Dream Seats, Nightmare Game

Thanks to the generosity of Amanda's cousin, Amanda and I scored free tix to yesterday's Redskins-Cowboys game. Her seats, third row in the field club (or as the Redskins call them, "dream seats") were great. How great? The blocked field goal in the first quarter landed ten feet from us and was scooped up by the lady sitting three seats down. How great were the seats? I can tell you which cheerleaders had visible panty lines. (Hint: none.) How great? Santana Moss posed right in front of us after his fourth quarter touchdown.

The tradeoff, however, for being so close to the end zone is, of course, that you forfeit all cover from the elements. And boy did it get elemental in a bad way last night. The only thing falling faster than the rain was the temperature. Even though we were dressed for the weather we still got soaked. Waterproof coats, hats, gloves and blanket were no match for Mother Nature. I thought Amanda was on her way to becoming a human popsicle. Fortunately, the field club tickets afford you access to the posh leather and marble club level where we were able to score hot cocoa and thaw during halftime.

While I was dissapointed, but not surprised by the outcome of the game I was pleased that Amanda was able to see her Skins win. The Cowboys had nothing to play for and looked like it. They were awful. Much credit goes to the Redskins who shut down the run and moved the ball at will. This is not the way I wanted the Cowboys to head into the playoffs. If the Skins pull an upset in Seattle (of which they are totally capable), they would likely head to Dallas for the rubber match. I don't want that to happen.

One other highlight from a game experience that was pretty sweet despite the Cowboys' loss:

As I'm standing in line in the men's room this fan starts passing everybody in line like he's going to cut in front of everyone. Just as a couple of us are about to speak up he veers left and enters the janitor's closet. Thirty seconds later he exits with a satisfied smile. The guy behind me nodded admiringly and said "Now there's a veteran move". Good stuff, I just wouldn't want to be the next person to use the mop bucket.

Links to the Past

Since a few new readers have discovered my blog (Thanks guys), I have decided to post links to some of my favorite posts so that, if so inclined, new readers can check out some of my older stuff without having to read all the archived stuff. Check out these links to see my thoughts on:profiling potential terrorists, crazy astronauts,
why I despise Coldstone Creamery ,urinal cakes ,my frustrating weed eater ,space travel , how President Bush has lost my respect, the marketing of the human male and flea markets .

Break Glass, Press Panic Button

Watching clips and reading the text of Olie Kolzig's postgame comments after last night's Caps' loss to Florida has to be disheartening for any Caps fan. Kolzig, generally upbeat and optomistic even after losses, looked despondent sitting at his locker answering questions. He knows, as do all fans, that this team should be better than they are playing. Yes, offseason additions and a 3-0 start fueled unrealistic expectations, but there is no legitimate excuse for this team to be last in the NHL with 13 points in 20 games. Hell, the league absurdly gives you a point for losing in overtime and they can't even do that more than once. That 3-0 start provided a glimpse of the success this team is capable of producing. Now, one quarter into the season, hopes for the playoffs are already on life support.

So what's the problem?

First, let's list what isn't wrong:

1- Alex Ovechkin. In his third season this guy just keeps improving. On pace to score 53+ goals, this guy is dominating at both ends of the ice, dramatically improving his defensive coverage and ramping up his hitting. Unfortunately, he has accounted for 30 percent of the Caps' goals and is playing a burnout-beckoning 29+ minutes per game. The fact that the Caps haven't locked this guy up long-term is also a little scary. This should be a no-brainer. Now that Teddy L. has put all his marketing eggs in Ovie's basket he needs to pay the kid before he hits his restricted free agent summer. Somebody will break the bank with an offer too rich for Leonsis's AOL-sapped bottom line. Make no mistake-if Ovechkin leaves no amount of compensatory draft picks will fill the half of Verizon Center that isn't already empty for every game.

2- The Goaltending. While sketchy at times, the goaltending has been pretty solid overall. I don't love Brent Johnson as a backup and Kolzig has slipped a hair, however, in the high flying new NHL any GAA under 3.00 is fairly respectable.

3.- The Defense. It hasn't been great, but has improved markedly from the matadors the team was putting on ice the last few years.

Well, that leaves the problems. I'll keep the first two short: The new aquisitions are not paying off and nobody besides Ovie can find the back of the net. Michel Nylander has more wiggle than Rosie O'Donnell on a trampoline, but his dancing rarely results in shots on goal. I love what I've seen from Viktor Kozlov thus far-except when it comes to shooting the puck. He is a terrific passer, smooth skater, strong on the puck, but when it comes to shooting, pick your favorite sports cliche-"couldn't hit the side of a barn", "couldn't hit water if he fell out of a boat"-you get the idea. Unfortunately, it's not just Kozlov. I've never seen a Caps team have so much trouble getting shots on goal. They zing wristers 6 inches wide of the post, bury snap shots into the goaltender's belly and blast one-time slapshots into skates and shinguards. Maybe the team misread the memo that said the league was considering making the goals wider. Not yet boys, not yet. (By the way, I hope that never happens.)

Finally, I think the Caps' biggest problem is the coach. I have been loathe to call for Glen Hanlon's head because he seems like a nice guy who played shepherd to a less than talented, floundering flock in the dark days following the gutting and fire sale of the Jagr era. However, for whatever reason, Hanlon is unable to push the right buttons now. Constant line juggling has afforded no time to create chemistry. In-game adjustments are one thing. Ovechkin playing at least a shift with every other forward is another altogether. When they were bad the last two years the Caps were known as a hard working team that was difficult to play against. Not anymore. The team's effort level waxes and wanes from period to period. Yet, I still don't think a new motivational voice is the biggest reason to dump Hanlon. After all, as Kolzig said, "How many times do you need to be shocked?".

The main reason for a change is that the Caps lack a dynamic, puck-moving system. Maybe because Hanlon was so adept at making things work with less talent, he is unable to adapt his system to accomodate playmakers. The formula has reversed itself and now he is turning the proverbial chicken salad back into something else.

The power play, which promised to be much better thanks to the aquisitions, has been anemic. There is no creativity as everyone stands around the umbrella waiting for Ovechkin to launch bombs from the point. Tired and predictable will not get the job done. As my friend Killer succinctly put it the other day-"Is Scotty Bowman still alive?" I can't stand Scotty Bowman, but don't forget, he actually raised a Stanley Cup in Verizon Center.

As Yogi Berra once said, "It's getting late early" If Teddy L. doesn't do something soon this season will crash and the Great 8 will walk right out of the red, white and blue leaving an empty shell at the corner of 7th and F streets.

15 Seconds of Fame.

Finally, acting ridiculous has paid off. A few friends and I attended the Caps-Lightning hockey game Saturday night. We had a fun, beer-soaked time, as usual, but this game was a bit sweeter for me thanks to being goofy and having a little good timing.

Because we felt the need to look like jackasses in addition to acting like ones, we decided to wear our hockey helmets to the game. (Safety first!) Little did I know that this decision would pay off literally.

As we were doing some pre-game souvenir shopping our group was approached by Sarah, a member of the Caps promotional staff. She was recruiting people to take part in one of the intermission contests and said she had followed us into the shop because she just new the helmet guys would be the perfect pick. I'm still not sure how, but I was selected from the group to take place in a fan announcer contest to take place after the first period.

Briefly, the contest would work like this: My fellow competitor and I would take turns doing play-by-play announcing for a short Capitals video highlight. We would be seen on the jumbotron scoreboard screen and heard over the PA system. The winner would be determined by audience applause. Reluctantly, I accepted the gig and headed to our seats. Sarah would come get me after the first period to take me down near the ice where the contest would take place.

I nervously spent the first period trying to tamp down the butterflies and deciding how I could be funny on the Jumbotron, oh, and watch part of the game, as well. We tried to find some funny things to work into my brief commentary. Wolske, ever the entrprenuer, jokingly lamented the fact that we had no time to get a sponsorship deal for the front of my helmet. We talked about how cool this was, but I decided that, though I didn't want it to happen, this moment would be even more legendary in our lore if I completely bombed during the contest.

After the period, Sarah escorted me to the lower level and it was time. Next thing I know, my competitor (Patrick, I think) and I are on the giant four-sided scoreboard hanging above center ice. I bet my mug on that screen made Ted Leonsis rethink his decision to put in that new high-definition video system. Fortunately, the other guy went first, so I got to see what I was up against. His performance left a little to be desired( I'm sure he was as nervous as I was) and he got little applause and even a few boos.

