Count me amongst the diehard Baltimore Oriole fans who rather like the idea of the Washington Nationals being placed 30 miles from Camden Yards. I think baseball needs to be in DC - Nation's Capital, National Pastime. If I was running the marketing of the team, they would have numeous product tie-ins already.
- Nations Bank. Get your Nationals' credit card, Nationals checks! You'll need it, to afford the expensive tickets!
- National Bohemian - If the Nats could bring back Bo Jackson, would he be the origina Natty Bo?
- National Treasure - Official Overblown Jerry Bruckheimer Film of the Washington Nationals!
But, despite baseball's billions, there's a bad guy in this story. Bad girl, at the least. Linda Cropp is attempting to block the stadium deal by demanding more $$$ from MLB...after already agreeing in principle that the deal was good enough two weeks ago.
What has changed in two weeks? Did Linda lose a sweetheart kickback pending the outcome of the Ukrainian election? Did she take the under in the Colts/Bengals game?
Linda Cropp, if successful, will go down as Peter Angelos' best friend. Ever.
More than the guy who introduced him to his wife. More than the guy who said "Hey Pete, there's a few bucks to be made in this asbestos thing." Even more than the fella who said "You know, Peter, we might want you to look at this tobacco lawsuit."
Linda and Peter, sitting in a tree...
- me
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Game Recap - 10-23 - 2004
CANTON - (UPI) - In thrilling Baltimore Sports and Social Club action this weekend, the Rhymes with Orange beat the Team Forfeits 1-0.
"It was a hard-fought victory," exclaimed Orangequarterback Chris LaTesta. "We were lucky to escape with a win." The Team Forfeits tried to confuse LaTesta with 5, 6 and 7 person coverage packages - even a zero person package - but LaTesta was able to shred them for zero yards passing on zero completions over zero interceptions.
"I was impressed by how huge our receivers were today. They caught everything I threw at them" said a confident LaTesta. "Especially Laura Luca. That girl can catch anything." Luca led all Orange receivers with zero yards on zero receptions.
"I felt good today" said Luca. "The meal I had the night before at The Still in Timonium really fueled my performance."
Orange coach Scott Kreitzer sternly corrected Luca."The Still is located in Cockeysville. Get it right!"
"Does it matter, you drunk?" retorted Luca.
Kreiter yelled "Shut up!"
Scott's little brother, the rapidly-aging former superstar Evan Kreitzer, now reduced to desperate hanger-on, replied "You dumbasses, that's Lutherville."
"Jesus, Evan!" yelled Scott, which is ironic that he would invoke the Christian Saviour's name considering they're both Jewish, "Lutherville's by the Beltway!"
Luca's friend Shannon Gallivan, who's new nickname of"Rhyme Time" was earned through her zero interception, zero tackle performance Saturday, said "I think they consider that section of York Road Hunt Valley."
Keith Attman, who co-led the team with zero sacks, chimed in with "Is that part 'Texas,' because I've always wanted to date a Texas beauty queen, and that might be a place to look." His brother Andy, the co-leader in sacks, smacked him in the head. "The only thing in Texas is a Sam's Club. And a gravel pit. Get a clue. What woman would come from there worthy of you, and therefore, by extension,worthy of me?"
Christy Manar looked at Keith and said "I'm not fromTexas, but I'm a beauty queen. Does that count?" Chris Tully quickly mentioned that, given enough alcohol, he is a much bigger queen than Christy.
"At least, my bulge is bigger" exclaimed Tully 30 minutes later, happy he had come up with 2 witty remarks within 24 hours.
His spleen then abruptly left the press conference and attended a game of flip cup with Bloomie at The Gin Mill.
Oranges Lexi, Ken and Lauren could not be reached for comment, as they were all camping out in front of the Reisterstown Target, waiting to be the first on the team to get the new Shrek 2 DVD.
BSSC referee and friend of the team Damon, the big black guy with the LaVar Arrington dreadlocks, when asked for comment, said "I don't know. All those white towns look the same to me."
Team Genius, Lockdown Cornerback Beta and Expert onAll Things in the Universe (except in finding a decent, mind-occupying job, it would appear) Ray Bradley jumped in to simmer the boiling feud. "There are no incorporated towns in Baltimore County. Therefore, much like the ancient symbol of Zen, you are all right."
Sauce nodded in knowing approval, and then apologized for being so controversial with his wisdom.
Bradley also led the team with 4 girls' tackled. Considering he had zero tackles in the game, you can imagine the surprise of the girls he tackled in the streets of Annapolis.
As of press time, only one tackled girl has pressed charges, and two others have offered him margaritas. The 4th victim speaks no English and smelled of huumus, and could not be reached for comment.
-----------######-----------
"It was a hard-fought victory," exclaimed Orangequarterback Chris LaTesta. "We were lucky to escape with a win." The Team Forfeits tried to confuse LaTesta with 5, 6 and 7 person coverage packages - even a zero person package - but LaTesta was able to shred them for zero yards passing on zero completions over zero interceptions.
"I was impressed by how huge our receivers were today. They caught everything I threw at them" said a confident LaTesta. "Especially Laura Luca. That girl can catch anything." Luca led all Orange receivers with zero yards on zero receptions.
"I felt good today" said Luca. "The meal I had the night before at The Still in Timonium really fueled my performance."
Orange coach Scott Kreitzer sternly corrected Luca."The Still is located in Cockeysville. Get it right!"
"Does it matter, you drunk?" retorted Luca.
Kreiter yelled "Shut up!"
Scott's little brother, the rapidly-aging former superstar Evan Kreitzer, now reduced to desperate hanger-on, replied "You dumbasses, that's Lutherville."
"Jesus, Evan!" yelled Scott, which is ironic that he would invoke the Christian Saviour's name considering they're both Jewish, "Lutherville's by the Beltway!"
Luca's friend Shannon Gallivan, who's new nickname of"Rhyme Time" was earned through her zero interception, zero tackle performance Saturday, said "I think they consider that section of York Road Hunt Valley."
Keith Attman, who co-led the team with zero sacks, chimed in with "Is that part 'Texas,' because I've always wanted to date a Texas beauty queen, and that might be a place to look." His brother Andy, the co-leader in sacks, smacked him in the head. "The only thing in Texas is a Sam's Club. And a gravel pit. Get a clue. What woman would come from there worthy of you, and therefore, by extension,worthy of me?"
Christy Manar looked at Keith and said "I'm not fromTexas, but I'm a beauty queen. Does that count?" Chris Tully quickly mentioned that, given enough alcohol, he is a much bigger queen than Christy.
"At least, my bulge is bigger" exclaimed Tully 30 minutes later, happy he had come up with 2 witty remarks within 24 hours.
His spleen then abruptly left the press conference and attended a game of flip cup with Bloomie at The Gin Mill.
Oranges Lexi, Ken and Lauren could not be reached for comment, as they were all camping out in front of the Reisterstown Target, waiting to be the first on the team to get the new Shrek 2 DVD.
BSSC referee and friend of the team Damon, the big black guy with the LaVar Arrington dreadlocks, when asked for comment, said "I don't know. All those white towns look the same to me."
Team Genius, Lockdown Cornerback Beta and Expert onAll Things in the Universe (except in finding a decent, mind-occupying job, it would appear) Ray Bradley jumped in to simmer the boiling feud. "There are no incorporated towns in Baltimore County. Therefore, much like the ancient symbol of Zen, you are all right."
Sauce nodded in knowing approval, and then apologized for being so controversial with his wisdom.
Bradley also led the team with 4 girls' tackled. Considering he had zero tackles in the game, you can imagine the surprise of the girls he tackled in the streets of Annapolis.
As of press time, only one tackled girl has pressed charges, and two others have offered him margaritas. The 4th victim speaks no English and smelled of huumus, and could not be reached for comment.
-----------######-----------
Monday, October 18, 2004
Post Game Wrap Up 10-18-2004
BALTIMORE - (AP) - Posted at 10: AM EST
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
The highly-anticipated return of Evan "The Franchise"Kreitzer was supposed to fuel the already high-poweredRhymes With Orange aerial assault. Instead, theOranges got juiced, and finger-pointing was the nameof the post-game.
The younger Kreitzer brother, once known for his gamebreaking speed and incredible hands, was barely abovemediocre today, registering only one touchdown catchand showing more tobacco-stained teeth than theathletic prowress fans have come to expect. He blamed the quaterback, Chris La Testa."Chris has got to learn to throw the ball to me more,"said Evan over after-game beverages at MaGerk's inFederal Hill. Even when I'm triple-teamed and lightinga Marlboro, I'm still open."
La Testa, usually a strong-armed, mobile quarterback,had a rather poor game by his lofty standards. He wasslow getting rid of the ball, was slow with his reads,and his throws were severely affected by the wind. The low point had to be when he was sacked by a girl.
