Friday, August 31, 2007

Carb Face: The Return

Okay, that's kind of exaggerating because he's been sitting next to us most games, but tonight was the first time he's acknowledged us since That Night. And what did he want to know? "Are we cool?" Which is what he apparently drunkenly asked Steph, and I totally missed, even though I was sitting right there. Steph assured him that we were fine, but then throughout the game weird things happen, like his one cronie who sits on the other side of the Stadium walks by after a visit and is like "Go Journal." Then, Erica, Steph and I are chatting and all of a sudden, Steph's like "Someone's reading over your shoulder," and Carb Face is sitting right behind us with his friends, and for a minute I think he's taking a picture of the Journal with his phone, so I snap the Journal shut, which is met with derisive comments from his friends. Like, WTF with the Journal obsession, boys? Get the fuck over it. We've got one game left with Carb Face, his dudes and their special brand of douchebaggery, so let's hope I can keep the Beaster in check for that long.

Oh yeah, and the game sucked. But you knew that already.

A Nugget of Wisdom in an Otherwise Turd of a Movie

So I was watching the extremely overwrought and somewhat uncessessarily depressing The Last Kiss last night, and though I wouldn't even bother to watch it again, I did find this one line from the movie extremely awesome:

Stop talking about love. Every asshole in the world says he loves somebody. It means nothing. It still doesn't mean anything. What you feel only matters to you. It's what you do to the people you say you love, that's what matters. It's the only thing that counts.

That's just laden with so much common sense right there, I was surprised it didn't sink out of my television and onto the floor....

I've Already Started Packing

Have just spent the last hour listening to my lovely, probably drunken neighbor's feet assault the floor as he stomps back and forth between his living room and bedroom, while he intermittently opens and closes every single drawer he owns. I have banged on the ceiling several times, but while it seems I can hear him peeing in his own toilet through the tissue-thin walls, he cannot hear my fist pounding on what is his floor. It wouldn't be so bad, if oh, it wasn't 12:54 a.m. and my alarm is going off in roughly 5 hours and 36 minutes. But it doesn't matter because his alarm is going off in about 4 hours, at which point he -- and his girlfriend -- will start their stomping all over again because they are apparently of the species of human that doesn't require sleep.

Did I mention I'm moving? To a place where the bedrooms are carpeted? Yeah, October 1 can't come soon enough.

ETA: 1:34 a.m.: After the last round of stomping, I decided that I needed to confront this face-to-face, got dressed and went upstairs, where I knocked on the door...and no one answered. Now, if we lived in 1 bedroom apartments, I'd have banged on that door till my fingers bled, but seeing as how he has two roommates who are usually pleasant in the hallways, and are probably sleeping at the moment, I went back downstairs. Because I actually give some thought my neighbors' sleeping patterns.

And yes, he is still awake and moving around. This is seriously the most obnoxious it's ever been.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

Because Roger is Still Stefano

I've finally realized what Andy Pettitte reminds me of right now -- He's like the really good and trustworthy past boyfriend who hurt you terribly with one major fuckup, which led to your breakup, and then he's suddenly back in your life, which you were kind of iffy about to begin with and so you're cold to him at first. Then, as he goes about his business and starts to make you happy again, you begin to realize what made you so good together to begin with. So you slowly begin to trust him again, but you don't let him know that because, duh, he broke your heart. And you keep your distance a bit as a result, even though you're glad he's back in your life.

At least this is how it usually goes down for "destiny couples" on soap operas. The only difference is that they ALWAYS get back together, and I never really thought Andy was coming back. But I do know that if we should ever get trapped in an elevator together, or are kidnapped and locked in an underground cave or time travel through a portrait to see ourselves in the 1800s or one of us needs to be rescued from a giant birdcage, we are SO getting back together, no holds barred.

andy = jb

IMG_1693 = Picture 2

It's just MEANT TO BE.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

ZOMG Cuteness

I am in lurve with that adorable squirrel that's stuck on top of the right field foul pole. I also lurve that the broadcasters and camera people stuck with him for so long, and even lurve Michael Kay a little for mentioning that the squirrel got to watch Damone's homer go by.

Anyone who makes a big deal about little animals who may be Yankee fans is okay in my book.

Monday, August 27, 2007

You Know What I Hate?

When things are a shell of their former self, and you have to sit there and remember the happier times and contrast it to the current blechiness. It kind of makes you resent the good times in a way.

