Saturday, July 16, 2005

That Sad Cashman Face Never Gets Old

How do we cope with tough losses? Losses in which A-Rod becomes a real (pfft) yankee?


Let's allow a mythical yankee fan to make an excuse. MyF, whatta ya got?

MyF: Dude, you were---

Jere: Sorry, what's my name?

MyF: Apologies, m'lord. But your team was facing one of our lower-quality hurlers.

Jere: Ha! As opposed to what? We said it last year: "A-Rod don't pitch." Apparently--ah, please stay on your knees until I've finished speaking--your front office didn't learn that lesson. Put nine Sheffields in the lineup and Ridgefield Little League's Andy Jonic circa 1986 on the mound, and you're looking at another disappointing finish to the season.

MyF: Well, sir, maybe Al Leiter would--

Jere: This conversation is through. Guards!

Wow, that came out of nowhere. Anyway, my one regret about the Trot inside-the-parker was that I didn't get to hear the crowd because me, my dad, and Rebecca were making too much noise jumping and screaming. (We're here in CT because we have to get up early to go to the game/concert tomorrow.)

The funniest thing about that play: Melky White Thighs, after missing the ball, starts running after the ball, and takes a couple of quick glances to his right. In other words, looking for help from Shef. Which is funny enough, but Reb and I came up with possible reactions Shephanie may have had to this, while probably standing stock still. Mine: "No help here, rook!" Reb's: "I get paid for right field, not center!"

Also, I liked Trot's reaction, after running the bases like the fat kid in Stand By Me running across the train bridge. It was one of: The guy messed up, I was able to get all the way around. Cool. Had that been Jeter who hit that, he would have been fist pumpin' it like HE made the fielder miss the ball. Actually, he'd have done this even if another yankee hit it, from the dugout, and would have been shown by the Yes cameras even before the guy crossed the plate, for his Hall of Fame-quality celebrating.

While on the yankee outfielder topic, let's talk Ondecki MattSuhey. yankee people rave about this guy's outfielding skills like he's bought them a house in the Hamptons. But every time I watch him out there, he looks like he's on shrooms or something. He's just so awkward. It's almost like he doesn't know how to slow down once he's decided to race to a point, which usually is a point that the ball has long since bounced past. I've never seen an outfielder rolling on the ground without the ball more than him. I know, tonight he was playing the Monster. I mean really, he's only played there, what, thirty times? And then there was that time when Sterling and Waldman, who my mom has gracefully dubbed "Suzie Steinbrenner," one-upping my dad's "Georgie Girl" nickname, were talking about how easy it would be for him to just step over to center field. Well, they're choosing Melky Licker (Jerky Boys Movie reference) over him, what does that tell you? By the way, Backwards Mike Kay was talking about a guy (from Newsday, I think) who guaranteed Melky will win a batting title, among other things. A "can't miss," he called him. I can assure you I will never forget this. Of course, I'll root for that to all come true after they trade him away for a half-season of Leiter.

Tomorrow I'll be at the game and concert at Fenway. I'll be there with Witch City S. G., Pat G., and Reb Jean. This will be the Sox game with more people I know in attendance than ever, between other blogging-types and their friends. Should be sweet. And we get to see the Unit, hopefully getting all frustrated and pissy on the mound.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

A Little 'Saur

When I bought tickets to the Dinosaur Jr. show in Central Park months ago, I figured the 4:30 start time would allow me to see most, if not all, of the Red Sox-yanks game that night. That night was tonight, and the show ended in time for Pat and I to hear the last out of the game in his car.

I missed a crappy game, as you know. But we've got nothing to worry about. So they got a game out of the series. It's better to have it come early in the seires so we can have the momentum at the end, going out. Yeah, that's it. Hey, as long as they've got that EN WHY on their hats, we know they'll choke in the end. (neverending laughter)

Good to have Schilling back. He knows how to come back from bad outings against the yanks with extra-sweet ones against them. And I heard that some of the yankee homers tonight were cheap, per their tradition. So seriously, don't worry. Unless you're a yankee fan, in which case you should worry because three-fifths of your pitching staff are dudes whose names you won't even know until they're pitching no-hitters for the White Sox in two years.