"Hahahahahahah," exclaimed Keith Attman, aconspicously-absent member of the Orange team thisweek. "Chris got sacked by a girl!"
Indeed, neither or the Attman twins, with their confusing, nearly-identical appearances, were present for Sunday's loss, fueling speculation that the Oranges can only operate well when they are able to spread confusion.
For his part, La Testa refused to point fingers after the game. "As leader of the team, it was obvious where our playing style comes from, and God do I hate Ken. It's all his fault."
"There. I said it. I feel better" said La Testa, before reminding himself that he is now a high-powered lawyer and will sue any fake journalist who would dare slander his good name.
(This fake journalist refuses to comment, and will not be intimidated by anyone. Including the nicest,smartest, friendliest guy I know, Chris La Testa.)
Player/Coach Scott Kreitzer was certainly feeling the heat Sunday. "We will fight them in our skies. We will fight them on our shores. We will never surrender.This will be...our finest hour!" he exclaimed.
In a surprise personnel move, 5 female Oranges showed up for the game, and none of them were named "Attman."Lexi, Laura, Lauren, Shannon and Christy were all present, and were all complaining about the youth, vitality and rather supple abdominal muscles of the other team's girls. Lexi in particular vowed revenge,promising to "buy me the hell out some receiver gloves, bitches."
Coach Kreitzer spewed vitrol at the other team's girls, too. "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" he shouted while waving a Sandinista battleflag.
Even the normally-mellow Sauce got in on the angeract. "Wow. We played bad" he said at Looney's Pub. When asked to explain further, Sauce wiped his glasses and apologized for being so apopolectic.
The game also marked the first appearance of the season of Christopher Tully. Tully, a former lacrosse star still hanging dimly to the idea that his best years are still to come, arrived to the game natilly-attired but still somewhat buttered from the night (and morning) before the game. Tully was rushed to the hospital last night after the game, as his swollen liver was mistaken for the game ball, and was punted by Evan Kreitzer.
The other team's return man called for a fair catch ofthe rapidly-plummeting Tully liver.
Coach Kreitzer was outraged over his team's poor play. "I coulda been somebody, Charlie. I coulda been a contenda. Instead of a bum, Charlie, which is what I am. A bum." He vowed a more complete effort next week in which the Oranges play their archrivals, the We'reHere For the Gang Bangs.
"We'll smoke them out. We'll hunt them, find them andwe'll kill them' said Kreitzer, stillclearly-delusional from the iodine-laced breakfast sandwhich he ordered from Pepe's.
--------###------------
This Week's Silly Awards:
The John Kruk Memorial Award for the UnhealthiestBallplayer goes to Evan Kreitzer, for smoking duringthe game.
The Billy Martin/Earl Weaver Memorial Award for BestArgumentative Coach goes to Scott Kreitzer for yelling at the ref.
The Ray Charles Memorial Award goes to the ref, because he did miss some stuff. He also gets theWrinkle in Time award, since that's amazing how 8minutes left in a game becomes 3 minutes left in agame 2 minutes later. Space-time continuum thing, Iguess. Blame it on the worm hole.
The Stevie Wonder Driving School Award goes to the line judge, who can apparently is either blind, or so gay that he can't even see straight.
The I-95 96 Car Pile-Up Award goes to the other team,for running so many crossing patterns that collisions were unavoidable.
The Gender Non-Specific Award goes to Bloomie for forgetting he's theoretically got boy bits.
The Baltimore School of Massage Gift Certificate is awarded to me, for my stunning one-armed tackle of that hot girl on their team. Not only did I get ahandful of supple abdominals with my right hand, as I tried to keep her from falling too hard, I think I gota left hand full of supple rump after a brushing, gentle touch of the lower back. About the only thing I didn't get on that play was her phone number.
The Dean Martin Memorial Award goes to Tully, looking sharp from the night before, still drunk, and for getting his liver punted.
The Garo Yepremian Award for Quarterbacking Excellence goes to Chris La Testa for getting sacked by a girl. Twice, I think.
Don't worry kids, we'll have more fun next week.- RB
It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
The highly-anticipated return of Evan "The Franchise"Kreitzer was supposed to fuel the already high-poweredRhymes With Orange aerial assault. Instead, theOranges got juiced, and finger-pointing was the nameof the post-game.
The younger Kreitzer brother, once known for his gamebreaking speed and incredible hands, was barely abovemediocre today, registering only one touchdown catchand showing more tobacco-stained teeth than theathletic prowress fans have come to expect. He blamed the quaterback, Chris La Testa."Chris has got to learn to throw the ball to me more,"said Evan over after-game beverages at MaGerk's inFederal Hill. Even when I'm triple-teamed and lightinga Marlboro, I'm still open."
La Testa, usually a strong-armed, mobile quarterback,had a rather poor game by his lofty standards. He wasslow getting rid of the ball, was slow with his reads,and his throws were severely affected by the wind. The low point had to be when he was sacked by a girl.
"Hahahahahahah," exclaimed Keith Attman, aconspicously-absent member of the Orange team thisweek. "Chris got sacked by a girl!"
Indeed, neither or the Attman twins, with their confusing, nearly-identical appearances, were present for Sunday's loss, fueling speculation that the Oranges can only operate well when they are able to spread confusion.
For his part, La Testa refused to point fingers after the game. "As leader of the team, it was obvious where our playing style comes from, and God do I hate Ken. It's all his fault."
"There. I said it. I feel better" said La Testa, before reminding himself that he is now a high-powered lawyer and will sue any fake journalist who would dare slander his good name.
(This fake journalist refuses to comment, and will not be intimidated by anyone. Including the nicest,smartest, friendliest guy I know, Chris La Testa.)
Player/Coach Scott Kreitzer was certainly feeling the heat Sunday. "We will fight them in our skies. We will fight them on our shores. We will never surrender.This will be...our finest hour!" he exclaimed.
In a surprise personnel move, 5 female Oranges showed up for the game, and none of them were named "Attman."Lexi, Laura, Lauren, Shannon and Christy were all present, and were all complaining about the youth, vitality and rather supple abdominal muscles of the other team's girls. Lexi in particular vowed revenge,promising to "buy me the hell out some receiver gloves, bitches."
Coach Kreitzer spewed vitrol at the other team's girls, too. "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" he shouted while waving a Sandinista battleflag.
Even the normally-mellow Sauce got in on the angeract. "Wow. We played bad" he said at Looney's Pub. When asked to explain further, Sauce wiped his glasses and apologized for being so apopolectic.
The game also marked the first appearance of the season of Christopher Tully. Tully, a former lacrosse star still hanging dimly to the idea that his best years are still to come, arrived to the game natilly-attired but still somewhat buttered from the night (and morning) before the game. Tully was rushed to the hospital last night after the game, as his swollen liver was mistaken for the game ball, and was punted by Evan Kreitzer.
The other team's return man called for a fair catch ofthe rapidly-plummeting Tully liver.
Coach Kreitzer was outraged over his team's poor play. "I coulda been somebody, Charlie. I coulda been a contenda. Instead of a bum, Charlie, which is what I am. A bum." He vowed a more complete effort next week in which the Oranges play their archrivals, the We'reHere For the Gang Bangs.
"We'll smoke them out. We'll hunt them, find them andwe'll kill them' said Kreitzer, stillclearly-delusional from the iodine-laced breakfast sandwhich he ordered from Pepe's.
--------###------------
This Week's Silly Awards:
The John Kruk Memorial Award for the UnhealthiestBallplayer goes to Evan Kreitzer, for smoking duringthe game.
The Billy Martin/Earl Weaver Memorial Award for BestArgumentative Coach goes to Scott Kreitzer for yelling at the ref.
The Ray Charles Memorial Award goes to the ref, because he did miss some stuff. He also gets theWrinkle in Time award, since that's amazing how 8minutes left in a game becomes 3 minutes left in agame 2 minutes later. Space-time continuum thing, Iguess. Blame it on the worm hole.
The Stevie Wonder Driving School Award goes to the line judge, who can apparently is either blind, or so gay that he can't even see straight.
The I-95 96 Car Pile-Up Award goes to the other team,for running so many crossing patterns that collisions were unavoidable.
The Gender Non-Specific Award goes to Bloomie for forgetting he's theoretically got boy bits.
The Baltimore School of Massage Gift Certificate is awarded to me, for my stunning one-armed tackle of that hot girl on their team. Not only did I get ahandful of supple abdominals with my right hand, as I tried to keep her from falling too hard, I think I gota left hand full of supple rump after a brushing, gentle touch of the lower back. About the only thing I didn't get on that play was her phone number.
The Dean Martin Memorial Award goes to Tully, looking sharp from the night before, still drunk, and for getting his liver punted.
