Saturday, April 30, 2005

Nanny Nanny Poo Poo

To the "fan" on the D train last night who was all "Great. They've got that new guy Wang or whatever his name is going tomorrow. There's another loss" and seemed so sure of it, even when his buddy was like "Dude, give him a chance" and making me roll my eyes, because quite frankly, I hate fans like this:

HA-HA!!!!!! Yooooouuuuuu were wr-o-ong. Nyaaaah, nyaah nyahh nyahhh nyaaaaaah....

If only I could say it to his face, it would be so much sweeter. Jackass.

The Sprouts Section

On this dreary day following a dreary loss (though I thank RanJo and Bernie for some spectacular defensive plays, and I thank both starting pitchers for giving me the fastest loss I've ever been to -- the game was over at 9:17) I'd like to offer some "Yankees" that are showing signs of life. Ladies and gentlemen, introducing...

The Tino Oregano!

The El Capitan Parsley!

It's been two weeks since the seeds were planted, and they are looking quite healthy and lively at the moment.

Wish I could say the same for the Yankee starting lineup ;/

Friday, April 29, 2005

From My Inbox. No! Really!

From: Bischer, Karen
Sent: Thursday, April 28, 2005 10:35 p.m.
To: Nature, Mother
Subject: Friday Night's Weather

Hi Mother Nature! I was just wondering if you could do me a small favor. You see, eight out of the last nine Yankee games I've gone to have been rainy or freezing or both. I'm supposed to go tonight, but the forecast calls for, you guessed it, rain and chilly temperatures. I wouldn't mind it so much if the weather was actually this bad for every Yankee game. But it seems like all the games before or after the ones I go to are beautiful, and I can honestly say I haven't been to a beautiful weather game since Sept. 3 of last year. Remember that? It was like 80 degrees and lovely. And then the Yanks lost and Kevin Brown broke his hand. But I digress.

All I ask is for some game night temperatures where I don't have to wear a coat or gloves or need a blanket, and some clear skies that don't require me to lug my umbrella everywhere or have to run to the top of the Tier to stay dry. I just want to be able to enjoy the game without the weather being an issue. Is that too much to ask?

Otherwise, I think you're doing a great job. That warm weather last week was so fabulous and I can't wait for more. Keep up the good work!

Yours respectfully,
Karen Bischer

From: Nature, Mother
Sent: Friday, April 29, 2005 5:43 a.m.
To: Bischer, Karen
Subject: RE: Friday Night's Weather

Fuck you, bitch. You'll take what you get and like it.

Go Red Sox!

Mother Nature

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Tell Me Something Good

Two voice coaches are on my side about my little A-Fed. Kid can sing, apparently. So ppppffffftttt nasty, bitter media people who only listen to what the judges say -- which is not much of anything when it comes to my little pet here.

There's something about pinstripes...

I just needed to reassure myself that I'm not hearing things weird.

And I need lots of reassurance with Kevin Brown going tonight. Hold me.

...unless you're out to scare me. Diving under the table with my blankie now...

The Honeymoon is SO Over

Dare I say it? I love Page 2 for this. And there is no author name attached, (which is either really ballsy or really the p-word I don't like using but rhymes with wussy), but I don't care. They finally rip on Curtass. And it's beautiful.

Page 141: On hair loss.
Writes Schilling, "When one begins balding, it's best to try to hide it by still spiking up your hair '80s-style."


Page 234: On "American Idol."
Writes Schilling, "As far as I'm concerned they already had the real 'American Idol' contest last November, and the right man won. Why is America all acting like idiots voting for a bunch of second-rate lounge singers? Plus, that dude Anthony Federov, the one with the tracheotomy scar, kind of freaks me out. Someone needs to buy him a turtleneck. Not that I watch. I overheard Damon and Bellhorn talking about it.

Is the author reading my blog???

Page 245: On patriotism.
Writes Schilling, "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask me. And bring a TV crew."

Man, my admiration knows no bounds just for this little nugget alone.

This soon-to-be best seller proves one thing – the only thing Curt Schilling doesn't know is when to shut up.
Gee, I think Curtass may have pissed someone off at ESPN, how about you?

Thank you, whoever you are.

All in All, Not a Total Loss of a Night

Last night's game was not completely lacking in entertainment value:

Note to Yankee Stadium scoreboard operations people: When the Sound Man segment comes on with choices of Addicted to Love, Party All the Time, or Kiss, and the anal-minded starting pitcher of the night eludes to liking Robert Palmer, and actually offers a smile when saying it, you play Addicted to Love. I don't care if A-Rod, Jeter and Bernie were all like "Prince, Man!" and Moose is outnumbered. Play his song, damn it. He needs all the help he can get. (And Yankees? Do none of you appreciate how awesome it would be if Party All the Time could get played at the Stadium? Except John Flahterty? Sigh.)

Anyway, Tonya was on a roll last night with the snark. The game was so slow, she started pondering what the Yankees think about when they're at their positions, waiting for the ball to be put in play. "Is Tino down there thinking: 'I need to pay the lawn guy?' Or 'I'm really jonesing for some chicken parm?' What if they get bored? It's not like they can surf the internet like we do. No TV Guide Online for Tino."

She also declared that the Angels' Dallas McPherson totally has a soap opera name and should be all "I'm Dallas McPherson, and I'm going to make love to you" when meeting people.

9 p.m. rolls around and I'm all trying not to think about the Idols results show, but my legs are jangling like crazy (I was chilly too, cut me some slack) and Tonya's all "You're SO going to see them on tour!" Thank God Vicki's birthday falls on the day they're in town and will provide distraction because I might just be crazy enough to entertain that notion of like *whispers* going to see them. I mean, I saw N SYNC four years ago, y'all. I am not afraid of looking like a freak. Don't put this shit past me. Anyway.

The awesomest part of the night, though, was when these two Sux fans wandered into the upperdeck, looking for their seats. How do I know they were Sux fans? Because they were both wearing Sux hats, and the one guy was bedecked in head-to-toe Sux gear. Now, I'm all for letting people of whatever team's faith enjoy a night at the ballpark, but I'm sorry, you are just ASKING for trouble by dressing that way when the Sux aren't even in town. It was like a silent, smug taunt, and I wasn't sorry when they started getting booed. They found their seats a few rows ahead of ours, and the guys next to us, god bless them, go off screaming in these crazy Boston accents when A-Rod hits his home run: "He hit that wicked faaaaaaaah! He hit that all the way to the Green Monstaaaaaaaaah!" Everything for the rest of the night was "wicked" and "faaaaaaah" to them. It was awesome.

Can't say the same for the result of the game, but what can you do?

I Need Answers

1)Who do I have to sleep with to actually get to go to a winning game this season? Fucking not bringing home runners in scoring postion. And fucking off-night Moose.

2)Who does Anthony have to sleep with to get any respect out of the fucking show he's on? He admittedly stinks up the joint a few weeks ago, his line is open the last half hour of voting and he doesn't get anywhere near the Bottom 3. Last night he sings his heart out and leaves his soul on the freaking stage, gets semi-love from the judges, his line is busy for the entire two hours of voting, people who hate him say they actually enjoyed his performance, Ryan announces on his radio show that Simon admitted to him that A-Fed gave the best performance last night...and HE ENDS UP IN THE BOTTOM 2? (And it's when I'm at the game and get that text-message from Erica that I declare I hate everyone, as I'm convinced A-Fed doesn't stand a chance against Constantine who I thought had a massive fan base. Color me surprised when I get Erica's message reading: "Const is out!" and I grab Tonya's arm all "HOLY SHIT HE'S SAFE!! THEY VOTED OFF CONSTANTIIIIIINE!" And she's all "I don't even know who that is!" And then Vicki and Dexter try to trick me into thinking A-Fed got kicked off and I almost have a coronary because I thought Erica was trying to protect me because I was at a Yankee game, usually my safe haven. And then Vicki's all hysterical laughing and I'm like DON'T DO THAT TO ME AGAIN! And fear not, this was all going on while the Yanks were being lame tonight, so I wasn't missing anything.) I just don't get it, people.

When I watched the tape after I got home, it broke my heart to see Anthony put his glasses on while waiting for his or Constantine's exit to be announced -- the kid thought he was going home and probably thought he'd burst into tears on the stage and then have to sing -- when I cry, the contacts come out, the glasses go on, because you're blind otherwise. And A-Fed's of that same school. Fucking Anthony non-voters. And don't you yell at me to vote, Ryan, because I TRIED and I barely got through.

3) Who is Scott sleeping with to not only stay on this show week after week of terrible performances, but to be in the top 3 vote-getters last night? The hell? I mean, you know there's no love lost between me and Constantine, but he deserved to outlast Scott. Fucking voting public.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

I Hate People

Or, I should say, I hate people who think they're so far above everything, that they are so flawless, that it is OK to make fun of someone's physical appearance. I'm sorry, I gave up the whole picking on someone's look in middle school, and I wasn't even that good at it back then.

What brought this on, you ask? Well, it's slightly to do with my little A-Fed's tracheotomy scar. Seems like some people think it's funny to make fun of him for it.; people are "grossed out" by it, think it's a "ploy" to get votes, think he should "wear a turtleneck," etc. I say fuck it -- he was probably picked on a ton as a kid for it, and it's not something to be ashamed of. I'd rather he show it off for "sympathy" than cover it up because he fears America is a collection of mean 7th graders who will make fun of him for it.

