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The Pennant Chas…er, Chaz

June 12, 2009 3 comments

Chastity Bono is entering manhood. The daughter of the late great Salvatore Sonny Bono and the wax figure Cher, is 40 and an out lesbian. Upon reading this news, all I can think about is, it would’ve really hurt Sonny’s chances to become President.

It’s a bit odd, but the last few U.S. Presidents have only had female offspring. The one guy who had sons, George Walker Bush, had a son who became President ( in case you’d forgotten—yeah sure ). So, maybe it’s a good thing. But why all the X chromosomes* dudes? don’t ask. Don’t tell. Gotcha.

Hey! good for Chas Bono. Whatever happens, she’s got to have more balls than the team from the Bronx who went to Boston and got theirs handed to them on home plate. Again. Baseball — people are fond of saying — is a marathon. It’s a long season & there are a hundred games left to play. Luckily for the Yankees, only eleven are v. the Rat Sox.

Seriously kids—whatever drugs you’re not using—start. I haven’t felt this embarrassed since I tried returning a jacket to a store and the saleswoman pointed out pit stains. At the time I told her, ” I’m a Yankee fan ” it was October 2004. She said poor man, patted me on the shoulder, gave me a refund and the number of a homeopathic healer. Wonder if MLB.com will take back all these @#%&*! Yankee caps!

Could all those Beanotown ‘tards be right? do the Yankees really—suck? Frankly, I don’t give a damn. That’s no excuse. Vacuum cleaners suck, but still get the job done. Same goes for hookers. And high schoolers with self esteem issues. The real problem is every other team gets so amped up when they play the Yankees, the opposition often performs way above their skill set. Yankees routinely make rookie pitchers look like Cy Young candidates, if not Cy himself. Why isn’t a fathead such as Josh Beckett 30 and 0? why—because he doesn’t get 30 starts versus the Yankees. That’s why. I hate that arrogant load.

Sigh. It is a long season. But if you have to say it—you are all ready in trouble. The season ain’t long enough for those Mass-holes to forget how they beat everything in midnight blue pinstripes — home and away to the tune of eight straight unanswered ass whuppings. Will the newly masculated Chas, sorry—make that — Chaz Bono be able to hit a big league curve ball? she or he can’t do worse than those choke ponies. Now where is my Phillies cap. . ..

* that’s XX which = a female as opposed to XXX which would be Vin Diesel or Peter North, whoever comes first. . ..

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PS Happy bd Gomer & so long to the cast of REAPER— I’ll miss you kids

Apparently—I Love NY!

May 22, 2009 Leave a comment

Having just realized I rarely say anything about the sports media people I like, I hope to remedy that a bit here. One reason I neg out a lot is, the guys who provoke me seem do it when I’m nearest to a keyboard. The other is I’m bitter. Here are thumbnail mentions of a few who just happen to be from the NYC metro area. How’d that happen!

Michael Kay, who began his pro career as a sportswriter, currently straddles two media giants. One owns the New York Yankees, the other takes cheap shots. Long before the NYY launched the YES Network (Yankees Entertainment & Sports), Kay made the move from print to the broadcast booth, paired with legendary egoist John Sterling. I thought Kay was great—at a time when the beloved pair of Phil Rizzuto & Bill White (my former neighbor) were ending their run, Kay was a breath of fresh & knowledgeable air. Yankee brass agreed. Now he anchors the YES play by play team & does a daily afternoon drive radio show for ESPN’s New York affiliate. AND I like him a lot. Joe Torre, on the other hand, may not. That’s another story.

Howard Megdal is a regular & integral contributor to a podcast—The New York Baseball Digest (hosted by Mike Silva). He’s also an author The Baseball Talmud— a non-fiction work which chronicles the history of professional Jewish baseball players. However, his main gig is covering NYC baseball for a newspaper The New York Observer. Though an ardent Mets fan, his sharp wit & ability to extemporaneously turn a phrase on mic, make him a rare exception in the sports media—intelligent beyond the sports arena. I used to be pretty good at this: I’d place his IQ at 130, if not slightly higher. He’s one of the few I can actually listen to criticize the Yankees, typically because he’s right. His Achilles’ heel is WFAN megastar Mike Francesa—don’t get him started. . ..