So that's all you're getting about the national pasttime tonight. The rest is gonna be music stuff. But I'll be at the game and Theo/Bronson concert on Saturday, so you'll get plenty of pics of that.

Central Park SummerStage: Fun, outdoor, summertime concerts that are sometimes free. Tonight it was forty bucks. Well worth it for Dinosaur Jr. with original lineup, though. It was good to see so many people there. If Dinosaur can sell out a forty dollar show in 2005, there is hope for today's youth.

The first band was Magic Markers. Want to simulate a Magic Markers show in your own home? Pick up any instrument and bang on it for twenty minutes. Occasionally say some words. You're in the band.

Radio Four played next. It was that disco-beat style indie rock that's, oh my god, like, so last year, Becky.

Broken Social Scene had two important things going for them. 1. A sense of humor. 2. No sign of blatantly trying to imitate or be a part of any kind of trend. Usually I don't say nice things about bands who feel the need to use TWELVE people to play a song. But these people seemed pretty cool. Their weird love songs were good. And the horns only played when they were really needed.

Dinosaur Jr. played all their really old stuff, because they could, since they had the original lineup intact. J Mascis, who for years has been "gray" Mascis, was freakin' on fire, dude. The guy is a crazy guitar player. The only man who can purposely drop his guitar during a song and let it keep feeding back on the stage while strapping on a new guitar to finish the song. And tonight he was doing this great stutter-step guitar move which sounded really cool. Lou was rockin' out on bass, too. But I felt like he was jealous of J or something. And Murph was hittin' the proverbial skins so hard he actually got his glasses caught in a stick and launched them "audience-ward," as Lou later said when describing this repeating phenomenon. It was great to hear all the old classics. Good job, DJ.

The last game update we got from Pat's cell phone during the show was 4-3 Sox, so at least we got to enjoy it.

Series Notes

Wong: On DL, headed for Alabama.

Pavano: Won't pitch for two weeks.

So during this series, the yanks will pitch Tim Redding on Friday and one of their great rookie-types on Sunday. This will be fun.

Get One Last Look At It

Because the war begins today.

Oh no! I said "war" when referring to something other than an actual war! You know what? It's called a metaphor, and if you can't handle it, well what kind of soldier are you? Now drop and give me twenty!

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Calm Before The Etc.

[Edit: Go to to hear Bronson's interview from today. It's under the Joe & Sid section. He did a great job.]

Great thing about Chan: When he comes across the movie Fletch on TV, I don't even need to tell him to leave it on. Even if we'd just seen it a few days earlier.

Great thing about Witch City Sox Girl: Is one of two people I know (PatG) who would get the "Ding Dong, yo" reference from Weird Al's "Fat" video.

These things are very important.

Tonight's celebrity sighting: Dick Ebersol at the bookstore. I would have told him how great that ceremony for his son at Fenway was, but decided that it wasn't really something you just blurt out at random, so I left him alone. My parents were in town tonight, and I was with my dad when I spotted Ebersol. I was very proud that I noticed him first, since my dad is the master of the celebrity sighting.

Today, I was at the bank. I was sitting in a chair, waiting for a "personal banker" to come help me. I sat watching the line I'd just been on, before being sent to the chair. A man in a business suit jumped the line and went to a window which was specifically for "business accounts." Everyone in front of him on the line got kind of pissed. One older woman with a cane turned back to the young guy behind her on the line, and started to speak. As she turned, two windows opened up, leaving just the old woman and the kid, far down the line, despite no one being in front of them. I thought she was crazy, and I think the kid did, too. It looked like quite an awkward moment for the kid. It took the woman a while to spit it out, but over the next minute, she conveyed the following information to the stranger: Men in suits are rude. She cited examples. "Whenever someone is taking up a seat and won't let an old crippled woman sit, it's ALWAYS a man in a suit." Turned out this spunky old woman wasn't crazy after all. The kid (in his casual me-style attire) was very amused, and agreed with her. As did I, of course. You don't know happy I was that someone, anyone, especially a female who's been around a long time, went public with their opinion that the suit makes the man...into an asshole.

