Mud

I just got off the phone with my mom. She was on the way home from Morristown Memorial Hospital with my sister.

She just saw this chick http://www.weirdnj.com/stories/_archives2002.asp#43
Check out the 12/6/02 posting.

This kid's version of the story is pretty much the one I've heard.....only she was once a supermodel living in one of the mansions blocks from the green. I didn't know she ever had a family. I always assumed she went nuts, mistook shoe polish (that's what the "pasty substance" is) for self-tanner, and moved out of the mansion and onto the Green (a park in the center of town) when she became too crazy to pay bills and not smear shoe polish all over her body to pose for pictures.

In high school The Mud Lady once followed a group of friends and myself around to various Morristown retail locations. I thought we lost her until she showed up at Jersey Boy Bagels. We ended up running for our lives back to the car.

I have seen her with a dark, black mustache painted on her upper lip. Can't say she's without her sense of humor!

The Colts

For good reason, the stature of each and every team in the NFL has been up for grabs each and every week of this NFL season. All teams are one mistake-ridden loss from being counted out. By the same token, they are one impressive win away from inclusion in Superbowl discussions.

Despite what critics would have you believe, the Colts are an elite football team second only to San Diego. Moreover, from at least one light (the one I am holding), the criticism of Tony Dungy and co. is ill-conceived and unfair. As the Colts have dropped the ball in the playoffs in previous years, when seemingly invincible during the regular season, naturally, we look for them to do the same at some point this year. Their recent three game skid provided convenient justification of this prediction.

Tony Dungy is supposed to be a defensive mastermind. Similarly to Brian Billick in Baltimore, an "offensive mastermind" with no offense to speak of (until recently this year) and a dominant defense, Dungy's floudering run defense is well-documented and even highlighted as his team's most glaring weakness, and ultimately, fatal flaw. This is seen as Dungy's failure. People cannot reconcile a "defensive" head coach with a faulty, to put it lightly, run defense.

However, in an age of salary cap and bottom feeding parity, teams are forced to cut corners somewhere. An NFL team superior on both sides of the ball is very difficult to find. Obviously, the Colts strength is found on the offensive side of the ball. Peyton Manning is a wizard. He's fundamentally flawless and as versed in the nuances of quarterbacking as anyone I have ever seen play the position. Between Dallas Clarke, Brandon Stokely, Marvin Harrison, Reggie Wayne, Dominique Rhodes, and Joseph Addai, the Colts O is irrefutably STACKED. Their concession is made on the defensive side of the ball where personnel limitations (stemming from salary cap limitations) are designed to be overcome by their juggernaut offense.

The inability of the Colts to stop the run should surprise no one. Expecting to play the majority of their games with a lead established during their first two possessions, the Colts do not afford most teams the opportunity the run the football for very long..... and teams playing from behind throw the football. The earlier and more oppressive the lead, the more accurate this addage becomes. Dungy, who I think is a really good coach, has a defense geared for an all out attack on the pocket passing quarterbacks of the opposition who are forcibly throwing the ball substantially more frequently than they are able to run it. This is a concession Dungy willingly makes, wagering his offensive arsenal is good enough to establish the leads that justify his defensive approach. It's difficult to argue with their regular season performances.

And if the Colts win the Superbowl, people will begin to talk about the forsight of this concession isntead of about the shortcoming of their run defense. Conversely though, if the Colts exit the playoffs early, as they have done in recent years, Dungy will continue to hear the same old criticism. I, for one, don't see how you can blame a coach for building his team and game plan around the virtuosity of a quarterback like Peyton Manning. It SHOULD only be a matter of time.

Sssshhhhhhh.....Don't Tell Anyone

It could just bee the caffeine talking.......and having just come off reading the most recent Bill Simmons article but.......

I've been thinking about ending my hiatus from professional basketball and for a few reasons.....I've been thinking about embracing the Boston Celtics. Please allow me to explain in list format:

1. They're horrible. I couldn't be accused of being a fair weather fan.
2. I'm Irish, they're the Celtics. You understand.
3. I live [albeit somewhat reluctantly] in Boston.
4. When I was a kid, my favorite players were always Celtics. Larry Bird, Kevin Mchale, Robert Parrish, Reggie Lewis, Dee Brown, Joe Klein (jk), etc.
5. When I was a kid, my favorite team was the Celtics. For some reason my father was a Celtics' fan. May have had something to do with the Irish thing and the Great White Hope (Bird). It wasn't until I moved to Chicago at the beginning of eighth grade that I begun to embrace the Knicks (a strategic move on my part made to create drama/alienate myself from my peers.....who were Chicago Bulls' fans during the height of the Jordan v. Knicks era).
6. When I think about the current state of the Knicks it makes me happy I don't follow basketball.
7. I miss it a little bit. Basketball I mean.

State of the Union?

Now, in an effort to redeem myself for admitting to having participated in an hour and half of hot yoga, I am going to do some NFL naval gazing:


Vince young has the second lowest QB rating in the NFL. When you win, people never want to talk about stats. When you lose, the first thing we do is examine stats.

Mike Vick has been in the league for 6 years and his completion percentage this year is a paltry 51%.

Art Shell is a terrible coach and it's truly amazing he was given a second chance with a head coaching job.

Chad Johnson is siiiiiick.

Terrel Owens is no longer an elite receiver and this makes me smile.

Shawn Merrimen was suspended for testing positive for steroids. Where is the public outcry? Does he have to beat Strahan's sack record in order for people to care?

Why/how is Philly playing better without McNabb than they were with?

Tom Coughlin needs to be fired because he's an idiot.

How is Frank Gore this good on two reconstructed knees? He's averaging 5.6 yards per carry this year. That's superhuman.

Fred Taylor isn't given enough credit for his body of work.

Jamal Lewis has been decidedly medicore since emerging from prison....which makes me smile.

LaDanian Tomlinson is as effective as Emmett Smith and as exciting as Barry Sanders....which also makes me smile.

If Denver's offensive line did not have a policy against speaking to the media, would the media speak to them?

Ray Lewis and Brian Billick are the two most annoying personalities in football.

What's the deal with Clinton Portis? What's the deal with the Redskins?

The game has passed Joe Gibbs by.

How come some guys are constantly hurt?

How come the rules don't apply to Michael Irvin?

Hot Yoga

As part of an ongoing effort to confront the sexist demons within.....and also for a free lunch [on Mussolini], I, with a little trepidation, agreed to join friends of ours, Stalin and Kevy, for some Hot Yoga on Saturday morning. I mean how hard could it be?


Unfortunately, doing push-ups in slow motion and contorting my body in all sorts of ghastly positions -all given seemingly benign names like "down-ward facing dog" and "warrior one"- for an hour and a half in a heated 110 degree room proved rather difficult.


I should have known I was in over my head the moment I set foot inside the studio. As women disrobed down to tight pants and tank tops took the time out of their pre-Yoga rituals to shoot Kevy and I looks of wonder, shock, and awe, the writing was on the wall. So naturally we looked to each other for comfort and reassurance, coming usually in the form of brief laughter.

"It's alright dude, lunch is gonna be free!" Kevy offered more than once.

"That's right," I thought to myself. Make it through...."How long is this dude?" I wondered aloud as I placed my shoes and socks into a cubby.

"An hour and a half," he said through a sheepish grin.

Shit. That's really long.

As we stepped into the room that would soon bear witness to unspeakable crimes against humanity, Stalin and Mussolini were rolling out our mats for us. The irony that was lost on me at the time is crystal clear at this moment. The oppressive heat eveloped me at once and entirely. As we sat on our mats and took nervous little swigs of water, the two dictators shared a laugh at our expense. There would be no lunch. Kevy and I had unwittingly been led to our DOOOOM!

I did my best to keep up. The thing about oppressive heat is....when you engage in physical activity of any kind, it becomes even more oppressive.

"Upward facing dog into downward facing dog. Warrior 1, touch the sky, swan dive, sideways standing seagull. Warrior 2, turtle, knot, downward facing dog into swan. Fly away.....FLY........FIND YOUR CORE" the teacher gently muttered. It was all background noise to me, however, as I mimed those around me, my 'core' headed towards an overpowering white light.....and the afterlife.......I felt a peaceful warmth all around me. Strangely, this meant a significant drop in temperature.

Something flickered. I blinked. It was the light. The light flickered again.... and went away. My eyes readjusted to the relative darkness of Earth. Where was I? There I was..... at a yoga class taking place in an oven, deceptively painted and decorated to resemble a yoga studio. I was standing on one foot. My right hand held my right ankle behind me. My left hand extended upwards toward the very heaven from which I had moments ago returned. My gaze did the same. Confused, I turned to those around me. Everyone was doing the same thing. Sweat dripped from every orifice and every pore of my body. I had to get out of this oven. But how?

As my left leg began to tremble, I realized I could no longer fight it. I had to sit down and drink some H2O. As I put my water bottle back onto the ground beside my yoga mat, Kevy followed suit. Our peers, those who would undoubtedly share our fate, bravely trudged on; slowly moving from one pose to another in line with the instructor's gentle cadence. They too, were soaked in toil and tragedy [sweat] only they were stronger than we.

So Kevy and I sat there, repeatedly wiping our faces with towels, and taking sips of water, intermittently reassuring the instructor that we were ok and did not need to leave the room. Eventually, we even had enough strength to participate every so often, though never for too long.

Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The door to the other room (must have been a kitchen, right? Masquerading as the lobby of a yoga studio?) opened and breathable air rushed in. To my surprise, those around me did not rush toward the open door and possible survival. Among them, Mussolini and Stalin, sat simply gazing at the two of us, sporting ear to ear grins and flashes of hysterical laughter. As I stood up, I stumbled as a horrid head rush came over me. It was at this time the instructor commented on "the two novices" adding something about how we were not to be discouraged. I don't know, I wasn't really listening.

We had survived and it was almost lunch time.

Unintentional Battle of the Sexes (Intentionally Interesting)

Let's revisit a battle of the sexes waged this past Thursday night after an evening of a little too much drinking that spilled over into an email exchange on this lovely Monday morning. Basically, the argument boiled down to the relative vapidity of sports to reality television. The men, Kevy and I, argued the two are incomparable. The women, both WWII dictators oddly enough, Mussolini and Stalin, obviously countered this argument, claiming sports were equally mindless while encorporating similar degrees of perverse ethics.