I took the mike and did my brief play-by-play, deciding to play it straight and not be real stupid about it. Though in the middle, in the way that your brain can process a thought instantaneously while you are doing something else, I decided to squeeze in a partial line from "Slapshot". I figured by saying that Kozlov "skated up the milky white ice" I would lose the contest, but at least I would have made my buddies laugh. Well, either lots of Slapshot fans thought it was funny or many people felt sorry for the "special" guy in the helmet because I received a fair bit of applause and won the contest. "Bryan Hailey, the pride of Salisbury, Maryland" as the Caps public address annoncer called me, was victorious. My prize? A new Caps jersey (retail price $115) autographed by a bunch of players.

The funniest part, however, was that I was recognized around the arena for the rest of the night. As I walked back to my seat I was greeted with lots of pointing and shouting.

"Hey, I voted for you man!"

"Weren't you the guy up on the screen?"

"Aren't you that guy ?"

I even got cheered by my section when I got back to my seats. It was all so stupid and silly that it was hilarious.

Because the Caps got waxed 5-2 and I have funny memories from lots of games we've attended, this was not the Best Game Ever, but it sure ranks up there. And, of course, we've decided that helmets are now mandatory game day attire.

While I failed to get a picture of me in my helmet, I did include some other pics from the evening.

Happy Halloween !

For those of you who always thought there was something a little "funny" about my brother-in-law.

Caps Practice Pics.

I spent Friday in the DC area with my dad and Killer. Among other things, we visited the Caps new practice facility in Arlington. Talk about sweet- two full size rinks, offices and a pro shop. It is super fan-friendly, as well. There are plenty of comfortable bleachers and, as it was at Piney Orchard, you can stand right next to the glass to observe the players and coaches. It always amazes me to watch these skilled players up close from a vantage point that I would have to pay top dollar for at a game. I got some great pics-here are a few.

Thumbs way up for "The Kingdom"

What is it about religion and lines drawn on a map that strips us of our humanity?

Today Amanda and I saw The Kingdom starring Jamie Foxx, Jennifer Garner and the always great Chris Cooper. Obviously, it is fictional, but it paints a chilling portrait of the evils of terrorism and the devastating toll incurred by its victims, opponents and even the families of its perpertrators. The film never portrays terrorists in even a gray area-the bad guys are the bad guys. It does, however, show the cost the investigators pay to track down the terrorist villians.

The film looks unflinchingly at the collateral damage and sheer death and destruction wrought by the terrorists and those seeking to avenge their handiwork. Please don't misuderstand, I am in no way saying that terrorists shouldn't be tracked, caught and punished. I simply can't understand what drives people to do these things to each other. The price paid should be too high for intelligent human beings to treat each other this way. This tear-inducing film serves as an artistic representation of the sad facts that are all too real.

Cornucopia of Crap

Is there a broader, more representative snapshot of today's America than the Saturday morning open air flea market? Part time machine, part smelly armpit, the flea market is the great melting pot of class, culture and cleanliness. You have folks who peddle their junk every week trying to eke out a living. Next to them you have suburbanites trying to unload part of their gluttonous accumulation of stuff they really don't need. Toothless country boys and soccer moms, who would never associate in any other circumstance, chat away sitting on the tailgates of overstuffed SUVs and El Caminos. During a twenty minute walk-thru you can hear four or five different languages spoken. Haggling, arguing, laughing-it's a beautiful thing.



And don't get me wrong, not all the crap is really crap. There are valuable collectibles and teriffic hand-crafted jewelry items. Then there is my level of crap- beer signs, Smurf glasses, baseball cards. For the most part I just window shop because we already fall into that earlier category of gluttonous overcollectors. But when it comes down to it, most of the crap is Crap with a capital C. I found tables of ashtrays, old shoes, books for every fad diet of the last twenty years and VHS tapes for bad Pauly Shore movies. (I suppose that last item was redundant.) And Knives! It was like Ninjas-R-Us with all the knives, swords and throwing stars. Since I have given up my career as a carnival knife-thower I pushed past these tables and wandered about buying nothing, simply enjoying the sounds and smells of diversity.

"Don't Taze Me, Bro"

How do you feel about the college kid tossed from the Kerry speech for "protesting" too passionately? Some feel he was a free voice unjustly brutalized by overzealous campus cops. Some feel he was a publicity seeking punk who should have buttoned his lip when enough was enough. I tend to split the middle-He was a little disruptive, but I really don't think they needed to blast him with 50,000 volts.


I think most can agree, however, that there is a good chance that "Don't Taze Me, Bro" will be the latest catchphrase sensation to sweep the nation. i think the only hiccup for the burgeoning "Don't Taze Me, Bro" t-shirt and bumper sticker business may be deciding how to spell Taze. I like using the "z". It sounds strong, hinting at danger and action. But I could get on board with using the "s". All I really know for sure is that the video is pretty humorous and seeing it made my Tuesday. See part of the video here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tCBcOQkUNjI

Dear President Bush...

Mr Bush,

My regret for casting a vote for you seven years ago is exceeded only by the disappointment I feel knowing that my uncast vote three years ago was not the one that prevented you from retaining your position. Not that you care, but let me tell you why I no longer support you. I have watched wire taps and an absent-minded attorney general. I've listened to a man named Scooter and I've carried my shampoo in a clear plastic bag. I didn't say much because those weren't "big deals" . However, enough is enough. You've crossed an offensive line with me.

You are building a legacy on the strong but overworked backs of our armed forces. I find this as distasteful as it is unfathomable. This volunteer army is not a life preserver for you to cling to as you tread water through the rest of your term. With benchmarks unmet and goals ever-shifting, when will "more time" be "enough time"? Buying time with American blood until you can wash your hands of a failed policy is surely conduct unbecoming the Commander-In -Chief.

Both a general and ambassador came to Washington this week to provide you cover by half-heartedly defending the current policy. They, despite their colorful charts and reams of statistics, were unable to say whether Americans are safer for having prosecuted this war. If that one fundamental question can not be answered in the affirmative then riddle me this-For what has America spilled her blood and why should she continue to do so?

You have the power to stop this. Oh, sure, you addressed the nation Thursday, peddling your plan to have some troops return home. You let us know that your plan allows those who view victory in Iraq as essential and those who want the troops home to be on the same side. I almost forgot, you are a uniter not a divider. Too bad your idea to bring troops home falls woefully short. And never mind that you do not clearly define victory.

Now before you hastily judge me, know this: I am not a Democrat nor an unpatriotic hippie or any other condascending label you may wish to apply. I will not be made to feel weaker, smaller or less intelligent simply because I do not support this war. I am a reasonably smart citizen who understands that freedom isn't free and that sacrifices are necessary to defend America. I also know that it is possible to both support our troops and disdain this war. Leaving Iraq now does not dishonor those who have lost their lives there; continuing to push forward in uncertainty does.

Putting the Fun in Dysfunctional

Reminder: "It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia" begins in its new season Thursday night at 10pm. This is one wacky show that consistently makes me laugh. FX is on quite a roll; NIp/Tuck has slipped a bit, but Sunny and Rescue Me are strong. Enjoy.

THe Sadness Remains.

When I read a few weeks ago that MSNBC would be airing NBC's actual coverage of the events of 9-11-2001 on the sixth anniversary, I was unsure how I felt about that decision. Is it indeed "living history" as they billed it or unjustified sensationalism? Will it it be any more painful than watching the myriad memorials that are sure to air anyway? After watching the 3+ hours of unedited footage, I still don't know if it was necessary, helpful or hurtful, but it certainly was fascinating.

Being a bit of a news junkee and having been at work when the events unfolded six years ago I wanted to check out some of the coverage. Obviously, I have seen the unspeakable images many times since they occured, yet I found it morbidly spellbinding. I was pinned to my couch for the entire three hours. It was interesting to watch journalists, some caught in the middle of the news itself, struggle to process the information as it flooded in and to comprehend the images they were seeing. I am often critical of the overdramatic nature of news coverage, but this was an instance when there was no hyperbole. I believe it impossible to overstate the drama that was all too real. Watching the attacks progress, the information trickle in and the confusion reign gave me the uneasy goosebumps that six years have failed to dispel. The wound is still raw and watching the horrific images and frightening realization of the magnitude of the story unfold did nothing to salve that wound. Right or wrong that was likely MSNBC's intent all along.

Do My Eyes and Ears Deceive Me?

