11.30.2004
Sideways Downways Upside Down
Over the weekend the lovely wife and I, along with about two hundred old people, went to see Alexander Payne's new film Sideways. I think it was the first time we made it to the theater since Lucie was born in March. Couldn't have picked a better film. (of course, Christine thought it was just okay, but it was more my taste: depressing and funny at the same time).
Loved It! I love wine. I love Paul Giamatti. I love depressing losers and failed writers. I love full frontal nudity. This flick had them all. And it had the delightful Sandra Oh, who I have liked Oh-so-many years (look out shalit!) since I saw the Canadian film "Double Happiness" (seek it out).
I was reminded of going out with my friend Disco and Shane, two first-class pussyhounds, who let me tag along while we tried to talk up every girl in Charlottesville. They always ended up getting their dingdongs slick, some stanky on their hangdowns, whenever we went out. How I admired them: their pregnancy scares, the chancres on their weewees, the easily procured ecstasy, hitting on my girlfriend, group gropes in the back of Orbit (Willem Dafoe in that Hogan's Hero Movie: "It was a group grope, man, anything goes. I'm not a gay."), ever-more-powerful prescriptions of antibiotics and salves, passing drunk girls around like joints. Oh, there was a character in this movie that reminded me of them.
Over the weekend the lovely wife and I, along with about two hundred old people, went to see Alexander Payne's new film Sideways. I think it was the first time we made it to the theater since Lucie was born in March. Couldn't have picked a better film. (of course, Christine thought it was just okay, but it was more my taste: depressing and funny at the same time).
Loved It! I love wine. I love Paul Giamatti. I love depressing losers and failed writers. I love full frontal nudity. This flick had them all. And it had the delightful Sandra Oh, who I have liked Oh-so-many years (look out shalit!) since I saw the Canadian film "Double Happiness" (seek it out).
I was reminded of going out with my friend Disco and Shane, two first-class pussyhounds, who let me tag along while we tried to talk up every girl in Charlottesville. They always ended up getting their dingdongs slick, some stanky on their hangdowns, whenever we went out. How I admired them: their pregnancy scares, the chancres on their weewees, the easily procured ecstasy, hitting on my girlfriend, group gropes in the back of Orbit (Willem Dafoe in that Hogan's Hero Movie: "It was a group grope, man, anything goes. I'm not a gay."), ever-more-powerful prescriptions of antibiotics and salves, passing drunk girls around like joints. Oh, there was a character in this movie that reminded me of them.
11.23.2004
Looking My Dead Dad in the Eyes
It's been a while since I have added anything to this blog; seems like I've been having a miserable couple of weeks. Two weeks ago today my mom called me to tell me that my biological father had passed away and that I should probably go to the funeral home to pay my last respects.
I had not seen the bastard in almost twenty-two years, but I decided to do what was right for my karma, to prove that I am indeed a better man at my worst than he ever was at his best, and make the four hour drive to Flushing to view his frail ugly corpse and show my face to the family. This was a trip neither his mother or his sister was willing to make, to demonstrate the extent to which he made himself a stranger to his family.
This whole shebang has left me, of course, engulfed with all sorts of mixed emotions. Two years ago my sisters and I buried my stepfather, who for all intents and porpoises was my real dad. This asshole I buried in my mind halfway through adolescence.
My whole life I would constantly hear from family and friends about how I am the spitting image of him, his unfortunate DNA has structured my face to resemble his enough to probably fool the sophisticated face recognition super bowl they use to catch probation violators at the Super Bowl. Personally, I wouldn't know if I look like him, cause I haven't seen him since Reagan's first term. At family gatherings people would come up to me and say, "Detlef, you haven't aged a bit. Wholly shit." "I'm Chris, Detlef's son." "How's he doing?" "fuck if I know." "Sorry."
When I saw his emaciated and gray body (six months of battling pancreatic cancer will wreak havoc on your body), all I could think was, "I'm better looking than him." His hair was dark and slicked back, and he still had the pornstar moustache. He was five-six in lifts, and looked just tiny, skinny and frail. In my imaginary reconciliations I harbored in my mind I would always picture him as some ruddy-faced German, with a long gray moustache like Gepetto; I even pictured him in lederhosen and Alpine hat. (Probably because the last time i saw him we went to an Oktoberfest). Instead, he was small dark and swarthy, like me. Or an Azeri.
What struck me most about that evening was the lack of emotion and feeling I had. Had I really become this hardened? I felt basic human sympathy for the man, and even his harpie of a wife, but nothing more than I would feel for the victims of a mudslide in Bangladesh or the Columbia disaster, I was that removed. I was even kind of happy he was dead, and I could feel myself stifling (nervous?) laughter when I went up to the coffin with my sister.
His wife's son came up to my sister Denise's boyfriend and called him Chris, and then started to talk to him like he was me. The asshole.
My cousins came up to me and expressed sympathy and everything, but really, I wasn't really that sorry myself.
His stepson came up and said "Dave [my father went by Dave in America] talked about you all the time. He was proud." Really? The two letters I got in twenty-two years didn't mention anything about pride. What a pair of douchebags. The ass didn't pay my mom her child support, and he never paid a cent for my considerable college expenses. He forgot all of our birthdays, I forgave him the first time he forgot mine, but I was irate when he missed my sister's a month later. He hurt my sister in so many ways; from the abandonment issue to telling her while she was in rehab that he didn't think she was his.