The Garo Yepremian Award for Quarterbacking Excellence goes to Chris La Testa for getting sacked by a girl. Twice, I think.
Don't worry kids, we'll have more fun next week.- RB
Thursday, October 14, 2004
My Own Private MapQuest
--- Evan Kreitzer wrote:
(snipped)
I
> don't know if he'll be there, he has a lot going on
> at work this week. I'll try and get him out there,
> having beer there may help to draw my meathead
> friend out of the faraway land we call Columbia.
Here's how to get out of Columbia, Tully:
Just turn left at the cul-de-sac, right at the planned
community, go straight at the intersection of Kind Bud
Path and Dismissed Soccer Mom Parkway, by that road
that curves by that gas station you don't see until
you've passed it, hang a baby-u-ee on Whispering
Deerprint Babbling Brook Stone House Lane, go
catty-corner by Flatuence Meadows Village and when you
see the Best Buy, bang a right. Up ahead there will be
a sign that says "US 29 - 3 miles." Should only take
about 2 hours at that point. Tully, you'll circle
around Broken Hip Parkway, and you'll see Vague
Concept Road. Don't do anything there. When the light
changes, you'll pass by Holden Caulfield Boulevard,
but, it's a phony sign and you won't care. You'll see
the Best Buy again, but this time a little retarded
kid from New Hampshire will tell you "Blug." But,
he'll also be gesturing to a sign that says "US 29 - 9
Miles." So, you're getting close.
By this time, you'll be thirsty, so choose which
Starbucks to go to - there are only three at that
intersection, so for God's sakes man, don't go towards
the corner sans Starbucks - and get a half-caf,
half-decaf macchiato from that pierced, ironic guy
"Bryce" - don't worry, he works at all three. He'll
give you extra foam for free, if you know what I mean.
You'll cross over Pointing Asian Way and Alarmed Dog
Run, make a right on that curvy road, and then watch
out for Bitter Divorce Lake - it sneaks up on ya and
will take your car if you fall into it. If you get
past that, though, you'll see the ramp for 29, which
leads to 40, which leads you to the Beltway, and then
you're clear.
If you see the school for gimp kids, you've gone too
far.
Hope this helps.
- me
(snipped)
I
> don't know if he'll be there, he has a lot going on
> at work this week. I'll try and get him out there,
> having beer there may help to draw my meathead
> friend out of the faraway land we call Columbia.
Here's how to get out of Columbia, Tully:
Just turn left at the cul-de-sac, right at the planned
community, go straight at the intersection of Kind Bud
Path and Dismissed Soccer Mom Parkway, by that road
that curves by that gas station you don't see until
you've passed it, hang a baby-u-ee on Whispering
Deerprint Babbling Brook Stone House Lane, go
catty-corner by Flatuence Meadows Village and when you
see the Best Buy, bang a right. Up ahead there will be
a sign that says "US 29 - 3 miles." Should only take
about 2 hours at that point. Tully, you'll circle
around Broken Hip Parkway, and you'll see Vague
Concept Road. Don't do anything there. When the light
changes, you'll pass by Holden Caulfield Boulevard,
but, it's a phony sign and you won't care. You'll see
the Best Buy again, but this time a little retarded
kid from New Hampshire will tell you "Blug." But,
he'll also be gesturing to a sign that says "US 29 - 9
Miles." So, you're getting close.
By this time, you'll be thirsty, so choose which
Starbucks to go to - there are only three at that
intersection, so for God's sakes man, don't go towards
the corner sans Starbucks - and get a half-caf,
half-decaf macchiato from that pierced, ironic guy
"Bryce" - don't worry, he works at all three. He'll
give you extra foam for free, if you know what I mean.
You'll cross over Pointing Asian Way and Alarmed Dog
Run, make a right on that curvy road, and then watch
out for Bitter Divorce Lake - it sneaks up on ya and
will take your car if you fall into it. If you get
past that, though, you'll see the ramp for 29, which
leads to 40, which leads you to the Beltway, and then
you're clear.
If you see the school for gimp kids, you've gone too
far.
Hope this helps.
- me
Monday, October 11, 2004
Another post game report
Since LaTesta wants funny awards, I'll give you some funny awards.
1) The "Resting on His Laurels" award goes to Ken,who, after a MONSTER game 10 days ago, in which he was a star on both sides of the ball. This past week...I don't know. Yeah, he scored, but he also handed the ball to the other team in the end zone for a gift TD. I guess motivation was the issue, since he didn't have his Chowderhead rooting section in town. I'm sorry you only get up for the big games, Ken. You're worse than Leon from the Budweiser commercials.
2) The "Method Man and Redman" award goes to the blond guy on the other team who I covered a bit. When the ball was thrown behind him, and he twisted and dove backwards to get it, the ball grazed off his arm and into his grill, laces first. I thought he might have hurt himself, but he got up with a nice "Wilson" markon his forehead. His mug was redder than John Goodman running a wind sprint.
3) The "Dave Wannstedt Award" for Quarterback Stability goes to the other team. What did they use, 4 different QBs?
4) The "Get That Schizznit Out My Face" award goes to Lauren, for the smackdown she gave that pass towards the end of the game.
5) The "See, Catching's Easy" award goes to Scott, for finally using his hands to catch a football instead of his imagination when he's wide open.
6) The Spiccoli Award goes to the Kevin Federline lookalike on their team who looked at the Attman boys and said "whoa, twins."
7) The Lockdown Cornerback Award from me is now given to Bloomie, with three monster picks. I would like to say I've had one key pass defense this year, and my alarming lack of interceptions stems more from the oppositions' reluctance to throw towards me more thanthan anything else. I'm guessing the Bloom looked like an easier target. Can't say I blame them. I do look like a beast out there, what with my cute widdle Under Armour receiver gloves, knee brace, swim trunks, orange shirt and prescription sunglasses. I look like a reject off the old Tampa Bay Bucs practice squads when they wore the god-awful orange jerseys. Note to fashion police - I don't wanna sound too Carson Kressler on ya, but I ain't doin' orange again. I'm so not a summer. Washes out my complexion.
8) The "My Dog's Louder Than Your Dog" award goes to Shannon and her pooch Quigley. That dog sure does love you, Shannon. My Kramer barks maybe once a week. So, your dog is louder than my dog. Hence, the award for you and yer pooch.
and
9) The "OK, It's Now Getting Ridic-frickin'-lous"Award goes to the women, again, for playing Iron Woman football. 3 girls, every play. I'm so tempted to bring like, 8 bucks to the next game, hire some Patterson Park crack whores, and give them an orange shirt. Trust me - we don't want the shirts back, but at least it would give the gals a chance to catch their breath. I can see it now "Hi, I'm Scott, the coach. Ray, Mark,Andy, this is DeeDee. DeeDee, this is Ray, Mark and Andy. Also, I want you to meet my brother-in-law Chris. Not only is he our quarterback, but he'll also be your pro-bono legal representation."
Don't laugh - I've lived next to Patterson Park. Those chicks can flat-out fly, especially when BaltimoreCity PD break out that helicopter. They make mores that OJ Simpson running through an airport terminal in a Hertz commercial would be proud of. I guess lack of body fat and anything resembling solid food in their gullet makes ya fast. I seed it, man. Seed it wit my own eye.
Seacrest, out.
1) The "Resting on His Laurels" award goes to Ken,who, after a MONSTER game 10 days ago, in which he was a star on both sides of the ball. This past week...I don't know. Yeah, he scored, but he also handed the ball to the other team in the end zone for a gift TD. I guess motivation was the issue, since he didn't have his Chowderhead rooting section in town. I'm sorry you only get up for the big games, Ken. You're worse than Leon from the Budweiser commercials.
2) The "Method Man and Redman" award goes to the blond guy on the other team who I covered a bit. When the ball was thrown behind him, and he twisted and dove backwards to get it, the ball grazed off his arm and into his grill, laces first. I thought he might have hurt himself, but he got up with a nice "Wilson" markon his forehead. His mug was redder than John Goodman running a wind sprint.
3) The "Dave Wannstedt Award" for Quarterback Stability goes to the other team. What did they use, 4 different QBs?
4) The "Get That Schizznit Out My Face" award goes to Lauren, for the smackdown she gave that pass towards the end of the game.
5) The "See, Catching's Easy" award goes to Scott, for finally using his hands to catch a football instead of his imagination when he's wide open.
6) The Spiccoli Award goes to the Kevin Federline lookalike on their team who looked at the Attman boys and said "whoa, twins."
