Chan, Reb and I went down to the Riv for Sox-Pirates tonight. The Riv seems kind of like it's falling apart at the seams in a way. Being there gives me the suspicion that "everybody's" at Boston 212. There was a mistake with a food order, a cold wind blowing in the section we were in (which prepared me for Fenway tomorrow--but the good news is that the weather looks great for Cleveland and Philly, where I'll be next week.), and as usual, the waitress seemed to forget about us at times. That stuff doesn't really matter to me, as long as I can see the game, because that's why I'm there. And while it seems dead at first glance, when there's a big hit, you realize just how many Sox fans are around you, which is a good thing, especially in New York. And the end of the game was so key, as walkoffs usually are, I forgot about anything that went wrong earlier. You know, until now. But still, maybe we'll try the deuce-ace-deuce next time. (Also, how awesome was C-Tek's blockage of the plate? We all went nuts for that, and again, and again, with each replay shown.)

Then we went on our super secret mission to put a certain sticker with the logo of a certain championship team on a certain sign that says "Do It Again" in a fairly noticeable place in New York City, and that went well. Photographic evidence to follow at a certain site run by a certain girl who was in on the mission. Cheers to Chan, a yankee fan, for reluctantly allowing this.

Then we stopped at Washington Square Park, where, instead of cool people doing cool things and singing cool songs, there was a little circle of older, whiter hippies singing along to a trio playing songs like "Sweet Home Alabama." Weird. But just seeing people out doin' stuff so late at night is good. One of the things I love about this city.

When Chan and I walked Reb back to Grand Central, we saw some Cubs fans, and realized that the Cubs must be staying at the Hyatt, which is adjacent to Grand Central. So we went in. No actual Cub sightings, after all, they should have been in bed at that point. But in the bar, where dozens of Cubs fans all decked out in Cubs gear had gathered, Chan spotted the dude who played Shaq's agent on a Curb Your Enthusuiasm episode. (A show that has three seasons out on DVD, and Chan and I each have every one.) So call that a celebrity sighting if you like. Chan says I'm obsessed with this stuff, but I say, Chan, I'm only looking for Cubs because I know they're here, and I happen to be here. I'd be stupid NOT to keep an eye out. We did have a much better sighting earlier this week, when we noticed the "Wonder of it All" guy inside an Italian restaurant right near our apartment, He was in there seemingly doing some promotional thing for them. I wanted to say to him either "You know that friggin' song is never NOT in my head? Thanks a million" OR "Dude, what the SHIT is with those Leprechauns??"

Right outside Grand Central is a Modell's. In their front window is a display. Mets jerseys down one side, yankees jerseys down the other. A Cards jersey off to the left, a Nationals one off to the right. And right in the middle, the centerpiece of the whole thing, a Red Sox jersey with a Red Sox hat above it, right in front of, blocking, some lesser yankee T-shirts. I love that this is what everybody sees as they get off their train and start their journey through New York City. I hope Rebecca posts the pic she took of it.

Two games out, now. And two more with the Pirates. Let's not lose either, Sox, because, as Pop Fisher once said, "You know how I hate losin' to the Pie-Rits!"

I was watching the Channel 7 news, and I saw a story about kids at MY former high school getting a letter in the mail saying they wouldn't be graduating. It was a hoax, but they haven't figured out who did it yet. It was kind of weird that the New York news cared about the high school in Ridgefield, CT. I didn't see anyone I knew, which makes sense since I graduated 12 years ago. But when they showed a bus going by (you know, so you knew it was a school), it was bus 2. My bus. A star.

In more news you couldn't possibly care about, remember when I was talking about Kim's, and the rudeness of their employees? Well, I read in the New York Times that the place got busted for bootlegs last week, and five employees were arrested and tossed in jail for the night. Normally, I'd root against the cops in a case like this. But when I read that five of the rudest, snobbiest people in the city had to sleep in a jail cell, I jumped for joy. Good to see them get theirs, if only on a small scale. See how life works? When someone is a dick to you or anyone else, don't do anything except silently root for bad things to happen to them. Eventually, they get theirs, and like Mr. Henry in Bottle Rocket, you laugh your "fucking head off." (see world vs. New York yankees.)

I never answered Sam on the "what's with the cat-bird" issue. Uh, I like to do draw-rings.

Also, I'm I alone in wondering when someone will leave a suicide note on their blog?

In honor of Pac-Man's 25th birthday, here's a link to the Pac-Man game using actual humans, which I want to get into a game of. Of course, everyone knows Ms. Pac-Man is the far superior game. Still, happy birthday Pac-Man.

