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.

Yuck.

Tonight I found out that I have a higher quality TV set than I thought. I flipped past CNN Headline News long enough to see Glenn Beck interviewing Nancy Grace. I thought that potent a combo of annoying, self-righteous condascension would be enough to melt the studio, satellite, cable box and my TV. Bravo Sharp for building a TV that can withstand that unfortunate pairing.

Joe Photo

I have been having a lot of fun with my digital camera since purchasing it earlier this year. I finally decided to figure out how to upload the pics to my page. So, I'll probably throw post some now and again. They are by no means artistic, just stuff I find neat or fun.

Merry Christmas

A quick shout out to Baby Jesus , the real Reason for the Season. But there are other reasons to love the season. Among them:

Holding mistletoe over inapproriate body parts and hoping for the best.

Hearing words that , while perhaps not distinctly Christmas-y, are rarely used other times of the year- yule log, good tidings, jingle, manger, frankincense.

Watching the Chinese dudes sing "Deck the Halls" in A Christmas Story. Fa-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra- ra-ra!

Counting your blessings, which this year include:

-My smart, talented wife Amanda

-A dedicated support network of family and friends (Some of whom even read this blog). I appreciate you all very much.

-A new job.

-Amanda and I have reconnected with old friends (Elisa, Jody and Matt and their families) and made new ones (Angela and her boys).

May you all have a warm and happy Christmas day.

Back Again.

I'm back from another out of town training gig, so here are a few notes from last week:

*Saw an ad for Daytona 500-Fragrance for Men. Because nothing is sexier than smelling like burnt tires and exhaust. I hope my stocking is stuffed with a few bottles (or maybe it comes in a gas can).

*While trying to kill some time by walking through the giant Towson Town Center mall, I passed a store called Leather Man. It took a large chunk of self control to not walk in and ask for Marv Gomez.

*Can we please put a toe tag on the latest incarnation of Family Feud? J. Peterman isn't awful (and he's way better than the wooden Richard Karn), but that show stinks overall. Bone-headed contestants, WWF-style fake posters planted in the audience and some bloody awful questions have made the show difficult to watch. Dispatch Awesome Dawson from the Game Show Hall Of Fame or put this thing on ice for good.

*While dozing in the hotel room, half-watching MSNBC I hear Keith Olbermann mention Wednesday's "Worst Person in the World" is from Salisbury, MD. With a cringe I sit up and listen how a middle school teacher made three students pee in a bottle in the back of class because they were not allowed to go the bathroom unattended and no one answered the teacher's call for an attendant. Wow. A soda bottle? Seriously? Drink it all in here. Now, I know that misbehaving kids caused the policy change and that teachers may have a tough call about who really has to go to the bathroom, but you CANNOT make kids piss in bottles in the back of the classroom. There is a time when common sense must outweigh policy. Hey, but any publicity is good publicity, right Salisbury?

*Finally, after two weeks on the road I realized how much I love being home. I couldn't travel routinely for a living. You spend a week immersed in someone else's environment. It's sort of surreal; everyone else is in their normal routine, but your life (besides work) is in a kind of suspended animation. I know some guys who enjoy it. Maybe they don't have wives to miss or don't miss their wives, but I wouldn't enjoy living out of a suitcase for extended periods of time. My sweet, beautiful wife makes home a fantastic place to be. Thank God she came along and rescued me from a life of solitude.

Quick Hits

I haven't posted lately because I have been out of town for a week training for My New Employer. I hope to post more regularly again shortly (when I'm settled into my new position). Until then here are some quick hits from the past few days:

I have never gotten into My Name Is Earl , but I watched this past Thursday's episode while in the hotel. Maybe it was five days on the road or the stuffy recycled hotel room air-I laughed my ass off. I think I am a convert. "To the Field of Rakes!"

Brief Movie Review #1:Before I left for my trip, My Wife and I caught Casino Royale. Bond is back, baby. Even though Connery sets the standard and I grew up with Roger Moore, I really liked Daniel Craig. He kicks butt, doing some action work that wouldn't have been believable with his predecessors. His Bond is both introspective and vulnerable, another departure from previous incarnations. Without giving away anything, know this- This movie has the best "hero climbs the side of the truck" scene since Raiders of the Lost Ark and some of the signature "Bond" elements are delivered in dynamite fashion.

Brief Movie Review #2: I thoroughly enjoyed Stranger Than Fiction. It is a little different than you might expect from the previews; it's more serious than I thought it would be. Wil Ferrell's understated performance grounded the movie letting Dustin Hoffman and Emma Thompson dive into funny, eccentric characters. Toss in the sweet performance of Maggie Gyllenhal and you've got a clever, character driven film.

Heads Up, Scrubs Fans.

Meant to post this reminder yesterday. The Scrubs season premeire is tonight at 9. The Office and Scrubs back-to-back should give The O'Reilly Factor a run for its money as the funniest hour on TV.

It's Those Damn Tuna Flavored Wet Suits.

Sea World Trainer Held Underwater By Killer Whale

I was glad to read he is okay. These animals, trainers and shows are amazing.

Forecasters and Floozies.

This post is probably as predictable as the panicked preseason predictions were, but I don't care. Huuricane season ends today with a whisper. I want all the talking heads who breathlessly warned of an apocalyptic season in the spring to be on TV today telling us how wrong they were. Today, these experts look dumber than that trinity of tasteless party girls-Britney, Paris and Lindsay- that has been flaunting it for the tabloids for the last week. A quick aside to these girls: If you know the paparazzi is stalking you, trying to shoot an embarassing photo, maybe you should wear panties when you step out of a car wearing a dress. That way I don't have to navigate articles about, and photos of, your exposed, naked private parts everytime I log onto the internet. To steal from Dean Wormer-Pantiless, drunk and stupid is no way to go through life.