The past two weeks made me realize that I have to be an asshole too. No, I'm not going to abandon my girls and dissappear from their lives for a generation. I'm suing the frucking estate. My sister and I are going for the house in queens, the store in florida and whatever else they have hiding. Did I mention the fucker was loaded? I'm not the kind of milquetoast who believes in forgiveness; you pay for on this earth the misdeeds you performed. And I will act out as the vessel of that punishment. Dagnabbit.
It's been a while since I have added anything to this blog; seems like I've been having a miserable couple of weeks. Two weeks ago today my mom called me to tell me that my biological father had passed away and that I should probably go to the funeral home to pay my last respects.
I had not seen the bastard in almost twenty-two years, but I decided to do what was right for my karma, to prove that I am indeed a better man at my worst than he ever was at his best, and make the four hour drive to Flushing to view his frail ugly corpse and show my face to the family. This was a trip neither his mother or his sister was willing to make, to demonstrate the extent to which he made himself a stranger to his family.
This whole shebang has left me, of course, engulfed with all sorts of mixed emotions. Two years ago my sisters and I buried my stepfather, who for all intents and porpoises was my real dad. This asshole I buried in my mind halfway through adolescence.
My whole life I would constantly hear from family and friends about how I am the spitting image of him, his unfortunate DNA has structured my face to resemble his enough to probably fool the sophisticated face recognition super bowl they use to catch probation violators at the Super Bowl. Personally, I wouldn't know if I look like him, cause I haven't seen him since Reagan's first term. At family gatherings people would come up to me and say, "Detlef, you haven't aged a bit. Wholly shit." "I'm Chris, Detlef's son." "How's he doing?" "fuck if I know." "Sorry."
When I saw his emaciated and gray body (six months of battling pancreatic cancer will wreak havoc on your body), all I could think was, "I'm better looking than him." His hair was dark and slicked back, and he still had the pornstar moustache. He was five-six in lifts, and looked just tiny, skinny and frail. In my imaginary reconciliations I harbored in my mind I would always picture him as some ruddy-faced German, with a long gray moustache like Gepetto; I even pictured him in lederhosen and Alpine hat. (Probably because the last time i saw him we went to an Oktoberfest). Instead, he was small dark and swarthy, like me. Or an Azeri.
What struck me most about that evening was the lack of emotion and feeling I had. Had I really become this hardened? I felt basic human sympathy for the man, and even his harpie of a wife, but nothing more than I would feel for the victims of a mudslide in Bangladesh or the Columbia disaster, I was that removed. I was even kind of happy he was dead, and I could feel myself stifling (nervous?) laughter when I went up to the coffin with my sister.
His wife's son came up to my sister Denise's boyfriend and called him Chris, and then started to talk to him like he was me. The asshole.
My cousins came up to me and expressed sympathy and everything, but really, I wasn't really that sorry myself.
His stepson came up and said "Dave [my father went by Dave in America] talked about you all the time. He was proud." Really? The two letters I got in twenty-two years didn't mention anything about pride. What a pair of douchebags. The ass didn't pay my mom her child support, and he never paid a cent for my considerable college expenses. He forgot all of our birthdays, I forgave him the first time he forgot mine, but I was irate when he missed my sister's a month later. He hurt my sister in so many ways; from the abandonment issue to telling her while she was in rehab that he didn't think she was his.
The past two weeks made me realize that I have to be an asshole too. No, I'm not going to abandon my girls and dissappear from their lives for a generation. I'm suing the frucking estate. My sister and I are going for the house in queens, the store in florida and whatever else they have hiding. Did I mention the fucker was loaded? I'm not the kind of milquetoast who believes in forgiveness; you pay for on this earth the misdeeds you performed. And I will act out as the vessel of that punishment. Dagnabbit.
11.14.2004
I put my latest post through the Dialectizer, set on Jive:
11.6.2004
Stupid Doodads ah' Gots Eaten
As regular sufferers uh my blog may already know, ah' likes t'keep many ridiculous lists in mah' haid. Dis list be of stupid doodads ah' have put in mah' moud, and da damn side effects, dig dis:
1. Pine Nuts - It took me dree times t'realize dat ah' wuz allergic t'pine nuts and dey would make me drow down. ah' would sit dere poppin' pine nuts into mah' moud, and den two hours lata' drowin' down in de prep stashun. "Whut de Fuck dun did ya' eat, Chris?" "I duzn't know, so cut me some slack, Jack."
2. Bea' Battered Hamburga' - Once ah' dipped some 9 oz hamburga' patty into bea' batta' and deep fried it. Man! ah' put some cayenne mayonaise, lettuce, tomatoes, hot sauce, onion and da damn greasy humongous fried patty onto some roll and fed da bud it. Man! De batta' cooked down much fasta' dan de burga' itself, makin' it probably de bloodiest mess ah' have eva' et. Man! Afta' eatin' it ah' had t'sit waaay down fo' some few minutes t'let it settle. There, but ah' wouldn't reccommend it fo' de lighdearted.