The rest of what brought it on is that I just think in general we are a catty society, and it makes me friggin' uncomfortable. Like, it's one thing to snark on someone's performance on Idol or on the baseball field or what have you, but for the most part, people can't help the way they look. Yet when you hear someone making fun of someone else, what does it usually entail? Right. Physical appearance. Because the picker-on-er is usually SO not flawed themselves. Whatever.

I'm also bothered because it touches on that whole "you make fun of people because you don't like yourself" thing, and I don't like thinking that I live among people who loathe themselves that deeply. But apparently, I do.

In short, if you're catty and mean, stay the hell away from me today. I'm in no mood for it.

A Night to Remember




The front AND backpage of the Post, the backpage of the News with a quarter page of A-Rodness on the frontpage. I'm keeping this for posterity and soaking it all in, because god only knows when the man will get praised like this again. Hell, god only knows when we'll see a performance like that again.

Tonya and I are off to the Stadium tonight for the Yogi Berra statuette, and surprise, surprise, the weather's supposed to be kooky. But you can bet A-Rod's going to get one hell of an ovation from this fan, come rain or come shine.

And shut up, Lupicass:

There had been plenty of nights like this for the Mariners and for the Rangers. But nothing like this. It was only one night. It doesn't win him the World Series. It doesn't mean that he delivers like this in the games that Reggie Jackson says define you around here, the ones in October, those 11 victories the Yankees are supposed to get in October, especially at these prices.

You know, I bet that crow would go down a lot easier with a serving of humble pie...

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

A-Big Night for the A-Hyphen People

A-ROD! A-FED! Both donning pinstripes tonight, and showing America why I am your biggest defenders. *Hugs both*

Mr. Fedorov: Being ballsy as hell, tackling Celine F'ing Dion and doing one f'ing fantastic job. Not quite a grand-slam, nor weak ground out as I told The Chicken it might end up earlier, but totally a bases-clearing triple. You should've had the Pimp Spot tonight. And looking gooooood in that suit.

Mr. Rodriguez: You have 10 of the Yanks' 11 RBI tonight, and it's only the 6th inning. Three homers, two that came when the Yanks "needed" them, and a grand slam. Look for this game to be in the Yankees Classics rotation. You certainly earned this night, A-Rod. The papers had better praise your ass tomorrow...

ETA: I CANNOT wait to see Lupicass' reaction to this. Hope it wipes the smirk off his writing, because yes, his writing actually smirks. Though I am willing to bet he'll find SOMETHING negative to say about the night overall...

In Which The Chicken B-Gocks the Vote

So last night I come home from dinner, and what do I find in my bedroom? The Chicken, rocking out to A-Fed's version of Don't Take Away the Music. You could say I was very intrigued...

KB: Chicken...are you watching last week's Idol?
Chicken: Um, no, I was looking for old Yankee games to watch since there weren't any on tonight and I thought this was a game you'd taped.
KB: Because none of my Yankee game tapes are actually labeled Yankee games, right?
Chicken: Oh, FINE. I was watching your little friend here, but now you've ruined the surprise.
KB: Surprise?
Chicken: Yes. I figured since I couldn't get the Yanks to win on your birthday, I'd vote for the illegal object of your affections this week.
KB: He's almost 20, Chicken. And that's very nice of you. Though when I walked in here, you were kind of boogeying down to the music. Does this mean...
Chicken: It doesn't mean any...oh, all right. I love that song. I don't want people to Take Away the Music from him. And the one he did before this about someone leaving and taking a piece of you with them? I mean, that's how I feel every offseason when the Yanks aren't around. I like his taste in music, OK? And I don't want him to get beat out by that scary man who taunts the viewers at home about being wusses for not trying out.
KB: Well, from what I've seen online fans of both A-Fed and Scott are mobilizing to out-vote each other.
Chicken: So it's important that I vote this week?
KB: Very much.
Chicken: This is all very insane. What if Anthony doesn't do well tonight?
KB: Well, if the rumors online are to be believed, he's taking a big risk with his song choice tonight. Like, he'll either hit a grand slam with it, or ground out weakly to short.
Chicken: So he's doing everything he can to stay in the game, even if it means subjecting himself to ridicule and scorn for taking such a chance?
KB: Pretty much.
Chicken: How very Steinbrenner-esque of him.
KB: I never thought of it that way...
Chicken: I am so voting for him now. And I think all your blog readers should too. I mean, all they have to do is keep dialing the same number. They don't even have to stop watching the Yankee game while they're voting.
KB: I'd never ask them to become as much of weirdo as I am, Chicken.
KB: Only if you like him...
KB: Man, that's the biggest threat I've ever seen you bust out. I'm impressed.
Chicken: Don't say I never did anything for you...

The Chicken practices his dialing skills, which is very hard when you don't have an opposable thumb.

Monday, April 25, 2005

Something to Sing About

Hoooboy was Hoboken Idol 2005 a doozy. Complete with some AWESOME baked goods (thanks to Ken, Sarah and Carolyn for that!), some fantastic gifts (including the iTunes gift cards bestowed upon me from my roommates, Colette and Christina and Jesse, which means I won’t have to pay for a song for like two years because they know me so well), some controversy (in which a friend refers to some random female passersby as dogs), some passing out, and of course, what we were all there for, The Singing.

And so it begins.

Tonya and I start off the night with our much-anticipated version of Endless Summer Nights, by Mr. Fantastic himself, Richard Marx. Like, we’ve been practicing it all year, though Tonya’s getting an office kinda threw a wrench in our random busting out of it at work. We then segue into I Knew You Were Waiting For Me (I was Aretha, Tonya was George), and Ken, Erica and Heather play the parts of Simon, Paula and Randy respectively. Heather doesn’t invite us to be part of the Dawg Pound, Ken says we suck and Erica declares it a “Touchdown!”

Everyone’s inspired now, and Colette, Dexter and Jesse go for the two-point conversion when they pull off the most energetic performance of the night with Bohemian Rhapsody. And thankfully no one stuck out their tongue, a la American Idol’s Constantine.

bohemian_rhapsodybohemian con
Some great moments in Bohemian Rhapsody history…

This then opens up the floodgates for the Billy Joel portion of the evening. After Dexter and Vicki team up for She’s Always a Woman (and everyone chimes in heartily with the “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” parts of the song) there’s a Just the Way You Are moment, leading into Vicki and I managing to pull off Scenes From an Italian Restaurant sans lyrics, and a big old sing-along to My Life….

Everyone singing: “Either way it’s OK, you wake up with yourself.”
Me, to Tonya: “And you won’t have an STD either!”
Erica (eyes wide): Do you have an STD?
Me: Umm, no.
Erica: Because I won’t think any less of you if you do.
Me: Well, OK, but don’t worry, it’s all under control and I can ride horses just fine now.
Tonya and Heather bust out laughing because they know I’m referring to the genital herpes commercial that comes on like 13 times a day during the soaps.
Erica: Are you turning 24 today?
Me: God bless you.
Ken actually concurred that I can pull off 24, so he rocks too.

After dueting on Uptown Girl, Carolyn and Rick haul out the awesomest cake ever. Like, whipped cream frosting and cannoli filling – can you say heaven? And y’all probably think you know what I wished for, but I actually kinda surprised myself when the wish came out, so I will let you know if it all comes true.

But back to the singing.

Erica and Heather duet on I’ve Got You Babe, and I’m sure they weren’t referring to all the Public Opinion letters they’ve gotten about people wanting America to forgive All My Children’s Babe for stealing Bianca’s baby because she’s truly, truly a good, fictional person despite being a baby stealer.

The riskiest song choice of the evening goes to Eric and Liana, who teamed up for The Beastie Boys’ Fight For Your Right, and they both rock out, probably having built up emotional muscles with all the home improvements they’ve been doing.


Then Jesse kinda forgets the lyrics to his staple song Never Gonna Give You Up and Eric all disappointedly goes “I remembered him being good.”

For the most inspired performance of the evening, Erica gets an award for singing the most adorable version of Like a Virgin ever, complete with stripping of layers and still coming across as the charming southern gal she is. That’s talent, yo.

At one point, Colette was trying to coax Dexter to do Man in the Mirror, and I somehow found myself singing it with him, and I swear to god I know Michael Jackson’s a creepo to the max, but how does the man hit those high notes? It’s damn near impossible. I think I actually heard one of Dexter’s vocal chords snap.

After a rocking version of Livin’ on a Prayer by Carolyn, Rick and Jesse, the mood turns somber as Eric finds himself singing Another Day in Paradise, Jesse and Carolyn begging all the while from the sidelines that he sing it in French, hoping that might make it less depressing.

I decide to cheer things up by doing a tribute to my little A-Fed by singing Every Time You Go Away, but I can’t get his little stomping thing down during the emphatic parts of the song. I’m sad my co-workers have gone at this point, because I have apparently amused them with my big ol inexplicable crush on Mr. Fedorov. Or to quote Ken “I’ve never seen you behave this way before.” Me: “Oh, you didn’t know me in my Randy Velarde phase, circa 1992.” But there was no internet then, so I couldn’t just throw in a gratuitous cute little picture here like this just because I can.

Oh, come on. You knew it was coming.

Anyway, Christina and Jesse get possessed by the spirits of the Isley Brothers (unless they’re still alive or something) and totally rock out on Shout, and my apartment is like a Baptist Church on a Sunday morning, with Jesse imploring us to “Waaaaait a minute” with this booming preacher’s voice.

Jesse and Christina: Evangelists for the new millennium?

“That was it! That was you, baby,” Eric yells to Jesse, impressed, I guess after his disappointment with the Rick Astley Redux. He’s then very inspired and is all, “Hey Rick, Find a Song. The Voice is back.”

