Raggedy Randy

As we bid adieu to the Unit, let's compare his stats to other recent two-season acquisitions (regular season):

Randy Johnson 34-19, 4.37 ERA, 383 SO
Jose Contreras 15-7, 4.64 ERA, 154 SO
Kevin Brown 14-13, 4.95 ERA, 113 SO
Jeff Weaver 12-12, 5.35 ERA, 150 SO
Carl Pavano 4-6, 4.77 ERA, 56 SO

(OK, so none of these other guys actually pitched two complete seasons for us. However, they all screwed us at least once in the playoffs...)

Two other big signings in their first two seasons in pinstripes:
Mike Mussina 35-21, 3.59 ERA, 396 SO
Roger Clemens 27-18, 4.13 ERA, 351 SO

2112 (remaster)

I finally bought a copy of Rush's remastered 2112 this Christmas, waiting on a Space Mountain-like line at BestBuy. Every store should have a display of Rush reissues near the registers for $7.99 a pop! Think of all the gum and People magazines sold at supermarkets-- why not Rush CD's?

Of course, no bonus tracks here. It's hard to imagine anything extra in the world of Rush... sort of like getting a free beer at Yankee Stadium. C'mon, not even an alternate take of "Something For Nothing?" How about a demo of "Temples of Syrinx?" Not a fucking chance.

Anyway, the record still kicks ass after 30 years. Our favorite trio of Canadians were walking on thin ice after Caress of Steel (a good argument against releasing two albums in one year) back in 1975, and Mercury issued a short and simple edict: NO MORE (REALLY) LONG SONGS! I heard that Hugh Syme made his own private plea to Geddy to "take it down a notch or two," but who knows...

As we all know, the boys brought home the bacon with 2112. Still a fair amount of shrieking by Mr. Weinrib going on, but this album marks improvements on all fronts: sound, skill, songwriting and simplicity. The "2112" suite can be understood by any 14-year old with a brain (check your yearbooks!), and rocks pretty darn hard as well. Try explaining the "Fountain of Lamneth" to your stoned buddy during trig class. Hell, just try listening to it!

The fellas also made a nice move with side two's "Lessons," which begins like a weird outtake from Eat a Peach. Here's where Rush really starts to distinguish themselves from the rest of the prog pack: good pop songs that aren't necessarily hit singles. You used to get the feeling that a guy like Greg Lake or John Wetton really had to bust his ass to write that one catchy radio song on the album, and that's why he let the rest of the schmucks pick up the slack for the instrumental stuff. Rush stopped making that mistake with 2112.

"Grand Finale" kicks major Solar Federation butt with no regard for songwriting or anything else. Welcome to the NFL, boys! Your locker's down the hall next to Al DiMeola, John McLaughlin and that Jeff Beck character if he stops chasing the skirts. I even wrote a letter to Jimmy Carter back in '78 requesting that our national anthem be replaced by "Grand Finale". I suppose replacing "O Canada" would have been more appropriate, but I had no way of contacting P.M. Trudeau at the time.

Worth buying? Does Ayn Rand wear red lipstick? Of course, you idiot.

Rating: 4 out of 5

FUN FACT: An effort was made in the late 70's to "sync up" 2112 and Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory a la Dark Side of the Moon/Wizard of Oz. I've certainly never tried it, but I guess I can picture Gene Wilder hopping around to the tune of "A Passage to Bangkok"...

Three of a perfect pair

Pistons at the Garden? My date and I headed down to 33rd St. expecting a complete laugher, and we had the pills to prove it. I had no idea we'd be treated to one of the best basketball games I'd ever seen.

Stephon Marbury was absolutely brilliant, peaking with three clutch free throws to send the game into the 2nd OT. He had confidence, poise and skill like I ain't seen all year. Way to go, you bum.

Frye, Curry, Lee, and ultimately Crawford sealed the deal for the Knicks. Rip Hamilton couldn't miss a shot all night (51 pts), so we clearly needed more than Steph stepping up. We got that from the "Baby Knicks" (minus Nate Robinson, who really is a goddamn baby) tonight, via shooting, toughness, rebounding and timeliness, respectively. The crowd loved David Lee so much tonight, he almost reminded me of Kurt Rambis of the 80's Lakers for a minute there. Then I realized that Lee can make layups, dunk, pass, and probably gets laid a lot-- he's nothing like Rambis at all.

