Sunday, August 31, 2008

I Want a Dog Named Chauncey!

And you're only going to understand that if you watch Mad Men, (quite possibly the best drama I have ever seen on television) and I think that's, like, two of my readers, so this post is kind of falling on deaf ears (eyes?).

Catch up on it if you can, people. You'll thank me for it.

Next Time, I Root for the Tornado

I was just watching The Weather Channel's coverage of Gustav, and they have one reporter guy in New Orleans who was all "Yeah, we're in the middle of a tornado warning here and the sirens are going off and the wind's blowing and I see some rotation in those clouds up there..." and I'm all "GET INSIDE, ASSHOLE!" This isn't a downpour, it's a freaking TORNADO. And then they move to their reporter in a quiet Mississippi town and he's like "Stay up, Mike, because If we have to go back to you [since it's more interesting there] we will."


I know this is their jobs, to report on the weather from the places where this stuff is happening, but what do viewers have to gain from watching a reporter get sucked up by a funnel cloud or knocked unconscious by flying debris? To me, it's either 1) the reporter being a macho crackhead envisioning some kind of award for his ballsiness, 2) the reporter being that stupid as to think he's helping viewers by putting himself in significant danger or 3) The Weather Channel likes being melodramatic in what is already a highly dramatic situation and is keeping this dude out there for ratings. I guess I just hate when it becomes about the reporter more than the actual story. And also, these are the first people to tell you to take extreme shelter when a tornado is bearing down on you, and here they are standing outside waiting for it to come by and say hi for the cameras.


Saturday, August 30, 2008

Freaky Friday?

That's exactly what Steph called last night's game, because it was bizarrely awesome. There was rain, there was a dude who ran on the field and got tackled by like 17 security people, there was...Carl Pavano?...there was Mariano getting a save, there was a win (for...Carl Pavano?)! Seriously, it was the fourth win I'd seen on a Friday ALL SEASON. So that might explain why we were all so giddy by the 8th inning when Mo was brought in, and even more so when they actually won.

It's amazing. When "Enter Sandman" came on, the place, as usual, went batshit. There was such an energy surging through the Stadium at that point, and it got so loud, it made me remember just how magical it can be to be there sometimes. The last few games I've gone to have been somewhat painful to sit through, but at every one, there was at least one moment with a faint sign of a rally or something where the crowd suddenly just comes together. It's like just because the team is sucking right now, it doesn't mean we've forgotten how to cheer, and that we'll latch onto those moments because it's what you're supposed to do as a fan. I don't know if it's because everyone knows these are the last few games at Yankee Stadium or because people are still holding out hope for a miraculous playoff run or if people are just drunk.

But I do know that there are sometimes when you just can't beat being there, and last night, crappy season and all, was one of them.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

I Gotta Say...

...I think political conventions of any kind are always a bit schmaltzy, a wee bit self-congratulatory, and just an opportunity to blow sunshine up peoples' asses — and I haven't changed my mind about that. But I've got to say I am WAY psyched to see the giant Blue Hen head on top of one of the Delaware delegates' signs.

That's all.

I Hate People

This is for you, Mr. Douchebag who was all "A-Rod single-handedly lost this game" to his mother on the way out of the Stadium, and who guffawed when I reminded him that "Andy Pettitte was kind of to blame for this one," and who then responded, "But A-Rod sucked at the plate and had the huge fucking error.":

You'll notice that while Alex Rodriguez had a god-awful night (to the point where even I was disgusted), he was 1) In no way solely responsible for the loss 2) Timed his error well, seeing as how a run didn't score off of it. I am so sick and tired of people not wanting to see the forest for the trees here. Stop being in denial, people: THE WHOLE TEAM SUCKS RIGHT NOW. And guess what? They'd still be sucking without Alex Rodriguez.

Get your heads out of the sand. Geez.

Monday, August 25, 2008

12 Angry Men, 1 Kinda Horrified KB

OK, so, I was watching 12 Angry Men last night, and while I found it to contain phenomenal acting, excellent dialogue and a plot that held my interest throughout, it left me shaking my head. I know! You're all like, "What is the matter with you, KB?! It's one of the best movies of all time." And perhaps it is. But there was one kinda huge plot point that took me out of the movie - and considering how realistic the rest of the film felt, I couldn't believe they'd ask me to suspend my disbelief for the sake of fiction here. If you've never seen it, don't read any further, because I'm about to spoil it for you. Kay? Ok.

