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.

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.