Just do it already

I can't take much more of the will-he-or-won't-he Barry Bonds shenanigans. I mean, it's obvious he's going to do it, so can some pitcher please just take one for the team, send him a nice little 85-mph meatball over the plate, and let him hit the damn home run so we can all move on with our lives? Bud Selig might die if this lasts any longer; plus, I'm getting sick of defending Barry and his giant head (and his beady little eyes). I'm not going to fight to the death for this one, but I agree with Bill James that Bonds deserves admiration for his natural hitting ability and his long career. Bonds was born to hit home runs, there's no question about that, and I think he should break the record. Him hitting 756 home runs shouldn't detract from the magnitude of what the great Hank Aaron accomplished, and it won't unless we let it. And anyway, A-Rod is going to break the record in a few years, so let's focus our energy on hoping he doesn't do it in pinstripes and just let Barry do his thing. But please, Jeebus, let it end tonight.

A retraction

Jermaine Dye is 4-for-5 today, with 2 home runs that netted him 3 runs scored and 4 RBIs. There's been a lot of Dye bashing around here lately (in all the 3 days I've been doing this), and I feel I owe him an apology. Sorry, Jermaine!

(too bad he had to go and hit those homers off Clemens. This is why my fantasy team sucks.)

Kurt Vonnegut was f-ing brilliant

Many people need desperately to receive this message: "I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people do not care about them. You are not alone."

-- from Timequake


Just because. Also relevant, in a way, since I just finished "Mountains Beyond Mountains," which is simply fantastic and was great for me to read at a time when I'm feeling iffy about my determination to stick with the non-profit junk rather than selling out to a normal job that will actually pay me. Tracy Kidder is a very shrewd, but also very empathetic observer; Paul Farmer will make you feel shitty about the relative worthlessness of your own life but will inspire you at the same time. This isn't the best book I've read this year ("The Elementary Particles" by Michel Houllebecq definitely takes that cake, and I'll write about that at another juncture when I'm feeling crabby enough to really take on Michiko Kakutani's absurdly simplistic and unnecessarily dismissive review of said book), but I'm really glad I read it, and I recommend that others do the same. At the very least, it'll help you restore some of the brain cells you'll kill while watching "Rock of Love."

Pirates vs. Ninjas: Finally, an answer!

This is a bit long-winded, but totally worth it.





http://www.wellingtongrey.net/miscellanea/archive/2007-07-25--pirates-vs-ninjas/pages/2007-07-25--pirates-vs-ninjas-03.html




For the record, given the choice, I would definitely rather be a pirate than a ninja. But that's just me.











Also, last night I finally caught up on this week's episode of "Bret Michaels' Rock of Love," a.k.a. The Greatest Reality Show Ever. There have only been 3 episodes of this VH1 gem so far, and I still have no qualms whatsover about giving it that label. Those of you who aren't watching this show yet: WHY NOT?! [insert baffled look on face of bouncer at The Burren here] There's something for everyone here, whether your interests swing to music, romance, football, motocross, or gigantic fake tits. Highlights of the show so far this season include:

• Bret Michaels making out with anything that isn't nailed down (and a few things that are)
• Heather and Tiffany, drunk, arguing over the "proper" way to execute a pole dance
• Bret having all the girls compete for who could give him the best phone sex, WHILE HE WAS HOOKED UP TO A PENIS READING MACHINE
• Two girls getting in a fight over whose enormous, fake, circus-looking boobs were less fake and circus-looking
• A big muscle-bound chick (Rodeo) putting another girl (Lacey) in a half-Nelson
• My favorite line from any TV show, ever: "Don't threaten me with a good time"
• Bret yelling "John, get my insulin!" every time the girls give him a lap dance or something and he starts getting worked up
• Repeated use of the whole rose/thorns metaphor

And, while I am not happy about how this week's elimination went, I am still 100% on board for the rest of the season.





[Just like eeeeeeeeeeeeeevery cowboy sings a sad, sad song]

Also, here's a little feel-good news to offset that tragic Minneapolis story this morning: Shawn Thornton making an appearance at a kids' hockey camp in Franklin. While Thornton's arrival in Boston is not quite as exciting as some of the other athlete landings we've had over the past couple of days, it does remind me of one thing: I fucking love hockey. It's definitely my favorite thing to watch in the baseball off-season (sigh), for one reason: nothing beats watching athletes who love their game. The thing that sets hockey players apart from any other breed of professional athlete is that they would play hockey no matter what. They would play it for free. If something crazy (like pineapple) happened to the Earth and we all had to relocate to the sun, hockey players would find a way to keep ice solid at 9,600 degrees (Thanks, Wikipedia!) so that they could keep playing. Hockey players are OBSESSED with hockey. Anyone who's ever attempted to date an amateur or semi-pro hockey player knows this. (Tip: if you do attempt this, DO NOT under any circumstances let drop that you like the movie "Slapshot" unless you want the damn thing quoted at you non-stop for the rest of the night. Sheesh.) And that's what makes hockey so damn fun to watch. That, and the fights. Ha. I'll be going to a pre-season game or two and then most likely amusing myself with a pre-season Bruins writeup, so if you want to learn more about hockey (particularly Bruins and BU hockey), hooray!

