Monday, January 31, 2005

Saints Preserve Us

We just had a news meeting for the entire staff. Which can only mean one thing -- someone's been let go. This time, it was one of our higher up positions, and apparently it's a cost-cutting measure and the position's being eliminated completely. We haven't had one of those in a LONG time, and now we're all a bit petrified.

Ironically enough, today is St. John Bosco Day -- the patron saint of editors.

Fickle Friends and Whatnot

So I was listening to Bobby Jean today, one of the songs that depresses me for weird reasons, and I finally figured out why: Well first off, the last verse just kills me:

Now we went walking in the rain talking about the pain from the world we hid
Now there ain't nobody nowhere nohow gonna ever understand me the way you did
Maybe you'll be out there on that road somewhere
In some bus or train traveling along
In some motel room there'll be a radio playing
And you'll hear me sing this song
Well if you do you'll know I'm thinking of you and all the miles in between
And I'm just calling one last time not to change your mind
But just to say I miss you baby, good luck goodbye, Bobby Jean

Secondly, Bobby Jean's one fickle ass friend, damn it, and I've had too many of those in my life. I mean, who ups and leaves town without telling their best friend like Bobby Jean did? I've had friends do similar things that still hurt -- nothing intentional, at least I hope, but enough to make you feel shitty. And yet, like Bruce, I'd sit and write something nice about them in the hopes that someday in some motel room or office cubicle or while watching a Yankee game, they'll see what I've written and know I still wish them well. In reality, I should be like "Piss off, jackass. Thanks for being a friend -- NOT!" but I'm a sentimental dumbass like that and I'll still miss them.

At least Bruce got his friend (Little Steven, who the song was apparently about) back. The rest of us just have to keep hoping, I guess.

Puttin' On My Asshat, Tyin' Up My Black Spikes, Brushin' Out My...Mullet

I was just checking out this post at Bronx Banter, and it struck me as weird that there are people terrified of this Yankee team turning into another "Bronx Zoo". Um, didn't the 1977 and 78 teams win World Championships that way? But people long for the days of 1996-2000, when we didn't hear a peep out of the clubhouse. We've been very lucky with the Yanks the last few years because they've been quiet -- but winning is always louder than clubhouse troubles, isn't it?

Anyway, I don't get this. Aside from Johnson befriending his neighborhood cameraman/stalker and Giambi's roid trouble, why exactly do people think this team's going to be beating the snot out of each other on the locker room floor? And seriously, when did it become fan law that you have to have an entire clubhouse full of righteous nice guys to have a team that's worthy of cheering for? EVERY team has an asshat or two or twelve.You're not going to have Derek Jeters at every position -- the well-adjusted guys who know how to say the right thing all the time. But you are going to have guys like Jeter and Joe Torre who will give you the look of death from across the clubhouse if you step over the line. Or at least you hope there's someone like this in the clubhouse. But if not, does that make them any less a good baseball team?

Where you work, is everyone awesome all the time? Are there people who pull their weight, but you wouldn't really associate with outside the office? Does this make you a "bad" company unworthy of praise or undeserving of any awards or accolades you may receive? Right. So why do we apply this formula to sports teams -- with whom we aren't exactly on a first-name basis?

The men taking the field every night are human beings -- they're assembled together for their talent, not their congeniality. We have this tendency to put everyone up on a pedestal, that they should be awesomely athletic and amiable, and they're not always that way, and gasp, we don't like it! But do you want Randy Johnson on your team because he could pitch you through to another WS Championship, or do you want him around to spout wisdom and manlove? Damn, if my ticket price is going up to finance him, he'd better be pitching his ass off instead of working to win Best Personality at the next Yankees' Senior Superlatives dinner-dance.

The Sux have Schilling to deal with (and he can try to brainwash us all he wants with his talk of being a team player, but you know some of his teammates are probably like "shut the fuck up, Curtass" half the time); the Mets now have Pedro; The Giants have Barry and his loveable self. EVERY team the media wants to get behind (ahem, and Lupicass), even these ones that apparently ooze chemistry, have a few jackasses, don't kid yourself.

But what gets me most is the lack of evidence to prove that this team is even on the level of Bronx Zoo craziness. And even if there are some asshats, we forget clubhouse disturbers such as David Wells, Darryl Strawberry, Roger Clemens, Chad Curtis, Ruben Sierra Version 1.0, Jim Leyritz, et al, played for winning Yankee teams -- see, it's not as if those Sainted 1996-2000 teams were without asshats themselves, so why worry now? In the OFFSEASON?

If it makes you feel any better, let's go 'round the team and see who might and might not cause trouble this season:

C Posada: No asshat tendencies that I can think of.

1b Tino: Beloved
Giambi: an asshat for jacking up on roids, but is apparently a decent human being otherwise and not a clubhouse cancer. Gets half an asshat status.

2b Womack: ??

SS Jeter: Self-explanatory, non-asshat.

3b A-Rod: If he'd hit .346 with 59 homers for the season and did well in those last three games against the Sux, we wouldn't be focusing so much on that dumb slap of his, now would we? He has asshat tendencies, but for the most part, knows his role.

LF Matsui: Godzilla couldn't wear an asshat if he tried, and it's not because of the abundance of badly cut hair, either.

CF Bernie: Anyone wanting to call him an asshat will have me to contend with because he's totally not. And you know it.

RF Shef: Has asshat tendencies, as when he got quoted slamming the Sux during the ALCS, but no one seemed to care if he was an asshat or not when he was hitting a shit load of home runs in big situations during the regular season. Or maybe I'm imagining those MVP chants....

DH Sierra: Used to be a full-on asshat, but has impressed Joe Torre so much, he was named Manager for a Day during the last game of the season -- a sign of huge respect on JT's part.

Moose: Too quiet to be an asshat.

Brown: Asshat.

Pavano: ??

RJ: Well, he's said he's going to be an asshat the day he pitches, but that could be a good thing.

Wright: ??

Quantrill: I'm not even sure I've ever heard him speak, so if he's an asshat, he's a silent one.

Gordon: Flash has never struck me as anything but Flash.

Stanton: Never exhibited asshat tendencies in the past.

Karsay: Doesn't pitch much, but doesn't seem like an asshat, either.

Mo: Could never be an asshat, even if he tried.

OK, so that's one certifiable asshat. One asshat every fifth day. A half an asshat. Two that have asshat tendencies. One reformed asshat. And three Question Marks. The rest?

If you want to be biting your nails over this, go for it, but I won't be joining you.

You Just Can't Look Away

So yesterday, Carolyn and I were settling in to watch a movie when Carolyn's like "There's this show coming on MTV called My Super Sweet 16..." and I was like "Say no more." You can just imagine what a train wreck this show is, complete with teen angst and kids budding with fame whoredom all taking place around someone's Sweet 16 party.

I can't believe how far Sweet 16s have come. Photographers? Prom dresses? COUNTRY CLUBS? Man, on my 16th birthday my friends came over and we had cake and played man-hunt (that's the "grown-up" title we threw on hide-and-seek in my neighborhood so we could still play as teens. I guess if the guys thought it was army/MacGyver-like or something, it wasn't considered babyish) and I got the Yankee 1993 yearbook, in which I discovered a young prospect named Derek Jeter and even back then I was like "Hmmmmm...."

Mine was on the smaller scale, while one of my friends rented out the local firehouse for her party, and another had about 70-80 of us at her house (one of the best parties I went to in high school, and it even had parental supervision), but there was NOTHING like the stuff MTV showed us yesterday. I guess because while Middletown has fairly well-off people in it, no one's well-off enough to drop $100,000 on a birthday party (as was the case with these two somewhat bratty girls from California).

This week's upcoming episode looks priceless: A girl (who looks to have implants, which is just sick if that's the case -- but probably also means she has a rich, whacko family, which makes for great TV) gets flown to Paris to buy her Sweet 16 Dress and gets all whiny and cries because Dior is closed or something.

It's so great when rich people make asses out of themselves on national television...

Sunday, January 30, 2005

Give or Take a Day


This week's countdown brought to you by The Yankee Chicken™ and The A-Rod Basil™, the best double-play KB's apartment.

Things That Make You Go "Holy Cow!"

You know how I'm so excited that I get to see the antenna of the Empire State Building from our living room window (in the winter, anyway)? Well, it's got nothing on Liana and Eric's view...of the entire damn city skyline. First off, their new place is amazing. It has all the charm and detail of older buildings that my current apartment lacks and it's a great size. Then, if you're sitting in either the bedroom or the living room, you get this view of the NYC that you can just stare at for hours. Liana told me that every now and then you'll see flashes off the top of the Empire State Buidling and it turns out that's tourists taking pictures off the observation deck -- which just struck me as so damn cool. They're hoping that this massive money-grubbing project that's being built a few blocks away won't obstruct their view too much, and I say a curse upon anyone that lives there if it does.

The other thing that amazed me yesterday (no, not Piazza's wedding. Wouldn't that have to be Amazin', anyway?) was Life of Pi. Ladies and gentleman, I give you the first truly good book I've read in about year. It starts off slow, but it picks up toward the middle and is completely delightful. I was worried because all these literary type reviewers loved it -- which to me usually means it's a snoozefest. But this totally wasn't and had me more enthralled than The Da Vinci Code (which was mediocre IMHO) and was more touching than The Five People You Meet in Heaven (blah). Now I go on the great search for another good book, because it's still six months till the next Harry Potter comes out....

Saturday, January 29, 2005

Movin' on Up

Just wanted to offer a shout out and quick word of congrats to Liana and Eric, who are now officially home owners. And the first of my friends to actually own in Hoboken, the second of my friends to actually own, period. I am now their painting bitch (a.k.a. "Bob Ross") for whenever they may need me, which will be awesome.

Dexter (who is suffering from The Consumption) gets quote of the night honors when discussing the possibility of him and Vicki buying a place: "Oh shit, what the hell am I talking about? We can't even afford a box of Cheerios, let alone a house." Man, I hear that!

