Friday, September 29, 2006

Songs in the Key of B'GOCK!!

Because I love the iTunes Celebrity Playlist thing, I think I will tell you what MY Good-Luck Yankee Chicken Playlist would be. I don't think you have to be famous to say what you like about a song, so here is what I would have on a chicken-sized iPod, if they ever made them.

The Yankee Chicken's Playlist
Release date: Sep. 29, 2006
Total: 16 songs

Tonight, Kool and the Gang I think this song is about getting laid, which is hilarious. Even though I don't know what getting laid is.

All I Know, Art Garfunkel I like to turn this on, huddle under my blanket and have a good cry.

Islands in the Stream, Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers I like to duet on this for karaoke. I can be either Dolly or Kenny. I usually have to be both because only Guy the Godzilla will sing it with me and even he has his limits.

Rockin' Robin Bobby Day Just because this is about a bird that is smaller and not as smart nor as well-dressed as myself, it doesn't mean I can't like the song.

Dynamite, Jermaine Jackson I like this video. It takes place in a prison and the inmates dance like it's that show Fame. That rules.

Lights, Journey I can sing this better than Steve Perry.

Crazy on You, Heart Because there are a few sportswriters I'd like to go "crazy" on, but not in that way.

Leader of the Pack, The Shangri-Las Any song that has actual, you know, drama going on in it, complete with yelling and sound effects, will totally have a space in my playlist.

The Name of the Game, Abba No collection is complete without some Abba.

Brandy, Looking Glass How someone's "lady" can be the sea is beyond me, but at least the sailor guy is honest with Brandy.

Papa Was a Rolling Stone, The Temptations I just relate to this song on so many levels.

(Can't Live Without Your) Love and Affection, Nelson
If I could grow my feathers as long as their hair, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

Wind of Change, The Scorpions I wasn't alive when all this "change" was going on, but I really am keen on songs that include whistling in any way.

Whenever I Call You Friend, Kenny Loggins and Stevie Nicks I can't understand a word they're singing in the chorus, something about a beautiful sight, but it is catchy.

Smoke on the Water, Deep Purple I feel like I should have this on here to keep my street cred safe.

New York, New York, Frank Sinatra Not that I've ever been to a Yankee game to hear this song played at the end [Oh, quit the guilt-trip, will you? -- KB], I understand its significance completely.

Fair is Fowl and Fowl is Fair When it's Birthday Time


Hello, it is me! The Yankee Chicken! And it is my birthday tomorrow, so I've taken over the blog for today. I am sure you are all just dying to know what I am comprised of, so I will give you the September 30th Birthday rundown from the great book, The Secret Language of Birthdays

First off, I'm born on "The Day of Glaring Truth" -- get that, Lupicass? That means I will glare at you until you stop pulling things out of your ass.

OK, onto the good stuff:

These are people who really do their homework before opening their mouths, and although they can be impulsive, usually have some heavy ammunition to support their opinions. In bringing the truth to light, some born on this day see themselves as representing a cause.
Yes, the Yankee cause.

September 30 people are highly attractive, if not physically then in their personality.
I am sure I am highly attractive in BOTH aspects. Otherwise, why would I grace KB's Christmas cards every year?

September 30 people often use their appearance to attract attention; they can be masterful in presenting a public image and in holding the attention of family and friends. You're reading this blog now, aren't you? Because I AM masterful.

There is certainly a good chance that September 30 people will grow overly accusatory, judgmental or fond of pointing a righteous finger at those they believe compromise the truth in some way -- UM, hello, book, do you READ the sportspages? You make these traits out to sound like a bad thing, when really, they are not. SOMEBODY has to take an inflatable bat to these dickheads on occasion.

I also share a birthday with Euripides, Marilyn McCoo and the great Johnny Mathis. Unfortunately, no Yankees were born on my birthday, or at least, no TRUE Yankees were born on my birthday.

I am sure your birthdays all pale in comparison to mine. That is why I am The Yankee Chicken and you are not.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Because Birthday Cake Isn't Enough For Him

Just to FYI -- The Yankee Chicken is celebrating a birthday on Saturday, and so he is taking over the blog tomorrow because he wants to feel special-er.