3. Once Big Raz'tus wuz cleanin' de grey parts off uh some stasht tips. ah' dought he wuz slicin' an already cooked piece uh meat, so's I reach in and grab some piece and pop it in mah' moud. "You's idiot, Chris! Right on! Dat wuz raw baaaad meat! Right on! Ha ha! Right on!" ah' wuz queesy most uh de night. Man!
4. Hot Win's uh Dead - Once fo' some party ah' made hot win' sauce out uh vinegar and about twenty habanero peppuh's. ah' pureed da damn peppuh' and let da damn win's soak in de pepppuh'-vinegar-honey mix overnight. Man! Den ah' served dem t'my homeys.
5. Little Triangle Doodads Dey Wuz Sellin' By de Side uh de Road in Kazakhstan. 'S coo', bro. Dey wuz delicious empinada type doodads wid potato in dem. WORD! In Yaroslavl ah' would feed da bud about six pierozhki fo' lunch every day till de lady who ran de stand told me dat ah' had enough. Lop some boogie. One night on de train t'Ashkhabaaaad ah' ate twenty uh dese doodads. Which leads me t'item #6.
6. Train Vodka - Dis Turkmen dude wuz smokin' pot wid mah' cabinmate Arseny and collectin' booze dat wuz runnin' off de roof uh de train. 'S coo', bro. Little dun did ah' know whut he intended t'do wid dis booze. He cut da damn booze wid grain alcohol and made cribmade train vodka. WORD! ah' drank about 200 milliliters uh dat stuff. De next day ah' shat mah' underwear and had t'drow it out da damn train window into de Karakum desert. Man! ah' stepped off de train at da damn stop in Charzhou, looked around, some projectile vomited all upside de platfo'm. WORD! "Welcome t'Turkmenia! Right on!"
// posted by Christopha' Franz @ 11/6/2004 (0) comments
11.6.2004
Stupid Doodads ah' Gots Eaten
As regular sufferers uh my blog may already know, ah' likes t'keep many ridiculous lists in mah' haid. Dis list be of stupid doodads ah' have put in mah' moud, and da damn side effects, dig dis:
1. Pine Nuts - It took me dree times t'realize dat ah' wuz allergic t'pine nuts and dey would make me drow down. ah' would sit dere poppin' pine nuts into mah' moud, and den two hours lata' drowin' down in de prep stashun. "Whut de Fuck dun did ya' eat, Chris?" "I duzn't know, so cut me some slack, Jack."
2. Bea' Battered Hamburga' - Once ah' dipped some 9 oz hamburga' patty into bea' batta' and deep fried it. Man! ah' put some cayenne mayonaise, lettuce, tomatoes, hot sauce, onion and da damn greasy humongous fried patty onto some roll and fed da bud it. Man! De batta' cooked down much fasta' dan de burga' itself, makin' it probably de bloodiest mess ah' have eva' et. Man! Afta' eatin' it ah' had t'sit waaay down fo' some few minutes t'let it settle. There, but ah' wouldn't reccommend it fo' de lighdearted.
3. Once Big Raz'tus wuz cleanin' de grey parts off uh some stasht tips. ah' dought he wuz slicin' an already cooked piece uh meat, so's I reach in and grab some piece and pop it in mah' moud. "You's idiot, Chris! Right on! Dat wuz raw baaaad meat! Right on! Ha ha! Right on!" ah' wuz queesy most uh de night. Man!
4. Hot Win's uh Dead - Once fo' some party ah' made hot win' sauce out uh vinegar and about twenty habanero peppuh's. ah' pureed da damn peppuh' and let da damn win's soak in de pepppuh'-vinegar-honey mix overnight. Man! Den ah' served dem t'my homeys.
5. Little Triangle Doodads Dey Wuz Sellin' By de Side uh de Road in Kazakhstan. 'S coo', bro. Dey wuz delicious empinada type doodads wid potato in dem. WORD! In Yaroslavl ah' would feed da bud about six pierozhki fo' lunch every day till de lady who ran de stand told me dat ah' had enough. Lop some boogie. One night on de train t'Ashkhabaaaad ah' ate twenty uh dese doodads. Which leads me t'item #6.
6. Train Vodka - Dis Turkmen dude wuz smokin' pot wid mah' cabinmate Arseny and collectin' booze dat wuz runnin' off de roof uh de train. 'S coo', bro. Little dun did ah' know whut he intended t'do wid dis booze. He cut da damn booze wid grain alcohol and made cribmade train vodka. WORD! ah' drank about 200 milliliters uh dat stuff. De next day ah' shat mah' underwear and had t'drow it out da damn train window into de Karakum desert. Man! ah' stepped off de train at da damn stop in Charzhou, looked around, some projectile vomited all upside de platfo'm. WORD! "Welcome t'Turkmenia! Right on!"
// posted by Christopha' Franz @ 11/6/2004 (0) comments
11.06.2004
Stupid Things I Have Eaten
As regular sufferers of my blog may already know, I like to keep many ridiculous lists in my head. This list is of stupid things I have put in my mouth, and the side effects:
1. Pine Nuts - It took me three times to realize that I was allergic to pine nuts and they would make me throw up. I would sit there popping pine nuts into my mouth, and then two hours later throwing up in the prep station. "What the Fuck did you eat, Chris?" "I don't know."