Friday, January 28, 2005

Of Beeotches and Buses

Last night on the bus (no traffic -- yay!) I noticed this one guy waiting to get on that I've seen before. He just looks like a decent guy, always reading an obscure book, talking in the lowest of voices when he has to use his cellphone, etc. I know that's a very base judgement right there, but I generally have good instincts about people and he just seems like he'd be an OK dude. Anyway, last night he's climbing on the crowded bus with a blonde and she turns right around and snaps "I'm not getting on this thing. I'm not standing" in like the nastiest voice ever. He very quietly turns around and follows her. I know I don't have the backstory on their realtionship, but it made me sad because this is a scene I see replayed far too often in Hoboken and in NYC: The Beeotch and her Bitch. And I don't get it.

Why do these seemingly nice guys date complete bitches? Is the sex THAT good? Low self esteem? Do they think being yelled it is a sign of love? Are the guys complete assholes in private, thus making them a perfect match? Why would you be with someone who treats you like crap? (And yes, I know women are guilty of this too when they date asshole men.) It's not like the entire metropolitan area is made of Beeotches, either. For every nice guy I see on public transportation, there are girls who look just as nice, and I'm inclined to think it's not that hard to date someone who treats you well.

Geez, I'd think you'd rather be single than with someone who you have to "Yes Dear" to death. Unless there are guys who get off on this, and then I'm even more disturbed...

That, and whenever I see women behave this way (i.e., overwhelming sense of entitlement and meanness toward their mate) I want to Beeotch Slap them. I mean, get over yourself -- and thanks for giving the rest of us a bad name, jackass.

Sugar: Not Just for Gas Tanks Anymore

OK, the randomest thing ever just happened at work. Our art department has been having tons of trouble with their color printer lately, which sucks because it holds up the page-proof process and whatnot. They've been trying to get it fixed for months, and I feel like the copy machine fixer dude should become a permanent member of our staff because he's here so often. Anyway, two of the art girls were just doing their daily thing of coaxing the printer to work, when they discovered something very interesting blocking the path of the paper: sugar packets. Yes, Domino sugar, the kind you find at diners everywhere. How in the name of hell did THAT get in there? I am so freaking baffled right now, and it's not even my department. They're freaking baffled, too because there's no logical explanation for it -- our kitchen is literally a block away (the building takes up a block of Madison Ave., with the printer on the 38th Street side and the kitchen on the 39th Street side), so it's not like someone could've, whoops, mistaken the printer for a pantry or something...

Stuff like this didn't even happen at my college newspaper office, where people ate three meals a day, beat the crap out of keyboards and basically trashed the hell out of the place on occassion. I know deadlines make people do crazy things, but sugar?

KB, Yankee Guru

The following text messages took place last night between me (in my warm apartment) and Tonya (in that black hole known as Boston). Tonya's been dreading this trip for a few weeks (it's for a friend's b-day, so that's devotion for you) for obvious reasons. So this made me like her spiritual advisor to get her through this emotionally tough time:

Tonya: Grr. Saw first Sux sign. Kill me.

Me: Deep breaths! 26 titles to their 1 over last 82 years. I mean, their captain's going to wear a C on his jersey like he's Hester f'ing Prynne for gosh sakes!

Tonya: LOL! I'm going 2 chant Lets Go Yankees in my head every time I see or hear something that pisses me off.

Me: Think of good signs to make for April 3 involving their suckiness and ESPN. It will set your mind at ease.

Tonya: Good idea! May Tino guide me through this...

Now let's hope she can make it through the next two days unscathed. I wished her Godspeed yesterday before she left, and she has warned that if we hear that Fenway's been burned down, we might know who did it....

Thursday, January 27, 2005

In Which The Chicken Practices His "Yo Adrian!!"

Holy cow, I can't stop laughing over this....BOXING GLOVES? FOR CHICKENS???

Oh my god, I don't think I can catch my breath....

Oh Mo! Oh No!!

I have to agree with Shannon here. There is something so not right about Mariano looking...damn fine. EWWW! *Slaps self* He's The Sandman, he's not supposed to be a looker! You do NOT have impure thoughts about your closer.

Plus, this commercial freaks me the hell out. Those masks? Can we say the biproduct of someone's fever-enduced nightmare?

Though I guess I'd rather have Mo look scary than studly. *Slaps self again*

It must be the magic power of the Navy-Blue Shirt...

The Joy of Commuting

I left my apartment at 7:55. I got to work at 9:50. This is what happens when something breaks down in the Lincoln Tunnel, my friends. And this is what happens when it's too cold to walk down to the PATH, so I opt for the bus, which is usually a quick (and much warmer) commute.

It was all going so well, with the bus zipping along and everyone's mellow, when WHAM! We get to 13th and Willow Ave. in Hoboken and we sit there. For a half hour. Which is just long enough for people to abandon ship and start trying to jump on buses that are also not going anywhere about 20 feet ahead of us. As if those few feet will make all the difference or something -- I mean, when traffic isn't moving, it's not moving, no matter where you're sitting. At one point I hear someone next to me ask "Do you know why everyone's getting off?" and I turn and HOO-HA! Cute Guy on Public Transportation Alert! Since I'm next to the window, I tell him that there's a few buses up ahead and he agrees with me that it makes no sense to leave for a non-moving bus only a few feet in front of you. That's when the bus stalls out for a second, but the lights come back on and everything seems fine. Until EVERYONE starts climbing off the bus and it appears it's because the bus is dead (luckily, the traffic in front of us still isn't moving anyway).

Cute Guy's all "What's going on?" and I'm all "I think the bus broke." We get off too and Cute Guy's like "This is a sign I should just go home" and I'm thinking it's too bad I'm on deadline today or I'd ditch too, which is why I get on a bus behind the dead one and Cute Guy looks like he's feeling guilty for ditching. I totally should've been like "Hey, let's go get breakfast!" since we were right near a diner, but alas, I'd never be THAT ballsy. Plus, what if he was one of those nouveau-Sux fans that are inflitrating Hoboken? That would've been bad.

Anyway, a half hour later, my new bus has moved about a half mile, and I text Carolyn to see where she's at -- and now she's by the diner, too. She says that according to Rick, there's a 45-minute back up at the Tunnel, thus the current situation. I told her she should get off and have breakfast and she was like "I should -- I'd still probably get to work at the same time." Mmmm. Now I'm thinking of good diner food...

Traffic finally starts moving a bit after that, and by the time we get to the Tunnel, (now cleared of whatever breakdown took place) we sail along as if there was no trouble to begin with. Traffic is so bizarre in that way. I still got to work, oh, more than an hour after I usually do, but that usually makes the day go faster. But damn if that wasn't one of the worst commutes I've ever had from Hoboken.

It has nothing on NJ Transit trains, however....

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

Off-Key's OK for Me -- Not for Fame Whores

You know, I'm not ashamed to say I'm still watching American Idol after three seasons. Why? Because it's kinda touching to see people with real talent realize their dreams, if only somewhat. I actually get all verklempt when the people go running out of the audition room, screaming that they made it to Hollywood...shut up. I guess it's because if they had a Writer's American Idol, I'd probably react that way too if they had a"Hollywood" and I made it that much closer to doing what I love. Also, that validation that you're actually not that bad at what you do must be awesome as hell.

I'm probably the only person on the planet who can't stand seeing the bad people audition, though. Mostly because they're just fame whores and AI is totally giving in to them by giving them airtime. But also because if I want to hear bad singing, I can just hop in the shower and entertain myself (and the roommates and Sasquatch) by belting out bad 80s power ballads while washing my hair.

My point? Those people who CAN'T sing far outnumber those who can, so I'd rather see the rarities,( i.e. the good singers) if I'm going to invest an hour of my time watching this stuff. But I guess since it's all good singers after the audition round, I can deal with the fame-whoriest of fame whores for a few weeks.

Now if you'll excuse me, Sasquatch is stomping around and I think that means he wants to hear my rendition of Eternal Flame....

The Chicken's Advice to the Lovelorn

So The Chicken was all "B-gock! It's almost February and I haven't done a 'Dear Chicken' in months! Everyone must think I've lost my wisdom!" and I was all "Chill, man. Why don't you do a love advice column for Valentine's Day?" and he was like "Sweeeet."

Now, you may be thinking "How can a stuffed chicken know anything about romance?" Ah, but he adores the Yankees, so of course he knows what true love is like! And do you seriously think he'd steer you in the wrong direction?

Anyway, what he's looking for is love questions from y'all. The Chicken will pick through his favorites and answer them in his most wisest (or wise-ass) fashion in February. Write here, at your own risk:

I Feel SOOOO Secure

Yeah, so apparently there was some big to-do with our office building's security people because the ENTIRE old staff got fired this past weekend. We weren't told why, which strikes me as fishy because if something big went down (like an entire office's computers were swiped or someone's cookies got stolen by some selfish jackass on the 9th floor), don't we have a right to know? But what I think was the cost of the other security people was too much and the cheapos who run this building kicked them out.

Anyway, all this means we have a new crew now, who doesn't know anyone, so we have to bust out our IDs when coming in. I swear, I've been at this job over four years and the only time I've ever had to use the ID was for a few days after Sept. 11. Can I tell you how hard it is to make this a part of my routine? I get to the building and I'm all "Crap!" and I have to dig through my bag and pull it out. I feel like Wayne and Garth, showing off my backstage pass to Alice Cooper or something, but without the sense of fun.

There are people in my office who never even got IDs issued, and now they have to get harrassed and signed in every morning. I feel for them because this is a huge annoyance -- and it wouldn't be that way if they just EXPLAINED why all these new measures are in effect. Like, did they discover a terrorist working on the 9th floor (you know, that place where packages go to die)? I mean, this isn't exactly a building full of "important" offices that security would have to be tight. Whatever.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005


What the flip is up with Blogger today? Between comments that are there...but not, and trouble with posting, I'm ready to slap it upside the head...

Soon We'll Be Making Another Run...

