I was looking at my post from January 1st of '05, to see what the first word I wrote this year was. When I read that post, though, I started thinking about other, slightly deeper things.

I had been talking, one year ago, about how I feel bad for people who don't get enough to eat, while I sit complaining about my job and spending money on junk.

It seems like whenever Gumby's around, he and Chan and I get to talking about these things. (Gumby is off flying huge planes really fast, but comes back to the east coast at holiday time.) So, this holiday season, we were continuing that neverending discussion long into what were then jobless nights for me. I was tryng to figure out, you know, the meaning of life, stuff like that. Things like: I got offered 600 bucks a month to put an ad for a ticket-selling agency on my website. Why should I be so adamant about not advertising for others, when, if I had a job, I'd be doing the same thing for my employer, essentially. And besides, who am I protecting by keeping a very tiny amount of people away from these ticket places? The teams themselves, who mark them up in the first place and then charge you 4 bucks for a bottle of water, which isn't much purer than what might be falling from the sky, and which you should immediately sending to people who'd give a thousand dollars for a bottle of water. You know, if they had any money, like the 600 bucks I could have if I put a couple of words on an electronic screen.

And if I work for myself, and sell stuff, well, at least I wouldn't be doing it for anyone else, but it still seems rather selfish.

The point is, as Gumby said, Can you sleep at night? I could anyway, so that wasn't a problem. Except when the shithead above me plays his shitty keyboard all night. Now that's a selfish guy.

It was more like, "I can be awake at day."

Long story a little tiny bit shorter, I got a job, and it's one where I help people. So, I think that may have been the key for me. To have the thing I "have to do," i.e. the thing that brings home the Soy Bacon, be something that helps people. So I know I'm doing that every day, and I don't need to feel guilty about placing bids for the 1983 Boston Herald Red Sox collectible stamp set.

Happy New Year, everybody. yankee fans, too.

Oh, and my first word of the year was "Chan's." And as you can see, it's also the last. I wonder what word will be Chan's.

Ever since I compared the yankees to the mythical "Mr. Dunbar" in this post, I've been thinking: The yankees should be referred to as simply "Mr. Dunbar" on this blog, effective immediately.

So, let's try it out, using a sample conversation between person A, who we'll call "Me," and person B, who we'll call "Chan":

Me: What up, C-Sekshin?

Chan: Hey.

Me: I'll be going up to Boston this weekend.

Chan: You gonna see a game?

Me: Yeah, Mr. Dunbar's in town for three.

Chan: You better watch out, Mr. D's got another murderer's row this year.

Me: Eh. Mr. Dunbar's overrated.

Chan: You going to any games at Mr. Dunbar's house this year?

Me: I should, I do live in his neighborhood.

Chan: Nice. Well, I gotta go watch "Lazy Sunday" for the hundredth time.

Me: I'll join you.

Chad Bradford was signed by the Mets. So both of our submariners have gone to New York City.

Speaking of getting a job in New York City, I now have my first. I haven't yet decided if I'll be mentioning exactly what I do here on this public diary. It is the type of job that's going to provide a lot of stories, so that makes me lean toward telling you all. We'll see what happens. Maybe I'll just pull a Theo and tell the stories, and from there you can figure out what type of job it is.

In the meantime, we're now up to May 25th, 1983 on My Anything Journal.

For Christmas, my mom gave my sister and I huge folders full of stuff she'd been saving from our childhoods. But you all win, because I'll surely be putting lots of cool stuff from the 80s online. Starting with this: My Anything Journal. It's from second grade. I'll let you know each time I put up a new entry.

In the meantime, I just watched my Huskers narrowly avoid getting their fingers fed to Sam's Wolverines. The refs seemed to be officiating their first game. But hey, it was the Alamo Bowl. We had a nice comeback, despite that no rules were being enforced. And the last play featured both teams running around in the parking lot, playing Chinese Checkers with beach balls to determine a final winner. It was wild, you should've seen it.

I think it was a stupid move for the yanks to keep Bernie Williams.

yankee fans have no reason to like Johnny Damon. They're not gonna come out and cheer for the face of the enemy. A-Rod and the Unit still haven't been embraced, and they never played for the Red Sox, let alone knocked the yanks out of the playoffs in their own stadium as a Red Sox very recently.

They would've had to deal with Johnny, as he's their center fielder whether they like it or not. However, keeping Bernie in town gives the fans more of an excuse to hate Johnny. They know that their beloved Bernie is right there on the bench, while they get to watch "that Bawston caveman guy" roaming his old turf. I don't see how they could not chant for Bernie while Johnny is in the game.

Even if Bernie's the DH, they'll still be able to show how they feel by giving him a standing ovation every time he comes up to bat, while booing Johnny all game long.

Which is what I want. I want him to realize what a dumb thing he did when every yankee fan and every Red Sox fan teases him 'til he develops an eating disorder.

In Jeff Reardon robbing a jewelry store news... that's right, the unassuming former Sox reliever robbed a store, giving an employee a note that said he had a gun, which he did not. He claimed medication made him do it. This is the biggest ex-Red Sox scandal since El Guapo kidnapped himself.

I had this feeling that when I reviewed my mom's new book, there would be some major Red Sox news the next morning that would knock her out of the top spot on my blog. Sure enough, the biggest news of the year came out right after I posted the review. So, here it is if you missed it:


There's a real writer in my family. Her name is Mom. Although, for some reason, on her latest book's cover, she is referred to as "Mary-Ann Tirone Smith." Who knows if this error will be caught before the second printing.

The book is called Girls of Tender Age.

After seven novels, Mom tries her hand at memoir-ery, and succeeds anti-terriblejobfully. The book takes you back and forth between the story of Mom's childhood in the ghetto* in Hartford, Connecticut, and that of a murderer who found his way to her neighborhood when she was eight years old. The way she ties the stories together is masterful.

The writing style is unique, too, and makes you really feel like you know Mom's family personally.

Now, since I'm the author's son, I actually do know a lot of them personally. But, I'm telling you, you'll feel like they're your own family. Of course, I never met many of them, like the relatives from my great-grandfather's generation. I remember my grandpa telling me how when his father would hear the first pitch of a Red Sox game, and it was a strike to a Red Sox batter, he's say "That's it, they're gonna lose." I know a lot of you can appreciate that. Hey, Mom, you totally should have put that in the book.

There are other Red Sox references, of course, as is my mom's tradition in her books. I think my love of Mike Greenwell got him a mention once. Don't know if Gedman ever made the cut, however.

Another interesting thing is how she compares the inner-workings of the murderer to that of her autistic brother, who I always knew as "Uncle Tyler." It was always just kind of funny when we'd be at my grandparents' summer cottage, and we'd hear Tyler yelling "Say blue!" whenever someone would mention the color red, or when my mom would tell us to flush the toilet twice, because that's how many times Tyler needed to hear it. Maybe it didn't seem too odd because it's all we knew when we were around him. Or maybe it was because I could relate, as sometimes when I look down and see my right shoe, I feel like I have to look again and see my left one to "even it out." Obviously, Tyler's case was the extreme, whereas I can function in society without telling people go out of their way to do certain things to make me comfortable. Tyler felt so much pain when things weren't just right that he would hurt himself physically to drown out the mental pain.

So, for me, as a kid, it was no big deal on those few days a year when we'd be around Tyler. But to hear how my mom and her parents dealt with Tyler for a lifetime makes you realize how incredibly difficult it is to live with and care for autistics.

It was good to learn all this stuff about my mom's side of the family, as well as what she went through later in her life, like realizing her father has forgotten not only everyone's name, but also how to speak, ravished by Alzheimer's, while I was at Little League games, playing with baseball cards (which she bought for me), going off to college, etc.**

Also, check out the picture of me in the book. It rules.

I don't really know how to review a book. I feel like I'm giving stuff away. I mean, just to say that there's a murderer involved-- now you know he's gonna murder someone. But I guess you're supposed to know that going in. Still, I'm gonna shut up now.

Buy the book on Amazon right here or go to your local book store, like Borders, B & N, or preferrably a mom & pop type store if one exists near you.

It's also available on audio book if you don't know how to read. That also makes a great gift for your blind friends. My mom read it herself, as opposed to having some lame actor mess it up. [Update, 2/6/2007: Now available in paperback.]

Danielle Martin contributed to the win with stellar defense for Ridgefield Oil.***


*My mom always told us she grew up in the ghetto. It never made sense to me, her coming from the same place as Arnold and Willis. After reading the book, I understand.

**I think my mom once told me not to use "etc." in writing. My bad. It just seemed to fit there.

***This is a tribute to Mom, who always wrote up my Little League games for the local newspaper, since I'm now writing a review of her performance.