As most relationships are riddled with requisite comprimise, both men and women alike are forced with a certain degree of regularity to watch sports and reality television. If sports and reality TV are in fact equal but opposite, at least in terms of depth, why are sports seemingly incomprehensible for women? Stalin wondered aloud recently, I assume with a thick Russian accent, whether the New England Patriots were ranked second in the latest BCS standings. A third friend fo mine, also of the female persuasion, who for the purposes of this blog I think we can refer to as the attorney for the third Reich, wondered why a few of us were talking about the Giants and Cowboys when the Patriots played yesterday (because only two teams play per day). While men can decipher the stupidity/framework of any given reality TV show within 10 minutes?

My waxing chauvenistic elicited the following response (which just so happened to be well-written, interesting, and very much correct):

"So Seamus, let me briefly respond. I agree that the premise that sports and reality tv are equal and opposite is fatally flawed, I just want to point out another obvious hole in what I think is your implied argument that men are smarter than women.

let me remind you that there is an age-old argument of nature vs. nurture - whether it is our innate human qualities or our personal experiences and upbringing that determine our physical and behavioral traits as adults. one of these traits is intelligence. so while i think that you are implying - ever so subtly, i might add - that males are more intelligent than women as evidenced by a male's dual understanding of both sports and reality tv, please keep in mind that boys are taught from an incredibly young age the 'rules of the game.' Whether it's by doting fathers or competitive peers, boys are cajoled and trained into becoming fans and players, and a knowledge of sports rules and culture is developed as they mature, whether consciously or not. it's a cultural thing. as an example - is it not assumed that you can insert a guy into any conversation and as long as he can keep up with the current sports news, he'll be ok? thus it is not your inherent ability to understand sports and your unique intelligence that unlocks the mystery of the rules. rather, it is by serious training and studying for decades that you have mastered your supreme level of understanding.

meanwhile, there is no comparable arena for women. there is nothing that is considered a universal femail pastime. even fashion and shopping don't count, as they are relished really only by the relatively good-looking and wealthy who can benefit from them. reality tv is mindless. while entertaining and, yes, even addicting, it requires no specialized knowledge. any person who lives and breathes and can understand a few pop-culture allusions can enjoy the pleasures of the real world and america's next top model. most importantly, we girls don't deny it. we know that it's stupid, and we revel in it. we count colie as our hero because she's funny and cute and does stupid things that are great to gossip over. so while we sip wine and eat appetizers, we laugh (and sometimes high-pitch scream) over the latest embarrassment that happened on mtv. but the bottom line is - we don't hold ourselves out as experts for doing so. we realize that you guys get it, too, we just wish you wouldn't be so condescending about it.

and sports aren't incomprehensible to us. if we had the time or the inclination, we could learn the rules, the stats, the players, and the business of sports. we just don't have a decade to catch up. and to be honest, we don't care to. besides, why disturb the status quo? all is right in a world where women sound clueless and men get to make fun of us for it, no?"

Touche. I agree.

I should not have made it seem like I was arguing for the intellectual superiority of men over women. I was really just trying to establish that bad tv is less venerable than closely following sports. When I rail against bad tv, ultimately I mean not to rail against women but to address what I do see as a disconnect between the intelligence of many of the women I know and their propensity and undying hunger for the worst that television has to offer.

Now......on to the important stuff....If you had to be one of the following, which would you be? And why?:

a. Pirate
c. Ninja
d. Knight

Cocktail Party

Admittedly, I haven't been to many "cocktail parties." Apparently, at some point between college graduation and one's 2nd or 3rd promotion at Chalmers Corporation Inc. LLC, the word "cocktail" is to be elegantly inserted before the word "party" for any and all mention thereof. This change in terminology brings with it an aire of sophistication previously unwarranted and inaccurate, now integral.....even if the garage will house a Beirut Table, a keg of Bud Light, and a population consisting mostly of gassy males seeking refuge from the feats of ettiquiette, restraint, and self-awareness demanded of them while inside and upstairs with their wives, significant others, and the other yuppies with whom their wives and girlfriends spend the bulk of the weekly 8 to 6 grind.

I am lucky enough to get along very well with the host (the wife of whom works with Mussolini) and two other "work husbands". Upon the conclusion of the Ohio State v. Michigan game, the four of us engaged in a game of Beirut, at the urging of the host, who seemed eager to mark the garage as exclusively male territory. The senior member of our little foursome, 34 years old and absolutely hilarious, I'm afraid pre-dates the advent of Beirut/Beer Pong (or at least his college experience did). As such, he demanded an explanation of the rules as we filled solo cups with Bud Light.

"What is this? Parents' weekend?" I mocked.

In one fell swoop his eyes shot accross the garage to the door, obviously double-checking to make sure his wife was not headed down the stairs to see what he was up to as he packed a dip into his bottom lip with his left hand, pointed to me with the other and replied, "Oh! It's ON!"

Inevitably, after a few drinks, I am rendered incapable of distinguishing between these two very separate worlds. After my first run on the table, I head upstairs and rub elbows without incident. "Chit chat chit chat. Babble, badger, ballywhoo, brewha ha, bicker, bicker bicker, banter, Talk Talk Talk." Mussolini seems happy with my performance.

After checking the Cal v. USC score, I head back downstairs for a second go round of Beirut. By now I have eaten (delicious food by the way) and drank myself a little silly. Par for the course. We win a game (I hit the last cup in a playoff round!) and lose the next. By now our topics of conversation have reached new lows [for a "cocktail party"] and the volume of my voice has reached new highs.

Feeling frisky, I bound back upstairs to see what my better, if not slightly authoritarian, half is up to. She puts her arm around my waste, pulls me in toward her, and introduces me to Jim and Jennifer Blah. Jim Blah and Jen Blah are married and just moved to the North End. Jim Blah owns a business in Blahville and he's going to be moving it to the North End as soon as blah. Blah. Blah. Mussolini and I briefly make eyes at one another (we've gotten good at this non-verbal communication thing over the past four years) instantaneously acknowledging to one another how bizarre all this hob-knobbing can be. A third couple joins the fray. Hand shakes and "blah's" exchanged. Our attention is briefly drawn to the football game on the television by an injury. As is fashionable now a days, the play during which the knee injury was sustained is replayed in slow motion and from every conceivable angle over and over again. I hear people throughout the room, behind me and in front of me, cringe. Jim Blah turns to me and says something about how distasteful he finds this morbid practice. And then it happened.....

I couldn't tell if I was upstairs with the "cocktail" or downstairs with the "party". They had actually fused together and become the same thing. It was all "party".

I went on to mention the incessant replays of Joe Paterno's recent injury, which was also shown in slow motion from every conceivable angle. And for good measure, I added, "Fucking grundle cam! I think they even had a grundle cam shot of Paterno's grundle! You could see the way the impact, impacted the old man's grundle!"

Everyone in the room froze. Silence reigned. Silence's reign must have lasted but a few moments, but it seemed much much longer than my reign over the Beirut Table downstairs at the "party". No one said a goddamn thing. I stood there.....frozen. Gradually, I heard voices. First faint and far away. Then, one by one, popping up here and there and all around me. They had moved on!

I went back to the basement.

Big Weekend

So, anyone picking Michigan in this game tomorrow? Anyone rooting for Michigan?

I can honestly say I don't really care who wins. I guess I'd, by an ever so slim margine, prefer an Ohio State victory to a Michigan victory....provided is carries with it no negative connotations for Notre Dame's chances at the BCS title game.

Ohio State has the lowest graduation rate in all of college sports (or something very close to it) and I can't stand Tressel. I like Troy Smith and Ted Ginn Jr. I like that old men like my father don't like Smith, or at least are reluctant to give him the credit he deserves, because "He'll never make it in the pro's." I like freak athletes that play qb. I like that they bother the "traditionalists"/old people (aka my dad).

I can't stand Lloyd Carr. I hate Chad Henne (pussy). I like Michigan's uniforms though. Actually, the Buckeye's is a classic uni too. Neither compares to the home uni's of the Fighting Irish.

Ohio's a lamer state than Michigan for reasons in-articulable (one is hard-pressed to say much, good or bad, about either state)...but Ohio did produce Brady Quinn.....and his sister. You have to admire a program that consistently churns out Butkus Award finalists like Ohio State. This year is no different.

Ultimately, however, my attitude toward this game is best summarized by my dad's part in an exchange we had yesterday over the phone:

dad: So who do you like in the big game?

me: On paper, you gotta be thinking Ohio State. Too many big play threats on that offense while both teams seem comparable defensively.

dad: What? I'm talking about Notre Dame v. Army.

Go Irish!

Very Important

Do not forget to VOTE today!!!

And don't just VOTE!!!

VOTE against the GOP!!

Bisco

Please bear in mind I'm a Bisco novice and that I am forced by cruel circumstance (no home computer) to write these blogs in about 20 minutes or less. Moreover, after having been once again stuck in traffic and running behind schedule, the power was also out at my apartment upon my arriving home to use the little boys' room. As such, and in addition to having to wipe my ass by the light of my cell phone (a tall task indeed), I had no time to eat anything.....just enough to pound 4 Jack and Ginger's and 3 pints.

I'm ashamed to say I missed them when they took the stage. The entire band was dressed in grimreeper cloaks but I have a feeling there was something more to their actual entrance that I must have missed. The drummer played the first few tunes with the hood on, which had a more interesting visual effect than is likely apparent right now from my description. This was my first dose of him and I must say I like him. He has his own style, is louder than Sammy, but it's not a distraction. And he can seriously ride that goddamn high hat.

The light show was particularly crazy (keep in mind this was my only my 3rd bisco show).....and they had a choir! Anyone who has ever discussed the Biscuits with me knows I'm particularly critical of their singing.....so I was pretty pumped about the [5 person] choir (as if they'd read my mind and heeded my advice). While they were on stage for a handful of songs, they're most substantial contributions came on Floyd's In the Flesh and the Stones' You Can't Always Get What You Want (where to my surprise the Barber's voice was actually on key).