24 years younger than Pac-Man this week is Bullshit Memorial Stadium, the "stuff at the bottom" of the Italian Ice that is the Red Sox blogging world. I guess if you've never had Italian Ice, you might think that's an insult. But trust me, that stuff is the best part of the Italian Ice. What is that stuff? It is a mystery, and that's why so is BSM. (Apologies to Jack Handey.) Go wish him a happy 1st, and tell him "anti-terrible job."

The other day, when the NBA Finals was two games to nothing, Michael Kay was talking about his disinterest in it. He said how if the series goes to 3-0, game four would get beaten by reruns of sitcoms. "Who's gonna watch when you already know the outcome?" How quickly he takes special yankee-brand (TM) memory-erasing tablets.

Finally, here's a shot I took of everyone from last night's blogger's night out:

Clockwise from left: Empy's Red Sox fan angel (on right shoulder, note that there's no yankee fan devil on her other shoulder, as he never stood a chance), Empy, the Citgo sign at a crazy angle, Rebecca, and The Good Witch.

Tonight it was the Red Sox, the Cincinnati Reds, Reb Sox,
Witch City Sox Girl, Empyreal Environs, and me at Fenway, along with 30,000 some odd other, mostly non-blogging, baseball fans.

Check out their sites for pics and whatever else they come up with.

The Cincinnati-themed song they chose to play before the Reds batted was none other than the WKRP in Cincinnati theme. I missed it because I was getting food. Empy told me they played it on Monday, too. While I am a huge fan of that song, couldn't they have at least picked two other tunes, maybe with the word "Red" in the title? Like Andrew W.K.'s "Don't Stop Livin' In The Red," for example. Or maybe a cut from Red Rider, Redman, Red Cross, Redd Kross, Red Aunts, Blonde Redhead, or Simply Red? And, hey, it won't hurt to listen to Red Alert, if ya know what I'm sayin'.

We sat in the same section that my 10-Folk Plan seats are in, only in the second row from the top. Sec 43, Row 49. It's nice up there. And amazingly, it was even colder then I thought it would be. I was actually half joking yesterday, saying how cold it was supposed to be compared to the few days leading up. But I really knew that 64 degrees wasn't that bad. However, they announced the game time tempeature at 49 degrees. Terrible.

The four of us each threw some very minor cash into a "first home run of the game" pool. I had Ortiz. (They made me throw in extra for him.) And wouldn't you know, he hits two off the wall, within a few feet combined of being two dongs, and a deep fly out to right. Nobody homered, so no money changed hands.

The Sox didn't take BP due to the cold and drizzle, which means Rebecca has now seen three games at Fenway, and has never seen batting practice.

The game was sweet, with Bronson getting back to normal. And except for C-Tek's three K's, the offense was gold, too. Timlin and Foulke were good out of the pen. Fortunately, Tito didn't make a withdrawal from the Swiss bank account. (If you're new here, that means he didn't bring in Captain Cheese. Duh.)

Now here's something you might find interesting, or call me a fool for not having known about until tonight. You know how the "bleacher creatures" at yankee Stadium have that roll call thing, where they chant each player's name while the yanks are in field in the bottom of the first, until that player acknowledges them with a wave? Well, apparently, this trend has reached at least one guy at Fenway. This guy yelled something out to Trot with his booming voice, and Trot turned around and gave a wave. Wow, how did Trot hear that, and why did he acknowledge it, I asked myself. Must have been a friend of his, I thought. Then the dude yells something to Manny. Now keep in mind, this guy is 40 rows up in the right field bleachers, trying to get Manny, in left field, to turn around. Forget it, dude, I said to myself. But Manny, as if he were being noticed by the next customer in line at the 7-Eleven, whips around and double points at the guy from 300 feet away. Everybody around the guy immediately went nuts.

So, Fenway Fanatics, tell me, is this guy there every night? Has he done this before? Does he do it to all the players? I only noticed the Trot and the Manny.

I guess it's cool, but it just reminds me so much of that stupid yankee thing, even coming from the same location in the crowd. That and them playing a song before the eighth inning that reminds me of "Cotton-Eye Joe." I guess the quicker you make something uniqulely your own, though, the sooner people will forget where the initial idea came from.

I was told that the old Hartford Whalers theme is now being played at Fenway, but I didn't hear it.

I had fun with my three co-bloggers. Met Witch City for the first time. Good people, those bloggettes.

Will go to bed now, due to the 3:20 AM-ishness of this moment. Have a good one.