You've been warned.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

The Right Thing To Do, and the Tasty Way to Do It

True story: Yesterday, Rana, Elizabeth and I were lamenting the fact that there are no Copy Department birthdays till February, which means the opportunities for celebratory baking are pretty much nonexistent for the next few months (Christmas and possible World Series visits aside). We figured "Let's find a celebrity whose b-day we can celebrate sometime!" And right away I suggested Wilford Brimley, because he's like the Copy Department Hero. So we logged on to find out when his birthday is and I kid you not, IT'S TODAY. We freaked out at this because, seriously. Out of the 365 days of the year, our idol just happened to be celebrating a birthday the very next day? Come on. Our Cocoon/Our House/Diabeetis Testing Supply kung fu must've been very strong, my friends.

So Rana and I baked -- oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies and oatmeal crusted brownies. And of course we used Quaker Oats, because, duh.


So happy birthday to Mr. Brimley, whose awesomeness knows no bounds. Even if there's no way in hell he's only turning 72 today. Because, seriously, he was ancient in 1986 and that was TWENTY YEARS AGO.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

In Which I Hate Apartment Living More Than Ever

It must be nice to be able to go to sleep whenever you want and wake up to your alarm and you know, not be on someone else's (very scant) sleeping schedule BECAUSE THEY'RE FUCKING LOUD.

If I wanted to have to be up at 5:30 every day, I'd move back to central Jersey, is all I'm saying. Except at least there I'd be able to go to bed before midnight...

That and this is going to be a REAL problem during the playoffs, when my sleeping time is already cut short.


Sunday, September 24, 2006

Yet Another Reason I Despise He's Just Not That Into You

This tool gets another crack at telling us how to live our lives:


Although, now it's all-inclusive, so it's not just insecure women he gets to take advantage of monetarily "enlighten" -- men can get laid into as well! Lovely!

Since he's the antithesis of any guy I'd ever be into (can he BE anymore metrosexual while ignoring the fact that he's WAY too old for the concept?), I wouldn't take his advice anyway. But now that he has the means to reach a national audience via television...ugh.

Perhaps we can arrange a steel-cage match between him and Dr. Phil...

Thursday, September 21, 2006

In Which Lupicass Crosses the Line

Picture 1

No, YOU shut up, Lupicass! Just who do you think you are? Jason is my friend and you can't get away with talking to him like that. I know you've insulted Yankees before and have had to endure my ire via this blog, but when you go after somebody I, like, actually know, I'm going to have to hurt you. Take it back, I say, or you're going to wish you were never...

Oh, wait. You're talking about Jason Giambi aren't you? In defense of A-Rod?? Wow, carry on then.

(Though I find it hilarious that the subhead is "You have no right to rip A-Rod." Oh, the irony)

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Contact High Through My TV

So it was kiiiiind of cheap, but it is done. And since a division isn't really clinched by winning only one game, and the Yanks had some fantasticness this season that led up to all this...


I am watching them drown each other in champagne right now, getting all teary like I always do, as eating and breathing this team day in and day out makes you do strange things.

This never gets old. NEVER. The haters will come up with their poorly-thought-out, way-too-convient-for-the-sake-of-their-argument spewing that Yankee fans can't appreciate this anymore, or that we never could, because the team wins a lot or has a lot of money or because we are from the big bad city of no-feeling people. They want to think we look at this team like they are a machine, and therefore we've come to think of this as our birthright. Like we are the Ivan Dragos to their Rocky Balboas. They think this way because they have no imagination. They think this way because to them the idea of loving a team that wins a lot is too "easy" and that true love stems from misery. I don't know any relationship in real life that works this way, but I guess this is supposed to be the case when it comes to one's adoration for a certain team. Whatever. I have seen great joy and great pain in the playoffs alone. Perhaps I love in a different way than fans of other teams as a result. To each his own.

I know this can be taken away at any point. I've known this since 1995. That is why I appreciate every good moment I get with this team. I don't take it for granted like some people would like you to believe. I recognize, yo.