Oh yeah, and Mike Mussina needs to stay far, far away from me right now.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

And You Don't Have to Tip Anyone!

To all my NYC readers freaking out about the possibility of a taxi strike next week, I'd like to remind you that there IS another way of getting to and from places in Manhattan that doesn't require you to set foot inside a crowded subway car:


That's right, you ride on top of the subway, a la Vincent.

God, that I had to help you discover this option makes me wonder just what you were doing in 1987....

Thursday, August 23, 2007

In Need of Jean (Jacket) Therapy

I saw this ad for Yahoo Personals a few weeks ago and it kind of horrified me, and then it disappeared and I didn't see again until today. So, of course, I screen grabbed it for your viewing pleasure as well:

Picture 1

Why was I horrified, you ask?

First, she's like, 15. She should not "snuggle up" with men when it's considered statutory rape.

Second, she's not even looking at him. How can she be into this dude if she's looking at the boy from her bio class to the left?

Third, he's wearing a denim jacket. Maybe he just stepped off his time machine from 1987, but I can't remember the last time I saw a dude wearing a denim jacket. Maybe he's European?

Monday, August 20, 2007

Happy Birthday, Blog!

Six years ago today I found out what a blog was. Six years later, I can't remember life without one. Oh, okay, I do -- it was called a diary and in my first 24 years, I finished one hardbound journal, and that was when I was 13 and ridiculous and thought Paula Abdul was robbed at the 1990 Grammys by Bonnie Raitt. I also managed six Yankee journals, but that doesn't count because baseball gives you something to write about for 162 pages a year. Yes, this is a heavily Yankee influenced blog, but as you may have noticed, I have no problem documenting the special and not-so-special moments of my life, and for me to actually want to write about it for six years is almost mind-boggling to me.

I think it's because I am, at heart, a writer and I like having an audience and a diary only lets the writer in. And how else would I have come across wonderful people like Lupe and June and Yankeebob and Kat and Beth, all of whom make me laugh and even have deep thoughts on a daily basis? And then they all come and leave comments here, with my other loyal readers like Ben and Yan and Hopbitters and Erica and Rana and Rick and Carolyn. And then there are all the people who do read every day and don't comment and they rock my world too. That you all make my blog a stop in your cyberspace searching is just so freaking cool. Even you, random reader searching for "taylors sleepover cake." Whatever that means.

But if I could have one blog birthday wish? That'd be for the Yankees to win the World Series. I could only imagine what blogging about that would be like.

Sunday, August 19, 2007

The Yankee Chicken: Friend to All. Who are Awesome.

Chicken: I want to invite Edwar Ramirez to my birthday party.
KB: Come again?
Chicken: Yes, I want him to come over and play Boggle with me and Guy the Godzilla and Cousin Bert and Gary and then stay for ice cream cake. And maybe he'll want to watch Mannequin with us too.
KB: And just how am I supposed to make this happen?
Chicken: I don't care how you make it happen. He's my new best friend, filling the void in my heart left by Shawn Chacon.
KB: Okaaaaay...
Chicken: Don't you think he's worthy?
KB: I --
Chicken: Because I, for one, think he's way cool and he'd probably think the same of me. And I don't want him to cry when he doesn't get an invite. He's cried enough for one season.
KB: I hate to tell you this Chicken, but your birthday falls right before...a certain special time of the year that I will never take for granted, especially if the Yankees are still playing then.
Chicken: Oh, you mean the playoffs!
KB: Shhhhh! Don't jinx it. And yes. He may be a bit preoccupied.
Chicken: Hmm. Yeah, I can see that. Okay then, maybe we can get him to go trick-or-treating with me on Halloween!
KB: I don't ---
Chicken: We could go as twins! Look!


KB: Doesn't have heart to tell him he's built more like Joba Chamberlain.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

We Didn't Start the Fire...But There Was A Fire, I SWEAR

So, Ken and I are walking through the Newport section of Jersey City (or Flower Town, if you're so inclined) today, enjoying a leisurely stroll in the sunshine, when we come upon a sidewalk tree that looks like it's on fire. What I mean is, there's smoke coming from the mulch around the base, and little flames climbing up onto the sidewalk. For some reason, Ken and I appear to be the only ones concerned about this, as everyone driving by on the busy road next to the sidewalk is all whatev. We're all "what should we do?" because when was the last time you saw random landscaping being licked by flames? So we stop and notice a few cigarette butts in the mulch and Ken Ranger Ricks that "we should kick dirt on it" and we try doing that, but the smoking won't stop, and it's windy as hell, which isn't helping.