Anyway, these hurricane forecasters have to be the luckiest SOBs on the planet. Only baseball hitters can fail this much and get paid. As my friend Killer likes to say, he would be fired if he screwed up as much as weathermen. I know, Iknow they are only giving predictions. But these predictions are supposedly based on a wealth of data. After their dire, worse-than-Katrina forecasts, to see a season where not one single named storm sniffed the US mainland is ridiculous. Don't get me wrong. I'm glad they were wrong and coastlines were spared. I just wish they would keep the Hype Machine in the box until it is truly warranted. Yeah, right. It's more likely that Britney Spears will win Mother of the Year.

Hurtful? Yes. Lawsuit-Worthy? No Way.

I was angered, but not surprised, by Tucker Carlson's interview with Gloria Alred on his MSNBC show Monday afternoon. Alred is the attorney representing the two men insulted by actor Michael "Apparently I'm Only Funny As Kramer" Richards during his stand-up act 2+ weeks ago. Alred's clients are contemplating suing Richards for monetary damages. She suggested that the two men and Richards plead their case before a retired judge who would then make a recomendation to Alred on the viability of a lawsuit. What?

Look, I in no way endorse what Richards said or did. It was racist, indecent behavior that shouldn't happen. I'm sure the men were hurt, angered, disgusted, embarassed and humiliated. But somebody needs to explain to me, better than Miss Alred did, why these men deserve money. If they want to find Richards and punch him the mouth, I've got no beef with that. If they want to hang HIM upside down with a fork stuck up HIS ass, I'm fine with that, too. But, they do not deserve $$$. Miss Alred could not justify her stance in the face of Tucker's questioning. Perhaps, because there is no reasonable basis for a suit.

This case could be landmark, though. Maybe if somebody on the street calls me fat ass, I can track them down and sue them for damages. Oh wait, I have a better idea. Attention (soon to be former) friends and hockey buddies: I have decided that I was hurt everytime you insulted me by pointing out that I have a big nose. So be forewarned, if you ever called me Toucan, Noseboy, Pizza,Pizza (think about the Little Caesar's mascot) or Nose-tradamus, you will be hearing from my attorney. Paging Gloria Alred...

Mr. No-Glass

I haven't posted as much as I would have liked lately because of time constraints. My days have been filled with Thanksgiving visiting and training with my new company. That's right, folks, a new job! For those of you who don't know ( and for those I didn't tell personally, I apologize ) My Former Employer did for me what I hadn't done for myself by laying me off in late October. Once I recovered from the sting of being let go I actually enjoyed what turned into essentially a four week vacation. Now My New Employer, who I'll decline to name in this public forum, has rescued me from the worry and anxiety of an extended period of unemployment. Thus far, I like my new post with My New Employer and have high hopes for the future. Stay tuned.

Mint-y Fresh

WooHoo! The US Mint is releasing new $1 coins with redesigned Presidents' heads. Mint Director Edmund C. Hoy, during the unveiling of the first four coins in the series, said "Having lettering on the edge gives each coin a very modern, kind of hip and cool look." Really? First of all, when have coins ever been hip and cool? Beyond having a pocketful of them, raise your hand if you give a damn about coins. Following the fabulous success of using Susan B. Anthony and Sacajawea to adorn coins, I can't believe these guys really think dollar coins will catch on now. In an era when people increasingly swipe their plastic for even tiny purchases, how "modern" is a coin? Except for the lemmings who wanted to inspect my change for new state quarters every time I purchased a canned soda, I don't see the appeal. But if you do find it appealing, grab your commemorative pleather 43 slot dollar coin holder and get all the hip and cool details here.

The Curse Continues.

Sometimes when dealing with a PR nightmare, the best move is to simply keep your mouth shut. Somebody should have given Michael Richards that advice. I don't know if the man is racist or if he is truly sorry for his tasteless rant from the weekend. What I do know is that his disjointed apology on Letterman Monday night did him no favors. A coherent written statement probably would have been a better move than that awkward seven minutes beamed into The Ed Sullivan Theater via satellite.

I will give him credit for not using the celebs' excuse du jour of blaming the episode on being drunk and immediately checking into rehab. I just think if he wanted to aplogize he could have picked a better forum. Letterman was clearly uncomfortable and the audience really didn't know what to do, sometimes chuckling awkwardly. Weird.

Now I Can Cross-Promote And Have Blog Synergy

I've created a new page that I will devote entirely to sports talk. I'll be discussing the hot issues, breaking down the games and rehashing fan memories. I believe the countless hours I have spent attending games, reading the sports page and digesting games on TV and radio have prepared me. Facewash is now up and running. Hopefully, I'll be able to entertain and inform. Sort of like a cyberspace sports bar, full of good-natured arguments and cheers. Tune in, if you please.

Best of the B-List

After Roberto posted about his crush on Amy Sedaris and after I learned that Wolske shares my admiration for sweet, sweet Lindsay Czarniak, I decided it was time to publish my list. You see, I have mentally compiled a list of TV/movie personalities that I find, let's see how shall I say it, incredibly watchable. There is just something about them that makes you want to tune in. The other thing you'll notice about the list is that none of the ladies who appear on it are superstars. They fly under the radar , B-list beauties, if you will. Everybody knows Angelina Jolie, Scarlett Johansen and Jessica Alba; my list digs a little deeper. So, with apologies to my wife(who, in my eyes, is the hottest woman on the planet) , I present a list that is very easy on the eyes:

Lauren Graham - The term "MILF" may be crude and out of date, but it perfectly suits Graham's character on the Gilmore Girls. We watch it because it's a funny, sharply written show, but with her as the star I'd watch even if they spoke Chinese.