The stereotype of a Yankee fan right now is that we walk around with our noses in the air and that this stuff doesn't affect us, that all we demand is winning, winning, winning. But seriously. I don't know one fan like this. We love this team for just being our Yankees. For being the team whose uniform has remained the same for every generation of our family's fandom. For being the team that can inspire such ire around the rest of the country that said ire inspires anger of our own. And we blog about it. Or bitch about it with co-workers, friends and neighbors and get red in the face in defense of them to strangers who behave in ways that they claim only Yankee fans behave. It runs deep, like not much else can.

The Yankees are around for me 162 days a year and, god willing, a few more days than that -- they become an extended family. They require nicknames like Damone, Sad Clown and Pizza Guy. They become the subject of inside jokes, intense text-messaging, the inspiration for baked goods and names of plants. They are the reason for some really grouchy nights and the basis for some cloud-nine mornings.

And some really long blog posts.

I wouldn't have it any other way.


Wow. After reading the SI A-Rod story yesterday, I was left thinking "Well, that was an interesting piece" and that was that. But everyone else reads it and interprets it as this big, bad thing. I guess the damning cover (which I didn't see until today) will do that. But seriously. There's maybe one or two semi-malicious "sounding" quotes from teammates, the rest just state the obvious -- actually, they sounded like concerned bloggers trying to pinpoint just what was wrong with A-Rod because they know he's too good to be in that prolonged of a slump. Oh, except for that whole Red Sox front office finding it strange that A-Rod would, oh my gosh, wear a nice suit when he was meeting with team officials to discuss coming to the team. Who cares if it was 1 a.m. -- it's a show of respect. I mean, WHAT A FUCKING WEIRDO. If anything, this part alone just goes to show how much bullshit circulates around this guy, but maybe I'm supposed to think that it is odd to wear a nice suit when meeting possible future employers? Hmmm. I'm going to wear jeans on my next interview!

Actually, the weirdest thing about the story to me is that Giambi, he of the biggest scandal to rock the Yankee clubhouse in decades, carries so much weight with the team and can throw it around as such. Also, considering A-Rod is widely considered to be of a, um, natural talent while Giambi's weight gain has made him a bit of a target for juiced talk again, I find it strange that he's the guy they go to for the comments as well. That kind of disturbed me, but then I'm not sure how much of it is played up to make this more of a scandalous story. Which, on first reading, it really didn't feel that way.

I guess the cover sets the tone, though. And now it'll be brought up for months and months and...oh wait, there's not much left to this season. Perhaps they can keep it up during the offseason and bring it up again in spring training, seeing as how they got so much "story" out of it this season.

Or perhaps someone can finally write the big story about what a witch hunt this has turned into. Because the "weirdest" thing to me isn't A-Rod himself. It's this fascination with seeing him fail. Meaning A-Rod's not the one with the problem...

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Cookies 'N Arrrrrr!!!

So Rana tells me that Gawker (I'm still boycotting their cliched Yankee-whining asses) is rolling their proverbial eyes at the whole Talk Like a Pirate Day idea. They can kiss my ass. Or as Jason (who watched what sounded like a fantastic Wife Swap last night involving a pirate family and their "pirattitude") says, "They can walk the mother-fucking plank."

You see, I take this day seriously, which means that baking is totally in order. So I made some "Chips Ahoy" cookies (not the store-bought kind either, bitchez) for the office, as my co-workers appreciate the language of swashbucklers. Couple this with the flag my father gave me specifically for this day, and we've got a big old pirate party going on in my cubicle. Woo to the hoo, and pass the grog!


Monday, September 18, 2006

Yankees Suck? Well, Then You Swallow

Several times recently, Erica and I have come out of the PATH station on a Friday night, both of us decked in our Yankee paraphernalia, and some lame-ass guy will always be like "Yankees suck!" while hooting and hollering as if he is the cleverest thinker this side of Socrates. And you must really know so much about baseball if you can make such an original comment like that!

Or not!

Just a warning, gentle reader: you might want to back up a bit, because I'm about to go off. Are you at a safe distance? Alrighty then!

OK. First off, look across the Hudson River. What do you see? Oh, right, the Manhattan skyline. Where the fuck do you get off dissing my team in my team's territory? I know this is a transient area, but shut up. I don't see you in your Sux/Orioles/Phillies/Cardinals hats and say shit about your team, so back off mine. And if you're a Mets fan doing this, why don't you focus on your own god damn team instead of digging yourself deeper into an inferiority complex. GOD.