At this point, people start walking by and think we're nuts or we're the ones that started the fire because they don't offer to help. We step away from our heroic work for a moment when it looks like it's been put out, and it starts to flare up again. Like, seriously, people, think long and hard before you flick a cigarette into dry ground from now on, okay? Because it's a bitch to stop with no water. So it's time to call 911, which, yeah, that's a pleasant experience. First, try explaining what's going on — "A tree base was on fire and we kicked and stomped it out but it keeps flaring up" — THREE TIMES. That's how many times I was tranferred, all the while the dispatchers thinking I've got issues, I'm sure. Finally, with the ground not smoking or smoldering anymore, the fire department is dispatched and Ken and I sit there embarassed as hell as a fire engine with lights and sirens blazing and the token hot firefighter comes whirling around the corner. We're all "they're going to think we're lying" but then, thankfully, the mulch starts to smoke again as they pull up.

Of course, they look at us like "What the hell are we doing here," and we point to the bit of smoke that's coming up from the ground and explain AGAIN what was going on and one of the firemen literally dumps his Diet Coke on the smoldering mulch and the smoke disappears. One of the firemen laughs and thanks us for doing their job, and they then hose the dirt and mulch down (spraying Ken and I with mud in the process, to which Ken comments that no good deed goes unpunished) so it won't start flaming again because I guess they believe us, despite their laughing.

But yeah, I think I'll leave the hero business to Enrique Iglesias because apparently being a good Samaritan just makes you look crazy.

Baseball: The Great Unifier

There is something particularly awesome about stepping off the bus after a long night at the Stadium and hearing a drunk guy across the street yell "Yeah, Yankees, YEAAAHHHHH" because you are wearing your Yankee hat. Also awesome is when you pass an unassuming middle-aged dude and as you pass you hear him mutter "Let's go Yankees." It's much better than the Yankees suck stuff I get every now and then and it's lovely to know that I'd probably have nothing else in common with these dudes, but when it comes to our affections for baseball teams, are hearts all lie in the same place. Aww.

Anyhow, with all the rain I usually get on Fridays, I've never sat through a delay BEFORE the game started. I must say I like it much better at that point instead of with two outs in the top of the ninth, which is what I usually get.

Sound Man tonight was excellent, because the category was American Idol winners (Kelly, Ruben or Carrie), and of all people regarding this topic, I never thought I'd see the day when Derek Jeter would rub his hands together, declare "Hmm. This is a good one" and look deep in thought for several moments before declaring Carrie Underwood as his fave. Erica claims he only picked her because Carrie's cute, but I have a sneaking suspicion it's because "Before He Cheats" has more plays on his iPod than "Flying Without Wings." Also, Damone put lots of thought into his answer, and A-Rod, disappointingly, declared he had no idea who any of those people were. Oh, A-Rod. I always figured you for an America's Next Top Model sorta guy anyway.

Quote of the game: "I can't believe you were here and his wife wasn't." -- Steph, on me being at A-Rod's 500th.

Question of the game: Steph and I both swear we heard Bob Sheppard introduce Ivan Rodriguez as Pudge Rodriguez. Can anyone confirm?

Mind-boggling thought of the game: Joba Chamberlain's intro music tonight was "Smells Like Teen Spirit"...which was popular when he was like SIX YEARS OLD. UGH.

Friday, August 17, 2007

Being Honest?

Really feels good. I hope that doesn't make me a bitch. Ah well.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Things I Hate -- Aka, Blog Therapy

-- Rolling chairs on hardwood floors, merely moving a grand total of 8 inches back and forth but literally creating enough noise to rival a fucking thunderstorm.

-- Fickleness -- in baseball players and real people.

-- The smell in the ladies' room at my office.

-- People who don't have their money ready when they get on the bus.

-- The fact that I have to sleep with a white-noise machine.

-- My ever-ripping contact lenses.

-- When people are mean to the nice workers at the Subway I frequent.

-- That if I hit the supermarket at 6:40 p.m., it will be more crowded than a clown car.

-- That people who can't stand to see others happy actually exist.

