wait, yesterday was when he plowed into a transformer and knocked out all the power in Charles City, VA. Sorry!!
Hahahahaaha
Happy birfday, brah!!
I was 11 years old when our mother poked her head into me and my brother’s bedroom and said to come out, she had an announcement to make. We had been playing one of our made up games: basketball, on our knees, rolled up socks for a ball and, perched on the dresser, the support weighed down by books, a real metal basketball rim. Which, of course, would constantly fall on top of our heads. Bright fellas. How I made it to 9th grade before dropping out is still a mystery.
So we get taken into our parents bedroom – right away we knew something was odd; our parents bedroom was not a place my brother and I were welcome. The only time yours truly got the invite was for my daily whipping from my mother; hell, for years I thought the brass metallic sound that rang out was from my opening the door, not the handles of my father’s belt drawer clanging as my mother opened the drawer up to peruse that day’s weapon of choice. Tinkle tinkle "Welcome Xmas," I thought the door was chiming "you are s-c-r-e-w-e-d!!" “Boys” my father announced, “your mother is pregnant. You’re going to have another brother or sister. Anyone else think squirrels are sexy?” I looked at my mother. I can still see her, in some sort of light blue denim jumper thingee. Hey, it was the early 80’s. And I am 35 years old and I have ZERO idea what the fuck a “jumper” really is. If I can’t immediately identify a piece of clothing as a skirt or dress, I call it a jumper. Prolly the very last thing I need to learn about women, I guess.
However, the announcement was quickly dismissed by my brother and I as, ta-da, it happened to be April Fool’s day. “Nice try” we smirked as we walked out and back to our game of “Let’s Hit Each Other in the Head with a Huge Iron Rim.” Not thinking, of course, that our parents had never bothered to show even flashes of humor; certainly the idea of them getting together to scheme some sort of April Fool’s Day joke on us should have been absurd. 11 years of saying and doing exactly funny and all of a sudden we’re thinking our parents are Abbott & Costello. So eventually the long pregnancy sunk in and we prepared ourselves for the new addition.
Is it me, or did that last sentence sound like a story outta “Little House on the Prairie”, where they build a room for the mother to go out alone and have the baby in, out in the field? “We put Ma out in the birthing house and Pa played his fiddle as we locked arms a-spinning round shouting ‘how to it, Pa! Pick it, pick it!!!” What the fuck am I saying?
I remember a few things about my mother being pregnant during that loooooooong hot summer. Number one, she got into some weird pregnancy groove wherein every night for dinner she would make the exact same thing: hamburger patties, white rice and green beans. Monday night. Tuesday night. Wednesday night. EVERY night. One night my father started to complain and that was the night that I, at a very early age, learned a very important lesson: whatever a pregnant woman puts on a plate in front of you, you fucking eat it and shut your mouth. Period. It was as if a strange, alien creature reached out from my mother’s guts, reached across the table, slapped my father’s face with a pristine white glove saying “lordy, I declare!” before grabbing my father’s testicles and slapping his brain with them...while making him eat the burger, white rice and green beans. Yeesh. I also learned how to fake smile when someone put food on a plate in front of you that you weren’t thrilled about. “oh, yeah....green beans....great...pass the mustard, please...and the mayo...and Worcester...and salt...aaaaaaaaand A-1....”
Note: takes more than a crazed pregnant woman to get me to eat ketchup.
So we ate the shit. The summer went on, and it was a HOT summer. Come August my brother, who was going into the 8th grade, declared he wanted to try out for the junior varsity football team. My mother being a recovering Yankee and not in love with the brutal Southern summers said HELL no – there was no way she was gonna drag her pregnant ass out in the hot sun every day to bring him back and forth to practice or sit in the stands roasting in the heat during his games. Which meant, of course, guess who then wasn’t allowed to play the next year when HE entered 8th grade? Thanks, lil bro!! Also, btw, the reason it took an extra year for me to learn how to french kiss. But this post’s about my lil bro, not me.
We spent a lot of time on names that summer too. For some reason I was stuck on “William Phillip;” obviously I wanted him to grow up to be a soap opera character who disappears on his yacht, is thought to be dead, then comes back 15 years later, a changed man (so we think – but STILL secretly a prick who had embezzled millions from his wife’s father’s plastic fruit company!!!!) My father, of course, was determined to break the record for being Irish with such gems as Brógán Buadhach, or Cairell Deaglán Fearchar. I think he was still miffed we hadn’t let him name our sister “Honnorrah.” Well, and that women were given the right to vote. “Next thing you know, boys” I remember him warning us “they’ll be doctors and lawyers and directing their own woman on woman breast milk-lubricated anal bead scenes!!!!” Hey, what can you say, a man of the old country. I don’t know how we landed on William John McKenna. William John sounds like it could be a family name in any family; McKenna however was my grandmother’s maiden name. My little brother would come to repay her for lending him the name by, a few years later when she had to move in with us for a few months, walking up to her and asking “when are you leaving?” Such tact at 4 years old. Unteachable.
I can’t really remember a lot about him as an infant; I mean I don’t remember much about feeding him or any of that. I do remember the first time I babysat him by myself. About 8 seconds after my mother’s car left the driveway for work little man dropped about a three-pounder of real angus beef in his Huggies. I can still see his face, looking at me like “...okay...fix this, that lady always does...” I looked at him, shrugged, and said “gonna be a long 8 hours for you, buddy.” Another valuable lesson for him, I thought: life’s tough, and sometimes you hafta sit in a pile of your own shit while your caretaker is in the next room jerking off to Catherine Bach in “Dukes of Hazzard.” Seriously, Will: you’re welcome.
A few years later Will entered the working world, getting his first job: walking into the living room every 90 seconds to spy on me and my girlfriend on the couch. My mother, remembering her teachings from the 50’s that dictated that necking on the couch could lead to becoming pregnant with a black baby, would send him into the living room where we were trying to make out and ask inane questions to pester us. I shudder to think now, shaking my head at those things his young, innocent, naive eyes must’ve seen, the human depravity...no toddler needs to see a girl worship a young man’s body that lustily on THAT certain area, mewling so much like an animal in twisted, feral heat...what was I talking about?
One weird thing about him as a young kid, I mean 2-4ish, is how grumpy he’d be when he’d wake up. My family was all early risers, we’d be sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast discussing world affairs and he’d come stumbling in, eyes glazed like a zombie, careening into the first chair he’d see. Then he’s stare out into space. He looked like a 90-year old who had just had something quickly waved in his face: stunned, vacant, and in disbelief that the Negroes had really been set free. “Good morning Will!” we’d say. To which he’s snap “shut up! It’s NOT a good morning!” Dang. Heavy load for such a young man to be carrying around. Oh wait, I already told that story earlier.
I guess I should save some for next year’s birthday, so I’ll stop there. Well, plus I hear the General Lee on my tv, so obviously I have to start taking my pants off now. As he’s becoming a man he’s everything you’d want in a little brother – warm, loyal, not a mean-spirited bone in his body. Hard to believe this little kid is 23 now; wasn’t it just yesterday he was hooked on Ninja Rangers? Oh wait, yesterday was when he plowed into a transformer and knocked out all the power in Charles City, VA. Sorry!!
Hahahahaaha
Happy birfday, brah!!
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