At least more so than the last show I went to, most of the jamming was heavily techno and more about the interplay between each member of the band than the virtuosity of the Barber. This made for some frenzied dancing and for the perceived spotlight (I say 'perceived' because there were millions of different colored lights doing crazy things at each and every crazy moment) to shine on the band as a whole instead of any one of it's parts.

Shortly after noticing and commenting to Kevy Wevy that the kid who was selectively asking weirdos in the lobby if they had mushrooms would never in a million years ask the two of us, he came and asked me... And I felt cool :( ...Even though I work a 9 to 5 every day, I still seem sketchy enough, at 25, to carry around extra mushrooms! After I said 'no' he turned to Kevy, quickly sized him up and walked away without a word. Granted, the conclusions I've drawn from this exchange are convoluted at best.....but I don't really care.

One last thing I wanted to mention, having just glanced at the setlist; the Barber was particularly understated for Home Again. I didn't like it at first. I was looking for him to go big but this version grew on me and by the song's end, I loved it.

Set I: Triumph> Svenghali1 2, In The Flesh2 3 4> Digital Buddha2, Svenghali1 2> Rock CandySet II: Save The Robots, Reactor> O Fortuna2 5> Reactor, Home Again2, You Can't Always Get What You Want2 6Encore: Little Lai

Halloween with the Disco Biscuits

I am going to see the Disco Biscuits this evening. It is at this point during the day (1:00) that I begin to get antsy. There aren't many more viscerally pleasing live acts around today....at least that I've had the pleasure of seeing.

The show will likely begin as the previous two have. I'll share a few drinks with a couple friends; the show will start; I'll realize I've situated myself right in the middle of the most obnoxious crystal meth induced orgy fathomable, which will prompt me to bounce around in search of a spot where I can see the stage while beyond the reaches of the aforementioned lunacy.

...Then I'll settle in for the long haul. First, a little head-bobbing with a foot noticibly following along with the music as well. As the song builds toward it's climax, I'll smile and laugh to myself as the rest of my body joins the party. For the remainder of the show, I won't stop dancing (as if this even qualifies). To a sober outsider (the venue staff), I undoubtedly seem to be in a state of altered consciousness similar those of my counterparts who bounce, bob, and writhe around me. My friend's and I will occasionally bump into each other, smile and laugh at the sight of the other's "dancing", but we won't stop. Can't stop. Not til the whole thing's over.

It's going to be great.

This Might Sound a Little Gay but....

I may have reason in the near future to be proud to hail from New Jersey......or not.

http://www.breitbart.com/news/2006/10/25/D8KVN7OG0.html

Minute by Minute Account of RHCP

My knuckles turned white as they gripped the steering wheel. It never failed. Every single time I have to be somewhere, there's gridlock traffic in Boston. It never fails.

As the weather worsened, so went my mood. Eventually, after an hour and a half commute that's supposed to take a half-hour, I had arrived. My voice was course from screaming and left hand sore from punching my steering wheel, but I had arrived. I received a phone call from Timmy- the friend of mine who had been nice enough to get me a ticket to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers this past Friday at the Boston TD BankNorth Garden. As Timmy lives literally next door to the venue, I was determined to ride my bike over to his apartment rain or shine, disregarding entirely the fact that my bicycle was made 20 years ago from spare parts my uncle found at a dump. An hour earlier, when I was actually at the liquor store, Timmy didn't need any liquor. Now he had conveniently changed his mind.

So I packed up my beers, threw on my rain jacket, hopped on the ol' bike and started off down the street. In my haste I'd forgotten, in addition to the state of disrepair of the bike, that it's rotten tires were also racing tires (and thus provide zero traction in wet road conditions). Naturally, when I went to make the first left hand turn, those old racing tires spun out, leaving me sprawled out in a puddle in the middle of the street. Enraged, I re-mounted the bicycle and continued on. A brief visit to the liquor store for some Kettle One and an uneventful jaunt accross Charlestown to the North End later.....and I had really arrived....at Timmy's place.

Naturally Timmy, who's all business, indicated upon my arrival that we were to be joined by some of his stock-brokering friends. Naturally. Countless drinks and a couple of joints (I abstained) later, we decided it was time to make our way to the concert. I ignored Timmy and my new acquaintences' urges to wear a coat. It wasn't cold out......just rainy. A t-shirt would do me just fine, right?

Wrong. The temperature had dropped by what felt like 20 degrees and the wind had picked up to such a degree that it was extremely difficult to breath (like sticking your head out of a car window while driving on the Mass Pike in December). In my chemically enhanced stupor, I actually thought of recommending we turn back (please bear in mind that The Garden is literally next door). I'm not sure I even talked myself out it, probably just couldn't speak or breath because of the wind.

We continued on....eventually separating at the entrance. Timmy and I would be in the cheap seats. The others; corporate style up front. After running up countless flights of stairs, we were both nauseous. Timmy wanted a drink. I wanted to find our seats. Naturally, Timmy got an Orange Fanta, something we really got a kick out of once we reached our seats and realized what a stoner move Orange Fanta was. This is especially funny when you consider Timmy's 26 years-old.

As we took our seats we realized that we were far and away the oldest people in our section (not to be accompanied by the fruit of our loins). Actually, the perv in front of us had binoculars. We weren't sure if he was just reeeeaaaallly overprotective or a flamboyant child molester. Upon communicating this with one another and breaking out into hysterical laughter, naturally, the lady next to us told us we were in the wrong seats. Laughint all the way, we moved to our rightful perches on the other side of the section. As demographically out of place as we felt, we shared a similar state of mind with much of our section. No, I'm not bragging.

We started listening to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.....who I must say sounded a lot more experimental than usual.....and had added a few new musicians to their lineup. About ten minutes later, Timmy and I turned to one another simultaneously, as if sharing a brain, and mumbled in unison, "This isn't the Chilli Peppers."

Sure enough, the 6 peice melee playing out before our very eyes and ears was The Mars Volta. Having realized how much of a retard I was, I shook myself back to relative lucidity....at least enough to enjoy 3 songs, spanning about a half-hour, of really frenzied jamming. There was much more continuity live than is present throughout Frances the Mute (I have not heard their latest effort), and yet they were still ripping through extended insanity, copious time changes, and my ear drums in much the manner I had expected. I was sad to see them leave the stage.....

Especially because minutes later it was announced that they Peppers' flight had been delayed and they were sitting in traffic somewhere in Boston. It was during the subsequent delay/buzzkill that I realized and brought to Timmy's attention, the 15-ish year old hippie sitting next to me who was smoking his body weight in weed. Over the course of the next 2 and a half hours, a span of time during which this kid never took a breath of air that wasn't full of THC, he brought out all sorts of emotions in us. Guilt, jealousy, shame, exuberance, and awe to name a few....

Which was convenient because the music elicited much of the same. I have to say I did enjoy the Chilli Peppers set. While the reviews I have read claim their new material misses the addictive resonance of their previous two albums, I tend to disagree. It's decidedly less poppy but more resonant. What confused me was the juxtaposition of the song's structures and the constant need for Flea and John Frusciante to take the jams somewhere else entirely. Don't get me wrong. Both musicians are incredible and their ability to play off of one another was probably the best part of the show. Ultimately, I just couldn't help but feel Flea and Frusciante are somewhat bored with the constraints of the Chili Pepper framework. These two dudes want to do something different whether they're willing to admit it or not. Perhaps, out of loyalty to Chad Smith and Anthony Keidis, or out of loyalty to the almighty dollar (which they're surely making hand over fist with this tour), they stretched the music a little too thin....which left me satiated.....but a little lost......

Football

What the hell is going on with the Eagles? If they're not careful, they're going to out-play-opponents-and-lose themselves out of a wild card.

I know an old man that doesn't like Michael Vick because his value cannot be ascertained via traditional means. He runs for two and throws for one touchdown more often than the other way around. He's lucky to complete half of his passes, creating big plays more often than not with awe inspiring athleticism instead. I've been telling the old man, "but he wins.....and he's so much fun to watch." Maybe a few more performances like last night will change the minds of all doubters. Vick THREW for 4 touchdowns in a shootout against the defending Superbowl Champions yesterday en route to an overtime victory.

How about that Notre Dame game?! It seems the UCLA defense is as good as billed. Skeptics pointed out their skimpy PAC 10 schedule to rationalize their [statistically] 10th ranked defense. That game was only the third time in the history of Notre Dame football that the Irish won a game on a touchdown inside the final minute. The first, in 1979, was before my time. The second, in 1993, I remember vividly; against Penn State in South Bend. With no time left, Rick Mirer threw a touchdown pass to Jerome Bettis. Down by 1, Holtz boldly went for two. Amidst the falling snow, Mirer was flushed from the pocket and with his momentum pulling him away from oncoming defenders and towards the sideline, he threw a desperate pass to a diving Reggie Brooks in the back of the end zone....And the crowd roared. Yesterday's heroics will likely stick in a similar manner.

I was engaged in a brief debate during the game on Saturday regarding the possibility Jeff Semardzdja eventually having to choose between playing professional baseball and football. My buddies, with whom I disagreed, made their argument in favor of baseball on the basis of longer careers, more money, and being able to walk at 50 (as opposed to someone like John Elway, for example, who supposedly needs help getting out of bed in the morning).

My stance comes primarily from my preferring football over baseball, however, I feel it is very defensable. I countered with the instant payday. How often do "can't miss" baseball prospects get buried in the minors and never even make it to the show? Pretty often, right? I mean, even if he were lucky enough to have been taken in the first round (he was taken in the fifth because scouts see his desire to play professional football as a negative), you only really get the wow payday after emerging from the minors and proving yourself at the major league level; and this is never a guarantee. By comparison, he's a projected late first/early second round wide receiver....which translates to big (not huge) money right off the bat, albeit with a shorter career ahead, but with the opportunity to play on the big stage from day 1. Also, as a wide receiver, his body wouldn't take the beating of a quarterback or runningback so I don't see how the Elway argument is even relevant.