Well, it takes them a good while to figure out a song after their original choice of When a Man Loves a Woman goes flat. Rick actually pokes his head out the window and calls down to a group of passing girls “Hey, I’m doing karaoke and I can’t think of a song. Any suggestions?”

Somehow, none of us notice Jesse (somehow drunker than any of us realized) climb over Eric and Rick, lean out the window and yell “You’re all dogs. You belong in a pound!”

(Insert sound of record scratching to a halt here)


Jesse: What?

I think Christina may have cracked a beer bottle over his head when the guys returned to singing. I was just glad none of the girls stormed my apartment or anything.

Eric and Rick are still disappointing with their song choices. It’s My Party has come on randomly and they’re muttering the lyrics, and Sarah is begging the guys to encore on I Want ot Know What Love Is, but they’re skeptical because they fear they can’t recapture the magic that was their very special version last year. But with a little encouragement, they go at it full force and Carolyn’s all “This HAS to be a photo on the Blog.”

As you wish, roomie.

Eric and Rick (singing): I wanna know what love is…I want you to show meeeeeeeeee.
Eric (huskily to Rick between lines): In that Pink Shirt you’ll show me,”
Eric and Rick (singing emphatically): I wanna feeeeeeel what love iiiiiiiiis….
Liana (staring with a mix of bewilderment and amazement at her boyfriend): He knows this song so well….
Eric and Rick (crying now from the emotion of it all): I know you can show meeeeeee!!!

I’m not sure the night could be topped after that, so everyone pretty much bails at this point, but it’s only then that we realize Dexter is passed out on the floor. Vicki just sighs deeply, knowing it’s going to be a long night trying to get him home, and joins Eric for some singing, and she notes that even though they’re both crazed with studying right now, they have the most late-night energy. By the time they hit We Are the World, Carolyn’s getting ready for bed, Dexter’s still passed out, Rick’s conked out after his emotionally draining performance, Liana’s resting her eyes and I’m downloading photos on my computer. It is only in this time that I realize that if Eric should ever decide to leave finance, he’d have a hell of a career as a DJ. Or God. With two microphones in his hand, he narrates the rest of the party, and when the sounds of Dexter’s snoring wafts through the living room, Eric tries to “talk” to him.

Damn, he’ll have no recollection of talking to God in the morning.

Eric/God: Dexter?
Dexter (in passed out tone): Yes?
Eric/God: You must wake up, my son.
Dexter: No response.
Eric/God: Dexter?!! Rise and walk my son. If thou shalt not walk, thou shalt be impotent.
Vicki: You heard him, Dex, get up!
Eric/God: Dexter!!!
Dexter (in passed out tone): Yes?
Eric/God: (a little sadly) Don’t you want to sing We Are the World?

And so forth.

The night pretty much ended there, because it was 3:30 and I’d figured we’d pissed off entertained Sasquatch and his roommates enough.

But thanks to everyone for making it a memorable 28th. Keep April 22, 2006 open, because you know we’re doing this again….

Sunday, April 24, 2005

The Breakfast of Champions

I don't know if there's anything better than getting to eat cake and cookies (made by friends who put Betty Crocker to shame) for breakfast after a long night of karaoking.

Unless, of course, you get to hear Sasquatch knocking boots, but you really can't be sure the bed thumping is coming from his room as it's not creaky enough, so it might be his roommate in the room next door and damn, that's LOUD if that's the case.

What a way to start the day!

(Check this space for the full recap of Hoboken Idol, 2005. I'll get around to writing it when I'm not so tired or when I can hear myself think above the noise of my neighbors' sex lives.)

Saturday, April 23, 2005


Yep, Yanks. That's how you look. You've got me saying it, now.

I was going to post that I blame the starting pitching for this mess because being staked to 7 run defecits is likely to make the lineup press like crazy, but you know what? Fuck it. They have zero confidence out there right now, and you can't blame the starting pitching for that.

I suggest loading the team bus, making a trip the mall and hit the Confidence Store and get some of it in large supply, Yanks. Oh, yeah, and maybe find a new pitching coach at Coaches R Us while you're at it because I'm sorry, Mel, I find it extremely odd that we get all this promising young talent lately and nothing comes of it. I think you got away with it for a few years there because of the largely veteran pitching staffs who knew what to do and how to do it and didn't need much guidance.

As for the hitters...whatever. You're all grown men. Figure it the fuck out.

Thanks for another awesome game on my b-day, guys.

I wish it had been rained out.

Saturday's Child Works Hard on Her Blogging

Dudes! The Yankee herbs are coming up!!! There's one little sprout of El Capitan Parsley, the Sequel and a little shoot of Tino Oregano!! It's the circle of life, man, right here in my bedroom!! Just wanted to start the day all optimistic and stuff.

OK, I'm sure you're all wondering about the ugliness that was last night, but I have to say, I was more disappointed that they did the same Soundman segment that they did on Opening Night, with Super Freak winning the Yanks' choice for fave song. I guess since it originally was shown on a Sunday and yesterday was a Friday, they figured we hadn't seen it yet or something. Sigh. And yeah, the losing thing kinda sucked, but my expectations were lowered severely when I saw The KB That's Not Me was pitching. I think I'd simply be satisfied to attend a game where I'm comfortable, and not freaking shivering the entire time, forget about winning.

Last night, it was dry when we got to our seats. And it's made better when there are no trench-coat wearing dudes with matches in sight. And even cooler when Paul Katcher descends upon us to say hello and tells us he's sitting in a nice covered row. He tells us to stop on up if the rain starts, and man, famous last words. He leaves and the Pessimistic Dudes Who Kinda Stuck Up for Me two weeks ago take their seats behind us, and they're muttering about KB's poor performance and whatnot, but not too badly. And then the mist starts in.

I cast a look up to where I think Paul's sitting and don't see any empty blue seats, so we jump over to the last few rows of the next section where there's tons of blue emptiness. And there was a reason for that, y'all. Little did we know we were now in the Yankee Fan equivilent of Bellvue Hospital's Psych Ward. I'm telling you, from the guy sitting behind us getting all worked up over EVERY little thing (and not shutting his whiny yap the whole time we were there), to the guy snorting his snot next to him, to the kid hacking up a lung two rows behind him, to this woman SCREECHING "Drop Dead, You Piece of Garbage!" to Kevin Brown (and we thought it was a kid based on her voice. Then we turn around and she's like 50. And didn't look, um, exactly sane) It was...colorful. And slightly annoying. But we're not getting rained on, so we can't complain to much.

Then this family of 10, I kid you not, hauls up to our seats around the 4th inning and we have to move again. This time, we plop in front of a bunch of tough-talking, loud teenage girls. Yeah, it wasn't the best crowd in the Tier last night. I cast wistful glances over to my old section, longing for a warm night with no psycho fans sitting near us and ice cream and the Yankees that too much to ask? Anyway.

But that doesn't mean the game was a complete loss. After the 6th, I'm about to go to the bathroom, when Tonya puts an arm up and tells me I can't go. I'm all bewildered, and then it dawns on me that they're still showing b-day's on the scoreboard and I'm like 'You did NOT." and She's like "No, Steph did!" And poof! There's my name again for all the Stadium (and all the Yankees...Derek Jeter? Call me!) to see. And THEN Steph whips out her specially made Yankee cupcakes! Steph bakes her super special cupcakes for b-day people all the time at work, but she had the day off yesterday, so I wasn't expecting any baked goods. She had some how stealthily hid them from me all game long. And to make it even awesomer, she then whips out a candle and lights it with an official Yankees lighter, and she and Tonya sing to me and suddenly everyone in our bizzaro section probably thinks we're the crazy ones, but fuck 'em because that was awesome, yo. Do I have the rockingest friends on the planet or what?


Not so awesome or rocking was the result of the game, and it's made even worse because I'm not so sure they can make up for the suckage by winning today. It's supposed to pour all day long, which means no b-day game for me this year. Check out the forecast and tell me what you think: cloudy with a chance of showers through mid morning, then rain developing. A chance of thunderstorms. The rain may be heavy at times. Areas of fog. Becoming windy with highs in the lower 60s. Southeast winds around 25 mph. Gusts up to 40 mph this afternoon

Well, at least if it's going to rain, it's going to be the adventurous sort, with lots of gusty wind and lightning and shit. Don't think it's ever thunderstormed on my b-day. But I'd so rather have them play baseball. Sigh.

Friday, April 22, 2005

Just to Be Clear

Your Linguistic Profile:

50% General American English

35% Yankee

10% Dixie

5% Upper Midwestern

0% Midwestern

Stole this from Yankeebob. I just want it to be known that I am 100 PERCENT YANKEE, no matter what this quiz tells you. Are we cyrstal?

TGISTF, Take 2

First off, big time shout-out to Hollis and Chris, who sent me the Best. Cookies. Ever. for my b-day. I mean, Mrs. Beasley has the Brownie Bar/Tea Cake market cornered, but Hope's Cookies is the East Coast Queen of Cookiedom. I am dreaming of the M&M cookies now and kicking myself for not bringing them to work today. But that would've been a lot of sugar with the Bucket of Brownies still vying for my attention. Anyway.


It's supposed to rain tonight. And while I know I wanted a game that would go past midnight, so I could say I literally aged when it took so long, I was hoping more for the extra-inning thing. We're not covered in our seats this year, y'all. I don't want to get soaked and I don't want the game to get cancelled. So let's just all hope the showers hold off till way later. I can take a few sprinkles in the 15th inning at 12:01 a.m. right before Hideki Matsui hits a walk-off home run.