So this coming season, I've decided to opt for two tickets with our Friday night package -- this way I can bring people I deem worthy (as there were many I wanted to take along last year, but few opportunities with extra tickets). We've decided to refer to his revolving door of friends as Special Guest Stars, and Tonya (proving why we are friends) says it'll be just like The Love Boat, with everyone else in the group wondering which "celebrity" I'll bring each week. I'm not sure if anyone will achieve Charo Recurring Status, but there's time for much ass-kissing between now and April.

And I guess that makes Steph like Vicki Stubing because she's joining the "cast" permanently this spring....

You Don't Have to Be a Star, Bernie, to be in My Show

My curiosity got the better of me today when I saw Lupicass had written something about the Mets. And considering the lede is chockfull of praise for the team (when, if it had been the Yanks who acquired Pedro and Beltran, you know he'd come out sniveling about something), it's safe to say we know who Mikey-Poo's rooting for this season.

What I need y'all's take on is if this sentence is a slam at the Yankees or not. Because you know I'm biased to think this man is out for blood when it comes to Pinstripes (and I'm probably not wrong about that):

Then the Mets overpaid for Carlos Beltran to come be the kind of star in center field that New York baseball teams are supposed to have.

I mean, is that a knock on the non-flashy Bernie? The Yankees for not getting Beltran? That was my first reaction to reading it. If it is a knock on Bernie, Lupicass is a bigger heartless Fucko™ than I gave him credit for, because when has Bern-Baby-Bern done anything but play his heart out? So what if he's not DiMaggio or Mantle -- the man's been patrolling center for the past 13 years and has four rings to his credit. You think he hasn't been a piece of the puzzle just because he's not a "star"?

Even if that's not what he's saying...shut up, Lupica.

Monday, January 24, 2005

Viva Le Psycho French Dude!

So, the Roomies and I are watching The Bachelorette right now, laughing at the crazy French dude trying to woo Jen. Apparently, he goes a little more psycho later, prompting the Overdramatic Voiceover Dude to ask in preview: What will Fabrice do to shock Jen?

My response (in faux French accent): He weeeel whack her on zee head with a baguette! While wearing a beret and a ceeeeegarette in zee other hand!

The Roomies got a kick out of that. Melissa was all "keep going!" but I'd run out of French cliches at that point.

Let The Countdown Begin!

With football season almost over, The Chicken wanted to share this info with you.

(Thanks to Lupe_Velez for the suggestion!)

ABC, Easy as 123

Woo-hoo! Some alphabetical word association for this boring-ass day:

Advice: Sometimes it's good to be honest. Sometimes it's better just to keep your mouth shut.

Books: I'm reading Life of Pi right now. So far, so good. I finished The Five People You Meet in Heaven two weeks ago and was not impressed.

Craving: Coke Classic right now, as I have been for the past few weeks or so.

Date: I'll go with the "going-out-on-a..." form of the word. The Boardwalk, to me, is the ideal date. It's usually warm outside, you get to play games (Skee Ball!!!), people watch (the Jersey Shore is GREAT for this), eat bad-for-you food, go on rides and walk on the beach. It can be terribly cheesy and yet terribly romantic at the same time.

E-mail: It's sad, but I get such a boost when I log onto Yahoo and I see a little star next to the mail envelope letting me know I've got something. And equally as sad, I want to punch someone when I find out it's just spam.

Friends: I have the best ones on the planet, yo. And they could kick your friends' ass any day of the week, so there.

Gross: Having to pull food/blockages out of the sink drain.

Humor: It is crucial to survival.

Ice cream: Oh, what I wouldn't give for a trip to Friendly's right now -- either a Snickers Sundae with cookies-n-cream ice cream, or a chocolate Fribble. Mmmmmm. Damn this city with its lack of Friendly's!!!

Joy: I'll take The Yankees Winning the World Series for 500, Alex.

Kitchen: I know my way around one and enjoy spending time in it.

Love: It's abundant in my living room/dining room, according to Liana.

Men: Are they wearing navy-blue shirts?

Natural: Are we talking childbirth here, because no way in hell I'm doing that "natural." If we're talking the baseball movie, it's one of my faves.

One: Um, Billy Martin?

Pick-me-up: Fried Oreos, Flipz, warm chocolate-chip cookies

Quirky: There's good quirky, and forced, I'm-trying-to-be-something-I'm-not quirky. I like the former.

Rain: It's nice every now and then, but it makes for problems when you're at a game or want to go to the beach.

Sun: Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's bad for you and stuff, but how the hell else are we supposed to enjoy being outside? Hanging out in the rain isn't my idea of a good time.

Tickle: Fun, if it's not in your throat, anyway.

Underwear: I like wearing it, yes.

Valentine: I've never had one. Wah, wah, wah, waaaah, goes the sound effects department.

Words: Without them, I'd have no job or blog or many interests, for that matter.

X-ray: I've only had a few that weren't dental related -- broken toes, wrist.

Yard: I like having one you're actually allowed to hang out in.

Zoo: I haven't been to one in over 20 years. Hollis and I tried to go to the Bronx Zoo a few years ago, but got lost on the Subway and we decided to go to that day's Yankee game instead. So it all worked out.


Whoa, flashback!

The song I've Been Thinking About You is on iTunes right now, and I just remembered buying it on single cassette during a, like, totally awesome shopping excursion to the mall back in 1989-90...a whopping 15 years ago. Oh man, is that traumatic.

Other than that, this is the most boring day known to man. What I wouldn't give to be "watching" a game on Yahoo right now...

Sunday, January 23, 2005

Snow's Over

Oh man, it is BITTERLY cold out there at the moment. It's supposed to be like 23 degrees today, which isn't so bad, but factor in 40 mph wind gusts and we've got us a frigid-ass one.

I think we got a little over a foot, but now we get fun (ie, hard to walk through) snow drifts with the wind.

I'm going to play in it later, but The Chicken says he's content to stay in watching the YES Network and drinking hot cocoa today. Life is good in the AccuChicken weather center.

Mike Lupica, Psychic Friend

So after giving Roger Clemens a nice BJ in his column today (and since I no likey, I no linky), Lupica makes this little aside about A-Rod blaming himself for the Yanks' piss-poor performance in the last four games of the ALCS:

Alex Rodriguez now says that he considers it a personal failure that the Yankees couldn't hold that 3-0 lead against the
Red Sox.

Sure he does.

A-Rod believes it is all his fault about as much as he believes in the Easter Bunny.

Because Mike Lupica is TOTALLY psychic, man! And you know what? He's just about as obnoxious as Ms. Cleo, too.

I seriously want to know what is up his ass about A-Rod since the man takes every opportunity to crucify him via the column. But whatever.

And just so he knows, A-Rod said the same stuff in that NY Times feature story back in November. And as much as I think the Times has a Red Sux Boner like ESPN, at least they let the man make his case. You know, instead of offering us a one-sided argument laden with hatred from one bitter little man and his keyboard.

If I pass Lupicass on the street today, I am totally hurling a huge snowball in his direction. I mean, there are several people I'd find it theraputic to chuck a big wad of snow at, but Lupicass would be very satisfying indeed. Probably because I doubt he'd have enough of an arm to throw one back -- 1) because he looks like a wimpy little ass and 2) the arm's probably degenerated with all the venom that comes pouring through it when he types.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

Not So Fast, Sasquatch!

So Sasquatch is exhibiting Cabin Fever symptoms by blasting his country music with the bass kicked up. But it's no match for Journey on the Bose, baby! Jackie and Melissa just spilled into my room for a little bit of a singalong, though we can't really harmonize with Steve Perry too well. As a result, Sasquatch's music actually lowered a bit. Hmmm.

Don't worry, Sassy. Some day love will find you, break those chains that bind you....

More Snow!

The Chicken, looking all Sam Championesque, wanted to take this ruler down to the yard, but since we're not allowed to set foot in it, he's a bit disappointed.

Just to note, if you see "grass" sticking up in the yard four hours into this storm, it's because the yard hasn't been mowed since July. So that's like two feet of weedage out there.

...Still Snowing...

AccuChicken Forecast: It's too damn cold, it's snowing like crazy and The Chicken finds the silver lining in it all.

Though 71 days still feels like a freaking long time....

Blizzard Watch '05

So since I'm going to be trapped inside for the majority of the day, I've decided to track this Blizzard's progress via photos of my boring-ass backyard (where tenants are not allowed to set foot). The Chicken ventured into the snow for this one at noon. It had been snowing for about 20 minutes at that point and you can already see the accumulation.

More on your AccuChicken Forecast as the day progresses...

Less Than Six Degrees Separate Me From...The Hair

Dudes. Get this. My mom's cousin and his swing band (whom I've never met, but whose CD I have heard) are playing Donald Trump's wedding today. He's got his own orchestra thingy going and according to this article, he plays The Lair of The Hair often. And The Hair just happens to be friends with The Turtleneck, a.k.a. George Steinbrenner...that Yankee Poet Laureate position is SO mine, you guys.

So for those keeping score at home, that's piracy, mafia relations, Monmouth County mayoral connections and family friendships with exaggerating real-estate tycoons all in my rich family history/favor.

Friday, January 21, 2005

The Man With the Golden Arm?

Roger Clemens is worth 18 million for one season? Are you kidding me, Astros? I guess I should be glad the Yanks aren't the only ones who over-spend, but damn, this move just strikes me as crazy. Why? I'm aghast at this, quite honestly, if only because he's so freaking mediocre in the post-season. Which is where the Astros blew it this year -- with Mr. $18 million on the mound.

I never loved Roger as a Yankee for this exact reason -- you could NOT trust him in a big game. I mean, his regular season record was great, but let's review: He's 10-7 lifetime in the playoffs. This is a man who's supposed to be your ace, but I know whenever he came out in October for the Yanks, I watched through my fingers.

Whatever. I guess Houston has their reasons and are missing Beltran, but damn, I hope for their sake it doesn't come back to bite them in the ass.

Though now Andy gets his workout buddy back. Awww.

20. 25. ???

That first number? That's how warm it's supposed to get today.

That second number? Aww yeah, that's how many days till Pitchers and Catchers report, as per's awesome little countdown clock thingy.