With that in mind, my official advice to Semardzdja would be to play them both.... and to make a choice between the two only when it becomes necessary or if he ever wants to. If he "makes it" in both sports, even if only for a season or two, he'll be mentioned in the same breathe as Bo Jackson, Deion Sanders, Brian Jordan...... a short list for very obvious reasons.


GIIIIAAAAANNNNNTTTTSSSSSS!!!!!! If the Giants win tonight, they take first place in the NFC East I believe.

Keepin' You in the Loop

I finally got to see the hand surgeon. After an arduous two hour wait that left me both exhausted and a little pissed off, I finally got my time with the doctor. When my appointment was an hour behind schedule I asked the receptionist if the doctor would be reimbursing me for my time... He closed the glass in my face....so I turned to my peers in the waiting room making a face and gesturing with my hands as if to say, "Can you believe this shit? Aren't you guys all glad I said something?!" I'm not sure it came off that way.

Over the course of the next hour I began plotting my vengeful verbal assault on the doctor....which pretty much consisted only of repeating the sarcastic remark I'd already lobbed at the receptionist. How dare he overbook on the day I was supposed to see him?!

Buuuuuut as usual, when faced with a person so obviously more intelligent and accomplished than myself, my tail went between my legs the moment my name was called.

"Sorry about the wait," I was told by both nurse and later the doctor.

"Oh, that's ok," I replied on both occasions.

The doctor was kind enough to show me my MRI and explain to me what happened, a courtesy not previously paid by my actual doctor, who doesn't know my name, and always looks like he's coming off of a 48 hour coke binge when I see him.

But I digress. Apparently, when I connected that punch months ago- July 1 to be exact- the bone at the base of my hand, top of my wrist, that connects the bone in the hand and under the pinky to the base of the other finger's portions of the hand (sweet description right?) "shredded" and separated in what I believe was termed a compression fracture. The doctor asked me if I remembered something clicking back into place at some point after the incident. Actually, I vividly remember the morning after and having been able to move a bone around in my swolen hand. I could feel it click. At some point that day, the clicking stopped (probably when I was body surfing at the Jersey Shore)....apparently because the bone popped back into place... the WRONG place. As I was too much of a tough guy to see a doctor right away, the bone healed/calcified about 3.5 mm (according to the Dr. Popular) lower than it should have. As he tells me this, I hold my hands up side by side and notice for the first time that the pinky on my right hand is noticibly shorter than the left. Add that to my ever-growing list of deformities.

To make an already long story a little shorter (something Mussolini tells me I need to work on), there are bone fragments at the base of the bone where the break occurred....obviously they're very small, making the likelyhood of a successful surgery slim. Naturally I had to pose the question....... Had I gone to see a doctor right away they would have pulled my pinky and the bone below it, up and into it's rightful place, and screwed my pinky knuckle to my ring finger knuckle. Only, as we all know, I didn't see a doctor until almost 2 months later.

Prognosis: Not so good. "Therapy. You need to stregnthen your right hand. You may as well take that hand brace off...as it's not doing anything."

It was at this point that my passive-aggressive sense of humor made it's apearance. "So I can start masterbating again?" I asked in a defeated monotone (joking of course...this is why God gave man two hands!). He didn't laugh....just awkardly looked at me for a moment and then started talking about something else.

Smut....Apparently not all Smut

While at the "office" yesterday afternoon, I happened upon a trashy gossip magazine surely purchased by Mussolini. I flipped through it's pages as I am sometimes given to do while at the "office", looking for some revealing photos of some Hollywood babes. To my surprise, I found something that was actually relevant: AN UPDATE ON THE WHEREABOUTS OF THE OF SAVED BY THE BELL CAST!!!!!!!

Instinctually, I began singing the song to myself, "When I wake up in the morning and the wagawogawornin I don't think I'll ever make it on time. By the time I grab my books and I give myself a look, I'm at the corner just in time to see the bus fly by, it's alright cause I'm saved by the beeeeellll. When my teacher pops a test I know I'm in a mess, and my dog ate all my homework last night. Ridin' low in my chair, she won't know that I'm there, if I can hand it in tomorrow it will be alright! It's alright cause I'm saved by the beeeeeelll." I think Jimmy Page wrote and studio-jammed that guitar solo by the way.

But I digress, these blurbs, from which AC Slater was conspiculously absent....presumably because the rocket scientists that write for this magazine know that their entire readership already knows Mario Lopez is on Dancing with the Stars, were even accompanied by pictures!

Zack, aka "Mark Paul Gosslar", has enjoyed stints in movies and on NYPD Blue. He's married with a couple of kids. He didn't marry Kelly :(

Screech, aka "Dustin Diamond", has reduced himself to something ridiculous (I can't even remember specifics) in order to prevent the bank from forclosing on his house in Wisconsin. Mussolini later mentioned something about a [leaked] porno featuring my favorite tool. Who didn't see this coming? I mean, it's still hysterical but seriously, I knew this was coming before the high school was even transplanted from Indiana to California. Who didn't?

Lisa Turtle, aka "Lark Voorhies", who looks disgusting, apparently wrote a book about the nature of intelligence or something like that; something she had no business even thinking about let alone writing and having published.

Jesse Spanno, "Elizabeth Something", already wowed us with her turn in that movie where she was naked the entire time. Showgirls! Showgirls was it's name. She overdosed on caffeine pills (life imitating art) or something.

Kelly Kopowski, "Tiffany Amber Thiessen", and her career have fizzled. Her head's so round you could stick a finger in each nostril, your thumb in her mouth, and bowl a 250. She's not doing anything interesting and/or funny. I should note, however, that in second grade I carried a little headshot of Kelly Kopowski around in my wallet. Velcro wallet that I'm pretty sure never had any cash in it, just that headshot of my first love.

Last but not least, Principal Belding, aka "Belding?", who's gained some weight but really looks no different than he did when he patrolled the halls of Bayside High, now gives motivational speeches to college students!!!!!!! Now that's hilarious! If someone ever asks you, and they probably will, to rattle off every motivational speaker you know of, just think of the people you know of who are the least qualified but that would sound the most ridiculous while attempting to motivate an auditorium full of college students. Your list will be 90% accurate as the role call of motivational speakers includes every moron/parodyofarealperson you can think of. Sidebar: When he's not giving motivational speeches, Belding's masterbating in the bathrooms of high schools accross America.

Oink oink babe.

The Departed

As mentioned previously, I am not easily excited by the release of new movies. Yet, for a variety of reasons, I was pretty goddamn excited about "The Departed", a film that proved itself my perfect storm this past weekend.

While I am often accused, understandably but not rightfully so, of being anti-Italian (guineas as I sometimes refer to them), Scorsece's characters are riddled with this prejudice, amongst many others, that help to give the film it's raw sense of Boston's flawed, idiosyncratic reality. In the world of "lace- curtain Irish", the criminal underbelly of South Boston specifically, bravado reigns. As such, a universal fear of outsiders does as well. The duality of this fear, displayed in spades by the State Police and the Irish Mafia alike, is much of what makes the movie so compelling. The good guys are in the same predicament as the bad guys.

This movie is slick. Scorsece doesn't pull any punches in showing us the grim reality of his players. If it happens, we see it. Nothing is left out, overdone, sloppily done, or drags on too long. As I said, it's slick.

I also feel it's necessary to mention that every big name to appear in this movie (and there are tons of them) turns in a performance they can be proud of; top to bottom. From Jack Nicholson (who is from another planet) to Mark Wahlberg, Alec Baldwin to Matt Damon. The ease with which they turn a superb script into a classic movie, reminded me that going to the movies can be oh so sweet. The attention to detail given to the Boston setting, the accents, the xenophobia, the homophobia, the dialogue, the humor....... Go see this movie!

Dear Claiborne,

Comments aside, I've gotten quite a few emails in defense of Jimmy Page's greatness.

It popped into my head this morning that Nels Cline, of Nels Cline Singers and currently of Wilco (nelscline.com/top200.html), lists what he thinks to be the 200 greatest guitarists of all-time on his website. This guy is legit. He’s played with Thurston Moore and Bill Frisell. Those are not opportunities afforded to hacks. Point being; this guy is a credible source. I consulted the list this morning as I was curious to see if Page made the cut. He did.

Further complicating this ongoing debate/bs session is the need to differentiate between technically virtuosic and actually good players. If you’re talking technical virtuosity, I’d bet a lot of people would bring up Ed Van Halen and Joe Satriani and they might exclude genius' like Jimi Hendrix and Neil Young (I will never forget an argument I had as a sophomore in high school with a band geek who enthusiastically overlooked that added dimension of musical greatness in his contention that Jimi Hendrix was not a great guitarist. “He’s good,” he told me, “but not great”). To this very day, if someone tells me Ed Van Halen is a better guitar player than Jimi Hendrix, which does happen, I spit, but that’s just me.

I guess my point is that, for some people, Jimmy Page was and is IT. People pay attention to varying levels of detail when they listen to music. Some people that maybe don’t listen to a broad spectrum of music might not want to acknowledge that Page’s greatness is contingent on the scope and definition of greatness. For example, in my humble opinion, he’s not a virtuoso guitar player but he has written some of the best and most memorable riffs I’ve ever heard. He's also composed some great songs. Obvi!

While you’d have to be pretty stupid not to give Led Zeppelin any credit for their body of work, their influence, and their copious lifestyle (which no one has done here...contrary to some of the comments), it’s also silly to pretend Led Zeppelin's catalogue is beyond reproach.

Only The Important Stuff

What’s the deal with old man gym locker room nudity? If you’re going to be naked, is there an associated etiquette? Is pointing three hair dryers at your genitals in plane view within that framework?

I ate a banana this morning and almost threw the peel out the window of my car. "It’s biodegradable" I told myself. But then I decided against it when the image of a stranger stepping on it, slipping, and falling entered my head. Does this ever really happen? Or is this just a cartoon phenomenon?

Has anyone ever been polled? Judging by what I read and the volume of polls referenced therein, there are a toooooon of polls going on right at this very moment. How come no one I have ever heard of has been polled? They would have told me right? Where is all this polling done?

Every single woman in my soon to be old office complains constantly and about everything. Why is this? “It’s too cold in here”, “my chair’s uncomfortable”, “I hate the color combination in here, when are the painters coming?” “I need more storage space”, “I need more desk space!” Shut up!