A handful of improbable things that I've seen and heard today:

- Today is Pee Wee Herman's 55th birthday. The word of the day is senior discount.

- Celebrated, notorious fat guy David Wells legged out a bunt single Sunday night. Nice to see a pitcher and a fellow member of the Big Man's Club showing some athleticism.

-Michael Vick spoke to the media after his plea hearing without the aid of a prepared written statement. He appeared to speak from the heart (sorry for the cliche), without notes or a PR spin. I give him big credit for that. He fell short of the hat trick of improbability, however, when he referred to himself in the third person and left the podium without taking questions.

-Alberto Gonzales made a public appearance without uttering the phrase "I don't recall"

It's only 12:20. Who knows what other unbelievable events I will yet witness today.

Freedom of Speech...When Convenient.

Hilarious straight news storyabout the White House's playbook for dealing with dissent-spewing protesters. I wish this was fake news on The Onion. Alas, it's all too real. (Let me also add that I know every candidate/prez probably has a similar playbook. But i bet they are not as funny as this one.)

Presidential Balls

Boy, the president sure has some stones doesn't he? Where to begin? After years of denying any paralells between Iraq and Vietnam, the Prez now finds it convenient to compare an Iraq withdrawal with the withdrawal in Vietnam. I need to do more research, but I think he was even incorrect about the impact of civilian casualties in Cambodia that followed the Vietnam withdrawal.

I don't even know why he would even pick at the scab of Vietnam. One would think he'd try to keep from comparing his current effort to another bungled war that lasted too long and meandered through time with uncertain planning and focus. Did he reference Vietnam for the lessons learned? He and Deferment Dick certainly didn't learn any lessons first hand there. The speech today was as troubling as it was improbable.

As a side note- Mr al-Maliki needs a little attitude adjustment as far as I'm concerned. His balls are busting out of his pants as well - We "can find friends elsewhere". Are you kidding me? Why on earth are we staying on the ground in Iraq if the Iraqi government doesn't care whether we leave or not? Fuck off and take care of your own disaster.

Waiting For The Other Spiked Shoe to Drop.

My grandfather recently graciously gave me his set of golf clubs that he doesn't use anymore. They are quality Tommy Armour clubs that are far nicer than my game deserves. When it comes to golf I have always been more Hulk Hogan than Ben Hogan. Now, after a day at the range and playing 18 holes, I am convinced my grandfather sent me magic clubs. I finished today's round with four pars and a birdie. This is like Paris Hilton scoring 1400 on her SATs. Granted, we were playing at shabby, short Horsebridge, but did you hear me? Four pars and a birdie! And the bird was even on a par four. Drive 30 yds short of the green, chip to within 6 feet of the cup and sink the putt. That's exactly how I usually play that hole except for the ten minutes I usually spend in the corn field searching for my errant drive, the ensuing wild approach shot that screams over the green into the woods on the other side and the three putt from 15 feet. Other than that it's exactly the same. Just as a good craftsman never blames his tools, a poor craftsman must credit his tools when he turns in some fine workmanship. These clubs are great. Of course, actually rotating your hips and keeping your lead arm straight doesn't hurt either.

So what's the problem? Why do I sense that other shoe hovering overhead? Because the golf gods hate me, that's why. Mr. Optimism here is convinced that the gods are toying with me. They let me have just enough success today to lure me back for another round. They are waiting for my next venture so they can crush my newfound confidence. They will howl with glee when I stub a chip shot three feet or blow a six foot putt ten feet past the hole. That's why I love golf and why I hate golf. You can hit a fantastic shot that feels so good and the next minute you can botch the hole with such an unbelievably poor shot that it makes you want to punch yourself in the nuts just to forget the pain. You get just enough taste of fun to tempt you back. Damn you golf gods! Oh, and I'll see you next week.

756. Woopity Doo.

I have some thoughts about Barry Bonds being the new home run king of major league baseball, but I don't care enough to put together a cohesive post. So here is a sprinkling of ideas, beefs and opinions about the many different aspects of this story.

Bottom line-Barry's the all-time leader. Despite the circumstantial evidence, nothing has been proven. There should be no asterisk and Bud Selig should have been there.

Baseball, you looked the other way when all these hulksters beefed up. You made your bed, now lay(lie? I never get this correct) in it.

Yes, Barry all these other guys, and pitchers too, probably cheated, but that doesn't excuse your behavior. Two, or fifty, wrongs don't make a right.

I don't know how many fewer homers Bonds would have without performance enhancers. It might be 10, it might be 110. My biggest issue with the steroids is not the extra strength, it is the healing power. The steroids help players recover from injury and fatigue quicker. This could, obviously, aid an older player greatly.

Barry Bonds, without performance enhancers, would still have been one of the top five players of all-time. I guess that just wasn't enough for him. That's the thing that I find particularly galling.

If Barry wasn't guilty of something would his trainer have agreed to sit in jail for the last year instead of testifying before the grand jury?

As a lifelong baseball fan I have always enjoyed watching the "big" moments. It ties the present to the past, weaving it into the fabric of the game, blah blah blah. Ripken passing the Iron Horse, Kirk Gibson's homer, several no-hitters-it's always a joy to watch these events live. Watching Bonds ( I missed the homer live by just minutes) pass Hank Aaron has been a joyless event. I feel a bit cheated by that. Not that Barry Bonds owes me a thing.

I Won't Reveal How Many Candles.

Please indulge me a moment to wish a happy birthday to my beautiful wife, Amanda. I'm fortunate to have such a smart, sexy, capable lady as my partner in this crazy adventure that we've undertaken together. Whether it's balancing the checkbook, massaging my sore knee or making me laugh, she maintains our world in so many ways; I'd be lost without her.

In addition to working hard and keeping me straight, she has taken on many new challenges in the last year. She made the leap to Salisbury University last fall and has succeeded on many levels. Two semesters later she has made two stops on the Dean's list, maintained her scholarship, joined the Best Buddies mentoring group and has been published in the school paper. Her work at the paper earned her a spot as the Feature Editor for the upcoming year. Her tireless effort is exceeded only by my pride in her accomplishments. Today I celebrate her- Happy Birthday, Sweetheart.

Also, a quick happy birthday wish to Amanda's birthday buddy St4rbux and Killer who celebrates later in the week.

Does anyone care?

During the Democratic/AFL-CIO debate tonight, trade (obviously) was a very big topic. In one answer regarding China Barack Obama stated that Americans would gladly pay more for products made in the USA if it meant more jobs here. This seems obvious and it sounds reasonable in theory, but I wonder if that is the reality. In a time when so many people are not engaged in things that really matter I wonder how many shoppers a) make that connection and b) care enough to make the choice. If I walked through WalMart tonight and polled shoppers I think I would get very different results than Mr Obama assumes. People love to have things to bitch about, but are often unwilling to pay the price, literally and figuratively, to make positive change. Too often folks look out for number one and ignore the big picture. Thoughts?

Fight Night.

At the bookstore we have quite a diverse mix of employees so there are always interesting conversations to wander in and out of. I'd like your input on one we had last night. If you could fight anyone dead or alive who would it be? Actually, pick one dead and one alive. The debate hinged on whether you would want to fight someone who would be a true challenge or someone who really needed an ass-beating. A sampling of answers from last night:



Andy Warhol- because it was just a damn soup can!
Hannibal - because he was a badass who rode elephants and would be a tough draw
Donald Trump and Ann Coulter -for general obnoxiousness
Hitler- obvious (but too easy an answer)

I almost had one guy convinced that I would pick Orville Redenbacher because my family started Jiffy Pop and our empire would have been larger if not for that kindly old popcorn peddler.

My alive pick is Jared from Subway. How many calories in this knuckle sandwich?

My dead pick is Elvis Presley. Jumpsuits, jack?

Some Laughs.

Rarely do comic strips make me laugh out loud, but both of these got me to do more than smile yesterday. Thought I'd share:

F.Y.I

After hearing that Michael Chertoff had a "gut feeling" that Bin Laden's boys will attack this summer That's No Moon did a little digging and found that Chertoff had actually leaked part of Homeland Security's new terror threat level chart. I am now able to reveal the new system in its entirety. From lowest threat assessment level to highest:

Chertoff "Heard from a Guy"

Chertoff "Has a Gut Feeling"

Chertoff "Has Goosebumps"

Chertoff "Has the Willies"

Chertoff "Wants His Mommy"

Vick Not Guilty - Yet.