-- That it's damn near impossible to get all my friends together in the same place right now.

-- That Hoboken requires about 35 ice cream places, none of which are Dairy Queen.

-- That laser hair removal is so f'ing expensive.

-- Having a new cell phone, minus all the awesome text messages that are saved on your old phone.

-- The smell outside the Burger King on 40th and 7th Ave.

-- "Wednesday's child is full of woe." What kind of twisted jackass dumps that on a kid in the name of rhyme scheme? (And I say that as a Saturday's child.)

-- That the totally sensible golashes/rainboots that are all the rage right now will probably no longer be fashionable in about two years.

-- Automatically being labled "the kind you marry" or "the kind you take home to meet mom." Like, barf.

I'd Make it a Search Term of the Day...

...if I knew what it meant. But still, too bizarre (probably just because of poor grammar -- I'm sure he/she was looking for the world's scariest shit or something equally charming) to not post:

Picture 1

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Gonna Take a Ride Across the Moon, EDWAR! and Me

So, EDWAR! came in and was awesome, and then Shelley Duncan was awesome and then Mo was terrible. I hate this game sometimes. But I do appreciate the resemblence my dad noticed in my new favorite Yankee and a certain movie alien:

ph_469735ET Lifesize Replica CU Web

I know "Heartlight" was Tanyon Sturtze's song, but I gotta think it's EDWAR's tune now.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

In Honor of the First Voice I Ever Heard Call a Yankee Game...

...two of my favorite "poems" from O Holy Cow! The Selected Verse of Phil Rizzuto:


O wait a minute.
You gotta take one shot of this.
'Cause this is a true...
This is,
This is true.
I was,
O he was in Death Wish.
With Charles Bronson.
He was mean.
And he really got shot up.
Holy cow.

-- August 9, 1992
Boston at New York
Sam Militello pitching to Jack Clark
Second inning, no outs, bases empty
Yankes lead 3-0

Hall and Nokes

So second time around
Mel Hall and Matt Nokes
Solve Tapani's pitch.
Heh heh.
That's right.
John Moore's on the ball.
It does sound like a good rock group.
Hall and Nokes.
Hall and Oates?
Oh yeah?
That's one I missed.
I'll have to go out
And buy some of their records tonight.

-- June 11, 1991
New York at Minnesota
Kevin Tapani pitching to Alvaro Espinoza
Fifth inning, two outs, two base runners
Twins lead 1-0

So Long, Scooter

This majorly bummed me out. I knew he couldn't have been well since he skipped Old Timer's Day, but man, it's still kind of jarring when you hear someone you grew up watching/listening to/laughing at has passed. I always enjoyed how jolly he was, and he made baseball accessible to someone who may not have understood everything at the time. I'll always appreciate that.

Monday, August 13, 2007

I'm Sure it Was a Bratty Tourist Child that Really Cracked the Liberty Bell

So on Saturday Erica and I took a trip to Philadelphia, a city teeming with children of all ages who won't let you anywhere near the exhibits at the Franklin Institute because they're all interested in breaking said exhibits and not letting the grownups have any fun. But I digress. Our final destination was Citizens Bank Park to see the Braves play the Phillies. And while there were shrieking children there too (seriously. Even their dad was like "Uh, stop it"), it didn't prevent us from enjoying the game.


I liked Citizens Bank Park overall. It's a ballpark, which I'm kind of growing tired of (can anyone actually build a STADIUM anymore? Cozy and quaint is everywhere now and every park is beginning to look alike. I don't need a 70s fug ashtray stadium, but something on a grander scale would be nice), but it's pretty and not overdone in cutesy-wootsy quirks. The bathrooms were clean and huge, and because the Stadium is open on the backside, it made for a nice breeze during the game, so they get points for that. The out-of-town scoreboard is awesome in that you can see how many outs there are in the away games and how many runners are on base. There weren't any minor-league-esque between-inning happenings which I appreciated and the people we encountered who worked there were friendly and helpful, though a few were kind of...creepy? But you'll get that anywhere.

What I didn't like? The hot dog -- meh. For one thing, it was pre-made and left under a heat lamp, so it was lukewarm and secondly, it had this tang to it that I didn't enjoy. One of the best stadium hot dogs I've ever had was at The Vet, so I was kinda bummed they changed them around. They get props, though, for using potato-bread hot dog rolls. And I will say that exiting the ballpark itself SUCKS (I think I've gotten out of Yankees/Red Sox games quicker) but the traffic outside was non-existent, probably because the parking lots are spaced out well.