From my blog, 6/25/05: "I can't wait to hear what yankee fans say when, next off-season, the yanks go courting the symbol of everything they despise, Johhny Damon. And then what they say when he turns them down."

I was half right. I'm still sick over this, having to look around on the subway to see Johnny in a yankee uniform on the back of every newspaper. People talk about how it's the Red Sox' own damn fault. But I just can't feel for someone because they were offered only millions and millions of dollars to play a game every day where they're loved by legions of people and can opt to have slightly longer hair if that's what they want.

If the yanks were some poor team who put this huge offer on the table, knowing it would make or break them, I could see Johnny thinking that he was respected by them more than he was by the Sox. But they can afford to make a mistake. Only someone totally corrupted by an agent couldn't see that. But WTFWJDD? Sell the soul, of course.

My mom had asked me for that picture I had of Johnny (the one that used to be my profile pic), enlarged to poster-size, for Christmas. I did it for her, but had yet to trim it down and frame it when I heard the news. So, today, I made the "presentation," with everyone already knowing what the gift would be, groaning as my mom unrolled it. She's still trying to decide whether to go the burn route or give it to my cousin, the yankee fan, and say, "Here, cut it and frame it yourself."

It was funny hearing my mom explain to my four-year old nephew why we're all talking about burning/destroying the man in the picture.

Merry Christmas to everybody who's into that. Remember what Christmas is all about though: Tracking down long-haired, bearded men and crucifying the shit out of their disloyal asses. (Maybe that's why the yanks like to shave their stolen property right away.)

Oh wait, Easter's the crucifying, Christmas is the birth. Whatever. It's all bullshit.

What a week it's been. Gumby has been staying with Chan and I, in from California. So he's seen a lot, between the Johnny Damon saga, and going to museums with Chan while I'm at work, and seeing a Christmas-type rock 'n' roll show with various artists (including Andrew WK, who was the reason I chose that show), all while having to walk everywhere due to the subway strike, which just ended this morning. My feet and legs are still hurting from all the walking we've done this week. It's funny, my first thought is always "Walk to Times Square? Are you out of your mind?" But then you just bundle up and start walking and have a good conversation with your friends and before you know it, you've walked 50 blocks.

We went to an Italian place last night that had a bocce court right in the dining room. Due to the strike, Gumby and I were able to get right on the court (pictured, like, 40 years ago) after our meal. We played for hours while the other diners and their kids watched. Chan was the judge. One of the waiters taught us the "real" rules, which was cool.

To wrap up the work week, just now, on my way home from work, I couldn't help but notice a ratty, disgusting man make some loud animal noise right into a woman's ear unashamedly as she walked past him towards me. She kept right on going. Then as I passed the guy, I heard him mutter something about "Boston." He stumbled right up beside me as I walked and then drunkenly asked me something about Christmas. I ignored that and turned down my street, as this happened right at the corner. He kept walking but said "You fuckin' little bitch, you don't belong in New York." I looked back for a moment, but coward that he was, he never made eye contact the entire time. Since I was so close to home, I did think that maybe I could go inside and ask "Gumby, you wanna come out here for a minute," and had Gumby help me toss the guy into the East River. But, alas, I figured someone else will do it eventually. I hope it's the next woman he opens his mouth to, actually.

Because there's no excuse for that. About what he said to me, though, hey, it's understandable. How can you not feel for fans of a team who haven't won in so long, who have to go out and steal players from the superior teams in a lame attempt to become a true winner? They have every right to be mad at the fans of the superior Boston Red Sox. I don't know how they deal with year after year of choking and choking and choking again. Must be that Puritan sense of defeatism. New York winters are cold and lonely, a perfect representation of a fan base so used to losing, it's become part of their character. Drunk, sexist cowards who sleep in the fucking sewer.

Bob Ryan just doesn't get it. This article starts by telling Sox fans to give Johnny a standing O next season, prefacing it with the dreaded "show some class."

His reasoning seems to be: There was nothing unfair about what happened. (Yeah. So?) He was a really good player for the Red Sox. (Yeah. So?) Does he really think people are going to read his article and say, "Oh yeah...he was a good player. He did play by the rules. I'll cheer him as a member of the other team! I'll even cheer for his team to beat ours!"

Then he tries to compare this to Manny getting here the same way as Johnny left. As if Manny had been the star of the yankees before coming to the Red Sox.

Hey, Bob, your mom just divorced your dad and married the guy across the street--the one who used to molest you when you were little. But give credit where it's due. Give her a big hug. She always put food on the table for you, and she legitimately went through the divorce process and then had a nice legal wedding with Mr. Dunbar. She played by the rules. So show some fucking class when she and the new mister come over and have sex in your room.

Also, I had this fantasy that the yankee brass would end up wining and/or dining Damon here in NYC. And I'd find out where they were going and me and a hundred other Sox fans would go and hold up signs outside the window, telling him much we love him and want him to stay. And Johnny would give us all a wink over Cashman's turned back, letting us know he's just messing with the yanks. Then he'd sign with the Sox and we'd all live H.E.A.

It's just so disappointing how it went down. He didn't even see if the Sox could give him a better offer. (Note: any Red Sox offer would include clearance to grow hair on any part of the body if that's what one wanted, and fans who all already treat him like a god instead of ones who won't want him anyway because he stands against everything they represent.) It was just, "You wanna play for us?" "'Kay."

Very sad.

Note to homophobes: Go two paragraphs up for me talking about Damon winking at me! Gimme what you got! You may even impress some other homophobes and you could arrange to not hang out with them. Ever.

So many things to discuss.

I guess I should start by saying thanks to everyone for giving their opinions.

I wanted to say this anyway, but Andrew brought it up, so I'll use his comments as a basis to address it: (BSM brought this up on his blog, too) About the reaction to this from the fan's point of view versus the business point of view-- I don't think this is some kind of horrible thing for the team. I realize Damon is older now, and like I said in my original post, essentially, the yanks didn't pick up any pitching with this move, and their lineup didn't need any help anyway.

I am pissed off on the emotional side. And when I heard that news, as you could see, I was very emotional. Not much of me even cared to think about the business point of view. All I was thinking was that Johnny Damon had a choice to sign with any team, and he chose the one that I hate more than almost anything in the world. One that won't allow him to do what he wants (hair/beard-wise). One that he knows is hated by the people who really, really loved him as a player and as a person.

When I heard the news, the last thing I thought of was "Oh no, what will we do for center field?" I just thought, "What an asshole."

I don't think there's any good vs. evil stuff going on. But no matter how hard I could have tried, there would've been no way for me avoid becoming emotionally attached to that man, with everything we all went through in 2004.

The last thing anyone wants to hear is another sports vs. girl-/boyfriend comparison. But I think I have one that no one's brought up. Sometimes you fall in love with what a person does, instead of who they are. Did you ever find out that someone liked you, and then all of a sudden you start liking them because of it? And before you know it, you think you're in love with a person who you hadn't even thought twice about before you heard they had interest in you. They didn't suddenly change into a better person. They just did something that was appealing to you. Johnny Damon didn't catch our eye right away. We fell in love with the symbol he became. Turns out he's the type of dude who would turn his back on people showering him with love and admiration and go right to their enemy, without a second thought. So, for me, I'm heartbroken, regardless of stats or payrolls or anything else.

It is weird, though, how people who read mine and Andrew's blog might have thought, "I know, I know, Jere will try to see the bright side in the fact that the Red Sox superstar leadoff man is gone, and Andrew will declare the '06 season dead." (Well, maybe not exactly in this case since Andrew has been predicting the decline of Damon, so let's just say, "casual" readers of our two blogs.) But they got the opposite. Also, Andrew, when you say you want the team to not do things the yanks way, there's another side to that--when the business side is outweighing the fan side, isn't that the yanks way, only in terms of fans as opposed to management? As in, yankee fans would rather get the best possible players even if they were child molesters, whereas we'd rather have guys with personality than robots?

You know what I mean? Why can we simply say "it's a business" when something bad happens, but then celebrate and cry tears of joy and go put flowers on our grandparents' grave when something good happens? Nobody at the World Series victory parade told me to calm down because it's just a business. If you allow me to cry tears of joy when my team wins, shouldn't you allow me to cry tears of pain when my favorite player betrays all of us? It's all in our minds, anyway. I felt like something really wonderful happened when we won the World Series, even though it was actually a bunch of men playing with pieces of wood. And I feel like Johnny Damon pulled my heart out of my chest when he decided to play for our rival, even though he's really just getting his paycheck signed by a different organization and wearing a different uniform to work.