2. Beer Battered Hamburger - Once I dipped a 9 oz hamburger patty into beer batter and deep fried it. I put some cayenne mayonaise, lettuce, tomatoes, hot sauce, onion and the greasy humongous fried patty onto a roll and ate it. The batter cooked up much faster than the burger itself, making it probably the bloodiest mess I have ever et. After eating it I had to sit down for a few minutes to let it settle. Pretty good, but I wouldn't reccommend it for the lighthearted.
3. Once Big John was cleaning the grey parts off of some filet tips. I thought he was slicing an already cooked piece of meat, so I reach in and grab a piece and pop it in my mouth. "You idiot, Chris! That was raw bad meat! Ha ha!" I was queesy most of the night.
4. Hot Wings of Death - Once for a party I made hot wing sauce out of vinegar and about twenty habanero peppers. I pureed the pepper and let the wings soak in the peppper-vinegar-honey mix overnight. Then I served them to my friends.
5. Little Triangle Things They Were Selling By the Side of the Road in Kazakhstan. They were delicious empinada type things with potato in them. In Yaroslavl I would eat about six pierozhki for lunch every day till the lady who ran the stand told me that I had enough. One night on the train to Ashkhabad I ate twenty of these things. Which leads me to item #6.
6. Train Vodka - This Turkmen guy was smoking pot with my cabinmate Arseny and collecting water that was running off the roof of the train. Little did I know what he intended to do with this water. He cut the water with grain alcohol and made homemade train vodka. I drank about 200 milliliters of that stuff. The next day I shat my underwear and had to throw it out the train window into the Karakum desert. I stepped off the train at the stop in Charzhou, looked around, a projectile vomited all over the platform. "Welcome to Turkmenia!"
As regular sufferers of my blog may already know, I like to keep many ridiculous lists in my head. This list is of stupid things I have put in my mouth, and the side effects:
1. Pine Nuts - It took me three times to realize that I was allergic to pine nuts and they would make me throw up. I would sit there popping pine nuts into my mouth, and then two hours later throwing up in the prep station. "What the Fuck did you eat, Chris?" "I don't know."
2. Beer Battered Hamburger - Once I dipped a 9 oz hamburger patty into beer batter and deep fried it. I put some cayenne mayonaise, lettuce, tomatoes, hot sauce, onion and the greasy humongous fried patty onto a roll and ate it. The batter cooked up much faster than the burger itself, making it probably the bloodiest mess I have ever et. After eating it I had to sit down for a few minutes to let it settle. Pretty good, but I wouldn't reccommend it for the lighthearted.
3. Once Big John was cleaning the grey parts off of some filet tips. I thought he was slicing an already cooked piece of meat, so I reach in and grab a piece and pop it in my mouth. "You idiot, Chris! That was raw bad meat! Ha ha!" I was queesy most of the night.
4. Hot Wings of Death - Once for a party I made hot wing sauce out of vinegar and about twenty habanero peppers. I pureed the pepper and let the wings soak in the peppper-vinegar-honey mix overnight. Then I served them to my friends.
5. Little Triangle Things They Were Selling By the Side of the Road in Kazakhstan. They were delicious empinada type things with potato in them. In Yaroslavl I would eat about six pierozhki for lunch every day till the lady who ran the stand told me that I had enough. One night on the train to Ashkhabad I ate twenty of these things. Which leads me to item #6.
6. Train Vodka - This Turkmen guy was smoking pot with my cabinmate Arseny and collecting water that was running off the roof of the train. Little did I know what he intended to do with this water. He cut the water with grain alcohol and made homemade train vodka. I drank about 200 milliliters of that stuff. The next day I shat my underwear and had to throw it out the train window into the Karakum desert. I stepped off the train at the stop in Charzhou, looked around, a projectile vomited all over the platform. "Welcome to Turkmenia!"
News That Should Enliven My Wife
Last night I tried to read the online version of Charlottesville other weelky rag, The Hook. Instead of the expected feelings of nostalgia, I was met with feelings of vague indifference. It was like reading the newspaper of a city I've never been to, The Dubuque Register or the Sacramento Bee. A while back I checked out a discussion group based in Yaroslavl, and they were discussing cool brewpubs, casinos and fast food places around town. Needless to say, none of these existed when I lived there circa 1992. It was not the Yaroslavl I remember of do-it-yourself jazz clubs and festivals, parties on the Strelka, seedy dance clubs, and Kluby Druzei Kino. The Buddha said you can't dip your foot in the same river twice. So I guess, Thomas Wolfe was right, but I didn't think it would only take six months.
To my dismay, I have yet to feel fully comfortable here in Concord. Take that, Robert Heinlen!
Last night I tried to read the online version of Charlottesville other weelky rag, The Hook. Instead of the expected feelings of nostalgia, I was met with feelings of vague indifference. It was like reading the newspaper of a city I've never been to, The Dubuque Register or the Sacramento Bee. A while back I checked out a discussion group based in Yaroslavl, and they were discussing cool brewpubs, casinos and fast food places around town. Needless to say, none of these existed when I lived there circa 1992. It was not the Yaroslavl I remember of do-it-yourself jazz clubs and festivals, parties on the Strelka, seedy dance clubs, and Kluby Druzei Kino. The Buddha said you can't dip your foot in the same river twice. So I guess, Thomas Wolfe was right, but I didn't think it would only take six months.