Things to watch for in tonight's game:

The Delaware Connection, AKA Kevin Mench, is in town. He didn't play the last time I was at a Rangers game, and it would be cool to see him in a pro setting tonight. Though I don't want him getting all homer happy like he was in college. Yankee loyalty kinda usurps UD loyalty in this case.

Soriano's back! And he'll get much love from the crowd. I mean, the Creatures included him in the Roll Call his first game back last year, if that tells you anything.

Matsui must homer to keep our streak alive. So let it be written, so let it be done.

Kevin Brown is pitching tonight. The last time I was at a game he pitched, he decided to brawl with a wall. Oh, boy...

Tonight is car magnet night, sponsored by the Daily News. I'd love the Stadium Scoreboard Operations people SO much if they played Dirty Laundry as their thank-you song, but I have a feeling they'll go with New York State of Mind.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Of Bloody Noses and Rug Burn

So I think the most humorous aspect of this game was seeing A-Rod sitting in the dugout, holding this HUGE bag of ice to his face. I'd missed him getting the bloody nose, so I was like, "Aw, is A-Rod hungover?" Then he removes the bag and he's semi-bloodied and you see the tampon or whatever it is stuck up the one side of his nose. Probably the least flattering look on A-Rod in his time as a Yank.

And then there's Tino risking rug burn to get that nice little out in the 9th, and I thought it had so fallen between the boys. He is so the man.

Look! It's totally how they rehearsed it for Yankees: The Musical!

Moose gets a win! The Yanks win two in a row!

I don't know what to do with myself!

Only in New York

It's amazing -- there was this nasty accident involving a bus, a truck and a bike messenger, literally right in front of our office building, and none of us knew until the noon news came on and the reporter's standing right downstairs and we see him on our TVs and we're all "HEY!"

To be fair, we are 10 floors off the street, so this stuff does escape us. But still. Crazy.

A-Rod, A-Fed, A-It's My Blog, so Too Bad if I'm Boring You

Man, I am so American Idol's bitch. They've got me caring about these people like they're putting on Pinstripes or something. How else can you explain my apoplectic fit of rage (normally reserved for sports columnists) after reading this from the Washington Post?:

How do you explain a world in which the very talented, extremely charming and exceptionally well-dressed Anwar Robinson is voted out of "American Idol" while zeroes like Anthony Fedorov, Scott Savol and Carrie Underwood survive to compete another week?

OK, she went there. I can take fans not liking my little A-Fed, but damn, if you're a columnist and picking on someone I think is awesome (see: my reactions to Lupicass, Selena Roberts, Jim Caple in regards to anything Yankee) I am so going back at you.

I know when you go on this show you set yourself up for ridicule, but a Zero? Oh, man, sounds to me like someone's been drinking the Pro "Edgy"/Hate Everyone Else Juice Idol has set out in the TV punch bowl. I can get not liking someone on this show. I mean, I am not Constantine's biggest fan, but I give him credit for being there. But basically saying they suck at life? (Because that's exactly what I hear when you call someone a Zero) Even Lupicass, my barometer for all things hatefully-written, has never called A-Rod, his sworn enemy, a Zero (though I'm sure he's dying to). I would understand it if the kid were a complete ass who sang terribly. And I understand he performed sub-par a few times there. But he can bring it, damn it. Did you see his acapella audition? Do you not hear the clarity and depth of his voice? That's what got me on his side (along with the cheesestastic song choices) before he started getting all cute'd up. And he seems like a lovely person, as do the rest of them (let's leave Scott out of this for now), when they get to actually do something other than sing.

Just call me KB, Defender of the A-Hyphen People.

Actually I do get why he elicits such a bitchy response from people -- he's a sweetie. Bitchy people do not like sweeties unless they have long hair, are edgy and rock out. (Don't get me wrong, I like Bo too, but the endless pimping of him is starting to grate -- that's not his fault though) If you appear to be anywhere near sweet and mainstream in this country, people are gonna hate you. I blame things like the over abundance of boybands and the god-awful 7th Heaven for that -- they basically killed any notion of wholesome being a good thing because they were too over-the-top and cookie cutter in it. Now wholesome is "nauseating" and something you want to throw a brick at. Wholesome has gone from just another character trait to something that you equate with barfing. So of course the little blond boy with cheesy song choices is going to get people rolling their eyes right off the bat...Probably because it reminds you of the bad sort of wholesome, even if it's not.

Personally, I like me some good wholesome in my life. There's enough edginess in it as it is, what with working in one of the zaniest cities on the planet, rooting for a team that every now and then gets referred to as a "Zoo" and the everyday stresses of life in general. A blond boy with Big Blue Eyes Syndrome with a big voice singing me some Foreigner on my iPod as I trudge through said edginess is a nice contrast to that. So there.

Also, to lump Carrie in as a Zero is just wrong too. Sure, she seems a bit clueless about stage presence, but the girl can sing. Like, REALLY sing. We all weren't born on a stage and those who attempt to get up there shouldn't be shot down for trying to figure things out while exercising their gift.

OK, I'm shutting up about this now. I'm sure you're all relieved.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

America, Thank Carl Pavano for Making Me Less Angry

You know, it's a damn good thing the Yanks came alive tonight, because I'd otherwise be ready to kick someone's ass. Are you kidding me, America? Anwar goes before Scott, the phone thrower? Seriously? You took away A-Fed's best friend in the competition, not to mention a sweet Jersey guy. Now you must pay.

It is so on between you and I, Idol voters. SO. ON.

Can We Hit 90 Indoors?


Anyone wanna place bets?

Not. Cool.


Shoot me.

From The AccuCube Weather Center

Oh my god, you guys, I do not know how I'm going to get through today. It's holding steady at 81 degrees in my cubicle right now, and I am about to pass out from heat exhaustion already, despite being in a skirt and T-shirt. And it's only going to get worse because it's supposed to hit 85 or so outside. Man, this place is going to be craaaaaaankyyyyyy today.

Also, you know how I hate crowded elevators and people who run and stop them to get on? Well, today I was in one with two guys, and all of a sudden this woman comes rushing on as the doors are closing, and one of the dudes is nicer than me and holds the door for her. Well, she stands next to me, and starts shaking her head, getting all huffy/pissy that we have to stop at two other floors before hers so the guys can, like, go to work. Well, then don't run for the elevator, dumbass. We were doing just fine without you. And what floor did she get off on, you ask? Why, only the floor where cookies and teacakes go to die -- The 9th Floor. So she's totally a jackass by association.

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

Hot/Not Hot

Like, let's start with the obvious. Um, suck much tonight, Yanks? That's so not hot.

My apartment, however, is pretty damn hot, because the temperatures outside are warm and I used the oven.

The meatloaf I made tonight was hot. And tasty too!

So is A-Fed. Hot, I mean. I wouldn't know if he was tasty. He certainly looked it this evening. The first time the kid made me exchange Awwww! for Huminahumninahumnina, holy hotness, Batman! He coulda passed for mid-20s tonight, too, so I felt slightly at ease with my, um, attraction. And he sang pretty well too.

Not so hot was Gilmore Girls, which, like the Yanks, sucked big ones tonight. After a nice six week break that didn't even have a real cliffhanger. I hate it when their normally excellent writers drop the ball. It's like when Derek Jeter makes an error. You just go, "That's not supposed to happen; you're too good for that." Fitting they both erred on the same night.

Also not so hot is the soil in the new Yankee herbs. It's staying wet too long and not drying out like it's supposed to. Sigh.


While this story was pretty damn amusing, let's just remember who was first to compare the Idols to professional athletes, m'kay?

Where There's Smoke, There's a Pope

Can I tell you how awesome it is having a TV on my desk? Because Pope Watch, 2005 has been nothing short of hilarious. Especially the smoke analysis. Just now, they came on with the chimney billowing grayness, and Charlie Gibson was pretty sure it was black. Then the crowd in St. Peter's square was going nuts because it looked less than gray. Then it was whiteish. For a long time. The ABC people were all "What color is that? What does it mean? Oh, wait, there are no bells tolling, it must be messed up coloring in the ballots." Then the smoke is still white. And then the 6 p.m. bells toll in St. Peter's and everyone in the crowd goes crazy because they think it's the joyous peals of an impending announcement. But it's not. And still the smoke. The reporters are all "What does it MEAN?" And then the crowd goes insane as the bells start tolling like mad, and ladies and gentleman, we have a Pope! Awesome.

I seriously learned more about my religion in the past two weeks than I did in the 27 years I've been Catholic.

A Horse is a Horse, Unless it's A Bucket of Brownies

So on Friday, Tonya came over to my cubicle to taunt me that she had ordered my birthday present, and it apparently came earlier than expected because as we were texting about the game last night, she had this to add:

Tonya: U r getting ur present 2morrow!

KB: Ooh! Is it a pony?! Named A-Rod?

Tonya: Yep! How did u know?!

KB:Sweet! He can live in your old cube!


So I went to sleep, dreaming of what a lovely new pet I was going to have; how I would brush him every day when I wasn't copy editing, and feed him Cadbury Mini Eggs as treats, walk him around Bryant Park during my lunch hour, and take him to Yankee games on the 4 Train and buy him a cute little Yankee hat. My little A-Rod would be the bestest pony in the whole wide world.

But what should Tonya bring in today? Something even better than a pony.


A MRS. BEASLEY BUCKET!!! Full of brownie bars!!! And I'm currently hiding it from the office vultures and the evildoers of the 9th floor. And when I eat all the yumminess, I'm going to use the bucket to hold my Tino Oregano (because it's totally going to grow, man, and not die like last year). It's the gift that keeps on giving!