So, to sum up, the "good of the team" Jere isn't pissed, but that side of me is totally buried under my emotional side, which I didn't want to hide in my original post, even though it meant letting yankee fans think they've one-upped us again. (Which that one commenter wrote, saying he didn't think it was that good a deal for the yanks until he saw how pissed I was about it. To that guy, I say, terrible job, any perceived one-upping can never hurt us anywhere near as much as it did pre-2004.)

Other stuff:

Nick: About your comment "And while some of the people here are taking the high road, most are blasting [Damon]. It would be like me trashing Bernie Williams for not accepting arbitration." Do I really need to explain what's so utterly wrong that is? Well, I like 'splainin', so I will: Imagine if Bernie Williams brought your team its first championship in 86 years, beating a team who tormented your team the whole time along the way. And then he chose to just up and play for that other team a year later. Us bashing Johnny for switching sides and a yankee fan bashing Bernie for not accepting arbitration are two totally unrelated things. No comparison.

To everyone who brought up other dudes who do seem to care, nice job. Of course I love Timmy Wakefield and Trot as much as Ortiz. Then again, am I just being fooled? By all of this?

BSM--Why do I get all the yankee spammers? Maybe it's the word "pinstripe" in my blog title. Or maybe it's the way I say the word "yankees" probably more often than most yankee bloggers do. Do those really exist? I never read them. Did they really talk about me on "Bronx Banter?" Tell me what they're saying, because the day I go to a website called "Bronx Banter" is the day Chan learns to fly upside down. (And yes I know Cossette used to talk about that site and it's probably got really great poetic writing about how mystical and aura-fied the yankees are, but I'm just not gonna check into it.)

Pat--I knew you'd be there to back me up on the Steinbrenner dying thing. I'm sure my dad is, too, but I don't know if he's figured out the commenting thing yet.

Offended people--Don't worry, I'm not gonna really bomb any towns over this. And to call me classless and insipid (did somebody say Ssips Orange?), stating your opinion as fact, while not even leaving your name, well, there's a word for that, too. Maybe Mott's Apple.

Remember when Sonny told Calogero that Mickey Mantle didn't give a shit about him?

I feel like Calogero felt when he heard that.

None of these shithead macho jocks cares about anything except the money that's waved under their noses. David Ortiz aside, of course. What's the point in rooting for any of these people? What if Steinbrenner said he's changing the yankees logo to an Old English red "B"? Would yankee fans still root for the yankees? Why should I choose a side in a game where all the sides are the same?

I'm not even worried about the yankee lineup being yet another (eyes rolling completely back in head) "murderer's row." Their pitching still isn't that good. As long as they don't win the World Series, I'll be happy. And all the old, crew-cutted, buttoned-down, robot Johnny Damons won't get them that this year. I just feel sick because the face of the Red Sox is on the yankees.

In the meantime, I authorize any and all garbage-throwing. Go on the field and mess up the game when Johnny's out in center field. It doesn't matter anymore. Go on the field and tackle his sorry ass. During a play, when he's concentrating on the ball.

I at least had respect for my yankee fan friends, even though for some reason, they decided in the last few years to still root for that team. But now, and this means you Chan, I don't consider you a human being with a soul if you can still root for the yankees. No matter how good a person I know you are.

The Red Sox-yankees rivalry is just a Fox TV show anyway.

I hope that in twenty years I can still like the Red Sox and maybe share that with my kids, and tell them about the days when people didn't just haphazardly play for one team and then that team's rival.

Until then, I'll just be happy with as few yankee fake-ass championships as possible. Hey, guys, I just started a baseball league and my team is the only team in the league who's allowed to have players with legs. I win! I am a champion! I am a better person than all the rest.

You know what I can't wait for? (besides Damon breaking his fucking leg) When George Steinbrenner finally dies. I can't wait to see all the crying full-of-shit yankee fans and go up to them and say "Too bad Steinbrenner's fucking dead." And they'll probably tell me I'm Osama bin Laden or something.

Speaking of terrorism...well, I don't want to get arrested, so I'll stop there.

Cuban baseball, people. A league where loyalty means something.

Burn in hell, Johnny. Say hi to Thurman Munson while you're down there.

The answer to the last quiz: Rich Gedman and Jason Varitek share the Red Sox record for most times appearing in the Opening Day starting lineup at catcher with six. (Gedman 1983-86, 88-89, Varitek 2000-05) I'm kind of hoping Jason gets a minor cold and doesn't start game one this season, but enters the game in the bottom of the first, and is then totally healthy for the rest of the year.

New quiz: What actor appeared in two different Vacation movies, playing a different character each time?

This is so weird. The buses and subways aren't running due to the strike. This office is so empty. Everybody just stayed home. One dude here said it took 2 hours to drive six blocks.

This is kinda cool.

Get it, because "arroyo" is a synonym of "ravine," and the Dodgers have a lot of ex-Red Sox, and Arroyo is a name that makes one think of Red Sox, and, and...

No winner on that last quiz. Time will be up soon. That question again: What Red Sox record does Rich Gedman share with Jason Varitek?

I went to middle school with this kid who once came in to English class with blood all over his Wordly Wise book. When asked about it, he said his sister whacked him over the head with it. I think he later changed the story to one where he killed a mosquito with the book. God, I hated Wordly Wise.

Another time, in Mrs. Crowley's Science class, where the phrase "shut up" was forbidden, this same kid and I got into a little war of words in which he came out with "You're gay!" For some reason, I replied to this not with "No I'm not!" (but hey, it was 6th grade, who knew what would lie ahead?), but with "So are you!" Without missing a beat, the kid quipped, "Then maybe we should get together some time." This lightened the mood, and ended what could have escalated into a real yelling match.

These are the only two things I remember about this kid. He moved away and didn't go to high school with the rest of us.

The other day, while messing around over at the Internet Movie Database, I came across his name. Apparently, he's in the movies now. A lot of movies. Ridgefield, CT doesn't come up in his bio. It says he was born in Boston (plausible) and graduated high school in 1993 (my year), albeit in Plano, TX. There's a picture, and, if I had to make a life or death decision, I'd say it's him.

Also, he has a fairly unique name.

Are you ready?

T.J. Thyne.

Look him up. And if you run into him, tell him Jere said "TJ."

Nomar didn't sign with the yanks. We can all breathe a little easier.

I just wanted to take a few moments to discuss Dunkin' Donuts. Growing up in the county that's the home of the yankees, Mets, and Red Sox (i.e. the part of New England--CT, RI, MA, NH, VT, ME--that's also part of the "tri-state area"--the parts of CT, NY, and NJ that are in the New York City TV market. Don't ask me what I have in common with people from northern Maine or central New Jersey, lifestyle-wise, but by default I was grouped in with both), I saw the "time to make the donuts" guy every day on my TV screen. Dunkin' Donuts was just another store. (Although, back then, it was a donut shop, as opposed to a caffeine dealer.) There are currently nine in the CT town I lived in for the last five years, before I moved to NYC. And even the town I grew up in, Ridgefield, CT, eventually got one, despite the town's laws which aren't very kind to chain stores with their (god forbid) colorful signage. That town could use some color, if you know what I mean.

Lately, I've come to realize that a lot of Bostonians seem to think that Dunkin' Donuts is a Boston thing. They even have a nickname for it: "Dunkies." (I'm still in shock over this. Like when I found out people from crazy-land, aka Pennsylvania, call 7-Eleven "Sev's." Ugggghhh.)

I realize that Dunkin' Donuts was indeed born in the Boston area. If Bostonians really want to claim it for their own, I guess they have that right. I'm just saying, it seems like more of a northeast thing to me, as opposed to just a Boston thing.

If you go to their website, and type in my zip code here in NYC, and set the store locator range to 15 miles, you'll find there are 283 "Dunkies" (are you really serious about that nickname? Do you just do it around me as some kind of prank?). There's one on my block. There's one on the next block, too.

Type in Fenway Park's zip code, and there are only 253 of them within its 15-mile radius.

I guess I'm just trying to stop the fighting between the cities, since I have connections to both. We should save it for the baseball diamond. Not likely, though, since both Bostonians and New Yorkers are stubborn. In fact, I'm twice as stubborn for having grown up in between. I still call Sports Guy "Boston Sports Guy," so I understand if you Bostonians want to keep thinking Dunkin' Donuts exists nowhere else but Boston. But if you really loved it, you'd set it free.

After all, you'll always have Store 24.

And rotaries.

And pedestrian crossing signals that never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever say "Walk"...

"After thoughtful deliberations with my family, I am announcing my decision to withdraw from the World Baseball Classic," [Alex] Rodriguez told the [New York Post]. "When faced with the decision to choose between my country, the United States of America, and my Dominican heritage, I decided I will not dishonor either."