There's also another reason this happens that has nothing to do with "diehards" of other teams needing to piss on the big bad Yankees: this town is ripe with frontrunners -- for EVERY team -- and therefore will spew whatever feeds them because they are too stupid to think up something for themselves. I'd *hope* a real fan would be beyond heckling, but a bandwagoner is usually pretty stupid when it comes to these things. (So while I should probably comfort myself with the knowledge that these people's comments are coming from a very stupid, unimaginative place, it still grates. It's rude, obnoxious and, bitch, please, you know that right now my team doesn't suck as much as you'd like them to. ANYWAY.) I moved here in January 2003, when every now and then I'd see a Sux hat. By the end of 2004? Yeah, it seemed like every other person I saw had one. And a Manny T-shirt. Last year at this time, I could count Mets hats on one hand. Now? That's right, EVERYONE is a Jose Reyes fan. And I can't even trust people in Yankee hats, especially since they've had a long run of doing well. A few weeks ago, Erica saw a guy in a Yankees hat, wearing headphones and she assumed he was listening to the game. So she asked him what the score was and he was all "The Yankees are playing tonight?" COME ON.

I'll never understand the desire to wear a team logo for a franchise you know little to nothing about. Like, I know I'm from the New York area, but I'd never wear a Giants/Jets/Knicks/Nets/Rangers/Devils shirt or hat, because that would imply I like one of those teams. And you know I couldn't care less. But this is a whole other blog post all together....

Anyway, I don't want to say these people are the majority, because for the most part, when I pass a bunch of people in a bunch of different team gear while I'm wearing my Yankee hat, there are no incidents to speak of. But get a little alcohol in a few 20-something dickheads and mix in a bit of macho posturing (because they want to look like they actually know something, and everyone knows the Yankees suck. Right? Right?) and you get Harassmentville.

Meanwhile, many older gentlemen in town see me in my hat and will actually talk baseball with me. But perhaps that's because they're past the age of getting drunk and harassing random passersby. What's that called again? Oh, right.


And I sincerely hope it hits these other Fuckos™ before retirement age.

I'm Glad The Streak is Over

There. I said it. Because it would've been insanely lame if DJ had a hit in every game until the end of the season, only to get to "continue" it next year in some half-assed attempt at catching Joe D. I'm sorry, but hit-streaks don't count when you get SIX MONTHS OF REST in between games. And it would've become some three-headed hype monster if this did happen, all for the wrong reasons. It's bad enough I'm already sick of the MVP debate (two nationially televised games in two days will do that), and it's probably making more non-Yankee fans hate Jeter more than they already do. He's one of the greatest players I've ever had the pleasure to see and I'm grateful he's our guy, but man alive is there ANYONE else on the team the national telecasts can focus on?

But if he wants to start a streak next year with a huge chunk of games ahead of him, well then, you go, Cap'n.

Saturday, September 16, 2006

Rain Out THIS

OK, Mother Nature, you win. After three years of attending many water-logged/freezing/fiery hailing/locusty Friday night games, you've finally bested us and rained one out completely. I am sure this is a great moral victory for you, seeing as how it was your goal to make us physically miserable in every capacity on Friday nights, and yet we sat through it, resisting the urge to leave early or not show up at all, even if there were literal streams of water dripping from our ponchos and we couldn't really see. Now you're just like "Mwah-ah-ah, I'll just make it so they can't even GO to the game! Or, I know, I'll make the radar juuuuuust confusing enough so they actually go to the Stadium in the deluge just to find out the game is cancelled when they get there. I'll waste their time completely! That would RULE."

Yes, Mother Nature, you finally got your wish of taking a game away from us. But know this: I am not taking your shit anymore. That's right, bitch, three years of many a craptastic weatherly Fridays has put you in my crosshairs. It's like that song Robinson Cano uses when he comes to bat where it's all, "Meet me at the's going down" or like Armando Benitez drilling Tino in the back and all of the Yankees and New York wanting your head on a stick. Yes, it will be brutal.

So you can run, but you can't hide. What, are you going to crouch behind a tree or something? You know you're way too big to enter the witness protection program too, because I'm sure there are people in New Mexico or Canada or Australia who have it out for you right now too. Psh, I don't even think you'll be recognizable after everyone's done with you.