Remember the part where the jury is analyzing the knife, and they're all "This is, like, SO the murder weapon, Henry Fonda's character, so you and your reasonable doubt ass need to sit down"? And then Henry Fonda's character produces a knife very similar to the murder weapon and they're all like "whoa"? And he's like "Yeah, I bought this a few blocks from where the murder happened" and he pretty much says he bought it to prove the knife in question may not belong to the defendant?


Now, maybe back in 1957, they didn't get to watch way excellent pre-jury selection videos called "You, the Juror" like I did the two times I've been called, but you're basically told not to take it upon yourself to become a detective and investigate in your free time. You're only supposed to take what you hear in the courtroom as evidence. And yet, in the movie, they don't treat Henry Fonda like he's done something wrong (nay, that's reserved for the lone Yankee fan guy who wants to make it to the game, not sit and deliberate with the renegade juror and company). Nobody even brings up that his shopping trip (and the questions he asked the owner of the pawn shop, where he procured the knife) IS SO AGAINST THE LAW. Was this NOT against the law back then or were they not told this? I don't know. But as a person who's had their ass dragged to jury duty and found it mind numbing (because I never get called on a case) I still retained this bit of knowledge and would *think* (and hope) that this was probably still the case back then.

Also, as much as I would've NOT convicted the defendant either, because the evidence was all kind of blurry, and, yes, Henry Fonda's character, reasonable doubt existed here, the movie doesn't prove that the guy DIDN'T kill his father. So, of course, he needed to be found not guilty, but the way the movie ends (with Henry Fonda walking tall out of the courthouse and a symphony of righteousness and bells of freedom swelling around him), you'd think they set free a guy who was ready for sainthood. In reality, THE GUY STILL COULD BE A MURDERER. They only proved that the evidence in question wasn't strong enough to convict. And that all witnesses make stuff up. But whatever.


Taking You Way Back...

So, last week, Rana and I were discussing something -- I don't remember what -- that made us both think of that bridge keeper guy on on Sesame Street. We couldn't remember what his purpose was at first, but then we thought about it and were like "Shapes! You had to give shapes to pass the bridge." I remembered he freaked me out for some reason, and so commenced us searching for him on YouTube. Color us surprised when we found out he only appeared on Sesame Street three times. Like, this dude left quite an impression for not being on all that much.

Here's the "circles" segment -- I think my favorite part is when the bridge keeper demands the crosser-wannabe (who Production Guy Jeff was convinced was from Chicago) to "Eat. The Pizza.":

How does one become a bridge keeper anyway?

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Let's Go Blue Hens!

Now, I normally don't talk politics on this blog because I believe 1) It's none of your damn business who I vote for/how I vote and 2) To each his own. But I have to give props to Joe BIden becoming Obama's VP candidate because, yeahhhhhh, UD in the houuuuuse! (White Houuuuuuse?) I mean, you don't see too many state-schoolers get nominated these days and it's about time my alma mater produced somebody other than Dallas Green and Rich Gannon (although recent grad Joe Flacco is going to eventually be the Ravens' starting QB, so that's something too).

Go Hens!

ETA: I love how UD isn't good enough for the NY Times: Mr. Biden was born in Scranton, grew up in the suburbs of Wilmington, Del., and went to Syracuse Law School.

I'm sure if he went to Harvard or Yale, that would be worth mentioning because that's such a rarity these days. *Rolls eyes*

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Quote of the Day

"I drove my butt munch and parked at the theater in the panties. The movie was very moist." -- Production Guy Jeff talking in Mad Libs and using the copy department's least-favorite words.

Seven Year Bisch

Happy birthday, blog! And I'm way psyched that kids still play this game (and that you read this blog, of course.)

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

And I Would've Been Surprised, Too, If Not For These Meddling News Sites

You know, I remember when if you wanted to know who won what in a tape-delayed Olympics, you had to go to a sports site to see it. If you were doing that, you were basically admitting that you were okay with being spoiled, and that you weren't waiting till prime time to be surprised. I'm not this type of person, but I know several who are, and refuse to go over to and those places just so they can enjoy the events as they happen. And I get that, because there are far too few surprises in life, and it's nice to watch a sporting event transpire without being tempered by the knowledge of who won beforehand.