The next man I have come to praise (and not bury) is another sportswriter & blogger Pete Abraham. His LoHud.com Yankees blog has so many hits each day, I can rarely leave a comment due to my slow dial up—because there are frequently too many other comments, often well over 300-400, sometimes many more! Pete is the Yankees beat writer for The Journal News & also makes many radio appearances, providing his insight to Yankee baseball. Even when he’s on a break, he often files a post, because he loves baseball. Sadly, the immense popularity of his blog doesn’t exclude him from the current economic downward trend in newspapers, and he’s actually on an unpaid furlough for a week! Sigh. BTW Pete was at the game anyway last night as a fan. Here’s hoping it all turns around for everybody. Except for Boston — I ain’t smoking any of Mary Lou’s bud.

Not in any way would I minimize the work, talent & efforts of the next two. I place them in tandem because Sweeny Murti & Ed Coleman cover the Yankees & Mets respectively, for WFAN AM New York, the King of sports talk radio. They are both routinely on air around the clock, doing phone reporting i.e. Sweeny was on today at 4:25 AM. Are the Yanks on the West Coast? did a game run extraordinarily late or something extremely awful happen? Nope—though Joba Chamberlain did take a batted ball off a kneecap (he’s OK—hmmmm). Sweeny is also very bright (Penn State grad). Mercifully(?) the Mets were on a travel day to Feng Shui Park for the weekend ugh, unless you like hubris with your chowdah. So, Eddie had a respite from the Mets woes.

See, I can say nice stuff. Especially when it’s true. Yankees v. Phillies this weekend, should be balls flying out of new Yankee Stadium. While I am naturally rooting for the Yanks to win more than they lose, I have a soft spot for the Phils from my 20 years of living & working in Bucks County PA.

Oh yeah — Lets GO METS!


Aks me no questions. . ..

May 21, 2009 Leave a comment

I’m well aware most of you @#%&*! jock sniffing morons, who somehow were hired to be professional media announcers only made it to sixth grade. So, one more time:

If a proper name ends in the letter s i.e. Phil Hughes and you need to make it a possessive, as in— Phil Hughes’ next start—that is how it is enunciated. Don’t add another s. Not only is it unnecessary, it creates sibilance, which is bad for audio, most importantly as spoken, it’s AWKWARD sounding. BTW no doubt you were asleep, dreaming of showering with the football team that day in class, because they teach that rule by sixth grade. Pete Rose’s name only sounds as if it ends with s. You’re on your own with Rodriguez, Gomez, Martinez & Aziz et al. That ain’t English.

Note to major know it all Colin Cowherd–the word is pictorial. Not pictoral.* As for some audience members who call in radio programs—how do you exist at least twenty plus years in a country where English is the primary language, and mispronounce the word ask? Laughable and depressing at the same time. Audio-verbal dyslexia—the new epidemic.

OK— recess you dumbasses. Go enjoy some repressed homosexuality. Don’t aks

* next time I heard that particular promo, the pronunciation had been corrected—incroyablé!

The Body of Her Work…

May 19, 2009 Leave a comment

Mary-Louise Parker is “bitter” because of a scene she shot for the show Weeds. In a magazine interview she states she was talked into doing a bath tub scene naked by a director. This chick previously did nude scenes and/or photo shoots at the drop of a hat, provided the hat was artistic, of course. One with a big plume, so she’d have the fan dance option.

One of the show’s honchos answered her complaint by saying he thought it was one of the five best scenes she’d done on the show. Huh? what a fucking moron. I side with M(i)L(f). She is an attractive woman with a quirky acting style. That is until this crappy show. In a previous post, I explained just how bad I think Weeds is. I seriously doubt there are five good scenes in all the episodes, of which there are about 40 too many.

If you don’t know, the premise is: widowed suburban wife faced with poverty takes up dope dealing in a bedroom community. It is about as realistic as me imagining this blog will get me a Pulitzer. Not that TV is realistic, i.e. the evening news. . .. But the writing is strictly that smarmy, inside joke, stereotype driven shit these hacks spew and get paid to write. The acting is from the “look at me, mom” school. Yack. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn this is Tyler Perry’s favorite show. For all I know, he’s appeared on it—no doubt cross dressers smoke weed and lots of it.

Not everybody likes nudity on TV. I don’t. It’s distracting from the plot. No matter what anybody says, naked is not integral to any exposition of a plot point. If it is, then so is milking a cow anytime a character has cereal. Oh she has to be naked, she’s taking a bath. What a load— Hollywood imagines every contemplative female lies in a tub filled with rose petals, sipping wine with Enya playing in the background. As opposed to slumped on the couch with a container of ice cream watching Casablanca? Casa cliché is more like it. Just ask the late Robert Altman, he loved getting female actors naked for no reason in his work. Of course he was an auteur and that was cinematic nu-diddity (sic/sick).