7) The Lockdown Cornerback Award from me is now given to Bloomie, with three monster picks. I would like to say I've had one key pass defense this year, and my alarming lack of interceptions stems more from the oppositions' reluctance to throw towards me more thanthan anything else. I'm guessing the Bloom looked like an easier target. Can't say I blame them. I do look like a beast out there, what with my cute widdle Under Armour receiver gloves, knee brace, swim trunks, orange shirt and prescription sunglasses. I look like a reject off the old Tampa Bay Bucs practice squads when they wore the god-awful orange jerseys. Note to fashion police - I don't wanna sound too Carson Kressler on ya, but I ain't doin' orange again. I'm so not a summer. Washes out my complexion.
8) The "My Dog's Louder Than Your Dog" award goes to Shannon and her pooch Quigley. That dog sure does love you, Shannon. My Kramer barks maybe once a week. So, your dog is louder than my dog. Hence, the award for you and yer pooch.
and
9) The "OK, It's Now Getting Ridic-frickin'-lous"Award goes to the women, again, for playing Iron Woman football. 3 girls, every play. I'm so tempted to bring like, 8 bucks to the next game, hire some Patterson Park crack whores, and give them an orange shirt. Trust me - we don't want the shirts back, but at least it would give the gals a chance to catch their breath. I can see it now "Hi, I'm Scott, the coach. Ray, Mark,Andy, this is DeeDee. DeeDee, this is Ray, Mark and Andy. Also, I want you to meet my brother-in-law Chris. Not only is he our quarterback, but he'll also be your pro-bono legal representation."
Don't laugh - I've lived next to Patterson Park. Those chicks can flat-out fly, especially when BaltimoreCity PD break out that helicopter. They make mores that OJ Simpson running through an airport terminal in a Hertz commercial would be proud of. I guess lack of body fat and anything resembling solid food in their gullet makes ya fast. I seed it, man. Seed it wit my own eye.
Seacrest, out.
Monday, October 04, 2004
Get Freddy Adu out of here!
Ok, ok, so we won this weekend. We had a great time.Friendships were made. The Chowderhead rooting sectionbusted on Ken like he was He Who Must Not Be Named forletting Pedro pitch the 8th inning. Nevermind that Kenhad a career day in touchdowns, interceptions, and gotto see Christy take off her pants at point-blankrange.Great game awards to Christy and thestill-mobile-at-32 Chris LaTesta. The Goes Both Ways award goes to Ken for making aninterception, running a TD, catching a TD and seeingChristy take off her pants at point-blank range.The "I'm Not Wearing Underpants" award goes to Jeff,Lexi and Laura through no fault of their own. Thatgirl was GOOD. She'd have juked a lot of people out oftheir underpants. The "Best Impersonation of a 2003 Ravens' WideReceiver" award goes to Scott, who made us allremember the artistic quality of a Frank Sanders'dropped ball.(oh, that's right - got to touch the ball in order todrop it...)No, the big news is from our trusty major stateuniversity and it's daily newspaper. Of course I meanthe U of MD and the Diamondback.http://www.inform.umd.edu/News/Diamondback/archives/2004/09/21/news2.htmlBasically 15-year old (allegedly) Freddy Adu has been(allegedly) going to parties in College Park, hittingon college women. This party in question gets bustedby campus buzz, and a kid utters a classic quote:"The cops came and we were like, 'Get Freddy Adu outof here,' and we hopped the fence with him," he said."I think we have an early front-runner on next year'steam name.- Ray "Got Freddy Adu out of Here" Bradley
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Post Carnage Report
In thrilling BSSC action, the Rhymes with Orange got obliterated by a team wearing black t-shirts and hatred in their eyes, 22 - 0. The Oranges put on a valiant effort, with a gutsy performance by Sauce, with a couple of fantastic catches and a touchdown-saving interception near the end zone. However, thanks to tough plays by The Guy in the Khaki Shorts, The Kinda Pudgy Guy, and their all-star performer, That Really Good Girl We Can't Cover, the team in black shirts were no trouble for the Oranges.
Informal team awards:
1) The "I Am Not Hungover; I'm Still Drunk From The Night Before" award goes to Christy. That girl wasbuttered.
2) The "I'm Just Here for the Apres-Game Pain Killers" goes to Dave, who valiantly QB'd despite a bad wing.
3) "The Weekly Enforcer" award goes to Lexi, for damned near knocking my ass out with a well-placed headbutt. For the record - no more crossing patterns for me. Only the out and posts, babe. Maybe a slant ifI'm feeling frisky. But I need to make it through this life with my full, pouty lips in one piece. Side note - good thing I'm not a deejay right now. My lip swelled so large Saturday night, I'd have done a whole show doing a Mushmouth impersonation from Fat Albert and Cosby Kids.
4) The "Psuedophederin" award goes to Shannon, for playing despite a nasty sinus infection.
5) The "Most Confusing Shout-Out" goes to Laura and Lauren, because I had a busticated lip, and I couldn't enuciate in my normal, clear, broadcast-quality voice. So, sorry if I couldn't say your names clearly enough.
Special appropos to the team who played before us with that Bernese Mountain Dog puppy, who may very well bethe cutest dog I've ever seen. Sorry, Kramer - you're a sweet dog and all, but damn that dog was cool.
Next week signals the return of the Chosen people, notto mention those lushes in Vega$$$. - me
Informal team awards:
1) The "I Am Not Hungover; I'm Still Drunk From The Night Before" award goes to Christy. That girl wasbuttered.
2) The "I'm Just Here for the Apres-Game Pain Killers" goes to Dave, who valiantly QB'd despite a bad wing.
3) "The Weekly Enforcer" award goes to Lexi, for damned near knocking my ass out with a well-placed headbutt. For the record - no more crossing patterns for me. Only the out and posts, babe. Maybe a slant ifI'm feeling frisky. But I need to make it through this life with my full, pouty lips in one piece. Side note - good thing I'm not a deejay right now. My lip swelled so large Saturday night, I'd have done a whole show doing a Mushmouth impersonation from Fat Albert and Cosby Kids.
4) The "Psuedophederin" award goes to Shannon, for playing despite a nasty sinus infection.
5) The "Most Confusing Shout-Out" goes to Laura and Lauren, because I had a busticated lip, and I couldn't enuciate in my normal, clear, broadcast-quality voice. So, sorry if I couldn't say your names clearly enough.
Special appropos to the team who played before us with that Bernese Mountain Dog puppy, who may very well bethe cutest dog I've ever seen. Sorry, Kramer - you're a sweet dog and all, but damn that dog was cool.
Next week signals the return of the Chosen people, notto mention those lushes in Vega$$$. - me
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
goodnight sweetheart
JoAnn, long time friend of the family, and employee of the grocery store, died today at 11:45am. She will be missed.
Monday, September 20, 2004
Oops I'm Married Again
So, ole' Britney's done got herself all hitched up again. `Bout damned time that no good Yankee put a ring on her fingee and made an `onest woman out of her.
Top four things most likely to be heard on the Spears-Federline honeymoon...
1) I thought we wanted a small wedding. Did you have to invite your mom?
2) Kevin, can you take that damned hat off at least ONCE?
3) I'm the king of the world!
4) I used to watch Justin dance, and I looked at the fuzzy guy in the back with bad teeth, and thought "Hottie!"
Top seven things most likely to be heard at the Spears-Federline residence...
1) Oh, the guest wing is already full of Kev's children from previous drunken hook-ups.
2) I'm not gaining weight. These are happy pounds.
3) If I get one more piece of mail addressed to "Mr. Britney Spears."
4) Hey, yo, dawg, how you spell "prenuptual?"
5) Brit, can I borrow some money?
6) Yeah, baby, this is the room where I tap Britney like a keg.
7) This letter addressed to Jason Alexander better be to that bald bastard on Seinfeld!
Three things that will never be heard at Chez Spears-Federline...
1) Put away your checkbook, Brit, I already paid the bills this month. All by myself.
2) Dear, did I put my copy of the New York Times Literary Review next to your collection of rare African-American ritualist artifacts or my crib notes on Stephen hawking's black hole theory?
3) Wow, you are SO talented.
So many people have taken cheap shots at the whole Brit/Freeloader...Federline, excuse me...relationship, and I refuse to be part of that from this point on. They are a married couple, for better or for a hell of a lot worse, and that's that. Kevin's a lucky guy - married a hot young singer with a lot of money, charisma and marketing savvy. Every man in the world wants to nail her like Bob Villa, including Carson Kressler. He may be gay, but he ain't dumb.
Can you imagine being married to one of the top eligible people in the world - not just your high school, or hometown, but the entire bloody world?!? How could you not get a big ego from that? Imagine how many broads you could seduce!
But, advice from me to you, Kev-o. You'd better keep doing those sit-ups, bud. Because all you've got going for you is your abs and the ability to wear a wife-beater, Yankee hat askew and baggy jeans almost exactly like every kid who works at a Foot Locker. You start letting yourself go, and Brit will all over Ben Affleck like a bad habit.
Kevin Federline, thy name is Cris Judd. Consider yourself warned.