P.E.T.A needs to start thinking about the ethical treatment of people, as in, remembering that Michael Vick is innocent until proven guilty. Sure, the circumstantial evidence seems quite damning and the list of his past transgressions is pretty long, but he has not been convicted of anything. Don't get me wrong-I think Mike Vick is a an idiot (flipping off his fans, trying to smuggle his bong on a plane, using a fake name to get herpes medicine) and an overated quarterback. I just can't stand the way P.E.T.A. jumps at the opportunity to soak up media attention. They are boycotting Falcons camp and calling on the NFL to discipline Vick when the facts aren't fully known. Dogfighting is dispicable and Vick is quite likely guilty to some, if not a large, degree, but P.E.T.A needs to back off for now. They will likely have a full opportunity to tune Vick up when the facts are revealed.

Red, Red Rain.

I guess I'm moving to China. First, cardboard filled biscuits and now-they can control the weather . Cloud seeding, which apparently has a history of mixed success, will be used to induce pregnant clouds to deliver raindrops prior to the Olympic opening ceremonies, leaving nothing but pollution-free blue skies. At least that's the plan. Chinese scientists claim great success using silver iodide to help raindrops form, others are dubious. Oh, excuse me, I've just been handed this note-my dying, brown grass would like to know where we keep the silver iodide. Anyway, I think we should send in James Bond to stop these diabolical, weather altering mad men at the Beijing Weather Modification Office. Or perhaps, I'll open an umbrella stand when I get to there.



As an aside, the article also contains my new favorite quote "A heavy downpour will be impossible to combat."

It's Over.

You don't have to be Brit "Somebody, please take the stick out of my ass" Hume or Tim "I just ate an entire turkey" Russert to know that the '08 presidential race is over. With Oprah's endorsement of, and September fundraiser for, Barack Obama, this race is over. The Oprah Effect makes the next 15 months of campaigning irrelevant. (or as Killer's principal says, irrevelant). I've watched in awe as Oprah has catapulted bad to mediocre books to a seemingly permanent perch on the best seller list.

Now, obviously, I'm being sarcastic and ,obviously, presidential candidates are far different than books, but don't underestimate Oprah or the power she holds with her sheep. She has the power to tap into a group of people that may not regularly vote. If she really marshalled all of her forces she would have quite a platform from which to hypnotize, er, I mean promote. Of course, if Obama wants to really seal the deal, he'll not just attend her fundraiser, he'll invite her to join his ticket.

Another Movie Review Haiku

Transformers

Prime cool, rest were lame
Met my low expectations
Mike Bay makes me sad

Movie Review Haiku

Live Free Or Die Hard

Big bangs, Bruce looks old
Implausible action scenes
Silly popcorn fun

This Bun Tastes Like Cardboard.

That's because it IS cardboard. Remind me to brownbag my lunch when I'm in Bejing for the Olympics next year. From the Washington Times:


"In the report aired Wednesday night, China Central Television showed a shirtless, shorts-clad bun maker in Beijing using cardboard picked up off the street to stuff his steamed buns.
A hidden camera followed the man into a ramshackle building where steamers were filled with the fluffy white buns, called baozi, traditionally stuffed with minced pork.
It showed how cardboard was first soaked to a pulp in a plastic basin of caustic soda — a chemical base commonly used in manufacturing paper and soap — then chopped into tiny morsels with a cleaver. Fatty pork and powdered seasoning were stirred in as flavoring and the concoction was stuffed into the buns."



If you like, check the rest of the article here-http://washingtontimes.com/article/20070713/BUSINESS/107130046/1006

Worth A Look.

I just finished reading Paul Reickhoff's "Chasing Ghosts" and I suggest anyone interested in the Iraq War and the state of our nation's foreign policy check it out. Reickhoff was a National Guard Reserve platoon leader that landed in Baghdad in Spring 2003. Reickhoff isn't the most humble guy,but he does point out the many flaws of the invasion and the complete lack of forethought that went into post-invasion complications. Poor planning, old, broken down equipment and out of touch commanders made an already dangerous mission that much more so for Reickhoff and his men. The book also lends great insight into the Iraqi civilians who were put in a precarious situation by our invasion. (These same civilians that today Ann Coulter basically called expendable when, on "Hardball with Chris Matthews", she suggested that a less clean war disregarding collateral damage in Iraq would break the spirit of the enemy.) You can find a few more details and reviews of the book here . It's not the greatest read ever, but it does put you on the ground in the middle of this blunder.

Where Is Trader Joe's When I Need It?

I have concluded that doing our grocery shopping at Wal-Mart is what it must be like to visit a prostitute. You know you shouldn't do it and you know you'll regret it, yet an hour later later you feel empty, you've spent $100 and you have syphillis.

Okay, I may not have contracted syphillis, but I did nearly have a stroke while waiting for the half human-half snail that manned the deli counter to slice my baked ham. The icing on the cake was reaching the cashier with my conveyor belt full only to be told by the cashier that she would be right back because she had to get more bags. Nevermind that the carousel had plenty of bags to contain my products and many more. Never mind that there was nobody in line behind me. Nevermind that you could hustle after those unnecessary bags instead of sauntering across the store. Here's an idea-turn off your light, scan my goods, find more bags that you don't really need, and then turn your light back on. I know, I know ...you get what you pay for.

Well?

Hi, Ted Leonsis? The Major Indoor Lacrosse League called and they want their jerseys back.

The Caps revealed their new sweaters tonight and I am a bit underwhelmed. I am elated that they returned to the red, white and blue color scheme. That move was long overdue. However, I was hoping for something a little more dramatic than a retooling of the original jersey. It's strange-I usually like plain looks when it comes to unis. The Leafs, Red Sox and Cowboys all have an iconic feel because they aren't cluttered with zany stripes and swirls like so many jerseys today. These Caps jerseys, though uncluttered, are just boring.

Maybe it's because I never liked the original logo that seemed like an afterthought. (Uh, how about we write "capitals" on the shirt, but we'll make the T a hockey stick). So, I personally think returning to this logo, albeit slightly "futurized", is just an afterthought of an afterthought. Supposedly, they have been working on the design since 2005. So much for Ted L. being a marketing genius.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate them. I understand the numbers and name are much easier to read on TV and from the stands, so that's a plus. It will be cool to see the R,W and B flying around the rink. And the whole change is actually pretty insignificant. If they win, I don't care if they wear garbage bags. Finally, the good news is there is no debate over whether to pay $99 for a new replica jersey.

I know some of you guys liked the old logo. I'd enjoy hearing other thoughts on the new look.

Bagged and Tagged.

Great news Orioles fans-with the dismissal of manager Sam Perlozzo all of the team's flaws are repaired. Now that he is not burdened with filling out line-up cards Perlozzo will move to the bullpen to pitch in relief whenever the new manager needs an arm. Even at age 57, Perlozzo should be able to help a pen that is 0-8 with an 8.00 ERA in June. And on the days he doesn't pitch, Perlozzo will surely club enough home runs to move the O's offense out of last place in that category. Brilliant!

All sarcasm aside, watching the slow, decade-long disintegration of my favorite sports team has been brutal. Add up all the Caps blown 3-1 leads to Pittsburgh, all the Cowboys' 5-11 seasons and every Duke loss to UNC and the hurt doesn't come close to the pain of witnessing this once proud ball team fade away. I can't imagine what it must be like for Brooks, Palmer, Ripken, etc. The organization is in such disarray that a change in managers is not nearly enough. Digging up Casey Stengel or Leo Durocher and popping them in orange and black wouldn't help at this point. Peter Angelos has run off so many credible baseball people (Pat Gillick, Davey Johnson, Frank Wren) and made so many stupid decisions (Albert Belle, Jon Miller, handcuffing his current baseball people) that fans have started wearing paper bags over their heads at Camden Yards. What? Are we the New Orleans Saints? If this losing continues much longer some long-time fans may ignore printed warnings and switch to plastic bags.

At this point, Cheney and Rumsfeld's post-war Iraq plan looks more coherent than any Orioles game plan. The front office has assembled a team that is not built to win any time soon. Beyond their young starting pitching and two position players (Brian Roberts and Nick Markakis) this team has no bright spots. They have invested in slow-footed DH-1B-LF clones Kevin Millar, Aubrey Huff and Jay Gibbons. Those three are essentially the same guy competeing for ABs. Unfortunately, neither of them is even worthy of the ABs. None provides the power numbers teams expect from those positions.