So color me annoyed when I logged onto Yahoo this morning to check my e-mail, and on its front page, in the NEWS headlines section, it declares the winner of the women's balance beam final, which isn't being shown here for another 12 hours or so. Nothing coy, like "Surprise/No Surprise in Beam Final." No, it flat-out gave the winner. Like, not cool.

I feel like there must be all this enormous pressure now for media outlets to announce this stuff first, and maybe they're doing it to kill NBC's ratings, but come on. Let the individual make the decision of whether they want to know this stuff beforehand or not, and keep it in your sports section.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Living in America: Got to Have a Celebration

Last night was the kind of thing sentimental sports dorks like me live for -- a fellow countrymen on the brink of making history on the world's most intense athletic stage. And I got to watch said historical athletic moment happen while gathered with a bunch of friends (some of whom aren't sports fans in the least -- to the point where they joked that Dara Torres should be happy with the silver medal because "It's cute and she could wear it out.") who were freaking out, covering their eyes, biting their fingernails, gnawing on plastic cups, screaming at the TV, willing on the American relay team with such an intensity that I swear the room moved a whole city block at one point.

And when the team won and it was apparent that Phelps was indeed The Man, the room exploded and people where whooping and laughing and fist pumping and there were even some tears...from people who wouldn't normally take sports so seriously.

This is why Michael Phelps, hype machine surrounding him and all, was one of the awesomest things to happen to U.S. athletics (including professional sports) in a long time.

Here's the thing -- sometimes it feels like you're not supposed to root for this country, because we have so much and are a world super power and it makes you selfish to want more and whatnot. I've heard people say that when they root for America they are made to feel like they are "rooting for the Yankees" (which, yeah, that's another rant for another day). It's almost like it isn't PC to have any kind of patriotism sometimes (and I'm not talking about being for or against the war or anything like that. I'm just talking about feeling at one with your country) and it's kind of sad. Especially since you know if you lined up people of different nationalities to watch a race in the Olympics, more likely than not, the Brits won't be rooting for the French, who won't be rooting for the Spaniards, who won't be rooting for the Jamaicans -- nay, I would bet that they'd all go for their own countrymen. And I see nothing wrong with that.

So why should anyone feel bad about cheering on Michael Phelps? If it had been another country's athlete making sports history like this, of course I would've been interested in it. But because he WAS American, there was an extra, special kind of attachment. He's our guy. And with his humble, determined approach, he shows the world that, indeed, we are all not assholes in this country. Which is always a bonus.

I know the hype machine surrounding him was WAY over the top. As a sports fan, I found it condescending, because I didn't need NBC to tell me how rare and special this was. Yes, I knew that this wasn't like merely watching a team win the Super Bowl or the Yankees winning a game 5-4, or even someone winning a regular gold medal (and I know how ridiculous that sounds, but it's true), that there were so many factors going into Phelps' achievement that put it in another realm of sports watching all together.

But when I looked around last night, I noticed that most of the people in the room wouldn't have known who he was if not for the crazy hype. And even if they weren't really sports fans, they got into it for a week, and look what they got to see: a feat of athleticism that may not be matched for a long, long, LONG time. And they got several moments of joy watching him over his eight races, got to feel what it's like to cheer someone on who has dedicated their life to one goal, and given up a lot accomplish this near impossibility. The hype wasn't necessary, but it made for an awareness that may not have been there otherwise. (And also: The fact that he did pull this off with so much on him, THAT in itself is accomplishment.)

And as a result, with so many more people watching, it did something crazy -- it united everyone in a weird way. For example, at the Yankee game on Friday, I had Rana text me the result of Phelps' 7th race. When I shared with Erica that he had won, the guy in front of us, in Mets gear and rooting against the Yankees, turns around and was like "Phelps won? Was it a World Record?" Which made other people around him turn and ask the same question. And then they posted the result on the scoreboard and the Stadium went nuts -- for something completely non-Yankee related. The elderly, the middle-aged, school kids, the corporate jackasses in the good seats, the drunks in the Tier, the guys operating the scoreboard...they were all on the same exact page about a man they'd never met, but cheered on anyway. How often does that happen?

This man united this country more in one week than I've seen any politician do in my lifetime. Sad? Maybe. But still worthy of praise.

Now, I know there are people who think we should be uniting over politics and serious issues concerning our country and that sports are trivial and eye-roll worthy, but when you think about how rare it is to get millions of people on the same page about anything, it just shows you 1) Just what kind of history this guy was chasing and 2) That that may not have been such a bad thing.

