Sunday, September 28, 2008
I'm not as giddy about the Mets' demise as I thought I'd be. I guess it makes the Yankee pill a little easier to swallow, but I don't know. The Met season seemed like a wild ride, while ours was more like a road trip where you pull over every 30 minutes for bathroom breaks. We just never got going.
My buddy nailed it, even more than he realized. Only one thing will make this season, the Stadium closure, and all the bullshit tolerable: decent season seats at the new Yankee Stadium.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
1. Claire Kincaid / Abbie Carmichael (tie)
3. Jamie Ross
4. Connie Rubirosa
5. Serena Southerlyn / Alexandra Borgia (tie)
Not surprising, really. I think we'll skip the Favorite Junior Detective poll (Cyrus Lupo?!).
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Pro: convincing manner, silky smooth
Con: chronic hair issues
Pro: the voice that launched a thousand conjugal visits
Con: Jason Sehorn/Republican
Pro: gentlemen prefer blondes
Con: dumb blonde
Pro: mystery woman
Con: a bit creepy
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Lee Jr. received a nifty Yankee Student Planner as we entered the Stadium-- one of the nicer promotional items I've seen. I'm certain that any adult would cherish a gift as nice as this.
This game was the Bizarro World version of the last game I took LJ to. Moose pitched both times we went, but bequeathed a 5-0 deficit upon his team today instead of a 5-0 lead. Jr. was totally mellow last time; today he spanned the behavior continuum from peppy to cranky in a few innings. We bailed out near the top of the fifth, making a pitstop at the kid-friendly Sidewalk Cafe.
Today was a little taste of what it's like to be a fan of a really mediocre team. It almost felt like a Knicks game: lots of side conversations, people leaving early in droves, players chucking the ball everywhere but where they're supposed to... kind of depressing. I didn't even have the heart to argue when the Mizz wanted to leave a bit early. I pretty much agreed with her.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
The Republican National Convention is, um, weird. It has the feel of an overblown school board meeting, or maybe even a Christian phone-a-thon. Hmmm.
The "Country First" signs being waved around look exactly like the "Country Kitchen" logo. Bizarre new-country pitch-corrected songs fill up the interludes, while white people awkwardly clap their hands. Most of the speakers spurt and sputter, making painful bids for applause (pregnant pauses?). Eerie "Sa-rah, Sa-rah" chants creep in and out of earshot. Carrie meets Children of the Corn?
Linda Lingle (!), the Guv of Hawaii (pronounced Ha-vah-eh), is a lunatic. She just made the absurd point that you can fit 250 Delawares in the state of Alaska. I was hoping she'd try for a paradoxical brain-twister about how many Americas you can fit in the state of Alaska. I ended up simply hoping she'd fall into a volcano.
Rudy is absolutely pathetic. At least he used to have some kind of stubborn style back here in New York. Now he's a sad, sad puppet. I can't believe I used to pretend I voted for this asshole at parties.
A "Drill, baby, drill!" chant just drowned out Rudy for a little while there. I honestly thought they were saying "Kill, baby, kill!" at first. Then Rudy parries with, "Who are we offending when we say Islamic terrorists?"
Is there really such a thing as an American "hockey mom" outside of Minnesota?
Rudy's really confusing the crowd now-- they're booing stuff they're supposed to cheer for. Wait, he just got a great, authentic cheer for "We are all Georgians!!!" I don't think anyone has any idea what Rudy's talking about.
OK, here she comes now. Jeez, it looks like half the people are carrying rubber infants. Anyway, Sarah Palin just took the podium. She sounds like a valedictorian accepting her high school diploma.
I dunno, there's something funny about her. I can't quite put my finger on it-- something unsettling... oh Jesus, she's a dead ringer for my ex-wife!
Monday, September 1, 2008
Here's an example of such quality prose, along with a humble "translation":
DJ Paul, "Swervin'"
I got them 28's on the Chevy sittin' so high.
The plastic cup's in the cup holder gettin' dry.
My Chevrolet is outfitted with 28-inch chrome rims, and is unusually elevated above the ground. I have a plastic cup containing a mixture of Tussionex/Promethazine, soda and/or liquor in the car's accessory holder; my cup is nearly empty.
And before I see the bottom I'm a holla at L.L.,
'cause that means I need a R.E.F.I.L.L..
Before my drink is completely finished, I plan to contact "L.L." about pouring another full cup of the Tussionex mixture.
From the bottom to top, nothin' but that pink.
I got a thick bitch playin' with my dick.
My cup is now completely full again. A woman with large, muscular hindquarters and buttocks is digitally and orally stimulating my penis.
And she done got lit, now she curious...
She's looking at my dollop wantin' to take a hit.
The woman arousing me also seems intoxicated, and is staring at my full cup of Tussionex mixture. She may want to taste the mixture.
You know I'm passin' it, long as she acting right.
If she get gonzo, I'm a smack the daylight clean up out the ho...
I have no problem with sharing my drink with the woman, on the condition that she doesn't appear overly intoxicated. If she reaches a dangerous state of inebriation, I may need to use physical force in order to restrain her. It is also becoming apparent that the woman may be a prostitute.
Kick her out the door, call up "Get High" Chris,
go and get some mo'.
After I remove the prostitute from the vehicle, I'll need to contact "Get High" Chris, the local merchant and supplier of illegal bottles of Tussionex/Promethazine. From there, I'll repeat the above process.