The upper management also invested in Corey Patterson and Melvin Mora, two journeyman veterans that parlayed a good season into a good paycheck. Last summer they passed on the opportunity to trade unhappy, but valuable SS Miguel Tejada. Now, their power hitting SS has only a handful of homers, diminshed range in the field and a whole lot less trade value than he did this time last year. Finally, the front office's crowning achievement was sinking $42 million into revamping a hapless bullpen. So what does $42 million buy you? A cornucopia of disasters:18 losses by the pen, tons of late-inning blown leads and those always devastating walk-off home runs. Any manager would be a fool to walk into this mess. Luck be with anyone who does.

The stupid part about all this is that , as I write this post, I am lamenting the fact that I haven't been to Camden Yards yet this season. Maybe I'm the one that needs help.

Enquiring Minds Want To Know.

I'm not usually one to indulge in tabloid "news", but I'm pretty sure that Julia Roberts gave birth to Tiger Woods' baby on Monday.

Sending Out An S.O.S For The NHL.

After reviewing the ratings for Saturday's NHL Finals Game 3 on NBC I've determined that St4rbux, Killer and I may have been the only people in America that watched that game. And I'm only sure of that because we were in the same room. NBC logged the lowest primetime rating IN ITS HISTORY. I know that they were battling Lebron James' coronation on TNT and sweet summer weather, but it is ridiculous that this game got lower ratings than Mama's family reruns and the Food Network's "Build a Better Burger" or some such nonsense.

Dallas Morning News columnist Tim Cowlishaw offered his ten ways to improve the NHL to save it next year. I agree with some suggestions (contract to fewer teams, change unbalanced schedule) and vigorously disagree with others (limiting playoff overtimes). I'd love to hear some other reactions to his suggestions and suggestions of your own. Personally, I have been a proponent of contraction since before the lockout. I say knock it down to twenty teams to increase the quality of teams and eliminate organizations that are hemmoraging cash. I would even go so far as to say that I would bid the Caps farewell if it meant a stonger NHL in the long term. Hockey remains a grand game; I wish more people cared.

We're Gonna Need A Bigger Apple.

Is there any way that this photo is real? My big honker smells a hoax. I'm not the most informed guy around, but shouldn't I have heard that there are 1/2 ton pigs roaming the the Deep South? To paraphrase the great Tony Kornheiser, this may be a sign of the apocalypse. Is that a laser blaster in the kid's hand? Check out the story about the 11-year old who felled the beast(allegedly) here. See video here.

Real or not, at least I've found my new desktop wallpaper.

Hope New Pic Is OK.

If anyone in my new header pic has any objections to being on the web in such prominent fashion let me know (via comment or e-mail) and I'll remove it immediately.

"The Greatest Steaks In The World"

Apparently, Donald Trump is out of the TV business and into the steak business. Maybe not as absurd as I first thought, he does own restaurants and hotels that serve steaks. What is nutty is that his steaks are being sold through The Sharper Image. Because I enjoy nothing more than sitting in my overpriced leather massage chair, eating a Trump steak that I've cut with my all-purpose Swiss army knife while listening to my hand crank weather radio. Thanks, Sharper Image, now I can do one stop shopping at the mall!

"CHiPs" On DVD

Good News, CHiPs season one is available on DVD. I hope they include that episode when Ponch and John rescue the trapped motorist from the car that's about to explode. You know, the one where they later chase the suspect down the alley in which the squad cars won't fit. The one that ends with disco dancing and freeze frame shots of evrybody laughing at one of Ponch's jokes. I sure hope that one is on there.

Duck, Duck....Red Wings Are Goosed.

I don't care if I'm one of three people who watched it, I thoroughly enjoyed tonight's Game 6 of the Western Conference Finals. Gary Bettman may have nearly choked the sport to death with his carnival game antics such as the shootout, but tonight the grand game was on full display. Besides overtime, tonight's game had all the elements that make playoff hockey fantastic. Great goaltending, pretty goals, a little spilled blood and a frantic finish. Maybe Bettman and his merry band of morons who make up the Committee To Turn Hockey Into Basketball will realize games don't have to finish 8-7 to be entertaining. When the Ducks were up 2-0 I was rooting for the game to end with that score. It had been enjoyable to watch despite (or maybe because of) the dearth of goals. The first ten minutes of the second period included some serious, high-octane hockey. Even though that big-nosed dope Chelios (takes one to know one) stole a power play late in regulation the Ducks were able to hold on. After the game two of the coolest things in sports occured: The post series handshake because ultimately hockey is a gentleman's game. And then watching the conference champ captain hover near but carefully avoid touching the conference trophy. Hockey players aren't superstitous at all.



So, now what? All of my evil teams have been eliminated. I don't really care who wins the Cup from here. Will Southern California win its first Cup or will the trophy return to Canada for the first time since the first Clinton administration? (I was going to look up the Canadian Prime Minister in '93 to insert here, but that just seemed like too much work.) Will Anaheim's star defense be able to contain Ottawa's star offense? Am I the only one south of the border who cares?

Chuck P. Does It Again.

While I'm sure there are plenty, I've yet to find an author who can top Chuck Palahniuk for creating nutty, fucked up worlds which I love to read about, but pray don't really exist. With Rant, Palahniuk once again walks the line between genius and madman. In my opinion, it doesn't reach the level of my favorites (Choke, Survivor and Fight Club); if you're a fan, however, I don't think you'll be dissapointed. So much goes on in the story that I can't say much about it without issuing a spoiler alert. So I won't go any further. Just know that only from Chuck's feverish imagination can you get a story that interwines rabies, serial killers, car crashes and religion. Enjoy!

Funny Stuff.

I think this car dealer ad spoof is older, but I just found it on Don and Mike's website. It is pretty funny, just don't watch it with the kiddies around due to some very raw language. http://www.donandmikewebsite.com/news2/EEZupyVAVZdGdbJIPn.shtml

Summer Greed, Make Me Feel Fine.

I am trying to decide who is stealing more money this summer, Roger Clemens or the producers of Spiderman 3 ? Why does Hollywood want to turn our superheroes into pouting wussies? What happened to brooding bad asses? Why have I started this post with four straight questions?

Movie Spidey has joined Movie Superman as a hero with feelings. Well, I could use my superhero movies with a little less weeping and a whole lot less dancing. I'm sure there were a half dozen romantic comedies that I could have attended had I wanted to watch a relationship flick. What's next? Maybe the Incredible Hulk will scrape his knee and his mommy will kiss his boo-boo. Maybe the Six Million Dollar Man and the Bionic Woman can go on Dr Phil to discuss their on again-off again relationship. The worst part about Spiderman 3, however, is that even when it sticks to the superhero stuff it doesn't succeed. Bloated with tree villians, bad jokes and ho-hum action made this latest installment average at best. Thanks Sam Raimi for destroying my second favorite superhero.

As for that "real" hero, Roger Clemens, I don't even know where to begin. The guy plays by his own rules, deciding when and where he'll come back to pitch. He has teams falling all over themselves to pay him millions for half a season. After signing a contract with the Yankees that will pay him $4.5 million per month, he had the balls to say "If you think it's about the money, you are greatly mistaken." Well Rocket, I guess I'm as wrong as I'll ever be because I'm pretty sure you did it for the money. If it was for the love of the game I'm thinking you might have cut the Boss some slack. Of course it was for the money and the giant ego stroke that he needs every spring. GM Brian Cashman should get off his knees.

As for the ridiculous amount of money, I'm not going to argue that point. I think we can stipulate that athletes are overpaid. (However, I don't blame them for cashing in on what the market will bear. They are skilled pros that can do things many of us cannot. Besides, as long as I pay high ticket prices and drink $7 ballpark beers I wouldn't have much of a leg to stand on.) I would rather argue the merits of paying about $18 mil to a soon-to-be 45 year old pitcher. Actually, with the luxury tax the Yyankees pay, the 4.5 per month really costs Big Stein $6.3 per. Clemens has been outstanding the last two years, but he has a balky hamstring that isn't getting any younger. The Yanks were only a fistful of games out of first when they made the move. Not exactly panic time. I also wonder if Clemens maintains enough goodwill in that clubhouse to ward off jealousy about his special status. In order to spend more time with his family, Clemens is only required to be with the team on the days he pitches. Nice gig if you can get it. Hopefully, he'll pull his hammie and his tongue in his first start. of course, if he does that early Big Stein will just find another mercenary to bring on board. When you are playing with Yankee dollars, the rules are different.

Fancy Footwear.