Dishonor either, that is, by shitting the bed on its behalf with the entire world watching.

The one thing all adults have in common is that when we see a bunch of pilots and flight attendants getting off a bus and walking into a hotel, we assume they're going to have an orgy.

Bill Mueller is officially a Los Angeles Trolley Dodger. Here's my tribute to Billy:



Man, less and less thought are goin' into these movies. But I just wanted to do something quick. I have another shot of Mueller doing a really cool thing. Perhaps I can make a movie out of that, too, if I can find it.

It's after midnight. The trains are still running, but there's no deal between the city and the TWU. So....why are the trains still running? Chan's trying to explain it to me, with no success.

Much like the Theo contract talks and this season's AL East race, the end has come, but everyone's still confused.

They made all these contingency plans in case of a strike. The deadline is here, there's no progress, but there's still no strike. Oh, well. Like I said, I walk to work. Terrible job, everyone.

Labels: movies

There was just a guy on TV named Manny Ortiz, getting interviewed about the possible transit strike tonight. I walk to work, so I'd be gold. Chan would have to get a bike, though. Scratch that--I just asked him what he'd do in the case of a strike, and he pointed downward, to imply that he'd work from home. Way to wuss out, Chan. Get a bike, dude.

Moving on. Quiz time. Oh yes, it's Gedman-related:

What Red Sox record does Rich Gedman share with Jason Varitek? (And no scrolling through my archives, because I think I may have mentioned this before.)

Did you ever wonder what happens to sticks of gum after 15 years? Did you ever wonder why a dude would save twenty pieces of gum inside his box of 1991 Topps baseball card wax packs?

July 9th, 1989. Fenway Park. Red Sox vs. yankees.

My friend Mike's dad used to get really sweet Fenway seats. I'm talkin' front row, by the Red Sox on-deck circle, right next to the late Libby Dooley.

Danny Heep signs autographs. Embedded nameless quiz: How did Danny Heep end a spring training game in his first season with Boston? Quiz for Pat only: What kitchen object did we point at and chant the name of while Heep was up in that spring training game for good luck?

I think my mom was in love with Rick Cerone that day or something. She's the one with the camera here. Note: For this game it was me, my mom, my dad, and Mike, as Mike's dad couldn't go or whatever, but was still nice enough to get us tickets.

A black cloud leaves the area as Mike Greenwell is announced in the starting lineup.

The Chicken Man Boggs.

My favorite, Mike Greenwell, heads to the on-deck circle, where he'd hang out with Tommy the bat boy. (Dooley tipped us off to his name.)

Nick Esasky homered that day, much like he did every other day that summer.

The Gator steps up to the plate as yankee catcher Bob Geren looks on.

Gator at the plate as Dewey waits on deck.

After Evans was left hanging, he did this awesome thing with a batting donut, his bat, and his helmet.

Me with cult hero Rich Gedman. (And Randy Kutcher.)

Dewey would later homer off of Dale "The Iron Horse" Mahorcic. Here he gives Kevin Romine five after rounding the bases.

Lee Smith got the win that day. Here, people clamor for a glimpse of the big dude as he heads to the dugout.

Me, Mike, and my dad. (Mike is a yankee fan, as is his dad.)

The sweatpants are off to reveal the boxers, which, unbelievably, we both thought were just regular shorts. No trip to Fenway is complete without a visit to the bullpen car. I've said this before, but wasn't my experience as a thirteen-year old so much different from those girls in the movie Thirteen?

Anyway, we won 10-5 to close to within a half game of the yanks. We were in third, six behind Baltimore. But it was Toronto who would come back from way out of it to win the East that year. The Red Sox would go on to win the World Series in 2004. David Lee Roth is currently America's favorite TV game show host.

The adventures of me and Chan at The Colbert Report:

I took the 6 to the E and saved a spot on line at West 54th between 10th and 11th for Chan. They have a covering over the line, which goes down an alley, so I wasn't totally frozen. But after an hour I was quite uncomfortable. My thumbs fell asleep. Chan asked why. I had no answer. He brought a Kit Kat and M&Ms and told me I could choose which one I wanted. It was a tough call, but I opted for the K-Squared. Good job by Chan here, as I didn't eat beforehand.

After an hour and a half, we got little laminated cards with numbers 31 & 32 on them. We were escorted through a metal detector into a small room with a TV that was showing Jeopardy! Smart audience that Colbert attracts, most of us were yelling out questions, even though the sound was off. But I discovered lip-reading isn't too hard.

Then we were given some instructions about cheering loud and turning off cell phones, before being brought into the studio in the order of our laminated cards.

Chan & I ended up in the last row. Since there are only five rows, this was okay. The stage manager gave us more instructions, and then a comedian came up and warmed us up. It was cool just looking at the Report's set up close.

Steven came out and took some questions. Some young dudes lifted their shirts to reveal the word "Colbert" painted across their chests. Colbert was really funny in this improvisational pre-show role, telling us how he felt like we were only cheering him because his mom must have told us to, since she used to encourage people to listen to what her brilliant son (one of eleven kids) had to say.

Everything was really loud. The mic levels were set to earache.

Colbert seems to enjoy the rock. During commercials we heard Cheap Trick (who wrote the show's theme song), some old Foo Fighters, and a Screaming Trees tune.

That scroll across the bottom of Steven's desk isn't real. It's just cardboard, with words on it, and a red light behind it.

Chan & I have been to Letterman tapings in the past. In those, everything goes. They do it in real time and edit if they have to later. On the Report, however, Steven does screw up. And when he does, they stop the show, and go back and fix it. It only happened twice, but once it was in a really key spot. During "The Word," he lost it and just stopped. They realized that there had been no stopping point, so they had to do the entire Word over. This was a shame, because it was so funny the first time, and we as an audience had such a great reaction to it. So the second time, we had to fake the laughs. We just watched the final product at home, and it definitely was funnier the first time--the take you'll never see. Too bad.

During these mess-ups, Steven kept us laughing by making fun of himself. This also gave us a chance to see how these shows work.

Harry Smith was kind of a tool, but it was a pretty funny interview.

Seeing the show in person was like going to a concert. Everybody was just so psyched to see Colbert. He's so damn funny. I'll be back there January 9th, and I'll be bringing those hand- and foot-warmers.

I recommend going. Go to the Comedy Central website and request tickets. They're free.

Afterwards, we went to Zen Palate. I got Curry Supreme, as always.

The description of my night is now over.

I just watched the press conference where Jed and Ben, or as I call them, Bed, were announced as co-GMs.

And I wish I had that time back.

This stuff is just utterly boring to me. Great, we have two GMs now. They're young, they're nerds. Fine. Just go to your office and get us some really good players. If you don't know how to do it, that's okay, as long as Theo's on the speed dial. Or whatever speed dial is called now. Extreme dial? XD?

Right now I'm off to see something with the exact opposite entertainment value from that press conference: A taping of The Colbert Report. The guest is Harry Smith. Not the worst guest you could draw. And his name rhymes with mine, so he's got that goin' for him.

And, no, I don't really call them "Bed." It's just the first thing that came to mind, and I felt I should give them a nickname. I'll have to work on a much, much better one.

So I'm driving on 84, and I look over at the carpool lane to see a woman zipping past me with no passengers in her car. There was what appeared to be a car seat in the back, though. I only noticed this because she seemed to be attending to a baby at the moment she went by me, reaching back to give it a bottle or whatever.

Could this have been a ploy? Do you think she has a doll in the car seat, and just drives in the carpool lane, making sure everyone notices her reaching back?

Even if it is a living infant, does this really qualify as a "carpool"? Does the baby drive her to work on odd days?

What's next, a guy with multiple personalities in the carpool lane?

Or how about this: "You've made a mistake, officer. You see, god is my co-pilot."

So, Theo might be coming back, Manny might be getting traded, and Clemens might be back. All those mights and a quarter'll get you something something. A source close to a guy familiar with operations of the organization that tells this blogger what to write says that Jere is sick of rumors, and that you pretty much know his opinions and anything else he writes would just add to the nonsense of the newspaper selling contest that is the baseball offseason.

I didn't get the invite for Xmas at Fenway, but I was up early yesterday for the internet sale.

8:52: Wake up.
9:00: Enter virtual waiting room.
9:15: Buy ultra-sweet field box seats for a Saturday game against Texas.
Like, an hour later: Get 4 ultra-cheap upper bleacher seats for another Saturday game.