Here's another thing that left me kind of huh? It was Alumni Night, so all the old Phillies greats came back. As a promotion, the giveaway was a set of current Phillies' baseball cards, and in 100 packs there were special cards of an Alumni entitlting the lucky fan to a replica jersey of that player. Well, guess who was one of the 100? So, I debated giving my Bob Boone card to an actual Phillies fan, but figured I never win anything, and hey, this is the man who created the guy who gave me one of the best nights of my life, and also sired Sleepy, so I wanted it. I went to the guest services area where one is supposed to collect their jersey and there's a sign saying that they were out of shirts, and to call this number after Labor Day. Here's my question: You KNOW how many packs had these special cards and yet you still don't have enough jerseys? The hell? How can I pay tribute to the father of awesomeness if I won't have his shirt?

Friday, August 10, 2007

Coming Up Next: A-Rod is Bat Boy!

Picture 1Picture 2

This isn't even NY Tabloidy. This borders on "Brangelina -- Splitting? No, Together. No, She's Anorexic and ate Maddux who is Really Lindsay Lohan! Oh Noes!" Tabloidy. THERE ISN'T EVEN A STORY HERE. Chipper Jones merely stated the obvious -- that any player who reaches a milestone is going to be under suspicion. And then Lupicass, whose column I refuse to read, probably just takes that a step further to indict the Player's Union, who has, oh, several hundred members whose names aren't Alex Rodriguez. But doesn't it seem so much more scandalous to make it look like A-Rod is really coming under the microscope? When he is always the one people seem to believe is clean? To sell newspapers? To stupid people?

GOD. They are going to be so bummed if they run him out of town because who are they going to put on their backpages then?

Thursday, August 09, 2007

What Happens When You Give People Pens and Alcohol?

Why, Win, Booze or Draw, of course, starring Erica, Jason, Rana and KB! It also helps when you get released from work at 4 p.m. and have ample time to doodle and imbibe, and doodle some more, and two-fist when the Yankees start ├╝bersucking, and doodle, doodle, doodle the evening away.

Want to see what we all look like? For reals? Well, here you go! (Thanks to Jason for the lightning-quick scanning):


Three of these were drawn by Erica, who almost died yesterday from heatstroke, and therefore wasn't drinking. Rana is responsible for Erica's portrait. And no, Erica isn't referencing the Mets in that talk-bubble. She's letting her hatred for mixed-breed dogs shine through. Yup. Totally.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Exchange of the Day

Art is talking about watching McGwire's record-breaking home run season in 1998.

Art: I was actually really into it back then.

Jason: Dude, it's because he was one of the Bash Brothers!

Art: Yeah, or the 'Roid Relatives.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Exchange of the Night

Phone rings, following Yankees/Jays bench-clearing

KB: Hello?
KB's Mom: What is going on with your Yankees?
KB: The Blue Jays started it!
KB's Mom: I know, I've just never seen A-Rod so pissed.
KB: Well, they got their revenge yesterday by throwing behind him. Hitting him in the knee tonight is just wrong.
KB's Mom: He was literally spitting...whatever that was in his mouth...and he just kept staring at that guy. Like a sumo wrestler.

Sunday, August 05, 2007

In Which I Make Almost 2,500 People Seasick

So that shaky-ass A-Rod video I posted on YouTube yesterday? Yeah, check it out:

Picture 2

And it's honor-worthy:

Picture 1

Man, am I glad I had the foresight to disable comments on that stuff. Because I don't think I could tolerate the "Arod scks and ur not kewl cuz this isn't even the hmrun" brigade that seems to invade every YouTube post. I'm sure with over 2,000 people viewing, it would've come down to that at some point. I feel bad if people are looking for the actual home run and they get my stuff, but I labled it A-Rod 500 for my own organzing purposes, so suck it. Oddly enough, my between innings video has gotten more views, but it doesn't rank anything. Hmm.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

I Was There, Bitchez

I woke up this morning with this incredible urge to go to today's game, and within 15 minutes of rolling out of bed, I'd secured myself a ticket. I was like "I'll be damned if he hits this home run the day AFTER my normally scheduled game" because the awesome stuff ALWAYS happens on Saturday. And so I took myself and my camera to the Bronx, found myself in the oven-hot left field tier and sat there, determined to see A-Rod hit home run number 500 before I died of heatstroke.