Has anyone else grown tired of all these kids with wheels in their sneakers? These innocent looking shoes, concealing wheels, that in an instant can transform into roller derby crash machines. At the supermarket or at work I am nearly run over by kids flying around the corner. Sometimes they are out of control and don't give a damn. Other times they freak me out by slowly floating by like a ghost in a Scooby-Doo cartoon. I've started openly rooting for these kids to wipeout and take out a stack of canned corn or take a header into the salad bar. Harsh? Perhaps, but better they crash into the grocer's freezer than me. Oh, and if you know where they sell them in adult sizes, let me know because I'd love a pair.

Fat Guy In A Little Beard.

Posting these pictures to make you other scruffy-looking nerf herders feel better about your playoff beards. There is no way any of the rest of you have anything worse than this mess. You should not be able to play connect the dots on a beard that is two weeks old. Do they sell Rogaine for faces? Yet, I embrace the challenge and vow to forge on. It's actually been fun to watch people shake their heads as I explain the art of the playoff beard and our particular challenge.

Speaking of the playoffs, who the hell do I root for in the Sabres-Rangers series? Rangers-long time Patrick Division rivals, Jagirl, annoying goal celebration song. Sabres- newer rival,Briere, "concept art" logo, Lindy Ruff. What a dick that Ruff is. Still angry about a late penalty that his team had to kill off, Ruff threw stuff and yelled at the officials after the game was over. Your team just went up 2-0, let it go.

A New Day.

I neither possess, nor desire to possess, a green thumb. My landscaping consists of the bare minimum of mowing and trimming the weeds. I once proposed that we pave the entire backyard. For some reason Amanda didn't think that was a good idea. Even after I told her we could paint it green. In the past, the lawn care gods have frowned upon my obvious lack of enthusiasm by making life difficult. But today they have turned their frowns upside down, easing my memories of clogged filters, unruly chokes and murky oil/fuel mix ratios.

Today, I plucked my lawnmower from winter hibernation for the first mowing of the year. We had a short talk about making this year better than last and to my surprise I think it listened. With but one pull of the cord the engine sparked to life with a bloodthirsty roar, eager to strike down millions of hapless blades of grass. We conquered the unruly lawn in record time with nary a sputter. However, like a ballplayer who hits three homers on Opening Day, I know it's a long season. There will be ups and downs, broken strings and clogged chutes, but for one day I am pleased. For today, my grass is freshly shorn and my lawnmower and I share a tenuous truce.

Razor Held Hostage Day 7:

So I have entered into this deal with Killer and Roberto to not shave our "playoff" beards until someone hoists the Stanley Cup in mid-June. I last shaved on Friday the 13th, appropriate because my fledgling beard is horrific looking. Clearly, I have missed the genetic boat-my dad could grow in seven minutes what I have grown in seven days. At this point I am more Wednesday Addams than Grizzly Adams. I have unwisely started an unnecessary beard with no definitive timetable for shaving. I am the Neocons of facial hair policy. And like my stubborn president I will not be Pelosi'd into shaving too soon.

I think we can stipulate that I am not vain. My crew cut and uniform of a t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops proves that fact. I am, however, worried about this look I'm trying to cultivate. Although, my scruff does complement my double chin and the purple circles under my eyes. I call it "convenience store clerk chic". Please say a little prayer to Chuck Norris, Patron Saint of Facial Hair so that my beard fills in and looks halfway respectable. Stay tuned, Photo to follow soon.

Hello.....Is Anybody Still Out There?

So I haven't posted in a while, laying out for a bit while real life has taken center stage. My grandfather's passing and a large work project have been the more pressing business that has made blogging secondary. I've missed some good topics-baseball's Opening Day, the start of the NHL playoffs, the Imus mess, even Killer's half-hearted attempt to grow a playoff beard. (My beard, while disastrous, is still underway.) I have some stuff on my mind to speak about; I'll get back to speed soon.

You Had Me At Red, White And Blue.

This may be old news, but I first read it in today's Washington Post: The Caps will be returning to red, white and blue uniforms starting next season. Reebok was in town fitting players for unis yesterday. As far as I can tell no logo or scheme has been announced. Although they weren't as ugly as I feared, the Reebok all-star uniforms didn't do it for me. If it gets us some stars and stripes back, however, I can put up with the Jersey of the Future.

Simon Says: Try To Behead Opponent

I waited to post about Chris Simon's classless slash until the NHL handed down its punishment. A twenty-five game suspension may be the biggest ever delivered, but I think it is still too small. This is Simon's sixth career suspension so there is certainly a pattern here. The blow he delivered to Hollweg's mush would have been prosecution-worthy had it happened on a street corner. (This does not mean, however, that I think Simon should be charged criminally for his on-ice action as has been suggested by some.) I find it laughable that the NHL weighed the extent of Hollweg's injuries during its decision making. Hollweg (and Simon) was lucky that the blow caught mostly chin, not throat or eyes and nose. Intent, not the severity of resulting injury, should be the determining factor. Sit Simon down for an entire season if you really want to send the correct message, which is that there is no place in the game for using your stick in such a manner. It shows a total lack of respect for your opponent and the game of hockey. Then I heard this tidbit on Sportscenter this morning (though I have not seen the actual quote so maybe what Simon actually said isn't this bad)- Simon said he was concussed (by Hollweg's hit) in the moments preceding his stick swinging and didn't really know what he was doing when he cracked Hollweg in the face. Whatever.

BUT...
My feelings on this issue make me feel like a hypocrite for two reasons. First, like almost everyone who has played hockey on any level, I have lashed out in anger or frustration at an opponent. I have never whacked anybody severely with my stick, but I do understand that moment when you fly hot about a hit or dirty play.

Secondly, I have always felt that fighting has a positive role in NHL hockey. I don't condone fighting for the sake of fighting, but I have long believed that is better to have players police themselves with fists so that dangerous stick infractions don't occur. Then a lunkhead like Simon goes and crosses that threshold of respect for an opponent. The original hit on Simon may have been dirty, but he cannot respond in the way he did. If Simon wanted to fight Hollweg, fine. Anything more than dropping the gloves is unacceptable.

Misc.

Things I was thinking about while printing up my "Free Scooter" T-shirts...

Marvel Comics, in a not-so-subtle metaphor for today's USA, killed off Captain America. The hero who battled the Nazi's and even Watergate era corruption was killed as he headed to court to testify against diminshed civil liberties. Let's hope that, like many popular comic characters that have preceded him into death, Captain America and our civil liberties will soon be reborn.

I'm okay with the right to bear arms, but do NJ residents really have to fight the proposed ban on .50 caliber rifles? Oh, wait, I guess there are times when I just have to nail an elk from 1.5 miles away. My mistake.

The big boys of the credit card industry were grilled on Capitol Hill today for charging excessive fees and penalties. Whatever happened to people taking personal responsibilty for mistakes such as too much debt? Just because lenders will give you that money doesn't mean you have to use it. How about not spending beyond your means.

Even though I think it's a stretch, I'm rooting for the proposed sitcom based on the Geico Cavemen. Bravo to the writers that can make that funny week after week.

And as far Scooter Libby-I don't really think he should go free, but I think he's a bigger fall guy than Lee Majors. Darth Cheney escapes another one.

Context-free Quote of the Week.

"Whenever you've got a story that includes pretty women, cocaine and recreational bisexuality, people want to know more. Don't you?"- Tucker Carlson

Is this man a terrorist?

I discovered a new (to me at least) magazine yesterday. Good is sort of a social commentary mag that had a few interesting articles and profiles. One that particularly grabbed my attention was a profile of Hasan Elahi, an art professor who started tracking and documenting his whereabouts after he was questioned in a 9/11 investigation.

"Since the winter of 2002, Hasan Elahi has documented every urinal he’s used. He’s photographed every plate of noodles he’s eaten. His every movement, in fact, has been tracked through a GPS device in his cell phone and posted online. This is not blog-fuelled solipsism, nor a symptom of obsessive-compulsive disorder. His careful documentation of the mundane details of his life is all part of an ongoing art project called “Tracking Transience: The Orwell Project,” which Elahi developed when he discovered that after 9/11 the FBI had taken a keen interest in his life. "

It is a short, but interesting read. Whether Elahi is truly worried that he must continuously prove his innocence or if he is simply giving the middle finger to the forever haunting Big Brother, his story speaks volumes.

Not Losing ZZZs Over Losing ZZs.