I will say this to all the men - the haters - who thought they'd be a better catch for Britney than Kevin Federline...
You're probably right. But wouldn't you all rather tag-and-release Jessica Simpson now instead?
- me
Top four things most likely to be heard on the Spears-Federline honeymoon...
1) I thought we wanted a small wedding. Did you have to invite your mom?
2) Kevin, can you take that damned hat off at least ONCE?
3) I'm the king of the world!
4) I used to watch Justin dance, and I looked at the fuzzy guy in the back with bad teeth, and thought "Hottie!"
Top seven things most likely to be heard at the Spears-Federline residence...
1) Oh, the guest wing is already full of Kev's children from previous drunken hook-ups.
2) I'm not gaining weight. These are happy pounds.
3) If I get one more piece of mail addressed to "Mr. Britney Spears."
4) Hey, yo, dawg, how you spell "prenuptual?"
5) Brit, can I borrow some money?
6) Yeah, baby, this is the room where I tap Britney like a keg.
7) This letter addressed to Jason Alexander better be to that bald bastard on Seinfeld!
Three things that will never be heard at Chez Spears-Federline...
1) Put away your checkbook, Brit, I already paid the bills this month. All by myself.
2) Dear, did I put my copy of the New York Times Literary Review next to your collection of rare African-American ritualist artifacts or my crib notes on Stephen hawking's black hole theory?
3) Wow, you are SO talented.
So many people have taken cheap shots at the whole Brit/Freeloader...Federline, excuse me...relationship, and I refuse to be part of that from this point on. They are a married couple, for better or for a hell of a lot worse, and that's that. Kevin's a lucky guy - married a hot young singer with a lot of money, charisma and marketing savvy. Every man in the world wants to nail her like Bob Villa, including Carson Kressler. He may be gay, but he ain't dumb.
Can you imagine being married to one of the top eligible people in the world - not just your high school, or hometown, but the entire bloody world?!? How could you not get a big ego from that? Imagine how many broads you could seduce!
But, advice from me to you, Kev-o. You'd better keep doing those sit-ups, bud. Because all you've got going for you is your abs and the ability to wear a wife-beater, Yankee hat askew and baggy jeans almost exactly like every kid who works at a Foot Locker. You start letting yourself go, and Brit will all over Ben Affleck like a bad habit.
Kevin Federline, thy name is Cris Judd. Consider yourself warned.
I will say this to all the men - the haters - who thought they'd be a better catch for Britney than Kevin Federline...
You're probably right. But wouldn't you all rather tag-and-release Jessica Simpson now instead?
- me
Friday, September 17, 2004
Your hardship's only one of our fleet.
Finally saw the Trashcan Sinatras in concert last night. About damned time.
They were, in all aspects, absolutely amazing.
Words haven't come to me yet, but...they will.
- me
They were, in all aspects, absolutely amazing.
Words haven't come to me yet, but...they will.
- me
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
getting the (broad) band back together
First, I join New DayJob, Inc. Then, David from former DayJob, Inc., starts working here last week. Now, John from former DayJob, Inc., is in for an interview. Could Broadstreet be reshaping under the guise of the New DayJob, Inc.?
Just got back from a roadtrip out to Minnesota for Brett and Jenny's wedding. Lovely little service, held at a park in Plymouth, MN. Guess what - the park has a lake. In Minnesota! What are the odds? I can see why Marnie wanted me to come out there - couple central! Even though most of us were between the ages of 28 and 34, it seemed like 95% of the other folks were married, married with kids, or about to be married with kids. Marn needed somebody bitter and single to talk to.
Noticed something - not a whole lot of divorced folks there. Hard to get a group of 200+ folks around and not run into at least a couple of divorced people. No divorces = not a lot of bitterness.
Sights, with grades, seen on this latest roadtrip - Cedar Point Amusement Park in Ohio (A+), Madison, WI (A), Wisconsin Dells (B+), Rochester, MN (C+), Mississippi River Valley near LaCrosse, WI (A), Taliesin (A), Oak Park, IL (A), Chicago motorcycle gangs (F-), Kentuck Knob (incomplete..again.)
Kentuck Knob - one day I'll see that damned house. Supposed to be better than Fallingwater. Been to see it three times, and each time, it's closed tighter than a conservative Republican's mind.
Chicago motorcycle gangs - I am so not a big fan of guys whizzing by me in little rice burners at mach speed on I-94, weaving in, out and through traffic. I damned near clipped a couple of them, and only one would have been on purpose.
- me
Just got back from a roadtrip out to Minnesota for Brett and Jenny's wedding. Lovely little service, held at a park in Plymouth, MN. Guess what - the park has a lake. In Minnesota! What are the odds? I can see why Marnie wanted me to come out there - couple central! Even though most of us were between the ages of 28 and 34, it seemed like 95% of the other folks were married, married with kids, or about to be married with kids. Marn needed somebody bitter and single to talk to.
Noticed something - not a whole lot of divorced folks there. Hard to get a group of 200+ folks around and not run into at least a couple of divorced people. No divorces = not a lot of bitterness.
Sights, with grades, seen on this latest roadtrip - Cedar Point Amusement Park in Ohio (A+), Madison, WI (A), Wisconsin Dells (B+), Rochester, MN (C+), Mississippi River Valley near LaCrosse, WI (A), Taliesin (A), Oak Park, IL (A), Chicago motorcycle gangs (F-), Kentuck Knob (incomplete..again.)
Kentuck Knob - one day I'll see that damned house. Supposed to be better than Fallingwater. Been to see it three times, and each time, it's closed tighter than a conservative Republican's mind.
Chicago motorcycle gangs - I am so not a big fan of guys whizzing by me in little rice burners at mach speed on I-94, weaving in, out and through traffic. I damned near clipped a couple of them, and only one would have been on purpose.
- me
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Quote the Pogues
"If I should fall from the grace of God..."
If plans had gone acccording to my plan this spring, I would be groin-deep in murky James River water right now, wondering where in the heck my car had washed off to.
In the job timeline, I was interviewing with a position in Richmond with Cavalier Communications. While I had travelled through Richmond dozens of times, I had never really explored Richmond before the interview. With this job being based in Richmond, it seemed like a good time to check it out. And what a charming city it is - I had no idea Richmond was so hip, inexpensive and liveable. It's just Northern enough to be not sickly Southern, and just Southern enough to not be so bitterly Northern.
If you can put up with a very cigarette-friendly environment, Richmond's a fine little city. Reminded me of Des Moines but cooler. And closer to the beach.
And, after Tropical Storm Gaston yesterday, the beach just got closer to Richmond.
Initial reports state that about a foot of water was dumped on an already-saturated area, really damaging the Shockoe Bottom and Downtown neighborhoods. Full of neat little restaurants, bars, shops and apartments, Shockoe's where I would have moved. Found an apartment there I'd have moved into a New York Minute.
And my would-be apartment is on Richmond's News Channel 8 getting condemned.
Some of the footage looks like the aftermath of Tropical Storm Isabel in Baltimore and Annapolis last year. My old employer in downtown Annapolis had about 8 inches of water. The bookstore/coffee shop next door kept making high water mark signs, only to watch more water come in. Ego Alley Bar stayed open, and suffered 10 grand in electrical system damage. Hope the drinks were worth it. Juice It Up was 50 feet from the City Dock, and never bothered to pick up flood insurance. The morning Izzy hit, the owner of Juice It Up laughed at his neighbors who sandbagged and duct taped their store fronts. How could the water get this high, I head him ask aloud.
Good job, Nostradamus. Isabel was no joke.
I hope the folks in Shockoe heard and heeded the warnings as much as possible. Once the water dies down, I hope to take a quick day trip there. The businesses that remain will need the tourist dollars.
And I might find a good deal on an apartment.
- me
http://www.timesdispatch.com/
http://www.wric.com
If plans had gone acccording to my plan this spring, I would be groin-deep in murky James River water right now, wondering where in the heck my car had washed off to.
In the job timeline, I was interviewing with a position in Richmond with Cavalier Communications. While I had travelled through Richmond dozens of times, I had never really explored Richmond before the interview. With this job being based in Richmond, it seemed like a good time to check it out. And what a charming city it is - I had no idea Richmond was so hip, inexpensive and liveable. It's just Northern enough to be not sickly Southern, and just Southern enough to not be so bitterly Northern.
If you can put up with a very cigarette-friendly environment, Richmond's a fine little city. Reminded me of Des Moines but cooler. And closer to the beach.
And, after Tropical Storm Gaston yesterday, the beach just got closer to Richmond.
Initial reports state that about a foot of water was dumped on an already-saturated area, really damaging the Shockoe Bottom and Downtown neighborhoods. Full of neat little restaurants, bars, shops and apartments, Shockoe's where I would have moved. Found an apartment there I'd have moved into a New York Minute.