That third, er, number? That's what every weather forecaster is like right now about the snow we're supposed to get this weekend. I've heard anywhere from 6-28 inches. And that's quite a range. Not sure how I'm going to fit in a boatload of cooking, reading, outlining, catching up on missed TV-shows from this week, rooting against the football AND playing in the snow, but I'm young and I'm sure I can handle it.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Vote Yanks! Vote Often!

Do you want to see ESPN's BoSux Boner in full effect? Check out their descriptions of the past 16 World Series winners. It's so you can vote, tournament style, on which team is the best of the past decade and six. Every team gets a straight up review...except the Sux. It's like ESPN hired the blandest AP writer on the market for the other 15 teams while Bono, Maya Angelou and Ernest Hemingway collaborated to pen the Sux's description (though they claim Alan Schwarz of Baseball America wrote them all). And the 1998 Yankees? The best team in god knows how long? ALL SEASON? Get the mehest of meh descriptions.

The only way for this to be avenged is if you all go out and vote for what was truly the "storybook run of our time" (and didn't involve long hair, dwarfs and ignoring the National Anthem to do group shots of JD because, awwww, it was too cowld!) -- VOTE FOR THE 1998 YANKEES! And keep voting when the rounds get less and less.

Mets Good. Yanks Bad. Just Because the Sportswriters Said So.

So this dude seems to think the "clueless" moves of the Yankees will have them playing second banana to the Mets this summer. He basically focuses on the moves they've made and who they should keep. But I ask you: Who is the core of this Mets team? (Crickets chirping) It's not Piazza.You could argue that it will be Beltran, but they haven't played anything yet, let alone had a chance to let him be a team guy. I would've said Leiter, but he's gone now. Used to be John Franco. Where is he now? Retired. So seriously, aside from upgrading a few positions, how have the Mets gotten themselves that all important "chemistry" that critics say the Yankees lack? The Mets won 71 games last year -- you can't tell me that a young home run hitter and a head case pitcher are going to add the zest to make them Kings of New York. I'm not saying they won't be good, but all this speculation that their moves are signs of a Yankee downfall are preposterous. And why do I get the feeling the Yanks would still be getting trashed even if they signed Beltran? Oh, yeah, because one guy does not a 25-man roster make and they'd still be getting "old" elsewhere, right?

And by the way, what is up with all these fans contemplating the Yanks downfall too? I mean, I know in my heart of hearts that the Yanks can't be great forever, but to see their "downfall" beginning with this team? Are you crazy? Just because the media doesn't like a few moves -- when the new guys HAVEN'T EVEN PLAYED YET? Looking for Gloom and Doom in January is absurd, and the sign of fans who have been truly spoiled -- and a bit crackheaded, too.

Let's look at the Yanks position by position over my favorite lovable losers (with NO potential whatsoever) the 1992 Squad. Now this is a team that would make me worry, not one laden with talent as today's is:

Then: Matt Nokes/Mike Stanley
Now: Jorge Posada
Edge: Um. Yeah.

First Base:
Then: Don Mattingly
Now: Giambi/Tino combo
Edge: Well, Mattingly had the better glove, but his bat was slowing down at this point. I'd say the edge, if Giambi is healthy and plays decent, goes to now.

Second Base:
Then: Pat Kelly/Mike Gallego
Now: Tony Womack
Edge: Womack's played on a few contenders and has a decent lifetime batting average. Pat Kelly could "pivot" well. Mike Gallego had a funny shaped head when he wore his batting helmet.

Then: Andy Stankiewicz, Randy Velarde, Mike Gallego
Now: Derek Jeter
Edge: You seriously expect me to go there?

Third Base:
Then: Charlie Hayes
Now: A-Rod
Edge: Yeah, this current team REALLY has me shaking in my shoes.

Left field:
Then: Roberto Kelly/Gerald Williams
Now: Hideki Matsui
Edge: Oh, what? I was too busy buffing my nails because this is such a no-brainer.

Center field:
Then: Roberto Kelly/Bernie Williams
Now: Bernie Williams
Edge: Bernie is a much better player now than when he was 23. Believe it, or not.

Right field:
Then: Mel Hall
Now: Gary Sheffield
Edge: Ahem.

Then: Danny Tartabull/Kevin Maas
Now: Tino/Giambi/Bernie (if another centerfielder is signed)/Sierra
Edge: Gee, remember how many pennants Tartabull and Maas got us!?

I'm not even going to bother with the pitching staff because that's just way cruel to the 1992 pitchers.

My point? If this current team is making you worry, you really need a vacation or something. Or maybe you should've jumped off the bandwagon in 2000, since you obviously don't remember what it was like to have no hope AT ALL with your team.

Wednesday, January 19, 2005

Picking Nits

So the Roomies and I are watching Point Pleasant and having a grand old time finding inaccuracies and whatnot. For example: They refer to the annoying asses who come down the Shore as "Summer People." Oh, hell no. A BENNIE is a BENNIE and there's no way around it.

Right now, there's a party on the beach. With a bonfire. And cars on the beach. Um, NO!

There are no big, jagged cliffs ANYWHERE on the Jersey Shore. Just man-made jetties. That look nothing like big, jagged cliffs.

There's no Ferris Wheel or huge amusement park on the Pt. Pleasant Boardwalk. And the boards aren't vertical wide planks.

At least they didn't make everyone fake a "Jersey" accent. And the whole Jersyans aren't allowed to pump gas thing. That's the only nice thing I can say about it.

Finding Joy in the Little Things

Things to be psyched about today (in Boonetastic fashion):

-- I won the office Golden Globe pool! With only 11 correct answers!

-- I've made Paul Katcher's Web Friends list!

-- It's warmed up enough in the office that I don't need gloves right now!

-- Lost is on tonight!

-- Liana's making her awesome chilli on Friday night for our Bourne-a-thon!

-- It's supposed to snow this weekend! Like, really snow and accumulate and shit!

Life's Boonetastic!

The Chicken's Gonna be a Star

Oh boy! I think I've just discovered how to get the Yankee Chicken his big break! Looks like those I Live for This commercials are looking for diehard fans to star. And I don't care how decked out someone is in Yankee gear with a painted face and whatnot -- he/she CANNOT possibly top the awesome weirdness of the Yankee Chicken. And considering that the Yankee Chicken really does exist for the puropose of baseball, well, who can beat that?

Though I do expect my diehard Yankee lover friends to try out too. Time to show those other teams which fans are kings of the hill, top of the heaps.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

Stayfree, Stay Away!

Whoa, what is up with this Stayfree maxi-pad commercial where these random women pop out at shoppers to be all "Did you know Stayfree pads are odor fighting?" or something like that? Jeez, as if being down that aisle isn't awkward enough. I hope to god that they're just staged or something because that's just bordering on freaking weird. I guess the camera crew would be the dead giveaway (gee, thanks Stayfree. Now your aisle-popper-outer AND a camera guy, the boom-mike operator and god knows who else know way more about my cycle than necessary -- not to mention the home viewing audience) so from now on, if there's a big to-do by the tampons and pantyliners, I'm running the other way.

Though it would be great if they jumped a guy buying stuff for his girlfriend/wife...Oh, I'm just kidding, guys. I know there are many of you who absolutely hate being sent on that errand. But just so you know, dudes, when we do see you buying that stuff, we know it's not YOU that's on the rag, so be fearless in your task instead of looking like you're the one with bad cramps. Besides, you look like a nice guy who's secure in his manhood by doing this.

Why Are They "The Happy Couple?" Because They've Got All Your Money!

Tonya, Ken and I were just discussing the great annoyance that is the Engagement Party. I have never understood the concept of this, except that it means you have to buy not one, not two, but THREE gifts for this greedy-ass couple. As Tonya said, it's bad enough they get you with the shower and the wedding gift. Seriously. What reason is there to gather hundreds of your "closest" friends except to extort money out of them under the guise of celebrating your Engagement. I don't buy it for a second. Wouldn't it make more sense not to drop thousands of dollars on an Engagement Party and save it for the wedding or a house or something?

Anyway, in these here parts, the Engagement Party is usually Wedding Lite -- Lite being 92 calories to a real Wedding's 100. They're usually at catering halls with DJs and people dressing up as if they were going to a wedding. The bride and groom get to dance to "their song." There's father/daughter, mother/son dances. They do the Electric Slide. There's cake cutting and the happy couple sitting at their own table. Just like a Wedding and probably just as expensive.

I know there are some Engagement Parties where the couple gathers close family and the bridal party and they do a brunch or something, which seems hell of a lot more meaningful than going through a dry-run of your wedding roughly a year before the actual marriage takes place. With every living relative on your family tree, your entire corporation, the garbage man, and that neighbor you don't really like, but who looks rich in attendance.

Plus, this means you get not one, not two, but three weekend days of your life taken away for this couple. It's one thing if you actually LIKE the couple. But usually it's some distant relative who's just trying to suck as much money out of you as possible, so they can buy a house when YOU CAN'T EVEN AFFORD TO RENT BY YOURSELF.

And then you get invited to their housewarming party.

Of Broads and Car Buttons

Last night at dinner, we were discussing the movie A Bronx Tale, when I totally remembered the scene in the movie that petrified me for life: The whole opening-of-the-car-button talk. Seriously. Let me explain: The big bad mafia guy tells his young protege to open his date's door for her when they get to the car. Then, if she gets in the car and doesn't open his side (ie, he has to unlock it himself) she's a "Selfish Broad and all you're seeing is the tip of the iceberg." I thought the guy put it a little crasser than that (must be mixing up my mafia movies) but it still makes me open unlock that door, even if it's not a date or just a friend or something. Because even though I know I'm not selfish, I am not going to be labled a Selfish Broad, damn it. Amazing what scary mafia men make you do.

This also led into a sidebar discussion of a similar scene in the way awesome Singles, where the guy is bowled over when the gal he digs unlocks his side for him. It practically makes him decide she's the one.

Whoda thunk so much dating psychology could come from a freaking car lock button?