Fox's Pam Oliver and ESPN's Erin Andrews - Two of the best in the biz. (Although, I do think sideline reporters, male or female, are essentially a useless part of any game broadcast.)

Mary Louise Parker - Sexy, saucy and a dry delivery that's funny as hell.

MSNBC's trio of talking heads Chris Jansing , Alison Stewart and Amy Robach make the bad news so much better.

SNL's Amy Poehler - Funny as hell. Enough said.

Rashida Jones - Exhibit A for the argument that famous people should mate with other famous people. (She's the daughter of Quincy Jones and Peggy Lipton.)

The Wreckers - This country duo, singers Michelle Branch and Jessica Harp, is a recent addition to the list thanks to Imus in the Morning.

Inbox Theatre

Because I have a little too much time on my hands I decided to write a short scene in which the entire dialogue consists of subject lines from my email inbox. Finally, a use for spam.
Setting-Any street corner:

"Hi, friend."

"Yo."

"Want to be a hero in bed?"

"It is finally time."

"Looking for medications?"

Shrugs shoulders. "Don't know where to buy pills."

"It is no wonder your girlfriend is very angry. Are you ready?"

"Dear sir, I am interested in it."

"It is fully guaranteed to make you shoot more and more."

Incredulously: "Feet?"

"It is possible today with excellent formula." Hands him pill bottle.

"Is this it?"

Nods knowingly. "Buy it now and this night will be the best of your life."

Star Wars ! What really happened after the Deathstar blew up

I always forget to watch Robot Chicken, so those of you that do have probably already seen this. it cracked me up, though.

Why I Wear My "I Voted" Sticker With Pride.

In the midst of a season of clashing agendas and unsavory mudslinging, I took time yesterday to reflect upon how fortunate I feel to live in a nation where my voice and its echoes can be heard. Forget for a moment the corruption, the numbers, the animosity. Instead, focus on the priceless gift of representation our forefathers bestowed upon us. We must never squander this favor; too many voices across the globe fall upon deaf ears. Whether ardently defending current policies or desperately seeking a new bearing, it is our responsibility as Americans to shout out, through cast ballots, our ambitions and aspirations. Like every election day, yesterday provided confirmation that the process, however ugly at times, is necessary and just. From a young local candidate warmly greeting voters on a gloomy day to a faithful statesman's dignified concession, yesterday renewed my faith that America, despite her foibles and missteps, will remain a shining beacon of promise.

Hero, On And Off The Court

It is hard to believe that it was fifteen years ago today that Magic Johnson announced that he was retiring from the NBA because he had contracted HIV. Besides making me feel old, this anniversary reminds me how far we have come in terms of AIDS awareness and education. Not many people who heard Magic's news that day figured he would be alive today. As a society we were ignorant about this awful disease. Magic's tragedy brought the disease towards the mainstream. Magic was a healthy, heterosexual man who contracted HIV through unprotected sex with a woman. It didn't immediately break down barriers; I remember headlines and whispers wondering if Magic was gay. After all, he had kissed Isaiah Thomas on the cheek during the Finals, hadn't he? Fortunately, most of America has come to grips with the facts that being gay isn't the end of the world and that HIV/AIDS is indiscriminate in who it destroys. Ultimately, Johnson's story taught not only that HIV wasn't just a gay man's disease, but that it wasn't spread through casual contact. Players, some reluctantly, played alongside Magic during his brief return to basketball, acknowledging that it was safe to bump into or trade sweat with him. This may seem absurd now, but back then it was a genuine concern of those who were uneducated about the disease.

Of course, Magic's tale is not over; who knows what his future holds. He has been fortunate that he can afford the best medical attention and drugs available. Not everyone has that chance. But on that November afternoon fifteen years ago few gave Magic a chance either. Conventional wisdom said that he'd likely develop AIDS and die before the turn of the century. Hopefully, people will continue to learn from Magic Johnson's experience. Far too many Americans are still contracting the disease. The education movement that was bolstered by Johnson's admission must continue.

Earvin "Magic" Johnson was an amazing basketball player and has been a champion of the community as an entreprenuer and supporter of black businesses. However, his most important and lasting legacy was likely written when he stepped to the podium those many Novembers ago.

With Zero Precincts Reporting...

A few brief notes and questions on election day:

Has anybody else noticed that at every photo-op lately PA Sen. Rick Santorum has had that Phil Mickelson, bemused, "I may be a little medicated" smile plastered on his face? On the whole, I like Santorum ( I especially applaud his Autism research bill), but lately he has looked like a beaten man.

Am I naive to put my faith in electronic voting machines? I have read about the risks and some of the lab tests proving hacker accessibility, but most of us trust our lives to similar technology everyday. ATMs, credit card swipes and the internet all have dangers that we ignore.

Irrelevant, but neat- On the eve of Election Day, the Capitals defeated the Senators in NHL action last night.

I'd like to thank Bob and Kendall Erlich, Martin O'Malley and the host of other candidates who have jammed my voicemail box in recent weeks. Your "personal" messages have been sweet, but really, you shouldn't have. Also, your colorful signs have really added beauty to the landscape.

I suppose facing the gallows will make any man change his tune. Saddam Hussein now calls for reconciliation among Iraqi citizens-"I call on all Iraqis, Arabs and Kurds, to forgive, reconcile and shake hands," Saddam said. Why don't you do us all a favor and go shake hands with Allah, ass.

Finally, as always, If you don't vote today, don't bitch about the results tomorrow.

See This Movie.

Do yourself a favor, see the Borat movie. But wear a diaper because this movie is piss-your-pants funny. I haven't laughed that hard out loud in a movie theater since they brought out the gimp in Pulp Fiction. I'm going to have to find Da Ali G Show on DVD because I want to see what else Sacha Baron Cohen has done. In this mockumentary he doesn't just ignore political correctness, he shatters it with a hammer. It may be at the expense of all ethnic group, feminists and the eldery, but it's funny as hell.