What a nice, early b-day treat. This is why Tonya is my friend!

But if someone does decide to get me a pony, they could be my friend too...

No, Not the Toni Braxton!!!

So Simon Cowell's newest creation, Il Divo, is on Regis right now, and man, they scare the crap out of me. I mean, they're bonafide hotties with great voices and all, but hearing pop tunes like Unbreak My Heart sung as opera...I don't know. It sounds like a funeral dirge to me. And something about it just utterly creeps me out.

EEK! Hold me!!...

Then again, this is coming from someone who has a thing for blond boys with big voices singing the cheesiest of cheese from the 1980s, and someone who's just about longing for a Steve Perry/Journey reunion and a Richard Marx tour, so what do I know?

...ah, I feel safe again.

Monday, April 18, 2005


Now THAT was a good game. Very manly and testosterone filled with timely hitting and muscles and lots of grrrrrr. It made me positively giddy to see them bust out like that. Though Wright's 8 runs...crap, how often do you get a win when giving up that many? But PQ and NuFelix actually looked pretty decent. Won't get my hopes up just yet though until the bullpen's solid for a few game strung together.


And the awesomest moment came when I was walking to meet the crew for dinner, and I had the game on my headphones and was kinda zoning out, when all of a sudden I hear this CRACK! and I was like "Holy crap, that was a home run if ever I heard one..." and then John Sterling's all "An A-Bomb for A-Rod" and I was like "Nice, he finally gets a big hit where no one can get on him for it not being timely" (it gave the Yanks a 2-0 lead at that point) and I only hope people don't write off his big night as being unneccesary. This was big for him, so let's not take that away from him.


And TINO!!!!! GAH!!!!!

Oh, and there was no Michael Kay tonight. Coincidence? Hmm...

Maybe UPS Can Teach Kevin Brown About Proper Delivery

Just had to share this awesome little quote from Steph. We were e-mailing about the monstrosity that was this weekend, and I said you can't expect the lineup to go out and score 9 runs every night, and that being staked to huge defecits early on probably just makes them press more. Her response? Classic:

Totally. It isn't unreasonable to think you can win a game with 4 or 6 runs. It's the pitching that is letting them down. A freakin' grand slam? What CAN Brown do for us?

Man, that made me laugh. And it's just so damn perfect when describing our surly fifth starter.

Sunday, April 17, 2005

Let the Sunshine in


So, with it being divine and sunny outside today, I decided it was time to start the Yankee Herbs, 2005 Edition. I planted the El Capitan Parsley, the Sequel (right) and decided to give oregano another shot with Tino (here's hoping it fares better with Mr. Martinez as its namesake). I couldn't find thyme seeds anywhere (and that includes the way awesome Home Depot in Manhattan) so the Joe Torre Thyme will have to wait till I can make a trip out to the 'burbs where they carry these sorts of things.

Last year, I had sprouts less than a week after planting. And I now have three way productive A-Rod Basil plants to show for it (after the Giambi Oregano decided to die and the El Capitan Parsley Pt.1 got all spotty over the winter), so there you go.

Because Baseball Fans Are Stupid!

Meet my new least favorite feature of the YES Network. Well, my new least favorite feature after clubhouse reporter Kimberly Jones' dumbass questions and Michael Kay's behaving like a whiny fan when he's supposed to be calling a game:


See that little red dot by the BAL? That's to indicate what team is at you can't figure that out for yourself. Like it doesn't say it across the front of the uniform of the guy who's got the big piece of wood in his hands, or the man standing on the little dirt hill with the ball. Like if you're watching YES, you're probably a Yankee fan, and would know what your team looks like, and would therefore know if they were in the field or at the plate. Even if you're not a Yankee fan, I think you're probably literate enough to read the name across the chests of the players. It's not like baseball is some high-speed game where people can't tell what's going on and need their hand held by the broadcaster or something. I'm just saying.


Apparently, I'm completely out of touch with reality or something and my fellow fans are more in tune than me. Like, I wonder if I'm the only one who thinks they can pull themselves out of this mess, that it's too soon to to deem them "too old." And I'm probably the only one who feels that they don't need in-stadium sushi restaurants, nicer bathrooms and a "retro feel" to get excited about going to a Yankee game, judging by what I've read in the papers and on message boards today.

I know there's no right or wrong in any of this, but damn, I really thought I was on the same page as the masses. Apparently not.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Just Playing the Role of Optimist

Ch-ch-check it out, folks. On April 23, 1977, it was 81 degrees in River Plaza, NJ. My dad was digging up the front yard to plant grass seed, my mom's ankles were swollen from 9 months of pregnancy and I decided that it was time to see this world for myself. It was a kick-ass time to make an appearance because going into that day's game in Cleveland, the Yanks were 4-8. That's right, under .500 after 12 games, just as they almost are right now. Now, I'm not sure if they had the pitching problems the current Yankee squad have, but whatever it was, they righted the ship. And they won the World Series that year. I'm pretty sure my coming into the world had little to do with it, but it's safe to say I was alive in a time when the Yanks completely sucked early on, but turned it around (and see 1978 for an even better example of that), and I think it's even safer to say that this too shall pass.

Besides, I'm sure y'all are getting sick of reading about how the sky is falling and shit, and I like to give a little variety. It's too easy to be a pessimist at this point. And where's the challenge in that?



In Which the Hoboken Crew are Dancing Fools. And it's Awesome.

Just returned from Eric's b-day outing, which included some tipsy dancing by everyone in the Hoboken crew (including Sarah, Rick and Carolyn) except the b-day boy himself. He was mingling and being the host with the most, so maybe that's why. But we all cut the rug and had us a swell time and man I love these people. Where did I find such awesome friends? Oh, that's right, in the great city of Hoboken. What a nice place.

However I don't love jackassian middle aged men who cut on cab lines and then get all pissy with cab drivers when they're not going his way. So much is my non-love of them that I yell at them to calm the fuck down and Carolyn grumbles about his 1986 leather jacket and everyone on line starts exchanging glances about what an ass this guy is. But he's a jackass so he ignores us. So whatever.

Oh, did the Yankees lose? I'm just pretending that didn't happen. The rest of the night was too good to remember the bad.

Friday, April 15, 2005

And No, She Won't Whitewash Your Fence

It always interests me when I see one of the top searches on Yahoo is baby names. I wonder if people are actually looking because they're having a kid, or if they're looking for their own name or intrigued by a name they just heard or something. I'm not one for putting the cart before the horse or anything, but I have to admit, every now and then I think "God, I hope I don't name my kids all half-assed." I also believe that the future Complete and Total Husband has a say in this, so I'm not about to get my heart set on a name only for him to be all "Um, but I like Eziekiel" and then we have a 12-round fight over whose name is better and have to compromise on something like Tyler, which we both don't really like, but are just tired of fighting, so sorry, kid, that's your name.

But recently, I was watching Jeopardy, and this dude mentioned he had a daughter named Sawyer. And weirdly enough, I was all "What kind of name is...hey, that's actually kind of cool!" And I wouldn't like it for a boy, but for a girl, that just seems like a rad name. But this could pose all kinds of problems, like never finding her name on those little license plates for bikes (I know Hollis had this problem), the other kids calling her "Tom," the 12-rounder with the Complete and Total Husband because he likes Eugenia or something, and god knows what everyone else would say. Oh, yeah, and like I could get saddled with 7 boys or something, so that would throw a wrench in my plans. I guess if I have to, I'll just name a character in one of my stories Sawyer or something. But is that really as rad?

And then there's the problem of this little man who popped up in my parents' bathroom during Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS, and he was all "Hey, I can get the Yankees to win this game for you, but you have to do one thing..." and I was all "Yeah, you can totally have my firstborn, where do I sign?" and he was all "Um, not that, but you do have to name your firstborn after the Yankee with the winning hit," and I was all "ANYTHING, dude, I'll do it!" Well, now I have to name my first child Boone. And if I have kids named Sawyer and Boone, they will share the names of two of the stranded eye candy castaways on Lost. And then people would really think I was weird. Not like you think that now or anything.

"Meet my kids! They share names with a con-man and an semi-incestuous dead guy." Has a nice ring to it, I think.

Hope They Signed a Prenup

Am I the only one who isn't all warm and glow-y and nostalgic that DC has a baseball team again? I mean, they didn't even appreciate the one they had last time 'round, yet I'm expected to be all "Good for them!" now? Especially the means by which they got said team were pretty damn shady and rushed? I'm sorry, I just never saw Washington as this big baseball city that was in dire need and deserving of a team. Maybe this time the fans will stick around, but why do I get this feeling that after the novelty wears off, we might be discussing the disbanding of the Nationals organization?

I give this marriage of city and team 22 years. Here's hoping I'm wrong.

He's Gotta Be Strong and He's Gotta Be Fast and He's Gotta Be Fresh From the Fight

What I like about this story is that it doesn't make A-Rod look so much like a superhero, as it does make him look like a human being. Like, if US Weekly's paparazzi were following him around and caught the moment on film, it would make their "Celebrities, Just Like You and Me" or whatever it's called page with the cap "...They don't want to see kids squashed under the wheels of a speeding truck."

People get on A-Rod a lot for his lack of clutch hitting as a Yank, his big paycheck, and then drag his personality into it, but when the shit comes down, he's still a human with human instincts, big payday or not.

Though I think from now on,Holding Out for a Hero by Bonnie Tyler might just make an awesome theme song for him...

Thursday, April 14, 2005


Well that was just a big steaming pile of suck. From schizo RJ (lotsa strikeouts...with lotsa runs), to the RISP to the god awful umping...geez. They didn't deserve to win that one, plain and simple.