And our Ear Rubbing friend was back last night, and this time our table was facing him. THANK GOD there were two guys standing in between us, so we were blocked from his stare. Though we did catch him rubbing the ear from time to time...

Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short a Date

It is so cold outside, my formerly broken wrist is hurting.

It is so cold inside, I am wearing gloves. We cannot win in this office no matter what.

Thank god January only comes once a year.

Monday, January 17, 2005

Hold Me Close, Don't Ev-ah Let Me Go-a-oh!

So I'm totally VH1's bitch and watching I Love the 90s Part Deux right now because I need a pop culture fix bad or something. Even though this series is totally losing steam and my arch enemy Sports Guy's in it with a creepily annoying voice. Anyway, in the 1991 episode, they just completely ripped on More Than Words by Extreme. Like, sacrelige much? This was totally the bestest song EVER when I was in the 8th grade, like when your crush was out because of an orthodontist appointment and you were totally bummed and this song just seemed to fit the mood of the day (life was so tough then). It remained awesome (OK, maybe awesomely cheezy) in college when everyone got drunk. And you know I have it on my iPod now. And I'm just warning y'all now, someone's singing this with me (badly) on my birthday...though, this could be perfect for Eric and Rick's next duet, so maybe I'll have to pass it up.

Forewarned is forearmed...

In Which I Start Seeking Out Cardboard Boxes

See this little house right here? It's causing me all sorts of agita at the moment. You see, it's for sale, around the block from where I grew up. It has a small front yard, no backyard, three bedrooms and one bathroom. The rooms are tiny. My apartment might have as much square footage or even more. So how much do you think this "starter home" is going for? 200,000? 225,000? WRONG! Try $384,000!

This drives me nuts. It's not a house you'll stay in for the rest of your life. In fact, it's probably a single person/young couple/elderly couple-type home. How can any of the above afford this, except maybe the elderly couple that's selling off another house?

A first time home buyer, especially a single one is royally SCREWED in today's market. If I can't even think about buying a ranch that can barely fit all the furniture I own, what the heck am I supposed to do? Rent the rest of my life? Granted, my field doesn't pay that great, but even if I were making more money, I still couldn't afford it. And once upon a time, like ten years ago, my parents' neighborhood used to be the affordable side of town. Who the fuck can afford it now?

People keep saying the market's going to bust, but it has yet to happen. It's probably evil of me to be rooting for it to collapse, but it's also pretty bad that I'm probably going to have to have roommates for the rest of my natural life.


We Haven't Heard From Him in, What, a Week? has not one, but two articles on my best friend Curt Schilling today. One you need membership to read. The other I only skimmed because I'm trying to stay in a pleasant mood right now. This is the one thing that caught my eye from it:

On why other people might think of him as "powerful":

Huh? Who thinks of him as powerful? Geez, ESPN, give the man a more bloated head than he already has, why don't you? And don't use that word in regards to him either, because the man already thinks he's God's gift to baseball and we don't need him thinking he's God's DH or whatever. It's bad enough he went to bat for Dubya.

Sunday, January 16, 2005

HATE! Not Just a Four-Letter Word Anymore.

So after reading this headline, I was all "Holy Crap, Lupicass has something nice to say about the Yankees!" and then I got his usual, negative diatribe with a sprinkle of "respect" for The Big Member thrown in.

Of course I just had to weigh in. What, you thought I'd sit on my hands with this one? I literally smacked my TV screen with the remote when Lupicass came on the Sports Reporters this morning. That should tell you something.

He was embarrassed when he watched himself put a hand on that Channel 2 television camera - it's against the rules anywhere, not just here...

The hell? It's against the rules to want your privacy? You mean it's OK for the media to stalk you when you're out of uniform, when they get MANY chances to talk to you in a game setting? Damn, those LA celebrities who are constantly running from the paparazzi must be evil rule breakers, I tell you.

After talking about the city's reaction to the whole "Incident" this week: At which point the whole city quaked.

Um, hello? The whole city MEDIA quaked. I didn't see one fan "quaking." More like shaking their heads at the whole blown-out-of-proportionedness of the story. But then Lupicass hasn't been in touch with the thoughts of fans of this town in about six or seven years, so maybe I should cut him some slack.

Bottom line here? On a day when the pitcher known as the Big Unit needed to act like a big guy, he did.


The idea that one dumb episode marks him as somebody who might not be able to consistently handle the pressures and responsibilities of being a star athlete in New York is silly.

Yeah, now you say this. Had he not apologized and acted like a "big guy" by kow-towing down to the New York media (and in a way, you know Lupicass is thinking that this somehow emasculated RJ, thereby making the media the "winner" in all this.) would this notion still be "silly?"

I liked him more on Tuesday than I ever had.

Again, because he was on his knees to the NY media, being made to feel like shit for wanting privacy? It's sad that only David Letterman could see the light on this one.

Randy Johnson is never going to be the life of the party around the Yankee clubhouse, but guess what? There is no life of the party in the Yankee clubhouse, which for the past few years has had the personality of a holding cell, and been about as much fun.

Ah, now it all comes out! The Yankees aren't a fun team that gives columnists bunches of stuff to write about! I've been saying this all along. Lupicass is probably longing for the halcyon days of the Bronx Zoo, when players and coaches donning the same uniform kicked each others asses in the dugout. Yeah, that's fun -- for the writers.

You know, I bet even Lupicass himself is getting bored doling out the same negative shit week after week and its manifesting itself in...negativity. But I'll take a boring team with no "personality" that wins games over one whose "antics" make the headlines.

A team should be going out there every day to rack up as many wins as possible, not to give a good sound byte. Sorry, Lupicass, if that makes your job a little tougher.

Saturday, January 15, 2005

Now I Can Really Be a Captain!

Yeah, so, I went to the Gap for jeans and I came out with this shirt. I mean, could I help it? Am I not the Captain of the Mystique and Aura? All I could think was "Arr, me crew would want me to have it." It was only 9.99, too, so I wasn't about to pass it up.

I guess it's a good damn thing there were no ships called the SS Mystique and Aura that had run aground in the mall or something...

Just Another Day Without You

Damn, YES Network, the least you could do on a dull January Saturday is throw on some Yankee Classics for those of us in withdrawl. Instead we get a bunch of Penn State, Seton Hall, NJ Nets stuff. What fun is that? I mean, I'd even take another replay of the Big Member's press conference right about now.

Oh, all right, I know this network has spoiled the shit out of me. I mean, what did Yankee fans do in the offseason before YES? Because MSG only had Yankees Magazine and that was it.

So now I guess I'll just get that old Jon Secada classic that I used to title this post stuck in y'all's heads for my amusement today. Unless you want it to be Come Go With Me by the Del Vikings, which was playing in my dream last night where I was dancing through the A&P as I gathered my groceries because the Yankees had just won the World Series or something.

Man, I'm so in withdrawl, it's bordering on scary!

Friday, January 14, 2005

Taking the "Red Bulls" by the Horns

Did you ever have someone in your life who is like the human equivilent of Red Bull? Like they're bouncing-off-the-wallsness starts to make you feel all edgy and antsy too? I know everyone can't be cool, calm and collected all the time, but geez I think I get about three "Red Bulls" a day on an average day. And I don't even like Red Bull.

And then there are the gloom-and-doomers who just try to drag you down with them, who I personally think suck and wish would fall off the face of the earth. But sometimes, you get gloom-and-doomers, who are also "Red Bulls" and damn you've got a challenge! How do people get this way? Not that I'm always tranquil, but damn, I try to keep it to myself when the weird moods strike. I work in publishing though, which means weird people far outnumber the sane ones. It does make the day more, um, colorful, so maybe I shouldn't complain. It's better than being bored all day, I guess.

Oh, and just call me Charles today because I am In Charge of my section at work. I'm hoping for a Red Bull-less day, but it's only 10 a.m., and the day is still young.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

A Thick Gold Chain to Go With Those Four Rings?

I'm actually listening to Staying Alive right now and just trying to picture A-Rod or Matsui or better still, Steinbrenner, strutting down the streets of Brooklyn, a la Tony Manero, to win some fan love. I don't know if I'd be bowled over amused or just completely freaked the hell out if I witnessed it.

However, I have no trouble picturing Derek Jeter doing this for some reason. Forget that Gold Glove -- you totally know his most important award could be Disco King.

"You can tell by the way I use my walk
I'm a woman's man, no time to talk."

Yep. That's El Capitan to a T.

Embraceable You? Not Necessarily....

I'd like to give a standing ovation to Lupe Velez for her awesome response to this piece of journalistic jackassian crap.

I've said it before, I'll say it again. I can't stand these reporters who take it upon themselves to give all of us "ignorant" Yankee fans a "reality check." They seem to think that whatever is pouring out of their Pulitzer-in-waiting keyboard is an original thought, one that we fans of the Bombers are incapable of having because all we know is "winning." Therefore, they must show us how stupid we are with their prose, just to knock us down a few pegs from whatever excitement we're feeling at the moment.

Well sorry, Mr. Ian O'Connor, even after reading your bitter piece o' slop, I'm still excited Johnson is here. But I know he's only going out there every five days. He can have whatever attitude he wants as long as he wins -- that's what he's here for, yo. So no, Mr. Ian O'Connor, I could care less if he "embraces" me and this city or not. There are 25 guys on this team, 25 different personalities. They're not fucking Stepford Yankees who have to love all that is New York. I don't expect to see every single one of them strutting down the streets of the five boroughs with "Staying Alive" blaring over their foam-Statue-of-Liberty-crown-wearing heads, a knish in one hand and Brooklyn Lager in the other to prove their loyalty to this town.

Just beat the fucking snot out of Curt Schilling on April 3 and in October, and you'll be every inch a New Yorker to me.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Always on the Job

So I saw In Good Company last night (one of the best things about New York, other than having baseball up the wazoo in winter? Getting to see movies before the rest of the country) and I'm still not sure if I liked it or not. But I am always amazed when Hollywood actors get into movies about office politics -- because have they seriously ever encountered that? Do they know what a corner office vs. cubicle world is like? Probably not, but they can pull it off on-screen. I guess that's why it's called acting. I just wonder where they get their "motivation" from. Do they go hang out in an office for a few weeks to prepare?