So, yeah. I watched history made while in a crowded NYC apartment, among friends who would use medals to accessorize and friends who were holding their breath for the better part of a week, waiting to see it It could happen. And for a final 3 1/2 minutes last night, we all wanted the same thing and got to share in celebration when our guy pulled it off.

If that makes me a nationalistic, ethnocentric flag-waver, then so be it.

Saturday, August 16, 2008

In Which I Was Not Blown Away. Literally and Figuratively

You know how I'm always complaining about the weather on my Season Ticket Fridays? Well, yesterday takes the cake. Because I'm sitting at work around 5:30, when I get this text from Steph that says "Tornado Watch in Manhattan and Bronx" which is hilarious in and of itself, and then I go online and no, it's not a Tornado Watch. It's a Tornado WARNING. Shyeah. I look out our windows and sure enough, the sky is getting crazy black and my mom, who is 50 miles away, calls because she just saw it on the news.

Can I tell you, in all my 31 years, I'd never been part of a tornado warning before? And neither had most of my NYC-area-reared co-workers, so we were all kind of hilariously fascinated rather than, say, running from the giant plate glass windows lining our office. And also -- IT'S MANHATTAN. Like, for real? Production Guy Jeff is on the phone with his wife, who tells him that the newscasters are getting freaked out because they think no one is going to listen, because it's New York, and we have yet to have a disaster movie where the city is destroyed by a tornado, so why would we believe that shit? But it actually doesn't turn out to be all that bad, and no funnel clouds touch down, and no, we didn't even get any golf-ball sized hail.

In all of this, I realize that the game is going to be majorly delayed, and it may as well have been tornado-ed out, given the outcome (Jesus Christ, Mariano, what did I ever do to you?). Erica and her dad had gotten up to the Stadium early, and got some eerie pictures of the sky changing, and also found us some clutch covered seats, so we didn't get soaked like last time. Because of the crazy weather, Steph and Jen couldn't make it, and it's maybe for the best considering the game went almost 3 1/2 hours to just be...beyond meh.

Although, there were two awesome things non-game related tonight. One was Sound Man, which was The Songs of Journey. YES. And the choices were "Don't Stop Believin'," "Separate Ways" and "Faithfully." Well, of course "Don't Stop" wins, but not before Moose chimes in with "Wheel in the Sky" (I always knew he was a closet Steve Perry fan) and Jorge is like "Duuuude, 'Faithfully.' It's a great karaoke song." Which, OMG HOW AWESOME would that karaoke party be if you get Jorge Posada (who doesn't exactly sound all silver throated to begin with) belting "I'm still yooooaaaaaahhhhhhs"??

And then there was an actual "Friday Night Dance-Off," (which neither Erica nor I remember happening before) between Marlboro Man, the Jockey Guy in the next section over and "Disco Stu" who has crazy amounts of old-man rhythm. Disco Stu won, and, man, that dance-off was more inspiring than anything the Yankees did on the field, so I'll take it.


Friday, August 15, 2008

Give 'Em Their Due. Jesus.

So the U.S. goes 1-2 in the women's gymnastics all-around for the first time EVER in the Olympics, and some of the main sports pages it a tiny box.

Top story on ESPN, CNN and CNNSI: Michael Phelps. Which, dude is da bomb, but come on. He's merely tied his old (sick) record of 6 golds and still has two (highly publicized) races to go. I think Nastia Luikin and Shawn Johnson can steal the spotlight for just a few hours, you know?

CBS Sportsline: NFL TRAINING CAMP. Seriously?

MSNBC, NY Times (front page) Fox Sports: Okay, it's the top story here, right above Phelps.

Granted, this just happened within the last hour, but this is the Internet Age. And this ain't some small-time event that people don't care about. Nay, it's one of the premiere events at the Games. I hope this all changes by the time I wake up in the morning...

Thursday, August 14, 2008

Because Two Aren't Enough, Apparently

My guess is that this isn't a typo, but more of an ESPN web editor having a little "tee-hee" moment.

Anyway, go Jersey! Woo!

ETA: Because my mother is now a Phelps phan...from her latest e-mail:

"Kid is Unbelievable! Has no tush, but boy can that kid swim---He's a bonifide gazillionaire."

(And just so you know, I think she was making that assessment from NBC's rundown of Phelps' body -- yes, they analyzed his ass.)