And then it happened. I'm standing there, watching the ball come in my direction, thinking "that can't have enough" and at the same time muttering "Stay fair, stay fair." And when it clears the fence, it suddenly doesn't feel so hot anymore, possibly because every human being is jumping up and down around me and creating a breeze. I bust out my camera, but I have this incredibly hard time taking photos and movies because my hands are shaking. I'm freaking out and at the same time bummed because Steph and Erica aren't there, nor anyone else I know for that matter and I have no one to high five. But the Sad Clown moment is lessened by watching all the celebrating going on at home plate and the scoreboard flashing "500" and then seeing A-Rod sitting in the dugout looking like the weight of 100 Cecil Fielders has been lifted off him, as he very obviously says "I'm glad that's over."





And thank god he hit that home run in his first at bat, because GOOD LORD it was hot. I'm even happier when Hughes gives up a hit, because I know there's no way in hell I'm lasting the whole game and I can only wait for so many milestones -- and this from the girl who will stay till the last out in 14-4 blowouts and freeze her ass off an entire game till "New York, New York" is played. I'm not a wuss when it comes to these things, but when I drink an entire bottle of water and don't even have the urge to pee because I've sweated the whole thing out, I know I've got to go. I make it till the 4th inning, the earliest I've ever left any game. But I am glad now because it is over three house since the game began and they are only in the 7th. Sorry, guys, but I only have so much bodily fluid, you know?

But thank you, A-Rod, for doing it when I was there. I think you kind of owed me for all that defenditude anyhow.

The shaky video, post homer:

Friday, August 03, 2007

Lightning Crashes, a Home Run Dies

Is it wrong to admit being a bit bummed after a win? Like, I went to two games this week in the hopes of seeing A-Rod homer and it wasn't meant to be. And that's not totally even why I'm most disappointed. Nay, it's all because earlier this week Steph e-mailed Erica and me that there was a chance of thunderstorms tonight and I was all "Maybe A-Rod will homer with lightning streaking across the sky." And of course, tonight, this bad-ass lightning storm starts rolling in around the 8th, but A-Rod was only going to get another at bat if the Yanks rallied a bit. So they do and people start getting excited that A-Rod could be coming up, but then with one out Jeter grounds into what looks like a double play, and I swear to god, as that ball bounded toward second base there was this brief moment of outrage, as if the majority of the crowd wanted to tear off The Captain's testicles and hurl them under the 4 train in that second, which, yeah, never thought I'd see that. But then, joy of joys, there's an error and Jeter's safe and A-Rod comes to bat and the crowd's on edge. And there's lightning crossing from cloud to cloud and wind blowing meaningfully and I fully expect some intense opera music to come blaring out of the sky and everyone's freaking out because it just seems destined at this point. And yeah, you know what happens by now. The rain storm is just a rain storm and the opera music is really Paul Cartier having his way with the Hammond Organ and A-Rod flys out to right. SIGH.

And you know how I hate when people go batshit crazy when they think a fly ball to shallow center is a home run? Well, that's ten-fold when A-Rod comes to bat these days. I've never witnessed such stupidity in my life - wanting a home run is one thing. Thinking everything that pops off his bat is OH MY GOD IT'S GOING OUT is another. As Erica said, when you see the infielders backing up because they think they have a chance at catching it, IT'S NOT A HOME RUN. God, that annoys the crap out of me.

Oh, and here's the exchanges of the night:
After the flashbulb frenzy goes off as A-Rod swings
KB: It's like a disco!
Steph: But not for Lola.

KB: Sees flickering to the left, notices it's a lot of lightning OH SHIT!
Erica and Steph: alarmed Oh my god, what?!?
KB: throwing the Yankee Journal and camera protectively into bag It's coming!!

Apparently, they thought something was really wrong and I was about to die or something. But can I help it if I don't want the Journal to become a streaming mess of ink? Do we not remember how long it took me to find one? It cannot meet a Casablanca note-in-the-rain end. Not on my watch.