To my dismay, I have yet to feel fully comfortable here in Concord. Take that, Robert Heinlen!
11.05.2004
Fuck the 'Lection
I got other things in my life. I'll save my indignation and dissapointment for when I'm drunk. Oh, about two hours from now.
Speaking of the bottle, I am trying to get my two year old daughter to get off of hers. This little gremlin can go through almost a half gallon of organic fat-free milk a day. And that shit ain't free. You pay the extra price for them to keep the Bovine Growth Hormone out of the milk (shouldn't it cost more to have it in there?) Anyway, I don't want her to grow boobies at seven, call me traditional.
She should have been off the bottle a year ago, but she would pitch a royal fit every time we wouldn't give her one. And neither the wife and I have the werewithal to battle her over it. And this monster will use every manipulation at her disposal to extract a bottle from us. Smiles, kisses, tantrums, "i uv you dadddi," giggles, 'mo gaga mo gaga!"
So today was the day. No more bottles for Margot. Nope. Forty-seven minutes. That's how long my resolve lasted. My daughter actually batted her eyes at me. Little bitch. "Please daddy? Gaga?" I gave her two.
I got other things in my life. I'll save my indignation and dissapointment for when I'm drunk. Oh, about two hours from now.
Speaking of the bottle, I am trying to get my two year old daughter to get off of hers. This little gremlin can go through almost a half gallon of organic fat-free milk a day. And that shit ain't free. You pay the extra price for them to keep the Bovine Growth Hormone out of the milk (shouldn't it cost more to have it in there?) Anyway, I don't want her to grow boobies at seven, call me traditional.
She should have been off the bottle a year ago, but she would pitch a royal fit every time we wouldn't give her one. And neither the wife and I have the werewithal to battle her over it. And this monster will use every manipulation at her disposal to extract a bottle from us. Smiles, kisses, tantrums, "i uv you dadddi," giggles, 'mo gaga mo gaga!"
So today was the day. No more bottles for Margot. Nope. Forty-seven minutes. That's how long my resolve lasted. My daughter actually batted her eyes at me. Little bitch. "Please daddy? Gaga?" I gave her two.
11.03.2004
The Ballot that Matters
Even though I am not a member of the BBWA, I still submit a Hall of Fame ballot every year. What can I say, I'm a freak. Let it fly. Here's my ballot this year (in no particular order, except for the top slot):
1. Don Mattingly. Best first baseman I have ever seen. For most of his career I would watch him all the time on WPIX. I can still mimic the way his gloved hand would glide over to the sliding baserunner on every throw to the base. I even remember seeing for the only time the successful execution of the fake throwback to the pitcher - tag out of the runner play. And for about seven years in the eighties he was a fucking ferocious batter. If Kirby Puckett could get elected into the HOF with similar numbers and a career shortened by an injury (glaucoma), then Donnie Baseball (chronic back pain) deserves a shot. I used to think he was dogging it, not believing that chronic back pain was a real malady. Then I got it and have been bedridden by days by it.
2. Wade Boggs. The chicken loving sex maniac. Which hat to wear in the hall of fame? My order of preference: Devil Rays - Yankees - Red Sox. They should have a mural of him either riding a horse around Yankee Stadium or crying in the dugout in the 86 world series. The Agony and the Glory, or some such bullshit.
3. Goose Gossage.
4. Keith Hernandez. Even though he is a Met, and his career ended miserably in Cleveland. I like his "No Play for Mr. Gray" commercials.
5. Tommy John. Hey they named a surgery for this guy. And he won 290 games! If Jim Bunning, that bastard senator from Kentucky is in, so is Tommy John.
6. Andre Dawson. He was the man. I think all the 80s 'Spos (except maybe Francona) should be in. Tim Raines! There was atime when I got more Cubs games on WGN than I did Yankees games on WPIX. And they were on right when I got back from school.
7. Steve Garvey. Bastard kids all over the country. Him and Wade Boggs should have a knotched bedpost in the hall (next to Babe Ruth's)
8. Jack Morris. He was unstoppable.
9. Dale Murphy. He's good enough, barely, to be in the hall. Give him some due.
10. Jim Rice. He's better than Murphy. And there's a playground and ballpark in Boston named after him.
Even though I am not a member of the BBWA, I still submit a Hall of Fame ballot every year. What can I say, I'm a freak. Let it fly. Here's my ballot this year (in no particular order, except for the top slot):
1. Don Mattingly. Best first baseman I have ever seen. For most of his career I would watch him all the time on WPIX. I can still mimic the way his gloved hand would glide over to the sliding baserunner on every throw to the base. I even remember seeing for the only time the successful execution of the fake throwback to the pitcher - tag out of the runner play. And for about seven years in the eighties he was a fucking ferocious batter. If Kirby Puckett could get elected into the HOF with similar numbers and a career shortened by an injury (glaucoma), then Donnie Baseball (chronic back pain) deserves a shot. I used to think he was dogging it, not believing that chronic back pain was a real malady. Then I got it and have been bedridden by days by it.
2. Wade Boggs. The chicken loving sex maniac. Which hat to wear in the hall of fame? My order of preference: Devil Rays - Yankees - Red Sox. They should have a mural of him either riding a horse around Yankee Stadium or crying in the dugout in the 86 world series. The Agony and the Glory, or some such bullshit.