As usual I am much too lazy/ill to do an exegesis on the history of TV nudity. On over the air TV, its been virtually non-existent. Though some might not recall a time before subscription programming, the Federal Communications Commission (now there’s a bunch of creeps), ruled over even the tight network censorship. Once cable started raking in bucks though, nudity was available there. You paid for it—you got it.

Anyway—sigh—ML has had it rough. She has relationship issues. I have empathized with her in the past, and I’m sure her traumatic experiences with men led her in a moment of weakness to take the role in Weeds. Then she proceeded to get engaged, then un-engaged, then re-engaged, then not again to Jeffrey Dean Morgan (Watchmen), her occasional co-star on the show (he portrays her late husband in flashbacks). Has she watched those scenes he did? I have never seen a more cloying portrayal in my life, unless it was him in the show Supernatural. Shit, I’d have killed him long before he died of natural causes. Hmmmmm or did he!

So Mary Louise has been compromised artistically and immortalized on You Tube. Oddly she once did a movie—Naked in New York— in which she was not naked. Undercutting her discontent though is the fact she’s had a few other dishabille moments on the show. I guess this one bugged her for some reason more than the others. Basically, the whole show bugs me. I knew a suburban divorced wife who was a pot dealer. If she had looked like ML Parker, I’m reasonably sure I’d have requested she do a nude scene too. One thing is for sure—the writing would have been better. As for Weeds, I suggest they change the title of the show to Dopes.

The Artless Dodger…

May 8, 2009 2 comments

It seems Manny being Manny was aided and abetted by performance enhancing substances†[please see below]. All those clutch, drop the Yankees hits while with the Boston team, were bullshit. Now, while that city and its players enjoy the rewards their envy and hypocrisy continue to provide them, they need to admit they are phonies. If they can hate on and gloss the NYY as the evil empire, riddled with cheaters, then they themselves are surely the Weasel World of sports. Yankees suck? you m*****r f****rs suck and blow.

I have been watching, and for a short youthful period, playing baseball since 1956. I steeped myself in the game via what media was available then— TV, radio, books, magazines and baseball cards. It never seemed enough—sure baseball was talked year round—with friends. Nothing like the current media, carpet bombing 24 hours a day, seven days a week; pervasive and invasive coverage. Really, it’s too much. It encourages excesses and it gets them. From everyone involved.

Too much and yet the magpies who pass for talk show hosts on all sports radio outlets, discrete team owned tv, and networks like ESPN & Fox, turned a sycophantic blind eye to some tried and true practices. Amphetamines before games and shopping trips after—lining up groupies for stars. AND the last 20 plus seasons of slowly unfolding revelations of anabolic steroids and human growth hormones (HGH)usage by the big names of the big leagues.

It has resulted in the breeding of hack writers such as Selena Roberts (Sports Illustrated) who indicted the Duke Lacrosse team for party fouls at the rapist level before they were found NOT guilty*, to her present exposé book of Alex Rodriguez. These jock sniffing carrion eaters turn on you faster than a whirling dervish and they care not a whit if they are subsequently off the mark. The bullshit “court of public opinion” is the demographic they court. The lowest common denominator, once the exclusive stained and chawn turf of the National Enquirer, a newspaper no self respecting journalist would’ve been employed by when I was in J school, is catered to via sensationalism passing for reporting and writing.

It has also grown the barely literate radio talk host, most of whom have never read a book. If they have, it was about sports and no doubt, at the level of a fifth grader. Video games began cutting into the sports dollar heavily during the eighties and in some cases supplanted it for youth recreational time and bucks. The spawn of gamers are the announcers of today’s media. Dumb as rocks without the charm and personality. The majority of athletes, even less so. Easy to see how in this environment a clownish thug such as Manny Ramirez can thrive and pull the double-knit polyfiber over the eyes (and the limited intellect within their heads) of the feral media. One moment they are sucking up, the next, sucking the life out of their prey—the superstar, over paid and undereducated.

Major league baseball itself is led by a septuagenarian former team owner and used car salesman. He needs to step down; he never should have been there to need to do so. Baseball needs restructuring, it is at once archaic and contemporary, the new parts grafted on top of its decay, an aging Hollywood actor made of plastic. A Joan Rivers face, attempting to deceive the world into thinking she’s Megan Fox. A world moving so fast, it almost works—one because even if they had attention spans, most humans own the observational skills of two year olds.