But the big thing that actually swayed my attention in parts of the movie was the big picture of Ebbetts Field hanging on the wall of Dennis Quaid's character's office. Why you ask? Because Quaid's character was supposed to be 51, which would've made him about 3-4 when the Dodgers left Brooklyn. Could he REALLY remember the joyous days of Ebbetts Field enough to want it on his wall in a spot of prominence? I dunno.

I'm a copyeditor/fact-checker. These things irk me. So sue me.

ETA:I just remembered my favorite line of the movie. Topher Grace's character asks Dennis Quaid's character how you know when you're ready to settle down, and Quaid's awesome response: “You just pick the right one to be in the foxhole with, and when you're out of the foxhole you keep your dick in your pants."

That was my Oprah "Audience, wasn't the scene when THIS happened just great!? Oh, did we just blow it for the viewers at home who haven't seen the movie yet?" moment of the day.

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

Delayed Reaction

Holy shit! Randy Johnson's a Yankee. Watching the press conference just made it all the more real to me.

And I've also figured out who he reminds me of: Gettysburg hero Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain. I mean, there's no mullet, but do you not see the resemblence? And dudes, if he defeats the enemy at Little, Fenway...well he'll definitely be all right with me.

Shut up, Duke

Duke Castiglione? You're totally on my shit list. Not only do you look like someone who would be best buds with Mike Lupica, but you are a completely unprofessional journalistic jackass. Oh yeah, and you're dad's a broadcaster for the Sux. Hmmm.

During today's press conference (which I listened to since none of the local channels covered it), The Big Member's all apologizing and shit for yesterday, did this about three times in fact, saying how foolish he felt, how sorry he was, etc. Well, after we actually move the subject on to baseball, Sir Duke has to get up and be all whiny and I'm pretty sure he was trying to bait RJ into some kind of fight. I'm not kidding. All the other reporters who asked questions about yesterday were straight and to the point. Dukey starts off by saying his name and "we met yesterday" which got a giggle out of everyone. And then he smarmily starts in on "my cameraman was only doing his job" and arguing this and that over what Randy said. Watch the replay on YES tonight if you don't believe me. As someone who learned in college that journalists are supposed to be impartial, this just irked the shit out of me. You decide to passive-aggressively throw off the gloves at a PRESS CONFERENCE? Oh, you're such a man, Duke. And let's not forget who the press conference was really for, mmkay?

The Big Member's response was all "I will gladly sit down with you for an interview anytime you like." Not as awesome as it would have been if RJ hurled the microphone 95 miles per hour at Duke's head, but a great response just the same.

After the conference was over, even Mike and the Mad Dog were like "Can we let this go now?" which I find surprising since Mad Dog's a Yankee hater extraordinaire. That tells you something.

The Hot Stove Boileth Over

Dudes, I'm about to throw a compliment, so you'd better start living life because the apocalypse must surely be upon us: I love this graphic.

It is January. It is snowing outside right now. Opening Day is a little less than three months away. And New York is all about the baseball.

It may be warmer and sunny in other US locales at the moment, but right now, there's no other place I'd rather be.

Start Spreading the (Obnoxious) News

Oh, Randy. You had to go and mess with CBS2, a Post reporter and a Daily News photographer. Can we say the most obnoxious media outlets in New York? And they're totally not going to let this go by? Even though it's such a non-story it's almost disgusting that they're harping on this so much?

What bugs me is that there was this huge-ass mudslide in California yesterday (the pictures of it are insane) where people actually died and both the News and Post run Randy's camera shennanigans on the front AND backpage. NOBODY GOT PUNCHED OR KILLED OR BLOODIED, so what's the big f'ing deal? Listen, I don't think RJ's right in trying to hide from the media, especially since he knew what he was getting into. But I'd like to hear his side of the story instead of getting the whine from all the "Injured" parties. And let's not forget -- Freedom of Speech also means you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. How is The Big Member a "Big Jerk" for not wanting to talk?

Also, let's note that the parties involved all have their own agenda, but specifically CBS: One of the biggest scandals in network history went down yesterday. You think they want to focus on something else? Hmmm...CBS Sportsline had the story first from what I saw yesterday and then AP took it and it was everywhere else by the end of the day. Also, The Big Member is on Letterman tonight, a CBS program. I don't know. I'm just conspiracy theorying here, but in a town where you're allowed to crucify someone via the headlines with a one-sided story, anything is fair game.

And no, I didn't read Lupica's story about this (it's in the Daily News today, but I'm not linking to that jackasses work anymore), though I would've been mucho psyched had he been in the "fray" yesterday, and RJ's "Long Arm" managed to swipe Mikey-poo's ass off the sidewalk...

PS -- I think the Post wants to have 10 million of Carlos Beltran's babies. It's just a vibe I'm getting....

Monday, January 10, 2005


It must be a slow sports day when The Big Member avoiding and jawing at a cameraman is considered "lashing out" in Yahoo headlines. I love that it says he put his "long arm" out to block the camera. Aside from the fabulous double entendre there, what exactly did he do wrong?

And as I told Steph and Tonya, I'd rather have a pitcher who avoids the media spotlight instead of one who obnoxiously courts it with his thoughts on religion, politics and all things him. No, I'm not thinking of Curt Schilling anyone in particular. Where did you get that idea from?

Ah, What a Beautiful Sight

15 vacation
10 sick
2 personal

What to do with all these days off? The possibilities are endless. This is the one reason I actually like January -- clean slate, baby!

In Which I'm Done With Day Siezing

So I was watching Dead Poets Society and as much as I like the movie, the whole 'Sieze the Day' mantra has become a load of bull to me -- when I used to think it was an awesome philosophy. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're supposed to live life with no regrets and whatnot and you only live once. I get that. But everytime I go to sieze the day, the day's always like "Shyeah right! Come back tomorrow! Darn kids..." and I end up regretting trying to sieze anything in the first place. So I've decided life is a lot better when you let the day sieze you -- unless it involves scoring Yankee tickets, of course, and then I'll be proactive is hell. And maybe with getting my book published too. But that's it. You won't catch me knocking on the day's door anymore.

Though as much as my wonderment has ceased with the movie's main theme, I'm happy to say Knox Overstreet is still my cinematic boyfriend. And I can't believe I wrote that post two years ago already...

What Might Have Been? Just A Lot More Homers.

I love that even though this is a huge, huge, huge Mets story, The Post makes it all about the Yankees. I actually laughed out loud when I saw it, because here's Beltran looking like a choir boy that the Yanks kicked in the teeth or something instead of a man pocketing mucho dinero in Queens.

Honestly, I'm not all that bothered by this. Yeah, it would be nice to have a centerfielder that's going to be there for a long, long time and produce, but damn, look at every other position on this team -- I am many things, but greedy isn't one of them. Last year, they had NO trouble scoring runs, which is what Beltran brings to the table. He's not going to pitch you through a tight playoff series, which to me is the most important thing right now. To me, you can't miss what you never had, and that's my attitude toward this.

I am curious to see what this means for center. Bernie is by far my favorite player and I want to see him retire a Yank, but I'm not blind to the fact that he has lost a step in the field. I can see a platoon with maybe him and Bubba, but I'm guessing George isn't done yet and we'll have another centerfielder when all is said and done -- maybe not a top-shelf guy like Beltran, but someone decent.

Let's not forget -- the offseason is still young (unfortunately).

Sunday, January 09, 2005

Yeah, The Old Lady's Still Got It

Oh my god, I just had the awesomest night out with the girls of the Hoboken Crew. Liana deserves mad props for suggesting a No Sir night to counter the No Ma'am the guys do every now and then. Christina, Vicki, Nancy, Liana, her sister and her sister's friends and myself just had a kick-ass time of drinking the Lord's brew and shakin' what our mamas gave us in the city. From the weirdo guys trying to dance with us (and the looks of "ooookaaay" that we all exchanged above their heads Seriously. They were that short. And even if my pals weren't in happy relationships, these, to Christina's setting-the-boundaries dance, to Vicki and Liana giving Christina and I extremely funny mock lap dances, to the excellent music, it was sooooooooo much fun.

Yeah, and you know how I'm old (along with Andruw Jones) according to some posters at Well not to 24-year-old Scott, a very cocksure young man who tried to hit on me. He comes over and he's like "You're tall!" and I'm like "No shit!" and then he tries to tell me I'm 6-foot and not 5-9. Whatever. He irks me off the bat because he's the type that thinks he can outwit you into macking with him or something. Anywho, he was 6-3 and saying how it sucks being tall because you can see everything that's coming and there are no surprises (because I said being tall was good for this exact reason, but he had to counter it) and I'm thinking "Dude, you're cute, but you're so not getting in my pants. Give it up." He then asks how old I am, and I'm all "27" and he's like "You are NOT!" Why this guy thought I was lying to him about my vitals is beyond me. Anyway, the women of my family may have a habit of robbing the cradle, but it's so not happening tonight for me. I'm trying to throw the girls a look as if to say "Save me!" but apparently because he was cute they didn't think I'd want help. I've figured him out to be around 23, missing his frat days, and when I ask his age and he says 24, I'm all, damn I'm good. Anyway, Scotty loses me completely when he declares all the guys in the place are dorks and I should've said "Well, you're here aren't you?" or "I happen to like dorks" because that would've put an end to our convo right then and there. But then he procedes to try and impress me by telling me about his job for MTV, that he barely reads books and that he still lives home with Mom and Pop. Oh, Scotty. He gets the hint that I'm Just Not That Into Him and says he has to find his friends and I wish him luck. Apparently his charms work on the next lady because he's all over this blonde a few minutes later and I'm relieved I don't have to hide from him the rest of the night.

Vicki and I head to the bathroom after that, and while we're waiting I'm all "I got hit on by a 24-year-old!" and Vicki's all "I got hit on by a WOMAN!" which procedes to make me laugh until my sides hurt, something I haven't experienced in a while.