It was a long game. My date was nodding off in the 4th quarter, passed out in the first OT, total flatline in OT 2, but made a miraculous Lazarus-like rise for the 3rd and final overtime period. An historic win for the Knicks by any standard. I didn't drink any alcohol at all, but instead gorged myself on pretzels, ice cream, N/A beer, and whatever prescriptions drifted through my transom. It worked very well-- I was completely cogent throughout the nearly four hour ordeal, except for the time I had to walk unaccompanied around the outside wall of the Garden for about 100 feet, doing my best impression of the prisoners on the island jail complex in Face/Off whose boots are magnetically drawn to the floor they try to walk on.

Bottom line: an energy was there that hasn't been for years and years. OK, maybe in weird isolated cases, but this was the Knicks building on an already strong homestand with a gutsy, emotional win in 3 OT's that truly united and electrified fans, players and staff alike. It meant something.

The Curry, Lee/Frye, Jeffries, Marbury, Crawford thing seems pretty damn nice. Let's give it a shot...

Mysterious ways

This team is tough to figure. They look like they can't rebound to save their lives, but they actually lead the league in boards. Crawford looks like he can't hit Oprah's ass with the ball from 10 feet away, but he ends up with 30 points. Maybe I'm just not paying close enough attention.

Anyway, three wins in a row-- not too shabby. I'll be at the next home game on Wednesday against Philly. That's a boring prospect these days.

Saturday night's alright...

Not much to say about this stupid fight. Nate Robinson's proven himself to be an idiot several times now, so that's not news. Jeffries and Collins were just trying to show they're real Knicks. I could really care less about what happens to Carmelo Anthony.

Dunno if Isiah will be suspended, but I predict the Knicks will win at least half of those games.

We had 6th row seats to last night's fiasco, but ended up singing karaoke instead. Planning on seeing Detroit next Wednesday night-- a brawling team in their own right.

how low can we go?

This season's already had more low points than a funeral on cough syrup, but tonight's worth noting anyway. It was the NBA's worst road team (Wizards) vs. the NBA's worst home team (us). We lost miserably.

Maybe the stratege du jour was "don't challenge guys too much on defense," because the Wiz scored 14 3-pointers (yes, 14 x 3 = 42 points!). Chants of "FIRE THOMAS!" filled the Garden (that was about the only thing filling the Garden) as the Knicks alternated between bricks and airballs. Kenny Smith claimed that the Knick bench is "filled with unknown quantities." I wish!!! These quantities are quite known, thank you. We know them to suck.

The only unknown quantity right now is time. I don't see how things can possibly improve for at least 2 years. In the meantime, I'll be thinking up new ways to make it through 48 minutes at a time of NY Knicks basketball (whippets? glue? sudoku? hookers? all of the above?)...

Courtside Bums

Attended our second Knick game of the season last night. Amazing seats. At least the game was close.

Right before tip-off, a woman led her young son down the aisle next to us-- right down to the front row. The boy was blindfolded on the way in, so the mother could surprise the kid with the treat of a lifetime: courtside seats in the most famous arena in the world. Maybe she put the blindfold back on the kid once the Knicks started sucking all over the joint.

The Raptors are pretty much Chris Bosh and 5 or 6 enormous white guys. All of them can sink jumpers from anywhere on the court. Bosh absolutely torched the Knicks for the first half of play, and then kind of disappeared for a while. Probably the only thing that kept us in the game. He's a little weird-looking, but damn good.

It was "Legends Night" (or something like that) at the Garden last night. Which meant that Pat Ewing and John Starks were endlessly paraded on and off the court for cheap bids at applause. Clyde was too busy working for such silliness, and "Pearl" Washington really didn't seem to give a shit. Bernard King was not present.

Ten minutes or so into the game, two homeless guys staggered down the aisle in front of us, and right into the folding chair section on the floor. Security guys were squawking and motioning to each other as the bums were swarmed upon. To the amazement of the crowd, each of the winos promptly produced a crisp ticket for the night's event. How did these guys get tickets? Who the hell knows. One of them was passed out before the end of the third quarter.