Similar to the interviews on The Daily Show, it is sometimes difficult to tell who is in on the joke and who isn't. While it is obvious that some of the situations are completely scripted, some of the people he messes with appear to not realize they are being had. It doesn't matter if it was scripted to the letter, though, because it is funny either way. From Borat's naive cluelessness to dozens of sight gags this movie kicks ass.

As a side note, most of the interviews "Borat" has done to promote the movie have been funny also. It amazes me that Cohen is able to keep a straight face, not breaking character at all.

Glad I Stumbled Onto This.

Sometimes I'll click on Blogger's list of updated blogs to see what others are posting about. I often pick names that sound catchy or interesting only to be dissapointed when they are advertising disguised as a blog. Today, however, I hit the jackpot, though not directly. I clicked on Heaven Nose which turns out to be a blog that reviews other blogs. It is mildly entertaining because it appears that you can request them to review your page (And based on some of the disparaging reviews I read, I'll bet some requesters probably immediately regret that move.) Anyway, I'm getting off track.

In reviewing some lame blog, Heaven Nose compared it to another blog- Dooce. Dooce is a long running tale of a wife and mother who was fired from her job for blogging about work. She got the last laugh, however, because her site is now so popular that her ad revenue pays enough for her and her husband to do nothing but run her blog. This lady, Heather Armstrong, hilariously writes about all aspects of her life; I really can't do it justice here. If you enjoy funny, witty, sarcastic,"real life splayed out for everyone to see" posts, please check it out. She's got a very cool writing style. I'm going to plop it in my links and I will become a daily reader. She was recently profiled in a Salt Lake City Tribune article that you can find here. Enjoy.

Ice, Ice Baby.

Today, I went ice skating for the first time since my surgery. The doctor has cleared me to do as much physical activity as I feel comfortable. I've played some relatively pain free basketball, but I've been real anxious to return to the ice. I skated for about 45 minutes, feeling pretty good. However, the knee still lacks strength and stability, especially when it was the "under" leg on crossovers. There will definitely be no hockey in my immediate future. And this served as final confirmation that I was not secretly given a bionic knee as I had hoped. Instead of bigger, faster, stronger, I am only bigger than the last time I skated.

The good news is I survived the 45 minutes mostly unscathed. No falls, no bumps, no heart attack. The only damage is the lingering soreness that accompanies using muscles that are only used during skating and acrobatic sex. So, I've heard. Okay, I have to go now.

Tom Landry, Where Are You?

From the completely frivolous complaint file:

Let me start by saying that anybody, including NFL coaches, should have the right to wear anything they want. Having said that, Patriots coach Bill Belichick took football coach fashion to a new low Monday night. Belichik looked like he went straight from the shelter to the sideline, wearing a sweatshirt with cut-off sleeves and a ragged, frayed collar. This doesn't make him a bad coach, obviously his record proves just the opposite. I'm not opposed to a guy being comfortable and Belichick is hardly the only NFL coach who wears a sweatshirt or T-shirt on gameday. He is, however, the only one who wears a sweatshirt so damaged that if you replaced the Pats logo with "COLLEGE", you might confuse him with John Belushi's Animal House frat slob.

I miss the era where NFL coaches traded the sweats for suits on Sunday. Tom Landry, Vince Lombardi, Hank Stram, may they all rest in peace, exuded class and excellence. It might be tough for Belichick to squeeze a head set over a fedora, but he could at least wear something a little nicer than wind pants. I also find it hard to believe that a league that regulates everything from the length of a players uniform towel to the color of his shoe tape hasn't weighed in yet. I suppose maybe they are working on the licensing rights to the Bill Belichick Sideline Tank Top.

Oh, well. At least football coaches don't wear game uniforms like those goofy old baseball managers. Andy Reid or Bill Parcells in tight pants? No thank you.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

When will these dopey politicians learn?

John Kerry created a firestorm for no reason by trying to crack a stupid joke, saying at a Democratic rally on Monday: “You know education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework, and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don’t, you get stuck in Iraq.”

Obviously, today's military isn't a last resort catch-all for losers and dummies. This isn't the movie "Stripes". Today's volunteer armed forces, especially since 9/11, are loaded with college graduates and plenty of intelligent people that have other options. John Kerry knows this. The GOP knows John Kerry knows this. That's why this whole dust-up is ridiculous. The Republican attacks on John Kerry were excessive as was Kerry's retort. Let's all grow up. No intelligent voter is going to be distacted from the real issues by this story, so let's drop it. This is simply what happens when unfunny, message-programmed politicians try to be funny by going off script. Of course, in this era of sound bite journalism this often backfires. Leave the jokes to the comedians.

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.

Is It RED October Yet?

More From Dirtbag Domi.

Don't get me wrong, Ulf Samuelsson is a punk too, but this cheap shot stuff is for the birds. (Unless we're talking Dale Hunter's after-the-whistle hit from behind on an unsuspecting Pierre Turgeon which, hypocritically, is okay. Just kidding.)

Now He Has Time To Fight All The Fans.

Two things to look and listen for in the video:Can't get enough of seeing Darcy Tucker laid out on the ice and listen to the homer Leaf annoncers trash the Philly fan. Hilarious.

Nostalgic For Some Orioles' Magic.

Rob recently posted about his wistful memories of the 70's and 80's and today, by complete chance, I embarked on my own little one-legged hobble down memory lane. Flipping channels on my lunch break, I stumbled upon the Mid Atlantic Sports Network ( a recent fine addition to the Comcast Lineup). Apparently they fill dead afternoon air with rebroadcasts of old Orioles games packaged as "Orioles Classics". I was hooked the second I saw that cartoon bird on the helmet. This particular game was played on August 8th, 1986. You see, even though the O's were pretty pathetic in the late 80's, these were the years that cemented my fandom. It simply didn't get any better than spending a summer evening watching the Birds on TV or, even better, falling asleep to the games on the radio.