So now that you've been warned, go and run and get a head start. But you won't be running for long. I've got three years of pent-up weather-related Friday night frustrations (and you know, all those rainy birthdays you've given me... SHUT UP, bitch, I don't care if it's April!), and nothing's going to keep me from doing some serious damage. Well, except maybe the two days of double headers I have to watch, but after that, WATCH OUT MUTHAFUCKA.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

The Most Enjoyable, Non-Yankee-Related 40 Minutes I've Had All Week

After watching the season finale of The Office (I only saw this season on and off, but NBC's been good with reruns and two discs of Season 2 got here today) all I have to say is my faith in good TV is restored. I pooh-poohed the idea of this show when I heard it was being made since the British version is so awesome. But the American version has slowly come into its own and it's maybe only one of a handful of sitcoms out there (Scrubs and The Simpsons come to mind) that don't make me feel stupid after watching -- in fact, I feel...healthier. Or something. Probably because while it exercises a lot of the same TV plots, it goes about it believably, with the most endearing actors/charcters I've seen in a long time.

Like, for me, the confrontation scene between Jim and Pam was a million times better than any Ross and Rachel "moment" simply because we've watched their relationship evolve. It wasn't just thrown at us and we were supposed to root for them because they're a "destiny" couple, even though we're not sure why they like each other so much. But there was real-deal emotion in tonight's episode. For christ's sake, Jim CRIED. That and the dialogue felt real, instead of writer's-table quippy and trite. It may have been one of the most satisfying things I've seen on television in years. And I thank NBC for it.

Fuck you, SNY

Not that I had reason to watch before, but this station has just earned my wrath by insinuating it's only men who watch sports, and that replacing a girl's head with a TV playing SNY is the only way to get these guys to pay attention to them. I don't care if it's a joke -- it's fucking retarded. Especially since I know women who are big sports fans who date men who have no interest in athletics whatsoever, and I don't see THAT represented here.

I'm sure the lady Mets/Jets fans out there...oh, wait, I guess there are no female baseball and football fans. They're only watching because their husbands and boyfriends are. Silly me. I mean, check out their "evaluation form" for the ladies. *Rolls eyes*

So not only does the network employ a sexist announcer, their advertising department also has no clue that it is the 21st century.

Thank god I don't like the Mets or Jets because this station is Dead. To. Me.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006


So wants to know who's the "Hometown Bum" for each baseball team. And I'm truly appalled, because one of these things is SO not like the others, and it's a disgrace that his name even appears here:

Picture 1

Are you fucking kidding me ESPN and America? First, even putting A-Rod's name with an absolute joke like Pavano, an asshole like Hall, a dude who broke Billy Martin's arm, and a guy who disgusted his owner so much with his mediocrity that said owner declared him a "Fat, pussy toad"? WHAT ARE YOU SMOKING?

Especially since they describe a Hometown Bum as You know who we're talking about -- the losers, stiffs, whiff kings, overpriced free agents and clubhouse cancers who drove you crazy.

Loser: Oh, don't feed me the crap about no rings, bitches. That means Mattingly is the biggest f'ing loser of them all and And if you're using the term "loser" as dork, nerd or whatever we've come to use it for, I don't think a man that good-looking with that much talent and that much money can qualify.

Stiff: Does this mean he's boring? Because with all the headlines he's created (i.e. Shirtless on a hot day in the park -- STOP THE PRESSES!), I wouldn't say he's too dull for the media.

Whiff King: He may have his strikeouts, but so did Reggie, and I don't see his name on here (and getting into a fight with your manager in the dugout? That's not enough to get your name on the list?) And with 100-plus RBI on a team that's 10.5 ahead in the standings, I don't see how a high number of Ks has adversely affected the team anyway.

Overpriced free agents: The Yanks got him in a trade, and Texas is paying a huge chunk of his salary. So that leaves...