I've already got a 10-game plan, so trying for any Sox Pax was unnecessary. I basically just waited for my chance, then checked for the sweetest seats possible for that Texas game. Turns out I got through early enough to get field box. So that'll be my one game where I actually have good seats for the season. "Good" meaning "rich folks-good." My bleacher seats are great, too.

Then I opened another window, and just let it do its thing. Just before I gave up on it, it let me through. I figured it would be too late to get another weekend game, or 4 seats together, or any $12 seat-action. But it wasn't too late for any of those things. So I'll be way up under the message board with three of my luckiest friends for the Saturday May game against the Orioles.

The seating chart for Fenway Park has been improved. They added some info that you might never figure out from looking at the old one. And the new pavilion level behind home plate is represented on there. Those would be some sweet seats.

This post was way too serious.

Oh, here's something to lighten up the mood. While recently going through my old baseball card collection looking for Gedmans, I found a Topps baseball sticker of Jim Rice. It was from a year when they were really getting the most out of their manufacturing process, putting multiple players on one sticker-back. So there were these little tiny, I'd say half-inch diameter stickers. So I took this little circular Jim Rice and placed it over the power button on my laptop. Now I just press Jim Ed's face to power up.

Take note, Hall of Fame. Press Jim's face. Power up that hall with a Jim Rice induction ceremony next year.

I also put a Ralph Wiggum sticker over the apple that lights up on the top of the laptop. The light of the apple shines right through his belly, like he just ate it.

Gordon Edes: "The only thing more obvious than his talent is Tejada's burning desire to win. Even his most ardent supporters can't say the same about Ramírez."

I am an ardent Manny supporter. I can and will say that Manny does have a desire to win. I seem to recall him being the World Series MVP, in fact. What more could we ask? About TeJada's "burning desire to win"? Here are some things I've said about Miguel on this blog.

Sep '04: "...Just like Byrnes and Tejada in the playoffs last year--true Knoblauchian behavior. Assuming that all play will just stop so they can complain. And if something doesn't go their way, they just give up."

Sep '05: "...Tejada absolutely dogging it down the first base line multiple times."

"But as if to cap off his crappy series [vs. the yanks], Tejada grounded out on the first pitch, killing the momentum, and barely even running all the way down the line. For a guy who's supposed to be the star of the team, and who seems to care so much and get pissed when things go run, he sure does FAIL TO COME THROUGH quite often."

"Then I tried to guess which Oriole made an error to allow the yanks to have a four-run inning, because there was no dobt in my mind that there was one. I went with Tejada. I was correct."

You'll notice a theme. You can't spell Tejada without TJ. In fact, he spells it out: Te Ja. He's like the district attorney of TJs: "Te Ja, DA."

Edes also says with Tejada we'd be the best team in baseball. I'd agree if we got him AND got to keep Manny.

Look, I realize this guy puts up huge numbers. And he does have a fun-lovin' attitude at times. (Except when he's whining all over the field, usually after failing in some key spot.) Just like with Wells, to me, if get Tejada, he's gotta come out and start hitting home runs over the monster, as I've seen him do so many times for the other team. If he starts with the errors and mental mistakes and whining, well, let's just hope he doesn't. Either way, I would root for him and be psyched when he does good, and also, he wouldn't be named Renteria!

But that's getting way ahead of ourselves. Manny is still on our team and I hope he stays. If he has to pull a Tootsie*, than so be it.

Also, don't you think George will see this and say, "Baltimore, we'll take on Tejada's salary AND pay you a special fee of 50 million bonus dollars. We've got a spot in center field for him."? And he'd take it, just like A-Rod took third base.

Also, Mike Myers is a yankee. TJ, Mike. TJ. I'll have to cut him out of the autographed picture I have of him and Wakefield.


*About Tootsie: Remember when Dustin Hoffman's character was told "Michael, no one will hire you"? What did he do, quit? No, he put on a different costume and tore shit up. That's what Manny will have to do: "Manny, no one will pay your contract." So, he's stuck here. So he should put on his game face--maybe not a red-haired curly woman's wig and huge glasses and make-up, although with Manny, hey, you never know--and go out there and show that he's not a quitter and go grab another ring. All the while showing people a new side of Manny, much like Tootsie made people realize that women should be respected in the acting world. Come on, you love the Tootsie comparison.

Edgar Renteria has been traded.

What a relief for me. To have such a nice guy on the Red Sox but to be forced to hate him as a player due to his non-existent hitting skills, league-leading error totals, and nonchalant demeanor was really hard for me. Even with Jose Offerman, I felt like I could at least will a hit out of him. But Edgar was a lost cause.

I hope he succeeds back over in the bizzaro league. I won't even be mad at him if he's the NL MVP in '06.

There's talk of the Sox getting Julio Lugo to play short. This is a good example of the opposite type of player. I looked at his stats, and they look like Edgar's: .280ish with not a lot of homers. But when I think of Lugo, I think of a dangerous hitter who tries hard in the field. But, honestly, just seeing anyone at shortstop bedsides Edgar will make me very happy.

In a half-asleep daze, I thought I heard something about Nick Tortelli and Loretta. Was some kind of Cheers reunion in the works? Were Nick and Loretta finally getting that spinoff they deserved? Wait, that already happened. Turns out it was really "Doug Mirabelli for Loretta."

A great deal for us. Another good one by TheNo. Nonetheless, I will miss Doug. But he's on the bus to a starting role that he deserves. Hope he does more with this oppurtunity than the Tortellis did with theirs.

GQ'06 is well underway. That's GedmanQuest2006: My attempt to score every baseball card Rich Gedman ever appeared on in a Red Sox uniform.

I've bought (or already had) the majority of the "normal" Gedman cards. I have all the regular Topps ('82-'90), all the Donruss ('82-'90) except for '88 and '89 (but the '82 is autographed), and all the Fleer ('82-'90) except for '88.

I also have all the Score ('88-'90), along with an '84 Nestle, an '85 O-Pee-Chee (with info on Rich in French on the back!), an '88 Topps BIG baseball card (remember that idea? It's the same thing, only, like, 10 per cent bigger) with autograph, the '86 Fleer card featuring Rich with fellow All-Star catcher Carlton Fisk, an '86 Donruss Action All-Star, an '89 Bowman, and an '89 Bowman Tiffany. The Tiffany sets were the same as the regular Topps/Bowman sets, only they were printed on glossy cardboard. Come on.

Besides those, there are a bunch of other oddball sets Rich appeared in, as well as the '89 Upper Deck set, that I probably have in a box somewhere.

So the initial frenzy of Jeek is over, actually, now that eBay has been completely scoured. I guess my move is to wait a month and then check again, since checking in every day would be pointless. It's just all the same shit right now.

Oh, and I also bought a 1986 uncut sheet of O-Pee-Chee, featuring the Gedman card along with 7 others. Those always intrigued me. I'd probably take an uncut sheet of anything if you wanted to give it to me.

And when I say "cards Gedman appeared on," I obviously didn't mean, like, in the background of another guy's picture. But now that I think about it... Well, a near-impossible task for another lifetime, maybe.

EBay is addictive like this. You decide you want something, you go on eBay, and you realize that not only can you get that specific thing, but you can also get every single thing that looks, smells, sounds, feels, or tastes like that thing, and anything else remotely related to it. Plus the Canadian versions of all of those. Then you snatch it all up, and you find yourself with a whole lot of junk, and then there's nothing left to buy, and you move on. It's happened to me one other time: When I was in The Pac-Men, I realized just how much Pac-related junk was made that I didn't have. I had the board games, the toys, and a lot of other stuff, but I hadn't known about TV trays, placemats, and plush Pac-dolls, several of which I bought on eBay, and would put on our amps during shows. Like with GedmanQuest, I got everything I needed very quickly, as it was all there waiting for me, but then the mania wore off.

(While writing that last paragraph, UPS came to the door. I thought it would be some Gedman cards, but it was a Christmas present I got for someone. I should have just said it was a Gedman card to make the story better. Oh well. However, the UPS person was cheery and nice for a change. She even said "sorry to be a bother," to which I quickly replied, "Hey, I ordered it," before realizing that was about the lamest thing you could possibly say. So I said "I bet you've heard that one before." "Exactly," she said, before wishing me a happy holiday season.)

[Update, 12/20/05: Chan just got the same UPS lady. He was so happy about how nice she was. He didn't know I'd put her on my blog. He couldn't believe I knew who he was talking about. Great job, that UPS lady. Also, two more Gedmans arrived today. I have nine different Gedmans from '86 alone now.]