I was fortunate enough to catch the great inning of this game; the Orioles erased a 6-0 Rangers lead by scoring nine times in one inning which included two grand slams. 33rd St was rockin and for a half-hour I was ten again. Some brief snippets that stuck out from my short visit to Memorial Stadium:

*The announcer was talking about the "rookie phenom, one of the new heroes of Birdland, Jim Traber". Boy, was that short-lived.

*The O's were only 2 1/2 games out first place. In August. My, how times have changed.

*The announcer kept plugging "Three Buck Night". Now you can't even get a hot dog for $3.

*The grand slams were hit by the utterly forgettable(except to true fans) Larry Sheets and Jim Dwyer.

There were only two things missing. Chants of "Eddie-Eddie-Eddie" and the sweet baritone of the late, great Chuck Thompson.

Good Times. Thanks MASN.

Now He'll Have Time To Fight All The Fans.

Tie Domi officially retired yesterday ending one of the dirtiest yet entertaining careers in NHL history. From slugging it out with a Flyers fan to his cheap shot on fellow dirt bag Ulf Sammuelson to his legendary bouts with Bob Probert, Domi has compiled quite a highlight reel. I tried unsuccessfully to post a few from youtube ;if you get a chance you should go there and watch them. He was a player who you loved to hate. So as incongruous as this sounds, "Good Riddance Mr. Domi, you will be missed."

Home Run Fun.

Even in today's sports climate of overpaid millionaires and juice injecting cheats, athletes can sometimes provide a moment or moments that defy logic and remind me of the magic that draws me to sports in the first place. The ending to last night's Dodgers-Padres game was so unrealistic that if a Hollywood script writer penned it he would have been laughed out of the pitch meeting. The Dodgers, trailing 9-5 heading into the bottom of the ninth inning, tied the game by hitting four straight solo home runs. Kent, Drew, Martin and Anderson. Back-to-back-to-back-to-back. Impossible, except that it really happened. Then after surrendering a run in the top of the tenth, the Dodgers were blessed by the baseballs gods again when Nomar Garciaparra won the game by smashing a two-run homer. This improbable victory propelled L.A. past the Padres and into first place. Of course, the best part of the victory for me was being able to hear the great Vin Scully's voice on the ubiquitous highlights played all day today. Very cool.

Bryan Held Hostage:Day 5

Today is my fifth day stuck inside since my successful knee surgery. I am insane with cabin fever, so I hope this list of random thoughts, compiled over five days of recuperation, ice and elevation, makes some sense. At least as much sense as my other posts. So, I present to you- Notes from the Couch:

Daytime TV is awful; there are way too many Judge shows, cable news channels could tape 30 minutes of programming a day and loop it for the other 23 1/2 hours, and Dr. Phil is still a hump.

Lesson to other recovering patients- When ordering a sub delivery, check that the delivering restaurant doesn't charge extra for lettuce, tomato and delivery. Therefore you may not also be stuck paying OVER $15 for a cheesesteak and fries.

The itching of leg hair growing back in is doubly annoying when wearing a compression stocking that runs from toes to ass cheek.

Given all the ad time NBC has poured into it, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip had better be good.

How long have I been laying on the couch? I have a bruise on my arm where it has hung off the front of the couch in the same spot for days.

Funniest thing I saw all weekend (besides me trying to navigate the bathroom on one leg)- Will Ferrell on the inaugural episode of The Megan Mullaly Show (I told you I'm rabid with cabin fever.) He greeted his hostess wearing nothing but blue jockey briefs and tube socks carrying a bouquet of roses. Priceless.

The movie Miracle, the story of the 1980Miracle on Ice hockey team, is a pretty good flick. I should have watched it sooner. I was inspired and had goosebumps even as Al Michaels shouted the expected "Do you believe in miracles?". That will never get old.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think there is such a thing as too much football. After watching triple headers Saturday and Sunday, I'm a little burnt. I might not even watch Monday Night Football tonight.

Finally, I will make this suggestion to my surgeon when I see him for my follow-up : He should sell a DVD copy of his arthoscopic surgeries to his patients. Hell, if people will buy photos of themselves screaming on a roller coaster then surely folks would buy a copy of a camera burrowing inside their knee. At least I would. Of course, that could just be the fever talking.

It's Baaaack!

Don't laugh and don't say I didn't warn you - Dancing With The Stars returns with a new season tonight. I have previously documented how my affection for this show makes me a loser, yet I'll tune in at 8pm tonight on ABC. Jerry Springer, Tucker Carlson, Emmitt Smith(one of my all-time favorite athletes) are among this seasons competitors. What's not to love? This thing will be cheesier than a Rob O. Taco Bell belch. Throw in Tom "I may be the worst game show host ever" Bergeron, great music and some sizzling hot dance instructors and you've got yourself quite a party.

Atlantis Rides Again.

Thanks to the Wolskes for giving me a shout this morning to remind me of the impending shuttle launch. I know I have written about the shuttle and space travel before, but the shuttle launch never ceases to amaze me. I find it fascinating, yet I could never see myself rocketing into orbit. Me riding in the shuttle cockpit would probably look a whole lot like the kid in this video.

Good At Football? Then You've Got No Worries, My Friend.

This story proves what a topsy-turvy world we inhabit; people's priorities are way out of whack. The Washington Post article isn't very long if you want to read it yourself, but I'll give you the short recap:

High school football star helps rob a Smoothie King of $463. (Allegedly.)