Today was my last day at my job in Danbury, CT. I'd been there for almost four years. It was kind of sad, actually, to say goodbye to the friends I made there. But it's good to move on. When my sister moves in two weeks, my family will be completely out of inland Connecticut. Five years ago, I was in Danbury, my folks were in Ridgefield, and my sister and her kids were in New Milford. (See maps.google.com to figure out what I'm talking about). Now I'm in NYC and they're both in the New Haven Area. Goodbye I-84, hello I-95.

I celebrated my quitting by going to the Mercury Lounge to see Kristin Hersh's punk band, 50 Foot Wave (named before the tsunami, as was the band Tsunami.) I love her solo acoustic music, but it's also great to see her screaming and rocking out with a full band. I love when really good guitar players use their skill to make good music rather than show-off wankery.

I met a woman in her sixties at the show who was from Vancouver. She said she and her husband saw a preview of the show in the paper and decided to go. I told her that 50 Foot Wave was pretty heavy, and she said, "The heavier the better." Preach on, grandma!

When I got home I saw the Red Sox score. 7-0 us. Since holding an opponent scoreless is so rare these days, I immediately thought, No-hitter? Close. Good job by the large, white one. On June 1st, I said (in real life, not in writing) that I didn't think we'd lose much this month. I said that forgetting that interleague play was this month. So if you don't include the crazy pitcher-batting, double-switching, run-the-bases-backwards games, I could end up being right. The starters are looking good, with the exception of Bronson (lately), but I still feel good about him. I feel like we could go into a post-season series right now and be in good shape. And I'd say that even if we had an average lineup. But we have an amazing lineup, which is only getting better as Manny comes alive.

Well, as we sit in the sweltering heat, we can find solace in the fact that Jere is going to Femway Park tomorrow. Because whenever Jere goes to Fenway, regardless of the weather the day before or the day after, you can rest assured that you will need a sweater. Seriously, what the friggin' frig? It's 2 AM. It's about 200 degrees out here in New York City. It's been like this for days. It's been like December in hell. You walk down the street, even at night, and it feels like someone is casually breathing fire in your face. But, tomorrow, the forecast for Boston is 64 degrees for a high, with some rain. (I've also got tix for Saturday, which, therefore, is the second coldest day of the ten-day forecast.) Terrible job, Stay-At-Home-Mom Nature. Do I dare check the Cleveland forecast for when I'm there next week? Will I need to bring cross-country skis? I think I won't even check.

Now the series is tied 3-3!

I'm totally kidding.

[edit: Or 4-4, whatever. You know what I meant. I, uh, acutually did that on purpose just to show how little I care about revenge for past World Series'. Yeah, that's it.]

The type of game that reminds me that everything's going to be okay. And, maybe, will relax some of of the pessimists. At least until the next time Embree comes into a game. Speaking of him, I kind of thought that Theo was getting ready to cut the Cheese, but tonight he said he was gonna give the guys with a track record "all the time in the world" to get back to pitching the way they should be. So maybe that means Cheese will stick around, and get his second ring.

Wakefield slid into home. Properly. Safely. How sweet was that? I bet as Wake was heading home, Sveum was thinking, "Oh shit, I just sent a starting pitcher barrelling toward a man wearing armor." But Wake, like the boy warrior Atreyu running through the gate of Sphinxes, used his speed and his thoughts to make it through to the Southern Oracle that is home plate. I knew we'd win tonight when I saw a guy outside the Indian place where I got dinner wearing a red Wakefield T-shirt right before the game started.

Wake also broke his bat, and it split down the middle, reminding me of how Pat always used to talk about how weird it would be if a snake got run over by a car--lenghthwise. And Wonder Boy kind of split like that, too, prompting the debut of Savoy Special.

I was really psyched for our two chances to see a cycle tonight. And then they go and walk Damon on four pitches. That's mean. And Youk didn't have much chance of a single anyway. And then Damon gets another chance and flies out.

One of my goals for a while has been to see Manny hit one onto Waveland Ave. Thank you, Manny.

As Morgan and Miller talked about the Reds coming to Fenway, I thought of something relating to the whole "revenge" thing I had been talking about. Months ago, when I got my tickets for Wednesday, I thought, Cool, Reds at Fenway, first time since '75. And that's all I thought. I didn't think, We can finally get revenge on those bastards! So I guess that's just how I am. Granted, none of the same players are around from then, and that was a "nobody lost"-type series, but still.

Just to clarify, while I despise interleague play, I do think that the sight of the Reds at Fenway, or the Sox at Wrigley, are very cool. But I think, rather than make teams change their entire strategy and lineup, in games that count, right as they're getting into a rythym, just so they can make a little extra money, they should just play them as exhibition games. Fortunately, there's only one more different-rules road series left until the World Series.