Starry, starry, starry

I really liked that moment, while the starting lineups were being announced, when the only five people on the third base line were Tito, Johnny, Ortiz, Manny, and, in the middle, comically outnumbered, A-Rod. And is it some kind of yankee tradition to wear outrageous white cleats at the All-Star Game?

So Chan and I had fun, watching the usual All-Star Game activities. You know, watching the white guys put their hats back on front-to-back and the black guys put them on back-to-front after doffing them to the crowd during the intros. And, of course, seeing our guys kick the butts of that bunting, stealing, double-switching, pitcher-batting league.

The British national anthem thing seemed very contrived to me. And did they not even play Canada's anthem or did it just not get on TV? It was almost like they replaced Canada's with England's. And if you're gonna play "God Save The Queen," play the Sex Pistols' version. "No future! For the NL!" Heh heh...Eh. Actually, that Bud Selig sure has made me a moron. Sorry, Dave Matthews fans, if I've lost you.

Good job by Matty, David, Johhny, Tek. Fairly terrible job by Manny. But I'm glad he's savin' it for this weekend.

Moving on, I recommend watching the rerun of last night's Daily Show on Comedy Central tonight at 8. There's a really funny wrap-up of the whole Karl Rove thing at the beginning.

How long has the Newport Folk Festival been called "Dunkin Donuts Newport FolkFest"? What the shit? Does that seem weird to anyone else? Is "Starbucks presents Crimethinc" far behind?

And here's a good article about Drinkwa-- I mean Jeremy Kapstein. I'm strting to realize that I have heard of this guy. He used to be Jerry Kapstein, superagent. The weird thing is, the day I found out that the man behind home plate was called Jeremy Kapstein, I was at my parents' house, and my dad heard it and said, "Oh, yeah, Jerry Kapstein, sure, [my dad's best friend's name here] knows him very well." And I was like, "What, you know Drinkwater??" But since my dad said Jerry Kapstein instead of Jeremy Kapstein, I figured he had the wrong guy. So, the point is, I may have a connection to the man formerly known as Drinkwater, and maybe I can have my dad pull some strings and get us into those seats. I'll keep you updated. (Oh, and Pat, you know the guy, my dad's Kapstein-knowin' friend. It's the guy that used to call my house and say his name verrrrry slowwwwly.)

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

More Fun Than A Seventies All-Star Game

On Sunday, Witch City Sox Girl stopped by my place here in NYC on her way home from the Red Sox game in Baltimore. After braving the horrendous traffic to stop by on her way down to Baltimore, I was happy to have her back again so we could have more than just two hours to hang out. Turns out we got about 30. Vehicular malfunctions led to what would become WitchCitySoxGirlFest '84.

Chan and I had to come up with a bed for her, and even some clothes, which we did successfully, without much notice and without even having to resort to my suggestion of tying a bunch of T-shirts together to make a skirt.

So we got to hang out all day Monday while her car was getting looked at. And when I say "looked at," I mean the mechanics probably just sat there staring at it, because they certainly didn't do any work. As of Monday night, there was still no diagnosis and she had to take the train back to Boston, as to not miss a second day of work.

All that car stuff aside, we had lots of fun. She got to see my five favorite parks, Washington Square, Tompkins Square, Union Square, Carl Schur, and Central. In Central Park, we played catch. And she suggested it. How cool is that? Asking me if I want to have a catch is like asking the Broseph if he's ever smoked weed.