No Boston fan will ever own up**—Manny ain’t theah prawblem anymore. I’m sure they’ll say he never got caught copping ‘roids down by the Charles River. He is however, the true face of the MLB, smug and bloated, and they only suspend him for 50 games? ha ha ha. Manny loves a vacation, he comes back well rested (pumped full of some new undetectable designer dope) for the stretch run and leads a slumping LA to the playoffs again. This is almost a strategic gift! Blow up baseball and bring the Dodgers back to Brooklyn—if you rebuild it they will come. But you won’t, you’re too fucking stupid. And so are your ugly, dumbass friends.

Did I mention beam me up, Simon? Simon! Theodore? ALVIN!!!**

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†  Ramirez tested positive for a  female(!) fertility drug HCG, or human chorionic gonadotropin. HCG is popular with some steroid users because it can mitigate the side effects of ending a cycle of the drugs. Going off steroids can stop testosterone production, decreasing sperm count & shrinking testicles. Manny apparently wants to maintain those big balls as well as cheat…

* Niether Roberts nor SI printed a retraction—creeps.

** Denis Leary, Doris Kearns Goodwin & Jonathan Schwartz might, but they are exceptions because they are exceptional.

** Simon Pegg appears as Scotty in the new Star Trek movie—Alvin & the Chipmunks reference 110% gratuitous, though a nuts connotation is implicit

Parallaxatively 4th Street

March 31, 2009 Leave a comment

My life has always been lived in parallel lines. The geometrical manifestation of that which runs side by side, destined to never meet. Here’s an example or two.

When I was 20, I was a teacher aide in an inner city school, troubled by a lack of student discipline, due to drug use. Mostly marijuana, some of it heroin. This was before crack was cool & ecstasy was only a dream of getting Susie Q to third base in the back seat of the Ford.

Having just failed ( then )as an entrepreneur in the burgeoning head shop business, due to a personal ethos that dictated never selling drug paraphernalia, I got the aide gig. That was my first cosmic/ironic clue I’d have troubles making ends meet ( see parallel lines above ). But even by age 20, I’d had experience in spotting a doper. After all, most of my so called friends were—they required it, they told me, so they could be better musicians.

Eventually, after having my heart broken by girls and the music business, I succumbed one party night to trying some mushrooms, or organic mescaline, as approved by Castaneda’s Don Juan. Administered by the drummer. What fun! I almost got busted first time out of the gate. Not content with a good beer high or even a doobie buzz, I went straight—OK wrong word—directly to tripping.

It was yet another portent— I saw God—(who looked remarkably like a much older version of me!), seemed like a good guy. At the time. . .. Then, with my antennae, abnormally sensitive on a regular day, way up high, I heard the inner voice say—look out the window dude. I saw a blinking red light in the dark street, coming from next door, in the suburb we were partying.

A devotee of Sherlock Holmes, I instantly deduced — police. Ran up stairs, announcing it room to room. Much flushing took place & on cue, the door bell rang. One officer, very polite, told the kid whose parents were out of town for the Memorial Day weekend (natch), there had been a complaint about drums. Yes, he had been playing them loud + long, earlier, but he promised the cop, he was done for the night.

As he was a clean cut young man, and the back windows had been open, the cloud of cannabis was wafting points due west, away from the officer’s nose. Case closed. Me, still trippin’, I dodged bullet one. Much praise from the rest. Sadly, with one exception, they were male, the lone girl, was taken. No grateful girl to, well, you know, for saving her ass. Oh well. I did get to meet God. By the way, God told me I was going to be all right. Still waiting. . ..

Back to school. So, I knew a drugged out kid when I saw one. But after having been threatened ” I’ll cut you up Mod Squad! ” by a sister ( possibly Tyler Perry’s ) with a nail file, whose smacked out boyfriend told her–“he’s cool” I started rethinking the gig. About the same time I learned one of the students (girl) was having sex with a teacher (male). Now, I was not a teacher, I was a 20 year old aide. The reason I found out about those two though, was because I had formed a Platonic palship with the bff of the girl in question. If you knew me, you’d know when I say Platonic (paltonic?*), I mean it.

I was more flex then. Not to mention, active. I was into being monogamous and sincerely wanted just one good chick. In retrospect or in a time machine, I’d likely moderate that position. A lot. Using the Kama Sutra as a primer. Any way, when a work/study girl propositioned me in the hall one day, I closed my eyes and thought of England. It was a What Would John (Lennon) Do moment. Yeah, yeah, yeah. And I still remember all their names too.