This morning I got a comment about my "J's" post. It looked like this [bracketed text filled in by me]:

"Cmon, Homer Jay Simpson has to be won that list.

btw, Hey guys,

I dont know if you’ve seen it yet but i just got my copy of that [name deleted] dvd. It’s pretty sick. There’s footage of [stuff deleted] over the last century and even more. my buddy works for the company and gave me this code to knock 20 percent off the price. just go to www.[website deleted].com and type [code deleted] in the shopping cart. Figure everyone could use something for the stockings during the holidays!"


Wow, for a second there, I thought you were trying to advertise on my site for free.

Then I saw the "Hey guys," and I realized you were just another reader--"one of us," if you will--who just happens to really enjoy this DVD a lot so he goes around to websites and pastes his opinion into the comments sections. (BSM got the identical comment today, too, I noticed, only slightly catered to what he was talking about.)

Tell your "buddy" that if he wants to advertise on my site, he should ask me nicely. When I decline that offer, he should ask if I'll take cash compensation--to which I'll also say "no."

Disco Stu doesn't advertise.

Any further ads put onto my site will be deleted, as yours was.

This is a great example of everything that's wrong with a capatalist society. People doing everything they can to make money, including using other people's space to advertise against their will, and worse, I think, pretending to be someone they're not to lure people into giving them money.

So the team known as the Jays is trying to stay true to its name. They got B.J. Ryan, and now they've got A.J. Burnett. You know, I hear C.J. Ramone is out of work. In fact, lets take a look at the new J's starting lineup:
















What do I say to this?

TJ.

Chan and I went down to Makor last night to see Nellie McKay. You may remember her from last year's New Year's Eve neverending rant. She was really good live. Funny ("you think because you're older you shouldn't steal anymore, but you should"), left-wing (talked about animal cruelty and whatnot, anti-Bush stuff, etc. Plus, the place served vegetarian food, which is key for me. Maybe that's why she chose to play there), and human (occasionally forgot words and had to stop the song, but was totally cool about it and made fun of herself.) And the songs are good, which is kinda key. One was a tune she sent to Bob Dylan to see if he'd do a duet with her, but he refused. So she just plays it anyway, imitating Dylan during what were supposed to be his parts.

If you care, you can read this review from some message board of her show in LA last week, to get more of an idea of what she's like.

But one thing about the audience. At one point, people were yelling out requests. For some reason, someone thought that doing the oldest joke in concert history would actually get laughs in a smart New York audience. That's right, "Freebird" was called out, and, I shit you not, people did laughed. Like, 40% of the crowd! Genuinely laughing, as if they'd never heard that one before! Not as smart as I thought, I guess.

I blame society. Everybody's working so hard that they're completely hooked on alcohol and coffee...and bad jokes! "Oh, my god, I worked 60 hours on the Penske file this week, give me anything that will relax me...what's that, Freebird? That's hilarious! Anything's better than this job I choose to work way, way, way, too hard at." All I'm saying is, stop being stressed out over unimportant crap, and suddenly you won't need coffee or other drugs anymore, you'll become healthy, will be able to get off your anti-depressants, and you'll find yourself a happier human being, who won't stand for shitty jokes like "Freebird" thrity fucking years after it stopped being funny.

If only it were that easy, right?

0.1 to 0.3 per cent of you are asking, "But what about that other female musician you kept blabbing about last year?" That was Joanna Newsom. I haven't talked about her because she didn't release any music the entire year, and every show she played, save for two in the midwest and one in Seattle, was outside the U.S. But believe you me, when she comes back around or puts out an album, I'll be a-talkin' 'bout it.

Oh, and to wrap up last night, Chan and I got to walk home through Central Park in the snow. Snow is cool.

I noticed something disturbing on a survey that BS Memorial took and posted on his blog. It has nothing to do with his answers, of course (to think, there is one other human besides me who doesn't drink coffee), but rather in one of the questions: "Left-handed or right-handed?"

I guess most people are one or the other. But I'm both, in a totally consistent way. For one-handed things, I'm right-handed. For two-handed things, I'm left-handed. Across the non-existent board. Follow along: I write right-handed. I swing an axe left-handed. I cut with scissors right-handed. I play mini-golf left-handed. I throw right. I bat left.

It applies to the feet, too. I play kickball right-footed. I snowboard left- or goofy-footed.

In fact, it's my contention that what's referred to as "left-handed" for two-handed things should be called "right-handed." Because when you swing a bat lefty, okay, when I do, the real force comes from my right, or dominant hand. This also accounts for my killer backhand in tennis.

Then some boob tries to tell me that I should play guitar left-handed, because my dominant hand would be able to do the fingering. But it's the right hand and arm that are needed for the timimg, rhythym, speed and velocity of the chords being played.

So sign my petition to make "left-handed" two-handed things be called "right-handed." Or don't, because it doesn't exist.

Well, by now, even casual(?) Red Sox fans know the name Jeremy Kapstein. His name came up when Theo's job became available, and in the ensuing craziness, he seems to have taken over the top spot for the job in many people's minds.

This is a critical moment. For this blog.

If Kapstein, aka the "former" Drinkwater, becomes the GM of the Red Sox, he will lose the cult status he gained here, and probably in the minds of a lot of fans who have followed his progress behind home plate on TV.

But the weird thing is, I feel like with just the media attention he's gained already, he may have lost it anyway.

Because, should the team go in another direction GM-wise, next year, people will see him behind the plate and say "Hey, isn't that that guy that was gonna be GM?" Anyone who didn't notice him before (what the hell were they doing, watching the game??) will now realize that it's him. His face being so prominent now will make him a huge star next year, even if he doesn't get the GM job.

I feel like I'm a Dexy's Midnight Runners fan, before "Come On Eileen" came out. Right before. Like, I know the band well, I know they've got a possible hit on their hands, but it's just a matter of whether or not the record company promotes the thing. OR, a Nirvana fan from right before "Smells Like Teen Spirit" blew up.

See how it all ties in? Everyone ended up knowing both bands, but one was just for the one song. So, Kapstein, in my mind, already has his hit, with this current publicity. The only question is, Will he end up the "voice of a generation," or a "one-hit wonder"?

Either way, everyone will know Kapstein after all this. There's no turning back.

So what do I hope happens with this man I used to think was named Drinkwater? I just hope that friend of my dad's who apparently knows the guy gets me some sweet seats behind home plate. What do I think will happen? Eh, they'll probably hire some other guy this week. But, of course, I've gotta root for Drinky.

(Note: If you've never read this blog until now--a huge possibility; you should see the hits I'm getting from people searching "Kapstein"--basically, the gist of what I'm talking about is: Me & Pat always saw this big dude behind plate at Fenway on TV. I heard that a guy named Drinkwater sat behind the plate. So we assumed they were talking about this guy. We called him Drinkwater, and started monitoring his progress, seeing him on the field talking to players during pre-games, wondering who he was. I even had the idea of a "Drinwater blog," which would keep his fans informed of his behaviors behind the plate. Pat once walked by him at a game, and almost said "Hi, Mr. Drinkwater." Eventually, we learned that Drinkwater was a different guy, adding more to the mystery of "our guy." Then they showed him on TV at a game, close-up, and wished a Happy Birthday to "Jeremy Kapstein." At that point, I looked him up, saw on redsox.com that he was a senior advisor, as well as having been a super-agent from the 70s, and even was an inspiration for the movie Jerry Maguire. And when my dad heard the name, he immediately told me how his good friend is friends with him (a huge moment in my life). So do some more searching around here for past stories and pix I've taken of the man who will always be Drinkwater--with apologies to Dennis Drinkwater. Or click here for the incredible picture Reb took of yours truly and Drinkwater. I mean Kapstein.)

What former Mets pitcher's name is inadvertently mentioned in the movie Anchorman?

My friend Brian (right, holding two mini-golf clubs in an "X" and flaring his nostrils) has developed a new form of writing. It started when he wrote the word "Provincetown" in an email to me. He added some other words within that word. It looked like this: Pro(rock) vince (Neil) (Mr.)T (rent to) own. So you've got Prorock, who's a friend of ours, Vince Neil, of Motley Crue fame, Mr. T, of A-Team and Rocky III fame, and that rental place, Rent To Own.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but, unless you're stupid, you know how cool this is, so now it's rampant.

There are so many ways you can go with this language. You can just do (W)ran(gler jeans)(Astro)dom(e) stuff, or you can try to connect letters with themes, like, if I wanted to say "Chan," using words that describe Chan, I could write Ch(inese) (m)an. But it's more fun the random way, I think.

Then you can have words within words, which, like in algebra, would require brackets. (party on, Gar)th(Kit K)at loo[ney (Ca)bin(Boy)](Carlton Ban)ks like this.