Are elephants really afraid of mice?

Does Jesus still sport a beard? If so, is it all scraggly like it must have been when he was on earth? Or do they have the same shaving technology in heaven that we have here on earth?

Do baseball players realize it’s hilarious when they lean their bats up against their cups while they tighten their batting gloves? Judging by their faces, you’d think they didn’t know these games are even televised. If only I were a big leaguer....

How does Pitchfork Media rationalize having given Paris Hilton’s new single a positive review? Why is she still treated like an aristocrat? She’s in a night vision porno for god’s sake. Most real porn stars are too good for night vision film.

Why are old people always so something? So stupid, so hairy, so quiet, so nice, so wrinkly, so pissed off, so bitter, so smelly, so punctual, so deaf. Why?

Did TO really try to kill himself?

How badly does it hurt to quarterback an NFL game after having ruptured your spleen?

How come I can be so distract-able, spending significant amounts of time getting excited about football and weddings, when the world is such a shitty place with so many shitty things going on at any given shitty moment?

What are these “[ ]”? They’re always in newspaper articles but I don’t get ‘em. I used to think they were words inserted by the author that the person they’re quoting did not actually say but probably meant….but I don’t think that’s right.

Which ND will show up this weekend against Purdue?

Will the Giants make the playoffs?

How many games will it take the Yankees to win the World Series this year?

How come I sweat while sitting perfectly still?

Should I see Jackass II? The first one was pretty funny.

Is Hugo Chavez as crazy as the media has made him out to be?

How come I typically associate American Jews with liberalism and also with the unconditional support of Israel (obviously Chomsky isn't my archaetype)? For example, on what basis does Woody Allen cast his vote? Isn’t there a contradiction to be overcome here?

How much money will George W. Bush command for speaking engagements once he is an ex-president? Not much, right? I mean, certainly not Bill Clinton money.

Zed Leppelin- by The Sgt.

That original posting got a rise out of a lot of different people. My dad actually took some flack for his comments from one of my kid brother's friends. Here is his official response:

Led Zeppelin (1969)
This was a very strong first effort, just nudged out by IV as the best in their catalog. Here they are primarily a blues band; loud and aggressive but not an all out assault as many of their heavy metal followers were. Good mix of louder and softer passages.

Led Zep II (1969)
This was a big step down from I with 3 good songs and 6 average ones but this did firmly establish their sound. Whole Lotta Love has to be the most overrated song in the history of rock music. Heartbreaker is typical of future Jimmy Page guitar solos; some nice ideas but always a sloppy section where his fingers can’t keep up with his head.

Led Zep III (1970)
Another step down from II. Only 2 good songs out of 10, the best being a pure blues number, Since I’ve Been Loving You. The PR machine is cranking now.

Led Zep IV (1971)
Redemption! This is their masterpiece. All eight songs are strong and one qualifies for one of the finest in rock history.

Houses of the Holy (1973)
They fall back to earth with 3 good songs and 5 average ones. By now the sound is firmly established and they are selling out arenas. Their touring persona is just as if not more important than their music.

Physical Graffiti (1975)
Total bombast! Now that they are making money hand over fist they can indulge their musical excesses. The most popular song from the album, Kashmir, is 8 minutes of nothing happening. Songs are generally longer to accommodate half fleshed out ideas that never amount to anything.

Presence (1976)
The well has run dry for Jimmy Page. I know plenty of people own this one only because it was a habit.

In Through the Out Door (1979)
Rock music was changing and Zep was tired. At least this one had 2 decent songs.

CODA (1982)
Fulfilling a recording contract. Enough said.


Jimmy Page – The third best guitarist to come out of the Yardbirds. Always had a tendency for sloppy passages in his solos. A very good player but not one of the best despite his reputation. He wrote plenty of good songs on albums 1-5 but ran out of ideas for the last 4. Has anyone heard any of his solo work?(didn’t think so) I always got a chuckle out of his on stage persona; scrunched up face, low slung guitar pounding out arena chords like he was making an important musical statement. I believe he thought his shit didn’t stink. I guess if I was making all that money I would think that too.

John Bonham – I always got a kick out the people that were impressed that on the first half of his drum solo on Moby Dick he was using his hands and not drum sticks. Claim to fame was his big sound and ability to keep the beat when blind drunk. As far as drunk drummers, I would take Keith Moon anyday. Bonzo could not hold a candle to Clive Bunker (Jethro Tull), Ginger Baker (Cream), Mitch Mitchell ( Jimi Hendrix), Michael Giles ( King Crimson), Bill Bruford (Yes, King Crimson), Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzman ( The Dead). Should I keep going? Again, a good timekeeper but not one of the greats.

John Paul Jones – I wonder if he sails. He played the bass and some keyboards. Enough said.

Robert Plant – Had a truly distinctive voice and at the end of the day that is what every musician wants.

Cross Your Fingers

A recently declassified intelligence document indicates that jihadists are being recruited, created and geographically dispersing faster than our foreign policy kills/neutralizes/stabilizes the region. This is a failure by Rumsfeld’s definition of success. Ok. So this isn’t really working is it George? Don't answer that.

Maybe we should just hope suicide bombers will get so overzealous that the rate at which they blow themselves up will compensate for our government’s short-sighted, ill-conceived tactics. Cross your fingers. We’re not winning the war on terror but maybe if we just stay the course, they’ll win it for us!

Yesterday, in Afghanistan, a bombing that killed 18 people and 12 of them were civilians. This brings me to another question: When are the peaceful, rational Muslims I am told exist going to stand up and do something for the sake of their own people? What's the worst that could happen? Speak up, you might die in a suicide bombing. Don't speak up, you might die in a suicide bombing.

Shall We Dance?

Why is saying hello to females so nerve-wracking??? Perhaps I’m making a mountain out of an ant hill…..but I don’t think so.

One likely has friends of the female persuasion to which they feel close enough to avoid any of the greeting anxiety of which I speak. Unfortunately, for every one woman that fits this bill, there’s a wedding party’s worth of potential sweaty palmed handshakes, eternal moments of pained silence, forced chuckling, hesitant hugs, and unrequited kisses of the cheek.

As Mussolini drifted into a gentle slumber beside me in the passenger seat of my lesbian-mobile, my mind wandered to the encroaching hellos that were sure to follow our arrival at the hotel. I was lucky this past weekend. Aside from the countless female strangers I could easily avoid meeting [sober], I liked all the women that would be attending the wedding, bride included. Yet, this fact gave me no respite from my social anxiety. I hadn’t seen some of them in quite some time. What if the social mores of Southern California, NYC, and Southwest Connecticut had matured or changed since we were last in a room together? What if I leaned in for a hug and kiss only to whiff as the object of my misdirected etiquette instinctively retreated from me? What if I extended my sweaty hand just as she dutifully leaned in to receive a hug? What if I leaned in for a kiss on the left side while she leaned in for a kiss on the right….and then our lips met as onlookers gushed? Or what if we just bumped heads?

It was then and there on the Garden State Parkway that I made my decision; no matter who the lady or what the circumstances, every chick I knew would get a hug and a kiss on their right cheek. And I must say, this approach was remarkably effective. So much so, in fact, that I was able to shift my attention and focus to my obsessive compulsive disorder for keeping my suit un-wrinkled.

Hollywood...Boston Style

I don't usually get excited about movies. In fact, I couldn't tell you the name of the last good movie I saw. Wait.....yes I can. Cinderella Man was phenomenal. I saw it reluctantly. For some reason all the hype, critical acclaim, and trailer didn't do it for me. Which explains why I saw it a few years after its release, on HBO. Great movie though. Russell Crowe never makes crap. At least if he does I haven't seen it.

I'm really pumped about The Departed. I stumbled upon some of the production information about a year ago that included a brief description of the plot, the cast, and the circumstances under which the movie was being filmed. Scorsese, Nicholson, DiCaprio, Damon, Wahlberg, and Baldwin in an Irish Mob story that takes place in Boston. Sick!

For those of you who may have been living under a rock, this movie's a remake/translation/cultural appropriation of a Japanese movie about the Yakuza infiltrating the Japanese FBI (yup, they call it FBI too) and a member of the FBI infiltrating the Yakuza. The framework for the plot follows this same premise, only Scorsese has moved the action to Boston with its characters preferring potatoes and Jameson over sushi and saki. About 70% of the movie was filmed in New York because of a tax break available in NYC that is not offered in Boston, but the entire movie is set in Boston though only 30% of it was filmed there.

Also, if my understanding is correct, the story and characters have been changed to loosely parrallel the circumstances detailed in Black Mass (great book) during the heyday and downfall of the Irish Mafia in Boston. Jack Nicholson, for example, plays the Whitey Bulger type character; a morally depraved, ruthless, hypocrite. Actually, Robert DiNero turned down this role, which I think is a good thing....as DiNero's played too many Italian mobsters to pull off a mick from South Boston.

In much the manner people used to expect of Scorsese (pre-Aviator), The Departed is supposed to be really raw with violence, profanity, death, destruction and mayhem.....like all good gangster movies. Can't wait.

Here and There

I’ve got this friend. He teaches English in Tokyo. He approached me in cyberspace (I know, I thought it was weird too....like a dream) some time ago, asking if I would be open to sharing a meal with one of his students that would be studying abroad in Boston. I eagerly obliged. Eventually, I started exchanging emails with the student. From them, it was apparent she was an eager learner and seeker of new experiences. While not fluent in English, she was able to convey to me her disdain for the Boston Red Sox and her love of the New York Yankees. This won me over instantaneously. As I would come to learn, everyone in Japan loves the Yankees because of Hideki Matsui.

Eventually, we found a date and time that worked for Mussolini and I, and Hitomi. I picked her up on my way home from work and the three of us walked from my apartment to the North End for some Italian. As Hitomi’s understanding of English seems a bit ahead of her ability to speak it, my girlfriend and I found ourselves carrying much of the conversation. We didn’t mind though, and she didn’t seem to either, which kept the dynamic of our little group relaxed and informal. She promises to tell us more about Japan the next time we meet.