3. Goose Gossage.
4. Keith Hernandez. Even though he is a Met, and his career ended miserably in Cleveland. I like his "No Play for Mr. Gray" commercials.
5. Tommy John. Hey they named a surgery for this guy. And he won 290 games! If Jim Bunning, that bastard senator from Kentucky is in, so is Tommy John.
6. Andre Dawson. He was the man. I think all the 80s 'Spos (except maybe Francona) should be in. Tim Raines! There was atime when I got more Cubs games on WGN than I did Yankees games on WPIX. And they were on right when I got back from school.
7. Steve Garvey. Bastard kids all over the country. Him and Wade Boggs should have a knotched bedpost in the hall (next to Babe Ruth's)
8. Jack Morris. He was unstoppable.
9. Dale Murphy. He's good enough, barely, to be in the hall. Give him some due.
10. Jim Rice. He's better than Murphy. And there's a playground and ballpark in Boston named after him.
Nobel Prizes For Me
Every year around this time I go out and buy a book by the recent recipient of the Nobel Prize in literature. And then I read it. What a novel concept. I've been doing this since high school, starting with Naguib Mahfouz.
Some years, I have already read stuff by the winner: Toni Morrison, Gunther Grass, and most recently, J. M. Coetze. I've come across some favorite books this way: "The Silent Cry" by Kenzaburo Oe (which has my all-time favorite opening, which involves face-painting, a hanging and a cucumber), and "Blindness" by Jose Saramago, for example.
Usually, within a week, the Barnes and Noble would have a copy of a book by the author with a sticker on it saying "Nobel Prize Winner." Not so this year. I have been to ten bookstores, even the usually excellent Concord Bookshop, and have not found one. This is worse than when Dario Fo and Gao Xinjian won! At least now you can find Gao's books in most well-stocked bookstores. Where is the Elfriedke Jelinek? Amazingly, I had actually heard of her before (which was seldom the case: Szymborska? Walcott? Heaney?) I am not a poetry reader, and the Nobel Prize's committee decision to award so many awards to poets eludes me.
Anyway, I have a list of writers who should have recieved the award but never did: Leo Tolstoy, Mark Twain, Jorge Luis Borges, Graham Greene, Kobe Abe, Abdelrahman Munif and Vladimir Nabokov.
I do not know of any Russians who should get the award: maybe Voinovich or Aksenov. In a long shot, Pelevin. I'm sure Tolstaia and Petrushevskaia have their supporters.
Since I am most familiar with American writers, and some english, then I can only guess the frontrunners: Kurt Vonnegut and Phillip Roth being my favorite americans and Salman Rushdie my favorite Britwog. Maybe short list Amis, Barnes, Atwood, and very long chance - Updike. Internationally: Milan Kundera and Milorad Pavic. Even though pavich is a Serbian bastard.
Of course, I have been trying to guess the winner for fifteen years now, and I am now 0-15.
Every year around this time I go out and buy a book by the recent recipient of the Nobel Prize in literature. And then I read it. What a novel concept. I've been doing this since high school, starting with Naguib Mahfouz.
Some years, I have already read stuff by the winner: Toni Morrison, Gunther Grass, and most recently, J. M. Coetze. I've come across some favorite books this way: "The Silent Cry" by Kenzaburo Oe (which has my all-time favorite opening, which involves face-painting, a hanging and a cucumber), and "Blindness" by Jose Saramago, for example.
Usually, within a week, the Barnes and Noble would have a copy of a book by the author with a sticker on it saying "Nobel Prize Winner." Not so this year. I have been to ten bookstores, even the usually excellent Concord Bookshop, and have not found one. This is worse than when Dario Fo and Gao Xinjian won! At least now you can find Gao's books in most well-stocked bookstores. Where is the Elfriedke Jelinek? Amazingly, I had actually heard of her before (which was seldom the case: Szymborska? Walcott? Heaney?) I am not a poetry reader, and the Nobel Prize's committee decision to award so many awards to poets eludes me.
Anyway, I have a list of writers who should have recieved the award but never did: Leo Tolstoy, Mark Twain, Jorge Luis Borges, Graham Greene, Kobe Abe, Abdelrahman Munif and Vladimir Nabokov.
I do not know of any Russians who should get the award: maybe Voinovich or Aksenov. In a long shot, Pelevin. I'm sure Tolstaia and Petrushevskaia have their supporters.
Since I am most familiar with American writers, and some english, then I can only guess the frontrunners: Kurt Vonnegut and Phillip Roth being my favorite americans and Salman Rushdie my favorite Britwog. Maybe short list Amis, Barnes, Atwood, and very long chance - Updike. Internationally: Milan Kundera and Milorad Pavic. Even though pavich is a Serbian bastard.
Of course, I have been trying to guess the winner for fifteen years now, and I am now 0-15.
The Assholes of the World
My list of assholes of the world. At the end of the year I just might have to fix an election for an "Asshole of the World" yearly award.
This is in sort of order, with the biggest assholes up front.