Prior to the NHL trade deadline, the Caps unloaded Richard Zednik and first line center Dainus Zubrus. I think some of the regular Caps bloggers have carried their laptops to the ledges of very tall buildings before posting on these trades. I say, why? I am fine with both of these moves.

Zednik was (again) an injury plagued bust that contributed little this season. Zubrus, while a strong player who helped Ovechkin adjust to America, wanted way too many years on a new contract. He was solid, if unspectacular, in his six years in DC, but probably was out of position as a first line center. He'll likely be a second or third line winger in Buffalo. GMGM apparently tried to sign Zubie to a new deal, saying both player and agent were classy during the talks, yet they just couldn't agree. I'm happy they were able to salvage something instead of letting Zubrus walk away for free in the summer. The something they get back is a first round pick this year and center Jiri Novotny who is five years younger than Zubrus. Novotny likely isn't a huge solution at center, but Nicklas Backstrom should be next year. The Swedish center hopefully arrives next season to give the Caps a young three-headed monster (Ovie, Semin, Backstrom) to rival Pittsburgh's (Crosby, Malkin, Staal). Until then Caps fans may have to endure a last place team. Then again that's nothing new. As Cubs fans remind us annually-There's always next year.

Going, Going, Gone.

I have abandoned Facewash, my "sports blog", because I have done absolutely nothing with it. I was ambitious, starting it when I was unemployed, but now barely seem to have time to write anything on this page. To those that kindly checked in, thanks. Now I am one stop shopping.

Silly Things You Think About While Sitting In Traffic.

Is it possible that vehicles which stop at all railroad crossings (tankers, buses, hazmat transports) are rear-ended more often than they would be struck by trains if they didn't stop at the tracks?

My Love/Hate Relationship With The Female Jesus or The Dueling Dichotomy of Oprah.

Before being labeled a blasphemer, let me point out that I do believe in Jesus; I don't, however, think he is a billionaire TV hostess. Yet, at the top of every show Oprah gets a reaction that might also greet the second coming.

"We've got a special treat for the audience too-daaay. Look under your seats. Everybody gets a bottle of wine that used to be a bottle of WAAATTTER!"

When Oprah walked onto the Ellen show today(yes, I was that bored) the audience wigged out- women with mouths agape, weak kneed, hands over mouths, looking at each other. I'm pretty sure some were weeping. This show, in addition to feeling the Oprah Effect at work, made me think about Oprah's influence and my divided feelings about her. She is sort of a polarizing figure; I suspect there is a firm balance between those that love her and those who are Oprah-weary. My co-workers disparage Queen Oprah and the lemmings that rush in for whichever book she is pushing this month. This brings me to my first point on the Oprah plus/minus scale:

Plus: Most of her book club books are actually good books worthy of praise. But even the bad ones turn to gold when she lays hands on them. What some of my co-workers fail to realize is that this means our numbers grow as her recommendations fly off the shelf. I wish she'd plug a book every week.
Minus: The trancelike state customers in search of her books seem to be in is a little creepy.

Plus:She is a starmaker whose influence and exposure brought us Dr. Phil, Dr. Oz and Bob Greene.
Minus: She brought us Dr. Phil.

Plus: She is an example that proves a poor, black woman can rise from tough circumstances to become incredibly successful (and wealthy).
Minus: She continually bashes us over the head with this info. Her humility is often fleeting; today she referred to herself as "the mother of all talk shows".

Plus: Humble or not, Oprah uses her incredible reach and resources in an attempt to, pardon the cliche, make the world a better place. Her philanthropy extends beyond simply writing checks. Her leadership academy for South African girls seems like the real deal. She also uses her show to illuminate the important work that others (including "regular" people) are doing.
Minus: There really isn't a minus here, her generosity is beyond commendable.

So, I guess I'm no longer on the fence. I figured I'd have a few more minuses. Despite the fact that she's often smug, completely overexposed and kinda annoying, I'm siding with Oprah's screaming, weak kneed, weepy admirers. Just without all the screaming, and weeping. Oh, and it'd be great if we could keep this our little secret.

No Skateboards, Bicycles or Roller Skates. Yeah, right.

I visited an old friend this morning. Wanting to soak up the 50-degree heat wave I went to Fairfeld park to shoot some hoops and test my knee. While it doesn't possess the "glamour" of Parkside's or WiHi's tennis courts, Fairfield hosted plenty of fun roller hockey action. Parkside had better attendance and probably co-owns, along with Gladiator's basement, the title of birthplace of KNK Vending. WiHi scores points for some of the priceless moments enjoyed playing there. I mean a certain shirtless roommate never burnt his nipples off sliding bare chested across Fairfield's court. Rob never drunkenly feared he was having a heart attack at Fairfield. And I can still hear the buzz of St4rbux's Protege as he accelerated through the dark WiHi parking lot.

Fairfield hasn't changed much. There is a new fence for our sticks to get caught in, but the same death-trap posts are there still eager for a high speed collision as we race for the milk crate. (Pleased to be noting in the photo's background the Fairfield softball diamond forever immortalized in a Broken Leg Production tp commercial.) Though I haven't been on in-line skates since my surgery, as I stood in the sunshine I felt the urge to slip on a hockey sock hat and scuff the hell out of that court with stick marks.

Creativity Is Being Smothered, Which Is Okay As Long As It Doesn't Commit Suicide.

The damaging effects of political correctness have been well documented by folks much smarter than me, but I'll throw in my two cents anyway. It is likely that anything said in a public forum will offend someone. Of course, care should be taken to not say or do something awful. Unfortunately, the line of what's acceptable is being blurred by groups who are offended by anything and everything.

The latest examples involve two car commercials that have been pulled because the automakers have been attacked by groups claiming that the commercials are offensive to those dealing with the trauma of suicide. (I suppose they mean the suffering of those around people who have committed suicide since, obviously, those who have committed the act no longer have earthbound concerns. Was that insensitive? Please don't boycott my blog now. )

One of the commercials (for GM, I think) shows an obsolete car-manufacturing robot jumping off a bridge. Volkswagen also aired one where a man contemplating suicide backs off the ledge upon learning that Volkswagen offers three cars under $17,000. Neither commercial is particularly funny or clever, or even that memorable. Nor is either one offensive in my mind. I hardly think GM or Volkswagen is encouraging suicide or minimizing the tragic impact it can have. They are just throwaway commercials and it pains me to see companies bullied by small advocacy groups. Being funny (or in the case of these commercials, attempting to be funny) is being squeezed into an increasingly smaller box by those who are afraid to laugh.

A Rude Awakening.

Tonight I accompanied my cub reporter wife (she's now writing for SU's student paper) to an on-campus function celebrating the Chinese New Year. The food was tasty enough considering it was prepared cafeteria-style in the dining hall and the Chinese musicians and dancers were entertaining; certainly enough info for Amanda's feature story. The real scoop, however, is that apparently SU now admits 15-year-olds. The dining hall was filled with tons of youngsters, surely these kids aren't college age.

What? Oh, those kids are all 18-22? No way, I didn't look that young when I was there. So, the university doesn't teach seventh graders? Well, if those little tykes are all college kids, then that makes me...OLD.

Seriously, I felt a hundred years old walking around campus. I'm now ten to fifteen years older than college students. When the hell did this happen? Sure, my knees are creaky and I'm going a little gray, but I don't feel ten to fifteen years older than those kids. While I know that I physically look that much older I guess in a lot of ways I don't see myself that way. Now, that's not to say I desire to hit a frat party and pull a few keg stands, but I would like to glance at a pretty co-ed without feeling like a dirty old man.

I also work with a bunch of young people; I'm amazed sometimes at the different perspectives and frames of reference that they possess. Leading up to the Super Bowl, our cafe sold cookies in the shape of "little, tiny footballs". I cracked wise about the cookies Ray Finkle's mom made in Ace Ventura and was met with blank stares. One girl said she had never seen the movie, but asked me to explain the reference so she wouldn't be out of the loop. I told her not to worry- that loop was a dozen years old and she wasn't missing much. I then adjusted my bifocals, hobbled over to my Rascal and motored off to the music department to tell the kid over there that he was playing that dang rock-n-roll music too loud.

What They Left Out of the Brochure.

COME TO SPACE CAMP 2007 AND TRAIN LIKE YOUR ASTRONAUT HEROES!

Learn incredibly important life skills such as:

Driving fast enough to beat a commercial flight from Houston to Orlando.

Knowing what items (pepper spray!, a mallet!, rubber tubing?) you'll need to subdue and kidnap a romantic rival!