There are so many ways you can go with this language. You could add an entire novel to each letter of a ten-page e-mail. I think Brian (left, with microphone and Samhain T-shirt) is better at it than me. He seems to know just what to do with each word. He also wrote "Colbert" as Col(Porter)(Yogi)bert, which uses two incorrectly spelled names, but they would be pronounced correctly when said out loud. Another good one of his was "delay" as del (taco)(Rachel R)ay.

The language rules.

[Bonus edit: Here's a sample e-mail exchange where Brian & I use the language (with him using it much more and in cooler ways than I):

Dane Cook's hosting SNL tonight. Maybe Jessica could (surf)pu(nx)ll(oyd moseby) some stri(keout=K)(Ana)ngs and(y duncan) we could sit in the front row and hang out with Co(nan)o('brien)k(=strikeout) after. He's on (Dane)Co(ok)nan right now. Oh my, Chan flipped to the lat(t)e lat(t)e show, and was like, "Wait," as if he were waiting to see something coming up, so we watch and they're all "Up next, a performance from Lifehouse" and I started crack(house)(alarm k)ing up, and Chan was all "that's not what I was waiting for." key: "Ana Ng" is a They Might Be Giants song. I think u can figure out the rest. Yo, Update: Turns out what chan was waiting for was the author of Bridget Jones' Diary? I'm all "What?" and he's all "I just wanna see what she has to say" and I'm all "Is this a joke?" and he's all "No" and I'm all "TJ"


Yo,
I just read the Bridget (Ed "Too Tall")Jones (hey Ironhead, whats with this)thing(y?) and got (turf)totally distracted and off(sides) track in math class. That's funny. I saw the blog about the langu(ished saus)age- swee(ny Mur)t(i)! Wheres that mini golf shot (Abe)from(an)? T(iki Barber)J(ake "The Snake" Roberts) by(week) me for(th and 26) not(wurst) remembering. Yeah, we're(d wild stuff) both psych(obilly)ed for (Ron)Dane(ish) Cook. Kaitlin (Anthony's girlfriend) said his new C(C DeVille)D(Dee Ramone) isn't that (George Thoro)good(n plenty) though, (I want c)and(y!) I'm pretty surprised he's hosting. He's not like (Troy)a(ikman) big (Bart)star(r) (qu)or(terback sack!) (Say)anything. I gotta go(es wide right!)...I'm ad(vertising)ding(dongs) and subtracting rational expressions. ? -Brian]

Tom Gordon to Philly. In that same article, read how the yanks may get Mike Myers tomorrow. I hope we don't have to see Myers in 'stripes.

Oprah was on Letterman tonight. She was talking about the work she's doing in South Africa, and about poor kids, saying how if everyone did what they were supposed to do, we could feed them all. But instead, she said, we just go around buying our lattes or whatever. I turned to Chan and said, "She's full of shit. Isn't she the richest person in America or something?" In other words, she could take all her money, beyond what she needs to eat and pay for a roof, and give it to starving children. Instead, she's on TV wearing an outfit that costs more money than most people have ever seen.

Then I thought, Well, at least she's doing something. While making fun of her, I had been writing an e-mail to a stranger in Kansas who collects George Brett baseball cards, asking him if he'd want me to go back to an antique store I was in a while ago, 200 miles away, mind you, to get for him an RC Cola can from 1974 with George Brett's face on it that I saw there, and if he'd pay me for it, or trade similar Rich Gedman memoribilia for it, if he has any.

As Chan and I sit here watching a multiple-part, very special episode of Good Times, I am reminded of how nobody got that last quiz answer. I was looking for two of Jimmie "JJ Evans" Walker's catch-phrases, other than the one everyone knows, "Dyn-o-mite!" Here are some others: Answering the phone with "Chel-lo?" Calling for his mom with "Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Taking a compliment with "I knoooooow." No points awarded.

There's a commercial for Long John Silver's or something that tells you to go in there and say "three free shrimp" three times fast. If you can do it, you get three free shrimp. I saw this and said, "That's terrible. What if you have a stutter?" Chan came right back with, "Then it shouldn't be a problem."

A picture I took is up at KeepManny.Com. Here's the direct link to the picture page. Look for my name.

The Sox just got this dude, Jermaine Van Buren (shown here with the Iowa Cubs). I'm so psyched to have one of the Van B Boys on the team. I don't think he'll get to wear number 8, though. Remember to flash him the secret sign when you see him.

Also, I've got that movie of the crazy children up and working at Putfile now. I think it's easier to view there than at that other site I have it on.

Looks like there are more Rich Gedman baseball cards than I thought. I figured Topps, Donruss, and Fleer from '82 to '90, plus some random Gedmans (Gedmen?) from oddball sets, like Sportflics. I didn't, on the other hand, figure on sets like '82 Coke, '84 Nestle, '86 Quaker Granola. There's also a Ralston-Purina set. Now that I think of it, I do remember digging through bags of cat food when I was little. Then you've got the "Canadian versions" of cards, which I also totally forgot about, Topps' being O-Pee-Chee and Fleer's being Leaf. And that mysterious "Topps Tiffany" set. And all these came out every year, and all included a Gedman. So we may be talking about dozens if not hundreds of cards to collect.

But I'm not letting that stop me. GQ06 (That's GedmanQuest 2006, new people. "Jeek" for short.) will go on as scheduled. For a really awesome story of one woman's friendship with Rich Gedman, click here. It's quite amazing. All right, kind of amazing. Being a Geddy fan helps one appreciate it, though.

Seeing baseball cards again has reminded me that my favorite skill, after being able to spin just about any object on my finger indefinitely, is being able to tell from a baseball card what stadium the picture was taken in.

The Xmas season started tonight, with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer airing (in HD!) on CBS, and TNT showing A Christmas Story. Seeing Rudolph (not in HD!) reminded me of my sister's kids, since I was living at their house last December, and got to watch all the holiday specials with them. So I e-mailed my ten year-old niece, asking her if she tuned in for Rudolph. Now I don't know if you've gotten an e-mail from a ten year-old girl lately, or ever, but wow, that's quite a different experience. The letters are ten feet tall, and colorful. She's got a crazy pink background with little birdies. I felt like I wanted to print it out and slap it up on the fridge.

And, no, she didn't watch Rudolph. Hopefully she catches Frosty. I know I will.

Chan and I both got our confirmation emails for the Colbert Report audience tickets we requested. He got December 12th, I got January 9th. Listen for us those nights, clapping in the audience. I usually use the clap where you hit your palm with the fingers of your other hand. But sometimes I feel like that makes me stand out to much, as it's very high-pitched and loud. In those cases, I'll go with the cupping-palms style clap, which is lower and more anonymous. But on December 12th, I'll go all out, so you'll know it's me. The sound of the hands clapping right next to mine will be those of Chan.

Tonight, I made a life-changing decision: I will attempt to acquire every Rich Gedman baseball card ever made. Actually, that's a lie. I don't care about the cards where Rich is in an Astros or Cardinals uniform. I've already got all the Topps cards from when I was a kid. Now it's time to complete my collection with all the Fleer and Donruss cards I missed out on, along with Geddys from more obscure sets. I wonder if Rich ever had a Drake's Cakes card. If he did, I will get it.

There's also a lot of Gedman autographs out there. As well as, right now, on eBay, one of his bats, and one of his game-used jerseys. Unfortunately, it's from his Astros days, it doesn't say his name on the back, it costs a fortune, and the number on it is 2, not Gedman's classic 10. So eff that. But any cards that were made with him on it, where he's got a Sox jersey on, I will one day obtain.

GedmanQuest '06 has begun.

A huge statue at a hotel in Chicopee, MA. More about him here.

Awesome old-school logos under glass at the Hall of Fame. I love the whole "Win Twins"/"Twin Cities" theme. It was big in my day, aka the 80s. The twin on the right has an "STP" (St. Paul) logo on his shirt, and the one on the left has an "M" for Minneapolis. I actually just bought a pin with just the "TC" logo on it, along with an old Red Sox one with the backward sock logo. I'd like to know who came up with the idea of using "Twin Cities" in the Twins' logo. It would be like a team from Chicago having "WC" on their hats for "Windy City."

The ring.


I like how the reflection made this slightly-more-than-half circle look like a full circle. This is in a room next to the inductee gallery. Also note plane entrail for extra fartsiness.

The Kid.

Ted's head really sticks out, more than most others. He also looks like he's wearing a fisherperson's hat. Which would actually make sense for Ted.

Pudge. I don't think he looks like this, but that's just me.

Yaz. I didn't get a shot of it, but Jimmie Foxx's plaque calls him "Jimmy." Does anyone know why? I couldn't find anything about this on the internet.