Ditka's "Take Me Out To The Ballgame": terrible.

We're three back, headed home. This time, we'll take over first. (Or at least by the All-Star break, fellas?)

I'll be at at least one game for the next four series, and seven of the next nine if I go to Baltimore, which I'm still thinking about. That series is sold out down there, now that the Oriole fans have bought up the remaining seats, since their team is actually in the race, after we bought most of them in February.

yankees score one to go up 2-1 in the top of the seventh. In the bottom of the seventh, Kay and Justice go right into "glory days" mode: Sturtze is the bridge to Gordon and Rivera, bla bla bla. Six inning game, because, in their minds, anyway, the starting pitching is that good, and so is the pen.

Then boom, single, boom, home run. Goodbye lead. Stanton comes in, allows two more of Sturtze's runners to score, and it's 5-2. Goodbye game. 3-9 for them on their big road trip. Can't wait to hear Francesa tomorrow.

And it was even more sweet because after the Jeter-inspired rally to put them ahead, they kept talking about how much Derek and the yankees want to win (as if that means they automatically will win, and as if they're the only team on the field who does want to win).

And I just remembered hearing Sweeney Murti saying how all the yanks need to do is win two of every three games pitched by starters 1-3, and half the time with the other two. Instead, they just pretty much lose every game. This is awesome. And "hard to figure," according to Michael Kay. Ha ha. Asshole.

There was also a funny moment when Matsui fell going for a ball out in right field. This Matsui thing is great. After being crowned MVP after the first two weeks of the season by all the usual suspects (Waldman, Sterling, Kay, Fancesa), he's hitting 20 points below his career average, with four HR. (While looking at his career stats, I noticed he played in 163 games in 2003. Does anyone know how if this is a misprint? Has to be, right?)

We were also told that Matsui was this amazing center fielder, who played there for ten years in Japan, and it should be no problem for him. Yet in reality, no matter where he is in the outfield, he looks like a Little Leaguer. And I heard that Don Mattingly said this about him: He makes up for his weak arm with the way he gets momentum before he throws the ball. I swear, he actually said that.

I don't really hate Matsui. I've always felt they took him into yankee-ville, and told him, "Oh yeah, everybody LOVES the yankees. We're known as the "good guys," you'll love it. Welcome to the GOOD side." And Hideki just didn't understand what the hell they were talking about, and just signed his soul away, somewhat unknowingly. So, while I hope he isn't seriously injured after his fall today, I still revel in rooting against his overrated ass.

A pretty odd weekend so far. Friday I went to the Riv, where, because it was a weekday afternoon, a sparse crowd had gathered for the first ever Red Sox-Cubs game at Wrigley. A terrible loss, but a great mozzerella sandwich. Then I just sat in Washington Square Park for a while, and let the late afternoon shower rain on my head. Then I watched some street basketball. I thought maybe I'd see some dude with a cool nickname who'd later make the NBA. But these guys weren't the best. They did gather quite a crowd, though, and it was a whole league with a guy announcing over a megaphone and everything. Then that night Chan and I went to a movie, as was described elsewhere on this blog.

Saturday, I headed up to CT, because my former roommate, bandmate, and public access show co-host Brian was filming a movie. I played a dude whose friends turn into zombies upon hearing a possessed cd. I killed one of them with some hedge clippers, before getting my head chopped off by a radio. I got to say a line as just my head, which was cool.

I headed back to the city, my face covered with fake blood. In the car I heard the end of the second Cubs game. Terrible job once again by the pen. That ninth inning was really tough, getting the tying run on second. Really tough. Today we close out the series. I wonder if the National League will have some new rule where you have to round the bases twice to score a run, and we'll suddenly have to play by their rules in the middle of the season. Stupid interleague play. Unneccesarily screwing up teams for almost ten years. End it, MLB.

Then I drove through Spanish Harlem on my way home. While I knew that the Puerto Rican Day Parade was today, I didn't know that up there, they celebrate it over the whole weekend. It was awesome. Everybody outside, the PR flag flying everywhere. And then, another late afternoon shower. A beautiful summer scene. The rain also allowed me to put my hood up walking home, which kind of concealed the fake blood all over my face.

Today I'll hit the actual parade. I don't like parades, unless it's pretty much this one, a gay pride one, or a Red Sox World Series one.

[Edit, 7/12/05. I never did talk about that parade. Here's a shot from it.]

Cairon from The Neverending Story


Plus the ventriloquist dummy from The Twilight Zone


Equals Tony Womack.