What I really wanted to say though is, any given school day I ‘d be sashaying down the hall. One conversation I’m criticized for using “college” words. The next, I’d go off in a blue cloud about junkies with sharp implements and get the worn out “using profanity is the sign of a small vocabulary,” lecture. Well, I was pissed off at the fucker who. . .oh, never mind.

It’s always been that way. I’d walk down the street in a small town and one person would comment—“you look so much better now you’ve shaved off your beard.” The very next would say ” grow your beard back.” What was most disconcerting is the former observer was male, the latter a female. Have I mentioned I’m a devout heterosexual? Well, unless the only way to get a threesome with Bridget Regan & Abbie Cornish is to go through Hugh Jackman. Tina Fey & Katrina Bowden? Sigh.

This special edition is brought to you by Norfolk-Southern Railroad. Here in Bubbadoon, I live a mile from the railroad track (more parallel lines). When I first moved here, the people in the community immediately adjacent to the tracks, voted to ban train whistles from midnight to 6 AM. The train suits ( standard issue fat white guys ) had much more clout and were able to have the legal voice of the people vote overturned. That’s why I am awake and filing this, two train whistles, 10 minutes apart at 2:30AM.

I bet there are more deaf drivers at 3:10 AM then say, BLIND ones. There are with certitude a greater amount of people sleeping than drivers crossing those fucking tracks. Why can’t these assholes just employ a few more flashing red lights. Shit, those warn even humans who might be tripping for the first time. AND that’s why I hate the South.

*©2009 Jukeofurl Prod LTD.

38 Ditches

March 24, 2009 3 comments

What a sad day. Curt Schilling announced his retirement from baseball. Notice he didn’t mention anything about retiring from shooting his mouth off. Most recently he boldly denounced Roger Clemens as a past, present and no doubt, future ” cheater.” Really went out on a limb with that one huh. He and that fathead burgomeister looking Papelbon need to keep holding those Bundestag bashes. Herr Oktober & Herr Oktoberfest–two clowns who would not have appeared out of place singing the Horstwessel Song in 1936.

Curt wants to enter the pure and virtuous world of politics. If he doesn’t like cheaters, he better rethink that move. Not to mention any dirty laundry he might have around, specifically hemotropic hosiery. He also has a blog. Hey! I have a blog. But all my socks are blood free, so far. He could do an album of songs & title it Blood on the Sox. Or Soxday Bloody Soxday. That spotlight ho Bono would probably sing back up. A Hollywood bio-pic could work for him too (not too big a stretch for his ego, or socks)— There Schill Be Blood. Only some suggestions. Nothing written in blood.

Schilling is/was an anomaly among athletes. He rarely resorted to spouting cliches or avoiding the media. In fact, he rarely waited to be asked to give his opinion, often calling a radio program & speaking his mind. Though he’s not a gifted extemporaneous speaker, he dazzles the jockocracy. Of course, they are the same clowns who think Kid Rock is major talent & Peter Gammons is a good guitar player. Not, to the former and meh, to the latter. Being fair & balanced, as a Yankee fan, I would say former NYY center fielder, Bernie Williams is a better guitar player than Kid Schlock & Gammons. That said, that ain’t saying much.

When Mr. Schilling did go to Washington, testifying in the Congressional Hearings on the dumbass Mitchell Report, he was uncharacteristically brief, if not actually curt. His pre-game had loads of bluster, I guess he choked when the game was on the line; he only wins v. the Yankees. For money and the fickle love of Beanotown. Still, who knows, Curt Schilling might help turn the fortunes of the USA around, just as he did with the Red Sox. He didn’t exactly leave there in perfect harmony, but hey, who ever does. At least his doughy pal Papelbon didn’t gloss Schill a ” cancer ” as he did another former soul, er, I mean team mate Manny Ramirez, the current poster boy for Boston persona non grata status. The Boston MLB franchise’s ESPN sponsored annual American League pennant front runner label, comes naturally to them; the fans have been front runners for a century. We’ll see. For sure we’ll hear.

So, Schilling can talk and form his own opinions. Yowzah. It’s easy to admit he was a clutch pitcher (damn facts), who twice got it up to beat the Yankees in championship level games. All this will serve him well if he enters the political arena. He might want to invest in a good pre-wash stain remover though. Politics is a much bloodier game than baseball. Those boys & girls do more than steroids to get a win. Someday he might rather he was in Philadelphia. . ..