No go on Billy Wagner, as the Mets landed him today. Last week, I heard that they were courting the country-raised Wagner by showing him the "New York area." The joke I immediately made in my head was: What are they gonna do, say to him, "Here's Greenwich, Connecticut. See, no homeless or minorities for miles around. You'll love it here it New York!"? A few hours later, I found out that they actually did show him Greenwich, sending him to Tom Glavine's house for dinner. Unbelievable. Hey, I guess it worked.

Chan had the Colts game on earlier. I like rooting against Peyton Manning. I've never liked that boob. Ever since the Tennessee-Nebraska game where he was supposed to be this great quarterback and we shut him down big time. This was, like, eight years ago. And it's just so fun to make fun of him. He talks in the same voice Andy Kaufman did when he imitated Jerry Lawlor: "Ahm from Maymphis, Taynasee, duhhh." Tonight, I saw him make an awesome play. There's nothing funnier than when a quarterback is scrambling to get the play off, audibling as quick as he can before the play clock expires, and then it's down to one second, so he just makes the "come here! come here! quick!" motion with his hands at the center, trying to get him to snap the ball, but the center just doesn't know to snap it, so the play clock runs out. It's even funnier when it happens to Manning, and with his own crowd making noise, screwing things up even more, to boot. I actually kind of hope they do go undefeated, and then lose to some shitty team in the playoffs or Super Bowl, with Payton failing at a key moment.

Anyway, one of you Patriots fans should make this comparison next time they play the Colts:











That's right, it's Tedy Bruschi as Piston Honda, ready to crush Peyton "Little Mac" Manning. (In the role of Doc, it's Miss Tennessee, apparently.) Press start!

Also, if you didn't see Dennis Leary's Christmas Special on Comedy Central, check it out, if only for Dennis lighting his cig with a "yankees suck" candle. And for Charlie Murphy. It's on Comedy Central. Probably a thousand times this month.

Sox to make offer to Billy Wagner?

Name two of JJ Evans' catch phrases from Good Times. (Besides "...Dyn-o-mite!")

In case word hasn't reached your town yet, Peter, aka Peter*, aka P-10, aka the artist formerly known as "W" has started a blog. Check it out: Peter O'Nall.

I think I figured out why my Millar butt-grabbing video got so many views. I found out that it was linked a blog about spanking.

Speaking of my movies... E-mails, phone calls, and telegrams have been pouring in asking for the story behind the rogue kids. It's quite simple, really. One day, while I was living at my old apartment in Danbury, some kids showed up in the back parking lot. I think they were the offspring of a plumber or some other type of worker, who was there for the day, and had no babysitter. The person must have said, "Okay, kids, daddy's gonna be in here for a few hours. Stay outside and just run amok, making sure to concentrate on finding pieces of wood and repeatedly whacking everything in sight with them. Also, see that chain there? That's so no one will park their car down by the garbage. Don't forget to take that chain down, and swing it around haphazardly. And Billy, make sure you include your sister in the whacking activities. Michael, you just hang low during the whacking, then appear out of nowhere with a pair of boxing gloves on and do a little dance. And I better not see anyone supervising you in any way. Got that, everybody? See you tonight."

So, naturally, I started videotaping out the window. Not just for the comedic value, but in case anyone's windshield got smashed, I'd have the culprit on tape.

And then the main kid, whose shirt said "Alarm King," picked his nose. And ate it. Then he started throwing things at my building. Then they were all gone, never to be seen again.

Until now, in this three-and-a-half-minute extravaganza. The background music is the Fantomas' take on the theme from Rosemary's Baby.



[Edit, 11/30/05: Also note that at the end, you can hear the voice of Paul O'Neill coming from my TV. Terrible job, Paul, for sneaking into my movie.]

Labels: movies

I was on the subway the other day, and I saw a Native American man. He looked a little like Gene Simmons.

Naturally, I felt bad, thinking of how an entire race or races of people can and have been wiped off the face of the earth.

I'm sure he wasn't thinking about that, though. He was probably thinking, "I sure do look like Gene Simmons," or, "Three more stops before 68th Street."

A stop or so later, I looked back in Gene's direction. It was a fairly crowded tarin, and another man had boarded and was standing right in front of Simmons. He was facing Gene, and wearing a hat backwards. So instead of the face of a living, breathing Native American, I was now staring at a logo on a throwback baseball cap--that of a wild-eyed, cartoon Indian with a feathers and braids.

I felt like I'd just witnessed the last Native disappear. Or, rather, turn into a misrepresented memory.

I guess it was good that the guy wasn't wearing the hat forwards.

Now it's off to see a bunch of people that look kind of similar to me and talk to them and pay half-attention to football and eat bread but not turkey.

Info has been released regarding the annual Christmas at Fenway ticket-buying event.

Take a look at the article. The first word of it is "T'is." This is not a word.

Who wrote the article? Bonehead Dirt Dog Steve Silva, of course. The apostrophe goes before the "T," guy. "'Tis" is a contraction of "it is." But hey, who'd expect a newspaper writer to know how words are spelled.

Then again, America does seem to have a problem with apostrophes. On the Red Sox official site, they've been repeatedly using the open single quote instead of an apostrophe for '06. Nobody can figure out that rule, for some reason.

Back to the article, I think it's funny how Steve has to talk seriously about things like where people can buy tickets and the "Red Sox Nation" card. He's always ripping the Sox for their leniency toward scalpers, as well as their discount card program. It must kill him to write that stuff...well, probably not when he cashes his paycheck.

Folks, you don't even realize just what a genius Theo Epstein is. You think you do, but you don't. I'm about to blow your mind.

Josh Beckett is one of the best young pitchers in the game today. The Red Sox, pending physicals, have obtained him for some minor-leaguers. You may have heard that the Marlins are forced to get rid of players. That may be true. In fact, at the end of the offseason, we very well may be saying, "The Red Sox got Beckett, but the yankees got the rest of the Marlins."

But that's just a front. The Marlins really just wanted so badly to get Hanley Ramirez, that they gave up a huge pitcher to get him.

Now, you're probably saying, "But Guy Who Writes Stuff Sometimes, what does this have to do with the genius of Theo?"

Well, you see, Hanley Ramirez is not a baseball player. He may not even be human for that matter. He is some type of creature, whether built by Theo in his laboratory, or found on the streets of Boston wandering aimlessly. He is a myth and a legend. Created by Theo Epstein.

Theo knew he was leaving the GM job eventually. But he loves the Red Sox so much, that he spent much of his time on Yawkey Way shaping and molding this "Hanley Ramirez" player. He knew to play up the legend year after year, as an insurance policy. Because one day Theo would be gone, and the poor schlub who would take over would have to do something. So Theo figured, "At least the new person will have this solid chunk of gold at his disposal."

Sure enough, Theo leaves, and [mystery GM] immediately turns gold into, well, gold. Fool's gold into real gold, if you will.

Think about it. Remember when Hanley got a few at bats last season? Did he even swing? Of course not. If he's a human, he doesn't know how to hit a baseball. And if he's a robot, they wouldn't want to risk him shorting out in front of everyone while attempting to make him swing a bat via remote control. It's not like playing a video game. You have to know how to work the Theo-tron 7800.

And come on, "Hanley"? Have you ever met a Latin person named Hanley? Or any person, for that matter? And don't you think it's quite a coincidence that the guy's name RHYMED with "Manny Ramirez"? When inventing a superstar, you need to come up with a memorable, unique name, while bringing to mind other nearby superstars. Everyone knows that. Whose name was Jordan before Michael? And the initials, MJ, brought to mind Magic Johnson. Same with John Elway. It's the John from Johnny Unitas, combined with a completely made up last name that no one else has ever had before or since.

I'm thinking these wacky robot-superstar names are anagrams.

In fact, in the history of the Red Sox, until 2002, they Had Acquired Nothing Like Epstein's Youth. HANLEY.

I'm telling you, whatever you've read, don't believe it. Hanley has never swung a bat, never put on a glove, never played in a minor league game. You could've told the Marlins he was a SIX-tool player, and they'd believe it, without even going through the tool list and realizing it's only five items long.

If you were a GM, would you have made a trade for Hanley? Of course you would, you're not an idiot. But have you ever seen him play? No. Because he's just a figment of your imagination. Like the Wizard of Oz, or WMD. But people went to great lenghts trying to find those. In other words, they just assumed they were real.

Somewhere, Theo is smiling. The World Series ring is nothing compared to achieving complete mind-control.

End fake story.

But in all seriousness, if the deal goes down, I'll miss Hanley, he seemed cool. And he's the subject of one of my favorite baseball pics I've ever taken. I never posted it until now:

Alas, Hanley, we knew ye better than anyone else we've hardly known.