Quote of the Day

"So did the Yankees die or something?" -- Ken, via IM, in response to the Post's melodramatic tombstone cover.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Olympic-Themed Quote of the Night

From an e-mail from my mom, titled "M. Phelps." The bolding and italing are all her:

I wanna see that kid beat M. Spitz---He is AMAZING. What lung power, my god. Watched him swim tonight.....and he eats like a total GAVONE.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Why I Love the Olympics

Because an otherwise sleepy Sunday night becomes a couch-gripping, teeth-clenching, "OMGCOMEONLASTLEGSWIMMERGUY" moment, and you know the same thing was going on around several million other homes as well.

And it's also awesome because 1) it was live and thus a complete surprise, 2) I love seeing athletes getting shut up after they shoot their mouths off, 3) the announcers got proven wrong (seriously, they were both like "Yeah, it will probably be silver" with less than a lap to go) 4) It keeps the Phelps 8-gold hopes alive, 5) the world record got freaking obliterated and 6) That was effing cathartic as hell. Especially considering how the Yankees have been playing lately.

And now I must go run to the mirror to make sure I didn't bust another blood vessel in my eye, such was my excitement.

You Know...

...back when Al Trautwig was a Yankees color commentator in the early 90s, I thought he was funny and likeable.

But Al Trautwig as the color commentator for Olympics gymnastics coverage? GOOD GOD, he's an insufferable douchebag. Can the man BE anymore melodramatic? From his cadence and phrasing in the pre-event packages to his comments during the the event itself, he is like the high school girl who just lurves herself some drama and tries to be part of said drama (and making it more dramatic) by delivering the story in, you guessed it, a dramatic way. And he gets worse every four years.

Gah, why can't there be an SAP button for this sort of thing?

In Which Christina, The Jersey Devil and I Are Momentarily Freaked Out Together

So if my stupid phone had been working correctly, you would've 1) Seen via photo that I was in Atlantic City this weekend, celebrating Liana's bacheloretteness and 2) Gotten to see this crazy-ass storm I had to sit through this afternoon while Christina and I drove home, complete with golf-ball sized hail. Yes, it DOES exist. But more on that later.

First off, I'm not sure I've ever been to a place so ripe for people watching. Within the first five minutes of being at the Borgata, I saw someone who may have been Miss Teen Puerto Rico (complete with sash and crown), a lost member of the Gambino crime family and about 74 men who employ eyebrow waxing in their beauty regimen. We later saw Audrina Patridge, (which, god damn if I can't escape my job sometimes), though we couldn't seem to stage a catfight with her, because she didn't have the audacity to cut Vicki in line for the ATM. Which is weird because you'd think since the Borgata was paying her to play host at their nightclub, that she wouldn't need cash to buy drinks like the rest of us poor schlubs. Perhaps she was going to play the 5-cent slots...

Anyway, we had a kick-ass time, dancing in the (somewhat pretentious for a basement) club Mur.Mur, which employed a very good DJ, allowing us to rock out to tunes by everyone from Rihanna to Tiffany (that latter of which made all seven of us snap out of our 3 a.m. malaise and freak out gleefully). The place, however, really needs to get over its bad self. I mean, they made Liana take off her bachelorette veil, because apparently a well-dressed woman donning a faux bridal veil will bring down the place's rep right quick, but the paid-for presence of a fakity-fake reality star with nude photos on the net isn't tacky in the least. But whatever. We still had a good time dancing and laughing at all the people who make this sort of thing their livelihood every weekend.

Then came the ride home today. Christina and I had just exited the Atlantic City Expressway onto the Garden State Parkway when we start seeing lightning streaking down in the distance. It's not that freaky until we start driving by marshes and have a clear view of the sky...and this ginormous purple/navy colored cloud that's hanging down in ominous fashion. Like, this bitch was gonna hurt someone. Since this summer has been storm central, I've been getting used to thunderstorm clouds of all types, but this one? Yeah, this is the only one that actually made me nervous. Especially since the Parkway traffic starts backing up and there is NOWHERE to run to when you are between exits.

And this wasn't even the BAD cloud that I was talking about.