1. George W. Bush - No explanation necessary. Just his ineptitude in catching Asshole of the World #2.
2. Usama ibn-Ladin - So I use a unique orthography. Shut up and kill the bastard, whatever he is called. My hometown was attacked three years ago. I want his fucking head on a platter so I can give him a good old Mussolini Headkick. He should have been dead years ago. Fuck Bush. It took us less time to kill Hitler.
3. Dick Cheney - Duh.
4. Richard Ashcroft - Duh. I could just list the whole administration. And I will.
5. Colin Powell - He's wellmeaning, but a lapdog. If he had any power we would be kicking butt in Darfur, which would be most righteous.
6. Bill Clinton - He let Rwanda happen.
7. That asshole who parked in my spot today. I had two sleeping girls to schlepp through the parking lot today. Read the numbers on the spot, asshole.
8Condaleeza Rice - I've got a Ph.D. in Russian Studies too, but I don't make people call me doctor. Except my wife and mother.
9 Donald Rumsfeld - ugh
10. Curt Schilling I thought you were an asshole before you supported Bush. Take your damn tampon sock and shove it up your ass with your two world series trophies you lucked into. Fuckface. (But a good pitcher, dammit.)
11.Brent Skowcroft; 12. Ronald Reagan; 13. George Bush Sr; 14. Oliver North, 15. G. Gordon Liddy My righteous anger goes back a long way. And Reagan gets a postmortem vote, because his corpse is still stinking.
16. George Allen; 17. Gilmore; 18. Virgil Goode. Mustn't forget my Virginia roots. When you listen to Virgil Goode talk, you can't help but thinking "God, that man's dumb."
19. Mitt Romney - Why do Republicans have stupid names like Mitt? He spends less time in Massachussetts than Bush spends in the White House.
20. Cardinal Law; 21. Cardinal O'Brien (I think that's his name, he's got some Mickey Finn name)I'm not a Catholic, but damn I'd be pissed if I was one. First they look the other way when their priests start diddling boys. Then they close up shop all over Boston. The local church down the street closed, and my wife, who is a papist, has no more home church. The new church she has to go to is not in our neighborhood and has no parking, and no shuttle from on eto the other. The old church was SRO, so who knows what the fuck they're going to do in the new one.
22. That Asshole CustomerI still am pissed off about this one customer who came in, about eight monthes ago, and chewed me out because I did not count his change out to him. Who the fuck counts out change. Get over yourself, midget.
23. That Asshole Jaywalker in West Concord So I almost hit you while backing up! Don't yell at me, use the fucking crosswalk.
I'm going to end now to listen to the concession speech and eat my shoes.
Feel free to add to this list, which I would like to reach a hundred (easily).
My list of assholes of the world. At the end of the year I just might have to fix an election for an "Asshole of the World" yearly award.
This is in sort of order, with the biggest assholes up front.
1. George W. Bush - No explanation necessary. Just his ineptitude in catching Asshole of the World #2.
2. Usama ibn-Ladin - So I use a unique orthography. Shut up and kill the bastard, whatever he is called. My hometown was attacked three years ago. I want his fucking head on a platter so I can give him a good old Mussolini Headkick. He should have been dead years ago. Fuck Bush. It took us less time to kill Hitler.
3. Dick Cheney - Duh.
4. Richard Ashcroft - Duh. I could just list the whole administration. And I will.
5. Colin Powell - He's wellmeaning, but a lapdog. If he had any power we would be kicking butt in Darfur, which would be most righteous.
6. Bill Clinton - He let Rwanda happen.
7. That asshole who parked in my spot today. I had two sleeping girls to schlepp through the parking lot today. Read the numbers on the spot, asshole.
8Condaleeza Rice - I've got a Ph.D. in Russian Studies too, but I don't make people call me doctor. Except my wife and mother.
9 Donald Rumsfeld - ugh
10. Curt Schilling I thought you were an asshole before you supported Bush. Take your damn tampon sock and shove it up your ass with your two world series trophies you lucked into. Fuckface. (But a good pitcher, dammit.)
11.Brent Skowcroft; 12. Ronald Reagan; 13. George Bush Sr; 14. Oliver North, 15. G. Gordon Liddy My righteous anger goes back a long way. And Reagan gets a postmortem vote, because his corpse is still stinking.
16. George Allen; 17. Gilmore; 18. Virgil Goode. Mustn't forget my Virginia roots. When you listen to Virgil Goode talk, you can't help but thinking "God, that man's dumb."
19. Mitt Romney - Why do Republicans have stupid names like Mitt? He spends less time in Massachussetts than Bush spends in the White House.
20. Cardinal Law; 21. Cardinal O'Brien (I think that's his name, he's got some Mickey Finn name)I'm not a Catholic, but damn I'd be pissed if I was one. First they look the other way when their priests start diddling boys. Then they close up shop all over Boston. The local church down the street closed, and my wife, who is a papist, has no more home church. The new church she has to go to is not in our neighborhood and has no parking, and no shuttle from on eto the other. The old church was SRO, so who knows what the fuck they're going to do in the new one.
22. That Asshole CustomerI still am pissed off about this one customer who came in, about eight monthes ago, and chewed me out because I did not count his change out to him. Who the fuck counts out change. Get over yourself, midget.
23. That Asshole Jaywalker in West Concord So I almost hit you while backing up! Don't yell at me, use the fucking crosswalk.
I'm going to end now to listen to the concession speech and eat my shoes.