Clubhouse cancer:
Hmm, I don't think you have events like the sainted Bernie Williams going and putting his arm around you to share a joke in the dugout if you're a clubhouse cancer. I don't think a guy who is only polite and respectful to the media can be qualified as a clubhouse cancer. A guy who plays along with Kiss Cam when it's on him (and his kissee describing it as something he'd tell his grandkids about) is a clubhouse cancer. I don't think opposing players will openly go out and write an article to defend you against booing if you're a clubhouse cancer. I don't think a guy who's willing to shift his position because of his respect for the guy who's already at shortstop (EVEN THOUGH THE MOVER IS BETTER THAN THE CURRENT SHORTSTOP AT THE POSITION) is a clubhouse cancer.

So, tell me why he's on this list please? Oh, RIGHT. Because it's hip to hate Alex Rodriguez, y'all.

Second, who HONESTLY thinks that badly of A-Rod that he's second to Mr. Pavano? GOD.

Shut up ESPN, and shut up, America. I wish there was a way to vote YOU the biggest bums...

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

It Must Be September

Because all the love being showered down on Hideki is making me all verklempt, which usually happens this time of year when the know. He looked so touched after his fourth hit, which is awesome because anyone who has a pulse pretty much knows how it killed him to be out of there for so long.

And speaking, Yanks? Can you be this kick-ass when Moose pitches in know? Because I don't know if they've scored this many runs in all of Moose's total games in know...over the past few years.

OK, must go look into why there is a 9-year-old at bat in place of Jeter right now...Ah, September.

Monday, September 11, 2006

In Which I Share Some Grossness. You've Been Warned

So along with my bruised thumb today, I now have two small missing pieces of flesh. Yes, my Italian-side caught up with me mole wise and I had to have two smallish ones removed from my back for precautionary purposes. The doctor told me they were benign right away, and told me if I get a phone call from them after the biopsy (a nice, freaktastic word right there that's had me semi shitting a brick for about two month, since my regular doc was all "Hmmmm" when looking at my back), it's only because they'll want to see me in six months because I am at a higher risk for skin cancer. I knew this already because I've lost track of the little moles on me over the years and figured I was screwed in that department because of my heritage/years of hanging out outside all summer as a kid. So now I will be extra careful. Especially since I am not the best with needles and getting things cut off my person (though it didn't hurt too bad -- it's just the psychological thing).

The side effect is that I'll now have two small scars, which I've decided to name Jeter and A-Rod. I decided this when I was laying on my stomach, squeezing my eyes shut, clenching my teeth and trying not to think about the needle coming at me.

Yes, the Yankees are my happy place. Like you didn't know that already.

Bedknobs and Bruises

In an effort to shut Chewboken the hell up with whatever loud activity he was doing last night (because some of us had to wake up at 5:30 this morning), I groggily banged on the wall with my open hand. I just looked at my thumb and it's BRUISED.

I really need new neighbors. And since I'm the last remaining original tenant in the building, shyeah, I'm not going to be the one to go. So there.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Only Me. Only in New York

I've debated for five years whether or not to tell this story, as I didn't want it to look like I was making light of 9/11 in any way (people generally laugh when I tell this story, so I guess it falls into the realms of Are You Kidding Me?). But this is a true, only-in-New-York kind of story, and I don't think it degrades anything to do with that day, so here it is.

I was sexually harassed on September 11th. Yes, THE September 11th. In New York City. AFTER the World Trade Center had fallen.

It happened later in the day, when Penn Station finally re-opened and was running trains back to central NJ, where I was living with my parents at the time. I'd been hanging out at Tonya's place on the Upper East Side waiting for Penn to reopen, as hanging out in our grim office wasn't really tempting. The only thing was, Tonya's apartment was a good 40 blocks from Penn Station, and a long-ass walk to boot. But I wasn't really thinking clearly that day, and I'm pretty sure I was convinced the trains were never going to run again or something (I thought there'd be a lot of roof-top snipers too...don't ask) so I figured I'd be crashing at Tonya's place for at least the night. But by 6 p.m., the trains were up and running and I hiked down to Midtown in shoes that were tearing up my feet, the wall of smoke coming from downtown in my line of vision as I walked. The streets were completely empty and it was unlike any New York I had ever seen. I think scary is a good way to describe it, and I just wanted to be out of Manhattan as fast as I could.

It was cool in the morning, so I'd worn a button-down shirt over a tank top. But I was walking fast enough to break a sweat, and by 6, the sun had been heating things up all day. It was near 80 or so, and with my tank being very modest, I stripped off the button down and tied it around my waist as I walked.