But those fuckwads with the beer-n-swiping...I wish Shef had taken their heads off. At first, I didn't think the beer got thrown on him intentionally, but we just watched it in close-up slo-mo and that jackass threw the beer on him purposely. And he didn't get arrested. The guy who swiped Shef in the face...well, I'm not sure what his deal was, but if it was intentional, man...And even if it wasn't intentional, that was interference, plain and simple and nothing happened as a result. Why am I not surprised, especially after how terrible the officiating was tonight?

Anyway, I hope to god the fans get raked over the coals. If this were in NY, ESPN would burn them at the stake via verbage.

Though it was a nice change that everyone but the Sux/Yanks were rumbling tonight...

ETA: ESPN's opening statements?: Sheffield, Fenway Fan Tangle Add player-fan confrontation to the Yankees-Red Sox rivalry. Gary Sheffield (right) tangled with a front-row fan at Fenway on Thursday night while chasing a ball in right field, prompting security to restore order in the eighth inning.

Why am I not surprised they make it look like Shef just went apeshit for no reason? Whatever.

And how do the players and Joe restrain themselves from clubbing this Kimberly woman asking them the stupidest questions EVER for YES? Man, she makes Suzyn look like Walter F'ing Cronkite.

The Way to A Girl’s Heart? Beat a Fucko™


Well that was a fun night! And it started off kind of shitty, what with the shaky start and all the Sux fans in the bar we were at (and considering the place is co-owned by mine and Tonya’s boss, perhaps we need to discuss this phenomenon and, like, what can be done about it), but I must say I’m quite pleased with the result.

LIKE BEATING CURTASS. With a home run by Giambi. And then Bernie.

Or as Tonya put it, “He truly lost. He truly, madly, deeply lost!”

Yes it's quite nice to say that. Especially since the night didn't start so well. First, you have the lineup all shuffled-up and crazylike. Then you have Schilling pitching pretty damn well, and I'm sitting there going "I KNEW he was faking last week in that minor league outing so he could look all 'miraculous' tonight!" intermintently muttering "Asshat" and "Fucko™" under my breath. But what I forgot about was the fact that the Asshat Fucko™ hadn't pitched for more than a few innings since October. And with the lineup all shuffled-up and crazylike, it meant there were guys scattered about the 1-9 who would see some tired fat pitches and know what to do with them. Like Mr. Giambi. And Bernie.

When the home run balls were deposited in the outfield, I do believe I yelled "Take it all, BITCH," at the dejected looking Curtass. Jennie and my friend Jill couldn't believe I could be so venomous toward someone, but I explained to them that I hate Curtass like I've never hated anyone before. I mean, I'm not a fan of the Sux in general (obviously), and their overly macho mentality and good-old-boy loudmouthness grates on me like you wouldn't believe. But I don't see them as slimy, condescending, phony creeps who buy into their own hype, like Curtass. And I felt this way since he was in Arizona, so this is nothing new. This is why it is freaking awesome to beat him in this way, with the formerly slumping bottom of lineup teeing off of him and slapping him with his first loss of the year. It warms the heart. So I can forgive Giambi just the tiniest bit and give Bernie a big mental hug for providing all that.

Anyway, throw in some crazed text messaging over the Idol Bottom 3 between me, Steph and my friend Erica, the relief of my little A-Fed being safe, then having Mo close out the game and, well, and you've got yourself a good night! I wasn't a fan of Nadia after her initial performances, and I believe she'll do fine in the recording industry, so no tears there. And Mariano looked just fine, thank you very much, which put me in a pretty damn good mood.

One guy inspires the Awwww! in me...

...the other, just plain Awe.

Also, let it be known that from here on in Tony Womack is now Tony WOAH(a la Joey from Blossom)mack. I came up with this after his nice diving play in the 9th, and I'm way impressed with his speed and hustle. He can stick around for awhile, it's OK with me.

And can I tell you how GREAT it is getting a Yanks/Sux game started at a time (7 p.m.) that when it's finished, you can still get a good night's sleep? Man, I was beginning to forget what these two teams looked like without Fox or ESPN messing with everything...

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Dudes. We Shouldn't Be Busting Out the Tums This Early.

I love when columnists think they are the All Knowing. Like, the idea of theYanks not being in the Post Season has somehow slipped the rest of us by.

Eventually, the Yankees are going to awaken to these issues and address them immediately. Or they won't, and for the first time since 1993 a baseball season will march into October without the Yankees riding shotgun. It shouldn't happen this year. But if you think it can't, you're fooling yourself. And so are the Yankees.

God, even the NY columnists think Yankee fans are ignorant assholes. Yeah, we know it's going to happen someday. I just don't get why we're sounding off the alarm bells for "someday" 7 games into the season.

You know, I kinda liked it in the mid-90s, when no one had the Yankees as The Team to Beat, and they flew under the radar of expectations. It made for a lot easier time of watching baseball and being able to enjoy it for what it is. At least, in my case. Now you get everyone and their mother screaming when they don't win, plotting out October six months in advance, ready to jump off bridges the second week of April, already nit-picking the 25-man roster when the marathon has only just started. Whatever happened to just letting the season unfold and whatever will be will be? Right now, it's enough for me that they're simply playing. Which is another reason I hate having the Yanks/Sux Rivalry crammed down our throats so early. I just want to be able to watch a game, not have all this hype surrounding it, where the game itself becomes the sideshow because MLB thinks we're all ADD and need "excitement" all the time. April baseball should be peaceful, not "ARGH! I'M HERE! LET'S STRESS YOU OUT!" Ya know?

I just went through a long winter and all I want is to be able to kick back, enjoy the spring air and some Pinstripes, and worry about October in October...or at least July.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


Simon gave Anthony a compliment! Holy shit!

And while Anthony didn't do my EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! song of 1985 (I guess I'll have to admit it here since I teased it...ok, here goes: The Search is Over, by Survivor...oh, shut up. You know you like it, too) he did do one I was leaning toward for him -- Everytime You Go Away, by Paul Young, which drove me crazy in the summer of '85 because it was on the radio ALL the time and my mom would, like, blast it everytime we would go to the beach. And I always wondered how you could take a piece of someone with you, because that just sounded evil or something. But while I hated it then, it's one of my AWESOME! CHEESE! 80s! songs now, and he did a nice job with it.

And Anwar doing the best Dionne Warwick song to get stuck in a garment bag to ever! And doing it well! Yee-ha!

Time to Book My Room at Leisure Village

Tonight's theme on American Idol is The Year You Were Born. So this means all the tweens and teens are beside themselves because, and I quote, "It's the boring 70s and 80s!" Meanwhile, my reaction was "Awesome!" because the contestant's years born range from 1975-1985, so you can get quite a good mix in there. Though I suspect classic rock and cheesy 80s love songs don't really appeal to the younger generation right now...Ah, screw 'em. It's bad enough they control what goes on my radio, so for one measley night they can suffer through some of the stuff we'll be listening to at the old folks' home in 2065.

Three albums that are "boring" now, and will most certainly be on my night table, next to my dentures, when I'm 90.

And there is a certain song that if my beloved Anthony sings from his birth year (1985 -- which actually makes me feel pretty young because I was only 8 then, which means I couldn't be this kid's mother or anything. Just his babysitter...Ugh, OK, that didn't make me feel better...) you will hear me EEEEEEEEEEEE! from the 'Boken. But the kid has to step it up tonight. The 80s are chockfull of male power ballady songs, and 1985 was like the pinnacle for that. No excuses this time.

And if Constantine even touches something from Born to Run, I will punch my television.

This is Dedicated to the 25 We Love

Ladies and gentleman, I have gone to a concert where I knew EVERY song that got played in a three-hour span. That's a first for me, and I'd like to thank the Eagles for not once making me make the "Huh?" face. I suppose this is because they don't have any new material, and usually when an artist goes on tour it's to promote the new stuff. This was just a greatest hits run-through (both group and solo stuff), but it sounded awesome and everything I wanted to hear got played. Though, I have to admit, Boys of Summer wasn't as good live, and I discovered Love Will Keep Us Alive is really a lovely song, despite the fact that I hated it in high school because it was so overplayed.

Their voices are still pretty damn good, and they rock out on the instruments. As Tonya pointed out, Glenn Frey doesn't age and we were having major Miami Vice Flashbacks as a result. And it was weird as hell realizing that 1) I'm as old as Hotel California 2) You Belong to the City and Boys of Summer are 20 YEARS OLD. God, if that didn't make us feel pretty ancient. I also found a new appreciation for Joe Walsh, who had more energy at his age than I do when I'm all sugared up on Snapple and Cadbury Mini Eggs.

But what happens when you get two slightly obsessed Yankee fans at a concert? Well, you decide to dedicate each song to a certain player, of course.

The show opened with The Long Run, which I decided should go to Bernie, being that he's been a Yank the longest.

Tonya came up with the best of the night, I think, when she said I Can't Tell You Why had to go to Giambi. Because he's sorry, but he can't tell us why.

Peaceful Easy Feeling is totally Joe Torre, as that's what he inspires.

Mo's song is Take it Easy, because this is what I yell at people when they're all getting on him.

Heartache Tonight is Kevin Brown. Tonya wanted to make that Mo, but then she said she was afraid I'd go all ballistic on her.

Randy Johnson is The New Kid in Town, of course.

Tonya dedicated Wasted Time to Tino because that's what she felt about the three years he was away.