Whitman High School sends him home for remainder of last school year. The Whitman principal ( apparently the only sane person in this story) recommended expulsion, but was denied by an arbitrator.

Montgomery County, Md school officials allow him to switch to Wheaton High School in order to play football this season.

Wheaton coaches and players welcome him with open arms, naming him team captain.

Favorite line fom the article:Lazear said his ankle monitor is light enough that he hardly notices it when he plays, and it will not encumber him.

I know he is innocent until proven guilty, but shouldn't being arrested for armed robbery be enough to lose some privileges? How about some parenting? Where are the consequences for behaving badly? And we wonder why college athletes, and kids in general, have no respect for authority.

Image Was Everything.

I am a few days late with this, but I wanted to salute Andre Agassi for his classy farewell at the US Open last week.

Agassi transformed himself from a young punk (He wouldn't play Wimbledon because he would have had to wear tennis whites.) to a hard-training adult in time to salvage his immense talent and become a legend and ambassador for American tennis. Agassi ditched the mullett and Canon Rebel persona and earned respect for his game and his philanthropy. He had fallen as low #141 in the world rankings some years ago, but used his trademark drive to regain the top spot briefly and win eight Grand Slam titles.

That same drive was on display last week at the US Open. Playing in his farewell tournament despite being hobbled by chronic back pain, the 36-year-old Agassi gave the grateful New York crowds something to cheer about. His second round match against 21-year-old Marcos Bagdhatis (sp?) was spectacular. The always exceptionally fit Agassi fought through his back pain and held on to win a five-set classic. Agassi forced the much younger Bagdhatis to run himself into cramps that hampered his play late in the match. It appeared that Agasssi was buoyed by four cortisone shots in five days and the vocal fans, but I know different. I believe his secret weapon was the Wolske-esque pink sports drink that he sipped at every changeover. Worked for Chris on the ice, why not on the hardcourt as well?

Agassi's farewell tour and sappy Hollywood run ran out of steam in the third round, however. Barely able to bend over for low shots, Andre's famous return game was short-circuited. Sometimes it is difficult to watch athletes stuggle when the end is near, but this time was different for me. I liked what Dick Enberg said during his play-by-play, "Greatness reveals itself under pressure and pain." Agassi counterpunched, playing enough defense to stay in the match. He was overwhelmed, yet almost pushed the match to a fifth set. As it was, he bowed out in four and had to settle for a warm eight-minute standing ovation. Now at 36, with millions of dollars, a hot wife, two young kids and a school he has funded from the ground up, he gets to live out the rest of his American dream. Congrats, Andre for choosing substance and greatness over style and flash.

Growler- Futuristic Fighting Machine or Overpriced Golf Cart On Steroids ?

I am not naive enough to think that the US military doesn't spend billions of dollars on research and development. I know this is necessary. I also know that R & D relies on a lot of trial and error. Therefore, I know it costs a ton just to design the equipment our troops will use, let alone produce it in mass quantities. I just wish the projects that are selected for mass production were a little better thought out than the Marines' new off-road vehicle The Growler.

The Growler is basically a reborn jeep designed to capably maneuver in many conditions. It is lighter than a Humvee and therefore can be hauled by the V-22 Osprey. The problem with the Growler, according to several articles I've read, is that it is not really built for soldier protection. It is an open truck with limited armor. From National Defense Magazine:

Jim Mills, an industry expert who helped manage the armored Humvee program, said it would be quite difficult to protect a small vehicle such as the Growler from landmine blasts. You can provide fragment protection but a mine blast would toss the vehicle in the air. You could install Kevlar in the underbody for fragment protection, panels behind the seats. Armoring the cab, he noted, would add too much weight and compromise its transportability.

It seems the Growler can be outfitted with some extra protection, but not too much because that would erase its benefits. Hmmm. Well thought out, gents. And, of course, while this vehicle would be a bargain at any price, our friends in the five-sided building are paying $127,00 apiece or, according to CBS News, $277 million for the fleet.

All this for a vehicle that will be hauled by the troubled Osprey fleet. The Osprey, the Marine tilt-rotor aircraft that flies faster than traditional helicopters, has been plagued by numerous crashes during testing. A Marine told me years ago that they call it "the widowmaker". So, to recap- overgrown, unprotective jeep with cheesy name hauled around by cool, if impractical, flyng jalopy. I'd sure love to see my tax $ spent on more productive military equipment.

Dear Ernesto...

Dear Ernesto,

How about being a pal, okay? Why not cut the Gulf region some slack? You can just make a little u-turn or dissapate completely if you like. I mean do you really need to power up and wreak havoc on land? The poor people of Florida and the Gulf Coast just aren't ready for another hit.

I saw Mayor Nagin and FEMA Director Paulison on Meet the Press this morning; despite their brave talk, they didn't look real confident. Even the engineers say it's "unclear" how the levees will react to a Category 3 hitting New Orleans. And don't forget Florida which is still recovering from four wallops in the '04 season.

Now, I know, you'll probably get a bunch of crap from those TV tools like Jim Cantore and Anderson Cooper, who make their bones off destruction and other peoples' misery, but they're not important. After all, look what happened to that bitch Katrina- she packed such a punch that they made her retire. So why don't you just scram and tell the next storm in line-Francis, Fernando, whoever- to take a breather too. We simply haven't had enough tome to erase our hurricane fatigue.

Proponents of Profiling Proudly Propose Preposterous Practices

Sorry about the title-I love alliteration.

I was reluctant to wade too deeply into the great terrorism debate, but it's time to hop off the sidelines. The profiling aspect, specifically, has me a little wound up. Things I've read in our blogosphere and elsewhere, in additon to things I've heard from TV "news" yappers have pushed me to action.