Christina gets in touch with Jesse to see if we can take any back roads to avoid sitting in 12 hours worth of GSP BENNIE/WEB traffic, and after about five minutes of being on said back road (in the...dun dun dun...Pine Barrens) the sky opens up. I tell Christina it's okay if she wants to pullover in the downpour, as I'm in no rush, but she says she's driven in worse and we continue on. And then we hear the tapping on the roof. And then on the hood. And that's when the first really, truly, honest-to-god hailstorm I've seen in about 23 years takes over, and I swear to god, I have never seen anything like this. The last real hailstorm I remembered had pebbled-sized hail, and was when I was in the second grade. Which is why I always laugh at the Weather Channel when they're like "Storm could produce golf-ball sized hail" whenever they post a thunderstorm watch. That shit NEVER happens, yo.

Until today. The hail was indeed the size of golf balls, and made such a racket, I could barely hear Christina talking and couldn't hear the radio at all. At this point, everyone has pulled over to the side of the road, and I think I even saw the Jersey Devil being all "Auntie Em! Auntie Em!" But luckily the hail was it -- not much in the way of wind or lightning or tornadic activity. Though we did note that the temperature dropped from 82 degrees to 64 in the course of about 20 minutes. Ah, nature's wrath.

Oh, and I didn't even gamble once. I bet you're all (read: Ken) disappointed in that. I think the intervention would've been so much more awesome if someone could've said "you're wasting your life away in front of a slot machine!" But alas, not this time.

Saturday, August 09, 2008

Atlantic City, bitches.

Olympic Junkieism Ahoy

Okay, so I'm watching fencing right now and I'm boggled: This sport gets to stay while they're dropping baseball and softball in the next Olympics? I swear to god.

Also, the women screaming after every point scored is beyond obnoxious.

God, I love the Olympics.

I Was Living in a Devil Town. Didn't Know it Was a Devil Town. Oh Lord it Really Brings Me Down About the Devil Town

A friend of mine is going through an interesting sort of time right now, due to equal parts mob mentality and hypocrisy on behalf of a certain few unfortunate individuals. The sad thing is, these people are exhibiting behavior that is as bad, if not worse, of another person they are chastising (and have dragged my friend's name into it). That they don't realize this and that I may have considered some of these people decent at one point really bothers me in a way that I can't fully describe.

I'm the type that always tries to see the good in people (and if you've known some of the people I've found the good in after situations I have gone through with them, well, I may deserve a gold medal myself) and while there are some people who I realized just weren't worth it, I dealt with my moments of anger toward them and moved on. And also, if you've pissed me off, I'm going to tell YOU about it, in the hopes of getting it solved. If not, well, whatever. At least I know I'm not a passive-aggressive coward who lets their feelings fester into some kind of ugliness that only gets let out under the cloak of anonymity. That kind of savage cowardice troubles me more than any behavior I've seen from the person who got this whole situation started in the first place.

I know this is all kind of weird and cryptic, but people I'm close to know what I'm talking about, and my friend who is troubled right now reads this blog and has been nothing less than the most excellent of friends to me. I wanted her to know that the actions of a select twisted few shouldn't have such a bearing on her life. These people are sad and pathetic and probably need some sort of help, based on the malice in their tones.

But you, my friend, are the rockingest of rock stars, and don't you forget it.

Thursday, August 07, 2008

If Only It Had Fingers

So I realized something at last week’s Yankee game while watching their special pre-game Stadium salute, and after being assaulted by these “Yankee Stadium: The Final Season” commercials: You know how there’s all this pomp and circumstance and special memories and a big old love-in surrounding the Stadium right now? Like, the Yankees can’t do ENOUGH to say how special a place Yankee Stadium is? Like its history is conveniently being milked over the course of this year to make everyone feel sentimental? Well, I can’t help but think if the Stadium was human and had feelings, it wouldn’t be all “Yes, it was my pleasure and I feel it is my time to gracefully step aside.”

Nay, I think it would be rolling its eyes and like “Bitch, please.”

For real. Think about it. “Oh, Yankee Stadium! How we love you and all the memories you provided! Let’s tear half of you down to make room for a parking lot!” It’s like a guy saying “Honey, you are the love of my life and we’ve gone through so, so much together. The best of times, mostly. But I’m leaving you because your boobs aren’t big enough and my new girlfriend has a martini bar is willing to get implants.” And then that girlfriend moves in right next door to you, right in your line of vision.

Yes, if the Stadium had any sense, it would pack a bag and hop a train to make some better memories elsewhere. But not before leaving a nasty note signed “Remember this, a**holes.”

Monday, August 04, 2008

Countryfied Chicken

Hello, it is me, The Yankee Chicken! I have been enjoying some time in the suburbs, which means running from crickets instead of centipedes. I thought you'd all like to see some photos of me doing summertime things, because I think you must all worry that I spend my life chained to the TV watching Yankee games in the concrete jungle.