I miss Wayne Primeau, so here he is (I especially love this photo because of the skeptical-looking fat dude in the Joe Thornton jersey behind him... this photo must come from right after The Trade. Awkward!):

What's Eating Gilbert Arenas?

Not sharks, apparently. From the man's oh-so-entertaining blog:

There Are No Such Thing as Shark Attacks

I know this is random, but I just want to clear this up for people out there.
There are these things called shark attacks, but there is no such thing as a shark attack. I have never seen a real shark attack.
I know you’re making a weird face as you’re reading this. OK people, a shark attack is not what we see on TV and what people portray it as.
We’re humans. We live on land.
Sharks live in water.
So if you’re swimming in the water and a shark bites you, that’s called trespassing. That is called trespassing. That is not a shark attack.
A shark attack is if you’re chilling at home, sitting on your couch, and a shark comes in and bites you; now that’s a shark attack. Now, if you’re chilling in the water, that is called invasion of space. So I have never heard of a shark attack.
When I see on the news where it’s like, “There have been 10 shark attacks,” I’m like, “Hey, for real?! They’re just running around? Sharks are walking now, huh! We live on the land, we don’t live underwater.”

Thanks for sharing, Gilbert. In response, sharks had this to say:

Yum.

(Thanks Mike!)

Hi, Mom!

I promised my mom a shout-out. Hi, Mom!

In other news, work is boring, it's really hot outside, and there's STILL no Splenda in the break room. CHRIST.

I'm gonna make you girls a Hump Day treat!

Courtesy of Sandeep:



http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/01/dining/01drun.html?pagewanted=3&8dpc&_r=1



Something to aspire to as you head out for various Wednesday-is-the-new-Thursday-is-the-new-Friday festivities, anyway. My new life's ambition is to swim in the pool of the Four Seasons NYC restaurant.







Also, for my (not your) enjoyment: Things You Learn Riding the T.

1. Trot Nixon still plays for the Red Sox. At least, that's what all the fat, sweaty, drunk bald men riding to Kenmore for the game would have you believe, since ALL of them, to a man, still wear their Nixon jerseys with bloated pride. (The only exception: occasionally, you may see one in a Varitek jersey.) Seriously, guys: It's time to let it go. I, like you, will always hold a special spot in my heart for any member of the 2005 Red Sox. But you don't see me wearing a damn Pedro Martinez jersey to games.


2. Every guy in Boston is too short for me. I don't understand how this continues to be true. I'm only 5'9", for crying out loud. And yet, everywhere I look: short men. And the tall ones are all 19-year-old BC students. This, to me, is the definition of modern tragedy.


3. Only people with really cool hair should own iPods, at least according to the new Apple ad campaigns.


4. Still got it: no matter what I do, I persist in looking really, really unfriendly. Those of you who haven't heard me rant about this before should know that I have an uncanny ability to frighten people away from sitting next to me on the T. The seat next to me can be the only seat open, with like 10 people already standing in the car, and NO ONE will sit next to me. Yesterday, I actually overheard two guys (they thought I couldn't hear, because I had my iPod on [despite the fact that I don't have cool hair], but I DID hear them) who had just gotten on have the following exchange: Guy 1: "Look, there's a seat over there." Guy 2 [looks at the seat, then looks at me]: "Nah, I'll just stand." Wow. I wasn't even WEARING my Bitchy McBitch sunglasses! I've been told time and again that I just give off this vibe of Really Intimidating, and I don't understand it. Maybe I should start carrying around one of those big old-fashioned lollipops, or a puppy or a baby.

You can learn lots of things riding the T. Maybe I'll keep this going. In other news, everyone loses to the Orioles on occasion, and the Sox front office still haven't come out and announced who the Player-To-Be-Named-Later in the Joel Piniero deal is. So I can still hope. And here, without further ado, is the cover to the Memphis Redbirds comic book I was squawking about yesterday. (Hooray for Deadspin!) Rick is kind of hidden in the back, signing autographs and looking sexy. Comic books are fun!

And because I'm feeling kind of rant-y (no Splenda in the break room!), here's a quick entry from the Hate List: People who go to the gym and fucking WALK on the treadmills. While holding on to the handles. I just don't understand it! I guess I'm exposed to more of this since I belong to a chicks-only gym, which, while eliminating the sweaty-guy-breathing-down-your-neck-while-you-use-the-weight-machines factor, definitely ups the wuss factor. I just think, if you're going to spend all that money on a gym membership, that you should get a damn WORKOUT in when you go! Walking on a flat surface while watching "VH1's 100 Best Bodies" (a.k.a. The List Where Terrell Owens Beats Out Heather Graham, But Loses To Ashley Judd) is not a workout. Walking to the grocery store would serve you better. But you'd probably just buy ice cream and cookies, wouldn't you, fatass?

[Note: maybe this is why people don't sit next to me on the T.]