Constructing disguises so you won't be recognized by co-workers.

Gotta go? No problem, put on an adult diaper and soil yourself all the way to Florida.

Disclaimer: One thing you won't learn-How crazy is too crazy.

Call 1-800-NASA-NUT to sign up today.

Casualties of War

Last night I caught part of CNN's special about doctors and nurses working in military hospitals in Iraq. They may not be on the front lines(though I'm not even sure what that means in this war), but they are damn close. This was no MASH episode with docs making martinis in a homemade still. These were real life doctors and nurses doing their best to heal devastating physical and psychological wounds. You could sense their excitement at saving a fellow soldier and see their crushing anguish when they failed to do the same for an innocent Iraqi girl. They worked with the same fervor whether the patient was American or Iraqi, child or insurgent. One surgeon remarked -and I'm paraphrasing- how great it was that they were present to heal a young Iraqi girl, but that maybe them being there in the first place put this girl in danger. I have many conflicted feelings about this war and I understand war, even when justified, is a brutal, awful series of events. However, I don't see how anyone who saw these victims-one commanding officer was commended for picking up all the pieces of his wounded soldier-could be eager to send anyone off to battle.

Flashback to Discovery Zone

So who else spent their Friday workday cleaning up three separate puddles of vomit? Oh, am I the only one who had such good fortune? Being the manager on duty has certain perks; this wasn't one of them. Once the rest of the staff informed me that if they had to clean it up there would be even more puddles, I grabbed the plastic gloves and dove in. The real bitch of it was that the first puddle was ten paces inside the front door. The puking perpertrator then apparently (I say apparently because we never figured out who did it) decided that instead of turning around and running outside they would cross the entire store in an attempt to reach the bathroom. Hence puddles two and three.

After sopping up the wet stuff there remained some, not to be gross(Oh, who am I kidding of course I'm trying to be gross.) chunks that required further attention. We all had a good laugh as I strapped on the jetpack-looking backpack vac and finished the job. One guy remarked that I looked like a Ghostbuster. I then brought the house down by quoting the incomparable Ray Parker Jr and telling everyone that indeed "Bustin' makes me feel good." Digital pictures were taken of me in my Ghostbuster garb; if they still exist I'll try to get them posted here. Now I'm off to wash my hands for the hundredth time in the last two days.

Smokin'

One of the few benefits of my less than ideal new retail work schedule is that I can watch weekday movie matinees in peace. Today, Amanda and I watched Smokin' Aces. Okay, I'll wait for you to stop your chuckling. Are you done? Seriously, this was a pretty good flick. That is, if you like your escapist entertainment full of fun, gratuitous violence. The only thing bigger than this movie's cast was the body count. In the same vein as Pulp Fiction (but not nearly as strong as that classic), Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and Snatch, this story shows the calamitous results that occur when twisting storylines and offbeat characters intersect.

Ryan Reynolds buries Van Wilder and Two Guys, A Girl and A Pizza Place with a strong performance as a federal agent. I enjoyed Ray Liotta and Ben Affleck because they came in small doses which is about all I can stand of those two. Throw in the beautiful Alicia Keys as a fishnet stocking-clad contract killer and a host of other sorta stars and familiar faces and you've got quite an eclectic cast. While there will assuredly be no Oscar nominations for this pic, it is worth two hours on a rainy day. Enjoy.

Pic of the Week.

Feeling uninspired to write, so here is another pic. I took it hanging upside down from the landing skid of TC's chopper as we skimmed the big island. Just out of frame is Magnum kayaking in short OP shorts. (Cue best TV theme ever.) Good times. Actually, I really want to write, but nothing of consequence or quality will spring forth from the chunk of rock I call a brain. Maybe I need some opium or absinthe. Kidding, of course.

"Dave's a killer."

I just saw Paul Newman's appearance on Letterman. Newman, at age 80+, still looks spry enough to lace up the skates and lead the "toughest team in the Federal League". It's also fun to watch Letterman interview somebody that he actually likes and genuinely admires.

Tread Lightly Mr. McCain.

So John McCain wants to patch things up with James Dobson. This is what irks the hell out of me about politicians. McCain, for years, has butted heads with the Christian Right, but now seems to be crawling back to them in hopes of becoming the nominee in '08. If he can reconcile with Dobson like he did with Jerry Falwell then McCain may gain a chunk of votes. However, in the process he will certainly lose some of his "maverick" credibility and likely the votes of people like me who enjoy the fact that he calls some of these groups out on their intolerance. I'd much rather see McCain stick to his guns, win or lose.

Pic of the Week.

Feeding time at the National Zoo, which is one of the great (and free) destinations in our area. We went to take pics of Tai Shan and the cheetahs, but I think this might have been my favorite of the day.

And Reagan Was Talking About The Great Wall of China.

In a sad commentary on today's young adults, a Washington Post article points out that many college students responding to a civil literacy survey thought Martin Luther King Jr's "I have a dream" speech was advocating the abolition of slavery. Seriously? Students smart enough to get into college don't know that Dr King lived in the 1960's, not the 1860's? That slavery had long been abolished, but many social injustices still needed to be eradicated? Man, that was a tough break when Abraham Lincoln and Dr King were assassinated in the same year. I understand that most holidays celebrating important figures have become little more than a day off or an excuse to put sheets and towels on sale, but this is a biggie.

The article lays a large chunk of the blame for this confusion on schools squeezing social studies lessons in favor of reading and math. I too lament the pinching of social studies(as well as art and music) from the curriculum, however, school is hardly the only place students should be getting their knowledge. Parents are obligated to help their children learn, whether it is a history lesson or catching and observing fireflies. Not all of our children's shortcomings can be laid at the feet of educators.

No matter who is to blame , it is a sorry state when people don't know what Dr King stood for. Every American, let alone every college student, should posess that knowledge.

The Great # 8.

There is little new ground to break when writing a tribute to Cal Ripken, but in the wake of his election to the baseball Hall-of-Fame I thought a celebration of his accomplishments was warranted.

Of course, Cal's lasting legacy will be The Streak. Through injuries, slumps, bad teams and seemingly hundreds of different batting stances Cal and the streak endured. 2,632 consecutive games played. Amazing. Born out of a belief that a ballplayer should be hard-working and reliable, Cal showed up every day for fourteen years. Many argued, during some prolonged slumps, that Ripken was selfish and should take a day off. I never felt, however, that one day off would help ease a slump. And as Ripken often said, who would the O's plug into the line-up that would be any better? I agree with a radio host who said this week that a fortunate byproduct of the streak was that at every game every fan knew they would get to see Cal play. No one would be dissapointed to arrive at Camden Yards only to see Ripken scrathed from the lineup.

The streak, however incredible it was, should not define Cal Ripken, though. He is far more than a bunch of consecutive games strung together. He revolutioned the shortstop position by showing that a big man could succesfully roam the middle of the diamond. No longer would shortstop be the domain of tiny slick-gloved, no-hit infielders. That's not to say Riken didn't have a great glove. He may not have had tremendous range, but he covered more ground than one would imagine. He also expanded his "range" by using intelligent positioning, then gobbbling up virtually every ball that he could reach. (George Will's book Men at Work provides great insight into the brain work that Ripken put into each game, setting the infield and sometimes even calling pitches from shortstop.) He likely would have won more than two Gold Gloves had he not shared the position with the acrobatic vacuum cleaner Omar Vizquel.

As a slugger, Ripken's credentials are solid, if unspectacular. One of eight hitters to have 400+ homers and 3000+ hits. His other numbers add to the prestige-two MVP awards, Rookie of the Year, nineteen all-star games, and one World Series ring.

All of these accomplishments really pale in comparison to Cal Ripken's true impact though. He is a true hometown hero who became the face of a franchise and a city. Cal was MVP of the team that led the O's to their last world title. Once Eddie Murray was unfairly run out of town, Ripken became the anchor of the lineup. He was always willing to sign autographs, especially during the run-up to breaking Gehrig's record; this was, of course, the exact time anybody would have forgiven him for scaling back such activities. Instead, Cal would sign every last ball or hat even if it took hours after a game. Finally, his devotion to his hometown team was proven several times when he could have left Baltimore for bigger bucks elsewhere. Each time, he stayed to try to help bring another title to Baltimore. I will always appreciate his loyalty and I view that commitment to the Orioles as his enduring legacy.

Pic O' The Week.

Neat looking tree branch. Like a bunny or dragon. Or something.