Anyways, as she was very interested in learning the history of Boston, Charlestown and the North End specifically, I was able to indulge my rambling blah blah blah-ness. I think, and I’m not 100% sure, that Crispus Attucks was shot and killed in the North End, although I know he is buried in the cemetery on Tremont Street. I vaguely remember being told of Crispus Attucks when I was in school but what I do not recall, was race having ever been part of the lesson. Which, in a roundabout way, leads me to my point...

The death of Crispus Attucks was used to launch the war campaign in the Massachusetts. Is it not interesting and relevant then, that Attucks is said to have been portrayed as a white man for the purposes of the Revolutionary War's marketing campaign when he was known to be some combination of white, black, and native American descent? It is at least relevant and worthy of inclusion in the academic discussion of the revolution’s infancy, to mention the possibility that its engineers were prepared to send Attucks down in the annals of American history as a white man, because if the truth were known, the massacre would have been more of an incident and less of a massacre and rallying cry.

I can’t help but feel disappointed with the way- and this is only one of countless examples- I/we have been spared the “details” in school because when they didn’t mesh with the antiquated romantic notion of our forefathers to which we continue to cling. Truth and the pursuit thereof are implicitly considered subversive in American schools. Isn’t that a bummer? During all that time you spent with your nose in what you took to be a history book, you were actually just being conditioned not to question the official manifestations of American morality.

Ok, I’m stepping down off my soap box.

Anonymous

Who anonymously heckles bloggers? Seriously? And I mean if you're gonna do it, at least proofread your material and make sure some of it's actually funny. There's probably plenty of fodder here for successful criticism. But the best this kid could come up with was saying that I am an overweight loser. This has gotta be "Bob Plant" right (the same heckler from a previous posting)? Anyways, that's the last I'll speak of her (gender joke, always funny).

Moving on.....

I was very very wrong in my Notre Dame prediction. That loss was so devastating, however, that I'm not going to write anything further on it.....except that ND seemed flat and soft on both sides of the ball.

How about the New York Giants dramatic come from behind win in Philly?! Was that excellent or what?

To be sure, that game was almost unwatchable for 2 quarters and change. I blame Coughlin for the countless (8) penalties and 4 of the 8 sacks. How does a "disciplinarian" allow his team to churn out that slop for an entire half of football? Since Coughlin took over, the Giants are 3rd in the NFL in penalties. That's awful! What I couldn't understand though, was the inability of Coughlin and Eli to make play call adjustments. It became apparent pretty early on that Manning just wasn't being protected well enough for 5 step drops- yet they continued. They couldn't run the ball either. It seemed to me, the solution should have been some quick hitting stuff to beat the blitz. And don't even get me started on their Shockey-less game plan. There is NO excuse for not getting him the ball early and often. Not only is he an undeniable talent, but with one catch in a little space, he creates a frenzy in the Meadowlands and a Catholic Mass anywhere else.

We must all rejoice, however, as Eli did not succumb to the unyielding pressure of the Eagle defense. Taking his lumps like a man, he didn't force balls into traffic on his way down to the turf (aside from a must convert 3rd down "oh shit" to Carter). When the dust cleared, he actually put up some good numbers (about 31/43 for 371 yards and 3 td's). Most importantly, he was again at his best with the game on the line. I firmly believe that Eli has received too much of the blame for the Giants sputtering offense last year and so far this year. The unfortunate truth of the matter is, this offense doesn't operate as a cohesive unit until games are on the line and we have been lucky, to date, that young Eli has been up the the task. For this team to make and succeed in the playoffs, it will have to cut down on the mental mistakes and some of the complacency it shows towards the middle of football games.

Has anyone seen Osi Umenyora (sp?) or Michael Strahan? I've been looking for them in opposing backfields but haven't seen them yet this season aside from one coverage sack yesterday.

It really is great though to hear Eagles fans stifled by a 17 point deficit being erased by a visiting team in dramatic fashion? I could watch and listen to their reaction to that second half over and over again.

I must also admit to being a little excited about the Bears this year. Having spent almost 4 years in Chicago as a teenager, the Bears are sort of a guilty pleasure for me. This year, it seems they might actually have an offense to compliment their vaunted defense. Provided Grossman hasn't peaked over these last two games, the Bears could be a force to be reckoned with well into the playoffs.

Legends of the Fall

Sweet title, right?

I am afraid I am a bit spaz prone. Last weekend was no exception. Just before kickoff, in a frenzy of anticipation for the New York Football Giants' first game of this young season, I leapt up off of the couch in my apartment and bounded toward the kitchen via dining room; screaming nothing in particular all the way, intent on jumping up and down and screaming nothing in particular while standing beside my lovely girlfriend, who was in the kitchen preparing hors de veures (sp?). Just as she turned towards the commotion, I strode off of the carpet and onto the hardwood floor and went.....vertical.

I went from running and screaming like a retard to being parrallel to and 4 feet off of the ground in an instant. It all happened so fast I didn't even have the time to break my fall with my hands (which is a good thing when you consider my right hand is currently broken and in a velcro cast thing). Mussolini's (my girlfriend) favorite part of the episode, which she was only able to convey to me after she recovered from a prolonged bout of hysterics, was the smile on my face; which remained there for the duration of the episode.

This is what football does to me. It makes me a retard.

Lot of great games this weekend guys. Tons of them actually. There is absolutely no reason to leave the couch from 3:30 EST on, tomorrow afternoon.

LSU v. Auburn- I'm going with Auburn here.

Tennessee v. Florida- I'm going to have to go Tennessee here. Urban Meyer is overrated.

Notre Dame v. Michigan- Give me a break. Notre Dame is going to wipe their butts with Michigan in South Bend.

USC v. Nebraska- Callahan's still got some work left in Lincoln. Nebraska's defense will not be able to account for the pro-style attack of the Trojans.

Men Behaving Badly

Try not to be annoyed with the way this post is riddled with quotation marks.

A friend of mine and I were recently trying to reconcile the amoral lives led by the mobsters on The Sopranos with the fact that we like the characters. We "know" they're "bad" but we pull for them anyway. For some reason, the first issue we tackled was the rampant adultry.

"In the absence of an objective and definitive morality, instinctual inclinations perhaps should be looked upon as moral so long as they do not harm others. As such, it is not “bad” that each and every "made" guy on The Sopranos keeps a goomar. In their social circles this seems to comes with the territory. Many of the mob wives even acknowledge and seemingly accept the inevitability of the goomar. Therefore, it is both the result of an instinctual urge to get laid constantly and an accepted social construct.

By 'instinctual inclinations' I refer to the 'moral' implications of our instincts; the primary instincts being to live and reproduce/get laid. While the bonds formed between family and even friends can be seen as a natural extension thereof, requisite monogamy cannot….unless you’re religious or a pragmatist to the extent that you believe the traditional familial structure to be necessary for macro-social stability."

Basically, we were exchanging emails in which we were tring to rationalize polygamy....which I think is funny... spending company time trying to rationalize Tony Soprano's massive, adulterous libido.

Chester Copperpot

Every once in a while someone pulls off a joke that warrants repeating. It’s not earth shattering or elaborate, just resonates for some reason. Yesterday, a good friend of mine from college called me at work.

Receptionist (slowly and confusedly): Seamus, Chester…. Copperpot on park 1?

Me (whispering to self): Chester Copperpot. That’s from something. Chester Copperpot. What’s that from?

Receptionist: …Seamus?

Me: Yeah, thanks. I got it.

As I picked up the phone I realized at once who the caller must have been and who Chester Copperpot was. There is only one person I know that would call me at work as the ghost of the fortune-seeker in Goonies that had failed where Sean Aston and co. succeeded. Obviously this wasn’t a client.

So, naturally I answered the phone whispering “Chester Copperpot” in an attempt to sound like Aston when he examined the wallet of the skeleton in one of the greatest movies of all time and then shared a laugh with the caller.

Good stuff.

9/11

On September 11, it’s easy and understandable to hesitate in attaching any sense of importance to leisure activity in light of what happened five years ago on this day. Like every American, I remember that morning vividly. I lived in a townhouse with 5 other guys at Fairfield University. I had awoken just before the first plane hit, been sauntering around the kitchen and living room in boxer shorts and a t shirt, groggily preparing myself a bowl of serial, when I turned on the television... I called out to my roommates. I know I sat there for most of the day, surrounded by friends, in near silence, our eyes glued to the television in horrified disbelief. I didn’t go to class. No one did. We could barely even move. I didn’t even put pants on. We (my generation) were collectively devastated, blindsided, confused, angry, and scared all at once and to a degree previously unimaginable.

Unfortunately, this tragedy and this day have come to, at least chronologically, mark the beginning of the most devastating, confusing, angry, fearful, and shameful day and years of my young life. Over the course of subsequent weeks, months, and to this very day, I have mourned the losses of 9/11 as they signify the beginning of a long and seemingly unending succession of days saturated in death, devastation, calculated misfire, and manipulation.

Today, I will continue to mourn; for the Americans we lost five years ago today in a senseless tragedy and for the people the world over that we have been losing ever since, in this downward spiral of senseless tragedy man-made.

Ch...Ch....Ch...Ch.....Ch....Changes

I moved in with my ol' lady last weekend. So far so good but keep your fingers crossed anyway my friends. Can't say I didn't see it coming, but it stung just the same when I was officially told- I think my arms were full of boxes containing her crap at the time- I was not allowed to decorate anything because, "We're not in college anymore." Unbeknownst to me, at some point since May of 2003, I gave up the right to create a decor within my own living space that conveys the sense of irony, toilet humor, laziness and ambivalence that I used to take for granted. Luckily for me, we have an "office" on the second floor where I've been granted free reign by my girlfriend, Mussolini. Basically, there will be a desk, CD player, computer, keyboard, and tons of random tasteless crap on the walls. Now you know where to find me during prime-time reality tv stupid-a-thons.