And my would-be apartment is on Richmond's News Channel 8 getting condemned.
Some of the footage looks like the aftermath of Tropical Storm Isabel in Baltimore and Annapolis last year. My old employer in downtown Annapolis had about 8 inches of water. The bookstore/coffee shop next door kept making high water mark signs, only to watch more water come in. Ego Alley Bar stayed open, and suffered 10 grand in electrical system damage. Hope the drinks were worth it. Juice It Up was 50 feet from the City Dock, and never bothered to pick up flood insurance. The morning Izzy hit, the owner of Juice It Up laughed at his neighbors who sandbagged and duct taped their store fronts. How could the water get this high, I head him ask aloud.
Good job, Nostradamus. Isabel was no joke.
I hope the folks in Shockoe heard and heeded the warnings as much as possible. Once the water dies down, I hope to take a quick day trip there. The businesses that remain will need the tourist dollars.
And I might find a good deal on an apartment.
- me
http://www.timesdispatch.com/
http://www.wric.com
Friday, August 27, 2004
Welcome to Fantasy Football Island!
I have a few foreign friends who ask just how big is the National Football League in the U.S., I tell them the following:
Bigger than Paris Hilton's sense of self. Bigger than Willie Nelson's IRS debt. So big it doesn't return Spielberg's calls.
Not only do I have ESPN NFL 2K5 for my Xbox, but I will get Madden 2005. It's got Ray Lewis on the cover - I have to get it. Or he might kill me. Or know somebody who would.
I have no less than 20 NFL logo apparel pieces, ranging from hats, sweats, t-shirts, ear muffs and jackets. I have a Ravens' key chain lanyard. Kramer the Big Dumb Dog used to have a Ravens' collar and leash. Bubby's got an Orioles collar, but she's into the slower sport. If my dogs were athletes, Bubby would be a catcher or first baseman, and Kramer would be a running back. He'll run around you, over you, drag you, push you and simply run away from you.
Squeaky is no athlete. My cat is more of a Special Forces operative. Slinky, silent, deadly. Ask that poor mouse in the parking lot last week. Squeaky has a metal studded collar, but that's because he's into B & D.
I am in only two fantasy football leagues this year, down from three last year and five the year before that. Not because I like the NFL any less, but, well, I should pay *SOME* attention at work during the fall.
I don't obsess over Fantasy football like some guys. I usually buy a magazine pre-draft, figure out what free agents went where, what rookies look good, who's having a good camp....etc... I also figure out which guys kick my ass in Xbox and get them. Shawn Alexander, Brandon Lloyd and Peyton Manning, welcome to my team. If I can't beat you, I might as well draft you.
My Scottish friend Grant, in particular, is a big fan of their football. You know, the one where they use their feet? We call it soccer, mainly because it sounds more like "sucker" which is what you are if you think you can put your kids into a sport where they won't be hurt, little miss Soccer Mom U.S.A. I don't hate sucker...soccer, per se, it's just...well...so Euro. Euro connotes skinny guys chanting and wearing gold chains and going to discoteques.
I'm American. I don't go to discoteques. I go to a bar, a club or even a nightspot. I use my hands in sports.
And I call them "sports." Not "sport." That's so Euro.
Euro means a common monetary system that is pretty much useless. It means ratifying a treaty that gives every country in it the ability to get out of it and not follow a single damned rule set forth by the treaty. Euro means allowing a war to rage on your continent for damned near a decade with nary a hint of intervention by any neighboring countries, allow for the ethnic cleansing of a minority, and then whining about it when America comes over, brings in the tanks and BFG's and gets everybody playing nicely again. Shame Clinton will have Monica and Whitewater on his legacy moreso than ending a war in Yugoslavia.
Euro means following cycling, which is cool, but then whining about it when an American beats you at your own game. Euro means slandering him with drug allegations, jumping into his way, and having everybody treat him like a criminal, only to watch him ride off with the maillot-jeune yet again. So, yeah, France, you're so Euro. Lance kicked your boys' collective ass again, and then got some big fat Texas barbeque and tagged his hot rock star girlfriend.
That's American.
-me
Bigger than Paris Hilton's sense of self. Bigger than Willie Nelson's IRS debt. So big it doesn't return Spielberg's calls.
Not only do I have ESPN NFL 2K5 for my Xbox, but I will get Madden 2005. It's got Ray Lewis on the cover - I have to get it. Or he might kill me. Or know somebody who would.
I have no less than 20 NFL logo apparel pieces, ranging from hats, sweats, t-shirts, ear muffs and jackets. I have a Ravens' key chain lanyard. Kramer the Big Dumb Dog used to have a Ravens' collar and leash. Bubby's got an Orioles collar, but she's into the slower sport. If my dogs were athletes, Bubby would be a catcher or first baseman, and Kramer would be a running back. He'll run around you, over you, drag you, push you and simply run away from you.
Squeaky is no athlete. My cat is more of a Special Forces operative. Slinky, silent, deadly. Ask that poor mouse in the parking lot last week. Squeaky has a metal studded collar, but that's because he's into B & D.
I am in only two fantasy football leagues this year, down from three last year and five the year before that. Not because I like the NFL any less, but, well, I should pay *SOME* attention at work during the fall.
I don't obsess over Fantasy football like some guys. I usually buy a magazine pre-draft, figure out what free agents went where, what rookies look good, who's having a good camp....etc... I also figure out which guys kick my ass in Xbox and get them. Shawn Alexander, Brandon Lloyd and Peyton Manning, welcome to my team. If I can't beat you, I might as well draft you.
My Scottish friend Grant, in particular, is a big fan of their football. You know, the one where they use their feet? We call it soccer, mainly because it sounds more like "sucker" which is what you are if you think you can put your kids into a sport where they won't be hurt, little miss Soccer Mom U.S.A. I don't hate sucker...soccer, per se, it's just...well...so Euro. Euro connotes skinny guys chanting and wearing gold chains and going to discoteques.
I'm American. I don't go to discoteques. I go to a bar, a club or even a nightspot. I use my hands in sports.
And I call them "sports." Not "sport." That's so Euro.
Euro means a common monetary system that is pretty much useless. It means ratifying a treaty that gives every country in it the ability to get out of it and not follow a single damned rule set forth by the treaty. Euro means allowing a war to rage on your continent for damned near a decade with nary a hint of intervention by any neighboring countries, allow for the ethnic cleansing of a minority, and then whining about it when America comes over, brings in the tanks and BFG's and gets everybody playing nicely again. Shame Clinton will have Monica and Whitewater on his legacy moreso than ending a war in Yugoslavia.
Euro means following cycling, which is cool, but then whining about it when an American beats you at your own game. Euro means slandering him with drug allegations, jumping into his way, and having everybody treat him like a criminal, only to watch him ride off with the maillot-jeune yet again. So, yeah, France, you're so Euro. Lance kicked your boys' collective ass again, and then got some big fat Texas barbeque and tagged his hot rock star girlfriend.
That's American.
-me
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Tellycommykatieons
It's ironic how telecommunications' firms always have the worst internal communications. It's a problem at every firm I've ever worked for, to some extent, but the telecoms are the worst. Bizarre, really - an entire industry built on getting people to talk, and yet, the industry can't talk with itself.
So, as Jules in Pulp Fiction would say "Example," I shall give one: assumption of knowledge. Every telecom starts your training with a lesson on the sheer basics of a phone network - switches, cables, phones - and then, when it comes to their own proprietary software and internal policies, you are to magically understand everything they say and do. Possibly through some sort of subconscious osmosis, or maybe through repeated trial, error, and yelling sessions.
But, with my first week back in the corporate world coming to a close, a new paycheck on the way, an old friend from a previous company coming to work here next week, and, perhaps most important, a week closer to health benefits again, my mind is obsessed with two thoughts...
1) Who am I going to draft in fantasy football tonight?
and
2) Man I hope I do well in the Bravo sitcom writing contest.
One thing corporate life is reminding me is how much of a love/hate relationship I have with it. I hate conformity, dress codes, cubicles, acceptable use policies - my artsy side rebels at such nonsense anyway. But, there is a rather significant part of me that rather enjoys dressing in a nice shirt, tie and shoe combo, having a fast internet connection at work, and mall food courts. Hate malls, love food courts.
I love contradiction. Sometimes.
But, this I have to admit - this place has potential.
So, as Jules in Pulp Fiction would say "Example," I shall give one: assumption of knowledge. Every telecom starts your training with a lesson on the sheer basics of a phone network - switches, cables, phones - and then, when it comes to their own proprietary software and internal policies, you are to magically understand everything they say and do. Possibly through some sort of subconscious osmosis, or maybe through repeated trial, error, and yelling sessions.