I got to the stairs of Penn Station and had never been so happy to see the place before, and kept my quick pace going since I had no idea what time table the trains were running on and didn't want to just miss one. As I hit the bottom of the stairs, I see this one middle-aged mustachioed dude walking toward the stairs. I couldn't have missed him because he was the only one around besides me. I didn't take too much notice of him because my brain was going "Just get any train. Just get any train. Just get any train..."

Then, as if I wasn't feeling violated enough for one day, I hear him say it.

"Nice boobs." And he kept walking.


I get irate when people say shit like that to me on a normal day, but you can imagine what it was like THAT day. In that one moment, I remember everything around me turn a flaming white color, as I finally reached the rage portion of the emotional spectrum of the day. I was about two seconds away from running after the guy, tackling him from behind and stomping on his nuts several million times. I mean, what was he thinking? The World Trade Center was a fiery heap not two miles down the road. At that point it was thought that tens of thousands of lives could've been lost. There was no guarantee the attacks were over. Our country was on the verge of war. And all this guy could think about is some traumatized chick's assets?

But also in that moment, I remember something pulling me to keep walking forward. Something to do with there being enough violence that day, and that I just needed to get off the Island at that point, and get to the mainland and the safety of New Jersey. And that the dude was probably crazy any way, such is New York.

So I let it go. And I didn't talk about it for months, I was so mortified by it. Finally, though, I had to say something because I was wondering if it was odd of me to be like, "What the hell?" over that moment, so I told Hollis. And after the initial look of horror on her face, she bust out laughing. And that has been everyone's reaction since then. Because it's crazy that this actually happened. It's even become a bit of a Copy Department joke, as Jason and Rana are particularly tickled by this tale. The man has evolved from an anonymous insensitive prick/crazy man to a friendly Italian dude, who's all "Eyyyy! Nice-a Boobs-a!" I half expect him to be tossing a pizza the next time the story's told.

I'm still not sure what kind of person says shit like that on a day when, you know, his country's been attacked, in one of the main target cities no less, but there you go. I was sexually harrassed on 9/11.

Only in New York.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006


I do not find it coincidental that the minute Ken Singleton utters the dreaded "RanJo hasn't given up a hit yet, folks" that DeJesus goes and triples. SIGH. Though if Michael Kay had been there, I'm sure he would've found 13,000 different ways to say "no hitter" before the third inning was over, so I can't be too mad at Ken.

I guess asking for two no-nos in one day would've been greedy anyway.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Cue The Pointer Sisters

Can someone please explain to me how the whole player-hits-a-walkoff-homer-is-greeted-at-home-by-his-entire-team-jumping
-up-and-down-as-one-unit thing came into fashion? It has to be the LAMEST way to celebrate a homer I've ever seen, and I usually enjoy anything lame to the highest extent. But this? Not so much. (And the Yanks are guilty of it too, so don't think I'm conveniently forgetting them or something). Here's what I get: Player homers. Player rounds bases triumphantly. Player makes an emphatic jump onto homeplate when he gets there. Teammates are waiting excitedly. Teammates then mob player with congratulatory pounds on the head, high-fives, arms in air, what have you, high-five each other, leap in air randomly all "yeah!" and shit. But everyone jumping in complete unison all Yay! Yay! Yay!? What IS that?

It's probably the least macho thing about the game, which should sit well with me, but, just, ew.

What is Sports Viewing Coming To?

So last night Erica pointed out ESPN 2's utterly ridonkulous college football coverage. I'm not sure if you've seen it, but the screen is like the Brady Bunch opening on crack. You've got the game narrowed to a small rectangle in the middle top of the screen, with shots of everything else going on on the field surrounding it. It is seriously the dumbest thing I've ever seen. Do programmers really think we are that ADD? I'm sorry, but if you're a diehard sports fan, you want to see the game as big as possible - who needs the distraction of everything else going on around it? If I'd missed a big play because my attention was thrown by one of the head coaches pacing the sidelines in box no. 2, I'd be PISSED.

Where to look should NEVER be an issue when watching sports.

I just want to know who the genius was who thought this up. And if people actually liked it. Because if they did, I may have to leave the country because god knows if baseball will be the next victim.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

In Which The Fact-Checker and Yankee Fan in Me Collide

Ok, so, I'm reading this teen book (for inspiration/research purposes, of course) and it's the story of a girl who goes to live with a family with 7 boys from Massachusetts. Like, I totally knew going in that this family was going to be Red Sox fans, but lo and behold, there's a son that likes the Yankees. OK, so he has Aspergers and is slightly oddly obsessed with the team, but there you go. Score one for the writer. I don't like that the diehard Sux father is actually annoyed by the fact that his son is a Bombers fan, but I think I'm supposed to feel that way, which, score another one for the writer, making the Yankees not evil or something. But then...oh, book. You had to go an do it. You had to go and have this line of dialogue come out of Yankee fan son's mouth, as he's talking to the main character:

"Derek Jeter was the first captain of the Yankees since Thurman Munson."

SIGH. You were doing so well, book. And then you go and forget about Don Mattingly. I don't care if the character is suffering from a slight form of autism...he'd know better!

Copy editor/fact-checking person on this book: shame on you.

Friday, September 01, 2006

Tropical Depression Easily Cured with Yankeefied Prozac

Please excuse me a moment while I wring the water from this post...okay, there we go. I mean, we sat out for all 9 innings of that sucker, and while it wasn't quite a downpour (yet), it was, shall we say, a steady to moderate drizzle. It made for not-so ideal spectating conditions. My poncho is now wondering if it gets a special mention as a guest star in the Yankee Journal since it has been there for almost every game.

But the Yanks TOTALLY made up for the awfulness of the weather by giving us one f'ing solid game all around. Lidle was great, the bats were hot and just the mention of Sal Fasano coming in to catch for Posada warranted a "Mambo Italiano" moment from the scoreboard people (AWESOME how much fun they have with him). And of course there was the joy of seeing A-Rod go yard twice, and since his double play ground-out early on only netted a few drunken boos (so not many hypocrites in attendance tonight), it was sweet to see a curtain call. His first homer was absolutely SPANKED. It went by so fast I didn't even have time to process that it was actually going out. But somehow my body knew, because despite trying to keep my seat dry by tenting it with the poncho and not moving, I shot up to cheer. I had no intention of doing that (I don't stand up for a lot of homers -- clapping is good enough for me) but it was like my subconcious was like "Dude, now you can show your appreciation outside the blog."

Damone was a nutjob before the game (when it wasn't raining yet), climbing out of the dugout and throwing something on the fans behind the dugout (I thought it was confetti, Erica thinks it was water), and then doing this awesome "handshake" with Abreu. It involved throwing up both their hands and looking at each other like "Ohmigawd!" How is it possible that he has a new way to amuse us every game?

Oh yeah, and shoutout to the scoreboard people for using "Rock You Like a Hurricane" before the game tonight. If only the PR people had decided to make it a squeegee giveaway night...

Quote of the Morning

Jason, snarkily, when the topic of booing at sporting events in the United States is brought up:

"Oooh, you're a specter. I mean, you must be a ghost because you're booing."

You Tell 'Em, George King

From today's Post:

The House That Ruth Built? Try Hypocrite Habitat.

That's what Yankee Stadium turned into yesterday when the flesh that packed the Stadium put on a stunning front-running act toward Alex Rodriguez.

After spending the summer booing their lungs out at A-Rod, the crowd pleaded with him for a curtain call following a leadoff homer in the seventh inning that helped the Yankees to a 6-4 victory over the Tigers in front of 54,771.

As much as I love it when someone in the media calls out another person in the media on their BS, I also love it when someone in the media calls out the fans on their bullshit.


Is there a polite way to say to your neighbor "Listen, you inconsiderate jackhole, stomping across your apartment like a metrosexual caveman hellbent on doing physical harm to his rolling chair prey at 1 a.m. is, like, NOT COOL. Neither is walking so hard that you rattle objects on the shelves of the apartment below you, nor waking up someone in a much-needed dead slumber because walking like a normal human being never applied to you. I swear to god, your footsteps have probably made tsunami warnings go up around Northern New Jersey because they REGISTER ON THE FUCKING RICHTER SCALE. WHEN ARE YOU MOVING OUT?"

Or something?