Moving on:

Some people don't like the early fall. I used to hate it. In the late 80's and 90's, I'm dating myself here, it meant going back to school. Now, the autumn is a time of renewal. Out with the old and in with the new. Most importantly, we are entering autumn and the nexus of the sports universe my friends; where the baseball season, college football season and the NFL season intersect in all their infinite glory....where for but a brief time, I am truly happy. Friends out of town? Too hungover to leave the friendly confines of your house or apartment? Friends all coming over looking for something to do? Completely lucid, refreshed, and energized because you didn't go out last night and as such, got a good night's sleep? Don't fret, there's a goddamn game on!!

Penn State visits South Bend on Saturday. Look for the Irish offense to rebound with a vengeance from their lack-luster performance in the season opener last week in Georgia.

Look for the Yankees to rebound from being blanked by the worst team in baseball last night. At least Mussina's back. I think he spread 4 earned over 5 innings. Not the kind of stuff that will teleport us to the World Series but encouraging nonetheless. I don't know what to say about the lack of offense....besides.... blame A-Rod.

For the first time at any level, the Mannings will square off on the gridiron at the Meadowlands on Sunday night. While I'm not crazy enough to predict Peyton be out-played, though it wouldn't bother me, I'm really just hoping for a win- something I'm also not willing to predict (and thereby risk all the credibility I've accrued through years of accurate prognisticating).

TO, Dead Horses, The G Men, etc.

Why can’t ESPN stop talking about Terrell Owens? Does anyone outside Dallas honestly give a shit whether he practices or not? A few days before their first game against the Giants, update me briefly on his waivering relationship with the Tuna, shoot some relevant stats, and be done with it. I'm sure 95% of the football watching public feels the same way. This constant barrage of coverage is just what that prima donna wants. In covering him ad nauseum, ESPN validates his behavior. Perhaps that's what ESPN is trying to do here; create an environment which fosters more stupid behavior out of the most self-cenetered, and perhaps most talented, player in the NFL....thereby indirectly creating its own news.

I liken ESPN’s propensity for over-covering the Cowboy’s training camp to their over-coverage of that horse that broke its leg in that race. Aside from the gamblers unfortunate enough to have placed bets on the horse to win, and we never hear from them, who cared about that? The only time I heard that horse discussed was ESPN. No one gave a shit. To be fair, some kindergarden classes from the midwest with really stupid teachers cared enough to send the horse "Get Well" cards (I'm not kidding). It was/is (?) a goddamn horse! Is that horse still alive by the way? If not, they were beating a dead horse. Zing. I'd rather watch professional Darts.

Why aren’t the Giants getting any love from the prognosticators? I’ll be the first to admit, almost everything I say about sports stems from biases 25 years in the making. At the same time, however, I’m always right about everything, so you're free to completely ignore that disclaimer regarding my biases as they're immaterial.

The G Men were 11-5 last year. They’ve actually gotten better since then. Eli seems poised to display a more accurate arm this go round; that is if the pre-season has any predictive power whatsoever (and I'm not sure it does). He's a year older, a year wiser (cliche me!), and has an another year's worth of experience and understanding of the Giants' offensive system.

Tiki’s biological clock is ticking. This is well-documented but give me a break….the guy’s superhuman. Even if last year was his best year, anything remotely resembling it will do us just fine provided Eli is ready to assume his share of the responsibility for the team’s success.....and he is. I asked him.

Actually, if there’s anything that doesn’t “fit” or “make much sense” about the Giants, it’s their fleet of talented defensive ends. Given his performance last year, one must assume Strahan’s got something left in the tank and Mr. Osi Umenyiora’s reign of terror has only just begun. Complimenting this already formidable duo on the edge of the defensive line, the Giants have Justin Tuck, a talented second year defensive end out of Notre Dame, and an extremely talented rookie (and BC grad) Mathias Kiwanuka. I guess I shouldn’t complain about too much talent. Especially because, when you consider the acquisition of Mr. Lavar Arrington, it’s a safe bet that teams will NEVER be able to run the football outside on the strong side. Moreover, quarterbacks will spend a lot of time on their backs at the Meadowlands this year.

Their most glaring weakness last year, aside from inexperience and inaccuracy at quarterback, was adequately addressed by picking up Sam Madison and R.W. McQuarters (who, ironically, is actually most useful in nickel packages).

Another weakness actually went unaddressed. Anyone remember watching the Giant’s offensive line jump offsides constantly last year? So much so, in fact, that it almost killed the watchability of a few games? When I was an offensive guard, circa 1989-1990, and I didn’t know the count (this occurred quite frequently....for some reason, the huddle was an ADD playground for me) or couldn’t hear the quarterback’s cadence because of crowd noise (what?), I just waited until the center, who was right next to me with the ball, started moving. Someone send this blog entry to Luke Pettigout. Please!!! Luke, if you’re out there. If you can hear me, just wheel your fat head around Mr. David Diehl and check out Mr. O’Hara’s right hand. This technique is fool proof.

Quick aside: Every time the ball was snapped that magical football season, my only season spent on offense and in the trenches, I don’t think I EVER knew what play we were running, who I was supposed to block or what the count was. I also didn’t ever jump offsides!

In closing, have some self-respect Pettigout. I smell Superbowl….an odor that will soon sour if you don’t either start paying attention or adopt my methods!!!!!!!!

Please also consider: Contrary to popular belief the Eagles will finish second. Yes, I'm giving the acquisition of Dante Stallworth that much weight. As much as it pains me to admit it, McNabb's pretty dangerous when handed a legitimate weapon. The Redskins have no quarterback and no coach (the game has passed Gibbs by). Dallas has a virus. Not sure if you've heard. Tune in to ESPN for the details (which include anal probes, hidden cameras, and yes, Sal Palontonio).

Anti-Valium

The musicianship of Led Zeppelin is the most overrated in rock and roll history. Jimmy Page’s propensity for air guitar inspiring riffs is undeniable. His limited, meandering solo ability, however, leaves much to be desired. I find the same to be true of John Bonham. For example, the Moby Dick drum solo Sucks with a capital ‘S’. And nothing he ever did even compares to the work of Keith Moon or Ginger Baker.

LLWS

Since I last wrote of the Little League World Series, I’ve done a 180 with regard to Georgia’s star player and ace pitcher, Kyle Carter. The fact that his stuff is overpowering was never up for debate. Yesterday evening, he was even breaking Japanese ankles and knees with an off-speed breaking ball that had them falling out of the batters box; an excellent compliment to his bread and butter fastball. He won me over with sportsmanship. Over the course of this years LLWS I believe I saw Carter hit two batters. It was not the fact that he walked over to the batter on his way to first base to shake hands and apologize, but the way he did it. It was genuine. Befitting his performance throughout, Carter was also the first (at least audibly) coach or player of the LLWS champion team to recommend, excuse me, lead his team over to the opposing dugout to shake hands with a fundamentally impeccable Japanese team; a team without a dry eye up its lineup.

The second most impressive player in this year’s LLWS was Georgia’s second baseman. Consistently overlooked by opposing teams who were perhaps seeking the lesser of two hitting evils by intentionally walking Carter, this kid made them pay with big hit after big hit. More impressive than his bat, he was a vacuum at second base. Fittingly, he made the last out of the last game. Maybe his father, a scout for the Pittsburgh Pirates, should petition Bud Selig to lower Major League Baseball’s minimum age requirement.

Pigs

All they do is talk on cell phones. Like much of the country I’m sure, Boston and its Metro-west suburbs are riddled with cops directing traffic. In Boston, they’re compensating for the incompetence of the Big Dig bureaucracy in light of a recent tragedy. In the suburbs, they’re overseeing the direction of traffic as it conflicts with suburban sprawl projects. No matter the location or the purpose, cops love their cell phones. So while they use up minutes (thank god they switched to Verizon), discussing their guns and racially motivated beatings, we the people foot the bill. How have people not made a stink about this yet? We pay for cops to talk on their phones. Sometimes in Boston, and this is my favorite, they assign three cops to the same intersection. Rather than even stand in the intersection they preside over, and at least pretend to work, they’ll lean up against mailboxes on the street corner and chat amongst themselves, presumably about their guns, food and racially motivated beatings. My second favorite is this cop out here in the burbs who indiscriminately waves on cars with both hands from all directions with no regard for the volume, size, or logistics of oncoming traffic. The good people of this town would actually be better off if this guy were hit by a car and forced into early retirement.

Prepare to Enter a Circle.....Zing!

"I am unfairly characterized as a “novice” Biscuit Head. I do own 5 cd’s worth of Disco Biscuit music and I feel that gives me a good insight into their musical approach. Also, I did not compare them to “fusion” music. Fusion, a derogatory term in serious music circles, encompasses many styles of music and is generally used to describe electric improvised music. This label, as with jam, deserves a blog all its own and I will provide one in the near future."

-The Sgt.

It's My Diary and I'll Cry if I Want to

Operating under an alias grants me some additional freedom; freedom I wouldn’t have for some reason if I hadn’t ingeniously changed my name. Granted, most of the people I know have been given the link to this blog and hopefully repeatedly visit it…..yet I remain undaunted. This is my diary and I’ll cry if I want to.

As is most likely evident from the content of this blog up until this point, I often fancy myself a tough guy. A man’s man. I like beer, good music and sports. I even get into a fight once every 5 or 6 years, albeit coming away with tales of folly and misadventure more often than bragging rights.

Well my friends, I’m also a little crying bitch. In a bold and unprecedented move, I’m going to make a list of the circumstances under which I have shed tears in recent memory. And if anyone ostracizes, patronizes, or chastises me, I’ll fight them….once I stop crying.

1. A couple weeks ago I saw War of the Worlds. I hate Tom Cruise as much as the next reasonable human being for all the obvious reasons….but I pretty much cried every 20 to 40 minutes for the film’s entirety. In one of those lucid hazes that often accompany an intense hangover, I was even comfortable enough with my cowardice to tell my girlfriend who was seated next to me, “I’m crying.” She turned to me, smiled, “Oh my God, you are!” Good stuff.

2. Last night I was home briefly between the hours of 7:00 and 8:00. As the doors to my CD player no longer open (?), I did some brief channel surfing and found Jack on HBO. Jack features Robin Williams as a 10 year old kid stricken with a disease that accelerates the aging process. So, naturally, I cried when Jack stayed home from school for 2 weeks because he just wanted to be like the other boys (ie. not have to shave while in 4th grade, not die shortly after high school). This was a 10 year old kid in a grown man’s body faced with the daunting task of coming to terms with his impending premature mortality.