It's even better on the PATH ride home. Mind you, we're all a little buzzed and Christina and Liana both had way uncomfortable shoes on, so Vicki suggests we pick up an uptown train and take it back downtown so we are assured of getting a seat. Well, we see seats when the train comes, but stop dead in our tracks when we notice almost the entire end of the car floor covered in a puddle of puke.

Let me tell you -- I have NEVER seen spew cause such a hilarity as it did tonight. Everytime someone would get on the train, their eyes would light up as if to say "Oh! Seats!" and then it's as if they hit a force field when they see the puke. As more people get on the train and this happens, EVERYONE starts cracking up. It's like watching an episode of Candid Camera or something. At one point, we're pulling into the station, and Liana is so tickled by this that she looks out the window to see people's reactions to the empty seats. This guy's eyes light up at the sight of the seats, but then he sees Liana watching for his reaction and notices the puke and he and his counterparts get set off on a laughing jag -- especially because Liana was on the verge of tears she was laughing so hard. Then some girl who was holding her head in her hands actually braved it and sat in front of the spew and this guy goes "Someone needs to add to it!" and everyone else is like "Eww no!" We then all had a great time trying to figure out what was in the puke and lamenting for the person who had to clean it up. In the middle of this exchange someone yells "She's gonna do it! She's gonna add to it!" and instead of being all "GROSS" at the sight of this girl yacking and adding to the puke puddle, everyone busts out laughing. In fact, I don't think I have ever laughed that hard on public transportation with a bunch of complete strangers. And that's just an awesome way to cap a Saturday night/Sunday morning.

Though I'm thinking I should go hang around the Stevens campus tomorrow and troll for freshmen, because apparently, I'm a young man magnet, baby! Just call me Mrs. Robinson!

Saturday, January 08, 2005

Hurry Up, Spring

Ugh. I just had to trek up to the bank in 40-degree rain. It made me wish for my old summer Saturday routine -- it involved a lot less layers of clothing and a lot longer time spent outside. All I'd need was a T-shirt, shorts and my iPod and I was good to go; none of this jeans, T-shirt, sweater, raincoat, gloves, umbrella crap. And I'd walk the entire town, not run up a few blocks and head back just as quick. And then I'd pack a bag and head down to the pier and hang with one of the Hoboken Crew, or sit and read and listen to the Yankee game -- while sitting on my way fabulous Yankee beach towel, of course -- and only head home when it got too hot or my bladder was about to explode. And then maybe later you hit one of the umpteenthousand street fairs Hoboken likes to have in the summer, and gorge yourself. Or if not, maybe everyone would be up for ice cream and maybe sitting down by the water and admiring the NYC skyline from across the river, ooh and ah over a cruise ship or two, laugh at the drunk couples fighting...Good times, good times.

It all seems so long ago, and there's still at least 3-4 months before I can do this again. Of course, if Winter would just be a man about it and snow, at least we could go outside and play in that. But rain? Not so much.

Friday, January 07, 2005

About Damn Time

So Opening Day/Night will heretoforth be referred to as Opening Night, since the Yanks finally made it official. Woo-woo! I'll be there with Tonya and Steph and a player to be named later, covered by the overhang if it should rain, and rabid with, um, Yankee rabies. I'm still taking the day off that Monday just to be on the safe side, though.

This all means I'll probably be at the game covered in icing as Sunday is traditionally Opening Day Cupcake Making Day. Perhaps I should bring a few and sneak them down to the dugout? Hmmm....

Friday Shout Outs

The T&K Cubicle Yankee Nation's most favorite visitor (and Complete and Total Bisch reader), Ms. Stephanie, is celebrating a b-day today! I dedicate whichever Bruce song she's in the mood for as a shout out. And here's hoping there aren't any Fuckos in her path today...and that maybe her new friend Steve Karsay will send over a boatload of tickets!

And I have to give my roommate a shout out because this morning, Carolyn was all "Oh -- I saw that The Big Member's almost a Yankee! Make sure you write about the Ugly Man's press conference on your blog." I assured her that I was on it, and that Tonya and I would have some running commentary whenever the conference shall be...

Thursday, January 06, 2005

Deep Breaths...Deep Breaths...

I don't even know what to say to this. Fuck off, Jayson Stark, perhaps? And fuck off, again for referring to the Yankees as The Money Pit? When the season is three months away from being played?

God, as if the world needed another "Waaahh, the Yankees get everything...waahhh, why didn't they get this guy, that guy and the other one -- oh wait, we'd be lambasting them for spending too much...waahhh it doesn't garauntee anything...waaaahhh" column.

Oh wait, maybe I can think of something to say: In reference to the bit about the Yanks being old and 19 players being 30 or older and that being a bad, bad thing, I give you the 1998, 114-win Yankee team: 15 of your almost-everyday to everyday players were over the age of 30 (and of the starting rotation: Cone: 35, El Duque: 32, Wells: 35), your only everyday " youngsters" being Jeter, Posada, Pettitte and Mo. And they just got older through 1999 and 2000, so what's your point there Mr. Stark? Oh, right, grasping at straws to fill the Yankee-hating quota once again. How soon I forget.

And my point? Suck it, journalistic jackass.

When Sweathogs Cry

Oprah has a repeat on today of her "very special friend" John Travolta. It's from when he was promo-ing Ladder 49, so after seeing his house with two kitchens and a live-in flight crew that's always on standby (I shit you not), he goes to visit a fire house where some firemen saved one of their colleagues by risking their own lives. John himself then flies them out to see Oprah, and when they get on the show and start talking about their experience, he turns *starts giggling* into a sobbing mess! I mean, the story is choke-up worthy and is very touching, but the way John's crying you'd think somebody had perished, which wasn't the case. What's great is everytime they show John hysterically sobbing, all you hear is laughter burst out around the office. "John Travolta's CRYING! BWAH!!!" I swear, that's all you hear. I don't know why this cracks us all up, but it does. Perhaps it's because it's so not in keeping with Danny Zuko or Tony Manero or something. Whatever it is, it's probably sending us to hell, but what the hey? Not everyday you can see John Travolta openly weeping like a baby. *giggles*
Is this a sign that I should do a big old Dirty Dancing post or what? Because it's just been popping up all over the place lately....

You're Dirty Dancing! A romantic movie about Baby,
a teenage girl, falling in love with someone
below her class and finding her way to self

What '80s Teen Movie are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Yaawwwn. Get This Month Over With, Please.

Can this deal just get done already? It's so crappy outside and so slow on the baseball front that I'm in the mood for another press conference to cheer me up.

And the official SS Mystique and Aura theme song, "Beyond the Sea" got a shout-out on Lost last night. Or at least the French version did. So perhaps the monster that's trying to kill everyone on the island is indeed David Ortiz...

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Story Time!

Yankeebob's lone suggestion gets a fictionalized write up, because the rest of y'all are too cool for school or something:

It was unusually warm for late October in New York. It seemed even the weather was happy that the Yankees had won a 27th World Series and was beaming down its pleasure in the form of bright sunshine and blue skies. Celebratory crowds jammed the streets of Lower Manhattan, many hoping to catch a glimpse of the floats bearing their favorite Yankees as they made their way to City Hall.

Off the coast of the isle, a lone pirate ship made its way from the Atlantic into the Hudson River, the strains of New York, New York blaring from its state-of-the-art speaker system

"Land ho! We are totally entering New York Harbor now, mateys!" Karen called to the rest of the SS Mystique and Aura Crew, who were painting victory signs at the stern.

Yankeebob, the artistic leader of the group, stood up, a paintbrush in his hand and declared "The signs are done, Cap'n. Do you think the Yanks will be able to see them from the street?"

"Fear not, they know we're coming. I sent a messenger chicken to Derek Jeter myself this morning. They'll be looking for us along the parade route."

"Wasn't that Game 6 against the the Cubs awesome?" Shannon sighed dreamily, leaning against mast. "I mean, I never expected Moose to pitch a perfect game in a World Series."

"What about A-Rod's six home runs in the Series?" Yankeebob wondered. "Or his 54 dingers in the regular season?"

"Arr, this season kicked ass all over the place," Karen said easing the ship into a dock space off Pier 11.

"Let's not forget how Randy Johnson's going to win the Cy Young this season with his 22-3 record!" Matt chimed in.

"And wasn't it awesome when Curt Schilling got so hungry out in the bullpen that he ate his own arm off?" Lupe added.

The group all smiled thoughtfully, remembering the awesomeness that was.

"Permission to board?" a voice from below called, interrupting their thoughts. The crew peered over the edge as trumpets blared. Much to their delight, there stood Derek Jeter, a halo of beatific light illuminating him and the World Series Trophy he carried.

Shannon threw down the plank so fast, she almost took Derek Jeter's head off. "Sorry for that, your, um, excellency," she apologized.

"No problem," Derek Jeter said, gleamingly. "I just heard all these awesome stories about your boat and blogs and I thought I should stop by and let you guys see The Trophy up close."

The crew marveled at the shiny gold flags, 27 of which were Yankeefied.

"Is it true you guys took the Red Sux hostage after their third place finish in the AL East this season?" Derek Jeter wanted to know.

But no one could answer because at that moment, David Ortiz busted out of the basement prison door, running wildly at the group with a bat in his hand.

"AAARRRGGGHHHH," he cried, his eyes wide, hungry for someone to kill.

The crew stood motionless in silent horror. Their weapons had been put away since this was a day of joy and reflection. They gaped in terror as David Ortiz charged at them, knowing that in a matter of seconds, one of them would be flattened.

That's when Derek Jeter casually stepped forward and clocked David Ortiz on the back of the head with The Trophy. David Ortiz fell to the floor with a resounding thud, and the crew stared open mouthed at Derek Jeter, who was now using his shirt tail to lovingly wipe off The Trophy.

"Tsk, tsk, we can't let The Trophy get stained," Derek Jeter sighed. "It's only four days old."

"Would you like to be a pirate, Mr. Jeter?" Karen asked in awe.