This is me surveying the bounty of my crabbing excursion. I didn't even need bait to catch them. They just jumped in the boat when I said we could talk Yankees and other important current events.

Here I am talking to Lyle, who was all "Being a crab, we don't get to wear Yankee paraphernalia like you, a fabulous Yankee Chicken, can. We are quite envious."

So I let his friend Charles wear my Yankee hat before he, uh, had to jump into the "hot tub." Alex Rodriguez, in the background on the TV, approved.

Being a very busy good-luck Yankee Chicken, I have little time to stop and smell the flowers, but I can at least be amongst them for a moment or two.

This is me using my psychic ability to see if this tomato has salmonella or not. This is just one of my many talents that I don't really talk about.

Here I am feeling shy amongst the basil. Sometimes, it is so hard to have the paparazzi follow your every move. But I guess this is just the cross I have to bear.

Eye Dios Mio!

So, I'm going to put my contacts in this morning, when I'm greeted with this ubercreepy redness under my eyelid. Apparently, this is known as a subconjunctival hemorrhage, which probably happened the last time I sneezed, since I KNOW I haven't lifted anything heavy or vomited or "strained" (heeeee -- it's such a TMI word, but kind of funny) recently. GREEEEEEAT. Thankfully it's obscured by my eyelid (yes, body, after seeing pictures of others with this affliction online, you did a perfect placement of this, so thanks), but seriously. Eww.

My question to my contact-lens-wearing readers is if you have had this happen to you and if it's okay to wear them? It's amazing how this isn't addressed anywhere online...

Saturday, August 02, 2008

If Only Blogging Existed Back in Yonder Days

There are a few truly awesome realizations I made tonight while going through a box of college mementos. One is that I am so glad I traded journaling for blogging. Because I was one pathetic journaler back in the day. Like, when I blog, I keep in mind that people are reading this stuff and therefore I shouldn't bore them with such magnificent details like who I talked to and where I ate. I also won't harp on boy troubles here like I did in my journal, which, note to 19-year-old KB: YOU'LL GET OVER IT. GOD. I kept looking for all the good memories I had of my college days that I remember vividly in my head but I never wrote them down. I actually try to do that on the blog now, so yay me, but, man, was I stupid back then.

Anyway, I also came across a short story I had to write for a class when I was 21. The subject matter, of course, included the Yankees, and while I have some pretty bad cliche dialogue and lame character names (Tom? Sam for a girl?) and I'd probably never write this story now, I'm still kind of glad I kept it.

The premise involved a 25-year-old guy whose grandfather's last wish was to have an urn full of his ashes taken to a Yankee game (Grandpa was also a bit of a yenta from beyond the grave, saying in his will that the guy's childhood girl friend -- not girlfriend -- had to go to the game as well). It also flashes back to the guy's and girl's first Yankee game at age 12. Well, I'd completely forgotten about the following part, which I read at first and was like "Man, you were the master of corny, KB" and then got strangely sentimental on second read because...well, it's kind of true, I think (pardon the trite description and overall youngness of it):

Tom and Sam, both wide-eyed with anticipation, carefully stuck their ticket stubs into their pockets. His grandfather then motioned for them to go inside and the most wonderful smell of popcorn and frying hot dogs burned inside Tom's nose. They walked for a bit down a crowded concourse, and then, his grandfather made a right turn. What Tom saw literally made his heart skip a beat.

There was the field laid out before him in a splendor of green and brown turf and perfectly white bases and base lines. The surrounding seats made for an almost cathedral-like setting, as the voices of fans filing in created a hum, giving the air a strange electricity.

He felt his grandfather's hand on his shoulder and saw him place the other gently on Sam's.

"Do you feel that?" he asked quietly, staring at the expanse before them. "That's how you know your heart's still there."

Seriously, I think I ate bowlfuls of schmaltz for breakfast when I was 21, but I still get this sentiment, 10 years later, and even moreso now that they're closing the Stadium. And I'm not too proud to share it with y'all -- including hearts literally skipping beats and "green and brown turf" (WHAT?).

Ramiro Mendoza is an Old Timer?


Also, only Old Timer's Day can elicit emotions such as MIKE STANLEEEEEEY! and OH MY GOD WHEN DID JIMMY KEY BECOME AN OLD MAN?