I read other blogs, so I know that right about here, you've just about completely lost interest in my fun weekend. So I'll just say that the rest of it involved twin midgets, Placido Domingo, a mermaid, Dio, curry supreme, lots of Gene Simmons, a keyboard that played, crappily, all night long, and plenty of other things you wouldn't, couldn't, and shouldn't understand, Dottie.

The other night, Chan and I saw the coolest sunset, as the sunlight was coming right down 34th Street, allowing us to walk on the heads of people who were fifty feet in front of us. The shadows of their heads, that is. Chan found this link about it. Turns out it's a phenomenon that people actually know about. So if you're in NYC today, or in the next week, get to a street that has has nothing but sky to the west around sunset. It was really cool when we saw it, and that was three days off from the exact day, which is today.

Did you hear about this ridiculousness? Nike blatantly ripped off the famous (to me) image used by the band Minor Threat, to advertise their skate tour called "Major Threat." Minor Threat was Ian MacKaye's band back in the early 80s, before Embrace and Fugazi. MacKaye is one of my absolute favorite people in life, not only for the great music he's been making for a quarter-century, but for his anti-corporate, anti-drug, anti-alcohol stance. The image, which is a picture of his brother, is, ironically, the "Nike-swoosh" of hardcore music to a lot of people. For Nike to just copy it is unacceptable. I really hope that Dischord, the label who owns that image (and which was started by, and is run by MacKaye himself) can do something to stop them from using it. Thanks to Kieran Chapman's blog for that news. Link to that site is to the right.

I realized that this is my first All-Star break of blogging, since last year I was in Seattle over the break, and didn't get to see the game or the festivities, and didn't write anything either, because I didn't have a computer with me.

Isn't it stupid that the All-Star game counts? It's supposed to be an exhibition. I still can't believe they're tampering with the most important part of baseball, the World Series, by letting the results of an exhibition game determine who gets home field advantage in it. The way this game is set up is such that "trying to score more than the other team" is completely impossible. Shouldn't the managers just keep the starting lineups on the field the whole time if they're really trying to win? How far are they supposed to go to win? I think it ruins the All-Star Game and messes with the World Series unfairly. And it takes all the fun out of the All-Star Game. I want to see Ortiz try to stretch a double into a triple, get thrown out, and then watch as he laughs about it. Or Manny lay down a bunt. Or Varitek pull down NL hitters' pants as the pitch is delivered, while sitting in a lawn chair behind the plate. You know, baseball.

600 Club

Blogger seems to update my "number of posts" every few months. So I was at 227 for a while. And for the last few months I'd been sittin' on 341. Today, I logged in to see my newly-updated number: 600.

So it's good to be in the .406 club.

For anyone whose read all .406, well, in the time you spent reading all that, you could've cured cancer. Terrible job.

But thanks for doing your part to cure my ego.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Orange Derby

I'm still confused as to why that Angels fan with the foam finger gets so pissed when he sees Cal Ripken at the airport.

I'm watching the Home Run Derby, a contest where you could hit a hundred home runs in the first round, but lose 3-2 to someone else in the final round, and lose. The boy warrior, Bobby Abreu, hit 22 in the first round. Maybe if he loses after that display, they'll change the rules. Of course, Papi could still out-dong him.

We'll keep it right here until Ortiz hits in Round 1.

Wow, never even really got into a groove, but still got 17.

Varitek, when asked if he remembers Ortiz as a Twin: "He wasn't this."

I liked how after David was told by Tejada "No mas," because he'd already qualified for Round 2, he said "Let me hit a couple more out," and proceeded to do just that.

At the conclusion of Ortiz' round, Manny led the rest of the Dominicans in a jump-a-thon. It was weird seeing A-Rod waving the Dominican flag while Papi was hitting.

Round 2: Abreu's got nothin.' Look for baseball's most lovable player to run away with this thing.

Well, turns out the bs rules have screwed David instead of Abreu. Oh well. At least we got to see his father and his daughter. But overall, I bleum Sveum.

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