The Fungus Among Us.

I don't think anyone would ever accuse me of being a tree-hugger, but I like to think of myself as a friend of the animals( and not in any "I was helping the sheep over the fence kind of way, you sickos.). I thought this Washington Post article about endangered frogs living in Panama was pretty neat. It reports on the massive conservation effort to save several species from a deadly fungus. But it also raises the ethical dilemmas of whether we should use extreme means to save the species and what we do with them once we do protect them.

Thou Shalt Not Be Late For Mass.

So, I went to mass Sunday morning- Oh, I'm sorry, we're going to have to take a brief timeout until my parents regain their senses- Okay, here we go. Anyway, it felt good to attend mass. I tend to think you can be religious and have a relationship with God without walking into his building every Sunday, but this weekend I just felt it was something I wanted to do. After attending, I can't decide if I'm not ready to go back or if I need to attend three times a week. You see I know all the Christian teachings- Love thy neighbor. Turn the other cheek. Forgive them for they know not what they do. Be kind, Rewind. And I ignored all of them as I composed this mini-rant right there in my pew:

What happened to common courtesy? Is it too much to ask that people show up before mass starts? Maybe I don't want you and your kids climbing past me while I'm in a moment of prayer or quiet reflection.(Some of you are checking to see if you're at the right blog, aren't you?) Some ten to fifteen minutes into mass people were still pushing there ways into pews disturbing me and others as we tried to hear a reading. I suppose I could solve this problem by sitting in the middle of the pew when I arrive early or on time. But then the late arrivers win and I can't have that.

Of, course it's not just late arrivals. Before mass started the song leader asked that all cell phones be turned off. What a shame that we must be reminded of such. Personally, I would have preferred no announcement and then watch God smite the offender with a lightning bolt when the damn phone rang in the middle of the homily.

Perhaps I am making a mountain of a molehill. Perhaps? Still, to me, church is still one of those places where I should be able to expect quiet, courtesy, decency and a whole host of other things that are in precious short supply these days. So, this Sunday I'll give turning the other cheek a shot when mass is disturbed or when I get cutoff in the church parking lot.

Wait, did I just commit to going to mass again this week? Ah, nuts.

"They out-everything'd us."

While not grammatically successful, Cowboys coach Bill Parcells' assessment of his team's Monday night performance is accurate. The New York Giants whipped the Boys in every aspect of the game on their way to a 36-22 victory. A quick breakdown of the Cowboys many breakdowns-

The defense hadn't yielded a hundred yard rushing game all season, yet on Monday Tiki Barber was as unstoppable as Dennis Hastert at an all-you-can-eat buffett. The Giants stitched together a couple long, clock-eating drives that would make any offense envious. I've seen more defense played at an NHL All-Star game.

Terrell Owens (Yes, I know he had a touchdown.) came up short when they needed him most. On a fourth-and-2 at the Giants' 30-yd line he dropped a pass that not only would have extended a crucial drive, but probably would have also broken for a much longer gain. If fans are to put up with his "look at me" hijinks, he must make that conversion.

The matador offensive line continues to be weak. Their blocking helped Julius Jones rush 13 times for 30 yards. Pathetic. Drew Bledsoe was under seige for the entire half that he played. I know Bledsoe is nearly as immobile as a coma patient, but two of the sacks he suffered, including the safety, were by defenders who were completely untouched by a lineman.

It wasn't the sacks, however, that got Bledsoe pulled. He, and backup Tony Romo, made some of the dumbest decisions I have ever seen on a football field. Bledsoe's goal line pick at the end of the first half was atrocious. The team has a great shot at seven points, but has to at least come away with three at that point. The only way to not come away with three is to make a stupid, brain cramp turnover. Oops. Then Romo-ron comes in and gets lit up for three picks. Two of the balls should never have been thrown and the third was so poor that the defender was so open that he went 96 yards the other way for a touchdown. Someone should remind Romo that those numbers don't count in his offensive statistics.

Finally, I have a big beef with the Big Tuna. The "legendary" Parcells felt deperate enough to insert Romo for Bledsoe at the start of the second half. Maybe he was trying to spark his team, maybe Romo is his guy for the rest of the year. Either way, whatever momentum he was searching for was destroyed when Romo threw that disastrous pick on his first play from scrimmage. As John Madden has said, if you have two quarterbacks, you really don't have any. Parcells may have lost this team for good. They now stand 3-3 with three straight road games next including games at talented Carolina and rival Washington. They return home from the roadie for a date with the currently undefeated Colts.

This team has plenty of time to turn the season into a success, I'm just not sure time is all they need.

"Oh, what a night, late October, 1995..."

I was cracking myself up this morning reliving some old memories on this, the 11th anniversary of one of the best and worst nights of my life. For those that were there-you're welcome for what are likely life-long memories. For those that weren't- I won't give you the gruesome details, but I will share a few life lessons learned that night.

#1- Nickel Draft Night + 21st Birthday = Bad News (In the form of Gastrointestinal Disaster)

#2- If you do choose to combine Nickel Draft Night and your 21st Birthday, don't eat the nachos.

#3- Ten people smoking cheap cigars just to piss off the patrons of a crowded bar, that's funny. (Although, this is probably now illegal in the state of Maryland. Bummer.)

#4- If you can no longer feel your fingers and toes, stop drinking. Unless another stranger buys you yet another birthday shot.

#5-It is perfectly acceptable, if after puking in public, to have your friends shove you out the bar's back door and into a waiting car Secret Service-style.

"Killer I think I need to go to the ba- bleech..."

Tigers In Series? I Can Do That.

A funny thing happened on the way to this October's Subway Series. The Detroit Tigers bounced the Yankees and A's and now await a World Series opponent. The Tigers, who lost an absurd 119 games three seasons ago and lost 91 last season, have nearly reached the pinnacle of their sport. I know they haven't won it all yet, but who thinks their roll is over? They won seven games in ten days, powered by timely hitting, 100+ mph fastballs and knee-buckling curve balls. My one true World Series wish is that at least one octopus flies from the bleachers to the field at Comerica Park. But I digress; this post isn't really about baseball. It's about me. You see, I wanna be the Detroit Tigers.

Stay with me here. I want to steal the formula that the Tigers used to leap from worst to first. For too long, I have been a moribund franchise. For ten long years I have grown fat and sloppy, stagnant and lazy, physically, mentally and spiritually. I sleepwalk through life while the vampire that is my career ( or lack thereof ) slowly drains my soul. Therefore, I resolve to make changes and I'm going to do it The Tiger Way:

Like Detroit, I already have a loyal fan base. Amanda, family and friends serve as all the support network a guy could need.

The Tigers built a winner by patiently nurturing their young talent, allowing it to percolate and improve over the last few years. I'd like to think I have a little talent for this writing thing (at least teachers , professors and writing instuctors have told me so). So, now it is time to cultivate it. It's time to put pen to paper and punch out articles and stories in the name of growth and development. There is no excuse for me not entering the numerous short story contests that exist.

Break out the cliches- I must "put my nose to the grindstone"(I hope it's a big grindstone), "nothing worth anything comes easy", "you make your own luck", etc. These are cheesy examples, but the truth is there is no substitute for hard work. To paraphrase Tiger manager Jim Leyland talking about centerfielder Curtis Granderson-" He may not be a superstar, he might someday, but he maximizes every bit of talent that he has." It's time for me to work hard and maximize whatever abilties I possess.

Finally, I need to find the confidence. The Tigers confidence is instilled by Leyland, a smart manager who makes all the correct moves, and their veteran leadership. My confidence must come from within. I need to to just say "F*** it" and cut loose.

So, with that I challenge myself to be better in all aspects of my life. Just as all baseball clubs preach in February-Hope springs eternal. Today is my day that pitchers and catchers report. Today I begin anew my journey towards success and contentment. You are all welcome to come along for the ride.

"Where's the Funny?" and Other Lingering Questions.

A few tidbits that I've been pondering over the past couple of postless weeks:

Will Saturday Night Live ever be funny again? Two weeks in and I've barely mustered a chuckle. The pared down cast was supposed to weed out the waste (Although I do miss Rachel Dratch, the other three outcasts-Finesse Mitchell, Horatio Sanz and Chris Parnell are not missed at all.), but it has been incredibly unfunny. The sketches have simply been boring. Speaking of boring, Studio 60 has been a complete bust in my mind. I have laughed a bit, however, the show lacks the heart that Aaron Sorkin's other projects, SportsNight and The West Wing possessed. Smarmy people pretending to be funny is not funny. It would also help if the comedy sketches in the fictional comedy show-within-the-show were funny. Anyway, I'm not ready to give up on it, but it needs to kick into gear soon. Tina Fey's show-within-a-show, debuting this week, may be our last shot at some skecth comedy comedy this season.


Don't the people in the Philadelphia Eagles organization who are ripping Terrell Owens for ruining their team realize that they did that to themselves? Despite seeing what a bad teammate and person he was in San Francisco, the Eagles fell all over themselves to get this guy. It is revisionist history to say they were surprised by how his tenure ended. Shame on the Dallas Cowboys for falling into the same trap this season. No matter his on-field talents, his off-field turbulence is a cancer that can destroy any team.

Attended the Caps home opener Saturday. High times as the Caps punished the defending Stanley Cup champ Hurricanes behind outstanding performances from the two Alexanders. My only minor beef? Can't we come up with a catchier season slogan than - Caps Hockey. See it. Feel it. ? Owner Ted Leonsis is supposedly a marketing genius. I think a 5th grade class could come up with something less generic. Over the course of the game and a few beers, Killer, Wolske and I came up with a few marketing slogans (most of which had to do with the unfortunate last name of right wing and budding superstar Alexander Semin). The best, hands down, from the brain of Mr. Wolske: "Ovechkin-Russian for Fuckin-a."


Think those baseball Hall of Fame voters who left Negro League legend Buck O'neill one vote short of election in June don't feel ashamed right now? It's been announced that he'll be enshrined post-humously. What an indignity for one of the great caretakers of the game.


Finally, I danced a jig this weekend with my fellow Yankee haters. Good riddance! Nice work, A-Rod! Fire Torre! Wait, fire Torre? The man has made the playoffs in all eleven seasons he's coached the Yanks. He restored them to prominence after Big Stein nearly detroyed them. He won four rings in eleven seasons, which is about as good as it gets unless your name is John Wooden or Red Auerbach. And I think this season may have been Torre's finest season yet. He dealt with the loss of Matsui and Sheffield and a sub-par year from A-Rod. If Torre could pitch they'd have been just fine. Now that he hasn't won a World Series in a whole six years, Torre is on the hot seat. O's fans would kill to have such problems. Of course, as I'm writing this I hear that today is the tenth anniversary of the Jeffrey Maier/Rich Garcia debacle. If not for those two asses the last decade of the O's-Yanks rivalry might look a whole lot different. Excuse me while I go stick another needle in my Derek Jeter voodoo doll.

Back For Your Dining And Dancing Pleasure.

I know I haven't posted in a while, but I've been distracted by real life which can be a terrible intrusion sometimes. I've lacked imagination and inspiration as I've sleepwalked through the last couple of weeks; when I have had ideas I've had neither the energy, nor desire to peck away at the keyboard. However, I've got the brain juices flowing again, so if you enjoy meaningless fluff and sports gibberish this is still your place to find it. Stay tuned.