I'm fortunate, with my appearance traits, that I'm not usually a candidate for profiling by law enforcement. Unless, perhaps, the crime is -"Who ate the last donut?". Therefore, I've never had to suffer the indignity of being pulled over for DWB (Driving While Black) or been watched suspiciously for carrying a backpack onto a subway train.

It has been suggested that we must profile "Arab-looking" or "Muslim-looking" men. Let's break that idea down-

First, I'm not exactly sure what "Arab-looking" means. Not every Muslim looks like an extra from Lawrence of Arabia. And not every "Arab-looking" person is Muslim. I have one buddy who has dark skin and a full beard, but his ancestry makes him "whiter" than I am. I'm really not sure how you make the distinction between "Arab-looking" and "Not Arab-looking".

Secondly, once the distinction is made, how is the more thorough investigation carried out? It certainly can't be done discreetly in a crowded airport. Are we going to pull each suspect out of line? Will we have separate lines for Arab-looking suspects? I think specific targeting like this is tantamount to a return to segregation in some ways. Better not let any "Arab-looking" men sit at the lunch counter in the airport cafe, either.

Supporters of profiling peg political correctness as the reason we don't use it. While I do think we've gotten too PC as a nation, political correctness is not the issue here. Human decency is. I am dubious of those who say they would happily agree to be profiled or endure extra searching, scrutiny, etc. if they fit a particular suspicious profile. Who really wants to suffer the humiliation of being pulled aside because you look a certain way, even though you know you are completely innocent? I have a feeling when push comes to shove these folks would upset.

Finally, suppose we strip search every single "Arab-looking" guy to prove they are clean before boarding. Johnny Terrorist will just change gears and recruit redheaded teenage girls to carry out their plots. Terrorism is not an easy beat and I offer no better solution. But I know targeting a group of people based on the way they look is downright shameful.

Coming Soon: Samuel L. Jackson in LIQUIDS ON A PLANE

I have been considering posting about the recent foiled terror plot and ensuing media carnival, but I don't think I can say it much better than Mr. Wolske has on his site. With rapid-fire posts the last few days he is hotter than a Dell Notebook battery. He also has linked to some interesting commentaries, so check out his site.

On the terror issue, to put it simply, we all need to calm down. It is imperative that we sift through the muck that the fear-cultivating media pours out to find the real info. Stay informed, take serious what needs to be taken seriously and above all, step away from the panic button.

On a related note: Keith Olberman ran an interesting story on last night's Countdown. It tries to make the case that since 9/11 the feds have repeatedly used terror threats and ensuing warnings to obscure or distract from Administration problems or bad news. Olberman makes clear that it is all circumstantial evidence, but the video is compelling. In these days of spin and obfuscation (by politicians, governments, athletes etc.) nothing should surprise us. On the Countdown page, click on Nexus of Politics and Terror. Draw your own conclusions.

I wish my name was...

Every once in a while I'll hear a person's name that sounds funny or weird or cool or so weird that it's cool. I'll say to my wife or co-worker "Man, I wish my name was _____." Well, tonight I heard a new one that I like. If it didn't already belong to a Redskins player I'd wish my name was - Buck Ortega.

Eat this, Weed Eater.

I thought I was facing a common problem and judging by the volume of traffic on internet message boards, I am. My gas powered weed trimmer is a piece of crap that is driving me batty. Quite simply, I can't get the thing started. The weeds near the house are about to take over and I might have to resort to grazing like a cow to chop them down.

I always feel a little inadequate and less manly when I can't solve some sort of household trouble like this. I know little about engines and I'm neither mechanical, nor handy. (Which is kind of funny considering that I work in a construction trade.) I have spent the past couple of weeks fooling with this trimmer. Despite my best efforts, which obviously fall woefully short, the trimmer taunts me. Coughing enough to make me think it will start, it quits with a ratttle that sounds an awful lot like a teasing chuckle. Even the label on the engine- Homelite. Simply Reliable.- winks at me sarcastically.

Fortunately, I have a life preserver when it comes to household repairs, mechanical malfunctions, etc. I hauled the beast over to Dr. Dad's house so he could look it over. He cleaned the sparkplug and checked the air filter(Which, to my credit, I had done previously.) Still unable to start it, he decided that the gas-to-oil fuel mix ratio may be out of balance. Fair enough, I can handle it from there. All I have to do is look up the mix ratio for my trimmer on Homelite's website. Simple, right? Wrong.

My trimmer's model number is not among the two dozen that Homelite posts on their website. It's as if my trimmer is in a Witness Protection program for garden tools- "Don't look for me, I don't exist." Upon deeper analysis I realize that every model I click on uses the same mix ratio. Surely mine requires the same ratio, right? Of course not. Cough, cough. Sputter, sputter. Hahaha.

Usually if my Dad can't solve this kind of problem I figure I have no shot. I am happy to report, however, that my weeds are now trimmed and my sidewalks edged. I did what any self-respecting UnHandyman would do: I bought a new trimmer. This time I bought an electric trimmer so the choke, filter, sparkplug and fuel mix ratio can kiss my ass. The new trimmer is quieter, doesn't spew purple smoke and is lighter in weight. If I can keep from tripping over the cord or cutting it half with the string, I think we'll have a happy life together. I imagine someone who does small engine repair could have the old trimmer up and firing in no time, but I'd have as much tied up in parts and labor as I paid for the new trimmer. (I'll probably give it to Dad, who, with a few days tinkering will likely have it up and running.) So, to the friend that I teased for having a girly electric lawnmower, I say-Please forgive me, for I now join your ranks.

But you know the real bitch of it? The weeds are vanquished and my wife is pleased, but to me, the yard doesn't really look any better. Unless you have a well-tended, landscaped yard a few unruly weeds don't amount to a hill of beans.

Fly, Fat Ass, Fly.