3. One of the live Pearl Jam discs I own features a rendition of Yellow Ledbetter where Eddie Vedder alters the lyrics such that they’re clearly anti-war/ anti-death, etc. In this version, the song’s subject enlists in the army to pay for college, ends up being killed in combat, and comes home in a “box on the back, a yeaaaaaaaah can you see them”, etc. I was listening to it on my way in to work and for whatever reason the words resonated and struck my pink chord within… and I cried like a baby. So much so, in fact, I had to put on my sunglasses to avoid contingent double-takes and jeers from cars stopped at red lights alongside me.

4. Pearl Jam’s cover of Masters of War on Live at Bennaroya Hall has had the same affect on more than one occasion. I’m apparently anti-war/killing too. Who knew?

5. Every time I see Rudy..

6. Pretty much any time it’s customary for women to cry.

There. I feel better, you?

Rainy Night in Boston

Complete with 45 minute rain delay, everything about last night’s Sox v Yanks clash for AL East supremacy made this 5 game series a tough pill to swallow for the Boston faithful....and it was only the 4th game.

Having been slapped around by the Yankees lethal offense in the first three games, this most recent effort saw the Yankees out-clutch a team that prides itself on the late inning heroics of the franchise’s most clutch hitter of all time – who coincidentally had been honored as such before the game’s first pitch.

In the 8+ Yanks v Sox games I’ve attended at Fenway in the past three years, I have never seen so many out-cognito Yankee fans pay no price for their choice of attire. While Sox fans were sure to stand up and turn up the volume for big pitches during big at-bats, one couldn’t help but notice their shrinking collective swagger. Since 2004, the classless, tasteless, bitterness and jealousy of Red Sox nation was replaced by classless, tasteless, confidence. Now, in August of 2006, Red Sox nation is classless and deflated. A shadow of its former self, Yankee fans young and old were still “gay” and “brokeback Jeter” according the Fenway faithful, only the homophobia lacked its usual conviction and was consequently ineffectual.

Intermittent MVP chants for Big Papi were laid to rest by the Yankee captain in the 9th inning. Anyone who watches the Yankees with any regularity knows the buck starts and stops with Derek Jeter. If the Yankees mount a comeback, you can bet Jeter either started, revived, or capped it off. It’s uncanny and fantastic. He is the center of the Yankees offensive storm. Doubters and haters should be cast aside and forgotten.

GM’s

Was Theo Epstein saving for the future? Or maybe more realistically, just not willing to sell the farm in a lean market? I don’t blame Epstein for the Sox woes. This is a team that has held first place for the vast majority of the season, a team that is suddenly losing badly. Who saw these last four games coming? No one. I was hoping the Yanks would squeak out of the weekend with a 3-2 edge. I definitely did not expect to enter Monday with a 5 game sweep of the Sox, at Fenway no less, on the radar.

I give a lot of credit to the Cash Man for going out and getting Bobby Abreu. Before this year's trade deadline, I never gave pitch count a second thought from an offensive standpoint. I knew, as most fans do, that pitchers often come out of games once they’re counts reach the wrong side of 100. In acquiring Abreu, a move that was oft dismissed as insignificant or at least underappreciated, the Yankees have set themselves up to compete against even the best pitching staffs in baseball. Because of lengthy, patience-ridden at-bats from top to bottom, the Yankees eventually get to see everyone’s underbelly; middle relief. The Cash Man did not so much address Yankee weaknesses as he addressed its strengths and the strengths of the teams they will face in late September and October. Great starting pitching beats good hitting in a 5 and 7 game series. This has plagued recent Yankee playoff runs. How was this addressed? By overloading the scale. The Yankees are so prolifically patient at the plate, they are sure to see at least 3 innings of relief pitching, and bats to bats, no one matches up with the Bombers.

The Eraser

"Does Thom Yorke need Radiohead?"

.....

"Could this album have been made with Radiohead?"

....

"Would it sound better if it was?"

.......

"Does this sound like Radiohead?"

Finally, a relevant question. The singer's voice sounds a little familiar. The lyrics have a similar quality as well. Actually, much in the manner I've come to expect, the music is both dissonant and harmonic at once; a challenging yet easy listen.

Radiohead and Thom Yorke have always been about juxtapositions; the tension created by Thom's voice as he gently showers us with cynicism and feelings of alienation; the fear of technology apparent in the lyrics as they're complimented by techno-savvy production and sound.

Now, at the height of Radiohead's power, its primary creative force has chosen to stand alone (though he's sure to explain that this solo effort is not a solo effort), to strip down the size and scope of his sound, and to become (relatively) powerless. Yorke has made himself vulnerable. And to be honest, I can't tell if it's a move made out of arrogance or modesty. Either way, it's effective and affective.

Each track on The Eraser is formatted similarly, an observation that bothered me when first made. Upon further review, however, having been rendered incapable of justifying this malcontent, I've discarded the notion and haven't found reason to revisit it. I can't fault an album for having a theme, structurally or otherwise. To be sure, it's imossible to mistake any track on The Eraser for another. Dissonant, elegant, catchy (after a few listens) music ultimately gives way to seemingly unrelated electronic jams that come out of left field, only magically without seeming out of place. Every song has its own hook, whether it's Yorke's slick voice in Atoms for Peace or the bomb of a bass line in And it Rained All Night.

Yorke hasn't done anything new sonically with this, his first solo effort. Radiohead is versed in using computers to make music. He has, however, reminded us of his presence by giving it a clearer definition, which allows for its appreciation, and also for what the additional members of Radiohead bring to the table when they pull up their chairs.



16/20

Sports!

I didn’t watch nearly enough sports this past weekend. The Yankees weren’t on television in New England, I don’t understand ESPN’s fascination with professional poker, televised darts just doesn’t do it for me, and it’s tough to get excited about pre-season football unless I’m on the phone with my dad and we’re sharing our disdain for the mandatory purchase of pre-season tickets in his Giants’ season-ticket package. That's ridiculous right? This is not to say this weekend passed without incident however. 3 potential conversation pieces stand out in my mind: 1. The sausage eating contest in Sheboygan Wisconsin, 2. The beginning of the Little League World Series and 3. ESPN naming the Texas Longhorns as their pre-season number one.

Should professional eating be considered a sport? I don’t really know. I didn’t even actually watch the contest, just briefly caught its introduction. Is Kobayashi amazing? A freak? Yes and yes. Have I recently engaged in a binge eating contest much like I used to play in pretend football games in my front yard by myself (as Phil Simms, Stephen Baker The Touchdown Maker, and Lawrence Taylor all at the same time)…only fueled here less by innocence and imagination, and more by booze? Yes. Dumplings. Chinatown. The winning dumpling was actually stolen off my fork by the bongo player from Girls Guns and Glory….who went on to win in what can only be described as a significant upset. There WILL be a rematch.

Even still, seeing the “chef” brown the brats and drop them into a tub of beer and onions was enough for me. Kobayashi won by like 11 wieners. I’m sure he’s pooping as we speak. Where am I going with all this? I’m not sure. In order to adequately appreciate brilliance of this magnitude, everyone should drink too much with some friends and head over to Chinatown or your favorite wing place for a fat boy battle royale. I promise it will get those competitive juices flowing….among others.

I did have a point. We, as Americans, should be ashamed. Competitive eating is dominated by a muscular Japanese man. Forget the decline of American basketball and copious amounts of war-waging/masterminding/manipulation, this is something that MUST be addressed right away! As the fattest shits in the world, we owe it to ourselves to spend more time and resources on competitive eating. We need to get our tubs of shit off of the couch and into these contests. I recommend a grass roots campaign. Turn to the fat ass next to you and spread the good word. If they whine, "I have a glandular problem," don't believe them.

The Little League World Series has begun. I caught the Southeast Regional Final on Friday. Georgia’s pitcher was about 6’ tall with an 80 mph fastball. 80 mph! Do you understand how fast that is? If his coaches could only get him to straighten out his hat and stop marching around the mound like Eminem ( rap limping), it might have been possible for me to root for that bastard. I want Georgia to go down!

While he was dominant, the Florida team was able to put the ball in play, albeit inconsistently. Everyone should pay attention to the LLWS. While you can be certain to see some pretty obnoxious parents and coaches, you’ll also get to see the best kids in the world playing a kids’ game. Have I mentioned they’re really filthy and sure to make Sportscenter’s top 10 consistently for the rest of the month? Usually the key to the LLWS is a dominant pitcher. The last few teams standing will have one or two kids with facial hair and fast balls in the upper 70’s. More often than not, they’re just too much for the opposing hitters. While impressive and entertaining, the best games usually feature both teams’ number two/three guys. These are the games that showcase the bats, gloves and true colors of both teams…and it’s fantastic. The pride of New Jersey was eliminated last night but Staten Island. Bummer. I can't root for those kids. Due to proximity, I'm adopting Portsmouth NH.

In a surprisingly shortsighted prediction- short on creativity and long on lame- ESPN named Texas its preseason college football number 1. I guess because they won the national championship last year??? Since 1980, only USC has won consecutive national championships with some semblance of consensus among the polls (and now BCS). Under Carroll, USC has been a talent factory with a sophisticated offensive scheme.

Mack Brown has signed Texas’ blue-chip talent throughout his tenure. This isn't up for debate. He’s gone undefeated once since 1998 and it took a playmaker like Vince Young (freak) to push the program over the top (I know football is a team game but if you think Texas had a chance against USC without Vince Young last year you’re an idiot). The fact that Brown has to choose between a red-shirt freshman in Colt McCoy and freshman Jevan Snead is less of an obstacle when you consider the Texas’ relatively simple offensive scheme. It will not surprise me or help them, however, if Brown is indecisive with his two young quarterbacks like he was in 2000 with Applewhite and Simms. And make no mistake, Texas will be good, especially in a paltry Big 12, but there is no way they beat Ohio State. The Oklahoma game should be interesting as well, with their similarly unclear circumstances at the quarterback position but the talent I’ve come to expect out of both programs.