But, with my first week back in the corporate world coming to a close, a new paycheck on the way, an old friend from a previous company coming to work here next week, and, perhaps most important, a week closer to health benefits again, my mind is obsessed with two thoughts...
1) Who am I going to draft in fantasy football tonight?
and
2) Man I hope I do well in the Bravo sitcom writing contest.
One thing corporate life is reminding me is how much of a love/hate relationship I have with it. I hate conformity, dress codes, cubicles, acceptable use policies - my artsy side rebels at such nonsense anyway. But, there is a rather significant part of me that rather enjoys dressing in a nice shirt, tie and shoe combo, having a fast internet connection at work, and mall food courts. Hate malls, love food courts.
I love contradiction. Sometimes.
But, this I have to admit - this place has potential.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Employed...again
Work for a phone company in Owings Mills. Start Monday. Not going to work for Bud anymore, it would seem.
There was much rejoicing...will miss Bud.
Won't miss the related back strain.
There was much rejoicing...will miss Bud.
Won't miss the related back strain.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Better Homes and Dog Fancy
Had a job interview this afternoon. Small telecom company in Maryland. Could be promising...definitely promising a long commute until I get back into my house in Charm City. It's only been damned near TWO YEARS since the contractors started working on the unassuming 1.5 bedroom rowhome in Canton. You'd figure they *might* get done sometime for yet another Bush is elected President. Considering they've taken about 1/2 of W's term, what, will it be done when Billy, Jeb or even one of those spunky Bush twins take the oath of office?
I am not holding my breath - even if I had that oxygenated gel used in "The Abyss."
Wrote a couple of bits for both my spec script for Family Guy and my entry into the Bravo sitcom writing contest. It's nice to carry pen and paper with me - amazing how few jokes and bits I forget when I'm actually writing them down as I'm thinking about them.
One of the exercises I vaguely remember from college was to develop characters, and see how they'd react to a situation that you as a person had experienced. It's an interesting mental activity, and a good way to see how well you know your characters. But, in the same light as dealing with a fictional character in real situation, it's more fascinating to see how *you'd* react in a real situation that a friend is in. Case in point - tonight, one of the best friends called to say that his dog had a seizure, a potential stroke, and would probably have to be put down soon. The dog in question is pretty old, especially for a bigger dog, and definitely one of the sweetest canines I've ever met. Kind, gentle, and pretty obedient. Little hyper when she was younger, but, hey, most dogs are.
So, while the inevitable loss of the dog is sad, I began to wonder how I'd react when the same news would be delivered to me about one of my two dogs. Kramer is still young and pretty much indestructible. Bubby, on the other hand, is an old seven. Hip has been bad since she was a pup, and she hates to exercise. Food is her drug of choice, sleep is her M.O., and we all saw how well that combination worked for Elvis. Chances are, I'll be getting one of those horrible calls from the vet by 2007, maybe 2006.
Or, maybe by the time my house is completed.
Hopefully I'll catch the warning signs in time, to help ward off any suffering. Bad enough to see a human after a stroke, but a dog...jeez. I couldn't be a vet. No way. The way I get about pets - it is easier for me to imagine another dimension than to tell a little girl that her cat has died. Nope. Forget it.
I think if Kramer and I were stranded on a desert island, and it came down to him or me...he wins. I wouldn't. Couldn't. So, if you're travel agent, I think you can figure out that I won't be doing a dining tour of Southeast Asia anytime soon. Too many islands, and I don't munch on pets.
Uncle Larry was stationed in Vietnam. He said he found out he ate dog soup. I asked him what it tasted like.
"Kind of like cat," he replied.
- me
I am not holding my breath - even if I had that oxygenated gel used in "The Abyss."
Wrote a couple of bits for both my spec script for Family Guy and my entry into the Bravo sitcom writing contest. It's nice to carry pen and paper with me - amazing how few jokes and bits I forget when I'm actually writing them down as I'm thinking about them.
One of the exercises I vaguely remember from college was to develop characters, and see how they'd react to a situation that you as a person had experienced. It's an interesting mental activity, and a good way to see how well you know your characters. But, in the same light as dealing with a fictional character in real situation, it's more fascinating to see how *you'd* react in a real situation that a friend is in. Case in point - tonight, one of the best friends called to say that his dog had a seizure, a potential stroke, and would probably have to be put down soon. The dog in question is pretty old, especially for a bigger dog, and definitely one of the sweetest canines I've ever met. Kind, gentle, and pretty obedient. Little hyper when she was younger, but, hey, most dogs are.
So, while the inevitable loss of the dog is sad, I began to wonder how I'd react when the same news would be delivered to me about one of my two dogs. Kramer is still young and pretty much indestructible. Bubby, on the other hand, is an old seven. Hip has been bad since she was a pup, and she hates to exercise. Food is her drug of choice, sleep is her M.O., and we all saw how well that combination worked for Elvis. Chances are, I'll be getting one of those horrible calls from the vet by 2007, maybe 2006.
Or, maybe by the time my house is completed.
Hopefully I'll catch the warning signs in time, to help ward off any suffering. Bad enough to see a human after a stroke, but a dog...jeez. I couldn't be a vet. No way. The way I get about pets - it is easier for me to imagine another dimension than to tell a little girl that her cat has died. Nope. Forget it.
I think if Kramer and I were stranded on a desert island, and it came down to him or me...he wins. I wouldn't. Couldn't. So, if you're travel agent, I think you can figure out that I won't be doing a dining tour of Southeast Asia anytime soon. Too many islands, and I don't munch on pets.
Uncle Larry was stationed in Vietnam. He said he found out he ate dog soup. I asked him what it tasted like.
"Kind of like cat," he replied.
- me
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
arrivals and departures
The man who was once known as Lurch arrives back in Merryland tomorrow for a little visit to the family and friends he left behind. Left behind so many years ago (ok, really, only about six of them....friends and years, that is) to pursue the bright lights of Los Angeles, trying to get a hug from that addictive mistress known as "Fame." Several extra gigs, a potential porno audition, a couple of lines on "Spin City" and a modelling shoot that seemed so minor at the time have been Lurch's only brushes with the aforementioned mistress. Fame's trusty sidekick "Fortune" has been almost as elusive, though a regular gig at Six Flags Magic Mountain has been keeping the bill collectors at bay.
Six Flags is a milestone for me, a Mecca and a false prophet all in one. Milestone - because it marked the first time myself and my bestest friend of damned near a quarter century had even been on a roller coaster together. Mecca, because I loves me the roller coasters. And, false prophet, because, as Lurchy can attest, the woman who wanted to be my agent in 2000 would probably get me a gig as "Stepdad" in a family-based sitcom starring her and her (admittedly) two really cute kids. The part of "Bitter Ex-Husband" would have been played by, ironically, her bitter ex-husband. Hilarity ensues.
Within two weeks, I will be going to the only thing Six Flags, Magic Mountain, has in competition for being the best roller coaster park in the free world - Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio. Home of the biggest and fastest coasters in the world - for now - until some park in Asia decides it needs the fastest and/or biggest coaster next year.
Which I don't get. As a rule, the humans who reside and breed in North America are pretty much the biggest people in the world, Yao Ming and Magnus von Magnusson not withstanding. If the average Asian is 5% shorter and lighter than an average American, don't their roller coasters need to be 5% shorter and slower for the same thrill?
Or is it that they get 5% more thrills than an American on the same ride? Same logic. If that's the case, I want a refund, Kings' Dominion.
Going to the laundromat to wash the bedsheets and blankets. Working on my Family Guy spec script tonight. Came up with six jokes for it at work today; can only remember 2 of them. If I played for the Red Sox, I'd be an all-star. Since I don't, it's just frustrating.
- me
Six Flags is a milestone for me, a Mecca and a false prophet all in one. Milestone - because it marked the first time myself and my bestest friend of damned near a quarter century had even been on a roller coaster together. Mecca, because I loves me the roller coasters. And, false prophet, because, as Lurchy can attest, the woman who wanted to be my agent in 2000 would probably get me a gig as "Stepdad" in a family-based sitcom starring her and her (admittedly) two really cute kids. The part of "Bitter Ex-Husband" would have been played by, ironically, her bitter ex-husband. Hilarity ensues.
Within two weeks, I will be going to the only thing Six Flags, Magic Mountain, has in competition for being the best roller coaster park in the free world - Cedar Point in Sandusky, Ohio. Home of the biggest and fastest coasters in the world - for now - until some park in Asia decides it needs the fastest and/or biggest coaster next year.
Which I don't get. As a rule, the humans who reside and breed in North America are pretty much the biggest people in the world, Yao Ming and Magnus von Magnusson not withstanding. If the average Asian is 5% shorter and lighter than an average American, don't their roller coasters need to be 5% shorter and slower for the same thrill?