Amanda and I took a trip to the Smithsonian's Air and Space Museum annex near Dulles Airport yesterday. Very cool place to visit. Billed as "America's Hangar", the cavernous building houses a myriad of authentic, restored flying machines that the Smithsonian can't fit in their downtown location. The highlights, for me at least, were seeing a retired SR-71 Blackbird (Which for it's last mission set a record by flying from LA to DC in 1hr, 4 min.), the Enola Gay (Which dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima. For an incredible account of the plane and its crew read Stephen Walker's Shockwave.) and the Space Shuttle Enterpise (Which never launched into space, but was used for many test landings and is the flagship of the shuttle fleet.)

Toss in an obsevation deck from which you can watch planes landing at Dulles, an Imax theater and an incredibly courteous staff and you've got a fun place to lose yourself for a day. I'd say it's a must-see for anybody who remotely likes aviation or ever thought about being a fighter pilot as a kid.

Maybe I Am Fast And Furious.

The other day, while hanging out at the Inner Harbor, I was approached by a janitor who stopped sweeping long enough to tap me on the shoulder and say, "You know who you look like? Triple XXX." Being the germophobe that I am, my first thought was 'Wonder where that rubber glove-clad hand has been prior to touching my arm?', but that's beside the point.

I stammered out some sort of response like "Thanks, but I'm not as bad ass as he is" or something like that. The janitor just pointed at me and walked on. I'm sure he meant the comment as a compliment, but besides the haircut, what do I have in common with Vin Diesel? He's in a tad better shape than I am and I really hope I don't give off the slow-witted, tough guy vibe. The problem is, he's not the first person to tell me I look likeVin Deisel. Not that long ago, a girl I worked with told me, out of the blue, that I have Vin Deisel lips. What does that even mean and why are you saying this to me? AAAAAAAAAHHHHH.

That's Good Writing, Dickie.

I recently saw two slogans that I like.
One was a bumper sticker: Critical thought...the other national deficit.

The other was a t-shirt. Though I didn't see the front, I assume it was advertising a bar, because the back read: The liver is evil and deserves to be punished.

From Russia, With Love Rocket

What do you get when you mix one smokin' hot female accordion player, a guy wearing a zebra striped suit, a singer who sounds exactly like the 'Berserker' singer in 'Clerks' and one "Bad Ass American Drummer"? Why, you get the Red Elvises, of course. Their Rockenrol show is something like Chuck Berry meets Chernobyl, complete with jammin' music, creative and funny lyrics and just enough cheesy stage antics to border on rock and roll parody. Their broken English (Amanda's uncle was trying to figure out if they are really from Russia or if it is just schtick) just adds to the entertainment.

Their entertaining playlist includes Love Rocket, Telephone Call From Istanbul, Strip Joint Is Closed, I Want To See You Belly Dance and the memorable Sad Cowboy Song which includes a four man drum "solo". I know this all sounds ridiculous and reading the website, which is a little dated, won't change that, but trust me: They kick ass.

We stumbled upon the Red Elvises thanks to Amanda's aunt and uncle inviting us to Bethlehem PA's Musikfest last year. We had such a great time last year that we went back this weekend. For Musikfest, Bethlehem ropes off a huge section of their downtown and sets up tons of musical venues, food vendors and artisans peddling their wares. There is music around every corner as you wander the streets. The performances are free and the food is fantastic. Within a span of a few blocks you can enjoy polkas, reggae, a dixieland jug band, some roasted corn on the cob, hand twisted pretzels, pit beef sandwiches and as many giant mugs of beer as it takes to wash it all down. Musikfest makes the Salisbury Festival look like a kid's birthday party. I highly recommend catching at least a portion of the week's activities. I fully expect us to continue our new summer tradition next year.

You Da Man!

While flipping channels the other day, I came across a news program hailing the dawn of a new era in manhood: Meet the Retrosexual. The retrosexual man is active, rugged, and not trying to be pretty. Oh, you mean he's a man. Warning: He may also be sloppy, smell, belch and laugh out loud when he farts. Apparently, the Retrosexual Male is replacing the Metrosexual. I suppose if you believe in this trendy marketing bullshit then it is now okay for a man to be a man. Gee, thanks. I guess I can call the salon and cancel that appointment I had for getting waxed "down there". (By the way, I was reading an article in which a guy magazine editor actually volunteered for a little below the belt waxing in the spirit of journalism. I guess this has become all the rage for dudes. I'm sorry, you won't catch me waxing anywhere, especially there. You can have your dead squirrel and your flying squirrel, but there is no need for the bald squirrel.)

You Play Hockey? On Ice?

Somewhere in the divide between roller hockey and ice hockey there is KwikRink. KwikRink is a synthetic ice surface that feels and acts a lot like ice. It is also the skating surface in the newly opened rink at the Crown Sports Center in Fruitland. I have yet to skate on it but, I have watched some of the skating and talked to some folks who have been on it. Apparently, it reacts a lot like ice. In regular hockey skates you can turn, cut, and even hockey-stop. Each stride takes a little more effort and you don't get as much glide, although I've been assured that when the surface breaks in it will get faster. Even with the "slower" surface the guys I watched were getting up and down the "ice" pretty quick. The puck didn't move great, but the ball was humming. The surface is similar to plexiglas and is covered with a light layer of oil. I know it sounds weird, but it looks pretty neat. Seriously. Anyway, the owner hopes to have ice installed in January and then fall into a regular schedule of ice in Fall/Winter, fake ice in Spring/Summer. The only big drawback is that the rink is much shorter and a little narrower than a regulation rink. It will hopefully still be a fun place to skate and practice, however. I'm hoping to skate on it this week. I'll post an update after that. A side note that some of you might get a kick out of : The name of the rink is Ice Magic.