While Derek Jeter doesn't have a nasty reputation for being a cru-el dude, he can be brutally handsome, so he got Life in the Fast Lane.

Even though he was only in camp for Spring Training,Tonya wanted Tequila Sunrise to go to Dwight Gooden, because of the DUI. Makes sense to me!

Hotel California was a tough one because we aren't overly creeped out by any Yankees. So we gave it to Moose because he went to college in California. That was a stretch, I know.

Dirty Laundry inspired visions of the New York media, and Lupicass first and foremost.

Tonya decided that A-Rod should get Desperado because he's having trouble getting beloved in NY. Then I realized it HAD to be his song because it's practically got his name in it: DespAROD-o. Now, that doesn't mean, like, his state with the team isn't sad as a lonely cowboy in denial, but he does pressure himself too much. We mean it more in a "lighten up" kinda way.

I'm telling you, people, it is very hard to keep the Yankee out of anything these days...or, like, ever, for that matter.

Monday, April 11, 2005

Say Hello to the Back of My Hand!

So they're kinda sucking at the moment. But, ah, there's nothing like a few in-game spankings to get them set straight!

A-ROD -- SLAP! That's for the errors. WHACK! And that's for not hitting with RISP. Ah, my first A-Rod spanking. Welcome to New York, Alex.

DJ -- Um, hi, Captain. Like, I know I shouldn't second guess you because you are so totally The Man, but I have one small request: Stop swinging at the first pitch. Please. It gets you behind in the count, and you swing at virtually anything that's thrown at you the first time. Tiny Slap on the Wrist for you because you are otherwise awesome.

Giambi -- CLUNK! Oops, did I drop a cinderblock on your head? Yeah, that's for the steroids, missing last season and your half-assed play thus far. But that doesn't mean I can't like you, so step it up, por favor.

Bernie and Tino -- I cannot hit you. My hand refuses. But...seriously, guys. You're in your late 30s, not infirmed.

Moose -- I'm not going to hit you. Rather, as punishment, I'm taking all your NY Times Crossword puzzles until you can find a 10-letter word for where it is you're supposed to throw the ball. I belive it starts with a strike and ends with a zone....don't you give me that look! You're in enough trouble as it is.

OK, carry on, loves. This doesn't mean I care about you any less. I just want you to know the difference between right and wrong. I know you'll figure it out soon enough.

It Always Comes Back to the Sox. Except it Doesn't.

You know, I walk the line with Dan Shanoff of the Daily Quickie. Sometimes, he seems really on-point, even about things I disagree with. But today, in his wondering why the Yanks wouldn't watch the Sux celebrate, he's completely lost me:

If the rowdy, glorious scene at Fenway doesn't motivate them, nothing will.

Right. Because if you're wearing Pinstripes, everything comes back to the Sux. I'm sorry, maybe for the Sux everything pertaining to winning always comes back to the Yankees (because even when they're winning, they don't shut up about New York: See the Yankees Suck chant at their victory parade), but the existence of this Yankee team does not revolve around the goings on in Boston. It didn't before 2004 and it won't after, no matter how much the media wants it to be that way.

They're paid to go out there and beat the snot out of whoever they're playing, regardless of uniform or what happened last season. Sure, the Yanks probably want to avenge their ALCS loss, but I should hope it's not this all-consuming desire for revenge, like they're the Counts of Monte Freaking Cristo, lasting the rest of the season, when the Sux aren't even on the field in front of them. I would think that they'd, you know, just be the Yankees, like they have for the last 95 years.

My point? If the Yanks' only motivation this season is their raging "jealousy" of the Sux and hating what they see today, well then they've got MAJOR problems....

Monday Miscellany

First off, Happy Birthday to Eric, who is officially older than me for 12 days and I can therefore tease that he's my elder and it will actually be the truth.

As for the Yanks/Sux, today actually works out pretty well for me baseball-wise. Since it's a 3 p.m. start, I'll be at work, and I've never been so glad to have to "watch" a game on Yahoo. I can avoid the ring ceremony, all the pomp and circumstance and all the jeers for Giambi, A-Rod, I don't begrudge the Sux fans this opportunity, but I'll be damned if I have to be part of it.

It also works out well because Tonya and I are off to the Eagles concert tonight, and the game should be over by then, god willing. Like, we won't be in this music-sealed vacuum dying to know what the score is when we should be appreciating "One of These Nights" or something.

And here are some photos from this weekend that I found amusing:

"I know it was you, Fre...Pavano. You broke my heart. You broke my heart!" (I'm actually just glad that the glancing blow to the head wasn't anywhere near as bad as Moose's blast to the face from back in the day. Eeek.)

Aw. The Big Member looks so unsure of himself in this photo, and Jorge actually feels brave enough to pat him on the chest. I half expect them to bust out into a chorus of "Endless Love" here or something. And I love that Jorge's uniform looks about two sizes too big for him, too. I guess they all can't have fill-'em-out asses like the Cap'n...

I'm such a girl. I love that A-Rod and Jeter (who were supposed to be sworn enemies again this season because A-Rod was supposed to have turned into an Ivan Drago-esque machine during the offseason or something), have this quiet little friendship on the field, complete with secret handshake/hi-five. One of my favorite parts about being at a game, is that during the national anthem, DJ, A-Rod and the second-baseman-of-the-day stand together near shortstop, antsily swaying back and forth. As the song is coming to an end, Jeter will squat down like he's praying or getting his thoughts together or whatever it is that's going through that lovely head of his, and A-Rod and the second baseman bop gloves over Jeter's head, then run off to their respective positions. Tonya and I wondered if they would do it this year since Cairo was gone, but Womack seems to have figured out the little tradition and is included in it this year. Stuff like that is just so awesome to a dork like me.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

Fevers and Burns

Fever Pitch finished in third place at the box office this weekend. I don't know why (OK, I do know) but this totally made my day. It's funny because my mom was all "I was going to ask if you were going to see that baseball movie with Drew Barrymore, but your father said you wouldn't." I don't think she really understands why I would rather die than pay 10 bucks to see the Sux win the World Series again. But anytime the ad comes on TV, I look away from the screen or turn the TV off. Steph ripped off the cover of her Entertainment Weekly when the movie was being hawked on the front, and Tonya was disturbed when the issue actually found its way to her desk at work. But now that it's finished in 3rd place on its opening weekend, the blow has been softened a bit.

And that I got the first hint of a sunburn today while at brunch and walking around with Dexter and Vicki also made me happy. This may have been what prompted my Good Humor chocolate eclair urge today, which I'm eating right now. Mmm. Springtime tastes good...

Saturday, April 09, 2005

Never Doubt a Chicken With a Crazy Look in His Eye

So today was the first time I got to watch a game on television, having been at both night games and been at work for the day games this week. It all came rushing back how much Michael Kay drives me nuts when the Yanks are trailing and he's getting all annoyed and it comes out in his announcing. Like, chill out, Mike. It's bad enough I have to be ticked off, I don't need my announcers that way too. And I think I ranted about this before...

The Yanks are losing, and I'm all trying to keep my Kay-induced rage under control by dusting, when I pass The Yankee Chicken on my desk. And folks, he had the Crazy Look in his Eye. You're probably like "KB, get over it, he's not alive," (and if you were thinking that, we are no longer friends) but I tell you, every now and then he just gets this...look. The first time it happened? Game 1 in the 1999 World Series. The Yanks were traiing in the game, then came back to win. Ever since then, he will get the "crazy look" and you know it's going to be a wild one.

Oh, sure, he looks all mild and placid now, while tending to the A-Rod Basil, but before...

And right after that, Giambi homered, and the Yanks pecked, err, chipped away at the lead and took over and Mo was just fine in the 9th. I looked over at The Chicken and he tossed his feathers and was all "I told you so."

I guess he did.

...but Hideki Homered!

Well. Um. Yeah. That kinda blew. But not entirely. I mean, anytime you get to see your old Season Ticket friends, meet your fellow bloggers, get somewhat defended by pessimists you don’t know and psychically predict home runs, you can kinda look past the monstrosity that was the Yankee pitching staff last evening.

For starters, Tonya, Steph and I got to the game in time to hear both Friday I’m in Love and Just Got Paid. They played while Tonya and I were visiting with Bill and Cathy, the couple who used to sit in front of us last season. Turns out there’s a family of four in our old seats, and being that both the mom and the dad had headphones on and the whole fam was bedecked in Yankees gear, and they stayed till the very last out, I’d say they're worthy.

Anyway, our new area….well, it’s too soon to say, but it seems like it’s a bunch of jaded old men. Like, even before the Yankees were losing they were all gloom and doom. I was starting to get ticked, and I think Tonya was starting to get worried I’d go off on a rampage like I did at work the other day about the booing of Mo (“I’ve known you five years and that’s the angriest I’ve ever seen you,” Tonya marveled), but I kept it in. And it may have worked to my benefit. But I tell you, there is nothing worse than a whiney, male fan. I mean, men are supposed to be the non hormonal, laidback people on the planet. If they start behaving all like PMSing women, and at baseball games no less, I have no faith anymore. But anyway.

At one point, there’s a very diehard looking couple to my left, but they leave in about the 4th inning. That’s when the group next to them (a bunch of young, yuppyish men and women) starts looking over at us. A few of them start looking back and forth between us (five women with no wedding rings) and their friend who’s donning a trench coat, and I can see their thoughts dangling in the air above their J Crew-clad heads: “Now’s your chance, Guy in Trench Coat! Go get ‘em, Tiger!” So they all move down toward us, and only one seat separates me and Trenchie. And he starts in right away. “What’s that?” he wants to know, looking at my journal. And I’m all “a journal?” He seems to ponder this and he’s all “Why?” and I’m in no mood to explain The Journal to this guy who reeks Poseur Yankee Fan, and then he thankfully gets distracted, and I run down to the bathroom. When I come back, Tonya tells me he asked to see the journal and she showed him and he was all “OK.”