Or is it that they get 5% more thrills than an American on the same ride? Same logic. If that's the case, I want a refund, Kings' Dominion.
Going to the laundromat to wash the bedsheets and blankets. Working on my Family Guy spec script tonight. Came up with six jokes for it at work today; can only remember 2 of them. If I played for the Red Sox, I'd be an all-star. Since I don't, it's just frustrating.
- me
be gentle, virgin post
It's about 12:30 in the morning on the East Coast, though my rapidly-wearing out Clinton-era Macintosh says it's 1:23 am. I've been up in my cubby hole of a room with painful abdominal cramps, either from the muscle-memory remnants of a torn ab of three years ago, or the slightly-less-than-awful tasting Carb Well breakfast cereal I had this afternoon. In any event, I have been waging a battle against my sense of smell over the past three hours as my G.I. tract tries to keep up with the various low-carb crap I inserted into. Low-carb cereal and soy milk - this coming from a man who's 19 meals-a-week dining hall plan at Virginia Wesleyan College could have easily been swapped with Ramen noodles, the then not-omnipresent Krispy Kreme donuts, Chanello's pizza and an ungodly amount of whatever beer was the cheapest.
Now, all I need to do is look at a McGriddle and I swell like Violet Beauregard. At least I don't turn violet, Violet.
Interesting how time and tide and an overabundance of simple carbohydrates wait for no man.
I'm still trim, mind you. Pretty good shape, actually, for a 31 year old who spent way too much time eating and not enough exercising. I mean, I'm not built like one of those mooks you see on Elimidate with the spiky gel-met hair, striped button-down shirt, jeans and sandals and more muscle tone than Jack LaLanne. Can now see one row of abs pretty well, and the faint hint of a second row coming through the fog. Got all my hair. All my teeth. Joints work pretty well. Still fleet of foot and quick of wit. Memory is pretty flaky. Can remember the name of the guy my first high school girlfriend dumped me for (Her - Becky. Him - Ed). Can't remember all the names of the women I've slept with, or even the number, but that's for another post.
You are probably asking "What is a obpopcultref?" I might tell you it's my own word, derived from the ETLA I used to use of "OPCR" when describing an Obscure Pop Culture Reference. Obpopcultref is the UNIX-ish version, and that's only because I really really really occasionally miss the Internet in the CLI days - that's circa 1994 for all you whippersnappers and your pretty pictures on the web. Some of us, though - we remember when we had no Google, only Gopher, and not that Fred Grandy bugger, either.
An OPCR was something I first identified in high school, when I first discovered the Baltimore City Paper. The BCP is a free weekly alterna-rag that is similar to other free alterna-rags found in most major and minor North American cities. They are filled with lefty-leaning articles ranging from urban decay, white flight to the `burbs, multicultural events and forward-thinkers. Really, though, most people use them for their convenient movie listings and phone sex ads. Any rate - the BCP had all of these references that I didn't understand. I had heard Dennis Miller, the undisputed heavyweight champion of OPCR, and figured he was just smarter than everybody else. What the BCP showed me through its snarky writing style and heavy use of OPCRs was that even psuedo-intellectual grad-school drop-outs who need the 150 bucks for submitting an article for pizza and pot money could pretend to be smart.
Took me a while before I realized OPCRs were the smart kid's way of separating the hip wheat from the unhip chaff. Anybody can wear a Coca-Cola rugby shirt (please tell me I'm not the only one who remembers when those things were cool) and Lord knows Vans, Op shorts, upturned shirt collars and pleated pants all had their fashionable fifteen minutes. The outward signs of upbringing, income level, relative education - those things can be faked, masked or even ignored. But world of the OPCR is very George W. - You're either for us, or you're agin' us. You can watch "Mean Girls" for the overt comedy, or Lindsay Lohan's impressive bust. A girl who can tell the weather, mostly, by feeling her boob is pretty funny. But a girl named Janis Ian - well, if you don't get that lil' in-joke, you ain't ever gonna get it.
Like in High Fidelity - the books we read, the music we listen to...these things matter. The OPCR is like the Washington Post - if you don't get it, you don't get IT.
And IT is important.
You might ask- "Why blog?" Why should anybody bother to read my mental farts when even my dog is walking out of the room with his actual farts, and the various gurgling noises from my midsection echo that of something Sigourney Weaver would blast with a flamethrower? Why bother reading the thoughts and actions of somebody who has pretty much tried to be and do everything possible, and pretty much failed or flogged at it all?
(don't worry, kids, back story is coming. this blog is gonna be written like Tarantino directs - you think that movie 'Memento' was something - wait until you see how my brain works...)
I would say "Why indeed." I'm no Jessica Cutler. I'm no Wonkette. I'm definitely no Howard Dean. I had some fun in college, but I think Cutler lapped my 13 years of sexual activity in a month. Wonkette has much better dish than I could ever muster. Yours truly, though - much better screamer than Dr. Dean. I have tried to do it all, I have failed at a lot, and I think the trying was a hell of a lot more fun than I would have imagined.
So, read me because I might scream.
Now, all I need to do is look at a McGriddle and I swell like Violet Beauregard. At least I don't turn violet, Violet.
Interesting how time and tide and an overabundance of simple carbohydrates wait for no man.
I'm still trim, mind you. Pretty good shape, actually, for a 31 year old who spent way too much time eating and not enough exercising. I mean, I'm not built like one of those mooks you see on Elimidate with the spiky gel-met hair, striped button-down shirt, jeans and sandals and more muscle tone than Jack LaLanne. Can now see one row of abs pretty well, and the faint hint of a second row coming through the fog. Got all my hair. All my teeth. Joints work pretty well. Still fleet of foot and quick of wit. Memory is pretty flaky. Can remember the name of the guy my first high school girlfriend dumped me for (Her - Becky. Him - Ed). Can't remember all the names of the women I've slept with, or even the number, but that's for another post.
You are probably asking "What is a obpopcultref?" I might tell you it's my own word, derived from the ETLA I used to use of "OPCR" when describing an Obscure Pop Culture Reference. Obpopcultref is the UNIX-ish version, and that's only because I really really really occasionally miss the Internet in the CLI days - that's circa 1994 for all you whippersnappers and your pretty pictures on the web. Some of us, though - we remember when we had no Google, only Gopher, and not that Fred Grandy bugger, either.
An OPCR was something I first identified in high school, when I first discovered the Baltimore City Paper. The BCP is a free weekly alterna-rag that is similar to other free alterna-rags found in most major and minor North American cities. They are filled with lefty-leaning articles ranging from urban decay, white flight to the `burbs, multicultural events and forward-thinkers. Really, though, most people use them for their convenient movie listings and phone sex ads. Any rate - the BCP had all of these references that I didn't understand. I had heard Dennis Miller, the undisputed heavyweight champion of OPCR, and figured he was just smarter than everybody else. What the BCP showed me through its snarky writing style and heavy use of OPCRs was that even psuedo-intellectual grad-school drop-outs who need the 150 bucks for submitting an article for pizza and pot money could pretend to be smart.
Took me a while before I realized OPCRs were the smart kid's way of separating the hip wheat from the unhip chaff. Anybody can wear a Coca-Cola rugby shirt (please tell me I'm not the only one who remembers when those things were cool) and Lord knows Vans, Op shorts, upturned shirt collars and pleated pants all had their fashionable fifteen minutes. The outward signs of upbringing, income level, relative education - those things can be faked, masked or even ignored. But world of the OPCR is very George W. - You're either for us, or you're agin' us. You can watch "Mean Girls" for the overt comedy, or Lindsay Lohan's impressive bust. A girl who can tell the weather, mostly, by feeling her boob is pretty funny. But a girl named Janis Ian - well, if you don't get that lil' in-joke, you ain't ever gonna get it.
Like in High Fidelity - the books we read, the music we listen to...these things matter. The OPCR is like the Washington Post - if you don't get it, you don't get IT.
And IT is important.
You might ask- "Why blog?" Why should anybody bother to read my mental farts when even my dog is walking out of the room with his actual farts, and the various gurgling noises from my midsection echo that of something Sigourney Weaver would blast with a flamethrower? Why bother reading the thoughts and actions of somebody who has pretty much tried to be and do everything possible, and pretty much failed or flogged at it all?
(don't worry, kids, back story is coming. this blog is gonna be written like Tarantino directs - you think that movie 'Memento' was something - wait until you see how my brain works...)
I would say "Why indeed." I'm no Jessica Cutler. I'm no Wonkette. I'm definitely no Howard Dean. I had some fun in college, but I think Cutler lapped my 13 years of sexual activity in a month. Wonkette has much better dish than I could ever muster. Yours truly, though - much better screamer than Dr. Dean. I have tried to do it all, I have failed at a lot, and I think the trying was a hell of a lot more fun than I would have imagined.
So, read me because I might scream.
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