John Starks mingled with the crowd a little bit near the end of the game, but blew off any and all fans not in possession of a large chest.

I realized last night that it's been over 6 years since I REALLY cared about an NBA game.

All The Best Cowboys Have Chinese Eyes (remaster)

A beautiful mess? Beautifully frustrating? How about "arrrrrrrggggggghhhhhh..."

Finally picked up the reissue last week (I'm saving the good ones for the winter). This could truly be called a "transitional" record, in that it got Pete from the Who-ish Empty Glass to the visionary White City at the occasional expense of the listener. We get four truly great songs out of the deal, along with a few other decent cuts and some real clunkers.

Right from the start something smells funny with Chinese Eyes. "Stop Hurting People" is one of those songs that makes classic rockers uncomfortably glance around the room like somebody farted. Then Pete barrels us over with the too-long "Sea Refuses No River" for almost six minutes, complete with corny harmonica and over-intellectual phrasing. I always thought this song could have worked on Quadrophenia, but only with The Who's muscle behind it. The Butler/Phillips rhythm section is tight here (as always), but tight like an asshole instead of a left hook.

Just as you start walking over to put on the new Van Halen record (pretend it's 1982), "Prelude" brightens things for just long enough to make you sit back down. Then we're rewarded with "Face Dances Part Two"-- one of the great singles of the 80's. Pete nails it to the wall here (and in 5/4) for all time (I mean, when was the last time you actually danced to a song in 5/4? Don't gimme that Brubeck b.s.-- that's not really dancing.). Here's the marriage of 70's rock and 80's new wave that "Let My Love Open the Door" heralded two years back (try dancing to King Crimson and you'll sprain your damn ankle).

"Exquisitely Bored" is great, but then things return to the art-swamp. "Communication" pales in comparison to its future father "Face the Face", so don't even bother with it. In fact, check out "North Country Girl" and then skip to the end. No, not the crappy bonus tracks, the real last track.

"Slit Skirts" is easily one of Pete's top 20 moments (that's saying a lot). It's Who's Next for post-punk and post-everything. You can't fucking deny it. OK, there's at least one clunker of a line in there, but who cares? I sure don't.

Rating: 3 out of 5

Finger Lakes

Had an amazing vacation this past weekend in beautiful Geneva, NY. The self-proclaimed "Gem of the Finger Lakes" doesn't have a whole lot of competition up there, but so what...

First let me say that traffic was unbelievably light for Thanksgiving weekend. I drove from Long Island to Geneva by way of Manhattan (had to pick up my date)-- BOTH WAYS-- and hardly had to slow down. The only congestion was (as always) at the Delaware Water Gap on Rte.80. Probably people trying to figure out why they call it a "water gap" and not just a valley or bridge or something like that.

We stayed in a huge mansion from the early 1900's. We were in the "Dining Room" technically, but you wouldn't know it from the strict diet of chips, pretzels and wine we were on. Fireplace, jacuzzi, free toothbrushes-- we had it all. Not to mention a DVD player, which we kept running with about 15 hours worth of "The World at War" and season one of "The Wire" episodes. Things blended together a bit-- at one point I wondered aloud why Stringer Bell didn't just pop a cap in Himmler's ass after he intercepted the re-up.

Only one scary moment (aside from my spending Thanksgiving dinner at my grandmother's assisted-living facility with two stuck-together contact lenses in my left eye, making my eye look and feel like a microwaved onion) for the whole weekend: a more-or-less blacked out late night trip to the local supermarket (Wegman's) in our Chevy Cobalt. Inspection of our receipt the next morning confirmed our strange purchases: two packages of ball point pens, a pint of "Chubby Hubby" ice cream, 4 wine coolers and a cat toy. Don't ask.

What the hell's going on with my favorite show?

The new season of Aqua Teen is seriously fucked up. The first two episodes featured Chinese food delivery guys eating human dicks, followed by guys getting raped by a dog named "Hand Banana". I actually stopped watching the show.

I tried picking it back up tonight, and it was even weirder. I think one of the main characters shot himself in the head. I wasn't really paying attention.