9th inning lightning. Oooh. Ahh:

The Beaster's Hot in Herre

So, I walked in today, and my cubicle area was 85.1 degrees, which kind of set me off a bit. (No, MovinCool Classic Plus 14 hasn't been helping. Slacker.) I took a photo of the thermometer and sent it to our office manager, who has been going to bat for us with the building. After we fired off some "Grr, We're Pissed! And Hot!" e-mails this week, we kept getting told something would get done, and until this a.m. NOTHING got done, hence the following...

Picture 1

Now, I'm not saying it's the real reason, but since I dropped the OSHA bomb, we've gotten a response from the building (the AC serving our area has recently died or something, which is awesome considering we've been hot FOR TWO YEARS) and told it will be fixed this weekend, another fan added to our area and ice-cold drinks delivered from the local deli. The chilly, crisp air emanating off my Coca-Cola Classic can has made the thermometer go down to a temperate 83.4. Or not. But at least we know something is getting done.

Moral of the story: Don't fuck with the Beaster, y'all. Especially in the heat.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

Favorite Search Term of the Week

Picture 1

Use it in place of your favorite curse word this week. Try not to think of what this person was looking for.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

TGBJCYOAM Question No. 9

More Harry Potter fun, courtesy of fellow Hufflepuff, June:

your favorite class at Hogwarts?

I think Care of Magical Creatures would be awesome. You get to spend time with Hagrid and you get to meet charming beasts like Buckbeak.

the spell you have the hardest time with?

It's not a spell per se, but occlumency seems like some tough shit. It would be like if Mike Lupica were trying to break into my thoughts and I had to drive him out. It would not be pleasant.

would you play quidditch and if so, what position?

I don't know that I'd be coordinated enough to ride a broom and concentrate on other people (and random flying objects) who are trying to beat the snot out of me with their brooms. I think, perhaps, I would blog about my favorite quidditch team and have season tickets to their games and live vicariously through the players.

Because It's Been Too Long

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I love that even though A-Rod is having possibly the sickest year any Yankee has had in recent memory, the media can still find something to get on him about. And that would be his outright audacity not to reach a personal milestone fast enough for their liking. Listen, it's not like his lack of homerism (OMG -- he hasn't hit one in SEVEN WHOLE DAYS) is adversely affecting the team. Like, I didn't see them needing him last night. So why bother pointing out his current slump if it's not hurting anyone? Oh, right, we have to drive him out of town. Silly me.

And what pisses me off is that everyone knows how much this dude presses when there's something meaningful on the line, and this shit just adds fuel to his mental freakout bonfire. Not that they have to throw flowers at him and say "you'll get 'em next time, slugger." Just lay the fuck off because, in reality, his 500th home run means the most to him and doesn't really belong to anyone else. When he hits it is when he hits it. Shut up, Daily News. Jesus H. Christ.

In Which A-Rod Carries a Watermelon

It was like my wish for A-Rod to homer tonight somehow got the brain of Abby Normal, mutated, and then 7 players go deep for 8 home runs while A-Rod...doesn't. It was kind of ridiculous after the fourth homer, when Ken's aunt's eyes were as big as saucers and she wondered if this was what every game was like. I was just as stunned because...Jesus Christ, when was the last time YOU saw a game with that many home runs? I didn't quite know what to do with myself. I mean, when Shelley Duncan joined the party, all I could do was laugh. And wonder if I should switch my season tickets to Tuesday nights.

It was also the first time I helped a bunch of people (Ken's aunt, uncle and two cousins) lose their Yankee Stadium virginity and the Yankees actually won. And it's not even till the 7th inning when Ken's all "This is appropriate, homers for the Homers" and I'm all "Oh, your family likes getting behind the home team?" And he's all "No, their last name is Homer" to which I almost couldn't speak, such was the heavy meaningfulness of this discovery. If there was some way to get them to move from Pittsburgh to New York, I would make them come to every single game. They're like The Yankee Chicken, in people form.

Line of the night honors go to Ken, who, during A-Rod's first at bat decides it would be anticlimatic for him to homer so early in the game because "It would be like pulling Baby out of the corner at the beginning of the movie." We then wondered what it would be like if he homered, "I've Had the Time of My Life" started playing, and when he got to home plate, A-Rod jumped into Jeter's awaiting arms to do The Lift. Alas, none of that happened. But man, the place went batshit crazy whenever he came to bat. I recorded his second AB just to show the flashbulbs. No wonder the dude's psyching himself out -- it's like a giant strobe light flicks on whenever he swings: