Friday, June 29, 2007

Who is This Frank Sinatra, and What is This New York, New York he Sings of?

The strangest thing happened tonight. I went to the Yankee game, and the man on the mound who throws the ball was actually, you know, decent. And when this other man came in the game and started messing up, the manager guy actually was like "I don't think so" and in came this other man, who I vaguely recall is good or something, but I'm not sure, seeing as how he hasn't been around the Stadium when I've been there this season. He ended the game with something I think is called junket? A waffle iron? A strikeout? Yes! That's it. Also, the Yankee hitters scored more than the A's hitters. My Friday-night, conditioned-for-sucktasticness mind cannot compute most of this, but something deep inside a dusty, cob-webbed region of my brain has sputtered and says that this is all a good thing. Weeeeeeird.

Update: Cuz I Know You Care


Just to FYI, MovinCool Classic Plus 14 is working its magic quite well. While the balmy indoor temperatures didn't exactly make me the hottest I've felt all week (that's reserved for a brief subway ride the other night, which, yowza), it doesn't exactly inspire you to be all work-minded and then ready to go enjoy a baseball game later in the evening in which the home team had better kick some mother-fucking ass OR ELSE I'M GOING TO BE REALLY CRANKY. Whoa, where'd that come from? Anyhow, I am grateful for this brief respite, and I really hope some other department doesn't try to steal it again like they did last year. Ahem.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

This is Why, This is Why I'm Hot

So with the indoor temperature like this (and rising):


The Copy Department has been a liiiiiiiiiiiitle bit peeved that nothing has been done to help us out. We were assured that someone would come bring Jason's BFF, the MovinCool Classic Plus 14, over to our area and set it up, but it hasn't happened. So...


...Art dragged it over himself. But then the fact that the chord is short posed a problem. As did the fact that we have to shove the duct thingy into the ceiling, but the ceiling is tall, so Jason climbed up onto my filing cabinet, only to discover that there's a vent running through that part of the ceiling. This is Jason, Art and Rana looking discouraged:


Art then dragged MovinCool Classic Plus 14 over to where we had it originally last year, only for Jason to discover, upon climbing on top of another filing cabinet, that there's another *&$^^#% vent in the way.


This is what being fucked by the heat looks like.

Take the Blinders Off, People

You know, if I could have one wish right now, it would be that holier-than-thou fans, who think their team's backers are so pure, so righteous that they would never be assholish (NEVER!) finally witness their brethren being dickwads as I have. This comes from reading Deadspin today, who, after lauding Met fans for not heckling them while wearing a Cardinals jersey in enemy territory, bring up the douchebaggery of a few Yankee fans. And then the pile-on starts in their comments section. As if no one has ever dared to taint the name of their own team's fans and that Yankee fans have the market cornered on this concept or something.

I've said it before, I'll say it again: EVERY team has at least a few individuals rooting for them that the rest of the fanbase would like to knee in the collective groin. I'm sure that Mr. Charming White Sox fan from last year can be included in this. And the asshole Mets fan who literally wished Erica's grandmother dead two years ago, merely because she's a Braves fan who happens to go to Yankee games. Or the Orioles fans from my freshman year dorm who laughed and pointed at me when the Yanks lost to the Mariners in 1995. Or the 12-year-old Twins fan who refused to shake Tonya's hand because he found out she was a Yankees fan. Why should they get a free pass when all of that described behavior seems to make up what one would consider an asshole?

Listen, I KNOW there are loud-mouth blowhard Fuckos™ who root for my team. I've nearly come to blows with them myself. But to pretend like Yankee fans are the only ones capable of being insulting is ridiculous, and just slightly ignorant and even hypocritical and quite frankly it's making me pissy. So there.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Drama, Plane and Simple

I posed this question to Ken while we were waiting for our plane at the airport yesterday: Do people actually realize they're in love with someone and can't live without them when a person is about to move or go on an extended trip, and then go rushing after said love of their life at the airport in an attempt to stop them from getting on the plane and leaving? You know, like we see in the movies or at least one TV season-finale a year? I know I haven't flown a lot, but I have yet to see a person come rushing in, all out of breath, looking desperately for that one special someone lest they get on a plane and never be seen again.

It's kind of like that whole people who just show up on your doorstep thing. When the hell does this actually ever happen in real life? Just wondering.

Appleton: The Second Time Around

So, while there was no actual road traveled to see Tonya this time around (I think Pennsylvania's mammothness has scared me off from ever driving anywhere West again), Ken and I did make a return appearance to Appleton to see our friend and her fiance Brent before their big day in September.

We got to see Tonya's wedding dress (eeeeee!), watch scary movies, get some fried cheese curds, listen to the music of today ("ella, ella, eh, eh"), meet Tonya and Brent's Appleton Crew and hang out in an actual backyard with tiki torches and rabbits, go to a minor-league baseball game and Lambeau Field (which, sidebar, really kind of depressed me because it proved that it IS entirely possible to take a historic sports facility and modernize it nicely, rather than abandon said historic facility and start from scratch to build a yuppie and bratty child magnet), see some nature, and eat really, really well. And sleep well too, since Tonya and Brent are in a real, live house and have no neighbors stomping around on top of them at 5:30 in the morning.

Some highlights:


Doesn't this look like a pleasant, peaceful stroll in the woods? Well, yeah, it was -- until we decided to get a little adventurous and hike a bit. Let's just say Ken was waiting for a serial killer to tackle our winded asses and take us back to his serial killer lair (which only consists of a narrow bench to sleep on) and murder us on the shores of Lake Winnebago. Either way, it still would've been more entertaining and believable than Black Christmas, I'm sure.


No, this isn't from one of the porn shops. It's from Lambeau Field, where we visited Curly's Pub. They also had...

Picture 1

...the biggest burger I've ever seen advertised in my life.

We also took a road trip to Door County, about two hours north of Appleton and on a peninsula that juts out into Green Bay and Lake Michigan. This requires leaving what Ken would consider civilization (i.e. places that have a neighborhood Gap), into endless farm land, which makes you kind of inspired when you're driving through it and John Mellencamp's "Pink Houses" comes on and you feel a million times more proud of your country in that instant than any forced rah-rah America-ness does. Anyway.

While driving through the resort-y areas of Door County, we passed this place that had a grass-covered roof and we were like "the hell?" and Brent's like "I bet they keep goats up there" and Ken and I are like "Yeah, riiiiiiiiight" thinking he's yanking our chain or something because, like, how does a goat stay up on a roof all day and not fall off? So I'm thinking it's just a joke, and when we pass by the grass-roofed place later, lo and behold:




They're not chained and walk about freely and are just f'ing bizarre and I want to keep one on my apartment roof and see how the old people across the street (who once called the fire department because there was a piece of plastic flapping on the roof next door) like that. Anyway, this is apparently a Norwegian thing, and beats dragging a lawn mower up onto the roof to keep the grass trimmed. And the goats seem to like it just fine.

And right now I'd like to conclude with a little game of The Price is Right for my NYC-area friends. This is what Tonya and I picked up at the local yummy bakery on Saturday morning:


That's two danishes, a cookie, three cupcakes and two cinnamon buns. Now, what do you think is the actual retail price for all of the above?

A) $9.78
B) $11.23
c) $15.50

What if I said none of the above? Because in Wisconsin, that's what FIVE DOLLARS AND TWENTY-FIVE CENTS gets you. That's, like, a hot dog and a half a soda at a Yankee game, y'all.


Just Because He's Hot Doesn't Mean It Has to Be Inside


Picture 1


Can't Derek Jeter have a cool birthday? Sigh.

Monday, June 25, 2007

I Saw Goats on a Roof Yesterday.

I shit you not.

Photo evidence of that and all other things Badger State to come.

Thursday, June 21, 2007

Say Cheese

Ken and I are off to Wisconsin for a few days to visit Tonya, Brent and all the Adult Superstores we missed our first time out there. It'll be good to get away from this city for a few days and see some grass and cows and fried cheese curds and Bean Snappers.

I won't miss you, but you can miss me all you want, if you so desire.

Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Shut Up, AFI

So, let me get this straight. Ten whole years (a lifetime, y'all... *rolls eyes*) after their original Top 100 movies list, AFI gives us another go'round, seeing as how they've run out of topics (which I have enjoyed). In these ten years, Raging Bull can jump 20 spots from 24 No. 4, Vertigo can freaking LEAP from 61 to 9, one of my all-time faves, The Searchers, can SKYROCKET from 96 to 12 (which, why were all of these SO not top-20 material in 1997 and suddenly are now?), almost the entire Top 10 can be rearranged, minds can be changed about every single movie and yet... Citizen Kane is still No. 1? It's not my favorite movie, but I do understand its placement at No. 1 ten years ago. I guess I still understand it, but for chrissakes, why did all these other opinions change, and some so drastically, only to have everyone still feel exactly the same about the last No. 1? Yeah, yeah, granddaddy of great fillmmaking and whatnot, but I can't be the only one to not have it as No.1 on my personal list -- I'd think at least a few Hollywood inside AFI voters might feel the same. To me, it just smacks of the organizers being all "Well, we don't want to make the first list completely moot." because even they knew how dumb it was to re-rank everything a mere decade later.

Also, it was pretty cheap to use the old interviews from the first time. Just a lame, transparent program over all. I've really liked their other lists, so I hope they don't go start re-ranking those as well...

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

Oh, Crap

So I swore I wasn't going to take on any new shows so I could enjoy my baseball with a side of summer, and then I have to go and watch HBO's Flight of the Conchords and...yeah. They got me. Not so much with the slowish-moving plot, but with the most f'ing hilarious song lyrics evah, sung by two of the most bizarre yet somehow endearing characters I've ever seen on television. It's one of those shows you really have to be in the mood for, and you have to appreciate doofiness at it's finest, but man, I haven't laughed out loud like that since...The Office. Oh, how I've missed you these last few weeks. Sigh. But Flight of the Conchords will do. For now.

Please tell me I'm not the only one watching it.

ETA: My favorite song of the episode:

Quote of the Day

"I've been conditioned. If there's a ghost story, there'd better be knockers in it." -- Production Guy Jeff, who only watches Ghost Whisperer because his wife does…and because of Jennifer Love Hewitt's assets.

If You Ever Want to Get Random Male Attention...

...don't bother getting gussied up and primped. Don't dance all slutty like. Don't send a drink over to his table. Don't give him a come hither stare. Don't toss your hair all flirtatiously. Don't play hard to get.

Nay. All you need to do? Carry a birthday cake around in the daytime. I swear to god.

Monday, June 18, 2007


I heart Family Guy. Any Tim McCarver slam is going to get you a shout-out on my blog.


If you're getting some disturbing search terms (not directed at me) on your site tracker, is there anyone you can report it to?

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Dance! Feel It!

So, The Chicken was totally watching that teen dance movie Step Up, and I just happened to walk by, and I have to wonder: Why are all dance movies THE SAME PLOT? Like, think about it: there's always the uptight "innocent" girl and the rebellious guy with a heart of gold who bond over their love for feeling the rhythm in their different ways, teaching each other about life, as well as dance steps and the obligatory falling in love despite their differences. And then proving the old adage that dancing is just a vertical expression of a horizontal desire with a dance scene that leads to teh sex. See also: parents who just don't understand, friends who just don't understand at first and the show-stopping dance number in front of lots of people, that makes the parents who just don't understand suddenly get it. And then you get it too, don't you?

This interleague crapfest has to end, because lord knows what else I'm The Chicken's going to start watching.

I Don't Know How Many Ways I Can Say It

I-hay on't-day atch-way interleague-hay ay-play.

So why do my site visits skyrocket after games involving the ational-nay eague-lay?

Friday, June 15, 2007

Man and Woman Were Created Equal, And Moody

You know, I was feeling bad about being a mood-swingy female when the horomones start to work their magic, but then I was like, wait a minute, men can be moody pricks too, on occasion. So while I wouldn't say my moodiness is right, I ain't the only one, and neither are my fellow hormonal sistahs.

george lassos moon
It's enough to make a man turn downright douche-y.

My favorite example, via Hollywood, is George Bailey in It's a Wonderful Life. I'm thinking of the scene where the normally affable guy goes to Mary's house with his undies all in a bunch because he can't admit to himself that he's into her. She goes through all the trouble of making him his George Lassos the Moon thing (Sampler? Painting? I don't know, it was kind of strange -- she made an effort, though, that's all I'm saying) and he's like "Whatev" and he's just a downright asshole to her and her pine-smelling house and record (Mary smashing the record after he leaves is a highlight for me -- Donna Reed just nailed frustration with man PMS right there). I know it sets up the awesome telephone scene where George realizes he's an ass and should just give in to his feelings, but damn, primo example of how guys can be as mysteriously prickish as any woman on the rag.

I'm just sayin'.

It Keeps You Running, That PATH station

Two things I haven't done since high school:

-- Run like I was being chased.

-- Been on Wall Street. Even though I've worked in the city for, oh, eight years now.

I did both tonight in honor of Jesse's b-day. I also drank more than I probably should've and the a.m. is going to be waaaaaaay interesting, despite the Hoboken Crew's sobering sprint to the PATH train, complete with Chariots of Fire accompaniment (is that how it's spelled? I don't give a crap right now).

Some of the feet that made the train with a minute to spare. And goddamn, could htey make a PATH station bigger than the one at World Trade? I think O'Hare is smaller.

Some quotes of the night:

"YOu should not have the same shoes as OJ. He's a millionaire," Dexter to Eric on his Bruno Magli shoes.

"Thank you for letting me touch your boob," Christina to Vicki, referring to the stolen wine glass under Vicki's sweater.

I vaguely recall Eric trying to get me to admit that Curtass' bloody sock extravaganza was a great moment in athleticism or something, but he got nothing out of me. Woo! I also remember Eric wanting David Chase to die, seeing the office building where my parents met, some cute bomb-sniffing dogs a shot of Southern Comfort and lots of french fries. Mmm, french fries.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

I Guess That Makes Don Zimmer Carmela

You know, I've taken steps away from reading any actual NY media coverage of the Yankees this season, particularly anything regarding A-Rod, as I think my brain can only take cliched repetition only so many times. But I was over at FJM today and they did their take on a Wallace Matthews column where he thinks A-Rod should be dealt for relief pitching (shyeah), and I came across what may be the worst simile I have ever read in sports writing. Referring to the late 90s, 2000 Yankees, Wallace says:

Those teams were built on small ball - incredibly, Bernie Williams' 30 homers in 2000 represents the peak of Yankees power for that era - on timely hitting, on role players who worked together like the cast of "The Sopranos," and on pitching.

Seriously. The cast of "The Sopranos." Who are as well-known for working well together as....seriously. What the HELL does that mean?

I can just see Wallace sitting there, staring into space and thinking of a good analogy, and he racks his brain until he comes up with something "current." He could use any other idea as a means of comparison, like, I don't know, the 1927 Yankees or the 1961 Yankees or ANY OTHER GREAT YANKEE TEAM. Sheesh.

I guess it could be worse. He could've used the word "chemistry."


Crack-of-dawn stomper
Dropped shoes and footsteps of lead
You are a douchebag.

Monday, June 11, 2007

The Honesty's Just Too Much For Me, I Think

Okay, this has been bugging me for years. What does the song "Sometimes When We Touch" mean, exactly? Here's a sampling of the lyrics:

You ask me if I love you
And I choke on my reply
I'd rather hurt you honestly
Than mislead you with a lie
And who am I to judge you
On what you say or do?
I'm only just beginning to see the real you

Okay, so he doesn't love her. I think? Chorus time:

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die
Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

So he's AFRAID to love her? Like, when they're all embracing and shit he knows he loves her, but he's running away from it? Remember, he'd rather hurt her HONESTLY than mislead her with a LIE. So what's the lie? That he loves her and can't? That he doesn't love her? WTF, song, WTF?

Romance and all its strategy
Leaves me battling with my pride
But through the insecurity
Some tenderness survives

Oh, so he's too PROUD to admit he's in love, but some eeks out from time to time. Right?

I'm just another writer
Still trapped within my truth

Oh, man, have I heard excuses before, but that one takes the cake. I'm a writer too, but I've never even had coffee with my truth before, let alone been TRAPPED by it.

A hesitant prize fighter
Still trapped within my youth

Quit while you're ahead, dude.

At times I'd like to break you
And drive you to your knees
At times I'd like to break through
And hold you endlessly

Whoa, there, killer, come again? You want to hurt her (honestly?) and yet hold her endlessly? Dude's conflicted, that's the only thing I can take away from this.

At times I understand you
And I know how hard you've tried
I've watched while love commands you
And I've watched love pass you by

Wait. Aren't these two in a relationship? He's watched love pass her by? How does one do that?

At times I think we're drifters
Still searching for a friend
A brother or a sister
But then the passion flares again

Like, eww?

Still confused. If you can help me, let me know.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

I Am Going to Talk About The Sopranos Now

You've been warned.

Note to self circa 1998: This show The Sopranos is coming on the air next year, and many will claim it is the greatest show ever aired on television. The first season is pretty awesome, and a handful of stand-alones after that are also better than most crap aired on any given day. But the rest? Is a clusterfuck of extremely well-acted random moments that never really tie together and will flip you the bird the finale. Because it's aaaaaaaaaart, not a TV show. Shyeah. I'm sorry, but if I wanted to watch a show whose ending moral is "family is everything, so don't stop believing" I'd watch fucking Full House. Or I'd go hang out with my own Italian relatives. Thanks, David Chase, for a finale full of shitty fakeouts and red herrings, the WTF plot points that made no sense (Hi, Meadow's bad parallel parking and the FBI guy sleeping with another Fed. Whoopee!), the pretentious use of wind, and the whole "same as it ever was" painting of all the characters.

I called it awhile back that this year's finale would be like all the others -- nothing happens (after the action-packed penultimate episodes) and it would be family centric. So at least it kept with the pattern. But to end the show on such a LAME black screen? We know Meadow was walking toward the diner, so no, I wasn't on the edge of my seat thinking a hit man was storming in and that would be the end of Tony. What was the point of that then? Oh, right, because it's not TV, it's aaaaaaart.

I think this show started to believe its own hype too much after the second season, so maybe that's why Journey's classic was used tonight -- because it obviously doesn't want us to stop believing it either.

ETA: I've been reading lots of online arguments saying that the end black screen and silence represents that Tony got whacked right there by the dude in the Members Only Jacket. Oh, really? I suppose all hitmen would rather stroll to the bathroom first, then come out and shoot the guy when he could've just walked over and done it from the counter. This isn't the Godfather where Michael had to hide the gun in the bathroom because he was being patted down when he got there. This dude could've just kept the gun in a pocket, whipped it out, shot Tony and ran. Besides, with Phil gone, all the tension for me seeped away. I know you can't trust anyone mafia related, but it didn't appear to me that after the deal Tony made with New York that anyone would want him dead. So to me, Members Only Jacket Dude was just a random guy with bad hair who needed to take a piss. Whoopeefuckingdo.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

I Hope He's Paying the Bulk of the Rent

So what does it mean when I dream that Jorge Posada and I are roommates and that one day he, in full Yankee home uniform, knocks me over and starts making out with me and I have to break it to him gently that I'm in love with someone else, and deep inside I'm gleeful that I could blog that a Yankee kissed me even though I wasn't interested in him? I mean, I don't even think of Jorge in that way (I like my men to pee in the urinal/toilet, not on their hands) and he looked way hurt when I told him (sorry again, Jorge). I wonder if he'll move out now?

Friday, June 08, 2007

Awesomeness of the Day

So Elizabeth sent along this site today, and by way of the greatest passive-aggressive notes written in the last month (which is perfect for my apartment building and sometimes my workplace), I found these other two blogs, which detail my two biggest pet peeves as a copy editor and are altogether hilarious:

Apostrophe Abuse

The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks

And an exchange of the day, brought on by Jason's birthday cupcakes:

Production Guy Jeff: You should have little Puerto Rican flags!
Copy department: Why?
Production Guy Jeff: The parade's this weekend!
Jason: (Sighs) Look at those guys, trying to steal my thunder.
(It was later stolen further by Paris Hilton's back-to-prison meltdown. Like she doesn't have enough money to have her own birthday or something. Bitch.)

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Wah, Wah, Wah

Picture 1

Shannon Stewart is my new best friend.

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Monday, June 04, 2007

The Yankee Chicken's Travel Diary: Cooperstown

June 1: Aunt Vicki and Uncle Dexter pick us up and we drive a much shorter distance than that time I went to Wisconsin. Remember that? I went to the Midwest. I rule. Anyhow, there were lots of trees and mountains. And cows. Since I am only used to seeing cranky old people and drunken frat boys when I look out my window at home, this was new to me.

June 2: In order to be on top of our game during our exploration of the Hall of Fame, we eat a hearty breakfast. This is me perusing the menu that was made like a newspaper. Except there were no sports columns bringing up A-Rod's salary or his clutchiness or the size of his penis, so I'm wary of calling it a newspaper, per se.

Here I am, agog at the locker and jersey of the great Babe Ruth. I am amazed to think of what was bringing him and his Yankee teams good luck back in the day, as I'm not sure one Yankee Chicken could be responsible for all of that greatness. It must have been a whole army of chickens...

Remember when the Yankees used to rape and pillage other teams and it was awesome? I do. And so does the Hall of Fame. I almost cried when I saw this exhibit, honoring the Yankee teams of the late 90s, even though I only remember the 1999 team, which is when I was born and my good-luckness was brought into this world.

I like that Derek looks taken aback by my presence in this photo, from when he was an adolescent bringing his own kind of good luck to the Yankees back in the special times.

Here I am walking through a turnstile from the old Yankee Stadium. Not that I've been to the current Yankee Stadium, since KB refuses to take me, but I assume it's nice.

Hey, another cow. But this one has something to do with some guy named Phil Rizzuto, who is apparently important to Yankee lore. I wouldn't know because I am a very young Yankee Chicken and he was before my time. But KB insisted I get my picture taken with another piece of dressed-up livestock.

Oh, look. I think someone hurt themselves while playing baseball and it is important for some reason. GAG. This is me examining the sock to see if it is indeed real blood. Since I watch lots of procedural dramas like CSI, I think I can be an authority on such things, and to me, it does not look like blood but it does looks like LAME.

And this is me flipping off the lame. Because I am The Yankee Chicken, and that is what I do.

When I Wasn't Flipping Off Peoples' Garments...

Some images from Cooperstown (the, like, friendliest town in America, I swear. I don't know what they've got going on in the water supply up there, but man, EVERYONE was super-duper cheerful) and the Hall (a very tasteful museum that doesn't go over-the-top in its exhibits and just feels like the exact way the history of baseball should be portrayed, if that makes sense -- although, the whole Shhh!!! Don't mention Hoboken in the same breath as "birthplace of baseball" was kind of annoying) . The Chicken's Travel Diary (i.e. what you're all really dying to read) will come later.



Hall Shrine



Saturday, June 02, 2007

Bite me.

Friday, June 01, 2007

TGBJCYOAM, Question No. 7

Because it needs to be rivived, yo:

7. What are your favorite simple pleasures?

-- When you're somewhere where the air conditioning is blasting and freezing-ass cold and then you take that first step outside and the heat actually feels comforting.

-- Being hugged from behind.

-- Hoboken's population drop on summer weekends.

-- The first snow of the year and how it can make the most hoity-toity of individuals full of child-like wonder.

-- That even when your team is sucking, any individual game can turn exciting and miraculous.

-- The feeling in your abs after you've laughed really hard. It's kind of akin to that whole post-puking feeling, and yet it is awesome.

-- The smell of fresh-cut grass after it has been laying in the sun for a day or two.

-- Inside jokes.

-- Time Life Music infomercials, from the Sock Hop collection to A.M. Gold, to that one that the dudes from Air Supply host, I can be sucked into those things right quick because they are AWESOME.

-- Stretching when you first wake up.

-- The fact that Sound Man delights not just me, but my entire season ticket crew, and some of my fellow bloggers.