Derek Jeter glowed and seemed to ponder this for a second. "Well, as long as I can have my weight room on the ship for training, I'd be glad to sail with you guys during the offseason."

"Hooray!" the crew cheered.

And so The Crew disembarked to catch the parade, and afterward, Derek Jeter joined them on the ship, showing them how to dive into stands and make throws while jumping up in the air. Then The Crew showed Derek Jeter how to keep a blog and be a good blog friend by leaving awesome comments. And it was a very good offseason indeed.

It's Up To You, Readers

I don't know what to write today. So I'm taking suggestions for a nice little fiction story to go in this place -- everyone chime in with an idea (no matter how crazy) in the comments section, and I'll try to string them all together and write something fabulous later in the day. I might be kicking myself for even suggesting this if there's late-breaking Yankee news or some Yankee-hating column I need to kvetch about, but it should be a fun little exercise.

But I need your suggestions first. It's all on you guys for me to post something meaningful today....

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Mark This Day...

Boggs is going in the Hall -- and I hope he goes in as a member of the Sux. Not that I didn't like him; it's just that he became Wade Boggs in Boston. It'd be silly to chuck that away simply because he got his ring in New York. And that's the only pro-Red Sux thing you will ever hear me say on this blog. Make a note of it.

I will remember him for one thing (aside from arguing Prime Ministers with Barney): The Walk in Game 4 against the Braves. After Leyrtiz's homer, I bounded up the stairs of my dormitory to my friend Chris' room where all the Yankee fans on his floor were freaking out. I couldn't bring myself to leave for fear of jinxing karma or something, and think I sat in the same position on his floor until the final out. I knew by the way Boggs flipped his bat to the side when he went to first that that was it. Something deep inside me knew the Yankees were going to win the World Series. What a feeling that was.

Oddly enough, after the first two games, I just decided not to expect anything while watching. I figured the Yanks were in the Series and that should be enough. I used to keep a quote of the day on the dry/erase board of my dorm room, and after Game 2 I wrote "I believe, I believe. I know it's silly, but I believe" (Miracle on 34th Street, yo) even though I didn't really want to believe anything since the Braves had a 2-0 advantage. Anyway, Game 3 gave me a bit of hope, and when Leyrtiz tied Game 4 with his homer, something in my head went "holy shit, this could really happen!" Boggs' walk just about made me crazy with hope. And for that I'll always be grateful.

Who Can It Be Now?

No Beltran? Hmmm. I'm wondering if this means they'll do that Kevin Brown and god knows what else for Andruw Jones thing that was rumored at the beginning of the offseason. I have a strange attachment to Jones because we have the same exact birthday. Like, when he was the youngest player to homer in a World Series game, we were same exact age. Though I hated him at the time because the Braves were crushing the Yankees in the first Series I could remember. But now I could embrace my birthday-sharing baseball friend. Perhaps I could be all "Hey, Andruw, now that you're a Yankee you can come over for Hoboken Idol 2005. We could totally sing Don't Leave Me This Way since it was the number one song the day we were born! Oh, yeah, and bring some of your Yankee friends. Especially that Jeter guy and A-Rod fellow -- I hear they do a wicked Up Where We Belong."

Or something like that.

ETA: So I was just checking out the Yankee message boards and people were kicking around the idea of Andruw Jones too. Well, one person just went a bit too far and was all "Andruw Jones is old." Whoa, whoa, whoa! 27 going on 28 is NOT old. Andruw and I are still young, in the prime of our life, damn it!

But what's even more amusing is that this person really wanted Beltran, and as someone else pointed out, Carlos is only ONE DAY younger than Andruw and myself. Perhaps those 24 hours make all the difference in age?

Recipe for Pissyness

Mix four nights of shitty sleep, working on two magazines at once, my pants falling down because they're suddenly a size too big (and even when they fit I have trouble filling out the ass of my pants, which bothers me), the crappy weather and oh, some other assorted issues, and hoooooooooboy am I in a mood right now!

I keep thinking that if it were spring right now, my mood might be less...nah, I'd still be po'd.

Monday, January 03, 2005

Ear's Looking At You

So the Hoboken Crew has adopted a new official greeting: The Ear Rub. Tonight at our usual place, there was only four of us, so we sat in the bar area, which is always good for people watching. We were happy to see our old favorite waitress there (she switched nights working almost a year ago, much to our disappointment, but was back for this Monday) and when she had time, she stopped by to talk to us. At one point, Eric and Liana notice this dude at the bar with George W. Bush and Ronald Regan dolls -- like, they were sitting there with him at the bar. Eric asks our waitress friend what his deal is and she rolls her eyes and goes into stories about him, how he's always giving her the eye, or shall we say, The Ear. Apparently, when he's interested in a woman, he'll rub his ear as she walks by (someone asked him this once and he told them, so it's the truth), and he rubs his ear at our waitress friend a lot. We even witnessed it when she walked by to take care of another table. Anyway, he freaks her out, so much so that she saw him when she was coming out of her apartment once and she hid so he wouldn't know where she lived.

At one point, she comes over and starts telling us about his strange dessert habits when Liana's eyes get all wide and she goes "Oh my god. He just rubbed his ear AND SMELLED HIS FINGERS." Jesse was all "Maybe that takes off the steal sign" and our waitress just looked pained. Jesse then lamented that Christina was absent because she totally could've psychoanalyzed this guy. When he got up to leave, he stuffed his dolls in his jacket and actually started walking toward our table and I was all "Oh crap" but he went to talk to these other people at the bar instead of coming to murder us.

He left after that, walking in the direction of Eric, Liana and Jesse's apartment building, but when we left later my friends cautioned me to walk in zig-zags lest he be lurking the rainy streets of Hoboken. I told him The Yankee Chicken could've kicked his dolls' asses anyday, so I wasn't afraid. We then proceded to say goodbye by rubbing our ears -- though none of us smelled our fingers after the fact.

How Much Longer Till Opening Day?

So upon arrival at work today, Tonya (back from the Yankee sports vacuum) clutched her Tino Martinez picture to her chest and hugged the bejesus out of it. She was so happy that she didn't have to put her picture away, as is soap opera tradition in getting someone to come back from the dead. We are now anticipating how awesome Opening Day/Night will be when he gets announced. I've promised to take pictures of her crying from joy.

Stephanie just told us about the responses to Mike Vaccaro's pro-Yankee spending column in Friday's Post. I love that there ARE other fans out there who are sick of the shit and Mike Lupica. But I'm convinced the readers who attack Vaccaro for his opinion are either Mets fans, can't have an original thought, or just freaking brainwashed. I am SO sick of people going on and on about how the Yankees are bad for baseball, and yet the Yanks are the biggest road draw in MLB. Oh, and how many teams have won a World Series the past four years? Right. The Yanks may be spending money to get the big-names, but how, prey tell, has it hurt the other 29 teams? You had two "smaller market" teams win in 2002 and 2003. Plus, you have a bunch of rich-ass owners crying poverty, sitting on the money their fans spend, which to me is a bigger crime than George being an ego maniac/big spender. Whatever.

Money guarantees nothing and I wish people would realize that.

Things Coming in Threes

I've been tapped by Yankeebob to do this. And being a good Cap'n, I always listen to my crew. So here goes:

Three names you go by:
1. Karen
2. KB
3. Bischer

Three screen names you have:
1. Kabsy77
2. Yankeechicken77
3. That's it. I only have two.

Three things you like about yourself:
1. Creativity
2. I have a kick-ass memory
3. Extremely loyal

Three things you hate/dislike about yourself:
1. Procrastinate with the important stuff.
2. I sometimes expect too much of others.
3. I have trouble verbalizing how I feel. Writing, no problem. Saying it out loud, too tough.

Three parts of your heritage:
2. Irish

Three things that scare you:
1. Getting blood taken
2. David Ortiz
3. The idea of being stuck on Manhattan in yet another emergency

Three of your everyday essentials:
1. The iPod
2. A nice cup of cold water when I first get in the office
3. Chocolate

Three things I am wearing right now:
1. Green shirt from J Crew
2. Khakis from J Crew that are too big on me now due to stomach-flu weight loss.
3. Some pretty fabulous non-J Crew underwear, if I do say so myself

Three of your fave bands/artists (today):
1. Bruce Springsteen
2. Frank Sinatra
3. The 70s, 80s and 90s music channels on digital cable

Three of your fave songs at present:
1. Sympathy, The Goo Goo Dolls
2. Outstanding, The Gap Band
3. Time After Time, Ann Hampton Callaway's version

Three new things you want to try in the upcoming year:
1. To make a roast beef
2. To get to the Baseball Hall of Fame
3. Getting through the year without getting irate over something some Yankee-hating columnist says...yeah right.

Three things you want in a relationship (love is a given):
1. Laughter
2. Friendship
3. wow-wow

Two truths and a lie:
1. I think I'm double jointed in my thumbs
2. I'll put the ring I normally wear on my right hand on my left and say I'm married to ward off creepy guys in bars.
3. I just love Curt Schilling!

Three physical things about the opposite/same sex that appeal to you:
1. The obligitory navy-blue shirt
2. height
3. hair

Three things you just can't do:
1. Touch my toes
2. Root for any MLB team other than the Yankees
3. Eat broccoli

Three of your favorite hobbies:
1. Writing
2. Reading
3. Being in love with a certain baseball team

Three careers you're considering:
1. Yankee Poet Laureate
2. Pirate
3. Madame (I think I could do OK in Hoboken in this profession)

Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. Right now anyplace with a warm, sandy beach sounds REALLY nice
2. Ireland
3. Hell, anyplace sounds good right now

Three kids names (boy or girl):
1. Winken
2. Blinken
3. Nod (I don't put the cart before the horse)

Three things you want to do before you die:
1. See the Yankees win another World Series
2. Get published
3. Hang out with a Yankee and the Yankee Chicken

List three people who have to take this quiz now:
1. You
2. You
3. And You
(I can't discriminate. Anyone who wants to take it, go right on ahead.)