Feel free to add to this list, which I would like to reach a hundred (easily).
So none of this will probably matter, since Kerry is due to concede in an hour and a half just fifteen miles from where I am writing this. Damnit.
The Republicans have stolen another election. I will not deny Bush the general vote, he obviously had a decisive lead. Just makes me wonder what the fuck everybody is thinking when they are casting their ballots. "Values." What the fuck does that mean?
I believe that Diebald gave Ohio (and possibly Florida) to Shrub. It's improvable, but as the 'circumcised' evidence suggests, its plausible. Very plausibe. The circucised evidence, please:
1. The president of Diebald says straight out that he would do all within his power to ensure a Bush victory. You would think this alone would disqualify him from selling voting machines to any precincts. Can you say 'Conflict of Interest?'
2. What the fuck was that secret meeting Bush had in Ohio yesterday?
3. Bush did not state that he believed that he was going to win Ohio and Florida, he stated that he 'knew' he was going to win them.
4. Those damn challenged ballots.
5. Republican history of discouraging voting rights for the disenfranchised.
6. The exit polls in every other state were mirrored by their actual polling results. Except in Ohio. Interesting, very interesting.
These are just doubts, but important doubts. In ethics, the appearance of impropriety is the same as impropriety itself. And this is one unethical administration.
The Republicans have stolen another election. I will not deny Bush the general vote, he obviously had a decisive lead. Just makes me wonder what the fuck everybody is thinking when they are casting their ballots. "Values." What the fuck does that mean?
I believe that Diebald gave Ohio (and possibly Florida) to Shrub. It's improvable, but as the 'circumcised' evidence suggests, its plausible. Very plausibe. The circucised evidence, please:
1. The president of Diebald says straight out that he would do all within his power to ensure a Bush victory. You would think this alone would disqualify him from selling voting machines to any precincts. Can you say 'Conflict of Interest?'
2. What the fuck was that secret meeting Bush had in Ohio yesterday?
3. Bush did not state that he believed that he was going to win Ohio and Florida, he stated that he 'knew' he was going to win them.
4. Those damn challenged ballots.
5. Republican history of discouraging voting rights for the disenfranchised.
6. The exit polls in every other state were mirrored by their actual polling results. Except in Ohio. Interesting, very interesting.
These are just doubts, but important doubts. In ethics, the appearance of impropriety is the same as impropriety itself. And this is one unethical administration.
11.01.2004
Kids Are Funny
I was once one of those single guys who would bash fatherhood and the sappy kind of guys who would tell cute stories about their kids. Funny how detox and parenthood can turn me into a dirtier version of Bill Keane.
Having a two-year old is fun, because you can see character traits develop right before your eyes and you have some limited power over developing these nascent tendencies.
Last week Margot came running up to me holding up her hands shouting "My Doo! My Doo! My Doo!" Needles to say, there was fecal matter smeared on her fingers. She was quite upset. "Why'd you stick your hand in your diaper?" I asked. "I dunno."
Two days ago Margot got up out of the car kart at the grocery store and ran over to the cake display shouting "Biffday cake, biffday cake!" The cake she was pointing at had a Red Sox logo on it, some World Series crap or whatever! I said, "No way." Recognizing the logo, Margot then said "Baseball! Yucky Stinky" and started to make the universal sign for stanky ass. She was so proud of herself, as was I.
I was once one of those single guys who would bash fatherhood and the sappy kind of guys who would tell cute stories about their kids. Funny how detox and parenthood can turn me into a dirtier version of Bill Keane.
Having a two-year old is fun, because you can see character traits develop right before your eyes and you have some limited power over developing these nascent tendencies.
Last week Margot came running up to me holding up her hands shouting "My Doo! My Doo! My Doo!" Needles to say, there was fecal matter smeared on her fingers. She was quite upset. "Why'd you stick your hand in your diaper?" I asked. "I dunno."
Two days ago Margot got up out of the car kart at the grocery store and ran over to the cake display shouting "Biffday cake, biffday cake!" The cake she was pointing at had a Red Sox logo on it, some World Series crap or whatever! I said, "No way." Recognizing the logo, Margot then said "Baseball! Yucky Stinky" and started to make the universal sign for stanky ass. She was so proud of herself, as was I.
One more day! One more day!
Four years of stomach-churning bile-raising indignation is about to end. The amount of vitriol and anger I have harbored can be released, if only the American people are smart enough to unelect and not vote for (again) that goddamned chimpanzee. No matter what shenanigans the assholes on the right try this time (intimidating and challenging black and hispanic voters, 'misplacing' ballots, a crooked Supreme Court) there is no denying that this smug bloodthirsty inarticulate bumbling moron chickenhawk antennae-bearing dotard is out!
Please, oh god, please make it so!
Four years of stomach-churning bile-raising indignation is about to end. The amount of vitriol and anger I have harbored can be released, if only the American people are smart enough to unelect and not vote for (again) that goddamned chimpanzee. No matter what shenanigans the assholes on the right try this time (intimidating and challenging black and hispanic voters, 'misplacing' ballots, a crooked Supreme Court) there is no denying that this smug bloodthirsty inarticulate bumbling moron chickenhawk antennae-bearing dotard is out!
Please, oh god, please make it so!