Oh, but he wasn’t OK with it. He starts in with me that The Journal is bad luck. “Did you take that to the World Series last year?” and I was all “They weren’t in the World Series last year,” and he’s all caught off guard and then like, “Exactly.” I want to be all, “Hey, asshat, maybe your presence is jinxing the Yanks right now. How about that?” but I realize this is his very lame attempt at flirting, and dudes, you don’t flirt with a chick by insulting her livelihood (Hello, that’d be writing, if you’re me). And he’s got this drunken frat boy quality I’m not quite jibing with at that moment, so he really starts to piss me off when he won’t shut up about how it’s bad luck. I can tell he’s trying to impress his friends with his “witty” comments about my being able to jinx things with Pen and Paper, and Steph goes “Hey, if she has that kind of power, I’m glad she’s with me,” and I want to hug her. Because seriously. You do not insult The Journal. Especially while I’m trying to watch the game.

Dare ye insult the Yankee Journal (and the awesome light-up Yankee pen)? A curse on your houses!

Tonya all the while is muttering, “Go home to your Playboy collection, Mr. Pedophile in a Trench Coat,” and I’m trying not to laugh, and I notice the gloom and doom middle-aged men behind us are taking in the scene silently.

Then, Trenchie pulls out matches, lights one up and is all “Give the journal here!” and I’m seriously ready to whack him over the head with the book because, dude, you aren’t even funny, give it the fuck up. And Tonya’s getting louder with her pedophile comments, but we’re saved by the 7th Inning Stretch. He starts dancing around and the guys behind us are all “Don’t go flashing anyone there, Trench Coat.” He then runs down to get a beer or something, and the guys are all “There goes Colombo, off to solve the case!” They called him Colombo the rest of the game, and it wasn’t all in good fun, either. I mean, even though they were all gloom and doom and shit, they seemed to sense when a jackass is a jackass. Points for them.

In all this, Paul Katcher shows up to say hi, and Trenchie leaves us alone after that (Thanks, Paul! You may have saved me from committing murder right there and I bet you didn’t even know it!) the Yanks are pretty much getting mauled at that point, but I tell my crew Matsui needs to hit a home run because he’s destined to do it in every game we go to this year. And what did he do in the 9th? I’m telling you – 13 games, 13 home runs.

Other notes from the game:
-- On Sunday, when Giambi came up and his Soap Opera pose came on the screen, Tonya was all “He’s got the look of a smooth criminal.” So now every time he comes to bat, we’re all “Are you OK? Are You OK, Jason? Jason are you OK?…You been hit by, you’ve been touched by a smooth criminal.” It doesn’t seem to be helping his hitting, but it sure is fun to sing!

-- Call Me got played…but not for the Verizon people. Like, it just came on randomly. But I’m still psychic and have "the gift" so there.

Friday, April 08, 2005


It's Friday. The Yanks are playing tonight at home. So that means one thing: It's a Season-Ticket Friday! WOO-HOO!

We're still in the same section as last year, but moved down a few rows. And our group is completely different than last year. Now it's just Tonya, Julianna, Me, Steph and my Special Guest Star, who will be played by our friend Suzy tonight. I'm hoping the couple who sat in front of us last season re-upped, even if we won't be in conversation distance from them in our new seats. And I'm hoping the ants-in-the-pants season ticket kids who sat next to us haven't been moved to our row too. Yes, you heard that right. 12-year-old kids with season tickets, not an adult in sight...I don't understand it either.

Though going to an April night game straight from work always provides a challenge, wardrobe wise. For instance, today the crappy weather is just breaking up, it's going to be in the mid 60s by afternoon, with conflicting reports of temperatures being from 45-55 tonight. And it's 79 degrees in my office right now. Like, it's just too damn warm for my wool coat outside, it's too hot in my office to wear a sweater, but too cold tonight at the Stadium for a spring jacket. I like it much better when it's July and we don't have to worry about these things.

Friday Night Psychic Song Moment:Tonight's giveaway is a magnetic schedule provided by Verizon Wireless, so I'm guessing "Call Me" by Blondie will be the song the Stadium plays when Verizon gets thanked for sponsoring. And I think we'll get Just Got Paid tonight, but not Friday I'm in Love.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

The Pinta, The Nina and The SS Sasquatch

I'm beginning to think Sasquatch doesn't sleep in a bed. No, he has a 17th century sailing vessel in its place. I mean, he must, as what ELSE could creak and moan that much? And that loudly? From just sitting on the damn thing? It's like he's being tossed about on the high seas in the middle of a sqaull in the most rickety ship in the navy. I have NEVER heard a bed that creaky before -- I can hear it from our living room, that's how loud it is. And the thing about Sassy is that he doesn't just get in bed and go to sleep. Oh, no. He gets in bed. Gets out of bed. Skulks across his bed, gets out again. Repeat like ten times. And every time it comes with the CRRRRREEEAAAAAK (usually just as I'm about to nod off), which makes me convinced he's got it on an amplifier or something. He's particuarly active tonight, which makes me worry that his crew's coming down with scurvy or he's being raided by pirates, but then again maybe he's just discovered the New World or something.

And that's why, from now on, I'm calling his bed The Santa Maria.

Here's hoping the seas are clamer tonight.

It's Hot in Herrre. Like, Really.

Well, it's April, which means the heat is still blazing forth in our office, with the promise of frigid temperatures from our air conditioning system about to start in a few weeks. We cannot win here. Like, it is nearly impossible to wear sweaters in the winter in this place because you're basically dehydrated by the end of the day if you're sporting one. Then comes summer, when you want to wear skirts and dresses because it's simmering outside, but inside it's like the shriveled heart of Lupicass: frigid and bitter.

I don't get why we have to have either on when the temperatures outside are lovely, like today. But right now my contacts feel like they're about to shrivel up and even the fact that I'm in short sleeves isn't helping. Check out the KB AccuCube Temperature reading from my desk if you don't believe me:


Do I exaggerate? 81 degrees inside! Do you get why I keep a thermometer on my desk now? It does not make for a happy work environment. But I'll be telling myself I'll long for 81 when it's about 40 degrees in here next month at this time...

Go to Hell, Boo Birds

So I'm hearing these rumors that Mo was booed at the Stadium yesterday. Now, I didn't watch the replay or anything, so I wouldn't know how lusty these boos were. But the fact that that noise actually escaped the mouths of these alleged fans is telling...of how stupid people in this town can be.

The man has sucked lately. We know this. But he is Future Hall of Famer Mariano Rivera. He is the reason you have been lucky enough to get four World Series titles in recent years. And there's something wrong with him now, be it physical or mental. And he is STILL not worthy of your jeers. Frustration? Yes. And in that you can mutter to yourself. Kick some inanimate object. Curse like a sailor. But you DO NOT BOO MARIANO RIVERA. First off, you don't boo your own guy EVER. Secondly, do you honestly think he's sucking on purpose, just to piss you off? Like, when you suck at your job, are you doing it maliciously? I didn't think so. And Mo right now is struggling on a consistent basis, something none of us have seen before. But apparently the fact that he hasn't sucked until recently makes him a worthy target to these ingrates. People have really short memories, I guess.

Then again, I have to wonder if these people even remember what it was like in the days before Enter Sandman. I mean, he's been here for 10 years (and the fact that he's having trouble now? Not so surprising when you realize how long he's been around), so maybe the era of Steve Farr/Xavier Hernandez/Lee Smith escapes them. But I'm likely to think they just jumped on the bandwagon and the only thing they see is a Sweep Lost and wouldn't know what it's like to NOT make the playoffs because your entire pitching staff, from starters to closer, sucks.

If you can remember these guys in pinstripes, you wouldn't be booing Mo.

I also wonder if these people gave Jason Giambi (who has only once or twice been Mr. Clutch while a Yankee, who barely played last season, and brought upon the scandal of the century to the Yankee clubhouse), a standing ovation when he came to bat. Because if that's the case and they're booing Mo, I'd throw them off the upperdeck if I had the chance.

In short, don't hate on Mo because he's suddenly become human after an extraordinary TEN-YEAR run. Especially IN THE THIRD GAME OF THE SEASON.

God, that I even had to post this in retort makes me sick.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005


Man, this day sucks from an entertainment angle for me:

First, the whole Mo thing. Where art thou, Sandman?

Then the American Public decides Scott the Scary Man who botched his performance last night is worth keeping over Nikko, who actually did fairly well with the bizarre genre of Musicals. (And I'm pissed that nothing from Yankees: The Musical! was used last night.) Anyway, you can't get rid of Ozzie Smith's offspring! Not this early! BAH!

Though my beloved Anthony earned some points after losing a few after his yucky performance last night -- when asked if he thought he should be in the Bottom 3 (and really, American Idol producers, cut that shit out. I don't want to see two of the nicest people in this competition get tortured like that. Did you think either Anthony or Bo was going to be all "I'm the best and I'm gonna win the whole thing?" Leave the "hard-hitting" questions for 60 Minutes, OK?) he said he agreed that he was terrible last night. What a concept. I guess because when athletes, actors, hell, anyone in the public eye, are asked a similar question, they dance around it and make excuses, and I expect this from everyone now.

And then Lost...Man, they had to go and kill a piece of the eye candy with the best name on the Island?

Not a good day.